Casual Affair

The question echoed in my ears, but my brain wasn’t entirely comprehending what had been said. I was too focused on the street outside the window, watching pedestrians stroll past the coffee shop. It must be nice, I thought, to stroll without a care, without the turmoil that constantly haunted those in the limelight.

“Elizabeth?” The Rolling Stone writer, Todd something, looked confused perched on his chair across from me. His notes were obsessively stacked in front of him, no corner of paper peeking out from the one above it. He had an old fashioned recorder running next to him—keeping it old school, he called it—and from the tension in his eyes I could tell I had given him a few seconds too many of wasted tape.

I tore my eyes away from an oblivious and happy couple outside to return my focus onto him. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I asked.

He cleared his throat, clearly used to artists’ quirky distracted tendencies, and unnecessarily tidied up his note pile. “Of course. I was just asking, how does it feel now, to not only have a solo album, but also to be asked to perform your new single at the upcoming VMAs?”

I shifted in my chair, cradling the chai in front of me. “Well, it’s not completely solo,” I said. “I mean, Louis is still—“

“Louis Hook, the drummer in your former band Spilled Decanters, yes?”

I glared. He was an interrupter, it seemed. “Yes. Anyway, when the band split last year, Louis and I continued to make music together, and that’s how this new project came about.”

He nodded, jotting something on his notes. “And your old band members, Matt Diggory and Greg Champs? What do they think about your new ‘project’?”

The smile only hurt a little. “You’d have to ask them.”

Todd raised an eyebrow and made a note. “Was the split not amicable?”

Louis had prepped me for this question. He had said something about not mentioning the reason our band split was because Matt and Greg refused to bear witness to any more of my adulterous tendencies, especially after the illustrious week Brendon and I spent together in my apartment when he came to check up on me. Some less than nice names were thrown about, mainly from me onto Matt. Evidently men do not appreciate being called pussy fucking dildo wimps.

Instead, I recited my lines. “I have nothing but the upmost respect for Matt and Greg, both as musicians and individuals. We maybe haven’t kept in touch the past year as well as we should have, but I wish them nothing but the best, and I’m sure they wish the same for me and Louis.”

He seemed pleased enough with my response, and turned the page in his notes for his next question. “Now, a few songs on the new album list Brendon Urie, the Panic! at the Disco lead singer, as a cowriter next to you. What was that process like?”

Very long, I thought. It was difficult to get Brendon to jot down lyrics to pair with mine when instead he made music with my body during writing sessions at my apartment. “It was…a process,” I said. “Brendon can get distracted very easily—“ by my lips, by my hair, by my everything “—but at the end of the day, he is a very talented musician and lyricist, and it was a pleasure having a chance to work with him so intimately.”

I knew that would get a giggle out of him when he read it.

Todd missed the innuendo, fortunately, and instead asked, “Now, when Spilled Decanters toured with Panic!, it was rumored you and Urie had difficulty getting along. What happened to make you want to work with him on these songs?”

His uncanny ability to make me orgasm so hard I saw stars, mostly. “Look, if you knew Brendon like I do, you’d understand. He can go from being the bane of your existence to your best friend in the span of less than a minute. He drives me crazy most days, then and now, but at the end of the day, I love ‘em and he’s a dear friend, so you kinda just have to move past the annoying moments and focus on what’s really important.”

“Making awesome music,” Todd nodded.

No, I thought. Accepting the fact that he was still married to his wonderful wife despite the fact that we had been carrying an affair together for over a year under everyone’s noses, because I loved him and he loved me.

I grimaced, hoping it looked like a grin. “Exactly.”

--

“On in five, Grigsby!”

Louis was warming up with his sticks on my shoulder, tapping out paradiddles faster than my heart was beating in my chest. My hair was a tangled sexy mess, stressed by my stylist for that sex-hair look. I could have told them to just wait a few hours and it would get there. We hadn’t been sitting together, but I had seen Brendon and his flashy suit a mile away in the crowd of music VIPs sitting out in the audience.

“You excited, Grigs?” Louis asked. “All those boys out there, they don’t stand a chance. You’re gonna make so many guys jizz in their pants.”

“You’re delightful,” I said. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to shake out at least some of the tangles.

He giggled and spanked my ass, poking the bare skin of my back peeking out between my tight pants and crop top. “Not as delightful as dat ass!” He tapped out another rhythm on my shoulder and sighed. “I hope they’ll still be able to hear me over that pop stuff.”

I snorted and turned around to wrap my arms around him. “You’ll be fine!”

He laughed and pecked my cheek. “Honey, I am always fine.”

“I’m glad you haven’t lost any of your modesty.”

“I’m glad you’ve lost some of yours.” He fingered the thin fabric of my shirt. “Seriously, Grigs, were you a single woman, I’d be all over you in this.”

I stiffened and pulled out of his hug. “You know I’m not seeing anyone.”

He winked and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, ignoring my protests. “Is that what we’re reporting this week? Works for me. In that case, meet me in my room at midnight.” I punched him in the side and he grunted. “You punch like a girl,” he whined. “Fine, fine.”

A frantic stage manager almost fell in front of us. “You’re on! Go, go, go!”

Our new songs weren’t quite Spilled Decanters songs. They were more sexy, more gritty, more poppy—which surprisingly didn’t bother me. If Too Rare to Die was poppy, then that’s the kind of poppy we were.

People were already screaming by the time the lights came on over me, Louis tapping a steady beat behind me. Our touring guitarist and bassist nodded their heads along, and our piano slash synthesizer dude was all ready to dance behind his keyboard.

It felt good to be singing in front of so many people again, after such a long hiatus and the period before that of misery on our last album. The song was perfect—a song about promiscuity, about being a sexual being and fucking enjoying every minute of it. Brendon hadn’t helped write this one, but he certainly had served an inspiration, and I could feel his eyes on me as I traipsed across the stage, bending here, touching myself there.

The crowd was singing along, my fans bobbing along together almost in unison in the space in front of the stage. I kneeled down to reach out my hands to a few of them, felt the grimy sweaty palms of the lot of them pressed against my wrist and my thighs, and moved along the stage, loving the sweat, loving the nastiness, because that was what I was now. And I didn’t care anymore, because being nasty made me happy.

At one point I thought I saw Brendon, even though the lights were blinding me and blurring faces. I threw the general direction a naughty wink in time with Louis’ pounding, and carried on the dance we had choreographed, feeling the sweaty bodies of my dancer’s pressing against me and tossing me around. The dancers were a new thing—I loved dancing, and I always wanted somebody to dance with me on stage. Now they danced as I told them to, and it felt so sensual to have us moving in perfect precision, sharply moving this way or that as I belted out my lyrics.

The lights dimmed to a thick blue as the song ended, and the crowd lost their fucking minds. I heard the voice of the announcer declaring a commercial break and promising presenters and performers to come. Another frantic stage manager appeared to usher us off stage as our roadies stormed the stage to quickly clear our gear. I almost tripped over my heels, but the dark hid my stumble from everyone but the back-up dancer clinging to my arm, having almost wiped out herself.

Leslie, wonderful dear Leslie, was waiting off stage, chattering away to one of the stage managers before brusquely pushing him aside when she caught sight of me. “DTF as always, Elizabeth dear,” she laughed, pulling me into a mini hug, careful not to press herself too close to absorb the sweat.

I happily accepted the towel she offered and wiped off my chest. “Thanks, honey.” I glanced around. “Where’d Louis go?”

She shrugged and turned back to her iPhone. “Probably to clean up and change. We gotta get you back into your gown and your seat. They’ll want you back in place by next commercial break.”

“Yeah, okay.” I followed her through the maze of people, smirking when first Adam Levine and then Joe Trohman sent me winks as we walked past the people prepping for presenting and performing.

“Here’s your room,” Leslie said, hardly glancing up from her phone as she gestured towards the door behind her.

“Thanks, Les,” I said, pushing past to slide into the room.

“Oh? Brendon Urie, hello,” Leslie said behind me, sounding very much like an awkward teacher who had to repeat her student’s names every time to remember who they were.

“Hello, Leslie,” Brendon grinned. He caught my eye and the grin turned wider. “Hey, Grigs. Just wanted to come back and say congrats on an awesome performance. Your seats are too far away from ours, so I wasn’t sure I’d get a chance.”

“Aw, shit,” Leslie groaned, tapping furiously away on her phone. “Louis is hitting on Levine’s fiancée. I gotta go.” She looked up at us and narrowed her eyes, glancing between our faces. Finally she pointed at Brendon. “Can I trust you to make sure she’s back out there by the next commercial? I need to go get Hook out of trouble.”

Brendon nodded. “My dear lady, you have my word as a gentleman. I’ll make sure she’s back out there.”

Leslie nodded, distracted, and took off. I smirked at Brendon and made to close the door, but he reached a hand out and stopped it from slamming, sliding in behind me and letting the door lock with a soft click.

“You are such a torturous fucking tease,” he growled, pulling me close and pretending he was about to bite my nose.

I squirmed. “Bren, the sweat,” I said. “It’s gonna get all over your suit.”

“And I care why?” He pulled me close again and kissed my jaw, followed by a quick lick. “Besides, it’s tasty.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I giggled. He growled again and brought his hand up to my cheek, turning my face to meet his lips with my own. His kiss was still so intoxicating; my hands shot up to his shoulders, pulling him closer as our hips bumped and the kiss deepened. When he finally pulled away, his grin was so wide I could see his gums. I swatted his arm. “You trying to make me pass out? First the dancing and now that breathtaking kinda thing?”

He shrugged as I turned away to slip out of my clothes, all shyness between us long since gone. “Speaking of, I don’t like that new dancer you got,” he said. He sat on the stool in front of the mirror, pouting. “He was enjoying groping your hips like that way too much.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I shimmied out of my pants. “Wow, so this is what it’s like for you to be jealous for a change.” I skipped over and pecked his pouting lips. “Maybe I should hire more dancers like him.”

He glared and grabbed my hips, pulling my closer. “You do that and you’ll be in trouble, young lady.”

I snorted. “Oh please. I think we’ve established there’s no way in fuck you can dominate me.”

He sighed and let me go again to slide on my dress. “Alas, you’re right. A man can try.”

I was about to retort when the door knob jiggled. “Grigsby? We’re here to touch up your make-up and hair. Can we come in?”

I would have panicked, but we had perfected explaining away alone time. I strolled over and unlocked the door, welcoming in my beauty team. “Thank you for rescuing me. Urie here was just trying to seduce me into writing him another song.”

Brendon feigned hurt and grabbed at his chest. “I’m insulted, Elizabeth. I thought our lyric sessions meant something to you. Clearly I was mistaken.” He sniffed and threw back his head as he stood up, holding out a hand. “No, don’t try to apologize. I know when I’m not wanted. Goodbye forever.”

“Love you!” I called as he walked past, giving it the teasing tone that allowed me to say it in the presence of others. My team were laughing, obviously having accepted our excuse, and started setting up their equipment.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” Brendon said. He turned back to me at the door, making sure my team wasn’t looking before blowing me a kiss. “I love you,” he mouthed.

“Love you too,” I mouthed back. He smiled softly and closed the door behind him.

“You sure do sweat a lot, Grigsby,” my hair girl tutted when the door had closed. “What are we going to do with you?”

“I have no idea,” I sighed.