“Dammit!”

            I let the phone ring until it stopped.  I knew it wasn’t Kat checking on her costume because she was running around trying to get last minute stuff situated for ComicCon, and the admin folks were driving her crazy.

            The costume, a Victorian walking dress done in vibrant African mudcloth was almost finished, and I was working on the corset.  Kat teased that she wanted to be able to sit and breathe for hours and not feel like she was in a straitjacket, so I was using the more flexible dancer’s boning, instead of what I usually preferred for myself. 

            The phone rang again and this time I poked myself with a straight pin.  “Dammit!”  I switched on my headset and without preamble, “You have reached AlterEva designs and I am not available until after July 21st.  Thank you.”

            Just as I was about to hang up, a silky rumble cascaded over my aural nerves.  “Well, I will need your services before then, Miss Vincent.”

            “Well, you’ll just have to wait.  I’m in the middle of a commission,”

            “I can make it worth your while.”

He had sexy voice, and while I was a sucker for sexy voices, I didn’t like his high-handed attitude.  In my business I was used to people behaving as if I was their personal stylist.

            “No, you can’t,” and I quickly hung up on him.  Then I switched off my phone, sending any messages to voice mail.  There, let him stew over that.

            I went back to Kat’s steampunk outfit.  The brightly colored train gathered to the floor, and the skirt automatically filled out, without the need of an extra petticoat, which I knew could be terribly hot.  I was especially pleased with the pocket watch tassels hanging from the waist.  The fitted jacket would do much for Kat’s boyish figure.

            I grabbed the remote to my CD player, needing some inspirational music.  Because I lived in a loft, volume was of little concern to my neighbors and I cranked up some D’espairs Ray and happily continued stitching.

***

            For the first twenty or so years of my life, fashion was a thing I wore to express who I was inside.  It was never anything that I ever thought of creating; though there were a lot of times while shopping that I wanted to grab designers around their collective size 0 only throats and choke the crap out of them.  Admittedly, my style was quirky (my mother’s polite way of saying WTF are you wearing this time and my father’s way of saying not while you’re under my roof young lady!) and because of that quirkiness, I wasn’t the most popular kid in school.  Then again, when the hell are smart and quirky kids ever part of the cool crowd?

I’d describe my look as the mutant offspring of The Sex Pistols and Shakespeare with some Oscar Wildean elements thrown in just for fun.  Most of my teachers never knew what to make of my tattered mini-crinolines worn with a man’s vest and white shirt with knee-high socks and combat boots.  My parents bought me a pair of ten-eyelet Doc Martens when I was fifteen and I was a very happy girl. 

That’s also when I met Kat Blaine, a transfer student who was proudly black and punk and wore a platinum afro in a serious Mohawk like Jean Beauvoir of The Plasmatics.  She took one look at my Queen Elizabeth I meets Siouxsie Sioux and that’s all it took and we’ve been best friends (more like sisters) ever since.

            I did the college thing of course, majoring in something completely unrelated to business or real estate even though I knew my parents were hoping I’d eventually come around.  For three years afterwards, I drifted aimlessly through a series of long-term temp assignments until I ended up at one firm as an executive secretary.  The pay was great and since it was a small firm with a fairly wealthy clientele, the perks were quite nice.  I wasn’t bored, but there was that feeling deep inside of me that I would not be spending the rest of my life as a glorified, if highly paid, secretary.

            One cold Saturday night hanging out at Labyrinth, the premier goth club in Hollywood, destiny slapped me in the face.

            While I’d become a wage slave in corporate America, Kat had parlayed her geeky love of comics into creating her own underground series, Myth Mistress—a rather interesting hybrid of ancient Egyptian lore and Yoruba cosmology. 

            That night at the club as we sat outside on the patio surrounded by candelabrum and heat lamps, she showed me a magazine called the Gothic and Lolita Bible. 

            “Take a look at this,” Kat said as she removed a glossy magazine from her vintage satchel.  I started flipping through the pages of what was obviously a Japanese fashion magazine.

            “Wow, these are amazing,” I breathed, each page seemingly more incredible than the last.  “Geez, this stuff makes us Goths look like hillbillies.”

As I turned each page, my excitement grew and I was absolutely floored.  Right there in full color was my style, worn by pretty and petite Japanese girls, complete with frills, flounces, lace and ruffs.  Some of the looks resembled Strawberry Shortcake  on acid, but one in particular was far more suitable (in my opinion) to the more sophisticated and elegant grown-up that I was now.

“Check this one out,” and Kat turned another page and my heart seemed to pause for just a moment. 

The picture was of a beautiful young woman in black; a dress comprised of a tiered and frilled skirt with tight sleeves that fanned out into a bell at the wrists, similar in design to those worn by the aristocracy of the 17th century.  The young woman’s hair was done in elaborate spiral curls and looked very Victorian.  She looked both innocent and mysterious at the same time.

            “She’s so beautiful.”

            I saw Kat’s mischievously crooked smile and my eyes widened.  I stared at the picture again for several minutes.  “Okay, you are not going to tell me this is a guy now, are you?”

            When Kat nodded, I still couldn’t register it.  This guy, if it was a man, put every drag queen in the world to shame. 

            “His name’s Mana and he’s with this band called Malice Mizer.  They’re really big in Japan and he dresses like that all the time.  In fact, the whole band does.”

            I held tightly onto the magazine, unwilling to relinquish it.  I looked again. 

Something had happened right then and there, something that after spinning my wheels with my liberal arts education and the nine-to-five position, suddenly everything became clear.  Suddenly I knew what I wanted to do, what I needed to do. Call me insane, but it was as if this Mana guy had manifested himself into my consciousness and was telling me what I really needed to be doing with my life.  Suddenly, my gothic attire seemed so fake, so pedestrian.  It looked like everyone else’s.

            “Kat.  I’m going to become a fashion designer!”

            She didn’t even bat an eyelash, just grinned from ear to ear.  “Are you going to do stuff like this?”

            My own huge grin was infectious. “Better.”

Needless to say that becoming a clothing designer was a lot easier said than done.  The announcement, over lobster bisque at the parents’ house hadn’t gone over well at first.

            They didn’t refuse me outright, because I’d always been the sensible sort (in spite of my wardrobe and musical choices my parents would say), but I knew they were disappointed.  We had ‘the talk’, which to my recollection went something like this:

            ME: I’m going to design clothes.

            MOTHER: Come again?

            ME: I want to design costumes.

            FATHER: Sweetie, have you thought about this first?  I mean how secure is this financially?

            ME: Well, honestly I don’t expect to become like Versace or anything, but I crunched the numbers and if I attract a decent clientele through the internet and through my gothic contacts, I could make a decent living.

            FATHER: Hmm…let me see those numbers again…

Yes, the way to my parents’ hearts is through numbers.  I obviously needed designs first and Kat had graciously volunteered (demanded actually) that I create something for her to wear the upcoming Fetish Ball in Las Vegas, which I did and which had my phone ringing at all hours for days afterward.   Within a year, AlterEva Designs was doing a steady, sometimes brisk, business depending upon the season.  Goths loved me for weddings, since I knew how to make a white dress look positively ghastly (in a dramatic way of course).  Then the Ren-Faire crowd, some of whom were also Goths, became customers, as well as some of the cosplay and re-enactor groups.  I even designed costumes for a local high school’s production of Peter Pan.

There was something so relaxing and yet rewarding about the process of taking a flat, one-dimensional piece of fabric and turning it into something magical.  Moreover, it was a joy to create works of art that anyone of any size could wear and feel special in.  I loved working with silks, satins, brocades and velvets.  I loved the way they felt beneath my fingers, they way they draped across the dressmakers’ mannequin.  Taffeta was fun and fluffy and would give a short skirt a bit of whimsy.  Leather was sexy, seductive and yet accessible too.

I spent hours at the Riordan library, soaking up every tome about historical fashion, spent as much money on huge coffee table books on the subject until my bookcases nearly buckled from the sheer size and weight.  And on the days I wasn’t stitching something fabulous, I was sketching ideas for brochures while working on my website.

During that time, I dated off and on, usually men I knew from the scene, but these relationships as far as I was concerned were never meant to last and I wasn’t in the least heartbroken when they ended.  I never lied to anyone or swore everlasting love; I couldn’t.  Kat despaired of me and though her intentions were good, I had to put my foot down about her setting me up on blind dates.

***

            “Hey ya!”

            I stood up and stretched as Kat strolled in with dinner.  For the past week, she’d been bringing me dinner and we’d sit and talk while I worked.  My stomach rumbled.  When I was in the middle of a project, I sometimes forgot about food.

            “Oh wow, Eva.  It looks way awesome!” Her eyes grew wide as she saw her costume taking shape on the dressmakers’ dummy.    I’m going to want to wear this way after ComicCon.” 

            So we ate and chat.  Between pieces of tuna negiri and unagi and sips of hot miso soup, Kat told me about the frenetic last-minute details that came from setting up and manning one’s booth at the world’s biggest geek-fest.

            “I miss the days when it wasn’t all Hollywood,” she said wistfully.  “Half of all the celebrities who are there probably don’t even like comics.  It’s just gotten too big.”

            “I take it that Dragon’s not going.”

            Kat looked at me sideways.  “Actually, he wants to go.  I’m happy of course, but I’m scared that he’s going to have one of his big panic attacks, but he’s determined to face his fear head on.”

            If there was ever a couple who would win any The Least Likely To Be a Couple contest, it was Kat and Dragon hands down.  Sometimes it boggled my mind that the two of them had been together for ten years!  In their case opposites didn’t just attract, they were hog-tied and crazy-glued together.  Outside of the fact they were both huge comic book geeks and seemed to have an affinity for obscure cultures and languages, their personalities were polar opposites.  Kat was gregarious, chatty sometimes to the point of wanting to stick a muzzle on her, and so full of boundless energy that a large city could use her to keep their streetlights going for a least a year.  Dragon was quiet almost to the point of taciturnity and would only talk to people he knew very well (meaning Kat and me).  Of course it didn’t help matters that Dragon (real name Dragon Erick Van Wyk) suffered from social anxiety disorder.  Large crowds tended to freak him out; one reason why he seldom attended conventions of any sort.  The last time we went to Anime Expo, the paramedics were called.  Still, Dragon was completely and utterly smitten with Kat and was her biggest fan.  She in turn, was crazy about him to the point of mulishness.  The two of them drove me nuts when we hung out together, making those silly kissy faces and cooing their obnoxious pet nicknames.  I swore if I heard one more “Dragy-waggy-donut” (don’t ask) or “Kitty-fur ball” (Kat wore her natural hair in a single puff), I’d kill them both.

            “That’s awesome, sweetie.  At least he’s trying.”

            “True.  Besides, I can’t wait for him to see my costume.  I just wish you could be there.”

            I touched Kat’s hand. “Me too, but I’ve got a bunch of paperwork to catch up on. At least this weekend, I can rest.”

            While we continued eating, I turned the phone back on and replayed all my messages.  Not surprisingly was the man I’d spoken with and hung up on earlier, but as I was about to take a bite of the eel, Kat and I both gasped.

            “I am certain you are familiar with Dominion’s End.  I am the lead guitarist and leader of the band, Kei Matsuya.  I am not used to being ignored and I will continue to call you until you hear out my proposition.  I will call again tomorrow at ten in the morning.  I suggest that you make time in your busy schedule to hear me out.”

             “Eva, oh my god!  That was Kei Matsuya!  He obviously wants you to design something for him!”

            I pretended to be indifferent, but inside my heart was going a mile a minute.  I was a huge fan of the prog-rock group Dominion’s End, and its androgynous lead guitarist.  Kat and I had seen them once at the Nokia Theatre and they were even better live.  The entire band was the living embodiment of what fantasies are made of, but they were also brilliant musicians.  The fact that Matsuya called me, of all the costume designers in the world was amazing in and of itself.  It had to mean that my talents were finally being recognized, that all my hard work was coming to fruition.

            Still, I wasn’t crazy about his demanding I make time for him.  As it was I had a hard time dealing with people like that, and I often chose not to.  Of course that meant not as many commissions, but at least I had my sanity, and that meant a lot more to me.

            But Kat was positively star-struck.  She grabbed me by the hand and shook me, making me drop my shrimp roll in the process. 

            “You’ve just got to do it, Eva!  You’ve just got to!”

            “No, I don’t have to do anything,” I shot back.  “You know I hate when people act like him.  If he wants one of my designs, he’ll bloody well have to wait!”

            Kat wasn’t hearing a word I said.  “Look, you’re almost finished right?  I’ll stay overnight and help you, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Matsuya doesn’t pick just anyone.”

            “Then why doesn’t he just go with whomever he was working with before?  I mean, I would love to design for him, but he’s got to be willing to work on my schedule.  I’m certainly not going to jump at his command.”

            Still, Kat couldn’t stop chattering.  It was as if she’d forgotten about her first booth, her first public appearance of the woman whose graphic novel was becoming a huge hit, and that she had been guest-speaker at last year’s WisCon.

            “Eva, the outfit looks just fine right now.  Everyone’s going to love it and I’ll definitely pass out your business cards, but you’ve just got to do this!”

            She wasn’t going to let me eat until I at least agreed to hear what that infernal rock star had to say.  “Fine.  I’ll hear him out.  But that won’t guarantee I’m going to do what he wants.”

***

            I finally managed to send Kat home, with a promise that she’d be back with breakfast—bless her—at ten o’clock sharp.  She also promised to help me with the finishing touches on her costume so that I could work on whatever it was Kei Matsuya wanted me for.

            I stayed awake for a few hours more, adding the finishing stitches to the matching corset, then after the third yawn, decided to go to bed.

The next morning broke cool and dreary and perfect.  I loved rain and L.A. hadn’t gotten enough of it during the fall and winter months, but Mother Nature seemed determined to make up for the lack with a nice torrential downpour.  That meant nothing because within a day or two it would be back up to 80 degrees again. 

            The only problem with living in a loft is the heating.  My home is a cavernous monstrosity, but I love it.  I had space heaters in my workroom, the living room and of course my rather decadent bathroom.  It was early, just after eight.  I decided to take a long hot shower, check my e-mail and see how much more of Kat’s costume I could work on before ten.

***

            Dominion’s End—Kei Matsuya, Miki Hirata, Tommy Koizumi, Chris Akino and Devynn Yan—had been a part of the 1980’s metal scene, though they hadn’t risen to the stupendous heights nor crashed spectacularly like a lot of the bands from that era.  While good-looking enough for MTV, they were also “too Asian”, though all of them were SoCal guys born and bred, so few of their videos got played.  In spite of the lack of media exposure, they’d amassed quite a following due to massive touring where according the band, they’d play anywhere for anyone who was willing to listen.  It probably also didn’t help that few of their songs were shorter than six minutes.  They were prog and proud in an era of sex and decadence.         

            Kei Matsuya was the band’s unofficial leader and true to his artistic nature, lived in a gilded age mansion called Shadowside and had turned the garage into a own recording studio.             Everyone speculated on his sexuality, since he was often seen kissing Miki Hirata, the lead singer, though he was also supposedly involved with every model and starlet in Tinsel Town.  He was 47 years-old, yet looked like he was in his twenties. 

I also knew, just from his message, that he was obviously a man used to getting his way.  Well, unless he was a lot nicer today, Kei Matsuya would find himself looking for someone else.

***

            I stepped out of the shower, dried off with the same fluffy towel that had seen five years of college, several trips to Vancouver and one on-the-cheap trek across Europe.  At one time I think it was blue, but now it had polka dots.  Of course I had much nicer towels, but like comfort food, this was my comfort towel.

            It didn’t take me long to slather on my favorite coconut-vanilla body cream over a tall and curvy frame and run a quick bristle brush through my almost non-existent red hair.  I had cut it short during a trip to Europe and haven’t allowed it to grow any longer than two inches since.  My fellow black women can happily and cheerfully stick hair from India and have silky flowing locks, but there’s absolutely nothing more chic (at least to me) than short and sexy.  While in Europe, I had no fewer than ten marriage proposals from six different countries.  Even here, the only reason I’m single certainly isn’t lack of opportunity.

            I padded naked into my sleeping area, which was sectioned off by antique Japanese shoji screens that my great-grandmother had given me.  They had a rather bittersweet history, having belonged to her neighbors who had been rounded up and sent to Manzanar in the 1940’s.  Grandma said the family wanted her to have them rather than being sold off to strangers.  Thirty years later, grandma found the family and tried to return them, but the family wouldn’t accept them back.  I cherish them as works of art, and as a reminder of the stupidity of supposedly sane people.

            I grabbed my favorite pair of how-many-times washed jeans and a t-shirt that read I Am Seme...Bow The F*ck Down.  It was a pain to shop for jeans that were both long and which fit my rather ample rear end, and I didn’t do low-rise anything.  When I found these, I instantly bought eight pairs from the store, then went online and purchased two more.  And just when I was about to buy another four pairs, the stupid company decided to change the style.

            Standing in front of a full-length mirror, I blew a kiss at my reflection.  If I was a crayon, then I’d be the deep sienna, which makes the flame red of my hair stand out big time. My eyes are sleepily almond with lashes far too long and straight and which could get in my way when I’m working.  I have sculpted cheekbones with a deep dimple on my left cheek.  My lips seem to take up a great deal of the bottom half of my face, which of course gives me an excuse to wear the brightest color lipsticks that I can.  Yes, I’ve got a broad nose, but I like the fact that it balances out my face.  Besides, if Barbra Streisand is happy with her supposedly Jewish nose, then I can and am, perfectly happy with my supposedly African one. I’m not vain, but I do have a rather healthy sense of self-esteem.  I think part of it has to do with having found my bliss—designing costumes—and being able to achieve modest success in it.  I’m not like fabulously wealthy, but I am able to live comfortably and thanks to my previous position and my real estate parents, invested my money for the long-term.

            Slipping my feet into my beat-up yet comfortable Uggs, I went into the kitchen and put on the espresso machine.  It was one of my few major luxuries, since I’m an inveterate coffee drinker.   I also knew that Kat wouldn’t be civil until she had some caffeine in her system.

            It was still gray and wet outside, so I turned on a few of the space heaters and while the coffee was brewing, I turned on some music as I made my way to my workspace where Kat’s dress waited for me.

            I was so happy about how it turned out, with the box pleats which looked like a Victorian bustle.  It was subverting the whole Steampunk paradigm with the use of the brightly colored mudcloth and its touches of Zulu design.  Kat was going to look amazing.

            “Hey ya!” Kat’s unusually chipper at this time of the morning voice broke through my thoughts.  The smell of freshly-baked croissants and sausage tickled my olfactory senses.  I was starving.

            The woman was practically dancing as we made our way into the kitchen.  “So, are you going to say yes to him?”

            I reached into the bag and took out a croissant sandwich.  “I haven’t decided anything yet.  I don’t even know what he really wants.”

            Kat grabbed her favorite mug from the counter and rinsed it out.  “What he wants is an AlterEva design.  You’re famous.”

            I shrugged my shoulders.  “Maybe. But he’d damn well better be a lot nicer to me today than he was yesterday.  Asking me politely would go a long way.”

            “He’s a rock star,” Kat said, pouring some coffee and adding thick cream to it.  “They’re all used to getting their way.”

            “I’m sure,” I muttered, taking a healthy bite of the croissant.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m inclined to give it to them.”

            Kat and I sat at my kitchen island on high bar chairs and ate, waiting for Kei Matsuya’s ten o’clock call.  Promptly at ten, the phone rang.  Score one for Matsuya, I thought.  I didn’t do CP time.

            Placing him on speaker I answered, “Good morning, AlterEva Designs, Eva Vincent speaking.”

            “Miss Vincent, good morning.  This is Kei Matsuya.”  Kat made a fangirl squeeing noise and I had to shush her.  She was practically bouncing in her chair.  I made a point to tell Dragon about that. 

            “I have a proposition for you, Miss Vincent.”  The way he said proposition sounded rather erotic, but I chalked that up to his voice, a deep and sexy whisky rumble.  “I am sure you are aware that Dominion’s End has almost completed their fifteenth album and we are making preparations to embark on a major world tour.”

            “Mr. Matsuya, let’s cut to the chase shall we?  I know all about Dominion’s End.  Your first EP and second album were released on a small label which folded a year later, but not before ‘Idyllic Veneer’ went to Number Five in Europe.”

            Silence, then I heard him laugh.  “Miss Vincent, forgive me.  In spite of our success, I sometimes feel that we are that garage band that we started in order to annoy our traditional families.  I am impressed though.”

            For some reason, that made me feel good.  Still, I needed to know what he wanted.

“With the new album, the band has decided on a new look, one more traditionally Gothic with an iconoclastic twist.  I saw a magazine layout featuring your designs for Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and I liked what I saw.”

            I warmed up then.  It didn’t take much.  I’m like the proverbial mother when it comes to my ‘babies’ and any praise to them was praise to me. 

            “Miss Vincent, I would like for you to design Dominion’s End’s new look, and I would like to, as they say, get the ball rolling as soon as possible.”

            “That’s fine, Mr. Matsuya, but I am in the middle of a commission right now, so the soonest I’m available will be sometime next week.”

            “That’s not acceptable, Miss Vincent.  I’ve got a limited amount of time and so will you and the sooner we can decide on the wardrobe, the sooner you can begin work.”

            I almost choked on my bite of croissant.  Talk about high-handed.  “Excuse me, Mr. Matsuya, but as a professional, I cannot and will not in good conscience toss aside a paid commission just because you say so.  That’s like me asking you to write a half-assed song.”

            “I need your talent Miss Vincent,” Kei insisted.  “I am willing to pay you whatever you wish and provide any materials you need.  I am even willing to have you stay in my home for the duration of your commission so that you won’t have to travel back and forth between L.A. and San Francisco.”

            Kat squeed again and I kicked her in the shin, but she just kept nodding her head and mouthing ‘go for it’.  “Mr. Matsuya…”

            “Kei please,” he said.  “Mr. Matsuya is my father. I’m old, but not ancient.”

            But I wasn’t buying his attempts at being nice.  “Mr. Matsuya.   Your offer is generous, but unless you are willing to understand that I am not available at your beck and call, I believe you and I have nothing else to discuss.”

            “Miss Vincent, how much do you want?”

            “Are you even listening?  I said unless you can wait until next week, the answer is no!”

            “Are you aware, Miss Vincent, that I am offering you a chance to gain more world-wide fame for your business?  Do you know how many other costumers would sell their souls to be offered what I am offering you?”

            That was it.  “Well, then, Mr. Matsuya, you might think about calling them and seeing if they’re willing to jump to your tune,” and I hung up on him again.

            Kat looked horrified, but I was pissed.  “He’s got major nerve!  I don’t care who he is, someone needs to kick his ass!”

            “But Eva, you’re almost finished with my dress, right?  You could have accepted his offer.”

            “That’s not the point, Kat.  The point is I’m not going to start allowing people like him to bully me just because they’ve got money and a name.”

            “But it’s Kei Matsuya,” Kat whined.  “The sex-god of guitar.”  She suddenly went into full-on fangirl mode.  “And he wanted you to stay with him…in his house!”  She squeed again and I looked at her, shaking my head and wondering just when my best friend reverted back to pre-teenaged-hood.

            I let her go on as I made myself a big cup of chocolate-mocha-vanilla-something with Italian roast and whipped cream.  Doing something with my hands kept me from getting on the phone and calling and cussing the bastard out, but I was, if anything, a professional.

            I’d dealt with people like Kei Matsuya before.  They were prevalent here in L.A. where people with too much money and not enough sense thought everything and everyone could be bought. I’d had my share of attitude, but I was good at saying no.  I knew that my scruples probably hampered my progress, but for every “go directly to hell”, I received two who were more than happy to work with me.  Besides that, every AlterEva creation was finely crafted with meticulous attention to detail.  They were heirloom pieces, from my elaborate wedding gowns and tuxes to the most wenchy of Renaissance Faire garb.  My kind of artistry was worth far more than some spoiled rock star’s fragile ego.

            It would have been nice, though.  I’d always wanted to work with a band to help them create a signature look, and perhaps someday I would. Until then, I wasn’t going to lose sleep over Kei Matsuya.

***

            After another ten minutes of Kat trying to talk me into taking Matsuya’s commission, I finally sent her packing, reminding her that she still had things to do before the trip to San Diego.

            “You really should go for it,” Kat shook her head as I practically threw her out the door.  “My costume’s close to done.  At least hear him out.  If anything, you could get a free trip to S.F. out of it.”

            “Then why don’t you make his damn costume and I’ll take your place at ComicCon?  That way, you can fangirl yourself silly and I can get some peace and quiet.”

            Kat laughed breaking the tension, and a few seconds later so did I.  “You’re mean.  And maybe I’ll do just that.  Who cares if the only thing I can sew is a button?  Just the chance to see Kei Matsuya decked out in nothing but those silver rings on his fingers would be so worth it!”

            “I am so going to tell Draggy-waggy-donut that his fiancé is dumping him for some rock star,” I mock-threatened.

            After Kat left, I went back to the kitchen to finish my coffee creation and the rest of my breakfast sandwich. 

            Yes, it would have been great to add another “wardrobe designed by” to my resume, but if that meant having to deal with Mr. Massive Ego Kei Matsuya, then it just wasn’t worth the headache.  It gave me a great deal of satisfaction to know this was probably the first time in years he’d been turned down by anyone.

            Granted, everything Kat said about him was true.  The man was smoking hot, and I’d always had a thing for guitarists anyway.  My first big girl-crush back in elementary school was Joe Perry of Aerosmith; then once I discovered heavy metal, I fell head over heels with Kirk Hammett of Metallica.  There was just something so primal, so sexual about that instrument slung down low around the hips with fingers moving with skill and speed and grace. It was like watching a guy masturbate onstage.  And Kei Matsuya added to the potent brew by the sheer eroticism of his beautiful face and body. 

            Between that luscious mane of jet black hair that cascaded like an obsidian waterfall down a perfectly sculpted back, and his come-hither and fuck bedroom eyes that were always finely lined in black eyeliner (or were they?), the man was sin incarnate and worst of all, he knew it. Matsuya was the epitome of why sex was such an integral part of rock and roll.  Add to the fact that he played with gender like a child plays with toys, the man was dead-fucking-sexy.  There were more pictures of him seriously lip-locking other men, besides his band mates than there were of him alone.   He was also usually in some state of semi-nudity.

            Thinking about all of that certainly wasn’t helping my libido any, nor was it doing anything to change my mind.  As sexy and powerful as he was, the man was also rude, overbearing and I just couldn’t deal with that.

            When the phone rang, I was headed to the workroom to add the final decorative flourishes to Kat’s dress.  “Good morning, AlterEva Designs, Eva Vincent speaking.”

            “Miss Vincent, are you busy?”

            “Yes, Mr. Matsuya, I am.  If you are calling to try and get me to change my mind, I am sorry.”

            “No, Miss Vincent, it is I who should apologize to you.  It has been a rather trying week and I simply was not at my best.”  He sounded weary now, not like the dictator he’d come off as.  “To be honest, it has been a very long time since someone has refused me anything.  I have to admit, that fact alone makes me even more curious about you.”

            The sexy chuckle at the other end made me feel all warm and tingly, which, having just spent the past few moments at my breakfast nook thinking about Kei Matsuya naked, put me in somewhat of a different frame of mind.

            “I am not giving up, Miss Vincent, as far as having you work with me.  However, I also see how dedicated you are to your clients, and that is something very rare.  So, I will make you another offer.”

            Curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction brought her back, I thought with a wry smile coloring my voice.  “And that is?”

            “Would you be available for consultation this coming weekend?  A consultation, which would include dinner and a place to stay while we discussed terms?”

            I nearly forgot to breathe.  I could hear Kat screaming ‘go for it’, but I wasn’t going to give in that easily.

            As coolly as I could, I replied, “Well, Mr. Matsuya, let me consider your rather generous offer and I will get back to you as soon as I possibly can.  I have a fitting later, and if it goes well, then you will have a definite answer by early tomorrow.”

            Silence, then a deep masculine sigh which made me wonder what that sigh sounded like during sex. All right, Vincent, rein it in girl.

            “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Vincent,” Matsuya said, amusement and something else apparent in his tone.  “So, not only are you beautiful, but a savvy businesswoman as well.”

            The compliment came from left field.  As if reading my mind, he answered, “I’ve done my homework on you, Miss Vincent.  I’m impressed by everything I’ve discovered.  You’re an artist, just as I am.”

            “And I never leave anything undone, Mr. Matsuya,” I added, smiling.

            “And you’re a perfectionist.”

            “True.  But it takes one to know one.  I remember you cancelling an entire block of shows because Tommy fractured his wrist and you weren’t satisfied that he could play.  Your management wasn’t happy about that, but the fans loved you.  Then, to make up for the cancellations, Dominion’s End played for two hours straight at each venue and then had a meet and greet for every single fan and you guys did that for ten whole days.”

            “That’s how we got where we are Miss Vincent.”

            “And that’s how I’ve gotten where I am now, Mr. Matsuya.  Now, I hate to be rude, but the sooner I finish here, the sooner I will give you an answer.”

            “Very well.  Until tomorrow then.”

            The rest of the day was spent adding the few embellishments to Kat’s dress.  I had my music cranked high and I was in creative Zen mode.  The heavy fabric felt like a living entity in my hands and I once again I was filled with joy at being able to do what I truly loved. 

            I thought about Kei Matsuya.  There was no denying the man had definite magnetism; even over the phone his voice felt like leather gloves over my bare skin.  I’d have to have been dead not to respond to it.  However, as enticing as the man was, there was fantasy and there was reality.  Fantasy allowed for the two of us to meet, talk about clothes then give into mutual lust.  Reality threw ice cold water on that scenario.  The man was a musician, and I’d heard enough of those stories to know few of those relationships ever lasted. 

            On the other hand, I really wasn’t looking for love.  I was happy in my single state.  Kat didn’t believe me, but that was no surprise.  Most of my friends wondered why I had no interest in the dating game, and I was tired of answering them.  In their minds, 40-something and fabulous obviously meant fabulously married with kids.  It was difficult for them to understand why I was satisfied with my life.

            As if on cue, Matsuya’s blistering riffs erupted from my Harmon-Kardon speakers as the sonic bombast of Moonspell practically shook my loft with the force of six-point magnitude earthquake.  Miki Hirata’s voice came in, matching the frenetic charge of the blistering licks and pounding percussion.  I started banging my head in earnest, wailing at the top of my lungs.  The music raced through my blood as I worked.  I was on an absolute high.

            Hours later, I was finished.  I was going to call Kat, but I wanted to savor the moment alone for a while.  Kat was going to be a smash.

            Speaking of smashed, the massive energy rush I’d been working with immediately put on the brakes and I was drained.  A long soak and an early night were in order.

            When I was a teenager, my parents took me to see a French film called Diva.  It had a black opera star whose biggest fan was a lowly bike messenger.  I’d always liked the film because it had a an interracial couple in it and I liked it because one of the characters, a cool but slick con-artist named Gorodish had this amazing Left Bank loft and the claw-footed bathtub sat practically in the middle of it.  I’ll never forget the scene where his partner, a Vietnamese femme fatale named Alba roller-skated around him while he sat smoking a Galouises in the tub.  I promised myself when I grew up I would have a place just like that.

            Flash-forward a decade or two and my dream became a reality.  Like my bedroom, there were lacquered Japanese screens, but I preferred the open space for the tub.  The windows were like huge skylights and I was too far off the ground for it to be worth a peeping Tom trying to get their jollies, though I’d certainly give them something to get happy about.

            The claw-footed tub was one of my pride and joys.  I found it at an estate sale and bought it for what some would consider highway robbery, except the man who sold it to me did so because he saw how much pleasure something so simple as a bath would be to me.  In exchange, I designed an Edwardian tux that he chose to be buried in.  Some people thought that was rather morbid, but as he said, one must look nice in the afterlife.

            As I ran water for my bath, thoughts once again drifted to Kei Matsuya.  Kat’s dress was done.  There was no reason I couldn’t take the man up on his offer now.  It would certainly give me bragging rights, my name associated with one of the biggest bands in music.

            Okay, if I was going to say yes to him, then we needed to seriously discuss some ground rules.  Matsuya needed to know right off there was room for only one diva, and he wasn’t going to be it.  He also needed to know that I didn’t appreciate back-seat tailors or wannabe fashion critics.  Lastly, the man needed to understand that I wasn’t superhuman and though I was fast, if he expected miracles, he would have to talk to god.

            On the flip side, would it really be worth my sanity to deal with him, much less his band?  Thus far I’d kept my sanity rather intact by not dealing with bad attitudes and ‘I want it yesterday’ types.  Then again, Matsuya might take one look at my ideas and decide they wouldn’t work.  No harm, no foul.

            As the tub filled, I added my favorite aromatherapy bath salts to the water.  The calming lavender and melissa fragrance filled the space around me, instantly relaxing muscles that had been tensed up from being in one position for hours.  Shutting off the taps, I went into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine then padded barefoot back into the bathroom.

            I stripped quickly, leaving my clothes on the floor in the corner and stepped into the tub.  Sinking down into the water, I sighed blissfully as I took a sip of wine and let the soothing heat and scent take me away.

***

            The next morning, after a quick shower and breakfast, I dialed Matsuya’s number.   The phone rang once, twice, three times, then a sleepy and very sexy, “Good morning, Miss Vincent.”

            “Eva.  If we’re going to work together, we might as well be on a first-name basis.”

            “Eva,” he said with that sleepy rumble.  “And you must start calling me Kei.  Mr. Matsuya’s my far more traditional father who hates my life but loves the money.”

            “Well, Kei.  I guess you know why I called.  I’m not promising anything, but I’ll take you up on your offer, for a consultation only.”

            “Fine.  I’ll expect you here on Friday, then?”

            “Make it Saturday.”

            “Oh, and by the way, I hope you don’t have a problem with haunted houses.”

            Well, that came from out of nowhere.

            “I can’t say, Kei, since the only one I’ve ever been in was at Disneyland.  Are you trying to tell me that you live in a haunted house?”

            Kei chuckled darkly.  “Of course.  He’s not harmful though.”

            “He?”

***

            I don’t remember much of the conversation after that.  Kei had to be kidding about the ghost.  I knew rock stars had their quirks, so I figured this was just one of those rock star things, like David Bowie being Ziggy Stardust, Jimmy Page living in Alistair Crowley’s old house or a preacher’s kid named Vincent turning into Alice Cooper.  Whatever, ghost or not, I had a job to do.

            “Oh my gawd!  Oh my gawd!”

            I winced and stuck my fingers in my ears when I told Kat that I was headed to San Francisco to meet up with Kei Matsuya this weekend.  She came over for the final fitting and almost stepped on the train while jumping around like a demented jack-in-the-box.

            She gave me a huge hug.  “I am so happy for you, Evie!  You’re gonna knock his socks off, I know it!  You’re going to be like the Bob Mackie of metal!”

            I just rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but share her enthusiasm.  “Not all that.  I don’t even have any ideas yet.  It’s just a consultation, you know?”

            “But you’re going to stay in his house!  With him…alone!  You lucky bitch!”

            “Kat, I’m not going up there to get laid. This is strictly work-related.  Nothing else,” I insisted as I cinched the back of the dress while making small adjustments to the fit.  Kat yelped and smacked me in the head.

            “Dammit Evie, I can’t fucking breathe!  Loosen it up a bit, will ya?  Just because you like being tied up doesn’t mean everyone else does!”

            I gave her an ‘excuse me’ look.  The woman had been a former Domme after all.

            “You should be used to it.  Besides, I used flexible boning so you’ll be fine.  Stop being such a weenie!”  I smacked her back.

            “You can’t tell me that you haven’t even thought of doing the nasty with him, right,” Kat teased with that single-mindedness I knew well.  “The man is sex on two legs.” 

            “Fine, he’s eye candy.  But it’s work, that’s all.  Besides, he’s got plenty of women throwing themselves at him.”

            “Yeah, but they’re not you.  You’ve got looks and brains and talent.  He’ll fall head over heels in love with you.”

            “Okay, now you are losing what little mind you had.  And stand still, I’m almost done.”

            After another Kat whirlwind, I fell into bed totally exhausted.  The phone rang, and I wasn’t inclined to answer it, but I did.

            “Yes?”

            “Good evening Eva?  Are you busy right now?”

“Actually, I was headed to bed.  I had a fitting today and I’m toast.  What did you want?”

            “Nothing really, just wanted to talk.  Get to know you better.”

            “Not to be rude, but can’t it wait until I’m somewhat awake?”

            “Why? Afraid that you might say something scandalous?”

            “Like that I think you’re sexy?  Fine, I said it.  Can I go to bed now?”

            Kei growled deeply and my nipples suddenly hardened.  “I like you already, Eva.  I like a woman who speaks her mind.  How about if I told you I liked your picture more than your designs?  How about I can’t wait to have you gracing this big house of mine and that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here as long as I can?”

            Now I was fully awake.  “Mr. Matsuya, are you flirting with me?”

            “It’s what I’m good at.”

            “And what else are you good at?”

            “Well,” Kei drawled slowly, lovingly. The man was good.  “Besides being a guitar god, and being a consummate showman, I’m extremely good at pleasing people.”

            That was unexpected.  Kei said people, not women.  Interesting, maybe there was truth to the rumors after all.  Not that I had any problems with that.  “You’ve had a lot of practice.”

            “True, but practice doesn’t always make perfect.  That’s why I want you to capture my sexuality, the band’s sexuality.  I want you to make us so alluring, so erotic.  I want you to create something that moves with us, makes the fans want to rip our clothes off…”

            Damn the man!  That voice coupled with that face wasn’t helping my body.  This was getting way out of hand.  Still, it was fun to play around a bit.

            “That’s kind of a waste of my talent if I make something that makes people want to tear it to shreds.  Can you imagine my having to repair the damage every night?  I hope you’re planning to pay me for that.”

            “Of course.  But I said, make the fans want to rip our clothes off, not that they’d get close enough to do so.”

            “But you must also be able to perform in it as well.  Form and function and all that.”

            “Of course. But remember, it’s the sex that’s most important.  What rock and roll is all about.”

            The funny thing was Dominion’s End was a serious progressive metal band in spite of all the outward trappings.  Then again, whoever said you couldn’t have one without the other?  Hell, I’d seen Dream Theater enough times to know that virtuosity was no substitute for a good show.  Queensrÿche back in the day totally understood that, though the idea of duplicating Geoff Tate’s pseudo-Bride of Frankenstein hairstyle on Kei just wasn’t going to work.

            “What are you thinking about Eva?  Me?”

            I snorted. “Gawd, are you vain or what?  Do you think every woman wants you?”

            I could feel the silky smile sliding across his perfect lips.  “Only the babies and the dead ones don’t.”

            “Well,” I said, actually enjoying the flirting back and forth, “I’m not a baby nor am I deceased, and while I definitely think you’re nice piece of ass to look at, I’m certainly not going to fawn over you.  You’ve got plenty of people to do that for you.”

            “I’ve got to say Eva, you’re good for my ego.  Maybe having you visit might teach me a little humility.”

            I yawned.  “That I seriously doubt.  You have a very healthy sense of your own personal godhood.  And now, Kei Matsuya, I am going to bed.  It’s been a long day and I’m not like you rock stars who stay up and party all night.”

            “Lucky bed,” Kei practically purred into my ear.  “Got room enough for two?”

            I just couldn’t help it. “As a matter of fact, I’m sharing my bed with something long, hard and takes three D batteries.  And the best part is that ‘he’ doesn’t smoke after sex or ask if it was as good for me as it was for him.”

            He laughed again.  That laugh was going to seriously be my undoing.  “Touché, my dear Eva.  And on that note, rest well.”

            “You too.”

            I hung up and realized with some dismay that my body was tingling all over.  It made no sense; we didn’t have phone sex. It was just silly flirtation, and yet Kei Matsuya’s voice in my head slid over my naked skin like soft water.  No wonder he had the reputation he did, if he could get me hot just by talking.

            To take the edge off, I reached under my bed for my trusty toybox and gave myself some happy relief.  I also made a note to myself to bring one along, having the feeling that I just might need it.

            I also realized that I hadn’t asked him about the ghost.

            Thursday morning I lazed around in bed, enjoying the fact that I had nothing pressing to do today save pack and get on the road.  Knowing SoCal traffic like I did, the best time for me to leave would be around noon.  If all went well, I could get into Santa Cruz around early evening. 

            I’m one of those women who pack light.  Jeans, t-shirts, comfortable shoes because I also wanted to do some sightseeing, and just in case, a vintage-styled black corset dress that had been one of my first creations and which I would never part with.  It was a classic piece and looked great dressed up or down.  I also packed a pair of black vintage granny boots that were around eighty years old. They had been my great-grandmother’s and the fact that they fit meant they had been meant for me, or so granny said.

            I went into the bathroom and grabbed my travel case filled with toiletries and the basic makeup items that I used.  I even managed to pick out three lipsticks rather than taking every single one I owned.

            With that done, I showered, dressed and made myself a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.  I planned to get road food on the way up, then stop at a Denny’s or something for dinner.  Before I left, I called my parents and left a message as to where I was going.  I also left a message for Kat, then grabbed my mp3 player and the car adapter.  After all, every good road trip needs a soundtrack.

            By noon, I was out the door and on my way.

            It was one of those rare summer days after a rain where all felt right with the world.  After stopping in Little Tokyo to grab munchies from Nijiya Market and topping off the gas tank of my black Sentra, I was on my way down the I-5 to the 152 West, which cut through Gilroy and met up with the 156 then the 101 into Santa Cruz. 

            I had the mp3 plugged in and cranked up to near-blasting as the miles evaporated to the sound of an eclectic mix of old-school metal, 70’s funk, some Bad Brains, some David Arkenstone and of course Dominion’s End to make any cop who might have stopped me scratch their heads in confusion. 

            As I drove, singing (or what Kat said sounded more like two cats in heat while fighting) at the top of my lungs, I once again marveled at the scenery of the state I’d lived in all my life.  I was right smack in the midst of the San Joaquin Valley, known as ‘the breadbasket of California’ with its miles and miles of farms and orchards and the California Aqueduct making it all possible.  I wondered about the people, and I promised myself the next year I’d take another meandering road trip just to sate my innate curiosity.  These trips also helped spark my creative juices.

            Several hours later, give or take a few rest stops to relieve my bursting bladder, I made it into the bustling beach town of Santa Cruz.  For some perverse reason I started humming the song from The Lost Boys, since it had been filmed here.

            I drove until I found the cute B&B I’d stayed in a few years ago called The Babbling Brook Inn.  Thankfully I’d made reservations ahead of time, but the inn was one of those well-kept secrets off the beaten track. Between the comfy featherbeds and the tranquil sounds of the creek and waterfall, I was ready to relax for a little and enjoy the calm before the storm.

            Later that night after a yummy meal at The Santa Cruz diner where I ordered a big bowl of Vietnamese Pho and some spring rolls (yes, at a diner that served hamburgers and hot dogs), I unwound in the whirlpool bath as darkness closed around the redwoods and the aptly named babbling brook lulled me into sweet dreams.

            Then my cell phone rang.

            “Good evening Eva, how are you?”

            I was drying off and placed the phone on speaker.  “Your timing is impeccable, Kei.  It seems you always manage to call me when I’m in bed or headed there.”

            “That’s because I like to imagine you naked.”

            “Oh please,” but the comment made me blush.  “All these compliments aren’t going to make me more pliable if we decide to work together.  I am a professional.”

            “I expect nothing less, Eva.  Teasing aside, I am happy that you’re willing to at least meet with me. And obviously you’re not scared of ghosts.”

            “Should I be?  You’re not talking poltergeist, right?”

            Kei was matter-of-fact about it.  “No, Shane doesn’t throw things.  He just sits and looks at me with those accusing eyes of his.  Sometimes he actually speaks.”

            I knew the name.  “Shane was your first bass player. He committed suicide, right?”          

            “The same day Dominion’s End was signed, our manager Tsuchiya told me that the label thought Shane was a liability and that as leader, I needed to let him go.  Shane happened to overhear us talking and when he asked me, I didn’t say a word.”  Kei grew quiet, his typical joie de vivre and flirtatiousness all gone now.  “Later that night, I got a call from his girlfriend that Shane was dead.”

            What does one say to something like that, so I remained silent until he was ready to continue.  “We all knew Shane was wild, and we all knew about the drugs, but he was always able to maintain.  I mean, he did show up late to a few gigs, but he never missed a note and any crazy stuff he did on stage looked like it was part of the act.”

            “Were you really going to let him go?”

            “Of course not,” and I believed him.  “Shane was headed for rehab because he’d finally gotten tired of the whole thing.  He was like my brother, like family.  I never gave up on him.”

            The silence between us hung in the air for a little while as I digested his story and his belief that he was a haunted man.  Stranger things happened in life, but I’d reserve judgment until I was there.

            “So tell me,” as my curiosity about him reasserted itself.  “Did you really date a porn star?”

            His melancholy seemed to lift then and the sexy mischief-maker came back.  “Yes I did and Melina Drake was a very classy and intelligent woman with a very wicked sense of humor.”

            “That must have gone over real well.”

            “Tsuchiya threatened to quit and I told him go right ahead.  I mean, we were a lot more discreet than most guys at that time, but I didn’t try to hide it.”

            I stretched out like a contented cat on the big, fluffy bed.  “What about your fans?”

            “Are you kidding?  Sales of her movies went up like 500 percent!  Besides, name me one rock star back then who didn’t date a stripper or a porn star?”

            I took the bet.  “Jon Bon Jovi.  He married his high school sweetheart.” 

            He laughed.  “Damn, are you like some walking encyclopedia of metal or something?”

            “Can I ask you something really personal, Kei?”

            “Go ahead.”

            “Are you really bisexual?”

            Without the slightest hesitation Kei answered, “I am.  I hope this isn’t an issue with you, Eva, considering the fact that you’ve put men into some of your gowns.”

            I instantly put him at ease.  “No, it’s not an issue.  If you really want to know, the bi guys I know are far more secure than a lot of overly macho straight guys.”

            “I most certainly am, Eva,” Kei replied without a hint of arrogance.  “The way I see it, I’m still a man regardless of whom I’m attracted to.  Besides, it just makes it easier to find dates.”

            I chuckled.  “True.”

            “Since we’re being truthful, I have to say that I’m very eager to meet you in person.  I have no doubt that you are the right person to create something unforgettable.  Even Miki’s interested in meeting you, but I’ve got to warn you he’s a flirt.”

            “A bigger flirt than you,” I said wryly.  “That’s almost hard to believe.”

            “It’s true.  I might have to keep you away from him.”

            That was interesting, but I wasn’t coming up there to be in the middle of a testosterone-laced tug of war.  I had a job to do and made that perfectly clear. “I’m here to do a job, that’s all.  And I have a personal aversion to dating rock stars.”

            Kei didn’t seem fazed by my words.  “I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make an effort to change your mind a little.”

            “Do your best,” I muttered.  “I’ve been on the road all day.  I’m going to sleep now.  I’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning.”

            “Good night then, and pleasant dreams,” Kei murmured huskily.

            Yeah, right.

            I spent a relaxing day in the vibrant beach town, strolling and shopping and of course, the famous Santa Cruz Boardwalk.  I rode the classic wooden rollercoaster three times and ate cotton candy.  I also found an art store and purchased a sketchpad and charcoal.  A vague idea as to what Dominion’s End’s new look might be tickled my consciousness and I wanted to get it down on paper.

            I had an early dinner and called it a night.

            The phone rang again.  It had better not be him.  Geez, he was worse than some love-struck girl.

            Thankfully it was Kat.

            “Are you there yet?”  She sounded like a little girl.

            “No, I stopped in Santa Cruz.  I’ll be there tomorrow.”

            “I just wanted to tell you Dragon is in love with the dress and he wants to marry me in it and we’re headed to Vegas after the convention and I’m sorry that you’re not going to be there but…”

            She was speaking so fast and all I could do was grin.  “I knew my dress would be a hit, but I wasn’t expecting that.  I’m so happy for you guys!”

            “Me too, and I’ve already gone through nine boxes of books. My hand is cramped from all the autographs and the place is packed!  I’ll send you pictures!”

            Before I could say anything else, Kat chatted on, “I’m headed for bed but I wanted to tell you everything and you better call me when you meet Kei Matsuya tomorrow or I’ll never speak to you again!”

            “I promise.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

             With a name like Shadowside, it was little surprise the mansion Kei Matsuya called home was located in the highly exclusive neighborhood of Sea Cliff where most of San Francisco’s wealthy elite lived.  And no wonder.  One couldn’t beat the area for some of the most spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay.  I’d read that Danielle Steel lived here and I well could believe it as I drove down El Camino del Mar past homes that would make Beverly Hills envious.

            GPS be damned, it took a few wrong turns and some curious looks from a few obvious denizens before I finally located the damn place.  If Kei Matsuya didn’t want you to find him, you weren’t going to.

            Once I saw it however, I was tempted to say forget it and have him meet me at a hotel.

            Shadowside truly lived up to its named and then some.  It looked like something out of Dark Shadows, complete with crawling ivy and gargoyles.  As I drove through the entrance, I half expected to see Barnabas Collins balefully gazing down at me from one of the mullioned windows and I shuddered.

            Why the hell couldn’t he have lived someplace normal like a nicely ostentatious Mc Mansion?  Then again, he was a rock star.  This was normal.

            For a moment I sat idling the engine, my heart racing in my chest.  My imagination was starting to run away with me, but there was no escaping the fact that Shadowside was fucking eerie.  Surrounded by a huge wrought iron gate and thick foliage, including some huge trees with branches that looked suspiciously like arms, it was big and beautiful in a creepy sort of way, but also a reminder as to why black people were seldom in scary movies.  If a place looked like a psycho axe murderer’s hangout, we were smart enough to stay away. 

            I took several calming breaths and chided myself that in spite of the fact that the place would be perfect for the next Freddy Krueger flick, there were no such things as ghosts and Kei Matsuya just had some deep-seated guilt issues he needed to deal with.

            Shutting off the engine, I stepped out of the car and stood up when I noticed a dark blue BMW parked in front of the marble steps leading to the very gothic-looking front door.

            Before I could put one foot in front of the other, I felt a hand grab my arm and I nearly jumped out of my skin.  Terrified and annoyed, I wheeled around and came face to face with a pair of assessing green eyes that were not in the least bit friendly. 

            I glared at her, pissed that she’d scared me shitless.  “Excuse me but do I know you?”       “You’re Eva Vincent, right?”  She raked me in as if I were a potential rival.  “I’m Jessie Chastain.  Kei Matsuya’s girlfriend.”

I hadn’t been here for more than five minutes and already there was going to be drama.  I wasn’t in the mood, standing out here in front of Hammer Horror central.  “That’s nice dear.  I still don’t know you and the next time you put a hand on me, I will chop it off at the wrist.”

I had to give her credit. She didn’t even bat an eyelash.  “I just wanted to see what you looked like.”

“Well know you know, so if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job to do.”

“Just make sure you remember that,” she replied haughtily.  “Don’t get any ideas about him.”

She had to be kidding me? 

“Oops, maybe your position isn’t as secure as you’d like to think, sweetheart.”  

Her green eyes glittered with hate, but she’d brought my inner bitch to the fore.    

“I’m not here to take Kei away from you, darling, though if I put my mind to it you’d be yesterday’s news.”  I smiled at her evilly.  “I’m just here for a consultation.  I may be gone by tomorrow.” 

“For your sake, I think you should be,” she said then whisked by me to ring the doorbell, which thankfully rang like chimes and not Tubular Bells. She cast a scathing glance over her shoulder as we both waited for the door to open.

When it did I expected Lurch the zombie butler to open the door and welcome us to Shadowside in the just-from-the-grave baritone.

What I got was an eyeful of a six-foot tall, gorgeous piece of man-flesh with the most incredible cascade of blue-black hair that flowed down a little past his waist and a pair of wicked almond eyes that looked like sex and which caused my tongue to almost drop to the ground.

Holy shit, the man had looks that could kill and for a quick second I thought what a lovely way to die.  No wonder the chick in front of me was so sprung.

I also didn’t expect for him to look at the other woman like something he’d stepped in.

“What the hell are you doing here,” he spat coldly.  Now she flinched and for a minute I felt sorry for her.  “What part of ‘we’re done’ did you fail to comprehend?”  Then that dark gaze fell in my direction and the look changed completely.  He eyed me the way a starving man did a seven-course meal.  “Your website photo doesn’t do you any justice, babe,” he drawled silkily while mentally undressing me on his front steps.  “Damn woman, you are smokin’ hot and I may have a hell of a time keeping my hands to myself.”

Okay, I admit it but I just couldn’t keep from an arrogant toss of my head as Kei ushered me inside.  I spared a brief look behind me as Jessie shot daggers in my direction.

Once inside, Kei took my hand in his as if he owned it.  “I apologize for the fucked-up welcome.  We dated for a while, but decided we didn’t suit.  She’s the type who likes being attached to famous musicians but doesn’t quite understand that practice and gigs come first.”

 “I’m here to work Matsuya, not to get in the middle of your love life.  But you’d better tell her the next time she comes at me like that, I’m going to rip out her throat with my teeth!”

Kei laughed, shaking his lean frame.  The dark eyes, ringed with the longest and thickest lashes ever seen on any human being were full of amusement and those lips I’d seen pictures of were even more dangerous close and in person.  “It’s my lot in life, Eva.  Women just can’t seem to contain themselves.”

“Oh here we go again, the ego has landed,” and the tension caused by Jessie had dissipated.

He was still holding my hand and though it felt very nice, I had to maintain my professional distance.  Seeing Kei Matsuya this up-close and personal, I wondered if it were possible.

The man oozed feral sexuality and jaw-dropping charisma.  He even smelled like sex.  Every look, the way he moved, he was like a silken predator.  Even with a face that was both beautiful and masculine, he was pure unadulterated male, no additives, fillers or preservatives.  Neither a line nor a wrinkle appeared on his smooth, ageless features.  The only way possible to tell his age was in the deep well of his fawn brown eyes.

The jeans he wore hung low around his hips, barely held in place with a studded leather belt that had seen better days and the tight wife-beater emphasized his sculpted abs.  I swore that I could see the puckered tips of his nipples through the thin material.  I sucked in air and too late realized my mistake. 

Yes, indeed he smelled like sex; the good kind, hot, sweaty and dirty.

It had been years since any man had affected me in quite so primal a way.  I should have known; if just talking to him on the phone had gotten me hot and bothered, the man himself had to be the epitome of seductive.

He didn’t seem too ready to let go of my hand as he guided me through his home. 

“Everyone thought I was nuts to buy this place,” Kei said as we moved from room to room, obviously proud of this gothic monstrosity and I had to admit, it was rather beautiful with its Victorian décor mixed in with the traditional gothic touches.  There were brass candelabrums, wall sconces and even several suits of armor.  “It was definitely a money pit, but there was also something that called to me,” he continued softly.  “It was lonely and needed someone to bring it back to life since it had pretty much been left rot since the 1950’s.  Not to mention, I have all the privacy I could ever want.”

He opened the door to the library and I nearly came in my panties.  It was my fantasy library, complete with floor to ceiling shelves and a sliding ladder.  It smelled warm, used, and much loved.  I could easily see him curled up on the antique sofa with a cup of tea and a good book while the fire cracked merrily in the hearth.

 “Miki calls me a hermit because I’d rather hang out here than hit the streets, but once you’ve done as much partying as I have, there’s really nothing new about it.”  Dropping my hand he walked towards the thick velvet curtains and drew them back, letting in the bright sunshine.  Turning to face me he said, “Feel free to hang out here if you want.  My house is yours.”  His smile was warm and genuine and I gave him a nod.

The tour ended with the guitar room.

There could have easily been well-over one-hundred guitars hanging in brackets on the wall. Some I actually recognized, others looked as if they’d never been played.  I pointed at the Flying V.         

“You used that one in the video for Crescendo, and that one,” indicating the ESP Edwards which was a custom build exclusively for the Japanese market, “That was a gift from your manager if I remember correctly, though I have to say it kind of looks a little like Tommy’s BC Rich.”  Kei just looked at me as if I’d sprouted three heads, then started grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, I surrender.  You really are a fan.”

“I’m the weirdo who reads the liner notes after reading the lyrics.”

“Yes, I’m true to the breed,” Kei admitted, obviously very proud of his collection.  “The irony is that only a few of them go on tour with me.”  He pointed out a black one sitting on a stand.  “That’s my baby, the Strat.  I’ve had her for over twenty years.”  He picked up the guitar as gently as he would a child and caressed it lovingly.  “She’s not fancy but when I stroke her just right, she sings like an angel.  I’ve written some of the band’s best songs on her.”

I was trying not to think about his previous words—stroking and singing—but the blissful look on his face while caressing the strings wasn’t helping much.  He looked up and I tried to look at anything but him.  I was pretty sure that he’d be able to read my wicked thoughts written all over my face.

He replaced the guitar as gently as he’d first picked it up.  Come on, “I’ll show you to your room and you can relax if you want.  I’ll grab your stuff from the car.”

I waved away his concern.  “Don’t worry about it.  I want to get started on some ideas I’d sketched last night as soon as possible.”

“Eager for me to say no aren’t you,” he half-teased.

Kei Matsuya’s saying no wasn’t the issue.  It was my sudden desire to say yes to this man that was making me nervous.  I had to remember who he was and who I was.

I also needed to remember I was in a haunted house that Dracula would have loved.

I couldn’t wait for this weekend to be over.

I had the feeling things had only just begun.

The room that Kei ushered me into was wonderfully cozy, furnished in cool shades of teal and beige.  There wasn’t anything fussy about it, but the French windows had a wonderful view of his backyard, which had been sculpted into a tea garden and from there I could look out over China Beach and the bay.  It was an amazing view although the garden surprised me as I was expecting some overgrown wilderness filled with hemlock and wolfsbane with a dried up fountain.

“It’s my sanctuary,” he said pointing out the garden below.  “The first place I come to when we’re back from the road.  I decompress out here for a few hours and the peacefulness helps to ground me.”

Kei Matsuya was turning out to be a lot more than some sybaritic rocker with a massive ego.  There were obvious depths to him that few people knew about.  Understandable when one lived their lives in a fisheye lens, as Rush would say. 

I happened to glance down at the bed and it didn’t take but a minute for me to envision him in it…with me.  This was bad.  Maybe Kat had been right after all, when she kept telling me that I needed to get laid more often.

  “So, welcome to my home Eva,” he said taking my hand in his once more.  I was getting used to that sensation of heat coursing through me from his touch and hell, I liked it.  “I hope it’s for longer than a few days.  It’s actually nice having someone here who’s corporeal.”

Oh shit.  Kei’s ghost.

I tamped down my nervousness, choosing instead my typical smart-assed response.  “I guess I’m supposed to say thank you, but I have an allergy to hot and cold running spooks.”

After he left I started unpacking my travel bag and wondered if my sudden desire to get naked and do naughty things to Kei had to do with my sublimating creating costumes for sex.  I mean, it wasn’t that I’d never had the drive or the desire.  It was just that my business had managed to be all I wanted.  Truth to tell, I hadn’t felt the need to sleep with anyone for over a year just because I enjoyed my solitude and I hated breakup drama.  Seeing how Jessie Chastain acted, there was obviously a method to my madness.  On the other hand, if I’d made more of an effort to be more sociable, I wouldn’t be lusting over a man that millions of fans would sell their souls for.

Well, I would simply have to take things as they came.  I’d make damn sure not to make the first move, and I would do everything I could to be professional, but if anything did happen, I’d accept it and move on.  I’d also make a point to not telling Kat anything.  I’d never hear the end of it and knowing her, she’d probably go viral with it on Twitter or something.

Once I had myself somewhat together, I headed downstairs in search of my host.  The sooner I got things rolling, the sooner I might be on my way home. Then I stopped at the top of the stairs and gave myself a serious reality check.

This wasn’t me.  From the very moment I decided to become a costume designer, I’d gone headfirst into the wind, allowing nothing to stop me.  This was my life, being creative, seeing the fruits of my imagination and labor brought to life for others to enjoy.  Why was I getting so hung up on this? 

Fine, Kei Matsuya was a damn sight better looking than his pictures and videos portrayed. Fine, the man had a voice that could make me forget common sense.  He was also still a man, albeit an extremely hot one.  He would also be, if things worked out, my boss.  On the other hand, while he might love my designs the rest of the band might think I was full of shit.             And what if they ended up liking my ideas?  Was I going to run away because in spite of all the modern conveniences like electric lights and hot and cold running water, I felt as if I’d landed right in the middle of my own personal Jane Eyre? Maybe I should look for a madwoman in an attic.

Hell, it wouldn’t be the end of the world to enjoy the eye candy that was Kei Matsuya.  The most important thing was AlterEva Designs being seen by millions of people worldwide on the members of Dominion’s End.

And even if anything were to happen, so what.  I was a grown-up and I certainly didn’t expect anything like a relationship.  It could and would remain a nice and pleasant memory.  After all, when was the last time I really let myself go and just said ‘fuck it’?

Kei was camped out in the living room, a laptop on the massive glass and iron coffee table.

“Here,” and he handed me an MP3 player.  “This is the final mix of our new CD.  I figured it might give you some inspiration.”

I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice as I let out a whoop.  I was going to be one of the very few to hear a brand new Dominion’s End project.  Kat was going to be so jealous.

“So what’s it called?”

“A Ceremony for Black Roses.”  When I looked at him quizzically he just shrugged.  “No, not a concept album this time, I’m afraid.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a listen.  I brought my sketchpad with me so maybe I’ll come up with some more ideas while I listen.”

“I know I said it’s the final mix, but I’m never happy until the last minute.  Tsuchiya hates that about us.”

I smiled in understanding.  “You really are a perfectionist.”

He didn’t bother to hide it.  “That’s how Dominion’s End got where it did.”

As suggested, I plopped down on a very comfortable black leather sofa and tried not to imagine anything hot and heavy going on.  I popped in the earbuds and turned the mp3 player on.

I was expecting Devynn’s heavily orchestrated intro that was not just Dominion’s End’s signature opening, but quite a few metal bands were very much into this trope.  This time however, Dominion’s End came in full-bore, not silent in the least but extremely thunderous.  Kei was known for his fast riffs and sweeping melodic lines, but this first song sounded like he’d been chugging down Red Bulls and chasing them with Monsters.  Chris’s double-bass drumming kept time, and for a moment seemed to actually lead.  Tommy’s steady bass playing didn’t even lose tempo, then Miki’s vocals blended in.  No, they didn’t blend in; they smashed through like a wrecking ball.  He seldom used his darker growls, save for emphasis, but this time he went all the way.  It was old-school Slayer with a progressive twist.  I didn’t know all the technical terms, but I knew what time changes were, and the song seemed to have a lot of those.

As I listened, this album seemed a lot more experimental and definitely a lot darker—almost gothic/industrial—than their previous stuff.   I actually was digging the harsher yet still sexy sound.  Miki’s more aggressive singing style might turn off some older fans, but for those of us who still ate and slept metal from the heavier side of the street, it was pretty awesome.

With my eyes closed, I envisioned what images the music was trying to convey.  Ironically, the title track, A Ceremony of Black Roses was stuck in my head, and I begun sketching something that resembled deconstructed tuxedos with black roses running down the lapels.

One song in particular started out with some backmasked strumming, then Miki’s husky whisper, then kicked in with Chris’s thundering drums.  I hit the repeat switch and listened to it over and over; the song was slow, heavy, dark and a perfect soundtrack for a bondage club, especially when Kei’s guitars were added to the mix, making the song crunchier and heavier.

For some strange reason, the image of Kei holding the black Strat wormed its way into my consciousness and lodged there.  The way his body seemed to melt into the wood, his hands sliding slick and sure over the frets.  I could see him onstage performing this song, working his body in time to his playing, practically gyrating against the instrument.

Leather was always expected, but lace was not.  And AlterEva Designs excelled in the unexpected.

I saw Kei in lace.  Black lace, sheer enough to taunt and tease with hints of the sleek skin beneath, but dark enough to conceal what needed to be hidden so as not to get him arrested for indecent exposure.

Pants made of lace with a panel made of leather that would resemble a corset.  Yeah, that might do it.  I could see him on stage strutting arrogantly, the sex-god of guitarists.

“The look on your face means you’ve come up with something.”

I nodded, while removing the earplugs, still in dream-mode.  “How do you like sort of an apocalyptic goth dandy look?”

I showed him the rudimentary sketches for what I had in mind, the words racing from my lips in an excited rush.   I was so busy, the charcoal flying over the paper, that I paid no attention to Kei’s proximity.

His amusement was clear.  “I swear Eva, you are trying to get Dominion’s End banned, and I like it.”

“I think I’ll do something a little different for Chris since he’s the drummer.  His outfit needs to be both sexy and functional.  He’s going to need freedom of movement.”

I continued sketching, pausing to erase lines that didn’t work or add shading where needed.  I could feel Kei looking over my shoulder, his mouth close to my ear.  It should have disturbed me, but I was in my own little world now.  This was safe territory.

“I’ll get dinner ready,” I heard him say, but didn’t acknowledge him.  I was too excited to really care.  Besides, I certainly didn’t want or need him hovering around me.

Tight-fitting lace pants with a corset-laced fly that could easily be adjusted to suit his girth—oh hell.  Just the thought of seeing him in these slammed into my brain.  I could easily imagine what they’d do to the rest of the world.  The thing was, they would be perfect for a band who played with sexuality as well as they did their instruments.  In spite of their progressive pedigree, Dominion’s End had never shied away from the sex part of sex, drugs and rock n’roll.  I would just be giving them what they wanted and sold anyway.

I rose and stretched, and smiled.  I’d accomplished a lot today and in spite of some earlier misgivings, I was happy.

“I recognized that look on your face, Eva,” Kei said as I took in the odor of something wonderful.  “Isn’t it funny how we all get that look when it’s all coming together, when the ideas just flow out like a mad river?”

            “I live for moments like that,” I confessed, happy to be around someone who got it.  “I don’t pay attention to anything.  I didn’t even realize how late it was until I started getting cold.”  I shivered a little.  “I forgot about San Francisco nights.”  I sniffed the air again and my stomach growled, loud enough for Kei to laugh and for me to be majorly embarrassed.  “Guess I’m hungry.”

            “I guess you are.  Well, contrary to what’s been written about me over the years, I am actually a very good cook and I’m happy to finally have a chance to show off to other people besides the band.”

            My stomach growled again.  “And you’re single, why”, I asked as I followed his lean form into the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully not to stare at his ass and imagine a nice portion of it encased in black lace.

            His smile was mischievous.  “Why, are you interested in tying me down, Eva?”

            Unfortunately my mouth chose that moment to disobey me. “Tying you up yes,” came the wicked words before I could stop them. 

Those almond-shaped eyes with the thick feather-duster lashes focused on me and I swore the look scorched me.  “You do have a kinky streak in you, don’t you?  Must come from making all those corsets.”

“This coming from the man who was strapped to a padded sawhorse in the very-much banned Obedience video,” I shot back.  “Do you have any idea how much that import cost me?”

“And how many times did you watch it and wish it was you,” Kei asked, his voice pitched low and silky.

In spite of my misgivings, it was really a lot of fun to flirt with him.  Besides, I just knew it would annoy the hell out of his ex.  “It depends on what you mean.  Do I wish I was the woman in the mask giving you the flogging you so richly deserved, then yes.  By the way, my friend Kat wanted me to tell you that the actor playing the dominatrix had crappy technique.”

He just shook his head, not believing what I’d just said.  “You have some very interesting friends.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”  I washed my hands in the sink.  He held out a clean towel for me to dry them.  “My friend Kat, the one I was making the dress for, she’s into that sort of thing along with being a brilliant comic artist.  She and her fiancé are in San Diego, debuting her graphic novel.  She’s actually your biggest fan, you know?”

“Is she the one who talked you into coming up here,” he asked point-blank.

I nodded.  “But, I would have done it anyway, in spite of how obnoxious you were the first time you called.”

The pout he affected only emphasized how kissable those lips of his had to be.  “Me,” he said with complete wide-eyed innocence, “I’m just used to everyone agreeing with me since it’s easier.”

I threw the towel at him in mock-annoyance.  “I swear you act like a spoiled teenager rather than a man in his 40’s.”

Kei was unrepentant.  “I’m a musician.  How else should I act?”

“Like a grown-up.”

“Like you, for instance.  We’re close to the same age, and yet you make fantastical clothes that aren’t meant to be worn on some boring 9 to 5 job and you hang out with a comic book artist with a taste for S&M.  I fail to see what’s so grown-up about that.”

“Fine, so we’re both serious cases of arrested development.”

“Yeah, but guess what?  We’re also shit-happy satisfied and wouldn’t change a thing, right?”

“Right. Now will you shut up and feed me?”

“Demanding bitch,” he purred with a naughty twinkle in his eyes and it went straight between my legs.

*

            It had been a long time since I’d had so much fun with a man.  For the moment I put my fears and insecurities to rest and simply chose to enjoy the teasing banter between us.  Indeed, the man was an excellent chef and I eagerly enjoyed the fruits of his exquisite seafood alfredo.

It was thick and rich and rife with tiger prawns, juicy scallops, mussels and clams.  It was also chock full of garlic, which meant neither of us would be doing any lip-locking this night.  There was plenty and I was more than happy to partake of every luscious helping.

Kei also seemed rather proud of how I was enjoying his culinary skills.   As he poured me another glass of white wine, he said, “You’re way too good for my ego you know, the way you’re scarfing down my cooking.  I could keep you here just for that.”

I felt no shame as I held out my plate for another helping.  “I do cook for myself you know?  It’s just I often get so busy and grab the quickest thing in the fridge.  It’s nice to have someone cook for me on occasion, even if he is an egotistical rock star.”

“I’m not egotistical, Eva.  I’m just right about a good 99.9 percent of the time.”

I watched Kei with more than curiosity as he twirled a forkful of pasta around the tines and brought it to his mouth.  His skin looked so smooth.  I seriously doubted that he and a razor had ever met.  Even the way he swallowed looked sexy.  Was there anything the man did that wasn’t?

Okay, I could think of maybe one thing, but that was gross.

“And what about the other one percent that you’re wrong?”

“No one ever points it out to me.”

I knew it was bad form to lick the plate, but I seriously wanted to.  Instead, I offered my plate for a third helping.  I didn’t feel too bad since so had he.

“So, what about your family, what do they think of your being an infamous musician?”

Kei’s cheerful gaze suddenly went dark as if staring into a past he tried not to care or think about.  “My father hates what I do and I freely admit that some of my antics are designed to annoy the shit out of him even more since he’s so traditional.”  He spat out the word with contempt.  “It’s kind of funny that no one quite gets the connection between Matsuya Industries and the rebel rock guitarist who likes to kiss men in public, and that’s the way we both want it.”

I said a quick prayer of thanksgiving for my parents who’d always been supportive, even when they didn’t always get it.  I couldn’t imagine having a father like that.

  “When I was a kid he beat me for playing guitar instead of studying.”  I gasped in horror, but Kei seemed nonplussed, like he was speaking of someone else.  “All that he managed to do was make me want the music more.  He also made me want to be the best, to show him that I didn’t need to do things his way in order to be successful.  I’ve proven that several times over now, and every time he sees me doing or saying something outrageous it’s my way of telling him fuck you.”  Kei’s laugh was harsh.  “My mother is the only one I’ll talk to, but she just wants me to settle down with a proper Japanese girl.  Like that’s ever going to happen.” 

“Are you ever going to settle down with a proper Japanese girl,” I teased, hoping to bring him out of his dark reverie.

“I may settle down,” he replied with a thin smile.  “But not with someone they choose.  I know me and I know the kind of woman I want.  I want someone who understands the crazy life I lead and who’s independent enough to have their own thing going.”  He then looked at me, his chimerical eyes full of mirth.  “You’ll do just fine, Eva.  Want to marry me?”

I almost choked on the pasta.  “No, I don’t.  I have a hard and fast rule about marrying anybody famous.  That means you.”

“I’m hurt,” he said with that little boy pout that was far too kissable for my own good.  “Of all the women in the world, I find the one who doesn’t want me.”

I didn’t say all that, I said to myself.  I just don’t want to marry you, but a scorching hot tumble between the sheets wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I finished the last bite and knew there was no more room in my stomach for anything else.  That was when Kei whipped out something big, sinful and chocolate and I wanted to kill him.

“A chocolate ganoche cake,” he announced wickedly, placing the desert right there in front of me.  “I’m sure there’s room.”

“You are such a bastard.”

He winked.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I helped Kei wash up the dishes, and that was an adventure in itself.  Our fingers kept touching and while he seemed completely unaffected by it, I had to struggle to not drop the plates.  I took several healthy swigs of wine to steady my nerves, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t do something really stupid like get wasted.

I get extremely horny when drunk.  I didn’t want that to happen.

At least not yet. 

After dinner and dishes, Kei and I were back in the living room watching some old concert footage of Dominion’s End’s early days.  Back then they were all skinny, pretty and yet had a kind of street lethal rudeness that reminded me of the early Sex Pistols.  Between Miki’s snarling presence gripping the mike stand like he was choking the life out of it, Chris’s hyper-human double-bass, and of course master of the entire cacophony, Kei, brandishing his guitar like a weapon, there was little surprise that they would eventually outgrow small clubs and seek to conquer the world—which they had done—with a vengeance.

Shane was in these videos too and for the first time the tragedy of his senseless death hit home.  There was a hungry, almost feral look in his eyes as he slapped his bass for all it was worth.  I surreptitiously glanced at Kei whose body language conveyed his tortured thoughts.  I wished there was something I could say to him to ease his mind, but no words would form.

            It had been a long yet exhilarating day and I was looking forward to getting some sleep.  Things didn’t seem quite so bad now that I had ideas that Kei liked.  I realized that I really could do this—that maybe this was my step into a much larger world.  Moreover, I wanted to do this.  I didn’t need the entire rock n’roll fantasy, but I was certainly not adverse to some of it.

            “Mind if I turn in,” I rose and stretched, not bothering to stifle my yawn.  My mother would have been mortified.  “You rockers can party all night, but the rest of us mortals need our sleep.”

            Kei switched off the television.  “No problem.  I’ll probably be up for a bit answering fan e-mails.”

            I raised a quizzical eyebrow.  “You must get a million of those things.  You seriously answer all of them?”

            That devilish look of his came back as he replied, “I used to get a million, but everyone seems to be on a Devynn kick right now.  I’m going to have to remind him who’s boss.  And we all try to respond to as many as possible.  I know every fucking band says this, but the fans really are the lifeblood.”

            As we climbed the stairs together, I decided right then and there to just stop obsessing over the stupid stuff and to do what came natural.  Unless things somehow didn’t work out, I was going to be making stage wear for Dominion’s End and I was going to no longer be in the shadows.  Who knew, maybe other bands would hire me.  It could be the beginning of an entirely new chapter.

            Maybe I was getting used to it, or perhaps it was the wine relaxing me, but Shadowside didn’t seem quite as scary now that I’d spent some time inside.  It just felt like a big old house.  I’d been giving myself the heebie-jeebies for nothing.

            We paused outside of my room and I shyly gazed up at Kei.  Both of us stood there saying nothing, but feeling something arc and flare between us.  He placed one of those spatulate fingers on my lips.

            “Good night Eva,” he whispered huskily, that finger sliding along the seam of my tingling mouth before walking away.

*

            In spite of that hot caress, I fell asleep instantly, the pillow-top mattress as soft as a cloud.  I spared a moment wondering who else had slept in this bed, then it no longer mattered as exhaustion claimed me.

            Then the scream came.

            At first I was sure I was dreaming until the scream came again. 

            I scrambled out of bed dressed in my finest drawstring bottoms and tank-top and rushed towards the sound of the scream.  I didn’t even bother to consider that I was barging into Kei’s bedroom.  All I saw was him hunched on the floor, rocking back and forth, lips moving but I could hear no sound.

            He didn’t see me at first, and though he was obviously in the throes of some secret agony, I didn’t make any sudden moves or ask what was wrong.  Instead, I dropped down beside him and took his trembling frame into my arms.

            This wasn’t the arrogant or flirtatious Kei Matsuya from hours ago.  This was a broken man, a frightened man.  This was a man who tried and could not face his nightmares.

            I rocked him against me, letting him find his way out of his personal darkness, waiting patiently for his tremors and the dry sobs to cease.

            “Thank you,” he finally whispered brokenly against my shoulder.  “Sometimes when Shane shows up it gets to be too much.”

            Cold water raced through my veins.  Kei’s bête noire.  Even if I didn’t believe it, there was something inside of him that believed himself responsible for his friend’s death.

            I made to move away from him, but Kei held me tight.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, but I was becoming aware of the fact that what I was beginning to feel while holding a man who’d just seen a ghost was growing less and less about offering comfort and more about how good my nipples felt against his hard chest.

            It certainly did not help matters that the man was butt naked. 

            I was holding a trembling, naked Kei Matsuya in my arms and sex had nothing to do with the shaking.

            “Did he speak?”  It was the only thing I could ask.  “What did he do?”

            His face, still with the look of a man haunted, met mine.  “He doesn’t really do anything, Eva.  It’s just the look in his eyes.  I remember that look, the day I didn’t stand up for him.  He wasn’t angry, just sad.  I let him down that day, because he thought I wanted the fame more than I wanted our friendship, but that wasn’t true.  We were going rule the world.”

            What could I say to him that didn’t sound like some amateur therapist or something lame like that? What does someone say to someone being haunted by a ghost, especially because I just didn’t believe in such things?

            The way I saw it, Kei was simply internalizing guilt over his best friend’s death and instead of dealing with it and moving on, the guilt had become this ghost.  Great, that explanation did sound exactly like an amateur therapist.

            He responded to my silence by saying, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?  That there is no ghost.”  His lips turned up in a thin smile.  “Sometimes I think the same thing. Sometimes I think it’s just my guilt for not being there.  But Eva, he does exist.  He’s not just my imagination.”

            He sounded so sincere that I was starting to wonder.  It certainly wasn’t something he hid.  There were scores of interviews in which he mentioned his friend’s ghost; fans ate it up as part of the Matsuya mystique—rock stars were always cooler if they flirted with the occult or seemed to—but Kei’s screams nor his being curled up in terror on the floor of his bedroom didn’t appear to be some stunt to increase his cred.

            I didn’t know what to believe, but I also knew that I no longer wanted to walk down the few steps back to my own room.

            “Stay with me.”

            It was a request, not from the rock star, but just a man with a huge cross to bear. 

            He saw my hesitation.  “I promise not to do anything, but I just need someone to keep me from screaming again.  I doubt he’ll come back tonight.”

            I drew in a deep breath.  “I’ll stay, but would you please put some clothes on?”

            “Oops, sorry,” though he seemed anything but.

            We stood up together and I averted my eyes as I heard him rifle through his drawer for something besides skin.  “You can turn around now.”

            He’d donned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms but remained shirtless.  My eyes widened.  In the dim light, a pair of silver hoops dangled from his nipples. 

I swallowed.

            “Where did those come from?”

            Kei pointed at them.  “I’ve had them for three years.  Tsuchiya wanted to airbrush them out in band photos because he thinks it’s a bad influence.  I threatened to get a Prince Albert and after I told him what that was, he stopped saying anything.”

            This was going to be a long night and I was sorely tempted to go back to my room, ghost or no ghost.  This wasn’t in my job description.

            Kei padded over to his bed, a four-poster monstrosity that easily fit his height and had room for at least three more people.  That was a good thing.  There was room enough so that we didn’t invade each other’s space.

            He sat on the side, looked at me with a quirky grin.  “I’ll be a good boy, but it’s going to be hard.”  He reached out and a slender finger slid seductively down my cheek.  “You’re so cute, even if you don’t believe in ghosts.”

            I was too tired and too wound up to even argue.  I climbed in on the other side, willed my imagination and my libido to be still and pulled the covers over me.  I felt him slide in beside me, not touching, but the tendrils of heat that radiated from his body were like a caress.  I had no idea how the hell I was going to sleep.

            Somehow I did.

            It had to be a dream, but oh hell, what a nice dream.

            Kei was kissing me.

            It was one of those perfect kisses that only happened in hot, sticky dreams and in really good romance novels; the kind of kiss where both pairs of lips knew exactly what to do and where to go.  It was a French kiss done right without having a tongue shoved down one’s esophagus.  It was sweet and yet so deliciously bad that it could make a church girl into an unrepentant slut.  Kei’s tongue swept inside of mine, tasting me and urging me to do the same for him as his hot breath fanned over my face.

            He was lying halfway across my body, his bare chest across my covered one.  Our thighs were touching, rubbing against each other like kindling.  His hair fell across my sensitized skin like a living curtain of black silk.  My fingers were caught in it; my nostrils were filled with its scent of shampoo and sleep.

            I felt his lips against my throat and I eagerly arched into the kiss.   He took tiny bites of the tender skin at my pulse.  I gasped, loving the interspersion of pleasure and pain.  His guitar-calloused hands cradled my face like one of his precious instruments as he brought his lips back up to mine for more of those slow-motion, velvety smooth, silken madness kisses.  I opened my mouth to his as if we’d been lovers for ages as my fingers slid along the smooth skin of his jaw line.

            I heard my name whispered from his kiss, so soft, so hungry, so needy.

            I slowly opened one eye.

            It wasn’t a dream.  Kei was kissing me.

            Son-of-a-bitch and oh my god!

            I wrenched myself from his embrace, suddenly and very rudely awake with my heart hammering against my chest, my lungs pounding like I’d run a marathon. 

“What the fuck!”  I hastily covered my chest with my arms, knowing full well that my nipples stood out like beacons beneath my thin cotton t-shirt and my skin was flushed.  “You promised!”

“I tried to.” There wasn’t the smallest bit of shame or remorse in him.  His eyes were heavy-lidded, the lashes nearly brushing against his sculpted cheekbones.  “But fuck me, you have the sexiest mouth.  I was curious, and then that wicked tongue of yours drew me in and I was lost.”

“Bullshit,” I snarled, looking for something to throw at him besides my fist.  “That’s what I get for feeling sorry for you!  The next time your spook comes rattling his chains, you’re on your own asshole!”

Kei just laughed in that deep, throaty way.  “You’re really angry aren’t you,” as if that surprised him.  “Most women would kill to get a taste of what I just gave you.”

I was shaking with rage and as much as I hated to admit it, arousal.  “You fucking arrogant piece of shit!  You might be used to women throwing themselves at you, but I’m not one of them and unless you’re willing to show me some respect, I’m out of here and taking my designs with me!”

My fists balled up at the sides and I looked anywhere but at him.  I didn’t want to see that smug look or I’d wipe it off.

Instead he planted himself firmly in my line of sight and he was not backing down an inch.  “If you’re expecting me to say sorry, forget it. I’ve wanted to taste those lips of yours from the moment you stepped into this house.”  Standing there half-naked like a huge chunk of temptation, I was torn between wanting to finish what he started and wanting to kill him. “If you decide to leave I’ll understand, but man, the things I wish I could with your lips...” His eyes made a burning laser trail down between my clothed legs.  “Both of them.”

With a snarl I leapt off the bed and stalked back to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, calling Kei Matsuya every dirty name I could think of. 

I should have known I’d get no more sleep that night.  My mind and my body were insistent upon replaying that damn kiss over and over again and even adding parts that hadn’t even happened yet so I was pissed off and horny as hell.  Not a good combination for resting.

It wasn’t the kiss that bothered me.  Hell, I enjoyed it.  What breathing straight woman wouldn’t?  If I were honest, I wasn’t even that surprised by his reaction afterwards—after all that was Kei behaving true to form.

I sighed, tossing to and fro as the sun rose slowly over the horizon.  This mess was getting complicated and it shouldn’t be.  Yes I wanted to create the costumes for Dominion’s End; I’d already made up my mind on that.  It was time to take AlterEva Designs to the next level and I was willing to do whatever it took to get there.  Hell, I’d even sleep with the man in order to get this insane whatever it was out of my system so that I could concentrate on what was really important.  Unlike most of my gender, I knew how to separate sex from love, something I had to learn early on in order to not get distracted from what was most important—my business.

Of course I wouldn’t tell him that, at least not yet.  When I did, I was also going to set some ground rules.

*

            A hearty breakfast awaited me later that morning and the sight of fluffy scrambled eggs with Italian sausage and green peppers put me in a nicer frame of mind.

            Kei had the nerve to look just as yummy as breakfast, freshly showered and dressed casually in jeans and a Kamelot t-shirt.  His hair was still damp.  He probably slept well all things considered.

            “Good morning, Eva.  Still pissed at me for kissing you?”

            I poured myself a glass of orange juice which gave my hands something constructive to do rather something destructive like slap the oh-so-satisfied look off his gorgeous face.  “What do you think?”  I popped a forkful of the eggs into my mouth and stifled a moan.  Fuck the man could cook.  I could almost forgive him anything, since food was one of the few pathways to my heart.

             “I think you’re delicious.”

            Whatever smart-assed comeback I had evaporated from my brain from the wicked look he gave me.  “You’re a gorgeous woman, Eva.  I couldn’t resist.  So I didn’t.  After seeing Shane again, I just needed someone to bring me back to what’s real.”

            I let the fork clatter to my plate.  “So kissing me was some sort of therapy or something or am I just another potential conquest?”

            “I don’t do conquests,” Kei reached out, grabbed my hand and started stroking the inside of my palm.  “Look, from the time we were a bratty-assed garage band playing old Yes and Rush tunes, I’ve had my pick of women.  That’s not conquest because I never had to work for it.  I’ve had women wanting to blow me while their boyfriends stood outside our tour bus.”

            That didn’t surprise me.  “So what’s your point?”

            “You little Miss Eva Vincent, oh yeah,” and I really wanted to moan as his touch fired up all my cylinders, “You’re gonna make me work for it.  I like that”

            “Damn straight,” I said, but without much conviction.  My palm was sending signals straight between my legs but Kei wouldn’t let go of my hand.  He was obviously enjoying this. 

            “That’s fine by me babe.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to not always get my way.”  Abruptly he let go of my hand and it hung in midair until I finally snatched it back, still tingling from the caress.

            “Then I guess I’m here to remind you,”  I murmured weakly.

            “That’s right. Having you around keeps me grounded.”

            “Keeping you grounded is your job,” I shot back, still tingly all over. “Stop believing your own press.”

            “I would, except that I’m practically surrounded by it.”

            There was nothing else to be said and we continued to eat breakfast in somewhat companionable silence though the air around us was thick with that good kind of tension that happens when two people start tap-dancing around their mutual attraction.  I did my best to not look at him or to remember how good his mouth felt on mine.

            Kei Matsuya was turning out to be one huge bundle of WTF’s.  On one hand he played the stereotypically arrogant rock god.  On the other he was the creative, driven and guilt-ridden (though I wasn’t inclined to believe in his ghost) man who lived in a big old house by himself.        I didn’t hear his question until he asked again, breaking through my reverie.

            “Wanna go for a ride?”

            There were only two ways to answer that and from the look in his eyes I could tell that he knew exactly where my mind had gone. I was glad we weren’t playing poker because I couldn’t have bluffed my way out of a wet paper bag.  If we’d been playing strip poker, I’d have already been naked. 

            Instead he just trailed his finger across my lips.  “Oh yeah, that too but I meant for a drive in my car.  Baby, you are so tempting me.”  He was violating my personal space again but my lizard brain was urging him to violate away. 

*

            Seeing that it was Kei Matsuya and the fact that it was a three-car garage (even though part of the garage had been converted into a recording studio), I was expecting something red, fast and way beyond my price range.  The red part was the only thing I got right. I was absolutely floored to see a candy-apple 1966 Mustang convertible, expertly restored and obviously well-loved.

            I really hated the bastard now. “I am so inclined to carjack you.  Where’s the Ferrari?

            His eyes were hidden behind wrap-around shades but that didn’t help to make him any less devastating.  “That’s Miki’s department. He’s the one off into that stuff.  Me, I bought this baby when we went platinum.”  He held the door open for me as I slid into leather seats so fragrant and buttery-soft, I actually purred.

            “I hope you’ll do that for me someday,” as he ran that infernal tongue over his lips in a gesture that sent my mind straight to the gutter without passing go or collecting two-hundred dollars. 

            The minute he slid in and turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbled to life and I was in classic car heaven. 

            We drove down Sea Cliff Avenue with the sun on my face and the wind teasing my scalp.

            “Normally I don’t let anyone mess with my music but since you’re a guest, I’ll be a good host.”

            “Got any good metal,” I asked feigning complete innocence.  “There’s this shitty band called Dominion’s End and I can’t stand them. You got any Stratovarius?”  His eyebrows shot up but I just couldn’t resist.  “Timo Koltipelto is hot.”

*

            There is almost nothing better in the world than driving across the Golden Gate Bridge on a blue-sky-bright-sun midsummer day with the top down and Stratovarius’ Infinite cranked up to eleven.  I shifted my focus from the breath-taking view of Alcatraz to the heart-pounding and panty-dampening view of Kei, hair whipping behind him like a serpentine halo of blue-black and his fingers wrapped around the gear shift.  The sun obviously worshipped his golden skin and if I hadn’t known he was close to fifty-years old, I’d have never believed it.  Rock n’ roll had sure been good to him.  Maybe when we got back to the house, I’d sneak up to the attic to see if he was hiding a horrific painting of himself a la Dorian Grey. 

*

            We drove into Mill Valley, one of those places where in certain parts it was almost difficult to believe the skyscrapers and busy streets of San Francisco were just a few miles away.  Some of the neighborhoods had homes built into the forest-covered hillsides and the sun played peek-a-boo through the sheltering canopy.  I drew in deep breath, smelling the heady resin of redwoods and the light tang of salt-spray from the ocean that lay just over Mount Tamalpais.  I could easily see myself living in one of the small, but well-kept rustic looking cottages set back in the hills, happily stitching away while coyotes howled outside my door.

            Kei held my hand as we strolled down Lytton Square in Downtown Mill Valley, surrounded by trendy boutiques and cafes.  Gazing into some of the store windows, I couldn’t help but notice we made a pretty striking couple.  It was actually a surprise that no one seemed to recognize Kei as the guitarist for Dominion’s End.  Then again from the look of most of the fashionably chic inhabitants, I highly doubted that most of them were into progressive metal, though I was sure they’d probably say the same about me.

            “Right there is Sweetwater,” Kei pointed out to me.  “Every so often I pop into jam with some of the local musicians, play some blues and stuff.”

            My eyebrows shot up at that.  “You?  The blues?  I thought you were strictly metal.”

            He winked.  “What do you think metal is, sweetheart?  It’s just the blues on steroids, played through Marshalls and sung by skinny white guys with long hair.”

            I’d never really thought about it, but Kei was right.  Maybe there was something to my dad’s Howlin’ Wolf collection after all.  I chuckled to myself.

            “What’s so funny?”

            “My father is a huge blues fan.  Just wait until he finds out he’s listening to the granddaddy of what he used to call people screeching at the top of their lungs.”

            Later we browsed a busy Farmer’s Market, tasting everything we could and Kei surprising me with a bouquet of gorgeous red roses while he went hog wild buying bagfuls of fresh produce and a jar of local honey that gave me some very wicked ideas as to how best to use it.

            This was a side of Kei Matsuya that I don’t think many people saw, or perhaps for reasons of his own, he allowed people to see.  Even though I liked it and was enjoying the beautiful scenery—including the man holding my hand—there was something almost too normal about it.  I didn’t want to examine my discomfort, so I filed it away until later when I could parse my feelings and make them make sense.

***

             “You really didn’t need to do this,” I protested again I placed the roses in a cut crystal vase after we’d returned from the impromptu shopping trip.  “But they are pretty. Thank you.”

            Kei placed the bags of produce on the kitchen counter.  “I actually liked seeing the look on your face when I bought them.  You seemed really pleased.”

            “Who wouldn’t be?  I love roses and these smell so good.”  I buried my nose once more inside the blossoms and my olfactory senses went into overdrive.  Whoever grew these knew what they were doing.  I was getting high on the fragrance alone.  Maybe I’d dry the petals and stitch some velvet potpourri bags for them.

            “Thanks for the quick road trip, but I feel almost bad for slacking off.”

            “You weren’t.  I felt like getting out.  Besides, we haven’t seriously discussed whether or not you’re interested.”

             “The answer’s yes, I’ll do it.  But I want to meet the rest of the band and show them what I have so far.  I also want to get a sense of their personalities.”

            Kei’s dark eyes lit up.  “You’ll see everyone tomorrow.”

*

            After another one of Kei’s fabulous culinary creations which had me considering marrying him just for the food, he joined me in the library, sitting cross-legged on the floor, an acoustic guitar in his hands.  He strummed while I sketched and it was a nice way to while away the evening.  As I sketched, I watched the fading sunlight play upon his features, the way the twilight made him even more mysterious and erotic.  His fingers were gentle upon the strings, his eyes closed while lost in the melody.

            There are handsome men in the world.  There are beautiful men in the world.  To say a man was beautiful in my opinion was not to feminize him in any way.  It was simply a means of describing a man in artistic terms, though there was nothing static or statue-like about Kei Matsuya.  He was vibrant, passionate, unexpected and a man who wielded his sexual allure expertly and without artifice.

            I wanted him.  On my terms.

            They said confession was good for the soul.  So when he met my eyes I said, “You are what some of my hottest fantasies are made of and I wouldn’t mind having a nice and uncomplicated roll in the sheets, or two, with you, but right now this is about business okay?  Maybe, after everything’s done, maybe then.” 

            Kei placed the guitar on a chair and literally uncoiled himself from his position.  Then my mouth went utterly dry as he crawled over to me.  No, crawl is the totally wrong word. When a guy crawls on his knees, it’s because he’s in deep shit (or in Kat’s case worshipping at her leather-booted feet).  What Kei did was undulate sinuously across the carpet, those black eyes ringed with silvery teasing lust.  Strippers, take note here.

            His silver-bedecked fingers slithered up my thigh and I clamped them tight like I was doing isometric exercises when what I really wanted to do was spread ‘em wide and see what other snake-like attributes he possessed.

            “I’m going to hold you to that.” I swore his tongue flickered out like the serpent in paradise.  “But I’m also going to do everything I can to mix business with pleasure.”

            I had no doubt he’d succeed.  My willpower was nonexistent when it came to him.

*

            I placed my rabbit pearl under the pillow because I kept seeing a naked Kei slithering over my body in the library when Kat called.         

            “Hey’ya Kat!  So how’s the world’s biggest geek-fest?”

            “Oh girl, you should see the people,” she gushed in her typical no-time-for-breathing pace.  “It’s wall to wall superheroes, Star Wars and Sailor Moon down here!  You ought to see this gorgeous black chick who dressed up as Storm. I’m talking like the six-pack abs and perfect boobs Julie Bell version!  Not the Halle Berry but the Grace Jones Storm.  If she’s single, she sure as hell won’t be by the time this thing’s over! I’ll e-mail you the pictures.”

            I grinned.  This was Kat true to form, not letting me get a word in edgewise.

            “I’ve almost sold out of every copy of volume one and two and I don’t think I brought enough stock and the dress is a smash!  You should probably check your Facebook page ‘cause you’ve got a bunch of ‘likes’ and I passed out every single business card you gave me.   And I’ve been invited to DragonCon, Neil Gaiman is uber-hot and really sweet and oh Dragon and I are on our way to his parents’ place to get married and have you done the nasty with Kei Matsuya yet?”

            Kat definitely had a one-track mind when it came to getting me laid, but I don’t think I was too far behind considering tonight’s performance. “No, but I met his ex-girlfriend.”

            She snorted. “Jessie Chastain, the low-rent Dita Von Teese.  What did she want?” 

            “She tried to pull the ‘keep your hand off my man’ thing.”

            “Are you kidding?  What did you do?”

            “I didn’t do anything. I just told her that if I wanted Kei bad enough I’d take him and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop me.”

            Kat chortled. “Oh snap!  That must have hurt!”

            “Not as much as Kei telling her to fuck off right in front of me.”

            “Oh my god, he didn’t.  She must have been mortified.”

            “Let’s just say I think she and I are destined for another run-in.”

            Kat sounded positively gleeful.  “Oh man, I want a front-row seat!”

            I just shook my head and then it hit me what she’d said earlier.  “What’s that about you and Dragon getting married?”  Now my voice went up to squeak level.

            I heard her giggle.  “We’re headed up to his parents’ place in Big Bear as soon as this is over!  Neither of us wants a big wedding so we asked his mom to perform the ceremony since she’s a priestess you know?”

            That sounded like a Kat and Dragon production if anything ever did, being married by a pagan priestess underneath big trees and the sweeping sky.  It would also keep Dragon’s social anxiety disorder at bay.  “That’s awesome, you two!  Congratulations,” and I truly meant it.

            As if she read my earlier thought, Kat added, “Dragon’s doing really great down here.  His sister Janis is an herbalist and she concocted some kind of flower remedy that he can take in a bottle of water and it seems to be working.  Better than all those drugs his doctor wanted to put him on.”  A moment of silence then she said quietly, “I wish you could be with me, Eva.  You’re my sister, much more than my real ones ever were.”

            We chatted idly for a little while longer, then Kat started giggling and moaning in that way that indicated Dragon was probably doing things to her that I didn’t want to know about, so I ended our call and promised to send a wedding present.

*

            Kei’s agonized moans awoke me from a deep sleep and I padded down to his room.  He was tossing and turning again, his eyes shut tight.  I gathered him into my arms and held him until he quieted, but I didn’t stay.  I didn’t trust myself that much.

I’d crept back to my own room after Kei had finally fallen asleep in my arms, but there would be no rest for the wicked.  My ears strained at every creak of the old house settling, or the whoosh of the wind through the trees outside my window.  I saw shadows where there shouldn’t be.  This was one time having an active imagination was not a good thing. 

***

            The next morning as we sat at the breakfast nook, there was no mention of the ghost or whatever nightmare that caused Kei to cry out in the middle of the night.  As usual, breakfast was hearty, fattening and oh-so-delicious.  If he weren’t an axe-slinging guitar god, Kei could make a damn good living as a chef. 

            “The band’s coming over today so you’ll finally get to meet them and show them what you’ve got.”

            A forkful of fluffy Belgian waffle melted in my mouth, sending my tongue into food nirvana.  I nodded, swallowed reluctantly as if it would be the last Belgian waffle I’d ever have.

            “Cool.  The sooner I get started, the sooner you’ll have something for the tour if everyone’s on board.”

            “Tsuchiya said that we’ve got a photo shoot scheduled, and I’d like to unveil the new look then.  Think you can do it?”

            It was my turn at cockiness. “Of course.”

***

            I stood next to Kei on the front steps as four cars of various models, including a black Maserati Granturismo with the vanity plate PROGRKR pulled up to the driveway.

            “Holy shit, did all you guys sell your souls or what?” 

            The four members of Dominion’s End were absolutely, positively, Grade-A gorgeous.  Most rockers who managed to survive the decadent 1980’s looked tired and worn, mainly from all the drugs and debauchery, but not these guys.  There might have been some strands of gray in the dark hair, more experience within their eyes and a few more tattoos, but that seemed to be the only indicator that they were no longer lean and hungry twenty-somethings.   I willed myself not to turn into psycho fangirl, but it was going to be very hard.

            If Kei was smoking hot, Miki Hirata was his smoking hot twin.  I guess it was a rule of rock n’roll that lead singers and guitarists had to be certified lust objects.  Plant and Page, Jagger and Richards, Tyler and Perry, Matsuya and Hirata—they were like a serious package deal of sexiness. 

            Over the years Miki Hirata had been a blonde, a redhead and for one album, mohawked.  Now his hair was back to its natural raven black, though it was a lot shorter than it had been years past, sweeping a little past shoulder-length.  His eyes were a startling shade of violet, courtesy of the colored contacts he’d affected after their last Japanese tour and having been impressed by the look of Visual Kei. He had the trademark swagger all lead singers possessed, but also the chops to back it up.

            Dressed in skin tight black leather pants, polished engineer boots and wallet on a chain that hung out of his right back pocket, if he were gay, he’d be someone’s hot Asian daddy.  

            “Yo G.B.,” he greeted Kei raucously as they traded fist-bumps.  “Still living in this fucked-up museum with all these snobs around?”

            “You wanna talk about snobs, dude?  What about that asshole software guy you live next to who called the cops on you for the last party you had?  My biggest problem is the folks who park on the street on their way to Land’s End, but they’re usually gone before the sun goes down.”

            Miki’s eyes met mine and he lowered his shades flirtatiously.  “You must be Eva Vincent.  Kei’s been going on about you for weeks, but unlike his taste in music, I think he scored big with you.  How the hell did he con you into staying with The Munsters?”

            His hand was warm, the grip powerful but not aggressive.  “It’s not so bad really even if the suits of armor are a little much.”

            Miki said nothing as he chuckled, but from the look in his eyes, he knew about Kei’s ghost and was silently asking if I did too.

            Another hand engulfed mine. “Hey, I’m Tommy.”  A pair of thick framed glasses perched precariously upon a snub of nose.  His hair was pulled into a long ponytail, exposing his multi-pierced ears.  “Nice to meet you, Eva.  So, what am I wearing this year?”

            “You’re wearing clothes,” I quipped.  “Just not a lot of them if I have my way.”

            His eyes widened then he burst out laughing.  “Bring it on!  I could stand to get a little more attention on stage.  As it is, I have to compete with Ego Number One and Ego Number Two.”

            “That’s why you should play guitar, dumbass,” Kei shot back, lightly smacking his bandmate upside the head.  “Don’t you know guitarists always get the chicks?”

            “And drummers always end up with sloppy seconds,” mock-whined Chris Akino, decked in black gothic buckle pants and a tight-fitting Affliction t-shirt.  His arms were massive from all the furious drumming he did.  “No one sees us or pays any attention to us, but if we fuck up, everyone bitches and moans about how much we suck.”

            We laughed.  It was the standard drummer’s lament and it was true, though there were skins-men like Lars Ulrich and Nico McBain who made damn sure they weren’t ignored.

            “And no one pays attention to us poor keyboardists,” added Devynn Yan, whose hand was a damn sight stronger than the delicate fingers let on.  “Can you believe I’m still kicking people’s asses over the bullshit that real metal doesn’t have keyboards?”

            Keyboards and heavy metal had a rather uneasy alliance, though it all depended on the genre.  Power, progressive and gothic metal pretty much relied on keyboards for sweeping epic soundscapes, as well as adding textures to a song.  Then, there were keyboardists like Devynn who made keys front and center and who played as hard and fast as Kei and Tommy.  Not only could Devynn do the epic stuff, but he could and often did, function as a second guitar.  For the longest time I’d thought Miki had been playing guitar on one of my all-time favorite Dominion’s End tunes—Iskandar—until I saw them play it live and realized the “guitar” was actually Devynn mirroring the twin axe attack made popular by bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.

            “Tell that to Jens Johanssen or Jordan Rudess,” I told him as we walked into Kei’s house.  His eyes lit up.  “I’m sure they’d be happy to shove their Korgs up someone’s ass.”

            “Moore or Rudess,” Devynn asked out of the blue.

            I gave him a ‘what-are-you-kidding’ look.  “Duh, Moore.  Who else?”

            “Images and Words or Octavarium?”

             “Again, duh.  Images and Words, dude.  It wasn’t self-indulgent wanking and ‘Learning to Live’ is an amazing song.”

            Devynn chortled and placed a companionable arm around my shoulder.  “Man, if I wasn’t happily married, you’d be so assed out.”

            Kei forcibly removed that arm from around me, replacing it with his own.  “Well you are, and I’m not.”

***

            “So, Miss Vincent, this asshole here says that you’ve come up with something that might get us thrown out of at least a dozen countries for indecent exposure.”  Kei playfully flipped him off.  I placed my sketchbook on the breakfast nook, since we were gathered in the kitchen.   I opened it to the preliminary drawings I’d done. 

            “Since the album is called Ceremony for Black Roses, I thought of deconstructed tuxedos with lots of rips, tears, lace and leather in some strategic places. Kind of like the apocalypse at a bondage club.”

            “And how would you know about bondage clubs,” asked Tommy who was busy finishing off the rest of the waffles from earlier.

            “Her friend Kat is a Dominatrix,” Kei answered before I could.  Four sets of eyebrows went up.

            “What?”  I should have been used to that reaction, especially from guys, but it still annoyed me a little, the assumption that I had to be in the scene because she was.  “It’s not my thing, but yes, I’ve visited a couple with her.”

            Miki laid a hand over mine and I swore Kei was growling at him from behind me.  “That’s cool.  I’ve always been curious about it, but not enough to actually go.  Maybe I should call your friend and have her escort me.”

            “You might want to ask Dragon about that first.”

            “Who the hell is Dragon?”

            “Her husband.”

            Miki raised his hands in surrender.  “All righty-then.  You really do have some crazy friends.  You’ll fit in perfectly with this crew.”

            All eyes were on the various sketches while I revealed each one. Devynn whistled appreciatively.

            “Hmm, pretty cool,” he said as I elaborated on the finer details.  “I like how it kind of looks like we put it into a wood chopper or something.”

            “I really like the sleeveless jacket thing,” said Tommy.  “The last time I wore anything with sleeves they ended up ripped to shreds and our wardrobe person was pissed.”

            “Look, you guys are in a band, so I factored that in as well.  If a strip of the leather comes off, it should look like that was the intention.” 

            This was turning out better than I’d hoped and I couldn’t wait to start on the actual costumes.

            “Well Eva, I’m good with it,” said Miki and his hand went back to its original place.  On top of mine, and this time not only did Kei growl, but he forcibly moved it.  Instead of being taken aback, he gave his bandmate an arched look then started laughing.

            “You don’t have to kick my ass, man.  I see you’ve already staked your claim.”

            Trying to ignore the wolf whistles and the waggling eyebrows, I gave them all a withering glare.  “He hasn’t staked anything.”

            I felt his lips hot against my earlobe.  “Certainly not for lack of trying, my dear.”

*

            The doorbell rang and Kai went to answer it, glaring over his shoulder at Miki in a definite hands off glare, which Miki promptly ignored by moving closer to me.  The band noticed his behavior, which of course they couldn’t resist teasing me about.

            “What did you do to him Eva,” joked Tommy.  “He’s never acted like that about a woman, even when he was dating whatshername.”

            Before I could defend myself, Kai returned with a distinguished man with silver hair and deep-set eyes dressed in what I knew to be an exquisitely tailored pinstripe suit.  He was obviously a man who did not shop at The Men’s Warehouse or Three Day Suit Broker.  One couldn’t get the kind of quality and craftsmanship from off a rack.

            “Miss Vincent, I do not believe anyone has discussed the fee for your services.”

            Isamu Tsuchiya, Dominion’s End’s renowned manager, entered the kitchen followed by Kei at a respectful distance. 

            There were few people they respected and the serene presence before me who was not only manager but father-figure was one of them.  He’d taken a huge risk on a bunch of rude, foul-mouthed and driven misfits from Orange County who looked absolutely nothing like the rest of the bands on the Sunset Strip, especially for a man who’d had a stellar career back in Japan with several popular pop bands.

            Chris moved aside, his multicolored dreds swinging with the movement and the older man gazed down at my sketches, saying nothing nor showing any emotion.

            “They’re not naked, Miss Vincent,” he said with a completely straight face, though I could see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.  “Now, follow me from this den of iniquity and we shall discuss your fee.”

            When Kei made to follow us, Tsuchiya stopped him with a look.  “Miss Vincent will be perfectly safe with me.”  Like an obedient puppy, he stayed.

            I knew very little of music business dealings save the few articles I’d read in passing.  Tsuchiya’s face remained stoic and I had no idea what he thought of me.  The only thing I could tell was that he honestly cared about the members of Dominion’s End, and didn’t just see them as a meal ticket.

            We entered the library, leaving the door open behind us.

            “You may not be aware that I spoke with several well-known costume designers, including a few from my country,” he began as he placed a leather briefcase on the desk.  “They send the band sketches, but Kei had his mind set on one particular designer.  That would be yourself, of course.”

            Opening the briefcase, Tsuchiya handed me a contract with the typical NDA addendum, which was fine since I had no plans to fuel any gossip rags.  I was here to work, not to get the inside scoop.  He also wrote out a figure and I nearly stopped breathing.

            “Is it not enough?  I realize what we’re asking is quite a lot, but Kei thinks highly of you.  To be perfectly honest Miss Vincent, I wasn’t certain you would be up to the task.  To be honest again, I’m still not entirely convinced.  However, I’ve read a lot about you over the past few weeks, and I’ve spoken some of your past clients and they have nothing but the highest praise for your professionalism and your talent.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Tsuchiya.  The offer is very generous,” and damn right it was.  My bank account was about to get extremely happy. “But I need to make sure you understand that when I set my mind to a task, nothing else gets in the way.  Dominion’s End will be ready as promised.”

            He steepled his fingers together, and that hint of a smile opened up full on and brightened the severity of his features.  “I know Miss Vincent.  I believe you.”  He extended an exquisitely manicured hand and I took it.  “If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to call.”

            As we walked back into the kitchen, Tsuchiya dropped another bombshell.  “Shane is quite harmless you know?  I have the feeling he’s trying to tell Kei something, but he’s too blocked by guilt.”

*

            I said nothing about the contract or what Tsuchiya was offering me.  I was still reeling from both the amount and by the man’s revelation that he believed in the ghost of Shane Hanamura too.  It seemed the entire band did.

            I didn’t want to believe it, but Kei’s cries in the night weren’t those of regular nightmares.  I hadn’t seen anything, but if I were honest, there were times where a slight chill would race down my spine for no apparent reason.

            Ghost or not, I was holding the key to AlterEva Designs becoming world-famous in my hot little hands, not to mention enough fund-age to keep me happily stitching for a few years without having to take another commission unless I wanted to.  I hadn’t seen it; therefore it didn’t exist and couldn’t hurt me.

            I put the whirling thoughts from my mind and went upstairs to plan.

***

            I booted up my laptop and immediately began searching for a rental loft that I could use as a temporary studio.  Most were located in SoMa, though a few were also in the historic Mission District, a section of the city I’d always loved for its multiethnic flavor and funky vibe.  I didn’t hear Kei come in, but felt him peeking over my shoulder.  Tendrils of his hair tickled the side of my face.

            “You know I’ve plenty of space here, right?  It makes no sense for you to waste money for such a short amount of time.”

            I craned my head around. “The noise wouldn’t bother you?”

            He looked at me as if I had lost my mind.  “I’m a rocker, not a librarian.  Noise is the last problem I’m going to have.  Besides, it’s not like all these rooms are being used.   There’s the one next to yours with a great view of the backyard and the ocean. And, I like having you here.”

            Shit.  The man didn’t play fair.  If I were honest, I really didn’t want to go through all the hassle.  I was on a schedule and the sooner I started, the sooner I the band would have its new look.  I could keep my hands—and other body parts—to myself.

            “Fine.”  I gave in.  “I’ll stay.  I guess I like having someone cook.”

***

            The rest of the day was spent purchasing most of the equipment that I’d need since driving back down to L.A. wasn’t a great idea.  I found a decent Singer that was close to the model I used at home.  I set up my worktable, grabbed my mp3 player and plugged in some speakers.  I needed music to work.

            The next thing I both dreaded and couldn’t wait for.

            “I might as well start taking your measurements,” I said, trying to stay businesslike and failing miserably to my ears.  The mischief was back in Kei’s face as was something else that I didn’t want to even contemplate.  I prayed for strength.

            He started stripping, literally, right in front of me, almost swaying to some sexy inner beat, like the tease he acted like onstage and I frantically looked for something else for my hands to do other than what I knew they wanted to do.  I grabbed my notebook and a pencil and a tape measure while repeating to myself ‘it’s just a job’.

            His shoulders were a lot broader than I’d first thought.  His back was a perfectly chiseled plane with the sharp, sweeping wings that defined his shoulder blades.  His hair swept down to mid-waist, moving with his every action like a living part of him.  The room was silent save for my breathing, which sounded unnaturally loud to my ears.  I gripped the tape measure, the only thing keeping me in the moment.

            I ran the tape around his upper arms and down.  I wrote down every number.  The silver nipple rings beckoned to me like tempting sirens.  The abs trailed down a hairless and incredibly ripped torso.  Kei Matsuya was no gym rat, but his body was perfectly honed.  No wonder he liked showing it off.

            For his part, he stood completely still, allowing me to work in relative peace.  He knew the effect his near-nudity was having on me, but he said nothing.

            Taking the inseam measurements was a true test of willpower.  The black boxer-briefs he wore framed a nicely-sized cock that my mouth was beginning to salivate over.  It twitched as if knowing what I was thinking.  I swore Kei was chuckling at me.

            It was finally done.

            “You can put your clothes back on now.”  I finished making notations on the pad, my back to him.  I needed to get back into professional mode, and I needed for him to go away.

            The moment he was gone, the huge room felt empty.  Kei had that way of filling a room, of almost taking the warmth with him.

            I walked over to the window, stared out at the expansive vista laid out neatly in front of me and shuddered.

            I awoke later that night feeling something very wrong.

            It was a little windy outside, and the trees swayed gently, the branches sometimes brushing against the French doors which did not help that sense of something out of whack.  I sat up slowly, my eyes blinking to adjust to the dark.  Chills raced down my spine for no apparent reason, but I just felt someone else in the room with me.

            Then I saw him.

            The figure shimmered, coalesced, and became almost solid right in front of me.  My mouth went dry and in spite of being plenty warm beneath the blankets, I felt as if a bucket of icy water had been dumped on me.

            I had to be dreaming.  I had to.

            But Kei’s ghost was right here, in my room.

            Shane Hanamura, Kei’s best friend and the original bass player of Dominion’s End, dead by his own hand was right here and though I was petrified, it did not seem to want to do me harm.  The eyes just seemed forlorn as he regarded me.  His lips seemed to move as if trying to speak.  His form was solid and yet not; I could see through him.

            Now this was the part in horror movies where if I had any of the sense god gave me I would have ripped the door off the damn hinges, ran screaming down the hall and out of the house at the top of my lungs, jumped in my car and took off like NASCAR driver.  I should have been running for my life and not falling down like the stupid girls who ended up as psycho murderer fodder.

            The rational part of me that didn’t believe in ghosts was more than sure this was some elaborate trick.  Kei, Tsuchiya and the rest of the band might believe it due to some unresolved issues, but I didn’t know Shane.  I could be completely dispassionate.

            I padded softly towards the apparition, my hands outstretched; the closer I came to him, the colder the air became around me until my fingers were practically numb from the cold.  Shane did not move as if he wanted me to experience his presence.  A thin smile appeared on his forever-youthful features.  His eyes were deep sockets filled with pain, regret, sadness.

            As expected, my hand went right through and it was as if a million knives made of ice had gone through my flesh and right into the marrow.  I yanked my arm away so fast that I thought I’d heard the snap of bone.  My skin was positively icy and I just stood there, frozen in shock.

            When Kei found me the next morning, I looked like he had when I’d first gone to him.

            His face was a mask as he put his arms around me as he rocked me against his heat.  “Do you know that Shane never appeared to Jessie?”

            As he cradled me in his arms all I could think was, ‘lucky her’.

***

            I stood underneath the hottest shower I could, the water practically scalding and I didn’t even feel it.  Whatever I’d touched felt as if it had drained every ounce of warmth that I’d ever have.  I wasn’t quite ready to call it/him a ghost.

            The bright sunshine that greeted me belied the dark terror of the night and did nothing to dissipate it.  The sunlight seemed to make a mockery of my confusion and my terror.

            “What the hell does he want?”  I was practically sloshing coffee all over me and Kei had to pry the cup from my fingers.  In spite of it all, I was going into full-blown panic mode.  “Is he mad because I didn’t believe you and he’s just trying to make a point?” I shouted into the empty air.  “Fine, Mr. Spook, I saw you now can you please go away?”

            Kei’s warm fingers cradled my chin tenderly, his eyes full of understanding.  “If it were only that easy, Eva.  As far as what Shane wants, it’s easy.  He’s reminding me of the price I paid for all of this,” and his hand waved around, encompassing all the material trappings that went with the band’s success.  “I broke my promise to him, about us making it to the top together, no matter what.”

            I needed desperately to understand because my mind just couldn’t grasp what I’d seen.  “So he runs around like some albatross around your neck because you had to let him go?”  I wasn’t feeling exactly charitable at that moment.  “He’s been hanging around you for how long? You had nothing to do with it!”

            “But I didn’t stand up for him until it was too late.  Shane knew he had a drug problem and he was about to check himself into a rehab center when Tsuchiya told me that the label wanted him gone.  I just stood there and when given the choice of success or going back to my father as a failure, my silence said everything that needed to be said.  All I cared about was sticking it to the old man and I was willing to do whatever it took to do that.”

            “Kei, you didn’t do anything wrong.  Drugs have claimed a whole lot of musicians; it’s the nature of the beast.  Besides, how many rock stars have gone into rehab only to start up again?  It’s like a cliché and sad to say Shane got caught up in it.  Not your fault.  It’s the business and it’s not for the weak.”

            The guilt that swept over Kei was like a shroud.  “You think I haven’t told myself that?  You think I haven’t had this argument with myself for the past decade, because that’s how long Shane’s been a part of my life.  And it doesn’t matter where I go, he’s there.  Reminding me of the price I paid.”

            I wanted to shake him, but didn’t trust myself.  Hell at that point I didn’t even know what was happening to me, save that I’d been visited by the ghost of a long-dead bass player.  I wanted to laugh hysterically.  I wanted to grab my shit, call it quits and head home where everything was nice and normal, and where I wasn’t lusting after a gorgeous and mercurial guitarist and being terrorized by a ghost.

            Maybe that rental loft wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

***

            Work would be my solace.  Work made sense.

            After surfing the web for fabric stores in the city, I left Kei’s home and drove down to SoMa.  Even though I didn’t have the rest of the band’s measurements, it just didn’t matter.  I wasn’t inclined to stay in that not-so-fun house any longer than necessary.  Scared didn’t even come close to what I was feeling.

            I liked my perfectly ordered existence.  Granted most people my age had standard nine to five jobs and certainly didn’t count comic book artists, part-time knights, professional Dominatrixes or a guy named Dragon as their friends.  In spite of seeming somewhat bohemian, I was an extremely responsible adult.  My bills were paid on time, I filed and paid my taxes and even drove a responsible sedan.  My workroom sometimes looked like chaos, but it was controlled chaos.  Everything was in its place for a reason.

            Not so with Shadowside.  I felt out of my depth in more ways than one.  First Kei, now this damn ghost or whatever it was.

            The fabric warehouse was just that, cavernous, packed to the rafters with huge bolts of fabric, trims, accessories of all sorts and just being somewhere normal (at least for me) helped to somewhat restore my equilibrium.  After a helpful associate pointed me in the direction of the laces, I wandered deeper into the recesses of the store until I found exactly what I was looking for.  I bought the entire bolt, and in spite of not having the slightest idea with what to do with it, bought a heavy brocade shot through with silver thread.  I found several supple pieces of leather that had been originally purchased by someone who’d then changed their minds.  Added to the growing pile of purchases were laces, trims, a pound of brass buttons, elastic and just before the associate was about to ring me up, I tossed in a bolt of ruby red velvet that looked iridescent in the light and thought of making myself a dress.

            Part of the advance had been wired to my account per Mr. Tsuchiya’s instructions and it was rather nice to have that many zeros attached to one’s bank balance.

            Keep my mind on the money, and the money on my mind.

            Fitting everything into the Sentra took a little work and reminded me why I’d made plans to buy an SUV.

            One task down, I was in no hurry to go back to the real life Haunted Mansion.  I’d have to eventually, and perhaps face whatever it was going on there, but at that moment with the sun still high in the sky, I just needed some breathing room.  If I wasn’t so freaked, I would have seen to Kei, but he’d lived with the thing for decades.

            Since I wasn’t heading back to Los Angeles anytime soon, I needed some new clothes and other accessories for my stay in San Francisco.  I drove through the city, taking in Upper Market and Mount Sutro while headed towards 19th Avenue to Stonestown Galleria.

            San Francisco has two distinct weather patterns and it all depended on what side of Mount Sutro one lived on.  The Avenues were known as the “fog belt” and for good reason.  The cloud cover was thick on this side whereas in SoMa it was warm and sunny.  People who thought they’d arrived because they had an ‘ocean view’ were quickly disappointed when they realized that the sun broke through the fog less than one-hundred times a year if they were lucky.  Thankfully I’d brought a jacket.  It didn’t matter if the temperature got up to the 80’s, it wasn’t smart to leave home without one.

            I spent the next hour or so being pissed off at a snobby saleswoman who didn’t quite get that most normal people eat food, not regurgitate it up like a fucking mother bird feeding its young which is why most normal women weren’t size negative twos.  If I had time, I would have made my own damn jeans that actually fit, but instead settled on purchasing a few pairs of my standby 501’s.  The only good thing was I could tailor them to fit later.   I also bought a few cute but comfortable shirts, some underwear and a pair of adorable ballet flats.  Of course being a lipstick junkie I simply could not pass up the MAC counter and bought two lipsticks and a lip-gloss in shades my more conservative mother would have had kittens over, since she wore nothing but browns and plums.

***

             A few hours later with new clothes, my materials and a couple of books (I couldn’t resist the used-book store I’d accidentally discovered having made a wrong turn down Clement Street), I was back in front of Shadowside, feeling a little less jittery.

            I rang the doorbell several times before it opened and there stood Jessie, a look of smugness on her model-perfect features.  She looked fashionably disheveled.

            She sneered in her fashionably bitchy way.  “I thought you’d left.”

            “I thought you’d taken a flying leap off the Golden Gate Bridge.  Guess we can’t always have what we wish for.”  I pushed past her as Kei appeared from the living room.  I looked at him disgustedly.  “Please don’t tell me it’s not what I think, okay?”

            “It’s not.  In fact you just showed up at the tail end of an argument, which she had already lost and she was on her way out.  The bitch is obviously too stupid to understand that when I say we’re done, I mean it.”

            Jessie’s face went stark white.  “But-but, we were…”

            I’d never seen him look so ready to cut someone’s self-esteem to ribbons.  “No, you were trying to get my clothes off. I told you before your skills in that area are non-existent.  It always felt like you were imagining someone else while you were fucking me.  Maybe you should ask Eva about what it takes to please a man since you have no clue.”

            I jumped in then, not for her sake, but because that was way too much information and was giving her the wrong idea.  “Look, I’ve got a bunch of stuff for the costumes in the car.  I could use some help in bringing it inside.”  The wave of anger that surrounded him followed him like a wave as he stalked past her as if she were invisible.  I turned to Jessie whose fists had balled against her body.

            “I thought I told you he’s mine.  You need to remember your place.”

            Whatever goodwill and equilibrium I might have had towards her was gone, especially with that last part about remembering my place.  “And I thought I told you if I wanted Kei bad enough I could have him and there wasn’t a fucking thing you could do to stop me.”  I knew I was playing with fire, but being back in this place wasn’t helping nor was Jessie’s attitude.  “When this gig is over, I take the other half of a fat and hefty paycheck and go home with a nice bit of publicity under my belt.”

            The look on her face said volumes.  “Everyone wants to fuck a rock star, even someone like you,” she said, giving the last word nasty emphasis.

            Looking her up and down with something like disgust, “No, not every woman is a nasty ho’ who’ll spread her legs for the first thing that says it’s a musician.  Oh wait, I’m insulting ho’s, I’m sorry.  You’re lower than that.   Besides, I’d have a problem sleeping with Kei considering his dick was in you and well, I can just imagine what you might be carrying.  I can only hope he had enough sense to wrap it up twice.”

            She blanched, then pointed a thin, expensively manicured finger at me.  “This isn’t over.  You act like Kei’s going to protect you, but he can’t do it forever.  Then we’ll see how tough you are.”

            Before I could respond in kind, a gust of icy-cold air suddenly rushed through the hall from a direction that was not the front door.  Jessie and I looked at each other and for a split second, we were both frozen in terror.

            She recovered her equilibrium first saying, “Fuck this!  We’ll see how long you last here,” and she spun on her expensive heels and out the door.

            I stood in the entryway trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened and trying not to lose it again when I felt a pair of strong arms fasten around me.

            I met Kei’s intense gaze, his dark eyes shimmering with grey flecks.  I was drawn and held in that gaze and for that moment never wanted to leave.

            “You’re right you know,” he said softly in that rich, silky baritone that reverberated through my ears and flowed all the way down to my toes, “You could have me.  You already do.”

            I needed to tell him that I thought Shane had just ran Jessie from the house, but with the whipcord strength of his arms wrapped around me, talking about something that could have just been the wind didn’t seem very important.  His lips were far too close and memory shot me back to the last kiss we shared.  I should have moved away, said something typically and sarcastically me.  I should have done a lot of things, but Kei was a solid and undeniable presence against me, hot and undeniably male.  I understood better than I ever had why this man made millions of females wet their panties, and why his crazy ass ex was willing to threaten me to keep him.  It had nothing to do with the rock star persona; Kei Matsuya drew people to him.  He was like a walking fuck-me advertisement.

            I slid my arms around his neck and pulled him hungrily towards me.  I’d been tap-dancing around this too long and I was sick of it.  Moreover, I needed something to block out what might have been Shane and everything that engendered.

            It was heady stuff, his mouth crushed against mine, his lean hard body imprisoning my own.  My greedy fingers sank into the thick velvet madness that was his hair, sliding like living silk against the webs of my hands.  I brought strands of it to my lips, imprinting the texture upon them.

            His lips were at my throat, breath fanning against my face. “You already have me, Eva Vincent,” Kei groaned against the hollow of my shoulder.  “I was yours the moment you walked through my front door.”

            “Shut up.” I decided right there and then to put this dangerous fire out so that I could spend the remaining time doing what I’d come up here to do.  “Don’t promise me anything Kei,” I whispered as his hands slowly lifted the hem of my t-shirt.  “Let’s just get this insanity out of our systems.”

            It was insanity.  As he devoured my mouth, stealing my breath and sharing his own, my hands ran up and down his body as far they could go.  I gripped the firm cheeks of his ass, savored the flexing of the muscles in my palms. It was like holding a wild stallion that wanted to be given its lead and hell, I wanted to ride...badly.  Just the thought of his naked ass in my hands as he plunged into me had me moaning.

            We were getting hot and heavy in the middle of the entryway, front door partially open and though no one could see us from the street or from the driveway, it just didn’t matter if they could.  We were practically vacuum-sealed to each other’s mouths and he tasted so good.  That first kiss was nice in spite of the circumstances.  This one was bad, in a good way.  Kei’s mouth on mine throbbed with a passionate message that echoed between my legs.  I couldn’t speak, couldn’t verbalize what I wanted and if it meant leaving the seductive sweetness of his mouth, I didn’t want to.

            Somehow he’d pinned me against the wall, my hands trapped in his as the kiss deepened.  I no longer knew where my lips ended and his began.  Our hips began a slow naughty bump and grind.  His cock was hard, it wanted out and I wanted it in.  I felt the subtle tremors inside of me, the wetness slicking my walls, my clit eager for his touch or his tongue or both—I wasn’t greedy.

            There was no time to feel the cool air against my skin, air that moments ago had turned inexplicably chilly—no, I wouldn’t think about that—as Kei lowered the straps of my functional white bra.  There was no time for my nipples to pucker and harden before his mouth began its unrelenting onslaught on my senses.  Kei’s oh-so-gifted tongue swirled and danced on my breasts, his string-calloused palms encased them in possessive heat.

            I’m an auditory sensualist.  That is, you want to turn me on, make some noise.  I realized that sounds cheesy, and there’s definite room for error, but the sounds of sex, not just dirty talk per se, but the sound of a tongue sliding along my skin or the sound of a man’s body slipping inside of me when I’m totally wet and open, or better, the sound of a man’s lips between my legs—I can come from that.  Just the sound of Kei’s tongue flicking, licking, nibbling, sucking on my pebbled nipples had me going crazy.  I needed bed.  Him in it.  Now.

            My fingers dropped to his waistband, to the zipper and I was going to get this party started one way or another.  I felt his cock twitching in his jeans and my hands couldn’t wait to encircle that hot, hard length any longer.  My mouth watered for a taste of him.  I missed practicing my oral skills on a receptive partner.

            Just as one tooth was being loosened on the zipper, Kei suddenly pulled away from me.  He literally tore himself from my arms and stepped back several inches.

            “Kei?  What?”

            Lungs forced out air like bellows, hearts beating fast and furious.  Neither of us lowered our gazes.  Mine was lusty and close to begging; his was shockingly resolute and yet there was need that he was struggling for some reason to control.

            “Sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

            “Yes you should have,” I fired back utterly confused at what just happened.  “And you have my permission to continue. In your bed, upstairs.”

            Kei shook his head.  “No.  I shouldn’t have started this.”

            “You know, there’s a word for what you are,” I said archly, putting my t-shirt back in place with fingers that had just been seconds from lowering that zipper.  “It’s not nice to lead a girl on and leave her hanging.”

            “Nothing about this situation is nice, Eva,” Kei’s sweat-sheened arms glimmered in the fading afternoon sunlight.  His eyes glimmered with lust.  “I don’t feel nice.  I’m horny as hell and if I had any sense, I’d have you upstairs in my bed with my cock buried so deep in you, you’d taste it.”

            I put my hands on my hips.  “Then why the hell am I still standing here with my clothes on?  I don’t need you trying to be chivalrous, Matsuya.  I’m old enough to know the game.”

            “I’m not being chivalrous.  It’s really not in me.”

            “What should be in me is you,” I shot back as Kei put his finger to my lips again.  That was becoming a trademark gesture of his.  I wanted to lick it.  “Look, if you’re not into me, just fucking say so.”

            Kei’s shook his head incredulously.  “Are you fucking insane woman?  That’s not even close to the truth.  I just want a little more than this.”

            “Dammit Kei, I’m not giving up my life to be your newest arm candy, so you can forget that!”

            He laughed bitterly.  “So, I’m good enough to fuck but nothing else.”

            “Precisely!” 

            I know it was cruel, but no crueler than what he was doing to me.  “I’m sorry but this just isn’t going to work.  I’m going to rent an artists’ loft for the next few months and work there.  There’s just too many distractions.”

              Kei’s arm fastened tightly around mine.  “Don’t you dare leave.”

            I angrily shrugged him off.  “I can’t stay here.”  My voice began to rise in panic.  “There’s a ghost and there’s your psycho ex-girlfriend and there’s this thing between us that you don’t seem interested in getting out of our systems!”

            “So we’re just a ‘thing to get out of our systems’?”

            “Why are you acting this way?  I’m giving you what you’ve been wanting from me all this time and you’re over-thinking it.  I know me, Kei.  I don’t confuse sex with love.”  I started pacing the floor, trying to keep the agitation and the irritation out of my voice to no avail.  “If you want to fuck then let’s do it so I can get back to doing what I’ve been hired to do.”

            I expected Kei to lose it, or better yet, expected him to make me lose my clothes.  I mean, what sane man wouldn’t want what I was offering without strings? 

            I did not expect him to burst out laughing.

            Oh wait.  Musicians and sanity are two words that should never be used in the same sentence.     

            I was standing there ready to jump his bones and his lean frame shook with laughter, a rich full belly laugh that would have brought me along with it had I not been so mixed up.  Worse, when he tried to draw in a breath to say something, he’d start again.

            “What. The.  Fuck.  Is.  So. Funny?”  I glared at him, wavering between horny and homicidal.

            I wanted to hate him for making a joke out of me, but shit, he even laughed sexy.  He pointed at me while gulping in air.

            Fine.  I wasn’t going to be his punch line anymore. Just as I turned to leave, Kei grabbed me by the waist and held me so tight against him I felt his heart against my chest.  The amusement was gone as if it had never been.

            “I’m not gonna be something you “get out of your system” like some goddamn cold.” His hands skimmed over my heated body like he already owned it, cupping my breasts, thrumming my nipples through the thick cotton of my t-shirt and bra.  “I don’t want your head anywhere near when I make love to you.  I want your body begging and so damn needy that you’ll be in tears.  I want your emotions so raw that when you come, you’re screaming to the sky.”

            He ground his hips sinuously against mine the way he’d done earlier and I opened my legs as far as I could, wanting him that way right now.

            I nearly fell to my knees when he gently yet firmly pushed away from me.  “Only then, Eva,” and he stormed back outside.

            I stalked out of the house towards the garden while calling Kei every name in the book, hopefully loud enough for him to hear.

            Who the hell needed a cold shower when there was the oh-so saintly Kei Matsuya cock-blocking what was so obvious we both wanted?  From the moment I appeared on his doorstep the man had been flirting and more with me.  He started this shit.  He kissed me first.  What I felt between his legs during that kiss sure as shit wasn’t his house or car keys.  All I wanted to do was give in, get done and get on with my life.

            Fine, so my asking for sex in such a bold manner had not been filled with hearts and flowers, big deal.  This had nothing to do with romance.  How hard could it have been for us to go upstairs to any available bedroom, get naked and do the horizontal mambo until we couldn’t do it anymore?  It was only going to get worse.  Every look, every touch, even the most innocent or accidental was going to be torture.  At least for me it would be. 

            So what exactly did Kei want from me anyway?  Certainly not a relationship; after all he’d just gotten out of one and I wasn’t inclined to be his rebound.

            I sat cross-legged on the warm grass, breathed deep of the greenery and the sea air around me.  I understood why this place helped him come down from all the adrenaline of playing and touring.  My clit still tingled and my nipples were still aching points of need, but the sensations were slowly becoming less intense than they’d been several moments ago.  I hoped Kei had a massive case of violet balls and I hoped he didn’t plan on looking for me to do something about them because he’d be on his own.

            All I wanted was sex.  Nothing fancy, nothing complicated, nothing forever.  How hard could that have been?

            Maybe if I played coy, pretended that I was shocked at his attentions, or pushed him away. Maybe he was somewhat old fashioned when it came to gender roles; that he wanted to be the one to initiate sex.  Nah, that couldn’t be right.  Not for man who’d spent most of his adult life playing with androgyny to the point where fans online still speculated about his sexuality.  As for me, playing games just wasn’t my thing.  I wished I could call Kat.  She was far better at this stuff than I ever was.

            I stood up, brushed off some clinging pine needles from my jeans and began to wander around the garden.  San Francisco wasn’t exactly known for homes with huge back or front yards, so a garden this size was obviously a luxury.  The hedges were well-tended, as were the ornamental trellises decorated with honeysuckle, ivy and cabbage roses.  I came across several rosebushes, the dark pink blossoms redolent with heady fragrance.  Without thinking, I picked a couple for my workspace, hoping Kei wouldn’t mind.

            Some steps later I found myself in front of the garage.  The door was open which meant Kei was probably inside, doing something around the studio.  Like the proverbial moth to the flame, I went inside.  I promised to keep my hands to myself, with my fingers crossed behind my back of course. 

            Once inside the soundproofed room however, the silent promise I’d just made flew out of the window.  I didn’t care about all the high-tech boards, computers, amps and the other minutiae of a working recording studio.  My focus was immediately upon the mesmerizing figure behind the glass, obviously lost in whatever musical bliss was taking him over. 

            I stood there transfixed, listening and watching and my body swaying as the gentle raindrop-like fingerings of the Ovation acoustic morphed into the sonic scream of the Flying V.  The music felt like nature unleashed in all her beauty and wildness, the electric chords striking like a flash of lightning across the sky as the acoustic trickled down my skin like a lover encased in velvet.  I watched him, his beautiful dark eyes closed in rapture and his lithe frame bent to and fro, moving as one with the guitar.  His hair fell like a heavy black curtain, shadowing the perfection of his features.  A dozen or more silver bracelets encircled his wrists, some plain others intricately carved.  Even closed off in the booth was like being caressed by him over and over.  His fingers were so expert, so swift, so sure, teasing and coaxing the most exquisite sounds from mere wood and metal and strings.  It was like being made passionate love to through liquid vibrations, and my body reacted fiercely to it.  If he were to see me, he’d know what he’d done.

            I didn’t recognize the song from the demo he’d given me a few days ago.   It was an instrumental.  I wondered if he’d ever put it out as a solo work, then I hoped he wouldn’t.  This moment—him sealed behind the glass, me with my hands pressed hotly against it, hoping for just one glance upward—was too personal a moment.  I didn’t want to share this space in time with anyone, to hear this song on a CD and instantly be catapulted back to the here and now.  Each breath I drew in was tinged with each note dripping like aural honey into my ears.  Before the song ended, I tore myself away and dashed back into the sunlight, breathing heavily as if I’d run a marathon.

***

            Some time later I managed to make my way back into the house and went upstairs to my workroom, still in thrall to what I’d just seen and heard.  I was surprised to see that everything I’d purchased from the fabric warehouse had been brought up and placed around the room.  Even though I was still pissed at him for being a human chastity belt, I would make a point of thanking him later.  If only he’d let me really show my gratitude he’d enjoy it as much as I would.

            I needed to get my workspace in order so that I could start on Dominion’s End’s costumes.  The guys were coming back over tomorrow so I could get their measurements.  I sorted out the tools of my trade as Megadeth’s ‘Peace Sells But Who’s Buying’ roared in the background. 

            Keeping busy with Dave Mustaine snarling in the background also kept my mind off Kei, the way his music had become so personal to me, the way watching him had made me feel.  My body was crying out for completion and for the millionth time cursed his stubbornness.  What the hell did he mean by wanting my head out of the way?  Did it really matter in the long run? 

            By ten o’clock I was pretty wiped, having accomplished quite a lot.  I was a little hungry but knew that a heavy dinner would keep me awake and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so that I could get an early start the next morning.

            I trudged downstairs to the kitchen.  The house was quiet, not even those comforting sounds of settling foundations.  The silence raised the hairs on my skin which was not being helped by those damn suits of armor.  It wasn’t that unnatural chill that I’d begun to associate with Shane putting in an appearance, but I didn’t dawdle as I opened the stainless steel refrigerator and grabbed some cheese and some fruit.

            “I can’t freaking believe this,” I muttered to no one in particular.  “He’s got me seeing things now.”

            It seemed forever before I reached my room.  It was like being in a dream walking through quicksand, but the goose bumps that had begun from the moment I walked out of the workroom and down to the kitchen seemed to intensify.  The temperature which had been comfortably cool instantly plummeted to near freezing, which only meant one thing. 

            My steps quickened. I would not—would not—turn around and look behind me.  I touched the door handle of my room like a talisman, and then shook my head.  Shane was a fucking ghost.  He could materialize anywhere and he had.  My room wasn’t exactly hallowed ground.

            Cautiously I opened the door and peeked in. Thankfully there were no spectral surprises waiting  for me and I quickly changed into pajamas as every light in the room was flicked on high.  I curled up in the massive bed with my late-night snack while trying to lose myself in a book.  Every tiny creak sounded like echoing footfalls and only stubborn pride kept me from running down the hall to Kei’s bedroom.

            Sleep eluded me for several hours as I wondered if Shane was planning on visiting me again, then wondering when I’d finally lost it.

***

            The next morning dawned bright and clear and I was stuffing a bagel into my mouth courtesy of Chris who’d stopped by some awesome bakery and picked up enough fluffy and sugary baked goods to keep us all on a massive sugar rush for hours.  Kei had made his signature ‘get your ass in gear’ espresso and we were all off to a reasonably good start, save for me doing damndest to avoid Kei, which he was not allowing to happen.  He just seemed intent upon touching me, making the contact appear innocuous.  I gave him a look that clearly said ‘the next time you put your hands on me, we’d both better be naked.’

            Doing my best to ignore my raging libido I asked the guys, “How did you guys get away with all that kissy stuff back then?  I mean we’re talking the 80’s. Halford was so deep in the closet you could have mistaken him for the wardrobe.”

            Miki was the first up, stripped to black form-fitting boxer briefs.  I knew how to be professional, but seriously that stereotype about Asian men coming up short was so not true, and certainly not in Kei’s or Miki’s cases.  I wondered as I worked on him whether or not I should spread the news or keep it to myself.  Like his bandmate, he was a consummate tease, running a silky tongue over those decadent lips.

            “We just didn’t care.”  Miki folded his tattooed arms over his chest.  “Hell, it was fun fucking with people’s heads, especially when their girlfriends were lined up outside of my dressing room.”  He winked at me, grinning impishly.  “In fact, the more we played that angle, the more chicks wanted to fuck us.”

            “Yeah, and a few dudes as well,” Kei added just to keep me squirming.

            I held my hands up.  “Okay hold up. Way too much information here.”

            Devynn just shook his head.  “Man-sluts.”

            Miki flipped him off comically.  “Oh yeah, like you were a fuckin’ saint.  I seem to recall you and those two girls at that hostel in Stuttgart.”

            “They were music students and they were curious about my equipment,” Devynn quipped absolutely deadpan.  I knew exactly what was coming next.

            Four sets of eyebrows raised.  “Is that so,” Tommy shot back.  “Then why weren’t you able to duplicate the sounds coming from your room on the Motif?  We could have used those moans on ‘The Pleasure Room’.

            I’d actually had probably one the best sexual experiences with a guy with that album playing in the background.  It really was nearly an hour and a half of orgasm-inducing music.  There had been plenty of moans, amongst other interesting sounds on that album.  Oh shit.  I just had to look up at Kei who must have read my mind because his lips slowly morphed into a one of his fuck-me smiles. Once again my mouth just couldn’t shut up.  “So exactly where did the sound effects come from?”

            The entire band chuckled wickedly.  “Well, let’s just say we were in a conducive frame of mind,” Tommy answered, doing his best to sound somewhat serious and failing miserably.

            “Dude, we were horny,” said Devynn without missing a beat.  “Everyone knows sexual frustration can be channeled into creativity.”

            I swallowed.  “Okay.  Remind me not to ask any more stupid questions.  Next?”

            “Damn, and here I thought you enjoyed having your hands all over me,” Miki quipped as Kei’s eyes narrowed.  For a guy who didn’t seem to want me, he was certainly territorial.  Miki just chuckled.

            The guys might have been in their mid-to-late forties but they were still as slender and as muscular as they’d been in their early days, save they weren’t starving any longer.  There was a lot more skin art and piercings in places that I didn’t need to know about, especially in Tommy’s case.  I really wanted to ask him about the Prince Albert, but was completely tongue-tied.

            By the time I’d finished, I was both energized and enervated.  It had taken every ounce of willpower to not sexually harass any of them, since I was still hornier than a high-school boy.  Guys get blue balls.  Women, I thought sardonically, got blue labias.  I had to keep reminding myself about being a professional, when really all I wanted was to get naked and banged by all of them at once.

            Damn Matsuya!

***

            “Good morning sunshine.”  Kei greeted me the next morning with a big shit-eating grin and one of his hearty calorie-inducing breakfasts and a fresh pot of coffee that smelled heavenly and did absolutely nothing to lighten my mood.

            “Fuck you,” I growled after yet another sleepless night stuck between haunted and horny.  I’d kept my vibrator under my pillow, desperately wanting to give myself some much needed relief and yet terrified that Shane would suddenly pop in.  Having a ghost watching me masturbate just killed the old sex drive.  

            He didn’t miss a beat.  “You’d like to, but you know my price.”  His voice trailed wicked promises up and down my skin.

            I scarfed down the coffee, ate some of the food in front of me as quickly as I could without choking then took off to my one refuge in this crazy place.  Just as I’d predicted, every look, every touch, even every sigh was like endless foreplay.

            For the millionth time I just didn’t get it, or him.  What did it matter whether which body part was where as long as we both got off using the parts that actually mattered?

            Everything Kei did, from his walk, to the coy way he’d let his hair fall in front of his face, to the searing looks he gave me when he thought I wasn’t looking, was straining the limits of my patience.

            My only solace was getting out of the hothouse atmosphere of Shadowside or locking myself away in the sewing room.   Some days I opted for the former, taking my car and just driving around the city, wandering aimlessly until I found a neighborhood I wanted to check out.  I loved the more bohemian parts like The Mission and Soma, the places that hadn’t quite succumbed to gentrification yet and still felt like close-knit neighborhoods.  I strolled though the Haight just because, but upon spying a Goodwill thrift store, the costume designer in me just couldn’t resist.  By the time I’d left, I had five pairs of black tuxedo pants, a pair of distressed cowboy boots, and a short black lace petticoat in my possession.  I’d had a stroke of inspiration when I saw the tuxedo pants.  The boots were those chunky engineer-style that I’d always loved and well, every woman needs a short lace petticoat for something.

            Other days I locked myself away with in the room, only coming down for breaks and dinner.  This was my sanctuary of sorts.  I concentrated on bringing my ideas to life, not on the man who’d be wearing them.  Here was where I restored my equilibrium.

Chapter Ten

            As much as I would have liked to, hiding upstairs in the workroom just wasn’t practical.  Needs like food, sleep and of course Mother Nature prohibited me from becoming a hermit.  It also seemed stupid somehow—me, a grown woman—hiding from an attractive man with a penchant for control games. 

            Most of the time, Kei left me to my own devices, and through osmosis I learned about the not-so-glamorous side of the music industry, especially when it came to execs who cared more about the bottom line rather than the quality of the product or those who produced  it.  That had been one of the primary reasons Dominion’s End started their own label several years ago.  Thankfully they had their manager Tsuchiya, who knew when to manage his unruly brood and when the hell to get out of their way.  There were also the standard interviews, tour scheduling meetings, rehearsals and other aspects of what was not exactly rock and roll fantasy. 

            Other days he’d pop in, find himself a chair and watch me work.  Those times I kept my back to him, but I could feel those rich, dark eyes of his like fingers trailing up and down my skin.

            “Don’t you have something else better to do?”  I glared at him over my shoulder as I ripped the side seam from one of the pairs of tuxedo pants I’d purchased.  “Isn’t there some musical thing you could be doing?”

            “Is there a reason you’re trying to throw me out of a room that just so happens to be in my house,” was Kei’s amused reply as if he knew his presence disconcerted me.  “I just like watching you at work, and I like your taste in music as well.”

            My stupid-assed MP3 player just so happened to be stuck on their album ‘Stratospheres’ and though I was inclined to grab the damn thing and shuffle my playlist, that would have meant my having to see him and then walk by him, since the player was on the table beside him.

            I shrugged irritably as I practically sliced through the black threads.  “Fine, whatever.  There’s really not much to see.”

            The chair creaked and for a hopeful moment I thought Kei was going to get up, grab me and finally do the right thing—as far as I was concerned.  No such luck as I didn’t feel any strong arms around me or his lips against the nape of my neck.

            “Were you this maddeningly practical with every man you dated?”

            I dropped the seam ripper and wheeled around.  “I’m not going to apologize for that.  I have one passion in this life, Kei Matsuya and it’s making clothes.  Your passion is your music and you’ve never let anything get in the way.”

            His look was challenging. “Yeah but I also know that passion doesn’t have to be limited to one thing.  Besides, why are you so damn scared of what I’m asking for?”      

            “So you mean to tell me every groupie you fucked had to damn near be in love with you before you fucked them?  For some strange reason, I’m just not buying that.”

            Kei shot up so fast from the chair that it fell backwards as he jammed his fingers angrily into his hair.  Our eyes met in fierce debate and I was on the cusp of losing. “Fine, so I wasn’t a goddamn choirboy, but there got to be a time where it was all the same and honestly Eva, I couldn’t tell one hole from the next.  Is that what you want of me, or of yourself?”

            Kei didn’t raise his voice, but the fine hairs at the nape of my neck still stood up on end.  He was winning this argument and the competitor inside of me wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

            I stood up and folded my arms in front of my chest.  “I really don’t give a shit if you think of me as another hole or whatever.  I care about me, about AlterEva Designs and I care about doing the best work possible and what’s going on between us is getting in the way of that and fuck it, I want it gone!” 

            Kei just shook his head incredulously.  “I swear to god I’ve never met a woman as insane as you.  If I had any sense, I’d have already fucked you six ways and sideways, but for some reason, I just can’t.”

            “Maybe you need some Viagra,” I muttered as he flipped me off.  I flipped him off double and said, “Haven’t we had this conversation before?  You’re all talk and no action.  Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to get back to work.  Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?”

***

            I continued working, wondering if I needed Kat’s advice, then I realized no I didn’t.  Kat would only tell me to open my heart and let the naughty boy of prog metal inside.  She was such a happily-ever-after kind of person, whereas I was far more practical.  If I told her everything that had gone on between Kei and myself, she’d have been writing out invitations and helping me pick out a black leather wedding dress.

            “Fuck it,” I said out loud as I began stitching pieces of leather into the leg seam of the pants I’d ripped.  “Just fuck everything!”

            And right then, everything started fucking up.  The power went out in the middle of a backstitch and what had been the soothing strains of Dead Can Dance somehow ended up sounding more like Dimmu Borgir (and I didn’t have any of their stuff on my MP3 player).  The ambient temperature which had been pleasant with the bright afternoon sun filling the room, dropped instantly to freezing and my breath froze in front of my face.  My hands shook.

            I didn’t need all that to know Shane was making an appearance and I peeked over my shoulder to see his faint outline shimmering behind me.

            Once materialized, his eternally youthful if melancholy eyes stared back at me and fixed me with a wan smile.  His lips moved but I could not hear a word.  He just stood there, looking at me, looking around the room.  This time I didn’t faint and as he moved closer on silent feet that left no trace on the carpet, I didn’t flinch as he laid a ghostly hand upon my shoulder.  His spectral touch was as cold as it had been the first time I’d reached out to touch him.  I had no idea why he touched me, but there was the odd sense that Shane trusted me which made no sense at all.

            The entire encounter lasted a moment in a lifetime and then he was gone.  He’d left something behind. 

            My fingers glistened with tears and they were not mine.

            “Kei!”

***

            I reached the bottom of the stairs in a breathless rush when I heard raised voices coming from the living room.

            “Once again you tarnish the family reputation with your behavior.” The stern voice was as hard and unflinching as iron. “You’ve had plenty of time to act out and now it’s time for you to grow up.”

            It was none of my business, but after the experience with Shane, I needed Kei.  I needed to tell him and for him to make it better somehow.  He’d lived with the ghost all these years; he obviously had some kind of coping mechanism.

            I walked right smack into the middle of an epic battle of wills that easily rivaled the one I was having with Kei.  Kei caught my eyes and instantly knew what had happened. 

            “You okay?”

            I nodded.  “I’m sorry to interrupt.  We can talk later.”

            Cold, almost soulless eyes bore into me.  “And you are?”

            I’d seen pictures on the web about Kei’s father Ryo Matsuya, the founder and CEO of Matsuya Industries, one of the largest medical technology firms in the country.  Much like his son nothing prepared me for the flesh and blood human being (though I wasn’t quite sure about the flesh and blood part).  For a man in his mid-sixties he had the look of someone who took very good care of himself and could afford to do so.  There was no thickening around the middle; his shoulders were broad and well-defined.  I could see Kei’s features in his face and both shared that same arrogance.  The difference was the perpetual sneer that must have been tattooed on the older man’s face.

            The suit he wore was tasteful and tastefully expensive, but Ryo Matsuya was the kind of man who wore wealth and power as stylishly and as naturally as he wore obviously hand-tailored suits.  Savile Row must have loved seeing him.

            Good manners dictated that I offer my hand in greeting, but from the look the man gave me, I had the feeling that he wasn’t inclined to be nice.  There was not even the merest attempt at kindness nor warmth. 

            Before I could say anything, Kei strode right over to where I stood, put his arm around me and boldly pronounced, “This is Eva Vincent, the band’s new costume designer and my woman.”

Not even a flicker of acknowledgement from the older man, whose coal-black eyes gave me a scathing once-over.

“Your taste in women seems to grow worse and worse,” The elder Matsuya sneered, the look of distaste quite apparent.  His attitude was beginning to cut through Shane’s ghost having made another appearance and I balled my fists tightly.  “Then again, she is at least one step above that porn star you lacked any shame to be seen with.  Not by much, however,” he added pointedly.

That was it.   I’d been taught from childhood to show respect to one’s elders, but in some cases that respect needed to be earned.  I stood tall, extricated myself from Kei’s embrace.  I’d deal with him later.  “Excuse me, Mr. Matsuya.  You don’t know me nor do you know anything about me so it would be nice if you kept your ignorant opinions to yourself.”

            Kei’s arms were like tentacles; he wouldn’t let me get away that easy, or perhaps we were presenting a united front.  Either way, I was back by his side, glaring defiantly at his father.

            “If you don’t like it old man, all you have to do is disown me,” Kei taunted as he pulled me closer still.  “After all, you’ve been threatening to do that for the past twenty years.”

            “If your mother had given me another son, it would be no idle threat, Akihiko.”

            “But she didn’t, so you’re stuck with me and I want no part of your business.  Besides, look at me father.  I’m successful and I’m rich and I did it all in spite of you.  I’m sure that just frosts your nuts.”

            That was an understatement as the room went cold again, an icy wind blew from someplace it shouldn’t have and as I looked out of the windows, the panes had frosted over.  Shane hadn’t materialized, but he was most definitely in here.

            Kei’s father was not pleased.  “What the hell is going on?”

            The look on Kei’s face was priceless.  “Oh nothing really.  It’s just Shane and I don’t think he likes you.”

            I saw Ryo Matsuda flinch as if something—or someone—had touched him.  The icy veneer he’d presented to the world looked as if it had cracked just a little.  That was interesting, but as soon as it happened, he seemed to regain that arrogance once more. 

            With a dismissive wave of his hand he said, “I am not inclined to believe in your ghost nonsense.  I see that once again there is no making you see reason.”

            “I’m an artist, Father.  Reason has nothing to do with it.  Now get the hell out of my house!”

            His father pointed an ominous finger at his chest.  “This is not over by any means.”

***

            “Your dad certainly knows how to put the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional’,” I said to Kei as we ate a sinful wood-brick pizza at the breakfast nook.  The three cheeses were so gooey that I could have played jump rope with them and the four kinds of Italian meats would have tempted even the most hardcore of vegetarians.  If I stayed any longer at Shadowside, I’d be as fat as a house.

            Oh well.

            The tension between us thankfully was muted, probably having to do with the appearance of Ryo Matsuya, but it was still there like a steady hum in the air.  I wasn’t steps away from jumping Kei’s bones, but I wasn’t adverse to him hopefully doing just that either.  I also wanted to know what the hell possessed him to tell his father I was his woman?

            Kei absently sipped his wine, his hands flexed as if wanting to choke the shit out of something.

            Or someone.

            “Any sane parent would actually be proud of a child who became successful living their dreams.”  Kei tipped his glass, downed the wine in one swallow then poured himself another.  “Then again, my father isn’t sane.”

            “If he knows you’re not interested in the company, why does he keep hassling you about it?”

            “Because my asshole of a father is used to having everyone obey him without question.”

            I took another bite of pizza and swallowed.  “What about your mother?”

            Kei’s lips drew into a thin line.  “She can only do so much.  The first time she came to see me perform was the last time.”

            There was nothing to say to that, so I continued eating though my heart really wasn’t into it.  Kei was trying hard to be tough, but it was pretty obvious how much the indifference hurt, even after all these years.

            “What about your family, Eva?”

            The question didn’t surprise me.  I wiped my hands on a linen napkin, poured myself another glass of wine and took a satisfying sip.

            “Trust me, they weren’t crazy about the whole designing thing at first.  I had several thousand dollars in student loans to pay back and even though I had a pretty decent job with some good money rolling in, the corporate world wasn’t my thing and I sure as hell wasn’t interested in real estate.  But once I found my bliss—you know, like what Joseph Campbell said—and I showed them my business plan and even had clients lined up, they slowly came around.  It was my dad’s idea that I use the loft as my workspace, but I decided to live there too.”

            Kei’s face was envious.  “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?  I’m a grown man and yet I still want mommy and daddy’s approval.  That’s so not metal.”

            I placed my hand over his.  “It’s not pathetic at all.  But in the end, it’s really all about what makes you happy.  I feel kind of sorry for your dad.”

            “Don’t.  My bastard of a father thinks that money and power are what makes people happy,” Kei said darkly.  “I guess it makes him crazy to see I’m on his level and I didn’t have to sell out to do it.  I’m sure he wanted me to fail, especially after Shane died, but I was just too fucking driven.”

            “Kinda like him, right?”

            “Exactly.  Ironic, isn’t it?  Hey, do me a favor, Eva.”

            “Depends on what it is.”

            Kei fanned his fingers in front of me on the surface of the nook.  “Are you good at painting fingernails?”

            Well that was out of left field.  “You want me to paint your fingernails?”

            “Pretty please,” he wheedled overdramatically. “I even promise to behave myself.”

            I snorted.  “Well bully for you.  I can’t make that same promise.  But okay.”

            So there I was, sitting in Kei’s enormous kitchen, listening to Apocalyptica’s Inquisition Symphony while he presented those sexy, slender almost double-jointed fingers for me to polish.  Of course, the color he chose was black (duh) and the name fit him perfectly—Perversion.  As promised, Kei was the perfect gentleman.  I tried to come up with accidental ways to get those hands somewhere nice, like between my thighs.

Chapter Eleven

            That night before bed I decided to indulge in a long, leisurely soak in the sunken Jacuzzi tub.  I needed to relax, to revaluate what the hell was happening with me, and moreover the tub had been beckoning to me from the moment I arrived.  What made the idea even more appealing was the breathtaking view of Lands’ End from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bathroom.  The windows gave me that sense of being an exhibitionist without worrying that people would actually see me. 

            I lit a couple candles, turned off the lights and between the flickering of the flames and the bright light of the half-moon in the black velvet sky, I shed my clothes and settled into warm, watery bliss with the sea below me as a soothing soundtrack.

            Three weeks into my commission and I was still on schedule more or less.  Miki’s costume was finished and would suit the flamboyant frontman to the letter.  All I needed for Kei’s were a few more satin roses running down the cropped waistcoat.  Chris’ outfit had caused me some worry at first because he was a drummer and I’d seen how brutal the man was on his massive kit.  There had been one concert back east where he’d nearly collapsed from heat stroke after almost two hours of nonstop pounding in ninety-degree-plus-eighty-percent-humidity weather.  I decided to create a second set of pants modeled after the Visual Kei style of shorts attached to a pair of flared leggings.  Having black roses run along the attached garters would look pretty sweet.

            I started thinking about accessories and concluded that only silver would do.  On that score I needn’t have worried.  The guys wore enough silver between them to start their own business.  Still it would be cool to have rings sculpted like roses in full bloom adorning their fingers.

            Problem number two—Shane.

            In spite of all the evidence, I was still having a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that Shadowside was really haunted and that I’d seen Shane’s ghost more than once.  That he’d touched me and moreover, left palpable tears on my fingers.  There was this weird sense that Shane was trying to reach out to me, and in some strange way perhaps even defending me.  After all, he’d run both Jessie and Kei’s father off.  If he was trying to communicate, what did he want and why me?

            Problem number three and the biggest—Kei.

            The comfortable foundation that I’d long since established in terms of relationships was in danger of shifting beneath me and I didn’t like it.  For the first time ever, I was beginning to doubt myself emotionally.  A mere three weeks in his company, under his roof and the wall I’d erected to keep my personal life in a separate sphere was starting to show cracks.  I knew Kat would be thrilled about that, but I was not.

            Just because I wasn’t an incurable romantic didn’t mean that I didn’t believe in love at first sight.  I just believed that love was something which took time, effort and a lot of patience to coax into full bloom.  I also believed in not confusing the need for sex with forming some unnecessary emotional attachment.  Kei and I could be friends who just happened to sleep together and that was perfectly fine by me.  No, he wanted more and I had no idea why.  A month ago I was just a face on a website and a voice over the phone.

            On the other hand, I could easily imagine what it must be like for people to constantly throw themselves at him just because he was Kei Matsuya, bad boy rocker and not Kei Matsuya the man.  Maybe it wasn’t totally beyond the realm of possibility that he liked me and my blasé attitude about his stardom.  Still, the fact of the matter was I needed to get laid—preferably soon and preferably by him—or I was going to go apeshit.

            For a moment I considered heading out to one of the many hip and trendy bars either in the Marina or SoMa.  It wouldn’t be too hard to find a hot, decent-looking single guy who wasn’t gay and who would be up to a one-night stand.  If Kei pitched a bitch (and something told me he would), I’d just lay the blame on him being a pussy tease and that since I was no longer horny, I could continue my work in somewhat relative peace.  Unfortunately the thought of some stranger who was not Kei putting his hands on me filled me with as much sexual excitement as a root canal.  I didn’t want anyone but that fucking mercurial pain-in-my-ass rocker and that sucked big time.

            Somehow I was just going to have to be more aggressive in getting what I wanted.

*

            The next afternoon while I stitched away as Kei sat in his usual perch, this time with his acoustic, his cell phone rang.  I chuckled.  The ring tone was ‘Aces High’.

            “What’s up Miki?”  Silence, then, “Sure she’ll come.”

            Kei put the phone on speaker. “Hey you hot babe,” Miki practically shouted as I watched Kei’s reaction and gained a certain amount of feminine satisfaction from his apparent jealousy.  “I know the old punk forgot to mention my private record release party this Saturday night, but you’ve gotta be there ‘cause my lady wants to meet you.”

            A party sounded like fun, especially a party with Dominion’s End.  I could just imagine all the drinking and debauchery that might ensue and I was all about the debauchery part.

            “Count me in,” I said.  “Oh, is there a dress code or something?”

            Miki snorted.  “As long as you don’t come naked I don’t care.  Although from what I’ve seen of you, I’d be more than willing to bend that rule.”  They both heard an “ouch” then a chastened laugh on the other end.

            “Knock that shit off,” Kei warned.  “Why the fuck are you trying to hit on my woman again?”  I gave him an arched look as if to say when did I become his woman?

            “You know how he is Kei,” came another voice, this one smoother and most definitely female.  “He’s a total horndog and yet he wants to marry me.”  She sighed theatrically.  “Oh, and I’m Akemi by the way.  I’ve heard a lot about you, Eva and I can’t wait to meet you.  Besides, I really hated that snobby slut you were with before.”

            Whoa, I thought with a laugh.  Tell me how you truly felt.  On the other hand, Jessie Chastain wouldn’t be winning any Miss Congeniality awards anytime soon. 

            Although she was just a voice, Akemi sounded like a woman after my own heart and I could tell that in spite of Miki’s flirtatious ways, she was the woman who owned his heart.  Just maybe she’d help me make some sense of Kei by filling in the blanks.  There was nothing better than girlfriend gossip to get the real story, or at least the good stuff.

            While Kei and Miki continued acting like two overgrown and over hormonal teenage band boys, I started thinking about what to wear Saturday.  I’d never been to a record release party, though I’d done a few meet and greets before or after a show.  When all else failed, a little black dress would work, but I was Eva Vincent and well, I designed costumes.  So…perhaps it was time for me to show off my skills and give Kei Matsuya a damn good look at what he could have in his bed.  Or on the breakfast nook.  Or out in the garden.

            The first thing I needed was a trim and a new hair color.  I hadn’t been blonde in a while, and I knew just where to go for both.

*

            “You know, I’m perfectly capable of getting around on my own.”

            Kei steered his wet dream of a car with one hand as he gave me that tilting of his lips which, depending on his mood, could be either sultry or noncommittal.

            “Humor me and stop being difficult okay.”  That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting and it puzzled me a little.  I wondered if Kei’s self-imposed celibacy was finally getting to him.  If so, he had no one else to blame but himself.  I’d given him an out.

            We drove down Geary Boulevard, then made a right on Divisidero Street headed towards the Fillmore District which borderlined the Haight.  I’d made an appointment with Kat’s cousin Gavin at his barber shop.     

            Ellington’s Tonsorial Parlour was located in the predominantly black and working-class Fillmore District.  Like most historic neighborhoods, gentrification was slowly creeping in, pricing many of its lifelong residents out of the market, but like most neighborhoods in San Francisco with deep and strong roots, the people who’d been there before the young, hip and moneyed weren’t going without a fight.

            The shop itself was a storefront inside a renovated Victorian which had been willed to Gavin by his great-grandfather, and which had caused all sorts of drama.  Five years ago when he opened his shop, I’d helped him design the 1920’s-styled suits worn by the employees.  It hadn’t taken long before word of mouth and a few glowing magazine features had made Ellington’s one of the best places in San Francisco for grooming and the clientele were as quirky as the owner.

            The gods of parking must have been with Kei because a car pulled away from the curb right in front of the shop.

            There was a chess game going on in the front of the shop as two nattily dressed young black guys—one with reddish dreds, the other completely bald—were hunched over the board, their intensity replacing any need for talk.

            I opened the door and was greeted with the smooth strains of classic Count Basie as I was instantly transported back to the Harlem Renaissance as men and women did their magic with clippers and shears, conversations held in muted and respectful tones.

            “Eva!”

            A tall, muscular man with waist-length locs threaded with feathers and shells unwrapped himself from his barber’s chair.  Gavin’s smile was huge as he gave me a warm, familial hug.  Two leather armbands adorned each bicep and each ear was pierced with large silver hoops.  Just as Kat was the sister I never had, Gavin was my equally kooky and iconoclastic brother.  The three of us had been amongst the small number of black nerds at our high school, our brains and fashion sense caused us to stand out like sore thumbs.  They both spent more time with my parents, who were far more accepting of their idiosyncrasies than their own.

            Contrary to conventional wisdom, Gavin was straight, very happily married to Lita, a fellow geek vampire gamer chick and they had a teenage daughter who’d adopted me as her aunt.

            “Kat told me what you’re doing up here…after she told me she’d married Dragon.  Man, you missed the Blaine family fireworks!”

            I laughed. “I can well imagine.”

            Gavin’s face told me he’d be glad to fill in the gory details as he took a long, assessing look at my head and he was not impressed.  “Well it’s about time you came to see me.  How long has it been since your last trim, girl?  They did a crappy job of tapering the back.”

            Gavin was critical of any barber or stylist who didn’t know how to properly shape a woman’s cut to fit her face.  His skill was such that he was even popular with lesbians who wanted to go short and tough but sexy.

            I gave him a wicked grin. “That’s why I’m here.  I need a new look for a party and who else would I trust but Kat’s crazy cousin?” 

            “Yeah, I guess compared to the rest of the family, I am a little crazy.”  Gavin grinned back, his canines shaped like vampire fangs.  Another reason why the Blaine family thought he was a heathen, outside of the fact that he was Wiccan of course.   He then looked over at Kei and extended his hand which he shook warmly.  “You want a haircut too, man?”

            Kei’s eyes narrowed but seeing Gavin’s teasing look merely shook his head.  “Not in this lifetime dude, but thanks for the offer.  Besides, Eva likes my hair.”

            Gavin said nothing but I could read the look in his eyes and I wanted to smack Kei.  Instead, I plopped down in the barber’s chair and Gavin raised it, then draped a black smock around me.

            “So, I want to go blonde, Gav, but not just boring blonde.  I need something that stands out big time.  Can you do that?”

            “Oh yeah,” he nodded with cocky self-assurance.  “I’ve got just the shade.  I call it ‘blonde as fuck’.”

            “Hey,” shouted one of the barbers over to the side.  “That’s another quarter, man!”

            Gavin looked sheepish as he fumbled into his pockets for the change and I watched him drop the quarter into a huge pickle jar full of coins.

            “It’s our ‘cussing jar’,” he explained.  “Every time someone swears, they have to put a quarter into the jar.  As you can see, it’s almost full.”

            I looked at Kei.  Kei looked at me.  We both knew if it were up to us, that jar would be full at least three times over.

            Kei plopped himself down in one of the leather loungers, folded his long legs and set to wait as Gavin worked his magic.  I watched him listening to the classic jazz and it seemed wheels were going around his head.  I relaxed into Gav’s ministrations while subtle conversations ebbed and flowed around me.  A mixture of races and ages and genders sat in each of the chairs, being expertly and impeccably groomed.

            As Gavin applied the lightening mixture to my hair, he filled in the fireworks show better known as the Blaine family.

            “They found out a week later because Erika went snooping around Facebook and found her sister’s update plus the pictures from the wedding.  At least the ones they could show since she and Dragon got married butt naked.”

            “Oh man, I know they had a sh-stuff fit,” I caught myself remembering the ‘cussing jar’ just in time.

            “Sweetheart, that’s putting it mildly.  My momma called asking if Kat had said anything to me about getting married and I told her she hadn’t, which was true.”

            “And I didn’t know about it until she called me at ComicCon.  I’m surprised her parents didn’t call me.”

            His hands were quick and soothing over my scalp.  “Well, once the news got out in church…and you know how church folks can spread gossip faster than the internet.  The entire congregation of The First Missionary Baptist Church had an opinion about Kat and by extension the whole damn Blaine family.  Next thing I heard, Auntie and Sister Shaw did a UFC in the church parking lot and auntie snatched Sister Shaw’s thousand-dollar Malaysian-hair weave out of her head.”

            My eyes widened then I started cracking up.  “Damn, I hope someone You Tubed that catfight!  Hmm, I guess Kat’s family is going to have to find a new church.”

            “Oh hell yeah they are, but of course it’s all Kat’s fault for not being a ‘good little black Christian girl.’”  Gavin snorted at that.  “And already Erika’s going into full guilt-trip mode on me.”

            I rolled my eyes.  “Like you had anything to do with it but that’s so like drama-prone Erika.  Again I say it’s a wonder you and Kat managed to break away from all that insanity.”

            “Oh my god!  Oh my god, you’re Kei Matsuya!”

            A tall, skinny teenage girl with perfectly clear wine-dark skin and a head full of wild, spiral curls stood goggle-eyed in front of Kei.

            “Carmilla, don’t bother the man,” Gavin admonished her but the girl was rooted to the spot.  Kei gave her one of his warm, million-watt smiles and I could read her like a book.

            Gavin nodded in the young girl’s direction.  “She’s a huge fan of Dominion’s End and when I told her “auntie” was designing their costumes, she damn near screamed the house down.  I think that’s why she started playing guitar.”

             Carmilla ignored her father while bouncing up and down, excitement running up and down her teenage frame.  “I saw you at the Cow Palace two years ago for my birthday!  I can’t believe you’re like right here!  All the rest of the dumb kids at my school like all that crap that’s on the radio ‘cause they don’t know real music!”

            “Carmilla Wilhelmina Blaine, get over here now!”  Gavin didn’t yell, but his deep voice carried over the shop.  Just as she was about to shuffle dejectedly over to her irate parent, Kei nodded his head silently.

            “It’s okay man.  Hey, I don’t get to meet many of my younger fans so it’s cool.”

            Carmilla looked up hopefully at her father.  Gavin’s stern face morphed slowly.  “All right, but behave yourself.”  She gave her father that look genetically hardwired into teenagers everywhere when given that warning.           

            While Kei and a rapt Carmilla chatted, Gavin chuckled, “You realize that me and her mother are going to be hearing about this for the next two weeks?”