Page 61 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“Autographs.”
“Oh.”
“This way.”
I follow him down a series of hallways, and with each turn, they become busier and busier. People in blue polo shirts with the stadium emblem on the back rush about, pushing carts and shouting into walkie-talkies. I recognize audio equipment. Lighting equipment. Amplifiers and microphones. Coils and coils of drop cords. Judging by the hive of activity, we must be close to the stage. I glance around for the band, but I see none of them. Just roadies and stadium workers.
Soon, we’re turning down another hallway, and I notice two security guards standing on either side of a door. We stop in front of it and Craig nods in greeting to both guards before he knocks. At first, I assume I’m being deposited into Torren’s dressing room, but then a different voice rings out from behind the door.
“Come in,” Mabel shouts, and Craig opens the door and ushers me inside. “Hey, Callie. You look great. Want a drink or something?”
Mabel is sitting in a red leather recliner wearing a black sequinedtutu and matching bra. The black patent leather platforms on her feet have to be more than six inches high.
“How can you play the kick in those?” I ask, zeroing in on her shoes.
Ezra used to insist on playing barefoot because he said the soles of his shoes fucked up his feel for the bass and hi-hat pedals. Mabel grins and wiggles her feet in my direction.
“Practice.”
I nod. Of course.
Ziggy bounds over and starts sniffing at my feet, her tail wagging so hard that her whole body serpentines. Ziggy and I haven’t had much time to get to know one another, but apparently, she’s decided we’re to be friends. I grin and drop to my knees so I can give her some head scratches, and then I let my eyes roam the room.
It’s spacious. There’s a large glass-doored fridge stocked with bottled mineral waters and a large table along one wall sporting a spread of pastries and fruit. Sav’s intimidating security guard picks around a tray and pops a grape into his mouth, and I wave awkwardly at him. A large vanity table and a brightly lit mirror line the other side of the room. I spot a few makeup pallets, a curling iron, and two hairbrushes on the vanity.
“Do you guys do your own makeup and stuff?” I ask Mabel, standing back to my full height and leaving the dog with one last pat on the head.
“Nah. Glam squad’s been here and left already. Can’t you tell?”
I glance at Mabel and find her batting long, fluffy eyelashes at me while making a kissy face with her shiny pink lips. I laugh.
“You look great,” I say genuinely.
Mabel is gorgeous. She could easily be a runway model if she wasn’t the drummer in the world’s most famous rock band.
“I know.” Mabel winks at me, and I laugh again.
Then I hear a toilet flushing and water running. I look toward a door in the corner, determine it must be an attached bathroom, and then the door flies open and Sav Loveless stumbles out.
“Mother fuck it. Mabes, can you help me do these up? These fucking laces make it impossible to pee.”
Mabel hops up from the chair and bounces toward Sav with a laugh.
“Well, we’ve got a two-hour show, so you better stop hydratingnow,” Mabel says as she works to lace up the sides of Sav’s black leather pants. “Can’t I just do ‘em loose?”
Sav groans.
“No. I tried that. They just fall down. Damn things have to be suctioned to my ass; otherwise, I’ll be giving everyone a show they didn’t pay for.”
Mabel quirks one suggestive eyebrow, and Sav groans again. Mabel barks out a loud laugh and glances my way as if I’m in on the joke. I suppose, in a way, I am. Along with the rest of the country. I mean, we did all see the same sex tape, and I assume that’s what Mabel is laughing about.
“Thank you,” Sav says as Mabel finishes doing up the laces. “I’m never wearing these damn things again.”
“They are fuck hot, though,” Mabel says, and reluctantly, I agree.
The black leather molds to Sav’s legs and ass like a second skin, with a gap on either side running from ankle to waist where the laces are. Along the sides of her thighs and hips, about four inches of skin shows through the crisscrossing of the laces, and Mabel is right. The pants arefuck hotall on their own,butwith the cropped white T-shirt and red bra, Sav Loveless is sex in combat boots. I envy her, and then I frown, because I don’t want to envy her.
“Callie.”
