Thank you to blackrandl1958 for her editing.
The first half of this story is based upon a true event that was related to an audience. Some names have been changed just because I wanted to do that; there are no innocents that need protecting.
We had just gotten off the stage after the greatest 45 minutes of our lives. It was fucking amazing! We woofed the house, and were hugging and high-fiving and screaming like... 12-year-old girls!
The roadies from Ravaged Crew were filtering in and starting to set up for their band, one of the world's truly great acts of the 1980s. Our band, Starhawk, was the opening act for this night's show in Lansing, MI, and we absolutely proved that we were up to the honor we earned by being named the top local band in the Lansing area. At every stop on their big tour, a popular local band got the honor of being the opening act.
We rocked the house! Ripped the doors off! Tore the plaster off the walls! We left the stage to a standing O! It was fucking fantastic!
We were soon joined off-stage by Gary's wife and Charlie's and Doug's girlfriends, and we jumped around as the volume ramped up. It suddenly occurred to me that my fiancée, Catherine, was nowhere in sight as we hailed our big moment. I quickly locked eyes with our band manager, Steve, who just shook his head and then dropped his eyes to the ground. My stomach suddenly felt as if the heavyweight boxing champ of the world had used it for a punching bag.
Catherine finally showed up, walking a bit gingerly, I thought, a few minutes later as we were packing up our gear. Her makeup looked absolutely perfect, like it had just been re-applied, but her hair looked slightly mussed, something almost unheard of in Catherine's world. I got the feeling that she was somehow in a rush to get out and join our celebration.
She was flushed and breathing heavy when she leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the lips. I know I smelled pot, aftershave and sex on her before she stepped back quickly. She never said one word about our great performance, probably because she never saw it, I quickly surmised.
We got our gear packed and then stood quietly backstage listening to Ravaged Crew do its thing. I had to admit they were a fucking great band, and I hoped we could someday be in their league and make their kind of money. I caught their drummer, Bobby Lee, peaking over at Catherine several times, and I know he winked at her once or twice. At one point he caught me watching him and gave me a shit-eating smirk. He didn't even try to hide it. I guess when you're Bobby Lee, you can get away with anything... or at least think so.
By this point in their career, Ravaged Crew was approaching legendary status as a band. As an individual, Bobby Lee was already a legend, as much for his status as a pussy-hound with a 12-inch dick as for his ability as a drummer. It was an established fact that Bobby Lee had already fucked several A-list actresses senseless, and could practically pick up a woman just by snapping his fingers. I wondered if he even had to snap to get Catherine.
I eased my way over to Steve. He ignored me for about 30 seconds, staring straight ahead, before finally turning to me.
"She left their tour bus just after you guys finished," he whispered to me. "Bobby Lee came out a few minutes earlier, dressed for the show, with that big, stupid grin on his ugly mug. She probably had to do a little straightening up."
"Fuck!"
I know, not very profound, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment.
Our crew left a little before intermission and wound up at our favorite place to celebrate, the State Street Bar & Grill. The crowd was light because a lot of the usual suspects were at the concert.
We were treated like conquering heroes as we walked in. Seems like everybody in the bar knew somebody who was at the concert, and those at the show were texting and Snapping photos from our set.
Although I was raging inside, I tried to play it cool as I needed time to figure out my next move. I didn't have to avoid Catherine, because apparently, she felt guilty enough that she stayed well away from me, trying not to make it look too obvious.
I found myself a quiet spot at the far end of the bar, sipping on my shot of Angel Envy rye. It's expensive shit, but on a night where we killed it onstage, the smooth amber liquor was well worth the money.
As I looked up at the big clock on the wall, I wondered how it all could have fallen apart so fast... less than three hours total time. We did our sound check and still had about an hour before our stage time, when Crew bass player Vince Noel invited the band and wives and girlfriends onto the Crew tour bus for a little pre-party of tequila and weed.
I know the Crew members liked the looks of our women. Who wouldn't? They were all beautiful. My Catherine, for instance, is a 5-5 Grecian goddess, with long, dark brown hair, an olive complexion, large boobs and a round ass. She was dressed to impress tonight in a tight cornflower blue, mid-thigh length dress and matching heels.
Our band members left the tour bus 10 minutes before we had to perform. Our women stayed behind at the invitation of the Crew guys. Jay, our lead guitarist, and I weren't completely comfortable with the idea, but all four of our women told us everything would be all right and they would just stick around for one more joint.
"Are you guys sure?" Jay asked.
All four nodded affirmative. We left to get ready.
"Fuck!" I muttered to no one in particular as I stormed out of the bar, got into my car and drove home... without my fiancée.
It only took five minutes after I got home before our house phone rang. Guess who?
"Hey, baby, where are you? I turned around and you were gone," Catherine said.
"And you're surprised how?" I asked. "YOU FUCKED BOBBY LEE TONIGHT! You're history, bitch!"
I slammed the phone hard into the cradle. That should have been a hint.
She walked... no, make that ran, in the door 30 minutes later, her makeup smeared from crying.
"WE NEED TO TALK, BABY!" she wailed, tears dropping from her eyes.
"Can you unfuck him, Catherine? Can you?" I yelled back at her.
She flopped down on our sofa and put her head in her hands.
"He's Bobby Lee, baby! He's a legend!" she said.
"And that matters to me, how?" I responded.
"He's Bobby Lee. THE Bobby Lee," she reiterated, looking at me as if I should be proud to share my woman with him. "I couldn't turn him down."
"Of course not," I said with my most sarcastic tone.
"I mean he's slept with actresses and supermodels..."
"And that means my former fiancée should just give herself to him," I interrupted.
