First Chance Read online

  Having sat my clothes out on my bed I pick the black designer dress and examine it. It ends at the knee, acceptable. I throw on a pair of flesh colored hosiery and black strappy high-heels. Unwrapping my hair, I run my fingers through it, combing out any knots I find. Then grab my handbag and walk out into the living room. Layla's there alone. Thank God, I didn't want to be a third wheel making an uncomfortable dinner. She’s ready, jacket and all.

  “All ready?” Layla asks.

  I nod. Making my way out of our apartment while she locks up. A few seconds later she joins me in the elevator making our decent to the lobby of our building. I question her about the new guy, she answers evasively. That’s how I know it’s another unserious fling. Exiting our building we start walking to the car garage across the street.

  A lot of college students that opt not to live on campus choose apartments here. Being a secure and safe building, while offering a huge well lit parking lot. When we reach her car she takes her keys out of her clutch and clicks the unlock button, I climb into the passenger seat, her in the drivers. I do not drive, maybe someday, but for now my fear is much too overwhelming. Anytime I have ever tried sitting behind the wheel I freeze, my hands unable to move. When immobile it’s impossible for you to steer let alone start a car.

  She whips the car out of the parking lot, making me thankful for seat belts, and we head out to dinner. Throughout the drive Layla is blabbing about the concert. How she’s elated the school won and how she has always wanted to see Steele’s Army live.

  “Their music has always been inspirational to me.” Layla says as I try to hold back from laughing.

  She pays no mind to me and continues off on her spiel.

  “You know how much I love the band Nat. As my best friend you should just go along pretending you do as well. Try not to be a Debbie downer tonight alright?”

  “I’ll try, for you Lals.” I say to appease her. I’ll try to pretend I am enjoying myself while we are there. Layla then goes into her plan of how she’s going to sneak back stage and seduce the lead singer. This isn’t something that I care to hear about.

  Unable to hold my interest in her going on and on about a band like a proud groupie, I stare out the window thinking of the past, the present, the future. All the while mumbling generic responses to what she’s still blabbering about.

  I’m positively sure that she doesn’t notice.

  About thirty minutes later we pull up to Layla’s favorite restaurant Antonio’s. A Valet attendant opens my door before I can. Stepping out I gawk at the upscale décor. Above me is a black awning with millions of miniature golden lights hanging about like vines, recreating the starlight in the night sky.

  Layla joins my side, no sooner than the door is open the smell of a mixture of garlic, basil and pasta hits my senses in strong wafts. My mouth starts watering for a taste and my stomach unintentionally rumbles out loud. I look around at the restaurant I have dined at no less than fifty times, many walls are made up of wrought iron wine racks holding some of the most expensive and diversified wines in the world. Earthy Tuscan color tones are strategically placed throughout to give the atmosphere the feel that you’ve flown into the heart of Italy.

  The hostess takes our coats and seats us in our preferred location hidden in the back. The round white covered table is sat for two, wine glasses already over turned and ready to be filled. Our waitress comes over to our table, telling us of the daily specials. We decline, already knowing what we are going to order. It’s the same thing we get every time we dine here.

  After placing our orders, I glance over to Layla and can tell she has something on her mind, she smiles a huge grin.

  Fuck.

  I knew this was going to happen. She’s pulling the god damn best friend card out again, twice in one day. This was uncommon, even for her. So I automatically put my defenses in place.

  “Nat, so about this concert, the guy you saw earlier in our apartment, I invited him. Now I know you won’t date but...”

  "It’s not going to happen Layla, I really would rather not go but, if you insist then I am going solo.” I say with much disinterest.

  “Live a little” she begs.

  “Layla, you know I love you and I would do anything for you, you don’t ask for much but I'm not doing that.”

  She sighs, resigning her hope as she does so.

  “By the way when is this concert?”

  “Don’t worry Nat you have two days to prepare yourself, it’s on Saturday.”

  Fucking Great.

  Chapter 2

  Steele

  “Fucking College!” I scream into my cellphone.

  “Ryan, I told you about the contest.” Mel says dismissively.

  “I am pretty sure you fucking didn’t Mel.” I reply, losing patience.

  “Live Nation sponsored, students put in their votes for the artist they want to perform at their college, and the college who had the highest participation level won a concert by the artist they chose.” Mel explains.

  “Tell me Mel, why would we want to perform at a fucking college when we have worked our asses off the past eight years to sell out Madison Square Garden?” I scream back again, not letting this shit just slide under the bridge.

  “Steele calm down. Think about it, this is like giving back to your fans, young adults are your biggest fan-base, they are the people buying your records, and they put you where you are. So think of it as paying them back. You go there for a week, do a show. Then interview intern candidates and then start your tour. This is just a minor bump in the road." Mel states, pleading his case.

  “Mel, I'm hanging up right now. I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest that I interview anyone. This. Is. Not. My. Job. I am going to pretend you didn't just spring this shit on me. You’re lucky we have a contract or you would be fucking fired.”

  I want to slam my cell down. Knowing it would smash it to pieces, I don’t. Instead, I put my fist through my bedroom wall. I can’t believe he did this to us. For Mel to wake me up at six o'clock in the morning just to tell me that we have to leave tonight to do a show in two days and then visit the damn college for a week is complete bullshit. I do the music, I pay everyone else to do the other shit. I put my heart and soul into my music, I have worked so fucking hard to get here.

  All to go back to a fucking college.

  I can see gossip papers now. “Steele's Army: Sales must be down, once sold out now touring colleges!”

  It will be untrue of course, but what else do papers and magazines print if not anything except rumor. We just finished an album a couple of weeks ago, our people are predicting it will top the last album we released in sales. Already set to break the charts once again. I put more of myself into these songs then any I have made before.

  Knowing there is no way I can go back to sleep now, I decide to go for a run on the public beach just outside of my condo. Every morning when we aren't on tour I opt to take a jog on the beach. The day we cashed our first check from our recording company, I bought a condo in Long Beach, California. It’s been the closest thing to a home that I have ever had.

  Something about the scent of salt in the air and the wind blowing my hair, also forcing the sand to root in every crevice always helps keep me at peace. Most days it’s where I find my songs. It‘s also where I go to pick through my issues.

  I finish my run. Figure I'll call the boys then take a shower. It is easier calling them all at once, that way I can hear the “What the fucks” and the “why didn't you tell us sooner” once and then “yeah, yeah were packing. Where and what time.”

  So much easier.

  I call them, and it goes just as I had guessed. When I hang up I decide I should lay back down and get some rest. With all of the times I have flown, you would think it would be simple for me to just close my eyes and fall asleep. Nope. With the ear popping, and possible turbulence it always leaves my nerves a wreck.

  I’m sure the press would love to run with that as a front page a
rticle, me an alpha, bad boy rock star afraid of flying. The guys know about it, so they are always trying to distract me by fucking around with fellow passengers or the flight attendants. We have to fly quite a bit so they are always pushing that bar higher and higher. It’s surprising we haven’t been kicked off of a flight yet.

  I wake up around four leaving just enough time to pack. For me on tour I really only need enough clothes to last me a week. We do laundry runs once a week when we stay at a hotel. Also, there’s not a lot of storage on a tour bus when you’re housing five men. I change my now wrinkled clothes into something clean then grab my luggage and head out the door .When I get outside, the Limousine I had called for earlier is already waiting for me. Ready to take me to LAX.

  We’re driving throughout Los Angeles in the middle of rush hour. This is going to be a while. I take a deep breath and set my mind in the relaxed zone, the guys can always pick up on my moods, more so when I’m pissed off. And Mel has set that tone for me for today. So I try to calm down a little.

  Once we get on this airplane that's it for six months. A lot of bands do at least a six month tour, but because we just finished an album, were extending our tour. Our first stint is two months, then we will head back home for three weeks and be gone for six more months. The only benefit is that the five people I do care about, my true family in every sense, is the band and they will be with me. So I'm not leaving anything or anyone behind.

  My parents are long gone. They lived long enough to see my success. They never truly cared about me, my music or my band anyway.

  I snap out of the trance that I put myself in, when I see we are approaching the airport. My door opens and I'm at the entrance to LAX , I'm sure the guys are already at our boarding gate for Boston seeing as how they all live together and in Los Angeles they were much closer.

  I grab my bag, tip the driver and walk through security, readying myself to getting fondled by a guy. Just what I need to keep this already shitty day going. I understand why they do it, fuck I wouldn't want anyone on my plane with any sort of weapon, but I’m just not comfortable with strangers touching my body. My hands are one thing, it’s how I do business. I shake hands at the closing of deals, when meeting fans, but not one of them.

  I pass through security like a breeze, check my luggage in and head to the boarding gate. When I get there I see the guys sitting down waiting for our flight to be called for boarding. I walk over to join them, taking a seat and start to bullshit.

  “I’m thinking we should make a bet right now on whose going to get the most pussy while we’re in Boston, winner decides the losers’ humiliation.” Zepp declares.

  “We all know Steele is going to win, and you remember last time what he made all of us do. Do you really want to have to tell every woman you come into contact with for a week that you carry an incurable sexually transmitted disease? Because I sure the fuck don’t.”

  I start laughing, remembering that kickass wager. No one gets a chance to answer because our flights called, we all stand up and board the plane. Seven hours later we arrive at Logan International airport. The guys talked throughout the entire flight, they came to the conclusion that a night of partying was in order to celebrate the pre-tour so they plan on going out after we arrive at the hotel.

  We pick our luggage up at baggage claim and exit the airport. I spot our driver, band name “Steele’s Army” is written on a piece of loose-leaf paper upside down, this makes me compulsively annoyed while Liam and Gage are laughing hysterically.

  Zepp stands guard, ready to apologize for what is very close to coming out of my mouth, I expect perfection from everyone especially if they are working for me. We walk over to the driver, he is intimidated instantly and bows his head, lucky for him, and his show of submissive behavior has me holding my lips closed tightly together. Obviously this guy is a pushover and hadn’t realized his mistake. I can be a forgiving person, when I want to.

  Most people act this way when they meet us and I can’t blame him by the image we project. It suits myself and the rest of the band just fine. Making ourselves seem just out of reach to the everyday common fan, or groupie. Hell, even the press is a protective shield. Too many people in our line of business are only out to make a name for themselves or to take advantage of us.

  So I am always on the defensive mode and watching, waiting for those rats to try and sneak in. Pat, our driver, introduces himself. After a few awkward moments of silence, he then opens the car door we all climb in. Leaving the airport he is taking us directly to our hotel the Ritz-Carlton, after working as hard as we have we deserve nothing but luxury and any hotel we stay at must provide nothing but. On our drive I tell the guys I'm going to pass on their bar hopping and catch up on some much needed rest.

  Also advising them they should do the same since our impromptu concert is tomorrow afternoon. Whether or not it’s at some small college or an arena we are putting on a God damn good show. After a short ride our car arrives to the hotel. Pat opens the door for us. Grabbing my wallet I quickly snatch out some random bills and tip our driver. We walk through the revolving doors to the front lobby of the hotel we are staying in for the next few days.

  The lady at the concierge desk is flirting with me non-stop. Bluntly making it clear that she wants to fuck. Being the gentleman that I am I politely decline. Once the keys are in my hand I dish them out and we all decide to meet up at eight in the morning, which is pretty fucking early since they will most likely be out drinking all night. I suggest that if they really have to go out, they should try to get in at a decent time.

  We planned to meet in my room to have breakfast and to discuss our plans while we are here. I still haven’t told them about the prospective intern we have to interview for. Choosing to call Mel after I get some substance in my stomach and some sleep, I will find out tomorrow about his qualifications for this intern and what in the fuck they are supposed to be doing with the band while on tour.

  Leaving them to find their own rooms, I tell them that our bet is on and that I am doing them a favor by giving them a head start.

  Chapter 3

  Natalie

  “You say you want me! That you need me! Then get on your fucking knees ...”

  I dislike this song to my core, I also don’t want to get up out of feathery stuffed bed and shut my alarm clock off, thus shutting the horrible song off. I'm sure Layla has planned some all out get beautified morning for this concert. But first I need to get up and shut that god-awful song off. Then coffee. My morning routine, I cannot break; Coffee, cigarette then shower and then hopefully I am awake enough to converse with Layla.

  I've tried it once before, disrupting my routine. It did not end well, for myself or Layla, because she ended up talking me into meeting a blind date she had planned and failed to remind me until the very night of said blind date. I considered going, but my anxiety clammed me up. I would have embarrassed myself if I went. To say I've learned my lesson is an understatement, she called me hurt and offended when the blind date called her because I never showed.

  Since then she tries to trick me into agreeing to do things she knows I would never agree to. Nothing like a blind date, but for instance this concert, she will remind me right up to the date, and the day of she won’t leave me alone. Reassurance that I will go along with whatever plan she had made for me. It’s clever I’ll give her that but, it’s also sneaky.

  Begrudgingly, I throw my comforter off my body. I put my pink fleece robe on and slide my feet into my house slippers that are located right next to my bedroom door. Walking into the kitchen to make some delicious French vanilla flavored coffee, I see that Layla isn’t awake yet. A few more minutes of reprieve before I have to listen to her all day go on about the “mouth-watering” Steele.

  Once that's brewing I go open the sliding glass door to our balcony, located off of the living room, being that it’s June the heat is already sweltering, thankfully the wind is also whirling about, making the heat bearable. I light my
morning cigarette, pulling that first drag into my lungs hits the spot. The spot that has long needed to be filled. My craving has finally found its fix. I know people are always preaching, especially Layla how it “will kill me”, and “do you know what poisons they put in those cancer sticks?” I do not live under a rock, and I consider myself quite intelligent. So yes, I do know what is in “those cancer sticks.”

  I also know that one day, it could kill me. But so could many other things.

  Although today is another glorious morning where I do not care. When I breathe it in it brings a sense of calming over me. Starting in my lungs, moving outward and expanding. Somehow allowing me to feel like I breath that much easier.

  Finishing my cigarette, I butt it out then go inside to start making my coffee. This is when Layla decides to grace myself with her presence.

  “You smell like smoke Nat. When are you going to stop?”

  “Don’t worry, I will shower before we leave today and I’ll make sure to carry hand sanitizer and breathe mints. Happy?" she holds a smile tightly, I know this doesn't make her happy but because I compromise she will close those pouty lips tightly and rein in whatever lesson she wants to teach me today about cigarette production.

  “Layla, I am going to shower and get dressed. We can talk about our plans for the day after. If I know you then I know you have something up your sleeve.” I tell her with fake enthusiasm.

  “You’re going to looooovveee what I have planned Nat.” She squeals with excitement.

  “I' m sure I will.” I mumble on my way to my bedroom.

  I grab my new Tom Petty shirt which is still in the bag on my bedroom floor from yesterday. Opening my dresser drawer I grab my favorite pair of black lace bra and panties, then my favorite pair of grungy blue jeans. There are small man-made rips in random places and the seams are fraying, but I will never get rid of these things.