He's my Rockstar

The Beacon Theater, New York City, Friday Night

As the echoes of the cheering crowd finally died away, Alex nudged open his dressing room door and just as quickly shut it behind him. This is where he found his solace, his escape from the madness. Leaning his back against the door, Alex took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the stillness and momentary peace sweep over him. He had twenty minutes to himself, and he relished every single moment.

Oh, how he’d had to fight for those twenty minutes. Bryce had done his worst to smother Alex’s insistence on the privilege, saying it would lessen his chances of making commercial connections after a show which was a "key method of marketing,” blah blah blah. Alex had argued that he wasn’t an Argent artist, that other band members were not making that demand, and that it was unfair for Bryce to act like he was the only person fans or anyone else would want to see immediately after a show. Bryce argued for less time, but Alex had refused to back down, and since the record had a brand-new single rising like a rocket in the charts, he had the leverage. End of story. He had originally asked for thirty minutes but had to settle for twenty—whatever. It was in the contract.

Alex moved towards the couch and pulled out a cigarette. Just before lighting it, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror opposite. He took a deep, sodden breath at what he saw: His eyes were blank, the eyes of a man on the verge of giving up on himself. Dark circles etched beneath his eyes, skin so pale, almost sickly looking, he thought. He shook his head, wondering what his fans clamored about. They screamed for him, called him hot, gorgeous, a stud. But all he could see is a wreck of a human being.

Alex reached for the bottle of Absolut, sitting so nicely in an ice bucket on his dressing room table. That was in the contract, too: There must be a bottle of iced vodka with various accouterments in his room before and after a show. It went right up there with the twenty minutes of privacy and the moratorium on cellphone use in the dressing room. Bryce generally sent over a bottle of champagne, but Alex rarely touched it—that was for guests.

He poured two fingers of cold vodka into a glass, mixing in a little Vermouth and throwing in a couple of olives—a makeshift martini, he chuckled to himself. He knocked it back in a few swigs and looked around the room, eyes settling on his acoustic Fender. He went over to pick her up and settled in his chair, cradling her in his lap; his beloved lady that always understands, never questions. Oblivious to the noise and vibrant energy outside his room, Alex closed his eyes, letting his fingers wander over her neck. He began to pluck out the chords and sing softly, his deep baritone a bit croaky after two hours of singing in front of a crowd:

“What else should I be? All apologies...what else should I say? Everyone is gay...

What else should I write? I don’t have the right...what else should I be/All apologies...

In the sun, I feel as one...in the sun, in the sun/I’m married...buried...”

Alex’s eyes snapped open, and he sighed. "You’re no, Cobain,” he muttered, grabbing the vodka bottle to pour himself another shot. A polite knock sounded on the door as he slugged.

Alex grimaced.

“It’s not time yet,” he growled.

“Alex...there’s someone here... she says she knows you from the studio... Lana, something?”

Alex rolled his eyes and reclined, resigned to surrendering his sanctuary. Amy knew the rule: during his 20-minute break, family and friends only. Lana was cool, but ugh…he was just not in the mood to hang out with anyone right now... but then, when was he ever? He chugged the last of his drink, straightened his shirt, and cracked the door open reluctantly. Damn, he thought. Not even a chance to do a line.

Lana appeared in the doorway, squeezing herself against the doorjamb. “Hey, buddy! That was an amazing show!” she shrieked excitedly.

“Hey, Lana.” He smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

“Can we come in for a minute?” she asked. ”I need to get an autograph for my niece; I promised her.”

“Sure, sure,” he grumbled, opening the door to let Lana in. He was about to close the door when he saw another face looming just behind her, waiting, expectant. Alex’s eyes flashed to her, then back to Lana. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Roxy! She’s my roommate,” Lana bubbled, pulling Roxy in so Alex could shut the door. “She’s not a fan, but I dragged her with me tonight.” Lana flashed a conspiratorial glance at Roxy. “And... she’s a photographer! I thought maybe you’d let her do a photo shoot with you... it would be great exposure for her!”

Roxy practically glowed, a luminous presence somehow. Alex’s eyes lingered on Roxy's—in fact, he found himself unable to take his eyes off her. For some reason, he felt a bit dazed. “Ah... yeah, maybe. It’s nice to meet you, Roxy.”

The three of them stood there, a few feet apart, with Lana babbling on about the music, and this song, that song, but Alex didn’t hear a word. Looking into Roxy’s eyes, his breath hitched, and everything slowed down—his mind, usually whirring a mile a minute, suddenly blanked. All he could see was her. Roxy was quiet, a bit shy, but there was a curious look in her eyes, a sort of recognition that made him feel drawn to her. No question, she was a pretty girl, but this was far beyond that; he was generally surrounded by pretty girls these days. Something about her was different. He felt drawn to her in a way that he had never felt drawn to any girl, any woman. Alex couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put a name to it; he struggled to put together a sentence and found it difficult for a moment. He swallowed hard and forced himself to return to the present.

“Would you ladies like to sit down? Have a drink?”

Lana glanced at Roxy and was met with a shrug. “Sure, Alex. “

He gestured toward the couch. Lana’s eyes swept the room, landing on the bottle of chilled champagne.

“Any chance you were planning to open that?”

Alex chuckled. “Yeah, of course, Lana. Anything for you.” His gaze flashed back to Roxy as he reached for the bottle, then glanced back at Lana. “You don’t happen to have a sword, do you?”

Lana shrieked. “What? Can you do that?”

Alex nodded. “I can indeed, mademoiselle. But since none of us is prepared, I guess I’ll have to do it the boring way.” He made an exaggerated face. He held the bottle between his knees, yanked the foil off, and started to twist the cork. When he glanced back at Roxy, she was smiling at him, eyes shining.

“What’s that called, again?” Roxy asked.

“Sabrage,” he answered coolly. He realized it was a blatant attempt to show off for Roxy, and he didn't give a fuck.

Lana elbowed Roxy. “Wow... and where’d you learn that?”

“Ehh, I took fencing lessons for years. “

He popped the cork and poured two glasses, handing one to Lana and offering one to Roxy.

“Yes?”

Roxy shrugged. “Well…I don’t drink much, but…ok, thanks.”

Lana’s eyes snapped to Roxy. “Dude... how often are you backstage at the Beacon, in a rock star’s dressing room—”

Alex held up his hand, cutting her off with a grimace. “Eeesh…no. Don’t—don’t do that.”

“Well, you are, what some people, a lot of people actually, would consider a bonafide rock star... ” Alex rolled his eyes and she snuffled. “And this is a celebration. Congrats on the success of Dark Things.” She sipped her champagne. “Damn…this is the good stuff! Aren’t you having some?”

“Yeah, why not,” he muttered. His eyes kept returning to Roxy, who sat quietly, sipping her champagne, and... glowing. He felt a weird sensation in his stomach—what people sometimes call butterflies. The sensation was new to him.

“So, you’re not a fan?” he teased, eyes crinkling at Roxy. She blushed a beautiful soft shade of pink, and he felt his stomach flip.  God, she was freaking adorable.

“It’s not like that; it’s just... I hadn’t heard much of your music,” she murmured," until tonight. But I did enjoy your show, very much.” She flashed her dimples at him, and his smirk softened into a genuine smile.

“Really? I’m glad…” he paused--” we made a believer out of you.”

Roxy nodded. “I may have to buy the album now.”

Alex’s eyes widened. He rose from his chair and walked over to a closet. He rustled around inside for a moment, then returned with two CDs. He handed one to Roxy.

“Well…now you don’t have to.”

He started to hand one to Lana, then retrieved his hand. “Oh, that’s right-- you’ve already got it, don’t you?” he chuckled.

“I have a demo! But I would love one of those, and if you sign it, my niece will adore me forever.”

Alex sighed. “Sure, no problem.” He pulled a marker from his pocket and signed it—With Love, from Oz-- before handing it back to Lana. He cocked his head at Roxy. “Shall I sign yours as well?”

Roxy shrugged and handed it to him. Alex glanced at her for a few moments, then quirked his brow before taking the marker to her CD. It took him longer this time, and he bit his lip as he handed it back to her. Roxy held the CD up, reading it.

“Well, thanks. Umm…what’s this?”

He blinked. “My phone number.”

Lana’s eyes bulged, and her mouth gaped. Oh, SNAP, she mouthed. Alex was so fixated on Roxy that he didn’t even notice. Roxy flashed Lana a warning look and she pursed her lips together.

The telltale knock on the door again.

“Go to hell,” Alex shouted. Roxy giggled at that, and Alex smiled.  Amy edged it open and looked at him.

“There’s someone here Bryce wants you to talk to.”

“Amy, my love, could you give us a few more minutes to finish our champagne?” he bristled.

“Five minutes,” she snapped, closing the door.

“Damnit,” Alex muttered. “My time is almost up, ladies, unfortunately. Have to deal with the masses.” He rolled his eyes.

“We get it, Argent,” Lana smiled. “Thanks for the CD. And the champers.” She reached out and hugged him; his eyes stayed on Roxy the whole time.

“Okay. See you soon. You too, Roxy?” His eyebrows lifted.

Roxy flushed again, flashing another shy smile at him. “Umm... yeah, maybe. Thanks again,” she murmured, following Lana out of the room.

Amy stood impatiently in the doorway. “Ready now?”

He barely registered her, then nodded. He sat motionless for another thirty seconds. I'll see her again. Even if I have to move heaven and Earth to do it.

Lana and Roxy drifted out of the theatre onto Broadway; there the post-concert crowd was still lingering.

“How about we go somewhere for a drink? It’s such a great night, and it's Friday,” Lana prodded. “There’s a new bar a few blocks away on Amsterdam; let's go check it out.”

“Sure, why not?”

They drifted up Broadway toward 74th Street and into the warm, New York City evening. It was the heart of a Friday night in May, and the city lights were beckoning. It was all new to Roxy, and she couldn’t help but be awed by it. Nothing like her hometown in Oklahoma. Roxy was quieter than usual, thinking about him. Alex.

“Why did you call him Alex? I thought he was called Oz.”

“Oz is his stage name,” Lana explained. “Which reminds me…” she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick photo of the marquee: OZ and THE DISCIPLES OF DUSK - SOLD OUT. She grinned. “My niece will love this. She wanted to come, but her mom thinks she’s too young t