I'm in my regular gear as I lock my car and make my way to the stairs. My sneakers make a satisfying slap against each step of my ascent into the dim corridor. Call time isn't for another twenty minutes, but I've always found that being early makes for a good impression in this line of work. And I sure could use one of those today.
Truth be told, I'm nervous in spite of myself. It's nothing to do with him, I tell myself. Or rather, it's only to do with his reputation of being unpredictable and difficult. Even though I've had to grow a thicker skin, I don't want to be chewed out.
Mason is at the audio desk when I walk in. The empty hall makes my footsteps echo, and he looks up, still holding one side of his earphones to his head.
The stress of the job has definitely taken its toll on him. He's normally clean shaven, but I can see a shadow on his jaw. And his strawberry blonde hair looks a little duller, as though it's one step closer to grey. But all in all, he looks damn good.
"Nobody rocks backstage blacks quite like you Rose," he grins.
I twirl for him, to better display my plain black t-shirt and jeans and his grin widens. Then it disappears as he looks down at the desk.
"You need a hand?" I ask.
"Please. He already fired one crew today, and they must have messed with the levels before they left."
I raise an eyebrow. "He must have royally pissed them off."
Mason shrugs. "Doesn't matter now, I need to rebalance before I can fine tune anything. You mind?"
His eyes flick to the guitar on stage.
"Sure," I reply, already heading over.
When I pick it up, I vaguely register that I could jump rope with the strap, it's so long. But my fingers settle on the strings and I strum a few chords.
It's a beautiful instrument, with a rosewood fretboard and mother of pearl inlays that catch the light. It's the same one I saw him play at that first concert. Sentimental value?
The tone is mellow and resonant. Mason gestures for me to to test the signal range, so I walk to each side of the stage as I play. Even with my below average skill, it sounds incredible. This guitar really is something.
He holds up a hand and my fingers still.
"Mic please."
I raise a thumbs up and put the guitar back on its stand. The mic stand is a clear foot and a half above my head. I almost have to go on tiptoes to reach.
"Testing one, two. Testing one, two. A, b, c..."
The familiar routine is calming, and the rest of the crew start showing up. I wave greetings at the ones I know, walking up and down the stage to check that the signal reaches. Eventually Mason indicates I should stop.
Gerry walks out from the wings, easily distinguishable by his long beard. He's unrolling cable and looks up to nod at me. "Talent should be here for soundcheck in an hour," he reports, scepticism clear in his tone.
I thank him and turn back towards Mason at the desk, who's now been joined by about four other guys. I recognise Lewis with his full Star Wars sleeve, who's busy double checking that everything is securely taped down, while another guy is drinking a Redbull.
"Okay, it's sounding good," Mason declares. "I just need to check the levels together."
I nod again and put the mic back on the stand. I'm anxious to get started with my actual function for tonight, but something tells me Mr Belikov isn't going to be on time for sound check. At least I get to play his guitar again.
I pick it up again and sing the first song that comes to mind. Unfortunately my mind happens to be on the last time I saw this guitar in action.
"Flowers fall and fade to black
Just beyond my reach
Beauty that I cannot catch
Just like you and me"
It's one of his older songs, one of my favourites. The lyrics take me back to that night and this song in the dark, where I always swore there was a second when the lights pulsed bright and he looked directly at me.
I pull myself back to the present, where Mason has a smile on again. One or two of the guys fake a round of applause.
"Thanks Rose."
Gerry comes back out and pulls down the ladder to the lights, so I take that as my cue to get off stage. As I walk into the wings, I notice that the LED panels are already set up. Seriously, why did this guy fire a whole crew six hours before his show?
"I know you from somewhere."
My hand jumps to my chest and I spin around, accompanied by a beautiful laugh from the man sprawled across the top of some flightcases.
He has his thumb wedged in the pages of a paperback, dressed all in black like a member of the crew. But I'd know that face anywhere; it stared at me from enough posters in my bedroom as a teenager.
"Mr Belikov," I say, trying to keep my voice as professional as possible. "We won't be ready for your sound check for another 40 minutes."
"Yes. I've had a fair amount of practice reading schedules. That's why I brought a book."
His Russian accent is smooth and warm, contrasting that cockiness in his tone. Part of me can't believe that I'm standing here talking to him, but I try to keep it together. I have a job to do.
"Excellent sir," I say. "If you'll excuse me."
I'm already turning away; I don't want to push my luck. That smile says I've caught him in a good mood, but I know how quickly these things can change. I'd best be on my way.
"No."
I turn around. "What?"
"No. I won't excuse you."
His smile is unsettlingly wide and his canines come to sharp points. Strangely, I find it fascinating, and have to tear my eyes away.
"I suppose that's your prerogative."
I don't want to risk a mood swing, figuring it's best to go along with what he says. Rockstars are used to being obeyed.
He stands in one swift motion. How can someone so tall be so very graceful?
"What's your name?"
"Rose Hathaway."
He tilts his head, quite obviously appraising me. And while it's not something I'm unfamiliar with, my skin starts to prickle at his nerve. While my heart starts to wonder if he likes what he sees.
"I have a job to do, Mr Belikov," I state.
He laughs. "Call me Dimitri. And I could swear I've seen you somewhere before."
I close my eyes and take a breath to steady myself.
"Can we maybe continue this conversation while I mic you up for rehearsal?"
"Absolutely. If by that you mean you'll answer my question."
He's persistent, I'll give him that. And even though my head is preaching logic, there's a magnetism to him that appeals directly to my inner teenage girl.
He gestures for me to lead the way, but we're ahead of schedule and I need equipment.
"One second. I'll meet you in your room."
I dash back out and hop off the stage, heading towards Mason at the desk.
"All good?" he asks as I bend towards the pile of neatly stacked gear.
"Yup. Just going to mic up the talent for sound check."
I snag the familiar black case and straighten up, looking for the roll of tape to go with it.
Mason's eyebrows are raised. "He's early?"
"Yeah," I absently respond. "I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."
I've spotted the roll at the corner of the desk, and lean across to grab it. As I reach past him, Mason rests his hand on my lower back. I almost drop the tape.
"Mase." It's almost a hiss. I'm painfully aware of the other guys around. "We're working. Don't want to give anyone the wrong impression."
He gives me a sly grin. "C'mon. Nobody's watching."
"Someone is always watching. And I don't want people thinking I'm sleeping with my boss."
"Okay," he raises his hands and takes a step back. "I just figured, with dinner..."
I wince internally. Why am I the one feeling guilty? He should know better. This isn't some darkened room full of empty kit boxes.
"I'm sorry," I feel compelled to say.
"You know how I feel about you."
I swear I see one of the lighting guys look over at us from the stage.
"Mase you're important to me too, okay? But this is not the time or the place."
He clears his throat to hide his embarrassment, and I walk away. Why did he have to spring that on me? Sure, we've had some moments at the end of stressful gigs. But in private. And nothing particularly intimate at that.
Now I have to go set up the temperamental Mr Belikov in a flustered mental state. Thanks Mason.
I open the door to his dressing room, already peeling back the end of the tape, and then I look up.
Fuck. I should have knocked.
I feel my cheeks heat as I take in the view: Dimitri Belikov in his boxer briefs, holding a pair of jeans he was clearly about to change into. And he's fucking flawless.
I'm staring. I know I'm staring. I should apologise. But I'm standing here very obviously staring at him. And he can see me. His lips are pulled up in that stupid cocky smirk.
Much too late, I turn around.
"I'm sorry. I should have knocked."
His answering laugh is much closer than anticipated.
"It's okay Roza. I'm not shy."
I take a breath and face him again. He's taken a step towards me, and his proximity is making my heartbeat go haywire. I'm trying not to make eye contact with his eight pack.
"Be that as it may," my voice comes out much breathier than usual, and I try not to show that I've heard it. "I do need to clip your mic pack to something."
His smirk becomes an outright grin. "Fair point. While I get dressed, you can tell me where we met."
"Met is a strong word."
It's out my mouth before I think it through. Damn, I was going to deny it. But Mason's earlier stunt has left me off kilter.
"I knew it." He does up his fly. "Was it one of my shows?"
I cross over to the table and unzip the case. Then, grabbing the mic pack and the tape, I turn back to him.
"Relax your arms and shoulders please."
"I'll take that as a yes," he smiles as I hook the pack on the waistband of his jeans. "And judging by the song you played, it was one of the earlier ones."
I sigh, plugging in the cable for his monitor.
"It was about four years ago," I warily reply. He's demonstrated an uncanny ability to infer my meaning, or maybe I'm just that predictable. It feels a bit like I'm being x-rayed. But I shouldn't be the only one revealing secrets.
I continue. "In fact, you were playing the same guitar. Is there some significance?"
Well that wiped the smile off his face. He glances at me while I tape the cable to his spine.
"Raise your arms, check if this comes loose."
He does as he's told without complaint, and I run my fingers along the cable, checking for give.
"It was my mother's, from my home back in Russia." His voice has lost that bravado, and I find myself listening with undivided attention. "I came here with nothing but that guitar, and the hope that people would like my songs."
I feel bad for asking him something so personal. Speaking about it seems to have made him sad. So I try to lighten the mood.
"Well that's not very rock and roll."
He raises an eyebrow, but it's paired with a smile. "That's what my label seemed to think. They told me sex sells. Wanted a badboy image to go along with it."
Suddenly, I understand. "So you gave them what they asked for. And made them regret it."
My hand is splayed on his bare shoulder. Offering... comfort? Acknowledgment? I only just met him. But I feel like we understand each other.
The door opens, and my hand jumps back to the cable on his skin.
"We're ready for rehearsal when you are, Mr Belikov," Lewis says behind me.
"Thanks," he responds. "I'll be out in a minute."
"Okay, everything looks good," I say as the door closes once more. I'm about to pull away, but he reaches back and grabs my hand. Something passes between us, something tangible. Gratitude, I think. And a sense of mutual connection.
"I've never told anyone that before," he says softly. "Thank you for asking."
Then he squeezes my hand and lets go, swiftly leaving the room. I follow a beat later, a little dazed. How can I feel I know someone after one conversation?
He's on stage, ducking under his guitar strap, and I jump down and head towards the desk. I stand a respectable distance away from Mason at first, but he gestures me over.
"Rose. I got you a coffee."
I recognise the apology and take the cup, inhaling a lungful of the aromatic steam.
"Thanks Mase," I say with a small smile.
"Are we going to get started, or do you want to discuss the weather?" Dimitri says from the stage. All traces of the vulnerability I saw in his dressing room have vanished, replaced by that brusque cockiness.
Mason gestures for him to start playing, with a discreet eyeroll for my eyes only.
It's one of his latest songs, popular and generic sounding. He's 3 lines in when he motions for more volume in his monitors. Mason pushes the slider up a little.
Another few lines and he repeats the motion, and Mason glances at me. I move closer to the desk and watch as he bumps it up to -12DB.
Mason moves slightly to the side to check the levels on his guitar, then Dimitri almost yells into the mic: "Can I get some fucking volume on these monitors please?"
My hand jumps to the slider at the same time Mason's does, and I almost as quickly step back to avoid touching him. I look up in time to catch Dimitri's calculating look between us.
"Let me go double check the cables," I say, rushing up onto stage.
Dimitri glowers as I approach, and reaches back to pull his shirt out the way. He steps away from the mic.
I'm busy checking the connection when he speaks in a low voice.
"Are you two together?"
I'm still fiddling with the bottom of the cable, so I don't answer.
"The monitors are fine. I just wanted to talk to you."
"You what?" I hiss. "You're wasting time!"
"I thought we were early?" he shoots back. "Are you with him?"
"No," I reply. "Not that it's any of your business. I agreed to get dinner with him this week. But we're not dating."
He absorbs this in silence. Then, "Okay. So I don't have to fire him."
"Har har. Can we please get on with practice now?"
I get an answering smirk.
"Sure."
We carry on, and there are no further interruptions. But for some reason I hang back from the desk now. I just want to stay out of Mason's way, I tell myself. It's totally not because it almost sounded like Dimitri was jealous.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this chapter, or if you didn't and would like to tell me why, please leave a review. It's always great to hear your thoughts, even if I'm not always the best at responding. And don't let the two whole updates so far fool you: I post sporadically at best. So if you'd like to keep in the loop, feel free to favourite and follow.
TheVA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.
