Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.
Howard got off the bus, wearing his best suit, with his trusty sax stowed safely under his arm. There was a fifteen minute walk from here, but the driver had assured him it was the closest stop on the bus route and Howard couldn't afford a taxi. Normally, the long walk wouldn't have bothered him but there were big black clouds in the sky that threatened yet more rain, (as though there hadn't been enough over these past few days) and Howard had forgotten his umbrella.
The man trudged along the pavement mentally rehearsing his set, when he felt a large rain drop fall on his strategically messy coiffure. This rain drop was followed by another one and another one and another, until, pretty soon, it was pouring down. He held his saxophone above his head to try and keep himself a bit dry but it wasn't working. Just as he thought it couldn't get any worse, a long white limo drove past, straight through a puddle, sending a tidal wave of muddy, oily water right over him. Howard lost it. He dropped his saxophone and ran after the limo, waving his fists, screaming and cursing like a mad man.
Much to his dismay, the limo stopped suddenly and began to reverse. Howard just stood, rooted to the spot. He couldn't run away, what would be the point? And anyway, he was so nervous he was pretty sure his legs wouldn't have moved if he'd wanted them to. The limo stopped so that the back window was inline with him and the black glass began to unwind, slowly.
'Just apologise' thought Howard, 'don't make it any worse. People who drive around in limo's are usually rich or… well, probably in the mafia. Oh god, what if they just shoot me. No Howard.' he told himself, 'don't be stupid. Just say sorry and walk away. Apologise and…'
Suddenly, Howard's thoughts were completely distracted as the person behind the tinted glass was revealed. He was the most beautiful thing Howard had ever seen. Quirky, sexy and incredibly striking. Everything Howard wasn't. This man had fabulous hair, cheekbones so sharp they could cut through steal and big blue, draw-you-in eyes.
"You know, if you take a picture it'll last longer." scorned the man.
"S-sorry" stammered Howard, blushing furiously as he realised he'd been gawping.
"Don't worry. I get that look all the time, though," he smirked, eyeing Howard up and down "it's usually from fashionable, colourful teenage girls. Now, what do you want?"
"Huh?" Howard asked, a look of complete confusion plastered across his face.
"You ran after my limo, yelling." explained the man, looking at his nails and giving a fake yawn to suggest he was becoming bored. "What did you want?" he repeated.
"Oh, erm. Nothing." Howard said, quietly.
"Autograph?"
"Why would I want your autograph?"
The man in the limo cocked an eyebrow and, as politely as he could, he enquired "Are you a retard?"
"No." cried Howard indignantly.
"Escaped from a mental home?"
"No."
"Homeless?"
"No!"
"So, why don't you want my autograph? And why are you walking around in the rain with no coat? And what's up with the saxophone case? Oh," said the man, an expression of realisation dawning on his handsome features. "are you busking?"
"No. I'm a professional musician." said Howard proudly.
"Me too. But, you knew that of course."
"No I didn't."
"But, I'm Vince Noir. Rock and roll star." Vince said incredulously. "You must have heard of me!"
"Nope."
"Flaming hell. Where've you been living? In a fisherman's welly?"
Howard grinned. "No."
"I'm one of the best musicians of all time. It says in all the best magazines; NME, The Face, Cheekbone. I can't believe you've never heard of me. In fact, I'm playing the Leeds festival today. You should come and hear me. I'm good. I'll get you a free ticket."
"It's okay, I'm going to be…"
"No, no. I insist. What's your name?"
"Really, it's fine. You see, I'm actually going to be…"
"Name?" barked Vince.
"Howard Moon." sighed the dejected man.
"Howard Moon." Vince repeated as he scribbled something on a piece of paper. "There." he beamed, thrusting the paper into Howard's hand. "Give that to a woman named, erm, Laura Blackwood or something, and she'll get you a backstage pass. You'll love it. See you later Harold."
"Howard." the older man corrected him.
"Yeah, whatever. Drive!" and with that the limo was gone.
---
Howard arrived at the festival over half an hour late.
"Where the hell have you been?" snarled Laura, when he'd finally located her in the mass of egotistic 'rock stars' that were milling around in the small field they were calling 'backstage'"And why do you look like you swam here?"
"It's raining." shrugged Howard.
"Well, you can't go on stage looking like that. Find something dry to put on."
"Where am I supposed to…?" but before he'd finished his question, she was gone (no doubt attending to some arrogant, self-loving musician, who's water wasn't quite the right temperature.) Howard hated all these music types, it was times like this he wondered why he'd ever wanted to be a musician but he knew that when he got on stage and played his sax all these feeling of hate would disappear and all it would be was him and the music. Bliss.
Howard stood dumbly, watching people with clipboards push people with instruments into various demountables marked 'changing rooms'. He watched a girl with long bright blue hair screamed "I ASKED FOR BACARDI AND COKE. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?", then he watched in disbelief as four people ran to her aid.
Suddenly, all the commotion stopped. The monotonous buzz of excited chatter ceased. The pushing, the pulling and tussling halted and everyone parted to allow the man with long hair and hypnotic blue eyes through. Howard, like everyone else, couldn't help but stare. This man was wearing a white jacket, fitted white cotton trousers and a bright pink t-shirt, which read 'What would you get if you crossed the talent of Mozart, the money of Bill Gates and the looks of Brad Pitt? - Me!'
Vince Noir strolled through the crowd of people, now and again winking, grinning or saying 'Hey baby' to a girl so that she'd blush, giggle, or more than likely, faint. But, when he saw Howard, his face truely lit up and he cried "Harold! You came! I knew you would."
Howard knew he should hate this man. He stood for everything Howard hated about the music industry, but something about the way Vince had smiled at him had made Howard's heart flutter. Then, Vince looked over his shoulder and shouted "Hey! Tommy! He came! You owe me 50." and Howard's heart sank. It wasn't seeing Howard he was happy about, it was winning his stupid bet.
Vince turned back to Howard and said "Jesus, Harold…"
"It's Howard."
"…you're soaking. Come to my dressing room. I'll see if I can find you something dry that fits you." Howard though he should say 'no' but he found he couldn't resist this man and it wasn't as though anyone else was willing to help him. So he followed obediently, ignoring the jealous looks from almost everyone around them.
---
"Try this. And, what about this? Or this? Or maybe, hmm, well you can try this and see. Oh and you can have this, it's so last week." By the time Vince had finished sifting through his wardrobe, Howard had almost completely disappeared under a mountain of clothes. Vince turned to look at him and laughed out loud at the sight of the top of Howard's head just visible over the pile of clothes on his lap, before sitting down and saying
"Have you really never heard of me?"
'God,' thought Howard 'he really is a conceited bastard.'
"No." sighed Howard, standing up so that the pile of clothes fell to the floor . He began to pick through them carefully. All of Vince's clothes, it seemed, were ridiculously tight or sparkly or both and Howard thought he was going to be hard pushed to find something decent to wear.
"But everyone's heard of me." insisted Vince.
"Not me."
"You must have, what about one of my songs?" Vince picked up an acoustic guitar which was resting against the wall and began to sing a selection of his hits, but Howard didn't recognise any of them.
"You really don't know who I am?" Vince smiled, placing the guitar back on the floor.
Howard shook his head, picking up an all in one red suit and tossing in quickly aside.
"Good, I can relax." Vince mumbled.
"What was that?" asked Howard
"Nothing." laughed Vince, sliding off the chair and picking a plain white shirt up off the floor and throwing it at Howard, who caught it deftly. "Try that, with, erm… these." he said, pulling out a pair of black cotton trousers from the pile of clothes at Howard's feet. "And I've got a tie somewhere, if you want it."
"Thanks." said Howard, gratefully accepting the 'normal' clothes. "Have you got a plain black tie?"
"Probably not." grinned Vince, "I don't really usually do plain… or black, for that matter." Whilst Vince rooted around for a suitable tie, Howard quickly got changed and was pleasantly surprised to find the clothes fitted him quite well, though they were a little more fitted than he was used to.
"Hey, what about this?" asked Vince, holding a tie above his head. "It looks like the keys on a piano."
"Yeah, that's fine. Thanks." Howard said, taking the tie.
"No problem. That look really suits you."
"Um, thanks." bushed Howard, fumbling with the tie.
"So, Laura told me you're on the bill. Why didn't you say?"
"I tried." muttered Howard angrily, as he failed to knot the tie.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing." said Howard, redoing the tie for a third time. He didn't know what was wrong with him, maybe it was the pressure of Vince watching.
"So, what music do you play?"
"Erm, Jazz."
"Urgh. Oh no. Really? I hate jazz!"
"That doesn't surprise me." said Howard, as he messed up the tie again.
"Here." laughed Vince, walking towards the older man, let me do it. "Why doesn't it surprise you that I don't like jazz?"
"I don't know." Howard said, his voice going up several octaves as he watched the other man deftly tying the piano-key tie. "I guess you're too shallow for jazz."
"Thank you." beamed Vince, patting the tie against Howard chest and loosening it around his neck.
"That wasn't a compli-. Never mind" sighed Howard. "What are you doing?" he squeaked, as he felt the top button of his shirt being undone.
"Just making you look sexy." Vince replied coolly, as he folded down the collar on Howard's shirt. All the time staring intently up at the older man, biting his bottom lip invitingly.
Howard knew his heart was pounding and he was sure he was shaking. Vince still had his arms around his neck, although he'd finished 'making him look sexy' ages ago. The smaller man was pulling Howard in, closer and closer until there noses were almost touching. Why was Vince teasing him like this? Why him? Why not one of the shallow girls that had virtually chased him to the changing room?
"Kiss me." breathed Vince, moving so that there lips almost brushed.
"W-what?" stammered Howard, eyes wide with surprise.
"You want to kiss me, don't you Howard?"
"Well, I… I mean, I"
"So stop dawdling and kiss me." Vince said, pouting a little to show he was fed up of waiting. Howard didn't need to be asked again. He leant the small distance forward so that their lips met and suddenly Vince was alive. His hands wandered everywhere. His kiss full of vigour and passion and Howard had never experienced anything like it.
Suddenly, the changing room the door flew open and the boys sprang apart. Howard knew he looked a little flustered but Vince remained cool and turned to the girl, who'd just barged in asking.
"Can I help you?"
"It's the fifteen minute warning call for a Harold Moon."
"Howard." Vince and Howard said in unison. Then Vince looked the girl up and down, raised an eyebrow and said "What you and I could do in fifteen minutes, eh?" Howard felt his stomach churn horribly as he watched the girl blush before leaving, still giggling like a school girl.
As soon as the door closed, Vince stepped closer to Howard and lowered his voice predatorily, "Or me and you for that matter."
Howard pushed him away roughly, which made the smaller man smirk "Maybe later then."
"Maybe never." frowned Howard.
"Oh I'll have you." said Vince knowingly. "You want me, it's written all over your face."
Howard opened his mouth as though to deny it, but shut it again. Vince grinned, seemingly very pleased with himself.
Happy Firework Day/ Bonfire Night, whatever you want to call it. Hope it goes off with a bang… (what a Rob Brydon style joke). Haha.
Anyway, sorry for how hateable Vince is at the moment - I may try and rectify that in the next chapter.