“You made it,” Ashton says as he sidles up towards me, his arms out at either side while he subtly scans my body from head to toe, “and you look gorgeous by the way.”
“Thank you. You're not so bad yourself.” I wasn’t wrong. It's incredible what a simple AC/DC Tee-shirt and faded blue jeans can do for a boy.
“Let me introduce you. Cal, Angie; meet Max, Tommy and Brett.”
We're greeted with mixtures of “Hey” and “Ladies, how are you.” A tilt of the head from one, a nod from another but what I notice straight away is Angie’s eyes popping out of her head. They’re a hot-looking bunch and I bet they’re used to this kind of reaction.
“What are you drinking?” Ash asks.
“Cocktails,” I smile, lifting my vintage Martini glass, complete with a floppy mint leaf clinging to the side. “You should try one,” I dare, and Ash laughs back.
“I’ll stick with beer. We’re going on stage in a bit.”
“So you are, and I wouldn’t want you throwing up mid-set. Besides, we can't wait to hear your music, can we Angie?”
“No, you can’t Cal.” Pleased with her remark, Angie smirks my way, so I elbow her side, giving the evil eye.
A beer is thrust into Ash’s hand by one of the boys—Max, I think—before he sets down two shots in front of Ange and me.
“Ladies, I was ear-wigging. We don’t want you vomming before we go on either.”
“What is it?” I ask a little cautiously.
“Shotgun.”
“What the hell is it?” Angie picks up the glass, putting it to my nose. The smell gives it away, “Whiskey?” I guess.
“Three types. Try it. It's much sweeter than the petrol you're drinking,” Max signals towards the green dregs at the bottom of my empty glass.
“I like your friend,” Angie says to Ash, “Is he taken?”
“Most nights,” Ash smirks.
I miss being amongst the mosh pit. Behind the set is a different vibe. It's not the best view and so dark, making it impossible to see one foot in front of the other. Flight cases are stacked against the black chipped walls, there are old cigarette butts all over the sticky floor, along with puddles of beer, at least I hope to god its beer. There's no room for personal space or anywhere to dance. Angie and I agree it's not as glamorous as we thought it would be. No one talks to you and we're standing around like a couple of loose ends. However, our surroundings pale into the background when the band open up their set. My focus falls to Ash, who sprints across the small stage, now in black jeans, tee-shirt and a thin leather choker around his neck. Guitar in hand, the centre of the stage is his, while Max picks up the bass, Brett's on lead guitar with backing vocals and Tommy beats the hell out of his drums. They dutifully support Ash’s energetic presence, working the crowd into a frenzy. Jumping from one end to the other, the rhythm from his guitar pours from the sound system and each song is fresh, new, spine-tinglingand I want to be out front with the crowd who are getting into it.
From my side view, I see every female in the audience making eyes at Ash, hoping he’ll notice them. If I were out there, I’d be doing the same. The moment I think about him, he catches me staring; his sexy smile, lighting up his face.
When the song ends, Ash calls over one of the stage crew from the side of the stage, shouting something in his ear, before he's back at the mic. “This one is for an old friend of mine. This isTides in Time.”
The muscle-bound guy Ash was talking to heads straight over to another huge looking fella. Together they pull out a tall flight case and indicate for Angie and me to sit on top. He helps us hoist ourselves up to where we can see everything. It means we can’t move as much, but there’s little room to dance back here anyway, so we take it. When the lights go down again, it’s just Ash and his guitar. He starts off with a slow acoustic melody then sings with closed eyes.
Like a rolling wave
All the escapades I hoped we find
Not a single day
Have I not escaped
Deep in your eyes
And I wonder how things
turned out after all.
Did you make it to
the dizzy heights?
