Rocked by Him (21 page)

Those doubts from earlier crept back into my mind, and my body stopped moving to the music. I stood there, watching him, seeing his teeth flash when he opened his mouth wide.

Finally, after several non-stop sets, the band quieted. The thrum of the bass faded until it was only a memory in my bones. The hall grew as quiet as a room full of hundreds of people could.

Again, Drake paused. He surveyed his subjects, his eyes once again passing by me without seeing.

"Amazing! You're all wonderful. I thought you knew the words better than me a few times!" he said. The crowd cheered.

"I know that the bill said we're supposed to play for another hour, but I feel like this needs to be short and sweet. We've got one more song for you guys."

The cheering stopped. All around me, people looked at each other. Even in the semi darkness, I could see their frowns, see their mouths move in whispers as they questioned each other.

What was Drake doing? Not even his band knew, apparently. They also shared looks. Drake pulled them all in around the
drum set. I couldn't hear them at all, but it looked heated. The guitarist shoved his finger in Drake's face, and the bassist threw his arms up in disappointment or defeat, I couldn't be sure.

Then they parted, Drake walking right onto that little projection of the stage that jutted out a few feet extra.

"I think you all know this one, too," he said.

He raised one hand. W
hen he dropped it, the band started playing the song everyone had been waiting to hear.

My heart dropped in my chest. It was Remembering You. I couldn't move. I stayed still, watching Drake as he sang. Behind and beside me, the crowd swayed to the rhythm. People pulled out lighters and cell phones, waving them slowly in the air.

It was yet another spiritual experience I couldn't share any more.

It felt like I stood out from the crowd, if only by not doing what they did. But Drake's eyes still passed over me.

Slowly, I let my eyes drop to the indistinct shadows swirling around on the floor. I couldn't look at him anymore. That emptiness inside me that I'd been covering up these past few months suddenly yawned wide again, swallowing me up.

Unlike all the previous songs, the crowd stopped singing with Drake when he drew close to the end. They all wanted to hear him croon those last few words.

I even found myself leaning forward a little, my breath held in anticipation. The words were so perfect, such a poignant end.

Drake paused right before, the true showman knowing just what his audience wanted. The band obliged as well, holding that final note, letting it fade, letting everyone feel the last few
tremblings.

"Maybe someday I'll find you again," Drake finished. He seemed to barely breathe the words. The audience got so quiet, straining to hear them. I heard them well and clear, being so close. The words were sad and tortured, lonely and longing. And they tore me up inside.

Those words faded all too quickly from the hall, leaving the only sound a slight hum from the speakers. Still, everyone waited. What was Drake doing? I wasn't sure.

Drake's head bowed down, his chin resting against his chest. His hair fell about his face so that I couldn't make out his eyes. He sighed, the sound amplified by the
mic he still held close.

Then he dropped the
mic. Through the speakers, it sounded like he'd let go of a cinderblock from the crashing it made. He walked off, Lawrence and another bouncer moving to fend off an anticipated rush of fans that never came.

We all just watched him leave, even the rest of the band.

I can only liken the sensation I felt moving through the crowd and myself to when you go see a movie. It's a great movie. Sad and funny and inspirational. But then the director pulls a fast one on you. The movie ends in mid-scene, the white credits sliding up the black screen. You know what you saw could have been amazing, should have been amazing. But then it hits you that it really is the end.

That feeling of incompletion, of melancholy frustration, that was what I felt in Club 54.

***

The crowd shuffled out towards the street numbly. I meant to follow them, to see if I could get a taxi or find the nearest subway station and get home. My clothes felt uncomfortable on me, my jeans too tight,
my jacket too short.

But then I saw the sign above the door beside the bar. It read Backstage, and Lawrence stood beside that door, examining the pass of a girl with spiky pink hair and then waving her through.

I needed to talk to Drake. It felt like if I could just explain everything to him that it could all still work out. My backstage pass was my final lifeline, and I didn't mean to let go of it.

So I went over to the door, presenting the pass. Again, Lawrence showed no sign of remembering me.

"At least you didn't have to call me to come help this time," I said, giving a laugh that sounded awkward even to me.

Lawrence's mouth tightened, his eyes flicking to my face and then back to the pass. He returned it to me. I started going forward, expecting him to move out of the way.

I would have ran into him if he didn't put his hands on my shoulders to stop me.

"No admittance," Lawrence said. He didn't even have to speak loudly despite his high voice. Really, it was creepy how quiet everyone was while they shuffled out of the club. Even the bar wasn't busy.

"What? But I have a backstage pass!" I said, holding up the bit of paper.

Lawrence gave me one of those French shrugs, his shoulders going up while the corners of his mouth turned down.

"Don't matter. No admittance."

At first, I didn't get it. I looked at the pass. It was clearly marked as a backstage admittance to see the band following the show. It had that day's date, the words "PAID IN FULL" in bold near the bottom and everything...

Then I understood.

"It's Drake, isn't it? He told you not to let me see him. Didn't he?"

"Nobody told me anything, lady. You're just not allowed back there, got it?"

So he didn't want to see me.
Which meant he'd seen me in the audience. I thought of the pain and sadness I heard in his voice in that last lyric, and I knew he still felt hurt and betrayed. Or it could just be that it was still an open wound to him. Could it be that he felt for me so deeply that he couldn't risk having to part from me again?

Whatever the reason, it was the final bell, the last accounting. Lawrence started lifting his hands, thinking I might make for a run past him.

"It's okay. Just... Can you tell him something? Can you tell him I'm sorry, and that I made the wrong choice?"

Another French shrug from Lawrence.

"Hey, if you're not going in can you get out of line?" someone said behind me.

It was the guy who'd spoken to me before the show. His overly long bangs were
glued to his cheeks with sweat, and the backstage pass in his hand looked a little soggy from his holding onto it too tightly.

"Yeah, I'll go," I said.

I left, turning back once when I got to the door. Lawrence glanced at me, then away quickly when he saw my looking.

It didn't matter. Drake didn't want to see
me, that was clear. All I wanted to do was get home, shower, and do my best to forget about all this.

Maybe I'd even let Lucinda set me up, for all the good it would do.

***

The cab ri
de back was thankfully quiet. Small comforts, right? When I got to the lobby of my apartment building, I found it empty. I let my fingers brush over the leaves of a big fern standing between the twin elevators.

The call button turned red when I pushed it, and I watched as the elevator on my right slowly descended. For some reason they were both up near the top floor.

That always baffled me. Why don't they program it so one elevator was closer to the top, and the other always returned to the ground floor?

Really deep thoughts.
But I enjoyed splashing around in the shallows. I decided that when I got upstairs I'd throw in the most syrupy sweet romantic comedy in my collection. I drew small comfort from the knowledge that love always won out in the end of those, no matter what.

I also thought that I needed to get rid of anything to do with The Icons from my life. Block their homepage from my laptop, avoid radio stations that played popular new music, do my best to avoid the music scene in New York City. I had my work cut out for me.

The cuffs of my leather jacket kept sticking to the back of my hands, so I pulled the jacket off. What kind of person wore a leather jacket, anyway? I'd find out where the nearest Salvation Army was around here and donate it. Along with these old jeans, and the shirt.

Casualties of a broken heart.

"Come on..." I said, slowly stretching my neck. The elevator had stopped on the third floor, and didn't seem to want to come down.

A deep ache emanated from all my muscles at once, and I thought that going straight to bed might be the best idea. Then to work
tomorrow, and pretending all of this never happened.

Then I remembered another thing. Lucinda wanted to know all about this. She'd ask so many questions, and she'd look so happy while doing it. That was okay. It would all be okay so long as Bud didn't find out about this, and since only Lucinda knew I was going, I doubt he would.

The elevator's motor coughed as it reached the ground floor. I heard the ding from within, and then the door slid open. I recognized the old guy who stepped out. It was the one who called the cops on Drake that first night we'd spoken. I opened my mouth to say "Hi," as though he were an old friend, then stopped.

He gave me the stink eye and scurried on past.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath, stepping into the elevator. The harsh light made me blink and squint. I wondered what would have happened if I hadn't helped Drake out that night? I'd probably have seen him in the elevator every now and then with some new girl from the bar, thought he was a player jerk, and been through with the whole thing.

It gave me a momentary blip of satisfaction before all the fond memories I had of him objected.

It seemed that was all I had any more: memories.

Before I could slip in any deeper and forget where I was, I jabbed at the button for my floor. The elevator dinged and the door began its ponderous slide shut. I leaned against the back wall and shut my eyes. The light was bugging them.

The door stopped closing. My eyelids crinkled a little in irritation, and I opened them expecting to find the old man waving his finger in my face about lying to the cops or something.

"Hi," I
said, my back suddenly stiff. I grabbed onto the rail behind me and squeezed the cool metal.

"Hey," Drake said. He stepped into the elevator and the door slid shut behind in the time we spent considering each other.

I didn't want to admit it, but he looked really good. He had the same stuff on that he'd worn on stage. His shoulders heaved a bit as he caught his breath.

"Were you running?" I asked. I realized how lame that was to say as soon as the words left my mouth, but I was too
shell-shocked to think of anything else. I just wanted to fill the silence.

Drake shook his head and laughed as he usually did, this time rubbing at the back of his head. He glanced around the elevator.
"Yeah, actually. My car got stopped a couple blocks down and I just felt this need to run. Then when I got into the lobby, I saw the elevator shutting with you in and I knew I needed to get here before it did... Hey, you'll never guess who I ran into out front..."

The elevator lurched when it started its ascent, dinging as it passed the second floor.

"The guy who called the cops on you..."

"The guy who called the cops on me," he said, smiling.

Glancing back, he reached over and flicked the emergency stop button. The elevator jerked to a halt. I was stuck in a tiny steel box with my ex, who looked hotter than hell at that moment, and I didn't know what to do or say.

I felt acutely aware of the security camera peeping down at us from its corner. Was anyone actively watching that thing? I couldn't decide what I wanted the answer to the question to be.

"So... Why are you here?" I said finally. He kept looking into my eyes, and I kept looking down at his shoes. His pointed right at my boots, only a couple inches from touching. The thought made me swallow heavily.

He pointed at the leather jacket balled up in one hand. "That looks nice."

"What, this old thing?"

I lifted it to show him. He pulled it from my hand and dropped it to the floor.

"Hey..." I started.

Then he pulled my close and kissed me. It startled me at first, but my body responded to his cues and soon I had my hands under his shirt, feeling the firm muscles in his back.

His kiss was even more intense than I remembered. Our teeth clashed together in the heat of our desire, but neither of us stopped.