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The music from the clubs speakers cut-out. That was my cue. I took Jakes' hands in mine and kissed them, muttering my preshow blessing. "Kick their asses."
Jake pressed a palm to my cheek and moved closer. The obvious hunger in his gaze had me pressing my thighs together, aching over how much fun we could have with only ten more minutes and a bathroom stall. Jake closed his eyes and granted me one last, knee-buckling kiss. Everyone was watching, but they said nothing. Even Gary must have known better than to screw around right before hitting the stage.
After quietly showing myself out, I checked the hallway and bathroom before making my way back to the front, anxiously searching for Avery. It wouldn't be long before Analog's set started and I needed to be up front. A few people-girls mostly but some dudes, too-nodded and waived and mouthed more well-wishes as I made my way through the crowd. I could feel the heat in my cheeks rising with every blessing the strangers dispensed. I was so damn proud.
I found Avery waiting up front with a huge smile and a Wet Floor sign propped near her feet. She was saving my spot at front row, center stage, directly in front of Jakes' mic stand. When I got to her, she tapped the security guard nearby and he removed the propped up sign, making room for me.
"How does it feel Misses Analog Controller-I mean Misses Haddon?" Her hug was warm and fierce. "It's really coming together for you." When she pulled away her eyes were wet. "Congrats."
She jerked her head, gesturing, "I better go punch a few bitches." She headed to the crowded spot right in front of Andrew like she always did. No punching was necessary; the girls already standing there moved aside.
I planted my feet, preparing for the onslaught of the crowd that looked to have doubled in size since the last band played. A club staffer performed the final ritual set-up of Analog's last piece of equipment; taping up the set-lists. The houselights dimmed to black as the MC-slash-club manager announced the band.
I heard the close shuffle of feet over the excited crowd that suddenly pushed from behind me and leaned into the pressure.
The clicking count of Max's drumsticks further excited the throng. With the ring of the first note, the drums kicked in, the bass thumped, and lights flashed on. Shouts blasted like rapid gun fire. Fists went up, pumping the air.
Jake's long, melodic enthusiasm was ringing above it all. "Yeahhhh . . ." he began. "This one's for my mother."
I couldn't stop my bursting laughter. He was so bad-in the very best way. Jake looked down at me, gave a quick wink and tossed a foot on top of the monitor at his feet, leaning out, addressing the crowd with his sarcastic song about lies and revenge.
I felt the building of the crowd behind me, pushing with renewed ferocity, inching me to the very edge of the stage as Jake played and sang. A glance back proved what I suspected. Before the first chorus, the mosh pit was going, bigger and badder than before. I turned my attention back to the stage, touching Jake's leather-clad legs when he leaned within reach.
I sang along to every song and loved every second. It is what the stuff of sonnets, like he said. It was life and love and fun. It was Jake doing what he was born to do and I couldn't take my eyes off him.
My magician cast a powerful spell.
+++
After the set, when Jake made his way out to mingle amongst the common-folk, I did my duty and stayed back. Though I wanted nothing more than to tackle him and drag him back to my room, I had to let the wannabe groupies-that night most of them looked old enough to be his mother-have their fun trying to charm him. But Jake was the one who did the charming. He smiled and signed shirts, EP's and flyers, a few arms, a boob. It was crazy.
I watched him talk with the guy from the TV station. It was a short interview. The reporter congratulated him on his engagement and then jumped into questions about the changing music scene and asked Jakes' opinion on the new direction of Rock and Roll. There were so many different types of sounds converging in 1994. New genres were birthed, and Analog Controller seemed at the tip of it with their mingling of halted and melodic vocals poured over hard rock and punk influences. When the spotlight shut off, they asked Jake to spell out the name of the band and the venue where they would be playing the next night. The edited interview would air during the eleven o'clock segment.
Once the reporter left, Jake introduced me to Pierce, who didn't look at all like I thought he would. For one, his teeth weren't pointed. They were bleached an unnatural white. Second, he was much younger than I'd assumed. With a name like Pierce, I imagined a balding, stuffed suit, but he had spiky blond hair and Bermuda shorts. He asked me my name and where I was from, and before I even answered, he launched into a technical critique of the bands performance, telling Jake he should consider playing a different guitar called an LTD, which lost me right away. I loved watching Jake talk, though. And the way he listened; with his eyebrows slightly crinkled and his full lips resting in a subtle pucker. He was so engaged in everything-a sponge wanting to soak up as much as he could whenever possible. As he conversed with Pierce, more people approached, interrupting and dragging his attention away. Soon Pierce was leaving, but the crowd around the band-namely Jake-grew. He talked to each person, taking their attentive questions and familiar postures in stride, though I knew he didn't like when strangers just threw their arms around him. But it was his element; he shined so bright inside it.
To pass the time, I made my way over to the booth where the merchandise was being sold. Gary was there, peddling merch, taking cash for tee shirts and passing out free stickers to any girl he thought was cute.
Andrew, who had followed me over, eyed him. "You know those cost a dollar each just to print."
Gary, whose performance I completely forgot to watch, looked confidently back. "It's free advertising. Besides, I'm keeping track. I'll pay for'em."
As Gary turned back to the line, Andrew found me, setting his sight on a spot next to me. He was staring at Avery who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. She grinned at me, smelling of sweet smoke.
As Andrew walked over, Avery stepped in front of me, meeting him half way.
He spoke right into her ear. Most of what I caught was mumbles, but I clearly heard Andrew say, "I'm going to tell him."
Avery scoffed, "I should care because . . . ?"
Andrew shook his head and made a slash across his throat with his thumb. The message was clear: a no-vote for poor Gary. My stomach plunged to my feet, taking my confidence with it. That chick was already in the lead and she hadn't even played yet.
Those poisonous words crept back in.
"Not yet."
+++
It was so late by the time Jake was done talking with all the new fans that we all just headed back to the motel together.
