Page 22 of Enjoying the Band in Lockdown

But even in the dim restaurant and without a crowd, Xavier’s voice shone. Taking each line and making it his own. Reminding me again why he’d been the only man I noticed at the Festival. Filling my pores with every sense of him. Calling my name, driving me wild with desire.

One man.

My man.

For Xavier, I’d be his dirty blonde, his sweet desire, his anything at all.

They finished, and sang it again. Devon shoving down pain killers to enable him to lay down some tracks. Using his injury to inspire some creative genius.

“Babe, come and inspire me,” he called me to his lap.

“Later.” I lied. Tonight, like our first, I only had eyes for Xavier but the last thing the band needed was me to get in the way of their rehearsal. “I’ll fill up the jugs.”

For the rest of the night, I filled glasses with beer and jugs with soda. Put out platters of finger food that was easy to eat while talking or playing. Every hour or so, Xavier asked me to come and listen to their last rendition. By early morning, I’d recorded the song from different angles on my phone, and set up in the corner, building up graphics and tag lines. Researching other Australian bands, including any that may have toured with his brother’s Stormy Waters and making a list of every band I could find that had shared the stage with The Flying Monkeys.

Dirty Blondewas everything the guys had worked for. I felt every ounce of emotion. Rumors album meets Downward Spiral meets Black Holes and Revelations. I researched all recent rock reviews and pulled out not only the keywords but identified top bloggers and reviewers.

I couldn’t sing. Couldn’t play a musical instrument to save my life. But I knew social media. I knew how to market and there were ways I could put my man and his band on top of the world, without using my name. Luckily, the world being in iso worked in my favor. It was easy enough to mock-up my own credentials and get old friends to make introductions without explanations.

It was a risk.

I could be found.

But when my finger hovered, should I press send and unleash my power, or to hold back and stay safe, Xavier called me over.

“Sydney, this is for you.”

I’d never seen Xavier at the keyboard before. That was entirely Devon’s domain. But Devon stood to the side, with the other guys as Xavier sang Dirty Blonde. Stripped back and as bare as my feelings for the man.

No drums.

No guitar.

Just Xavier’s voice and the basics of a keyboard.

Four am. They’d been working twelve hours straight on one song. Yet it sounded real, raw and inspired.

As Xavier closed it down, the final note wavering into nothing, I fought back tears. No one existed as I dodged cords and speakers, making my way to my man. Cupping his face, I kissed him as if for the first time.

“My dirty, fucking blonde.”

“My dirty fuck.”

I barely heard Jax call, “That’s a wrap.”

Before Trent’s instruction, “Send it viral.”

Devon was waiting for me, as usual.

In the three days since returning to the pub, I’d still been the second to wake. Leaving the sleeping Xavier to come downstairs to Devon.

Coffee ready. Pool table set up.

One game, and to the winner came the prize.

Falling back into our pattern from before I left. If Devon beat me, and he usually did, he could fuck me wherever he wanted. Against the pool table, our speciality. But, he’d made use of the garden furniture in the beer garden and even bent me over a keg of beer in the cellar. “Call it a personal bucket list—babe over beer!”

On the rare occasion I dropped the black ball, without also sinking the white, my request was simple. Out to the bus with Xavier and Devon. Nothing seemed to fill me the way those two men.

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