Anca
People are calling my name.
MINE.
Complete strangers behind the barricade as we walk out from Charles De Gaulle Airport to the cars waiting for us. Mostly they’re yelling out “ROCK CHAMBER BOYS” and the guys’ names, but once in a while I hear “Anca! Anca! Over here!” and the light of a camera flash go off.
Hailey told me yesterday that since they released my name as a guest performer, the radio talks shows and online blogs are already clamouring for information about me; who I am, where I came from, my musical background. She told me as if it were nothing, no big deal. Maybe she’s just been around this business for too long. I can tell you this – strangers knowing your name even though they know nothing about you? IS very, very weird.
“Anca, Anca! You’re beautiful! Where are you from, honey? Blow us a kiss!” A guy dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket jumps over the barricade and shoves a camera in my face. He’s so close I can smell the cigarette smoke in his hair and I see he hasn’t shaved in at least 3 days. He trips over his own feet and knocks into me, and I stumble a few steps back.
Marius appears out of nowhere and grabs the guy’s shirt and throws him against one of the waiting cars. “Get the fuck out of here, scumbag!” He yells, snatching the camera away. “If you know what’s good for you and your camera, you’ll stay the hell away from her.”
“I will, geez, sorry,” the paparazzo surrenders, holding his hands up. Marius growls at him again before shoving the camera into his chest and shouting at one of the bodyguards to get rid of him.
“You ok?” Marius turns back to me and asks.
“Er, yeah, sorry,” I stutter a little, still slightly shaken, “he just startled me. I’m fine.”
He holds my look for a little longer than is comfortable and I try not to squirm like a teenager, trying to look brave.
His eyes soften a little and he gives me a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure they beef up our security a bit, okay? French fans are a little crazy – fun, but they have no barriers. I mean, it is where Sebastian comes from.” He winks and I feel the fear leave my body.
“Anca! Are you okay?” Dennis runs up to me, his face looking both worried for me, and furious at the photographer at the same time. He’s scary. I probably couldn’t lie to him if I had to.
“Anca! You okay?” Sebastian and Brad ask, also circling me.
“Guys! I’m fine! No big deal. But thank you for worrying. Now, let’s get ready for our show and give these Frenchies something to really talk about, shall we?”
I climb into a car and expecting Marius to follow me. Out of nowhere, Jez pushes past Marius and slides in after me. I look out the window to see Marius just shrug and move to the next car down the line. I’m kind of relieved. We haven’t really spoken about what happened the other night, the last three days filled almost to the second with rehearsals.
But it’s probably better this way. I can’t believe I even admitted that I’d had a crush on him. No more drinking around Marius, though. That’s been established.
But the kiss.
The TWO kisses, I remind myself.
I just can’t seem to forget them. Forget the way his lips felt against mine, his body against mine.
But he’s right, the last thing that we and the band need is for Jez to find out. Because if Jez finds out, it’s game over. For everyone. The band might be the most important thing for everyone else. But for Jez, I know, it’s me.
***
For our week in Paris, Dennis has rented out a huge apartment on the Rue de Kennedy. It’s in a quieter residential part of the city, but right across the river from the Eiffel tower.
By the time we get settled the sun has set and the lights on the tower twinkle like little raindrops stopped short in the sky by the sheer beauty of the moon.
It’s so beautiful, I can’t stop staring out the window from our living area, just sitting back on the leather couch, a side-cart full of every drink imaginable, the private chef a button away, and the Eiffel tower so close I can reach out and touch it. Every now and again, there are the unmistakable sounds of people having fun, as a bout or barge floats down the river. And I wave to every single one.
All this luxury, it’s overwhelming and I’m so unaccustomed to it. My bank account is full from the money Jez sends me every month, but I’ve never really felt the need to use too much of it, just what would get me through my last year of college. It never occurred to me that with Jez’s money, which he always insists is our money, there’s really nowhere I couldn’t go or nothing I couldn’t do.
I smile, thinking of all the possibilities, and remind myself to talk to Jez about it when we have a moment.
“Okay, everybody ready?” Dennis comes in, carrying his trusty clipboard.
We all nod. Even me, even though I’m not really sure that I am.
“Let’s go. They’re waiting for us.”
***
There’s a reason the harp is the instrument depicted as being the music of heaven. It’s because it’s the sound divined by God for holy souls to dance to.
I was six years old when I decided I wanted to play the harp. Jez was learning the cello and piano. And even at 10 years old everyone was talking about what a virtuoso he was going to be. They wanted me to be like him.
They didn’t know that even though I loved Jez more than anything in the entire world, the last thing I wanted was to follow in my brother’s footsteps. The same brother who protected me and watched out for me, was also my tormentor. Tormented me with his over protectiveness, with his worry, with his concern. If he saved me from bullies, then he also alienated me from friends. If he stood up to teachers in my defence, he also made me their most hated pupil.
And if he ever thought his being better than me in cello would discourage my own progress, he would stop playing it, to give me the chance to shine. And that’s the last thing I wanted. God had given Jez a gift, and I wasn’t going to be the reason he didn’t use it.
But it wasn’t ever a question for me, what instrument I wanted to play.
All because of the first time I ever heard someone play the harp.
***