Page 4 of Gabriel's Album

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I’dreallylike you to elaborate either way.”

Of course, I know that she didn’t mean that she fantasizes about me, but now the thought is in my head, I can’t let it go. The idea of her masturbating while thinking about me is so erotic that I have to fight an oncoming erection while I try to listen to her explanation.

“I mean that when you’re on TV or the radio, you’re just some imaginary person, kind of like a character in a movie or a TV show but here you’re real, and I know so much about you, it’s just…bizarre, as I said.”

She chews her bottom lips as she finishes explaining and looks nervous when she meets my gaze. It’s strange having people get nervous around me, particularly her, because I know I saw her talking to other celebrities, and she wasn’t chewing her lip when she spoke to them.

“You didn’t seem bothered by any of the other celebrities in there,” I blurt out, and hope to hell that she doesn’t realize that I’ve been watching her pretty much all evening.

“They don’t matter to me,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“And I do?”

I need to know the answer to this more than I need to breathe. I want to hear her say that she cares about me.

“I’m not explaining this properly.”

I’m deeply disappointed when Ariana stands, walks over to the deck chairs, and reclines on one of them. The space between us feels too big, so I follow suit and move over to sit down on the chair next to hers.

“I’m a stranger to you, right?” she asks me.

“Sure,” I agree, though I definitely wish she wasn’t.

“But you’re not a stranger to me. I know so much about you; I’ve watched you on television, I’ve read about you online, and I’ve listened to your music. I would say that I could recognize your voice anytime, anywhere, even though we’re strangers. To meet someone that you know so intimately face to face is weird. Can you see where I’m coming from?”

She turns her face to look at me, and I’m disappointed that she’s seeing me as nothing more than a rock star.

“I’m just a man,” I tell her, unable to prevent my voice from taking on a scolding tone. “I’m a man like any other man. I eat, I sleep, I shit, and I sure as hell find beautiful women attractive. Yes, I’m a musician, and I love my job. Not many people get paid to do what they love, and I happen to be one of them, but that’s just a part of me; it isn’t all of me.”

“I’m sorry for pre-judging you.” She frowns, and a pink glow spreads to her cheeks. “It’s hard not to, though. I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, and you probably shouldn’t judge a rock star by his reputation.”

The frown disappears from her face and she grins at me. It lights up her face, and I can’t help thinking, again, that she looks ethereal in the moonlight with her silver dress.

“I have a reputation for a reason”—I like to call him ‘Sebastian Fox,’ I think to myself, and a smile comes to my lips as I continue—“It’s a part of the image. A part of being a successful rock star, but it’s also a façade. I enjoy the perks of my lifestyle for sure, but at the end of the day, I go to sleep like anyone else.”

“In a bed with fifteen hundred thread-count sheets, I’ll bet,” she teases me, and I laugh.

“I think you overestimate my celebrity; they’re only eight hundred thread-count. I dream of the day I get to sleep on fifteen hundred thread-count sheets. It’s why I got into this business to begin with, you know.”

We’re laughing together again, and it’s a relaxed, easy silence that falls this time.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask her, curious as to what this beautiful woman does as a day job.

“I’ve just finished my Bachelor of Business,” she tells me.

“What do you plan to do now?”

“It’s funny you should ask; I don’t really know the answer to that question, so I’ve kind of been wondering myself.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“I’m twenty-two,” she replies.

Okay, so she’s four years younger than me. That isn’t a lot, but it’s certainly young enough that she shouldn’t be worrying about the future.

“You’re young; you have plenty of time to figure it out.”

“I know; I just worry that I’ll take the wrong job and find myself stuck there in ten years’ time, hating my life, and thinking about what could have been.”

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