Aster and The Leopards

Yesterday

"I can't give you her number, she almost ripped off my face yesterday when she found out I put you on the list," Josh answered promptly. Every sign of insistence from Aster prompted a severe NO from him, and so she gave up.

"She didn't talk to me yesterday, though, she just disappeared after seeing me there."

"Yeah, she tends to do that. Can't you gloss over that with some fancy wording and get the piece done with?" Jesse sighed a puff of air next to the microphone, and Aster knew she did not have much of his patience left. He helped her through every stage of the composition, even though she's not one to depend on the artists' good-will to write. It was understandable that her sudden insistence on getting something from Finlay was finally getting to the last of his high spirits.

"It's the last time I'm asking you anything, I swear. The piece will be done by next Saturday, and you'll be Aster-free for the rest of the year," she insisted, softening her voice as much as she could in hopes of pulling on his heartstrings. It used to work when they were dating.

"Look, I can sneak you in the backstage tomorrow if you stay after the show, but that's the last of it. If Maxine refuses to talk to you again, you're on your own." His voice was serious and final. Aster wondered if Finlay really threatened to rip his face off, literally. "And please don't tell her it was me."

"I swear I won't Jesse. I owe you one."

"You really do." Jesse laughed to himself, and that made Aster sigh in relief. The last thing she needed was to push her best source too far. "Was that all? Joey was sleeping with his tongue stuck out today, I have to send you the picture."

***

Aster did not often think about 2018, the year she dated Jesse, and the year she dropped her stupid job managing small businesses' finances to pursue her dream of becoming a journalist. After college, it felt like her journalism degree and her dream of becoming a writer were just the product of teenage naïveté. It was about the same time she realized that Andy Sachs running around New York with a Harry Potter draft under her arm was just an overworked, underpaid employee. So she decided to get a second degree in Administration, despite her father's protests, and step into her big girl shoes. As it's obvious, it did not last, and, right before Aster met Jesse, she decided to quit pretending she could live like that.

It was a difficult moment, to say the least. Jesse was one of many guys that passed through her life that year, but he was the only one who stayed and checked on her frequently even after the break-up. They were not close, probably never were even during their brief relationship, but they cared about each other enough that, when Aster got her job as a junior editor for Culture Club, he was the first person she told. Which, when Aster thought about it, was very telling of how lonely she was. Yes, that's why she never thought about 2018.

Jesse sent her Joey's picture, and it was indeed the cutest thing she'd seen all week. Joey was the dog they unwillingly adopted when Aster's neighbor died and no one from his family wanted to take the old grumpy Yorkshire home. The dog ended up getting too attached to Jesse and vice-versa, so she did not have the heart to separate the duo after the break-up.

Aster shook her head to break the clouds of memories that surged through her looking at Joey's tiny snout. "Oh my God, I can't believe our baby is a disgusting old man now!"

***

"The usual, please," Aster said, slipping a five-dollar bill over the counter. The café employee looked like she was about to panic when Aster laughed and corrected herself: "Just kidding, it's the first time I come here. An iced oat milk latte, please."

After picking up her order and distancing herself from the barista's annoyed glares, Aster sat down next to a power socket and turned her notebook on. The blinking cursor was once again staring at her, but she knew she could not depend on Maxine Finlay talking to her tomorrow to start doing her job – it was just procrastination. However, since Finlay was her biggest topic of interest, that's where she decided to start. Aster thought back to the first time they met – or the first time Aster saw her but was not seen back.

The Leopards were starting to take off, two years ago, and she went to watch the band in one of their early concerts in a pub. It should feel nice, being the vocalist's girlfriend, the girl every other girl in that pub envied. But, surprisingly, most girls were not staring at Jesse or Austin. Instead, they were staring at the smug guitarist swaying her hips in rhythm with the slow, ominous song. Jesse's voice was low and sensuous, but it did not call any attention to him, it only made the vision of Finlay's messy, dark figure more alluring. After the show ended, Aster was still trying to regain her footing.

The first time they really met, though, was when Aster went backstage with them for a Culture Club note on the band's first USA tour. She asked Finlay a few generic questions about how excited she was for it, how the preparations were going, and the girl looked so bored by it that Aster decided to add a twist to the interview. "I've seen the crowd screaming your name on my way in, your fangirls are absolutely in love with you. How do you manage it?"

Finlay almost choked on air at that, and Aster could swear she saw the guitarist blushing. "Are they? Oh. Well. It's fine, I think. It's fine."

Thinking about it now, it was hilarious. Nowadays, if presented with such a question, the girl was quick to answer something about representativity in the rock scene, empowerment, and some other bulshit. The girls throwing bras at the stage for sure were not worried about a feminist schedule, but if Maxine Finlay wanted to pretend like she was not collecting a lesbian public with her nimble fingers and ridiculous smirk, Aster could let her.

Aster's fingers flew over her keyboard, writing about Finlay's on-stage persona, how free-spirited and wild she looked with the guitar strap around her neck, and, after descending the stage, the closed-off personality that every journalist had a problem with. She wrote about how people usually forget that Finlay is the genius behind every lyric The Leopards ever released. Even though the songs sounded like sex on Jesse's voice, they were Maxine's words, Maxine's emotions, and... The article was sounding a whole lot like a love letter. Aster sighed and rubbed her face, lowering her face as to not stare at the starstruck John Watson she just pulled on those pages. It was going to be a long afternoon.

***

The next day, the weather was as warm as any October morning could be. Aster forced herself out of bed, knowing very well that her Sunday writing session had been a failure but hoping Maxine would be amenable to talking to her later that night and, who knows, maybe her writer's block would come to an end. The fleeting thought of the girl putting a daisy behind her ear crossed her mind, but once again she discarded it as a drunken hallucination.

Walking through the corridors of the Culture Club headquarters, she felt Wendy Wolbert's vicious gaze following her steps through the offices' glass walls. So I'm still not in the clear for Saturday's screw-up, Aster thought, deciding to ignore the way her senior editor sneaked suspicious glances at her throughout the entire day.

Being a protégée had its benefits, of course, since Aster was the only writer on her floor with a closed office and a junior editor position. She had a direct line with Wendy, and, well, Wendy was not the Miranda Priestly everyone thought she was. Despite her bad reputation as a music industry vulture, Aster suspected the woman had a heart. A frozen one, at that, but it was still something.

Aster joined forces with Wolbert when the editor still was not occupying her seat at the top, and together they climbed the headquarters' hierarchy: an exceptional writer with nothing to lose, and an ambitious woman who knew too much about too many. There were many times when Aster regretted her decisions, but it was just too late to back off. Wendy had a noose around Aster's neck: she could choose to pretend it was a stylish choker or... jump into her death.

Deciding to ignore her most urgent task for the moment, the journalist focused on simpler tasks of revising articles for the next issue and answering to partnership e-mails. Despite the constant distractions, she spent the entire day pretending the anxiety growing hot in her chest was not being inflamed by the thought of staring into presumptuous blue eyes again.