Savor (4 page)

No one had ever come close to the kind of fame the band garnered since they burst into

the music scene four years ago.

“Right after high school,” I said to myself. Not to mention the awards. Vicious was a

mainstay on every awards show out there. I shook my head.

They say “don’t believe everything you read,” but I hadn’t even gotten to the gossip yet. All

the articles I’d read so far were from reputable papers and magazines. Rolling Stone hailed

them one of the most influential bands in history, right up there with the Beatles. The

freakin’ Beatles! Even
I
knew who they were.

The more I learned about the band the more incompetent I felt. Most of them were about

my age and already they had achieved so much. To think I was worried about my final project

and graduating when Vicious was already touring the world to sold out shows.

After downloading all their songs, something Silvia said that night moved my search for

information into the TMZ arena. I skipped the parts detailing typical rock star behavior. I

didn’t need to know. What interested me had to do with more recent events.

Indeed Vicious was on their world tour before they decided to push some of the shows to

until after the holidays. This happened all the time, wrote one blogger, but the reasons always varied. One example used was Green Day postponing shows because one of their band

members had to go to rehab. Since all members of Vicious were accounted for tonight, I

didn’t get the impression that any of them had an addiction problem. Then again, what did I

know?

That was when I wandered into the message boards.

Huge
mistake.

Lots of speculation, but no real information. Some were saying the band reached a tipping

point in their career and had to take a break. Others blamed exhaustion. I would have agreed

with the second one if it weren’t for the enthusiastic performance I just witnessed a few

hours ago. Then there were rumors about infighting in the band. Some compared them to

Fleetwood Mac where band members were sleeping with each other and causing friction in

the band’s dynamic. From what I saw, Yana and Dray flirted, but it didn’t seem like they took

it to the next level considering they were cousins. I shuddered. Demitri and Phoenix,

however, definitely had something going on.

Come on, you wouldn’t tattoo a band member’s name on your chest if there wasn’t

anything there. And the only reason I spotted Phoenix’s name on Demitri’s chest was because

of the sex stares they were throwing at each other.

I nodded, scrolling down on the screen, definitely something there. Google images didn’t

lie either. Although, surprisingly, there weren’t that many pictures of Vicious as a band

outside of promotional pics and paparazzi shots at events.

Silvia must have been right when she said they were good at keeping their private lives a

secret. They must have had a really kickass PR team. I made a mental note not to

underestimate Yana. No matter how young she looked, she seemed competent at her job as

band manager. Many of the articles I read lauded her as one of the best in the business,

taking an independent band to the heights of stardom only big name labels were capable of. I

guess it really didn’t hurt to have money to back up your dream.

Speaking of dream, I glanced at my digital clock and cursed the message boards seven

ways to Sunday. Total time suck. In a couple of hours the sun would rise and I hadn’t started

on the pictures.

I quickly plugged in my camera and uploaded everything I took that night, including

pictures from other events I attended that week.

I was arranging the files into folders when my phone buzzed.

Without taking my eye off the screen, I put the call on speaker. “Yeah.”

“Where’s my picture?”

Silvia’s shrill question creased my brow. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Said one insomniac to another.”

That got her a chuckle. “You’ll get your picture. I’m just cleaning it up now.”

A pause. “What were you doing all this time? You left the club before I did.”

“I’ve been looking into Vicious. Damn, Silvia, I really want them for my introspective.”

“Not just Luka?”

I shook my head even if I knew she couldn’t see me, still not removing my eyeball from

the screen, clicking on my mouse frantically. “After last night? I need to cover the whole

band. They’re beautiful. I want to tell their story through pictures, you know?”

“I hear you.” Silvia’s voice got swoony. “Can you imagine? They’re our age and already

megastars.”

The reminder bit me hard. I would have to never sleep again if I wanted to reach the level

of Vicious. Photographers reached rock star status because of the famous people they worked

with. The better your photographs were the more people would want to work with you. Plus,

finding a style all your own helped too. I loved turning photographs into digital art,

sometimes transposing images together to make a whole new image. I could make the layers

so seamless no one would be able to tell that what they were looking at was actually a collage of images. I didn’t even use stock images, liking to take my own pictures and using what I

had. That was what got me the win years ago. I was hoping the same aesthetic would get

Yana’s approval.

I opened my email browser and attached the file to Silvia’s address and clicked send. “Your

photo should be in your inbox now.”

“Refreshing.” Another pause then a low whistle. “God, girl. You are way too talented for

the Daily Gossip. This is like the best picture I’ve ever seen of the band. It looks so dynamic.”

“I just softened up the colors and cleaned up the edges. The picture is largely untouched.”

She must have heard the shrug in my voice because she clucked. “Don’t be modest. I know

what they say about you on campus.”

Okay, that got her a blush. I hated what my professors said. Many of them used my photos

as examples in their classes and I hadn’t even graduated yet. A lot of them begged me to be

their student assistant. Not once did I say yes because I liked my freedom too much.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked impatiently. I had a long morning

ahead of me. No matter how beautiful the members of Vicious were, I couldn’t send my

photos to Yana raw. I really wanted to show her what I could do.

“Nope. You did great, babe!”

I reached for my phone to end the call when Silvia said, “You better give me the inside

scoop when you get this job.”

Dropping my hand to my lap, I finally tore my concentration from the picture of Dray I’d

been tinting. I wanted to amplify the severity of his gaze, how intensely he stared out into the crowd, like he commanded them to worship him.

“It’s not a job, Silvy.” No matter the confidence in my words or my thoughts, my heart still

bounced around all four corners of my chest.

“You better treat it like one because if you do well this will mean your career.”

I had to roll my eye at that. “I know,
Mom
!”

“Just…”

That one word sobered me. “What?”

“Just promise me that when you do get it that you don’t let their world suck you in.”

Weird words coming from Silvia. I would have thought she would be the first person to

want to jump into the world of Vicious. She was the closest person I called friend on campus.

I usually just focused on my school work. If I was being honest with myself, the concern in

Silvia’s words actually touched me.

“I promise,” came my soft reply.

She seemed satisfied because her next words were, “And you better get me a naked picture

of Luka, preferably in the shower!”

I ended the call then, surprised I didn’t have the urge to throw my phone across the room.

Chapter Four

Contract

The dreams always started the same way.

I’m running through the woods. Panic clutches at my chest and refuses to let go. This

must have been years ago because my hair still reaches below my shoulders. I look back. A

pair of large hands grab for me from the darkness. I duck then weave between the trees. My

feet are bare, sometimes slipping on moss or forest slime. But I keep running.

The only sound I hear is my own breathing. I pant, my lungs begging for every cold inhale.

The low bushes catch my dress, tearing the fabric, leaving slips of white behind. I look over

my shoulder again. The hands are still there, getting closer no matter how hard I run.

My thighs burn. My arms flail like I’m swimming, pushing branches aside. I need to get

away. I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is I have to get away.

Then I fall.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I snorted awake, pushing off the pillow stuck to my face by sweat and drool. The banging

continued, getting more insistent. I groaned. The pounding echoed in my head, like I’d woken

up hung over. Trying to ignore it, I reached for a pillow and shoved it over my head. The angry thumping didn’t let up, so I rolled onto my back and smoothed my hair out of my face. The

strands clung to my cheeks using the same sweat-drool adhesive. My tongue stuck to the roof

of my mouth like Velcro and it tasted like rank armpit. It took me a second to connect the

noise to my front door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I covered my good eye from the piercing sunlight streaming through my bedroom window

and tore my tongue off the roof of my mouth to say, “Coming!”

The banging stopped. So, it really wasn’t in my head. My voice sounded hoarse to my ears.

Like I was coming down with something. What time did I go to sleep? I was pretty sure the

sun had already risen when I flopped onto my bed, clothes and all. I took quick inventory of

myself.

The leather pants from last night adhered like a second skin. I wouldn’t enjoy pealing

them off later. My shirt and hair smelled of smoke. Ugh! I needed a shower. And a change of

sheets since said smoke also clung to them now. When I didn’t move from my bed fast

enough, the banging resumed.

Swinging my legs over the side, I reached for my patch. My heart spasmed. It had come

loose. I reached for the thin strap behind my head and tightened it. Once secure, I heaved my

jelly limbs up and trudged toward the door.

A blond head with purple streaks greeted me when I peeked out of the eyehole. Leaning

my head against the frame, I breathed for a second, rubbing my face.

“What’s taking you so long?” Yana said from the other side. “I can see your shadow

through the door slit.”

Sending out a little prayer of strength to anyone who would listen, I slipped the chain off,

twisted the lock, and yanked the door open. Today, the Gothic Lolita wore a corseted number

with voluminous sleeves, a short ruffled skirt, and striped knee socks in mary janes.

Everything followed a black and purple theme. Even her lips. The bottom black and the top

purple. She smelled of jasmine. Almost cloyingly sweet. I had to blink several times to make

sure I wasn’t dreaming her standing just outside my apartment.

I must have been staring dumbly because she said, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“How old are you?” came my first question. More like an innocent blurt. The way she

pouted, I didn’t think she took it that way.

“Didn’t your mother teach you never to ask a woman her age?”

“She did. But right now I’m still too sleepy to heed her.” I punctuated my words with a

yawn, which I barely covered with my hand.

Yana grimaced. “Don’t tell me you just woke up.” She eyed my clothes.

“Yes, I’m still wearing the same ones from last night.” Without waiting for her to say

anything else, I turned around and waved her inside. “Close the door behind you.”

She did as she was told while I padded to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup from

the pot I put on before I crashed and spooned diabetes-inducing amounts of sugar into it. I

took a life-giving gulp then turned around and tilted the cup toward Yana, who had been

looking my place over with serious interest. She waved my silent offer away.

“Unlike you, I have been up for hours. I’ve gotten more done this morning than anyone

can in a whole day.”

My eyebrows came up. “Looking at you? I don’t doubt it. But unlike most people, I do

most of my work at night. I sleep when I find the time. You just happened to have arrived just as I was waking up.” Okay, the last part was clearly a lie, but I was pretty much planning on

getting up anyway. I padded to my couch and slumped into it, the coffee sloshing but not

spilling. I took another gulp and pointed at the large ottoman opposite the coffee table

overflowing with photography manuals. Like some dainty ballerina, Yana arranged herself on

the seat.

“No bodyguards today?” I set down the cup and tidied up a bit, closing and stacking the

manuals. I did most of my apartment cleaning on weekends, but Yana was right when she

asked about my mother. The woman taught me to be neat when there was company. Even

now I could hear her voice inside my head telling me to wash the dishes I’d left in the sink.

“They’re downstairs.” Yana removed a manila envelope from the flat, oversized clutch she

had with her. From the envelope she retrieved printed out versions of the pictures I’d sent

her and laid them out on the newly cleared coffee table. I didn’t have to look at them, already knowing which six I’d attached to the email. One for each band member, one of the band