One Night With a Rock Star

by Chana Keefer

  I smoothed my hair back into a ponytail, pulled a few strands loose to frame my face and added the bottle necklace, being sure to tuck it in the top of the dress. I was hardly ever without it these days, but no reason to advertise that fact. With a shrug at my reflection, I headed out the door.

  The drive to the arena was much different this time. I wore a valid backstage pass around my neck and carried a ticket for a great seat in my purse. With thirty minutes to spare, I moved slowly with the crowds to enter the monstrous building.

  Somewhere close by, Sky was preparing to perform. Had Marti and the others talked to him? A ticket collector nodded me through the turnstile and another attendant admitted me to the floor level. The usher indicated I was third row from the front, center stage. I glimpsed the gap on the third row that indicated our seats.

  A great seat. Perhaps too great.

  I didn’t like the thought of spending the entire show hoping and dreading to meet his eye. I had never heard of the opening act, “Rank and Vile,” and didn’t want to sit through what I supposed would be a thrash metal set, so I wandered back through the crowds in the merchandise area, taunted by images of the many moods of Sky—smiling, serious, brooding.

  The westward-facing windows framed a beautiful sunset of pink and orange against a wall of amassing storm clouds. I breathed deeply, wishing I could access the peace that had engulfed me just a few nights before.

  “I am with you.”

  My shoulders relaxed as my racing heart slowed.

  “Esther?”

  I turned to face Chloe, Sky’s trusted assistant, looking perfect as usual in a brown suede-skirted suit and matching boots.

  “What are you doing out here? They’ve been expecting you backstage.”

  She failed to define “they” and I was too embarrassed to ask. She was obviously still employed as personal assistant, so the questions quickly came round to what I did now.

  I talked of my impending graduation and the internship while she was gracious enough to act genuinely interested. I finally asked if Jeremiah was along for the tour and she laughed in answer. “No and honestly life is a bit boring without him. He’s on a football league this spring and they’re doing quite well, expected to win their division as a matter of fact. He’s become a brilliant goal keeper”

  So I wouldn’t get to see Jeremiah. Why had I come at all?

  “I’ve got to scoot,” Chloe explained. “I’ll let the others know you’re here and…”

  “No!” I cut in a little too loudly. “I mean… ” I fumbled for an excuse. “I’d rather, um... you have enough to think about.”

  She narrowed her eyes as if calculating a sum, then reached under her jacket to turn off the battery pack attached to her headset. “Wally will know because we were linked. Would you like to see him?”

  So, she understood. I breathed a sigh of relief. “I would love that.”

  “Look.” She glanced at her watch. “You stay here and I’ll see if he can shake loose. I know he’d hate to miss you.”

  I gave her a hug as she turned to go. “Thank you.” I smiled. She surprised me with an enthusiastic embrace.

  “You do realize that— ” She stopped herself with a shake of the head. “I’d better go. It was great to see you again.”

  Then she made her way back to the beehive at lightning speed.

  “Rank and Vile” flowed into a surprisingly beautiful rock ballad as I turned to lean my back against the gigantic window.

  Through the crowd, a tall security guard moved my way. All my papers were in order so I stood my ground.

  He scanned the crowd, finally locking eyes with me. “Esther Collins?” He inquired.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you please follow me? A guy named Wally wants to see you and from what I’ve seen, he’s the man in charge.”

  “Lead the way.” Maybe, I thought as we walked, I could visit with Wally and then leave. That would eliminate complications galore.

  “Oh, okay.” The guard answered his headset. “That was Wally telling me where to go. Let’s head through here.” He pulled out a set of keys to open a metal door. It was a long walk, down stairs, and through deserted, silent halls so I filled the time with nervous chatter, introducing myself to my escort, Rob, as we passed catacombs of storage rooms and even a darkened basketball court. Then it was back upstairs and through another set of doors that returned us to the land of the living.

  When we stopped in front of one of the doorways, Rob instructed, “Just go on in and make yourself comfortable. He’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Cautiously, I opened the door to reveal a room aglow with candlelight and draped with some sort of gauzy fabric. There was, in fact, quite a lot of that material around the room, creating an intimate atmosphere. I hesitantly stepped forward, still keeping one hand on the door, and noticed I stood on thick carpet. I scanned the room as my eyes adjusted to the dimness: low-slung leather couch and chairs; two glasses containing a clear liquid with lime slices perched on the rim, the sound of… was that music? No, it was rain with occasional claps of thunder.

  My heart raced. The attention to detail, the plush carpet, the candles, even the sound of a thunderstorm; this was a space, no doubt, created by Sky. I could practically smell him. I stepped back. One thing was certain. I’d feel much more comfortable meeting Wally elsewhere.

  “Hello Esther.”

  I spun in fright at the sound of my name spoken with that unmistakable voice. He stood in the doorway, eyes glinting in the candlelight.

  “What are you, a cat?” I demanded.

  He chuckled, “It’s good to see you too.” He tilted his head to one side in that look I remembered so well. “As I recall, you were fond of pranks, so I planned this little surprise.”

  My mind spun. I had absolutely nothing to say, certainly not something glib and entertaining to cover the explosion of emotions at seeing him again. So I stood like a fool in the middle of the beautiful room as my brain short-circuited.

  “I hear you’ve had a bit of a tough day. Maybe I shouldn’t have surprised you.” He became gracious and concerned. “Please, have a seat.” He indicated the couch.

  I didn’t move.

  “Where’s Wally?” I finally managed.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll see him, but I was feeling selfish and wanted you all to myself for awhile.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? “Thanks?” “I’m so honored you remembered my name?”

  I gulped. “Why?”

  “Maybe because I’ve missed you, a great deal as a matter of fact.”

  Oh, Lord. Why couldn’t he put a lid on the mojo for just one moment and let me think of an amazing exit line?

  “I need to go… find the others. They’ll be wondering what’s keeping me.”

  “They’ll know it’s me keeping you.” He grinned. “I like the sound of that… ”

  “Stop it!” My voice sounded much louder than I had intended. “I’m not playing this game.” I dodged around him. The hallway. Escape. So close.

  “You have every right to be angry.”

  I paused. Just one more step, then walk away like he deserves.

  “Esther, I’m sorry.”

  An apology—a very sincere-sounding apology—but it plinked off my armor without leaving a scratch. Wow. Maybe I could handle this after all.

  I turned to face him. ““Don’t bother. It’s okay. Ancient history.”

  “Not for me.”

  Ooh. Felt that.

  “I asked you to trust me, then I seemingly betrayed that trust.”

  I blinked in astonishment. Seemingly?

  “Please say you’ll come back later. We need to talk.”

  “You’ve had two years for that.”

  “Esther, look at me.”

  I responded with what I hoped was a bored expression, but when he reached for me I stepped back as if dodging a snake. I expected an empty hallway and escape. Instead I bounced into Wally.


  “Esther!” he started to hug me but stopped, peering into my eyes with protective concern.

  Uh-oh. Grief climbed out of the hole where I’d shoved it. “Good to see you,” I whispered, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and bolted.

  Wally’s sarcastic, “I see that went well,” followed me as I banged through the metal door and into dim, deserted hallways.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I was on the verge of one of those smeared mascara, bloodshot eyes, and puffy-faced jags. So I fanned my face and prayed desperately to pull it together.

  I collapsed onto a concrete step, gulping in breaths that didn’t reach my lungs.

  The metal door pushed open.

  “Esther?”

  Wally. Oh God. Not now. But there was no hiding as he stuck his head around the stairwell.

  “You okay, kid?”

  My face contorted. No sympathy. That’ll pull the plug.

  “I told Sky to back off awhile. Does that help?”

  I shrugged.

  “You need to talk?”

  I shook my head.

  “You sure?” Wally came to sit beside me.

  Please go away. I nodded again. He was saying something comforting—I guess—but I couldn’t hear him. Breakdown was imminent.

  “You know you’re not breathing, right?”

  I hopped up, smoothing my skirt. “I’m fine and you have work to do.” I gave him a phoney smile. “Go.”

  Wally’s face said “You-really-expect-me-to-buy-that?” but he shrugged and said, “Okay, for now.” He paused then put a hand on my shoulder. “Watch it, Sweetie. Lies are habit-forming.”

  When the metal door clicked into place behind him, the shaking started. I folded under a wave of pain. There were no tears, just dry heaves of grief, an icy wind across scorched sand. My heavy head was an anvil. Darkness. Sadness.

  There was a roar from the crowd somewhere over my head.

  As if that wasn’t enough, bits of Sky’s hits began to roll, a cheer for each familiar melody from the enthusiastic crowd—each a vivid memory, each cutting deeper. Cringe. Cheer! Spasm. Cheer!

  I stumbled to my feet, making a beeline toward an exit, any exit. The corridor stretched ahead, grey, cold and empty. The glowing, “Exit” beckoned. I started running. If that metal door was locked… I pushed against it with my hip, and… not locked!

  “Oof!”

  The door banged into the broad back of the security guard from earlier.

  “Sorry!” I gasped.

  “Esther!” Marti’s voice turned every head in the near-deserted lobby. She rushed forward, “Where have you been? I thought you were gonna miss it!”

  She linked an arm through mine and kept chatting as we walked toward one of the darkened entrances. We passed through and my feet refused to take another step. “I can’t do this.”

  “What?” she yelled over the noise.

  I repeated myself in her ear.

  “But what are you gonna do?”

  “Um, stay back here—not so loud, or so close.”

  “You need to talk?” She asked, but her eyes glanced with longing toward our seats.

  I assured her I was fine and we’d meet up afterwards. It’s not easy to convince your best friend of a lie… or two. After practically shoving her down the aisle, I waited a moment before stepping back through the opening, heart bent on my car and a quiet drive where I could have the breakdown I so richly deserved.

  “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.” The child’s voice surprised me. And scripture? I peeked back into the arena.

  On a huge white screen filling the entire back of the stage, images flashed of children with dazzling smiles. There were dirt streets and hovels and abject poverty and… joy… and glimpses of Sky, Adam, and the rest of the band playing and singing with them, all set to an instrumental soundtrack of “Soulfull” and interspersed with a couple short interviews explaining their involvement in that country and the organization they represented. Sky’s comments were reserved for last. As a shy toddler with the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen sat on his knee, he gave a few words about the need for basic necessities and the way to contribute.

  I stared at his eyes—happy, peaceful, and content.

  Live music had been building until it overtook seamlessly when the screen froze on the captivating smile of a little girl no more than five years old.

  There was a split-second’s break in the music, the lights went completely black then flashed on like lightning to reveal Sky at the edge of the stage. The crowd erupted as he sang.

  Celebracione! Celebracione!

  La Vida!

  He repeated those words over and over. Each time he came to “La Vida!” the ocean of swirling humanity roared the words with him.

  Adam’s familiar dreadlocks swung above the keyboard while Jake’s hands blurred at the drums. A percussionist surrounded by colorful steel drums pushed the party a notch higher while Jake added the boom of floor toms. Sky had slung on his guitar and the next solo was his, a racing Spanish plucking pattern. Adam whooped and started a syncopated clapping.

  People danced in the aisles and pressed toward the stage. If there was a pulse, this music would make it race.

  For me, it poured acid on an open wound.

  “Howdy Ya’ll!” Sky greeted the crowd as he slipped a large black cowboy hat onto his head. The audience roared as he did a John Wayne-esque swagger and bee-bopped into a countrified version of “That’s it Baby.” When Adam and Jake moseyed from behind to join him in a line dance, the whistles and cheers were deafening. Adam’s final James Brown half split brought down the house as Sky launched the hat, Frisbee-style, into the crowd.

  As the cheering continued, Sky shaded his eyes with a hand and peered into the light—down to where I would have been sitting. I breathed a prayer of thanks I wasn’t sitting there like a gullible sap. From a distance, with an exit in sight, where he couldn’t see me, I could cope—just barely.

  I remained there as he swung through all the favorites—my anthems of teenage pain, odes to loneliness, beauty, love, loss… and after every one I almost left. Every note and word was excruciating, but it was far better than the pain of feeling nothing.

  Suddenly the lights grew dim and the sound of rain with the sighs and moans of a strong wind joined strobes that flashed with rumbling thunder as the screen came to life with a sepia-toned, grainy film. Images of children playing, the sound of voices—some happy, some passing through raised in anger—morphed into screams of crowds, music clips, and revolving, dreamy sequences. Slowly, the images faded and the sounds of thunder and rain grew.

  I relaxed against the wall and closed my eyes, escaping to my barn with a soft spring shower pattering on the tin roof.

  Mistake.

  To relax was to loosen my grip. A sharp pain stabbed my heart as I saw Sky’s face, so close after our hay fight, mussed and irresistible. My head dropped in defeat. Time to leave.

  But when I opened my eyes, there was Sky. Not on the screen. Not on the stage. Right in front of me.

  There was no chance to draw the shutters. He was already in my soul and I couldn’t look away as he brushed my face with the tips of his fingers. Everything—the crowd, the music, the flashing lights—didn’t exist as Sky leaned in and whispered in my ear, his breath warm on my neck, “I’m so sorry.” He lingered there a moment, then kissed my cheek. He placed something into my shaking hands and moved away where a blinding spotlight found him.

  Most of the crowd still watched the screen where a white horse raced into view, mane flying, powerful muscles rippling through golden grass. Those images blurred into an ocean view, waves washing a long-necked bottle onto the sand as Sky sang:

  “I’ve cherished every moment.”

  His eyes were still fixed on the spot where I stood.

  “Over and over and over again.”

  The crowd discovered Sky behind them. He wa
lked toward the stage, leaving me gaping and stunned as he shifted into the familiar waltz-tempoed tune.

  Time return

  And bring you back to me

  Sweetest breath of spring

  You stole my heart

  Just one fleeting moment

  One mystery

  Hope like

  healing waters

  The magic of your touch

  Haunts day and night

  I am not the man

  That I used to be

  Enemy time

  Standing between you and me

  Shrouding all that I see

  Taunting every memory

  Enemy time

  A million stars in the sky

  A million dreams in your eyes

  Until the moment when you’re with me

  Swirls of white light came down like snowflakes and floated across the stage. Sky’s voice, rising with the melody, sent chills down my spine.

  And when we danced!

  Time stood still

  And when we danced!

  Time stood still

  The lights stopped. They moved to the end of the stage toward the audience, bright rays illuminating the first few rows like sunbeams through forest leaves.

  As if waking from a dream, I glanced down at what I held in my hand—a small bottle.

  When the lights came up—the signal to beg for an encore—I slipped out the door and found a quiet spot at the window where I’d watched the sunset. In the neck of the bottle was a rolled slip of paper. I pulled it out, dreading and anticipating.

  Dear Esther,

  I humbly ask that you allow me to spend time with you this evening.

  Please give me a chance.

  Love,

  Sky