Chapter Twelve
Tristan
When Elly and I at last finished shaking and were able to breathe, she said, “I’m starving.”
I laughed. “Me too, baby. I’m just not sure if I can get up off this couch or not.” She stood up then and I looked at her. Even after five years, just looking at her naked body set mine on fire. “Maybe we should do it one more time,” I said with a grin.
She bent down to pick up her clothes and said, “Maybe later, at home. First, you’re going to feed me. I’m gonna get cleaned up.” I watched her sweet ass disappear into the bathroom before I pulled myself up off the couch. I looked down and could see cum stains where I’d been sitting. Grabbing a sweat towel from underneath the counter I did my best to dry it up. “Did we ruin the suede?” Elly asked with a smile when she came out of the bathroom.
“Nah, I wiped it up. It’ll be as good as new when it dries—I hope.”
I went over and tried to kiss her again but she moved her head away and said, “Nope, Casanova. Get dressed. I swear my insides are eating themselves.”
I laughed at her dramatics, but I went into the bathroom and washed up and got dressed. We straightened up a little more and then turned off the lights in the studio and locked the door on our way out. It was a warm, California night and I was glad we’d brought the bike. We both put on our helmets and I drove the three blocks to Elly’s favorite restaurant in Burbank. It was the first place I took her after I started getting paid and it held kind of a sentimental component for both of us. It was the first time I’d really taken her out and paid for everything. I hadn’t let her pay for anything since. It felt so good to finally be a man and be able to take care of her for a change. I’d never even been able to take care of myself before I met her, so I owed even that to her.
The restaurant was in the heart of the Burbank Media District. It’s called Backstage Café and it sits along the front corner of the Burbank credit union. It’s a favorite of the media crowd, but most importantly, Elly loves it. It’s a sandwich shop, but a gourmet one with a long list of sandwiches on homemade breads, soups, and pastries. The atmosphere is casual, but nice at the same time. We took a table on the front patio since it was such a nice evening and Elly ordered an iced tea and a Reuben sandwich. I got the specialty turkey and their homemade soup, which is not even close to sex with Elly but closely rivaled sex that I’d had with other women before her. The moon was starting to come up behind the tall buildings and the hills in the distance. There were gas burning tiki lamps set up around the patio and it gave it a romantic feel.
“So, how do you feel about being on The Dialogue?” she asked me as we ate. Elly was the only one who knew the absolute truth about me and my sobriety and my messed up fucking family. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone else much other than I was sober now. I had no desire to talk about my parents, to bad mouth them or otherwise.
I shrugged, “You know I don’t like shit like that. I wonder if they’ll let you go on with me. You’re part of the new CD, too. You could do like you used to do with my therapist and field the hard questions for me.”
She laughed, “I don’t think so. I’ll go with you, but I’m more of a wait for my husband off-stage kind of girl.”
“That face and body were made for the stage baby,” I told her.
She laughed again and said, “I’m glad you think so, but no thank you. That’s your thing, and you do it well. Just flirt with all the ladies and play to the crowd. They’ll love you.”
I smiled at her. I wasn’t afraid they wouldn’t like me. Being with Elly had made me a better man, but it had only served to fuel the already burning fire that was my massive ego. I just didn’t like all that fake kiss-ass stuff you had to do when you were promoting a record. I would do it…because I had to. I didn’t have to like it.
“You know,” I told her, “my biggest complaint is that I’m not allowed to use the language I’m comfortable with.”
She smiled and said, “You’ll live. The show is only a half hour long once they add in the commercials so your segment will be ten or fifteen minutes. You need the practice.”
Her phone rang then and she pulled it out of her purse and looked at the face of it. “It’s Susie,” she said.
I held out my hand and said, “Let me answer it.”
She handed it to me, but she said, “Be nice.”
“Hello?”
“Hey, Tristan, it’s Susie. Where’s Elly?”
“Mrs. Rodgers is enjoying dinner and time with her sexy, god-like husband at the moment. Can I take a message?”
“Yeah, tell her to get her eyes checked if she thinks her husband is sexy and god-like and tell her husband to put her the fuck on the phone.”
I laughed and said, “You have a filthy mouth.”
“I know. I learned it from my old roommate’s loser boyfriend.”
“He sounds kind of hot,” I said.
“Good, then you’ll be happy to go fuck yourself. Let me talk to Elly.” Susie cracked me the fuck up. I handed the phone to Elly. I heard her tell Susie to come by the house in the morning.
After she hung up I said, “What’s the emergency this time?”
“It’s not always an emergency,” she said, defending her friend.
“Only ninety-nine percent of the time,” I said with a grin. “What does she need?”
“She has a job interview tomorrow. She wants to borrow my coral sandals to wear with her coral skirt and tan blouse.”
“Coral? Really? You don’t think the tan pumps would have been a better choice?”
Elly threw her napkin at me and said, “Shut up!” with a laugh.