"Heavy decibels are playing on my guitar, we've got vibrations coming up from the floor. We're just listening to the rock that's giving too much noise! Are you deaf? You wanna hear some more?"
The base line thudded through the speakers next to my ear. I could feel the beat shaking the floor of the club and I was eternally grateful to the roadie who had pumped the volume up enough that I couldn't hear the slime ball beside me chatting me up. It was lovely to be temporarily deaf to everything but the music, but the loudest guitar riff in the world wasn't going to distract me from seeing this guy attempt to sneak peeks down my shirt. I will never understand how men can think they're being so discreet, especially when drunk, when actually the girl's they're hitting on are very aware of the little glances.
I pretended the guy wasn't talking or sloshing his drink on me every time someone jostled him, and I turned my attention back to the stage. Luminous Flux, the city's hottest local band, was rocking the club tonight. The lead singer, a skinny guy in skinnier jeans, was attracting most of the female attention in the room, but I had eyes for only one man. The lead guitarist, a Mr. Jack Casey, was wailing on his guitar, alternating between the most beautiful, plaintive notes, and the heaviest chords I'd ever heard come out of an amplifier. I felt like every other gal on the planet: falling for the guitarist in a rock band, but then again, I really could respect what he was doing with his instrument. His long fingers moved across the fret board skillfully and suddenly I was imagining what else those fingers could do. I was glad it was dark and smoky in the club, so that no one else could see me blush.
The guy beside me had finally realized that he was getting nowhere with me, and he'd drunkenly moved on to another lucky lady. His newest pick looked just as plastered and glad of the attention. I mentally wished him luck as I searched the crowd for my friend Beth. The club was packed, and it made me nervous. I'm painfully shy in crowds, and the only reason Beth had convinced me to go out after work tonight was the band, and specifically Jack Casey.
Mmm. Jack Casey. My crush had started innocently enough, when I'd read an article about them in a local magazine, and I found myself coming back to the picture several times. Later, every time I read a review of Luminous Flux in the paper or saw a flyer advertising a show, I'd catch myself staring, increasingly fondly, at the photograph of the bad, and his face in particular. Before I knew it, I owned a poster, then a T-shirt, and then a ridiculous mouse pad that I didn't even use. I hung the poster on my bedroom wall, where it clashed horribly with the rest of the room's décor, and wore the shirt for pajamas. Sometimes at night, I would stare through the dark trying to see the poster, imagining his surly expression, and if my fingers wandered to some exotic locales, who was I to stop them? Of course, the whole time I knew it was just a schoolgirl crush, a little fantasy between relationships. An intense fantasy, but completely irrational nonetheless. Here I was, standing at my fourth Luminous Flux concert, staring up at Jack Casey a mere three feet from the stage.
I examined him from the safety of the audience, knowing that it was too dark for him to see my appraisal. He wore a tight black T-shirt that outlined his chest and shoulders, but it was obvious that to him, it was just a comfortable old shirt. He was tall and slim-waisted, but his shoulders were broad and you could tell he worked out. My glance trailed to his legs, and I wondered briefly about the size of his package. I blushed again in the dark, but continued staring. His brow was sweaty- it must have been terribly hot under the lights- and there was one loose curl of hair plastered to his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he played, and his dark eyes looked over the crowd, not seeing anything, just feeling the music. His mouth was set almost determinedly, and the over-all appearance of intense focus was enough to make my heart beat and cause an exciting twinge in my stomach.
I looked back down at his ands because I couldn't get enough of them. His slender fingers moved perfectly over the instrument. They were musician's fingers and I was hypnotized by the way they reached for different tones and feelings. Once again, I started imagining all the other feelings I wanted those fingers to reach for, and none of them involved a guitar. The feeling in the bottom of my stomach moved south and became wetness between my legs. At that moment, I looked up to his face. He was looking straight at me. He was staring through the smoke, the stage lights, and the hazy dark, right at my face.
It was impossible. He couldn't see me from up there, and the audience was enormous. He had to be looking at someone else, someone in front of me, or just behind me. Although it certainly looked... A grin started at the corner of his mouth, and I smiled back, even though I was sure he couldn't see me. His smile widened, and mine did, too. I couldn't help it; it was contagious. I wondered what he was thinking of, that had made him so happy. It wasn't I. I knew I hadn't done it. We'd never met and he couldn't see me, but he was still looking and smiling and I was, too. Then someone grabbed my arm and the spell was broken. His gaze went back to the stage at his feet and I whirled around.
Beth stood behind me with a good-looking guy in tow. "Hey!" she yelled above the music. "I just met this guy, Chris. He's a charmer. We're getting out of here!" She smiled, but I must have looked overly concerned, because she said, "It's ok, really. He seems safe. As far as I know he's not a psycho killer, but I'll call you to let you know where I am, just in case. I'll call you tomorrow with all the dirty details. Thanks for watching out for me, babe. Are you ok to drive?"
I nodded, smiled, and waved goodbye. She left and I was alone in a club full of strangers. I was nervous in this scene- clubbing had never been my thing, and I had certainly never been to one alone. I looked back to the stage, but Jack Casey was no longer looking my way. He had set his guitar down while the singer thanked us all for coming out and announced the final song and the next group. I decided to call it a night. I wasn't going to hang around with the rest of the groupies after the show, begging the band mates to sign my breasts. I laughed as I imagined how awkward that request would sound coming out of my mouth, and slipped out the door to the cool parking lot. I finally found my car near the back of the lot, and was dismayed to see the headlights still on, dimming every second.
"Fuck," I said loudly, scaring a couple making out by their car. I couldn't believe I'd left the damn lights on. Being excited to see an unattainable hottie is no excuse for acting like an idiot. I unlocked the door, slid into the seat, and tried to start the engine, knowing before I even tried that it was hopeless. I was muttering a stream of profanities under my breath when a massive amount of people began pouring out of the club. The set must have ended. I had been trying to get out of here before the traffic, and now it looked like I wasn't going anywhere, traffic or not. It was too cold to hang around outside looking dumb, so I got in the car and kept revving the engine pitifully.
Cars pulled out and drove past me, but the owners of the cars surrounding mine never came out, and there was no room for another car to pull up to give me a jump. I was so mad at myself for being stupid that I was on the verge of tears. My head sunk to the top of the steering wheel, and the next thing I knew, someone was tapping on my window.
I looked out and could see a man's jacket and the top of his legs, but his face was higher than the roof of my car. The parking lot was well lit, and there were still people around, but I was still cautious. I scrambled around in the car for a can of mace, a heavy flashlight, or anything I could use in case this guy meant trouble, but all I came up with was a broken toothpick. "Sure", I thought, "a toothpick will save me from rapists". I hid it in the palm of my hand anyway, then opened the door and got out.
The man was incredibly tall and was wearing a thick jacket and a scarf around the bottom half of his face. That, coupled with the hat pulled low over his brow, is why I didn't recognize him immediately, but the guitar case slung on his back gave him away. I nearly fell over. Jack Casey. Jack Casey was standing beside my car, looking at me expectantly. I realized he'd said something and I was supposed to respond.
"Wha?" I mumbled, intelligently.
"I said, is your engine dead?"
"Dead?" I had to think about what those words meant in that order. After an appallingly long time, I remembered how to function like a (mostly) normal human being. "Dead! Yes! My engine is dead!"
He raised an eyebrow, and I realized I'd been much too excited about my broken car. I started to apologize for being overly enthusiastic, but he interrupted and saved me from my own social stupidity.
"Did you leave the lights on? I do that all the time."
I looked up at him and nodded, deciding that in my case, silence was golden.
"You know, you parked right in the middle of a bunch of staff cars. The owners aren't going to be out of the club until after closing time."
"Fuck," I said, dazzling him with my wits.
"Yeah. You're going to have to call a cab. Or I can give you a lift."
I felt like a teenybopper at a Beatles concert. It was all I could do not to scream and faint. "I can call a cab," I said, remembering to speak this time.
