Seize the Day

How I lucked into this job, I still don’t know. Not only this job, but this life, this scene. Everything still seems like a dream. I wake up every morning, expecting to be back in Kentucky. Of course, I’m not -- I’m in California. Los Angeles, the City of Angels, Hollywood, Tinsel Town. I haven’t even been to visit the family in almost a year.

LA is different. There are homeless people, food carts, expensive perfumes and colognes that somehow don’t smell like they’re worth the hundreds of dollars shelled out for them, fast cars, faster women, even faster men. Lights and glitz, glamour and money. That’s my life now. If anyone would have told me 10 years ago, hell, even 10 months ago, that I’d be living in LA, touring the world with a well-renowned band, dating the lead singer, I’d probably have laughed right in their face and told them to wake the fuck up! But that’s exactly what I’ve got. Now I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe I should start at the beginning, right?

I’d always been a fan. Ok, maybe not always, but for quite some time, before their “big” album was released. It’s my sister’s fault. She’s the mega fangirl, and it rubbed off on me. I just couldn’t help it. Their lyrics, those guitar riffs, the eyes, the muscles, those dimples! I’d seen them in concert twice before. Well, once and a half. The first show I went to, I had a full-on panic attack in the mosh pit, and ended up watching from well behind the crowd. The second time, I spent every ounce of energy in my body, what was left over from the dancing, headbanging and pushing anyway, into calming myself so I could stay up front. And up front we were -- only about 5 people back from the barrier. It was the most amazing show I’ve still ever seen live.

Cut to two years later. When my friend Sara moved to LA to pursue her acting career, I vowed I’d come visit her. There was no way I’d ever move to a city that big, it’s just not in me. But visiting, I could do. So after she’d gotten moved in, settled, and landed a decent job waitressing (of course), I booked my flight and headed to the West Coast. I’m pretty sure I stuck out like a sore thumb, in all my country-bumpkin glory amongst the $500 jeans and $250 tank tops, but I did the best I could to not look too “touristy.” Sara was called in to cover a shift the day I was set to arrive, so I was on my own in the big city for awhile. After dropping my suitcase and belongings off at Sara’s apartment, I decided to stroll through the neighborhood. She lived on a pretty main thoroughfare, so there were plenty of other people out and about. I flitted in and out of stores, glancing at price tags and more than once, nearly having a seizure over the numbers on the ticket. When I got tired of seeing things I couldn’t afford to touch, let alone own, I decided to find the restaurant Sara worked in. She would be getting off work in about an hour; surely I could hang around that long.

I found the restaurant much more easily than I’d expected. This may or may not have been partially due to the small crowd of people gathered around the windows. People with cameras. My first run-in with the paparazzi! Of course, I’d tried to mentally prepare myself for this phenomenon, as I was sure to come across them eventually during my two-week stay in LA. My pulse quickened a bit, in typical fan fashion when I thought about any number of possible celebrities Sara could be waiting on hand and foot just inside this door. I calmed myself down, found the entrance and went inside. The décor of the building was young and modern, even a touch urban. It was not quite the fancy glitz I was expecting. The floor was only polished concrete, and the tables brushed stainless steel. Even with its industrial and minimalistic theme, the place oozed a swanky vibe.

I decided to go to the restaurant’s bar and have a drink while I was waiting for Sara to finish up. The bar was made of the same shiny silver stainless steel the tables were constructed of. The barstools were mismatched old wooden stools that looked like they’d been stolen from bars all over the country and refinished. The bartender was polite, another unexpected wonder. Once I sat down and ordered my usual Jack Daniel’s and Coke, I realized that I was relaxing for the first time since I’d gotten to the airport back in Cincinnati. I hate flying. I’d really rather not do it at all, if possible, but it was going to be a damn sight cheaper to fly than to drive 2,300 across country. So flying it was. It was actually only the third time I’d ever even been on a plane, which didn’t help matters any. My dear drinking friend Jack D. helped me get on the plane, it was only fitting that he welcomed me off. It wasn’t terribly loud at the bar, so I was able to let my thoughts wander. Just as I was finishing my first drink, Sara rushed past.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming here first!” she said, skidding to a stop.

“Yeah, I didn’t either.” I hopped off my barstool and hugged her, carefully dodging the tray of glasses she carried. “Got bored walking around by myself, so I figured I’d stop in and have a drink while I waited.”

“Well, did you see them?” she asked breathlessly, adding, “I know you’re a fan, so I was trying to figure out how I’d tell you that you’d missed them when I got home, but then I saw you come in.”

Shooting her the most confused look I could muster, I shook my head. “They who? What are you talking about?” Suddenly, I remembered the cameras and crowd outside. I started scanning the restaurant, looking for familiar faces of people I’d never met.

“Gotta go! Couple tables left. I should be finished in about 45 minutes,” Sara called over her shoulder. She was gone before I realized she was leaving.

I went back to examining the room, trying to find the elusive they I was supposedly a fan of. The bartender noticed my active gaze, and pointed to the corner. “Follow the love,” he said, a touch of laughter in his voice.

Sure enough, there was a large table set in that corner, not the nearest to me, but not the furthest from me either. A small group of people were blocking my view of the table’s occupants, but by the looks on the faces of a couple bystanders, I knew this was the they I was looking for. With still no idea who it was, I turned back to the bartender. “Big night, I guess?” I asked casually.

“Actually, pretty slow. Of course they’re here, so the cameras are too, but otherwise, kind of a boring night. They better tip well, that’s all I’m saying,” he responded, chuckling again.

“So, who is it? I can’t see over those blonde girls’ heads,” I asked.

“Their heads? Nah, it’s those fake-ass boobs that are in the way!” he said.

“Ok, fair enough. I wasn’t going to say it, but was certainly thinking it,” I replied with a wink. “Really though, who’s over there? Oh, and I’m Vivienne, by the way. I’m a friend of Sara’s,” I said glancing toward the kitchen door Sara had just hurried through.

“Name’s Luke. Sara said she had a friend coming into town for a couple weeks,” he said. “And they are some big rock band. Apparently they’re popular. I don’t have a clue, honestly.”

Ok, it’s a band, I thought to myself. That helps a little, I guess… Nope. Not really.

My eyes continued to sweep the bar area, which was now starting to fill up. It was after 9pm now, after all. People in LA are bound to go out at night. A bar with lots of people means people were starting to collect in small cliques behind me. I hate it when people stand behind me, I thought to myself in a hiss. I’m going to need another drink if I’m dealing with a crowd.

“I’ll have another Jack & Coke when you get a chance, Luke,” I said as he was washing a couple of glasses, eyeballing the growing crowd. I could tell he was mentally psyching himself up for the night ahead.

“Coming right up!” he called, too much mock cheerfulness in his voice. I just grinned at him.

I could feel people getting closer behind me. You are sitting at the bar, V, I told myself. People have to get their drinks here, too. Of course they are going to line up behind you.

“One Jack Daniel’s and Coca-Cola for the lady,” Luke cooed playfully, sliding my drink down the bar.

I reached for my wallet, when a hand appeared on my shoulder. “Put this one on our tab, man,” said a dark, velvety voice directly next to my ear. “Any girl who drinks Jack is a friend of mine.” As I turned to see who was so chivalrously purchasing my drink, I saw Luke slightly roll his eyes. Ignoring him, I continued the revolution of my barstool, when my gaze caught on two of the most striking hazel-green eyes I’d ever seen. Or at least it would have, had I not been distracted by the most ridiculously incredible set of dimples known to man (or woman, as it were). “Hey. I’m Matt.”

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“Yeah, I-I-I-I k-n-n-now,” I managed to stammer out. Smooth, V. Real smooth, I thought. I cleared my throat stupidly, as if that was supposed to help anything, and mumbled, “I’m Vivienne.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? Mmmvuhvenny?” his silky voice nearly purred, grinning. I finally noticed his eyes as he winked at me.

I stared a little too long before I snapped out of it. I cleared my throat again, this time willing it to clear my head as well. “Ha ha. I’m Vivienne.” I put out my hand with all the mock courage I could muster.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said as he grasped my hand. “So, you know who I am, huh?” he asked, trailing off just slightly at the end of the question.

Big, strong hands, I thought. I’m not sure if it was him or me who held the greeting a little longer than was considered normal, or if it even actually was. When I finally managed to break the grasp, the gaze, and whatever voodoo magic spell that I’m fairly certain he had cast over me, I remembered he’d asked me a question. “Of course I know who you are,” I managed to respond, far more articulately than I’d been able to muster so far. I turned back to the bar to reach for my drink in an attempt to look nonchalant. Unfortunately, I’m too clumsy to be nonchalant, and ended up sloshing a little of the drink onto the counter. As I glanced down the bar, I saw that Luke was busy helping other bar patrons, but noticed he was still keeping one eye in my direction.

Aw, I said to myself. He’s protecting me. I took a deeper swig of the concoction than I’d meant to and nearly choked.

“So. It’s a Friday night, and you’re sitting in a restaurant bar, by yourself, in LA. You’re not from around here, are you?” Flashing those dimples again, he added, “No one goes anywhere by themselves in LA.” He leaned sideways against the bar, wedging himself lightly between my stool and the empty one to my right. He settled in, obviously waiting for my response.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked quickly, looking over my outfit. I tried, I thought. Guess I still need a little work in the fashion department.

“Yeah, a little,” he beamed. Noticing that I was studying my clothes, he added, “Not that. Just don’t have the LA ‘tude is all. You look too normal to be here.”

“I’m from the cornfields of Ohio originally, transplanted to Kentucky,” I said, laughing. “Is that ‘normal’ enough for you? I’m here visiting a friend for a couple of weeks. That’s her over there. She works here,” pointing across the room at Sara, who was still rushing around, now in the direction of the large corner table.

“Oh, Sara. She’s been taking care of us all night. She’s pretty awesome.”

Just then, Sara changed her course of direction and headed toward the bar. “Oh! I see you did find them! Seems like you’ve made a friend,” she said, turning more to me so Matt couldn’t see her wink. “Good thing, I guess. One of the girls just wrecked her knee in the kitchen, so I’m going to cover, and it’ll be late. I’m sorry to leave you high and dry, but I’m sure you’ll find something to do! It is LA!” At that, she turned at jetted back to her tables.

Great, I thought. Now I’m stuck trying to find something exciting to do, by myself. And no one goes anywhere by themselves in LA, or so I’ve been told.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Matt snapped his fingers in front of my face. “No pouting allowed.”

I hadn’t even realized I was pouting, but I probably was. I was disappointed that I was going to be hanging out here in this bar all night.

“Shit,” Matt suddenly muttered under his breath.

“Dude. What the HELL is taking you so long? We sent you over here like an hour ago for drinks.” He must have full-on run to the bar from their corner table. I heard him speak well before he nearly plowed me off my stool.

“It was not an hour ago, it was like 15 minutes. And I know, I know. I’m on my way,” Matt said. He turned to the bar, and waved down Luke.

I looked at the man who was now standing directly behind me, studying his thickly lined dark brown eyes, spiky black hair, and of course, the tattoos. “And you must be…” I began.

“I’m Synyster Fucking Gates,” he cut me off.

“Yeah, I know. And you’re awesome.” I smiled and finished his personal tagline for him. “And maybe more than a little drunk, too, I’d say.” He was hanging onto the back of my barstool for support.

He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “Actually, I’m not, yet. I’ve learned that A) people expect me to be drunk, apparently, and B) fewer people mess with us, if we’re drunk! Call me Brian, though, please.”

“Ok, fair enough,” I laughed. “I’m Vivienne.”

“Oh, I see how it goes. Syn here is the drunk one, and you get your name right the first time for him! And I’m the one that came over to talk to you!” Matt playfully slugged my arm.

“OUCH!” I rubbed my upper arm and contorted my face in mock pain. “You took me by surprise. I assumed the other guys were here as well. I had time to psych myself up for it. Besides, since I was occupying way too much of your evening, it was only a matter of time before one of them came looking for you, am I right?”

Brian looked at Matt with a cocked eyebrow, seeming impressed. “This girl’s good, isn’t she?”

I finished the last sip of my Jack and Coke and ordered another one. Luke was now eyeing me even more carefully, that both men were literally surrounding me.

“Oh, be still my heart. And she drinks JD too? I think I like her!” Brian’s enthusiasm was slightly overwhelming, but more than a little infectious.

“Well, I hope that’s the case, ‘cause she’s hanging with us tonight,” Matt said, flaunting those ditch-deep dimples yet again.

My heart skipped a beat, and my mind wandered for a half-second. I’m pretty sure I’d jump off a cliff if he asked me to, so long as he was smiling like that. “Nah, I can’t. I’m sure you guys have super important mega-famous rockstar business. Parties and girls and whatnot.” Although, I could definitely stand to be close to you all night…

“There’s always super important mega-famous rockstar business to attend to. We’re pre-gaming a party as we speak, Christ is trying to plan a strip club trip, and as for girls…..” Matt trailed off.

“Whatever, you’re with us for the night. Sara just told us she’s not getting off work until late,” Brian jumped in. “Mentioned having a friend in town hanging out at the bar. Shads never came back, so I put two and two together and came to locate.” Matt shook off the hand Brian had clamped on his shoulder, and threw a quick jab to his gut. Headlocks were attempted, but I managed to slide off my stool and between them before they drew any more attention to us. I was already getting nervous at the eyes I could feel focusing on me, just because they were there.

“Locate you did. Fine. I’m in. What’s the plan?” I picked up my glass and sipped, waiting for a response.

“Let’s go meet the gang, first of all!” Matt grabbed the tray of drinks that Luke had just finished mixing for the table and led the way.

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Matt’s POV

Regular Friday night out and about, I thought. Gotta keep up fucking appearances, I guess. Why we’d chosen this stupid hipster bar in Beverly Fucking Hills, I’ll never know. There were plenty of places in Huntington that we could have gone, that we always go to. Not tonight, oh no. It was “let’s drag Shadows all over the fucking state” night, apparently. It shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose. There had been a lot of that going around the last month or so. The guys had kept bitching about me being so fucking mopey.

I fucking hate cameras, I growled to myself, seeing the reflections of flashes in the window behind us. I should go knock every one of their teeth in.

I guess Brian felt my mood, because he shot me a look. “Dude, just calm down,” he whispered through his teeth. “Relax, and have a good fucking time, ok?”

Yeah, a good time. Sure, easy for you to say. “Yeah, ok,” I told him. He’s right. Just calm down. You used to enjoy this shit. What happened? I’d actually begun arguing with myself at this point. You know exactly what the fuck happened. And you can’t do anything about it. So get over it, and have fun.

I pushed the inner monologue to the side, and tried to focus on at the very least acting like I was enjoying myself. Really, the only thing I wanted to do was to get out of here, drive, sing, scream, punch something. Anything but sit here and pretend I was having fun. But I put on my best rockstar face, and went along with it. After a couple of drinks, I was actually starting to have fun, as opposed to just acting like it. We’d brought the whole crew out, including the roadies, to celebrate something. I don’t even know what. I think they were making things up now to celebrate, just to get me out of the house.

The last eight months had been shitty. Really fucking shitty. It had gotten to the point that I didn’t even notice that the guys had stopped calling or coming over to check on me. They didn’t even want to be around me. Until finally, last month, Brian and Zack staged a fucking intervention or something. They both came over and all but beat the shit out of me, trying to get me to realize what I was doing, or what I wasn’t doing. They were right. I hadn’t done anything. We’d been on a break from touring, so I didn’t have that to focus on. I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to write anything new. Writing had always been my outlet, my coping mechanism. That was broken now too. I’d pretty much sat in my living room playing video games for six months. Ever since then, at least once a week, they load me up and we go out. Drinking helps. It makes me remember what fun I used to have. Until I get home. Alone. Then I remember why they have to literally drag me out into the car.

Just then, Sara, our waitress for the night, came back to the table. “Everyone doing ok?” she asked.

“I think we’re good,” Zack answered her.

She put her hand on my shoulder. Apparently everyone, even the goddamned waitstaff, could see how miserable I was. “You sure?” she asked, not directly at me, but meaning it that way anyway.

“Yep, good,” I said. I even managed to fake a smile.

“Ok,” she grinned, an honest smile, not the bitchy fake kind so many waitresses wear just to get tips. Sara was cute enough, in sort of a plain way. “I’ll be back to check on you guys in a couple minutes. I have a friend who’s visiting from Kentucky, and she just showed up here. I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Kentucky, huh?” I asked her, amused.

“Yeah, that’s where I’m from originally.” She seemed happy to talk. Or maybe she was happy that I was talking. I’m not sure. “Had enough of the crappy Heart of America routine, and moved myself out here. She loves it there, but is here to visit for a couple of weeks. Flag me down if you need anything, ok?” She waltzed off toward the bar.

While the other guys were continuing their conversation about whatever it was they were talking about, which I’m positive included the words “suck a fuck,” I let my mind wander. I guess my eyes decided to wander a little too. I watched Sara flounce up to the bar, flipping her long, dark, curly hair over her shoulder, pausing to talk to someone. The other girl had short black hair, that I saw had a white-blonde streak in the front when she turned to face Sara. When she stood up, hugging her friend, I also noticed that she was tall, about 6 inches taller than Sara. Maybe it was her clothes, the ripped jeans and lacy tank top. Maybe it was her confidence. Maybe it was her curves, those hips, but there was something about her that was just… different. I couldn’t help but smile, as I watched her. Ok, now you’ve gone off the mother-fucking Uncle Creepy deep end, Sanders, I told myself.

I noticed her gaze, scanning the restaurant. She was looking for something or someone. I could see her, but I could tell she couldn’t see us through the ugly-ass blonde bimbos who were trying to gather around our table. I’d had about enough of them, anyway.

“Uh, you ok, dude?” Brian asked me, trying to follow my look. “You fuckin’ spaced out on us for a second there.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said, still grinning like a fucking fool.

“Yeah,” Brian sighed. “Good, and creepy.” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Earth to Shadows,” he grunted. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

I pushed his hand out of the way. “I’m gonna go get a drink, anyone want anything?” I announced to everyone and no one in particular. I pushed back my chair and stood up to leave. Everyone started shouting drink orders at me. I couldn’t remember half of them, but I’d been drinking with these assholes long enough to know what their poisons were. I’ll get them all something, they’ll never even remember what they ordered.

Brian, having been the only one to have noticed my little episode, watched me leave. He started to say something, but stopped before it came out. “Shut up, man,” I hissed under my breath as I walked off.

She had turned back to the bar, and was chatting with the bartender, so her back was to me as I approached. I heard her order a Jack & Coke. Ha, my kinda girl, I thought. The bartender, too quick and too polite, slid her drink down the bar, like in an old Western movie. She went for her wallet to pay for the drink. Here’s your chance.

I snuck in between a couple of girls, who obviously knew who I was and were trying to get close enough to prove it, and put my hand on her shoulder. “Put this one on our tab, man,” I said, maybe a little too close to her ear. She jumped when I spoke. “Any girl who drinks Jack is a friend of mine.”

Ok, now turn on the charm, I thought. The other guys were always giving me shit about how I can talk to anyone, anytime. Here’s your test. Prove it.

She turned her head to see whose hand was on her shoulder and stopped suddenly. Shit, she knows who I am. Not that being recognizing didn’t happen every fucking day when you’re the frontman of Avenged Sevenfold. I’ve gotten more than my fair share of screams, hugs, kisses, marriage proposals, punches in the face from jealous boyfriends, autograph and photo requests, and the like. I guess I was just hoping for a normal conversation. Brace yourself, here comes the squeal. “Hey. I’m Matt,” was all I said.

“Yeah, I-I-I-I k-n-n-now.” She stumbled over her words, cleared her throat and tried again. Unfortunately, she did better the first time. I had no idea what she’d managed to stammer.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Mmmvuhvenny?” I winked at her, repeating to the best of my ability what she’d mumbled. She just stared. I wondered what she was thinking.

Finally, she caught herself, shook her head slightly, adjusted her dark-rimmed glasses, and said, “Ha ha. I’m Vivienne.” She put out her hand confidently in a greeting, so I took mine off her shoulder and shook hers.

“So, you know who I am, huh?” I asked her, waiting for the fangirl questions. My favorite is “Do you have any idea who you are?” I know, I know. It’s not nice to make fun of people when they’re in such a state. But really? Do I know who I am? Yeah. I actually do, more than you ever will. I realized that I’d been holding onto her hand for too long, and studying her light brown, dark hazel eyes the whole time. In her case, the black frames of her glasses emphasized her big eyes, rather than hiding them, as glasses do for a lot of people. At the instant I realized I was staring too long, I opened my mouth to apologize.

Apparently, however, she’d noticed the same thing, because she shook her hand out of mine. “Of course I know who you are,” she said, oozing that confidence I’d noticed from across the room.