First Chance (3 page)

I wake up around four leaving
just enough time to pack. For me on tour I really only need enough clothes to last me a week. We do laundry runs once a week when we stay at a hotel. Also, there’s not a lot of storage on a tour bus when you’re housing five men. I change my now wrinkled clothes into something clean then grab my luggage and head out the door .When I get outside, the Limousine I had called for earlier is already waiting for me. Ready to take me to LAX.

We’re d
riving throughout Los Angeles in the middle of rush hour. This is going to be a while. I take a deep breath and set my mind in the relaxed zone, the guys can always pick up on my moods, more so when I’m pissed off. And Mel has set that tone for me for today. So I try to calm down a little.

Once we get on this airplane that's it for six months.
A lot of bands do at least a six month tour, but because we just finished an album, were extending our tour. Our first stint is two months, then we will head back home for three weeks and be gone for six more months. The only benefit is that the five people I do care about, my true family in every sense, is the band and they will be with me. So I'm not leaving anything or anyone behind.

My parents
are long gone. They lived long enough to see my success. They never truly cared about me, my music or my band anyway.

I snap out of the trance that
I put myself in, when I see we are approaching the airport. My door opens and I'm at the entrance to LAX , I'm sure the guys are already at our boarding gate for Boston seeing as how they all live together and in Los Angeles they were much closer.

I grab my
bag, tip the driver and walk through security, readying myself to getting fondled by a guy. Just what I need to keep this already shitty day going. I understand why they do it, fuck I wouldn't want anyone on my plane with any sort of weapon, but I’m just not comfortable with strangers touching my body. My hands are one thing, it’s how I do business. I shake hands at the closing of deals, when meeting fans, but not one of them.

I pass through security like a breeze, check my luggage in
and head to the boarding gate. When I get there I see the guys sitting down waiting for our flight to be called for boarding. I walk over to join them, taking a seat and start to bullshit. 

“I’m
thinking we should make a bet right now on whose going to get the most pussy while we’re in Boston, winner decides the losers’ humiliation.” Zepp declares.

“We all know Steele is going to win, and you remember last time what he made all of us do. Do you really want to have to tell every woman you come into contact with for a week that you carry an incurable sexually transmitted disease? Because I sure the fuck don’t.”

I start
laughing, remembering that kickass wager. No one gets a chance to answer because our flights called, we all stand up and board the plane. Seven hours later we arrive at Logan International airport. The guys talked throughout the entire flight, they came to the conclusion that a night of partying was in order to celebrate the pre-tour so they plan on going out after we arrive at the hotel.

We pick our luggage up
at baggage claim and exit the airport. I spot our driver, band name “Steele’s Army” is written on a piece of loose-leaf paper upside down, this makes me compulsively annoyed while Liam and Gage are laughing hysterically.

Zepp stand
s guard, ready to apologize for what is very close to coming out of my mouth, I expect perfection from everyone especially if they are working for me. We walk over to the driver, he is intimidated instantly and bows his head, lucky for him, and his show of submissive behavior has me holding my lips closed tightly together. Obviously this guy is a pushover and hadn’t realized his mistake. I can be a forgiving person, when I want to.

Most people
act this way when they meet us and I can’t blame him by the image we project. It suits myself and the rest of the band just fine. Making ourselves seem just out of reach to the everyday common fan, or groupie. Hell, even the press is a protective shield. Too many people in our line of business are only out to make a name for themselves or to take advantage of us.

So I am always on the defensive mode and
watching, waiting for those rats to try and sneak in. Pat, our driver, introduces himself. After a few awkward moments of silence, he then opens the car door we all climb in. Leaving the airport he is taking us directly to our hotel the Ritz-Carlton, after working as hard as we have we deserve nothing but luxury and any hotel we stay at must provide nothing but. On our drive I tell the guys I'm going to pass on their bar hopping and catch up on some much needed rest.

A
lso advising them they should do the same since our impromptu concert is tomorrow afternoon. Whether or not it’s at some small college or an arena we are putting on a God damn good show. After a short ride our car arrives to the hotel. Pat opens the door for us. Grabbing my wallet I quickly snatch out some random bills and tip our driver. We walk through the revolving doors to the front lobby of the hotel we are staying in for the next few days.

The lady at the
concierge desk is flirting with me non-stop. Bluntly making it clear that she wants to fuck. Being the gentleman that I am I politely decline. Once the keys are in my hand I dish them out and we all decide to meet up at eight in the morning, which is pretty fucking early since they will most likely be out drinking all night. I suggest that if they really have to go out, they should try to get in at a decent time.

We plan
ned to meet in my room to have breakfast and to discuss our plans while we are here. I still haven’t told them about the prospective intern we have to interview for. Choosing to call Mel after I get some substance in my stomach and some sleep, I will find out tomorrow about his qualifications for this intern and what in the fuck they are supposed to be doing with the band while on tour.

Leaving them to find their own rooms, I tell them that our bet is on and that I
am doing them a favor by giving them a head start.

Chapter 3

Natalie

“You say you want me! That you need me! Then get on your fucking knees ...”

I
dislike this song to my core, I also don’t want to get up out of feathery stuffed bed and shut my alarm clock off, thus shutting the horrible song off. I'm sure Layla has planned some all out get beautified morning for this concert. But first I need to get up and shut that god-awful song off. Then coffee. My morning routine, I cannot break; Coffee, cigarette then shower and then hopefully I am awake enough to converse with Layla.

I've tried it once before
, disrupting my routine. It did not end well, for myself or Layla, because she ended up talking me into meeting a blind date she had planned and failed to remind me until the very night of said blind date. I considered going, but my anxiety clammed me up. I would have embarrassed myself if I went. To say I've learned my lesson is an understatement, she called me hurt and offended when the blind date called her because I never showed.

Since then she tries to trick me into a
greeing to do things she knows I would never agree to. Nothing like a blind date, but for instance this concert, she will remind me right up to the date, and the day of she won’t leave me alone. Reassurance that I will go along with whatever plan she had made for me. It’s clever I’ll give her that but, it’s also sneaky.

Begrudgingly,
I throw my comforter off my body. I put my pink fleece robe on and slide my feet into my house slippers that are located right next to my bedroom door. Walking into the kitchen to make some delicious French vanilla flavored coffee, I see that Layla isn’t awake yet. A few more minutes of reprieve before I have to listen to her all day go on about the “mouth-watering” Steele.

Once that's brewing I
go open the sliding glass door to our balcony, located off of the living room, being that it’s June the heat is already sweltering, thankfully the wind is also whirling about, making the heat bearable. I light my morning cigarette, pulling that first drag into my lungs hits the spot. The spot that has long needed to be filled. My craving has finally found its fix. I know people are always preaching, especially Layla how it “will kill me”, and “do you know what poisons they put in those cancer sticks?”  I do not live under a rock, and I consider myself quite intelligent. So yes, I do know what is in “those cancer sticks.”

I also know that one day, it could kill me. But so could many other things.

Although
today is another glorious morning where I do not care. When I breathe it in it brings a sense of calming over me. Starting in my lungs, moving outward and expanding. Somehow allowing me to feel like I breath that much easier.

Finishing
my cigarette, I butt it out then go inside to start making my coffee. This is when Layla decides to grace myself with her presence.

“You
smell like smoke Nat. When are you going to stop?”

“Don’t
worry, I will shower before we leave today and I’ll make sure to carry hand sanitizer and breathe mints. Happy?" she holds a smile tightly, I know this doesn't make her happy but because I compromise she will close those pouty lips tightly and rein in whatever lesson she wants to teach me today about cigarette production.

“Layla
, I am going to shower and get dressed. We can talk about our plans for the day after. If I know you then I know you have something up your sleeve.” I tell her with fake enthusiasm.

“You’re going to looooovveee what I have planned Nat.” She squeals with excitement.

“I' m sure I will.” I mumble on my way to my bedroom.

I grab my new Tom Petty
shirt which is still in the bag on my bedroom floor from yesterday. Opening my dresser drawer I grab my favorite pair of black lace bra and panties, then my favorite pair of grungy blue jeans. There are small man-made rips in random places and the seams are fraying, but I will never get rid of these things.

Plus they will go perfectly with my new shirt.
Matching bra and panties are a small quirky obsession of mine, they also must be comfortable. I don’t want a wire digging into my ribcage or an overabundance of padding causing my chest to look like I have a pair of cone shaped boobs. Just because I hide my body shape under excessively baggy clothes, does not mean I don’t like to admire myself once in a while. To have that secret confidence underneath my clothing, increase’s my self-esteem a fraction.

The
bra and panties I decide on are a classic black demi cup, and matching black boy shorts that always seems to come up over my plump behind. I hang my robe on the back of my door, take my slippers off and go to the bathroom, clothes in hand. I strip my tank and shorts off and start the ending of my compulsive routine.

I turn the shower off and step out onto the bathroom
rug. Water dripping off of my body soaking the floor. I grab one of the towels and twist it around my hair then grab the other towel and start drying my body off. First my face then my arms one by one. My breasts then my legs until I am completely dry.

Anxious
about Layla's plans, I throw my clothes on and meet her in the kitchen.

“
Natty...”

S
he only says this when she is up to something.

“D
on’t be mad but I made us appointments at the salon, you know how I like to be pampered and relaxed before a concert. I thought we could make a morning of it.”

A
nd her all too familiar “You’re not wearing that are you?”

“Yes
.” I say hesitantly questioning her judging observation,” I am wearing something I feel comfortable in. You know I don’t want attention so why would I dress like that's my end goal?" I always dress this way, what the hell has overcome her lately.

“Okay, Okay I just thought when you picked up that ratty thing it was for your at home relaxed days. Nat, you have a banging body, if you would just let me...”

I cut her off right there, I can see where she plans on heading with this. Nope. Not going to happen.
“Layla, I am not some socially awkward experiment. Fuck, I shouldn’t even have to remind you of this. You’re lucky I am even going today.”

“Because you’re my girl I'm going to let that slide. I know damn well you aren’t an experiment. I’m your best friend, so naturally I would want the best for you. I’m just tired of you hiding yourself behind your clothes, and your unapproachable attitude. I just want the best for you Nat! I truly I do. You sell yourself so short.”
Layla says pleadingly.