Page 32 of Revel
Wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, hood up, eyes hidden behind shades, I can’t tell if he’s looking at me until he raises the hand holding the lighter and slides the dark glasses down his nose. He eyes me carefully. “You’re not happy to see me?” He picks up the set list on my vanity table and examines it. For a moment, I panic. Is he going to light it on fire? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Don’t touch that.” I rip the setlist from his hand, my voice quivering around the words. Why does he make me so damn nervous? “Why did you really come here? You and I both know you don’t listen to anyone, let alone my assistant.”
It’s in that moment, the one where I reach for my set list that my robe falls open and I flash my nearly naked body to a rock god. So embarrassing.
Naturally, his eyes drift over the exposed skin. Guess what? I don’t cover myself right away. I’m not sure why, maybe because I want to see his reaction.
Stepping forward, he leans in, and we’re chest to chest again. He grins down at me, pulling me closer. “I can tell by your reaction to me, you’re not disappointed by me being here, are you?” he asks, his warm minty-vodka breath tickling my neck.
Am I? No. Nope. Not one bit. What I’m disappointed in, is the fact that I’m imagining the hard planes of his muscles under his black sweatshirt and his talented hands dipping inside my panties.
Air! I need air so bad! Trying to clear my thoughts, I huff, pushing back away from him. My gut churns and twists. I think I might throw up. Not from fear, but confusion, or anticipation. “I can’t say I’m relieved. I’m still trying to figure out what it is you’re up to.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “Maybe I don’t know the answer to that either,” he drawls with lazy cynicism.
I smooth out the creases in my robe, tying it, staring at my sandwich I’d tossed on the floor at his arrival. I don’t dare bend down to get it because I think I know what’ll happen if I bend down. He’ll say something inappropriate. To my surprise though, Revel reaches for it, sets what’s left of it on the vanity and then steps back. With his eyes on the floor, he reaches for his cigarettes, then pulls out a flask from what I assume is the back pocket of his dark jeans.
Before I can tell him it’s time for him to go, his manager walks in, knocking lightly on the door after she enters. “Rev, are you in here?”
My gaze darts to Revel who’s now smoking, and drinking from his flask. Liz looks from Revel—to me—then back to Revel with disappointment. “Leave this poor girl alone.”
“Oh, please. She wants me here.” He smiles sarcastically at his manager, then regards me again, tipping his flask my way. His bloodshot eyes make a leisurely pass over my body. “Want some, Princess?”
My skin burns under his gaze. Yes. No. I shake my head, denying him, and sit down in my chair, crossing my legs and fearing my silk robe and him in my dressing room is giving Liz the wrong impression. “I don’t drink before I go on stage.”
“You should take some pointers from this one, Rev.” Liz gestures to Revel with a flick of her wrist, then to the door. “Sound check is in twenty minutes.”
A smoldering cigarette dangles from Revel’s downturned lips. He takes a brief, perfunctory draw, then removes the cigarette, holding it between his fingers. Smoke billows from his nose and mouth as he replies with, “I’m thinking aboutnotgoing.”
Liz arches an eyebrow at the admired front man who captures more than my attention. “The fuck you aren’t, boy.”
She motions him forward, and surprisingly, he does as he’s told without another glance in my direction. Just before Liz closes the door, she looks over her shoulder at me. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I shake my head, unable to respond.
She smiles, checks out the door, then glances back at me. “I’d keep your distance from him if I were you.”
Seems everyone is giving me the same advice these days. I know in my gut I should listen to them, but I can’t seem to convince myself of that.
To have a successful career in music you have to have quality music, talent, belief, determination, endurance and be willing to sacrifice your ego at times. The press, even fans, and haters, they will pry into your personal life, your weaknesses, lifestyle, and sexual preferences. That doesn’t matter to me. Being a child prodigy, I’ve been in the spotlight my entire life and had just about every mean thing imaginable said about me. What matters to me is proving them wrong. That I won’t be tucked away as the girl who can only produce pop music under the security blanket of her father’s record label. If everything goes as planned, I will gain the attention of rock labels and maybe even record an album in a different genre. I knew going into this I had high hopes, but a girl can dream.
Once we landed in Sacramento, the dynamic of the combination of artists begins to change. Maybe it’s because of who’s on tour together, or maybe it’s the simple fact that it’s not unheard of for a line up saturated with talent to become competitive and try to outperform the other.
Following Revved’s performance, I head out for my thirty-minute set, and it’s great until the second to last song when the lighting rig, with every light on me snaps and crashes to the stage beside the drum riser. It’s hard for me to see anything, but I continue through the song despite the stage filling with smoke from the dry-ice machine. I’m caught off guard at first, but with the help of my backup dancers, we continue on. I’ll admit, I’m distracted with the equipment managers trying to move the lights, but my performance remains the same. Flawless.
Apparently it’s not good enough because that’s when the fans in attendance at the Golden 1 Theater make their feelings known. They want the same rock star who openly poured a vial of cocaine on the stage and snorted it in front of everyone. Yep, Revel did that.
They begin to shout “Revved” at me and toss bottles on stage. Emotion claws at my chest, my stomach knotting. I stand frozen, my heart pushing through my throat and ready to jump ship. Confession? I have no idea what to do. Do I walk off stage? Do I walk off the entire tour? Tears surface. Spill over. I can’t believe this.
Horrified, I consider maybe I should leave the stage when my bodyguards come on, ready to push me off stage. I’m frozen, unable to move. My blurry vision sweeps to the side-stage, and I make out two people through the smoke. My dad, who doesn’t budge from his position, his hard eyes on mine as if to say, I told you so.
Then further away Revel, with a murderous expression and his hands clenched at his sides. I never thought I’d look to him for help, and I’m not entirely sure I am, but I can tell you it’s a look of panic. I don’t know what to do and I’m looking to him for something. He knows it too.
He says something to a man beside him and then steps forward, the stage manager handing him a microphone. He motions to my band, and they immediately start up again.
What’s he doing? And why is my band listening to him?
Because he’s Revel Slade.
