by Lea Bronsen
Jaz’s face shines with relief as he hands me the instrument, and then jogs off to the side of the stage.
Feeling like an ass, I scan the audience, my girl in one hand and my bass in the other. After a couple deep breaths, I step to the mike. “Hi, sorry I’m late, but here’s the reason why.”
I pull Sam closer and put my arm around her waist. Her brown eyes are wide with nervousness. The tension inside melts, and the love I see in her gaze calms me.
I turn back to the mike with a grin. “She does miracles with her hands.”
The entire crowd laughs, and whistles flare from all over the place. I chuckle with them as I have never been happier.
Timmi’s voice rises above the noise. “For those of you who don’t know, she’s Samantha, our webmistress. That’s the hands thing Shawn’s talkin’ about.” He lifts his hands and mimics typing on a keyboard.
More laughter and whistling.
I say, “She’s part of my life, from now on. Just so you know, girlzzz.” I wink to the big-boobed hotties in the front row, and one of them sticks out her pink tongue.
Grinning, I turn to Sam, pull her closer, and kiss her sweet lips.
She smiles, sneaks her delicious tongue into my mouth, and sends fiery sparks of lust to my groin. Our intense kiss lasts so long people start booing, but I don’t care. I love this woman.
A new drum roll from Jeff’s kit drowns the complaints, and Timmi shouts, “Whooo! Did you see that? Rock and fucking roooll!”
Blocking out all interferences, I hold her, press each heavenly bit against me, and solemnly give her my heart.
Epilogue
About two weeks later, I get the opportunity to take a flight back to the big city. It’s a day off, and the management has booked a special evening for me and the boys, one that’ll mark the top of our career. We’ve left Teddy with the tour bus this morning—which probably suits him just as fine as us—and use his absence to have a hell of a party on the chartered plane.
While groupies provide lap dancing, heavy Guns n’ Roses tunes blast from the speakers above, drowning the engine, and most of the cackling and moaning from the seats in front of me. If not for Sam, I’d participate, but who needs booze or coke when the world’s most beautiful chick is willing to compensate? Cotton clouds in an azure sky fly past our window as she has her hands inside my pants, bringing me rocket-high to another sphere.
I have to admit, the first days after we met, I was a little afraid of having rushed things between us. Getting my first girlfriend at thirty-four demands quite an adjustment, but her intelligent warmth and patience helped overcome my initial hesitance and confirmed our union is meant to be. More than a lover, she’s my companion, my friend.
We land in LaGuardia about noon, and the band splits for the day. A NYC cab that reeks of expensive leather takes Sam and I west. How unusual to hit the highway with a car all to ourselves. We sit thigh-to-thigh on the backseat, holding hands as skyscrapers and bridge pillars swoosh by.
I clutch her hand harder than usual, sweating, anticipating the next hour. Thank fuck I didn’t drink on the plane; my stomach is so clenched I’d probably puke. After a quick drive through the suburbs, we’re approaching the countryside, and the dreaded moment I’ve delayed for weeks is getting undeniably nearer. No turning back.
The cab enters a fenced-in compound, gravels spraying from its wheels, and leaves us on the porch of a large, beige-bricked building. As each time I get on stage, I breathe deep, swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat, and head inside like a boxing champ into the ring. People in white hurry through the corridors, familiar faces greeting me with exaggerated cordiality. Mr. Torien! How are you?
I’m good, actually, but wish I didn’t have to be here.
Sam’s sneakers squeak on the linoleum as she walks a few steps behind me. Lamentations sound from a room. At the end of a hall, Mom’s door is open, like she knows I’m coming. My head spins. I hate what awaits me. And fuck me if I didn’t forget to bring flowers.
I stop in the frame and hesitate, inhaling the sickening mix of antiseptic and bodily fluids, when Sam’s palm strokes my back. My Pantera tee sticks to my sweaty spine. What I’d give to wear a couple earplugs, close my eyes, and let the guys rock me away to a perfect world without diseases and pain!
“Come in, sweetie,” Mom’s soft voice calls. “I know it’s you. I’d recognize those boots among a thousand.”
I nod and fight the sting in my eyes. She knows all about me, who I am, where I come from, and what I’ve sacrificed to get to where I am now. Even when she’s gone, she’ll be loyally by my side.
Bracing, I step inside, taking in all the furniture and decorations at once, and walk toward her bed.
A bright smile lights up her clear blue eyes, smoothing the lines in her thin face. Propped up against a gigantic pillow, she’s wearing a nice blouse, and her long blonde hair with streaks of gray is combed and held back with a slide.
The tension in my chest eases. I ignore the tubes sneaking out from under her sheets, and the blinking monitor above the bed.
“You look better, Mom.”
I bend to kiss her cheek. The skin is loose but smells of lavender, like when I was a kid and loved to cuddle in her arms. Someone’s apparently taking care of her.
“I am better. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, you know,” she coos.
“What—”
Confused, I sit on her bedside, vaguely registering Sam in the door frame.
She winks. “I knew you were coming today, my dear boy.”
“But…how?”
“Mr. Wilkinson called me yesterday and told me the news.”
I widen my eyes.
Then it dawns on me...this evening…did Teddy really bother to tell her? Maybe there’s some good in that creep after all.
“Yes, Shawn. He told me about the Letterman show.” She grabs my hand with a chuckle.
God, I’ve missed that heavenly sound. I can’t take my eyes off her. She radiates happiness, and like a thirsting child, I drink in her motherly love and pride with my eyes.
She beams. “I can’t wait to see you on TV!”
I know. We’re performing on the biggest talk show of the country, and David—the coolest of hosts—told our management he’s looking forward to chatting with us. What could top that?
She looks behind me, a gleam playing in her pupils. “Aren’t you going to introduce her?”
I turn, and Sam steps forward, features tense and eyes red-rimmed. My chest tightens with concern as I stand to take her in my arms. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Without a word, she slips out of my embrace, slides past me, and takes my vacant place on the bedside.
I watch like a helpless idiot as Mom reaches out with a warm smile and hugs her. She’s weak, paralyzed from the waist down, but finds enough strength to curl her arms around Sam’s back.
For a long moment, the two most important women of my life cling to each other as if having waited an eternity—which probably is true in Sam’s case, since she lost her mother years ago. And who knows how long Mom’s been wishing for a daughter-in-law?
When they release, they hold hands and stare at one another, wordless appreciation lingering between them.
Mom looks up to me. “Mr. Wilkinson told me about her, Shawn. He said you’re not the same man, that you’ve changed your ways.”
I nod. “That’s true.”
A boost of heat fills me as I sit behind Sam and slide my arms around her svelte waist, chest molding to her back. I snuggle my nose into her warm neck and breathe in the familiar scent. She’s changed me, given my life new meaning. Though I’ll always be the same rebel punk rocker and the record company’s sleaziest pain-in-the-ass, I’m maturing, growing on a humane level. It’s not all about me and my issues anymore, but another person who invests tremendously in our relationship and makes me want to return the attention.
Sam sniffs and tells Mom, her voice choked, “I’ve always wanted to
meet you.”
A discreet rap interrupts, and we turn to the door. A young, bald guy dressed in white stands in the frame with a smile.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” His light voice floats through the room as his gaze wanders from me to Mom. “I wanted to meet your son, Mrs. Torien.”
Who is this? And what does he want from me?
“Sebastian.” Mom laughs. “I’ve told you to call me Rose.” She releases my girl’s hands and waves for him to come in.
Suspicious, I stare as he joins us with soundless steps. I’ve seen my share of men in white over the years, and not one was worthy of calling Mom by her first name. How has he gained such esteem?
“Shawn,” she says. “Meet my new nurse, Sebastian.”
I get up before shaking his offered hand, and hold his look. Crayon traces his blue, responsive eyes, and a ring hangs from his left lobe. Goes with the effeminate voice. But I still don’t get why she likes him.
“They fired the previous one,” she continues. “The best thing that’s happened to me, besides welcoming you”—she smiles to Sam—“into the family.”
I nod. “That’s great, Mom.”
What matters is her satisfaction, and from his gayish mannerisms, he’s not in it for a gigolo trip—unlike some in the past who’ve thought they could squeeze a little money out of her because of my celebrity.
A sincere smile spreads across the young man’s face. “I dig your music. Did you know I saw you guys opening for Red Hot Chili Peppers at Rockfest last year?”
Ah. I recall the gigantic festival crowd and a dozen bands playing before us. Next summer, my band is headlining. Another peak in our career.
I grin. “It was a helluva show.”
“Yup. And who would’ve thought I’d work here and be assigned to take care of your mother!”
“Sebastian shows me all your clips on YouTube,” Mom shoots in, beaming. “On his tablet. Isn’t it amazing? After all these years, I can finally view your music videos and your concerts. And,” she says with a nod to Sam again, “I can follow your daily updates on the band’s website. I’m Shawn’s biggest fan, you know.”
“And I’m yours.” More beautiful than ever, my girlfriend smiles and takes Mom’s frail hands in hers…connecting my past to my future.
The End
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