Chapter 2

We lasted eleven weeks as the house band, a pretty good run. Our agent said it best.

"House bands are like strippers, once they get used to your face they get bored."

While we were there I got close to Sandy and Sammi, as friends. Because our schedules actually matched we could get together and go to movies, art galleries, flea markets, or just hang out. I thought things were fine until Sandy forced the issue.

"Look Wiley, you have to know we both like you. It's time to take it up a notch. We're not Mormons, polygamy isn't working for us."

I felt like I was about to go tap dancing in a minefield.

"I don't know. What if I decide I like you best but I just don't do it for you. What if I like Sammi and it ruins your friendship? Or ours?"

She grinned.

"We're big girls. Plus, we're not that close."

Well, no pain, no gain.

"Since you took the first step, are you by chance free Sunday?"

"Well" she smiled, "I was going to wash my hair, but since you asked so nicely I would be happy to see you Sunday."

"What would you like to do then?"

She surprised me.

"Oh no, you have to pick. Be creative, I get bored easily."

"All right. I'll pick you up at 2:00. Wear a nice conservative dress. And bring along jeans, at some point you might like to change. I have to go tune up now."

I saw her talking to Sammi later and she seemed irritated. I found out she assumed I would ask her first later...

When I went to pick up Sandy she was waiting at the door. At first she didn't recognize me because she was staring at my car. Up until then she had only seen my van.

"Is this your car?"

"No, I stole it to my way way over to make me look cool. Is it working?"

Not the response she was expecting.

"Yes it is. Now, when did you get this?"

"I've had it for about three years."

"It" was my 1969 Mach 1. It had the original 351 Cleveland engine, rebuilt. Loud 'glass pack' mufflers, a Holly dual line 780 four barrel carb, rebuilt three speed transmission with a short throw shifter. It would bark the tires in first and second. I had no idea what the top end was, I always chickened out about 110. No airbags.

What set mine apart from all the other 1969 Mach 1s' in the world was the paint job. It was a light blue, Carolina blue to be exact. And where the others had a black hood scoop, mine was pearl white.

I can hear the purists out there screaming. When I got it, it was dark blue. Possibly the ugliest stock color Ford ever had. It was heavily damaged on the driver side, by the time the body work was done I had already decided the paint scheme. I had seen one similar on a 1967 Chevelle and was impressed.

My paint and body man asked about the color, and when I told him what I wanted he almost paled.

"Not stock?" he said.

"No."

He argued, then stalled trying to change my mind. After two weeks I told him a wrecker would be coming tomorrow to take it to another paint shop. He had it finished in a week.

As little as I paid for it I felt like I was stealing it. After the body work, paint, and mechanical work I had just under nine thousand in it. It had 6,000 miles on the rebuild.

"How do you like my dress?"

It was a muted print with a knee lenght hemline.

"If you were going for school teacher sexy you nailed it. You look great."

I walked her to the car and opened the door for her. She seemed surprised.

"I'm kind of old fashioned. If you don't want me to open doors or pull out chairs, tell me now."

"No, I like it. I'm just not used to it. So, where are we going?"

"No, no. Surprise, remember."

We drove at a nice conservative pace, at no time did I go over 15 miles above the speed limit. By the look on her face when we pulled into the church parking lot I think my surprise worked.

"A church? Really?"

I could tell she wanted to ask more as she gave me her hand getting out of the car.

"You'll see." I said.

It was a performance of music from the fifteenth and sixteenth century, in period dress and using traditional instruments. It was mostly hymns, with ballads and the odd drinking song, cleaned up lyrically of course. The performers were from the local college music department.

I think she enjoyed at least part of it. It is an acquired taste.

Afterward we didn't talk much because of the crowd. I knew most of the performers and many in the audience, so I was constantly being greeted. We were separated for a few minutes but I quickly moved back to her. She changed into jeans and a tee in the church office, by permission of course.

We didn't talk much in the car, but she did hold my hand, as much as possible with a straight drive.

By then it was about six, on a pleasant early September day, Not too hot, not too cold, perfect for a picnic. I drove to a small state park that I knew wouldn't be too crowded this time of day. There were only three cars in the parking lot, all belonging to fishermen. There was a sixty acre lake, a large shelter for group functions, and picnic tables scattered around the lake shore.

After helping her out of the car, we got a picnic basket, a cooler, and a blanket out of the trunk. She picked a table and we set the stuff on it.

"So, we're on a picnic?"

"I thought you were smart. Would you like to eat now, or take a walk first?"

She chose to walk. We took one or the nature trails around the lake. I'd like to say we held hands, but the trail was at times to narrow and often uneven, so we talked. She would stop to look at the lake, or some tree or flower that took her interest. We made approving noises when an old man proudly showed us the two small mouth bass he had caught.

After we make the circle back to the picnic area I laid out our dinner, not letting her help...

Chicken salad with walnuts and chopped red grapes, a loaf of french bread, potato salad dressed with sour cream, fresh tarragon and chives, and a gallette, a rustic pie made with fresh winesap apples for dessert. Bottled water and a nice zinfandel for later.

She did slice the bread while I laid out the plates and silverware. There were only two of us and I hated plastic ware. We sat side by side on the blanket spread on the seat.

Sandy must have missed lunch, she ate two sandwiches, a large serving of potato salad, and a small piece of the pie. When she finished the first piece she got another. Didn't want to hurt my feelings, I guess.

"Where did you get lunch?" she asked as I uncorked the wine.

"I made it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." It always irked me that women thought that if you had a penis you couldn't turn on an oven or read directions. If you lived alone, you either learned to cook or lived a pretty dull life gastronomically. And my mother made sure both her boys knew how to cook.

Sipping wine she giggled.

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in an apron."

"You should see it. It says "Kiss me or get food poisoning."

She snorted into her wine.

Later as we were repacking the basket she asked how I knew so many people at the church.

"I went to school with some, have played with some, and I'm a member."

"Really?"

"Is that your favorite expression?"

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in church."

I should probably stop now and describe myself. Six feet tall, about 180 lbs. I go to the gym about twice a week to maintain my weight. Musicians aren't the healthiest of eaters and decided early on I didn't want to be the fat one in the band. Male pattern baldness started hitting hard around twenty five, a legacy from both grandfathers. I didn't want to be addicted to rogaine for the rest of my life so I buzzed my long hair down to a quarter inch, and grew a handle bar mustache and a long pointed goatee. Naturally brown, at odd times I've dyed it black, red, blond, even purple and green. Hey, bass players are supposed to be eccentric, right? Jimmie, the drummer, hated it when I dyed it red. He said he felt like he was playing with the devil. Can you guess how I dressed when we played Halloween parties?

I promised her I would take her with me sometime and that we would sit in the front pew.

I opened the car door but she stopped me.

"This has been a really great day. Only one thing could make it better."

I fell right into it.

"What would that be?"

"Can I drive home?"

Now, I like my car, but I not fanatical about it. I do have another car beside the van, but only one other person will ever drive it. And I hadn't met her yet.

"Do you know how to drive a stick?"

She just smiled and held out her hand for the keys. Then she gave me a kiss. It was only a couple of seconds, closed mouth, but it felt great.

She wasn't too bad. After pressing my imaginary brake pedal half a dozen times I gently asked how many points she had on her license, she took the hint and slowed down.

We pulled into her apartment lot about 9:30. As I helped her out of the car she gave me her version of puppy eyes.

"One more thing?"

I was always a sucker for puppy eyes.

"What would you like, honey?'

It was the first term of endearment I had used and it brought an large smile.

"I'm not much of a cook. Can I have the leftovers?"

I carried the cooler to the door for her. She stopped me there.

"I'd love to invite you in but my roommate is home and it would be awkward. Maybe next time we could go to your house."

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me. She gave me a goodnight kiss. Then she gave me another. They were getting longer and I was just feeling a bit of tongue when the porch light came on.

"Damn, is your roommate your mother?'

Trying to hold in laughter she said "No she's just nosey, We'll discuss this after I go in. I really had a great time. Thank you."

She grabbed me and gave me a probing, intense kiss, neighbors and roommate be damned. Then she went into her apartment laughing.

I had just had one of the best dates of my life, and I was still home by 10:30.

...

The date with Sammi went in a totally different direction. I had a rare Thursday night off, she changed shifts with one of the other waitresses so we could go out.

We went to a larger town thirty miles away. There was a new dance club she heard good things about. She was disappointed when I showed up in the van.

"Where's your hot car?"

It's at home under cover." It wasn't, I had it stored somewhere else.

"I wanted to ride in it. It looks so cool."

"We can go get it, but if we do we have to change plans. I don't know what kind of area this club is in. I heard it was in an old warehouse, warehouse districts aren't too secure. Plus it will be in a crowded parking lot where people will be less than vigilant because of alcohol. I know a great jazz club, if you would like to go there."

I could see the gears turning. Hot car or hot club? she went with the club.

We went to a sushi restaurant, her choice. I'm not a fan, but it wasn't bad. She had three cups of sake. She had the beginnings of a buzz before we got to the club.

It was about what I expected. An old warehouse with very little decor, it was dirty and drafty. The tables were cheap, the bar barely functional, and the sound system was about three times as powerful as it needed to be for the size of the building. As a general rule I don't like djs, every time someone hires one I feel like we lost the job, but this guy was pretty good.

Ever hear the old expression "This is about five minutes away from being five minutes ago?" I figure this place was in it's third minute.

That's why places like this don't spend a lot of money on decor or long term leases. They know they're just one buzz word away from extinction. So they jack up the drink prices and slip the reviewers a little something to keep their name on they're lips, and ride it until it falls over. Then they fade away only to pop up in a month or two somewhere else. If I sound disillusioned I'm not. It's just the way it is.

We quickly hooked up with George and Lynn, a couple we knew from the bar. I liked Lynn, but George seemed a little oily.

We got a table and ordered drinks. When the music started she grabbed me and we spent the next thirty minutes on the floor. Surprisingly, most musicians aren't good dancers. Too busy playing to learn I guess. I could dance fairly well, but had exhausted all my moves quickly. I dragged her off the floor to take a break and get something to drink. Seven bucks for a coke.

Sammi was swaying in her chair, George was bouncing in his chair, Lynn and I were just trying to catch our breath. Lynn looked at me and said "Should we turn them loose for a bit?"

I thought about it. This could be a test. If Sammi goes onto the floor without my input any relationship we could have would be over instantly. If she clears it with me first or flat out refuses her stock would go up quickly. I nodded yes.

She bent over and said something to George. He looked at me and got Sammi up. At first she refused and then looked at me.