Save a Prayer Read Free Page A

production. Courtesy of my employer, I had an all-access photographer’s pass for the entire festival, which got me past the wall of security guards out front. In fact, when we’d arrived that afternoon, it’d taken me through the revolving glass doors with no trouble at all—like I was a VIP, all on my own—into the lobby of a star-studded rock ‘n’ roll dorm. I was still reeling from standing in line at the front desk right behind the guys from Big Country. Never before had a brogue and plaid been so hot. As if that hadn’t been surreal enough, I’d been in the elevator with Debbie Harry when I headed up to my room. She was more than walking, talking cool in her black Wayfarers and skin-tight silver mini-skirt. She was sex on two legs. No wonder every guy in the world wanted to get in her knickers.
    "Is that?" I mumbled to Gigi out of the corner of my mouth as we slipped into a red leather booth. Elevator music played in the background—the hotel management had obviously not prepared for the musically cosmopolitan nature of their guests during this event. Everyone had to be cringing at the instrumental version of The Look of Love . I certainly was.
    "Springsteen? Yep. He got up on stage with some local band this afternoon as a surprise. I guess the crowd went nuts."
    "Wow. So cool." We both looked on as Bruce regaled a small group of people. It was a nice diversion from the fact that my palms were sweating like crazy. Graham and the band were due to walk in at any moment. Any. Moment.
    You can do this.
    A waitress came by and took our drink orders—a Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler for Gigi, but I wanted to be an adult about it so I asked for a Fuzzy Navel on the rocks.
    "I can't believe I'm going to meet the guys from Banks Forest. My sister would be dying if she were here. She's such a huge fan," Gigi said.
    "I'm sure you can get the guys to sign something for her."
    "So you know them well? From back at home?
    A breathy laugh escaped my lips. "Yeah. You could say that."
    The waitress returned, setting two paper cocktail napkins on the table and delivering our drinks.
    "Put those on my tab," a vaguely familiar voice came from behind me. "Angie Dawson. Fancy meeting you here." Ridley Archer, lead singer of Swash and Buckle, clunked a bottle of beer on our table and slid in next to me, a bracing waft of his cologne preceding him. Judging by his choice of clothing, he'd decided to co-opt the fashion stylings of Spandau Ballet and Adam Ant. "I'd heard you were going to be here, but I didn't want to get excited about it until I actually laid eyes on you."
    I wasn't really sure whether I should laugh flirtatiously or throw up. Ridley Archer was so unbearably handsome, all high cheekbones and broad shoulders. It hurt to look at him. He also, inexplicably, made a regular habit of hitting on me. My vanity was sure I should be flattered by his overtures. My brain was sure I should lie and tell him I had an incurable case of chlamydia. "Hello, Ridley. This is Gigi."
    Gigi thrust her hand across the table. "Nice to meet you."
    "Likewise." Ridley put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. He wasn't comforting me. It was entirely sexual. "What's the story? Please don't tell me you're here because you're back with Graham."
    Gigi’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Graham Whiting? Is that how you know the band?”
    Oops. I nodded. “Sorry I didn’t say anything. I just didn’t want to make it seem like I was bragging.” Or start rambling on like a tragically jilted lover. “And I’m not back with Graham.”
    "Good. I heard the whole story, you know. How you caught him backstage shagging three girls. Disgusting. I'm not like that, you know." Ridley leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "I always say one at a time. One special girl."
    I reared my head away from him. "I don't know where you got your information, but that's not what happened at all."
    "You tell yourself what you need to, babe. The good news is that