Falling for Stars 1- Metal/Rock (PART 1)

"This place is a prison,
And these people aren't your friends
Inhaling thrills through twenty dollar bills
and the tumblers are drained and then flooded
again and again..."
~This Place is a Prison: The Postal Service

It played out like some old film from the twenties... complete with static in the sound and dirt and scratches on the film. Like one of those old home movie his parents once liked to record. The guitar was too big for a seven year old, but he didn't care. It made such a great sound. Behind him his two older brothers sat at a drum set and keyboard arguing about the intro... They were al smiling, all excited with their new band and filled with hope and dreams for the future. The Three Musketeers they called themselves, and they were ready for their first performance. The audience consisted of their parents and the next door neighbors with the playful Boston terrier. He remembered that dog. Even now wondered vaguely what had happened to it...

Henry, thirteen and self proclaimed manager turned on the amp. "You guys ready?"

He nodded that he was and looked to Scotty, his second older brother at eleven. Scott was looking at Henry, also nodding.

"Alright!" Henry shouted in his best attempt to pump up the tiny crowd, "A one and a two and a one, two three!"

"TRAVIS! Wake up man we're here."

Eyes snapped open and Travis glared balefully at Mike, the band's drummer. "Tell me again why we have to be here this early in the morning?"

Mike rolled his eyes, "Travis, man, it's two in the afternoon."

"Again, why this early?"

Jim, their lead singer, set a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey down on the table in front of him, "Let him alone, Mike, its bad enough the guy's gonna have to listen to you banging away like a viking war master while he's got a hangover."

Travis snorted and took the shot, "No worse than listening to you wail like a damn banshee." he commented then chased with the coffee.

"Banshees are women," Chris, their bassist pointed out.

"My point exactly. Keep it in C Jim." he said and their second guitarist, Kevin, snickered.

Jim snatched the coffee out of Travis's hand, "Fuck you Mr. Perfect Pitch! See if I get you coffee ever again!"

"Alright kids! Playtime's over!" Hank their Manager chimed in, climbing into the large stylish tour bus, "Time to get on stage and warm up. Jesus Christ, Travis could you just once not get shitfaced the night before a show? I can't stand having to sober your ass up every fucking morning!"

Travis frowned mildly annoyed, "I am sober." he insisted, but Hank wasn't listening anymore. He'd gone on to tally up the box office amounts. Another sold out show. They'd be making a nice bank a piece from tonight's performance. Just like their last twelve shows. Just like their last two tours. The music industry was good to them and likely would be for a good long while.

Shaking off the throbbing headache in his skull and slipping on a pair of dark aviator glasses, he took a deep breath and followed his band mates off the bus.

The fans went wild. All around them flash bulbs popped and paparazzi screamed to get their attention. Women of various ages held up colorful poster board signs bedecked in skulls proclaiming their holders to be number one fans and proposing marriage. Men held out CD's and sharpies and made metal horns as they passed. Here and there each musician would stop and sign a few autographs for the lucky faithful.

This was always a favored part for all of them, regardless of their moods, the weather, or how long a layover they'd been stuck with. The fans were their life blood. Travis felt the smile break across his face as he joked with a few fans, scrawled his name on some CD's, a couple posters, a woman's breast... by the time they made it to the stage door, everyone was in a far better mood.

"Alright, panty tally!" Mike called. It was a game they played every time they had to interact with large group of fans. As all single guys, women constantly seemed to be throwing underwear at them. Once free of the crowds they'd pick off the ones that had stuck to them through the crowds and see who got the most. For hygiene reasons they were all thrown away immediately after, but it made for an additional source of amusement.

"I got two." Chris said with a frown. holding up a red and a white pair of womens' underwear, "Both with numbers."

"Hey that's double me," Travis remarked, "But mine are black and white spots with name and number."

"I got four" Mike called displaying two blue pair, a green and a red.

"Same here," Kevin announced, "Two gray, one blue and one black."

"Hey guys... Five of a kind!" Jim proclaimed.

A round of curse words went through the rest of them as Jim held up five pairs of womens' panties all in varying shades of pink.

"That's only because you told that one rag that you liked pink panties!" Mike snarled, "That was cheating!"

"Hey you gotta use every advantage you can," Jim stated.

Travis had just opened his mouth to snipe his friend when a figure hiding behind a large speaker waved frantically at him. Travis swore under his breath, "Hey guys, I gotta hit the head, I'll be right back."

He waved them off and trotted over.

"Travis, man, hey good to see you."

Travis fought to keep from grinding his teeth, "What do you want Scott?"

His older brother looked like shit. Dirty blond hair hung limp and greasy as if it hadn't been washed in weeks- it probably hadn't- and his clothes looked like they'd been plucked from the 'worn' pile versus the 'clean' one.

"Hey can't a guy come see his little brother's show?"

"Scott you haven't come to one of my shows in two years, and I doubt you could afford to now." His hangover headache was again throbbing louder than a bass drum. Gone was the good mood he'd come in with.

"Look, its not my fault you sold out to the fucking hypocrites. do you even see any of the money they make off you?"

"Obviously I see a pretty good bit otherwise you would be fucking leeching all the fucking time." He had to fight to keep his voice calm.

"Look, man, you know I wouldn't come to you unless it was important."

Travis almost sighed. So it was money again. Big surprise. "Scott I'm done. I'm not buying you drugs. Go get yourself checked into rehab or something."

"Man, I'm trying!" Scott whined, "I've just been going through a lot of shit man. You know with Henry dying and Mom and Dad..."

"That was eight years ago Scott!" Travis snarled, "And you know, I lost my parents and brother too, but you don't see me shooting dope back allies!"

His brothers eyes lit with rage."No, but I rarely see you outside of a bar either!" Scott shouted, for a second he looked ready to punch Travis, but then seemed to shake it off, "Look, I didn't come here to argue. I just need some cash."

"No! I told you I'm not buying you drugs."

"Dude, I'm not asking you to! I'm done man. I'm gonna get myself into rehab and clean up. I just need to pay a guy back. That's all. Then I'm out. Totally out."

A spark of hope ignited in Travis's chest. Ruthlessly he stamped it out. He'd heard this line before. "Bullshit."

"Look it's the truth! But I can't get out until I pay Murphy back."

"Alright, how much?" Travis cursed himself for being such a pussy. Why did he always end up giving in?

"Ten grand-"

"TEN FUCKING GRAND?! Are you out of your mind?! No! No way! I'm not giving you ten grand!"

"Shit, Travis, man, you have to! Shit, man, they'll fucking kill me!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna fucking kill you! Ten grand?! Shit Scott!"

"Look, man I'm sorry, but I'm at the fucking end of my rope, man!"

"Alright. Fuck. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow."

"Well you ain't getting it tomorrow!" Travis snarled, "I can get it to you by the end of next week."

"Awesome! Thanks Travis. You know I won't forget this!"

"Uh huh... just get the fuck out of here, Scott."

"I mean it! I love you man!"

Travis said nothing as he watched his brother hurry out the door. The same familiar rage clawing at his chest. What had happened to the three musketeers, he wondered. They all died was the only response his mind gave him.

At four years older than him, Scott had just been starting college- Duquesne for musical theory. Henry was already a junior at Duquesne studying Musical composition. He wanted to be a conductor. Travis had been a freshman in high school, also looking forward to joining his brothers, only he wanted to study Musical engineering. Life had been perfect.

Until the day the police had called...

For the meager thirty six dollars in his wallet, Henry had been shot dead by an unidentified man. He lived in LA all his life without incident. It took moving to the east coast to kill him. Travis still remembered his Dad answering the phone that night when Henry didn't come home for dinner. He could still hear his mother's scream of anguish. His Father and Scott had gone to identify Henry's body.

It was a heart wrenching blow of reality.

In the months that followed, things changed drastically. His mother had begun drinking. Heavily. He could still remember her mixing martini's with breakfast. His father had stopped speaking to anyone really. He'd work long hours, come home and lock himself in his home office. Scoot had just disappeared. He stopped coming home altogether, staying in his apartment on the east end of town. And Travis... Had no where to turn to, but his guitar and his music.

As if his family hadn't suffered enough, six months after Henry's death, Their father was killed in a car crash. The police said he'd lost control of his vehicle on a rain slick road. They suspected there had been a deer in the road. He'd hit a tree at forty-five. Their mother's poor heart, already damaged by the binge drinking of the last six months couldn't take it. Travis had come home the day after his father's accident and found her dead in the dining room.

He and Scott had buried their parents beside Henry and Travis had moved in with Scott. They sold their family home, everything of their old lives for money to live off of. Travis had needed to switch to an inner city school closer to Scott's apartment.

He'd thought the two of them would be able to make it. Regroup their now tiny family and become closer. Travis had been counting on Scott who was older and stronger to help him deal with the way their life had changed. At fifteen, Travis had just wanted someone who understood and could sympathize... But Scott wasn't there. He stayed out later and later. Sleeping until sometimes four in the afternoon before waking up and leaving. He'd dropped out of Duquesne and started working, but where Travis was never sure. When asked, Scott would just mumble and say, "That place down on Fifth." or "just some place." It wasn't easy having to become his own parent, convince himself to do his own homework and go to bed on time, but Travis did it. If only to keep himself sane. Still the two of them had been surviving well enough until Travis's senior year when he went to the bank one day and learned that the nearly five hundred thousand dollars they'd gotten from their parent's life insurance and estate was nearly gone.

Confused he'd gone looking for his brother. He'd stopped in at every "Place on fifth" but to no avail. That night, dispute it being a school night, he'd waited up for Scott. At six am, his brother had finally turned up and Travis realized with a shock how far his brother had let himself go. He was grungy and their were dark circles under his eyes like he'd had them both punched out and his skin was sallow and discolored. He'd stumbled through the door looking drunk and giggled when he saw Travis on the couch.

"Hey little brother!" he'd called, "What's up man, should you like... you know, be asleep or somethin'? Like isn't it a school night?"

"Where'd it all go Scott?" Travis had asked calmly.

"Where'd what go? What cha looking for man?"

"The money in our bank account Scott! It's all gone! There's like five grand left!"

"Hey I dunno, what cha want me to say man? You're, like, expensive you know?"

Travis had be come enraged, "Expensive?! Man I ain't bough shit except groceries for the last eight months!"

"Well what about that fucking amp you bought for your guitar? How much did that fucking thing run us?!"

"That was two fucking years ago Scott!! And I bought it used so it was half off! Where the fuck did the money go?"

"Hey I don't have to answer questions to some shitfaced little kid!"

Travis had lost it. Jumping up from the couch he'd grabbed Scott by the lapels of his flannel, intent on punching the living daylights out of him until Scott stopped being a douche and told him where the money went. Started, Scott had taken a startled step back, stumbling over Travis's backpack. The small sandwich bag had fallen out of his pocket and hit the floor with a small plop that may as well have been a thundering boom.

They both froze, eyes locking on the bag.

You didn't spend three years in an inner city school in L.A. and not know what heroine looked like. Travis had grabbed his brother's arm and wrenched up his sleeve. The track marks were there, evident for all to see.

Scott dropped to the ground and snatched up the back, shoving it back into his pocket as if the act of hiding it could wash away what had just been seen. He wouldn't even look at Travis.

All fight was gone from his system and Travis numbly turned away from his brother and went into his room, closing the door silently behind him. Scott was an addict... His last brother was dead...

The second he heard Scott disappear into his own room, Travis wasted no time. This wasn't a home for him anymore. Stuffing most of his clothes into an old duffel bag, he grabbed his amp, slung his guitar over his shoulder, picked up his book bag and left.

A stop at the bank to withdraw what was left of their savings- Scott could suck balls if he though Travis was going to let him squander what was left on dope- and headed to school. He left his stuff with the band teacher, his only real friend in the entire school, and headed off to his counselor.

He didn't request an audience, he just went in told the nerdy freshman who was asking about taking advanced calculus next year to take a hike and slammed the door behind her. Irene Kelter, His counselor and twenty year high school drama veteran said nothing as his callous treatment of the other student, and with a small smile, gestured for him to take a seat. She'd been after him for three years to come talk to her, having received his transcripts from his previous school about his tragic circumstances and a small light of hope flickered in her eyes that he was finally ready to talk.

He hated to disappoint her, but there was nothing to do for it. He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. She confirmed he had been accepted at three different schools and even gotten a full ride for his music ability at one. Berkly, in Boston. That was fine. Tell them he accepted and please fill out all the paper work and send his transcripts. He had enough credits and no absent days so he would graduate regardless of if he finished attending until the end of the year, but it was only two months away. Didn't he want to walk with his class mates? No.

Everything tidied up, Irene promised she'd take care of everything he needed to get into Berkly. Travis thanked her profusely and promised he'd contact her with a forwarding address for his diploma later. A quick Goodbye to his band teacher, and Travis was out the door, catching a bus to LAX. Six hours and eight hundred dollars later, he settled into his window seat with his headphone on and wondered briefly what Boston would be like.

Berkly had been good for him. His Professors had instantly realized he was one of the few lucky musicians blessed with perfect pitch. They'd given him the encouragement, freedom and outlets he needed for his creativity. He made friends, some of the first he'd had since leaving his original high school four years ago. He joined a band with a group of them and they hit it off big right from the start. He'd gotten a job to pay for leisure pursuits- his dorm was covered by his scholarship- and by senior year, life going good. After graduation, that's when things had really taken off. The band started touring. Just a few places around Massachusetts, and New Jersey. Then they played a show in NYC. It had been the turning point in all of their lives. They hadn't realized there was a head hunter in the crowd... Two days later they were signing their first record label and scheduling studio time.

Things had moved fast over the last four years and where a lot of musicians would have burned out Travis, Jim and their band "Cadaver Cult" flourished. They moved back to LA to be closer to the studio, and that's when Scott had started showing up. Just to say hi. Just to see how things were going. Just to borrow a little cash... It was also when Travis had started drinking.

Standing there, staring at the door, Travis didn't realize how long he'd been out of it until Jim clasped his shoulder from behind. "Travis, man? You okay?"

"Fine." he said numbly.

Jim still looked worried, "You know, Trav, we've been friends a lot of years now... If there's something you wanna talk about..."

Travis shook off his hand. He never discussed his family with his band mates. Why should they care? There was nothing they could do about it anyway... "I'm fine, Jim. Lets just go warm up."

"Now when I caught myself,
I had to stop myself,
From saying something that,
I shoulda' never thought of you...
Of you...
You're pushing and pulling me down to you,
But I don't know what I want...

You got it, you got it,
Some kind of magic.
hypnotic, hypnotic,
you're leaving me breathless.
I hate this, I hate this,
You're not the one I believe in...
As God as my witness..."
~'I Caught Myself', Paramore

Crushed in the pit, packed tight against the barriers with five hundred screaming fans jostling to get closer to the stage behind her, Mackenzie Matthews held her breath and fought to keep her camera steady. The expensive SLR had been top of the line in its day... back in the late 1970's when her grandfather had bought it... Still it was the only camera Mac used for portfolio work like this if she could help it. The crowd pushed against her, threatening to crush the air from her lungs. She'd just have to keep telling herself it was worth it... and it would be.

The fake press pass she'd had one of her design friends make her, got her camera in the gate, but nothing else. She'd had to clear out her meager checking account for pit tickets to "Cadaver Cult" but it would be worth it. It would be worth it! After all, it was a chance of a lifetime. "Cadaver Cult" rarely played LA, despite the band living here, and the chance to shoot them was irresistible.

She'd jostled herself all the way to the front, having to lower herself to crowd surfing at one point, and suffering a couple dozen male hands groping her butt, to get this close, but from her vantage point she could get the best shots. The stage lighting was brilliant and the backwash of neon colors against the band members was the perfect canvas. She framed Jim Carvelli, the lead singer in reds and orange. Timing her shots to paint him in the aggressive energy he portrayed. For The drummer, Mike Hayfield, she wanted yellows and pinks to capture the speed and rhythm in his percussion. Kevin Jets was golds and greens... refreshing like a summer day. Chris Oliver she went for greens and aquas... he was so cool and mellow even when pounding out bass lines that reverberated in her ribcage. And Travis... Mac felt her eyes go a little dreamy... With his melodic second harmony to Jim, and amazing speed and accuracy with his guitar... Travis O'Hare was violet and blue... Cold, solitary, and compelling... Women loved Travis because the image he portrayed was one of being untouchable and Mac wanted to capture that in her lens. But more than that, she wanted to capture the sides of him that no one else saw, not even her. She longed to take just one extra candid that revealed some tiny piece that she alone would see.

Oh Mac you've got fan girl syndrome like whoa! she chastised herself. She knew it was stupid to lust after a rock star. Only pathetic dreamers and psycho groupies did that. And since she couldn't afford to plaster the walls of her tiny apartment with his posters- not that she would because that was just tacky- nor was she willing to follow them around on tour and throw her panties at him, that meant she needed to just get over her stupid crush and get on with life.... Later. After this show. After she finished getting a few more shots of all of them.

Jim finished yet another of their singles and the crowd went wild, crushing her even further into the barrier. She yelped in pain as she was shoved hard from behind and gritted her teeth. It was almost eleven and they'd be wrapping up soon. If she left now she be able to get home and maybe get the photos developed in time to show her friend Robby at the bar before it closed. She hated to waste money on her favorite band and not stay til the end, but she'd been writing off the expense as an educational one and she was almost out of film. Frantically she waved to one of the bouncers keeping the crowd at bay. He came over and leaned in so he was almost cheek to cheek with her. Still Mac had to shout to be heard.

"They're crushing me!" she screamed, "Can you help me out?"

The bouncer nodded and picked her up under her arms, pulling her over the barrier. He set her down and pointed to his left. "Out that way. Don't dally!" he shouted back. Mac nodded and hurried away, still pausing a couple times to click off the last of her shots. The bouncer at the end of the way was stamping the hands of crowd surfers who'd managed to make their way almost to the stage, and warning them not to try it again. He stamped her hand too, but Mac hardly cared. She was done for tonight anyway...

She slipped out of the venue and hurried down the street towards the bus stop. The twelve-B was just pulling up as she reached it and she gratefully hopped on. Forty five minutes later saw her to her block and Mac had to force herself not to run the rest of the way home.

Once inside her tiny, cramped studio, Mac dead bolted her door and reached for the box of red light bulbs she kept near the door. She'd become so accustomed to the motions that she didn't need light to see as she switched out the regular light bulbs in the apartments two over head lights. That done she flipped the switch, casting the apartment in eery red tones. A quick check that the heavy navy blue drapes on her windows were firmly closed against the outside street lamps and Mac pulled out her chemicals.

"Get used to working in the dark," her grandpa always said, "That way you never think to turn on a light."

Opening her camera she pulled out the film and began dismantling the cartridge. Winding it onto a spool she set it in the film canister with the exposure chemicals and shook vigorously for ten minutes. Empty, rinse, fix, and she was ready to go. She hung the roll, stretched out along a clothesline and two clips over a couple of box fans to dry while she used a pen light to examine each negative. Most of them looked good, but with supplies costing a small mint, another week until payday and a depleted savings, she could print them all right now. Besides, she just wanted to print a quick few to show Robby...

Film dried, she cut it into five frame strips to make it easier to use and pulled out her projector...

By one thirty she'd printed double what she'd intended, and had to force herself to stop, pick out one photo of each musician to show Robby and clean up. Swiftly she stored away the light sensitive supplies, slipped the prints into a Manila envelope and loped down the street to the pub.

Kimble & Clarks was a little more than a dive bar, nothing like the fancy sophisticated clubs a few blocks up, but Mac liked it. It reminded her of the bars she'd go to back in her home town.

Squeezing around a drunken couple who were on their way out, she hopped a bar stool at the end where the bar was clean, and spilled the photos out for her friend. "Robby! Check this shit! Tell me I'm not a genius!"

Rob, sidled over, glass and polish rag in hand. "Oh honey... What ever you got, I got better." he drawled. Mac smiled and prepped for a challenge. Robby was one part Buddhist monk, one part Martha Stewart, and all Beyonce, and he love the one upsmanship game. They'd become best friends out of their mutual love of "Cadaver Cult" and Travis O'Hare.

"Front row. Pit." she said, placing her bet and gesturing to the photos like their were her poker hand.

Robby sucked in a breath, "Ooooh!" he cooed, "Aw honey! These are fab-u-lous!" He paused for a moment to ogle each photo appreciatively, then remembered their game. He slapped his bar towel down on the table, "But I still got you beat." Leaning in he murmured, "Back of the house," and pointed to the other end of the bar. Mac looked up and froze.

Bedecked in large dark glasses, despite the gloomy atmosphere, sitting alone and swirling a tumbler of whiskey sat Travis O'Hare. Mac sucked in a gasp and grabbed Rob by the shirt collar, pulling him close to her. "For real?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

Rob shrugged excitement sparkling in his eyes, "Looks like him," he whispered back.

"Oh my god..." Mac whispered, and leaned back to take another good look before leaning back in close to Rob, "Oh my god!"

Rob's face lit, "You should go talk to him." he whispered, "You look hot."

"I look like hell!"

"Nah, you look artsy."

"Robby! Seriously!"

"Seriously! Good talk to him! Find out if it's really him."

"No!"

"I'll buy you lunch..."

Mac paused. Free food. A college student's one weakness.

"For a week." Rob threw in, sealing the deal.

"Alright fine!" She leaned back in her chair and scanned the bar. This Late, the only other patrons were Mark and Hank, a couple of aging hippies who like to argue about everything in creation when sober, and commiserate about the way things used to be when drunk. Right now the two appeared to be concentrating on ESPN sports highlights.

Standing up straight Mac brushed a few stray strands of hair back behind her ears, adjusted the girls and brushed at her shirt and jeans in a vain attempt to wipe away the chemical stains. Looking as good as she was going to get, Mac began sauntering over to her intended victim. When did the bar get so long? She wondered as she walked, loosing a little nerve with each step. Maybe she could just walk past him in to the bathroom. How the hell was she going to talk to Travis O'Hare??! She needed to sound cool. Sophisticated. Like she met rock stars all the time. This was Hollywood, baby. Rock stars were a dime a dozen... Yeah right!

By the time she reached the other end of the bar, Mac realized she'd deteriorated to a bundle of nerves. She stopped next to him and froze. Up close he was even more gorgeous than in film... What did she say?

"I'm not Travis O'Hare and I don't do autographs." He growled.

Mac started. He spoke! To her! And said he wasn't "Cadaver Cult's" lead guitarist. The pressure abruptly lifted from her chest. False alarm! It must just be the dark bar. She looked over her shoulder at Robb and gave him a negative head shake. He frowned and looked suspiciously at the look-a-like. Still though, talk about awkward. This poor guy probably got mistaken for Travis all the time. "Oh, uh, who's Travis O'Hare?" Mac asked, playing dumb. Maybe if he thought she didn't know who he was talking about, he'd feel better about her approaching him.

He looked up at her startled, then seemed to slump back into himself, "Just some stupid fucking guitarist."

Mac felt her gut clench. Whoever this guy was, he looked depressed. Miserably so.

She signaled Robb for her usual, a raspberry Stoli's and Pepsi, and sat down next to him. "Really? What band is he from?" probing to get more conversation out of him. Mac had learned a long time ago that when people were depressed in a public place wanted to either talk about it, or talk about anything else to distract themselves.

"Cadaver Cult," he replied.

"Oh. I was just at their concert. Yeah I guess you do look a lot like their lead guitarist," Mac said, neatly painting herself out of a possible corner. She hated lying to people and always tried to fix it immediately after.

"Good show?"

"Yeah I guess," she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, "I really just went to take some pictures for a photography class. I wanted to play with colored stage lighting. I'm Mackenzie, by the way. But everyone calls me Mac."

"Nice to meet you Mac, you're a photographer?" He slurred his speech just slightly, hinting that if he wasn't already, he was soon to be three sheets to the wind.

"In training. I started studying with my grandfather when I was young and kept with it all my life. A year ago I moved out here to go to school."

He frowned, "How old are you?"

"Twenty four." she shrugged and took a swig of her drink, "I'm getting kind of a late start, but I had some things to take care of after high school. Still, I think it worked out for the best. I like living here in LA... Way different from Summerville, Ohio."

"Never heard of it."

"That's okay. No one else has either."

The conversation flowed easily from there. They chatted about life, movies and music... all the usual suspects. Eventually she got him smiling and was startled by the effect.

She had been talking about a trip to New York she'd taken and how she managed to get the one crazy cab driver in New York. He'd told her that all the cab drivers in New York were crazy.

"Yeah but how many of them are women from Galveston Texas who's goal in life is to become a working mom with three kids and the normal life.?" Mac had asked seriously and downed the rest of her glass. It was her third drink and she was feeling a pretty good buzz starting. Robb REALLY knew how to mix drinks... and she was such a lightweight anyway...

He snorted and almost choked on his fourth whiskey on the rocks since Mac had sat down, and his face broke into a grin. Chuckling he pulled off the sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. "You win. That's a crazy cab driver"

Mac stared. Did Travis O'Hare smile like that? She was starting to wonder... He looked into her eyes and Mac started feeling a little dizzy. He was so gorgeous...

"Mac!" Robb called, startling her out of the haze she'd been slipping into. "You know I love you sweetie, but it's after three and my hubby's waiting. Take your party elsewhere honey."

She laughed, "Alright, alright. Give Justin my love. And remember, you owe me lunch!"

Her comrade dropped a few bills on the table to pay for their drink, stopping any protests she started with a vague hand gesture, "It's cool. I got this one."

Outside she blew Robb a kiss as he locked the door behind them, and turned toward him. She was glad to see a lot of the sadness was gone. Washed away by good conversation and liquor.

"Share a cab?" he offered.

"Oh, thanks, but I just live up the street."

His polite smile stayed in place, but his eyes lost their glimmer, "Oh."

Mac bit her tongue. The poor guy looked so crestfallen... But did she really want to take him home for a cup of coffee? Actually... her inner woman probed "You could walk me home though... Call a cab from there?"

His smile lifted a little, but he played it down, "I guess. How far is it?"

"About a block," she said, gesturing with her head.

They walked in easy silence, as if they made this trek together all the time, but in Mac's head she was freaking out. Really, she was not about to invite in a total stranger. Seriously. How trashy could she get! Good girls from small towns didn't do one night stands.

Yeah, her inner girl said, but I thought we didn't want o be like that. Wasn't that why we left Summerville and moved to LA? To get away from all that?

Yeah, but there was a big difference between "Sex in the City" and sex with a total stranger in the big city, she argued.

They approached her door and he waited patiently behind her while she typed in the security code for the front entrance. "Nice place," he commented as he followed her upstairs, "Lot better than some of the places I've lived."

"Yeah... I had a little money when I came out here. It pays for rent and school, but not much else." Mac unlocked her front door and flipped the switch. Instantly her studio was bathed in red light.

"Wow... kinky" he remarked, taking off his jacket.

She groaned in embarrassment, "I forgot to change the light bulbs before I left. Oh shit! I left my photos at the bar!"

"You wanna go back?"

Mac sighed and kicked off her shoes, "No... Robb will put them behind the bar. I can grab them tomorrow." She reached for the basket where she'd stashed her normal light bulbs, but he stopped her hand.

"Leave it. I kinda like them..."

Her heart skittered rapidly. His hand was warm on her wrist and she looked up to see him watching her intently. He stood there not moving, waiting on her, and Mac realized if she wanted him to leave, she needed to say something now. His eyes pleaded silently to stay and let him take her to bed and Mac knew she shouldn't. It was too soon...

A year is too soon? her inner girl asked.

She knew she should send him on his way. Her lips parted to do just that, but nothing would come out.

Tightening his hand on her wrist he gently pulled her towards him, lowering his head to her lips and Mac knew she had run out of time and he was taking the decision out of her hands. Somehow though, she was okay with that...

His lips moved persuasively on hers, tempting her to open her mouth for him. Mac obeyed and felt her eyes roll back and lids close as his tongue danced with hers. Her toyed, stroked, thrust... mimicking with his tongue all the things that would come later to other parts of their bodies. Mac felt a pleasant lethargy flooding her limbs and she had to clutch his shoulders to keep her knees from giving away beneath her. Sweet god it had been a long time... and kissing had never been like this... Tom hated kissing he'd always said it didn't do anything for him... His kisses had always been short, quick and well... as uninspiring as he claimed kissing was. Still she'd refused to believe a kiss could be so passionless. Why else would poets write about them?

She had her answer now... Kissing could be passionate with someone who knew what they were doing. Mac moaned and slipped her arms around his neck. She was learning quickly from his example. She tousled with him, claiming the kiss for herself and taking the opportunity to explore his mouth. He tasted like whiskey and something she could only describe as male...

He groaned and peeled himself away long enough to pull his shirt off, then he was kissing her again, backing her towards her bedroom.

Partially concealed by a tall shoji screen she used to section off her private space from her living space, her bed was shadowed. The rice paper glowed red against the darkness, silhouetting them and casting only the faintest red highlights. It was the perfect backdrop, Mac decided, for an illicit night of passion. She'd kill to be a fly on the wall with a camera... She'd have to remember it for later...

His movements were getting a little quicker, more urgent. He pulled her top off, his hands skimming back down the sides of her torso, stroking her skin and sending chills down her spine before going to the fastening of her jeans. Mac hurried to help, reaching behind herself to unhook her bra. He abandoned his efforts on her denims immediately, his hands going instead for her breasts as his mouth slid down her throat. Gently he pushed her down onto the bed and slid away from her. His eyes drank her in as he again went to work on her jeans, shimmying the tight material over her hips, and Taking her panties with them. His lips and tongue painted a heated path down the inside of one leg as he pulled the jeans off, then worked their way back up the other.

He stood up and smiled at her his eyes moving over her until Mac wanted to cover herself in embarrassment.

"Great tattoo..." he murmured.

Mac smiled her hand going to the little swallow she'd gotten inked onto her stomach near her right hip bone just after arriving in LA. It had been her first declaration of freedom. She looked over his bare torso, noting for the first time the two quarter sleeves that covered both his shoulders and biceps, and the sacred heart tattooed in the center of his chest. Tattoos that looked really familiar for some reason...

"You too," she replied, trying to sound blase. Hard to do when she was naked in front of a total stranger... a gorgeous stranger... A stranger who kissed like a real pro... This was nothing like what she was used to. What was she doing? A small town hick in the big city trying to act like a sophisticated woman.

"I should warn you.." she blurted in a sudden burst of honestly, "I really suck at this, so if you wanna back out now..."

He blinked, startled, "You what?"

"Suck. At sex. I'm really bad at it."

He scoffed, "Oh come on-"

"No it's true! I've been told by... well lets just say a girl doesn't forget something like that... I won't blame you, you know, if you want to-"

He leaned over her cutting off her little rant with another of those eye crossing kisses. "Shut up Mackenzie," he murmured.

He sat back down on the bed next to her and swiftly untied the black boots he was wearing. Another few swift movement and he was as naked as her, pulling her closer to him, his mouth again seeking out her own. His hands moved over her body.

"You shouldn't be so critical of yourself..." he muttered then broke off with sharp intake of breath when she gently ran her fingertips up along the sides of his ribcage. "You're a lot better then you think."

Mac gasped, her, fingernails digging into his torso when he dipped his head to take the tip of her breast in his mouth. His teeth lightly grazed her nipple and Mac though she was going to come undone right then and there.

He caught one of her hands and urged it to his stomach and lower. Mac wrapped her fingers around him and felt a thrill of satisfaction when he groaned. Tenatively at first, then with renewed enthusiasm she stroked him, learning the feel and size of him. Apparently kissing wasn't the only department Tom had been lacking in... Dear god he was big... Mac felt a small ping of anxiety.

His own hand moved on her, slipping between the folds of her sex and dipping into her just slightly. Mac cried out as he used her own cream to soak her clit and any thought she'd had left in her mind fled. He slid his finger all the way into her, stroking up and back, and Mac choked on her own scream. "Oh my god!" she gasped. She was wound up tighter than a mechanical toy. Never had anything been this good.

"Damn you're a responsive little thing," he remarked, his satisfaction blatant, "Like an instrument... I could play this song all night. What will you do if I do this?" He he pulled out all the way and thrust back in with two. Mac screamed, the spring inside her shattering.

When the stars finally died away she saw him hovering above her, braced on one elbow and smiling, "Oh yeah... you're gonna sing..." he pulled away from her reaching over the side of the bed. Mac watched him in confusion as he grabbed his wallet from his jeans. He pulled out the small foil packet and held it up, "Boyscout" he explain

Euphoria bubbled up inside her making her giddy, "Yeah right! You don't look anything like a boyscout!" She snickered, watching him suit up. Then he was on top of her again, kissing the smile from her face.

She felt him at the entrance of her body and the warning bells went off in her head, but much too distant. It was too late to turn back now... and she didn't want to...

"You ready?" He asked. It was the only warming she got because before she could reply he thrust heavily into her. Mac gasped and cried out. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain flooded her. She was stretched fuller then she'd ever thought possible.

"Damn you're tight..." he growled, pausing to give her a moment to adjust.

She bit her lower lip, "You're only the second guy I've ever done this with. And he was nothing like you."

He smiled and slowly began to pull out of her, "Don't say that, you're gonna give me a big head."

"I'd say you already had one."

He snorted and thrust back into her, his chuckle becoming a groan, "Dammit Mackenzie, don't make me laugh!" He dropped his head to kiss the throat, her collar bone her breasts... all the while thrusting into her in a slow sensual rhythm that was driving her nuts.

"Oh god, please... faster!" she begged raising her hips to meet him and wrapping her legs around his hips.

"No," he replied mercilessly, "Not until you're ready to sing for me."

"No dammit now!" she cried sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

He growled and thrust hard, his tempo quickening. Faster and harder until Mac felt the spring inside her again tighten to it's breaking point.

"Oh sweet god, Mackenzie..."he snarled into the pillow beside her ear, and thrust into her one last time. Mac cried out as the orgasm ripped through her, hotter and more intense than anything she'd ever felt in her life. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. When the tremors finally faded she laid there trying to catch her breath.

After a long minute her rolled off of her, pausing to pitch the used condom before pulling her back against him. She snuggled comfortably into his arms, a little surprised that he was willing to snuggle at all. Didn't most guys get up and leave after one night stands?

"Whoever told you that you were bad in bed, was clearly homosexual." he muttered sounding as sleepy as Mac suddenly felt. She chuckled and let her eyes drift closed. She was just slipping over the edge of sleep when a thought startled her awake.

"I just realized something..."

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"We just had sex-"

"You're just now realizing that?"

She continued as if he had spoken but pinched his nipple for good measure anyway, "We just had sex, and while you told me you're not Travis O'Hare... you didn't actually tell me what your name was."

He was silent for a long moment and Mac was just starting to wonder if she'd said something wrong when he began to chuckle. The chuckle then became a a full throated laugh and in seconds he was curled up hugging his stomach he was laughing so hard.

Mac frowned, "I didn't think it was that funny..."

When he finally caught his breath, he hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head... "It is Travis O'Hare."

The film was a bust
but we stayed til the ending
hair all a muss,
but your cloths didn't look so bad.
And back on the street the rain was decending
in cold dirty sheets so,
under the awning we sat
and then you hailed yourself a yellow cab
and I sat for a time by the valets in line
and I read what you wrote on the card
above a cowboy you drew
a big talk balloon saying
try not to take it so hard
but there's this nagging suspicion
that won't leave me alone tonight
it's just that everything I try to do
nothing seems to turn out right.
~Everything I try to do...- The Decemberists.

The land line was ringing... Funny, he didn't remember having a land line. He always had his cell on him so he didn't need one. But then again, he was rarely ever home so he might have a land line and just not know it.

Gritting his teeth against the splitting headache that reminded him he'd been drinking again, Travis grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his head trying to block out the obnoxious chirping. It smelled like apples. Fresh green apples...

The phone stopped mid ring and a woman's voice filled the room.

"Hi, this is Mac, I can't answer my phone right now..."

Travis's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in bed. Mac. Shit. The girl from the dive bar! He scanned the room, but it was empty. Over the answering machine he could just hear the sound of water running. She was in the shower. There was no way he was going to get out of here without a confrontation.

Scrambling to his feet, Travis grabbed his pants, trying to recall what she looked like. He remembered the sex-- Some of the best he'd had in his life. He could recall a slim pixie-like body with breasts the size of oranges, but the rest was pretty vague. Redhead... with big eyes... He remebered thinking she was beautiful, but he'd also probably downed about a third of whiskey by then and beer goggles didn't just come with beer.

The answering machine on the other side of the shoji screen beeped and another woman's voice came on, sounding almost exactly like Mac's.

"Mac it's Mich. Pick up." Al long pause and then aggevated, "Come on Mac! I know you're there! It's nine thirty on a Sunday! The least you could do is talk to your own sister!" Mich sounded more than aggrevated now... she sounded downright angry. "This is so stupid! Why are you being so stubborn?! I told you it was an accident! Why can't we talk about this?! This is so childish! It's like you ran away from home because you didn't get your way!" she exhaled heavily sounding tired. Then so quiet that Travis had to step around the screen to hear she murmured, "Please Mac... It's been over a year... Come home. I'm sorry."

Travis stared at the phone on the small kitchen counter. It sat amongst bottles of chemicals, scissors and bits of cut film. Not his problem, he told himself.

Setting his boots down on the floor by a small stool, Travis walked towards the door where his shirt was. That was when he saw the photos...

The clothesline was strung back and forth through the tiny kitchen, tied to a cabinet door handle, looped thourgh the handle on the freezer door, and back to another cabinet handle. Hung with clothespins were over a dozen photographs... a few black and white, but mostly color and all from last night's concert. Travis was floored. They were good. Better than good! These were amazing. She'd captured each of his band mates in stunning hues. All candids mid performance and each portraying the personalities only their friends and coworkers- not the fans- saw everyday. Jim was wild and energetic. Mike was funny and larger than life. Kevin was innocent and wise. Chris was mellow and kind. And himself...

Travis frowned at the blue and violet photos... He looked miserable. Yeah, he looked good, dark and brooding, but miserable none the less.

"They're for sale if you want them."

He spun around at the sound of her voice and froze. Apparently even shitfaced he managed to have good taste. She was gorgeous. Vibrant red hair pulled back from her face with a few spiral curl tendrils that floated down around her cheeks. She was slim and willowy, and dressing in a black turtleneck tunic and leggings, she reminded him of a cat burglar. Her apple green eyes were huge and wide and tilted up at the corners like a cat's. A heart shaped face with full lips and a slightly upturned nose completed the image. She looked... Clean. Wholesome. Deffinately a small town girl.

And he'd got drunk and slept with her. This wasn't the first time he managed to be this stupid. He knew exactly where things were going. If he tried to make it like her cared about her she'd follow him for months, through tirades about his drinking, touring and everything under the sun. If he just callously said, "Hey thanks for the fuck" and left she'd collapse in a babbling ball of tears and more than likely six months from now she'd turn up again screaming that she was pregnant with his kid and the tabloids would go nuts. Not to mention what his lawyer would probably do to him... Fuck... This wasn't going to be pretty... He should have gotten out when he had the chance. This was why he stuck to groupies and other Hollywood names... they knew what they were getting into with him and didn't try to cling.

He fished for something to distract her while he tried to figure out what to say. "You're sister called," he managed lamely, "She left a message."

She crossed over to the phone and pressed a button.

"Message deleted. You have no more measges." The machine informed.

Looking up at him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, she said, "She'll call back."

Travis blinked... Well, apparently no one's family was perfect. Okay... Another distraction... "These are great," he said, pointing at the photos, "But you made me look depressed."

She grinned and chuckled. "You're not smiling," she explained, "Of course you're going to look depressed if you're not smiling."

"Right, of course. Stupid me..." Okay, time to bite the bullet...

"You're welcome to use the shower before you leave," she said turning away from him and stepping aroundhe counter to take down the pictures. "Just be sure you lock the door on your way out. Just turn the lock on the knob. The deadbolt needs a key."

He frowned, "What?"

"I'm meeting a friend out for breakfast so I have to leave, but you're welcome to use the bathroom so long as you lock up on your way out." she explained again, shuffling the pictures and slipping them into a manilia envelope. Travis frowned. She wasn't looking at him so he couldn't be sure she wasn't about to cry... It didn't sound like she was...

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll just grab a shower at home. Listen, Mac..."

"I know."

He blinked at her. She still had her back to him, denying him the ability to read her expressions. "You know what?"

"That you're a rockstar. That this was a one night stand. That you're not going to leave your number or ask for mine with the promise to call. And that I'll probably never see you again." She finally turned and looked at him, but she was smiling. "I know. I knew last night, and I'm fine with that."

Travis frowned, "But you didn't know. Not last night. You didn't know who I was until after."

"Yeah, but I did some thinking last night after you fell asleep and realized I did know, I just told meyself you were a nobody so I wasn't so terrified to talk to you. You're really intimidating for a girl like me, you know? " she shrugged. "Don't worry about it Travis. Last night was great- I mean really great. but I'm not some naive fool who thinks sex equals a relationship."

Travis blinked, "That's... refeshing..."

She giggled, "Yeah, I'm sure you get alot of girls who want to be the girlfriend of a rockstar, but..." she shrugged again and slipped on the same pair of black ballet slipper flats she'd been wearing the night before and grabbed a black leather jacket off a hook beside the door.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't wailing and sobbing... She wasn't threatening law suits... She was being rational. She didn't want to be his girlfriend. The whole concept was inconcievable... maybe she really was one of those sophisticated types he normally went for. Women who understood sex was just a game to be played between to concenting adults... But's she'd said she hadn't had much experience...

Trying to regain his balance Travis sat down on the stool and pulled his boots on, lacing them with a few practiced gestures. "Well... that's good. I mean, Rockstars don't really make good boyfriends anyway. You're better off," he told her, trying to confirm she really wasn't going to go off the deep end on him.

"Probably... Still it was fun. Thank you for last night, by the way. I've never had an orgasm before."

Travis fell off the stool. "What?"

"Are you coming or not? I'm running late."

Scrambling up off the floor he grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door, just as she turned to close it. He stood next to her while she locked up, a million questions swirling through his head so fast he couldn't focus on one long enough to ask it. Following her out the door she paused outside looking him straight in the eye.

"Travis..."

"Yeah?"

"Photos Don't lie you know... If you're miserable, you can't hide it from the lens no matter how brightly you smile. You might fool your fans, but you don't fool me."

A brush of her lips on his and she was gone, leaving him feeling like he'd just been sobered up mid acid trip. He had no idea what the hell was going on.

Dumbly he turned and began walking. Away from her, back towards the bar where his driver would be able to more easily find him. He flipped open his phone and was just giving direction to Aaron, his driver, when he heard his name.

"HEY!! Travis!" her voice called out from behind him. He turned to see her at the other end of the block waving emphatically. "Good luck on the rest of you're tour! You're the best guitarist ever!' Then she turned the corner and was gone.

Travis reached the bar a few minutes later, ignoring the people who were watching him, trying to determine if he really was who he looked like, and a short while later the black caddy arrived with it's darkly tinted windows.

Travis didn't wait for Arron to get the door, he just got in, flopping back into the comforatably cool leather seats. The driver truned around with a smile.

"G'moring Mr.O'Hare. Had a good night I presume?"

Travis raised his eyebrows, "What makes you say that?"

"You're smiling. Haven't seen you do that in a long while."

"You sick or something, Travis?" Jim asked.

Looking up from the whiskey he'd been nursing for the last hour, Travis frowned at his friend,"No... why do you ask?"

They were in the VIP room of some club that Travis couldn't remember the name of. It was a pretty fancy place, recommended to them by the singer of their opener here in Portland. Travis couldn't remember his name either. It was just some local band that they'd invited to play since the opener who'd toured with them, "Jane's Apple," couldn't do the date. The tour should have ended in LA three days ago, but earlier in the year Jim had caught the flu and they'd had to do a rain check on the Portland show.

Thousands of fans now satisfied, They could head home... Travis realized he was anxious to get there. He needed to see her again. Needed to! He couldn't stop thinking about her and he didn't know why. It was driving him insane. It just felt like if he didn't get back soon he'd loose her completely in the crowds of LA...

"Well you've only had two drinks in the last four hours. That's a first for you. You on something?"

Travis chuckled. Was he on something? "No. I was just thinking about something."

Jim raised his eyebrows, "Something or someone? Aaron said you didn't call for a pick up until the next morning after you left us that night back in LA."

"Aaron needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

"Hey don't be like that. We were worried about you man. The set ends and you storm off to parts unknown... We just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"What, by making our driver spy on me?" Travis rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath.

Jim shrugged, looking unconcerned, "So who'd you meet at 'Kimble and Clark's'?"

"It's none of your business!"

"If you don't tell me who she is, I'm going to assume it's a man. Come on Travis give me a name. Just a name you don't have to tell me if you slept with her."

Travis rolled his eyes at the childish taunt, but finally said, "Mac. Her name is Mac."

"See was that so hard?" Jim asked grinning at his friend's glare, "So did you fuck her?"

"DAMMIT JIM!"

"Travis has a girlfriend?" Mike asked, coming up the steps from the dancefloor and public bar area a blond woman on each arm, "Well looks like I get both of you to myself." he told them.

The blond on his left, dressing in pink giggled then made a mock pout, "You don't want to be friends Travie?"

Jim snickered, "She called you Travie. Does Mac call you Travie?"

"Who's Mac?" Chris asked, coming up the steps with Kevin beside him, and armful of drinks between the two of them.

"Travis's girlfriend." Mike replied plopping down on the couch across from Jim and Travis with his new friends.

"She's not my girlfriend. She just some chick I met in a bar." Travis snarled defensively. This was why he hated telling his band mates anything...

"Then why are you moping over her?" Jim persisted.

"Poor Travis..." Kevin chimed in, "Fallen prey to a pair of blue eyes..."

"Her eyes are green." Travis corrected him.

"Thank you for proving my point," He handed Travis another whiskey, ginning broadly.

"Fuck..." Travis snarled.

"So is she pretty?" Mike asked.

"She got big tits too huh?" Jim added.

"Not bigger than mine!" The other blond, dressed in yellow, pouted.

"Yours are fake!" the pink blond chimed in.

"Come on Travis, spill!" Jim urged, "She's fat isn't she? That's why you don't want to say anything."

"Tell us!" Mike ordered, "Or we're going to make up all kinds of things about her."

"You know they're not going to leave you alone until you tell them..." Chris warned.

Travis sighed, all too well aware he was right. "Fine. Her name's Mac, she's all of five ten and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Natural redhead, green eyes and a photographer."

"Did she give you a picture of herself naked?" pink blond asked, "I love doing that for my boyfriends"

"Which is why you keep ending up on myexgirlfriend.com" the other snapped.

"I thought you looked familiar!" Mike exclaimed.

Travis got to his feet, "Alright, I'm done. You guys are trashed, And I don't feel like drinking tonight, so I'm just going back to the hotel."

"Aw, come on!" Mike whined, "We wanna hear more about MacGirlfriend."

Travis tossed on his jacket and stepped out into the cool Portland night. A cab had just arrived to unload a group of very drunk women who made cat calls and brushed up against him as he passed, but Travis paid no attention. His mind was back in LA...

What was she doing now? Picking up another depressed rock star in a dive bar? Why did he even care? She was just another drunken lay.

The cab pulled up to the hotel and Travis got out.

He shouldn't think about it any more... she was just some girl. Some small town photographer who had found a chance to make it with a rock star and taken it. A souvenir from her time in LA... She meant nothing...

You say the sweetest things
And i can't keep my heart from singing
Along to the sound of your song
My stupid feet keep moving
With this four four beat i'm in time with you
With this four four beat I would die for you
Someone stop this...
I've gone to far to come back from here
But you don't have a clue
You don't know what you do to me
Won't someone stop this song?
So I won't song along
Someone stop this song
So I won't sing!"
~Someone Stop this song- Paramore

Outside he opened the door of a short black limo for her that was waiting by the curb. She climbed in, feeling a little like a victim of some crime syndicate being ushered to meet the Don. The young driver up front watched her curiously from his rear view mirror.

Travis climbed in and raised the window between passengers and driver.

"So..." Mac asked frantically grasping for something to say, "How'd the last show go in Portland."

"It sucked."

She blinked, "Oh... I'm sorry."

"It sucked because I couldn't fucking concentrate on what I was playing. I think only the fact that I've played those damn songs so many times saved me from really blowing the entire show."

"Oh." Mac murmured, unsure what else to say about that.

"It was all your fault too," he accused, turning in the seat towards her.

"W-what did I do?!" Mac stammered.

"You tell me," he caught her wrists and dragged her into his lap, against his chest, "Tell me why, Mac... Tell me why I can't stop thinking about you."

Mac felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Mac?" he asked.

"MAC!!"

"What?!" Mac jolted, her elbow smacking the pint of ink and knocking it off the print table. With a cry of dismay she grabbed it, managing to snag it from the air, but splattering herself with pigment and cobalt.

"Nice job, idiot!" Brett, the assistant manager of Prism Printing and her least favorite of her bosses gave her an acid look, "What have I told you about daydreaming?! Now go clean up! And if I catch you with your head in the clouds again, you'll be paying for that next pint of cyan."

Mac waited until his back was turned before flipping him the bird. She was probably the best worker in this whole damn printing house and yet because she was the only female printing tech, he always just assumed she was some flighty dip-shit.

If she wanted to fantasize while the oversize was doing it's warm ups there was nothing wrong with that!

Yeah, and hell is just a sauna... her Grandpa would say. Who was she kidding? It was stupid to be dreaming about a rock star. Their meeting was a fluke. A rare coincidence that happened once in a blue moon. A girl meets her favorite star and gets the chance to spend the night with him. Either she can throw caution to the wind and live her dream for one night or think about what might have beens. And that's what Mac had done. She'd become a loose woman for one night and slept with a stranger she met in a bar. She'd taken her shot at a dream. It had been a good dream- great in fact! Absolutely perfect. But dawn always follows night and in the day the dreams fade away...

Mac sighed, feeling her heart sink. When she'd though he was just another guy, convinced herself he wasn't a star, sat and drank with him in the bar, she'd lost a little of her heart to him. He'd been charming, if plastered, intelligent and funny. His tastes had been so similar to hers in music, movies and books. She longed to meet him sober and to know the person he was inside...

A quick shake of her head scrambled that thought. She'd had all she was going to get of him and damn if she was going to become some heart sick fool over him! It was better this way. She wouldn't think of Travis O'Hare ever again!

"Mac?!" Brett called from the door way to the oversize print lab.

"What?"

"Since you've got time to day dream why don't you clean the print heads in the over size and run through all the configuration diagnostics. And when you're done with that you can flush and prime all the juice boxes in the carriage." A false smile at her outraged astonishment and he left.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" she snarled and kicked the storage cabinet as hard as she could.

I wake up in the morning
And it comes back to you
I breath in, I breath out
It comes back to you,
I stare up at the ceiling
And it comes back to you
I step out my front door
And it comes back to you
The end of my driveway
It comes back to you
Break lights on the highway
And it comes back to you
I could die in Los Angeles
It would come back to you...
~Permission - Sixx AM

She meant nothing!

He was still telling himself that three days later as he walked into the Art Institute of Los Angeles, the third art school he'd been to that day, and walked up to the registrar's desk.

The registrar gave him a bored look and held out her hand, "I.D. badge..."

"I'm not a student," Travis explained, "I'm looking for one. Mackenzie. She's a photography major."

"Mackenzie who?" the woman asked, her droll tone mildly grating, "There's more than one woman in the world with that name."

Travis sighed. This was the part that had been giving him trouble, "I don't know her last name. I just know her first name's Mac and she's a photography major here in LA. How many Mackenzies do you have in your photography department?"

"I know a photo major named Mac," came a timid voice behind him. Travis turned to see a young woman, barely eighteen, her arms full of large sheets of film, smiling helpfully, "What does she look like?"

"She's really slim. Red hair, green eyes..." Travis supplied, mentally crossing his fingers.

The girl nodded, "That sounds like Mac. Matthews is her last name, but I don't think she's here today. She works over at a printing house about ten blocks from here. You might try there."

Travis smiled and turned to leave, "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

The girl grinned, "Uh... before you go, could I get you to sign something for me? My friends are never going to believe I met a rockstar!"

Fifteen minutes later, he finally escaped the school, having to sign at least ten more autographs and let about five people take his picture on his way out. He didn't mind. If he'd finally found her again, it would all be worth it. Besides, image was everything and they'd sworn years ago Simple Plan's image would be fan friendly.

Travis snagged the parking ticket off his windshield-- staying to sign autographs was apparently going to cost him $75, but what the hey-- and climbed into his car. The Aston Martin purred to life and shot easily from the curb under his control. A scant five minutes later he pulled into the parking lot for "Prismcut Printing" and got back out.

The young receptionist sat, her ankles crossed, feet on the counter and was texting one handed on her phone while typing something on the computer with the other. She didn't look up as the little bell above the door jingled, but said: "We're for corporate clients only. Kinkos is the next block over."

"I'm here to see Mac."

"She's busy, can I take-" the girls stopped, dropping her phone when she looked up and saw who she was talking to. "Oh my god!" she gasped, "You're Travis O'Hare from Cadaver Cult!"

He smiled, "So they tell me."

"Oh my god! I'm like the biggest fan! Like, you don't even know! I've got all your albums, and actually paid to download your stuff off iTunes!'"

"Uh... thanks?"

She smiled, clearly warming to her inner fan girl, "You guys are so amazing! I actually drove out to both San Fransisco and Las Vegas to see you in concert! Oh, it was so awesome! Especially Mike! I'm, like, his biggest fan! Like, you don't even know! I mean I like you too, but I mean, Mike is just- well- MIKE! He's so gorgeous! And he's, like, the best drummer ever!"

"Oh well I'll have to bring him by some time." Travis offered politely when she paused fro breath. The girl abruptly froze, her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping almost to the floor.

"Oh my god, you'd do that?!" she gasped.

"Sure, if he's free next time I stop by here, I'll bring him along. But first I need a reason come back here."

"Anything!" the receptionist announced immediately, "You want free printing done? Business card, posters?"

"I'd like to see Mackenzie Matthews."

The girl blinked as if she'd forgotten the reason he'd come in, then her face split into a wide smile. "Oh sure! Come on back! Normally we don't let people back here, but since it's you... She's working on the oversize today." she held open a swinging door hinged to the counter and began leading him down a pale gray painted hall way. They stopped at two windowed turquoise doors and, curiously, Travis peered in.

She was bent over at the hips, giving him a perfect view of her ass, her head buried in a massive printer. All around were tools, ink splattered rags, syringes full of ink, and pieces of tubing. The receptionist pushed one of the doors open and ushered Travis inside.

"Hey Mac?" The girl asked, somewhat tentatively.

"God dammit Cammi!" She snarled, not raising her head from the printer, "If you're here to tell me Brett has some other bullshit job for me to do, I'm going to sue this company into the ground! This is just plain harassment!" She pulled her head from the printer, wielding a pair of needle-nose pliers in an aggressive fashion. Whatever else she'd been about to expound died on her tongue when she saw Travis.

"Hi," he said simply. The intensity of her shock was a little nerve racking. You'd think she'd at least be a little happy to see him... For some unfathomable reason he was near ecstatic about seeing her. She was splattered with blue ink that looked like so many blue freckles across her face. Her red hair held restrained with a black bandanna, her jeans looked tie- dyed with the amount of ink covering them, and the blue stained white tee- shirt she was wearing was a cheap cotton that just barely let him make out the white bra underneath. She looked like a tom boy. Like the girl next door. She looked sexy as hell. Damn, had she looked this good that night at the bar? Maybe... he had a vague recollection of a simple black graphic tee and a pair of denims... Nothing like the painted up club girls he always ended up with.

"I'll just let you two chat," Cammi said and with a sly smile slipped from the room. Travis turned and watched her leave, making sure she was gone. When he turned back it was to catch Mac hurriedly trying to tuck the stray tendrils of her hair behind her ear and dust the stains from her clothes. Not so indifferent after all...

"I'm not pregnant." she blurted.

"Uh... that's... good. I didn't figure you were. Even drunk I'm not stupid enough to forget rubbers." Nice of her to reassure him, though it had only been four days so he wasn't sure how she could be positive.

"What, um... what are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes a little nervous.

"Well you never gave me your number and I completely forgot to give you mine." Slipping his hands into his back pockets, he tried to relax. Cool, Travis, be cool, You're a rockstar. This shouldn't be a problem for you. "So i figured... how else was I gonna ask you to dinner?"

"Uh... well... I don't know Travis..." She fidgeted with her hair, bit her lower lip, and turned away, "I don't think that would be a good idea."

It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. She was saying no? Girls never said no! Hell even when he was a grungy freshman in high school he always had a date when he wanted one! Girls didn't turn down rockstars! He looked at her, really looked at her. Why did he care? Why should he? She was just one girl out of thousands!

But he did care, dammit! "Why not?" he demanded, striving to keep his voice neutral.

"Well I mean... you're you! You're the lead guitarist from one of the biggest hard rock bands this decade. And well... I'm nobody. Fun for a one night stand, but hardly girlfriend material for a guy like you. You need some playboy bunny or something. Some one else who's at ease in the lime light." She faced him, her eyes determined and a little sad.

Travis felt the bands ease from his chest. That was what this was all about? "Listen, Mac. I've dated bunnies. They're air heads. Fun to fuck but useless for much else. I'm not promising undying love or that things will work out, I just want a chance to get to know you a little better."

"Look, if you're feeling guilty-"

"That's not it. I just..." Travis looked around the room, seeking inspiration. The plain Grey walls yielded no message, but the ink splattered floor painted an abstract image of wiped away colors that still stained the linoleum like some ashamed confession hastily erased. He wondered what the message could have been. The idea of it was mysterious. "You intrigue me." he said to her, taking his hint from the ink. "You're different."

She looked at him and he could see her wavering, hastily he made the final push. "Come to dinner with me. It's just dinner."

Another moments hesitation and he had her.

"Alright," she murmured, the smallest hint of a smile curving her lips and adding color to her cheeks, "I get off in fifteen minutes."

Drink up, babydoll,
Are you in or out?
Leave your things behind
'Cuz it's all going off without you
Excuse me, I'm too busy
Writing your tragedy
These mishaps, you bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like
So let go (So let go)
Jump in
Oh well whatcha' waiting for?
It's alright
'Cuz there's beauty in the break down...
~Let Go - Frou Frou

At four thirty Mac cleaned up her tools and inks, stuck an "Out of Order" sign on the oversize and clocked out. Cammi giggled at her when she came out to the front desk and hastily updated her status to let everyone on her face book know her coworker was leaving for a date with Cadaver Cult's guitarist. Mac grimaced but said nothing. If she was dating Travis it was just going to have to become part of her life from now on.

He met her outside the door and Mac had another pang of anxiety when she saw him. He was leaning with nonchalance against a denim blue Aston Martin Vanquish. Dressed in a black on black embroidered Monarchy blazer, white Salvage graphic tee and Affliction jeans with large black aviator sunglasses he looked every bit like a rock star. Where as Mac was wearing a stained men's undershirt and an old pair of L.E.I's she'd bought on clearance at a T.J. Maxx that were covered in ink. Cammi had given her a couple make-up remover pads to scrub the ink off her face, but her cosmetic selection had run far too purple for Mac's taste so she'd settled for some black eyeliner, a little mascara and some lip gloss.

He smiled at her when she came out and opened the door for her.

"Nice car," she murmured politely, fighting to keep from blushing as she slid into the liquid soft leather seat. Holy fuck she was sitting in a Vanquish-- in her opinion on of the sexiest cars ever made.

He closed the door and got in on his own side before replying, "Really you like it?"

"It's okay." she managed sounding unconcerned, but the second he turned the ignition she shuddered. This car didn't purr, it roared. "Okay I lied. I'm gonna have to change my panties when we get the restaurant. Where are we going?"

"I thought maybe we'd hit the BaHo. Ever been there?"

Mac felt the air desert her lungs. "The Bauhaus House?!" she squeeked. Easily one of L.A's most chic, most exclusive restaurants on Rodeo Dr. She'd glanced at the menu once when she'd first moved here and daydreamed a moment about one day taking clients to lunch there. They didn't have an appetizer under $30 let alone full meals. "I can't go to the BaHo!!"

"Why not?"

"LOOK AT ME! For heaven's sakes Travis they won't even let me in the door! Besides it's WAY too expensive! Can't we go to... I dunno... Ruby Tuesday's or something?"

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses and grinned, "Ruby Tuesdays? Mac our last album just went platinum for the eighth time and I just finished yet another sold out show. I think I can afford to take you some place better than Ruby Tuesday's."

His smile took the edge off, but Mac was still stung. Of course he could afford to take her to BaHo... How stupid could she get, quibbling over the expense of a restaurant? The man made more in an hour than she did in a year! "Well can I at least go home and change first?" she asked meekly.

He pursed his lips in thought a moment then pulled a hard right that practically threw her into his lap. The car turned easily into the narrow parking garage entrance. On the first floor a valet appeared to hand Travis a ticket and take his keys. They walked out of the garage and down the street about a half block until they came to a trendy looking boutique that specialized in tattoo and rocker apparel. He ushered her in the door with a grin. "How about we just get you something new to wear to dinner?" he suggestion when Mac looked at him askance.

The sales clerk behind the counter gave them a cheery hello, but didn't appear surprised to see Travis. Mac looked around the store and could feel herself starting to drool. Salvage Supply Co., Red Chapter, Monarchy and Switchblade Stiletto apparel decked the walls and racks along with the more well known names: Affliction, Sinful, Sailor Jerry and Anama. In glass cases VSA jewelry draped over modeled plaster hands and was artfully arranged around Classic Hardware and Rock Bands. In her mind, her inner girl was positively screaming in glee. Mac had never been a big fashion buff, but she'd always known what she liked even if she couldn't afford it. This place had it all and she still couldn't afford it.

Travis wandered over to the men's jeans and Mac tentatively picked up a Salvage tunic. She'd seen the same one on the company's website a few months ago and the price was still just as outrageous. Two hundred and twenty five dollars-- there was no way she could afford anything in here... She picked through a few more pieces, but nothing was much cheaper... even if she just got a fifty dollar tee shirt she was still looking at nearly two hundred for jeans.... Mac was just pondering if she could get away with the ink stained jeans and a clean tee, and biting her lip at the expense when the clerk came over.

"Is there something I can help you find?"

Mac blushed, "Well I need something to wear to dinner, but-"

"Oh honey you don't want to be looking at these!" The girl exclaimed and hastily pulled Mac away from the tee shirts back to the Salvage and Anama dresses. "Where will you two be going tonight?"

"Uh... The BaHo-"

"BaHo! Right! You'll want something a little more casual..." She snatched up the Manchester, Mercury, Black Linx, Hell's Heros and Athena dresses and handed them all to Mac. Then gave her a small shove towards the dressing room. "You just make sure those fit. What shoe size are you?"

"Uh... Nine?"

"Alright let me see what we have to match and I'll be right over to help if you need anything tightened or buckled." And like a whirlwind she was off again leaving Mac in the small dressing room holding a thousand dollars worth of clothing. With a small sigh, Mac hung up the dresses, stripped down and picked up the Heros dress.

Fifteen minutes later she'd discarded Heros, Manchester and Athena and was just pulling on the Black Linx to compare it to the Mercury. When Travis opened the curtain. Mac gave out a small shreik, "Dammit Travis! You can't come back here when I'm changing!"

"Well you're taking too long and I was getting impatient. That looks spectacular on you."

She blushed. "It's too short," she complained. He shrugged and stuck his head back out of the dressing room.

"Hey Miss, you got any black leggings?"

The clerk hurried over carrying a pair of shiney PVC leggings and handed them to Mac. She thanked the girl and closed the curtain, waiting for Travis to leave. He took the hint and ducked out. "You know this all looks really nice, but I really don't have this kind of money Travis and before you say it- I'm not comfortable taking it off of you either."

"So you'll pay me back." He replied from the other side of the curtain.

"That's just it! I can't! I can't afford this!" Leggings in place, Mac slipped on the black ballet slippers bedecked in tiny black beads and exited the dressing room. "This is what I meant when I said you being a rockstar was not going to work! And don't start with that 'it's just dinner'. This goes way beyond dinner! Friends don't buy friends-" she paused and looked at the price tag she'd unpinned from the leggings, "HOLY SHIT?! Eighty dollars for leggings?!"

He smiled, and pulled her into his arms. "Mac... I'm not worried about it and neither should you be. Relax! Ask anyone who knows me, I'm just as app to drop a grand on an old friend as a girlfriend. Some people spend their money on a dozen cars and houses on ever coast in the world. Aside from LA, I'm never in one place long enough to buy a house there, nor do I need a dozen cars. So I spend it only little things like showing a friend a good time. After tonight I promise I won't ever buy you anything extravagant ever again, but let me spoil you tonight."

Mac frowned. When he put it like that... "Oh okay..."

"But if we do start dating, I reserve the right to buy you whatever I want."

"Ha! Fat chance!" She muttered, stuffing her jeans, chucks, bra and tee into a shopping bag the clerk handed her.

She rang up a total that made Mac nauseated and Travis pulled out cash.

"You're just flaunting it now!" she complained and he chuckled, taking her arm and her bag. The rest of the evening flowed smoothly. Dinner was exquisite and after a couple glasses of wine Mac resigned herself to enjoying the evening for all it was worth. They rehashed their conversations from the bar adding to them politics, religion and nearly every other subject under the sun. Before Mac had even realized, it was midnight. Travis paid the bill-- refusing to let Mac see it, and escorted her out of the restaurant. They were still chatting enthusiastically when Travis pulled up to her apartment forty five minutes later.

They both looked at her door for a moment. Then, quietly, he murmured, "Invite me up?"

Mac sighed, "I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Maybe not, but do it anyway?"

"Why me Travis?" she asked the question escaping before she could reign it in. "You could have any woman in the world. Why me?"

Now he sighed, sitting back in his seat and looking at the ceiling for a long moment. "I don't know." he finally replied, "I've been asking myself that for four days now... You're just... different. You're not fake, you're apparently not after my money if this evening was anything to go by... Rita Hayworth used to say 'They go to bed with Gilda and wake up with me.' You didn't go to bed with Gilda."

"Not Gilda no... Unless you're into some pretty kinky name calling-"

Her chuckled and mussed up her hair, "You know what I meant."

She sighed still smiling, "Notting Hill reference aside, yes, Travis, I know what you mean."

They sat in silence for a long moment before he asked, "What now?"

"Now..." Mac replied, coming to a decision, "I'm going to bed. Alone. And tomorrow when you wake up, give me a call and we'll see where we go from there."

He smiled and pulled her to him, kissing the breath from her lungs, "Then I'll see you tomorrow."