▪️Saturday, December 19th, 2017▪️

▪️Los Angeles, CA▪️

The run-through Neil and Angie go over before the show brings out the caveman in me again. I ball my hands into fists. I wish I had a place to run through a Tai Chi flow. Instead, I use the breathing techniques Master Chang taught me to slow my frenzied blood. I'm better than this. It's a show, just a show. But the way they jump around from song to song, from piano to guitar to both, and the performance they put on, will leave no doubt in the audience's mind that these two are more than just singing.

The Whats take the stage, and Angie makes her way to the now cordoned VIP seats I'm forcing myself to stay still in. I've never been this close to the stage and if I could sell droplets of sweat on the black market, I'd be able to collect a fair amount at this distance.

"Enjoying the view?" She cozies up to me on the folding chair. Her skirt and what looks like a longer pushup bra sparkles as a perfect Christmas outfit should.

I run my eyes over her face. Even with the stage makeup, she's breathtaking. "I am now." I cringe at the phrase that left my mouth. But when it's the truth-it's the truth. "You do this run-through every time before you perform?"

"Sort of. This is the first show at this venue, and we have to do the full-on check and figure out where we stand and how to move, but other days it's shorter, unless something didn't work out during the performance, and we have to decide on new moves or order. I'm confident we have this one in the bag."

"It looked like you had fun." I glance at the stage where The Whats continue with the barrage of drums and bass. Neil's fingers fly on the neck of his bass guitar. He's wearing a ragged A-shirt that's more holes than cloth and leaves his tattoos on display—something Mom was vehemently against when I wanted a tattoo as a teenager. Once I had the freedom to do it, I was no longer letting myself do anything that was not the reflection of what a perfect Mike would do.

"It's fun, but it's also work. Fun work? Work fun? Whichever way you look at it, it's demanding and rewarding, exhilarating and draining." She massages her injured pinkie. "Not what I've expected and so much more. I still pinch myself every time I go on stage with these guys, when people sing along with me, when they know the words better than I do, when my merch table is half-empty at the end of the night."

Angie's face reflects the emotions she's trying to express, and it's not the glitter of golden makeup, but the cartwheels I see her do inside her head every time she describes how performing makes her feel. "You love it?"

She rubs her hands together and doesn't reply. There's more to her silence, and I want to know what it is.

"Love it too much or not enough?"

Angie leans her head on my shoulder and threads her arm through mine. "It's not about love. I've always enjoyed the performance part of it. The songs reaching people and stirring the emotions I put in the words and the melodies, that's what I love. The stage is the wrapper I need to deliver the chocolate-covered caramel of my creations to the audience."

"Being the wrapper is not what you're after?"

She hugs my arm tighter. "There are rules, paths I can take in this industry. I took the songwriting path before, and it didn't work out. The singing took me further. It got me to where I can share my songs with arenas full of people. If that's the way I get the world to hear my songs, then that's what I'll do. No one said there aren't going to be sacrifices along the way."

Her words are not the ones in my head, but they are too familiar for me not to recognize the rhetoric. Sacrifices. Abandoned dreams. Never would have I guessed Angie is doing this as option B. That songwriting was her plan A. That she abandoned it, instead of struggling to follow through.

"This one is our collaboration." She points at the lead who returns the mic into the stand and lowers his head. The intro was built to draw everyone's attention to the singer. The rapid beating of the drums through which the solo voice hums, swells into a wild 'Ah' as the lights come on and it becomes a roar.

The lyrics talk about the hidden paths we don't know about until we crush through the surface, fall to what we think is our death, only to discover the world that transforms us into new beings, and when we're called back to the surface, when helping hand stretch down to get us back to the normal, we watch them cry as we refuse to return, and follow the new path, the one we secretly always knew existed for us.

The light dims and the last note dies.

"You wrote this for them?"

"With them. We have a couple more in the works, and I think I have one more they'll like. Their aesthetic fits some of my older, angstier poetry, and they love my perspective. The daily writing sessions didn't make me a morning person, but I'd forgo sleep any day to create a song this powerful."

Whatever was missing in our discussion about her performances is in this conversation in spades. I hear her desire to write songs, and even though she did not say those exact words out loud, the meaning is there. "Can't you write songs without singing them?" The stage empties and the light people test spotlights and move between shades of blue to find whatever they are after.

"I told you. I tried. No one wanted me."

"These guys want you. If you have them use your songs, that's an endorsement right there."

She takes her arm away from mine. "Maybe."

"Angie. R'you coming?" Poppy, the woman who performed at Thanksgiving bash waves Angie over.

"Let's go." She gets up. "I'll get you to meet the guys. They're dying to see you up close."

I follow Angie to the door that leads backstage. The security guard examines the card on my neck, and we go through.

People are everywhere. How many does it take to run this show?

"This way." Angie weaves between the crew members she says an occasional 'Hi' to and drags me into a large room with couches, some dressing tables, and a corner full of food and drinks.

The group is there and although I'm not a fan, I've looked them all up. All but Neil get up and shake my hand.

"Fancy seeing you again." Poppy's the last to grab my fingers. "How are you enjoying LA so far?"

"Not too bad for my first day back." I throw a glance at Neil, but he's looking anywhere but me.

"Back?"

"Yeah. Used to live here as a kid."

"An Angelino."

"Not anymore. Chicago is my home. I'm not planning to move back here."

"So you're set on the whole long-distance thing?" Her eyes travel to Angie who's fixing her makeup at one of the dressing tables and popping another mint in her mouth.

"I am." I've seen her crunch one before we left the hotel. She's singing close to Neil, but it's not like they're kissing. "Once she's back to Chicago, I'm hoping for a bit less of that."

"Luv." Poppy puts her hand on my shoulder. "My wife and I see each other less than half of the days in a year. She used to travel with us, but now that we have little kids, that's not that easy anymore. I last saw her almost three months ago. That's more of a norm than not, when we are on tour. You must remember that. You're with a musician. It's a lot of time on the road. Until she makes it big, the schedule isn't even much under her control. It is what it is."

She sounds like she's on my side, but at the same time, I sense the condolences in her voice. She's confident Angie'll make it big, that's great. She's also confident her and I won't last. I choose to disagree.

Poppy gives a final squeeze to my bicep and leaves me to observe their preparations. I make it to the refreshments table. Lunch was six hours ago and even without exercising I'm starving. The spread features finger sandwiches, protein shakes, and bars, nuts, vegetables, and fruit. It's almost a too healthy of a display for a rock band. Where do they hide the drugs and alcohol because this must be for public eyes. Are the wild parties after the show?

Angie makes her way back to me. The uncomfortable tension in the air calms when she gets near, plucks a grape from my hand and pops it into her mouth. Her lips close around her finger, and the space under her cheeks hollows giving me flashback to them closing around other body parts.

"Hungry already?"

"Always." I'm constantly hungry for her, and her nearness makes that more obvious. I can't imagine a guy who won't have this visceral reaction to her. No wonder the audience adores her.

I wait for her to echo my sentiments. Angie sits down on my lap instead and plants a demure kiss on my. . .nose. Not the reaction I was looking for. I feel the stares of the others in the room, and I get it. She's not going to put on a show for them before they play, but my desire to stake my claim, to point out to them she's with me overpowers my rational brain. I put my hand on her waist and draw her near to return kiss is on her neck, right under the large gold hoop decorating her earlobe.

"We're celebrating tonight." Angie's voice is only loud enough for me to hear. "Everyone's going to a bar and maybe a night club. The guys got invites to some spots I'd never be able to get in on my own."

"We don't have to go," I say. "If you'd prefer to spend time alone." Alone time is what I want. I want her all to myself.

Her sheepish expression tells me she wants to go. "I'll catch up with the guys after our break—"

"I'd love to join." I want to do want she wants to do. Angie shifts to sear the skin of her arm to mine. "If I'm not going to drag the party down."

Angie hugs my neck, and this time her kiss is on my lips. A polite peck of a giddy girl, but I take it. "We get to dance together. It'll be fun."

Far from the fun I'd imagined for but any activity in Angie's company is one I want to be part of. We sit and eat and eavesdrop on the band's conversation about the celebrities that'll be attending tonight, the bar and club hopping plan their publicist arranged for them, and the shared anticipation of seeing their families for the holidays. Neil's the only one who remains silent.

The stage assistant announces it's time for Angie and Neil to get ready, and she gets off my lap. "I'll be looking for you in the audience," she says and runs her hand along my forearm.

We walk to the door. That's when I notice Neil looking at me, disappointment evident in the set of his jaw and the unsmiling stare. I'm happy to be the cause of his bad mood.