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The First Performance
Last Updated:
2022-08-26 19:20:11
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She caught Owen’s eye mid song and exchanged a grin. This was their largest crowd yet, and the audience was loving it. The energy feedback was pure adrenaline and looking down upon the upturned faces surrounded by a blur of light, sound and movement was intoxicating. There were moments, she thought, when she could see the potential to become addicted to performing, to the screams of the crowds, to their adulation. Watching Owen perform was one of the sexiest things she had ever seen. He loved the stage, working it and the audience as if he were born to do so. His hair clung to his face in sweaty curls as he leant over the guitar, and the white t-shirt he wore was plastered to his body with sweat, reminding her of the wet-t-shirt photo shirts featuring hunky firemen. There was a magnetism to him during a performance that made her stomach curl with lust, and she was not alone in that. The women loved him. Not a gig went by that he did not leave with dozens of coasters scrawled with pho
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“Just the beginning,” he told her, his eyes alight with excitement. “Just the beginning, Em.”“I managed to find someone who recorded that,” Jeremy hung over the aisle to speak with them. “I will load it onto social media.”“Awesome,” Owen grinned.The flight was quick, and as they waited for their luggage Owen’s phone rang.“It is Aaron,” he said as he answered it. “Hey. We are just at the baggage carousel… Seriously? That is like… Thanks… Okay. Thanks.” He hung up and looked around at the expectant faces of the band. “There are cars waiting for us out front, and some guys to help with the gear.”“I will go,” James was all but bouncing in excitement, his hair falling free of the messing half-ponytail-half-bun that he had caught it back into and his blue-grey eyes alight with his energy. “I will find them and bring them here.”They had just begun retrieving their luggage when he returned with four men wheeling flat trays. Within a short amount of time, they were following them back to
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“So, we are here with Two Way Street,” the DJ, Cooper, purred confidently into the mic. “Whose opera themed song, Opening Aria, hit number nine today. How does that make you feel, Owen? I believe it is your composition?” His voice belonged to a sultry leading man with smouldering good looks, but his face was that of a middle-aged science teacher, Emily thought, and wondered how many of his listeners were disappointed when they saw the promotion pictures that went with their favorite DJ.“All our songs are written by Owen,” James said, at full charm. DJ Cooper wasn’t immune to the drummer’s appeal, his interest more than professional, Emily observed, and was certain from the blush on James’ cheeks, that the DJ had slipped him his number in the break. “Until he walked into our band practise, we were just a cover band lacking a lead guitarist.”“And Owen, of course, brought in Emily as well,” Seb added.“Opening Aria was a bit of a joke, to be honest,” Owen answered the DJ, flushing unde
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“Oh, yes, that would explain it,” Vice murmured, his lips somewhere near her ear. His breath on her skin had her heart racing. If he began to kiss her, she suspected she would channel Megan and just drop her underwear and go with it. “Emily’s grandmother was an opera singer,” Owen said, sternly. He disapproved entirely of the situation and stood stiffly on the edge of the conversation; not quite included, but also not quite excluded. His eyes told her he wanted her to excuse herself so they could move on and that words between them would follow. “She used to babysit Emma on the afternoons her mum couldn’t be home in time after school, and taught Emma to sing.” There was a faint frown tensing his eyebrows. “How lovely,” Vice leaned against the back of the couch. Emily could smell his aftershave, and it was like a drug. Her eyes wanted to roll back into her head. She could imagine the conversation she would be having with Megan later, with their normal roles reversed. “A photo,” she
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“I am not entirely sure about this outfit,” Emily tugged at the bodice of her top, though it was a losing battle. The amount of fabric involved meant that tugging in one direction, revealed more skin in the other. “Uh-ah, no touching,” Peter the stylist batted her hands away. “No yanking, no tugging, no touching.” He tossed his dead straight, long bleached and perfectly toned white-blonde locks over his shoulder. She suspected it was a lace-weave wig expertly applied, but no amount of discreet scrutiny revealed his hair secrets to her less-than-expert eyes. If it wasn’t a wig, she thought, the man had the best head of hair that she had ever seen. “No bouncing, no jumping and no breathing,” she repeated by rote his instructions as he had dressed and glued her into her clothing. She did not know the secrets of his double-sided tape, but she suspected that she would not have to wax those areas of her body anytime in the near future once the clothing was removed. “And no reaching above
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“I have missed you too, Owen,” she reached up and tucked his hair back behind his ear. “Your hair is getting so long. You all look so different after just a few weeks apart. Except for James. James is exactly the same.” “So, what was it like, hanging out with Vice and Victor?” He asked and there was a hint of jealousy in his voice. There was the core of the problem, she thought. He knew that Vice and Victor made her weak and the knees, and it made him jealous. They were still at the point where he was free to do whatever and whoever he wanted, but he wanted her frozen in time, waiting for him if and when he was done with his freedom and ready for a relationship. She met his eyes. It was not the question he had wanted to ask, she thought, but she wasn’t going to give him the answer so easily. She hadn’t, after all, after that one question about Cordelia, ever asked if he took anyone else to bed. “Great. They are just… so sweet, really. I know they seem like total partiers, but it is
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In the morning, as she stepped out into the kitchen, Seb was at the coffee machine. “Not you too,” he shook his head in stern disapproval as he pushed a pod into the opening and waited for the machine to work. Owen met her eyes across the kitchen bench and raised his eyebrows. “Seb has a strong opinion about morning exercise,” he explained. He was dressed for a run but had apparently paused to have a flick through the daily newspaper on his way as it was open on the bench in front of him. “I have a strong opinion about all exercise,” Seb corrected, turning and resting his hips against the kitchen bench, cupping his coffee in both hands and blowing on it to cool it. “Other than the horizontal sort.” “If you do it in the morning,” she explained, stooping to adjust a shoe. “It is over and done with for the day.” “It depends entirely on what you mean by ‘it’,” Seb winked lasciviously. “I have no objections to certain physical activities in the morning, afternoon, or evening.” “You we
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She hesitated and then put her hand in his and let him draw her up the stairs to where the blanket was arranged. He sat, releasing the towel, so it only just covered him. She was going to have to do the same, she realised. Even if she tied the towel sarong like, it would work its way free quickly. They had skinny dipped together, had amazing sex, and now they were going to eat breakfast together in the bare. There was something delightfully naughty about that, she decided despite her misgivings, and she released the towel to fall around her as he opened the picnic basket. He grinned, sliding a look from the corner of his eye knowing that he had won this round, she thought. “An unanticipated advantage of this set up,” he commented cheekily. She was surprised into genuine laughter. He set a bottle of champagne onto the floorboards, and a small bottle of orange juice. “Mimosa?” “Why not?” She agreed. “Weak for me, though, please. Got to watch the calories.” He retrieved two glasses
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“Perfect,” Aaron gave James the thumbs up through the glass as James shook DJ Cooper’s hand and started for the door. “He was perfect for the job.” “If he ever decides to give up music,” the producer agreed, “he could have a career in radio.” “Don’t tell him that,” Owen said with a grin. “He will get cocky.” “So, how did I do?” James danced a little and preened as he joined them. “Nailed it, right?” “You made me sound good,” Emily kissed his cheek. “Thank you. The truth was,” she added to the producer. “I was an absolute mess. But James’ version is better.” “And will make anyone else think twice about trying the same,” Owen added darkly. “It is part of public life,” Aaron shrugged. “You get the good fans, and you get the bad ones. But that is a good publicity spin and renews interest in the album, so everyone will be happy with that, James, good job.” They headed out of the radio station and were met by their security guards at the entrance and escorted into the limousine, with
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“Are you sure that you are going to be okay once I am gone?” Megan asked her as she prepared to leave. “Are you going to be okay?” Emily replied. “More to the point, is James going to be ok? He looks like someone has kicked him in the balls.” “Aww,” Megan pouted and glanced over Emily’s shoulders at the dejected drummer hovering in the background. “I would stay… If.” “If what exactly?” Emily wondered. “If I lived in the same f-ked up fantasy world as you and Owen. Not everyone can just throw everything in, quit their jobs, sell their houses, and run away with a band, Em.” “I don’t know why not,” Emily replied. “It worked for me.” “Did it?” Megan challenged her. “I don’t hear Owen going around crowing about being your baby-daddy, do I?” Emily swallowed. “That is complicated.” Megan raised her eyebrows. “He was there for the making of it, Em, he has responsibility for this end of it, too. But he can’t take on that responsibility if you don’t let him know he has one.” “Meg…” “E
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“This place is amazing,” Megan said as she got out of the limousine, sliding on her oversized sunglasses like a movie star and tossing her purple-streaked dark hair over her shoulder. “And it is not the bottle of champagne talking, though I sure could use a bathroom.” “Meg,” Emily embraced her warmly. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear. “Thank me later, show me the bathroom now,” Megan replied. “Owen, be a sweetie and bring my suitcase in,” she added as she kissed his cheeks enthusiastically leaving purple toned lipstick behind and deliberately not telling him about it. Emily took Meg inside, showing her to the powder room, and watched as Owen wrestled Megan’s luggage down the hall to the bedroom the band had decided would be a spare. “How long is she staying again?” Owen whispered as he went past. “Are you sure she is not moving in?” “I heard that,” Megan swatted his behind as she stepped out of the bathroom, and Owen flashed her a grin. “Alright, grand tour, sis,” she linked
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“Are you alright?” Owen hovered close but not too close. He could deal with most things, but vomit was not one of them. They were parked on the side of the road, with cars honking as they passed the two oversized band busses loudly emblazoned with Two Way Street on all sides. The advertisement was a disadvantage, Emily thought miserably, when she had her head in a bucket. “Two Way Street!” Someone screamed out the window. The rest of the band and some roadies were fending off a carload of fans that had pulled up behind the second bus, and their laughter rolled back to her as James hammed it up for their photos, keeping them from wondering where Emily and Owen were. Emily sat on the curb, in the shelter of the luggage compartment door, the bucket on her lap. “Stomach bug, maybe?” She said wearily. “You have been off colour for a few days, maybe we should call a doctor,” Owen commented. “I thought it was… well, you know,” he shrugged. The stalker. He thought she had been off becau
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She next woke when James banged his hands rhythmically along the outside of the bus calling their names. Owen groaned. “F-king drummers,” he complained. “What is the time?” “I don’t know, but I am starving.” The bus engine was silent, and the driver had already departed, so they had arrived a while before, they realised, and slept through it. They used the en suite and dressed, pushing sunglasses onto their faces as they staggered down the steps into the daylight and squinted against the unfamiliar glare of the sun, fuzzy brained and groggy from sleep. “This is different,” Owen commented as they were joined Seb, Jeremy and James on the pavement, the three guys looking brighter and more awake than Emily felt. Seb held a black espresso coffee in his hand which might, she thought, account for their alertness. “Being at the venue bright and early.” “It is midday,” Seb pointed out. “Most people don’t consider that early.” “Early for us,” Owen grinned lopsidedly, his dimple appearing.
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In the crowd, a familiar voice called her name, and she turned instinctually towards it, smiling. Something soft was thrust into her arms, and she met the man’s dark eyes, the smile falling from her face at his vulpine expression. “Who-?” The crowd jostled against the barrier, and he let it push him back so that she caught a flash of a grin before he disappeared. She looked down at what he had placed in her hands. She already held a bunch of flowers, and some other oddments fans liked to give her. This was a teddy bear, but… The stitching down its stomach had been cut open, and the soft white fluff within and the fur around it was stained a brownish red. There was something brownish red stuffed inside… “I will have that, thank you,” Aaron snatched the teddy out of her hands and dropped it into a plastic bag, which he ziplocked and passed to his PA. He put his hand on her back. “Keep going, Em, smile,” he encouraged. “Smile, Em.” Her expression had caught Owen’s attention, although
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They slept, still tangled, somewhere between dressed and not, in the bottom bunk, until day turned into night, and the bus pulled up at the first destination. The sudden stillness and quiet of the engine being turned off woke her, groggy, and lethargic from the nap. “Show, Em,” Owen encouraged as she found clothing that would see her to the changerooms. “Yes, I know,” she was grumpy in her sleepiness, but managed to get herself dressed and her suit bag and case in hand, trailing him from the bus and avoiding the driver’s eyes, embarrassed that he might have seen more than he should have. There had to be some type of hazard pay, she thought with flustered amusement, for the drivers of bus bands – she was pretty certain that sex in the busses was pretty common with horny fans and band members doing what came naturally to them. The shower woke her, and she grazed on a salad as she let the stylist prepare her for the show, the men’s conversation in the background rising and falling, th
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The band was divided between two tour busses, these ones slick and expensive looking inside and out, a sleek, glossy modern black with Two-Way Street emblazoned in yellow script on the outside. The band stopped and gawked as they got out of the taxis. Roadies wearing black tshirts with Two Way Street in the signature spray-paint looking script on their backs and chests moved busily between the two sleek busses and the less glamourous support vehicles that would accommodate the tour’s support staff and equipment. “Daddy, does this mean we have made it to heaven?” James wondered, saying what they were all feeling. This tour was no expense spared, the contrast to the last stark. “It sure does, Jimmy, it sure does,” Jeremy answered. “Or at least we have attracted the attention of hell. But I, for one, am happy to sign on the dotted line in blood if this is a sign of what is to come.” She was already in hell, Emily thought wryly. The sexual tension between her and Owen was so electric
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She hesitated and then put her hand in his and let him draw her up the stairs to where the blanket was arranged. He sat, releasing the towel, so it only just covered him. She was going to have to do the same, she realised. Even if she tied the towel sarong like, it would work its way free quickly. They had skinny dipped together, had amazing sex, and now they were going to eat breakfast together in the bare. There was something delightfully naughty about that, she decided despite her misgivings, and she released the towel to fall around her as he opened the picnic basket. He grinned, sliding a look from the corner of his eye knowing that he had won this round, she thought. “An unanticipated advantage of this set up,” he commented cheekily. She was surprised into genuine laughter. He set a bottle of champagne onto the floorboards, and a small bottle of orange juice. “Mimosa?” “Why not?” She agreed. “Weak for me, though, please. Got to watch the calories.” He retrieved two glasses
