Shout the Call

I can drink; I promise you that but Shout The Call’s drinking habits are in a different league entirely. They just seem to have bottomless pits for stomachs. I don’t and I knew I’d never be able to keep up with them.

“Hey guys, I think I’m about ready to call it a night,” I said as I glanced back from the clock above the bar to the boys in the band.

“Aw, don’t be such a lightweight,” Aaron slurred, quite obviously drunk, “come on; the night is still young.”

“That may be the case for you ‘rock-stars’ but I don’t do hangovers and it’s going to be a full on day tomorrow.”

Tim Belson, the drummer, piped up.

“Yeah, we know that but you heard what Jim said; the action don’t start until tomorrow night which gives us all plenty of time to nurse our bad head’s, eat a load of shit and then get back on it again until we hit France.”

“Yeah,” Aaron agreed, “c’mon baby; don’t spoil it. Let’s have fun. Let’s get wasted!”

I should have been angry at being called “baby” by someone I barely knew but I wasn’t. The hottest lead singer I’ve ever set my eyes on had said it and it sounded so good. ‘What the hell,” I thought to myself, ‘go for it.’ I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

******

“I really, really need to go now,” I addressed the band, totally aware of how slurred my speech sounded, “I’ve had way more than my fill and I’m so tired. I know it doesn’t mean much to you but tomorrow is a big deal for me and I don’t want to ruin anything.”

The band playfully mocked me, repeating my words in a whining manner.

“Look, I’m not a lightweight,” I shot in defensively, “I’m just being sensible. I’ll flag a cab down outside; I already have your address.” I stood up unsteadily and tried desperately not to tumble over as I shuffled out of the booth. A quick look at the clock again told me it was eleven thirty. We’d been drinking and chatting for almost seven hours.

“Hey Bea,” Aaron said between hiccups, “I’ll come with you. I’m done here too.”

“No, it’s okay Aaron, really. You don’t have to leave on my account. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that but I seriously need my bed; seriously.” Aaron replied. And here was little old me thinking he wanted to come back with me to, well, you know….

“Okay, cool,” I replied, “At least now I’ll have some company in the taxi.”

“Taxi; what taxi?” Aaron replied with a guffaw, “We’re walking baby. I think it’s about time I got to know you properly.”

I smiled awkwardly and felt blood rush to my cheeks. He smiled back and we walked out of the pub.

******

We didn’t speak for a few minutes or so. I could sense he was itching to break the ice but couldn’t quite bring himself the crack the surface.

“So, I don’t know whether you know this,” I said, deciding to take the lead, “but Shout The Call is my favourite band ever!”

“Serious?” Aaron replied shyly.

“Totally,” I answered with possibly more gusto than was really needed. “I’ve seen you live eight times and I have all three albums; all your singles and your b-sides too. Oh, and you won’t believe the amount of merch I have.”

I realised quickly that I sounded more like a crazed fan-girl rather than a well-rounded, grown up but then, that’s the story of my life; music will always be my passion. It’s probably the only thing that excites me anymore. Aaron didn’t need to know this though. I was here on business.

“Shit. Sorry, Aaron. You see; this is what drink does to me,” I went on, feeling silly, “I can talk for England anyway; that’s probably one of the reasons I got this job. Add alcohol to the equation and well, it’s like I’ve had an intravenous caffeine injection.”

“Hey,” Aaron quickly replied, “what are you apologising for? I’ve read a ton of your reviews and your interviews are perfect; just the right mix of formal questioning and informal fun. There are not many that can do that. I can’t begin to tell you how many planks we’ve had sitting in front of us asking the same old, generic shit. It becomes a script in the end.”

“It should never be like that!” I interjected.

“Exactly, Bea and that’s why I sounded Jim out about you. When I read your work, your reviews especially, I can feel your excitement or, in some cases, boredom. You’ve never slated a band but you know when something needs work and, as I’ve already said, your interviews are just incredible. I love them. It’s more like reading a chat between friends. Your passion for music comes across in everything you write. That’s why I want you Bea.”

“That’s such a lovely thing to say. Thank you Aaron.” I gushed thankfully, even though deep down I was secretly hoping that wasn’t all he wanted me for.

Aaron smiled awkwardly and looked down, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“It’s actually not the only reason I want you on tour with us, Bea,” he said, his voice dropping lower to almost a deep growl, “I’ve seen your personal facebook and tumblr pages; I’m seriously liking the photos. I’ve read your bio and your blogs. I like what I see. I like it a lot. Sorry, that sounds way too intense and perverted, doesn’t it?”

“Um, I suppose it does, a little,” I replied, “but then again, I’ve idolised Shout The Call from the very beginning and I may have just a small crush on their lead singer, so I guess it’s not such a bad thing.”

“If I came across as a creep though, Bea, I’m sorry.”

“No, you really haven’t Aaron. Honestly, it’s fine.” I replied sincerely, “It’s actually pretty nice to be thought of so highly. I love my job so much but it’s made even better when I get positive feedback and of course, how often does a girl go on tour with her favourite band?”

“Not often, I guess. So I haven’t put you off then?”

“What? No way,” I replied, seriously wanting to just jump on him and have my wicked way but then who would look like the prize pervert then? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been walked to the door. It may not have been my door, granted, but the sentiment was still the same.

Aaron fumbled in his pocket for his key and clearly struggled to open the door of the bands large, detached, six bedroom house. I wasn’t in awe at all.

“It’s Jim’s,” Aaron said, almost pre-empting my impending question, “there’s no way we could afford this, at least not for a while anyhow but whilst we’re being managed by Jim, it’s ours for as long as we want it.”

Aaron finally swung the front door open and gestured for me to enter the house.

“After you, Beatrice.”

“Why thank you, kind Sir.” I replied, wondering if Aaron picked up on the flirty edge to my voice.

“No, thank you Miss. The pleasure really is all mine!”

******

“Fancy a night cap?” Aaron shouted from the Victorian style kitchen, just after he’d given me the grand tour.

“Why not; I suppose one more drink won’t hurt,” I replied, knowing full well that actually, yes it would. Oh well, when in Rome. “What do you have?”

“Um, what don’t we have?” Aaron replied, laughing, “There’s wine; red and white. VSOP. Jack Daniels. Or if you prefer, you can just have a hot drink?”

“No way,” I called back, “hot drinks are for losers! I’ll have a VSOP please.” I could already taste the first sip of brandy sliding down my throat.

“Coming right up.”

After a few minutes, Aaron shuffled into the room with two huge fishbowl glasses with definitely more than a double measure in each, inside them.

“Wow. There’s enough in here to last me into next week, let alone tonight. I thought we were just having a night cap?” I said, wondering how on earth I was going to drink it all.

“That’s one thing you’ll learn about me, honey; I don’t do anything by half!”

******

The only time I’d ever heard Aaron Holmes speak was in between songs at the many Shout The Call gigs I’d been to and the odd television and radio interview and most recently, on our walk back from the pub but now, as we sat drinking our brandy and chatting away, I was lulled by his shy, sweet, London accent. I sat across from him in an armchair that felt like one huge hug and knew that if I sank any deeper into its tartan fabric embrace, I would be asleep.

“Bea, why don’t you come sit next to me?” Aaron asked, almost sensing my lethargy. Oh man, it was happening. I was going to get close to him; closer than any fan had probably dared to dream of. It probably wasn’t even a good idea but how I would I refuse such an offer.

“I’m okay thanks Aaron.”

“Bea, it’s pretty obvious you’re not,” Aaron replied, “every time you look like you’re just about to settle, you start fidgeting. Anyway, I’d like for you to sit over here.” He patted the cushion to the right of him on the matching tartan sofa.

I pulled up from the armchair, picked up my fish bowl and walked around the coffee table to Aaron’s side. I sat a comfortably safe distance away. As much as I wanted to get closer to him, in many more ways than none, I also wanted to remain professional; after all, I was here to do a job.

“I don’t bite you know,” Aaron said, looking directly at me – that sexy smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh really; that’s a shame!” I replied shakily. Was it the brandy making me hot, or...?

“Come on Bea; come here.” Aaron said, laughing, outstretching his right hand to me.

I scooted right up next to him and expected to feel his arms around my shoulders. Instead, he picked up his glass and sipped at his brandy, again with that smirk that he knew was driving me wild but this time there was a ‘far-away’ look in his eyes.

“Penny for them?” I asked, intrigued by what could be on his mind.

“What? Oh, nothing,” he replied before taking another sip of his drink.

“Oh, it’s just you seem a little preoccupied,” I replied, feeling charged energy flow between us.
“Yes, maybe I am,” he said, turning full on to look at me, “I like you Bea, I really like you.”

Panic. Breathe. Calm. Panic.

“I like you too, Aaron.”

“No. I mean I really like you,” he replied, gulping nervously, “a lot.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ve only just met.” I said and immediately regretted the statement. I didn’t mean for it to sound so brash. I felt the same as Aaron, possibly even more so.

“Why should that matter?” Aaron asked as his face moved a fraction of an inch closer to mine. I gulped and let out a shaky breath; now Aaron knew he’d got to me.

“Because it does?” I asked back, knowing full well that it really didn’t. “Because I’m here to do a job and I have to do it well. This is a big thing for me, and the company, more importantly.”

“Fuck the company for a second,” Aaron shot back before swilling back the remainder of his brandy in one foul swoop, “Bea – don’t tell me you can’t feel this…. this thing between us? It’s pretty bloody obvious that we have a spark. I really like you Bea and I know you like me.”

Of course I did. He couldn’t be any more correct.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Aaron continued. He stroked down my left arm and those blue-green eyes looked deep into mine.

“Oh wait, let me see,” I replied, hoping the goosebumps his touch had left behind, wouldn’t show, “I could lose my job!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous Bea! You’re honestly telling me your Boss actually gives a shit about stuff like that? He’s only interested in you doing your job and doing it right, not about any extra-curricular activities.”

And then we were silent. There was no point in talking myself out of this; no point in going round and round in circles in order to delay the inevitable.

Aaron leaned in even closer to me and it was his whole body this time, not just his face. I let all my inhibitions go and instinctively followed suit, letting my eyes close. I felt almost scared about what was about to happen.

I had dreamt about kissing Aaron Holmes for almost six years. The dreams were always amazing. The reality, however, completely blew my mind.