SailtotheMoon Page 2

  Not as cool or as effortlessly stylish as the people sitting behind the table though.

  Zazz’s navy-blue hair looked great on him, contrasting with his naturally pale skin, like some night creature come to life. He still wore the second T-shirt he’d worn onstage, a black one with a slogan that said, Come here and say that. His leather trousers fit him like a second skin, so low slung she wondered how he kept them up. She glimpsed skin between T-shirt and trousers when he leaned back, tipping his chair precariously in a way that would have schoolteachers all over the world tearing their hair out.

  Such a contrast to Riku, dressed in elaborate layers, red and gold brocade jacket under larger, black pirate-style coat, his hair a riot of red and gold stripes. Riku subscribed to something called visual kei, a Japanese style that seemed to involve wearing the most complex clothes and makeup and creating an astonishing effect. He leaned back in his chair, watching the audience from under half-lowered lids. One foot was clad in a wickedly cuffed black leather boot propped on the table in front of him. He’d painted the soles of the boots red, in a parody of a shoe designer, but blood red, not the scarlet the designer used. He flaunted them as if he’d trodden in the blood of the bands they’d disappointed by being so fucking good.

  He spoke in answer to a question, his voice surprisingly deep, his accent pronounced. Laura didn’t know enough about American accents to know more than it wasn’t Texan or Southern. “I write all the time, mainly without words. I watch, and that’s the way it comes out. It always has. I might write about the way the world is dying under our feet.” That made sense of the blood-red soles then. “Or the way oldsters are left to die in filthy hovels after working all their lives for the Man. I might write about the beauty of a flower, or the guilt of a parent when their child falls ill. Whatever. It’s all in the music.” He shrugged, as if his answer meant nothing.

  People shouted questions, making Laura’s head spin. Chick controlled everything, decided whose questions were worth answering, what to ignore. Laura watched and admired, but as she tried to concentrate on other things, other people, Zazz intruded into her consciousness.

  Stupid, because he’d probably forgotten her already.

  She enjoyed the experience of watching a world-famous band fending off the media. They answered as they saw fit, or refused to answer. All of them had consummate charm, and had that arrogant thing. Or maybe it was supreme confidence, something Laura had fought for all her life but never managed to master. Maybe it came with money, or maybe in doing what they loved best. She had no idea, but none of those things applied to her. She had a fulfilling job, which earned her enough to own a decent, if not outstanding flat and afford a few extras. She was lucky, really lucky. And she helped people, she did something worthwhile.

  The conference ended by the simple expedient of the members of the band drifting away. V and Jace left via a door behind them. Donovan glanced around and linked hands with a woman who came straight to him like a homing pigeon. They left by another door with “Exit” over the portal. Hunter found a woman wearing headphones—that would be his new fiancée Sabina, who had recently had an operation to restore her hearing. She wore phones to block out too much sound. Laura had read all about it, not just because of her curiosity about the band, but the operation had fascinated her. It must have taken a lot of courage to go in for it, since it was still in the experimental stage.

  Riku and Zazz kicked away from the table. After glancing at each other they started to mingle with the members of the media, who immediately clustered around them and asked questions. The girls fringing the room moved forward—in for the kill. The guy who had brought them in moved forward and murmured to Chick, who glanced at them and nodded.

  “Hey, I’m going to see if I can beat all the professionals and hook Riku or Zazz,” Kelsie murmured low, so only Laura could hear.

  “No, we’d better stay here.” Anxiety grew in her once more, rising to clog her throat. But Kelsie had gone, heading toward the table with purpose in her stride. Laura stared after her, knowing a protest would go ignored. At this rate she’d never get to meet James Asano. They’d be asked to leave if Kelsie made a nuisance of herself.

  Whatever. She’d remember the concert as one of the most incandescent experiences of her life.

  And wasn’t that a sad thing?

  “Hey, it’s the woman with the perceptive questions.”

  At the voice she spun around and nearly fell. The tall man standing behind her caught her elbows, helping her to regain her balance. She wobbled even more. His warmth seeped through her, entered every part of her.

  “Zazz, oh my God.”

  He grinned, the curve of his lips even more devastating close up. “Nope, just Zazz. Hi. I was planning to shake your hand, but I like this better.” He didn’t let go, but drew her closer. Someone murmured an excuse and pushed past her. She wanted to check her bag, but that would have meant letting go, and she wasn’t about to do that. She stayed where she was, and he didn’t move away. He raised a brow. “Which paper are you from?”

  “I’m not. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.”

  “You livened a boring press conference. I’m going to start making shit up from now on. It’s more interesting than the tedious truth.”

  She grinned back, as if they were sharing a secret. “You’re really talented.”

  Up close, she found his smile devastating, reaching into her inmost self, parts of her she’d buried deep. How could he do that with a simple smile, as if they’d been friends for years? “People tell me that, sometimes. So what are you doing here if you’re not press?”

  “I came to see a member of the crew,” she said, suppressing the wild impulse to tell him she was a groupie and did he want to find a room?

  He dropped his hands from her elbows. “You’re someone’s girlfriend?”

  “No, it’s about something else.” She wouldn’t say more, even to Zazz, because it was confidential. Nobody else had the right to know.

  Luckily Zazz didn’t persist. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

  “It’s Laura.”

  He smiled. “Nice. Hi, Laura. You’re the second Laura I’ve met tonight. I’m dodging the first one. Chick warned me about that one, and I decided I don’t want to see her.” He glanced around quickly, as if hunted, then looked back at her. “Okay, so you’re not press, or media of any kind. You don’t have a sister or an aunt or something who writes for the NME.”

  She shook her head. The thought of her stuffy teacher parents writing for a music paper made her smile.

  He grabbed her hand. “Then let’s get away from the other Laura, hmm?”

  Giving her no chance to argue, he towed her across the room to the door behind the makeshift stage area. She couldn’t even look around to see where Kelsie was, because the room was still packed with people. Kelsie wasn’t the tallest of women, even in her stiletto-heeled ankle boots, so her view was severely limited.

  Her hand tucked into his larger one, she let him lead her into the other room. It wasn’t, as she’d half imagined, some kind of den of iniquity, but a smaller room with a table holding better drinks and refreshments than the one outside. This one had spirits and mixers, fresh sandwiches and wraps, other goodies. “What, no sausages on sticks?”

  Zazz glanced at the table and laughed. “Nope. Nobody likes them, I guess. That’s what we like. Hungry? What do you like to eat?”

  The room contained a number of people, maybe thirty, including some of the members of the band. Jace nodded at them from where he stood with his lady, Beverley. Beverley nodded to her. Laura had sent her photo to Beverley, for ID purposes, so Beverley probably recognized her. Laura returned Beverley’s smile, half expecting to be thrown out, but she’d ride this stroke of luck as long as she could. Casting away her responsibilities for the time being, she decided to make the most of tonight. She could always try to see James tomorrow. The band had another gig then. Maybe she’d get to see them again. “Ar
e you staying in Manchester long?” They had a gap before their next set of concerts in London. A week, she thought, as she’d also tried to get tickets for that venue, with abject failure. Sold out.

  Zazz nodded. “We have one more concert here, then nothing for a week or so. Gives us time to regroup, I guess. We’ve got some TV appearances and a few other things. Radio and shit like that, but we don’t all have to be there.”

  “I don’t have to be there.”

  He laughed. “I guess you don’t. How come you’re so easy to talk to?”

  She blinked. “I didn’t think I was.”

  “You are. I wanted to talk to you about your question. Are you a mega fan, one of those people who follow us around from gig to gig?” He handed her a beer and took one for himself, clicking the neck of the bottle against hers before he took a long swallow.

  “I wish.” It was her turn to laugh. “I need to earn a living.”

  “So you’re not in the music biz?”

  “Hardly.” She shrugged. “You need an in. To know somebody.”

  “I tell you what. How about coming back to the hotel with me? It’s much quieter there, and I want to talk to you.”

  “Talk?” She didn’t even try to keep the cynical tone out of her voice.

  “Yeah.” He faced her square on and lowered his voice. “We’re staying at the Buckingham. I shouldn’t tell you that, but I get the feeling you won’t rush out and yell it to everybody out there. I’m telling you so you know where you’re going. If you say yes. I don’t get decent conversation outside the band and these days, most of them are busy.” He glanced to where Donovan was having a murmured conversation with a dark-haired woman, and he didn’t have to say any more.

  Zazz was lonely. With only Riku left single, they’d have all the groupies to themselves, but none of the true intimacy of having a partner. Sharing. She didn’t feel sorry for him, that would be stupid. But a thread of melancholy entered her buoyant mood and she wanted to comfort him. Foolish, because he hadn’t hinted at anything of the kind, apart from that one telling look.

  Tension radiated from him. Something was wrong, but she’d been so overwhelmed to meet him that she hadn’t picked up on it before. Besides, some reports said that Zazz lived on his nerves. Some said he was always high on one thing or another. He didn’t seem high now, not if that included a perception rarely seen when someone was intoxicated. He read people, he noticed things. All the time.

  “Okay,” she said on a sudden impulse. She should call Kelsie, get in touch somehow. “I need to tell my friend.”

  Zazz nodded. “Do you have a cell—a mobile?” His self-deprecating smile touched her. “Too much time in America.”

  She nodded. Dialing Kelsie’s number had no effect. She probably couldn’t hear it, so Laura contented herself with sending a text, telling her to get a cab home and she’d see her later. She put the phone away, noting it was on its last bar of juice.

  “Let’s go,” Zazz said, seizing her hand again. She liked the way he did that, like friends or even lovers. No, she wouldn’t think that. She didn’t know him well enough to tell if she’d seen desire or just friendliness in his gaze. So many people must come on to him. She followed him out of the room without question.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Zazz said, “I never take my phone onstage, or anything else. Shit, my wallet. Ah, what the fuck.”

  “I’ll pay for the cab,” she said.

  “No you fucking won’t. I asked you, remember? We’ll have to stop by my dressing room.”

  Laura found it hard to keep up with his long strides until he stopped to wait for her. “Sorry. I want to get out of here. Back to the hotel.”

  “I heard you sometimes hit the clubs after the concerts. Do impromptu performances.”

  “Not tonight. Not here.”

  That tension again. Just him, or something else? He stopped at his dressing room barely long enough to collect his jacket and open the safe in the wall, grabbing his wallet and a keycard.

  She tried not to stare, but this room had evidence of hasty occupation. Street clothes were strewn about, the contents of a makeup bag spread across the wipe-clean tabletop in front of the mirror. Because of course, Zazz wore makeup. Tonight only eyeliner and maybe a touch of blusher on his high cheekbones. She’d seen pictures of him with symbols painted on his face, vivid eyeshadow, even lipstick. Not so much recently though. Even his hair was more subdued than it had been, navy blue instead of the bright pinks and greens he’d used on other dates on the tour. She liked the grittier look. It suited Manchester better.

  He stuffed his pockets with his belongings, slung on his jacket with that typical careless grace she’d seen onstage. Natural to him then. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter Two

  Outside, cars waited, so they didn’t have to get a taxi after all. Instead, they got into one of the sleek, black luxury cars, both in the back. He reached for her hand again. The driver took off with only a terse, “The hotel, please” to guide him. Fans gathered outside, but Laura and Zazz got into the car so quickly, the fans wouldn’t be sure if it was one of the Murder City Ravens who’d climbed into the vehicle or someone else. So they didn’t impede them, although Laura did murmur that the autograph hunters would be disappointed.

  “They’ll live.” The car’s windows were darkened, so nobody could see into the back. Zazz didn’t pull the privacy window closed, though, for which Laura was glad. Now they were on their way, now she was actually alone with him, she felt apprehensive, even a bit scared. She was glad he’d told her where they were going, although she guessed Chick wouldn’t be too pleased.

  “I didn’t see the person I came for,” she said. “I should have seen Chick Fontaine after the press conference.”

  Zazz shrugged. “You could always come back tomorrow night. I’ll make sure Chick sees you. We’ll all be here, doing it all over again. Except we won’t.”

  “You never do the same show twice, do you?”

  He shook his head. “How boring would that be? We have a repertoire, a list of numbers we’ve prepared and rehearsed, and we go with those. They’re in categories, like rockers, ballads, old numbers, new ones. We want to put more new ones in, because we’re going into the studio soon to start on the next album.” He grimaced. “It never stops.”

  “I work a nine-to-five job that sometimes goes on a bit longer. That never stops, either.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.” His voice softened, became more intimate. “I’m doing what I love and getting paid fucking well for it. How many people can say that?”

  She thought of her acoustic guitar propped in a corner of her bedroom. She loved making music, even though hers didn’t compare with what she’d heard tonight. “Not many. But we have compensations. Like being whisked off to mystery locations by famous rock stars.”

  He shouted with laughter. “I told you, we’re going to the Buckingham. As for the famous rock star thing, I still don’t know how that happened. I just did what I do, and it worked.” He showed no pseudo modesty when he said that. He truly believed it. “Yeah. But believe me, Laura, there are people as talented as we are who never got the breaks. It’s not all talent and hard work.”

  The hotel was across town, but traffic was fairly light and they didn’t have to take the back roads to get there. They didn’t stop at the front of the hotel, with its magnificent Victorian-Venetian façade, but drove around to the back. She reached for the door handle, but Zazz stopped her. “No, wait. Let him check first.”

  The driver opened the car door. “Nobody in sight who shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  Then she understood. Fans. “Shit,” she murmured.

  “Yeah. That’s the not-so-good part. We can usually move around reasonably freely, if we’re careful. We’re not particularly noticeable. Except for Riku, and he doesn’t care.”

  She might have guessed that about the flamboyant Japanese-American. He gave every impression of supreme confidence, if not
arrogance.

  “I’m not sure I should—” she began, overcome by sudden shyness and an awareness of who she was with and what she was doing.

  He grabbed her hand, using it to haul her against him, then wrapped his arms around her before she could get away. Once pressed against his body she felt the unmistakable evidence of an arousal she had to assume was for her, not the middle-aged male driver. Apart from him there was nobody else around. “Oh yes you fucking should,” he said, before he kissed her.

  A devouring, claiming kiss, the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. She flung her arms around his neck, drawing him down to meld their mouths more securely. Impossible to resist this. Their lips separated after a kiss so deep and possessive, she’d never forget it. “Come on,” he murmured, voice low and wicked. “Take a chance.”

  She took it, nodding and giving him a shaky, “Okay.” One night out of time with a rock star. One night to dream about.

  Scratch that. One night with a man who turned her on like crazy. He smiled at her. “I’m glad you said that.”

  In a sudden movement she was learning as typical of him, he grabbed her hand and towed her inside the small entrance that had empty food boxes piled next to it. Sure enough, they entered by the kitchens. A few people were still working there, no doubt providing food for the insomniacs. They looked up as a laughing Zazz ran by with Laura but they didn’t approach them. Probably told not to.

  At the end of the kitchens they found a lift, and Zazz inserted a plastic card. “Sneaking in the back way.”

  The lift stopped and he withdrew the plastic card and stepped out. Laura followed, doubt seizing her again, until Zazz turned back to her, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Want to see my room, or the whole thing?”

  “Is anybody else here?” The thought of seeing the band in their resplendent glory made her pause.

  He shrugged. “One or two. This is our floor, the whole of it.” He slid his arm around her waist and took her up the corridor, past a series of cream-painted doors. His voice lowered. “It’s fucking amazing. This time last year we were staying in moderate hotels, trying to rebuild Murder City Ravens after the breakup. That was okay. But in some bands I’ve been in, we’d book one room and then all sneak in, one by one. Couldn’t afford more than one.”