You, You, You

EDDIE

      “Holy FUCK!” I reflexively yelled in Eddie’s face, clutching my chest in surprise.  He chuckled as I frantically scrambled to pull off my fake mustache.  Oh dear sweet God, is this actually happening?  Are my hands shaking?  They are, aren’t they.  PULL IT TOGETHER, ISABELLE!
                “Hi, I’m Eddie Vedder,” he said in that deep, sweet voice of his.  He sharpened his focus right onto my eyes and wouldn’t budge.  I felt like I was melting into a small puddle of complete embarrassment.  After what seemed like an eternity, and what was actually about three seconds, I managed to eke out a reply.
                “I—yeah!  Hi, I’m Iz…” I said, grinning like an idiot and throwing my mustache on the ground.  That was all I could think of to say.  I also stuck out my left hand for a handshake like a complete bozo.  My right hand was busy rubbing the tacky glue residue off my upper lip.  Jesus.
                “Izzy Starnik, I know.  Well, now I know—you guys were insane out there.  I feel like I should be asking for an autograph or something stupid,” Eddie said to me kind of bashfully as he briefly took my left hand in his right and half-bowed, like a picture out of a book on chivalry, and then ran his fingers through his hair.  He looked down at his shoes for a moment and then back up to my eyes— something was amusing him.  I looked down and saw that we were wearing the same exact Docs, of all things.  I laughed, partly out of nervousness, partly because we apparently had the same taste in footwear, and partly because this man whose band I loved was giving me the compliment.  Eddie laughed too, probably at how hard I was trying to get the last little shreds of glue off of my face.  Finally I succeeded in cleaning it off completely.  He could see I was blushing, and it looked like he was enjoying every second of it. 
                “What?  Are you kidding?!  Oh man, no, I should be asking you.  Pearl Jam is a huge inspiration!  But… thank you,” I said sweetly and not at all like the assertive, one-of-the-guys type of lady that I normally was.  I felt like a complete and utter dope.  I was still smiling, but my insides were curling up into the fetal position.  Please, please, please, don’t make too much of an ass of yourself, Iz.
                “That’s really kind of you to say.  Hey, I have to ask you before I forget, is Izzy short for something?”  I smiled and suddenly grew shy at the mention of my name.  Why are you getting bashful—there’s nothing wrong with your name!  God, girl, you’re being a nut!
               “Oh, yeah, my real name’s Isabelle.  Isabelle Antoinette Starnik, at your service.”  I clicked my heels together and mock-saluted him.  Way to be a dork, dudette.
               “Why do I get the feeling those are family names?  Sounds so old-fashioned… in a good way.  It’s beautiful, really.”  Eddie’s eyes suddenly grew wider, like he couldn’t believe that just came out of his mouth.
               “You’re absolutely right, good call!  Great Aunt Isabelle and Great Grandma Antoinette.  Very perceptive of you, Mr. Vedder.”  I shot him a smirk.  What am I even doing right now, trying to flirt?!  Like he would even be interested in me.  I just met the poor guy!
               He paused and I thought I could detect a mischievous smile creeping around his mouth.  “Hey, I got a thought— I’ll sign you if you sign me.”  His voice was like a knife through butter.  An incredibly sexy knife through incredibly sexy butter.
                “What do you mean?” I asked, caught off guard.  Eddie took out a scrap of paper from his back pocket.  God, the way he looked at me made me feel so transparent.  I felt like he could see straight through me and straight back again.
                “You still have that permanent marker on you?”  There was that butter knife again.
                “Yeah, right here.”  I handed him the marker I used on stage and he scrawled something quickly on the paper and handed it to me, signaling to me to read it.
                “Would you do the honors?” he asked.  I held my breath as he pulled his brown t-shirt off in one sweeping motion.  He stood there with his arms up around his chest, tousled hair hanging perfectly over his bare shoulders, waiting for me to act next.  My Christ, those muscles… that stomach.  Kill me now.  Then I realized what he was getting at.  Despite being ready to die happy and be gone from this Earth forever, right there, standing in front of a shirtless Eddie Vedder, I was able to relax enough to smirk and giggle at his gesture of friendship.  I knelt down in front of him and, feeling those pile driver butterflies again, began to write the message from the paper across his stomach in big black letters.
                As I anchored my right hand against his stomach, I steadied myself by gently holding onto his side with my left hand.  At this touch, I noticed Eddie’s skin tighten and little goosebumps appeared all over his torso.  It was barely audible, but I know I heard him inhale rather sharply at the touch of my hand.  Glancing up at his face for just a half-second, I saw that his eyes were closed ever so lightly.  I wondered what on Earth he could be thinking right then.  Why was he shivering?  Maybe he was just extremely ticklish.  I looked back down again, not wanting him to see me gazing at his face in that more than awkward position.
                “There.  All done, from me to you.”  I stood up and admired my work.  Now on his stomach were the words: You are not my incubator.  “You’re right, much better than an autograph,” I added with a chuckle.  Eddie smiled down at the phrase I had written on him and looked back up at me.  There was a twinkle in his eye.
                “All right, my turn.”  He looked at me expectantly, waiting for the marker I still held in my hand and putting his shirt back on just as smoothly as he had taken it off.  I suddenly realized, just then, that I had been standing there talking to Eddie wearing nothing but ripped up jeans and a bra.  Oh my God, I’m still in my bra.  In my bra talking to Eddie Vedder.  I would like to really die now.  God, is he going to try and sign my chest?  I can’t believe I didn’t throw a fucking shirt on.
                “It’s okay, you can trust me,” he said, taking the marker from me.  He put a reassuring, warm hand on my shoulder to ease my distress.  The edge of his thumb just barely grazed my jawline as he did this.  It was my turn for goosebumps—his fingers became tangled slightly in my messy, wavy hair that was hanging past my shoulder.  I almost lost it, but he said to me, genuinely but with laughter beneath his voice, “I’m not going to be a dick and sign your chest or anything.  Relax.”  I inwardly sighed in relief.  Eddie reached out and softly grasped my hand to pull me closer to him.  Standing about three inches apart, I felt my heart start to thump in my throat.  Eddie noticed my skin flush a little bit and grinned from the corner of his mouth.  His eyes lingered around mine for just a second more than I expected, and then he started to write something slowly on the palm of my hand.  
                “That’s all,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper.  I withdrew my hand so I could read what was written there.  It read, Drop the Leash… E.V.  I looked up at Eddie inquiringly, not quite understanding the meaning of these words—I knew there was a deeper message behind what he wrote, but the way he was looking intensely into my eyes made me stop myself from asking outright.  Something was happening between us and I couldn’t pinpoint it, but whatever it was, I could feel it from my hair down to the tips of my fingers and toes.  The way he looked at me made me feel absolutely electric.  There was some kind of unspoken communication going on, and I didn’t dare spoil it by speaking.  I just returned his gaze as steadily as I could, gently passing my thumb over the words Eddie had written on my hand.  I could tell Eddie was feeling just as electrified as I was.  You could tell by the color of his eyes—they seemed to darken and shine more now than when he first introduced himself.
                “Do you have to go anywhere?  We’re up in about half an hour.  I was hoping we could talk a while after the show is over?  I mean, if you wanted— er, if it’d be okay to talk— if you’re not… yeah.”  He looked at me, obviously tongue-tied and hoping I would stay and watch Pearl Jam’s set from backstage.  I laid my hand on his forearm and tried to de-fluster him.  Why was he so flustered all of a sudden, anyway?
                “Of course,” I answered in a calm, even tone. “I would not miss your set for anything.  I have nothing to do until tomorrow.”
                “Great.  Hey, why don’t we go find Neil and Peg and you can watch the set with them from the wings?”
                “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”  Eddie looked at me with his head cocked sideways and one eyebrow raised.  “Ha, sorry, it’s something my Mom used to always say…”
                “Don’t apologize to me, weird is good,” Eddie said, jokingly nudging me in the shoulder.  He took my hand softly in his, and we walked off to find Neil and his wife.  Needless to say, I had still completely forgotten to put a shirt on.