by Julie Adams
I message several of them from the theatre's own social media pages and then email managers of others. It’s nearly a copy and paste message I've created, somewhere between, You want to play for us, and, please have mercy on our tiny indie venue.
An alert pops up on my screen. I open it and I'm directed to our social media feed. Someone has directly messaged us. I close my eyes, please, please, please, let this be a band.
The message is from a local and it's all in French. I click to have it translated and read it through.
Guitargod999: Is it true you're haunted? That someone killed himself there after being tormented by spirits?
All my hopes plummet. I would have settled for a mediocre local band. But this? Not today.
Minimizing the chat until I can ask Brent and Beth how I should reply-if at all- I can see that we've gotten over 200 likes in two days and 400 new followers.
I blink hard not trusting my vision. The number remains the same. I refresh the page. It has gone up three.
Doing a quick search for the theater I find a local article that's been picked up by some paranormal site. Skimming the article it seems to be about the theater and its torrid past and present with the recent death of the construction worker. Photos are posted of the inside, before Brent had bought it. They were good shots, romanticizing the spooky abandoned space with its opulent decor falling into ruin and disrepair.
It links back to our social networking site. It isn't a band, but the theater's getting some kind of buzz, and we've desperately needed it.
I go to Brent's office and toss the tablet down in front of him. "Your good news," I point to the screen.
He takes the tablet and Beth leans in over his shoulder to read. I watch as the furrow between his brows softens with each paragraph.
He looks up at me and before he can speak I interrupt, "Look at our Facebook." He taps the screen going into the other tab.
"Holy shit," Beth breathes reading the numbers.
"Good news, right?" I ask feeling a rush of excitement.
"It is." Brent says. "We have to strike while the iron is hot. If not, in a few days we'll be nothing but a quirky article that no one cares about."
"We need to update our feed. Give them something to keep talking about and visiting the page." Beth says pursing her lips as she thinks. "Not the inside of the theater. It should be a surprise when it's finished, it'll lend to the mystique in a way that seeing a dirty construction site can't."
"We don't have any pictures of ghosts." I say. "Maybe, some old archive pictures of the place. Do you think we could dig some up?"
"Yes!" Beth chirps with a huge grin. "Come on, Lily, we're going on a little adventure." She says grabbing our coats and linking her arm through mine.
"Where are we going?" I ask trying to keep up.
"The attic. Well, it's actually storage, but it's all the way at the top."
"I didn't know there was an attic," I thought I had explored every inch of this place.
"It's hidden. We found it on the blueprints. Took forever to find the hidden door."
"This place is starting to sound like something out of a theme park."
"This place was supposed to be like one big performance, doors hidden so that wallpaper can be displayed. Chandeliers as big as houses to reflect light and make the drunks think they were diamonds."
"How many secret passages are there?"
"A few as far as the blueprints show. But really who knows, I keep telling Brent that we should take a night and go searching, but you know how he is. He's so focused on getting this place done nothing else matters. Eventually though he might take me up on my offer." She shrugs on her coat. I do the same.
I start thinking of the places people could hide. Of how they could get in. "Isn't he worried about someone breaking in? Like that construction worker?"
"These secret passages are long forgotten. And the construction worker jimmied the lock on the side door, he didn't use some passageway." Beth explains with a laugh. "This place isn't really haunted or cursed, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
I wasn't thinking about those kinds of ghosts and devils, I was thinking of the very real ones who might want to get in.
Beth looks at me and smiles softly. Her comforting mom look is just one of the many reasons I know she'll be great when they have kids. "If there's any passages they're long forgotten. The theater's been empty for decades."
I thought of the photos online, of the people who explored the place. But they weren't really my concern were they? Their hands didn't reach out and scratch at me in the night.
Beth finds the hidden door after a bit of feeling around. She has to give it a good shove with her shoulder for the latch to give. "See, nearly aged shut. The rest-if there are any- are probably sealed up for good."
She's right. I'm not afraid of intruders, I'm afraid of just one person and there's an ocean between us. I'm safe, I tell myself just like the books say to do.
The stairs creak and the wood shifts beneath our weight as we trek up into the dark attic.
Beth turns a dial and long hanging lights flicker to life with a buzzing noise. The attic is massive. Boxes and furniture crowded in. Old dressing screens set up haphazardly dividing the space.
"Wow," I breathe looking around.
"Welcome to 200 years of history- and by history, I mean junk."
"Have you had any of this appraised?"
Beth laughs, "No, most of its scratched, torn or previously infested."
"Shame." I say running my hand over a smooth but dusty footboard.
"Imagine the stories they could tell."
Beth nods, going to one end of the attic. I follow her around the dividers and see that it had once been an office space of sorts. An old desk piled with boxes, a row of old metal filing cabinets along the wall.
"I think one of the previous owners lived up here." She says opening a drawer and pulling out a thick album and box. "We found some old photos up here that someone was trying to save. Some are early Victorian and going all the way up to twenty or thirty years ago, when the theater was last open." She opens the album first and flips through a few pages. The pictures are in chronological order. The old theater owners in their dandy victorian garb standing in front of the theater, its facade all shining and new.
"Pick out a few that are your favorite and we'll post them over the next few weeks." She slides the wooden box over to me. It's neatly carved and has a painted image on top.
The first photo on top confirms my suspicion. A women in a skintight jumpsuit and dark feathered hair, her cleavage spilling over the neckline. She's smiling widely her head thrown back and a hand on her hip.
"Check out this blast from the past." I turn the picture over and show Beth.
"Ah, from the days when this place was a cabaret."
"Like Liza or like topless?" I ask going through a few more photos they all feature the same woman, some of her with other women clearly in stage makeup.
"Both,” Beth replies. "It was a genuine performance, but it was done in lingerie and topless."
"And here I thought it had been just a boring old theater putting on ballets and Shakespearean plays."
"It's Paree," She draws out in her accent and a flip of her head playing the stereotype. "We're full of sex and scandal. Both of which you should take advantage of."
I laugh. "No more scandal and mystery for me. I've had enough of that for a lifetime."
Beth gathers up a stack of photos and returns the album to its drawer. "But you didn't exclude sex," She grins.
"No, eventually I might like to have that again. Eventually."
"What they say about French men is true. Just throwing that out there."
"Maybe, someday, I'll give one a try." I make a face and she giggles.
The photo we all agreed on is of the first owners. We left the more recent ones in the attic file cabinet, choosing something more enigmatic a
nd ghostly.
"Now if only we can keep the interest up until we announce our opening band." Brent says looking away from his phone.
If I didn't feel the pressure before, I definitely am now.
Six
Nathan
It had been a week since I saw Lily at the club. I kept waiting for her call but it never came. I wasn't used to being turned down.
I check the theater's social media wondering if maybe I could contact her there. I'm really not sure what I'd say. What doesn't make me sound like a complete creep.
Let it go, if she doesn't want your help, she doesn't want your help. She doesn't want you. That was easy to say. I had tried fucking two different women this week and nothing had happened. I had been dead below the waist. Worse, I couldn't even find the enthusiasm to get past the small talk.
"Dammit!" I grumble. I have to point blank ask her. Then I will know for sure. And if she won't come to me I'll have to go to her.
I grab my jacket and phone and leave my office. I wasn't getting any work done anyway. "Caroline I'll be out until after lunch, take care of the place while I'm gone?"
She smiles. "Of course." She gives me a little salute. "Should I call a car for you?"
"Yes, nothing fancy, just a cab." Caroline shoots me a disapproving look. I'm the wealthy CEO, I should be chauffeured in town cars and limousines in her opinion. But I liked cabs, it reminds me of the good times with my mother after she had money and could afford to whisk me away for an afternoon of food and parks. Those times when she was relaxed and not exhausted from working.
It didn't take long to get through the Paris streets. Or at least it didn't seem that way. I was busy thinking about how to approach Lily now that I was minutes away from seeing her. This was a half-assed idea and a bad half-assed idea at that. I should have just called and said there was a band interested. It would have been a lie, but it was better than showing up like this.
Too late now. We're in front of the theater.
If I had been able to have sex with one of those women, maybe I would be thinking with my brain instead of my dick. But from the handful of dreams I've had this week, it's clear who I'm craving and who can get me as hard as a statue.
I'm not going to turn tail now. That would only damage my ego more than my sad cock already is.
The theater's different during the day. The interior I know quickly changing beneath the tools of construction workers and designers.
A short haired woman is looking at a wall in the lobby. Her head tilted. She's the woman who showed up with Lily's brother the night I met her.
"Excuse me," I say. She spins quickly, I've startled her. Recovering, she smiles looking me over curiously.
"How can I help you?" She's as French as me.
"I think we saw each other the night of the… Incident," she nods. "I'm looking for Lily, is she here?"
"Yes, come on, I'll take you to her." I follow, noting that she seems giddy, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she walks. Not even a little suspect at my showing up here. Then again, she knows Lily, knows why a man might show up to see her.
I take in the place with the lights on. It's coming together. The repairs contrasting with the broken run down pieces. Newly blank walls reconstructed and ready for new life. I can see what they're going for, rock meets old Paris. It's like Versailles populated by rock stars. Slowly they are washing away the tacky past renovations.
As we walk up the stairs to the second floor the woman looks over her shoulder at me. "I'm Beth, Lily's soon-to-be sister in law,"
"Nathan Erickson." Before she can ask me any more questions I speak. "It looks really good in here,"
Beth glances around seeing all that still needs to be done. "It's been a task, one that still isn't close to being finished. But thank you, it's nice hearing that."
We round a corner, the dim lights disappearing, drowned by the light of a flood lamp. Lily's standing on a step ladder a mask over her nose and mouth, her shirt riding up showing her bare lower stomach as she reaches and pulls back a layer of wallpaper.
"Great! You're already on the second layer," Beth cheers.
Lily looks down and in the glaring light, I can see her surprise at the sight of me.
"You have a visitor," Beth states the obvious and turns to leave. "Nice meeting you."
"You, too."
I focus back on Lily, she's staring at me. All I can see are her eyes above the mask and she doesn't look exactly pleased to see me. It makes me nervous.
Stepping down from the ladder she pulls off her mask. "What are you doing here?" She doesn't sound pissed. One point in my favor even though right now I'm feeling like a complete stalker.
"I was in the neighborhood thought I'd extend my offer again." Lame. It sounds contrived to my own ears. But at least I sound confident.
"Karma still got you by the ass?" She grins. Oh, she has no idea just how bad karma has me right now, and not by the ass.
"Something like that."
She shakes out her shirt, sending motes floating into the air. "Listen, I appreciate the offer, I do. And I really thought about calling you, but, I don't want to be indebted to anyone right now." She purses her lips. "At least not to enigmatic Frenchmen." She laughs, embarrassed by her own words.
My nervousness erased.
She looks up at me, her soft eyes shy. I feel my cock jerk in my slacks. Because, why not? This is a perfectly appropriate time for that.
Think quick. I rack my brain, making this any other business meeting.
"What about a barter?" She takes a few steps closer to me, leaving the bright floodlight.
She eyes me cautiously. " Depends on what we're bartering," she says seriously, even a little rough. Not leaving any question that her body will not be on the table. Not that I expected it to be. Not with a woman like her. Her expression and tone make it hard to believe she had been screaming for help just days before. I liked the contrast, both damsel and heroine.
"You've been doing scouting for the theater, you've heard countless bands. I'm assuming both local unsigned bands and big label bands, right?" She nods. "I could use some help finding some new unsigned artists for my label. I have my hands full right now and my talent scouts aren't finding me anything."
"I still have to be here every day. As you can see I'm kind of a do-whatever-needs-to-be-done employee."
"Of course, you just do what you've been doing and if you come across talent let me know. I'll give you my e-mail and we can meet up, maybe, twice a week?"
She turns away from me to stare at the wall she's dismantling. Carefully thinking it over. I like that, it seems like she actually cares where she ends up, cares what this choice could mean. Cares if I'm using her or if she's using me.
"And if I do this you'll help me book a big name band? Someone who will pack this place with fans?" Her gaze is shrewd.
"I'll get you a big name band to open this place with a bang."
She looks at me, apprehensive. Then something in her face changes to steely resolve. "Deal." She sticks out her hand and I take it. Warmth flooding up my arm, tantalized by just her touch.
"We'll meet at the cafe where we had breakfast, how does that work for you?" I ask. Elated that she's finally agreed. Maybe if I see her enough I can get her out of my system.
"Works fine for me."
"Let me know what bands you might want for opening night, the sooner I know the faster I can get to work on my end."
She gives me a little O.K. sign with her fingers and then grins at the silliness of it. "I'll let you know."
I take one last look at her. Her dark hair piled haphazardly on top of her head and I want to let it down. To strip her of the loose clothing and run my hands over her body until she's begging me to penetrate her.
I have to go before she sees what she's doing to me. For better or worse I'm rock hard. And it's all because of Lily.
Seven
Lil
y
I wasn't completely sure of my decision, agreeing to work with Nathan was like a recovering alcoholic working in a bar. He was so tempting and it could potentially destroy all the process I have made.
Then I thought of Brent and Beth and how badly they needed the theater to succeed. And I thought of how little I had accomplished thus far.
No bands were biting. No one wanted to take the chance in booking a theater that was still under construction. At least not any band worth having opening night. We didn't just need talent we needed fan base, too. That made things harder.
It had been a week since we made our arrangement. I told Beth and Brent that we were helping each other out, I would help him discover new talent and he would help me get in touch with relevant artists. Both were happy about it, I guess I was spending too much time lurking around the theater. I think the words Brent used was, “Phantom of the theater.” The ass.
Nathan and I had sent several emails back and forth. I had discovered a few artists that were getting some buzz and had a good sound but he didn't seem to really like any of them.
Today we're going to meet at the little cafe. I'm not sure why he wants to meet in person. All of the work I'm doing for him can be done online. But maybe he's just one of those people who like to meet face to face and touch base.
Touching base makes me think of touching other things. Wondering what he looks like out of his tailored clothes. I'm betting Greek god proportions, aside from the wee penis. I've seen enough art to guess they were growers, not showers.
Maybe it's because I'm turning into a walking ball of hormones, or maybe it was the lurking phantom comment that made me put a little more effort into my appearance. Fitted jeans that make my ass look amazing, beige suede boots and a gray v-neck sweater. I was tempted to add a push-up bra but stopped myself. This wasn't a date and it was the middle of the afternoon. Sex-starved-sex-kitten would have to rein it in.
