The Bass Player – Part One

As I took in a shaky breath and tried to calm my heart rate, I was vaguely aware that I was covered in a light sheen of sweat. And no wonder either, this had been an absolute workout. I was very aware of the presence of many other sweaty, panting, pulsating bodies pressing up against mine. At least we were all in the same state of disarray. My hair was all over my face, my cheeks flushed with excitement, my eyes wide and eager for more.
I fixated on the stage as the band began the opening chords to my favourite song. The crowd around me erupted. Steeling myself, I joined in the onslaught. I love a good mosh pit. The only thing I love more than a loud concert is a good looking rockstar – and this band definitely delivered. I had bumped into the bass guitarist at a pub after a show of theirs a few years ago and had been smitten ever since. Those deep, dark eyes… that mane of completely unruly hair… that voice, that dark voice as it echoed my most favourite lyrics. I was so turned on. I knew I was taking SOMEONE home that night, the only question was who.
After the final encore, I got a cold beer and tried to cool down a bit before moving on to the next bar. The night was still early. Always the groupie, I notice the venue emptying out and the doors to the backstage area opening. The band  walk into the venue, disheveled, slightly drunk and clearly looking to keep the party going. Bass Player saunters over to me after doing a lap of the room, clearly loving the attention heaped onto him from every woman there. He had lipstick on his cheek, two beers in his hand and a torn pair of jeans that I wanted to rip from his body.
‘Hey’ he said, effortlessly cool as he swiped his mane of hair away from his face. ‘Don’t I know you?’ That was it. The fifteen year old punk rocker in me started hyperventilating. HE KNOWS ME. HE REMEMBERS ME. OHMYFUCKINGGOD. Trying to keep my cool, I smiled and introduced myself. Of course I told him what a fantastic gig it had been, how much I loved their new work, and how long I had been a fan.
His ego was sufficiently stroked. I got an invite to attend the after party with the band. When we walked through the back streets of the valley to the next venue, I secretly hoped that we would run into every single person I had ever met. I’m ashamed to admit how much sheer joy I got out of uttering the words ‘I’m with the band’ as we skipped the line and headed straight to a private booth.
​And that was when the shine started to come off the shit.​
​I quickly realised that the bottles of vodka littering the booth were absolutely not for the guests. The band held on to them like they were liquid gold, swigging straight from the bottle and seemingly oblivious to the mess they were making. ​I watched the Bass Player embarrassingly try to lure a group of girls walking past into the already over crowded booth. I don’t know if he got to the point of saying  ‘Dont you know who I am??’.. as I decided now would be a good time to get myself a very strong drink. He saw me walk to the bar and yelled over his shoulder ‘A beer would you, chick’
Chick?? A beer, would you Chick?? It’s not 1950 anymore, fuckwit. Get your own fucking beer, and my name is fucking Catt.
I got back to the booth and fished out my phone, wondering how long it would take to order a cab. Showing a moment of intelligence, Bass Player noticed my distraction and moved over to me. ‘Hey’ he whispered into my ear ‘Are you having a good night? Thanks for coming out with us after the show. I’m really glad to have you here’
Okay, okay. If he can show some basic mutual respect, perhaps our night is not over yet…….

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