Page 172 of Naughty Dreams
He thought of what Bono said about the moments right before a show. The crowd’s anticipation wasn’t just for themusic, but for the chemical reaction between the band and the audience. In this case, an audience of one.
Everyone involved, from the band to the dancers to the sound and light engineers, had been told to act like this was the actual performance, because Moss would be providing influencers and the press recorded clips from it.
Those in his inner circle knew the real reason.
Roy.
He’d used the plane ticket. It had eased one worry while escalating his trepidation over the outcome. But earlier in the day, when Warren met with DJ and Henry to go over security issues, DJ learned Roy had been in contact with Henry all along.
“Every concert you’ve done since…” Henry paused.
“Since a crazed stalker kidnapped me?”
“Yeah, since that.” Henry didn’t smile. “He’s called me ahead of time and gone over things. I didn’t take it wrong. I’m not going to turn down an extra set of eyes out of professional pride. He also gave Moss the names of people who could take over when I retire. If Roy recommended them, you know they’ll be good.”
Hearing that had dampened some of DJ’s hopes, but Roy not wanting to work for him wasn’t necessarily a rejection. It could mean just the opposite.
After DJ’s cutting “not sharing my bed, so piss off” response, Roy hadn’t texted the rest of that day, but on the next he was back to friendly dialogue that skirted intimate lines. DJ hadn’t initiated any of them, even as he’d craved their arrival every day.
He waited for them. Like he wanted to wait for his Master’s desires, be ready to receive them.
DJ looked at himself in the mirror. Black jeans with metallic strands, studded belt. No shirt, just his ichthys. He also wore the bracelet Gilda had given him.
He stretched out his fingers, feeling the ache. The exercises were torturous, but it was getting better. It was so vital tohim to reconnect with his guitar that he was probably the first person his physical therapist had ever had to tell, “Doing the exercises five times more than the recommended amount isnotrecommended. Don’t overdo.”
Like Roy had said.
This was probably overdoing it, this whole dress rehearsal, fly Roy here, performance thing. But it was what he knew how to do. He had a mess of emotions in his heart and mind, and he didn’t know what to do with them but lay them at Roy’s feet to be stepped on, kicked out of the way or worse…politely ignored.
“Stop this shit. You are a world famous rockstar, buddy.” DJ pointed a finger at the mirror. “You’re Steve, Tal and Pete’s brother, their bandmate through eternity. Marjorie is your mother, in every way that counts.”
He needed to tell her that. It was way past time. Tal would agree. Sometimes you had to stop being a chickenshit and risk all of yourself.
“You love Royal Bloodwell. Passionately. So get your ass out there, put it on the line and see what happens. When you started, you kept your eye on the ball, on getting to where you are now. But there’s a new ball now.”
His grin became the soft smile that Roy had said was irresistible, because it wasn’t practiced. It was him, coming from a deep and sincere place inside.
The new ball was this. Today, tomorrow, and even when the lights and fame finally went away, he wanted Roy to be the forever person at his side. The one who took the journey with him, all the way to the end of their lives.
DJ left the dressing room. As he moved along the corridor to the stage, he acknowledged his roadies, bumping fists. Getting into the spirit of what they’d been asked to do, they were acting like they did for an actual show.
He reached the mark where the dancers were waiting. While his lighting and stage designers had gone through hair-tearing-out moments thanks to DJ’s alterations, the dancers had physically borne the brunt of the changes he’d made. By suffering with them, he’d become their friend.
Each dancer playing a "Dom" role had been directed by DJ on how to act their part, as well as react to his role. The music and lyrics would drive the energy, make it build and keep building. Sy’s idea to improve the rhythm of the outro had taken that to a new level.
DJ nodded to the dancers. They settled in and waited for the cue. Heads turning side to side, light bouncing on the balls of their feet, a quick stretch of beautiful male bodies.
He’d wanted Roy to enjoy the view.
Though not too much.
Before a show, he fed on the anticipation, the energy of thousands filling a space, waiting for everything to start. Which meant if he’d invited Roy to the concert, he would have been offering a mixed message, that he was performing for all of them, not just his Master.
He also wouldn’t have had the unique pleasure of feeling it now, the anticipation, the desire, the connection, all directed toward one man.
The lights went down. A random scattering of spotlights popped on, and swept over the stage. Starbursts exploded across the five large backdrop screens, silhouetting the wall of amps, the drum kit and band members, poised with their instruments. Sy and the others, ready to play the music. The drum platform glided a few feet forward, strobing lights highlighting the steps in front of it, and setting off similar brackets of lights on the four other platforms.
That was his signal.
