The Complete Groupie Trilogy Page 2

  In entertainment it was all about hitching your wagon to the right person.

  I spent the entire lunch grilling Iris and Alana on things you couldn’t find out from a press release. Within an hour I knew how the band had met, where they had performed and how they even hit Iris’s radar at all.

  Alana was the one who turned Iris onto Dreaming in Blue. She had fallen for the bassist, Iain Wallis, when he arrived in the States from England. Practically a Londoner herself, Alana knew Iain from his starving artist days in Camden. He moved to New York City in part to chase his dream but mostly to be near her, and their relationship hit overdrive since then.

  Two months after he answered the ad for Dreaming in Blue, Alana took this fledgling band’s demo to Iris in part to help her boyfriend’s band get some exposure. Mostly she just believed in the music and the group of guys brought together to create it.

  Iris was sold from the very first performance. The entire band was phenomenal, she guaranteed me, but it was Giovanni who would sell the music on a national level. Alana agreed, though not dismissing her boyfriend’s contribution at all. She could understand why someone like Vanni, as they both called him, would give them international exposure and acclaim.

  “He’s a star,” Iris concluded. “Women fall in love with him and men want to be him. It’s the perfect combination… with the talent to back it up, of course,” she sent a smile to Alana, who simply nodded.

  She believed in Iain’s talent, but again – it’s whose wagon you’re hitched to. She was savvy enough to know what his best chances for success were.

  “Okay, I’m sold,” I said as I tossed my napkin onto my empty plate. Surprisingly, even with the absence of animal fat, the meal was quite good. “Let the torture commence.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent driving around Philadelphia, in and out of several boutiques where Iris insisted upon trying to makeover my wardrobe. I held her off as best I could; I knew at this rate she’d have me purchasing luggage that I would have to check at the airport for the trip back home. I finally caved on some sexy black leather boots and a lace top which showed a lot of cleavage I typically did not break out until such an occasion called for it.

  I had two lethal weapons in my physical attraction arsenal, one of which was cleavage that could stop a clock.

  I used it with the kind of caution that kind of weapon demanded.

  It was during the makeover that Iris made sure the other weapon, my half-green, half-brown hazel eyes, were shown to perfection under a glimmering gold dusting of powder with golden brown liner.

  I looked, and felt, sexier than I ever had.

  Iris truly was magical.

  By the time we got to the club I felt as though I fit in with all the rocker babes who had turned out for the concert. They were in equally boob-enhancing outfits, or tight rocker T-shirts, with tight jeans and heels and hair teased to the ceiling. For a moment I wondered if I had stepped back in time, but then I remembered that Dreaming in Blue was mostly a cover band for 80s metal and 70s glam rock.

  They had a table set aside for Alana and Iris up in the balcony, but the girls insisted that I see the band the way the fans do – down in front. We wedged ourselves in between the squirmy, wiggling bodies to get down by the stage. The music was already so loud in the joint that it made my ribcage rattle, but in a way it was exciting to hear that primal beat thunder from the inside out.

  Iris glanced overhead at the balcony and prodded both of us to see that Jasper was taking his spot unnoticed by the fray. I couldn’t hear a word she was saying but I knew my best friend was squealing in her excitement. This was it.

  I hoped for everyone’s sake she was right.

  The lights dropped in the club and I could hear the bass thunder out a beat accompanied by the drums. That was Iain, of course, and Felix Soto – a name I remembered because it was so rock sounding and cool. They hammered out an extended intro of the song I immediately recognized as a classic metal tune from the 1980s.

  The music hit all senses like a frontal attack, with swirling lights overhead to match the frantic beat which built up the anticipation. By the time Giovanni launched into his vocal, I was screaming to see him too though I really didn’t even know why, other than they had hidden him from view for most of the intro. Shrewd, I thought briefly, as my eyes scanned the darkened stage to see him for the first time.

  He didn’t jump out of the shadows until the chorus, which he nailed vocally with a pitch-perfect wail that would have made Bruce Dickinson proud. He stood almost right in front of me, screeching into his microphone with his eyes closed, allowing me carte blanche to inspect him head to toe – which you really couldn’t avoid doing because he was only half-clothed.

  He wore skin-tight leather pants that nearly showed me what religion he was, but no shirt to cover his six-pack abs he no doubt did a thousand crunches – upside down – to maintain. His skin was tanned and golden, and his long brown hair fell like molten chocolate halfway down his back. He shook that mane full of crazy waves around his head and across his bare shoulders while he clomped around in heavy biker boots. Chains dangled from his belt loops, and he wore leather cuff bracelets on either wrist, with silver rings on each finger and nails painted black.

  Never one to fit in the pack I was totally digging his alternative look, which made him seem like a taller, more muscular, Italian version of Criss Angel.

  His eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner, which made their dark intensity even more striking when he stared out into the crowed. I was both begging to look into them and afraid to be caught in their snare as I saw lesser females around me wilt under their power.

  But it was his voice coupled with his Robert Plant/rock god persona that really sealed the deal for me. Music was his foreplay, and I was powerless to stop the seduction the minute he opened his mouth and pure velvet poured forth. When he sang a 70s hit about making love, I understood why women used to throw their underwear onstage during a Tom Jones concert.

  Giovanni was pure sex.

  Ever masterful in this art he sang that verse to every girl in the front row, standing over each of them with his thumb hooked to his belt loop, drawing attention to the promise of the bulge in his pants. When it came my turn and my eyes finally met his for the first time, my knees nearly buckled. Those brown eyes engulfed me with an intimacy so strong it was as if we were the only two people in the room even after he went on to sing to the next girl.

  Iris nudged me with a knowing smile. Now I understood. This was the seductive power that was going to make Giovanni Carnevale and Dreaming in Blue stars.

  They finished their set with an ode to girls with substantial backsides, which I found both ironic and promising. He sang the song with particular gusto, though he did not make eye contact with the girl with the fattest bottom on the front row. I know because I was waiting for it.

  Truth be told I was waiting to be ensnared into that captive embrace from the very second I was released from it. But I was starting to suspect he was either avoiding me or had overlooked me altogether amidst the crowd of screaming girls.

  Instead they finished with flourish and he bowed to all of us adoring female fans in the front row. He blew a kiss to Iris and then spared me a wink as he trotted offstage. The headliners had yet to perform but Iris was propelling Alana and I back through the throng that was crushing to get a better spot.

  My ears were still ringing as we stepped backstage. “Well?” Iris asked with a big smile.

  “What?” I joked.

  She just laughed and shook her head. “Come on.”

  The backstage area was just as noisy as the other parts of the club, and just as crowded. But Iris navigated the environment with ease and wound us through the maze right to the band in back. Alana went immediately to Iain, but Iris had other plans for me. She herded me straight toward Giovanni.

  “Vanni!” she called to him, who seemed to loom even larger in the middle of the crowded room. He turned to see who was sp
eaking, and his face lit up when he realized it was Iris. He swept her up into a huge bear hug.

  “What did you think?” he asked, as though he really valued her opinion.

  “It was great. I don’t even think the headliners will finish before Jasper comes straight to find you.”

  “Thanks,” he said sincerely with a kiss on her cheek. She turned to me, which turned his gaze on me again.

  This time it wasn’t as a performer, it was just as another person – a man meeting a woman. It made the experience strangely more intimate than when he was crooning a little too sincerely how he wanted to make love to me (and every other girl in the front row.) Now that he was just a person again the warmth of his smile easily met his eyes. “This is Andy Foster, the writer I was telling you about.”

  He smiled even brighter. “Andy, from Tennessee,” he said as he took my outstretched hand in both of his. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “Geez, Iris, what have you been telling these people?” I joked nervously. I didn’t know what to do with the butterflies in my stomach as he held onto my hand. Though well past the adolescent “crush” years, I felt flustered and inept as I stood there with this man whose amazing naked chest was at eye level.

  “All good but obviously not nearly enough,” he assured as he pulled me into a side hug. He kept me there as he talked business with Iris. “You think he liked it?”

  I glanced at Iris for the response. From the moment that Vanni hit the stage I had forgotten all about Jasper and would never have thought to look. But she would have.

  “All aces, baby,” she said with a smile. She grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “Come on; time to meet the rest of the band.”

  I was a tad irritated by the intrusion. I knew the other members of the band both from her press release and his onstage introductions. I was much more interested in what might have happened in the crook of Giovanni’s arm, especially since he didn’t seem to mind the bird’s eye view straight down my shirt.

  But I dutifully followed. If anyone knew how to present people, and when to withdraw people, for optimum effect, it was Iris. With a glance over my shoulder I could see his thoughtful eyes follow us as we went over to the other side of the room.

  Maybe she really did have a plan.

  I met Yael Satterlee, the guitarist for the band who went more Goth than I ever could have during the 1990s. His skin was pale, his eyes were rimmed black and his dark, stark hair fell down around his shoulders. I already knew that he had emigrated from Israel with his mother when he was only two, and he had spent the majority of his youth studying music at places like Juilliard. Classical gave way to commercially driven rock, especially when he fell in love with classic bands like KISS, Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.

  Felix was obviously the virtual clown of the bunch. He kept everyone laughing as he brought a West Coast easygoing nature from his time spent surfing in California. He was also the youngest, just a year older than me, and had golden blond, tan youth to make him stand out behind his drum set.

  Iain was slender and decidedly British, but with long dark tresses and the same propensity for eyeliner as Yael and Giovanni. He was also very affectionate, he loved to hug and call everyone darling, especially Alana, who stood happily within his embrace. Iris and I gave them some privacy as we went over to the bar.

  “What did you think?”

  My eyes found Giovanni, who was flirting heavily with a woman with red hair and a tight shirt. “Pretty magical,” I admitted. “You were right. They’re about to hit big.”

  She followed my line of vision. “It’s going to be very big. And Vanni is the main reason why, aside from the music. He’s going to make America fall in love with him, one groupie at a time.”

  I hid a small smile. One down. Only a billion or so left to go. Give or take.

  “I’ve got to go find Jasper. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  I nodded. I was country but I wasn’t a hick. “I’m fine. Go do what you need to do.”

  She gave my arm a quick squeeze and then vanished through the crowd – a woman on a mission.

  I was still smiling when the bartender slid a beer my way. Before I could dig any money out of my wallet a strong hand cut across my chest to lay a few bills on the bar. “It’s on me.”

  I turned right into the glistening, still-naked chest of Giovanni. My eyes shot up to his, and he hovered over my 5’5 frame with lanky grace.

  “Thanks,” I offered as I hid behind the long neck bottle.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” I wondered aloud.

  He leaned down toward me and whispered in my ear, “Great scenery during the show.”

  I caught his lopsided grin and then glanced down at my expanse of cleavage. From the suppressed laughter I knew I must have blushed at least two shades of red. “I didn’t think you noticed,” I replied as I looked away.

  “I notice everything,” he assured me. “Especially when it’s put there for me to notice.”

  I wanted to deny it but I couldn’t. Every girl knows what she’s doing when she slips into a cleavage bearing shirt. “You know what they say,” I quipped. “Play the hand you’re dealt.”

  He just laughed. “That wasn’t a complaint. I quite enjoyed the view. I wanted to see more but it was a bit like looking into the sun during an eclipse.” He leaned on the bar. “Be careful how you wield that weapon.”

  I tipped my beer toward his chest, which was now dangerously close to my own. “Ditto.”

  This made him laugh even more. “I guess we’re even then.”

  “Not really,” I answered.

  His eyebrow rose. “No?”

  I took another sip of liquid courage. “To be even I’d have to take my shirt off.”

  It was a brazen thing for someone like me to say. Not that I didn’t know how to flirt, or even be sexy, it was just never something I’d say to a half-naked man I didn’t even know.

  But if he could play havoc with my senses by being on sex overload, I could return at least some of the favor.

  His eyes deepened as he leaned toward me. “You have a point. Maybe we should go somewhere and rectify this grievous injustice.”

  This was where I should have handed him my hotel key, but I wasn’t that far out of Tennessee. I cocked my own eyebrow. “Or you could just put your shirt on.”

  He tipped me a mock salute. “Well played.” He made no move to put a shirt on, mind you, and if I wasn’t imagining things he actually scooted a little closer to me. I could barely see past those incredible eyes that were doing wonderfully sexy things to me without having to leave the room at all.

  I cleared my throat. “Besides which shouldn’t you hang around to see what Jasper Carrington has to say?”

  He gave me a sexy smirk only Bruce Willis before him could master. “Iris tells me I should always leave them wanting more. What’s more attractive than a star you can’t quite catch?”

  Indeed.

  He motioned to the gyrating crowd in the center of the bar. “Care to dance?”

  “I don’t really…” my standard protest began but he grabbed my hand in his and was already leading me through the crowd onto the tiny dance floor. It was so crowded and so tiny that we ended up plastered together, as if the glistening sweat from his earlier performance bound us together like some sort of sensual adhesive.

  I didn’t even really know how to dance, he led the motions from the moment his arms locked around my waist, with his fingertips pressed into the soft, generous curves of my backside. He ground against me in time to the music, a primal thundering beat that pulsated between the sexually charged lyrics. His eyes were locked in mine and I was glad he holding me up when he started to sing directly into my ear, because I nearly melted to the floor. His breath was warm against my neck, and I felt his open mouth against my skin. In that moment the world disappeared in a flash and I knew one inescapable truth.

  I had just been hit by lightning – and hi
s name was Giovanni Carnevale.

  With a knowing smile he slid his palm over the curve of my ass and planted a kiss on the tip of my upturned nose. Then with a wink he disappeared in the throng of people leaving me thunderstruck and frustrated with no viable means of immediate relief.

  “Always leave them wanting more,” his words drifted around in my foggy subconscious. The only thing that kept me from chasing after him was the knowledge that was what he expected me to do. So instead I sought out Alana, who stood at the bar snuggled in the arm of Iain. While we made small talk I kept an eye on Giovanni at the other end of the bar, as he chatted up Iris and Jasper.

  He completely missed my defiant avoidance.

  Alana recognized the look on my face. She nudged Iain to go join Vanni and Iris while they talked business with Jasper, and then grabbed me by the hand and led me to a nearby table. “So what did you think of the band?”

  “Great performance,” I said. “Do they have original material or do they just do covers?”

  “Covers for the moment, but they’re writing like crazy. They have almost enough for a first album, that’s why this night was so important.” She nodded her head to the other band members who had joined Giovanni, Iris and Jasper.

  As important as the meeting was all I could think about was Vanni’s full lips as he sang naughty lyrics next to my ear, his hot breath dancing along the delicate and sensitive skin of my neck. There was no denying how potent he was, which was how Iris knew he was destined to be a star.

  “I saw you dancing with Vanni,” Alana brought up as casually as one could.

  My eyes met hers. I sensed something important was coming. “It was nothing. Just a dance.”

  She laughed. “There is no such thing with Vanni,” she answered. “He’s very attractive,” she conceded as she glanced over to where he stood. “But he’s… limited.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s nearly thirty. He’s never been married. Never even been close. His relationships generally fizzle out after about a year or so, and even before then he’s always sneaking over in the next yard to find out if the grass really is greener.”