Last Days in L.A. by Bella Sapphire

Last Days in L.A.

by Bella Sapphire

“The best way to bag a musician,” Laura said to me, “is to pretend, right after the show, that you weren’t paying attention to what he was doing on stage.” We were sitting at Fred 66, a trendy diner in Silver Lake, California, eating breakfast. “You have to seem mostly disinterested in the music,” she said, “not because you are stupid and don’t know that he’s great, but because you’ve seen so many greats that the music isn’t what makes him special. You have to convince him there’s something else that makes him interesting to you.” She stirred her coffee and sucked on the spoon for a second. “Also, you have to make sure that he thinks you are just crazy about him alone, and not anyone else in the band.”

“That can’t be very easy to do,” I said, and shook my napkin into my lap.

I had one week left in LA on a fashion design internship, and then I’d be headed back to Boston to finish out my degree. I’d had a crush on Simon, the bass player for a band called InYourHead, for weeks. Despite my normal shyness, I was considering the possibility of just sucking it up, putting on a pair of tight pants, and going to Simon’s show on Monday night with the intention of trying to get a date. Laura was arming me with female strategies. It sounded so calculating, but Laura and Jordan, a guitarist for another band, had been together for almost three years, so I trusted her.

“It’s never easy to date someone who has their pick of women,” Laura said, “but musicians are actually pretty easy because they are often really insecure, deep down. All you have to do is find that little place in them that worries everyone likes them for the wrong reasons, and make sure you exploit it gently.”

“Is that how you got Jordan?” I asked.

“Sort of,” she said. “I really wasn’t paying attention when he played though,” she put her finger over her lips and whispered, “don’t tell him.” She got ready to sum it up. “Simon’s a bass player so he gets less attention than everyone else already. You approach him with a genuine interest in HIM, not just an interest in being a groupie, and then you rely on the magic of mutual attraction to kick in.” She sipped her coffee. She set the cup down, and the small “clunk” punctuated her statement. “That’s all you do, period.”

It wasn’t like Simon and I hadn’t met before, anyway. I had seen him play with three different bands at various dark clubs in Hollywood. I’d been introduced because Laura and Jordan were trying to get him to play for a project Jordan was doing in the studio. I’d never said anything interesting to him, and I’d certainly never tried to get him to go out with me.

“I guess I’m just not confident enough in my own seduction abilities here,” I said.

“You aren’t seducing,” Laura said. “They get enough of that already. What you are doing is presenting yourself in the most genuine way possible. In fact, you are being more genuine in those first few moments with him than you are probably being with me right now. It’s like you are giving him a shot of Amy Concentrate. And if he’s paying attention, he’ll want more.” I thanked her for the compliment.

“Fine, I’ll go,” I said suddenly, surprising us both by how certain I sounded. “I’ll just wing it, and I’ll treat it like any other humbling life experience. It can’t possibly be more embarrassing than my senior prom. I’m leaving next week anyway, right?”

Laura applauded me. Then she said, “I tell you what, I’ll see if I can get Jordan out of the studio that night and we’ll all go together.”

“That would definitely cut down on my anxiety.”

“You got it.” She clicked her spoon against the table. “Ready for a check?”

I nodded. And I felt the coil of adrenaline in my gut, as I thought about how I only had two days to prepare myself for what should have just been a normal thing to do.

I was in the design studio the next day, cutting some swatches, when my phone rang.

“It’s all set,” Laura said. “Jordan’s going to get out of the studio by nine tomorrow and we’ll come pick you up.”

I agreed to it, because I hated looking like an idiot in front of anyone, but my hands were shaking too much to keep working. What is my problem? I thought. It doesn’t matter what happens. I’m leaving for Boston next week. Even if he and I hit it off, it’s low-risk. I tried to feel good about that. But what if we really liked each other? Was it just stupid of me to go after him? Why had I waited so long? Frustrated, I packed up my project and went home. I listened to Simon’s band in the car, trying to hear the bass lines.

When Laura and Jordan came to pick me up the next day, I had spent way too long getting ready.

“Hey Amy,” Jordan said, hands in pockets. “Nice pants.”

“Yeah,” said Laura, “keep the pants. Lose the frizz and half that makeup.”

I let her fix me up.

Once we got inside the Roxy, I really had to expend energy to relax. We’d made it just in time for Simon’s band. He was one of those guys who plays half the time with his eyes closed, so you never know if he knows you are looking at him. This freed me to stare, which I did. I remembered Laura saying I shouldn’t be paying attention, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. I sipped on a beer and thought about how different my life would be when I was back in school full time in Boston. No more warm nights standing in line outside Hollywood clubs. No more Saturday mornings with Laura. No more listening to band practices in the rental studios with Jordan’s band. Of course, I’d also get to see all my college friends again. I suddenly pictured Simon hanging out with my Boston friends: we were all eating nachos and yelling at the Sox game on TV at the Baseball Tavern. There was something about it that felt totally perfect. Enough, I said to myself. That’s really crazy.

Simon’s set ended. A few minutes later, he was standing in between Jordan and Laura, directly across our small circle from me.

“Simon,” said Laura, “you remember Amy? She’s my good friend who’s leaving us for the East Coast.”

“Hey,” I said, and held out my hand.

“I remember,” Simon said. He shook my hand and smiled. “You make clothes, right?”

I looked at Laura. She looked innocently back. “I have to run to the bathroom,” she said. “Jordan, will you grab me another Amstel?” and then they were both gone.

“So when are you leaving?” Simon asked.

I told him next week.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “We have a cool show at Molly Malone’s in a month.”

I looked at him, at his wavy brown hair and stubbly face, and I made a decision.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I said.

People don’t really go for walks in the neighborhood where we were. They cruise down Sunset in their cars. We had the sidewalk to ourselves, except for the occasional knot of shiny people outside a club. We talked about his music, and about my internship, and I got simultaneously sadder and more excited with every minute. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t tried to get to know him earlier. When we got close to the end of the Sunset Strip, Simon stopped.

“I guess my timing’s pretty bad,” he said, “but if you’d like to hang out sometime before you go, I know this great Japanese restaurant near here.”

I wondered if Laura and Jordan had put him up to this. “Are you serious?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m serious.” Then he put a hand on the side of my face. “I was so glad when Jordan told me you were interested in me, I wish I’d had the balls to do something about it earlier.”

“Those bastards!” I said. But of course I had to laugh too. He leaned in to kiss me and his skin smelled like almonds. We were just standing on the street corner, mouths together, holding on to each other, and in nearly every car that passed us someone honked or yelled out the window. My body had ignited and I could feel him getting hard, pressing into my thigh. His tongue was light and slow and his lips were thick and soft.

He pulled away after a minute. “Wow,” he said, “I didn’t expect that.” He kissed my ear. “But I’m really glad it happened.”

We made a date for Japanese food. The next day. We held hands on the way back to the Roxy and neither of us could stop smiling. When we found Laura and Jordan, they were on the side of the club, leaning on each other, listening to the last band. They saw us and I was sure they’d tease us mercilessly. I was right.

“Sneaky bitch!” Laura yelled. “How dare you go off to make out without telling me!”

“Nice work,” Jordan said, and punched Simon on the arm.

I was so excited for dinner that I could barely work on Tuesday. When I got home I put on a short jean skirt and a T-shirt, the kind of cute-but-casual uniform I’d gotten used to wearing in LA. My body was already buzzing when Simon appeared at the door. He kissed me slowly, kept his hands on my waist, told me I looked fantastic.

Over veggie tempureh and sushi we cracked each other up with stories about being awkward kids. He’d gotten kicked off his soccer team because of how many goals he scored for the wrong side. I had dropped out of ballet because I couldn’t do turns to the left. Every time our knees bumped under the table I wanted to jump out of my side of the booth and get in his lap. Chill out, I kept telling myself. Laura called me towards the end of dinner.

“Come over,” she said. “We have a surprise for you. Bring Simon.”

We got to her place and I knew by all the cars on the block that she’d planned a party. Jordan’s band was there, and Simon’s, a few people from the Roxy show, and my friends from the design studio, even my boss. Everyone was already having a great time when we got there. Laura had made a banner that said “We’ll Miss You Amy” and strung it across her living room. I hugged her and told her it was the nicest thing anyone had done for me.

“You mean setting you up, or throwing a party?” she said.

“Both,” I told her.

Simon and I orbited each other, occasionally meeting eyes. I kept worrying that he’d leave before the party was over and I wouldn’t get to kiss him again. I worried that he’d find another girl there he liked better. He talked to everyone, which made me worry even more, until I realized it might just be a strategy for sticking around. When the whole thing started winding down, he came over to me.

“Do you want a ride home?” he said.

Of course I did.

When he got to my block, I invited him up. This is it, I thought to myself. I’ve only got a couple of days left.

He was as eager to get upstairs as I was. Simon had this uncanny way about him—strong hands on my ass, soft hands on my face, how did he know exactly where to bite my neck? We were in my bedroom breathing heavy into each other’s ears and pulling at our clothes within seconds of entering my apartment. I hadn’t cleaned the place, and I didn’t care. He pushed aside a pile of clothes and sat on my bed. I crawled into his lap and reached between my legs to undo his belt. He brushed my breasts as he pulled off my shirt, and my nipples were already hard when he slid his mouth down to suck one. I was arching against him, starting to grind on his lap, reaching into his shirt when I realized he was hiding a nicely toned body in those rock band T-shirts he always wore. He slid his hands up my thighs and pulled me in tighter, closer, down onto his hard-on. He slipped a finger under my panties, drew a few agonizing circles, then pushed his finger inside me and kept his other hand on the small of my back as I rocked against him.

Every guy I’d been with before Simon had wanted to be on top most of the time, especially the first time. I always thought it was some kind of straight-man control issue, where they felt like they had to show me what they could do, or they were better able to keep an erection that way, or some other performance-related insecurity. I hadn’t complained. But Simon scooted out of his pants, lay down on his back, and as I leaned over him, he started grinning. I pulled my hair back with my hand. I still had my skirt on, but all that was between us really was my tiny lacy thong.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing’s funny,” he said, “You’re just sexy as hell.”

“You are sexy as hell,” I said. “I can’t believe I get to touch you.”

He snorted, and we laughed. He started tugging at my skirt.

He rolled on a condom while I pulled off the last of my clothes. He let me stay on top. He was deliciously hard and I just held his gorgeous cock in my hand for a second before I let go to balance myself over him. I straddled him and reached down to guide him in. I started so slowly that it seemed like I was barely moving. I took him in inch by inch, pulling up and then pushing down a little farther each time. When I had him all the way inside, and his eyes were closed, I couldn’t stand it, and I started grinding fast, my hips pushing forward into his tight belly and my thighs squeezing him on either side.

We were so hungry for each other, groaning into each other’s mouths, shoulders, necks. I’d never had the freedom to make so much noise—no roommates or parents to worry about! We spun around, both of us on our sides, then me on my back with him on top. He hooked one arm under my right leg and I felt him go even deeper. The way he groaned in my ear drove me crazy, I was pushing my hips up to him, I licked his neck, sucked the sweat from his collar bone, threw my arms up to brace myself against the wall so he could push as hard as he wanted. He pulled me to the end of the bed and flipped me over again. He stood at the foot of the bed and bent me over it, entered me with one deep push while rubbing my back. He was pumping fast, slapping my ass as I gripped the blankets, my knees buckling. He would occasionally slow down, hold me still with those gorgeous hands on my hips, and take a deep breath. Then he’d start again, slowly at first, until we couldn’t take it and were pushing into each other hard and fast again.

He stayed behind me as we crawled back onto the bed. He lay on my back, pressing me into the bed. He made me come from behind, his hand curled around to draw circles on my clit, and as I got close, I felt him get even harder. I screamed into the bed, arched my back as far as I could go, and he kissed the back of my neck, ran his tongue up to my ear, and said Oh-God-Oh-God-Oh-God as he came, pulsing as he pushed deep into me, his hips pressing up on my ass. He turned me over and I wrapped my legs around him. He circled his hips in slow for a few seconds while our breath slowed down.

We were lying next to each other, giggling and fighting over who had to sleep in the wet spot when his phone rang. “What the fuck?” he said as he found it and looked at the caller. It was his lead singer.

“Answer it,” I said. “I’ll be quiet.” I watched his body, shining with sweat, as he sat up and tried to sound normal.

From my end, it sounded like good news. A lot of “No way, man” and “That’s awesome” coming from Simon. He hung up.

“We booked a tour,” he said. “We got a sponsor tonight off that Roxy show.”
“That’s amazing!” I said, and hugged him.

“Ask me where the tour is going,” he said, and kissed me.

“Boston?” I said.

“Can I visit you?” he asked. “Will you come see us play?”

Of course, I told him. I had no idea what might happen, but that was okay, I was too happy to worry about it.

He rubbed a hand across my stomach. “So what do you want to do with your last days in L.A.?” he asked.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas,” I said, and I pulled him back down into bed.

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Bella Sapphire is an erotic writer and burlesque dancer from Los Angeles. She currently lives and performs in Boston with Gypsy Rose Dance and Boink Burlesque.