Chapter 11

Time came for the showcase. The jam shuffled to a funny, uneven ending. The many in the audience dancing ended their dance clumsily and laughed. "Lights," I said. The ballroom darkened and the stage became the central focus.

"Pretty much everyone here knows me," I began. "Lead singer and lead ego of Sin Drone." Applause interrupted. Vigorous applause. "Uhm, thanks. I'm going to ask you to do something probably impossible with me standing here with a mic. I want you to forget all that. Forget Sin Drone. As far as tonight goes, Sin Drone doesn't exist. I mean, you're going to hear hints of it because the next band listened to that shit a lot and got some hints, but believe me, they took it where I never dreamed it could get took. I'm the newest member, just a guy putting fills in on keyboards and guitar. If there's any fuckups, look at me. There's really two bands here, both of which I'm in as a musician and not the lead. They're really quite different even though they're the same members. Confused? Just stick around for both. I certainly will. I give you Rum."

After the lengthy warm up improv, all butterflies had vanished, and we played better than we ever had. (Since I never saw Rum play live, the band let me know it had been far better than they ever had done.) The adrenalin rush adds energy to a band, but being comfortable and playing perfectly because of it sure has its advantages.

Loud and fast, those that preferred it softer and slower retreated. But the cleverness of the lyrics and the song structures kept them involved if a bit far from the front of the stage. Others pogoed and bounced about, lost in the beats.

Lee watched Randy the whole time. When Randy sang, it affected Lee the way crooners or rock stars effect girl fans. He practically swooned. And Randy never looked happier or cuter or sillier. He was having a ball.

Mindy too had her enamored fan. Clair looked enthralled. Mindy sang to her half the time just like Randy sang to Lee. Melinda and I sang back up to each other.

Respectful applause, appreciative but not ecstatic, greeted Rum's end. "You ain't heard nothing yet," I thought to myself.

"Give us twenty minutes to transform. And whoever's playing the music, no Sin Drone please," I announced.

After a Descendents cut and half way through a Minor Threat song, I excused myself from the congratulations and the inquiries and threaded through the crowd to the man in charge of music, the CEO's son Alex, also a fan of mine. "Hey Alex."

"Sorry about..."

"That's understandable. What you're playing is fine for after Rum, but you need to switch to older stuff: Blues, Old Country, Reggae, Jazz. Could you?"

"Sure."

First Lady Day, then Ray Charles singing country and ending with Mose Allison. I liked his taste. It would lead in well.

Reattaching to Melinda's side, she watched me schmooze and slowly emerged from shyness to reveal her charming, sassy self. I gave her a big kiss just before we returned to the stage. "You did good, my love."

"I'm learning from a master. I'm glad we did that bit of improv before."

"Me too." I kissed her again.

"I'm horny," she whispered over the noise.

"Me too."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," I announced when we returned to the stage. "The Mellifluous Melinda and Merj." Simple. Nothing else needed to be said. Melinda took over and blew everyone away. A cappella, she sang a note. Sweet and soaring, it lowered into the guttural and the show began. We vamped while she growled and roared and squealed and scarified, singing her pain and her triumph, her anger and her pride, her anguish and her ecstasy. We rolled while she steered. We held her up while she enthralled. We built while she towered. Everybody loved her but I loved her first and best. And she loved me.

The crowd went nuts. I thought we had no encore. Melinda whispered to Mindy and to Randy. Each nodded, put away their stuff and exited the stage. Melinda looked at me and smiled brilliantly. She looked out into the audience and waved down the applause. "Thank you so much for letting us play for you. I've never had so much fun, and I hope you got some of that. I'm going to get private now. You can stay if you want, but I'm just singing this for the love of my life, the man I met not so long ago, but intend to keep for the rest of my life. The man who I will marry and who will father my children and who will love us and cherish us and keep us protected and always loved. Joe..." She faced me and sang a cappella.

"I Want You," by Bob Dylan. Dylan tends to be sung by others like he sings it, nasally and without flourish. But she made it her own: the simple melody a perfect platform for her expressive intensity. It was utterly unique. And funny. And sweet.

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it's not that way
I wasn't born to lose you

I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

And so on.

And then, to my embarrassment because my tears flowed like rain down a gutter, she sang "I Thought I Was a Child." Fuck! Magnificent and heart rending. And absolutely brilliant. And all for me. Fuck!

She put down the mic, took my hand and whispered. "Let's find a room in this monstrosity and fuck until we can't move and fuck some more."

"Excuse us," she said many times as we flowed through the crowd. I said nothing, lost and in love and horny as all get out. My pecker must have been obvious, but who cares?

I managed to notice Mary who winked and smiled. "Amazing," she yelled.

"Say hi to Frank," I yelled back before getting led away to get laid.

Entering the familiar guest room and slamming the door, she began undressing me. I undressed her. Every uncovered inch got touched by fingertips or lips. We suckled each other's pleasure: her clit and my cock. She rose up and moaned an orgasm within a minute. I toppled her over and aimed and sunk in deep.

"Oh fuck yes my love!" she moaned. "Fuck me. Make love to me. Fuck me a baby." Each phrase came as I thrust slowly, her voice raspy and sexy as hell from a night of singing. "You're mine my love. Always and forever. You bring me joy. You bring me life. I love you Joe. Fuck me. Make love ... to ... me!" She came again! Her eyes wide and bulging looking amazed herself at the quickness. Lifting her legs to rest on my shoulders, opening herself completely, she muttered, "Now fuck the shit out of me." The rapid thrusts brought forth my own orgasm too quickly, and I spent it inside her quivering receptacle where she milked the last of it. "Oh God I love you!" I roared as I came.

"I love you too, my love," she murmured.

After she sucked me back to life and rode me to mutual ecstasy, she nestled against me and whispered, "I'm pregnant."

"I thought..."

"We got birth control together, me and Min, but I stopped taking them."

"But why... ?"

"The rhythm method. I just got over my period when you arrived. I love your bare cock and wanted nothing to interfere with our togetherness. I thought I'd stop when it got dangerous. I fell in love. You did too, n'est-ce pas?"

"Oui, Mon petit chou."

"I'm your stinky little cabbage, hunh?"

"Yep, but sweet not stinky. You're my sustenance my lamb."

"So you're not mad?"

"The opposite," I said and embraced her and rained kisses all over her beautiful face. Kisses continued down her pregnant torso, her wondrous breasts and her soft belly where a part of me grew.

"I can't be all fat and swollen in front of an audience."

"We're not touring for awhile. We're recording and getting tight and by the time you recover from bestowing on us our love child, we'll bring her along."

"Her?"

"A beautiful girl, lovely as our love."

"How about a brave and strong boy like our love?"

"Whatever he or she is, we'll be there ... for her ... or his ... everything," I said, kissing her navel.

She giggled. "That tickles." I tickled her some more before heading to the place our baby will exit in less than nine months.

It took awhile, but I came in her from behind as she seized up for the nth time. Three orgasms into my fecund lover; she gave me my youth back.

"A Vegas wedding. I want Elvis to marry us," she giggled as we snuggled.

"Only if he bows and gives up his crown to you."

"Right. Silly man."

"Of course my queen. I'm your fool," I smiled and kissed her amazing mouth.

Epilogue

A year later and we're ready to roll and rock audience's socks off. My wife and I and our child, Cassandra, a jewel with big blue eyes and the most delightful smile and a voice ... powerful—nobody can equal Melinda's singing except maybe Cassandra's screaming—do the rolling in our modified yellow school bus made incredibly comfortable by Mindy. Mindy flies my plane, accompanied by Randy and their two lovers. Lee actually participates in the show, dancing with Claire during the Merj set and solo with Randy creating complicated beats in a sort of interlude. I have a feeling Mindy's got the plane on autopilot right now while the two couples fuck.

We debuted our show at the Roxy and it went well to say the least. Somehow the two-in-one bands, so different in sound, share an audience willing to shift gears midway through. Doris, with no little help from Clair, got our music on radio, mostly the progressive indy stations. A video from each band plays on a couple music television stations. Distribution through the CEO who put on our showcase came easily and the label actually promotes our two albums. One song featured prominently in my Cinemax show, and during the first episode Melinda and Merj play it live. Melinda had quite a belly then, but our director is a genius. He even kept me unrecognizable since I have a part in the show and not as the keyboardist/guitarist for the band. Anyway, we chose the catchiest Merj number and it caught.

Therefore people have bought tickets at the venues we're touring. They want to hear us. We won't disappoint.

Happy? Ecstatic. It's sick how happy we all are.

I had to get away in order to find my way back home.

Speaking of home, my wife looks ready to bust. She's starting without me. Off go her tight black jeans and the black panties. There's that tattoo on her inner thigh so close to the lips being penetrated wetly by my love's fingers. Two "M"s making a bed for a reclining "R". It looks like a pink and maroon birth mark. Vanessa, our driver and roadie and babysitter and lover, soft voluptuous curves and blazing red hair above and below, seems to be as distracted as I am, glancing often into the rear view mirror, smiling her lovely smile on her cute, pale, blushing face. She's proudly and inexhaustibly bi-sexual. She enjoys seeing Melinda spread wide on the bed at the back of the bus as much as I do. Well, maybe not as much, but a lot. There goes Melinda's shirt and black bra. Her fingerstips roll her long nipples stiff. "Joe!" she moans. "I need you."

Enough of this writing shit. Time to make love to the love of my life.