One Night With a Rock Star

by Chana Keefer

  “Ya got some on your shirt.” I pointed toward his collar. When he instinctively looked down, my chocolate-coated finger was there to meet his nose leaving a satisfying smudge on the end. “So sorry.”

  Without missing a beat he skewered a nice, fat strawberry, wiped the end of his nose with it and offered it to me.

  I laughed. “I’ll pass.”

  “You broke the rules,” he accused. “You touched me.”

  “The aforementioned rules apply to the party of the first part. The party of the second part is under no such legal constraints.” I grinned at him. “My uncle’s a lawyer.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is, since no agreement protects my interests, I am completely at your mercy?”

  “That would be correct.”

  He pondered that fact for a moment. “Excellent. You won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

  A chocolate-gooed orange section was in my hand and his grinning face was the perfect target. “You’d better be glad there’s a white couch behind you.” I took a bite that caused a sticky river to run down my chin. Smooth.

  He reached for another silver dish filled with moist warm cloths and turned to me. “By your leave.” He swiped at my chin and sticky hands then cleaned his own. “Hey there little filly, how’s about a two-step?”

  He was absolutely irresistible leaning over me with an imaginary “chaw” in his lip. Enticing images flitted through my mind at the speed of light. Every one concluding with more of what had gone on in the elevator. What to do?

  I looked him over critically. “You don’t have what it takes. A cowboy wouldn’t be caught dead in an un-tucked shirt and loose pants. Not even a pocket for a proper tobacco can. And, I’m sorry, but you’d be laughed right off the dance floor in your bare feet.” I shook my head sorrowfully, “You’re hopeless.”

  Sky dropped his hand and sat back on his heels with a calculating gaze. I got the uncomfortable impression he was reading my mind. Finally, he plopped back on the floor.

  “Okay then, let’s re-open that bottle.”

  “My ‘time in a bottle?’ Oh no.” I shook my head, “it’s your turn.” I leaned back and adopted his “my wish is your command” attitude.

  He sighed and put his hands behind his head. With a quick frown he rose, grabbed a couple of fat pillows off the couch and came back, handing one to me. I hugged it where I sat as he stretched out on the floor.

  “My ‘time in a bottle,’” he mused. “Alright,” he turned to prop his head with one hand. “I’m about twenty-five, on a much-needed holiday in the Derbyshire countryside. I hike through fields full of sheep to a small wood where I sit with my back against a tree, listening to the wind through the needles of the evergreens. A soft rain begins to fall and I remain for the better part of an hour. I was soaked to the skin, but it was worth it.”

  I could see him so clearly leaning against that tree. I gave a deep sigh of contentment and cuddled down into the floor, laying my head on the pillow. “Next.” I snapped my fingers.

  “Let’s see,” he chuckled before speaking, “In seventh year I entered a talent show at school. I had been playing guitar for about four years but had never had the nerve to play for anyone besides family, so I was quite nervous. I stood backstage thinking I was going to be sick. One young lady who played the violin was reduced to tears and ran off the stage. Not very encouraging. So, my name was called and I carried my stool into the spotlight, struggled with my guitar strap, and took a seat.”

  He paused a moment. “It’s hard to explain what happened next. I played the first fumbling chords and heard a couple boos from the crowd. I’m certain I was horrid—even broke a string in my intensity and the audience laughed as it twanged and curled up the neck of the guitar. Nevertheless, it was as if I had been there before, in front of a crowd with a guitar in my hands. There was such a sense of belonging and satisfaction. I strummed the last chord, they clapped politely and I left the stage. I didn’t win, that honor was taken by a young ventriloquist with a stuffed parrot.” He gave a wry smile. “But somehow, I knew I’d found my niche.”

  “That must be wonderful, to find what you’re meant to do.”

  He was quiet a moment and as the fire crackled and the rainfall pummeled down with renewed fury, the concert’s soda-chucking incident came to mind. I guess finding your niche doesn’t ensure smooth sailing.

  His voice broke into my thoughts, “What are you thinking?”

  I didn’t want to spoil the mood, “I was just giving you time to think of another.”

  “Alright.” He gazed up to the ceiling as if he stored his memories there. When he spoke, his voice blended with the moaning wind and rolling thunder. “I’m performing and step off the stage to allow one of the other musicians his moment in the spotlight. In the middle of his solo, I pull back a curtain to reveal a breathtaking young woman in a long, velvet dress with cascading raven hair and large, frightened eyes.”

  I had experienced his poetic command of the English language for so many years through his music. I now found myself entranced by the melody of his voice and the flow of beautiful images that wrapped me in warmth from head to toe. Come to think of it, he could have recited the alphabet with that voice and I would have been in the palm of his hand.

  He fixed his eyes on mine, holding me captive without lifting a finger, as he continued.

  “I reach to take her hand and lead her out into the lights. The music moves us and I watch, amazed, as she blooms before my eyes. I lead a girl from the shadows. With one dance, I see her step across that mystical line to a woman.”

  He stopped and my heart pounded harder. I lay still, wrapped in the warmth of his gaze. I struggled to breathe, much less have a rational thought. His eyes were willing me toward him, an irresistible force that brought to mind the Millennium Falcon struggling against the Death Star’s tractor beam. I was having “Star Wars” analogies at a time like this?

  I hugged the pillow tighter as if it was a shield. It wasn’t working. I was out of ideas, so I buried my face in it.

  I’m not sure how long I laid there, mind buzzing with the ramifications of my next move.

  Finally, standing shakily to my feet, still clutching the pillow, I took two extremely difficult steps back.

  “I think I should go… now.” My voice was unsteady despite my best efforts.

  I could see the disappointment in his face. He looked into my eyes as if giving me time to reconsider. I searched my mind for reasons to resist. There was a vague recollection of a vow—a pesky fact when images of throwing myself at him assaulted my mind. After all, this particular opportunity would never come again, right?

  Ouch. That thought was enough to spur me to action.

  I turned, pillow and all, scuttled to the gleaming sanctuary of the lavatory, and shut the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Crossing to the huge tub, I slid to the floor with my back against its cool surface. How could a night turn from magic to misery in the blink of an eye? I was exhausted. Adding up all the emotions of this evening and all the events that had taxed my stamina, this last challenge had outweighed them all. I had to hold together for just a little longer. No drama, just exit the man’s life with as little hassle as possible.

  There was a tap on the door. Sky asked if he could come in.

  “Sure.” I faked bravery I didn’t feel.

  He came and sat beside me, mimicking my position; knees up, arms clutched tightly around. “I’m sorry to put you in a position you’re not ready for.”

  Somehow the words came tumbling out before I knew what I was saying. “When would I ever be ready for this position? I’m sharing these amazing moments with a man I’ll never see again. How could I be ready for that?”

  I hadn’t meant to speak so plainly, but at least there could be no misunderstanding. The issue was clear and stood like a mountain between us.

  “We’ll go now,” he said and stood to leave. He turned at the door to lean against th
e frame, appearing as tired as I felt. “For the record, Esther. You really could have trusted me not to let things get out of control.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked wearily, “We make out awhile then I congratulate myself that I got more than an autograph?” He winced at my words. “For me, things are already out of control.”

  I stood and gathered my dress and shredded stockings.

  Sky returned with a pair of woven, slip on sandals. “Take these,” he handed them to me, “It’s better than nothing.”

  I was grateful. Maybe I was leaving with my emotions in tatters, but at least I would have the dignity of shoes.

  As we headed toward the door he took the dress from my arms and dropped it in the valet bag he carried. We were silent as we entered the elevator and the doors closed, hiding the view of the entrance to his room. Part of me still wanted to take his hand and go back, not giving a thought to doing the right thing. The right thing was wearing thin.

  Sky reached to push the lobby button but his hand took a sharp turn toward the button marked “Hold.” He turned and, with one step stood with both hands cupping my face. I looked up into his eyes, knowing I had no strength left to fight should he turn predatory.

  “The contract is off.”

  I waited for his next move while his hands seemed to burn my skin. His eyes roved over my face as if etching every detail in his mind. “Time in a bottle,” he whispered. Finally, he pulled me toward him, brushing his lips lightly against my forehead and held me close.

  I felt the steel rod that had been holding me together the entire night melt away as I leaned into his chest drinking in the scent of him, the feel of his soft shirt against my cheek, the strength of his arms.

  Finally he pulled back to look into my face once more. He gave a reassuring smile before turning to push the button with a large “L.”

  “Frank said we should meet him in back. He’s seen photographers hanging around.” Sky took me in the opposite direction when we reached the ground floor. A couple of long hallways later, we emerged once again to a light rain and the sleek car parked at the curb.

  “Where to?” he asked as we settled again behind the tinted glass.

  I leaned my head against the cushioned seat. “I think I’ll pick up my car at the dorm and head to the ranch.”

  “We could take you there.“

  “It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

  But Sky was insistent, and when we both realized it was after three in the morning, I agreed. I just hoped Mom and Dad wouldn’t wake to wonder why the mafia was pulling up in front of the house at an ungodly hour.

  The directions were simple, so we settled in for the ride with Sky adding, “Take your time,” under his breath before sliding the divider into place. Inwardly, I was begging the same favor. I knew the inevitable moment was quickly approaching and, now that I knew the countdown, I wanted nothing more than for each second to pass as slowly as possible.

  Sky prepared water for each of us, then dimmed the lights.

  With the push of another button we were looking up through the roof of the car to the stars peeping through breaking clouds.

  “You’re very good at that,” I commented, “adding the touch to make a situation just right.”

  “It has a down-side though. My friends call it ‘perfectionism.’ I’m always seeking that special something to make anything…” he searched for words again, “transcend the mundane. I used to drive Mum crazy when she cooked because I would come in the kitchen, taste what was in the pot, and proceed to rummage through the spices to add that one elusive substance that would turn, say, ordinary soup, into gourmet.”

  “I’ve noticed that in your music. All the right elements are there, then you add that special something that makes it… ” I searched for the right word, “captivating.”

  “That description can apply to more than just music, Esther.” Warmth crept to the tips of my ears.

  Why couldn’t I be cool and collected, receiving his attentions with calm assurance? Instead, my hands shook and I had to grip the glass with both hands to take a sip.

  “What’s in your future, Miss Collins?”

  “Beyond answering the call of my pillow?” I made a conscious effort to at least appear relaxed, kicking off the sandals and tucking my feet up in the seat beside me as I pulled my hands into the long, soft sleeves of the sweatshirt.

  “In five years… ten… what does the future hold?”

  Usually when a young man asked that question and I answered truthfully, I could rest assured there would not be a follow-up date. In high school and college, deep convictions and goals had either bored or intimidated. But, this particular relationship was doomed anyway so, no need to hold back.

  With a deep breath, I plunged into some of my secret goals and dreams. When I was a child, missionaries had come to our church. The young husband and wife ran an orphanage in India and showed slides of their humble building including several photos of their residents, children who had been taken, starving, off the streets. Ever since, I had wanted to somehow be a part of “saving the world.” There were nights as a child I cried because I knew so many children were going to sleep hungry, without a warm bed and parents to protect them. As I’d gotten older, my interest in journalism had been fueled by that desire to be a voice for those who couldn’t help themselves. I hesitated. “And I guess, like all girls, I want a great marriage and kids of my own someday… with the right person, at the right time.”

  There. I braced myself for the look of boredom, the undeniable chill to the warm chemistry. Silence. Uh oh—the most uncomfortable reaction of all. I sat up and reached for a lime slice from the ice-filled bar for my water.

  As expected, Sky pulled away as well. I stole a peek at his profile as he stared out at the passing darkness.

  A long moment passed. Why did I have to be so honest when a simple evasive answer would have sufficed? I sipped the water. “So, what do you want to be when you grow up, or have you already fulfilled all your dreams?” I asked to fill the awkward silence.

  “Hmmm?” Sky turned from the window as if his thoughts had been on Mars. I repeated the question as he ran his fingers through his hair and reached to pour a glass of wine. Finally, he gave a mirthless chuckle. “If we’re supposed to get wiser in order to grow up, I must be heading in the wrong direction.” He leaned into the corner of the car and faced me, his posture confrontational.

  “Believe it or not, I too wanted to save the world.” He focused on the dark liquid in his hand. “Somehow I got distracted with having to save myself. The idea of being some kind of hero became a bit… hypocritical.”

  “That’s absolutely ridiculous!” The words poured from my mouth. “You’re in the perfect position to do so much! Do you honestly think a starving child will demand to see your resume? ‘Excuse me sir, I can’t accept this food because you made a mistake?’”

  My tirade came to an end with another awkward silence. Me and my big mouth. I glimpsed a slight smile on Sky’s face. “So you’ve got it all figured out. Simply do good and get over your mistakes.” He leaned forward, those eyes once again searching mine. “I think, Miss Esther, you have no idea what it’s like to make real mistakes.”

  “That’s silly. Of course I do… ”

  “Not the ‘I’d give my right arm to cancel that one choice’ kind of mistake. The kind you wish desperately, every hour of every day, to undo.”

  I responded to the challenge. “So, I can’t be a member of your exclusive club—the ‘I can’t do something good because I feel sorry for myself brotherhood?’ Just think. I have something to look forward to when I’ve made an admirable-enough mistake.”

  “No.” Sky paused and tilted his head in the now-familiar manner. “Your life will be easier because you’ll make decisions with your head rather than your heart. You’ll do the right things a good girl should do and never understand the pain earned by the rest of us.”

  “Uggh!” I set down my glass wit
h a slosh and drew as far as possible to the other side of the car where I crossed my arms on my chest. The frustrations and struggles of my teen years paraded before me. No, I hadn’t made many of the typical mistakes, but things had been far from easy. Many a lonely Friday and Saturday night had been spent wondering if I would ever know the camaraderie of fitting in. Several times the rumor had reached my ears that a boy I liked wanted to ask me out, but had heard I was “different.” Honestly, the title of “good girl” had often felt more like a touch of leprosy than an honor.

  Okay, so maybe I was especially sensitive to the subject at the moment. Several times in recent weeks intimate conversations had stopped abruptly when I entered the room because “Esther wouldn’t understand.” I knew they were discussing their exploits with the opposite sex and I was sick to death of the superior, pitying looks. Sky had just touched that raw nerve.

  He sat forward in the seat. “I’ve offended you. It was intended as a compliment.”

  “Thanks, but you don’t know enough about me to tell my future or past.”

  “Oh, but I do. It was all there in your little bag, a fascinating character study. Model calling cards, family photos, student ID, and even a small Bible tucked into its own little pocket. So why would a young lady like this be backstage under false pretenses? I could only assume you’re so smitten with me you would do something entirely out of character.”

  He had every advantage and I hated feeling cornered. “What do you mean ‘smitten’? I do this all the time… The Stones, Van Halen, Billy Joel. It’s my hobby.”

  He laughed. “I love when you lie. You’re refreshingly horrible at it. Besides, there’s an obvious difference between a heavily trafficked city street and a snow covered mountain path.” My eyes grew wide as he moved to block me against the door and brought his face close to mine. I turned away as the blood pounded in my ears. He plunged his nose into my hair and took a deep breath. “No doubt. Definitely snow.”