Page 104 of My Grape Crush
Silhouetted in smoke, Calvin wanders onto the stage with a casual wave, and the heavily wasted crowd roars their approval. Rhys introduced me to him earlier, and he was the sweetest guy. Unassuming. Tired from the long overnight flight. One of the hottest DJs on the planet, and he was just like you and me, drinking hot tea and shooting the shit with Rhys.
It was funny to see him in fanboy mode. Obvs obsessed.
Settled behind his wall of tech, Calvin throws on headphones, and the first notes crackle through the loudspeakers.
Wine glasses toast the sky with a chorus ofFuck yeahs!
“Good evening, Osoyoos,” Calvin says from somewhere in the smoke cloud. “Thank you for having me.”
Rihanna’s opening lyrics of “This is What You Came For”ring out, and a surge of party bros and damsels crush around Rhys and me. He protects me from the mob, arms cradled around my shoulders like a human cage.
“Stay right here,” he whispers in my ear. “I got you.”
“You’re not going to dance?”
As if. The music has kicked in, and his body sways to the beats.
“Hell yeah,” he says with the biggest smile. “Get ready to shake that fine booty.”
I’ll never be like him—inhabiting the music, becoming it—but whatever.
This buttoned-up woman can shake it just fine.
Calvin's massive hits keep rolling, pounding the crowd with bone-rattling bass and rave-worthy speed. By the time the final notes of “We Found Love” drift into the summer night, the sweat-soaked audience is utterly exhausted. They scatter, seeking bathrooms or complimentary rosé refills.
Rhys excuses himself to hook up with JC before their set, and I encourage him to take his time.When Rhys stumbled into his brother’s arms at the hospital, it felt like Jesus moving into the light. Their deep connection struck me all the way to my toes.
Thick as blood.
A bond he needs to nurture.
Along with his other brother.
I rehydrate and do a lap of the property, checking my phone for an update from Sawyer. Nothing since his last message when he said he’d be here by eight. It’s almost nine-thirty. Per town guidelines, Gia and JC have to wrap by eleven, and there is no way Sawyer will miss their act.
I send a quickWhere are you?text and fire off a few celebrity photos to Amelia, who is living vicariously through me tonight. She promptly responds, shouting via text:
AR: Olivia Rodrigo? FAWK!!! If Taylor Swift shows up, I will hate you forever for not inviting me.
DR: Gotta run. Looks like I have to say hi to Lily-Rose Depp.
AR: Did I mention I hate you???
I tuck my phone back into my bra, smiling. Proud. And yeah, a little triumphant.
Sorry, sis. It is finally my time.
Rhys and I stay camped out front and center for the main event. Mild-mannered Calvin let his beats do the talking, staying silent through his one-hour set. But when Gia struts onto the stage with a booming, “Yo, bitches!”—welcome to the new world order.
The crowd goes bonkers.
Gia's all hair flips and snapping fingers. A saucy little minx in fishnets, a leopard-print onesie, and ballet flats, she leans on the mic stand to take a sip of Fireball whiskey she brandishes from a gold fanny pack draped around her tiny waist.
“Are y’all ready to burn this place down?” She holds a hand to one ear and leans toward the crowd, inciting drunken bellows of approval. “Because Nero, that crazy motherfucker, burnt Rome to the ground. And if I follow in anyone’s footsteps, it will be a notorious legend. Capiche?”
More hoots and hollers.
Someone screams, “Fuck ya!”
