They were there as promised, wearing jeans and button down blouses and their missionary tags of course, and I realized he was the First Counselor in the Temple Presidency. He must live right here in Tijuana. We talked about the tour, the songs, and everything I knew about Rafe and Ben. Allen, true to his word took us out into the audience and found us complimentary seating not too close, but right at eye level, comfortable, and on an aisle, so we could get back stage easily. It was a roped off area, and eventually he brought others, dignitaries and notables, and even a few celebrities. We kept talking until he knew all about me and my family, and I knew he had ten kids by himself, and had served two missions, one in France, and one in Belize. I knew them better than I knew my own Bishop by the time  Gunn started their set followed by Conger tonight, as they would take turns with the King Horn Ruff group.

            And then there was a break, and I saw the set changers out there doing some changing things around, and then the lights dimmed and the fake smoke came on and strobes and the headliners made their appearance.

            Hate to tell you this but I barely recognized them.

            We weren't far away-- that's not it. They were professionals, and celebrities, and in command. They weren't sleepy guys in a bus at all. I realized what Ben had said about being privileged some of the times, and then nobody the next—I got it.

            They had festival seating on the ground floor.  All around the raised stage were photographers and bouncers. There was a gated off area where the bands entered and exited. There were security personnel everywhere, big tough looking bouncers. There were a million girls with their arms up swaying and clapping and screaming.

            The rest of the stadium was full. People in the front were sitting, like us, but folks behind were standing,  and some were holding up their phones taking pictures and videos and screaming to their friends back home.

           Rafe.

            He was someone else.

            He was the front man. He'd said he was the front man, and he was. He spoke flawless Spanish, and the audience went wild. He also spoke in English and they still went wild. He was not a rocker, jumping all over the place. He was a crooner, and a punker, with a Barry Gibb falsetto. His voice was rich and strong and very masculine, and his movements were nothing like his voice. He was very sexy. He did that dance move--- that grooving thing we'd done the other night, but barely moving and the girls went literally crazy for him. And he knew how to make them want him. He was theirs, he sang those highly provocative songs of his that I'd forgotten I knew. He was the consummate artist, like my mom, if they could even be compared. He played the audience-- he became one with them and they loved him.

            The other guys were fun. They were there, a presence, really working it with Rafe, but they couldn't do it without Rafe.

            Two hours flew by without me even noticing it. Song after amazing song, that I sang myself hoarse belting out. Even President Alpatcha was singing sometimes, and especially when Rafe turned the mike on the audience and we sang with him, or to him.

            I knew he'd changed his whole demeanor. I sat by Allen some of the time and he kept shaking his head, and he finally leaned over and asked me what spell I'd put on Rafe.

            "Why? What's different?"

            "Besides he's on fire--- he's also not using the same language."

            "'Cause he's not cussing?"

            "Yes, no colorful metaphors."

            I laughed and laughed. "But you think he's on fire?"

            "I haven't seen him work a crowd like this in years. I knew he had it in him. I've seen him put everything into it, but in the last few years he's gotten this whole blasé attitude going. Like he's too big a star to work it anymore. Not that he can't fake a good performance, but this is him at his finest. This is the kind of stuff that made Axis."

            "Well, don't credit me with that. He's Rafe Stryker. He can do anything."

            He hugged me sideways and I grinned, then President was hugging me also, telling me he and the Mrs. had to go before the performance was over, they'd said hello in the beginning and now they wanted to beat the crowds. He kissed my cheek, I think knowing what I was embarking on, and told me to hold to the rod. I said I would.

            Right after they left Rafe was ending the show. There was a first encore, and they came back out. Allen said that was almost unprecedented these days, and especially on a first night concert, but there they were, as if it were all planned. He was shaking hands with girls the bouncers had let through, in fact he pulled one up on the stage, and held her around the waist, as she swooned and he sang a very familiar ballad. Then he pulled another up and they two danced to a real upbeat rocker. Then he said good night and he looked right at me and Allen and pointed, nodding, beckoning to us. This was it.

            Allen got up and pulled me with him down to the ground floor, to the staff entrance to the gated off area that was being swarmed as we dodged in and out of people. He had my hand tightly, and even then we got pulled apart once, but he didn't let me go.

            We made it to the backstage hall, lined with people holding green passes like President's had been. The band was just ahead of us.

            I screamed Rafe's name. He couldn't hear me over the din of a thousand fans. But somebody grabbed me from behind. The arms that grabbed me weren't Allen's, he was now ahead of me. I started to turn, but I was whipped around and forcefully kissed on the lips. I reacted with a fierce slap, and a knee to the groin, then a follow up kick to the ribs as the assailant went down. I backed up as people swarmed around me.

            I stood there heaving--- not believing I'd been attacked... until I realized it was somebody I knew. I focused through my rage.

            Dylan was writhing on the floor laughing and crying. Bodyguards were lifting him up and somebody new had pinned my arms with some kind of controlling device. I was hauled to the wall, blocked from the band and screamed at in Spanish. It was then I also realized that my passes had been ripped from my neck.

            "I'm Aubrey Mann! I'm with the band!"

            I screamed it in English and Spanish, but the security bouncer had gone off to find more victims, ridding the world of civilian threats one crazy fan at a time.

            Dylan was suddenly in front of me. "You pack a mean kick girl." He said.

            "Why'd you do that? I didn't even know who you were."

            "I wanted to. Why should Rafe get the beauties? Give it to me this time." He went to cup my private parts in the throng, and I almost kicked him again.

            He grinned and started moving away.

            I thought I must have misunderstood. He couldn't possibly have done that. I closed my eyes. How could this be happening? It had been so great just a few minutes ago.

            "I'm not giving anything to you." I yelled.

            "Fine. Not right now then." He came back to me, pointing his finger at my eyes. "Let's just keep this to ourselves, shall we? You don't tell Rafe I tried to make it with his chick, and I will keep my job and keep the tour going. Without me they have no drummer. What's it gonna be sweetheart?"

"Let me go!" I demanded and he nodded to the big bouncer who had rounded up another couple of girls. He released me and I stumbled down the hall to the green room where Rafe and Ben were answering questions, meeting with more notables and special pass people. I found Allen against the wall drinking something alcoholic, and told him to take me to the bus. I told him I was sick.

            He was disappointed, but did get me through the crowd, telling me the whole time that it wouldn't be long and the guys would be back on the bus and the bus would be leaving. Like two hours is all.

            He left me there.

            Mack was in the lounge when I got on. He looked up and gave me a confused expression.

            "What the hell is wrong? Why aren't you with Rafe?" He stood up and fastened his clothing again, looks like he had showered and had a nap, and some food and was watching TV.

            "I got separated, and now he's entertaining. I'm not feeling so good."

            "Too much to drink already? It's not even midnight. Bus leaves at one."

            "No. I don't drink." I said and found my junk bunk. I didn't even want to move stuff, so I climbed up on it and shoved the things we'd put there to the bottom. I struggled to loosen the blankets and crawl under them, keeping the light out, and the curtain closed behind me. I turned to the wall and felt myself shaking.

            Dylan had accosted me. Was it real? Why had he said that? He sounded jealous of Rafe. Was he really? Maybe he'd mistaken me for another pretty girl, there were dozens. He could have grabbed anyone. I had been alone in that moment.

            But then I'd retaliated, and he'd called security, or they'd seen him go down, and finally--- with me restrained, he'd said that if I kept quiet, he'd stay with the band, if not, they'd be without a drummer.

            If  kept quiet?

            If I kept quiet!

            What did he mean? Would Rafe fire him if he found out? But then that was how it should be. The guy had tried to take advantage of me! There were other drummers.

            But this one had been with the band for a year. He knew all their songs and their repertoire. If I complained and he got kicked off the band now, might it ruin the tour? It might.

            I was shivering. "Mack, can you turn the AC off?" There was no answer. I snuggled lower, shivering in confusion and pain. My arms hurt. I'd never used that move on anyone alive for real, but I knew how to use it. I was tired. I wanted this moment to go away. I wanted to see Rafe and ask him-- but if I told him, what would happen?

            I started praying. Praying to know what to do. Praying to remember the good times, and not think the worst of Dylan. I just wanted that moment to pass, and be struck from my memory.

            I think I fell asleep praying and crying.

*******