SailtotheMoon (2 page)

“You’re going into Maxx Syccorraxx’s studio?” someone
yelled.

Chick frowned. He was indicating who had the right to ask
questions, but Jace waved Chick’s concerns aside. “His name is Matt Sinclair
and yes, with him. He made such a great job of
Nightstar
, we don’t want
to go anywhere else.”

“Zazz, how does working with the man you replaced feel?” the
same person asked, directing his question at Zazz.

Zazz shrugged, his handsome face weary, but with a
restlessness displayed by the way he leaned back in his chair, shifting his
position frequently. An edge of recklessness infused him and he fidgeted with
the pencil in his fingers, twirling and twisting it as he answered. “I didn’t
replace Matt. I don’t sing the same way. I don’t have the same approach to the band.
I write, which Matt rarely did. To answer your question, I like him and we work
well together.” He spoke with a generically British accent, but with the flat
vowels of the north of England. Hard to place.

The questioner opened his mouth again, presumably to ask
something else, but Laura didn’t want him to ask anything stupid. For fuck’s
sake, there were things she wanted to know, and this guy was asking things a
dozen reporters before him had asked. Why waste time? Besides, Zazz seemed
restless and he might leave. This was her only chance to see the band so close
and personal. Right now she didn’t fucking care if this got her thrown out. She
wanted to know stuff.

Before she could think her action through, she spoke. “Are
the lyrics of
Personal
truly personal?”

Zazz laughed, a sharp bark of amusement. “Why that one?
Don’t you think the others are?”

“I think you take on different parts of yourself for your
songs, but like a method actor, you use other experiences too. Why call
something
Personal
if it isn’t? The codes in that song, the use of the
synonyms for personal, and the internal rhymes hint at something else.”

In response, he gave her a slow handclap. “Best question of
the night, and one I have no intention of answering.”

A smattering of applause and laughter followed his answer.
People stared at Laura as she blushed hotly, silently begging the floor to eat
her alive. But Zazz continued to watch her, his cool gaze intent on her face.
He ignored the questions directed on him, stared at her, until a slow,
seductive smile replaced the former expression of boredom. She couldn’t help
it. She smiled back.

He turned his attention to the next reporter.

His attention scrambled Laura’s brain. He despised her. Thought
her question stupid and naïve, she could tell. Beside her, Kelsie nudged her in
the ribs, not one of her best traits, but one that brought Laura back to earth.

She tore her avid gaze away from Zazz and scanned the room,
watching the crowd asking the band questions. Girls stood around, some wearing
impossibly trendy clothes, others in miniskirts and skimpy tops, with no sign
of warm outer covering. Far too inadequate for a Manchester that had turned
chilly in recent days. Grimacing, Laura reminded herself that she was
twenty-eight, not eighty-two, and she should feel ashamed of herself for being
so practical. Especially in a situation like this.

That was her trouble. Too cautious. She only let her inner
wild child free when she played her guitar and sang in the privacy of her own
room. Even tonight, her jeans were comfortable rather than tight and sexy, her
top roomy and well-worn. Kelsie wore leggings and a tiny top with a jacket that
owed more to style than to warmth. She looked great, if slightly on the sleazy
side. Entirely appropriate.

Not as cool or as effortlessly stylish as the people sitting
behind the table though.

Zazz’s navy-blue hair looked great on him, contrasting with
his naturally pale skin, like some night creature come to life. He still wore
the second T-shirt he’d worn onstage, a black one with a slogan that said,
Come
here and say that
. His leather trousers fit him like a second skin, so low
slung she wondered how he kept them up. She glimpsed skin between T-shirt and
trousers when he leaned back, tipping his chair precariously in a way that
would have schoolteachers all over the world tearing their hair out.

Such a contrast to Riku, dressed in elaborate layers, red
and gold brocade jacket under larger, black pirate-style coat, his hair a riot
of red and gold stripes. Riku subscribed to something called visual kei, a
Japanese style that seemed to involve wearing the most complex clothes and
makeup and creating an astonishing effect. He leaned back in his chair,
watching the audience from under half-lowered lids. One foot was clad in a
wickedly cuffed black leather boot propped on the table in front of him. He’d
painted the soles of the boots red, in a parody of a shoe designer, but blood
red, not the scarlet the designer used. He flaunted them as if he’d trodden in
the blood of the bands they’d disappointed by being so fucking good.

He spoke in answer to a question, his voice surprisingly
deep, his accent pronounced. Laura didn’t know enough about American accents to
know more than it wasn’t Texan or Southern. “I write all the time, mainly
without words. I watch, and that’s the way it comes out. It always has. I might
write about the way the world is dying under our feet.” That made sense of the
blood-red soles then. “Or the way oldsters are left to die in filthy hovels
after working all their lives for the Man. I might write about the beauty of a
flower, or the guilt of a parent when their child falls ill. Whatever. It’s all
in the music.” He shrugged, as if his answer meant nothing.

People shouted questions, making Laura’s head spin. Chick
controlled everything, decided whose questions were worth answering, what to
ignore. Laura watched and admired, but as she tried to concentrate on other
things, other people, Zazz intruded into her consciousness.

Stupid, because he’d probably forgotten her already.

She enjoyed the experience of watching a world-famous band
fending off the media. They answered as they saw fit, or refused to answer. All
of them had consummate charm, and had that arrogant thing. Or maybe it was
supreme confidence, something Laura had fought for all her life but never
managed to master. Maybe it came with money, or maybe in doing what they loved
best. She had no idea, but none of those things applied to her. She had a
fulfilling job, which earned her enough to own a decent, if not outstanding
flat and afford a few extras. She was lucky, really lucky. And she helped
people, she did something worthwhile.

The conference ended by the simple expedient of the members
of the band drifting away. V and Jace left via a door behind them. Donovan
glanced around and linked hands with a woman who came straight to him like a
homing pigeon. They left by another door with “Exit” over the portal. Hunter
found a woman wearing headphones—that would be his new fiancée Sabina, who had
recently had an operation to restore her hearing. She wore phones to block out
too much sound. Laura had read all about it, not just because of her curiosity
about the band, but the operation had fascinated her. It must have taken a lot
of courage to go in for it, since it was still in the experimental stage.

Riku and Zazz kicked away from the table. After glancing at
each other they started to mingle with the members of the media, who
immediately clustered around them and asked questions. The girls fringing the room
moved forward—in for the kill. The guy who had brought them in moved forward
and murmured to Chick, who glanced at them and nodded.

“Hey, I’m going to see if I can beat all the professionals
and hook Riku or Zazz,” Kelsie murmured low, so only Laura could hear.

“No, we’d better stay here.” Anxiety grew in her once more,
rising to clog her throat. But Kelsie had gone, heading toward the table with
purpose in her stride. Laura stared after her, knowing a protest would go
ignored. At this rate she’d never get to meet James Asano. They’d be asked to
leave if Kelsie made a nuisance of herself.

Whatever. She’d remember the concert as one of the most
incandescent experiences of her life.

And wasn’t that a sad thing?

“Hey, it’s the woman with the perceptive questions.”

At the voice she spun around and nearly fell. The tall man
standing behind her caught her elbows, helping her to regain her balance. She
wobbled even more. His warmth seeped through her, entered every part of her.

“Zazz, oh my God.”

He grinned, the curve of his lips even more devastating
close up. “Nope, just Zazz. Hi. I was planning to shake your hand, but I like
this better.” He didn’t let go, but drew her closer. Someone murmured an excuse
and pushed past her. She wanted to check her bag, but that would have meant
letting go, and she wasn’t about to do that. She stayed where she was, and he
didn’t move away. He raised a brow. “Which paper are you from?”

“I’m not. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.”

“You livened a boring press conference. I’m going to start
making shit up from now on. It’s more interesting than the tedious truth.”

She grinned back, as if they were sharing a secret. “You’re
really talented.”

Up close, she found his smile devastating, reaching into her
inmost self, parts of her she’d buried deep. How could he do that with a simple
smile, as if they’d been friends for years? “People tell me that, sometimes. So
what are you doing here if you’re not press?”

“I came to see a member of the crew,” she said, suppressing
the wild impulse to tell him she was a groupie and did he want to find a room?

He dropped his hands from her elbows. “You’re someone’s
girlfriend?”

“No, it’s about something else.” She wouldn’t say more, even
to Zazz, because it was confidential. Nobody else had the right to know.

Luckily Zazz didn’t persist. “You know my name. What’s
yours?”

“It’s Laura.”

He smiled. “Nice. Hi, Laura. You’re the second Laura I’ve
met tonight. I’m dodging the first one. Chick warned me about that one, and I
decided I don’t want to see her.” He glanced around quickly, as if hunted, then
looked back at her. “Okay, so you’re not press, or media of any kind. You don’t
have a sister or an aunt or something who writes for the
NME
.”

She shook her head. The thought of her stuffy teacher
parents writing for a music paper made her smile.

He grabbed her hand. “Then let’s get away from the other
Laura, hmm?”

Giving her no chance to argue, he towed her across the room
to the door behind the makeshift stage area. She couldn’t even look around to
see where Kelsie was, because the room was still packed with people. Kelsie
wasn’t the tallest of women, even in her stiletto-heeled ankle boots, so her
view was severely limited.

Her hand tucked into his larger one, she let him lead her
into the other room. It wasn’t, as she’d half imagined, some kind of den of
iniquity, but a smaller room with a table holding better drinks and
refreshments than the one outside. This one had spirits and mixers, fresh
sandwiches and wraps, other goodies. “What, no sausages on sticks?”

Zazz glanced at the table and laughed. “Nope. Nobody likes
them, I guess. That’s what we like. Hungry? What do you like to eat?”

The room contained a number of people, maybe thirty,
including some of the members of the band. Jace nodded at them from where he
stood with his lady, Beverley. Beverley nodded to her. Laura had sent her photo
to Beverley, for ID purposes, so Beverley probably recognized her. Laura
returned Beverley’s smile, half expecting to be thrown out, but she’d ride this
stroke of luck as long as she could. Casting away her responsibilities for the
time being, she decided to make the most of tonight. She could always try to
see James tomorrow. The band had another gig then. Maybe she’d get to see them
again. “Are you staying in Manchester long?” They had a gap before their next
set of concerts in London. A week, she thought, as she’d also tried to get
tickets for that venue, with abject failure. Sold out.

Zazz nodded. “We have one more concert here, then nothing
for a week or so. Gives us time to regroup, I guess. We’ve got some TV
appearances and a few other things. Radio and shit like that, but we don’t all
have to be there.”

“I don’t have to be there.”

He laughed. “I guess you don’t. How come you’re so easy to
talk to?”

She blinked. “I didn’t think I was.”

“You are. I wanted to talk to you about your question. Are
you a mega fan, one of those people who follow us around from gig to gig?” He
handed her a beer and took one for himself, clicking the neck of the bottle
against hers before he took a long swallow.

“I wish.” It was her turn to laugh. “I need to earn a
living.”

“So you’re not in the music biz?”

“Hardly.” She shrugged. “You need an in. To know somebody.”

“I tell you what. How about coming back to the hotel with
me? It’s much quieter there, and I want to talk to you.”

“Talk?” She didn’t even try to keep the cynical tone out of
her voice.

“Yeah.” He faced her square on and lowered his voice. “We’re
staying at the Buckingham. I shouldn’t tell you that, but I get the feeling you
won’t rush out and yell it to everybody out there. I’m telling you so you know
where you’re going. If you say yes. I don’t get decent conversation outside the
band and these days, most of them are busy.” He glanced to where Donovan was
having a murmured conversation with a dark-haired woman, and he didn’t have to
say any more.

Zazz was lonely. With only Riku left single, they’d have all
the groupies to themselves, but none of the true intimacy of having a partner.
Sharing. She didn’t feel sorry for him, that would be stupid. But a thread of
melancholy entered her buoyant mood and she wanted to comfort him. Foolish,
because he hadn’t hinted at anything of the kind, apart from that one telling
look.