Spell Of The Times

Chapter 1

The air was thick and foggy when he stepped outside the bar after ending his set. New York was stuffy and hot--a lingering mixture of concrete and warm air. But he did not mind the overcrowded bars and noisy streets. He would always find a reason to pull him back here, as if there was some unspoken understanding between him and his bandmates that New York was always that place. A place that they dreaded going to because of the large crowds and thick summer heat, yet desperately longed to return to time and time again. A girl flashed a smile as she exited the venue's double doors, her eyes meeting his as she stepped onto the sidewalk and began walking towards him.

"Decent set you had," she said casually while digging through her handbag.

"You think?" Asked Harry, placing a cigarette between his lips.

"Yeah, it was." She took out a small black lighter from her Givenchy mini bag and brought it to Harry's lips. He inhaled the smoke staring at her, trying to find a reason in her eyes as to why she came here in the first place. She grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and placed it into her own, her eyes remaining on his. She took a drag and let the smoke escape from her lips towards his face, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Don't do that Daph."

"Why?" She asked, this time tilting her chin up and continuing to blow smoke towards him. He grabbed the cigarette back and took one final drag before flicking it on the floor and squishing it between his shoes. He walked up to her and grabbed her chin with his hand, and blew the smoke into her face, just inches apart.

"See, it's not pleasant. Let's play nice tonight shall we?"

Daphne did play nice, or at least she tried. She grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him back into the venue. Of course no one at the doors checked her identification, or asked her to pay cover. No one in line complained when she sauntered inside as if there was no one outside waiting at all. Daphne Parker did not have to wait to get into bars or nightclubs. Other than being the most recognizable socialite in New York City she also had her reputation as the quintessential party girl turned model. Her entrance back into the Bowery Ballroom turned heads, and the line was guaranteed to triple now that everyone was buzzing about her being there. Harry was annoyed that she pulled him into the front entrance of the venue, instead of one of the back entrances where no one would see them. But, he supposed, that was the allure of a night with Daphne. It was always guaranteed to be bliss in the most chaotic form. The first time he met Daphne was in New York after a Saturday Night Live performance. Harry went into the after party expecting a few celebratory drinks and conversation with New York's hottest comedians and celebrities alike. Instead his eyes locked with a girl standing alone at the bar in a silver backless mini dress, with black liner smeared over her lids, and her hair already disheveled. What once was a night of conversation and drinks quickly blurred into a haze of Jager shots and running down the streets of Manhattan at four in the morning carrying Daphne's Balenciaga heels. The souls of her feet were bleeding as they ran down the streets, laughing maniacally and stumbling with each step. Sitting on a bench Harry cleaned the blood from the souls of her feet as she popped a small white pill onto her tongue, as if it was candy. Each time he came back to New York it was more or less the same routine between them. A dance in the dark. A chase. Harry would reach out and tell her he would be in New York, Daphne would ignore him and post a few pictures of herself on instagram. Harry would believe that this time was different, this time he would not get caught up in the mess that was Daphne Parker, but he was always wrong. She would show up, and make him feel less like an emerging rockstar, and more like a highschool boy with a hopeless crush. She would show up, and he would play it coy, as if he was not happy to see her. As if he had never once wished for one more night with her. As if he could care less about if she was there or not. Each time feeling a new spark ignited just seeing her, and each time wishing she never showed up at all. He loved Daphne's enigmatic energy, and the way she didn't fuss about who he was. But he also hated Daphne, she was careless and self destructive. So here he was, sitting at the bar with her once again, telling himself tonight he would not go on an all night bender with Daphne Parker. Daphne ordered two vodka sodas and coolly placed a hundred dollar bill on the bar table, even though a twenty would have done the trick.