Chapter 9

They headed to New York City on Wednesday, Joe, Eddie and Cheryl, a couple boxes of singles carefully packed with them. Though relatively old songs, they remained the best of Eddie so far. And they had the better sounding tape from the Longhorn. Several copies.

First stop the overpriced Holiday Inn in Midtown. Two queen sized beds. Joe still hadn’t told Joanne about Moe. As far as Cheryl went, she told Joanne she had a friend she would stay with. Just not that it would be Joe’s friend.

Moe had gotten a job. She worked as receptionist for an advertising firm. Her fathers. One of the top in New York, and probably the most creative. Enough to have a bestudded Goth being the first person encountered there. She did dress in her best thrift store dresses. Because of it, they needed to wait a bit before meeting her. They’d meet her outside the office building in which the company resided.

It seemed impossible not to kiss Moe as soon as Joe saw her. A lengthy embrace.

“You must be Eddie,” she said afterwards.

“Do I get any of that?” he asked.

“No, but you do Cheryl,” she said, kissing her even longer than she kissed Joe.

Both breathless after, Moe commented, “Still hiding that hot little body.”

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” Cheryl returned.

“Can’t go without the guitar?” Moe asked Eddie.

“Thought I’d try busking,” he shrugged.

The ladies looked at each other. “Washington Square Park?” said Moe.

“Where else?” Cheryl agreed.

“Cool,” said Moe, stepping towards the street and waving down a cab.

They dumped their shoulder bags and Eddie’s guitar in the trunk of the old Checker. The thick little man looked just as vintage. Smiling and friendly, flirtatious with the girls, except for his thick New York accent he wasn’t what Joe expected of a New Yorker.

The cabbie asked the usual questions. Minneapolis brought out a niece who attended the University of Minnesota. “Said she about froze her tits off, pardon my French.”

Joe figured he had some reference to anyone he picked up. Conversational.

“Brooklyn?” Moe asked him.

“You got a good ear,” he said. “I guess I finally lost my Ma’s Kildare brogue. You?”

“Manhattan.”

“Ah. I can hear it. You musicians?”

“I am,” said Eddie.

“We used to be, me and Joe,” said Moe.

“It’s a tough business.”

“Sure is,” Joe said. “I’m actually still playing. A permanent temporary.”

“What you play?”

“Hardcore,” said Eddie.

The cabbie laughed. “I’m just imagining some live sex show like they used to have over on Forty-Second Street.”

“Really? Live sex?”

“Yeah. They’re trying to clean it up. Poor tourists stepping off Time Square into that. A Broadway show and then that.”

“We got a block like that. No live sex I know about, but ... There’s something real about it, you know?”

“I don’t know if tourists want real. At least not the ones bringing their kids.”

“True. Most Americans, I imagine they want clean and safe. Disneyland and all that.”

“Polished. But I can’t imagine a polished Manhattan. It’s a beautiful city. Like Paris. I got to see it after Korea. Then flying coming back here. Yeah, it’s a beautiful skyline. But it’ll always have its grit. So,” he grinned, “What you two beauties doing with a couple hardcore buggers.”

They laughed. “Got a brother?” Moe joked.

“Used to,” he sighed.

“Sorry.”

“No. I got plenty of sisters. Catholic Ma, you know?”

“You?” Joe asked.

“A brood of four. All grown. Kicked the last out just this summer,” he said fondly. “Kid got the scratch to tour Europe. Got a scholarship to Massachusetts in Amherst. Bunch of schools that share supposedly.”

“I’ve heard. Smart kid.”

“Yeah. You?”

“Grinnell in Iowa. These two beauties go to NYU.”

“I’m between schools,” said Eddie.

“School of Hard Knocks.”

“Yeah.”

“Been there. Got the certificate,” he pointed to his cab license. “Plan to make it in music?”

“More hope than plans,” Eddie shrugged.

“Eddie’s really really good,” Joe said. “He’s got a chance.”

“Sometimes talent ain’t enough.”

“He’s got a manager to make his luck,” Joe said.

“Couldn’t hurt. Hardcore,” the cabbie shook his head.

They laughed.

He let them out at Washington Square Park. Moe paid over Joe’s objection. He hoped she tipped well. The old guy seemed pleased.

They ended up purposely next to a falafel stand. They ate and headed to the dry fountain. Eddie set up and played, his case open for tips. Moe tossed in a few ones and some change. “No one wants to be first,” she explained.

They stayed through a couple songs. The crowd grew. They left Eddie to his riches.

Moe resided in a cool apartment. Top floor of an old building just off the square. Old as in historic. “Watching it over the summer,” she explained to Cheryl. Joe already knew, but nevertheless was impressed. “It and her,” she chuckled when a lithe Siamese pressed her head against her leg. “Chally. It’s Thai,” she shrugged and went to take care of the cat.

“What did you do to get this?” Cheryl asked.

“A little flirting and a lot of conversation.”

“No way!” Cheryl spotted a photo. An older woman. Gray hair. Smiling. Countering frown lines. Another woman smiled beside her. Not much younger and nearly a foot shorter. “This is Professor Hardass’s place!”

“She’s sweet once you get to know her,” Moe chuckled.

“The tall one?” he guessed.

Moe nodded. “The other one in the photo would have objected if it went further than flirting.”

“Hardass?” he asked.

“Hardy,” Moe explained. “Elizabeth Hardy. Prefers Betty as the diminutive, for obvious reasons.”

“Lizzy the Lezzy,” Cheryl nodded.

“What’s she teach?”

“Literature,” Cheryl answered. “She’s great, despite the toughness.”

“Maybe because of it,” Moe smirked. “Her focus is on English Novels of the Nineteenth Century.”

“Any relation to Thomas Hardy?”

“There’s a rumor, which Betty doesn’t squash. But actually she got her last name through marriage. She married young. Just out of college. Figured out her sexuality and divorced and returned to school to get her PhD. Here at NYU actually. Showed her teaching skills while working on her dissertation. NYU kept her. Every time she threatened to leave, the incentives raised.”

“Thus the apartment.”

“Yes, but not because she could afford it. NYU owns it. Used to be for visiting professors. Not much room for families. Enough for a couple, so they offered it to her. Rent free. She spends her money travelling during the summer. Southeast Asia this year.”

“Visiting Chally’s homeland,” he quipped.

“I suppose,” Moe chuckled. “So, you going to whip it out?”

This startled Cheryl, which made him chuckle harder. He found the single in his bag and gave it to Moe who put it on a really nice turntable, part of a really nice component system.

They listened. “It’s great,” said Moe. Both Cheryl and he agreed. “You got the new tape?”

“Of course.”

She put it into a top of the line tape player. Pressing a couple buttons on the receiver, the sound shifted from the living room/kitchen area to the bedroom. “Let’s get comfortable. I’ll meet you in bed.”

The queen sized bed had an old fashioned quilt. Handstitched. Amish if he had to guess. And a bunch of mismatched pillows. Different covers. Souvenirs from all over the world it looked like, but not touristy. More fabrics and prints from various places, samples probably made into pillows. She returned with a bong, a small packet of pot and a double album. Quadrophenia. Handing him the album and the pot, she told him, “You can do the honors,” and set the bong on the bedside table and went back out. The packet had sticks full of buds and smelled heavenly. Thai stick. He chuckled.

He chuckled again when he saw the pink liquid in plastic cups. “Dorothy?” he asked.

“Sent a fucking case of it here,” she chuckled. “I’m sure Betty and Louise will appreciate it.”

They drank, smoked, talked and listened. Joe lay between the ladies.

“How did you get to be friends with Hardass?” Cheryl asked.

“Turns out she’s a fan of Gothic Horror.”

“Like Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker?” he asked.

“Yes, but not to study. Even though they’re British and 19^th century novelists, they don’t interest her. She likes to study a career. Like Hardy or the Brontes. She did do a class on Poe and Lovecraft, her favorites. Stoker didn’t write anything else, and Betty doesn’t like anything else Mary Shelley wrote. We share a skeptical liking of Stephen King, but prefer darker, more menacing and atmospheric writing.”

“Like yours,” he said.

“Exactly. She’s been an invaluable critic. If I ever get published, I’m dedicating the book to her.”

“Just for this apartment,” Cheryl said.

“True.” She looked at Cheryl. Then at him. He shrugged. Both she and he had been subtly touching. Their excitement growing. For him literally. But Cheryl looked ... not nearly as relaxed as she should have.

Moe took her glass which she held like some sort of protection. Then her eyeglasses. Then crawled over him. She sat up and found her way between Cheryl’s legs. Her fingers gently touched that beautiful face just as he had done. “Do you want to be here?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I mean right here. In bed. With Joe. And me.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Unzip me Joe. I want to open the present you brought me.”

While he made her naked, Moe did the same for Cheryl.

“You’re beautiful,” said Cheryl.

“You are too,” Moe replied, then moved down. Her first kiss landed on Cheryl’s pubic mound. Her tongue soon bisected the lips. He started leaning over to kiss Cheryl. “No,” said Moe. “Just fuck me. I’m ready.”

He stripped quickly, got behind Moe’s lush ass, equaled only by their bedmate. He felt the wetness. Coated his glans with it. And pushed in.

“Mmm,” Moe responded, muffled by Cheryl’s twat. Her ass shifted back, burying him. It kept moving. Nothing cautious or tender. She wanted to be fucked. He obliged, his hands reaching down, fingers on clit and teasing nipples to hardness. His clit fingers on double duty, making sure he didn’t thrust too deep and damage her cervix.

When he slowed to keep from cumming, Moe just moved faster. So he held back the best he could, which ended up not all that well. He came. He kept fucking. Somehow his cock remained hard. Probably two beauties in front of him, one whom he loved and hadn’t seen in too long. He fucked. He strummed. He twisted and squeezed. He even lifted her.

“Joe!” she moaned, her head rising from Cheryl’s cunt. But Cheryl didn’t need her. Moe had brought her off. It’s if she held back for it.

“Fuck!” Moe trembled as he thrust fast and deep. Or as deep as her shallow cunt allowed. He fucked through her orgasm, his hand washed by her juices. But slowing. Feeling those last pulses. And then, out of nowhere, his balls decided to release. The surprise made it better.

“Moe,” he growled.

“You’re cumming?”

“Unh-hunh.”

“Fuck. I can feel it.” Another tremble passed through her. Another flutter of her pussy milking him. “God, Joe. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he said and kissed the nape of her neck. Her head turned. Their mouths met. Tender only then.

When it ended, he asked her, “Can I kiss our lover now?”

“Yes Joe. You can kiss her.” She slid out from between them.

Cheryl immediately embraced him. Pulled him hard down onto her. Her pussy rubbed against his abdomen. Their lips sealed. Tongues played vigorously. His hands reached up. Thumbs vigorously rubbing across her nipples.

He felt something wet enclose his penis. Moe’s mouth contained all of it. Less of it when it hardened, thickened and elongated. But as much as she could handle when her hands pulled his ass down to thrust. Her body lay between his legs, opened for her, which opened Cheryl’s legs wider.

They kept it up for minutes. The kiss. Cheryl’s pussy rubs. His abuse of her nipples. Moe’s fellatio. And just her pussy rubs and his harsh caresses seemed to get Cheryl close. But it took Moe completing her task of making him hard, guiding him to Cheryl’s juicy pussy, and his pushing into the incredible tightness all the way in one slow thrust to send her over. When she pulled her mouth off his and yelled her release, more a loud growl than a word, and her body shook, and he could feel the way get slippery, he fucked her. Long hard strokes. It seemed to extend the orgasm. It eventually subsided, but his harder thrusts brought forth a new one. Much faster than both of them thought possible. This time he slowed for it. Made the moment more loving somehow. Less animalistic.

“Moe,” Cheryl murmured.

“Hmm?” Moe murmured back. He looked at her. She was masturbating. Fingers rubbing her clit. Fingers twisting her nipples.

“Sit on my face?”

“I’d love to,” she chuckled, straddling it.

Shifting, he ended up sitting up. Leaning into the long, slow thrusts. And kissing Moe. His fingers replaced hers. A new set of nipples to abuse. He normally started out gentle and careful, but saw how hard she played with them. Her hands free, she used them to rub Cheryl’s clit. And reach around to bounce his balls. And eventually fuck his anus.

They kept at it for a while. Building each other to their finish. And somehow they ended together. A frenzied threesome rocked by ecstasy made greater by the simultaneity.

When they collapsed, Cheryl between them, Moe giggled.

“What?” asked Cheryl.

“It’s like floodgates with you. All tense, and then a flood of passion.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“I guess I get tense around strangers. Not knowing what to expect. Too many rude encounters. Going for my cunny was perfect.”

“I should have thought of that,” he chuckled.

“No,” she smiled. “I needed those first kisses to awaken me. Your gentleness.”

He shrugged. He was glad he could read her. He seemed to have a knack for it. He left the thought. No reason to gloat on his seductive powers. No reason to want anyone else with two gorgeous, amazing women in bed with him. Even if it would be temporary. He didn’t want to dwell on that either.

They cuddled silently, the tape running out, barely noticed at its conclusion.

“Any plans?” Moe finally asked.

“Eddie has an instore,” he told her.

“Where?”

“Bleeker Bob’s.”

“Cool.”

“In fact we should probably get going. I have a box of singles and a box of tapes.”

“You’re selling bootlegs?”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “It’s not like Eddie’s going to make an official live album anytime soon. There’s covers, and we’re not about to pay for them.”

“So it has to be under the table.”

“I called after Joanne made arrangements with Bleecker Bob, just to test the water. Asked if he had any Johnny Thunders live tapes. I thought that would be a safe bet. Chances were he would, and what I heard of Thunders, he’s not the type to bear down with any legal shit against anyone.”

“The Grateful Dead,” said Cheryl. “They actually encourage boots.”

“So he said he did?” Moe asked.

“Yep.”

“Cool. How soon?”

“We should get going.”

“Let me call a friend. I played her the tape you gave me. She’d love to see Eddie. And she happens to play bass.”

“Meaning she likes his music.”

“She thinks he’s great.”

“Enough to relocate?”

“She’s actually from St Paul. Came here after quitting Bard College after her sophomore year. You heard of Bard.”

“Yeah. Some. In my research for colleges.”

“It’s upstate. Pretty out there school. Not as much as Hampshire, but in that direction. Steely Dan went there, and Chevy Chase. Dylan supposedly picked up chicks there in the sixties when he was up in Woodstock with the Band. Even before that. Subterranean Homesick Blues is supposedly about the raid at Bard. The Mighty Quinn was supposedly the sheriff that made it happen. She studied music there, but ended up figuring it was wasting her parents’ money. Learning avant-garde theory when she wanted to play in a band. Make her name. After a year or so here it really hasn’t worked out like she hoped. Her thing is jazz, but she plays electric bass, which limits her. Fusion and funk, and if she got hired at all, the music either didn’t interest her, too commercial, or the band just didn’t jell.”

“Eddie isn’t jazz,” he pointed out.

“She’s into punk and hardcore. She loves loud and fast. The Bad Brains are like her favorite band. She’d sacrifice her chops, being able to play really complicated sophisticated shit, for that kind of energy. If what comes out is really good.”

“Call her,” he smiled.

“She’s expecting it,” she smiled back.

They found Eddie where they left him, chatting up some chick. No surprise. Blonde and petite and very pretty.

“Ready?” he asked Joe.

“Got a single?”

“Of course.” Joe pulled out the soft cardboard box and extracted a picture sleeve.

“Pen?”

Joe had the marker Eddie would use and handed it to him. Silver contrasting the mostly black sleeve. Eddie signed it for her. Joe noticed a familiar number. Joanne’s. They kissed. A peck. Eddie watched her leave. Joe did too. She had a nice tight little ass bound by shorts. Slim legs.

“She’s from fucking Edina,” Eddie sighed, gathering his stuff. “With her girlfriends. They’re meeting at some deli over in the East Village.”

“Second Avenue Deli, probably,” said Cheryl. “It’ll remind them of the Lincoln Del.” A successful and fairly authentic delicatessen in Minneapolis.

“That might be disappointing,” Joe said.

They shrugged. Some people liked things different when they go somewhere, especially New York with all its legendary eateries. But sometimes people liked things familiar. Joe don’t think any of them were fans of the latter type.

Cheryl and Moe knew Bleecker Bobs and guided them there. It ended up being only a couple blocks away once they exited the park on the southwest corner.

Bob might have seemed a curmudgeonly older guy, dealing with customers day in and day out, but he ended up being really cool and really nice. Even though he had gotten almost as many singles as he had, he had no problem buying the Monsters for the same price he bought them. Joe had another box in the hotel room. Those would be mostly promo copies. Joanne said she might line up another in store, too. Joe gave Bob a couple for free as well so he would hopefully play it when people shopped. People who got the single signed would be purchasing them from Bob. He bought a handful of the live at the Longhorn tapes, which had a picture sleeve, with Joe in it, very small in the very small image, of the band on stage. Bob had no problem with selling the rest direct to any fans who might be interested.