Ozzy

 

 

I WAKE UP in my rental at eight in the morning and flip on the television. An exposé about Puerto Rico following the disaster of Hurricane Maria relives the horror of those days. Even after all this time, the island is still recovering.

I turn off the TV and pick up my cell. “Hola, Mamí, how are you doing?”

“Much better now that I’ve heard your voice, hijo.”

Hearing her say “son” in Spanish soothes my soul. “I was just watching some old news coverage of Hurricane Maria.”

“Díos.” I spent some serious cash moving her and my younger brothers and sister to a safe area before the hurricane hit, but they still have to deal with fallout like rolling electricity outages from time to time. I’m glad I did this before Teresa cleaned me out. “Did you hear Jorge made the baseball team?”

“Sí, Pablo texted me.” My younger brother couldn’t wait for the baby of the family to call before he told me the good news. That’s how it works in my family. “I’m excited for him. How’s Papí doing?”

“Oh, you know. He’s still working and driving everyone crazy at the shop.”

I’d love to tell him to sell the auto body shop, but I know he loves it too much to stop. “At least he’s out of the house and not driving you crazy.”

She laughs. “Well, that’s true. So, have you had any word about your divorce?”

Never fond of my ex-wife, she asks me this every time we speak. I should’ve listened to her—would’ve saved me a boatload of dinero. “Actually, yes. Signed the papers the other day. It’s over.”

“Gracías a Dios. Good riddance.” When I don’t respond, she says, “So, tell me, hijo, when am I going to see you again? We can celebrate—it’s been too long. I have to resort to YouTube to catch glimpses of you.”

I close my eyes. I miss my family, but Teresa and Luis are back home and I don’t want to risk seeing those two ever again. Not to mention my commitments here. “I’m not sure. My contract with the Jade runs through the end of the year.”

“Well, hopefully, in January then. Maybe for Three Kings Day?”

Her hope springs through the phone. With everything so up in the air right now, I can’t commit. “I’ll try.”

Noise in the background like someone just entered her house filters through her cell. “Oh, Letzy is here with her little ones.” She says something to my sister, who pops onto the phone.

“Hola, big brother. How is life in Sin City treating you?”

“It’s great,” I half-lie. McKenna’s making life interesting. “How are my niece and nephew?” I don’t ask about their deadbeat baby daddy.

“They’re great. They’re growing like weeds and miss their Tío Ozzy. When will you come visit?”

This steady refrain—coupled with my desire to be as far away from my ex-wife and ex-best friend—is the reason I don’t call home much. Mom’s voice filters through—she’s playing with the kids. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on it. Listen, I have to go. Tell Mamí I’ll be in touch soon.”

The call disconnects and I flop onto my back. Last night’s show was good, probably one of my better ones in a while. That is, if I discount the night before, when McKenna was in the front row. I bet Mamí would love McKenna. She’s nothing like Teresa. Fuck. What is this woman doing to me? Despite my intentions, I didn’t have the desire to hook up with anyone after last night’s show either.

Hopping out of bed, I make my way to the kitchen where I down a protein shake. Then I strip and dive into the pool. Swimming laps always clears my mind. After one-hundred, I swim as far as I can go underwater and break the surface. I get out of the pool in roughly the same spot as two days before and check to see if anyone has joined me.

Well, hello there.

McKenna holds my towel out in front of her. Dripping wet, I saunter over to her, where she wraps the towel around my waist since I wasn’t about to do so.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

A light shade of pink stains her cheeks, but her chin goes up. “Thought I’d stop by to see how everything went last night.”

My pulse picks up and I run my index finger down her cheek. “And by that you mean you want to know how many chicks I hooked up with?”

“No. Not at all.” Biting her lip, she steps back. “I was actually wondering if you wrote any more of your new song.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

Turning, I make my way inside. “C’mon in. I’ll go change while you make us coffee.” I take another couple of steps and toss, “And the number was zero.” For some reason, I had to tell her the truth. I don’t look back and go straight to my bedroom. In minutes, I’m showered and downstairs again, led by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.

I pour myself a mug. Next to the coffeemaker is a plate of muffins. “Are these Grandma Gertie’s blueberry muffins?”

In a sing-song voice, she responds, “Maybe.”

I take a bite. Heaven. “Damn, woman, they are. Are you trying to fatten me up?”

She giggles. “I know you like them and I had some extras, so I brought them over.”

I finish the muffin in one bite and grab another. “For this, you deserve a reward.”

All sorts of rewards pop into my head—all of which involve us both, naked. Deferring to her protestations of not being interested in going another round, I opt for her reaction to the reason I slept alone last night. “I wrote the bridge to the song I started yesterday. With some lyrics. Want to hear it?”

She squeals. “Yes! I’d love to!”

Her exuberance feeds my ego. I motion toward the living room. “I left my guitar in there last night.”

She sits on the sofa and I take a spot on the chair, guitar in hand. I strum a few chords, more nervous now than I’ve been for a very long time. I glance at McKenna and take a deep breath.

“The working title for this song is ‘Take Me.’” I lick my lips and start the melody I wrote yesterday. I still don’t have lyrics for this part. When the time comes, I play the bridge, with the few lines I jotted down last night.

 

Tonight I’m all yours—Take me all the way

Make me forget and I’ll do the same

Your screams will drown out the noise

And mine will bring us to a higher plane

 

As I complete the bridge, additional parts of the melody form and I continue playing. When I reach the end of what I have, I do one final fast strumming of the strings.

After a second, she jumps up and runs to me, her arms coming around my neck. “That was hot,” she says, kissing my cheek. “It’s so fresh and different from anything you’ve done before. Just the sort of thing I need to let my imagination fly!”

She returns to her seat and rummages through her bag, pulling out her computer. “Can you play it again?”

“Sure.” I do, adding even more of the melody to the end. Finished, I grab the sheet music and scribble down the new notes. “What do you think?”

She’s clicking away on the keyboard, deep in thought. After a while, she places her laptop on the coffee table and turns the screen toward me. It’s a rough graphic that goes with the lyrics to the bridge, showing what looks to be El Yunque, the rainforest in the center of Puerto Rico with panoramic vistas of the ocean. Superimposed on a waterfall is a couple in skimpy bathing suits, kissing. It’s like she was there, in my head with me, seeing what I was seeing as I wrote the song.

My eyes travel to hers. She runs her hand through her hair, her feet shuffling on the rug. “It’s rough, of course. It’s what came to my mind while you were singing.”

My throat constricts. Blood rushes through my veins such that every molecule pings against my skin. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

Her eyes return to the graphics. “But do you like it?”

I can’t form words.

“It’s silly. Let me erase…”

“NO.” I startle her with my exuberance. “I like it. A lot. In fact.” I grab my guitar again and start playing the introduction to the song, lyrics falling from my lips as if they were crafted for the music. Well, I guess they kind of are.

When I finish, she says, “Ozzy, this is fantastic.”

Smiling, I grab my pencil and write down the lyrics before they disappear. When the last word tumbles from the lead, I toss the paper onto the coffee table next to her computer and collapse back into the chair. Placing my guitar on the floor, I stare at the ceiling.

“You think so?”

“I know a good song when I hear one. It’s like you’ve written a story around the couple in my graphics. You’ve given them a whole life.”

My lips tick upward. Without moving my neck, I reply, “Thanks.”

She picks up her laptop and resumes her clicking. I remain looking up at the ceiling for a good minute until my curiosity gets the better of me. Standing, I walk around and sit next to her. She refines the graphic, changes out the couple a few times, and plays with the colors. Makes it more vibrant.

“There. I think it’s better now. Still rough.”

“McKenna, it’s really good.” Lyrics jump into my brain and I pick up the sheet music and add the words to the song. We continue like this—she plays with the graphics and I compose—in silence. The only soundtrack being her keys clicking and my eraser changing words here and there.

Lost in the process, I have no idea how much time has passed when my creativity ebbs. But the song is basically finished. “I think it’s almost done.”

“Really?”

I nod. As I stand to get my guitar, Bans races into the room, knocking me over, slobbering kisses all over my face. McKenna scoots off the sofa. Laughing, I turn the other cheek to even out the doggie germs.

“Okay, down girl.”

The dog’s tail thumps against the back of the sofa and she barks.

“Is that right?”

She barks again. Laughing, I stand up and go over to her bowl, checking the time on the oven clock. It’s nearly four—how did that happen? “Sorry, Bans. I didn’t realize I missed your dinnertime.” I pour her kibbles into her bowl and she starts eating before I can pull the container away.

From across the room, McKenna says, “I can’t believe it got so late.”

“Me either,” I reply. At least we both were in the zone. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m not sure what’s here.” I open the refrigerator.

“Oh, I shouldn’t.”

“We have chicken and pork.” I pull out the chicken. “Want some Arroz con Pollo?”

“Well…”

Her voice trails off. Neither one of us has had anything to eat since the blueberry muffins. “It’ll take no time to whip up. Stay.”

“What can I do to help?”

I ask her to cut up some onions and carrots while I get busy preparing our meal. It’s going to be a shortcut version and not the authentic one Mamí makes, but still good.

Her hand steals one of the blueberry muffins and brings it toward her mouth. Grabbing her wrist, I tease, “Don’t mind if I do,” and take a bite of her delicious muffin. The blueberry kind.

“Hey.” She giggles. “Get your own.”

As we continue preparing our meal, Bans enters the kitchen and runs in a circle around us. While I’m amused, McKenna drops her cutting knife at least three times, her shoulders nearly at her ears.

Taking pity on my dinner companion, I send Bans outside. McKenna’s shoulders immediately drop into their normal place. “She’s really a sweetheart.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I’m just not a dog person.”

“Kinda picked that up.”

“But what an unusual name. Is it short for anything?” She places her elbows on the island.

“Yeah. For Banshee.”

“Oh.” She bounces off the island. “Why’d you name your dog that?”

No matter what’s happened today, I’m not ready to admit all the shit that went down with my ex-wife. So I give her a sanitized version. “I got her a few years ago when things were going pretty bad.” Not that things have gotten much better, but at least I’m free of that bitch forever. “I needed a name to express how I was feeling at the time, and ‘Banshee’ seemed to fit.”

I tense. I’m not sure how she’s going to react. So, I’m not prepared when she throws her head back and laughs. I can’t help myself and chuckle. “Damn. Well, that about sums everything up, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, are things better, now you’ve got Bans?”

“I think they’re turning around.” Because I wrote my first song, solo, ever. And McKenna’s here.

“Well, then, good.”

It dawns on me that I’ve been a crappy host. “Would you like something to drink? Our coffees went cold ages ago.”

“Tea would hit the spot.”

While I pour the water into mugs and put them in the microwave, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. I haven’t been this creative since I can remember. Well, truth be told, I never was this creative. Luis and I would often go off for a weekend hiking and drinking and sometimes smoking, then come back with a couple of tracks. This song, the one I wrote all by myself, only needs a tweak here and there, and it’ll be ready for Ginger.

What changed?

McKenna returns to the kitchen and I have my answer. And neither of us is naked. Yet.

I wink and serve our simple dinners. We eat in silence for a bit. When her plate is almost finished, she removes the fork from her mouth and points it at me. “This was a productive day, huh?”

Swallowing my last mouthful, I reply, “Yup.” I place the tines of the fork onto my empty plate and ask, “Any chance you’d like to come over tomorrow and do it again? I got a lot done when you were here.” That didn’t make me sound too much like a pussy. Right?

She takes another bite and chews, leaving me hanging in anticipation of her response. I focus on breathing in and out in a steady rhythm. Finally, she responds, “It was interesting to watch you work. Like my own private show.”

Air rushes out through my nose. “Was it now?”

“Oh, you know. As in, I’ve never watched another creative mastermind at work before.” She smiles and a little piece of cilantro is stuck at her gumline. Adorable.

“I’m no genius, that’s for sure.” I indicate she has something in her tooth.

She closes her mouth tight and I can see her tongue going over her teeth. She smiles at me. The cilantro is now stuck in her bottom row. I laugh and shake my head. Walking over, I use the tip of my napkin to remove the green bit. Still up in her face, I say, “There. All gone.”

“Thanks,” is her throaty response.

We stay like this for a couple of beats, her lips looking plumper by the second. The pulse at her neck pounds in a staccato rhythm. I grab her shoulders, squeezing and releasing them in time with her body’s reaction. Faster and faster.

She emits a small gasp.

With deliberate slowness, I close the gap between us. Not once does she protest what’s about to happen.

My lips cover hers, and I taste the Arroz con Pollo and the tea, plus something uniquely McKenna. Her arms come around my shoulders and I pull her upward, aligning her body with mine. Extending my tongue to her lips, she opens for me. Her hands climb into my hair.

She moans softly and I wrap my arms around her back, her tits slamming into my chest. I groan at the impact. Pulling my lips away from hers, I trail kisses down her throat. Her fingers rake through my hair, scraping my scalp.

Biting the shell of her ear, I return to her mouth. My hand slides around and cups her tit through her blouse. My cock strains against my shorts.

All of a sudden, Bans barks, jumps up and licks my face, breaking our embrace. McKenna races for safety around the island.

“Bans, down!” I look over at McKenna, who’s hiding her beautiful face behind her hands. “I swear, she’s never like this.” Maybe because McKenna’s the first woman I’ve brought here—Ginger doesn’t count.

Bans obeys and sits at my heel. McKenna heads to the living room, where I hear the zipper on her bag close. Commanding Bans to stay, I join her there.

“I have to head over to the Jade in a few minutes. Want to come with?”

She shakes her head. She repeats a similar excuse as last night. “I can’t tonight. But knock ‘em dead.”

I smile and run my hand through her hair, playing with the purple streak. “You didn’t answer my question from before. Want to set up shop here while we’re working on the Project? You can get a pipeline to my new songs.” I don’t confess she’s my new muse, but I suspect she already knows it.

“So long as that’s the only pipeline I’m getting, sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ozzy.”