A Different Kind of Forever

Chapter THREE

ON FRIDAY NIGHT, they piled into Sue Griffen’s Suburban and inched their way into the parking lot of the Fleet Bank Arena. The younger girls had been in a frenzy all afternoon. They had arrived at Diane’s house after school with armloads of outfits and spent hours screaming, laughing and arguing the merits of each article of clothing. Diane vetoed Megan once and Emily twice. She had no control over what the other girls wore, but her own daughters were not going anywhere in anything too tight or showing too much skin. Sue brought over boxes of pizza, and sent her own oldest daughter home to change. Diane chewed pizza, and put on jeans and a white tee shirt under a black leather blazer. She brushed her hair, refreshed her mascara and lipstick, and they were off.

She had gone on the Internet the night before and typed in the name of the band. The number of sites available shocked her. She read reviews. The first album eight years ago had been a stunning breakthrough, nominated for five Grammy Awards, winning two. The last album was considered their best yet. She read a few interviews. The band mates had nothing but respect and affection for each other, and there wasn’t even a rumor of back-biting. There were sites dedicated to individual members, Joey Adamson having a large, rabid following of women who speculated in chat rooms about everything from the state of his marriage to the size of his penis. Seth Bascomb had been engaged six times to six different women. The Martone brothers, Monty and Phil, were happily married to sisters and their children were born three months apart.

The pages for Mickey Flynn were mostly divided between women of all ages who wanted to either knit him a sweater or have wild with him sex on stage. He was also widely discussed as a songwriter, with a few fan sites devoted entirely to that aspect of his life. Although the band received credit as a group for all original material, Michael did most of the writing. Before he had joined them, the band had been called Mitchell Street, and they had been known as an R&B cover band. Once Michael came on board, and they began to play his original material, things had taken off.

The current tour was considered a financial and critical success. Their concerts were called old-fashioned block parties, with everyone up and rocking. The new material was well-received, but also included plenty of old favorites, and at the end of every show, Mickey Flynn would tell a story. It had apparently started when the band went on their first major tour. They had no material for a second encore, so Michael had gone out and told the crowd one of the funnier stories of the road, then sat down and played an old blues number that no one had ever heard of, but had received a standing ovation. After that, every concert ended with a story and a song from Mickey Flynn.

Diane had not seen a concert in years, and had never been to the Arena. She dutifully showed a red-shirted security guard her ticket and pass, and they were lead through the swarm to the center section, second row. The place was massive, the stage looming before them. Speakers were everywhere, a giant screen across the back of the stage. They had all gotten programs, and she bought her two daughters’ tee shirts. She and Sue settled into folding seats, keeping an eye on their charges.

“We should have roped them all together,” Sue said, directly into her ear, and Diane nodded with a grin. They could easily get lost in the vastness of the arena. She couldn’t imagine how they were going to get backstage.

She heard someone calling her name, and turned to see another security person. He was very tall and broad, with several earrings and a ponytail. She stood up and moved to the end of the aisle.

“Are you Diane?” The guard yelled into her ear.

She nodded, and the guard stuck out his hand.

“Michael is worried you guys will take a look around and give up on coming backstage.”

She shook his hand. It was huge. “I was thinking about that, actually.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry. After the lights come up, just stay in your seats, okay? I’ll come and get you. You follow me back.”

“Thank you very much,” she shouted.

“Thank Michael.”

Sue looked at her, questioning, as she made her way back into the seat. When Diane explained what the guard had said, Sue lifted an eyebrow.

“That’s pretty considerate of him, isn’t it?” she asked.

Diane nodded. She had not told Sue about their dinner. She had not told anyone. She wasn’t sure how to explain it, exactly. It was only a dinner, but he had been on her mind for a week, his smile, his kiss, and she was anxious about seeing him again. The arena was filled, the buzz of the crowd intense. The lights flickered. The screaming started, and the clapping in time. There was no opening act. The house lights went down, the stage blazed with light, and the band walked on.

The cheering was intense, a wave of sound that Diane could feel pressing behind her. Her own daughters were screaming, clapping. Diane stood with them, applauding, watching as Michael came on stage.

He was behind Seth Bascomb, a tall black man with a shaved, beautifully shaped head, in red leather pants and a white silk shirt. Michael wore jeans and a short-sleeved Sponge-Bob tee shirt. He walked up steps to the keyboards, waving once to the audience. Diane had been holding her breath. He had seemed dwarfed by Seth, who was at least six feet tall. The equipment seemed to loom around him. His head was turned, speaking to Joey Adamson, who was settling behind the sprawling set of drums.

Seth Bascomb was standing before the microphone. He held up his arms and yelled, “It’s great to be home!” The crowd roared in response. Monty Martone slipped the strap of his guitar over his head. His brother, Phil, did the same with his bass. The brothers were very much alike, slight, long blonde hair, in jeans and open-necked shirts. Seth waited as the crowd began to quiet down.

“Me and the boys are glad to be here. It’s been a bitch of a tour, but we promise tonight will be a blow-out.” The crowd started up again. Seth was grinning. He looked back at Michael and said something. Michael grinned in response and nodded. Joey Adamson, long hair flying, began a tap on the drum. Phil Martone picked up the beat. The keyboards began, and Michael began to sing.

Diane had heard the music before, of course. All three of the band’s CD’s had been copied to all available iPods and other players. They even had their own station on Pandora. She knew Michael’s voice. It was deep and pure. Seth Bascomb sang with him, higher, a rock and roll voice, rough and sexy. The band was all about good-time rock. The music was fast and furious, heavily influenced by R&B. They played their own music, of course, but covered Chuck Berry, Credence Clearwater Revival,and Springsteen. The crowd never sat down. They were up, dancing and moving, hands clapping. Diane was amazed at the quality of the sound. The performance was infused with drive and energy. Michael no longer appeared lost. The moment the music began, the blast of his personality blew across the stage and into every corner of the arena. She found, much to her surprise, that she was having a lot of fun.

There was camaraderie on stage that was a joy to watch. Seth was everywhere, sometimes playing rhythm guitar, singing solo, backing up Michael. He was the star, and everyone knew it, but Diane could not take her eyes off Michael. He seemed to be having a blast. More than that, he was obviously a serious musician who gave one hundred and ten percent of his talent to the audience.

Halfway through the concert, Seth stood before the mike, arms out, waving the audience to silence. Other members of the band drifted off-stage. Michael came back onstage with an electric guitar, and he and Seth did a few numbers together. Michael’s playing was big and bluesy. His voice and Seth’s melded beautifully. Then Michael walked offstage, and the Martone brothers came back. They did a number with Seth, a ballad, one of their biggest hits.

The second set began, Michael on guitar for most of the numbers. For their encore, Michael sat behind the keyboards and Seth sang “Great Balls of Fire”, as well as one of the bands’ first hits. Seth took a bow, and the stage lights went off, and Diane could hear the crowd chanting. The stage remained dark, but no one moved from their seats.

Diane looked expectantly up at the stage. She could hear the crowd more clearly now. Tell a story. Tell a story.

A single spotlight lit center stage and Michael stood alone. He had changed to a plaid, button down shirt, and sweat was pouring down his chest, fabric clinging to his body. He put his hands in his front pockets and said into the mike, “I’ve got a four year old niece who says the same thing every time I see her.”

Laughter, and then the crowd got quiet.

“Well, tonight I’ve got two new stories for you.” There was a burst of applause. Michael grinned. “That’s what you get for being the hometown crowd.” The applause rolled again, died down. “I’ll start with Max. I have a dog named Max. We never figured out what he was, exactly. We think part Irish wolfhound and part Alaskan brown bear. He was a gift from this woman I knew for a while.”

“Gretchen Miles,” someone yelled from the audience.

“Bitch,” someone else yelled.

Michael shook his head. “Man, you guys are harsh.” More laughter. “Anyway, the only real people food Max ever ate was pastrami, because my niece fed him about a half a pound of the stuff one afternoon.” Diane took a quick intake of breath as the audience laughed. “And from that moment on he could smell pastrami from a mile away, and whenever he did he went crazy.”

He took his hands out of his pockets to pull the front of his shirt away from his chest. “So, last week, I’m back home and I figure I’ll take Max out to Bloomfield Park. I got the Frisbee, I got tennis balls, we’re ready for anything, you know? So, we’re on the ball field, the park is practically empty, we’re having this great old time, and suddenly the wind shifts. Max freezes, and takes off like a shot and I know, man, I just know.” He paused and dropped his voice. “Shhhiiiit. It’s pastrami.”

Diane sank lower into her seat as Sue hit her excitedly on the arm.

“So Max is flying, and I am pounding after him, and there’s one, lone woman, sitting at a picnic table, eating a sandwich.” Laughter. “I yell, ‘he wants your sandwich’, and the woman jumps up on the picnic table, and she sticks out her hand and Max leaps like a gazelle, gets the sandwich, and it’s gone .” The audience started to clap and cheer. Michael was shaking his head, one hand on his hip. “So I’m looking up at this woman.” He got in closer to the mike, and dropped his voice again. “Sensational legs.” Diane glanced over at Emily, who was open-mouthed. “And this great tattoo right above her ankle.”

The crowd roared and hooted. Diane felt the blood drumming in her ears.

“Since she didn’t say anything about suing me,” Michael went on, “I bought her lunch and invited her to the show.” He shaded his eyes and looked down at them. “Are you girls having a good time?”

Megan, Emily and all their friends shrieked and waved excitedly. Michael nodded.

“Good.” He turned to the stage hand that had walked onstage with another microphone and an acoustic guitar. “Thanks, man.” He slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted the mike.

“Now I’m going to tell you all about my sisters. I have three, all older, and they were all into music, and I spent my whole childhood sneaking into one of their rooms, and listening to whatever they were listening to. That’s how I began to love music. That’s when I decided to make it a part of my life.”

His voice had dropped, grown softer, and Diane could feel everyone leaning in, straining to hear.

“When I was five, I started taking piano lessons, because everyone in my house took piano lessons. But I wanted to play guitar. Angela, my youngest sister, was taking guitar lessons. I made a deal with my Dad that I’d go to my piano lesson like a good little boy, if I could also go with Angela. So she took me along with her, I’d sit in the corner and listen, then we’d go home and practice together, and that’s how I learned to play the guitar. Angela had this big, old Lennon-McCartney songbook, and we learned every song.” The crowd burst into applause. As they quieted, he went on.

“My sisters all loved the Beatles, especially Paul. I would play and they would sing along. And that is just about as perfect a memory you could have.” He had been looking down as he spoke, his hands folded over the curve of the guitar. He suddenly lifted his eyes and his smile went out across the audience. “I had forgotten. Diane with the sexy tattoo reminded me. I want to thank her for that. So this song is for the Carlucci girls, who are responsible for so many of the good things in my life.”

He began to play ‘And I Love Her.’ Diane felt a rush of tears to her eyes, and she clamped her hand to her mouth. Michael’s voice was deeper than Paul McCartney’s had been, and he sang the words slower, not to a lover, but with gratitude and a touch of sadness. The guitar had a different touch, but still exquisite. When he was done he quietly said good night, and the stage went black, and a deafening roar went to the ceiling and Diane sat dumb, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The house lights went on suddenly, and Diane blinked against the brightness. She wiped tears off her face and turned to look at Sue.

Her friend shook her head. “Oh. My.God. You have just become a piece of NinetySeven history. The Web is going to be on fire with this.”

Diane looked past Sue to Megan further down the row. She was talking excitedly with Becca and Joann. Then Diane turned her head toward Emily. Her other daughter was staring at her.

People were beginning to move. She felt a tug on her sleeve. Megan was reaching over.

“Mom, are we going backstage?”

“Yes. Wait for the guy. Yes, we’ll go.” Her breathing was returning to normal. She fingered the pass around her neck. In minutes, the arena had become chaotic. She was being pushed, jostled. They waited ten, fifteen minutes. She saw the security guard waving to her. She and Sue herded the girls together, and they followed him as he shouldered effortlessly through the crowds. They went around to the side of the stage, then through a series of doors, until they were in a long corridor. There were people everywhere, all with passes dangling from their necks. They turned a corner, and there was Michael.

He was leaning against the wall, his head tilted back as he drank from a large bottle of water, a white towel draped across one shoulder. A man was standing beside him, talking intently. Michael pulled the water bottle away from his face and the water spilled over his face and neck. The man was still talking, but Michael was shaking his head, turning away from him. He caught sight of Diane. He smiled and wiped his face with the towel.

“Hey.” His body seemed drained, his face white and pinched. “You all have fun?”

Diane took a deep breath, smiled and put her arm around Emily. “These are my daughters, Emily and Megan.” Megan crowded against her mother’s side

“Hello. I’m Michael,” he said easily. They immediately started talking. They gushed about the show, the music. They introduced their friends. Sue Griffen stood quietly, watching her friend. Diane’s eyes never left Michael. He did not look at her, just concentrated on the young girls, flirting just a little. He could really work a crowd, Sue thought. It also seemed to her that he was very aware of Diane, and when he finally turned to her, their eyes met and Sue could feel a jolt. Holy shit, she thought to herself.

“Come on back.” His voice was very light. “There are a bunch of people here, lots of food.” He reached toward Diane, his hand catching her arm, sliding up to her shoulder. Sue pursed her lips. Michael moved his hand to the small of Diane’s back, and they walked into a noisy, crowded room, people everywhere, and the smell of food. The girls bunched together, and Sue moved them toward a long table set against a back wall, laden with platters and steam trays.

Diane felt his hand on her back. She half turned toward him and rested her hand lightly against his chest.

“You look exhausted,” she said softly. “Are you sure you want us here?”

His eyes focused on her sharply. “Yes, I want you here. What did you think of the show?” His eyes were very close and serious. His hand left her back, and he was running his fingers lightly down the back of her arm. Diane’s hand went to the collar of his shirt, and she brushed her fingers across the smooth V of skin at his neck.

“You were fantastic. I never thought it would be so much fun.” She broke into a grin. “The music was amazing, and you’re a great storyteller, Michael. And talking to Meg and Emily like that, it was very generous of you.” She moved slightly, and now she was facing him squarely, their eyes level, and as she spoke, she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, and she could feel the pounding of his heart, the heat of his skin through the damp fabric of his shirt.

“Generosity had nothing to do with it.” His hand was under her blazer, resting on her hip. He pulled her closer. She touched his lower lip with her finger tip. It was full and very soft. He was smiling at her, looking tired and very young.

“I was scoring points. I figured if I did good, maybe I could see you sometime tomorrow.”

Diane felt her heart start to race. “I would love to see you tomorrow.”

“I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll call.” He had dropped his hands from her and put them into his front pockets. Our faces were too close, she thought. She didn’t want her daughters to see. But she did not step away.

“I thought about you a lot this week,” she said.

“I thought about you, too. Your friend Sue seems nice.” Michael said. His breath warmed her ear and neck, and her hand plucked the front of his shirt. “So, no boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. The men my age seem to want women who are, well, your age.”

He laughed softly. “Then men your age are fools.” He reached to brush the fall of bangs from her forehead. His fingers trailed through her hair, touching her cheek, and when she turned her head, he held the curve of her face in his hand.

Diane forced her hands at her sides and took a half-step away from him. He reached inside her blazer again, to pull her back to him, but she caught sight of someone, coming behind him, and stepped back quickly as a woman came up, smiling and holding out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Denise, Mike’s sister. You must be Diane.” She shook Diane’s hand warmly. “He told us about you. God, I wish I could have seen it, that damn dog running you down. What a riot.” She was attractive, friendly, and looked very much like Michael. “I just met your friend and all the girls. Your daughters are lovely. Did you like the show?”

“It was great.” Diane was grateful that her voice sounded so normal. She put her hands into the pockets of her blazer. “These guys are terrific.”

“You bet. But we have you to thank for bringing down the house, and reducing all of us to tears. Mike usually doesn’t get so sentimental on stage. Marie is still recovering.” She kissed her brother. “Mike, be a good host, let her get something to eat.” She turned back to Diane, shaking her head. “He’s suffering from post-concert brain freeze. It happens every time. Come with me. Have some food. He’ll get in gear in a few minutes.” She took Diane’s arm and drew her into the room.

Diane allowed herself to be led. She met Michael’s oldest sister, Marie, who was close to her own age. She couldn’t meet the other sister because, Denise explained, Angela was home with a sick little girl. Diane started shaking hands. There were husbands, and then cousins. Members of the band – Seth Bascomb, tall and smiling, Joey Adamson oozing charm as his blonde wife clung to his arm. Denise finally excused herself, asking Diane to stay as long as she liked. Diane thanked her. Sue came and stood beside her, and they tracked the six girls across the room as they moved like a small herd.

Diane kept glancing toward Michael. He spoke to everyone, smiling, and his vitality seemed to return. When he made his way to where Diane and Sue were standing, he was more relaxed. The man that had been with him in the hall came up, serious and impatient.

Michael sighed. “Ladies, I have to attend to Sammy here, or he’ll stroke out and things will get ugly. Are you going to be around for a while?”

Diane shook her head. “It’s after midnight now, and we’ve got to get going. Look, you have business to take care of. It was a wonderful night, really. Thank you so much.”

Michael was looking at her, his eyes very still. He opened his mouth to speak, when Megan ran up, plowing into her mother, Becca and Joann giggling behind her.

“Mom, can we go backstage with that guy, the one in the green shirt?”

“No.” Sue and Diane both answered at once.

“We’ve got to get going anyway,” Sue said smoothly. “Come on girls, let’s find the others. Diane, why don’t we meet you out in the hall?” And she pushed the girls back, moving them directly into the puffing Sammy, who backed away to let them through.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” Michael asked quickly.

“Yes. Anytime. I’ll be home all day.”

“Okay.” He was gone and Diane walked into the hallway to wait for Sue. She leaned back against the wall, her legs suddenly shaking. She could hear Emily’s voice, loud, complaining. Why did they have to leave? Alison was arguing with her mother. But Sue led them all out into the hallway, turned on them sharply, and shushed them all.

“Okay, ladies, shut up now. You are six of the luckiest girls in West Milton and you should all be humble and grateful instead of whining and complaining. It’s time to go. Now. Walk to the end of the hall and wait under the exit sign and not another word.”

The girls looked shamefaced and filed silently away. Sue watched them for a moment then turned to Diane.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You’re still blushing.” She looked at her friend thoughtfully. “Listen, what’s going on with him?”

Diane lifted her shoulders. “Who?”

Sue looked disgusted. “Hey, it’s me, okay? And I know fireworks when I see them. Shit, I was waiting for the two of you to rip your clothes off right there in front of everybody. No wonder his sister swooped in.”

“Sue, you’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not fooling me, kiddo.”

“Did the girls notice?” Diane asked, concerned.

“No. There was too much else going on. Why would they want to look at old Mom?”

“Old Mom. Oh, God. Do you know how old he is?”

“Yeah. Good for you. Are you seeing him again?”

“He’s going to call.”

“I bet he is.” She turned and walked back toward the girls.

They said very little after that. All during the long ride home, Sue hummed along with the radio, while Diane stared out the window into the darkness. She remembered feeling this way before, the powerful rush of wanting. She had stopped feeling that way about Kevin during those last years. She often wondered if the lack of desire had been the reason for the failure of her marriage, or if it had been the other way around. She had loved sex, reaching for her husband often. But it wasn’t just the physical longing that had waned. As she had slipped from raging passion to quiet affection she had stopped wanting his conversation, caring about his day. They both loved the girls, but that had not been enough for her.

“Sue, are you still madly in love with Pete?” she asked quietly.

Sue glanced into the rearview mirror. “You mean do I still call him to come home for a nooner?”

Diane chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Yes. I’m still madly in love with my husband. I still smile every time he walks into a room. I still touch him whenever I can. He’s still the person I want to spend the most time with.” She glanced over at Diane. “You didn’t have that with Kevin, did you?”

“No. Not for a long time. I think I figured every marriage just kind of faded out to something else, like mine had.”

“I can’t imagine putting up with all the shit that being married and having kids means without feeling the way I do about Pete, even when he’s part of the shit. He still makes me feel like a silly nineteen year old. When he gives me a certain look I get all wet and itchy. I figure it’s God’s reward for fighting the good fight, you know?”

“You’re lucky.”

“Pete and I are both lucky.”

“Yes.”

They drove a few more miles. The girls in the back were starting to quiet down. Diane turned and looked back into the van. Megan, Becca and Joann were all texting. The older girls, in the very back seats, were talking quietly together.

“We went out to dinner,” Diane told her, her voice low. “Last week. Last Friday.”

“Diane. You did? And you didn’t even tell me? Did you have a good time?’

“I had a great time. He’s smart and interesting to talk to. He had me laughing all night. And he’s a terrific kisser. I swear, my knees buckled.”

“Holy shit. I knew something was going on. This is so cool.”

“Yeah, well it’s all new to me. Did anything like this ever happen to you? Instant physical attraction?”

Sue smiled in the darkness. “Lust at first sight?”

“Yes. My whole body was all tingly, you know? And that good, achy hurt you get right in your, well, you know where.”

“From just a kiss? Where were his hands?”

“Sue,” Diane pleaded, “be serious. Please?”

“Okay. Yes, that exact same thing happened to me.” Sue checked the rearview mirror again. “With Pete. We had a blind date, left before dessert, and spent three days in bed. And look how we turned out.”

Diane closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. All she could see was Michael’s face, and hours later, as she tried to sleep, she could still feel his skin against hers.