by Cara Nelson
Alcatraz was one of the greatest clubs in Milan, playing host to live music, awesome popular club songs, and even fashion shows. It was an up-and-coming artist’s dream to get a chance to play there. It would be amazing for me to see it, probably a story within itself.
“When do you want to go?”
“I’ll come by at 10.”
“Great,” I said.
When the door was shut, I looked at the clock. It was 4 PM. I started to think about my clothes. Unlike a guy, I had to go to the club with a better outfit on than a pair of jeans and an awesome shirt.
A call to the concierge and a taxi ride later, I was on Via Montenapoleone, staring at some of the highest-end designer boutiques known to the fashion world. My income wasn’t high end, but I had enough saved up that it wasn’t low end either.
Three stores later, I had some clothes that I thought would work for my club night with Gauge. We’d slowly grown friendlier with each other, always with an undercurrent of sexual energy, and although nobody had said the D word—you know, date—I felt like this was kind of like a date. Why? The answer was simple. People would know him there. Photographers were always at places like that, which meant that there was a great chance that Gauge would be in some pictures. Unless he completely ignored me, I was likely to make the digital reel, too.
“You look great,” Gauge said. He smiled and didn’t hide that he was looking me up and down. I put my arms out and let him soak it all up. After all, a girl didn’t dress this way to not be appreciated.
My black leather pants had ribbons lacing all the way up the sides. Covering my ivory skin was a sapphire halter top that plunged lower than anything I’d ever owned, showing off my cleavage. The final touch was the black stilettos, which looked good, making my legs look longer than they already were. Lastly, and a small touch that was my favorite part, were the silver teardrop earrings that were playfully dangling from my earlobes. I felt pretty sexy and ready to take on the club. There was no dive bar in my future tonight.
“Thanks. You look great, too.” Gauge had on a powder blue silk t-shirt, a black sports jacket, and a pair of jeans that were slightly baggy, but scrumptious on his chiseled body.
We walked into the club and I felt like Frankenstein’s monster coming alive when Gauge put his hand on my lower back. It sent a charge through me, just like lightning.
“This place is fabulous,” I said, looking around with appreciation. It had the usual dark ambiance that most clubs have, but the way the neon blue accented everything gave it an eerie, funky glow like a full moon reflecting on a river. I was in awe of it.
“It’s decent,” Gauge said. “What do you want to drink?”
I wanted a beer. He went with a Hennessy and 7. We walked around and quite a few people came up to Gauge to introduce themselves and ask for a picture with him. The women snuggled in and purred like playful kitties, hoping to get some more attention. The guys tended to try and match him in their attitudes and demeanors. I wasn’t sure why everyone would want to appear brooding, but when you were famous, those things seemed cooler. If Gauge hadn’t been a musician, people would have thought he was more of petulant child, I suspected.
Then there was me. I was an instant amateur photographer. No one wanted a picture with me. They were staring at me from afar, wondering if I was a somebody or a nobody.
Next in line for their brush with Gauge was the club management. They all knew Gauge, and I noticed that they made it seem like they knew him on a more personal level than just a VIP level. I was curious.
“You said you played here before, right?”
“Yeah. It was right after our first single was released.”
“For a quiet guy, it seems like you’re friends with all the management here.”
“I hung out here for a while a few years back.”
“Why?”
“Had a girlfriend.”
I froze, somehow feeling like a piece of secondhand trash when he said that. It was ridiculous, of course, as I wasn’t his girlfriend and we weren’t even on a date—maybe. Pictures of all these guys who take every girl they meet to the same places and do the same thing swirled through my mind. It made me think of that Cheryl Lloyd song: remember all the things that you and I did first, and now you’re doing them with her. I was the ‘her.’ That was fucked up.
“Which one was that?” I asked, trying to keep it lighthearted.
“Gretchen,” he said. There was no spark of longing or missing her in his eyes, and I quickly realized that I was on the verge of being pathetic. That wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight, with my great outfit and with Gauge.
“Is it hard to be here?”
Gauge looked at me and cocked his head. It was a habit he did often. I noticed that he did that whenever he was trying to articulate a response in a certain way. “No, it’s not hard. Shit happens.”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“Why would I have taken you here and act like an emotionally messed-up guy?”
“Good point. But…do you mind me asking what happened?”
“No,” he said.
“Will you tell me?”
“The short version. She was messing around with a friend and we broke up.”
“You’re kidding? That sucks. Who?”
“Hunter?”
“Hunter,” I repeated, hoping I’d heard wrong. “Ouch!”
“It was.”
“Weren’t you pissed?”
“Of course, but it’s the past.”
I thought of my interview with Hunter and the part about him being a lead singer, cutting a track, and knew that there was a strong force below the surface on each of them that could erupt at any moment.
“Let’s dance,” Gauge said. Clearly the subject was over and off the table. His words were an order, not a request. While I might typically rebel against someone bossing me around and telling me what to do, I didn’t mind going to dance. I welcomed it.
Black Widow by Iggy Azalea came on and the two of us moved, giving me my own little show of Gauge’s hips. His moves were sexy, and what made them that way was the fact that they were natural. I had no doubts in my mind that he’d taken a dance class or worked with a choreographer, the way most every musician had to do in order to make the movement of their bodies match the beat of their songs.
“This twisted cat and mouse game always starts the same. First we're both down to play, then somehow, you go astray.” Admitting it. Denying it. Avoiding it. Yeah, I was guilty of all three, and the dancing combined with Cosmo and Gauge were making me feel a bit liberated. I wanted to forget that I was doing a story on ProVokaTiv for the night and just be the woman fortunate enough to have Gauge’s attention for the night.
“I love that song!” I started laughing, and Gauge did, too. We said it at the same time as we were weaving our way through the flailing and pounding bodies on the dance floor, stomping out an urban beat.
“We finally agree on a song,” Gauge said to me.
“Wonders never cease, huh?”
Again, his hand pressed on my lower back. I felt like I was a puppet and he was the master pulling the strings. He could have veered me right into the men’s room and I would have gone, as long as our bodies were connected and the energy remained intact.
I turned and looked at Gauge and I held my breath. What I saw impacted me immediately. He was looking at me and I didn’t have to be full of myself to see that it wasn’t just a casual look, like how you’d talk with a friend. He had a bit of L-U-S-T going in his eyes. Of course, I didn’t dress this way to not get a response. I just wasn’t prepared for it when it happened. It excited me and reinforced my desire to make tonight a personal mission more than work research.
Another drink later and we were back on the floor, growing more liberated with each move. Enrique Iglesias came on, and the Latin beat in his song made for a needier dance. Gauge’s hands were on my hips, and he turned me around, pressing my backside into his hips. We moved back and
forth, slowly and then rapidly, as the rhythm of the song adjusted. I could feel my hair starting to stick to my neck, and I was getting hotter with each move—literally and metaphorically. Gauge’s breath was lingering on my ear as he leaned in. My personal opium, the smell of his cologne, had my heart pounding and my loins desiring him badly.
Before I knew it, 3 AM arrived and it was time to go. I’d never been so disappointed to leave a club. Then again, I’d never been so excited to see what would happen next. Would I get an invitation to his room? Maybe I’d invite him to mine. I couldn’t imagine not feeling his lips on mine after all this time.
Our heated-up bodies left the club and were immediately assaulted by the coolness of the early morning Milan air. Talk about a slap in the face. I struggled against the logical thoughts that started to swirl in my mind. They were so dull and drab compared to the ones they booted out of the way.
Needless to say, after some casual conversation in the taxi that was very anti-climactic when compared to the dancing and music, we were back at the hotel and standing in the lobby. The unspoken question, “What next?” never came out.
“Killer night,” I said. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
I would have loved to come up, but that clearly wasn’t happening. “Well, I interview Simon tomorrow, so I’d better get a few hours of sleep, I guess.”
“I guess,” Gauge said.
We made a silent ascent up to the tenth floor in the elevator and walked out, giving each other one last farewell greeting as we made our way to my door. Gauge moved on to his.
Behind the safety of my closed door, I pressed my body against the backside of it, took a deep breath in, and breathed out. I felt ripples of anticipation escape my body as I got ready for sleep. Thankfully, I drifted off into a deep sleep, ignoring the slight headache that was starting to throb.
Chapter Seven:
The Simon Inquisition
My head hurt more than just a little by the morning, and I was aggravated at myself for not being at my best. Thankfully, I’d demonstrated that I was serious about what I was doing all summer long thus far. It didn’t represent me well, and while I liked to let loose, I didn’t like to risk someone questioning my professionalism. A hungover journalist was too cliché, hardly something that would distinguish me from the others the way I wanted.
I was walking down the hallway to Simon’s room, and I glanced over at Gauge’s door when I walked past. It made me smile. I was glad that my aspirin was kicking in and it didn’t hurt to move my face the way it had when I first woke up.
It was time to kick it into gear. I took a drink from my bottle of water, enjoying how its coolness quenched the dryness in my throat, and knocked on Simon’s door, waiting patiently for him to answer.
“Hi,” Simon said, swinging the door open. I looked at his expressive blue eyes and saw that he was well-rested, a bit too alert for my liking. He was a smart guy in a different way than the others were. The business of the industry and all its nuances were something he paid a lot of attention to.
“Good morning,” I said in fake cheeriness. “Ready?”
“Yes. Come on in.”
We sat down at a small table that had two chairs in the corner of the hotel room. I pulled out my recorder, setting it off to the side. I remembered what it was like when I interviewed Hunter and didn’t want to be find out Simon was the same way with a recorder in sight, although it seemed rather unlikely.
“Won’t you capture my voice easier if that’s on the table?” Simon asked, pointing to the side.
“Your call,” I said. “It’ll pick up your voice from there, but some people get nervous about seeing a recorder.”
“I’m not one of those people,” Simon said matter-of-factly. “So, don’t worry.”
“Great.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” There was no way I was going to confess that I was anything less than at my best. Simon stared at me, evaluating if I was being truthful. He reminded me of the first interview I ever had with a celebrity. It had been Bob Mould from Hooskerdoo, a Twin Cities psychedelic band that was popular before I was even born. The guy had these crazy, intense eyes, and he wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable, but he just did. I’d vowed to get over those feelings back then and had for the most part. At the moment, Simon made them come back alive.
“One of your musical inspirations growing up was Tommy Lee. How did he inspire you?”
“His drumming skills were dope, obviously,” Simon began. “However, what I found fascinating was how he managed to make himself stand out without having to be the main guy on stage. He did it so smartly, and I was impressed by that. My personality isn’t one that really needs to be the center of attention. Tommy gave me a blueprint of how I could take my tool—the drums—and make the most of it.”
“You have to be comfortable being the center of attention if you’re going to be front and center. Talk about how Gauge and Hunter do with that.”
“It’s pretty apparent that Hunter has no problems with that at all. Gauge is kind of unique in that way. He’s the lead singer and guitarist, but he’s pretty casual with it all. We’re not the same in many ways, aside from how we both use our instruments to create that small buffer between us and the audience.”
I was enjoying how decisive Simon was with his statements. We hadn’t tapped into anything really revealing yet, but I sensed that he knew how to maximize an interview as much as I did.
“You’re known for being the analytical one, always thinking about something and exploring new ways of making the ProVokaTiv brand stronger. Why?”
“This is a damn great opportunity we’ve been given, that’s why. It’s likely not going to last forever. That means you have to make everything count and not assume you’ll be on the joyride forever.”
“In your opinion, do all of you subscribe to that belief?”
“Doubtful, but we can all do whatever we want with what we get out of this, financially and opportunity-wise.”
“What do you see in your future after ProVokaTiv is done?”
“I see using what I’ve learned and the connections I’ve made to help others.”
“Like being on the Voice, AI, or one of those types of shows?”
“No, nothing like that. It would be cool, but everyone’s vying for those jobs in the industry. I want to seek out new talent and help them develop it, take the right path, that kind of thing.”
“The role of an agent, that’s what it sounds like you’re describing.”
“Maybe, but I was thinking of my own label, something like that. Also a non-profit part to it, something to give back. That’s something I’m interested in.”
I looked at him and smiled, his words reminding me of how Jessie would talk. Shit! That reminded me of something.
“Sorry to veer off course, but before I forget, could I get your autograph for my friend Jessie? She’s been bugging me for it.”
“Okay,” Simon said. “You’re full of surprises.”
What did that mean? “How so?”
“Didn’t picture you as someone who’d request an autograph, even for a friend.”
I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, which I shouldn’t have. “No big deal, if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Simon said. “I’ll get a headshot to you later, okay?”
“Great.”
“By the way,” he said. He got up and didn’t finish his sentence. Boy, I hated when people did that. He walked over to the mini fridge in the room and grabbed a newspaper from the top and carried it over.
“Good night last night,” he said after coming back.
“It was fun,” I said, looking at him oddly.
“So I see.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Just say what’s on your mind and stop your bizarre little innuendos.”
I was feeling defensive and I had no clue why.
“You might find this interesting,” Simon said. He tossed the paper at me. I opened it up and started to sweat.
My eyes blinked, trying to focus on what I saw. Yes, it was me, in a rather provocative position. I was gyrating on Gauge’s knee with my ass bouncing against his crotch. To make it more horrifying, my tongue was hanging out just a bit, and I was biting on the tip of it. Was that something I always did? I was, for one of the few times in my life, speechless.
“Do you think you can write a sound piece about ProVokaTiv if you’re doing things like this with one of the subjects of the story?”
I stood up, feeling the need to justify my behavior, and frowned. “Having some fun last night has nothing to do with the integrity of the article, and to suggest otherwise is ridiculous.”
“I have to make sure,” Simon said. “I’m not judging. What either you or Gauge do isn’t my business, technically.”
“Good. I’m glad you realize that.”
“I’m also looking out for you, Brynn. I don’t want The Rift to think you can’t be taken seriously because of something like this.”
My face dropped. Simon had a point, and his words stung like I’d just had alcohol poured over an open wound.
“It was just a fluke…someone who knew how to take a good picture that would draw attention.”
A smile spread across Simon’s face, and I didn’t know how to read it. If it had been Hunter smiling at me, I would have gotten it.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Simon said. “So, let’s get on with the interview, shall we?”
“Okay,” I said.
We started talking again. My response seemed to appease Simon, but it got me thinking about Gauge and whether the flirty, energetic games we were playing were truly worth it for me. He had nothing to lose, but I had substantially more at risk.
“Did you see the newspaper?” I asked Gauge, watching him from the hallway. He was standing just inside the door to his room. “I did. Simon didn’t hesitate to show me.”
“Me either. I feel like an idiot about it.”
