2. Deacon
On Friday morning I settled into the luxurious leather back seat of the Cadillac Escalade which had picked me up from the tarmac where my private jet had just landed. I was fighting serious jet lag after my red-eye flight from Boston, but I still had a long day ahead of me now that I was back in LA.
As I dialed my PR agent, I downed a bottle of water and waited for him to pick up.
“Hi, Deacon,” Ollie greeted. “How was the flight?”
“All right. Anxious to get some real sleep though.”
“I can imagine. After your concert on Saturday, you plan to stay in LA long?”
“Couple of weeks.” I owned several properties around the world, including a home here overlooking the city, but there was only one place I could relax completely. My modern, but comfortable, beach house retreat about sixty miles north of Sydney, Australia. It was my oasis.
I’d been on a twenty-two-state US tour over the summer, and played Asia and Europe the year before. Although I loved what I did—the fans, the music, the travel, and performing—I was ready to take a break and have nothing on the schedule. Get back to songwriting and the simple life without having a half dozen people in the room with me at all times.
My sigh must’ve been audible because Ollie’s next words were, “You doing okay, Deacon?”
“Yeah, just tired.” Tired not only of the grind, but of the public light. Constant cameras everywhere and people trying to mooch off my success. Recently there was the added drama of my breakup with Nina and her subsequent whirlwind engagement only two months later.
“Have you decided if you’ll attend the wedding?”
It didn’t bother me to see my ex move on quickly, but having her walk down the aisle with my stepbrother was a nightmare. The goal was to have a clean break from an ex-girlfriend, not have her join my family.
When I’d first been asked to attend their wedding, my response had been an automatic “no fucking way.” I’d send them a gift and wish them well from afar.
“Nina told the tabloids you’re not over her, and that’s why you might not attend.”
My eyes rolled. Nina and I had only dated for three months, and it had never been love. At least not on my part. She might maintain she was brokenhearted from the breakup. Considering she’d immediately moved on to my stepbrother, I wasn’t convinced she had a heart to break.
Bryce wasn’t a bad guy, but he definitely didn’t realize what a manipulating drama queen he was marrying. The fact he’d probably taken out a loan to finance the rock on her hand showed how besotted he was with her.
“My mom called yesterday to ask me to please attend.” I understood her desire to have the family together and was hard-pressed to tell her no. She was the single mother who’d worked two jobs so I could have music lessons while growing up. My stepfather, Rob, was a decent guy, and in any other circumstance, attending my stepbrother’s wedding would’ve been a given.
“Want my advice?”
“Always.” Ollie was good people in an industry that didn’t have many, and I trusted him implicitly.
“Go to the wedding and take a date. It’ll show the world you’re unaffected, and then you can be done. At least until Christmas, when you’ll have to figure out if you’re going to avoid the family gathering because of your new sister-in-law.”
“Fuck.” I hadn’t thought that far into the future. Would my ex be permanently engrained in my life? If Nina were a sweet girl without an agenda, I could get past the discomfort, but she was more the sort of woman to create all kinds of family drama.
“We could always schedule you a holiday concert series. Say the word.”
It wasn’t the worst idea, nor would it be the first family holiday I’d missed due to my schedule. “Let’s keep that idea in our back pocket.” I’d be shocked if Bryce and Nina lasted until a second Christmas. “I’ll see you at the concert on Saturday, right?”
“Yes, you will. I have a favor to ask about your concert, actually. One of my other clients, Andrea Foreman from City of Angels, recently went through a rough time. She’ll be at the concert, and I was thinking you could throw a wink her way or something. Poor girl was cheated on by her husband who’s a narcissist wannabe rock star. It would be a nice boon to her confidence.”
Hearing anyone have to deal with a narcissist was a trigger for me. After all, I’d grown up with one until my mother had finally gathered the courage to leave him. “Happy to. Where will she be?” I’d toss her a guitar pick and blow her a kiss or something.
“Next to me, left center in the third row back.”
“Thought you were taking Roger?” Since they both lived in LA, I’d assumed Ollie’s long-term partner would be his plus-one.
“No offense and don’t ever tell him I said this to you, but while he adores you personally, my boy, he does not appreciate loud music or crowds.”
I had to chuckle. While Ollie was flamboyant and down to party, despite being slightly north of sixty, Roger was conservative and did the lawyerly thing in a suit most days. The kind which wasn’t made out of crushed velvet. Guess opposites really could attract. “Fair enough. See you tomorrow night.”
* * *
“Thirty minutes, Deacon.”A rap came at my door with the warning for showtime. My wardrobe person, Pam, handed me my jacket while I warmed up my vocals.
Once I was on stage, the crowd fueled my adrenaline. There was no bigger high than hearing people sing back the words you’d put your heart and soul into. Four songs in, my gaze found Ollie left center, three rows back. And damn, was that the woman he’d mentioned—what was her name—Andrea?
I didn’t know what I’d expected, but the brunette was stunning. And it wasn’t just the skimpy outfit which showcased her curvy body, but the shy smile she offered up.
Most women I met at concerts had a level of aggression akin to a pit bull with a raw steak in front of them. But she gently swayed with the music, her bright eyes sparkling with the genuine joy of simply experiencing the moment.
My next two songs were electric as I let the sound of the music feed my soul. My voice was on point, my band completely in sync. I loved the way my fingers strummed over the guitar and played the chorus. I knew I was experiencing the high of the sprint to the finish line. Another ninety minutes, and I could celebrate with my band and start a long-overdue vacation.
As I finished my next song, I glanced back toward Ollie, but he was engaged in animated conversation with the woman who was pointing at her phone, tears visible on her pretty face even from up here on stage.
Fuck this. Nobody cried at my concerts. After the end of the song, I shouted over to the stage manager. “I need a spotlight.”
“Where you want it, Deacon?”
“Left center, third row. Lady in the blue leather outfit next to the guy in the plum suit.”
“On it.”
The spotlight caught her off guard, and as the lights went up on me, I stepped closer to the edge of the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special guest tonight. Some of you might recognize her.”
I nodded to the two security guys in front. “Bring her up, will you?”
She stood there stunned, but then Ollie took her phone and gave her a little push. Gotta say, never had a woman need to be shoved toward me before.
As soon as she came up and was featured on the big screens, the crowd started to get loud. “Any of you know Andrea Foreman from the City of Angels?”
The crowd went nuts. Far be it from me to judge reality television, but the magnitude of my fans’ recognition of her took me aback. I wasn’t the only one, for her entire face turned red.
As she came closer, I realized she was more beautiful than I’d seen from afar. Not in an enhanced way, but in her natural beauty. For a moment all I could do was stare until I remembered everyone was waiting.
Time to play up the audience. “You know what I heard, Andrea? I heard you’ve shed some dead weight recently, and are newly single.”
The response was deafening. And I even managed to coax a tug of her lips.
“What do you think, Los Angeles? Do you believe I could sweet-talk a kiss from her?”
The crowd lost their fucking minds. Even my band mates, most of whom I’d been with over the last decade, stood there with wide eyes at the unexpected reaction. Now it was time to deliver. The question was whether I had a willing participant. Once again, not something I’d ever had to worry about before now. Flipping off the hot mic, I asked, “Are you okay?”
She let out a long breath. “I thought you were just going to smile at me or something from the stage.”
My grin came easily. “Or something. You okay with a kiss on the cheek?” It wasn’t my intention to make her uncomfortable, and it would be cute for the crowd.
There was enough hesitation to chip at my ego, but at the same time fueling me with the excitement of an unfamiliar challenge. She gazed out into the stadium, unintentionally playing it up, with the anticipation of the moment taking on a life of its own.
Then she turned, leaned toward me, and pecked my cheek.
Of course I grabbed my heart and played it up as though it was the best thing to ever happen to me.
But the audience wasn’t having the cop-out. Like a heartbeat, they started chanting, “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”
“I don’t think that did it for them. You okay with giving them another kiss on the cheek or really give them what they want?”
“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans.” Her lopsided grin made me do the same.
“No, we wouldn’t.”
Stepping into her, I framed her face, aware of the way the entire stadium was watching with bated breath. My gaze locked on hers, and I moved to touch my mouth to hers. I’d intended to do a quick brush of the lips, but suddenly my thoughts were gone. The crowd faded into a distant background, and instead all I could focus on was the fullness of her bottom lip as I took it between my teeth. She opened her mouth to gasp, and I took advantage, swiping my tongue inside.
It should’ve ended there. It was more than enough to satisfy the fans, but not for me. As if a live wire was attached to my spine sending zaps of energy to the tips of my toes, I instantly craved her.
Banding my free arm around her waist, I hauled her closer, now aware how her body was shaking. Or shit, maybe it was mine. Because this kiss had suddenly taken a sharp turn into dangerous territory. The type that had me wanting her to wrap her legs around me and walk her into my dressing room where I would take her against the wall.
But I suddenly remembered where I was and the fact this was intended to be a cute stunt, not a full-on make-out session. Pulling back took a monumental effort, but I forced myself to do so.
Andrea looked as stunned as I felt. Leaning forward for her ear only, I whispered, “Smile for the cameras, beautiful.”
My statement did the trick. She snapped back to life, taking an unfortunate step back from me and breaking the spell which had somehow found itself on stage with us.
Regaining my senses, I flipped the mic back on.
“Now that’s how a REAL rock star kisses the girl,” I quipped. The fans ate up every word of the obvious dig at her wannabe rock-star husband.
Taking Andrea’s hand, I brought her knuckles to my lips and kissed it not ready to let her go entirely. Leaning in, I whispered, “Have Ollie bring you backstage after, all right?”
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
The hesitation in her reply made me wonder if she’d actually be there.