“Let It Flow” (part one)

by: Sanhedralite

There she was again. How many nights would this make? Six, eight, ten? Warren stopped counting sometime last week. He’d just begun to accept the fact that she’d be there, in the front row in front of him, nothing between them except stage. He’d begun to look forward to it, to see her rocking out to the music, always the music. It seemed to be a living thing between them-like the longest, most satisfying foreplay in the world. She’d be there, jamming to him, his guitar, shouting the lyrics. And he would play up to that for her, go for that extra long note on “Hallucinating Elvis”, that extended beginning in “Come Undone”, the wrecked solo in “White Lines.” Sometimes it seemed he was playing just for her, for the two of them. When he caught her eye in “All She Wants Is” and they shared smoldering looks while singing the chorus to each other; during “Electric Barbarella” when he’d point out the hot chicks in the audience, but knew he was looking at her; during “Rio” when he didn’t want to leave the stage, leave the magic they’d made together.

He’d look for her after shows, but she was never backstage. He even got Dave to give her a pass one night in Denver, but she never showed. She was never at the hotels, never at the airports, never waiting around the backstage door. It was like he’d conjured her up out of thin air just for the shows. Except the other guys noticed her too. And they all had a theory about her. Simon thought she might be married, Nick thought she might be the shy type and Wes and Joe both thought she might just be there for the music and didn’t care about meeting anybody. Whoever she was, she was driving him crazy.

He peeked through the curtain again, just to see her, to assure himself she was there. Tonight would be different, he promised himself. Tonight he’d finally meet her, hear her voice up close, find out what color her eyes really were. The tour was almost over, just tonight in L.A. and tomorrow in Vegas-if he didn’t act now, he may never know who she was.

“Are you still staring at her?” Warren turned to see his brother, Robert, peeking past him to the audience. “Why are you so hung on her? There’s got to be at least 30 hot L.A. babes backstage right now.”

“And they all want Simon,” Warren replied.

Robert shrugged. “That might be true for some of them, but I bet the others would love the chance to jump you. C’mon, bro, you’re stacked. Chicks dig the rippling ab thing.”

“So, how do you get dates?” Warren playfully poked his brother’s softer belly. “I know there are muscles hiding in there somewhere. We could set you up with a program.”

“That’s your thing. Not mine.”

“She’s also my thing,” Warren said, pointing at the woman up front. “She’s not into the whole fan scene, isn’t into me to get to Simon. She doesn’t seem to be into anything except the music.”

“In other words, a challenge,” Robert stated. “Trust you to never do anything the easy way. I’m going out to watch the show.”

“It’s gonna rock especially hard tonight,” Warren said. “Reps from Hollywood are here and Simon wants to show them what we can do.”

“You guys rock every night. The fans have been going nuts. They’re crazy for you guys. I think this next cd is going to be big like The Wedding Album.”

“We’ll see.” Warren watched his brother take a handful of women and head out for the pit. He looked at her again and felt the anticipation course through his blood. Almost showtime.

Tonight did seem to be extra stoked. Whether it was the special energy that only the L.A. fans had, the all-out Simon was giving to the set or just a sense of the ending of a tour well done, Warren didn’t know. All he did know was that the songs seemed tighter, the solos sounded crisper and the place was jumping. After one minor technical glitch with Nick’s keyboard that was thankfully smoothed over, everything was amazing. Especially her. Warren didn’t know why, but she seemed more into it than usual. She was holding his eyes more, singing louder, getting more into the set than she ever had before. Warren swore he could feel the air singe and crackle during “All She Wants Is”-the energy between the two of them was that intense. He was writhing onstage just for her, she was openly flirting just with him. The sexual tension snapped and popped-he was surprised that he could concentrate on what notes to play. He was so rock hard, harder than Simon normally got during a show. But Simon fed off the love and adoration of the whole crowd; Warren felt it only for her.

He played the solo in “Ordinary World” just for them-it seemed like one of his solo shows. Just him onstage, just the music, always the music-and her, slowly swaying to the rhythms, never taking her eyes off him. She’d become part of the song, part of his solo, part of his reason for being onstage playing. He was sorry when the song ended. He could’ve played all night.

“The crowd seems to be really in sync with us, don’t they?” Simon asked, when they were offstage, listening to the audience go wild for an encore.

“Best we’ve had,” Warren remarked, taking off his vest and hat. He was so hot, he could have played naked.

“You’ve been really on tonight, haven’t you?” Nick asked. “She brings something out in your performance.”

“And his appearance,” Wes said. “Have you noticed he’s been playing without the shades on for the past few nights?”

“Indeed I have,” Simon replied. “I think he wants to see her better.”

Warren took the good-natured ribbing the way he was meant to and kept his mouth shut. They were right, he had started to lose the glasses during the show. He wanted her to know that he was watching, that he was feeling the vibes between them.

“Time to go out and know ‘em dead, then,” Simon stated, slapping Warren across the back. “Don’t worry, mate, she’ll find you when she’s ready.”

“Not if I find her first,” Warren promised, then headed back out to play for her one more time.

“Any sign?” Warren asked Dave, looking around the crowded backstage area. Throngs of people were wading around Simon and Nick, waiting their turn for a look, an autograph, a picture. Warren saw Yas and the kids sitting patiently at a table, with a few intrepid fans coming to her for autographs as well. Joe and Wes even seemed to have their own little coteries surrounding them. Warren was sure he had a few people dying to talk to him as well, and normally he would be getting off on all this, feeding off the high that he had after a successful show. But all he could think about was her.

“Nope.” Dave seemed genuinely sorry. “Sorry buddy. I went up to her, right after the show, and handed her a pass, but...”

“Did she say anything? Anything at all?”

“Just thanked me like she did the last time.” Dave shrugged, clearly confused. “I don’t get it. I see her every night and she’s so into you, man. You’d think she’d jump at the chance to get to know you.”

“Can’t force shit like this,” Warren said. “I think I’m going to do my duty rounds now, snap some photos, smooze with the fans. Can you get me a glass of wine?"

“Sure thing.” Dave walked off and Warren went into “pop star” mode. The fans expected him to be energetic, crazy, brash-and he loved showing off for them. He loved the fans. There wasn’t a more loyal, more dedicated group out there. He gave them all every night and they gave it back a hundred fold. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them-he didn’t care what his mood was, he’d sign a thousand autographs, take a thousand photos, do a zillion interviews. As long as they kept coming to shows, he’d be there. He’d just feel better if she were to stop haunting his thoughts.

Warren didn’t know why the fuck they were staying at the Mondrian. It was the most ridiculous, yuppy hotel on the planet. Every square foot was so fake, so plastic... and it was on Sunset, for God’s sake. He couldn’t imagine a worse nightmare than Sunset Boulevard on a Friday night, but here they were, inching up the road in the limo. Thank God it was almost over. He could see the StarBar, knew that the Mondrian was right next door. They’d be there in just a few minutes.

“Tell me why we’re staying here again,” Robert asked.

“It’s L.A.,” Nick replied. “We have appearances to maintain.”

“L.A. is all about appearances,” Warren added. “Hence the limo and not the minivan.”

“So, does this mean we’re going out, hitting the clubs?” Robert looked entirely too into the idea.

“You can,” Warren said. “But, there’s a bar here and I’m not going out in this again.”

“Nick?”

“I’ve done the L.A. thing, Robert. I’d rather be here when we have a few days to shop.”

“You two are no fun,” Robert remarked.

“We’re on tour, Rob,” Warren told his brother. “All our fun is up onstage.”

The limo stopped and the driver hopped out, opened the door for them. Warren was first, all but jumped out of the car. He knew he should wait for his brother, but didn’t feel like standing still. He just wanted to go to his room, take a shower, and drink about a bottle of wine. Then, he’d come down and see what there was to see.

He was walking so fast he almost didn’t see her. He’d already walked past her, when a movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked, stopping dead in his tracks. She was sitting right there, in the lobby, leaning up against a pole. He stared at her, almost unable to comprehend the reality. She made no move to get up, to greet him, to say hello. She just sat there, calmly staring at him, looking for all the world like she didn’t care if he came up to her or not.

He wasn’t aware that he started to move, wasn’t aware of anything until he stood in front of her. Fuck, she was even more beautiful up close-he could’ve lost himself in her eyes for days. They were so pure, so unwavering, so real. She was finally here.

“I saw you,” he finally said, amazed that he could say anything at all. “I’ve seen you every night. You’re really into the music, aren’t you?”

“Not just the music,” she replied, and he noticed her voice was a little husky, a little hoarse. Was it from screaming, or was it always like that? “I’m into you as well.”

Warren rocked back on his heels, shocked at her statement and not knowing why. He’d felt the tension between them, knew there was some sexual energy going on. But it felt different to have her say it. To have her sitting right there, telling him she was into him.

“Oh my God, I don’t believe it,” Robert said from behind him. He walked up and shook her hand, drawing her to her feet for a big hug. “You finally made it to the after show.”

“Tonight seemed appropriate.”

“Hey, Nick, Dave, look who’s here!” Robert turned around, showed her off. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“The mystery woman finally reveals herself.” Nick shook her hand, held it just a bit longer than necessary, or so Warren thought. “We’ve come to expect you, you know.”

“How come you didn’t show up at the backstage party?” Dave asked.

“You were all still performing then,” she replied. “I wasn’t in the mood to fight through fans just to have a conversation. I’m not into that.”

No, Warren thought, she’s into the music. And me. Whatever that meant. “But the tour’s almost over now,” he said and didn’t know if he was angry that she showed up or angry that she tracked him down and not the other way around.

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why I’m here now. Vegas would have been too late. Too many people, too many distractions.”

“I’m headed up for a shower.” Warren didn’t know why he was so mad, why he couldn’t wait to get away from her. He’d been wanting to meet her for what had felt like forever and here he was, running up to his room to hide. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this reality.

“I’ll buy you a drink at the bar, then,” Robert was telling her, leading her off with Nick and Dave in tow. She didn’t look back, didn’t even stop to ask him if he’d change his mind and come with them. She just left. What the fuck was her game? Why did he feel the deep need to drag her up to his room by the hair and just take? This wasn’t like him, he was the most easy-going, non-violent guy he knew. He wasn’t prone to fits of jealousy, to possessiveness. So why did he want to kill his brother for putting his hands on her?

“Fuck the shower.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud as he walked to the bar, determined to prove to himself and this woman that he didn’t need her, that she didn’t have this outrageous effect on him.

He was behaving like an ass. He knew it, but couldn’t stop himself. He’d been hovering over her, but barely spoke two words to her all night. Instead, he’d flirted with these two other fans they’d hooked up with over the course of the night. Nick had left awhile back, saying he needed some sleep. Dave followed shortly thereafter. It was amazing that Dave could function as he did on only a couple of hours sleep each night. Dealing with all the shit details Dave had to would drive Warren nuts in a minute. He only put up with any of it cause it was part of being with the band. Plus, he was way too fucking old to go giving control of his life to someone else.

Robert was still going strong, still on the high that only being on vacation could provide. Warren thought it funny that hanging out with one’s older brother while they worked was a vacation, but, Robert seemed to love it. The cities, the girls, the parties-it was all like candy and he was eating it with a spoon. Warren was glad he was along, but, damn, tonight he just wished his brother would disappear. Wished these two fans would disappear. Wished everyone and everything would disappear except her. If he could just get her alone for five minutes, maybe he could exorcise her from his system. He was supposed to be in control here, not her. And yet, for as long as she’d been coming to the shows, from the very first instant he’d noticed her, she’d dominated him. And right now, he hated her for it. Hated that he wanted her and despised her within almost the same breath. So he did nothing, letting his chance slip through his fingers and hating her for that as well.

They’d been kicked out of the bar a few minutes earlier and it was apparent that the two fans were still in the mood to party. Too bad he wasn’t. He’d had enough-he was going to bed.

“Sorry ladies,” Warren said, smiling to take the sting out of the rejection. At any other time, he would have taken them up on their offer and loved it. But, not this tour, not tonight. “I’ve got a show to do tomorrow. I need some rem sleep.”

“I’m still rarin’,” Robert stated. “I’d love to keep you lovely ladies company.”

They were more than willing to take him up on the offer. Warren had always wanted to ask fans like this if they thought they’d be any closer to the band if they fucked his brother. Realized he was being a little harsh. They were nice people, maybe they just wanted Rob’s company. Certainly he was more entertaining than Warren had been tonight. He didn’t blame them.

Robert walked out of the hotel with a lady on each arm. Clearly, he was in his element. Must be something in the Cuccurullo genes, Warren thought and turned, shocked to see that she was still there, in front of the elevator.

“Thought you’d be long gone by now,” he said, stunned that she would have stuck around. He’d half expected her to go out with Rob and the others. Certainly, Rob had been paying more attention to her than he had.

“I’m staying here tonight,” she said by way of reply. “I can share the elevator if you’d like.”

“You’re staying here? Why?”

“Why not?”

The elevator dinged at that moment, opening. They both got in, the only two people still up in the hotel at this late hour.

“Floor?” she asked, hand on the buttons.

“Eight,” he absently replied, noting that her floor was five. Only a few moments alone with her. Goddamn, he’d really screwed this up.

“You want to come up to my room, have some wine, talk for awhile?” He had to make it up to her, had to see for himself if she was real or just a figment. Had to know that she understood why he’d been behaving like he did.

The elevator stopped on her floor. She turned to him, eyes serious. “You have to stop the bullshit,” she stated.

“Done. I’m sorry.” The apology was sincere, heartfelt. If she was in control, so be it. There were worse things in life.

“Red or white?”

“What?”

“The wine,” she asked. “Red or white?”

“Oh.” His brain was on scramble. Was she saying yes? “Red. Real men don’t drink white wine.”

She smiled at that and let the doors close. He tried to suppress his sigh of relief, but it was hard. He was being given a second chance.

They walked to his room in silence and Warren unlocked the door. “Have a seat,” he told her and went to the mini-fridge for a bottle of red. The only nice thing about yuppie-fuck hotels like this was that they actually stocked full bottles of wine, instead of those cheapie individual bottles. He uncorked it and let it breath for a moment.

She was on his sofa, her shoes on the floor, remote in hand. CNN was playing mutely on the set and he asked her what she was doing.

“Checking the baseball scores.”

“Really?” So, she was a baseball fan. Somehow, he wouldn’t have thought it. “Which team?”

“The Braves.”

“Mets.”

“Seems like we’re in a bit of a turf war then, doesn’t it?” she asked, winking at him. God, he almost lost it then and there. How could anyone affect him so much with a look?

“So, who won?” he asked instead, as he poured their wine.

“You’re not going to like it.” She accepted his glass gracefully and he sat down beside her.

“Braves won?”

“And the Mets lost to the Padres,” she added. “Looks like my team is up two games now.”

He shrugged. He mainly loved the Mets out of habit. He hadn’t lived in New York in so long he wasn’t sure if he had the right to call himself a true fan anymore.

“You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“Should I?” Had they met before? He was sure he would have remembered, he had an incredible memory, but nothing came to his mind. She looked a little familiar, but, God, he’d met so many people in his life.

She lifted a shoulder, took another sip of wine. He watched her lips, imagined what they would taste like mixed with the sauvignon. “No real reason why you should.” Her voice was impersonal, polite. “It’s been almost 7 years.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I wish I could. Was it backstage?”

“No, it wasn’t. It was in L.A., though.”

Again, he racked his brain, searching the face of the woman in front of him, trying to figure out where he was supposed to know her.

“I must be trying too hard,” he said, having no luck. “But I do know I didn’t fuck you. I’d have remembered that.”

“No, you didn’t fuck me,” she agreed.

He waited a heartbeat. “So, where did we meet?”

“In the lobby of the Westwood, December 92. KROQ Christmas show.”

“I remember the Christmas show.” He closed his eyes, searching his brain. It had been just before The Wedding Album came out-the bootleg they’d leaked was getting some massive feedback, the show had been sold out and they were riding the “comeback” high. He remembered the roar of the crowd when they finally went onstage that night, the tremendous outpouring of love that greeted their first performance in over 3 years. He remembered how enthusiastic Simon had been, how John had grinned from ear to ear the whole show, how he himself had thought that playing live was the best thing in the fucking world. He remembered the crowd up front was really rocking, remembered making eye contact with all of them, thanking them silently for their support, remembered...

Continue to "Let It Flow" part two...