Marsha looked like sex on two heels in her colorful floral silk kimono over a leather dress that had a toggled zipper running straight up the middle. She had paired her ensemble with three inch spiked pumps.

"You’re gonna get a nosebleed from that altitude," I commented.

"Wish you would have worn them.” She smiled. “They would look great with your outfit."

"There's a time to suffer for fashion's sake and a time to yield to function." I gestured at myself, and she shifted in her club chair to look at me. "I look positively trashy don't you think?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Genius recycling the feather boa into that peekaboo top, and it's so totally cool that you're planning to do another routine to lure the next guy to your bed." She wiggled her brows. “Just remember, you may be dressed like a tramp, but you’re not one. You are worth every penny you asked for from WMO. Every stipulation. I really wish you'd let it go about me. This was your idea. It’s your show. I’m happy to just tag along for the ride. But your loyalty is one of the many beautiful things about you. You're not trash, honey. You're a good person. This thing with RFC will work out and your dad will come around. He loves you. He'll remember that soon enough. Don’t give up on him. And don’t go out tonight with a beaten down attitude. Guys sense that and exploit it." A shadow darkened her usually bright features as if she had some experience with that kind of scene.

I leaned forward and took her hand. "Is there something you want to tell me, Mars?"

She shook her head, her features forming a stubborn mask. She wasn't going to share, but I had a feeling that whatever it was had happened when she had spiraled emotionally like I had after Hawk had died. "Project confidence, Raven. Have a good time.” Her gaze firmed. “Don’t let anybody near your heart unless you want them there and are sure you can trust them to do right by you." She gave me a long searching look and her brow creased. "You sure you're in the right frame of mind for this tonight? Steps from Hell's lead singer is a far cry from Rayne Michaels."

"I know." I sucked in a steadying breath. "But that’s the point of all of this, isn’t it? To expand my horizons. To try new things.” To be someone different or at least someone I could live with.

She studied me for a moment longer then nodded. "JGB aka John Got Busted certainly is hard core."

"Hard core handsome,” I clarified.

"Granted.” She catalogued his assets. “That shock blond hair. Those piercing, grey green eyes. The tats. The irreverent fuck ‘em all attitude. But don’t get fooled into thinking just because he's got a sweet seven year old daughter he brags about all the time that his reputation for being into some really bad shit isn’t deserved. We stay close together around this one." She gave me a hard-core death stare.

"No problem. But I thought you were gonna go for the drummer.

“I was. I mean he's hot. But he said some derogatory things about women on the online forums that turns his handsome to shit." She shrugged a slim shoulder. "If I see something-something that catches my eye I’ll send you a signal." She glanced at her watch. "Shoot. It’s already four."

“I know.” I sighed. "I think maybe the manager must have warned 2 Rows Back that there were some shady looking fans stalking the lobby."

"Shady sexy." She smiled. "Their loss. We’ll catch them later at the Garden."

* * *

"I can’t see the stage from here," I complained to Marsha waving off the vendor selling Crown and Coke to the captive capacity crowd. Sure my bestie and I wanted to party and we were plenty thirsty. But we had to limit our fluid intake in the pit. So closely smashed together with other fans, even if we had been willing to give up our standing room space six rows behind the barricades, I doubted it would be technically feasible to escape to the restroom. This crowd was serious. Not the laid back blankets on the grass type that Gexa had been. The pricey tickets at the Garden had sold out within hours of going on sale, bottom to top, an upper echelon Zenith sponsored event. It said a lot about the Dragons that they had been squeezed in for a set thirty minutes before the officially scheduled start of the show. Definitely a band on the rise, the Dragons merited watching even if the guys hadn’t been so damn hot.

"We need to get closer." Marsha gnawed contemplatively on her bottom lip. "And we have to try sooner rather than later. Everyone in the crowd is going to get more territorial about their spots the closer we get to 2 Rows Back coming out." She reached for the toggle on her zipper and lowered it to a spot that had the guy standing next to us shifting closer so he could have a peek. "Hey." She ignored him and tapped the broad shouldered, built like a professional wrestler dude in front of her.

"Yeah?" His FDNY embroidered ball cap dipped to her chest first before he looked up. His eyes glazed over and he smiled appreciatively.

“My friend and I…" Marsha trailed off lowering her lashes and sticking out her tits, “really, and I mean really wanna get closer to the stage." She placed her hand on his massive chest and branded his arm with her cleavage. "Can you and your friend help us out?"

Her impromptu scheme worked like a charm. The two guys turned out to be off duty firefighters. They knew how to command a crowd as impressively as my bestie knew how to work them. Center stage, no one in front of us, right against the barricades. I started to get butterflies, mostly about seeing my favorite band perform, but some...ok maybe a lot...because I knew the Dragons were coming out first. Lucky would definitely see me, though I didn’t know how I felt about seeing him again after that scene on the bus. I shifted to my bestie as the lights turned down reaching for her hand, but she was otherwise occupied. Her fireman had her hand tucked into his arm. She was smiling up at him. She looked as dazed as he had when he'd been boob-struck by her cleavage. Mars had met her match, at least for the evening. I think she had found her something-something.