Rock All Night

3




We walked out of the bar and through the lobby. I looked towards the bank of elevators passing by on our left. “Aren’t we going up?”

“Yeah, but ours is over here,” he said, pointing past the check-in desk.

“You have your own private elevator?”

“Well, they didn’t build it just for me, you know.”

“Where does it go?”

He smirked at me. “The penthouse. We are rock stars, after all.”

“The penthouse has its own private – ”

“I haven’t seen you for four years, and you want to talk about elevators?” he teased me.

“Fine,” I huffed. “What do you want to talk about?”

He shrugged. “I dunno… you graduated, I’m assuming?”

“Yes.”

“Syracuse, wasn’t it?”

Now it was my turn to be impressed. “Good memory.”

“What else have you done?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what other big things have you written?”

I thought he was making fun of me, so I said sarcastically, “The last Time magazine Person of the Year article.”

He looked over at me, stunned. “What? Really?”

I gave him a bitter look. “No, of course not. I did, however, write a piece on artisanal beers for an independent weekly. I even got paid $50 for it.”

He looked at me, startled – then began to laugh.

“What?” I asked belligerently.

“You haven’t written anything big before this?!”

“Not for lack of trying.”

He just kept laughing, like he found this inexplicably hilarious.

“We haven’t all been as successful as you, Derek,” I said angrily.

“I’m sorry… it’s just… all that crap back there in the bar about me using women… and here you are, using me.”

“I’m not using you!” I snapped.

“Yeah, right,” he said, wiping his eyes as he continued to chuckle.

“I’m not!”

“Come on, Kaitlyn,” he said in a Cut the bullshit tone of voice.

We reached the elevator – a single door all by itself, made of gold, set in the marble walls. If I was going to bail, now was my last opportunity to do it.

“Fine, if that’s the way you feel, I’ll just leave and you can get somebody else to write the damn article – ”

I started to pull away – no real plan, just wanting to get the hell away from him –

He grabbed my arm, and a thrill shot through my entire body as he swung me around to face him.

“No, I want you to stay,” he said gently.

I just stared up at him, my heart racing as he stared back down at me.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment… until he finally let go of my arm.

“I seem to remember saying that another time,” he smiled.

“I seem to remember a song about it, too,” I muttered, not wanting to go back to our earlier discussion of who hurt who worse.

He suddenly got an anxious look on his face. “Did you like it?”

You mean, did I sit on the side of the road and bawl my eyes out when I heard it?

“I like all your songs, Derek,” I said softly.

He searched my eyes, looking for a trick. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve followed you the entire time. It’s just… some are a little more painful than others.”


He nodded like he understood completely. “…yeah…”

For the second time in five minutes, I felt like he might kiss me – and I felt like I might kiss him back.

But then the elevator opened and a British voice rang out, “Where the f*ck ‘av you been?”