The setting: a well-known theater in a city characterized for its musical inclination. A compilation of local talent gathered regularly, not knowing they were experiencing the death throes of that particular scene.
Falling into promotion seemed a logical path to follow garage band days. Damira recognized the saturation while trying desperately to preserve what creative stimulation survived within the confines of foreshadowed retreat. How she happened to be at that event on that particular day faded into the haze of her memories.
But she did remember it was because He had looked familiar, like the shy guy from work who had asked her out that morning. Just over broke, the very definition of her job, which paid the bills, so she could frolic on the edges of the local music scene, and that had, after a recent robbery, lost much of its allure. And that she would meet Him at a time when she was so freshly traumatized, in such a bold assumption, colored their rapport moving forward.
Hiding behind promotional pretense, Damira had walked up, draped her arm on His shoulder, and leaned in with a careful mix of disinterest and familiarity. She watched Him speak to the fans that surrounded Him as, with barely a cursory glance, He put His arm around her waist, mid-sentence.
Something deep inside her took notice of the overwhelming comfort of the touch of His skin against hers. Damira, intrigued by this subconscious signal, waited for a pause in which He would stop and acknowledge her properly.
Was it he? Damira had wondered, second-guessing herself as Nik turned His head and said hello.
Damira felt His hand move to the small of her back. She faltered, straightening from her stance. She thought she felt Him toy with the ties lacing up her back, ties that barely held an oriental-inspired swatch of fabric, masquerading as a top, in place.
“I didn’t know You did this.” Her inflection hinted at familiarity. Her focus turned to giving away swag to the group that was slowly dispersing. She allowed Nik time to consider the person who had materialized beside Him. An immense wave of panic replaced the feeling of safety when she tried to meet His gaze. Excruciating. Delicious panic mixed with a heavy dose of testosterone as she breathed in. She had no idea He was about to take the stage.
Nik had pulled her closer. His smile hesitated, debating conversation. She could see it in the slight twitch at the corner of His mouth but what struck her most was that He smelled so good! Even amidst the smoke and mosh pit perspiration, standing so close, Damira picked up on the olfaction of His pheromones. His hand slid over her hip, pulling her gently out of His peripheral.
In just the right light, the high collared halter-top she wore that night appeared sheer. From the expression on His face, Nik stood at the perfect angle to imbibe such imagery; her silver dollar-sized nipples blushed against the pale perk of her B-cupped breasts and began to harden against the shirt from His attentions. The blush colored her cheeks and sparked like flint in His eyes, searing sensations; burning past the barricade of who she was at shows and making her feel naked beyond her clothes.
Familiar with the feeling of energy at play, Damira realized that if she could not control her response with half of His attention, there was no way she was ready to withstand a full-frontal attack. She needed space to take inventory of the ethereal shimmer that winked in the web between them. What was it about Him that created such an enticing duality of danger and shelter from the storm? Loathed to do it, Damira disentangled her hips from His grip, twisting in time with the music still playing.
“Well then, tag, you’re it.”
Smiling, she let her fingers linger on His ribs before disappearing quickly into the crowd. Nik felt the magnetic gravity as she pulled away and watched Damira dissolve into the masses with a sense that something significant had occurred. But those precious moments before loading in soon shifted His focus.
—
Confident in the photos collected, Damira buzzed pleasantly from the assault on her eardrums so close to the stage. Seeking the top-level bar, knowing it would hold better stock for hydration, she headed up the first set of stairs. The next band was one she had not yet heard, though she had a feeling they would be a rowdy bunch based on the audience reactions during sound check. Damira smirked as she listened to the quips over mic check. Surprised to see it was Nik working over the crowd as she turned the corner. He offered a resounding yawp and unexpected nod in her direction.
For the game had not been lost on Him. Damira moved on the edges of chaos, behind the barricades and under the tilt of the amps on stage. After this night, Nik would learn how to read between her lines, seeking the synchronicities that meant He would be seeing her again.
The mid-floor, designed for socialization with a raised platform in the center and tables lined up against the brass railings overlooking a pool of pugilists. One level up was the main floor, check-in, swag tables, and soundboard. Stage right led to the bathrooms, stage left to one of the busiest sets of taps in the house, and left of center was a small corridor that led to VIP seating.
Her spot was secluded enough from the general public and provided excellent sight lines without sacrificing the audible aptitude expressed on stage. Picking up her complimentary water and having a quick chat with the bartender, Damira had just enough time to draw out a cigarette as the subtle vibration of cymbals began to shiver down her spine.
On a dark dais, the drums had come to life. Build up to the bass line; a pensive percussion set the tempo for the fans, already teeming with energy. From her vantage point, Damira could faintly see the electricity that magnetized the pit. When she let her gaze slip slightly out of focus, leaning against the rails, breathing out of herself and into the air, the crowd swirled like storm clouds. The rhythm guitar brought on a false sense of calm as she watched Him count it down in His head, syncopation, keeping the chaos in check.
Was it her imagination? Had He been looking right at her just then? In Damira’s mind, the amber of His eyes captured her where she stood. The nod and smile confirmed His attentions, to be followed by a most unsettling snarl. Damira watched the storm clouds explode, transforming the dance floor into a sea of moshing madness. She took in a deep breath. His voice rolled like thunder, tumbling through the ether to crash against her shores. It smelled so fucking good! It was like He simultaneously existed both beside her and on the stage below.
Nik became lost in His symbiotic exchange. He fed off the crowd’s excitement before giving back, multiplying wave after wave of ectoplasmic energy. The entire hall seemed canopied in spider webs of spiritedness. Yet every time His eyes rose to the balcony, Damira stood captivated, present and in thrall, unable to pull away.
The perception of this moment, when taken to a higher degree, would reveal a quantum exchange as a chord wove between them. A decadence of energy sat waiting to be tapped and consumed when construed from a lower vantage point.
It was at that moment she realized He was not the person she thought she knew. The set ended. Shortly after Damira left the show, her caricature’s control tried to put the thought out of her mind as nothing more than a chance introduction spurred by mistaken identity. But when she slept, their brief interaction took on a fanciful life of its own from which she would awaken, shaken and breathless with the effect.