Chapter Four…
It had been a very long time since I had awakened in a bed other than my own, but I wasn’t complaining about the view lying next to me. Nice warm weather allowed me to take a better peek at his lean, muscular body inked with what I’ve always heard called tribal designs. If I had not heard that term, I would call them geometric patterns that fit beautiful side by side on his tanned skin… his sun-kissed skin. I was thankful that I didn’t have to rush off since Pansie always gave me a later shift the day after Open Mic Wednesdays. Especially when the gorgeous man responded to my fingertip skimming lightly over a linear design that moved into a swirling circular shape. Amazing work!
And amazing hands created their own path along my inkless body. “You’re what I call a blank canvas,” he remarked.
“An ink virgin.” I laughed and he confessed to owning a tattoo shop back home.
“Singer, tattoo artist… and I’m guessing songwriter.” His hand stilled and I wondered if I had struck a chord or maybe he was anticipating more inquiries about his background. He was safe. I hadn’t planned on telling him much so I wasn’t about to question him. Of course, I couldn’t say all of that to him, so I dropped the words that had been dancing on the tip of my tongue since I looked more closely at his painted body—what does all of this mean? And then he shocked me with his own assumptions about me.
“So I’m assuming that you are a struggling singer waiting for her big break waiting tables at a café that has open mic nights… only you don’t usually give yourself a slot? You did steal mine.” He smiled and moved his hard, lean body between my legs. “Doesn’t actually compute… hmmm… The stage fright…”
Dipping his head to capture my lips, I reached up and ran my fingers along his closely cropped messy hair. “I thought you might’ve been in the military at first glance with your short hair, but the unruly element swayed me.”
“My father, one year, took all of the boys from the neighborhood into the garage when summer rolled around, he announced, ‘summer cut time.’ We all got the same butch cut thanks to an electric trimmer. We were like sheep lined up to be sheared clean for the hot, muggy summer. The moms on the block after that sent their boys down to our house every year until we became teens and wanted a different look. Not me, I love the tradition, only I don’t get it quite as short as the old days—I like a little personality to it.”
“It looks good on you.” I messed it up a bit with my hands.
“You know… you’re not getting off the hook.” Apparently, he realized that I had changed the subject. “You sang incredibly on stage in front of a crowd you can’t fade into the background anymore…” His words trailed off as if he was thinking out some master plan in his head. He looked so cute rubbing his stubbly chin with his hand as his elbows rested on either side of my head. I was surprised the closeness wasn’t bothering me. “I have a great idea for stage fright to get you in front—not back—of an audience… an adult living facility. They love to see young faces and they love music. Maybe not all music, but something tells me you know oldies but goodies.”
“I do know some. Not all rock and roll. I have a bit of a hankerin’ for Country… mainly new Country…” He probably knew that by my choice of song to sing for slot stealing. “I also learned some old romantic songs from my grandparents, aunts and uncles…”
“What? Do you come from a family of musicians?”
“You could say that. Our family gatherings include a lot of instruments and a lot of singing.” As far as I knew, my family was singing in the womb. I couldn’t think of anyone on both sides of my family that didn’t sing or play some instrument. That was all that I was telling.
“Okay, then it’s settled. I’m getting you on a local home’s schedule.” He looked so proud of himself with his announcement—it didn’t sound like a suggestion. “Now, I have another type of performance to discuss with you…” His mouth silenced any rebuttal I might have had and he perfectly played me like an instrument until I had to go home to get ready for work.
Back to the scene of our musical connection, Cafélicious was unusually quiet. I imagine everyone off doing their summer thing; hitting the beach; sailing on boats out of the harbor; kids squealing watching fish jump out of the water, and touching starfish at a nearby amusement park. Seeing Pansie, I refocused on work, anticipating words from her about my outburst on stage.
Praise was what I got. “You are amazing! I can’t believe how good you were. You are always humming and singing around tables, but that… that was…”
Saylor cut her off, finishing her sentence in unison with Marzi, “Fucking fantastic!”
I just smiled and shook my head. Although that didn’t work, they refused to let me ignore them and they made comments throughout the afternoon, the evening, and all the next day until Nate showed up early afternoon. I was happy to escape from their words: “You have to sing regularly at open mic night.” And to customers, “You should’ve seen our little Evie here singing the other night, you missed out on her performance, you have to see her next time, she was so great!” I don’t know about great… crazy for sure… and doing it again, I wasn’t certain about that.
Saved by Nate showing up at the end of my shift, or so I thought, he had his own set of plans for me. It appeared that there was no such luck of him forgetting about his scheme to work on my stage fright.
“You can’t disappoint the older generation. They’re looking forward to hearing you before their early bird dinner. We have been invited to join them, but I declined on your behalf.”
I was thankful for that part. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay and hear what they thought of my performance.
They accepted Nate’s excuse that we had more entertaining to do. And then he informed me that I needed to entertain him and he proposed takeout food be eaten in his bed. Smiling, I wasn’t opposed and reminded him that he needed to put his naughty thoughts on hold until after I pleasured the older generation first.
Arriving at the facility with Nate along to keep me from bolting or not even showing, not that I would do that to a waiting audience. A big waiting crowd. I had pictured a small gathering. That was not the case. The room was huge and packed, every seat filled amidst a sea of walkers and wheelchairs. The jitters started before they even saw me and I reached my hand into my travel bag I used for my music props; tambourine, harmonica, etcetera, and my trusty wig and beanie—in fact, I had a few in different colors.
“You don’t need that. You’re going to be great!”
“And you’ll be where?” I looked up at him with sad eyes I hoped would get me sympathy.
“Don’t give me that look.” He laughed softly, so sexy. “I will be your roadie off to the side if you need me.”
Moving to the front as instructed by the home director, I saw the slightly raised area complete with a solo chair for me. Introduced, I stepped up and said hello to my captive audience. Several said hello back and some waved—most greeted me with smiles and some made comments about me being young and pretty. Nerves waning a bit, I needed to break my tension.
“So my friend, Nate, told me all about you wonderful people…”
“Oh, I hope not too much dirt,” someone shouted out and I laughed.
“I heard you like music…” They clapped, nodded, and shouted out different music they liked and didn’t. “Well… I was wondering what you thought about my look… and if this…” I put on my long turquoise wig and a bright pink beanie. “Is this a better look?”
The crowd went wild. Discussions and comments and requests to wear my beanie arose. Probably not the right question, but it had me less nervous about my singing. And once I got the residents settled thanks to Nate handing me my bag and suggesting that I distribute some of my beanies and get started before some of them started falling asleep. So with eight different people wearing my beanies, I pulled out my guitar and began to strum, it was actually fun. Some requests that I received had me laughing:
“Do you know any Taylor Swift?”
“Do you know Willie Nelson? About the girls I’ve loved before.”
“Do you know Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?”
“Do you know Norwegian Wood or any Beatles?”
I had most of those covered. I knew some old Taylor Swift songs from her more Country phase. On the Road Again by Willie. The Twinkle song was a given from my beginning guitar lessons. The Beatles, I knew a couple on my guitar but not the ones they wanted to hear. Thankfully, Nate had my back as he said he would and joined me, playing my guitar—I sang along with him.
I have to admit that it was quite fun sitting in front of a room full of older people and I even promised to come back another time. I also promised that I would have enough brightly colored beanies for everyone to keep, leaving behind the ones I had passed out to a few residents to wear. I didn’t have the heart to ask for them back—besides they looked adorable with them covering their heads.
“That went very well. They loved your… your beanies.” Nate lifted me up laughing and swung me around after the room cleared. “They loved you,” he said, lowering me and placing a chaste kiss on my lips that wanted so much more. I swear I must’ve muttered something out loud to that effect since his next words nearly matched my thoughts. “I need you all to myself now, I shared you enough—mine now!”
I liked the word mine and the additional quick kiss he gave me before picking up my guitar case with one hand and grabbing my hand with the other to walk out. Then as he had promised, we went back to his loft and ordered a smorgasbord of food delivered by a car service from various downtown restaurants. With bags of goodies, we didn’t quite make it to the bed, but instead sat on big floor cushions at a coffee table in a sitting area of the loft. Opening everything, we ate somethings from our own forks and some fed by each other while drinking margaritas from cute mini bottles with different color striped paper straws—reminding me of pixie sticks. Maybe not a smart thing as the alcohol seemed to promote a buzz quicker than simply sipping them. Either way, we laughed and ate until we were overly full and grabbing our stomachs, screaming no more.
That was the light and airy and fun part of the night before it turned to a serious discussion about our relationship being casual and going nowhere as he was leaving the area at the end of the summer. Just what I had thought about him in the first place. Summer fling… summer lovin’… like in Grease with Sandy and Danny, I thought in my head listening to his words. And then I couldn’t get the damn song out of my head until he introduced me to a new repertoire of music to match with his fucking amazing moves… his amazing fuck moves. The rhythm for the night was old jazz and I had to ask who the hell the loft belonged to, I knew he was leasing it while the tenant was off traveling. But I never got an answer, he just shut me up with his hands and mouth and huge cock. Not complaining, I went with the dynamic flow that followed that night and for days after—never the same musical sounds, always our same moans and groans of incredible pleasure.