The Prince of Punk Rock (5 page)

Those beautiful, black-rimmed ebony
eyes were inches away from Tommy’s face, and his vocabulary disappeared
again.  He was left with nothing except that silly grin.

They gazed at each other for
several seconds.  Then Angel touched Tommy’s knee and stood up.  Now,
Angel’s crotch was staring Tommy in the face.

“Oh, Tommy, you and I are going to
have a very bright future together.”

Tommy’s words seemed to be on a
temporary sabbatical again, because he couldn’t find them.
 
All he could do was smile up at Angel from
the couch.
 
He never had strong feelings
for a man before.
 
It was always a simple
attraction and when the night was over, he never gave them a second
thought.
 
He didn’t know what to make of
the feelings he had for Angel, but he didn’t care.
 
The rush of pure adrenaline he got every time
they were together was a drug he couldn’t refuse.

Chapter Seven

Angel hadn’t crushed on anyone in a
long time.
 
Tommy left quite the
impression. It was those baby blue eyes that shined with excitement when he
picked up the guitar.
 
It was that blond
hair that whispered in the air and left an aromatic trail of almond and
mint.
 
It was the smile that was always
on his lips – lips that Angel couldn’t stop dreaming about.

As he adjusted his mic stand, and
impatiently waited for his new prince, he recalled the last few practice
sessions.
 
The infatuation wasn’t
one-sided.
 
Angel wasn’t imagining Tommy’s
flirtation.
 
Damien spotted it right
away.

“Tommy, really?” Damien questioned.
“I never would’ve guessed that dude went both ways.
 
I don’t care how much he’s coming on to
you.
 
Don’t screw this up by hitting on
him.
 
We need Tommy.
 
We’ll never find another guitar play as good
as he is.”

Angel denied his intentions and
tried to play it off as showmanship, but Damien knew that he screwed every hot
guy that crossed his path. Tommy wasn’t just another piece of ass, though.
 
They shared an unspoken connection, but he
always needed to remind himself that Tommy was a married man.
 
Married to a
woman
.
 
He still didn’t figure out that aspect.
 
He had the best gaydar on the planet and
Tommy was scoring an eleven on the Richter scale, despite his outwardly
heterosexual appearance.

Tommy’s voice filled his ears like
a beautiful sonata.
 
Forget the mic
stand.
 
It could wait.
 
Tommy was here.

He hugged Tommy and kissed him on
the cheek.
 
It was probably
inappropriate, but Angel always thought with his heart instead of his head.

Tommy was undisturbed by the
physical contact.
 
“I told Jessi she
could stop by later.
 
She’s anxious to
hear us play.
 
I hope it’s not a
problem.”

“Of course not.
 
Jessi’s always welcome.”

“Good.
 
She didn’t want to impose.”
 
Tommy slipped his guitar over his head and
the strap snared a chuck of his hair.
 
Angel was more concerned about it than Tommy was, who tugged forcefully
on his guitar strap.

“Let me help you.”
 
Angel lifted the strap and gently freed a
long lock of blond hair.
 
It was soft and
fragrant.
 
He leaned closer to inhale the
delicate scent.

“Did you just
sniff my hair?”

Angel flustered.
 
“I . . . I’m sorry.
 
I couldn’t help it.
 
It smells beautiful.”

Tommy stared at him for a second
before displaying a crooked, playful smile. “Are you done?”
 
He lifted his hair with the back of his hand.
 
“Do you want to take another whiff?”

Angel tried to suppress his
laughter.
 
“Don’t you toy with me Tommy
Blade.”
 
A little embarrassed, he turned
to walk away, but Tommy stopped him.

“Wait.
 
Don’t go anywhere.
 
I worked on a new riff last night.
 
Let me know what you think.”

Tommy’s fingers danced over the
strings, filling the room with a reckless beat.
 
Angel tapped his foot and dipped his head.
 
He hummed the melody and a few new lyrics
rolled off his tongue.

Tommy abruptly stopped
playing.
 
“Did you just make that up?
Just now?
 
That was fuckin’ awesome.”

Angel shrugged.
 
“Yeah. That new tune spoke to me.
 
You’re really good, Tommy.
 
Your music motivates me.”

“Did we just write our first song
together?”

“I think we did.”
 
Angel was about to combust from
enthusiasm.
 
Writing music was hard work,
but Tommy made it effortless.
 
“If you
keep teasing with me with remarkable riffs like that, I could write music all
day.”

“I’ll work on more tonight.”
 
Tommy put his guitar down in the stand.
 
“What do you do when you're not making
music?”

“I like to go to shows and see
other bands.
 
It gives me a little one up
on the competition. Plus, I like to support other local artists.
 
I've formed a lot of friendships with musicians
in the area.
 
You should come with me one
night.”

“No, I meant what do you do for a
living.”

“Oh.” Angel had to remind himself
to slow down. He just asked Tommy on a date!
 
“I'm sorry. I thought,” he waved his hand, “never mind.
 
I'm a chef.”

“A chef?
 
Did you go to culinary school?”

“No. I learned from my dad.
 
He's the head chef at Garcia's. My family
owns the restaurant.
 
It's in Park
Slope.”

“Really?
 
I thought struggling musicians were . . .
struggling.
 
I didn't know your family
was rich.”

“Hardly.
 
You wouldn't believe the overhead.
 
The restaurant does well, but it doesn't
trickle down to me.
 
My dad's a hard nose
when it comes to business.
 
He pays me a
competitive salary, but I have to bust my butt in the kitchen. I can't slack
off.
 
If I get home at 4:00 a.m. after a
gig, I still have to be at the restaurant bright and early the next
morning.
 
What about you?
 
What do you do?”

Tommy rested his hand on the
machine head of his Fender Stratocaster.
 
“This is it.
 
Music.
 
I give private guitar lessons.
 
I don't know how to do anything else.”

“You have a BA in music with a BS
in finance.
 
With your education you
could do anything you want.”

A crease formed between Tommy’s
pale brows.
 
“How'd you know that?”

He was quick to answer.
 
“I did a little research before I called
Jessi.
 
Just standard procedure.”
 
Yeah, for a stalker.
 
People Search, Intelius.
 
He dug up every bit of information he could
get his hands on about Tommy.

“So, you never told me what kind of
food you make at your restaurant.”

“Cuban.
 
Authentic Cuban cuisine.
 
But, it's my dad's restaurant.
 
It's not Garcia & Son.
 
I’ve been told that’s a title I have to earn,
but I'm leaving it to my brother.
 
I plan
on making music my career.”
 
Angel’s lips
opened into a smile.
 
“Just like you.”

“It’s my calling.
 
I want to be on stage. When I was a kid, all
I ever fantasized about was making a music video.
 
I used to throw on a Metallica record and
jump all over my room, pretending I was in front of the camera.
 
Then I started playing gigs and the thrill of
performing hit me.
 
I want to perform.
 
I want to play
Madison
Square
Garden
.”
 
Tommy's face brightened with excitement.
 
“I want to travel the world.
 
I want to play the 02 Arena in
London
.
 
Can you
imagine
playing the 02 Arena?”

“We will.
 
We’re going to make hundreds of music videos
and sell out every major arena.
 
With
your talent, we're going to capture the world.
 
Your enthusiasm and your dreams rival my own.
 
We're going to make it in this business, and
it's going to be all because of you.”

“No.”
 
Tommy was genuinely modest. “It's because of
you
.
 
You're the front man.
 
You have a voice like no one I've ever heard
before.
 
It's powerful and crystal clear.
 
It's beautiful, Angel.”

The mutual admiration they had for
one another was absorbed in a quiet lull in the conversation.
 
Their steadfast gaze turned into a shared
smile.

“Let me make you dinner,” Angel
said.
 
“I want to cook for you.”

“Really?
 
I'd love that.”

“Come tonight. I can go shopping
after practice and have everything ready for 7:30.”

“Oh, tonight’s not good.
 
Jessi has something to do with her sisters.”

Jessi.
 
He almost forgot about Jessi. “OK, this
weekend then, unless you’d like to come by yourself tonight.”
 
One could hope.
 
But, he felt Tommy’s hesitation.

“I’d rather wait for Jessi.
 
She’s not gonna want to miss out on a home
cooked meal by the famous Chef Garcia.”

Jessi arrived shortly after
practice started.
 
Angel watched her
linger by the door, unsure if she was intruding, so he motioned her to step
inside.
 
She relaxed and after a minute
she started dancing in place, but she never ventured much further into the
studio.
 
When the song was over, Tommy
slung his guitar around so it rested on his back, and went to her.
 
Angel couldn’t hear what they were
saying.
 
Their conversation was intimate
and hushed, but it appeared that Jessi was ravishing Tommy with praise, which
he was humbly accepting.
 
Their hands,
draped around the other’s neck, conveyed their close affection.