I have written some mind-blowing, panty-dropping songs (what Miles call them) for the women that I have been in love. I have seen fangirls crying in concerts while holding posters that say, “I love you, Alex” or “Alex, you Turn-er me on” while I sang my masterpieces. That’s been happening since I started my career 15 years ago.
In those fifteen years, I have evolved from a shy teenager into an articulate, confident man. And this man may ramble or veer during interviews, but has never done so in front of a woman, especially a girl I particularly find attractive. Scratch that, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
Six years ago, she was just a shy girl, who cared about books more than anything; always tucked in the corner of her father’s house, a novel in her hand and a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose. My then-girlfriend once commented she had a perfect nose.‘She has the proper straight-edged nose. People would pay a ton for it.’
At that point, I never paid any heed to her comment. I was far too busy with my career at that time than to pay attention to a child. I wasn’t a paedophile, for God’s sake.
Her father, Paul, was our manager. An extremely hardworking guy who was helping us with our sudden break-through and at the same time going through a divorce.
Six years later, when I saw her, she has completely changed. As cliché as it might have sound to her, she was all grown up. I couldn’t remember how exactly she looked. In my mind there is a faded image of a slightly chubby raven-haired girl, clutching a copy of To Kill A Mocking Bird to her face. Her features hidden by the book.
“Dad, I forgot my keys in your car.” This girl standing in front of me was a Goddess. Her hair was long until the end of her waist. She had the most exquisite features I have ever seen. Lovely black eyes, matching her dark hair. Sharp-edged nose (like my ex-girlfriend had said), delicate lips. Oval shaped face. Curvy in all the right places. She had a fair skin tone.
“Zoey, that’s the third time in two weeks.” Paul sighs, rubbing his temple. “Here. He gives her his car keys.”
He captivating gaze meets mine, and I find her gorgeous lips curving into a smirk.
“Sorry, guys.” He sighs again. “Do you guys want to do the Berlin gig?”
I realized I was in the room with four other people. I hope my bandmates didn’t see me ogling her like a creep.
“I say we should do the gig. Berlin was great,” Jaime answers before any of us.
Not that I mind; another big gig, more money for us. In my fifteen years of career, we had achieved far more than I thought we would. In our early thirties, our popularity keeps growing and growing so much that we have a hard time dealing with it.
Me, particularly. As narcissistic it might sound, a frontman gets the most attention in bands like ours. The rest of them, do their job like it’s no big of a deal and go back home to their families. Suffice to say: my bandmates are more clinical with the whole fame thing.
I, on the other hand, tried far too hard to keep my professional and personal life away from each other, but somehow they always get tangled. I sometimes wished to have a social media account to be more connected to the fans, but I know deep in my heart it wasn’t for me.‘Your fans are rude,’ Taylor, my girlfriend had once commented. She never elaborated what exactly happened, and I didn’t bother, though I was curious. Taylor tended to overreact. Perhaps more than she should.
“Well, guys. I will send your schedules and tour dates after corroborating with the upper management before officially releasing it on social media and our website.” Paul said, glancing at the paper and then at us. He worked dedicatedly for his clients; we were lucky. Unlike other management, we had full-flexibility, our own pace, and our own choices.
After the meeting, I made my way to my Cadillac after saying my goodbyes to my mates. And then my gaze fell on the angel from earlier, stepping out of her father’s Honda in a way that could probably make some duchess envy. It bewildered me how someone at such age could carry themselves with so much elegance. Teenagers were supposed to be careless and reckless, but she was different.
Her lovely charcoal eyes landed on me, and she smiled before she made her way towards me, her steps filled with poise.
“Hello, Mr Turner.” She greeted me. “I am sorry for interrupting your meeting earlier. I like your music very much, will you mind giving me an autograph, please?”
How about a selfie? Weren’t they all mostly interested in selfies more than autographs these days?
“Sure. What was your name again?” I said that because I didn’t want her to know I paid attention to every single detail about her.
“Zoey. Zoey Madelaine.” She pulled out a small notebook and opened it and retrieved a pen that was between her breast. The act drew my attention to her cleavage, the one place I was trying to avoid looking at directly.
I cleared my throat. “What do you want me to write, Zoey?”
She looked into my eyes and boldly said, “You’re rarer than a can of Dandelion and Burdock. Those other ones are just post-mixed lemonade. My favourite line from my favourite album of yours.”
Maybe it was the way she said, or perhaps I stared at her cleavage for too long, I suddenly felt aroused.
I scribbled it on the paper and then signed it. She beamed at me. “Thank you, Mr Turner.”
Then she did something that took me completely off guard. She stood on her tiptoes - even though she was wearing heels, she was still shorter than me- placed her hands on my shoulders for balance and kissed me in the parking lot of her father’s office. Surprised by her bold action, I couldn’t help but place my arm around her waist, pulling her closer.