“Then they must not be listening,” he says, “Your music is great, and we’re wonderful together. Just have faith in us, Ellie. I know I do.”
“I do too,” I tell him, “This is all just a little bit much.”
A cheer goes up from the audience as Pearl’s voice crackles through the speakers. “Welcome to tonight’s first performance!” she says, reluctantly enthusiastic, “I know that you all came to see Ellie & Mitch, but unfortunately there’s been a slight change in program.”
“Unfortunately?” Trent snorts. But I can hear a groan of disappointment coming from the crowd. I don’t know whether to feel flattered that they were excited to see my act or terrified that they’re going to hate what they get instead.
“Instead, I’m proud to introduce a brand new act, featuring some musicians that you already know and love. Please welcome to the stage, Jackson & Parker!”
Trent grabs onto my hand and walks me out onto the stage. As soon as the audience catches sight of us together, they lose their collective mind all at once. A wave of sounds breaks over us as we make our way center stage.
At first, it’s impossible to tell what the tone of that noise is. But once the shock of its intensity has subsided, I can tell that it’s not ire or disappointment these people are showering us with—it’s excitement and delight. They’re happy to see us, after all!
I’m smiling ear to ear as Trent and I take our places before the standing mics. Our setup is simple, our stage unadorned, but the crowd is still going nuts for us. I look out over the audience—it must be three times the size of our first crowd at Hawk and Dove.
I feel the love pouring in from all of them, and have to swallow down happy tears before I grab the mic and say, “Hi everyone.” Another roar of applause forces me to wait a moment before I continue, “Thank you all for coming out to see us tonight. Even if you were expecting a different us. Trent and I just met here at Hawk and Dove and, well...we’ve really hit it off. We’ve been working on some music that we really think you’re going to enjoy.”
A ripple of whispers spreads through the audience. I look over at Trent and he smiles at me, with him at my side, I feel more than brave enough to break into song.
I count Trent off and let out a low, melancholy wail to begin our first number. The crowd is screaming and reaching out for us as we swing our way through the first song, an ode to foiled expectations and the pain of realizing that no one has all the answers.
We fall right back into our place of wonderful dual-solitude, even though there are hundreds of people watching us. It might as well just be the two of us alone in our little rehearsal room, I still feel that close and connected to him.
His fingers draw the most beautiful patterns up out of his instrument, complimenting my songs in a way I never knew was possible. And when he adds his voice to mine in breathtaking harmony, it’s like my words are actually coming to life—taking form in the air that hangs between us and the audience.
I’ve never been a part of anything so beautiful before in my life. Together, we transport the entire crowd beyond this field in Kansas, straight into the world we’re creating with each passing note and word. It’s a true and beautiful collaboration of the purest sort.
As we wrap up the first half of our set, the audience is practically pulsing with ecstatic delight. They can sense that they’re witnessing something more than just the creation of music—they’re watching two people falling in love right before their very eyes. And the fact that one of those people happens to be Trent Parker doesn’t hurt things one bit.
I hold the microphone away from my mouth and lean toward him.
“I think they like us,” I say with a smile.
“They love us,” he replies, wrapping his arm around my waist. He brings his mouth down to mine in one sure, sweet motion. I press my lips firmly against his, throwing my arm up over his shoulder. I can hear the crowd going wild, but I don’t even care. All I care about is the feel of Trent’s lips on mine, the sweet coolness of the breeze off the rain washed grass, the deep pink color of the darkening sunset. I don’t know how this moment could be any more perfect.
Trent takes a step back and slings the guitar off of his body.
I blink at him, not comprehending at first.
“What are you doing?” I ask, “We still have half a set to play.”
“I know,” he says, “I think you should play your song first.”
“What?” I breathe, staring at him.
“Play the song you were telling me about earlier. The one you were working on before you hit the road to come here.”
“You want me to play the guitar?” I hiss, “In front of all these people?”
“Why, yes,” he laughs, “I do. Come on—you’re a real musician now. Time to start taking some risks.”
I wrap my trembling hand around the neck of the guitar and take it from Trent. “This is either the best or worst idea in the history of the world,” I tell him.
“Don't be such a goofball,” he says, rolling his eyes, “Just play your song. I’m right here, Ellie. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
I glance out across the hundreds of upturned faces. “Oh yeah. No need to be afraid at all...”
Approaching the standing mic, I sling the guitar around my neck. The audience is buzzing with curious chatter as I lean into the mic and say, “I’ve been working on an original bit, lately. I’m not much of guitarist, so you’ll have to bear with me, but I wanted to share this with you anyway.”
And as I say it, I realize that it’s true. I do want to share my song with the rest of the world—that’s why I’m here in the first place. Just last week, before I left for the festival, I was practicing this little ditty in my childhood bedroom. Now, it’s about to belong to everyone standing before me. And it’s all thanks to Trent, in the end.
I steal a sidelong glance at him and draw courage from his assured, comfortable gaze.
I draw in a deep breath, arrange my fingers on the guitar, and begin to sing:
Remember me just like this,
Picking feathers and burrs
Off the hem of my summer dress.
Remember how I was that day,
Laying down my bread crumbs,
Lest I go astray,
All for the sake of a man
I don’t even know by name...
A hush falls over the audience as I delve deeper into my song. The chords that I strum out are simple, drawing even more focus to the words themselves. The story I weave is impressionistic, even surreal at times, but the audience stays right there with me through the whole thing.
As I sail into the chorus, I hear Trent’s voice joining mine, adding a gorgeous richness to my melody. He stays with me through the rest of the song, and the audience’s response is deafening. Their adoration carries us all the way through the rest of the set, straight into the encore. We practically float offstage together, hovering on the overwhelming power of their praise.
“That was amazing!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around Trent.
“You were amazing,” he tells me, “Truly.”
“We make a good team, huh?” I laugh.
“The best,” he says, cupping my cheek in his hand, “But we’d better not linger here too long.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Well, there’s this little matter of a rock concert I need to play in about an hour...”
“Oh!” I cry, “We should go...”
“Do you want to come?” he asks.
“Of course I do, are you crazy?” I say, “I’ll watch from the wings like last time.”
“Maybe,” he says, “But I think I have a better idea. Follow me...”
We race off together, plunging into and through the sea of photographers that follows us everywhere. But this time, they don’t scare me. With Trent’s hand in mine and a guitar hanging across my shoulders, I feel truly invincible.
Chapter Twenty
We scramble into the green room of the Hawk and D
ove main stage.
Ellie’s cheeks are beautifully flushed after our mad dash across the festival grounds. I can’t help but mirror her wide, beaming smile. I knew that we’d sound great together, and that the audience would love us, but even I didn’t expect our surprise collaboration to go over that well.
And here I was, worried that playing together might complicate whatever relationship is springing up between us. Turns out, music is just another expression of the fact that we’re a perfect fit.
Ellie throws her arms around my shoulder and brings her lips to mine. I happily accept her kiss, grabbing her by the hips and drawing her tightly against me. We’re the only ones in the little green room tent, and I intend to take advantage of our momentary solitude.
I let a hand wander down Ellie’s round, sumptuous ass, grazing along the back of her shapely leg...she doesn’t stop me. Her teeth close lightly on my bottom lip, and I have to fight to keep myself from laying her out in the grass right then and there. Every time I touch this girl, the need to be close to her only intensifies. There’s no extinguishing my desire for Ellie, but luckily enough, the feeling seems to be mutual.
“Trent,” she says, her breath warm against my neck, “I’ve never felt like this after a show.”
“I should think not,” I grin, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“How did you learn how to improv like that?” she asks, peering up at me with bright eyes. “I felt like we were sharing one mind the whole time we were playing. I mean, I know you’re more experienced with the whole band thing...”
“Honestly Ellie,” I tell her, “That’s the first time I’ve ever felt that on stage, too. That communication, I mean. It’s never been like that with any band I’ve played with—not even with the guys I play with now. I don’t know what to say...”
“Does that make me your first?” she smiles wickedly.
I let out a laugh. “I suppose it does,” I say, kissing down her throat.
She lets out a little moan and presses herself harder up against me. What I wouldn’t give to blow off my concert and whisk her off somewhere a little more private. I imagine us hopping back into that jet and taking off for the Virgin Islands, or Tahiti...or Siberia, for all I care, as long as we can be alone together.
“They really loved us, didn’t they?” Ellie sighs happily.
“The audience? You bet your sweet ass they did,” I say.
“I really felt like they understood me,” she says, “I’ve never experienced that before. Usually, it feels like only snippets of what I mean are actually getting through to the audience. Like, they’re too distracted by the costumes or the duo gimmick to get anything from my songs. But this time...it’s like they were really with us every step of the way. No distractions or anything.”
“Damn,” I say, “Could it be that there were no red suspenders or stupid facial hair onstage to draw focus away from what was actually important?”
She gives me a little punch on the arm, just to keep me in line. “Be nice,” she says, “Mitch will find his way.”
“As long as he doesn’t expect that way to be at your side, it’s fine by me,” I say, “Because the thing is, sweetheart, I’m calling dibs on every single side you’ve got.”
“You’re a creep,” she laughs.
“Tell me about it,” I say, sliding my hands down the curvature of those coveted sides of hers. “Do you have any idea how much of a turn-on making music with you is?”
“Oh, I think I have an idea,” she says, leaning into me. I’m sure she can feel me growing hard against her. “But darlin’...I think you’re forgetting something at the moment.”
“What’s that?” I all but growl.
“You have another show to play. Like...right now,” she reminds me.
“Ah, shit,” I sigh, putting a couple of healthy inches between my stiffening groin and Ellie’s gorgeous body, “You’re right about that. It’s completely unfair that I have to be somewhere other than on top of you right now, though.”
“Be that as it may,” she says, taking a step back, “You do have other people who are counting on you. They may not also double as excellent bedmates, but your band mates still depend on you. Think you’re ready to get out and play another set?”
“Are you going to be back in the wings?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“In that case,” I say, “I’m going to be just fine. Maybe you could even come out and do a little surprise appearance?”
“Yeah, OK,” she laughs.
“I’m serious!” I tell her, “I’ll call you out for one of the songs.”
“You think your band would be OK with that?”
“You’re forgetting something rather crucial,” I say, “Our act is just Trent Parker, not Trent Parker and Friends. At the end of the day, I’m still the one calling the shots.”
“How the hell do you manage to make arrogance so goddamn sexy?” she asks, shaking her head in wonder.
“A lot of practice,” I tell her, “I’ve been looking out for myself for most of my life. This whole ‘partner’ thing is kind of new.”
“For both of us,” she says.
I start to bring my lips to hers, but a raucous cheer distracts us both. Kenny, Rodger, and Rodney come barreling into the tent, whooping and hollering as they always do before a show. Ellie grins at them, and the hint of shyness creeping through her smile makes my heart ache with affection for her. This girl’s going to turn me into a huge softy if I’m not careful—but it’s OK. That’s what take-no-prisoners stage personas are for.
“Trent! Since when do you play music music?” Kenny bellows, slapping me on the back.
“You guys sounded awesome”! Rodger says, “I couldn’t believe that was you up there, Trent.”
“After all these years of hard core screaming, who thought you’d still be able to carry a tune?” Rodney puts in, “You were like...Like fuckin’ Frank Sinatra or something up there!”
“You’re just saying that because he’s the only singer you can name,” I reply.
“Maybe,” Rodney says, “But you get the point, right?”
Kenny turns reverently to Ellie, full of admiration. “And you’re like...scary good.”
“Why thank you,” she laughs.
“I mean...I don’t even know how you could possibly sing that well,” Kenny goes on, “And those words, too? They’re like...poetic and shit.”
“How eloquent,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Look,” Rodney says, squeezing Kenny’s cheek, “You’ve made a fangirl out of Kenny!”
“Hey c'mon,” Kenny grumbles, pulling away from Rodney, “I was just being honest.”
“You guys think the fans will forgive Trent for playing with me?” Ellie asks. She’s struggling to keep her tone light, but I know that she has reservations she’s trying to mask.
“Oh, whatever,” Rodger says, “Screw anyone who’s got a problem with it. People got down on Joni Mitchell when she went all jazzy, but that didn’t change the fact that she’s a musical genius.”
“You like Joni Mitchell?” Ellie asks excitedly.
“Who doesn’t like Joni Mitchell?” Rodger replies.
“Straight men, generally,” Rodney guffaws.
Rodger draws himself up to his full height. “I happen to be confident enough in my masculinity to admit that Joni Mitchell makes me all gooey inside. So suck my balls, asshole.”
Rodney tackles Rodger to the grass, and Kenny falls into the playful wrestling match as well. I shrug my shoulders at Ellie, but she doesn’t seem the least perturbed.
As rambunctious and destructive as my band mates are, she’s having no trouble at all fitting in. I imagine what it would be like to bring Ellie along for a tour. The five of us, cruising around the country in the jet, partying together—she and I sneaking off whenever we please. It’s a damn appealing picture, I must say. But she’s still in school, with a plan of her own. Who knows whether sh
e’d even want to schlep around with us assholes?
“OK, OK, break it up,” I grumble, nudging the guys with my foot, “You may have forgotten, but we have a show to go play.”
“Oh, right,” Kenny says, pulling himself up off the grass, “Ready when you are, chief!”
“We’ve got the set list down,” Rodney says, sitting on the grass like an oversized toddler.
“Let’s do this,” Rodger says.
“Wait a minute, guys,” I say, “I’ve got an idea for something we can try tonight.”
“Ohhhhboy,” Rodger mumbles.
“In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got the rare opportunity here to play a show without having to answer to a manager afterwards,” I say, “We can do whatever we want, play whatever we want, without any fear of having to deal with some bullshit afterwards.”
“You’re right,” Kenny says, “It’s like Christmas morning!”
“So, what should we do?” Rodney asks.
“I think we should forget all the garbage we’ve been writing to sell records,” I say, “We should get back to basics. Play the stuff that earned us a fan base in the first place. I’m talking way back to our first album—when we actually meant it.”
“Yeah!” Kenny cries, all but leaping in the air, “We can play the hard stuff again. Really get people going.”
“That’s what I had in mind,” I say, “Let’s toss out the rule book and start playing the kind of music we want to make, not the kind that’s engineered to get us to the Top 40.”
“Hey, if they don’t like it, you’re the big name,” Rodney says, “It’s no skin off my ass.”
“Nose,” Rodger says.
“Whatever,” Rodney mumbles.
“So, anything goes,” I say, drawing them all in for a pre-show huddle. Ellie tries to give us some space, but I pull her in anyway. She belongs here as much as anyone. With Ellie here, I feel a whole new source of energy opening up to me. It’s a raw, unstoppable power that only comes from knowing you have the support of the people who mean the most to you in the world. I feel like I can do anything, just knowing that she’s here with me.
Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 19
