Flames

Roxanna and Gabriel Part Two.

I was busy. Hellishly so. Raff had me running errands across town, getting our show gear fixed, chaps that had unravelled at the seams, and purchasing a rainbow full of g-strings. We fixed the stage lighting and Mario and I re-tiled the bathrooms. Somewhere in the mix I did two shows, work distracting me from the memory of the mysterious brunette, Roxanna Hashemi.

She worked at the pharmacy, I was sure of that. So I went there a few times a day. For plasters. Antiseptic cream. Bandages.

I wasn't accident prone, I just needed to see her.

And then Saturday morning, when I was working on my Harley, Raff and Mario inside figuring out the set list for tonight's show, I saw her. She was hanging around outside the club, a garment bag in her arms, almost dwarfing her. She paced up and down. She must have knocked a few times but knowing Mario he had the sound system cranked up as far as decibels went.

'Hey.' I stood up, greasy hands stained black. She saw me, clutching one hand to her chest, before heading my way. I stayed inside the garage, keeping my distance in case she wanted a bit of breathing room. And I needed breathing room. It had been three days and it felt like weeks since I'd seen her.

'This is yours.' She placed the bag down on my work bench. 'Thanks. For letting me borrow your coat.'

The blazer from Tuesday night.

'I had it cleaned.' She continued, ever the frightened wallflower, the softness of her voice was enchanting.

'Thank you.' My voice was husky and hard. I hated the way I sounded, because I worried it'd send her running. I was the polar opposite of her. I imagined her skin unmarred, porcelain, devoid of tattoos or scars. 'It's good to see you.'

She nodded, eyes boldly moving around the garage. She wore a long summer dress today, white linen. Like some kind of angel.

'How did the essay turn out?'

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want this silence.

She surprised me, running her fingers across the hood of my vintage Triumph. When I'm not working I'm riding. Nothing more freeing than being able to go wherever you want. Nothing more therapeutic.

'My lecturer was really impressed.' Her cheeks burned and she looked away from the bike. 'Thank you. For handing it in. It's been tough since I moved here....' And then she paused. 'I should go.'

'Don't.' I heard myself say, and her eyes grew wide. 'Have a drink with me.'

'I can't....I should go. My uncle will be back any minute.'

'When can I see you again?' I had to be bold. Had to ask. My heart galloped in my chest and my eyes worked their way across her face, she bit down on her lip again, and I thanked all the deities for the Triumph. Currently separating us.

'I have to go. Thanks again for the jacket, Mr Jackson.'

..............

The hot weather continued. I spent five days in Amsterdam for a buddies stag do, shunning the advances of a particularly shapely red head. Once you've worked in the biz you know what's going on in her head. It's all about her bottom line. She's for hire, a pretty mouth to say all the right things, do all the right things. For the right price.

I had a Friday night show to shake me out of my funk, a new routine to get my head around with Garrett and Carl. The three of us are called the dream team on Raff's posters. We had four hen parties expected, a retirement do and a bus load of burlesque dancers from a club in London. Mario, also a spray tan aficionado, had us all looking like we'd spent a month in the Caribbean, and we were good to go.