Shiraz Read online

  The parking lot surrounding the club was nearly full, but we were directed in by an attendant happy to take our $15 for the privilege of not getting t-boned on the street. By the time we awaited our turn to get in, it was 9:15 p.m. The opening band that was advertised with posters on the outer windows were wrapping up as we found a seat on stools at a tall rounded table.

  Several dozen people were still pouring in, while tons of fish netted arms walking past greeted other fishnet wearers. Looking back at the entrance, one bouncer was checking licenses while the other checked bags.

  A license-checking guard peeked back at me and we chuckled to ourselves as we made eye contact. Several minutes before entering this place Antonio had asked that bouncer if he was performing full body searches tonight, and at the time the guard was not amused. “What are you laughing at?” Antonio asked. Through my laughter, “You asked the guard if he gave full body searches!”

  “Listen white girl, I ask him all the time. I know he’s gay.”

  I just let him keep his thought as I knew for a fact he was not gay, but I’ll keep that fact to myself. The Avalon was big enough for roughly one thousand people, and if the tickets kept selling tonight, they wouldn’t have any problem filling this place up to capacity. Three bartenders manned the station directly to our right that ran all the way to the back exit of the building. Half the audience had already gathered at the foot of the stage, I assume to be as close to the band as possible. I remember doing the exact same thing when I was a teenager, but I never enjoyed getting punched in the back by some potential moshers who didn’t know how to nurse their beers.

  Broken Griffin merchandise sat on display to our left, which surprised me because they must’ve been a bigger deal than I realized. I can best describe their logo as a bird who found steroids very early in life, surrounded by a barbed-wire wreath, whatever that symbolized. I wasn’t going to drop twenty bucks on a shirt just yet, I need to see what they’re all about. My concept of “soft rock” was the few songs I had heard by Metallica, so I had no idea what I was in store for tonight as it is not really my style. Wasn't Metallica Metal anyway? Who knows?

  Antonio finished raiding the bar which meant I was already two drinks in and feeling nice. The second opening band, Seek the Truth, wrapped things up by thanking the audience for coming out. After finishing my second cup Antonio jumped to order shots. I hadn’t intended on doing shots, but he was sweet, so we toasted to “fun times ahead,” which sounded like a plan to me.

  The band was soon starting so I ordered a glass of wine to take it slow as opposed to downing alcohol. If I said I wasn’t already feeling nice I’d be lying. “Where do you want to try and stand? Looks full already,” I added to my question.

  Antonio threw his head back and cackled. “Minday, mami, I told you I know the singer! We already got hooked up, come with me.” Confident, he took my hand and guided us to a staircase on the left side of the room which led up to a balcony. Another security guard checked the tickets we had shown at the door, and upon inspecting them, he finally allowed us to proceed to what I imagined it was some kind of VIP section.

  The ginormous balcony overlooked the stage which remained dim as a single shadow set up the equipment. Several chairs had been positioned on the three tiers of flooring, giving us an unobstructed look at the stagehands already setting up for Broken Griffin. I listened as Antonio went on telling me how he first met the singer, Alexa. He explained how he had been living in France and had the opportunity to get casted as an extra for a music video they shot. Thanks to Antonio’s unnecessary excitement, he was kindly asked to leave the shoot, which prompted an unwarranted rant from him about the abuse he was suffering at the hands of an ignorant director. Alexa laughed at his theatrics and decided that rather firing him, Antonio should be one of the main characters in the video.

  “And that’s the peak of my fame,” he said switching the leg he had crossed, back under the other.

  “Impressive! I had no idea you were ever an actor. You certainly don’t lack the persona,” I complimented.

  “Not actual actor, Mindy. A glorified extra. Flamboyant Spaniards are not the rarest thing in the world, and since I can’t sing to save my life, I was never going to amount to much anyway. I’m happier now! I help people, I never picked up a nasty heroin habit, and I made friends like you and Alexa along the way, and now we are having amazing nights like at this very moment. My life is wonderful!”

  “Salud,” I replied, clinking my glass against his as I let out a huge grin. I like how his tone tuned to a more serious one and I went from Minday to Mindy.

  The lights went from dim to complete darkness and the crowd broke out into a cheer. As the light brightened back to normal lighting a drum set designed with the band’s logo sat toward the back of the stage, flanked by a keyboard and at least three standing microphones. As the roar of the fans grew louder the stage misted to a complete fog. Antonio began to scream while I remained silent, but still excited to hear what these guys have in store. I sat with my ankles crossed peering down through the glass shield around the balcony, still gripping onto the shaft of my wine glass.

  From out of the darkness, the keyboard began cranking out synthesized notes. The notes were soon after joined by the rest of the band, not wasting any time launching into their first track. Alexa stood out, possessing a vocal range that only a classically trained opera singer could pull off. Antonio was, for once, not exaggerating. They sounded fucking amazing.

  An eerily violet light overtook the whole ceiling, turning the stage into what looked like the bottom of a fish tank. Alexa had her own spotlight for obvious reasons, but it was easy to devote equal attention to the rest of the band. I hadn’t learned their names yet and it was now too loud for Antonio to scream in my ear, but they played the part of the rock band well. Alexa has long, flowing hair that bounced up and down while she rocked her head during each of her solos. Her jewelry adorning her necks, wrists, and fingers, beautified what was already beautiful about her outside appearance.

  Their songs had a wide variety of power and harmony. The guitarist went acoustic for half of a song before the rest of the band joined in, and it was magical. I wish I had known more about them and the names of some of these tracks, because I was rapidly becoming a fan on my own.

  I don’t remember when it happened . . . if it was one exact moment, or a continuous drawing of my attention, but my eyes stopped moving when I focused on their drummer. He didn’t seem to be playing up the gimmick as much as everyone else as his dirty blonde hair was kept short, and he wore a sleeveless black shirt with no signs of makeup or accessories. He was different. So intense and mysterious.

  I watched him pound away at the five different drums in front of him, four cymbals and simultaneously keeping his foot locked onto the bass. The hand-eye coordination it must take to do that made my mind race, and seemed to be doing the same to my heart. He was drenched in sweat by the end of the third song, but every new track turned into a shot of adrenaline for this animal. Faster and harder he went. That’s what he looked like while wielding the sticks in his hands; a beast, a savage who was conquering the music that came out of his soul, destroying anything in his way.

  When the song slowed to an end I cheered along with the rest of the crowd as everyone transfixed with the spectacle of the show in front of them. Alexa thanked everyone and took the time to introduce everyone behind her . . . the guitarist, keyboardist, bass player…

  “…and of course, our man with the iron fists and steel arms, please show your love to Broken Griffin’s extraordinaire drummer, Ryan Michaels!”

  Ryan stood up waving and bowing to everyone, hamming the crowd for actually acknowledging the guy at the back of the stage. I stood up clapping as I thought he did a tremendous job. He had dark brown eyes that sank into his face, their color drowned out amid the rest of the lighting around him. He sat back down in his black jeans, guzzled some water out of a bottle he must have been keeping by his bass drum, t
hen snapped his hands back on his sticks like a magnet.

  I watched him grip the sticks, twirling each of them between his thumb and forefinger like a magician preparing to make them both disappear. Antonio was saying something about a side project that the keyboarder was working on, but I was oblivious. Ryan looked like he was conducting his own orchestra as he really was the most important cog in the wheel of the band, and he knew it. His eyes scanned the crowd just after placing a hand over his forehead to shield the spotlight from his field of vision.

  He tilted his head up to the balcony. Oh dear.

  My own eyes widened. He was staring right at me . . . wasn’t he? I half expected lasers to beam out of his eyes as his gaze was so piercing and definite. He held that glance for a few more seconds, during which I couldn’t move. What the hell was happening to me?

  I watched him start the next song, beating the drums into submission while the rest of the band sang and played as if this weren’t a club, but an open stadium. My mouth was suddenly dry; it had been agape for several minutes since I laid eyes on Ryan. I caught myself as I took another sip of wine, finishing what was left. I asked Antonio if he wanted another drink, which he obviously agreed to, so I went back to the bar.

  My legs felt wobbly as I descended the staircase. Each strike of the bass drum reverberated through the floor which sent a shake throughout my entire body. I snaked my way through the mass of people, signaling to the bartender for two more cabernets. I looked back toward the stage, amazed at how much smaller the band looked from this distance. Their native fans in France must be insanely jealous with the overwhelming fan base they have received in the U.S.

  I returned to the balcony with both drinks in hand just as Broken Griffin prepared to perform their last few songs. Antonio took his cup from my hand and slyly remarked, “I caught you looking at Ryan,” he cooed as he downed his shot without waiting for me.

  “What?” I obviously tried to downplay my guilt. “I--I mean--of course, I was looking at the entire band. They sound incredible, I love them all, and Alexa has an amazing voice. Why didn’t you urge me before to try and listen?”

  “You’re so full of shit,” he wasn’t convinced at all, pointing at me fiercely like he was hot shit. “I don’t blame you, I wish he could pound my drums, but sadly he is all about the ladies. We’re meeting up with them later, so make sure to get his number!”

  There was no way I had heard him correctly. “What the hell? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No I’m not kidding. Why would I not want to hang out with my friend I haven’t seen in years and introduce you two along with the entire band? They’re nice, don’t worry!”

  I turned from Antonio and faced the stage again. Their final solo was winding down, but my heart was heading in the exact opposite direction. When the music stopped, the crowd exploded, generously showering them with cheers and chants. The entire band gathered up front, joined hands and bowed in unison. As they came up, I could swear I saw Ryan shoot a glance in my direction as they exited.

  I felt like a million icicles were jabbing into my back at once. Antonio had me follow him backstage, navigating the hallways of the Avalon like he owned the place. Old posters and props littered the floor, cluttering an already narrow path that twisted and turned around sharp corners leading to storage closets and several green rooms. Broken Griffin occupied the biggest of them, and each step I took toward their suite felt like another step toward a heart attack. I felt like a teenager with her V.I.P backstage passes to meet her favorite artist trying not to drool over the pretty drummer boy. What the hell was wrong with me?

  A lone door toward the end of the maze had the band’s logo plastered on the smack in the middle. Antonio waltzed right up and knocked in the same whimsical manner he had done on my apartment door earlier in the evening. It only took two seconds for the door to open, and Alexa, still shining from her performance, greeted the door with a squeal. Her bracelets jangling around the back of his neck as she jumped on him, chiming as they knocked against each other. Behind her, I saw the band members and some of their friends picking at the last of their catering. It looked like an unhealthy amount of wine and alcohol still remained untouched, how tempting.

  Alexa ushered us in soon after she greeted me with a gentle hug. The room didn’t look much different than the hallways that led to it, but was furnished well enough with couches resembling the one we sat on to watch the show. Alexa had her own makeup station, decorated with a mirror surrounded by lights, like something right out of Hollywood from the 50’s. She and Antonio were already yammering away, with a ton to catch up on.

  I watched them as they conversated, Alexa flashing her smile as she laughed, and they were as well-maintained as the rest of her figure. She then turned to me, “So how do you know my Antonio? He always kept good company even though he knows how to scare people off just as quickly as he brings them in.” Her accent was totally unfamiliar to me, her voice carrying the air of a fairy.

  “Oh, I’m well aware of his antics,” I answered, apparently a little bit star struck without any self-awareness. “I feel kind of bad now. He has been talking about your music for weeks and I was too damn lazy to listen to any of it, now I regret it.”

  Alexa waved that off with her free hand while the other cupping a goblet of wine. “I’d rather your first experience be a live show like this one, anyways. Going to a show in person is an experience nobody will ever be able to capture with just the speaker on the back of their bloody phone. Half of the people here were as glued to their screen as they could have been to the music.” I nodded in agreement.

  Antonio went on to talk about our time together in the hospital, and just when I had started to feel like a part of the conversation my bladder generously reminded me of how much wine I had consumed tonight. I wasn’t sure if they had their own private bathroom, and having already been invited back, I didn’t see any harm in excusing myself.

  I stood up and turned back to the door I came through, making sure to shut it behind me. I remained facing the door when I heard footsteps approaching. I stalled feeling some odd sense of responsibility to make sure nobody was trespassing that wasn’t allowed back here. I was a little put off by the lack of security, but it must have been late enough that they had already shooed the rest of the crowd out of the building.

  The footsteps rounded the nearest corner. I froze in place, not sure who was skulking around back here. I wheeled around, eager to confront the source, then we collided, leaving me stuck between a door and a broad chest clad in a sleeveless black shirt. It was him. Ryan Michaels stumbled backward, not interested in knocking me over. “That could have hurt. Are you lost?”

  I dug deep into my throat and could not find the right words anywhere. “No . . . my friend is Alexa’s friend, we . . . we came backstage, I’m not a groupie or anything-- not that I couldn’t be, but that isn’t why I came back--”

  The drummer smirked. He had at least a five-inch height advantage over me even with my pumps, and he must have weighed at least two hundred pounds without an ounce of visible fat. All those years of swinging drumsticks for hours on end had done wonders for his arms, which looked like a 3D map of the Grand Canyon. A day and a half of stubble had accumulated across his chin, which looked like he chiseled it himself. His eyes hypnotized me, cocoa-colored irises so intoxicating I nearly forgot what an ass I had just made of myself.

  “Relax, I wasn’t judging anything.” His deep English accent sank into the walls of the hallway which suddenly seemed a lot narrower than when Antonio had first taken us back. “Let me try this again. Hello, I’m Ryan. I think you saw me beating things on stage with my hands not too long ago.”

  He offered his hand; a coarse and calloused collection of skin that felt like home when it grasped my own.

  “…Er…Melinda. Alexa’s friend Antonio calls me Mindy, but nobody else does. I kind of prefer it that way.”

  He began to chuckle. “Hell, Antonio is your friend? Why didn’t
you say so? That earns you an immediate and permanent backstage pass with us!”

  I’m certain he was attempting to sound reassuring and comforting, but my lungs were still floundering for oxygen. “How . . . is there another bathroom back here?” Our hands still glued together.

  He pointed in back of him bringing his triceps up to the light, so beautiful how they looked so masculine. “Second door on your left.”

  “Okay . . . can we just pretend this conversation didn’t take place and I introduce myself with actual dignity next time?”

  He brought his hand back to his chin in a curious movement. “I don’t know how I feel about that. You already exposed me to your real personality, whether you like it or not. I’ll owe you one when you come back inside . . . you are coming back, yes?”

  His eyes bored into mine the way I swore they had done from the stage. I was regressing in speech yet again. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” trying to keep it cool.

  Ryan waited until the very last second possible before breaking eye contact and opening the door to the band’s room. I slowly stepped toward the door he pointed out, wishing there was a cold shower waiting instead.

  I emerged from the bathroom after fixing my hair and makeup. I was positive I had sweated most of my makeup off during my encounter with Ryan, and was terrified I would look like my head was made of clay when I walked back in.

  As soon as I stepped back into the band room, I heard Antonio howling even louder than normal, obviously having drunk a bit more since the show had ended. I wasn’t worried as he always let me drive if he overdid it, and he more so loved taking over my couch and sharing it with whichever cat decided to keep his company. Alexa had conveniently invited Ryan into the conversation, sending my nerves into distress all over again.