Gasp!

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Meanwhile he knew Nigel readied himself in his dedicated dressing room, aided by a full complement of makeup artists, hairstylists, wardrobe people, and a team of lackeys who waited outside to fulfill any whim he might have from the complicated “rider” items in his contract—including his damned toffee peanuts and any other little thing he asked for in the moment. Contest winners and journalists waited in the greenroom while the opening acts, first a raunchy comic and then an edgy all-female band, got the audience warmed up.

  All of it—the excess, the drama, the tension, and the massive, massive crowd—had been utterly academic to Jeff until he’d put that lanyard around his neck and taken his place by the stage. He was wearing earplugs, but the crowd was deafening anyway, roaring and chanting. The warm-up band, Clockwork Dolls, featured two violinists, a rhythm guitar, a bass, and drums. They dressed in ragged, old-fashioned clothes and high-button boots and cranked out some lyrical, punk-inspired rock music that frankly didn’t fit into any one category Jeff was aware of. He liked it and he’d liked them, from the brief acquaintance he’d made with them when he ran alongside them through the long corridors, out into the arena, and up to the stage.

  What Jeff was taking away from the experience, in fact, was that all musicians—even legends like Nigel—were basically hardworking professionals who had one personality on stage and quite another in the greenroom.

  From what he’d read and what Deidre indicated, Nigel’s backstage riders were specific enough to meet anyone’s definition of complex—but the items he demanded didn’t seem to be for him. He’d indicated a preference for organic whole foods and fruit plates and large bouquets of pretty flowers, and he required grips for the sole purpose of installing comfortable rocking lounges, but as far as Jeff could tell, that was about making Nigel’s cobbled-together family—Deidre, Katje, and Hazard, even Jeff’s own mother—comfortable while they sat with the rest of the entourage backstage, while they gathered to watch the show live on a high-def monitor. Nigel had seen to every detail personally, taking care of them instead of allowing them to take care of him.

  At three months the baby slept comfortably in his grandmother’s arms, rocking gently, blissfully ignorant of the chaos around him.

  Nigel, whom Jeff had only seen via the security monitors since the Dolls started the show, warmed up in his dressing room. He needed solitude before a performance. After he shooed everyone out. Only Deidre dared to tap on his door.

  When he finally emerged and Jeff saw him, it was as he strode by, flanked by musicians, backup singers, assistants, and press. Nigel didn’t stop for a good luck embrace; he was in an entirely different zone—intensely focused, even a little scary. He marched with the determination of a gladiator heading into the arena to face a menagerie of wild animals.

  Jeff watched Nigel pass, noting that he appeared thinner. The packed schedule of the tour had cost him weight he couldn’t afford to lose. Jeff made a mental note to talk to Deidre about that. The grueling city-to-city odyssey had left its mark already, and Nigel was only a third of the way through it.

  But God, he looked amazing. Hair wild like he’d been in a wind tunnel; eyes heavily lined, making that perfect Nigel-blue look supernatural. He wore his usual costume—a pair of leather trousers so low they barely covered his pubic bone and a studded belt with a buckle made of something that looked like old, hand-forged iron.

  Some sort of sheer, silky silver shirt, buttoned only once at his chest, gaped open to show the deeply hewn ridges of his abs. A long scarf wound loosely around his neck, and all those medals, religious and pagan, leather and silver and gold, hung at different intervals from the base of his throat to his heart. Jeff’s heart lightened when he saw his dog tags displayed prominently in the center of Nigel’s chest.

  Nigel strode past, and Jeff’s heart simply burst, kerpow, causing a shock wave through his entire body as he succumbed to every flavor of lust and passion and need.

  Anyone who saw him could read his emotions, all his thoughts, on his face. He wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told him they could hear his heart thunder or his skull crack open from the power of Nigel’s magic—even before the concert started.

  That brief glimpse seared Nigel’s image onto Jeff’s heart.

  Deidre put her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. “This is something, isn’t it?” she asked, eyes shining. “You’ll never forget this as long as you live.”

  Mouth dry, Jeff could only shake his head. No. I will never, ever forget this night.

  Pounding music exacerbated the blinding pain over Jeff’s right eye, and nothing he did, not pain relievers, not coffee, not finding a relatively quiet space in the corner by himself seemed to help.

  Nigel worked the VIP room of the third club of the night, now dressed in a practically pornographic pair of jeans and a long coat made of some kind of shiny fabric over his bare chest. He looked sexy as hell, every bit the Nigel Gasp whose pictures graced the covers of supermarket tabloids. Mobs of people throbbed around him. He looked relaxed and happy, calm in the eye of the hurricane.

  Occasionally he glanced over and gave Jeff a wink or a nod, but even though they’d arrived together and danced, Jeff felt entirely superfluous. After all, as part of a huge entourage, he was only one of the many there to serve Nigel Gasp’s needs.

  At the moment Nigel didn’t need anything. His bodyguards watched as he danced with a group of high-profile partiers, actors, and trust-fund babies who reeked of sex and celebrity. They seemed friendly enough, but Jeff discovered he didn’t care much for their idea of small talk, since it seemed like it was either gossip or bragging.

  For his part Nigel seemed delighted to have him there; he’d stopped by the table—where Jeff sat and drank—regularly to say so. But what exactly Nigel expected him to do in a setting like this, he didn’t know. Jeff didn’t really want to dance anymore. He’d had too much to drink, and he was tired. But he was pretty certain Nigel was just getting started.

  Champagne flowed, and so did a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals, although Jeff was certain Nigel was high on fame, not drugs. It wouldn’t have surprised him either way. He knew he had to take the bad with the good, but that didn’t mean he had to like being on the periphery while Nigel entertained the world.

  He stepped out for some fresh air and found Amil waiting outside the service entrance.

  “Hey.” Jeff acknowledged him. Amil was smoking some kind of thin brown cigar. The aroma was fragrant with rich tobacco and vanilla and not unpleasant.

  “Hello.” Amil checked him out. “You look like Nigel dressed you this evening.”

  Jeff glanced down at his clothes. Nigel had taken him shopping the day he’d arrived, buying him thousands of dollars’ worth of designer clothes. Jeff would have to ship them back to his apartment via UPS or buy more suitcases, since he only brought a carry-on case with him.

  Just then he wore low-slung jeans that fit him as if someone had engineered them specifically to magnify his package, and a henley that clung to every curve of muscle. There had been a jacket and scarves but he was sweating as it was, and he’d left the rest in the club.

  “Yeah.”

  “Looks good.”

  “Thanks. I like them.”

  “How are you enjoying this part of the circus so far?”

  “It was a lot quieter on Bluebird Mountain. I haven’t made up my mind about this yet.”

  “Yes you have.” Amil glanced at him and looked away again. “You despise this.”

  “It’s certainly”—Jeff searched for a word—“interesting.”

  “If you say so.”

  “How late does this usually go?”

  Amil shrugged. “However late Gasp wants it to go.”

  “Great.” Jeff watched traffic pass by for a while, then shot Amil a wave before he headed back inside. He caught a glimpse of Nigel in the middle of the dance floor, grinding against a beautiful black GQ-model type who stood about a foot taller than him. It looked…g
ood. They looked happy, not too drunk, not high.

  Nigel was in his element—the center of everything. He was the spark that lit a fire under the crowd. He wore the Nigel Gasp persona at full wattage, dazzling even his detractors, those jealous wannabes who smiled in his face and gossiped behind his back. He was oblivious to everything but making his magic and living off the fumes of adoration for as long as it lasted.

  If Nigel got that kind of rush from the scene, Jeff couldn’t blame him for keeping it up. In his heart he knew where he stood. Nigel wanted time to spend with him—to spend with their cobbled-together tribe—but right then, in that moment, what Nigel wanted got trumped by what he seemed to need.

  Watching Nigel in action, Jeff faced reality. Nigel’s need for adulation was so strong he couldn’t tear himself away from a night like this one, even if his lover had traveled a thousand miles to be with him, even if it meant his lover would go to bed alone and disappointed.

  Tomorrow Nigel would feel awful about it, but remorse would come too late.

  Nigel Gasp is the life of the party. That’s what it says on the tin.

  By three in the morning, Jeff couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, but Nigel was still going strong. He’d thrown off his coat and was gyrating bare-chested on the dance floor to the endless, brutal pounding of techno music. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

  Jeff approached and tried to peel him away from his friends just long enough to talk. He shouted to make himself heard over the beat of the music. “I think I’m going to head back. This is cool, but I’m tired. I have to get some sleep.”

  “But it’s early yet.” Nigel traded hand signals with his dance partners and followed Jeff to a spot against the wall. “This will probably go on until dawn.”

  “I know. I can see you’re having a good time. Why don’t you stay? You’ve got your bodyguards. I’ll just head back to the hotel and catch some shut-eye. I got my fill of sleepless nights in the service.”

  Nigel frowned at him. “I suppose I could call it a night, but I got such a rush from the concert, and I—”

  “I know. Don’t worry.” Jeff swallowed his disappointment and pulled Nigel in for a brief kiss. “I get it. I’ll see you later, when you get back to the hotel.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  At six a.m. Colleen Paxton came to Nigel’s suite with baby Hazard in her arms and a diaper bag slung over her shoulders. Jeff answered the door, bleary-eyed and exhausted. He’d started some coffee, and the smell was the only thing keeping him going.

  “You look like hell, honey. Late night?” The best part of coming to Atlanta with his mother had been seeing her with her first grandchild. At exactly five feet tall, she was still as girlish and feisty as he remembered, even though her red hair had gone mostly white and her face showed lines he hadn’t seen before.

  “Hey, Mom. Yeah. Nigel parties like it’s life or death. I gave up and came back here at about three. I slept a little but woke up again. Coffee’s on.” Jeff backed up to let her in. “Hand over my nephew and nobody gets hurt.”

  “Are you sure? I think he might be coming down with something. I’m taking him because he kept his mothers up all night.”

  “I never get sick.” Jeff couldn’t remember the last time he even had a cold. Fucking tapeworms didn’t count.

  Colleen gave the baby up, and Jeff took him, carefully cupping his small head and pulling that fidgety little body into his. The baby fought a little; he had learned to lift his head up, so now he strained to see everything around him. He arched his back and kicked away, and Jeff had to tighten his grip to keep him from wriggling out of his arms.

  Hazard smelled freshly changed and just…delicious. Jeff rubbed his chin over the back of the kid’s head. He was amazed at how much he could love someone who did little more than sleep most of the time.

  His mother put the bag down by the couch in the suite’s luxurious sitting area and sat down. “I’ve got a bottle of expressed breast milk if he gets hungry.”

  “I’ll bet Dee wishes she’d waited until after the national tour.”

  “She didn’t have a lot of time left on the clock. When she stops nursing, all this will settle down.”

  “I’m sure we all long for a day without the sight of little Hazard hanging off her boob.”

  His mother gave a shocked gasp. “I must say I’m surprised by your attitude.”

  “Why? My apathy for girl boobs is pretty well documented.”

  “Boobs are everywhere you look, selling things.” His mother pushed the hair back off her lightly freckled forehead. “God forbid a woman should take one out to feed a baby. Everyone goes berserk. Oooh breastfeeding. How positively appalling. Feeding babies is what they’re for, you know, not selling cigars and whiskey.”

  “I guess you’ve got a point there.”

  “Grown men—the guys who lift those massive speakers and dolly around pieces of Nigel’s stage—lose their cool if they see Deidre feeding Hazard. I think we women should all just whip out our boobs and desensitize the bast—”

  “Whoa. I give. Jeez.” Jeff backed away and took a seat opposite her. “You do not want me to drop this baby, and I will if I have to cover my ears.”

  “Listen to you. Take on a mob of insurgents but quiver in horror over a boob. How’s Mac treating you?”

  “Work’s work. Mac said to tell you hello. When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said primly.

  “Yeah right.”

  “It’s none of your business, Jeff.” Her brown-eyed gaze held his under arched brows that dared him to say anything further.

  So of course he pursued it. “All I’m saying is he’s a good guy. And marriage would make an honest woman of you. I approve.”

  “Then you marry him. I like the way things are just fine.”

  “Far be it from me to try to tell the women of the Paxton family anything.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” He knew what was coming.

  “Nigel’s older than you by quite a bit and he’s not what I’d call your usual type.”

  “What is my usual type?” Jeff asked.

  “Well…breathing. Convenient, available, and unlikely to leave a number. How am I doing so far?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “In fact he’s exactly the type of person you normally avoid since you like things tidy and uncomplicated, as I recall.”

  “And Nigel is neither. I know.”

  “So?”

  Jeff shook his head. “So, I don’t know. Something in him calls to me. I worry about him.”

  Colleen eyed their posh surroundings. “He seems to be doing all right.”

  “That’s certainly true,” Jeff admitted. “He seems to be doing fine. But I got the feeling he was falling apart in California, and I—I care about him. I think he’s got a crack in his nutshell.”

  “Nigel’s extremely resilient. I don’t want you getting hurt. I love Nigel like a brother, but he doesn’t appear to have an off button.”

  “I know.” Jeff nodded. “God. I do know that, but knowing doesn’t help much when he’s around. My brain isn’t in the driver’s seat at this point.”

  “Well, your brain had better get behind the wheel, honey, because even if Nigel has the best of intentions, he’s still Nigel Gasp. The world won’t let him be anything else.”

  Jeff nodded. That’s what he was afraid of.

  “How late was he out last night?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t come back yet.”

  She glanced toward the bedroom. “You’re kidding. He’s not here with you?”

  “Nope. I left him dancing in some private club.” Jeff shrugged. “He had adrenaline to burn, and I was over it.”

  “Is that okay? You came all this way and—”

  “It’s fine. He texted, and he should be back soon.”

  “I don’t
know many people who would tolerate being sent home until it’s convenient.” Colleen’s eyes bored into him, and he fought the urge to look away.

  “I wasn’t sent home; I left. Nigel needs the adrenaline rush and I don’t.”

  “What do you need?”

  “What do I need?” Jeff thought about that while the baby squirmed like he was swimming. Jeff laid him tummy down over his lap and smoothed small circles over the soft terry cloth covering his back. “I need my family. I need a job I can take some pride in. I need to go back to school and finish up my degree. I need some kind of order in my life—a framework to my day or some kind of routine.”

  “I meant what do you need from Nigel? I see what you feel for him. What do you need for your heart to be whole?”

  “I need to know he’s happy.” That feels true.

  Jeff heard the key card in the lock and turned with Hazard in his arms. Nigel stopped just inside and leaned back against the door. “Hello, you.”

  “Hi.” Jeff pitched his voice low to avoid startling the baby.

  Jeff’s mom waved. “Hi, honey.”

  “God, what a night. I should take a shower and burn these clothes, but I must say hello to this marvelous little person first. Can I hold him?”

  “He might be sick, Nigel. You’d better not,” Colleen warned.

  "I'll be fine." Nigel leaned over and took Hazard from Jeff anyway, then plopped down beside him on the couch. He gazed at the baby, who gurgled happily. “How are you doing, small man. Sick? We can’t have that. Look at that red nose. You look a proper Hazard like that. I have a dozen relatives whose noses turn exactly that color every Saturday night.”

  “Do you want me to order you some breakfast?” Jeff asked.

  “No, thanks. I had something out.”

  Colleen stood and stretched. “If you guys are taking Hazard over, I am going to go to the workout room and get on the treadmill. The doctor will have my head if I don’t get in at least twenty minutes of walking every day while I’m here.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Jeff started to rise, but Colleen put her hand out to stop him.