Let the Music Play - 34. When Worlds Collide

Accompanied by a flurry of camera flashes, the members of Instinct made their way through the corridor that had been cleared through the gathered crowd. Eric flirted with several girls when they stopped to sign a few autographs. Though his heart wasn’t in it, Brandon followed suit. Chase too made a point of chatting with several gushing girls. Jon did his own share of flirting, but unlike Brandon and Chase, he enjoyed it. Günter knew how to manage the situation; he waited a few moments, making sure the fans got their chance to interact; when the crowd became more boisterous, he encouraged the band members to keep moving. The doorman of the San Francisco hotel kept the crowd outside as Instinct made their way into the building.

Once the members of Instinct were safely ensconced in their suites, Günter called a cab to take him to Candlestick Park in order to check on the concert security hires. Instinct’s advance staff picked the temp agency, but Günter knew from experience that temp agencies were not big on quality control.

As soon as they were alone in the suites, Chase said to Brandon, “I don't like what we were doing with those girls. I know we need to for now, but it bothers me, trying to be someone I’m not.”

Throwing an arm over Chase’s shoulders, taking a moment to admire the way the light from the window danced off Chase’s blond hair, Brandon said, “I hear ya. It's bugging me, too. It's not Barbra I want to be able to kiss in public. Maybe we should consider coming out at some point? I’ll support whatever you decide, you know that.”

Chase considered that for a long moment, before replying, “I’d like to, at some point. I just don’t want to wreck what we have going with the band. We’re really hot right now; what we’re earning will set us up for life. Maybe after another tour...” Chase trailed off, knowing that Jon and Eric would need to be part of any decision. He thought they’d approve; they’d said as much, but they did need to be asked. A sly smile curled the corners of Chase’s mouth as he considered the fact that they were not, at the moment, in public, so he ended the conversation with a kiss, which soon became much more.

Strolling into Candlestick Park and past the security gate, Günter found a gaggle of people milling around, all wearing the standard- issue windbreakers; black, with a horizontal yellow strip on the back, emblazoned with the words ‘Event Security’.

None of them took heed of his approach, so reverting to the navy chief he’d once been, Günter straightened his back, puffed out his chest and bellowed, “Just what do we have here? This isn’t a Sunday brunch. Now, one at a time, you will approach me and tell me why, exactly, you think you are qualified for this job.” That, he knew, should help begin to sort the wheat from the chaff.

With a swagger, a young man with a crew cut stepped forward, meeting Günter’s eye before saying, “This is a two-day job, what makes you think you can grill us like this?”

“This man has just quit. Anyone like-minded can follow him out and save themselves the time,” Günter said. The temp’s brashness had not been the reason Günter had fired him, but his swagger was. The last thing Günter wanted was security with an attitude; that was a quick route to both trouble and liability.

In quick succession, the next five temps took their turns. Gunter dismissed one and retained the rest. The guy next in line stepped up and Günter looked him over; a very attractive guy, maybe nineteen, in good shape. An earnest face, though to some extent that, he was sure, was for his benefit. Still, there was something unusual about him, just enough to make Günter slightly curious, though he couldn’t yet put his finger on why.

The young man met Gunter’s eyes. “Cody Williams,” he said, “I worked concert security last summer, up in Klamath Falls–”

“I guess they have some pretty big concerts up there in Klamath.” Günter offered sarcastically, wondering what response he’d get.

With a shrug and a wry smile, Cody chuckled, “It was a band playing at the county fair. I was working security at the fairgrounds.”

Nodding, and appreciating the honesty, Günter said, “You’re in.” He watched as his new hire stepped away, finding himself slightly puzzled by Cody. He had sad eyes, which seemed so out of place to Günter... almost as if the boy was tormented by some dark deity.

Half an hour later, Günter had his crew selected and set to work giving them their assignments, explaining their responsibilities. He assigned Cody to one of the teams who would be primarily keeping an eye out for contraband, including cameras and bottles of alcohol, anything that could be hurled at the stage and injure a band member. Quickly addressing another ubiquitous occurrence, he gave instructions on how to help crowd surfers down and tossed in a few pointers on keeping them from getting too out-of-control. Shifting gears to the most important aspects of security – what not to do – Günter spent two hours lecturing before offering his new team a set of hypothetical situations. As he had expected, several were inexperienced with real security issues, but with just a few stumbles, they did well in their responses. With an hour remaining before the gates opened, Günter handed out walkie-talkies, clipboards, and printed instructions. He then sent the teams on their way. During the concert, his job would be mainly to ensure that they were doing theirs.

Sitting on one end of the loading dock, using a box as a desk and a crate for a chair, The Scar, in ‘Jerry’ persona, pecked at his keyboard, trying to concentrate on the document he was writing. He was tired. The job of road boss was more demanding than he’d imagined and his inexperience with some aspects of it made matters worse. He was forever being interrupted and bombarded by questions from the roadies and the fact that the concert set-ups and tear-downs took place mainly overnight was taking its toll on him. “Jerry, where’s the cabling for the backup amp?” a sunglasses-wearing roadie stopped by to ask, causing the twentieth interruption in an hour.

Resisting the urge to slam his laptop closed in exasperation and slipping slightly out of character, The Scar replied, “In the third cable box, just as it was when you asked me in Los Angeles.” The Scar glanced again at his laptop, knowing that he needed some uninterrupted time to work on the draft of his letter. He’d need it to be ready for faxing in a few days. It had to be perfect, everything depended upon it.

“It’s not there,” the roadie, with his sunglasses now perched on top of his head, returned to say.

Fighting to stay calm as his temper seethed, Jerry stood up from his laptop and replied pleasantly, “It was there when we packed in L.A., I checked it off myself. Follow me…”

Figuring his laptop would be safe enough with the screen down, Jerry walked the few paces to a shipping container, jumping in with the roadie in tow. It took him under a minute, but he located the cable, right where he’d said it was. Without another word, he tossed it at the roadie, who beat a hasty retreat.

Stalking out of the container and onto the loading dock, Jerry’s blood ran cold as he saw someone in a concert security jacket inspecting the laptop. Jerry had minimized the document and closed the laptop, but that was all, and he cursed himself for his carelessness. Dashing over while reaching for his garroting wire, he said, “That is my laptop, what do you think you’re doing with it?”

Standing his ground and not appreciating Jerry’s tone, Cody fingered the concert security badge he wore on a lanyard around his neck in Jerry’s direction. “Leaving it out in the open is a good way to get it stolen. You should be more careful,” Cody said, trying to be helpful, even if his tone came off as mocking.

The Scar, who did not take criticism overly well, snapped out a reply, “Get out of here. I’m the road boss for Instinct and you’re in my loading area. This is not part of your venue so get out or I’ll have you fired and thrown out.”

Cody, who had not realized that Jerry was the road boss, reigned in his own temper and raised his hands, palms out, before he turned to leave.

Glancing at his watch, seeing that they were nearly at deadline and not yet done with the infernal sound checks, The Scar encrypted the document, shut down his laptop, and got back to work. Just a few more days, he promised himself, just a few more days.

At the desert compound two hundred miles west of Toowoomba, Dimitri inspected the products of the metallurgical shop. Nested hemispheres of beryllium, along with aluminum, sat alongside assembly jigs of stainless steel and plastic along with a plethora of tiny parts, each manufactured to exacting detail. Dimitri lacked the skills to evaluate them, but for the sake of appearances, he made the effort to appear as though he did. The bomb components would soon be crated and packed, destined for use in South America should more plutonium become available. However, he had more pressing concerns. Walking over to the machine shop, he gathered the machinists, gunsmiths, and technicians under the ever-watchful eyes of his security detail. “Gentlemen, you have done well and so you shall be paid well, in just a few more days. What we must now do is complete the manufacture of anything currently in production. Begin no new components, for in two days we must commence the packing of our equipment.” The precision, computer-controlled lathes and milling machines had been both difficult and expensive to acquire, so they would accompany the parts to South America.

After a quick visit with his security detail, Dimitri climbed into the Land Rover to begin the long drive back to Toowoomba. En route, he pondered the men of his security detail. Former Spetznaz he had chosen them for loyalty more than competence, though some displayed both qualities. However, he needed one for a very sensitive job: delivering a package to the United States Embassy in Canberra. Finding himself unable to choose due to not knowing the men well enough, Dimitri decided to make a virtue of necessity, postponing any decision until he could see how his men performed when it came time to evacuate the technical people from the desert compound to Toowoomba.

A movement to his right caught his attention and he looked just in time to see a very large kangaroo, startled by his passage, leaping across the rolling plains. Smiling, he envisioned how much the engineer would have enjoyed the sight. For that and for the need of his expertise, Dimitri regretted not bringing him along on the excursion to the desert compound. It could not be helped, he could not spare the time; the engineer was busy crating up the lens-grinding machines.

Sitting backstage with his band mates as The Shadows launched into their first set of the second concert in San Francisco, Eric glanced around to ensure that no one else, especially Helen, was within earshot before saying, “I saw Jerry earlier. I don’t like having him as our road boss. I know we didn’t have many options, but this sucks.”

Jon nodded, “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more that guy just doesn’t add up. He’s supposed to be cutting us a good deal in return for us helping Lump, but Lump isn’t around and Jerry never even mentions him. Jerry also promised he’d work on our folks, but he’s never mentioned them either, not since before the tour.”

Thinking of their parents and still plagued by a nagging feeling of guilt over the fact that Eric and Jon had ended their relationship with them due to him, Chase felt he had to say something. “Guys, if we’re getting rid of Jerry after the tour, we better press him now to see if he can do anything about our parents. It can’t hurt.”

Brandon had mixed feelings. He didn’t mind Jerry, but he was coming to trust Eric’s judgment. Besides, he felt Chase was right. He ended up nodding his agreement, along with Jon and Eric, because he still held out hope that the three brothers could one day patch things up with their parents.

Jumping to a different and happier subject, Eric said, “I’m looking forward to Telluride. I miss that place.”

Glad that Eric had raised that topic, Brandon asked, “Tell me about it – what’s it like?”

Chase jumped in first. “You’ll love it. It’s a few miles outside of town, up in the mountains, on Last Dollar Road. It’s an old ranch house. We were out four-wheeling after the Telluride Music Festival last year and saw it. We’d just had the split with our parents, so having a place of our own sounded good. Anyway, we saw the ‘For Sale’ sign and we called up the realtor and had a look. It needed a lot of work, but we liked it. It’s on the small side, but it’s very private.”

Remembering his first impressions of the place, Jon added, “I think it fit us because it’s a piece of real life; a normal house, really different from the way we live on tour. Telluride itself is a blast. It’s a ski town, in a deep valley below the slopes. The mass-transit system is a continuous gondola that goes between the town and the mountain village where the ski slopes are. The snowboarding is great, too bad snow season is a couple of months away. Telluride has a lot of celebrities so we can go out in public without too much trouble. We love it there and I bet you will too. We even do our own cooking at the ranch; we pretty much have to. Telluride is a great little town, but it’s a major tourist Mecca so the food there pretty much sucks.”

Snickering at the thought of one of the brothers in an apron, Brandon asked, “Who does the cooking?”

Eric laughed. “We take turns. There’s a barbecue grill out back, so we mainly use that. I don’t think any of us knows how to use an oven. Hell, I don’t even know if the oven works. We’ve got a frying pan for the stove and I tried to make pancakes once...”

“Yeah,” Jon snickered. “They’re still there. We use ‘em for paving stones on the back path.”

“You should have seen the mess he made,” Chase added, “Flour everywhere. He even got it in his hair. I just wish someone had told him that you have to get the eggs out of their shells before putting them in the blender.”

Flipping off his brothers with a grin, Eric replied, “I didn’t put all the shells in the blender, just the bits that fell in when I tried to crack the eggs.”

Jon began to crack up. Gasping, between the laughs, he told Brandon, “Just mention Eric’s pancakes to Helen sometime. She’ll run away screaming. Eric gave her the first one and I’ll never forget her face as she took a bite; the look of shock as she bit into it.... We all heard the crunch from the shells. I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes open so wide. Then she spat it out and accused Eric of feeding her an old car tire, because the thing was like rubber.”

“Gritty rubber,” Chase added, laughing even louder.

“You must be talking about Eric’s famous pancakes,” Jim said with a chuckle as he joined the guys. “Brandon, if Eric goes into the kitchen, don’t walk away – RUN!”

Looking at the big biker and knowing that he was being set up for a joke, Eric angled his head an asked, “How would you know? You’ve never been to our place in Telluride.”

Jim chuckled and then gave a deep, merry laugh that belied his tough image. “Your pancakes were one of the first things Helen warned me about when you guys brought me on board. She gave me two missions; keep the paparazzi away from you guys and keep Eric out of the kitchen.”

“Damn, everybody picks on me,” Eric said with a mock pout, “I make pancakes one time, and nobody ever lets me forget it.”

“How are things going with your guys,” Brandon asked Jim.

Jim shrugged, “I’ve got a few here, mainly some locals I know, but Günter won’t let them work the concert in any kind of official capacity; he’s worried about liability. Helen is too, that and bad PR due to a situation involving bikers that happened at a Rolling Stones concert here in San Francisco a few decades ago. So, we’re just here as guests and if we have to do anything, it’s just us acting on our own. Don’t worry about Telluride though; we’ve rented a place on the ranch adjoining yours. Anybody who comes sneaking around – especially paparazzi – is going to be in for one fucking hell of a nasty surprise when we descend on their sorry ass.”

Grinning at that pleasant thought, Eric found himself liking the big biker. Eric’s knack for reading people took a while to kick in, he had to get to know the person first, but he found himself both liking and trusting Jim. The thought of Jim and a bunch of his bikers tearing into Eric’s favorite enemy evoked a wicked grin from the young bassist.

Jim stood up and began to leave, but turned back. He stood beside Chase’s chair and asked with a menacing scowl, “I hope you aren’t enjoying kissing my fiancée too much?”

Looking up at the enormous biker looming over him, Chase was moderately sure he was joking. Chase didn’t know Jim as well as Brandon did, so the concern caused Chase to miss the real message in Jim’s words, just as Jim had intended. Chase looked up and said, “You know I’m not into chicks at all, right?”

Grinning broadly, Brandon picked up on the key word. Jumping to his feet, Brandon shouted, “Fiancée? Dude, congratulations!”

Jim smiled with pride, “Yeah, Linda said yes last night. We’re tying the knot in a few months. We haven’t made any arrangements yet... all we know is we want a private outdoor wedding, up in the mountains between rows of bikes, and one fucking hell of a party right after. So, any idea where I can find a band to play at the wedding?”

Eric looked up at Jim, grinning from ear to ear as he said, “I sure as hell do, but only if I get to plan the bachelor party.”

The refrains of The Shadows’ final number echoed through the backstage area, which prompted Helen to find Instinct and make sure they were ready. She saw they were not and heard the reason why. After quickly congratulating Jim, she trotted to the dressing room and grabbed two t-shirts. Racing back to Instinct, she told them, “You’re on in a few minutes,” and tossed a shirt each to Brandon and Eric. The four guys stripped off the shirt’s they’d been wearing, while Brandon pulled on the black concert T that Helen had selected for him. Looking at the tan, well-worn t-shirt he’d been handed, Eric hesitated. Plastering his best innocent grin on his face, he took the shirt firmly in his hands, the muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms rippled as he tore the shirt’s short sleeves off, one after the other.

Turning towards the sound of tearing fabric, Helen crossed her arms and asked, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Still wearing his innocent smile, Eric replied, “I just want to protect my constitutional rights.”

Knowing full well that she was being set up for a punch line, Helen asked, “What right might that be?”

Eric tugged the shirt on. Flexing a bicep, he waggled his eyebrows as he patted his bare shoulder and said, “Second amendment: my right to bare arms.”

Rolling her eyes, but approving of Eric’s costume alteration, Helen replied, “I don’t think that’s quite what the Founding Fathers meant, but it will do.”

Instinct jogged out onto the stage and Brandon stepped up to his mike. “Hello, San Francisco...”

The crowed roared as Brandon’s voice boomed over the stadium. He shivered slightly, though no longer from nerves; the butterflies had been banished from his stomach by the many concerts before. This time, his chill was from the excitement alone.

At the midpoint of their act, during Chase’s drum solo, Eric set down his guitar and walked to the edge of the stage. Raising his arms over his head, he clapped along with the rhythm. Acting on impulse and fed by the roar of the audience, Eric reached back with one hand and grabbed the neck of his shirt, pulling it up and off with one fluid move. Whirling the shirt over his head, he watched with glee as many of the guys and a few of the girls in the audience did the same.

As Chase wound up the drum solo, Eric reared back and whipped his shirt hard, sending it sailing out over the cheering audience. Slipping his guitar back on over his bare shoulders, Eric stepped back into place to wrap up the number.

Chuckling to himself at Eric’s show-off antics and noting the enthusiastic reaction of the crowd, Brandon decided he’d do the same. In a break between stanzas in the next song, he tugged off his shirt, swung it hard, sending it sailing out over the audience.

Off to the side of the stage, close to the front row, two of the security men were watching. The one doing his job jostled the shoulder of the other who had been watching the stage. "Bottle," he said, pointing. Cody followed him in as they headed towards the third row, regretting that his viewing pleasure of the shirtless bassist had been interrupted. Cody had been pleased to discover that Eric looked even hotter in person than he did in photos.

They approached the man from the right aisle side. He did not notice them. The man was just about to break the seal when an insistent tap on his right shoulder drew his attention. Turning, he found himself face to face with two serious-looking concert security staff. For a moment, he thought they were going to eject him, but he was both relieved and irked to see Cody’s proffered hand. Choosing to surrender the small bottle rather than his seat, the guy slipped the pint into Cody’s hand with a mumbled, “Damn it, I never even had a taste.” His words were lost in the roar of the crowd. That job done, Cody carried the bottle back to his post, fully intending to deposit it into the confiscated items box alongside several digital cameras and a few other glass bottles. He reached out to drop the contraband into the receptacle, as he’d been instructed to and had been doing, but just before he was about to drop it, he glanced at the golden Jose Cuervo label on the small bottle of Tequila. Without conscious thought, he stayed his hand; one glance at the shirtless bassist on the stage was all it took. With a furtive glance around, Cody palmed the bottle and slipped it into his windbreaker’s pocket. He knew he could get fired for what he was thinking of doing, but what the hell...

Lighters and glowing cell phones by the thousands flickered in the dark, accompanied by almost as many glow-sticks, as Instinct performed their ballad, their final piece before the obligatory encore sets.

After the final encore, and to thunderous applause that shook the night, Instinct jogged offstage. Günter rushed about, first checking backstage and then on his security teams. Going to the nearest, he said, “Go keep an eye on the backstage admissions, that can get pretty hectic. If a band member points at someone, let ‘em in, but keep the rest back.”

Cody and his two team members joined two of Instinct’s permanent staff at the barricade which closed off an access tunnel, where dozens of frantic, cheering fans waited, their fervent and enthusiastic cries echoing off the pre-cast concrete with a deafening din. They screamed even lounder as Jon, accompanied by Zeke, popped out the backstage door and approached the barricade, waving and making brief eye contact with as many fans as they could, stopping to talk with those by the barricade. The few fans who already had backstage passes pressed towards one end, thrusting them towards a member of the permanent staff, who waved them through. Mobbed by several of the admittees, Zeke backed off, joining them as they headed backstage while Jon pointed briefly at two girls in the crowd and then at a young couple –­ a guy and a girl. Cody fixed them in his memory and shouldered his way through the crowd, finding the four people and leading them past the barricade.

Chase, along with Steve and Wilde, appeared next, approaching the barricade to talk with the fans, though shouting above the roar would be a more accurate description. Cody watched as Steve invited four girls to the party and then Wilde spied a girl in full Goth regalia, and with a smile invited her backstage. Chase, shirtless and sweaty, stood close against the barricade, grinning as some screaming girls reached out to run their hands down his bare chest. Stopping to flirt with them and then invite them to the party, Chase felt bad, hoping that he wasn’t leading anyone on, but consoled himself with the thought that he was just inviting people to a backstage party, nothing more. It was Helen’s idea and he knew it served a purpose but that didn’t make it any easier.

Cody watched Chase, Wilde and Steve head backstage, Wilde arm-in-arm with the Goth girl.

Brandon and Eric appeared next. Brandon spent a couple of minutes signing autographs and trying to chat with the fans. Eric stood back a little as he noticed a photographer snapping photos of Brandon with a particularly attractive girl. Eric didn’t want to interrupt, so, puffing out his bare chest and putting on his most endearing smile, he walked to the other end of the barricade and began signing autographs and flirting with the girls. Brandon, acting on Helen’s advice, indicated towards two of the girls. Cody turned to enter the crowd but stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself gazing into the sapphire-blue eyes of Eric Carlisle. Lost for a moment, Cody heard him say, “See if you can get the one that Brandon was talking to the longest.”

Eric returned to the barricade as Brandon retreated backstage and Cody embarked on his mission. As Eric had hoped, he saw the reporter take note as Cody approached the girl he’d mentioned and the reporter snapped her photo. With that rumor hopefully started, Eric turned his mind to picking out some companions for himself. Eric pointed at four girls in quick succession and then added two couples. One of the regular staff headed off to relay the invitations and Eric turned to Cody, who had just returned, to say, “Thanks for getting her, dude.”

“No problem,” Cody mentioned over the noise, before he turned back to watching the crowd. Biting his lip, Cody figured that it was now or never as he scanned the crowd. With a sly smile, he turned towards Eric and asked, “What do you look for when you’re inviting someone backstage?” As he spoke, he turned slightly, angling the right side of his body towards Eric, as he pulled the tequila bottle partially out of his pocket for a quick moment before sliding it back in.

Eric’s eyes caught the flash of gold. After a longing glance, he looked at Cody with a twinkle in his eyes and said, “You’re with me, come on.”

Following Eric, along with several girls, Cody entered the backstage party. As soon as he was in the door, Eric whispered, “Don’t mention the tequila to anyone.”

Cody whispered back, “Don’t worry, I doubt Günter will like me drinking...” He wanted to go with Eric, get to know the bass player as a person, not just hand him the bottle.

Eric was more than amenable and replied, “Wait here for a few; I’ll take care of it.” Eric moved off, chatting with one girl after another, just a few words, accompanied by a friendly arm on their shoulders, letting several people take his picture with girls draped over his bare torso. Breaking away after a couple of minutes, Eric walked up to Cody and said in a businesslike way, “We need to check security on the instruments, follow me.”

Eric led Cody from the backstage rooms towards the stage. After checking over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t seen, Eric spun around and turned towards a utility room. Inside the cluttered room, littered with cleaning supplies and lit by a single bare fluorescent bulb, Eric closed the door as soon as Cody was inside and said, “Break out the tequila...” He raised an eyebrow as a question.

“Cody,” he said, giving his name as he produced the bottle from his pocket. Twisting the cap to break the seal, Cody handed the bottle to Eric.

Eric took a swig and then handed the bottle back. Enjoying the familiar fire that worked its way down his throat, Eric asked, “How did you know I like tequila, Cody?”

Taking a swig from the bottle before returning it to Eric, Cody coughed before shrugging an answer, “I read about it somewhere. I’ve read a lot about you guys.”

After a second drink, Eric said, “Don’t tell anybody, especially my manager, about this. We better get back or she will come looking for me. Come back to the party; just hang out and have fun, then we’ll break away for some more tequila.” Eric took a third and bigger drink before handing the bottle back.

“Damn, slow down.” Cody joked as he took a drink, before he capped the bottle returning it to his pocket. “I don’t know if I can. I’m working, so I shouldn’t be drinking, they’d probably chase me out anyway. I almost got fired once already.”

Shaking his head, Eric said, “No way. You’re working for Günter, right? Well, Günter works for my band and I say I want you at the party. Don’t worry; I’ll clear it with Günter; you’re going to the party and it won’t hurt your pay any, I promise. Was it Günter who nearly fired you? He’s usually a pretty good guy.”

Shaking his head, Cody said, “Nope, Günter seems okay, it was your road boss who threatened me. I took one look at a laptop I thought was left lying around and the guy went ballistic.”

“That would be Jerry,” Eric said with a scowl, his tequila-fueled mind already working on ways to harass him. “Mid-forties, brown hair, condescending, a flamer, and has a temper, right? I hate him.”

Cody nodded his head, wondering if the ‘flamer’ part was among Eric’s reasons. Deciding to test a little, Cody asked, “That’s him, but he sure didn’t seem like a flamer. Do you think he’s gay?”

Chuckling, Eric replied, “Nah, I think he’s faking it. I flirted with him a couple of times and he didn’t even give me a second glance. I just want to find out why he’s pretending to be gay. Interesting that he was so defensive of his laptop. Anyway, we better get back or my manager will have a posse after my ass.”

Cody looked at Eric in surprise at the mention of flirting; wondering if that meant what he thought it might. That possibility, he decided, had to be investigated; but before Cody could frame a follow-up question, Eric was on his feet, sticking his head out of the utility room. Eric waited until the coast was clear and then pulled Cody along behind him, back to the party.

As soon as they were back at the party, Eric, already feeling the tequila’s first effects, set out in search of Günter. He didn’t have far to look; Günter passed through moments later. Spying Cody’s security jacket among the backstage partiers; Günter headed in Cody’s direction, intending to ask him what he was doing backstage with the guests. Eric got to Günter first. Pulling the security chief aside, Eric said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked one of your security people, Cody, to join the party. He’s an old friend of mine and I recognized him. Don’t dock his pay or anything; he’s only here because I told him to come.”

Faced with a direct request from one of his employers, Günter had no option. He reasoned it didn’t matter anyway, most of the temporary security would be sent home as soon as the audience made their way out of the stadium. Gunter nodded his agreement and turned away as Eric said, “Thanks.” For a second, Günter smelled the alcohol on Eric’s breath. He only caught a faint whiff, not enough to be sure, but he thought it could be tequila. Eric had a beer in his hand, but Günter was sure he’d smelled some kind of liquor and decided that he’d best keep an eye on Eric, just in case.

Instinct along with The Shadows tried their best to interact at least once with every backstage guest. Brandon with Barbra on his arm and Chase with Linda glued to his side made their rounds, carefully avoiding spending much time in each other’s vicinity due to the presence of several members of the press.

Wandering around with a beer in his hand, not really knowing anyone and feeling a little out of place, Cody stopped to talk with Wilde and the Goth girl, learning that her name was Trixie. Before Cody had a chance to say more than a few words, Steve walked up, frowning. He wasn’t happy about Wilde and Trixie, though he wouldn’t admit to himself why. What he didn’t know was that Wilde had planned it that way, in order to get Steve to come to terms with himself. All Steve knew was that he wanted to talk to Wilde and there was a girl and a security guy in the way. Looking at Cody, he said, “Since when does concert security drink at backstage parties? I think you should leave.”

Steve meant leave them, not the party, but Cody assumed the latter and stood his ground. Already not liking the guy, and feeling a little buzzed, Cody shrugged, glaring at Steve. “Mind your own business; you’re not the boss of me. Sides’ I’m here as a guest; one of the Instinct guys invited me.”

Not wanting a further confrontation, Cody began to back away before hurling one final insult in Steve’s direction “There goes that CD sale.” He was still glaring at Steve’s back when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Cody turned and caught sight of Eric’s tan back as his favorite bassist walked away. Turning to follow and feeling a little buzzed himself; Cody left the party, assuming that the departure had gone unnoticed in the commotion. He was mistaken. In a corner of the room, Günter was engaged in a conversation with Barbra, but his eyes followed Eric and Cody.

Standing outside the utility room until he felt no one was in sight, Eric pulled Cody in behind him and slammed the door. Spinning to face Cody and wearing a wicked grin, Eric said, “Tequila!”

Taking a seat on a tool chest, the two guys passed the bottle a few times, nearly emptying it. Eric asked, “So what do you do when you aren’t working concerts?”

Cody shrugged. “I work at a bagelry and some other odd jobs besides going to school, or trying to.” Cody finished with a scowl. “We make some good ones, bagels I mean, you should stop by sometime.”

Eric took another drink and said, “I’m real happy with the tequila. Real happy. How come you’ve read so much about me?”

Unused to Eric’s penchant for changing subjects in mid-sentence, and already buzzed, Cody found himself answering honestly, “I like your guys’ music, so I read when I see an article. Besides, you guys are easy on the eyes, especially you; and no tequila flavored bagels... sorry.”

Laughing, feeling the tequila roaring through his veins, Eric shrugged. “Thanks. It’s cool. I prefer the ladies but I don’t have any hang-ups.”

Wondering what Eric had meant by ‘hang-ups’ and wondering how far he could take this, Cody asked, “Have you ever been with a guy?”

Chucking, Eric stood up and began to dance with a mop. “Nope, girls are what push my buttons.”

Cody chuckled as he watched Eric put on a show, swirling the mop bucket around as he danced with it. Screwing up his nerve, Cody asked, “If you’ve never… how do you know for sure?”

Sitting back down beside Cody, Eric sent mixed signals by playfully jostling his shoulder and saying, “I just know I like girls, and if that’s an offer I’m flattered but no thanks.”

Giving Eric a friendly elbow in the ribs, Cody laughed, “That’s what they all say.” Assuming he’d fail, but knowing he’d hate the what-ifs forever if he didn’t make the attempt. “What can a kiss hurt? If you don’t like it, at least you’d know. Come on, I dare ya,” he finished with a wink.

Feeling the tequila buzz, Eric turned his head to look at Cody. A dare? It would just be a kiss... and besides, he thought, it might make the guy’s day. Eric put his arm around Cody’s shoulders and pulled him in, angling his head as their lips met. He felt Cody’s hands trace along his biceps before roaming down his bare back. Cody’s lips parted and their tongues met. Eric found the sensation both familiar and strange. Pressing harder, Eric deepened the kiss, as he lowered his hands to Cody’s sides, feeling the strange sensation of a male chest pressed to his own through Cody’s nylon windbreaker. Cody, he decided, was a great kisser, but it wasn’t the same as with a girl. Lost for a moment in the sensation, neither guy noticed the utility room door opening.

“What the...” Helen stuttered as she barged into the room, spying the empty bottle of tequila sitting on the toolbox. Cody pulled away from Eric, blinking in surprise, and Helen’s jaw fell open when she realized that the person Eric had been making out with was male.

Brushing that detail aside, she rounded on Cody, jabbing an accusing finger in his chest, before aiming another at the offending bottle she boomed, “Young man, are you responsible for that? I think you’d best leave.”

Cody felt uncomfortable in Helen’s presence. He knew she was Instinct’s manager and he’d just put Eric in a very awkward position. Turning to say goodbye, Cody said, “Maybe you were right, but it was something to remember,” offering Eric a rueful look.

Grinning, Eric replied, “That was a first for me, so I won’t forget it either.”

Relieved that Eric seemed unworried by the situation, Cody slipped from the room. As soon as he was gone, Helen turned on Eric, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction as she snarled, “You... you’re into guys now too? Bedding just half the population of the planet wasn’t enough for you?”

Standing up and stretching, Eric eyes lit upon a squirt bottle on a nearby table. Facing Helen, he casually ambled sideways as he said, “It was a dare; I was just having fun, kind of like this,” Eric spun around, staggering slightly, grabbing the squirt bottle then bringing it to bear on Helen. With a wicked grin on his face, he squeezed the trigger, sending a stream of glass cleaner in Helen’s direction.

Author's Note: The character Cody Williams made a guest appearance with the permission of Shadowgod. Cody is his character and is a protagonist in Shadowgod's excellent story 'Dreams & Clipped Wings'. The scenes with Cody are also seen from Shadowgod's perspective in Dreams & Clipped Wings 5, "When Worlds Collide" which was posted at the same time as this chapter. My sincere thanks to Shadowgod for conceiving of the idea of a meeting and for executing it so well.

© 2008 C James

Please let me know what you think; good, bad, or indifferent.

Please give me feedback, and please don’t be shy if you want to criticize! The feedback thread for this story is in my Forum. Please stop by and say "Hi!"

Many thanks to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions.

Thanks also to Shadowgod, for beta reading, support and advice, and for putting up with me.

A big "thank you" to to Bondwriter for final Zeta-reading and advice, and to Captain Rick for Beta-reading and advice.

Special thanks to Graeme, for beta-reading and advice.

Any remaining errors are mine alone.