Fawn on the Moon

Chapter 2-2

The speakers shuddered with bass as pre-recorded music tried to keep the mass of people occupied between performances. It was an outside venue, but the open air did little to mask the scent of burning weed and cigarette smoke. The retreating sun left behind cooler temperatures, but nothing that inspired anyone around Gerry to cover bare arms, legs, or any other body part they chose to let free. Almost every style was represented: long skirts and sweaters, platform heels and bodysuits, bold suits and bolder ties, jeans and leather jackets. Glassy-eyed zombies lay slack-jawed on the grass, teenagers tittered in groups around pilfered bottles of booze, and the smokers passed joint after joint around their circles.

Gerry ignored the crowd, seeking the stage before the area got busier than it already was. His gaggle of baby-dolls followed behind, for no other reason than they had no place of their own in the midst of the group. He told himself he should be worried about how close he let the girls get but couldn’t find enough strength in his conscience to force them to stay back. After all, God knew that neither hell nor high water would stop him from getting as close to Mark as physically possible.

They were almost there when the stage lights came on. The crowd sucked in a collective breath and the area stilled to dead silence. Anticipation didn’t just hang in the air; it buzzed through it like electricity. The sound that suddenly rocketed out of the speakers shook Gerry to his balls. The audience went wild, and Gerry was no exception. Sparks shot from either side of the stage; the lights dipped, spun, and gathered in a cloverleaf between numerous instruments, and as if from nowhere, there he was.

As quickly as it had started, the music died. The spotlights dimmed but for a single beam, and Maxx lifted one arm above his head. From the corner of his eye, Gerry saw his sister mouth words to no one but herself: “My God. He’s beautiful,” and Gerry couldn’t have agreed more.

Maxx wore a white one-piece bodysuit so tight it could have been painted on him. Thick gold lines traced his body vertically, making Maxx look that much slimmer, that much taller. Though the suit covered Maxx head to toe, the outfit had been cut into a V that exposed his chest. Even from the distance, Gerry could make out Maxx’s pronounced collar bones and sternum. His hair was white, tufted straight up and slicked back at the sides. His lips were gold, his pale face shimmered with sparkles, and a glittering ball the size of a baby’s fist hung from one ear. It wasn’t just Maxx’s beauty that held them in awestruck silence, though. His very aura shone. He radiated sexuality. Confidence and pride streamed from every pore of his body.

Winged critters seemed to wake inside Gerry’s guts. He parted his lips in an effort to accommodate a sudden and overwhelming lack of oxygen in his lungs. Every poster he’d gazed at, every album he’d memorized, and every article he’d laughed or wept over; every dream that had ended in c*m-soaked sheets, and every fantasy he’d enticed with his own hand—none of them had been as perfect as the real-life version of Maxx Starlight.

Maxx drew the microphone to his mouth and the second he began to sing, the stage came alive around him: guitars, keyboards, drums. Someone to Gerry’s right screamed in blissful anguish, but whether it was Angie, one of the other girls, or some complete stranger, Gerry couldn’t say. Nor did he wish to find out. His eyes were glued on a sight of supreme perfection. His mind was a million miles away, riding sparkling starships with a beautiful oddity, and drinking champagne from the cupped palms of angels. His heart had been stolen, and Gerry couldn’t care less about ever getting it back.