Chapter 20

“I love your little room,” said Nigella from Joe’s bedroom.

He was in his parent’s room, in their big closet, getting a couple of syringes. He knew they’d be at work. He worried Patty would be home. It was pretty early. But evidently she had gotten up early and gone out. Or had stayed with a friend overnight. He actually had a plan if she were there and up. Making breakfast for her and Nigella, and sneaking up while Nigella engaged her in conversation. The subterfuge, even if only imagined, added to the feeling that this was a really bad idea. But heroin called him like a siren, even though he was aware of the rocks. The stigma of being called a junky, even worse than being called a drunk. But he thought he could avoid them. The destruction. Because a junky is like an alcoholic. You need to be a true addict to suffer the consequences. Compelled to keep shooting up by one’s own inner demon. An occasional user, what he heard called a weekend user, wouldn’t suffer the consequences of desperation. He wanted to get high, but he didn’t have to get high.

Rehearsal the night before had been casual. He decided to hold it in the dining room, since the Monsters set up in the basement. A read through and a look at a plan of the Southern for blocking and for Simon, Fred and Constance to discuss the set and lights with him.

Belle had come with Claire so that the Monsters, with their new bassist, could rehearse as soon as possible. The two lesbian lovers shared a beat up old car that Belle made work with duct tape and twine almost literally. The advantage of being an apprentice mechanic, getting a junker for free and making it drivable. Belle would have to wake up ungodly early to make it to work, and she had left a couple hours before Nigella and Joe had.

In the car, Nigella had told him about the confrontation between Belle and Rachel. A quick one that made Nigella admire the thickset half Indian woman even more than her instant liking of one of his best friend. After a long stare down, Belle simply told Rachel she’d kick the shit out of her if she ever threatened her place in the band. Rachel looked to Eddie to defend. Eddie just shrugged. And smirked. Driving Rachel away, literally. She left. Went home. Eddie would get a ride with the brothers to sleep with her. Joe would end up picking him up on his way back to the mansion. He needed him for his rehearsal. The Monsters would rehearse afterwards.

The first conversation with Nigella in the car had been a tentative one. But it obviously had priority in his mind since it was first.

“I know how to ... uhm ... score some ... uhm ... stuff,” he stuttered.

“Stuff? You mean dope?”

“Uhm, yeah.”

“Fuck Joe.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know if I want to know your connection.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he said.

Logistics would come later.

“Got them.” he said when he entered his old bedroom.

She lay in his bed. Naked from the waist down. Her button down shirt, white like mine, his, and her hand held a tit inside her white bra cup. Her other hand caressed her pussy.

“I miss you Joe,” she moaned.

He immediately stripped, his penis already hard enough to bounce out. She stripped off the remainder of her clothing as he knelt at the end of the bed and pulled her down so that his mouth could take the place of her hand at her pussy. Moments and a couple of erotic sounds of pleasure later, she requested, “Can I suck you, too?”

He almost laughed at the obvious answer, but the thrill kept him silent. Sliding into his bed, on his back, she turned her lithe body around and straddled his face.

He loved her pungency. He loved the way she fellated him, as if making love to it. But mostly he loved her round, firm ass. And he told her so, as his eyes studied it, and at least one hand caressed and squeezed it.

“You got a sweet little ass, too,” she said between sucks. “But I’m totally in love with this long thick white pole with the purple cap.”

“I can tell,” he moaned and chuckled simultaneously.

He knew when she had enough sucking. She rolled on a condom and turned around. Her hand remained on it while her head bent down, making sure of its placement. And she continued watching as she dropped, sending him all the way in. A languorous journey through a tight space.

“Fuck Joe,” she looked at him. “I definitely missed you.”

And she began riding him. Slow became fast fairly quickly. For some reason he just watched, his hands only holding her ass, adding some extra pressure when her cunt lips made impact against him. He watched his shaft, wearing a light beige coat, appear and disappear. And he watched the way her firm tits bounced and shook and sometimes made a little circle when her bouncing became more adventurous.

So it was her fingers that gave the additional friction bringing her over, the bouncing becoming wildly chaotic and energetic. Until she stilled and squealed and his hands took control. Pulling her to rub pubic bones. Lifting and pulling down again. Until her intense orgasm faded.

He took control immediately. Sitting up. Pulling them back on the bed. Until she was beneath him still connected. Whereupon he fucked her hard. And his lips and fingers finally took hold of her taut nipples. Sucking. Nipping. Squeezing. Twisting. Until he reached ecstasy. But kept fucking because he could tell she was close.

Her quieter, almost silent squeal ended his ravishment. Again he pushed pubic bone against pubic bone, feeling her lively throbs surround his half spent penis which soon became completely spent. And while her last shocks of bliss still continued, he made sure the condom remained on him rather than ending up in her releasing their contents. Even though he had a feeling the covering protected against disease rather than pregnancy.

He finally asked her about that as he pulled off the condom and placed it on a tissue. “Yeah, I take the pill,” she said as she rested on his shoulder.

“You always have your men wear protection?” he asked.

“I know where you’re going, but it’s not going to happen,” she explained. “Partly because I’ve been known to miss a pill, especially when I was partying. Getting high every night, you know? But partly it’s just a good idea. Keep us both safe.”

“Okay,” he said and pulled her into a kiss. She had lips kind of like her ass. Fuller. Firmer. But soft against his lips. Moving subtly. Sensuously. Excitingly. Enough to get him started towards another erection, especially when her tongue came out to play. He realized her lips ranked pretty high in his attraction to her. She had a very expressive mouth. Smiles. Frowns. Whatever feelings got expressed clearly by those lips. And what they could do to his cock!

When she shifted down after the kiss, her juicy pussy sliding against his abdomen, she giggled and lifted a little, then lowered, rubbing those juicy lips against his incipient hard on. “You’re ready for another, big boy?”

“You’re the most erotic creature I’ve ever met,” he told her.

She sighed. “We should probably get going,” but the rubbing continued.

“You’re not making it easier.”

“No, I’m making it harder,” she chuckled. But relented, lifting off him and getting dressed, which he watched. Just the way she moved. Covering her parts. White on black. Or at least brown. The color of wet sand maybe. White bra and panties contrasted though. White shirt. Only the black jeans, tight enough for her to struggle pulling them over her luscious ass, didn’t emphasize the lovely color of her skin.

“Joe?” she said. “Getting dressed?”

“Just enjoying the show.”

“Reverse stripper?”

“Yeah.”

She chuckled and shook her head before hiding her hair beneath her white wig. “I’m going to find some nosh. Coffee?”

“Sure.”

He watched that ass leave. Even clothed it looked delicious.

They stole a couple travel mugs to bring with them on their journey into the city. He’d bring them back. And they ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The speakers spewed out jazz. Coltrane at his most extreme. Ascension. Africa. Brilliant.

Between marveling at the wails of his tenor and the other players, including the wailing drums of Rasheed Ali, they talked. Comfortably. About anything and everything. Music. Politics. Theater, including her father’s work at Penumbra, and his encounter of bias at Red Eye.

“Fuck them,” she said. “You going to submit a play?”

“I have to write it first.”

“Then write it.”

“I will. I’ve already done the long part.”

“What’s that?”

“Mulling it over.”

“Cool. When are you going to have time?”

“I’ll make time. I kind of have to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I always have to write something every day. Something new, not just editing.”

“And have you been? Writing I mean?”

“Uhm ... Not really.”

“Since when?”

“New York? Maybe earlier? Chicago? Shit.”

“Joe. What’s gotten in your way?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Traveling. Selling Eddie. Ever since I left the workshop really. Shit.”

“And what else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fucking? Getting high? Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean fucking. Getting high. Traveling. Working. On everything but your writing.”

“I’m...”

“You’re directing your work. I get it. But...”

“But what?”

“I get this image of a writer. Like a hermit wearing some beat up smelly robe. Because no one’s around to care what you smell like. Swigging coffee and smoking cigarettes. Typing away incessantly. Because you’re caught up in your work. Your mind manifested on the page. And that’s all that matters. Giving into your words. Nothing else matters.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a solitary life, Joe. The rest of the world be damned. Just you and the typewriter the entirety of your existence. At least when you’re doing your work. When you’re composing. Inventing. Creating something out of nothing. Turning a blank page into brilliance. That’s what I see.”

He chuckled.

“What?” she asked.

“It just reminds me of my favorite painter. Oskar Kokoschka.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

“He’s a German Expressionist. Jonathon actually has a painting of his in the dining room, which blew me away. It must have cost a good piece of dough. But anyway, he coded his work. Used initials referring to whatever drug he had taken while painting. Coffee. Cigarettes. Cocaine. Whatever.”

“And you think his intake of drugs made a difference?”

“He seemed to think so.”

“And what have you done on drugs? Heroin for instance?”

“I created probably my best poem on LSD.”

“Joe,” she shook her head. “Don’t make that mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“Coltrane.”

“What about him?”

“You know he was a junky?”

“I heard.”

“Bird. Charlie Parker. I don’t know how many players thought him being a junky made him great. Even after it fucking killed him. Coltrane was one of them. But you know what?”

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong. He was good before he kicked. I mean, fucking Miles Davis? He’s not going to hire anyone unless they’re a top player. But after ... Just listen to him. He went from great to being perhaps the greatest sax player who ever lived. I mean fucking A Love Supreme? Has anything sounded as amazing as the introduction? Like a fucking sunrise! And that fucking theme.” She sang it. “Fuck. That happened after he cleaned up. Giant Steps. My Favorite Things.”

“So you don’t want to get high?”

“Of course I want to get high! I want to get lost in the sauce! Lost, you asshole. Absent. Nodding. Dreamy. No pain.”

“No pain no gain,” he said.

“Exactly!”

“But I just ... I want to know what it’s like. I want to know everything about life.”

“Excuses, Joe. Believe me I’ve heard them. I’ve fucking said them. You want to experience things. What about killing? You want to kill someone to feel what it’s feels like?”

“Of course not.”

“You could be a soldier. If there’s another war, you’d have an excuse.”

“No thanks. If nothing else I’d probably be tossed in the brig for smarting off to my drill sergeant.”

“There’s another experience. Jail. Almost as intense I imagine as being shot at and shooting back. You gonna break the law to get that experience.”

“No.”

“No. So stop with the fucking excuses! You’ve done it. You’ve gotten fucking high. You fucking like it Joe. I think it’s your fucking drug of choice! Mine too, goddamnit! You keep going and you’ll get your fucking experience. Becoming a fucking junky. That’s what it comes to. That would be your war. Your jail.”

“Yeah.”

“Moe was right. It scared her away, Joe. She asked you not to. Not to snort coke. Not to shoot dope.”

“She told me not to.”

“Because it scared her Joe. She could tell you liked it. And ... she knew you wouldn’t listen to her. If you ended up with her, she knew you’d be sneaking around and lying to her.”

“Okay.”

“And Joanne’s the same.”

“She told Moira about the coke.”

“Because she’s worried. Unfortunately your screwy relationship with her prevents her from confronting you. And ... she saw what happened with Moe. She doesn’t want to lose you. Between drugs and being seen as a controlling bitch ... she doesn’t know what to do. She talked to me last night.”

He stiffened. “What about?”

“She thinks I’m a bad influence. And it looks like she’s right.”

“Damn it!”

“She loves you, Joe. She cares. She’s fucking worried!”

“Why can’t they leave it alone? Why can’t I have some adventures? Some fun? I’ve been cooped up in a small fucking town and I feel like I’ve been released. Like a lion from his cage. I just want to get wild for a while.”

“The problem is your adventures have cataclysmic results. Not the least of which is it’s tamping down your creativity. And it only will get worse, believe me.”

“Yeah, Eddie felt that about heroin. But coke...”

“It won’t last. So he goes a bit mad, gets a bit free, when he snorts and drinks. He’ll hit a wall, or maybe he’s smart enough to see the wall before he hits it.”

Joe chuckled. “He is smarter than he looks. But Rachel...”

“Not the best choice,” she said. “Understandable, her being incredibly hot. But she’s a selfish cunt.”

“That she is.”

“It’s more than that with her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Women in his life tend to control him. He’s got a history. His first girl, Sam. And Joanne to some extent. I think he wants that.”

“I assume you mean girlfriends, because he does like his groupies.”

“I do.”

“I don’t know. That whole thing with Belle. You worried about that. Some bad blood.”

“Yeah. Sam kind of encouraged him to get rid of her, which he did.”

“But she’s obviously back.”

“Yeah.”

“She does have a unique presence. And her playing makes the Monsters unique as well.”

“Just like you.”

“Thanks. Cute boys and weird girls and Eddie at the center being intense and brilliant. If nothing else, we’re memorable. And I think there’s a lot more.”

“Me too.”

“But ... I don’t know. Maybe Eddie changed. As far as having his girlfriends in charge.”

“Because Belle faced her down, and Eddie not supporting her.”

“Yeah. And Eddie was sober. Stoned, of course, but not coked out or drunk even though I could tell Rachel was.”

“Interesting. Maybe Rachel didn’t get her claws in like she hoped.”

“I hope so. She doesn’t like me either.”

“Of course not. She couldn’t get you to give her head.”

“I wouldn’t touch that nasty, slutty cunt with a ten foot pole, even if Eddie wasn’t involved.”

They laughed.

“Maybe one more time,” he practically begged. “I did get the works.”

“Fuck,” said Nigella.

All in all, things went well that day. He picked up his slacks from the haberdasher. No pants ever fit him so well. And he bought Nigella a silky white shirt she couldn’t take her eyes off of. They went home and moved her stuff into the basement, except a bag of clothes he insisted she leave in the master bedroom. He had just enough time to shower and change. They dropped off the U-Haul and drove his car to the capital, stopping to get lunch for Mimi and the two of them. Mimi and he had a business lunch in her small office where he took notes about possible new funding and he encouraged her to look positively at some proposals he handed her. She seemed surprised at his professionalism. Youth subdued once again. And she surprised him by deciding to accompany him outside where he introduced her to Nigella. They both seemed to hit it off, especially when Nigella told her her father worked at Penumbra. He guessed the two had met, and the father had been charming. Seductive even. Mimi was a statuesque blonde. A few extra pounds might have thickened her middle, but it also added to her voluptuousness. And she was pretty and obviously intelligent. Nigella encouraged her to go for it, which made Mimi snort. And shrug. And contemplate. They left her with those thoughts.