Although he had no idea what Frieda and Ethan had done to Curtis—neither of them would tell him—Curtis had called their relationship off two weeks after the incident, and Lars had decided to let no one else see his work. Until Frieda began to push the issue, that is.
The table grew silent as everyone waited for Frieda to speak her mind.
"Lars, you have to look beyond Curtis and your misconceptions about your work, and I think the right place for you to start is at the club. There won't be too many people there, and I'm sure the vast majority of them would be people you don't know. You've always wanted to share your music with the world. It's been your dream since we were kids. I think this is the time for you to try it out. It's going to be on a much smaller scale than the world. Besides, even if nobody likes it—and I doubt that, especially if you choose to read 'Remembrance'—at least you know you've tried again." Frieda took in a deep breath after she was done.
Lars considered what she had said. Frieda was right, as always. It would be hard, but he was sure he could pull off reading "Remembrance". Besides, if anyone hated it and was vocal about the hatred, he was sure he could count on Frieda to kick his or her butt. She was good at that. "Okay."
*~*~*
As Phil stared at the interior of Phoenix, one word came to mind. Intimate. The place was small, cozy and welcoming. It was the sort of place you came with your lover, stared across the table at each other and watched the way the muted light would play on your lover's face. It brought to mind Terr's humble beginnings and the various gigs they played in small places like this.
Of course, no two places look exactly the same. Phil looked to his right and caught Carlos making eye contact with a girl across the room. Phil shook his head. Looked like Carlos was already planning on getting lucky that night.
He looked to his left and saw Jason, slouching in his seat with his eyes closed. He was probably mentally going through one of the songs they were working on. Everybody in the club was waiting, and Phil was getting very restless. The last act had finished some fifteen minutes before, and the next act seemed to be taking his or her time.
Jason had mentioned that since they would be listening to other songwriters, the band could use the opportunity to scout for someone who could help them write the remaining songs they for the album. It was a good plan. The only problem was that although the writers he had listened to so far had been good, their words lacked something Phil was looking for. He wasn't even sure what it was exactly, but he knew he would recognise it should he hear it.
Suddenly, the MC came to the stand, looking a bit harried. "We're very sorry for the delay ladies and gentlemen. We had some technical difficulties. So as not to waste anymore of your time, we will continue with tonight's show by inviting Larson Graves to give us his presentation."
The crowd clapped politely. From the side of the stage, Phil saw a figure of medium height approach. The light in the room had been dimmed momentarily, so Phil could only guess that the man was slim.
The man took some time to get settled. There was an acoustic guitar player beside him, and the man whispered something to him. The guitarist plucked some strings and started to play a tune with a gothic undertone. A drummer added his beat to the song, and the lights suddenly came on bright.
If I had to choose the memories to remember
It would be the sight of you dancing in the moonlight
If I had to choose a memory to hold onto
It would be the sound of your laughter
If I had to choose a memory to let go of
It would be the sight of your betrayal
If I had to choose something that would make my love turn to hate
It would be you letting me go.
But all I can remember is you holding me
All I can remember is you touching me
All I can remember is you shedding tears for me
All I can remember is what I'll never forget, your love for me.
If I had to choose our best times together
They're bountiful
If I had to say our worst times together
They're unmentionable
If I had to decide if I loved you or hated you
The answer is beyond my reach
If I had to speak of our last days together
The words would desert me.
But all I can remember is you holding me
All I can remember is you touching me
All I can remember is you shedding tears for me
All I can remember is what I'll never forget, your love for me.
The notes of the guitar slowly die out as the song came to an end. As the crowd rose to give a thunderous applause with some shedding tears and others, like Jason, keeping their eyes closed to continue to enjoy the song, Phil found himself grinning. Larson Graves was talented, had depth—the something Phil was looking for—and was just what Terr needed as a songwriter. He was also gorgeous. He had beautiful blue eyes that brought to mind the sky after it had been washed clean by the rain. His blond hair was tousled and made Phil think of sex and waking up in the morning with his hands buried in the locks.
Larson Graves was what Terr needed, and from what Phil could see, Larson was what he needed as well. Now, all he needed to do was get close enough to Larson to determine if he would be as attracted to Phil as Phil was to him.
Phil placed his hands on the seat in order to lift himself up when he felt Jason's touch on his forearm.
"He will still be around," Jason said. "There's no need to hurry. Ken, though, will be here soon to ask you to sing one of Terr's songs to the audience. You can go look for your guy then. Who knows, the singing might make you even more irresistible."
Phil was just about to respond to Jason's words when he saw a tall brown-haired man approaching the table. The man stopped at Jason's side, slapped him on the back and turned to Phil and Carlos. "I hope you're enjoying our opening night at Phoenix? I'm the owner of the club. Name is Ken Warren."
"It's a nice place. Very intimate," Phil replied. Carlos nodded.
Ken smiled and replied. "Yes it is. Intimate is what we were going for. I'm happy to hear that we achieved that. If it would not be too much to ask, would you mind performing for us? Now? I have a guitarist that I'm sure knows all your songs and would be willing to play any of them for you. If you don't feel like playing that is."
"Okay." Phil walked to the stage. He heard the hush that followed as he passed by some tables and some of the patrons recognised him. When he got to the stage, he leaned in to whisper to the guitarist. "Can you play 'Obsession'?"
The man nodded.
"Good." Phil made himself comfortable on the stool and adjusted the microphone. "The title of this song is 'Obsession'. I hope you all enjoy it." He gave a nod, and the guitarist began to play the opening notes of the song. For a moment, Phil closed his eyes and then snapped them open. His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the person he wanted to see.
When I close my eyes, all I see is you
The colour of your eyes to me is the truth
The sound of your laugh gives me light
The touch of your skin fills me with delight
Nothing I want more than to make you mine
If I don't have you, I'll go out of my mind.
You're my obsession, there's no doubt about that
All I want is you, there's no doubt about that
Without you my life is meaningless
Let's go away together to a place no one in this world would see you, but me
I breathe the thought of you in, it brightens my day
It drives me crazy to think of all those unworthy people having your smiles
Your laugh is for me alone to admire
Who else can see what you truly desire?
Turn your gaze to me and see
All that I have to give, which is me
You're my obsession, there's no doubt about that
All I want is you, there's no doub
t about that
Without you my life is meaningless
Let's go away together to a place no one in this would see you, but me
*~*~*
In a distance part of his mind, Lars could hear the applause and the shouts of encore that rang in the room. He could hear it from a distant part of his mind. Everything in his world had been narrowed to the words of the song and the blue-green eyes of the gorgeous man who sang and kept his gaze on him the entire time. The memory still made him shiver. The voice caressed the words, and the intensity of the gaze shook him to the core.
He slowly felt himself return, and the first thing he noticed was the tight grip Frieda had on his arm.
"Ouch. Ease up there. What the hell, Frieda? Are you trying to break my arm or something?"
Frieda said nothing. She merely jumped in place and gave an honest to God squeal. What the hell? Since when did Frieda start acting like a schoolgirl?
"Frieda, is everything all right?"
"You got noticed by … by—" Words failed her, and Lars could understand why. The man was gorgeous.
"Yeah, I noticed. A gorgeous man. You seem to recognise him. What's his name? Is he local? Why have I never seen him around here before?" Lars knew he was asking a lot of questions, but he had to know. It wasn't every day that one got admired by a sex god.
"He's Theophilus Dusylariaro. He's Greek."
"Yeah. Like the olive skin, jet black hair and blue-green eyes didn't give that away."
Frieda glared. "Like I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, he's Greek and the lead singer of Terr. I know you don't really do rock music, but they're huge." Her eyes darkened with sadness momentarily as she continued. "He lost his brother about a year ago in a car crash. From what I read in the papers, they were both in the car, and his brother was the one driving. Phil was pretty shaken about it. The band was set to release an album two months after the accident, but they've been pushing the release date ever since."
Lars took some time to think about Frieda's words. It couldn't have been easy losing a brother. He might not have siblings, but he had Frieda and Ethan, and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if he lost them. Theophilus Dusylariaro seemed to come with extra baggage, and Lars wondered if he was ready to deal with that.
"I wonder though ..."
Lars turned to look at Frieda who now had a contemplative look on her face.
"I need to find a way to gently and sweetly—hopefully I can pull that off—tell Phil about the potential loss of his balls should he ever decide to hurt you."
"I think you're jumping the gun, Frieda. I never told you that I'm interested in Theophilus, and there's no certainty that he likes me enough to date me."
Frieda scoffed at his words. "Lars, we both know that you're lying to yourself, and you'll see. I will turn out to be right about the both of you hooking up. After all, have I ever been wrong?"
"Yes, you have."
"Mention one time."
"Remember that time in ninth grade when you went through all that trouble to convince me that Tom Wilkins really liked me, but it turned out that Tom didn't like me at all?"
Frieda shrugged. "Oh please. That only happened because Tom was a coward and was not willing to accept his gay nature."
"That's probably because he was not actually gay."
"Oh he was gay all right. He just didn't know that he was gay."
"And how do you know that?"
"It's simple really. He spent all his time staring at your butt."
Lars shook his head. "And why where you the only one who noticed him staring, Frieda?"
"Another simple answer. Others had a life. I didn't." At those words, Lars and Frieda burst into laughter.
They were still laughing when Lars noticed Theophilus approaching with two other men. Shit! Theophilus was gorgeous. He was tall with broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong legs that looked amazing in jeans, and Lars was certain that Theophilus' butt would look amazing as well. It had to. Everything about him was gorgeous.
Theophilus walked like he owned the room, and from what Frieda said, he probably had enough money to actually do so—what with him being a member of a famous band and all. The confidence was intoxicating.
The man to Theophilus' right had a somewhat Hispanic look while the man to his left looked like he had a little bit of different ancestries thrown together. There was some French, definitely some Italian and the dark sultry looks that screamed of some South American heritage thrown in. The mixture was stunning, though the man, as far as Lars was concerned, did not look as good as Theophilus. But then, Lars knew that his attraction made him biased.
If these were the band members of Terr, then no wonder they were so popular. Women would love their looks; men would appreciate the confidence and charisma that they possessed.
The man on the right stared intently at Lars. "That was a great song you performed up there. Is it yours?"
"Yes and thank you. I enjoyed writing it. I think I enjoy others appreciating it more though."
"Is that the first time you've performed it for others? Sorry, I don't mean to pry," the man on the left said with a self-deprecating smile that Lars knew a lot of women would call cute.
"There's no problem with prying. It's my prerogative to answer your question if I choose to. And in answer to your question, yes, it's the first time others have heard my songs. The only ones who have listened them until now are my friends and my family."
"Is that the only song you've ever written? You wrote the music for it as well, right?" The other man asked, taking the baton from the Spaniard.
"No. I have other songs I've written. And yes. I write the music to my songs as well."
The man nodded and tapped his lower lip gently. "Good. We have a proposition for you, and I want you to take your time to think about it. Terr, our band, is made up of me—my name is Jason by the way—the bassist; Carlos, who is the drummer—" the Hispanic one, Carlos, waved his hand in recognition. "—and our lead singer and guitarist, Phil."
Lars ran the abbreviated name through his mind and shook his head internally. Nope. Theophilus captured the man's essence better than Phil did.
Lars was about to sigh over the name again when something Jason said caught his attention. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Terr needs a songwriter to complete our next album and perhaps to help us with subsequent albums. You're brilliant as a songwriter, and your style should gel well with what we have already. And we'd like you to work with us on a few songs."
Lars could only blink. Was he in the Twilight Zone? What the hell? It was only in books and movies that things like this happen. How the hell does someone get a break like this out of thin air? It was unbelievable.
Just as he opened his mouth to thank Jason for the offer and respectfully decline, he felt Frieda tighten her hold on his arm. When had she gotten a hold of his arm, and why didn't he notice then?
What's more, he knew Frieda knew what was going through his mind, and the pressure she was applying to his arm at the moment was to remind him of the stupid promise he had made to her when they were on their way to the club. He had promised her that he would ride the wave and go along with any opportunity that came his way that night. Of course, when he had made that promise, he had thought of nothing beyond the possibility of Phoenix's owner asking him to come again for another presentation.
It hadn't occurred to him that he would be going along with a rock band's request for a songwriter! But a promise was a promise and who knew, he might end up having some fun, and he had nothing to lose. Besides, it would put him in close proximity to Theophilus. The way Lars saw it, he had everything to gain. "How many songs are left for you to complete the album?"
"We'll need your help with three more songs, then that would be it." Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, which he handed over to Lars. "This has all our numbers. Call any one of us, and we'll set a date."
Lars accepted the card and slipped it int
o the pocket of his jeans. "All right."
His words seem to snap Theophilus back to the moment because he smiled, and Lars added one more attribute to the list that made Theophilus irresistible. "Good to hear. Now that we've sorted that out, I have a request. Have dinner with me." The voice even sounded better when it was low and trying to talk about intimate matters. Shit! Lars could already imagine Theophilus saying "Good morning" with that voice after a long night with tons of sex. It would be incredible.
He opened his mouth to reply when Frieda beat him to it. "Hold on a minute there. I need to know your intentions towards Lars before he can consider going out with you."
Lars noticed that Theophilus was surprised at the intrusion, and it was reflected in his voice as he asked, "Who are you, and why do you want to know?"
Frieda, though, answered without batting an eyelash. "I'm his best friend, confidant, protector and all-around cheerleader, and it is my right to know because if you ever hurt him, you'll answer to me."
Theophilus burst into laughter at that, and Lars could not help but admire the sound. Damn! Must everything about the man be so perfect?
Frieda, who never took kindly to anyone laughing at her, immediately snapped. "Why are you laughing? You doubt my words because I'm a girl? I might have tits and no dick, but trust me, laying you low on the ground would be as easy for me as saying 'Hail Mary' is to a catechist."
Lars watched Theophilus suppress a smile and saw the light of respect in his eyes as he nodded and replied. "I will behave myself. You can trust me that I will not hurt Larson."
Lars shivered at the way Theophilus' tongue curled around his name. Damn! Theophilus could even turn his name from something that reminded him of his parents to something sensual. That, however, did not give the idiot the right to make decisions with Frieda when he had not even agreed to date him yet.
Lars raised his eyes to Theophilus and glared. "If you had an iota of sense in that thick head of yours, you would know that the man you seem to have started dating in your head needs to say yes to said date first before you start making assumptions and talking about your life together with said person's best friend." With those words, Lars stormed out.
Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 31
