Chapter 10

“Morning,” Moe smiled when Joe awoke. Whispered. Nigella remained asleep.

“You got more of that?” he responded gruffly, his throat not quite ready to talk.

“Here,” she smiled, handing him her mug. She liked it black. He didn’t but nevertheless sipped. One more sip cleared his palate enough to pull her into a kiss. Hands slid beneath her light cotton robe, around her nakedness. He pressed his hardness against her stomach. She pulled away and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

She sucked him in the shower, then turned it off before he came. Her hands gently pushed him to the floor of the tub, and she sank onto his hardness. Slow and loving. Continued until kisses moving from her mouth to her full breasts sped things up. He gripped her ass to take control and measure how deep he could go. Her hand slipped between them to rub her clit. Things got faster. He steered a finger into her asshole. His mouth became more aggressive on her nipples, teeth nibbling them. Her tremulous moan filled the small bathroom. He fucked her through it until he caught his release.

“Mmm,” she murmured, half smiling. “You’re showering my insides. I guess we need to shower our outsides.” She lifted off him. He gently turned her around, bringing her muff to his mouth, tasting mostly his semen there. “Joe,” she moaned with a tinge of resistance.

He ignored her. She accepted the attention, leaning forward and spreading her legs the best she could. He lapped at her until all he could taste was her. Fingers fucked her pussy, rubbing high. A finger also fucked her ass again. “Keep going! Keep going!” she insisted as he sucked on her clit, his tongue dabbing at it more and more forcefully. Her hands took hold of her tits, fingers squeezing and pulling the nipples. “Joe!” she moaned loudly. He tasted the abundance of female cum she let loose, savoring the flavor and his success.

He finally stood with her, embracing and kissing, giving her her flavor, which she enjoyed, licking around his mouth after the soft, lengthy kiss. She leaned by him and pulled the lever which luckily sustained the nearly too hot water which poured against his back.

Trading the washcloth, they washed each other. Some concentration on his hardening cock and her wondrous tits, but not inordinately. Washing her hair actually became the most sensuous action. He got harder during it. Her breathing became deeper. She felt his renewed erection against her stomach when he massaged her scalp, and against her lower back when they changed position so that she could rinse off the shampoo. “God,” she moaned, bending a little. He brought his penis to rest between her thighs, the tip caressing labia. His hands, once ending their scalp massage, reached around to rub her clit and pull on her nipples.

“Joe,” she moaned again. Her hand reached down, leading his glans inside her. Instead of going deeper, he used the head and his fingers to bring her over one last time.

“You want me to suck you?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he told her.

“That you are,” she chuckled, with its natural sexiness, making him reconsider.

Instead they finished washing. They dried separately, though both of them watched, appreciating each other’s bodies.

“I should check on Nige,” she finally said.

“How is she?”

She shrugged. “She pretty much passed out right away. She got pretty drunk and high. I could still smell the pot on her.”

“Jonesing?”

“Probably. Although I don’t think she’s been on it all that long. I called my dad. He said we can take his car.”

“Where to?”

“Depends on how adventurous you are. Definitely upstate. I know a cool store in Yonkers. Maybe something around Vassar in Poughkeepsie. Then bring Nige to her Alma Mater, Bard. I heard it’s really pretty there.”

“And maybe suggesting I check it out.”

“I’d rather you live in the city. Then to Woodstock. There’s a record store there. More hippy and folkie, but you never know. And an underground radio station. That we’ll definitely have to hit. Then maybe east to Amherst and the sister colleges there. You have to see the cool store. It’s a bookstore and record store and restaurant and bar and everything else. Then maybe Boston. Maybe visit the Rat. My band played there once. It’s really cool. It will probably be late, so we can get a couple rooms. Then head to Connecticut and Long Island tomorrow.”

“Wow. Ambitious.”

“Not up for it? You only gave yourself a week. You might as well take advantage being on the East Coast. Besides, Dad will be needing the car come the weekend. And I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“I bow to your wisdom,” he said and did.

“You better,” she chuckled, squeezing his half-hard dick. It didn’t make it harder, nor softer. “I’ll wake up Nige. We should get going.”

“I’ll dress and call the hotel,” he said. “And I should probably call Joanne. She set up the in store. And a visit to WBAI for broadcast on Monday, although I’m not sure it would be to Eddie’s usual fans. And a later visit to the public radio station. I have to make sure she didn’t squeeze something in while we head out of town.”

She nodded. He didn’t think she liked hearing about Joanne. But knew sometimes it had to be unavoidable.

Joe had his day bag in the living room with a change of clothes. He’d needed to get fresh clothes when he went to fetch Eddie. The key had the hotel’s phone number on its ring, and of course the room number. So he called Eddie and let it ring until Eddie picked up.

“Hello,” Eddie said roughly.

“You need to get up and get Cheryl up,” Joe told him. “We’ll be by in a half hour or so.”

“Okay,” he croaked and hung up.

Joe called Joanne next. “Having fun?” she asked him.

“New York’s amazing,” he told her.

“You are coming home?” she joked.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“The in-store obviously went well,” she said. “If you want I could send more singles via priority mail.”

“I would. And more of the live tapes.”

“To the hotel?”

“Problem is, I won’t be there for a couple days.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. A friend of Cheryl’s is letting us borrow her car,” he lied. “We’re heading upstate and to Massachusetts today. We’ll stay in Boston, then swing through Connecticut and Long Island tomorrow. It’s kind of why I called. I didn’t know if you set up anything while we might be gone.”

“That’s perfect actually,” she said. “I contacted a college radio station in Long Island. They said to come by anytime and they’d love to have Eddie play live.”

“Anytime?”

“Yeah. I told them I wasn’t sure when you’d visit. I could send the stuff there for you to pick up. You know when you could be there?”

“Not really. Sometime in the afternoon.”

“I’ll set it up for four. And let them know to expect the package. Here’s the address.”

“Just a second,” he said and grabbed his trusty legal pad. “Go ahead.”

She gave the address at Stony Brook. “How are the kids?” he asked her.

“With their dad.”

“Oh right.”

“You miss them.”

“I do.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he lied. Truth be told, he was with the woman he wanted to be with.

After a pause, she said, “Have fun.”

“Thanks. I’ll call.”

“Whenever you want,” she said, and hung up.

He didn’t know what to think. Maybe she heard the lie. Maybe it was just her time of the month. Or maybe he heard something not there, and his guilt projected. He had told her about Max. Probably because she expected it. But Moira? His soulmate who couldn’t be his soulmate? Beautiful, brilliant, and, most importantly, young? It would diminish her self-worth. A challenge she couldn’t win. Even though she knew they would separate soon, Joe promised Joanne he would visit. Only a few hours away, he could drive up for the weekend. Spend time with her and her kids. Even if she had Eddie. But did she still want Eddie? He knew things had shifted. She actually told him she loved him. He told her he loved her back, and he did. Because he felt close to her. He felt the connection. Nothing like he felt with Moira. And maybe she knew. She hadn’t said the l word. But he heard the pause. It was there, but she held back. Maybe he was supposed to fill that gap and didn’t.

Moira.

He went to check on them. The vision instantly made him hard. Sixty-nine. Nigella’s wonderful ass, not big, but pronounced on her petite body, hovering over Moe’s mouth. Firm and round. “Fuck her, Joe,” Moe said from between strong, light brown thighs.

“Condom in my purse,” Nigella murmured.

Confirmation.

He stripped swiftly. Found the package and ripped off a packet. Rolled on the rubber. Knelt and aimed. Pushed into slick heat. It felt tight going in. Almost sphincter tight. But looser beyond the entrance. Lively though. Subtle vibrations. Pulses. Slow thrusts went ever deeper. Until he felt the cervix just as his pelvis rested against the firm, fabulous ass.

He felt Moe’s tongue against his balls. And heard her say, “Fuck her, Joe. She needs a good hard fuck.”

“Please,” Nigella moaned.

“Fuck her until you cum.”

He grabbed her hips, gazing at her amazing ass and did as told. Deep and hard. Faster and faster. She moaned at every thrust. The sounds lifting higher when he nudged the deep barrier. That last bit of feeling reminding her he was fucking her to her very depths. He kept an angle, mostly to keep from bouncing against Moe’s skull. Somewhat downward. Scraping along the top of her cunt. It must have been where she needed it. Her head lifted off of Moe’s pussy. She growled and trembled. He kept fucking. She returned to sucking Moe. To obvious effect, especially with the vibrations of her moans.

“Ah fuck!” Moe exclaimed, arching beneath her lover. Hearing her release encouraged his. Or the hard, fast short strokes. He came within them, but kept them up. His finger reached around to rub the clit Moe had lost manipulating, distracted by ecstasy. And before he became limp, Nigella found her orgasm. And even as he began losing solidity inside her, he felt the intense reaction surround him.

“Gggoddd!” she exclaimed, undulating, like the manifestation of the waves of pleasure she experienced.

And he felt Moira’s tongue against his finger, and let her take over tending to Nigella’s clit, extending her climax until she couldn’t take it. He had to be quick, grabbing the edges of the condom so it didn’t remain inside her when she hopped off Moe and clung to her legs in the fetal position. Shivers kept passing through her, lessening over time. Until she let go of her legs, stretched out on the bed, and laughed.

“You were right you bitch,” she murmured. “I fucking needed that.”

“Good,” Moe chuckled. “Now get yourself dressed. We gotta go.”

“Yes Mistress,” she sighed, winking at him. Struggling to get up, she giggled and grabbed the condom off his penis. “Let me take care of that,” she said.

He caught her before she left the bedroom and kissed her. “Usually kisses come first,” he said.

“I do tend to do things backwards,” she giggled, and pulled him down for a harder kiss. She had thicker lips then he had ever felt. They felt sensuous pressed hard against his. He tasted Moe, especially when her tongue darted into his mouth and touched his. A brief electric moment. She giggled and left him. He watched her round ass bounce.

“Where are you going with that?” Moe yelled.

“A girl’s got to piss,” Nigella yelled back.

“No time for a shower.”

“I don’t mind staying sweaty if you don’t.”

Moe chuckled and pawed Joe’s groin, touching the remains of Nigella’s excitement. “You don’t mind smelling of sex?” she asked him before kissing him.

“Nope,” he said afterwards, grabbing his undies.

“Me neither,” she said, putting hers on as well.

They dressed for the weather. Shorts and short sleeved shirts. Hers were all black. An oversized t-shirt hid her assets, somewhat, the black bra restraining them. He wore his usual white button down shirt and khakis.

They stepped out to see Nigella dressing. White bra and panties. She put on a deep red button down shirt and a slim knee length skirt, a dark brown. Once their shoes were on, they grabbed their day bags. “Just a second,” said Nigella and dashed into the bedroom, coming out wearing the white wig.

“You don’t need that,” he said. Something he never noticed about a woman. She had a beautiful skull.

“For Eddie,” she shrugged.

They caught a cab heading north on Sixth Avenue (or Avenue of the Americas). The cab dropped him off at the hotel and the two ladies continued to Moe’s condo which overlooked Lincoln Center where she picked up her dad’s car.

He opened the hotel room door and found Eddie naked and looking dazed. “You okay?” Joe asked him.

“I don’t think she likes me,” he murmured. “She’s so ... perfect.”

Joe sighed. He didn’t want to be the one to tell him. He hoped a woman would let him know. “Look at me, Eddie,” he said.

“I should get dressed. I guess I don’t have time to shower.”

He got up and went through his bag, pulling out what he needed. The bathroom door opened, letting out steam. Cheryl emerged, dressed in Joe’s shirt. She smiled at him. “Hey Joe.” She embraced him. She kissed him. Somehow he pulled away. Her in his shirt and no glasses. Gorgeous and sexy.

Pulling out of his own daze, he asked her, “You did bring clothing?”

She pouted cutely. “I thought you liked me in this. Eddie told me I look hot in it.”

“She does,” Eddie murmured. “You do.”

Joe went to his bag and found a change of clothing, pulling out his dirty clothes from the day bag and replacing them with fresh. “We’re probably going to be gone for a couple days,” he told them, “So you’ll need to pack a change of clothes. And no, Cheryl, I don’t have enough shirts to share.”

She giggled. “You want me to change?” and started unbuttoning.

“No. No. It’s fine. You do look hot.”

“Good.” She found her glasses and at least looked viewable to his stupid libido.

“When you’re done packing, Cheryl, could you wait in the lobby? Or maybe out front. They should be here soon. Moira’s borrowing her dad’s car.”

“Sure. What kind of car are they driving?”

“I forgot to ask. Look for a black chick in a ... with white hair waving at you I guess.”

“That should be easy to spot,” she giggled. “Okay. See you in a minute.”

After she left, Eddie asked him, “What’s up?”

“You do know how to perform cunniligus?”

“It’s not my favorite thing.”

Joe sighed. “It should be. You know women aren’t like us.”

“Obviously.”

“I mean it takes them time to cum. Things have to be ... right. What do you do to get them ready? I mean you have a pretty thick dick.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment, Eddie. It means they need to be slick for it. So it doesn’t hurt.”

“Of course. You mean foreplay? We kiss. I fondle their tits. Suck their nipples. I ... finger them. I know they need to be wet.”

“Do you at least wet your fingers? Dry is dry, even for those.”

“Uhm. Okay.”

“Do they blow you?”

“Uhm, yeah. Sam got really good at it.”

“Did she swallow?”

“That was what made it so good.”

“And ... before you got hard again?”

“More of the same I guess. Fingering. Tit sucking. I love sucking tits. I recover pretty quickly,” he ended prideful.

“You don’t think to reward them for blowing you?”

“They like it. Don’t they? But ... Joanne’s big into that.”

“Into what?”

“Having me lick her.”

“And then?”

“I get hard. We fuck.”

“Don’t you get it’s not enough?”

“What do you mean? They like it hard. Lots of stimulation.”

“A lot of women can’t even cum with just intercourse.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“It feels so good. It looks so hot, my cock stuffed inside their little pussies. And like you said, I’m thick. Lots of stimulation.”

“Just ... believe me, it’s not enough. Just ... try it. Try cunnilingus. Ask her what works. Do it till she cums, however long it takes.”

“But I thought sex was supposed to be fun.”

“You’ll still fuck her, Eddie. And she’ll like it a lot more. Listen. Cheryl has problems with men cumming too quickly. And it’s not easy getting her off.”

“So she’s frigid and she blames me.”

“Fuck you Eddie.” He took a breath. He had to try. He really didn’t want Cheryl to be another woman looking to be with him after Eddie didn’t satisfy her. Because he agreed with Moe. He really wanted it to just be them. And Nigella he guessed. Hopefully later. Or just sometimes. At least Moe liked Nigella. He did too. And that ass. Wow. Okay. Eddie. Cheryl.

Next try. “You like Cheryl,” he asked him.

“She’s fucking hot. You don’t think so?”

“Of course she is.” Crude. Be crude. “And you want to keep tapping that?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Moe,” he thought. Out loud, he said, “If you want that ... that amazing body ... that gorgeous face ... try what I’m asking. Go down on her. Don’t stop until she cums. If you get that craving to hop on and fuck her, don’t. Masturbate. Or let her masturbate you.”

“Sixty-nine?”

“Too distracting. It has to be all about her. You want her, that’s what it will take. Make her cum with your mouth, then keep going. Make her ready for another. Then fuck her. Only then. Understand?”

“That’s the only way?”

“That’s the only way.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Joe?” Eddie said as they gathered their stuff.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you, too.” His guitar in hand, they left the room.

Moe guided Joe on their journey to Yonkers, to a very nice modernist house. Small. A larger lot of land compared to the neighbors with their huge houses. With lovely beds of flowers and well-tended grass.

The woman who stood from her plot of deep red roses, despite the dirty jeans and a faded flowery shirt tied off to expose her slightly thickened middle, gloves removed to wipe away sweat and the wisps of blonde hair not captured by the elastic that held the rest in a ponytail, had patrician features. And some of her daughter’s features, including an even more hefty bosom. Her gaze fell on him.

“Moira,” she said disapprovingly. “I thought your father had come home for some reason.”

“Sorry,” Moe muttered. “I guess we should go,” she said to Joe.

“Moira!” her mother shouted. “Who is this boy driving your father’s car!”

“My boyfriend!” Moira yelled back.

He decided to walk up to this woman. Show some maturity. “Joe Solomon, Mrs. Johansson.” He lifted his hand to shake hers. “I love your daughter.”

Her expression shifted. She accepted his offer. “Oh my. You’re a tall one.” She took another inventory. White button down shirt. Khaki shorts. Respectable. “I’m a mess.”

“You look cute,” said Moe.

Her mom shook her head. “I suppose it’s lunch time. You hungry?”

“Always,” he grinned.

“Come in.”

As they followed her into the house, he asked her, “You had this built?”

“Yes. Didn’t need those stupid mansions surrounding us.”

She pulled homemade bread onto the steel and glass table, matching the steel and glass of the kitchen. It smelled of rosemary.

“Bathroom?” Nigella asked.

“I’ll show you,” said Moe.

From the big steel fridge, her mom pulled out top of the line sausages and cheeses. Arugula for lettuce. Homegrown tomato. Grey Poupon. Some sort of green garlicy spread.

“Drinks?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of champagne. French. Expensive. “I made some sun tea.”

“Beer?” asked Eddie.

Joe gave him the stink eye.

“My husband brings it home,” she said. “I don’t drink it.”

“Water’s fine,” Joe said.

“Perrier?”

“Tap’s fine.”

“Perrier for me,” said Cheryl.

“Maybe some champagne?” said Eddie.

“Sorry about Eddie,” he said. “He’s trying on the dissolute rocker mold.”

“Is he? A dissolute rocker?”

Joe shrugged.

“And you?”

“Trying to be a writer?”

“Trying?”

“I write. I’ve written a couple successful plays. At least high school successful. I’m working on a novel.”

“How old are you?”

“Just turned eighteen.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“Minneapolis. Actually a small town south of there, but I live there now.”

“But...”

“We met at Grinnell,” her daughter responded, just coming back from the bathroom. Cheryl hurried to it. “We fell in love. He’s visiting.”

“But you said he was your boyfriend.”

“I love him, Mom.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“We’re enjoying our time together when we can. I’m hoping he changes his mind about schools.”

“I’m pretty much stuck with Grinnell,” he said. “Scholarship’s good.”

“I bet if he took some time off, he’d find something in the city. Hunter or something. He’s got great grades and decent SAT’s.”

He did actually. He studied for them. Got 95^th percentile in the literary side of things. High 80’s in math. Not enough to truly impress, but enough not to be scoffed at.

“Is Grinnell good?” asked her mother.

“Very.”

“He wants to be away from home, but not too far,” Moe muttered. “He’s got his...”

“His what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“I think he wants to keep his eye on me,” Eddie smirked. “Worried I might go to the dark side.”

“Maybe,” Joe chuckled. “Mostly it has to with us sharing a manager. She’s been looking out for us.”

“She?” asked Mrs. Johansson, looking at her daughter.

“Yeah,” Moe muttered. “She.”

“So,” Eddie cut in thankfully. “Nice crib. Nice car. I heard say your husband’s got a nice apartment in the city.”

“Used to be our home,” said Moe’s mom. “I was hoping he’d get rid of it, but he built the office.”

“He loves his office,” said Moe.

“He should love me more. He promised to sell off his piece of the partnership and that piece of prime real estate once you and your sister left home. He claims it’s hard selling two condos in one. I don’t think he ever tried. I know he could if he wanted to.”

“Work is his life Mom. He could have sat back years ago. Just got final approval or schmoozed for the highest level clients. But he still loves the creative process. Still loves working with a team. Who still come up with the unique ads that his company is known for. The company won’t be the same without him.”

“Love, love, love.”

“He comes up here every weekend.”

“True,” Moe’s mother sighed.

“Great sandwich,” said Eddie.

And it was. Nevertheless they laughed.

Things got less deep. They told her about the plans for the day. She agreed it was ambitious. She even suggested a natural foods restaurant in Woodstock.

They left without the tomatoes she offered, of which she had an abundance. Or a bottle of champagne Eddie begged her for. She let him taste it, and he definitely wanted more. She drank at least two full glasses of the stuff. But they did take some of her bread and a small Tupperware container with the garlic spread. It might offset the smell of the pot Moe stopped to buy at a Puerto Rican social club in the East Village before they left. They actually reeked of it when they visited her mom. She told them her parents used to smoke it, and still did on occasion. Stronger stuff would have been frowned on. It seemed at least Moe agreed with them on that. No pills or powders for her.

They had stopped at a cool Yonkers record store before, leaving them with a promo copy of the single, a couple bootleg tapes and three singles the guy bought.

Afterwards they found a halfway decent record store in Poughkeepsie which bought only a couple singles and got a promo before they headed up to Bard.

It was a lovely campus in the Hudson Valley. Nigella ended up bumping into a former music professor and a couple students she had known. It turned out they had a summer program for musicians with a little festival in which the president of Bard conducted at the end. They actually met the guy. Nice enough, but with an ego of some magnitude. The guy created a festival so he could show off his conducting skills.

Her professor asked her to play. And, because they were working on some Spanish composers work, a guitarist had a nice 12 string which Eddie politely asked to play. Nigella took the huge upright bass Joe didn’t know she could play. “I learned on it,” she told him. “But it’s not exactly portable.”

Eddie improvised off of some Spanish composer he had learned years before and Nigella basically jammed with him. It reminded Joe of Eddie with Belle, but so much better. Someone recorded the nearly 45 minutes. The bootleg became a unique item, much debated about its authenticity.

They left and headed to Woodstock. Dinner at the recommended restaurant. Vegetarian. Moe liked it better than the rest of them, since that was her chosen food, and she found it better than what she’d found before. The record store only bought a couple singles, and didn’t even want the promo. Definitely hippy, with a dash of pretty deep jazz. Joe bought a Sam Rivers album and the Art Ensemble of Chicago album the store clerk played for him. People in Sorrow. Very cool. He also let them know where to find the underground station.

The store also had some guitars. Locally made. Eddie fell in love with a tenor sized ukulele. He bought it and an electroacoustic bass for Nigella. The ukulele actually had a pick up, too. Supposedly the guy who made the guitars actually made the pickups. Joe didn’t know Eddie carried that kind of money. “For this,” Eddie told him. Joe had to talk him out of buying the tube amp they played through, reminding him they would be flying home. The local guy made that too.

They found where the station came from, in a small house in the woods west of the main community. The older, scruffy, unshaved and unbathed man opened the door and left them there. “Got to change records. In the basement,” he yelled. They followed him down to the studio. The cinderblock walls actually had small windows and a door, the house being built on a hill. “Go ahead and plug in and turn on the amps,” came from speakers in the room. He was in a soundproof studio, obvious when he pointed to his ear when Eddie asked about patch cords. He pointed to the mic on a stand. Eddie turned it on and asked again. “In the armoire,” he said through the speaker. Eddie opened the large wooden antique.

“You expecting someone?” he asked in the mic.

“I saw the instruments,” the rough looking guy chuckled. “What you play?”

“Kind of hardcore, but tuneful,” he said, waiting for rejection.

“Cool,” he said. “I was the first to blow the minds of the old hippies here with the Sex Pistols.”

“The guy at the record store didn’t seem to think anyone around here’s interested.”

“It annoys him when they buy that stuff,” he laughed.

It was weird having a conversation via speakers.

Joe turned and helped Eddie and Nigella setting up.

“You girls can come back here,” the radio guy offered.

Moe and Cheryl accepted and it amused Joe watching the old guy eye them as they perused the shelves of records along the walls behind him. Joe certainly couldn’t blame him.

“Uhm?” asked Eddie. “How do we set up the mics?”

“Depends. You can plug them into the amps you’re plugging your guitars into, or into the panel the mic you’re using plugs into and use the out plugs in the same panel for the shell headphones. You’ll hear what it will sound like broadcast that way.”

“We’re pretty much acoustic. Nige can plug in her new bass. Or...” he smiled. “You got mics in front of the amps.”

“Yeah. They’re already plugged into my deck. They’re actually top of the line.”

“I can see that. Cool.”

Eddie got out his new toy, the large sized ukulele. He tuned it like Nige tuned her bass. They both had four strings after all. Somehow he knew the fingering for chords despite the different tuning. Part of his musical genius. Both seemed to have perfect pitch. No need for a tuning device or a piano or anything. He smiled the whole time, figuring it out. “You want this mic for ambience?” he asked at one point.

“Probably have problems with feedback.”

“Yeah. Joe? You get what we’re doing?”

“I think so,” he said.

“I’ll turn this off when we’re ready,” Eddie said to the dj. “We’ll need a little time.”

“No hurry,” the older guy smiled. Moe had an album that excited her. A band called Suicide. The dj put it on for her. Joe saw he let her talk into the mic, broadcasting. Leaning against him. Both wearing headphones. Joe felt a little jealous. Her wink at him helped him get over that silliness.

While Eddie and Nigella lightly worked on their new instruments, humorously playing a medley of early Elvis songs, starting with Hound Dog, then Jailhouse Rock, and getting more serious with Heartbreak Hotel, the door leading outside opened and a tall blonde woman, as scruffy and about the same age as the dj, but a lot prettier, entered with a reflex and a polaroid camera hanging from her neck. “Could you help me with the lights?” she asked Joe.