Starstruck, p.9
Starstruck, page 9
He returned his focus to her green eyes. “Are you hungry? Do you mind if we hang here for a while first?”
“Just try to stop me. It’s been months since I heard any live music. It’ll be fun,” she said, glancing toward the small stage.
It stood ten meters in front of them, just a couple of lights, nothing fancy. Although a hell of a lot of instruments had been set up for such a compact stage.
After finishing their drinks, he got Anderson’s attention for another round as four band members moseyed up to the raised platform. The older gentlemen were still fine-tuning their instruments when the drinks arrived.
“Glad you’re stickin’ around, Jess. It’s about to get noisy.” With a wink, Anderson left the table again.
“Good evening, ladies and gents,” a smooth rich voice spoke into the microphone. “We’re the original Blues Brothers, though some may beg to differ. We’re more commonly known around these parts as The Dizzie Blues Band. We hope you enjoy the tunes and please, any blues fans with us tonight throw out requests ’cause we knows ’em all. And who knows? If we play re-e-al nice, we might be able to get a few friends up for a song or two.” The man on the mic looked directly at Jesse, shooting him a half-smile and a nod.
The rear of the bar quickly filled with people and the band opened with a classic BB King number, Woke Up This Morning.
Halfway through the song, Sam leaned into Jesse’s ear. “They’re good,” she shouted over the music.
He nodded, returning her smile. They were good, but he’d expected as much. Most of Anderson’s friends were polished musicians.
The crowd sat back, melting into their chairs as the bar slowly filled with a thin cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke. Most patrons were dressed in high-end designer clothes—the rich smoked wherever they liked.
Jesse couldn’t have recalled the next few songs the band played. His focus was on Sam. He was fascinated by her eyes as she listened to the well-oiled band. The green pools danced with every beat, accompanied by the tapping of her foot. And she kept perfect time.
She turned to him with a wide grin as they played Muddy Waters’ Hoochie Coochie Man. He was encompassed by her pure enthusiasm for the music. Taking hold of her hand on the table, he held it tightly, tapping his thumb to the beat.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so entranced by a woman, let alone one he’d just met. With Sam, his soul was at ease. It was crazy, but true. In her presence, he wasn’t compelled to be anyone other than who he really was—rock star aside.
Becky never understood the core of his character or why he preferred to leave the spotlight on the stage. Sam was already changing him for the better, making him lighter. He was not normally so impulsive, especially concerning money, but he’d had no reservations whatsoever when the jeweler billed him just over forty thousand pounds for her gift. He’d wanted to lavish her with something special, something memorable. He’d never had the urge to be so attentive to a woman before.
What the hell is happening to me?
Next up was another BB King classic, Sweet Little Angel. Anderson dropped another round at their table, tapping his finger on the napkin to draw Jesse’s attention. Jesse picked it up and held it close to the small candle on the table.
The boys didn’t believe me when I told them you had a set of lungs on ya! How about proving them wrong? They say you’re too pretty!
He looked across the room at Anderson, standing at the bar, anxiously twisting a small towel in his hands. During Jesse’s stay at the hotel the previous year, he and Andy had spent some time talking over a few drinks after the bar had closed. Before calling it a night, Andy had admitted his tips had more than tripled each time Jesse had sung on the tiny stage. Guests would congregate around his bar for hours afterward, hoping for an encore while drinking like fish.
Sam stared inquisitively at the napkin in his hand. He handed it to her and she laughed when she read it. “Go on. What are you waiting for? Get up there and show these boys how it’s done.”
“I don’t want an audience tonight. I just want to enjoy the evening with you.” He leaned in close. “We leave tomorrow.”
“Yeah…I know.”
The band took a short break. The lead singer-guitarist stepped down from the stage, groaning with the bend of his knees, and sat at a crowded table directly in front.
“Well, you’ve still got me for the rest of the night. The morning too if you behave yourself.” She smirked. “But I’d like to see you up there. It’s been awhile since I saw you sing live. With a band, I mean.”
“Really? And when might that have been?” He slipped a quick kiss onto her lips, enjoying the bite of whiskey on her breath.
“Sydney Entertainment Centre, 1997. Charli dragged me, if you must know.”
“How old were you then, like ten?”
She raised a single brow and it made him smile. “I was seventeen. I remember ’cause it was just before Tom and I…” She fiddled with her necklace. “I wasn’t going to mention it,” she lowered her voice, “but…I’m sure you’ve heard this many times before—”
“Hey, man, mind if I sit a spell?” The singer from the band tipped his hat with a smile.
Jesse hadn’t been aware of someone approaching their table, too enthralled by the words leaving Sam’s lips.
He cleared his throat. “Sure, pull up a seat.” He offered his hand to the well-groomed older gent. “Nice set, man. Jesse Maurello.”
“Pleased to meet ya, brother. Name’s George Brown, but everyone just calls me Dizzie. And I know who you are, all right. I ain’t that old, son. My grandson thinks the sun shines outta your arsehole, I must say. He’s got most your music, I’m sure.” He lit a hand-rolled cigarette. “You know, I’ve been listening to your stuff for years, man. Had no choice in the matter, mind you, but some of it ain’t that bad.” He chuckled deeply. “Tried to get that boy interested in some blues, but kids these days…what can you do?”
Dizzie pointed to the empty glass in his hand, getting Anderson’s attention at the bar. A round was quickly brought to their table and Andy was jittery, hesitant.
“So how are your lungs holdin’ up, boy? Feel up to belting out a few with some old-timers? Just look at Andy here. He’s about ready to piss his pants, he’s so excited. Go on. Put the old man outta his misery.” Dizzie patted Andy hard on the back, making him jump.
He turned to Sam, taking her hand in both of his and shaking it. “And what, may I ask, is your name, lovely lady?”
“Sam. Nice to meet you, Dizzie,” she returned with a twinkle in her eye. “You wouldn’t be the same George ‘Dizzie’ Brown who recorded Down the Road to Sunshine by any chance?”
He slapped his leg and roared the most infectious laugh Jesse had ever heard. “Girl! How the hell did you pull that one outta your hat? You weren’t even born when I released that song. Geez, I thought the last person who even knew it had died and gone to heaven long ago. Where did you find this woman, Jesse?”
Jesse stared at Sam in amazement. Where had this girl been all his life?
“It’s nothing too exciting. Both of my parents are musicians.” She picked up her drink. “Not all kids grew up musically undernourished, you know. All kinds of music got played in our house, including Mr. Brown’s here.”
She nudged Dizzie with her elbow. “Don’t be so surprised. My dad loves you. Still pulls the old records out when he’s in the mood.”
Sam finished her drink just as Dizzie leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Thank you, darlin’. I’m gonna play that song tonight just for you. Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured into his glass with another deep chuckle. He turned back to Jesse, a sly grin on his face as he stood. “So, pretty boy. Ready to play with the pros?”
“Okay, old man. As long as this lovely lady doesn’t mind sitting on her own for a little while?” He looked at Sam for approval before rising from the table.
“Off you go, rock star. Get to work.” She tapped him on the thigh.
He leaned close to her ear as Dizzie walked back to the stage. “So what were you about to say earlier? You know, before we were interrupted?”
“Oh you mean how I lost my virginity to one of your songs on the radio the night I saw you in concert?” she deadpanned.
“You little hussy,” he whispered. With a huff, he tore off his suit jacket, turned toward the stage and jumped up with one leap.
* * * * *
“Can I get you another drink?” Anderson asked.
“A glass of ice water would be lovely, thank you.” Sam turned back to the stage, anticipating hearing Jesse sing again.
He looks nervous. Surely not. This should be a walk in the park for him.
He spoke with the band for a moment before Dizzie handed him an acoustic guitar. He stepped up to the mic and proudly announced, “Everyone loves Bruce.” He strummed the intro to I’m on Fire, the band picking up behind him.
She sat a little straighter and he stared directly at her, singing with just as much cool raunchiness in his voice as Springsteen. Heat rose in her stockings and her nipples stood at attention and said “hello” against her velvet dress. She plucked the small wine menu from the table and fanned her face, unable to contain her smile. Jesse’s gaze remained firmly on her and she was fairly certain it was her fault he fumbled the lyrics toward the end.
Next they played a melody she was familiar with but couldn’t place straight away. Jesse sang the first line and she realized it was Hard to Be, one of the last studio recordings by Stevie Ray Vaughan before he died. He cooed the lyrics blues-style but at a much slower tempo than the original. She loved it. When he was done, everyone in the bar stood and cheered. He sang with such raw emotion, half the place was in tears—even Anderson.
If Jesse had been nervous before, he showed no hint of it now. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. After Dizzie moved to the harmonica and Jesse put the guitar back on its stand, he counted them in. The first bars of Fever boomed from the bass guitar. Sam recognized the song instantly but hadn’t expected him to choose it. It had always been one of her favorites.
The slow, sexual, exotic version escaped Jesse’s lips as he rested them lightly against the microphone. He swayed his hips in time to the music, beating any striptease. He caressed the mic stand, seducing the crowd with each subtle movement, and soon Sam wasn’t the only one in the audience fanning her face. She didn’t need to be psychic to know a lot of women in the room would be jumping their other halves when they got home. That much was guaranteed.
At the end of the song she stood, stepped onto the stage and tugged his sleeve. “Mind if I join in, rock star?”
“Sam, what are you doin’?”
“How’s that sax against the wall?” she asked an equally stunned, but smiling, Dizzie.
“It’s all yours if you can play, darlin’.”
“It’s been a while, but it’s just like riding a bike, right?”
The heat of several pairs of eyes bored into her bare back when she strolled to the rear of the stage. She placed the thin leather strap around her neck, positioned the reed between her lips and blew scales to limber up her mouth and fingers. It had really been a long time since she’d played. When she faced the audience, all the men in the band seemed highly amused and Jesse glared at the lot of them.
Dizzie laughed. “We may be old, but we ain’t dead, kid.”
Sam didn’t know what had possessed her to jump out of her seat and rush toward the stage, but she couldn’t help herself. It was as if she’d been watching some kids in the playground having fun without her. Naturally, she’d want to join in.
“So, Jersey boy, ever heard of John Cafferty & the Beaver Brown Band?” She licked her lips in preparation to play.
The band smiled in unison, already guessing which track she was gearing toward, nodding their approval.
Jesse cocked an eyebrow. “Tender Years?”
“Bingo.” With a huge smile, she counted the band in over her shoulder.
She played the sultry melodic intro. At that moment, it was the only song she could remember how to play.
She forgot herself when she played—music was in her blood, after all. She forgot about the rapidly growing crowd. And as she played her first note, the tension she’d held in her neck and shoulders since she’d stepped out of the elevator completely dissipated.
* * * * *
Jesse openly gaped as she belted out the sax solo, introducing the song as if she’d been doing it forever. She was comfortable onstage, oblivious of the audience. He scanned the crowd and they seemed mesmerized by this gorgeous siren as she swayed like a gentle breeze, lost in the music.
The band followed her and Jesse almost missed his queue, stumbling on the first line. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
At the end of the song, the whole room remained silent as those final few bars played on the piano. When Sam finally opened her eyes, the whistles and applause from the crowd seemed to snap her out of a spell. She jumped a little as if she was genuinely surprised to find so many people standing in front of her.
Jesse gazed at her with pride. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. The woman had instantly tripled her points on the eligibility scale for potential life partners.
And she hasn’t played in a while? Jesus!
She blushed profusely and averted her eyes from the sea of eager faces. The audience had grown significantly since she’d gotten up onstage and he was more than happy to give her the spotlight.
He thanked the band as Sam slid the sax off her neck and replaced it on the stand.
The drummer behind the kit touched her arm as she stood. “Honey, you can play my brass anytime. That was perfection.”
The band didn’t skip a beat, going straight into Dizzie’s old hit Down the Road to Sunshine as he tipped his hat in Sam’s direction with a grateful smile.
They walked back to their table and listened to most of Dizzie’s song, but after a bit Jesse couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted her alone. He was thankful no one tried to stop and talk to him on their way to the dining room.
* * * * *
The stranger sat alone in the dark corner of the bar, sipping a beer. He’d gotten all he needed. The phony pen that concealed a tiny camera was the best investment he’d made since becoming a celebrity photographer—he didn’t like the term “paparazzi”. When the other photographers who’d gotten the same lead were thrown out of the swanky bar, he couldn’t believe his luck. The manager didn’t even bat an eye at him, left him in peace to enjoy his drink.
He was going to hit the big time with the shots he’d gotten. He’d caught them locking lips, Jesse kissing her hand and several shots of them laughing and touching. The icing on the cake, though, was the video footage he’d recorded on his phone of Jesse doing an impromptu sing-a-long with the band and a duet with the woman. Those shots were gold.
Who is she?
Such private spontaneous shots of Jesse Maurello were rare. It was well-known within the business. Only a couple of years into the music scene, he had made an arrangement with a majority of the paparazzi. He would let them take as many photos of him as they wanted as long as he retained control and his private life wasn’t captured. In return, Jesse gave them as many sound bites as they wanted, and most of the photographers respected him so much they abided his wishes.
But he hadn’t made any such agreement. He didn’t give a shit. He wanted to be a millionaire and Jesse Maurello would lead him straight to victory.
* * * * *
The private dining room was intimate. Even the antique oval dining table that could easily sit twelve was simply set for two. The wallpaper was deep red with a hint of stripes and the windows were draped in heavy gold fabric. A red couch with overstuffed, matching cushions sat against one wall, and on either side were antique tables and plum-shaded lamps. The place settings were exquisite, with apricot roses as the centerpiece surrounded by tall cream candles. But Sam was drawn to the abstract paintings on the walls. She didn’t recognize the artist but thought they were very good.
Left alone, Jesse leaned across the table and claimed her lips, hungry and demanding with his tongue. When he pulled away, she moved in slow motion, eyes shut, lips parted, her head slightly tilted to the left. Upon opening her eyes, she was met with the brightest smile.
“Where did that come from?” he asked enthusiastically. “You were fantastic! Nearly blew me right off the damn stage. What else you got hidin’ underneath that dress?”
“Not much, stockings…a garter.”
“Really? Maybe I’d better check. You know, just to make sure.” He smirked and reached underneath the table, sliding his hand up the slit of her dress. He got as far as the top of her silk nylons when she stopped his hand from venturing any farther.
“Not here. That’s a little too rock star for me.” She removed his hand from her thigh and placed it back on the table.
He sighed and his bottom lip jutted in a sexy pout, but she doubted he was seriously hurt by her rebuttal.
“But, baby, you can do what you want with me when we get back to your room.”
The lustful shine returned to his eyes. “Hmmm…whatever I want?”
She nodded.
“Guess I’ll just have to wait then, huh?”
A line of waiters brought a feast on silver platters and placed them on the table. The restaurant specialized in Middle Eastern cuisine and she and Jesse had been given a little of everything to sample.
“Eat up,” he said. “You’re gonna need your strength. I’ve got plans for you.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. She was starving and wanted to soak up the alcohol from earlier. She didn’t want to miss anything and needed a clear head. This could very well be their last night together.
“So you still haven’t explained yourself. Where did you learn to play like that?” He licked his fingers clean.
“In my bedroom, mainly.”
“You’re kiddin’, right?”
“No, what’s wrong with that?”
