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Authors: Lynne Connolly

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He pulled her closer and kissed her, long and sweet, lazily
exploring her mouth with his tongue. He’d given up deciding on her taste. She
was only Laura. When he’d exchanged emails with her about his father, he hadn’t
imagined she’d be so fucking sexy in the flesh, had even imagined she was some
kind of middle-aged spinster. After all, middle-aged spinsters liked rock music
too, so her knowledge in that area hadn’t shocked him. He’d enjoyed her acerbic
comments, her asides and the way they could chat about this and that. Once
they’d dealt with business—authorization of various treatments and funds,
keeping him informed, as next of kin, about Jimmy’s condition. At first he’d
used the other discussions as a distraction from the old man, but then they’d
become important for themselves.

The old man wouldn’t move out to a facility, but maybe, if
he stayed on a few days, he might be able to persuade him. Between bouts of
stupendous sex with Laura, of course. He’d talk to Beverley, get her to book
him a suite here for the rest of the week. This floor was only booked until
tomorrow.

Decision made, his mind eased. “Are you coming to the
concert tonight?”

She beamed at him. “Too right. I’d have hung about outside
for a ticket if you hadn’t asked.”

He tapped her nose. “Bad girl. Most of those are forged, and
the bar code doesn’t work. You won’t ever do that, will you?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “I can email you and demand
them now.” The light in her eyes faded a little. “I’ll miss you.”

“Not yet, you won’t. I’m thinking of staying for a few days.
I don’t have to be in London until Friday for the final checks for Saturday
night’s show. Three nights at Wembley.” He purred. “The last time I was in
London, we played a smaller venue, and I wasn’t with Murder City Ravens then.
Before that, I was playing pubs and clubs. When I started, I played guitar and
sang for my supper, literally. I had no money, nowhere to live, and I’d never
been so energized.”

“Starvation sharpened your mind?” She stroked his chest with
the flat of her hand, sending his cock stirring again. But he wanted this quiet
time with her too. A friend.

“Doing what I wanted to do most in life. Taking the chance.”
That wasn’t the only reason he found himself in London in a series of scruffy
squats, even spending a few nights on the streets. He leaned on one elbow, gazing
at her face. He enjoyed the sight of her like this, relaxed after lovemaking,
her face glowing. “I was young—fuck, was I young—so I had time to get it right.
Or not. But if I’d failed, I could have done something else.”

“Without qualifications?”

He kissed her nose. “Not one. Riku’s classically trained. It
meant he started doing the music he loves a bit later. Do you think he’s a
better musician than me?”

“Of course not.”

He laughed at her indignation. “He is. He can play anything
you put in front of him.” He considered. “Except perhaps a sitar, but I bet he
could get some kind of tune out of it. He’s added amazing texture to what we
do.”

“You’ve added soul.”

That pleased him immeasurably. “Thanks. I try to.”

She cupped his cheek. “You open yourself onstage. What you
sing is what you feel. That takes such courage.”

“I get a lot of rewards.” Communication. It gave him
thousands of new friends for however long the concert lasted. People who would
remember him, and the way he made them feel. He’d never worked out precisely
what gave him such a buzz, but it was the biggest high he’d ever felt. He gazed
at his lover. Maybe he’d found something to rival it.

Not to be thought of. He’d made a friend this weekend,
solidified a relationship that had come to mean a lot to him in the last two
years. When he’d had a bad night he could complain to her, albeit in vague
terms, and she’d respond, cool and uninvolved.

He didn’t want that time back though. He wanted this.

“It’s what you do,” she said. “That’s why Murder City Ravens
is so huge. You turn that stage into a small room, and you speak to everyone
individually. And you speak to them about things they can empathize with, then
you lift it to something universal.” She flattened her palm against his chest,
warming his heart and heating his libido.

He kissed her lavishly for that, and when they emerged, both
a little breathless, he said, “Don’t say any more. I’m getting a big enough
head as it is.” He ground his erection against her stomach and dropped his
head, giving a helpless laugh. “That punished me as much as you. We can’t. We,
or I, have to get to the arena.”

“We,” she said firmly. “I want this. I’ll never get this
chance again, to live the rock-star life.”

“You might.” He refused to say any more, wanting her to enjoy
the moment. “Live every moment like it’s your last” had long been a maxim he
lived by. “Remember, sweetheart, live large.” He swung the bed sheets back and
with regret, left the bed for the shower.

They didn’t share, but he decided they would later, if she
was up for it. He had stage clothes at the arena, and they traveled with the
rest of the stage equipment, so all he had to do was find jeans and a T-shirt.
They had a couple of hours before they were due onstage, and here, they had to
be prompt, because the arena had an eleven p.m. curfew. “I’ll wear the three-fuck
jeans,” he said, as if to himself.

“What?” she looked up from donning her own clothes. She was
still adorably tousled, her hair damp from the shower.

“It takes me three fucks to get them on.” Tight, displaying
everything in a kind of well-molded way. He was kind of right. It took four.

“Fuck,” she murmured.

Five.

“Rock-star lifestyle.” He found an AC/DC T-shirt and pulled
it on. “Ready?”

She grimaced. “I guess. Underdressed now.”

To his eyes she looked perfect. Jeans and T-shirt, both
black, enhancing her fair skin and dark hair, which gleamed in the low lights
of the suite. “Fantastic.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her close for a kiss.
“Taste good too.”

“It’s your toothpaste.”

She’d applied a little makeup, enhancing her pretty
features. She wasn’t stunningly beautiful, not the kind of model looks that
would turn heads, but to his eyes, she looked perfect. And not the most
exacting lover could complain about her body. She was a feast, breasts full
enough for a generous mouthful, delectable indent at her waist, flaring out
into beautiful hips. “My toothpaste never tasted that good. It’s you. Come on,
before I take you back to bed.”

He wanted her again and he didn’t care if he didn’t stop
until his cock fell off, because it was too good to deny. But they were
strapped for time, so Zazz contented himself with one more kiss before they
left the room. He also handed her his spare keycard. “This will get you into
the lift, this room and the communal room.”

“I’m not even sure what that looks like.”

“Nope. But we should have eaten with the others. We’ll get
something at the arena.”

For the first time, they saw others waiting for the lift,
but since it was a goods lift normally, they had plenty of room once it came.
Zazz kept Laura by his side, but she went quiet, smiling shyly at the others.
Except for Kelsie. They exchanged grins, but Kelsie clung to Riku like a
limpet. Riku had a look Zazz knew—indulgence. Kelsie would get something out of
this, but it wouldn’t last much longer. Riku needed a woman who’d stand up to
him. He treated women, and some of the men he occasionally slept with, as pets,
and most of them let him get away with it. He longed for the day when Riku
would get his comeuppance, but it wouldn’t be this woman who delivered it to
him. He hoped she knew, but from her proprietorial pose he doubted it.

 

The lift reached its destination and they stepped out. He
took the limo with Riku and Kelsie in it, figuring Laura would prefer to be
with someone she knew, but as soon as they’d sat, Kelsie and Riku lip-locked.
He exchanged a glance with Laura, quirked a brow. “Somebody’s got to look out
for the Indians,” he said.

“And it’s us cowboys.” From her expression, she knew as well
as he did that if they started, they wouldn’t leave the limo for a while.

He’d never found such difficulty concentrating on an
upcoming performance before. From the grudgingly given spots in down-at-heel
pubs, to the biggest arenas available, he’d looked forward to every one with a
single-minded anticipation that blocked out everything else. Now, one glance at
Laura and thoughts of crisp sheets and hot bodies intruded into his thoughts.

Holding Laura’s hand, he watched the familiar-yet-not
streets pass by the window. Years ago the IRA had planted a bomb, and while
nobody had been killed, that part of the city had been completely rebuilt. All
new, shiny glass and steel replacing the dingy yellow-tiled shopping center. They
turned around the corner and passed the Cathedral, still in the same place.
Unlike the old pub and Sinclair’s Oyster Bar, built hundreds of years ago, but
moved twice to make way for new developments.

He wouldn’t have known if Laura hadn’t told him. She kept
him abreast of events in his hometown, had even sent him photos sometimes. Now
he saw it anew. An eye, a Ferris wheel with capsules instead of seats, appeared
incongruous to him. “I want to see what’s left,” he murmured.

“What?”

He turned away from the view to Laura, snuggled against him,
and couldn’t help but smile at the sight. At this rate he’d lose his reputation
for being a surly loner. “The city. I want to see what’s left from my time. The
Band On The Wall?” He’d always wanted to play there.

Riku laughed. Zazz had thought he was completely engrossed in
Kelsie, but it seemed not. “I want to go there. That place is famous world
over.”

“Amongst jazz fans,” Zazz pointed out. “A dying breed.”

“I bet that place is still full. Is it open tonight?” Kelsie
asked.

“One way to find out.” After nudging Kelsie away, Riku got
out his phone and hit a few buttons. “Yes, but there’s nobody on tonight. There
is tomorrow night. I think I might extend my visit to Manchester. Fly to London
on Tuesday.”

“I have to get to know an old man again, and someone else
too. I thought I’d stay,” Zazz said.

He leaned close to Laura. “I want to stay with you. I like
your place. Can we bribe Kelsie with a stay at a five-star hotel, do you
think?” He didn’t bother to keep his words down, so he expected Kelsie’s squeal
of delight. Just not quite so piercing.

Chapter Six

 

They’d arrived at the venue. Manchester Arena, a massive
place that he and the others would have to humanize. They’d done it last night.
Last night! Shit, it felt like weeks. Christ, did he need to slow down, and did
he need to spend more time with Laura, give his feelings a chance to settle
down. It didn’t make sense to be so sure about a person after one day. One day
and two years, he reminded himself.

The cars nudged through the main barrier and into the area
where they could get out. Flashes had brightened the windows, but Zazz sat
back, knowing they couldn’t see in.

After they got out, he gripped Laura’s hand and took her to
the security guard at the door. “Show her to my dressing room, will you?” He
gave her another kiss, full on, savoring her taste. “I’m going to sign
autographs. I won’t be more than half an hour.”

The other members of the band were already standing by the
barrier where fans gathered, waving pieces of paper and taking photos. Just as
well none of them were epileptic, because the strobe effect beat anything the
lighting guys had put on the tracks. The lighting rig was so complicated, it
was bar-coded, preprogrammed for each number, then, when they inevitably
changed their minds, they could respond. It made sense. People came to see a
show, and from the money they were divvying up, they deserved to get one.

Now everything started to feel like the usual routine. He
signed wrists, shirts, even autograph books, made noncommittal answers to
requests for songs. Some of them went back to the days when Maxx Syccorraxx was
the main singer and Murder City Ravens was a straight-down-the-line rock band. Zazz
had loved working with Maxx, now Matt, in the studio. The nearest thing The
Beatles had to a fifth member was their producer George Martin. Murder City
Ravens could be said to have a seventh.

Shit, the bunch of people around him was getting bigger and
bigger. How did that happen?

“Hey, are you free after the show?” someone asked. In the
past, he’d have considered her. Full-breasted, wearing a corset-thing that
looked like it might collapse at any moment, miniskirted. Not subtle, but
available and pretty.

“Nope,” he said without hesitation.

“You can do better than that skank you arrived with.”

He should have known better, but he turned on the girl, eyes
flashing, fists clenched. Cameras went off and Riku and Hunter shouldered him
out of the way, pushing him in Donovan’s direction. Donovan would have passed
him on, but Zazz shrugged and spread his hands. “I know.”

They didn’t have to say anything. He signed a few more
autographs and headed inside.

Donovan clapped his hand around Zazz’s shoulders. “I like
Manchester. I might bring Allie here for our honeymoon.”

Zazz paused and stared at him. “You’re really doing it?”

“Sure, why not? I’m not likely to want anyone else.”

“How can you be sure?”

Donovan gave a happy crow of laughter. “You just do, pal. I
knew after our first night together, but I gave it time to be sure. It didn’t
make any difference. Go for it, Zazz,” he added, lowering his voice. “If it’s
right, do it.”

But what worked for Donovan might not work for him. Matt and
V thrived on having different careers and spending time apart. He’d flown over
for the Paris shows but had to go back to Chicago. She wouldn’t see him again
until London, and then only for a few days. But after that, they’d be in New
York. Shit, and he’d have to stare at the ocean separating him from Laura.

They had the internet. Skype sex.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Back in his dressing room, he reached for her and she came
to him. He turned it into a joke, with, “Missing you already.” He didn’t have
time to get them both naked. He had ten, twelve thousand people out there
waiting for him to come out and give them his best. He owed them that much. He
owed it to himself.

She must have seen something in his face. “I should leave
you to it. You’ve got to put your mind on what you’re doing.” She pressed a
gentle kiss to his lips, and when he wanted to follow it up, touched his mouth
with two fingers. “No, don’t. You don’t even have your makeup on yet.”

That made him hoot with laughter. “Okay, you win. I’ll get
someone to show you out front. After, wait where you are and he’ll come and get
you.”

“Exactly like last night.”

“Fuck no. Now I know exactly who’s waiting for me out
there.” And that made one fuck of a difference.

Eyeliner—he refused to call it guyliner—dark metallic purple
eye shadow, blusher, mascara and a streak of pink in his hair later, he changed
into his stage clothes. Six-fuck trousers, leather with a laced fly instead of
a buttoned one. A black poet’s shirt, buttoned for now, but he’d unfasten it
later. Cuffed, black high-heeled leather boots that came to mid shin. That
would do. Only one piece of jewelry, a diamond stud in one ear that would catch
the light as he moved and tantalize the audience into wanting more. He’d
thought of getting his nipples pierced, like Jace. He’d ask Laura. Maybe she’d
get hers done at the same time. Matching nipple rings appealed to his quirky
side.

He didn’t have time for nail polish, but he had a cheating
way. Little stickers. He applied one tiny heart to the pinky finger on his left
hand. Give them something to focus their cameras on. He knew there’d be umpteen
photos of his crotch before the evening was done, but he wouldn’t have worn
these trousers if he hadn’t wanted them to look.

He left his dressing room and headed for the stage area, not
bothering to wait for the guy assigned to show him the way. He overtook Jace,
going in the same direction. “Up for it?”

Jace gave him a blank stare. “Huh?”

“Manchester talk. Being home is eating into my vocabulary.
Ready to go, maybe.”

“I like up for it.” Jace flashed him a trademark grin. “This
place is growing on me. You know all the hot spots, right? Wanna hit some
after?”

Jace considered. “Maybe. But if I don’t make it, you can try
the Sound Garden for music, techno style, and Rusholme or Chinatown for food.
Both have late-opening restaurants.”

“Any in particular?”

“Nope.”

“You should come, dude.”

Zazz chuckled. “Oh I intend to.”

“You look like a perverted Lord Byron tonight.”

Zazz pretended to shake back nonexistent long hair. “Good
thought. He was some character. Have you read
Don Juan
?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The others waited by the stage, ready to go on. Their
preliminary music started, a custom mix of several tracks, some classical and
one by the support group. He’d make time in London to see their full set,
though he knew them and he liked what he heard. They could have been Murder
City Ravens a few years back, just after the first album, playing smaller
venues in their own right, and support to bigger bands. Or him, with the
variety of bands he played with before this one. So many things happened, so
many failed to make the leap to great. Some made a good living, some were
happier like that. Zazz wasn’t sure that wouldn’t have suited him better. He’d
been making a decent living, enough to send money home, and he hadn’t had all
the shit that came with being this big. Their support band, for instance. Good,
interesting, but they hadn’t had that push that would propel them to the next
level.

But when he heard the roar when Chick gave them the
thumbs-up, he knew he was fucking with himself. This was what he wanted, what
he fed on.

Some members of the band preferred rehearsals and the
creative side. Others liked the albums best. Zazz, this was him, the here and
now. This mattered, really mattered. He could create here, turn the album
tracks into something completely new, wholly different. He could get the guys
to speed it up, slow it down, go heavy on the percussion and bass. Let Jace
rip, tearing guitar solos out of the raw, throbbing atmosphere of the arena.

So they started with
Rock Is Dead
, the first track
from
Nightstar
. Like Led Zeppelin on their second album, Murder City
Ravens opened with an unforgettable riff from Jace, and then Zazz grabbed the
mic and swung right in, screaming the lyrics. No subtlety, just rock, straight
up. Riku and Jace stood on either side of him, dueling electric guitars. Hunter
and Donovan behind, driving the song on with an insistent, almost frightening
throb that threatened to take the building apart.

The audience roared its welcome. Not that Zazz cared. His
personal monitor earplugs kept him on song and in tune, and the band charged in
behind him until he briefly withdrew to let Riku and Jace shine.

And shine they did. Riku literally, in a dazzling phoenix
outfit, a red coat with a great golden bird embroidered on the back, red trousers
with flames up the sides, and a delicately embroidered white waistcoat over a
gold-colored shirt. Outrageous and totally Riku. But when he played, he became
his instrument, total concentration engrossing him, and Zazz loved him for
that.

Riku and Zazz loved shitting the audience, sometimes
dressing in the same colors and sometimes, as tonight, total opposites. They
were the only peacocks in the band. V wore her trademark gold sheath. She had a
case full of them. Hunter and Donovan preferred jeans and tees. Jace tended to
go topless quite early, but until then jeans, tees and overshirts. Boring, Zazz
thought. But from the beginning they’d decided to be their own people, to do it
their way. That blend of individuals made the entity that was Murder City Ravens.
When they played their more intricate music, they’d thread each strand
together, sometimes vying for the lead, until it all coalesced into one
heartbreaking or challenging melody.

Zazz tended to come up with the basic songs, sentiments and
poems, and simple tunes, or maybe a riff. Then they’d work together. They
dumped more than they kept.

The next song,
Sex and Diamonds,
had nearly become
one of those. Instead, it had proved their breakout song, the one that got them
on the charts worldwide and shot them to the top rank. Zazz knew why. A good,
solid melody and a lyric everyone could identify with. Universality. Aching and
lonely, but ending in hope, when the singer had reminded himself that he was on
a journey. While this episode had ended badly, the next might be better. Riku
had objected to the happy ending of the song, but Zazz had insisted, his
instincts right on the button with this one. Grudgingly, Riku agreed, and added
a haunting, who-are-you-kidding electronic tail to the song.

As usual, the audience cheered extra loud and in the few
seconds it took to set up for the next number, Zazz let himself bathe in the
waves of approval. He wanted to ride this surf of happiness, so his instinct
kicked in, told him it was wrong. He made a signal, and the band agreed,
thumbs-up. They’d go to the alternative,
Tomorrow You Die
, a song about
the realities of life, deeply cynical, but with a melody at its heart that
harmonized. It died by the end, though, killed by Riku’s discordant pleas on
one of the keyboards in his nest.

That whipped them up nicely. The change of mood demonstrated
Murder City Ravens’ musicianship as well as their ability to take an audience
with them. Zazz crossed the stage for a drink between numbers, flaunting his
tightly laced crotch.

Only one person would get to see what was inside tonight. If
she wanted to. He needed her with him, whether she desired him or was too tired
for sex. That made Zazz pause in his strutting walk. It was new for him, the
need to hold a woman and sleep with her. Oh yes, he’d done it. He wasn’t too
fussy, as long as the bitch didn’t make off with his belongings. That was why Chick
preferred to get the groupies out of the suite.

As far as Zazz was concerned, those days were gone.

He flaunted his talent, pushed himself further than usual,
aware they had dates ahead so he couldn’t wreck his voice. Tonight he didn’t
give a shit, and he caught the band casting him a glance every now and then,
concern in their stares. He’d been doing this long enough to know when he could
push, when his vocal cords were moist and his throat open, and when he
couldn’t. Tonight that throat yawned wide for him, and he let his voice rip.

For her.

Other members of the band called for alternatives. Once,
Hunter started all by himself and they followed, the lights crew having a
fucking fit when they realized the band wasn’t playing the one on their list.
They had a few set numbers, ones they played every night, anchors to work
around, and this was one of those. Zazz wondered what had started Hunter off on
this one, but he went along with it, and halfway through realized Hunter was
right. This was the one to play at this point. Sometimes instinct had to take
over. Reason and planning would only take a person so far. They knew it, but
some of the more practical and analytical members of the crew didn’t. He saw
one guy in the rigging miming tearing his hair out.

Was it wrong that he gave the man an evil grin?

Not entirely, because he got a cheer for it. He turned the
grin onto the audience. No sense wasting a good crowd-pleaser. Then he spoke a
few words before they went into the next one, back with the running order this
time. He spoke nonsense, then realizing what was coming up next, did the
cheesiest thing he’d ever done onstage. “This is for one special person. She
knows who she is.”

Quiet, reflective, a song about love not being what is
expected of it.
Falling to Earth
contained a sweet melody, interspersed
with Riku’s spiky, contradictory guitar. He took the keyboards for this one, a
piano, another unexpected move for Murder City Ravens, so into electronics. But
not this time. He wanted her to cry, but in a good way, so he set his mind for
that.

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