CHAPTER THREE
KNOX
“Are we doing the whole meet and greet thing open to everyone, or just VIP?” Matti asks, joining me on the stage. “I noticed they have the whole upstairs closed off.”
I shrug. “I honestly don’t remember what the setup is here.” I glance past him. Jason and Cassady still aren’t out here, and apparently, not following close behind him like I hoped. “Did you see the two love birds back there anywhere before you came out?”
“Cass was dragging Jason off somewhere. Something about recreating their first kiss. I really wasn’t trying to find out more after I heard that.” He picks up his bass from the stand and starts to put the strap over his head.
“Before you do that,” I say, holding my hand up to stop him.
“Let’s go check out upstairs. See if we can get a feel for what’s to come.
” I start to shake my head looking at the otherwise empty stage, then catch myself.
No need to always be the grumpy boss around here.
“Might as well keep busy until they show up.”
Matti reverses his motion in one smooth move and a few seconds later, the bass is safely in its stand and we’re hopping off the stage to go wander around.
“Do we ignore the velvet rope?” I ask him when we reach the stairs and he’s the only person around to ask.
“I’m just guessing,” he says, putting on his fake deep-thinking face, “but I don’t think we’re the ones the rope is meant to keep out.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
He nods. “Definitely a yes.”
I unhook the nearly useless closure, and we both step through and carry on up the stairs.
“Is that bar new?” Matti points at a corner bar all the way across the open loft.
“I think so.” We see a lot of venues, it’s hard to keep them all straight. Even the ones we play repeatedly. Somehow, bits and pieces always overlap and blur together along the way.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s up here working either,” Matti observes. “Did someone actually let us in the building, or did we just happen to stumble upon an unlocked door and stroll in?”
“Bar manager let us in,” I confirm, even though I know Matti’s joking. “Met the guy earlier, right after we got here.”
Then, just as we’re about to accept that the whole place is more or less a ghost town for the moment, we start to hear voices from the dance floor down below.
“You know that song is totally about how he screws a new chick in every town, right?” I hear a woman say in what sounds to be an interruption mid-conversation.
“He doesn’t care about any of them. Just uses his fame to seduce them.
Once he sleeps with them, he just moves on like nothing ever happened. ”
“You’re so bad, Mil. You don’t know that.” Another woman. This one I like a little better than the first.
“I do if one’s supposed to believe all the shit his ex has been posting online. Plus, it’s so obvious. I mean, the lyrics are almost literally saying that,” the first one argues.
“Actually,” a third voice interjects, “all writing is always up for interpretation. It doesn’t really matter how literal you think it is.
I once wrote a poem titled My Favorite Umbrella and people had all kinds of theories on what it meant.
Was it a metaphor for setting emotional boundaries?
A tribute to my father? Or, you guessed it, literally about my favorite umbrella?
Well, it was none of those things. My Favorite Umbrella was actually about my love for rainy days, which I thought was pretty obvious, to be honest. Can’t say it didn’t sting a little when no one got it.
But there it is. The moral of my story. Unless the writer specifically tells you the intended message of their words, it’s anyone’s guess.
Which, if you think about it, with songs especially, is kind of the point. ”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” The first voice just got even snottier.
“I’m no one,” the third voice says calmly.
“Just a fellow writer sharing some behind the scenes info with someone who was either misinformed or just flat out ignorant.” By the time she’s done talking, I know she’s smiling just from her tone.
Hell, I’m smiling too. In all the years of putting myself out there, I’ve never had someone see me so clearly and accept that I am hidden at the same time.
Footsteps follow their chat, and someone hisses, ‘What a bitch’. Though, I can’t for the life of me figure out which one of the three women it was.
KENLEY
“She totally was,” I hiss back, trying not to giggle. I’m having flashbacks of high school, scurrying off with Arizona, arms hooked, like we’re teenagers. Except we didn’t meet until after graduation, so this is more imaginary than memory.
“I can’t believe you barged right into their little gossip sesh. That’s so not like you,” Arizona points out, dragging me to a stop at the back bar where she proceeds to climb up onto the nearest stool.
“I just hope they weren’t friends of Tara’s.” I make a face. I’d hate to think I stirred shit up and got us in trouble before we even had a chance to see Knox Marley walk on stage.
“Definitely not friends of mine,” a tall blonde chimes in, pulling up a stool beside Arizona.
“I’m Tara, by the way.” She smiles at us briefly before her gaze drifts back toward the two women.
“The really catty one is dating one of the bouncers. I told my boyfriend, I’m sure he’ll handle her.
Not exactly good for business when the staff has people hanging around during soundcheck insulting the main talent.
” She nods in my direction. “You on the other hand should get a spot right up by the stage. I’m sure Knox Marley wouldn’t mind having the likes of you around defending him and his work. ”
“So, I guess that means you heard the whole thing,” I cover my face with my hands to hide the red sting of embarrassment tinting my cheeks.
Hell, probably my entire face. It’s not so much that I mind being caught calling someone out, but at my age, there’s something slightly humiliating about being painted a fan girl worthy of the front row.
Also, I don’t care where I’m at, I don’t want a front row seat to anything.
I like the back. Preferably in the shadows.
If possible, beside a large plant or oversized vase that will hide me while I observe the world from a comfortable distance.
“I did,” she confirms, grinning and pointing at an empty stool, gesturing for me to have a seat as well. “So, you’re a writer.”
It’s a statement, but I gather she’s asking more than affirming what’s already been hinted at in my previous rant about the many ways to interpret the written word.
“I am.” I finally have a seat at the bar. It’s not a bad spot actually. We’re at a comfortable distance from the stage while still having the perfect view without having to squint or crane our necks in any way. “Though I gave up writing poetry and moved on to blogging.”
“No way! That’s so cool!” Tara seems genuinely impressed. If only she knew how much of my life is spent in pajama bottoms and coffee-stained t-shirts. “So, what kind of a blog? Cooking? Gossip? Travel?”
Arizona snorts. “Only if you count walking from her desk to the coffee maker as travel.”
“It’s a lifestyle blog,” I explain, sounding pleasant while still shooting Arizona a dirty look.
“What’s it called? I wanna check it out.”
“Oh, you’d probably think it was boring.
” I always feel weird telling people what it’s called.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s an introvert thing and I’m just naturally prone to diverting attention away from myself and everything I do.
Maybe I just don’t want people to know I wear lemon juice for deodorant.
And they’d know that if they read my blog. Shit like that’s on there.
“They’re starting,” Arizona hisses. Instantly, all three of us go silent. And that conversation dies. Thank God.
Knox Marley, Matthias Benning, Jason Karlo and Cassady Graham have all stepped onto the stage and are casually chatting as they pick up their instruments and get settled in their new space.
It doesn’t take long before they start to play their first song and I melt into the moment. Hearing and seeing Knox Marley in person is a whole new level of magic I wasn’t prepared for. Even from across the room, I can feel the energy he gives off. It’s raw and real and friggin’ intoxicating.
Before I know it, three songs have passed and they’re clearing the stage again.
“That was it?”
“No.” Arizona grins. “That was soundcheck. There’s still the entire concert.”
“Right.”
“Speaking of, we should probably hit the little girls’ room before they open the doors to everyone else,” Tara whispers, sliding out of her stool. “And after, we can go to our official seats. My boyfriend made sure we got the best spot in the whole house.” Then she points her finger overhead.
“The loft?”
“Yep.” She grins. “Tonight’s VIP section and we’re on the list!” Then she scurries off, straight for the restrooms.
“I like her.” I slowly get down from my stool. Somehow getting out of my chair feels like admitting the last ten minutes and Knox Marley up close and personal have come to an official end.
“Definitely not The Tarrorizer .” Arizona smirks following my lead and scooting to the edge of her seat until her short legs finally reach the ground.
After our bathroom break, we decide to make a stop at the only bar up and running, each of us ordering a drink and one of the greasy but delicious deep-fried appetizers they offer. Then, we make our way upstairs.
From here, time starts to speed up again. The doors open, people pile in. Noise erupts from every corner of the building until finally, at long last, the house lights dim, and the stage lights up.
Trip Three comes out first and I don’t hear a peep out of Arizona all set. Until they’re done. Then she’s whooping and hollering louder than anyone.
Well, at least until Knox Marley steps out.
Then, a couple thousand voices manage to drown her out.
Not mine. I’m completely quiet. You miss things when you’re busy making your own noise, and tonight, I don’t want to miss a single thing.
I’m here for all of it. Every last word spoken, every expression and every note played. I’m soaking it all in.
Turns out, a two-hour concert feels a lot like a ten-minute soundcheck. Somehow, it’s just never long enough.
“You look like you’re in some sort of a trance,” Arizona teases when the lights come back on and I’m still standing here, locked in place, staring at the stage.
“I might be,” I admit. My legs feel wobbly, and my heart is still pounding, neither of which I noticed all night while I was dancing and swaying along to every song. “God, that was amazing.” I finally turn my head away from the stage to face her. “We need to do this more often.”
She throws her hands up laughing. “Hey, take it up with Knox Marley. I don’t control how often he comes to town.”
“No, I mean live music. I mean, more Knox Marley would be awesome too, but live music – that’s what we need more of.
” I shake my head, sinking down into the chair I abandoned the second the band stepped into view.
“We used to go to concerts all the time. Now I can’t even remember the last show we saw. What the hell happened?”
“You married an asshole.”
“Right.” That did put a damper on several things. Though it also brought me Sloan, making every sacrifice along the way wholly worth it. “Well, I divorced him. Time to get our soul jam on again!”
“I’m in!”
“Me too,” Tara chimes in. “I mean, if I’m invited.”
“Hell, yeah!” I think Arizona surprises herself with her enthusiasm, but Tara doesn’t seem to notice.
With our commitment to concerts fully renewed, I’m able to think about other things again. Mostly, how the space up in the loft seems to be getting more cramped by the minute.
“What’s happening? Am I going crazy or are the people up here multiplying?” I crane my neck trying to see around the small crowd forming behind our table.
“They’re getting ready for the meet and greet,” Tara explains. “It’s included for the VIP, but they also sold wristbands for it separately. That’s why the place is filling up.”
“Oh.” I shoot up out of my seat instantly. “Should we go?”
Arizona’s brow crinkles. “Before the meet and greet?”
“Absolutely.” I nod. Several times. “If we leave now, we won’t hit the crazy after concert traffic trying to get out of the parking lot,” I reason.
“You’re serious.” Arizona can’t seem to really grasp it though.
“You have the chance to meet Knox Marley, your every male fantasy come to life, the man you secretly compare every potential date to before you turn them away,” she pauses to glare at me while I glare back.
I sincerely wish she hadn’t said that last part out loud.
“And you want to bolt before he even shows up.”
“Yes.” I nod. Again. This time more vigorously. “Absolutely.”
She finally starts to stand up and for a brief moment I think I’ve won her support. Then, she steps into my path, places both hands on her hips and gives me the sternest stare I think I’ve ever received from her. “Why?”
“I would think that would be obvious,” I hiss, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity I have left after Arizona announced to the entire House of Rock that I refuse dates with regular mortals on account of how they can’t measure up to my rock god delusions.
“I would like to keep the fantasy alive. For personal reasons.” I step toward her moving in a little closer so I can keep whispering even as the crowd around us gets louder.
“You and I both know I don’t exactly have a lot of great experiences to draw from where men are concerned.
And I like the version of Knox I have now.
No, I love the version I have of him now.
It helps me maintain some semblance of hope that someday when I’m ready, when I’ve healed all my mental and emotional bullshit, good men will be out there, and most importantly, I will be able to recognize them.
And in the meantime, as dumb as it sounds, the fantasy of who he is keeps me from feeling lonely while I have to be alone to sort my mess out.
If I stay and meet him, I risk losing both. ”
She tips her head in beside mine and whispers back, “But what if you lose nothing? What if the fantasy is real?”
“That’s not how fantasy works, Arizona.” I slide past her.
This time, she doesn’t try to stop me.
“I’ll be right behind you,” she calls after me. “I just have to stop at the ladies’ room on the way out.”
I nod. Then I wave goodbye to Tara and let the crowd swallow me and spit me out on the other side of the room.