Chapter 5
Jon settled the handle to his saxophone case more securely in his grip as he eased his way through the noisy throng to Back Stage Suite A. He had been in the Collective military for many years now. He had faced civil wars, street riots, and ruthless gangs on backwater planets. But there was a new kind of tension lacing through his shoulders tonight.
Nicole and her men had clearly earned the stellar reputation they enjoyed from all corners. Somehow he fit as neatly in with them as if he had been carved by a master craftsman to nestle into their fine machinery. It was not the challenge of finding his place, or of earning their respect which pulled on him with the sharpness of a razor-edged fishing hook. It was the knowledge that it could all, within days, come to a soul-emptying end.
They would move on, and he would be left alone. He would be abandoned with the keen awareness of all he had lost.
He took in a deep breath as he reached the silvery metal door, simply emblazoned with an embossed “A” at its center. He let his breath out slowly and pressed open the door. It was a smallish room, about twelve feet by ten. Several padded chairs lay scattered around the periphery, along with a drum set, two guitars, several cases, and a collection of other miscellany.
The door eased shut behind him, and with it the din of the crowds vanished. The room was apparently well soundproofed.
Three men were already here waiting for him. Richard nodded in welcome, twirling a pair of drumsticks in one hand. “Right on time,” he offered. “A trait I appreciate greatly.” He glanced down at the case. “That looks fairly new.”
Jon nodded, giving it a gentle heft. “My parents were able to track down a classic Symborian on one of their vacations rim-ward, and they sent it along as a special present.”
Richard’s eyebrows raised. “Special indeed,” he agreed. “How does it play?”
Jon’s mouth turned up in a grin. “Like butter,” he enthused. “The man was a genius.”
Sean gave a strum on his guitar, an elegant creation of maple and rosewood. “A fine instrument should absolutely be treasured,” he agreed. “The music one could make can fill the soul.”
Jon nodded, then turned to Ian. A bass guitar sat beside him in a stand, an understated work of art in ebony. “Yours?”
Ian nodded, his eyes holding Jon’s. He stood, taking up the instrument and settling its strap around his shoulder. He began playing a slow, steady progression.
Richard smiled and moved to sit behind the drum set. The body shone with polish, the grain of the maple visible along each surface. Soon a jazzy beat was counterpointing the bass line.
Sean’s strumming rhythm eased texture and movement to the music, weaving in and out with practiced ease. Jon had his instrument out in moments, relaxing into the rhythm. The men were leaving the room wide open for him, letting him guide the jam.
He put his lips to his instrument, and in moments his horn was layering into the mixture, setting a course. The others took his lead, following with him as he wove in and out of the bass line. Intrigued, Jon made an upward motion with his sax and, as the next measure rolled around, he slid the tune up a key. The others followed with him smoothly, and Jon grinned, enjoying himself immensely. It had been a while since he’d played with musicians this talented.
From behind him, a lead guitar joined in the mix, mirroring his own melody in harmony. Jon glanced back and nodded at Stephen, welcoming him. Then his eyes moved further right, and he nearly hitched his note before he steadied himself.
Nicole was stunning. The liquid gold dress draped along each curve of her body, bringing her athletic form into perfect relief. Her hair curled at her shoulders, soft, inviting, and her full lips called to him with a power he could barely resist.
She smiled at him, sultry, knowing, and then she parted her lips. A siren’s song intoxicated his soul. She sang with a deep, rich alto, and at first she simply let her voice float, wordless, along with the flowing melody. It was as if her body was the finest instrument, and he was struck with the staggering desire to play her, to bring her to her fullest heights.
He fought to control his passions, refocusing his efforts, altering the tune slightly to segue into a well-known classic. The group slid into the song without any hesitation, and Nicole’s eyes glowed as the lyrics flowed out, rich with longing and desire. They slid into another song, then another, and the music was all there was.
A loud knock at the door brought the group to an immediate halt, and Jon shook himself at the interruption, at the sudden cessation of the divine sound. Sean went to the door, listened for a moment, then turned and nodded.
“Five minutes; we’d better get on stage,” he informed the others with a grin. “Looks like we lost track of time here.”
Jon took his saxophone from around his neck, nodding his thanks to the group. It had been a privilege to jam with them, and an experience he would never forget.
Nicole’s mouth quirked, and she moved to stand before him. “You have well proven your ability to work with our team,” she offered in a low voice, her tone rich. “We would be honored to have you on stage at our side.”
She was so close, he could feel the heat radiating from her form. The urge to reach out and trace her face was almost uncontrollable.
His voice was rough. “I would like that.”
She nodded. Then she was turning. The group moved from the quiet seclusion to the thunderous applause of the gathered throngs.
Jon knew in a remote corner of his mind that he should be nervous. There were hundreds of important people gathered in the hall before them, expecting a high quality performance. He had only jammed with these musicians for an hour at most, and had no idea what was on their set list. But from the first moment of Nicole’s announcement to the crowd of the song’s name, to Stephen’s steady intro beat, Jon was immersed. The group’s musicianship was superb. He was familiar with most of the songs, and the few he did not know, the others deftly guided him through the change with a nod or a whispered comment.
Each team member’s role in the group shone through in their playing. Richard was the steady, reliable beat that all turned to in order to keep them together. Ian’s understated, foundation bass line was always there. Sean’s rhythm guitar added texture and interest. Stephen’s lead guitar brought energy and fire.
Jon turned to Nicole, and her look caught at his very soul. Her voice purred and curled around his notes, caressing them, holding them with tender harmony before releasing them to glide to new heights. It was intoxicating. Looking out at the crowd, he could see that they were enthralled with the music, with the passion put into aural pleasure.
Applause filled the air, and Nicole leant over, putting her hand over the microphone for a moment. Her eyes shone. “I had not quite realized, until tonight, just what our music had been missing,” she murmured.
Jon’s body flared with longing, and then they were in motion again, soaring, cascading, dancing for the world to see.
Ian’s steady eyes caught his attention, and the bassist flicked his gaze toward the front row of tables. Jon waited a moment, then on the next chorus he turned slightly to see what Ian was motioning at.
It was strange he had not caught it before. Where the rest of the audience was enthralled, almost lost in the music, the three swarthy Mercodians at the front table had eyes only for Nicole. It was not a gaze of transfixed appreciation or even of raw lust. Rather, the leather-geared trio was watching her with clinical evaluation, their eyes moving from the sculpted muscles of her arm to the firm stretch of her calves.
Jon looked back at Ian and gave a slight nod. Mercodians were well known bounty hunters, ruthless and persistent. He would be sure to stay close to Nicole from the moment the last encore ended.