Why now, at this stage in my life, do I feel the need that I have long since clothed and packed away like a treasured piece of memorabilia? A need to feel the connection that I have long since turned my back on, a need that poets, painters, wordsmiths, and people of a different intellect are called to display to the masses? The multitudes recognize and feel its pull, as well, yet don’t believe its truth until they see it elsewhere.
When she jumps off stage, my heart leaps along with her, and I almost miss the fact that mi cielitos are being pushed forward by the crowd behind us.
Wrapping them in my arms, holding them in front of me safely, I see Tris being shoved, as well, a barrier broken, and somehow, we are pushed toward one another.
With the girls safely in front of me, I reach out for her, and her to me, finding strength that I long since felt and pulling her toward us.
“I’m so fucked,” she breathes into my ear.
“You will be all right.” I search for a way out of the masses surrounding us and spot her bodyguard, her father, the manager, all fighting to get to her.
“Ever crowd surf?” I ask, and she looks up from the girls caught between us. “Your loved ones are near. I’ll lift you.”
“How many?” she yells as she grips my elbows, stopping me from lifting her, and we fluidly seem to form a parameter around the girls, who are grinning from ear-to-ear like this is something fun and not frightening.
“Listen to me, you stubborn—”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not the one getting groped.” She jumps to look over the crowd.
“Three!” I yell.
“Perfect.” She looks down and smiles. “Your uncle is so cool that he’s going to let you three crowd surf.”
They haven’t a clue what she’s saying but smile, anyway.
“Who’s first?”
Catalina, the eldest, shocks me by immediately saying, “Martina.”
Although not the time, the place, and certainly not under these circumstances should I feel anything but an overabundant need to get them all—including Tris—to safety, yet I do. I feel a wave of calm that one of my biggest worries—them growing up and apart—may not be a burden I need to carry.
Hoisting Martina up and handing her off to the manager, he scowls.
“Tricks, get them out of here!” Tris yells.
And I tell my niece, “I’m very proud of you, Catalina.”
“Who’s next?”
I look down and see Tris’s father somehow managed to get to her by, apparently, crawling on the floor, as he stands.
Tris laughs even in the face of imminent danger. “Are you freaking insane?”
“Genetics.” He winks.
Catalina smiles, as though she’s excited, and says, “Elena.”
After Elena is off to safety, Catalina is next. And, as she is passed to the bodyguard, squealing in delight, both Tris’s father and I maneuver ourselves so that the little rock star with the big attitude is safe as we push our way through the crowd, shielding her so that those still pushing forward can no longer see her.
Tris halts her movement and looks up at me, yelling over the crowd, “You better kiss me.”
“Not now, Tris!” her dad scolds.
“It’s my show, Daddio, and my show ends with a kiss!”
He growls—yes, growls—like an angry animal may in this situation. “Tris—”
She looks back at me. “Are you going to kiss me or—”
It’s not as if I don’t remember how to kiss a woman who sparks emotions and desires, I do, but it’s been too long yet not long enough. Kissing her last time was to ensure my nieces didn’t see their despicable father kissing a woman other than their mother.
I take her face delicately and brush my lips over hers. “Is that good enough?”
She blinks, and as she looks up, she licks her lips. “How about we try—”
She’s hoisted up by her father as she laughs out, “Again?”
“Let’s go, lover boy,” he snaps. “Keep that to the stage. She’s seventeen, for fuck’s sake.”
“Almost eighteen. And, newsflash: I’m not a virgin, Dad,” she says, laughing as she looks back at me and smiles.
How intriguing that, in the midst of chaos, she seems so much more in control.
Almost eighteen, I think as I follow them. Almost…
“I think we can forgo the VIP greeting after that shitshow,” the man she referred to as Tricks snaps at everyone around him.
“Not gonna happen. We’re fine.” She grins down at my nieces, who are on clouds that far surpass nine. “Aren’t we?”
Still grinning, all three of them with stars in their eyes, nod.
Tricks glares at her, and she gives him an almost obnoxious smile.
He narrows his eyes. “It’s not, and—”
“Tricks,” a man I saw at the hotel in Paris calls to him. He nods to the other side of the stage. “Need your help, kid.”
“Dad, I’ve got this.” He tries to keep it together, and he does so, but barely.
“Cool,” the man who I now know is his father says with concern.
“Twisted T, what in the actual fu … dge”—A different man, holding a guitar, covers his blunder when he sees my nieces—“happened out there?”
“Tú eres Memphis Black!” Martina screams when she recognizes who he is.
He holds up his hand for a high-five. “Little surfer girl. You’re a star now.”
“You okay, Tris?” the drummer, also from the headlining band, as distastefully named, asks.
“Right as rain.” Tris winks at her fellow bandmate.
My head begins to ache a bit as I try to keep up with translating their conversations.
“Picture with these old dudes?” Rain asks the girls.
“Age-ism? Not cool, kid, not cool.” Memphis Black chuckles as he stands behind the girls. “We don’t say cheese for this picture. You answer a question for me, got it?”
They all nod.
“Cool, look at the camera and tell me …” He pauses as he holds up his hands, displaying devil horns, I believe, then asks, “are you ready to get rocked?”
They mimic him, and answer a roaring yes, and Martina sticks out her tongue.
Click.
After Tris insists on a different pose to take a picture with Catalina’s phone, and they are loaded up with merchandise from both bands, exhaustion creeps up on me like a bull in a china cabinet.
Hoping still to remain on the top ten list of their favorite people, but after today, I am sure my spot will lower, I inform them, “We have a flight to catch, and Tris has fans to meet.”
Elena smirks. “Ask her on a date.”
“I think she’s a bit busy.”
“Not now, silly.” She rolls her eyes. “She lives in Italy, and you go there all the time for your art.”
“Elena, it’s part of the—”
“He lets us eat dessert twice.”
At the sound of Martina’s voice, I glance over and see that she’s dragged Tris over and wonder just how much of the conversation she understood.
“Told you he’s the cool uncle. Xavier is my cool uncle.” She points to the man I now know is Tricks’ father. “He’s also kind of my boss.”