September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series

by A. R. Rivera

Almost immediately I spotted him in the back lounge, a roped off area behind the bar. He waved when he saw me and held out two fingers. He was talking to someone. A guy in a corduroy jacket with very neat hair had his back to me. Max and Andrew were there, too, but no one else was talking. They were listening to the man in the jacket. All at once, the group collectively smiled and each one shook hands with the man. Jake walked towards me with a business card and wild eyes.

  When he reached me, I spoke first. “I’m worried.” I confessed, even though I knew the club wasn’t the place for this. “I feel you pulling away. And she’s more than pretty, Jake. She’s . . .” I couldn’t even say it.

  He sighed, raking his hands over his head as if he wished he could pull at the hair that used to be there. “I warned you.” He looked around at the people passing and spoke lower. “I can’t have this conversation now.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “When?”

  He looked like he wanted to smile for just a second. Then a flicker of something passed in his eyes. It was gone before I caught it. “Not now.”

  I took a guess. “Are you mad?”

  He nodded and the flash was back. His lips thinned as he muttered, “Fucking furious.”

  “At me?”

  His mouth became one angry line. He said nothing. It was his pointed stare that told me I’d guessed right.

  “But I didn’t do anything!”

  Jakes scoffed, opening his mouth as if to speak. The moments passed as I waited, watching the calm he’d been holding disappear, leaving clear, unveiled rage. Still, he kept quiet.

  “Jake?”

  “Don’t push me, Angel! Not now.”

  “But I don’t—”

  Jakes hands were suddenly gripping my arms. He jerked me so close, our noses were touching. “You made me look like a fucking idiot!” He whispered, but it was so harsh, people passing by stared. Jake dropped his hands and took a deep breath. Sounding much more controlled, he said, “We’ll talk later. Everyone’s running behind. We still have sound check, another interview. The show. I’m too busy for this.”

  I couldn’t let it go. “You know I can’t take it when you’re upset. Tell me. Please. Why are you so mad at me?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t want me to answer that now. Trust me. I need to calm down.”

  “What does that mean?” I reached for him, but he stepped back, turned and walked off.

  He left me standing there.

  Turned away like he hadn’t heard me.

  Like he didn’t care.

  Like I didn’t matter.

  Avery was at my side talking, but I couldn’t hear. The blood pounding in my ears was too loud. I felt myself curling up, wanting to dissolve and vaguely aware of Avery leading me to a small table and sitting me down. I didn’t know what to do. Jake had never been so upset with me and I had no idea why. And that girl—I knew wherever Jake was walking off to, she would be there. She could talk to him and I couldn’t. She could stand beside him while I was shunned. The thought made me sick. He hadn’t given me any answers, only more questions. Was ‘not yet’ an inevitability? Had he changed his mind about me? About us? Was he leaving me behind already?

  A bulging pulse beat up my neck and I knew I had to decompress or I was going to get a migraine. So, I replayed the conversation in my head and changed it, pushed the bad parts away, filled it with the sweet words and promises Jake had made the night before. Over and over. Jake loved me. He promised he would never leave me behind. I was the one he wanted. For life. So, whatever he was mad about was nothing. It had to be nothing, because I didn’t do anything.

  If my reaction to the guitar playing goddess was the reason Jake was so angry, I could understand why he’d been nervous about my seeing her. I hadn’t even spoken to her and I wanted her gone. It didn’t matter how good she was or how much she could bring to the band. As a matter of fact, that was the reason she needed to be eighty-sixed. I didn’t want Jake anywhere near her, because any girl that beautiful had to be a terrible person. She was probably a monumental bitch.

  “Nothing happened.” I told Avery when she returned with a bottle of water and asked, again, about my conversation with Jake. “It was nothing.”

  + + +

  38

  —Avery

  Angel asked me to leave her alone. Not an unusual request for most people, but from her, it was alarming.

  I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I’m fine.”

  A lie.

  She must have told Jake she didn’t want to marry him. And because he’s a controlling, manipulative dick, he was probably mad. He looked mad when he left. I wondered what he’d said, because Angel looked devastated. But she wouldn’t talk to me, so I walked away, too.

  Not long after giving Angel the water bottle I snaked from one of the back rooms, Analog did their sound check. Angel stayed at that back table where I left her, staring at the floor. I thought she’d be all over sound check, considering that girl was right next to Jake. The two talked a few times. I kept my ears up and spied every exchange. There didn’t seem to be anything between them. Every time the girl stepped in to talk to him, he stepped back. Jake looked to Angel several times—checking for her reaction, I guessed. His face kept shifting between irritation and concern—but they didn’t communicate.

  After, Jake reappeared with the rest of the band back in the VIP lounge. It was a roped off section right behind the regular bar. Not just anyone was allowed to use the pool table or sit on one of the scruffy, puffy chairs—or heaven forbid—the long leather couches.

  Max was there, sitting beside Andrew. They looked too cool with their I-just-rolled-out-of-bed hair styles and I’m-too-hip-to-wash-clothes-or-use-an-ashtray attitudes.

  Jake was seated beside his band mates at the end of the couch, directly across from a man in a plaid shirt and bulky framed eyeglasses. There was a tripod beside him. The camera on it was being run by another guy in a Jack Daniels tee and nasty jeans. Jake and Plaid Shirt shook hands, and suddenly everyone sat up a little straighter.

  Angel came up beside me, wrapping an arm over my shoulder. Her eyes cast longingly on Jake. “It’s the last interview.”

  “I think they started, already.” I pressed my shoulder against Angels’. “If you want to watch you better go, or you’ll miss it. I’m getting a drink.”

  Angels’ eyes were soft, but she had one hand pressed against the back of her neck under her hair. Her posture was sort of hunched, her arms set tightly against her sides like she wanted to disappear from the room.

  “You alright?”

  “It’s all so exciting.” She sounded like she was trying not to fall asleep.

  “Are you getting another migraine?”

  Angel didn’t shake her head, but set a hand on her cheek and rested against it. “I’m fine, and I don’t want to miss this.”

  Angel should have been much more than fine. She should have been dancing on a glory cloud. My irritation with Jake was getting stronger by the second.

  “Playing Doctor is about to go on, so the interview will be short.” Angel practically whispered, then headed over towards the rope at the edge of the lounge.

  I snatched an empty stool at the end of the bar, searching the printed t-shirts of patrons milling around the place. There were several people wearing Analog Controller tees. The bartender looked at my wrists, noticing I had no orange wristband that said my ID had been checked at the door. It meant I was not twenty-one and was not supposed to occupy the space at his bar because he couldn’t make money off me.

  “I just want water.”

  He was kind of old with heavy eyelids. “Two dollars.”

  “It’s for me.” A girly voice chirped from behind me.

  When I looked, it was that wannabe band chick in heavy makeup. She took the last few steps to sidle up on the neighboring stool. She had short, black fingernails, four silver rings on each hand, leather bands on her wrists, and no orange bracelet.

 
; “Don’t send minors to the bar for your shit.” Heavy Lids pulled a water bottle from somewhere near his knees and set it in front of her.

  “And a beer, please.”

  She got the beer, too.

  “Thanks, Bernie.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He wiped his hands and moved down the counter to serve someone else.

  I still had no water. Until Band Chick slid her bottle over to me.

  “It’s the planets’ most plentiful resource and he’s charging.” She had a sarcastic tone, but it was subtle.

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean, global warming. The ice caps are melting. The planets drenched in the shit. We should be charging to breathe.”

  I shook my head, remembering that Jake said the girl was from San Diego.

  “I saw you with Jake earlier. Are you two friends?”

  Maybe it was an innocent question, but there was a gleam in her eye that I didn’t like. So, I changed the subject, because screw her. “I saw you playing earlier.” I shifted my gaze and nodded at the band just getting up from the sofa. “Are you in the band?”

  “Yeah. Well, not officially, but yeah. I’m playing tonight,” she pointed across the bar at Jake, “as you know, and he is singing.”

  “I’m Avery.”

  “Angelica,” she tipped her head and I had to do a double-take when I saw the strange color of her eyes.

  “Are you wearing contacts?” I asked, scooting closer. She could not possibly have purple eyes.

  “No.” Her forehead creased.

  “But your eyes are purple.”

  “Oh, no, they’re not. But yeah,” She shook her head and pointed to the purple streaks that framed her face. “They’re really light blue and reflect the color I’m wearing.” She shrugged. “I mostly wear black, though, so I keep the streaks in my hair.”

  I nodded as if this weren’t some freakish anomaly.

  “Nice talking to you, Avery.” She took her beer, her freaky eyes, and her perfect figure into the VIP lounge, following after her soon-to-be band mates as they headed to places no one else could go.

  + + +

  39

  —Angel

  I was determined not to get a headache. There was no reason to get one. I wasn’t stressing out. Well, I was trying not to. And I might have been a little grumpy from travelling and I didn’t sleep so well the night before, but that was nothing new. I’d just gotten over one the weekend before and usually could avoid getting them more than once or twice a month. I was happy. I was engaged! To the most beautiful, amazing man on the planet, no less. Jake was love of my life and I was travelling with him and the worlds’ greatest rock band.

  Ignoring the tightening muscles in my neck and shoulders, I watched the stage in front of me, kept my fingers on the edge. Later, I’d tell Jake to kiss my neck. His touch always loosened me up.

  When the lights went out, the crowds’ volume rose. My tightening muscles dissipated, relaxing as the cheering crowd reached crescendo. Fists rose higher and I could see the shadowy form of my Jake slinking to the mic stand. I reached out and touched his leg.

  The stage lights shot up and the music kicked on, loud and vicious. Sounding so full and harmonious and passionate, it epitomized the struggle that the song spoke about. Jake was beautiful, screaming, grimacing with my torment and delight. It spiked my lust for his illicit mouth. His lean, towering frame, draped in brown and black commanded the audience. The beads of sweat grew as he worked the crowd, touching outstretched hands.

  The moisture poured down his glorious face as he sang and played my favorite songs. I watched, in awe, as he raked his hand over his dripping head. His fingers, my fingers, flicked the drenching wet into the faces of the crowd. He smiled. I smiled.

  The audience was both captive and captivated by the strength of his voice. Pitch perfect, it never cracked or wavered. His finely tuned instrument unleashed its’ resonance through parted lips, shooting through the air, piercing the hearts of everyone privileged enough to hear. Behind him, the bass thrummed in perfect compliment. The guitar wailed in adoring tones with perfectly meshed punk, blues and metal. I think there was even a little Latin in the melody.

  That Angelica chick was good. Really freaking good. Too good to complain about. So good, that the entire band sounded better because of her. Electric and easy to watch as she played, looking out at the crowd like, ‘what’s up, bitches?’ She had so much confidence—she was the shit and she knew it. She was a star.

  She was terrible.

  The drums thrashed in quick succession, carrying the rhythm of my heart; steadily pounding while the crowd chanted along. The culmination of sounds was all for him. My singer. He directed us, took us to our knees and made us dance while our ears burned from the volume. We screamed for more. We wanted to bleed.

  I took a chance, glancing back at the crowds behind us. Avery was laughing and dancing. Everyone’s heads were jerking back and forth, banging in time with the music. Of course they were. How could you not love it? The electricity! The energy of the band was a flood, washing over all of us. We had to move or drown in it.

  I dove into the mosh pit, hanging onto Avery as she marched. Thrashing. Pounding. Arms and legs flew everywhere. Our cadence was violent and addicting. We marched in an endless circle matched only by the eternal beat of the music.

  I kept my eyes trained on Jake, not wanting to miss one second while he thundered in his glory.

  The song ended in a heart rending note that sailed up higher and higher until it broke through the ceiling into the sky. It hummed into nothingness while the band panted. Jake set one hand on his knee, bending down to take a long drink of water.

  I took my spot back in front of the stage. Right in the center. I reached out and touched the cold metal of his mic stand. That caught his attention. He looked down at me with his big, beautiful eyes and smiled the most stunning smile.

  All mine. Solely for me.

  I mouthed two words: “We okay?”

  Jake nodded and kept his eyes trained on me, scraping over my face. “Yeah,” he mouthed back.

  An excited laugh gurgled up from the pit of my stomach. Because my heart could hear his—it was so clear—it was like he was screaming at me. He wanted me there just as much as I wanted to be there. He chose me, still. He might be upset for whatever reason, but it wasn’t enough to come between us.

  The music began again, a tune I knew very well. It was one of my many favorites. I pumped my fist into the air and howled. Right on time, my Jake started singing. It was my song, the music he wrote for me. It sounded so much better than last night. I felt him reading my heart like his favorite book. He knew my every line. I heard my voice carrying over the others and wondered if Jake could, too. My hands floated with the music. My head sailed with the sounds of heaven.

  Most of the people there didn’t know this song. It wasn’t recorded. They played it through twice during sound check, making sure they had the volume levels just right. They played eleven songs—five that would be on the new CD which was going to be recorded once we made it out to Los Angeles.

  The last song was their most popular. It was called Sweet Pain:

  Sweet, sweet pain

  You caught me dancing in your rain

  Soft, sweet lies

  You know I’ll always compromise

  The music lingered, stretching until it disappeared into wild cheers; a seismic enthusiasm that shook the clubs wooden floor. The house lights went out again and the band members cleared the stage. The lights came up once more so crews could break down the instruments. Band Chick was helping. She waved in my direction. Avery and I waved back.

  “What’s she like?”

  “Kinda bitchy. Kinda cool. She smells good, too. Like Lilacs or some shit. You might like her if she wasn’t so fucking perfect. Come on, the merch booth is opening.” We cut across the sticky floor, kicking empty bottles and trash out of the way—people were such pigs—and squeezing between couples to get to the grow
ing line.

  My heart was getting heavy again, thinking about what Jake said. He had no reason to be mad at me. Did he? I had decided at some point without realizing, that whatever it was, I would apologize. I would do whatever I had to do to smooth things over with him.

  There were t-shirts and wrist bands with the bands’ newest logo. It was the silhouette of a winged figure colored in red set against a black shirt and white lettering. White tour tees with the same logo. There were also a few black ones at the far side of the table, old band tees with the banned logo. It was a thick, red plus sign surrounded by a circle of stars. But the Red Cross, who had an ass-load of lawyers, sent the band a strongly worded letter about the similarities of the emblems. So they had to get new shirts.

  Avery and I were stocking up on the old ones which no one seemed to want even though they were cheaper. But we each bought one for this tour, a hard copy of the album we already owned, and one wrist band.

  Band Chick was suddenly behind the table, shoving the tweaker-looking stand-ins—a guitar tech-slash-whatever-you-need guy—out of the way. Band Chick started taking orders. Avery and me were already holding our merchandise, waiting to pay.

  Band Chick looked at me. “Avery, right?”

  “Angel.” I corrected, wondering if she got my name wrong on purpose. And if she did, what did that mean?

  “Angelica.” She nodded. “Let me see what you got.”

  I handed her my stack. She looked through it, checked the shirts. “The old logo . . . in small. Half-off—we have trouble moving that size.”

  I almost gagged on her use of the term ‘we.’

  Once we thanked her, we took our change and made for the car. All our stuff was going in the trunk. Except the CD. The fan girl in me wanted to get it signed and add it to my collection. It must have seemed silly to some people that I acted like such a fan, but at the end of the day, that’s what I was. It didn’t matter that I knew them or that I was going to marry the singer. I loved the band. Their music saved me on a daily basis.