THE SET CHANGE to get ready for the headliner happened quickly. Sundown had an army of minions that I imagined had probably been on staff for many years. An artist of Rayne Michael’s caliber could afford to pay and retain the best roadies in the business.
Marsha and I grabbed each other's hands when the rock legend strutted out, not at the forefront like Lucky, but last after all of his bandmates had already taken their places on stage.
Grinning his trademark double grooved smile, Rayne lifted his hand up in the air when he reached the center mic to acknowledge the audience. He turned to his drummer. Nodding, the percussionist clacked his sticks together. On the third count, the rest of the band crashed in. Crisp. Precise. Tight. A guitarist frontman like Lucky, Rayne wasn't a showy performer. He let his music speak for him. He stood and played his guitar between his rhythm man and his bassist seeming to take refuge behind the microphone. After leading his band through several hard core rock songs in succession, he paused to wipe his brow with a towel. His gaze landed on me, and my eyes glazed over as he began to strum the familiar chords of my favorite tune, "Second Chances". It seemed to me that he sang just for me. I felt as if the two of us were completely alone in the crowded venue.
When the applause died down, he removed the towel from around his neck and tossed it toward me. I didn't catch it. Marsha did. Luckily. She lifted her prize up in the air. The crowd cheered. She let me hold it but only for a moment before she tucked it inside her large shoulder bag for safekeeping.
The band moved on to another familiar song. Shoulder to shoulder, Marsha and I belted out the lyrics. Sundown wasn't our favorite band 2 Rows Back, but Rayne Michaels was pretty amazing. We were probably going to have to consider moving his band into an honorary co-favorite position with them. I tried to focus on enjoying his performance, but my nerves jangled whenever I thought about what might possibly happen with the sexy superstar later.
I STARED AT my bright eyed reflection in the women's restroom. Finished with the application of ruby red lipstick, I smacked my lips together to even out the coating and turned toward my bestie. “How do I look?”
"Fantastically fuckable." Marsha took the gold tube from my hand, checking to make sure I hadn't smeared any gloss on my gloves.
"Thanks." I frowned, hearing the sudden roar of applause outside. "But I wish we had been able to see Rayne's last number." We had been hustled away and escorted to the backstage waiting area by two burly event security guys.
"Me, too. His set list rocked. I thought he would only perform originals. I wasn't expecting the covers." Her eyebrows waggled. "And he’s so confident. So sexy without even trying."
I bobbed my head, a stray wisp escaping the sticks that held back most of my hair. I tucked the escaped strand around my ear. My palms felt clammy inside my gloves. "Do you think we have time to practice the routine one more time?"
"I don't think so, honey." She gathered my cloth covered hands in her bare ones and squeezed. "But you'll be fine." Lashes thick with mascara framed the blazing blue sincerity in her gaze. "You've done this routine before."
"Yeah. In the high school gym. For the talent show. And I almost got myself expelled." I let out a shaky breath. "This is different. This is for Rayne fucking Michaels."
A loud knock on the restroom door startled both of us. "Miss Winters. Miss West," an authoritative male voice boomed rattling the metal frame. We both glanced at the door then back at each other.
"Let's do this," I told her, attempting to project confidence as I stepped toward the exit but was brought up short when she caught the feathery end of my powder blue boa.
"You're gonna rock Rayne’s fucking world.” She pulled up alongside me. "Or Lucky's. But only if you want to." She looked me straight in the eye. I swallowed with difficulty. I had nowhere to hide under her knowing gaze. "It's your choice who, when and how. Your call and no one else's. Don't ever forget that."
"I love you, Mars." She always said just what I needed to hear.
"I love you more," she replied, the same words she always returned whenever I expressed my affection. Feeling better, I opened the door. I was immediately blinded by the bright light a waiting cameraman pointed at me. I stumbled backward into my best friend.
"What the hell?" Marsha began, only to be interrupted by a man in a suit who moved in front of the cameraman.
"Carter Besille, Miss Winters." I recognized him even before he introduced himself. The notorious celebrity talk show host zeroed in on me, his eyes traveling the length of my form and lingering in certain areas in a way that had me wanting to take a shower. “I want to ask you a few questions about this Rock Fuck Club thing."
"She's not answering questions." Marsha took my hand and pulled me past him.
"Aw, come on." Carter caught up to us, thrusting his microphone under my nose. "Give my viewers some juicy details." He chuckled. "Or better yet, how about we go somewhere for a private interview."
I shook my head, biting back angry words I knew he would only use against me. I glanced at Marsha, and she returned my gaze. Her expression of surprise mirrored my own. The local radio station's interest in us made sense. We were local girls. That our endeavor had caught the attention of the national media was unexpected and also worrisome considering my job. Gratefully, the two security guards from earlier appeared. They insinuated themselves between us and the talk show host and his cameraman.
"This is a restricted area," the taller one barked authoritatively, his expression stern. "Take the girls to the party room," he told his companion. "I'll escort our uninvited guests back upstairs to join the rest of the press.” Marsha and I let out relieved sighs as more security personnel appeared to enforce the stern security guard’s directive. Besille's eyes flashed his irritation. He gave me a look over his shoulder that let me know my dealings with him were far from over. Turning us in the opposite direction, the shorter security guard motioned for us to follow him. My spiked heels clacked as we traversed the length of a long concrete corridor. At the end there was a set of double doors and a sign taped to them that read: Fringefest After-Party. Badge required. Our guard lifted his chin to two of his brethren who stood beside the entrance. Looking serious and wearing t-shirts like our escort, they scanned our lanyards and waved us in.
"Thanks," I murmured. My nerves returned as I stepped through the veritable rock portal into the after-party room alongside my best friend. As the door clicked closed, I got my eyeballs scalded by the alternative reality inside. Slack jawed I paused to take it all in.
"Holy fuck!" Marsha exclaimed, her words mirroring my thoughts. It was a large space. There was a requisite full bar, catered spread and thumping music. The party was already loud and in full swing. But those things weren’t what prompted her exclamation. It was the plethora of bodacious babes being plundered, and I mean plowed unapologetically right in the open: whether against the walls, on the couches or at the base of a huge ice sculpture identified as the Fringe Luge in bright neon sculpted letters. Neither of us should have been shocked. My bestie and I were far from innocent. And sure, I knew to expect this type of behavior at a rock concert after-party, but I hadn’t until that present moment realized how much Ivan must have toned things down for me whenever I had joined him backstage.
"Forget it," I whispered, spinning around on my heels. "This is like an orgy scene in Spartacus. Public porn. No one’s gonna even notice my silly skit."
"Yes they will." Marsha caught my arm and turned me to face her. "They've already noticed. Lucky is staring this way. So is Rayne." She flicked her eyes to the corner where my chosen rock god sat. He had a topless babe on his lap. He was absently fondling her, but he was definitely watching me. I didn’t make eye contact with him. I noticed him, sure. How could I not? But if I looked him in the eyes, I would definitely lose my nerve. Only just imagining it made me shiver.
"What's sexy isn't what's going on with those other women, honey,” Marsha said as she dug her GoPro out of her bag. “It's you, your confidence and how you project it." She brandished her cell, giving me a not so subtle shove toward the empty center of the room. She was in charge of music, lighting, filming and the introduction. "Raven Winters is here." Her voice projected loudly. The room went silent as someone flipped off the music. The only remaining sound was the tinkling of the tequila waterfall that ran down the luge. "The spectacular." The cinder block walls magnified my bestie’s volume. "The one and only for whomever she chooses tonight." I felt the stares of the hundred or so partiers inside the room. Tension hung in the air like a curtain. The Academy Award winning burlesque tune started. I closed my eyes and found that kernel of confidence within myself. It sparkled brightly because of the support of my best friend.
Opening my eyes, basking in the torch light from her phone, feeling the spirited crescendo from Sondheim's 'Sooner or Later' rising, I brought my gloves to my face, then slowly lifted my arms behind my head, crisscrossed them and lowered my lashes while casting a seductive glance around the room. Everyone was staring. Rayne. Lucky. His bandmates, even the brunette from his room. My inner vixen fueled by the attention, I continued with my performance, lowering my arms and gliding my gloved hands down over my breasts and then back up over them again. I parted my lips in a practiced pout of pleasure. As I watched Lucky's talented hands fold tightly around his tumbler, I imagined him touching me instead. Hips sashaying to the sultry rhythm of the song, I traced my tits, then my lower curves. Sliding both my hands over my recently waxed pussy, I left one on my cocked hip and raised the other high in the air over my head. I flipped it out dramatically, turned my body in the opposite direction and posed. The room seemed to crackle with electricity. Bending at the knees, my boa hanging to the floor in an upside down u over one of my shoulders, I twirled one arm in a wide circle before stretching it out parallel to the floor and using my other hand to peel off my glove, finger by finger. It was only a tease. I reached above my elbow for the top of my glove, spun to the front again, brought the partially loosened glove behind my head, whipped it off and flung it away.
Strutting forward toward Rayne, I brought the boa up around both shoulders and shimmied my body up and down to the music. Then I turned my back to him, letting the boa fall low across my shoulder blades and rolling my hips suggestively.
I heard the irreverent curse that dropped from the icon's lips. Heart pounding, I turned my head to the side and raised my gloved hand to my shoulder, stroking my skin in a slow circle like a lover.
"Sooner or later," I sang. "You're gonna want me." Both arms straight out, I let the boa drop to the floor. "Sooner or later, you're gonna fuck me," I adlibbed. Arms lowering, I traced another sensual path over my upper and lower curves then blatantly cupped my own ass. "Because rocker, I always get my man." I turned in a wide, slow circle and gasped when I was suddenly plucked off the floor by a strong set of arms.
"You got me, baby." Rayne crushed me to his hard chest and let out another blistering curse. "You had me the moment I saw you out in the audience." A room full of people stared as he stalked toward the exit with me held in his arms like a prize. We passed by Lucky and his entourage on the way to the door. I held my breath thinking for a moment that maybe the Dragons’ frontman might stop the superstar from whisking me away. But he didn't. The flirting from stage. The stuff about knocking on my door later. It wasn’t real. Not that I would allow Lucky to rob me of the elation of snagging a rock legend, and not that I really cared one way or the other what the lead singer of the Dragons thought. Bottom line, he wasn’t the type of guy to take a stand for someone like me, and I wasn’t playing the role of a woman who needed rescuing.