Chapter 56: Explosion

February 4, 1985

"Maybe we should do 'Like a Virgin'," laughed Inez. "How do you think our audience would react if I laid down and rolled around on the stage in a wedding dress, like Madonna did during the MTV Music Awards?"

No sooner had the laughter subsided when Dave brought about a new round of it with a typical crack. "I don't know what would happen. But it sure would give Pat a woody."

It was a Monday evening practice, and as we often did, we were looking at current music in search of new tunes to learn. The first couple of months of 1985, it turned out, held precious little in the way of suitable material.

One song that immediately jumped out at us was "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley. We mastered that one in no time; it was a song I'd always loved to sing. It would become one of those songs we played every time out, regardless of the setting.

We also took a crack at Bryan Adams' "Run To You", and deemed it an acceptable addition to our song inventory. "I don't know what I think about you singing that one," Inez told me with a giggle. She was, of course, noting that the tune was about blatant infidelity. She was also one hundred percent kidding around. I hope.

Inez, meanwhile, had a new song to play with: "We Belong", which was one Pat Benatar song I never cared for. Still, it was too obvious to overlook. Next, I took advantage of my pre-knowledge. I dug up a song that was merely an album track at that point in time, although it would be released as a single later in the year. It was one I simply couldn't wait to do: John Fogerty's "Centerfield". With four certified baseball nuts among the six of us, this one was too good to pass up, especially with the start of baseball season in the not-too-distant future.

In addition to these, there was one song on the charts that was almost a required addition. It was a sappy love ballad, but we were in dire need of a fresh one of those, with a big Valentine's Day gig approaching in just ten days' time. We'd be playing at the same dance we'd done a year ago.

The song in question was Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is". We went through our usual routine, first getting familiar with the song, and then trying it out for size a few times. Everyone was nodding their heads in approval, save for one individual: The lead singer, yours truly, an ardent perfectionist, and his own worst critic.

In my mind, the problem was that the song's chorus rested almost entirely near the upper edge of my vocal range. I mean, I could sing it; that wasn't the problem. I now realized I was a decent vocalist. I'd moved beyond the insecurity I'd displayed as recently as a few months ago. Still, I was also aware that I was no Lou Gramm.

To me, that song seemed to beg for complete mastery of those high notes. Yes, I was definitely hitting the notes, but I thought I sounded just a touch screechy. One solution would have been to transpose the entire song down a key or two, but that always seemed like a cop-out. I had a better idea, anyhow. I recalled that in my other life, shortly before I'd been recycled in 2007, I'd heard Mariah Carey cover this particular song.

"You should sing this one," I said right away to my girlfriend.

"I have a better idea," Evie interjected. "Why don't you both sing it?"

"You mean rework it as a duet?" asked Paul thoughtfully.

"Exactly," smiled Evie.

What followed was one of those special out-of-the-blue moments that signified just how much in sync we all were with each other. Without any prior discussion, we went right into our duet version. I sang the opening to the first verse. At "in my life ... there's been heartache and pain," Inez seamlessly took over the singing, with no prompting from me. It just happened. Then, we spontaneously came together for the chorus, singing in harmony with Inez on top. We followed the same script for the second verse. Eileen and Evie, meanwhile, did a beautiful job of re-creating the gospel-tinged backup vocals which grace that song. At the conclusion, the six of us exchanged satisfied smiles. We'd effectively found our special Valentine's Day number after just a single practice rendition.

February 14, 1985

This year's Valentine's Day show had much in common with last year's. Besides the same location – the luxurious hotel ballroom – the place was filled with university students and their dates. We did four sets, and received ovation after ovation throughout. Again as before, we spiced our set list with a lot of love songs, but mixed in quite a few rockers.

There were some differences, though. This year, the event (which traditionally happened on a Thursday evening) fell right on the fourteenth. In addition, we had a chat with the committee before the show about the dedications we'd done the previous year. They didn't come right out and say it, but we got the impression that they preferred we didn't go down that road this time around. So, we simply gave the audience our usual fare. Inez and I (and presumably Dave and Eileen, too) saved our Valentine dedications for private moments after the show.

During the break between sets number two and three, Allie came up to say hello. She had attended every one of our gigs since the day Eileen had introduced her to the rest of us. She'd also come over to listen to a couple more of our practices. We'd talked among ourselves, and we'd all agreed that we wanted to help her out in any way we could. Even aside from her understandable hang-up about performing, she currently had no outlet for her love of music, and we aimed to provide that for her. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement; although I still had never seen her perform, it was obvious that she knew her music. The result was that we now had a neutral observer who was a skilled musician in her own right. And she wasn't shy about offering feedback.

"So," Allie said to me as I tinkered with my guitar, "you're really gonna do it?"

"Opening number in this next set," I grinned.

A few minutes later, we took our places. We didn't address the audience; we simply began to play. Our guitars crashed in, delivering the intro to a song we never dared to try live, but one that had been requested by our fans more than any other. The almost instantaneous screaming that accompanied that intro told us that we were finally scratching a collective itch borne by our devotees, going back to the time when we'd just begun to make a name for ourselves.

It had taken us countless takes in practice to learn Springsteen's "Born To Run" well enough to do live. Funny thing was, I knew I could sing it. I'd sung it many, many times in the other life, with the car stereo volume cranked up along with the windows (actually, I could recall a few instances when the windows were down). We'd tinkered with our version, refined it to the point where we were almost ready to go live with it. What we needed was a nudge, and it was Allie who provided it.

"We used to do 'Born To Run'," she informed us one day at practice. "It's a tough song, but we figured, what the hell, right?"

What the hell, indeed. This wasn't competitive trash talking from Allie; it simply wasn't in her nature. It could perhaps have been construed as constructive criticism, but more likely, it was her own desire to hear us take a crack at the song. And when she watched us play it, she was jumping up and down and clapping at the end.

Here at the Valentine's dance, we brought down the house with "Born To Run". It brought about what was easily the biggest ovation of the evening. As we basked in the applause, I saw Inez give Allie a thumbs-up.

We saved our special love duet, "I Want to Know What Love Is", for the final song of the night. The lights dimmed, couples swayed to the music, while two people in love sang to each other up on stage. As the song, and the dance itself, drew to a close, applause continued to rain down upon us. I leaned in to my sweetie, kissed her, and reminded her verbally that I loved her.

A little later, Inez and I had just gotten seated in my car when she reminded me of something.

"Did you remember to grab that box of guitar picks I left back in the ballroom?"

"Shit," I replied, slapping myself on the forehead. "What an airhead I am. I forgot them. Let me run back inside and grab them." Inez had reminded me about the picks before the final set, and I'd been so preoccupied, the matter had slipped my mind.

"You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders," she said with a soft smile. "Go ahead. I'll wait here."

Once inside, I quickly located the picks. I was just about to leave, when I felt a hand touch me on the shoulder from behind. I turned around, and beheld someone I was really hoping I'd never see again.

Kathleen Holliday.

"Hello, Pat," she said with a syrupy smile. "I've been coming to all your shows lately, trying to catch you alone. Now, at last, here we are."

Just my fucking luck, I thought.

"And on Valentine's Day, no less. How appropriate," she added. Her attire, although still very conservative, was much more contemporary than her earlier getup. She had on a red sweater, a plain white blouse, and beige slacks.

"Listen, Kathleen," I began, aiming to cut her off at the pass, and split. But she would have none of that.

"Pat, I'll be very forward with you. I believe in traditional relationships, where the man takes the lead in every situation. But I think an exception applies here. Let's go and have some ice cream, and talk some more. Would you like that?"

Funny ... she just invents 'exceptions' whenever they're convenient, I thought.

"Inez is waiting for me outside," I asserted, reminding her that I was spoken for. "I'm in a hurry, and I have to leave."

The instant I mentioned Inez's name, Kathleen's face crinkled up in distaste. "You're ... heading down the wrong path in life, Pat. Rock and roll is evil music, God-less music. Come with me. Let me show you the way. Let's have a bite to eat, and I'll tell you about the kind of life God wants us to live." Incredibly, as she uttered those pious words, her eyes shone as if she wanted to devour me.

Rather than point out the flagrant hypocrisy in her mindset, I chose to simply not engage her. "I'm in a hurry, Kathleen," I repeated. Then, I turned around and high-tailed it out to the car, not even looking back. I'd gotten really good at that since the band had taken off.

"You won't believe what just happened," I said to Inez, as I put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. I proceeded to tell her about the entire exchange with Kathleen. After she stopped laughing, she looked at me affectionately.

"I think in some ways, you like the attention, sweetie," she said, playfully smacking me on the forearm.

It was funny ... I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in her eye.

February 17, 1985

With me only taking twelve credit hours in my final semester, and Inez also taking a fairly light class load, both of us had large gaps of free time during the week. On Mondays, we both were finished for the day at one o'clock. Evie, meanwhile, had back-to-back classes on Monday afternoons. That allowed Inez and me to have their apartment to ourselves for a few hours, and we naturally took full advantage of that. It was certainly a novelty to have a large block of afternoon "quality time."

While singing the opening line to one of the cheesiest seventies pop tunes out there, I wrestled my giggling girlfriend down onto the bed, planting kisses on her neck. "Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight," I belted out.

Inez replied by shouting, "Stop right there!" just as she always did while singing "Paradise By the Dashboard Light". We both went into hysterics at the musical incongruity. When we stopped laughing, she gave me a steamy smooch and got up from the bed. "Be right back," she told me as she walked out of the room, wearing the conniving smile of a woman with a Plan. I heard her go into the bathroom and close the door. She stayed inside for about fifteen minutes, as visions of what she could possibly be up to kept me entertained.

When she reemerged and appeared once again before my eyes, I couldn't believe what I saw.

She was wearing a plain long blonde wig, under which she had somehow stuffed her own voluminous tresses. Nonetheless, the wig fit perfectly. She was also wearing a frumpy, vintage gray dress that might have been in vogue at the height of the Great Depression. Her feet were adorned with sensible black Mary Janes, with dated white knee stockings covering the remaining exposed portion of her legs. She'd removed every last bit of makeup from her face, upon which was the crowning touch: a dead-on imitation of the insincere simper that was characteristic of one Kathleen Holliday. At her side was a large brown paper shopping bag, with handles; I had a feeling I'd learn a bit more about its contents in the very near future.

"Well, hello there, Pat," she purred, the inflection in her voice amazingly similar to Kathleen's. "I told you the other night that I wanted to talk to you. I want to save you from the evil forces that are pulling on you. But ... that was a teensy-weensy white lie. I have a, um, secret."

"What kind of secret?" I grinned, playing along enthusiastically.

"Well," she said in a tone that conveyed uncertainty, "I really wanted something else. I wanted you to show me ... um..."

"Show you what?"

"Show me what the evil life is like," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I can't help it, Pat. Sometimes I have these ... impure and unholy thoughts."

"You do? Tell me about them."

"I will in a minute. Guess what ... I brought something with me. I thought that instead of going out for ice cream, we could have some here. Maybe it will help you with ... my lesson." She reached into the bag, and pulled out a box of ice cream, vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. "Oh, fudge!" she screamed in apparent despair. "The ice cream's started to melt! What to do now?"

"It's not the end of the world," I said with an I-know-what's-going-on-here smile. "We can always –"

"I have to tell you something else," she interrupted. "I've been a real bad girl. I went out and bought some ... immodest clothes."

"Immodest clothes?"

"Why don't I," she suggested shyly, "show you?" And in one smooth move, she lifted the dowdy gray dress up and over her head. Underneath it was a revealing pink negligee, and nothing but. I just stood there, my mouth agape.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she said, sounding ashamed. "I've just displayed my female body parts to a man outside the bounds of matrimony. I've committed a grievous sin!"

"But you said it was what you wanted, right?"

"Hmmm," she said, pretending to weigh it over. "Yes, I did say that. I've gone this far, haven't I? Why not take it one step further?" She proceeded to let the negligee fall to the floor. Now, 'Kathleen' stood before me, wearing nothing but the white knee socks and the Mary Janes.

"What comes next, Pat? Tell me. And what about our ice cream? It's melted even more!" she wailed.

"Okay, Kathy," I said, taking the cue and assuming control. "Just relax. I know how we can still ... enjoy the ice cream." I removed the lid from the box; it was, indeed, transitioning to a gooey liquid.

"That's Kath-leen," she said defiantly. "So, go ahead. Show me how we can enjoy it."

"Okay, Kath-leen, lie back on the bed," I directed her. Pretending to be reluctant, she followed my directions, assuming a reclining position. "Now here goes." Positioning myself over her, and tipping the box slightly sideways, I slowly let some of the melted ice cream drip between her breasts. She squealed in response to the cold sensation.

"But ice cream is for eating!" she objected.

"Patience. I'm just getting to that," I grinned. I leaned down, and cleaned up every drop with my tongue. Then, I poured out a much larger portion, almost covering her breasts. It took a couple of minutes for me to clean them off. I made sure I did a thorough job, paying extra attention to her nipples. As I did so, she shivered with delight.

"Now," I said, "let's have an extra special treat." I poured a thin trail of cream straight down her torso, filling up her navel, stopping at about the point where her panty line would have been. "Shall I continue?"

"You're not going to do it... there?" she said with mock alarm. "That's my private girl part! I'm saving that for my husband!"

"Didn't you say you wanted me to show you the dark side?"

She maintained silence for a few seconds, appearing to think it over. "Okay ... okay. Do it to me there."

I did it there. Right over her 'private girl part' went a load of liquid ice cream, some of it flowing down onto the blanket. Both of us, too caught up in the moment, ignored the mess. Her eyes flew wide open at the cold shock to her intimate parts; she nearly slipped out of character, but maintained her edge.

"What will you do... now, Pat?" Her voice conveyed nervous anticipation.

"Something deliciously wicked."

Shedding my own clothes, I positioned myself directly over her, facing her feet. I proceeded to lap up the trail of ice cream, starting between her breasts and lingering about her navel. As I flicked my tongue inside her belly button, she squealed, "Oh, Pat ... that's so... evil."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," I growled. Repositioning myself so that her sex was practically in my face, I started to lap the last remaining blobs of ice cream, zeroing in on her center. When I touched it with my tongue, she moaned in earnest. I knew she was close. Dipping one digit in the carton of ice cream, I proceeded to slip her the ultimate cold finger. Instantly, she was in orbit. "Oooooh, Pat! I love the evil life! I love it!" Two more loads of ice cream turned into two more pussy sundaes produced two more rapid orgasms.

As she slowly came back to earth, I thought, Staying in character even during orgasm? Impressive!

Upon fully settling down, she permitted herself one little lapse. She shot me a wink that said, Now it's your turn to feel a little cold.

"Pat," she suddenly said in a whiny voice, "do you think I could ... you know..."

"What would you like to do?"

"I want to do ... the same thing to you."

"You do?"

"I do." At that, I removed my underwear, the only item of clothing I still had on. She stared uncertainly at my erection.

"But ... that's your male... thing. I couldn't..."

I smiled, in appreciation of the acting performance, then took her hand and guided it up and down my shaft. "See, Kath? Nothing to it. You can, Kathleen. You can."

"Maybe it would be nicer if I covered it with ice cream." She poured some onto her hand, and resumed stroking me. Suddenly, she put her hand into the carton, and scooped out a handful of still-solid ice cream. She proceeded to apply it directly to my balls. As I yelped out in surprise, she burst out laughing, allowing herself one more character lapse. "One cold shock deserves another," said Inez in a low voice, laughing wickedly.

'Kathleen' quickly reemerged, tentatively sucking on my ice cream-coated penis. "It's ... like a popsicle!" she said with a giggle. Then, she stopped all of a sudden, and looked at me with large, hesitant eyes.

"I want to do ... something. For a man and a woman to make love in a position other than... conventional ... is immoral. But I want to experience wickedness and debauchery. Can you show me, Pat?"

"By all means ... Kathleen."

"I want to do it like this." She got down on her hands and knees – still wearing the knee socks and Mary Janes – and offered herself to me doggy style. I was rock-hard, we were both lubricated to a ridiculous degree, and I slipped into her with ease. "Oh... yes!" she squealed as I began to thrust in and out of her. "Fuck me, Pat! Fuck me hard!"

Approaching orgasm at that point, I still couldn't help but laugh. "My, my, Kathleen, we've suddenly developed a potty mouth, haven't we?" In short order, I emptied myself inside her, and then collapsed on the bed beside her. A minute or so later, I looked up at my honey, who was gazing down at me affectionately.

"So what did you think?" Inez asked me.

"I know you don't want to be a musician. But if psychology doesn't work out for you, you may want to give acting a shot." We both shared a good laugh.

"What a mess," she giggled, looking down at the horribly sticky blanket and bed sheets. "Can you imagine what Evie will think if she sees this? We need to run them through the washer, starting right now."

"Maybe we should have put down some towels," I laughed.

"I didn't think of towels in the heat of the moment."

"You know what?" I suddenly blurted out.

"What?"

"I'm still waiting on Madonna in a wedding dress."

A laughing Inez grabbed the carton of ice cream, and poured the remaining contents over my head.

March 11, 1985