Judging from the admiring looks she got as she walked over to the address Father Gregory had given her, others thought her extra effort had been worth it as well. Megan didn’t mind the attention as much as she usually would have. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy her newfound sensuality.
She was a little surprised at how close the building where she was to collect money was to the main stage. By six o’clock, people had already staked out their seats.. A raucous party atmosphere prevailed. Young people in minimal clothing abounded, drinking copious amounts of beer, playing Frisbee and football, listening to loud music. From the front door of the condominium building, Megan was exactly even with the main stage. She imagined how loud it was going to become when the concert began at eight.
She didn’t have that long to wait for loud rock music. A warm-up band began playing at six thirty. The heavy-metal thrash band worked the crowd into a feverish frenzy of excitement. Megan watched in half-amusement and half-concern from the lobby, as two Chicago police officers marched away two manacled, shirtless men who had been fighting. From the way both men staggered and swayed, she s
urmised that alcohol played a big part in their sudden animosity for each other.
“Father Greg didn’t mention that I’d have to listen to this racket when I agreed to help out,” Carol Brunson, an elderly woman who was a newer member of St. Cat’s Parish, mumbled under her breath. But she smiled brightly when an attractive, thirty-something-year-old man came over to their table and gave Megan a forty-dollar donation along with a flirtatious smile. “I’ll also tell Father Greg how having you sit at the table increased our donations by at least a hundred percent. There must be close to a thousand dollars in there!” Mrs. Brunson insisted with saucer-sized eyes as she pointed to their collecting box.
“Do you think so?” Megan wondered. Then she noticed another large group of people go up the elevator with one resident, and she laughed. “Even if each home owner only gives twenty dollars, they’re getting some premium entertainment at their party for very cheap.”
“Premium entertainment? That’s what you call this racket? And can’t you hear the things they’re singing, Megan? You of all people shouldn’t be exposed….why, I can’t believe Father Greg allows it. And did you hear the name of the headline group? Some kind of kinky name, like Whip Her Down. I tell you, it’s disgraceful. But look at all this money. What do you want to bet we collected more than any of the other groups?”.
She suppressed a laugh at Mrs. Brunson’s segue from moral outrage to fiscal enthusiasm. “I’m just glad Father Gregory is sending over professionals to take it. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for transferring it in this crowd.”
This started off another of Mrs. Brunson’s tirades, this one concerning the sad state of youth today.
“Why, just look at that girl right there, would you?” She nodded out the lobby doors.
Megan turned absently and noticed a young, blonde-haired woman wearing a pair of shorts that revealed the bottom curves of her buttocks and a cut-off T-shirt. Although the condominium residence had hired two security guards to keep the crowd from loitering in the entrance area, they’d apparently appreciated the sight of the young woman gyrating in front of them too much to ask her to leave. As the girl danced around sensually to the relentless beat, Megan saw that she was actually very pretty and heartbreakingly young. She was also extremely drunk, high, or both.
“See what I mean?” Mrs. Brunson whispered with a pointed glanced of disapproval.
At ten minutes after eight o’clock, the crowd was getting wilder by the second judging from the increased volume level and the pockets of chants that started up and waned as people waited for the main act to begin. The traffic through the lobby had slowed down considerably as people remained fixed in their seats in anticipation. Megan had just sorted the money they’d collected neatly in the box and closed the lid when the band was being announced.
“I knew I was right—some S&M thing—Lash Her Down,” Mrs. Brunson said, clearly scandalized.
The applause was so thunderous that Megan couldn’t even hear a thing for thirty seconds after the introduction. Eventually, she heard the opening notes of the music. They were obviously starting out with a crowd favorite, because the audience roared again with approval. Megan found herself moving her foot to the hard, vibrant beat that was no less aggressive than the previous band had been, but that sounded far more sophisticated and skilled to Megan’s ears.
“They’re good,” Megan admitted to Mrs. Brunson. The guitarist was alternating between coaxing wild, funky sounds out of his instrument to fingering it with superhuman clarity and rapidity. It was like nothing Megan had heard before, but the sound was strangely familiar, too.
Then she heard the raspy, resonant voice and her foot stilled.
“What’s wrong, Megan?” Mrs. Brunson wondered, seeing her frozen expression.
“Nothing. Do you mind if I go out for a minute and listen to the band?”
“Of course not, dear. They’ll be here to pick up the money in a minute anyway. You go enjoy yourself. This band isn’t half-bad, but I could do without the kinky references.”
Megan wondered vaguely what Mrs. Brunson would think if she told her that the kinky references were coming completely from her own mind. The night had cooled off nicely since she’d been indoors. The security guards for the condominium nodded to her when she came out, but didn’t stop her from standing in the entry and watching Lasher Down from a prime viewing spot.
Why hadn’t he told her he was going to perform?
The second thought that broke through her fog of shock was that she now understood how Christian could eat as much as he did and yet stay so whipcord lean. The song was boisterous and stormy; the lyrics were moody. Christian epitomized the music. He was always in motion. His singular voice belted out with raw, rough power one moment and strummed softly the next, always in perfect counterbalance to the driving beat of the band.
She could see him surprisingly well from where she stood. He wore his typical casual, low-rise jeans that fit his long legs and slim hips to perfection. At the end of the final refrain, he bowed his back as he held a long final note. Megan admired the way his strong throat convulsed around his voice, controlling the vibrations with such meticulous precision. The bottom of his dark green T-shirt rose up to show a flat, bronzed abdomen and the masculine strip of hair that she’d traced with her finger just last night.
The drummer crashed down resoundingly on the last note. Megan blinked as it broke the spell.
The audience’s approval was deafening. Seth immediately led the band into another hard driving anthem that had the entire audience standing, clapping, and dancing. The young woman she had watched from the lobby was shaking it shamelessly. Megan found herself being easily swept up by the energy of the band. None of the members of Lasher Down gave half measure, Christian least of all. By the end of the rowdy second song, his hair was soaked at his nape and his T-shirt was visibly becoming wet.
Christian must have thought she was an idiot for not knowing who he was. She could easily understand why the media would eat him up. He was utterly mesmerizing—a natural showman. He exuded sexuality.
At the break in between songs, Christian greeted his old neighborhood and it responded with wild applause. He teased the people in the high rises for watching the show for free. People in the balconies and terraces from eight blocks around cheered loudly while the ground dwellers jeered. Christian jokingly admonished the sky dwellers by dedicating the next song to them, called Cheap Thrills.
The crowd immediately settled down at Seth’s opening notes for the fourth song. It had a slower tempo, but was no less muscular than the previous songs. When Christian began to sing, his performance was closer to the bluesy, moody style that she’d heard him perform at Emilio’s the other night. Megan was amazed that almost the entire crowd knew the lyrics and sang along with him.
The song captured the definition of longing, distilled the meaning of mourning. The refrain beseeched the singer’s lover to hear his words of forgiveness, to acknowledge his love. But in the end, the singer lamented that while those in heaven may hear, they have no speech with the living, and while he can speak of his regrets, he does so in solitude.