Tracks (Rock Bottom) (4 page)

I feel Theresa freeze in her tracks. She noticeably tenses. Even I am taken aback.
Why on God’s green Earth would he want to talk to me? Is he sure he meant me?

"Go!" T
heresa says. "I'll wait here!"

I look beh
ind my shoulder at the spectacle taking place behind me, and I feel uncomfortable at the thought of leaving Theresa here alone.

Then the big man grabs my free hand and I realize that I don't have a choice. I let go of Theresa as he starts leading me down the hall, towards the door I briefly saw the rocker enter through a short time before. The crowd had begu
n to dissipate, although I hear noise in the room I was in with the doctor before, and assume it must be the press room and reporters had gone there to wait for statements from him.

As I'm looking towards the room behind me, I hear a door creak open and big man telling the people surround
ing the door to "back away." He then pushes me into the room and closes off the brown wooden entrance behind me.

Wait! I’m not ready…I’m not ready!!

I turn toward the
door frantically after it closes, debating whether or not to run, and then turn towards the room again, feeling extremely uneasy. I realize that no one is in the dim room, only me. I begin to fidget, unsure of what to do. Do I sit? When will he come?

The room looks just like the
other two in the hallway that I had seen; only it was obviously nicer. The walls are red instead of white. A red couch is still there, only it's newer and leather instead of ripped up upholstery. There's a red area rug on the floor with a blue swirly pattern under a brown coffee table. Against the wall in front of the couch is a big, flat screen TV that's currently on a music channel, with soft rock music playing lightly. Classic rock, I realize, and bluesy. The desk with the mirror is there against the wall across from the door, but the mirror has the big, white ball lights around it. Along the left wall is a door that's open and leads to a closet. Closer to the door I entered from is another wooden door that's shut.

As I'm looking around, I hear the sound of a ligh
t switch being flicked off and the door along the left wall begins to open. I jump and back away from the door, turning to face it.

A man walks through, wearing a black tank top and a white towel around his neck. He's running his hand through his multi colored dirty blonde
hair that’s messy and unkempt and sexy. His black jeans ride low, exposing a bit of his pronounced hip bones. He has black boots on, and the bottom of his jeans bunch around them. He peers up from under his hand as he enters the room, and his bright sky blue eyes widen in surprise when he sees me standing across from him.

When he looks at me, my stomach tightens. I
had never noticed his eyes before I saw them from the audience, but I'm guessing the TV and album covers could never do them justice. My cheeks instantly flush. I feel like I'm intruding in his space. I'm intimidated in spite of myself. I realize there are a lot of girls who would kill to be in my shoes right now, and even though I don't normally get star struck, it’s not every day I’m 5 feet from someone as famous as him.

"Oh," he breathes, straightening up and grabbing the towel around his neck with both hands. His lanky body stretches long
as he arches his back, and it presses his abs against his tank top. My stomach tightens further when he speaks. I'm dead silent.

"Hi. I'm um.
..well, I..." he stammers. I'm still silent, but I smile a bit. For someone so eloquent with lyrics, he’s not so great with words. "I just, ya know, wanted to see for myself you were okay. You gave me quite a scare. I’d feel somewhat responsible if anyone were hurt at a show..." he trails off as he stares into my eyes, as if distracted. He lets go of the towel and extends a hand as he inches towards me. I reach out my right hand to take his.

As his hand enters mine, I try not to tremble. His hand is s
o warm, so soft, but his fingertips are rough with wear from playing his guitar. He closes his hand gently around mine and I feel woozy. I charge flows through my hand, where we are connected, and up through my arm- all around my body. What's wrong with me?

"Jeremy," he says and smiles. He waits as he leaves his hand in mine.

I come back to earth after a few moments. "Sorry," I breathe. "Dylan."

"It's ok," he says, still holding my hand. "I think I'd be a little daze
d after that if it'd been me."

Righ
t, that's why I'm dazed. Sure.

Shit.

We stand in silence for another awkward moment. I start to feel uncomfortable. This is quite a vulnerable situation for a young girl to be in- alone in the dressing room with a rock star. Especially since I can't help but imagine his soft hand traveling up my arm to my shoulder and down my front...

"Uh,"
I speak to stop my wandering thoughts. "No I'm fine. Really. Thanks for stopping the show. I guess I should be going."

He finally
lets go of my hand. He runs his fingers through his hair again. That really is very distracting.

"No, no
. Please take a seat. I kind of hide in here for a while after a show. You know, to just relax. Before I go out to talk to the press and stuff.” He holds his graceful hand out towards the red couch. Secretly I’m both pleased and upset that it’s a larger couch and not a love seat.

I sit at the very end of the couch
, straight up with my hands wringing nervously in my lap. Any closer and I’d be sitting on the arm rest. He drapes himself gracefully at the opposite end of the couch. He looks like he’s doing a photo shoot for Vogue without even trying. I look down at my hands and around the room to avoid looking directly at him. I can feel his eyes- he’s staring straight at me. He’s suddenly very confident and comfortable.

“So
Dylan
,” he purrs my name, putting emphasis on it. His voice is smooth and deep, but not low. I equate the tone to smooth chocolate, delicious and rich. “Are you from here?”

“Not originally,”
I say quietly, finally looking up at him. “I’m here because I’m starting Harvard Law in the fall.”

His eyes widen, exposing more of his icy blue irises. Even in half light, they sparkle. “Smart girl. I’m impressed. Have you always wanted to be a lawyer?”

I’m beginning to wonder why he’s interested at all. I feel like I’m boring him. I figure he’s just making pleasantries. “Oh, yeah, sorta.”

He looks confused. “Why?
Money?”

I laugh nervously. “No, I want to be a prosecuting attorney. They don’t make as much as most lawyers…” I unintentionally trail off as I look into his eyes. He raises his eyebrow at me, wanting more. “I guess,” I continue, “I just w
ant to fight for what’s right.”

“
Ah hah,” he says. “An ‘idealist.’ You know, punishing other people for their mistakes won’t fix what’s wrong with society in general. Or in your own life.” He looks amused. His pink pouty lips make a wry smile.

I start to feel burning in the pit of my stomach. “Have a personal problem with prosecuting attorneys Mr. M
ason?” I say, squinting my eyes. I try to make it obvious I’m referring to his often run-ins with the law.

He bites
his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. “Touché, Dylan. And its Jeremy.

“Jeremy,” I whisper
, anger wiped away. I almost feel like it’s a dirty word when I say it.

“You’re awfully soft spoken for a lawyer,” he comments, stretching his right arm along the back of the couch. I see the definition in his shoulder and upper arm, a tattoo of a snake runn
ing along the outside in dark contrast with his pale skin. “Star struck?” he says with his wry smile.

The anger burns again in my stomach. He doesn’t have to be a jerk about it. “I’
d say you seem awfully humble for a rock star but I’d be lying.”

He chuckles.
It immediately quiets the burning anger and I laugh in spite of myself. “Now there’s a little spunk,” he says. Sometimes even when he talks it sounds like a melody. His voice is sultry. He sits up a little and leans closer to me, resting his forearms on his legs. I shrug.

“What brings you to the show tonight? You don’t seem like a drooling, screeching
fan,” he runs his blue eyes up and down my body. I fidget, uncomfortable at the way he’s looking at me. I wrap my arms around myself, crossing my arms in an attempt to cover my body. Out of the corner of my eyes, I think he smiles. “At least, not a big enough fan to pay the kind of money to have front row seats at my show.”

I talk quickly. “My friend Theresa and I just
moved into a townhome on Massachusetts Avenue here in Boston. The tickets were gifts to her from her dad. As I guess like a housewarming gift.”

He laughs loudly. I jump a little but then smile at his jovial laughter. “What a useful gift that is. You can definitely u
se this around the house.”

“I’m sure Theresa will frame the tickets, so tec
hnically it counts as artwork.”

He composes himself as he looks into my eyes. “Well, since I’m technically providing you with artwork,
maybe you could give me some?”

I stare at him, confused, as he stands and walks over to the whi
te desk with the mirror. His pants are running low, still exposing his amazing hipbones, but he doesn’t fix them. He turns around and slinks back down on the couch and holds up a permanent marker. “I’m short on paper and my assistant has my phone. Write your number on my arm.”

            
 
My eyes widen. I look at the marker, and then back at him. He has a cocky smile on his face, his piercing eyes boring into mine. I must look as shocked as I feel. My cheeks begin to burn. Me?

Thankfully, before I can respond, t
here is a loud knock. I jump as he moves his head up toward the door. It flies open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud thud. The red-headed pixie, now swaying with a red cup in her hand, stumbles in. She’s followed behind by one of the topless blondes I saw making out with another girl in the room I left Theresa in.

He stands and puts the marker
down on the couch. The pixie red head stops as the blonde crumples on her. “Oh,” she says, staring at me. The topless blonde walks over to Jeremy and grabs onto his shirt, shoving her tongue down his throat. He kisses back for a moment and lightly pushes her away.

The pixie looks at him. “A third tonight Mr. M
ason?” she says as she starts removing her top.

I stand quickly, making a disgusted sound in my throat. The pixie shrugs and I turn to walk out the door. I catch Jeremy untangling himself from the topless blonde. “Stay here,” he breathes
to her as I enter the hall. “Wait!” he says as I walk toward the steel door at the end of the hallway. As I pass the room with Theresa in it, I see her and wave for her to follow me without stopping my pace. She looks relieved to leave and enters the hallway behind me.

I now hear two sets of footsteps behind me
. “Dylan!” Jeremy’s voice cries. I hear Theresa stop dead in her tracks, then speed up and catch my arm.

“Dylan!” she squeaks.
“
Jeremy Mason
is calling for you!”

I stop, exasperated, and turn just in time to smack into Jeremy’
s chest. The smell of him- spicy, manly- is intoxicating. I look up into his face, thankful that the dim hallway keeps me from seeing the full effect of his eyes.

“Mr. M
ason, I thank you again for your help during the show. And for ensuring my safety.” Ewe, I think. I sound old. “I see that you are
busy
, and I’m very not interested in staying for that, so I will get out of your hair. Good night.”

I turn again and see Theresa standing just behind me, face stunned. Jeremy grabs my arm and s
pins me again. “Jeremy,” he corrects, low and hard. “And we weren’t finished our conversation. I want to see you again. To know you.” He slides his hand down my arm. I tremble, but not noticeably.

I sigh. “Look,” I say. “
The only thing you need to know about me is that I don’t want to get caught up in all of-“ I hear moaning from the room where I had left Theresa earlier, and see a bunch of naked bodies falling all over each other, with some snorting a white substance off the coffee table. “That!” I almost scream, disgusted, when motioning to the room.

I hear him sigh.

“Goodnight,” I say, more gently. I purposely trail my fingers along his hand before removing it from my arm, trying to delay our final parting. I turn, grab a dumb struck Theresa, and continue to walk toward the steel door. I’m almost stomping. What did he think he’d get me to do, bringing me back here? Is that what he does: lures fans from the crowd and fucks them with his groupies in his dingy dressing room?

I push the heavy steel door op
en and walk out onto the floor.

It's amazing how the room has cleared since the end of the show- which was only an hour ago. I kick a few cups to the side as I continue to stomp toward the glass exit doors across the hall. Theresa is quick on
my heals. I see a bunch of faceless stagehands in black shirts stare at us as we almost run past them.