Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I arrived late.
After a ridiculously long shower, soaping and lathering and shaving everywhere, my blow-dryer crapped out halfway through the drying process.
Then I had a mini meltdown when I searched my closet for a suitable outfit for tonight’s When Harry Met Sally montage only to find that everything I wanted to wear tonight was in the dirty clothes bag waiting to be taken to the laundromat.
So I’d squeezed into my cleanest jeans, faded bell-bottom hip huggers that hugged my hips a little too snugly and donned a shrunken T-shirt with an illustration of a cowgirl riding a tiger.
Don’t ask me what kind of message I was trying to send with that T-shirt but here we were. Off to an auspicious start.
The last time I came to a Monday night gig at Monks there were about a dozen girls and a handful of drunk guys who had stumbled in from the bar next door.
What a difference six months makes.
Tonight, the only available seat was at a table up front. I didn’t want to make a scene by asking to sit with a group of strangers in the middle of Gabriel’s set, and I didn’t want to sit right under his nose so I took advantage of the dark room and stood in the back, observing from a distance.
Gabriel wore a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt that was so stretched out and faded that Jimi’s hair was steel gray instead of black.
Same boots, black jeans with a rip in the knee, same stubborn locks of dark hair falling over his forehead, and the same musical genius with the power to transport me to another stratosphere.
After he finished a cover of “Kashmir” that went on for at least twelve minutes, he stopped for a break and drank red wine from a water glass.
That’s when I noticed the four to one ratio of women to men in the room.
All the girls just loved Gabriel. I remember Annika saying that sometimes she felt like just another one of his groupies. No wonder. Gabriel was a guitar-slinging chick magnet.
“All right, let's try out this new song,” he said. “Go easy on me though. We’re experimenting tonight, remember?”
A few people laughed and a girl up front said something I didn’t quite catch but it sounded a lot like, You can experiment on me all you want .
Gabriel shot her an exasperated look. “Come on, baby, let’s not make this weird. Just enjoy the music, okay?”
With a shake of his head, he started playing while I craned my neck to see who this “baby” was that had the audacity to hit on Gabriel.
I didn’t have to wonder for long. As soon as he started singing, she stood up and started dancing, swiveling her hips and raising her arms in the air like he was a cult leader and she was his devoted follower.
Sit your ass down, blondie. Who do you think you are, blocking my view?
When her head swiveled to the left, I caught the glint of her gold nose ring.
It was the same blonde who had offered herself up to Gabriel in February.
My hands clenched into fists. I was tempted to march right up there and knock her out of the way. If it came down to a fight, I was pretty sure I could take her.
Oh my god, get a grip, Cleo.
I shook it off and focused on the music. The bluesy-rock song sounded like an eight-minute ode to the orgasm. His voice and the vibrations of his guitar shot straight to my core. He had me clenching my thighs and clutching my non-existent pearls.
What are you trying to do to me, Gabriel?
Then I remembered that he didn’t even know I was here, so I went back to glaring at the blonde and hoping like hell she wasn’t his new muse.
“Is this your first time?”
I looked at the man standing next to me, not entirely sure what he was asking. I sized him up. Late thirties, early forties, with sandy-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in a dark button-up, jeans, and loafers, and looked vaguely familiar.
He jerked his chin toward the stage area.
“Oh. No. I’ve seen him perform before.” In a flash, it came to me how I knew him. “But he’s something special, isn’t he?”
“It’s my first time and I’ve gotta say he’s living up to the hype. I thought for sure he wouldn’t be able to hit some of those notes, especially with all that wine he’s been drinking but he proved me wrong. Boy, did he ever.”
I smiled. “So are you going to write a glowing review?”
His brows shot up. “How did you know I’m a journalist?”
I’d been reading Jonathan Mayes’ music reviews for years, both the scathing ones and the glowing ones, and watched his rock documentaries. But on a more personal level, my mom dated him, albeit briefly, when she was trying but failing to move on.
The summer I was sixteen, Jonathan got us backstage passes to a David Bowie concert. I could tell by the way he looked at my mom that he was in love with her. She’d either pretended not to notice or she really hadn’t noticed, but I remember feeling bad for him. He couldn’t compete with a ghost.
“Just a good guess,” I said. “Please be kind to him. Gabriel Francis is incredibly talented and so passionate about music and perfecting his craft. He deserves the world.”
“Sounds like you have a vested interest,” Jonathan said.
“Nope. I’m just a fan.”
I faced forward again and tried to focus on the music, but my thoughts raced.
A positive review from Jonathan Mayes, who had cut his teeth in journalism discovering emerging artists, could launch Gabriel’s career.
And then it would only be a matter of time before the A&R guys showed up offering record deals.
Pretty soon, the whole world would know who Gabriel Francis was.
But Gabriel needed to be protected at all costs. The music industry was a tough business. It could chew you up and spit you out, not to mention fuck you up, and critics could be harsh.
Gabriel was a sensitive guy with very few boundaries.
In a society where men are taught that they’re not supposed to express their emotions so openly and honestly, it was rare to meet a guy like him. Someone who didn’t buy into the whole macho man act and wasn’t afraid to show his vulnerability.
Someone who would jump off a cliff without a parachute.
Gabriel played for another hour and ended the set with the song he wrote about me.
Tonight’s version bled with longing and heartache with an undercurrent of anger and frustration and finished on a sigh of resignation.
It sounded as if he had given up waiting for the girl who got away. The girl he’d kissed on a frigid March night six weeks ago.
“That’s it, folks. Thanks for coming out tonight and being a part of the journey. If you got ‘em, smoke ‘em. If you love someone, be sure to tell them. Stay cool and I’ll see you all next week.”
The room erupted into applause, and he tipped his chin in thanks.
While he packed up his guitar, Nose Ring Girl passed a coffee can around, collecting tips, and that did it.
I squared my shoulders, preparing to go after my man, but Jonathan Mayes tapped me on the shoulder, so I reluctantly turned to face him.
“You look so familiar and I’ve been trying to place it all night,” he said. “Are you by any chance, Alice Babington’s daughter?”
“That depends.” I smiled. “Will my answer change your review?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No, not at all. I was crazy about your mother, but I have to hand it to her. She really knows how to let a guy down gently. She was very polite.”
I nodded. “It’s the accent.”
“Must be. She’s also the reason I’m here tonight,” he said. “She left a message on my machine a while back and told me, very politely , to get my ‘arse’ over to this tiny café and check out the ‘very talented, simply extraordinary, new voice on the rock music scene.’”
I smiled, silently thanking my mom. “And you listened.”
“I trust her judgment,” he said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “But I can’t decide if he burst onto the scene at exactly the right time or the absolute worst. We’re at the height of grunge and this is not grunge.”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “It’s something altogether different.
Gabriel is a drop of pure light. Unique, versatile, a risk-taker, an innovative guitarist. He not only has an incredible vocal range but he’s not afraid to use it.
And what’s more, he knows how to use his voice to evoke emotions.
His music leaves everyone in the room feeling like they’ve just witnessed something extraordinary.
Gabriel Francis is the voice of a generation. ”
“Like I said, vested interest,” he said with a smile. “Can I quote you on that?”
“No. Please leave me out of it,” I laughed. “I’m just a fan. His biggest fan.”
By the time I reached Gabriel, his back was turned, and Nose Ring Girl had her arms around his neck.