Front Man

Front
Man

Adora Bell

Copyright
2012 Adora Bell

“Sara, come on! We'll be late!”

Sara Matthews took
one final look in the mirror and sighed. She loved her new bangs, but
today they just didn't want to behave. Running her fingers through
her long, dark hair, she smiled ruefully at her reflection. In her
skin tight leather pants and artfully distressed t-shirt, she knew
she looked good.

“Sara! What are
you doing up there?” Her best friend Erica was growing
impatient. They'd been looking forward to this evening for so long.
With one final swipe of lip gloss, just for good measure, Jessica
grabbed her bag and dashed down the stairs. Erica was standing by the
front door, hand on hip, jangling her car keys. Sara and Erica had
met on their first day of high school, and been firm friends ever
since.

“If we miss the
support act because you were messing about with your hair, our
friendship is over,” Erica teased, draping Sara's jacket over
her shoulders as she hustled her out the door.

“As if you care
about the support band! We're going to see Compass, that's all that
matters.”

Sara grinned. She had
followed Compass ever since they released their first single, “Back
Track.” The minute she heard Jack Carter's deep, growling
voice, singing about regrets and lost love, her heart melted. She had
dragged Erica straight to the mall to pick up the album, and spent
the rest of her allowance on a near life size poster of the band.
Jack took up most of the foreground, cradling his electric guitar,
his deep brown eyes seeming to look right at her. His strong hands
gripped his instrument, delicate fingers ready to tease beautiful
sounds from the strings. As she lay in her bed, letting the music
wash over her, Sara could almost imagine Jack was right there in the
room. She studied his flawless face, with its razor sharp cheek
bones, framed perfectly by a sweep of dark hair. Sara imagined Jack
stepping out of the poster, sweeping the soft toys off her bed so
that he could slide between the sheets with her. His soft lips
touching her own, Jack's lip piercing grazing her flesh as he gently
eased his tongue into her mouth. Just the thought of it made Sara
feel strange, sort of hot all over. She pictured herself peeling off
his black t-shirt, running her hands over the smooth muscles of his
torso, tracing the lines of his tattoos with her fingers as he kissed
her deeply. Sara's breathing grew heavier as she gave herself up to
the fantasy, Jack peeling her night dress off, exposing her already
plump breasts, kissing her all over. The delicate spot between her
legs was tingling, and she felt a rush of moisture soak her panties.
Tentatively, she slid her hand down her body, feeling the wet spot on
her underwear, applying just a little pressure. The slightest
movement set off a wave of pleasure that coursed through her, and a
tiny moan escaped her lips. She slid her fingers through her soft
pubic hair, seeking her swollen clitoris, desperate for more
pleasure.

“Oh, Jack,”
she groaned under her breath, imagining her idol lowering his head to
her desperate pussy, pleasuring her with his lips and tongue. She
rubbed her clitoris in circles, her eyes locked on the ceiling above
her bed, Jack's soulful expression heightening her excitement. Seized
by her passion, she thrust first one, then two fingers into her
pussy, frantically fucking herself as she imagined Jack above her,
filling her to the brim with his thick, hard cock.

“Jack, oh
Jack,” she groaned again, feeling the orgasm building inside
her as she arched her back, pushing her fingers deeper inside
herself. She moaned, grinding the heel of her hand against her
sensitive clit until she finally exploded, every muscle in her body
quivering as her pussy clenched around her fingers. Panting, dripping
with sweat, Sara sank back into the bed as the tiny aftershocks ran
through her. She gently eased her fingers out of her pussy and lay
still, gazing up at Jack's beautiful face. One day, she promised
herself, she would have him for real.

Five years later, and
at least part of Sara's dream was about to come true. Erica had
entered a phone-in competition with their local radio station, and
against the odds, been the lucky tenth caller. The prize was two
backstage passes to see Compass at City Stadium. It was the final
stop on the North American tour, before the boys headed to Europe.
The girls had been beside themselves with excitement for the past
couple of months. They had slept in line for festival tickets, paid
extortionate amounts on internet auction sites and lingered outside
stage doors into the early hours, all in the hopes of getting close
to their heroes. But the closest they had got was when Erica touched
the bass player's hand from the front row of their charity gig in
Boston. Tonight, they would finally be backstage, mingling with the
stars. Sara had played over what she would say to Jack so many times
in her mind, but she still couldn't decide on the best approach. She
didn't want to seem too forward, like just another slutty groupie,
but she was scared of seeming like a shy idiot...or clamming up
completely. Just be yourself, she repeated to herself like a mantra,
as she stared through the window of Erica's beaten up Honda. Rain
drops clattered against the
wind-shield
,
but the crummy weather couldn't dampen the girls' spirits. They
turned the new Compass album up as high as the cheap stereo would
allow, and sang along to every word at full volume.

***

“Jack, are you in there? Open the
hell up!”

Jack stayed slumped
in his chair, head in hands, breathing slowly in and out. If he could
only get rid of this nauseous feeling, everything would be okay. But
Jared was the last person he wanted to see at that moment; his
manager's attempts to calm him down only every made him more nervous.

“Well you
better not have a girl in there, cos I'm coming in!”

Jack sighed inwardly
as Jared bounced through the door clutching a sheaf of paper. Despite
being in his early fifties, Compass' manager seemed to have boundless
energy, and expected the same from the band. No matter how worn out
they felt, Jared was always behind them, pushing them forward,
forcing a good performance out of them. Jack knew they couldn't have
succeeded without him, but sometimes he wished he would just take a
holiday.

“What's up
Jared?” he grunted.

“Still feeling
sick?” His manager asked, taking in the front man's pale face
and grumpy expression, “you've got to learn to deal with these
nerves man, I hate seeing you like this.”

“I'll be fine
once I get on stage, you know that.”

“You'll be
better than fine, Carter, you'll be a fucking rock star. Like always,
right buddy?” Jared slapped Jack hard on the back, and he
willed himself not to throw up. He was always a wreck before gigs. He
had thought it would get better once Compass hit the big time, but as
the crowds and the venues grew, so did the intensity of these nervous
attacks. Nothing seemed to help; alcohol just made him vomit, drugs
just amplified the feeling. Besides, Jack didn't want to become
dependant on those things to perform. He'd seen it destroy so many
careers....he'd seen it destroy families.

“Now don't
freak out, but we've made a few changes to the set list,” Jared
went on, and Jack bristled. He hated last minute changes.

“We? Do you
mean Michael made changes?” Jared's expression told him his
assumption was correct. Jack's mood darkened even further. He was so
tired of Michael's petty little power plays, trying to throw him off,
fighting him tooth and nail for the spotlight. Michael was a talented
bass player, and before the band made it big, a solid friend. But
more than any of them, fame had gone to Michael's head. He threw
himself into the rock star cliché, throwing money around,
starting fights with other artists, and taking fans back to his hotel
room after every gig. He couldn't stand the thought of Jack getting
more attention than him.

“Look, Jack, I
know you two don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I actually
agree with Mikey this time round. We want to play new stuff, sure,
but you've got to throw some of your hits in there, that's what the
fans want. So we've put 'Back Track' in at the end of the set, just
before the encore.”

“For fuck's
sake Jared, we've talked about this! I don't want to sing that
goddamn song!”

“But Jack-”

“I said fucking
no, okay? I just...I can't handle that. Not right now.”

Jack looked Jared
straight in the face, mentally pleading with him to understand. To
let it go, just this once. But for all his excellent qualities, Jared
was no mind reader.

“We've already
agreed on it Jacky boy...come on, do it for me?”

His wheedling tone
set Jack's teeth on edge, and his temper flared.

“Just get the
fuck out, Jared! Fuck off and leave me the hell alone!” He
snapped. Holding his hands up in supplication, Jared backed out of
the dressing room. Shit, Jack thought, looking at himself in the
mirror, I can be a real asshole when I want to be.

“Can you see a
parking spot anywhere?” Erica said, peering into the gloom
outside the car window.

***

Sara squinted,
searching for a space between the rows and rows of vehicles. Just
then, a black SUV reversed out of a spot a couple of rows down, and
Erica raced towards it before it got stolen. The girls jumped out of
the car, jackets held over their heads to protect their hair from the
drizzle, and ran towards the stadium entrance. As they rounded the
corner, Sara caught her breath. The line up at the door was enormous,
a great crowd of people snaking round the block. Gaggles of teenage
girls in band t-shirts batted their eyelashes at older guys with
tattoos and piercings. There were a few middle aged couples, too,
looking a tiny bit nervous amongst the rabble; Compass attracted a
diverse fan base with their entrancing sound. Sara had even caught
her Mum singing along when she played them in the car.

“Oh look,
that's where we need to be,” Erica shouted over the din,
pointing up to a sign that read 'VIP Entrance. The much smaller door
had no
line-up
, but was guarded by three
burly doormen in black suits. They looked sternly at the girls as
they hurried towards them.

“Line starts
over their ladies,” one of them said gruffly. Erica rummaged in
her bag for their passes, and held them out. The head bouncer shone
his torch on them, checking the fine print; did people actually try
to fake these things, Sara wondered?

“Lucky prize
winners, ey?” The bouncer said, finally cracking a smile, “I
guess you'd better come on through. The bar's open at the side of the
stage, or you can go hang out in the lounge until the music starts.”

“Thanks so
much,” Erica gushed, and the doorman chuckled. “Just you
have fun tonight ladies.”

Sara grabbed Erica's
hand and gave it an excited squeeze as they passed through the
corridor, and into the brave new world of the VIP section.

Beers in hand, the
girls wound their way through the crowds of people until they were
right at the side of the stage. Sara took another sip of her drink.
Between the lights and the mass of writhing bodies , it was hot as
hell. The warm up act had been better than Sara was expecting; she
might even look up their latest album. But now it was time for the
main event. Sara felt another little shiver of excitement in the pit
of her stomach. Not only was she about to see Compass live, but she
would be only inches from Jack Carter the entire time. Suddenly the
lights dimmed. Erica reached over and squeezed her arm, and they
grinned at each other.

***

“And now,
ladies and gentleman, the moment you have all been waiting for.
Please give a very warm welcome to COMPASS!” The end of the
announcement was drowned out as a scream went up from the audience.
Jack felt his stomach lurch. Frozen at the side of the stage, he
could picture the crowd, their expectant faces...don't think about
it, he told himself. Donny, the drummer, punched him gently on the
shoulder.

“Time to go,
Jacky boy. Let's do this.”

Taking a deep breath,
Jack steeled himself, and stepped onto the stage. Somewhere beyond
the smoke and the lights, the crowd roared. Michael was at his
microphone already, of course, turning on the charm as he bantered
with the crowd. Jack swallowed hard as he gripped his guitar, willing
his throat not to close up. Then Donny dropped the beat, and Michael
let rip with the opening chords. Jack's fingers seemed to move by
themselves, caressing the strings of his guitar,coaxing out the
beginning of 'Hard Times.” He let the music carry him, lift him
up, make his heart sing and his head clear. And as he leaned in to
the microphone, and another great shout came from the crowd, he was
no longer a nervous wreck, no longer his heartbroken, angry,
vulnerable self. He was Jack Carter, the man who had sold a ten
million albums, the man every woman wanted to be with, the face on
the cover of every magazine. He was a star.