First Chance Read online

  Plus they will go perfectly with my new shirt. Matching bra and panties are a small quirky obsession of mine, they also must be comfortable. I don’t want a wire digging into my ribcage or an overabundance of padding causing my chest to look like I have a pair of cone shaped boobs. Just because I hide my body shape under excessively baggy clothes, does not mean I don’t like to admire myself once in a while. To have that secret confidence underneath my clothing, increase’s my self-esteem a fraction.

  The bra and panties I decide on are a classic black demi cup, and matching black boy shorts that always seems to come up over my plump behind. I hang my robe on the back of my door, take my slippers off and go to the bathroom, clothes in hand. I strip my tank and shorts off and start the ending of my compulsive routine.

  I turn the shower off and step out onto the bathroom rug. Water dripping off of my body soaking the floor. I grab one of the towels and twist it around my hair then grab the other towel and start drying my body off. First my face then my arms one by one. My breasts then my legs until I am completely dry.

  Anxious about Layla's plans, I throw my clothes on and meet her in the kitchen.

  “Natty...”

  She only says this when she is up to something.

  “Don’t be mad but I made us appointments at the salon, you know how I like to be pampered and relaxed before a concert. I thought we could make a morning of it.”

  And her all too familiar “You’re not wearing that are you?”

  “Yes.” I say hesitantly questioning her judging observation,” I am wearing something I feel comfortable in. You know I don’t want attention so why would I dress like that's my end goal?" I always dress this way, what the hell has overcome her lately.

  “Okay, Okay I just thought when you picked up that ratty thing it was for your at home relaxed days. Nat, you have a banging body, if you would just let me...”

  I cut her off right there, I can see where she plans on heading with this. Nope. Not going to happen. “Layla, I am not some socially awkward experiment. Fuck, I shouldn’t even have to remind you of this. You’re lucky I am even going today.”

  “Because you’re my girl I'm going to let that slide. I know damn well you aren’t an experiment. I’m your best friend, so naturally I would want the best for you. I’m just tired of you hiding yourself behind your clothes, and your unapproachable attitude. I just want the best for you Nat! I truly I do. You sell yourself so short.” Layla says pleadingly.

  “I don’t want to go around showcasing my goods because I'm not looking for attention. You of all people know any attention is unwanted. I try every day, I just can’t wear clothes like that.” I say with a slight quiver in my voice.

  She likes to do this a lot. Call me out and try to make me face my demons. Hiding my body is one of the many things she tries to change. I am content with the way that I am. I have goals and I want to accomplish them without any interruption from anyone, Layla is the only one I would make a half attempt at listening to when it came to making any changes in any part of my life.

  “Alright, I’m going to let this argument go for the time being, but don’t think that for one second I am done fighting with you over this. Please just consider the things I say. You know I only want the best for you and it kills me sometimes just seeing how out of touch with the rest of the world you are. You would rather sit in a room with your music then associate with anyone besides me. We are in college, live a little Nat. Go crazy, go to a party, get drunk, and fuck a stranger. I don’t care but just do something that’s somewhat out of control. Don’t you get tired of holding those ropes so tight?" She practically cries trying to get this through to me.

  I can tell I pushed her much too far. She’s always staying on the outside of my boundaries that I have set. Sometimes it’s just too much for her to handle. Trying to wash the slate of our current conversation I act quickly.

  “I’ll think about it. Let’s drop it for now, let’s make our way to the salon if you ever want to get to that damned concert of yours."

  “Wait until you see where I made us an appointment “Layla says happily. She is pleased with herself about this so I am instantly assuming she has put out quite a decent amount of money at this salon. Layla spoils herself excessively, and if I allowed her to she would do the same for me, unneeded as I feel it to be.

  We make our way out of the apartment and into her Prius. She’s always going on and on about how great the car is for the environment. Layla is all for world peace and going green, when given an empty ear she could load it on end about the green movement. On the drive I turn the radio on and play with the radio stations until I hear a beat of a familiar Lumineers song.

  Now this, this is music. What music should be. In its most raw and purest form. Singing about obsessed love. How the guy will never get over this girl, not caring how badly she treats him. You can hear it in the singers’ shaky voice. The emotions he has felt. A perfect example, of true musical talent. You should sing about what you know, about what you’ve been through. To fans that is what makes you sound so sincere, that you have experienced exactly what we have, or what we could be feeling at that precise moment. As the sound is blaring from the speakers I hum along and soon Layla does as well.

  We arrive to the G2O spa and salon, I should have known Layla would book us at the most expensive and luxurious spa in all of Massachusetts. Joy, her nametag reads, greets us and automatically knows what our plans are, it seems Layla stops here quite a bit. We’re booked in the experience room, which is above the top in over-indulgence. Joy escorts us to a private changing room, there we strip out of our clothes and enclose ourselves in ivory lavish silk robes.

  This room is ours alone for the next two hours, we relax on spa beds while breathing in an ice fog which is apparently good for your respiratory system. I only know this because Layla won’t shut up about it. I thought when you went to a spa it was for peace and tranquility. Not with Layla and her incessant blabbing.

  We then proceed to partake in a tropical shower, separate of course. The water is room temperature cascading over my body like a rain shower and the scent is enveloping my senses, of island fruit and ocean salt water. A breeze swirls around in the air coming from a fan in the ceiling of the shower stall that can easily fit five persons my size.

  Regretfully, when the shower is over I walk back to our personal changing room. Layla is already in there and fully dressed, sitting on a bench along the wall waiting for me. Just finishing putting my clothes back on a knock sounds at the door, it is Joy coming back to escort us to the salon.

  As we’re walking the through the hall connecting to the salon, I tell Layla “Just so you know, just because I enjoyed that immensely doesn't mean I will not plan to live without that spoiling splendor.” She grins.

  “Nor am I doing a drastic hair change. A light trim and wax and we are done. Got it?”

  “I got ya babe. Don’t be so damn uptight. I enjoyed it, you enjoyed it. There isn't anything wrong with pampering yourself once In a while. You could use it with how wound up you keep yourself.”

  Bitch. Always having the last word.

  Approaching the salon entrance, Layla’s stylist whisks her away. A woman about my age, with gorgeous cascading shiny red hair greets me. She tells me her name is Michelle and asks what I would like to have done. I repeat what I had just told Layla. Nothing drastic. A light trim and a long overdue brow wax.

  My long hair, has been a helpful yet convenient safety crutch. I’ve long hid the emotions I couldn’t hide on my face behind my hair. Michelle begs me to allow her to apply some makeup. She’s curious to see what she can unveil underneath. I stubbornly agree only if she stays with an all-natural look. No caked on concealer or eye shadow and absolutely no lipstick.

  I am already finished when Layla comes out, my jaw drops as I see what she’s done. In all of our lives, she has never once colored her hair, until today. She is wearing it very nicely. She added some bleach blonde highlights to he
r chocolate brown hair, cutting it a little below her shoulders. About at a loss for words. Somehow I manage to push out a compliment. “You look amazing!”

  Not able to ignore the thought in my head I bluntly ask “Lal, this has nothing to do with that band member you were drooling over, right?"

  “What? No! “She denies.

  I roll my eyes at her obvious lie.

  “I just thought with all the talk about change, it was time for me to take a step too."

  “Liar.” I say dismissing her half attempt of an excuse. Glancing at my watch I notice we have about a half an hour to make it to the show, even though I don’t want to partake in attendance. Layla would be pissed. Probably for weeks. It is boring as hell living with a silent pissed off roommate.

  “Alright let’s get you and your mini dress wearing ass out of here. We have somewhere to be correct?”

  The auditorium is located inside of our college. We walk through the student filled halls. It seems as this is the place to be tonight. Everyone is awaiting this show that I am dreading to even be at. Making our way to the gigantic brown doors entering the auditorium, we make a pit stop just outside. The college has sat up food and drink vendors, oh and lookie there, a merchandise table.

  Looking over to the table, I notice they are only selling Steele’s Army labeled items. Of course, mainstream record companies and artists are always looking for ways to make a dime. I know it’s normal for a concert or festival, whatever you want to call it, to sell the performing bands shirts, sweatshirts, CD’s, and posters. But usually it’s almost always overpriced poorly made crap. What college student can afford to spend eighty dollars on a sweatshirt carrying the band’s name?

  “Want anything to drink?" Layla asks, interrupting my silent bitch fest. Causing me to jump out in surprise. I hate when she sneaks up on me like that. Luckily no one was in close enough proximity to get hit when I jumped.

  “Sure grab me a sprite please.” I say reaching in my purse to grab a couple of dollars to hand her, with my hand halfway out of my purse Layla stops me, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  “I got this Nat, you are here for me after all.” Dropping her hand, she smiles and walks over to the drink vendor.

  When Layla comes back she’s handing out my drink, a red solo cup, and ice filled to the brim and a couple sips worth of sprite, they surely don’t spare any expense. “Benjamin should be here any second, he said he would meet us here at the entrance.”

  Well I guess this is the same guy who was in our apartment yesterday, the same guy I chose not to introduce myself to because I assumed that like normal I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I don’t like befriending Layla's men because I know that he’s not going to be around long, and if Layla's gets her way tonight with that lead singer this is the end of the road for him. Uncomfortable situations are not my forte.

  Before I could reprimand Layla, Benjamin chooses to show his face, he kisses Layla on the check, she’s smiling, she seems genuinely happy. “Hey, I'm Ben” he says in an excited tone while reaching his hand out to shake mine.

  “Uh Hi, I'm Natalie.” I say regretfully, introducing myself. I wasn’t expecting him to be so chock full of upbeat energy.

  “Why don’t we go in?” Layla suggests, saving me from having an awkward conversation with her temporary Beau.

  I’m not a conversationalist. Meeting new people has always been difficult for me. You make friends by talking about your likes and dislikes, by spending time with each other. These are all things that are extremely hard for me to share with anyone. Friendship is not for me, Layla being my only exception.

  “Yeah that sounds like a good idea. The sooner the show starts the sooner it’s over. The sooner it’s over, the faster I can leave.” An anxiety laced voice pushes out of me.

  We walk through the entrance, I can see they had already set the stage for the main event. The lights are on so I can see the old worn red carpet and the high vaulted ceilings that make up our auditorium. Part of the contest was that our school would be allowed to showcase its talents. Auditions were held earlier in the week, Layla had informed me. One of the bands that were chosen are on stage now. They sound pretty damn good too. Much better than I would have thought. Bet tonight, for them, will be the time or their life. Being able to open for such a chart topping band. They’ll learn, after many mistakes reaching the top, isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be.

  The school removed a couple hundred seats, of course in the front of the stage.

  “At any great concert there will always be an area for the pit” Layla once said.

  Her idea of a good time at a show is front and center, my idea of a great time is in the way back, taking it all in, experiencing the music, the sound rushing around me. Enclosing my soul. Closing my eyes, and just listening. Feeling the words being sung in every song.

  Unfortunately, at this concert all I wish I had was ear plugs to block out the wretched music. Their songs will not touch me, nor will they compel me to feel any kind of emotion. Their songs are about the cheapening of love, selling sex and downright full of bullshit. They could have written a song about being taken advantage of, in love and trust, instead they write a song about taking advantage of love and trust.

  Every song ever written has some metaphorical meaning behind it. Songwriters have the power to move someone physically and emotionally. I just wish that every lyricist chose to use that power to showcase raw, pure and honest meanings.

  I notice Layla eyeing the stage greedily, she wants up there as close as she can get to the stage. The pit is not a place for me. I would most likely embarrass myself. Probably resulting in a massive panic attack.

  “Layla, I know you want to go up there, so just go with Benjamin. I will be fine.” I say with an encouraging smile.

  “You sure babe?” she asks.

  “Absolutely, go. Have fun. I’ll be right back there.” I say pointing to the farthest row in the back.

  “Find me when the shows over, or sooner if you feel like leaving earlier.” I say, offering her assurance that I am fine with her leaving me alone.

  “Alright. And Nat please just try to enjoy the show. I know you’re picky when it comes to music and you will try fighting it, but just let it go. Let yourself open up and enjoy.”

  I make a false promise, she won’t go if she had any inkling that I didn't mean it. I make my way to the back row, other students coming the opposite direction pushing their way through me to reach the pit. After many gropes, and shoves I finally make it, drink in hand and still full. Sitting down I lift my legs up and prop my feet against the chair in front of me.

  Chapter 4

  Steele

  The guys and I meet for breakfast. We have about an hour to eat before we have to go back to our respective rooms, change for the show and head off to the college. There are steps that we have to take when preparing for a show, be it at a bar or in an arena. Sound check is an important part of throwing a concert. Sure our roadies could tune every instrument for each songs, making sure that every instrument is at the right volume and the microphone is loud enough so the fans can hear my voice over the music. Not trusting anyone but ourselves, the band and I would rather do it.

  There are certain things we would rather be responsible for. If you want shit done right, then you must do it yourself.

  I'm backstage watching some teenage band perform. Apparently, unknown to us until earlier this morning, part of the contest was to allow some of the local campus bands to open for us. There’s quite a bit of talent here. None really are in our typical style though. Usually when you have another artist open for you they are at least in the same genre as you. It helps get the crowd energized, roaring with excitement to see the headliner. Unfortunately, I don’t think these bands are going to cut it.

  Generally I like to be with the band doing some kind of warm-up backstage before we go on. But tonight for some reason I find myself here, on the side of the stage hidden behind a thin red curtain peeking
out into the crowd. For a college campus this is a pretty decent sized area, I'm betting they could entertain over a thousand people in this room alone.

  I see a large throng of people near the stage, all in a massive collective group. Everyone shoving each other just to get as close as they can to the stage. People breathing down each other’s necks grinding on strangers bodies. Just to be in reach of the band. It’s a thrill. A rush of adrenaline when you know you've made it that far.

  That close to the people who make the music. I remember being that kid once. It seems so long ago. I used to hop rusty metal fences to see my favorite bands perform at music festivals, or if there was no way that I was getting in, I would sit outside the venue, on a sidewalk or in the grass and just listen.

  Sometimes I would go alone, other times I would invite a few friends, who enjoyed music as much as I do. They would sneak a few beers out of their refrigerator at home, pack it in a cooler underneath soda and ice then we would have our own party, with live music. It was kick-ass. Good times, and awesome fucking memories.

  It was also an escape from my shitty existence of a life. Though if I had known that years later I would be where I am now, life would have been so much easier. I have reached every career milestone I have set for myself, for the band. Now a days, it seems like I’m waiting to find that one fucking kid, the same kid I once was with nothing to lose. Hopping fences to hear us. To see us play. That would make our career, my career.

  Returning to my stalkerish peeping, I spot a girl in the far back row but she’s too far away to make out everything. I can see that she’s just sitting there, with an air of righteousness. Her nose upturned in the air. She clearly doesn't want to be here. I laugh out loud. Wait till we hit the stage, and let’s see if I can change her attitude around.

  It’s not common for people like her to be at a concert of ours because usually you have to pay for a ticket, and why would you pay for a ticket to a concert of a band you don’t even like ? I know exactly how I’ll change her outlook. It works like a charm every damn time. I glance at my watch, twenty minutes until show time. Might as well head back to the band. It’s time to rock this fucking house.