Chapter 37: Bat Out of Hell

Little Beaver Restaurant, Komoka

5:48pm, Saturday, March 3, 1979

“Dang, Paul,” Jennifer excitedly said as we sat down in this little country diner-like restaurant. “You made your new eight-string bass...” When Jennifer paused to find the appropriate word, Paul’s girlfriend chimed in with,

“Thunder!”

“Thunder is good,” Jennifer replied, “but I was thinking more along the lines of, Scream. You know, like a Harley rising up from hell, or something.”

Jennifer’s words lit a fire within me which Lynette immediately noticed. She asked, “What wild hare has taken off in your mind, Cuda?”

I smiled at her and then looked around at Paul, Sammy, Jennifer and Cathy and started to sing:

“Then I’m dying at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun.

Like a bat out of hell!“

“Oh shit, Cuda,” Sammy exclaimed, which earned a few surprising looks from my other band mates. She then added, “You aren’t serious ... You really don’t think we could...”

I simply smiled and nodded my head at Sammy, which caused a small uproar at our table.

“Us playing, Bat Out of Hell! You’re joking, right?” Cathy fired off as she pointed around our little group.

“You can’t be serious, Cuda,” Sammy said as she put her hand flat down on the table in front of her. “First off, that’s like a ten – eleven minute song, which is way too long to play at a dance. Second, that might be one of the craziest, most difficult songs to play, ever.”

Jennifer chimed in with, “I love that song but I think you’ve really gone off the deep end, Cuda.”

When I looked over at my silent, best friend, I could tell he was contemplating my hair-brain idea even as the girls seemed to be mutinying against me. I was about to begin my defense of wanting to do play that song when Paul looked over at me, winked and softly said through the ruckus, “Bat would make one hell of an encore song!”

“What?” Sammy asked either because she didn’t completely hear what Paul just said or more than likely because she couldn’t believe what he just said.

Both Cathy and Jennifer sat with incredulous looks on their faces as Paul repeated, “Bat, Bat Out of Hell would make one HELL of an encore song ... in my opinion.”

“You two are both candidates for the Highbury Hilton (London’s Psychiatric Hospital), if you think we can play that Meatloaf song,” Jennifer said as she shook her long brown hair covered head.

“You’re awfully quiet, Cano. What are you thinking?” I asked my grinning girlfriend as I put my right hand over her left hand as it rested on the table.

“Well ... I already know you two both belong in the Hilton,” Lynette chortled. She then looked at the other three girls sitting around the circular table and said, “But-ta ... I think Paul’s right. Bat would make one hell of an encore song... IF we can put it all together.”

Just then, Paul used his voice to make the intro sounds of Bat Out of Hell. “Bah-bommm, Bah-bommm, Bah-bommm.” I quickly picked up on his action and added my own guitar vocalizations.

Immediately after our three measured intro, Lynette added her vocalized keyboards sounds to our improvised ‘air-bass’ and ‘air-guitar’ routines. When Cathy saw and heard what we were doing, she joined in and rapped her fingers on the table while voicing the rapid, ‘Bah-ta-ta-bump, Bah-ta-ta-bump, Bah-ta-ta-bump, Clang’, sound of the toms and cymbal crash.

As the four of us continued on with our improvised vocal-instrumentations, both Sam and Jennifer were laughing at us which caused a few of the other Little Beaver customers to turn towards us and laugh. I was somewhat surprised that the four of us kept up with our little improv for a good portion of the introduction. When Paul and Cathy dropped out, Lynette kept up her soft keyboard vocalizations, and I added one final high riff sound with my voice before falling off like the guitar does in the song.

“That was go...” Jennifer started to say before I sorta cut her off with:

“The sirens are screaming and the fires are howling,

He was starting to foam in the heat.“

“Holy cow! You guys are good!” a tall, forty-something year old man said as his wife nodded her head towards us. “Tell me, are you just a bunch of creative ‘vocal-yokels’ or do you actually play, uh, perform, you know with real instruments?”

“We can play, we’re in a band, together,” Sammy replied as I turned around to see this gentleman walking over to us.

“You have a band?” the gentleman’s portly wife asked as she scooted out from her booth and joined her husband who was now standing behind Lynette and me.

“Yes, Ma’am, Sir,” I replied.

“We’re called the Time Bandits,” Cathy added as the older couple surveyed the six of us.

“You’re, uh, I think you’re playing at our daughter’s high school dance in early April,” the man said. He then looked at his wife and asked, “Isn’t the band on the posters called, the Time Bandits, Dorothy?”

“I pretty sure that’s it, Harrison.”

“Does your daughter go to Glencoe?” Lynette asked.

“Yes,” the man replied.

“Then we’re the band playing at her dance,” Lynette added.

“Oh, sorry for interrupting your unique performance of Meatloaf’s awesome song,” the gentleman said to us. “But, my name is Harrison Younger, Dr. Younger, and I’m a music professor at Western’s Althouse College of Education. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a wonderful use of voices to create musical sounds like that. I could clearly hear your instruments in your voices, and then, you, young man,” he said as he put his hand on my shoulder. “You sang that first verse...” and he hesitated for a moment.

“ ... almost as good as Meatloaf,” his wife interjected as she saw her husband searching for the right words.

“Yes, all ... most, as good as Meatloaf.”

“Thanks for that compliment,” I replied and felt Lynette give my leg a good squeeze.

“We were debating on whether we should try to learn that song and, uh, possibly add it to our play list,” Jennifer told the couple.

“That should be a no-brainer ... in my opinion,” the music professor offered. “Do you have two keyboard players and two guitarists?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lynette replied. “Sammy,” and she pointed across to the grinning redhead, “and I play keyboards. And Jennifer,” who waved at the couple, “and Cuda, or Mike, here, are guitarists, as well as Sammy.”

“I’m Cathy, the drummer,” she fired off and then pointed to Paul and added, “and my brother, Paul is our bass player.”

“Well then, from what I’ve seen here, I would think you youngsters should be able to nail that song,” Dr. Younger said. He then put his hand on Cathy’s shoulder and said, “Question for you. Because Bat Out of Hell is a fairly long song, when do you see yourself playing it in your performances?”

I took a quick peak at my band mates to see if any of them wanted to tackle his question. Sam looked like she was going to say something, but then she looked down at her glass of Coke. Since I was never one to let that type of action stop me from calling on a student when I was a professor, I said, “Go ahead, Sammy.”

She lifted her head up and glared at me for a second before she looked at Dr. Younger and replied, “Well, we thought ... if we actually decided to play that song ... about doing it as an encore song.”

“That makes sense,” the music professor replied as he nodded his head.

“Maybe you could hit everyone right between the eyes, right off the bat with it,” Mrs. Younger stated after everyone was silent for a moment. “If you played it as your first song, you’d definitely have the audience’s undivided attention.”

“I kinda like that idea,” Paul said as he bounced his butt on his chair.

“Me, too,” Sammy replied, “now, that this song has bounced around in my head for a few.”

“Looks like we might need to get busy with this Meatloaf song at our next practice or two,” Lynette replied.

“Uh, before we leave you to your dinner, can I ask one more question?” Dr. Younger said.

“You’re not bothering us, Doc,” I replied, and saw my friends nod in agreement with my statement.

“Okay, thanks. I know that Glencoe, our daughter’s Stephanie’s school is doing a school-wide unit on the Southern United States and that they’ve asked you to play a few songs with a ‘southern’ slant to them. Can I ask which songs you are going to play based on that style of music? I’m working with Glencoe’s music teachers, and it would help me, all of us in fact, if I knew what songs you were going to play. Then, I may be able to formulate a series of lessons off your song selections.”

All six of us at our table all had huge grins on our faces because we had just finished practicing our second set of Southern-Blues songs at Sammy’s guest house. As I looked around at my band mates, Jennifer said, “Go ahead and tell him our Southern and Blues set list, Cuda.”

“Okay,” I replied to Jennifer and took a final glance at everyone. “We’re going to play a complete set of Southern or Blues oriented songs at the Glencoe dance, Dr. Younger. We were asked to play several songs from each genre of music.”

“Even better!” he excitedly replied.

“We’re going to lead off our second set with Ain’t That a Shame. Then, we’re going to play a couple of CCR tunes, Born on the Bayou and Green River. Our fourth song is one I wrote called, Keep Your Hands to Yourself.”

(Note: This song is by the Georgia Satellites from 1986. More on this song in a future chapter.)

“The students at Glencoe should like it ... a lot,” Jennifer added.

“It’s a humorous song about southern ‘courting’, southern relationships,” Lynette said.

“Can I possibly get the lyrics to it ... for lesson planning purposes?” Dr. Younger then asked.

“If you give me your business card, I’ll send you a copy of it, and the other new song we’re including in this Southern-Blues set,” I replied.

As he dug out one of his business cards from his sport-coat pocket, I continued on with our set list. “Our fifth and sixth songs are ZZTop’s, Waiting for the Bus and Jesus Just Left Chicago. Then we’re ... going to play Gimme Some Lovin’, Shake Your Tail Feather, Cheap Sunglasses, Soul Man, and Rawhide, from the Blues Brothers and ZZTop.”

“That sounds pretty impressive,” Mrs. Younger said as she jotted down those song titles for her husband. When she finished with that list, she asked, “Is that your complete set list?”

“No, Ma’am,” I replied with a grin. “We’re going to play another song, which Lynette and I wrote together called, Swamp River Days. I try to use my best John Fogerty, CCR type-voice with this song.” I could see that the music professor was about to ask me something, so I anticipated his question and said, “Again, Dr. Younger, I’ll include the lyrics for it.”

(Note: John Fogerty wrote this song and it was released in 1997 on his ‘Premonition’ CD/DVD. Again, there will be more information on it in a later chapter.)

He simply nodded his head as he handed me his UWO business card. After I flipped his card around in my fingers and studied it for a second, I felt an immediate flash forward experience.

Althouse Teachers’ College, UWO, London, Ontario

‘I was sitting in a three-hour, How to teach elementary music class with Dr. Younger when I returned to Western to acquire my Ontario Teacher’s Certification in the fall of 1990. I remembered he was big on having students use their voices to create various musical sounds like drums, wind-instruments and guitar, especially if the students struggled with following the pitch in actual singing. In today’s lesson he was encouraging us, as future elementary teachers to integrate music and songs into other educational areas, such as mathematics, social studies, language arts and physical education.’

Little Beaver Restaurant

Just as quick as that flash-forward appeared, it was gone, too. Without missing a beat, I said to our table guests, “Our lucky thirteenth and final southern song will be Lynyrd Skynyrd’s, Sweet Home Alabama. If you’re familiar with that song’s lyrics, you’ll realize that you won’t find a better song to dissect for a lesson on the history or cultural aspects of the Deep South in the ‘50s through the ‘70s.”

“Oh, mercy sakes!” Mrs. Younger excitedly said. “I just love that song, and uh, you’re beyond one-hundred percent correct about using those awesome lyrics as a teaching tool on the Southern States. I’ll have to make sure that Harrison identifies the sarcastic, mocking nature of Ronnie Van Sant’s and Gary Rossington’s lyrics in his lessons on southern culture.”

“I see that Mrs. Younger is up on her Skynyrd,” I said with a smile. “Their lyrics have been misconstrued by a lot of people listening to this song.”

“Well ... Mike, is it? I’m a huge southern rock fan ... you know, of the bands you’ve mentioned as well as the Allman Brothers, the Doobie Brothers, Charlie Daniels, the Marshall Tucker Band and Molly Hatchet. I’m also a history teacher at Strathroy District Collegiate, so I’ve dissected those Sweet Home Alabama lyrics, and compared them to Neil Young’s Southern Man and Alabama songs which hammered the south over racism and slavery. People tend to ignore Skynyrd’s, “Boo-Boo-Boo“ line after singing, “In Birmingham, they love the Governor.““

“I’m impressed, Mrs. Younger. Another Canadian with a touch of ‘Dixie’ in her. Nice!”

“We have a condo in Gulf Shores, Alabama,” Dr. Younger added, “So, we’ve made numerous trips to the Heart of Dixie.”

“I’ll make sure my husband’s lesson plans on Sweet Home are done up right, so the students at Glencoe get a real perspective in that part of their Southern culture studies.” All of six of us smiled and nodded at Mrs. Younger’s statement and I felt Lynette’s hand squeeze my thigh because she truly knew how much I had grown to love my adopted Southern State.

“We may just have to pop into our daughter’s high school to hear your performance in early April,” Dr. Younger said as he took ahold of his wife’s hand. “We’ve enjoyed this little discussion, and it might do us some good to get out and enjoy a little mini-southern-concert.”

“I hope you enjoy your dinner,” Mrs. Younger added as she held up both hers and her husband’s hand to wave.

“It was nice talking with you,” Cathy said as the couple turned to walk back to their booth.

“Yes, nice talking with you,” Paul and Sammy replied together, and then giggled at their mutual statement.

I looked at Lynette and she grinned back at me and chortled towards Paul and Sam, “Young lovers, sheesh.” That comment earned a few giggles from Cathy, Jennifer and me, especially after Sammy plastered her lips on Paul’s left cheek.

At the conclusion of our dinner, Jennifer made the universal, ‘Check, please’ motion to the waitress. The young, senior adult lady sauntered over to our table and said, “This is your lucky day, kids. Your dinner has already been taken care of. Dr. and Mrs. Younger picked up the tab for you.”

“Really?” Sam asked as we looked at each other with surprised expressions on our faces.

“Yes, really,” Ms. Collier, our waitress replied with a smile. “They’re in here all the time, and I think you guys made quite an impression on them.”

“In that case, Ms. Collier, please give them our thanks ... the next time you see them,” Lynette asked.

“I will,” she said as she grabbed our six empty glasses with her two hands.

After she carried those glasses away, I said, “We should leave her a good tip. Who knows if the Youngers gave her one from our portion of the bill?”

“Yeah, she was a pretty good waitress. Funny at times, too,” Paul offered.

We all threw two or three dollars down on our table and then pushed back from it.

“Have a good evening,” our waitress shouted from the entrance way to the kitchen as she saw us heading towards the door. I just chuckled to myself and thought, ‘She’d probably have a heart attack, if she only knew about our evening’s plans.‘

“Good night, Ms. Collier,” Lynette replied as Paul held the door open for us.

Once in the parking lot, Lynette said, “If you’re not sure where I live, you can follow me, or, uh, it’s fairly simple. Head back towards London on ‘22’, and you turn left onto Coldstream Road ... the first traffic light you’ll come to. Then, my house is exactly two-point-four miles down on the right. It’s a big, tan colored ranch house with a huge garden area just before our driveway.”

“You can’t miss it,” I said as Jennifer and Sam, the other two drivers in our crowd visually replayed Lynette’s instructions in their minds.

“I’ll make sure Sam gets there,” Paul said as he wrapped his left arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“I’ve got it, too,” Cathy replied as she tapped her head and then nodded towards Jennifer with whom she was riding.

“Alright, then,” Lynette said as she pulled me towards her car. “Let’s head on to my place and enjoy this surprisingly nice weather and our hot-tub.”

“Do we need to pick up any supplies? Drinks or anything?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah, probably,” Lynette replied. “We can run into the Beav, here and grab a couple large bottles of Coke, Diet, and maybe a 7-Up and an ‘A&W’ Root Beer. My mom already bought several bags of chips, pretzels and dip for us to snack on.”

“We’ll get them, if you guys want to head on to Lynette’s place,” Paul said as he steered Sam towards the Little Beaver’s Variety Store’s entrance. “Do we need cups or anything?”

“Nope, got that covered, thanks,” Lynette replied. When she looked at Cathy and Jennifer, Lynette excitedly said, “Come on, Jenn, Cath. Let’s head on to hot-tub central!”

“We’ll be right behind you, girlfriend,” Jennifer replied as all four of us spun around towards our vehicles.

After I opened the driver’s door for Lynette, she scooted in behind the wheel, and then slipped on past it into the center of the front bench seat. She looked up at me and said, “You got your driver’s license today, didn’t you? Come on, you drive, and I’ll get to snuggle up with you, FINALLY.”

“Are you sure you’re folks will be good with me driving their car?”

“Yeah, yeah. I told my parents how good a driver you were on the icy roads, and my mom told me that I should let you drive once you were ‘legal’. So, you’re legal, now. Park you butt here, Cuda, and let’s go.”

The first part of the six to seven minute drive to Lynette’s house was made in near complete silence, with only the low volume, soft rock sounds of FM96 being heard. Lynette definitely snuggled up to me as I put my right arm around her shoulders, and she rested her blonde head on my shoulder.

Thankfully, she kept the gentle caresses of her right hand on my thigh relatively distant from my crotch. However, after we made that left hand turn onto Coldstream Road, she adjusted her body and basically mashed her firm bosoms into my right side and chest area. At that moment, I knew I was definitely sixteen, as that wonderful sensation fired up my teenage endocrine system.

Lynette must have had some type of ‘early warning, hard-on detector‘ because as soon as my blood began to flow to my nether regions, her right hand magically inched its way from around my right kneecap area to my ever expanding crotch area.

“Oh, yes!” she said to break the silence as she lifted her head off my shoulder. “Somebody or some ... BIG thing is excited about getting into the hot-tub with a bunch of good-looking, ‘PHAT’ gals, isn’t he, or HE?“ Lynette’s soft squeeze on my tented member was timed perfectly with her second ‘HE’.

Lynette then skillfully rubbed my tented blue jeans, which forced me to really concentrate on my driving down this dark, gravel road. When I felt her reaching for my zipper, I dropped my left hand from the steering wheel and gave her fingers a playful swat. That action caused me to press my left thigh up against the steering wheel to maintain control of the car.

My blonde girlfriend then looked up at me and pouted, “Can’t your big buddy come out to play with his Little Volcano?”

“Uh, that’s not very nice, Cano,” I said as I saw the road light up across from her driveway off in the distance. “I just got my license this morning, and you’re trying to make me have an accident.”

“Oh, no,” Lynette deadpanned. When she was sure I was looking into her gleaming brown-green eyes, she added, “There wouldn’t be an accident. I’d definitely swallow everything you’d fire out, so, uh, there’d be NO accident ... in your pants.”

After hearing that and feeling Lynette’s skilled fingers at work on the front of my jeans, I damn near drove off into the right side ditch. And that action wasn’t on purpose, either.

“Wow, nelly!” Lynette exclaimed after she felt her mom’s car start to drop off the road before being jerked back onto it. “Getting us killed won’t be good,” she laughed and then took her hands off my partially opened jeans.

“That wasn’t in my plans, trust me,” I fired back in a frazzled tone. When Lynette leaned away from me, I quickly added, “Sorry about that, Cano. I didn’t mean for that to sound ... that harsh.”

“It’s okay,” she replied and put her head back on my shoulder. “Oh, our driveway is coming up fast. Better slow down.”

With those words, I lifted my right foot from the gas, and pressed down on the brakes. After turning on my ‘turn-signal’, I eased the full-sized Galaxie 500 onto the Robertson’s concrete drive and pulled up under their carport.

Before I turned off the car, Lynette lifted up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. When I looked back at her, she asked me, “Has anyone ever given you a blow-job, you know, while you were driving?”

Her question definitely caught me by surprise, and I’m sure I looked like a ‘deer-caught-in-the-headlights‘ as I registered her words. I used the time it took me to turn off her mom’s car to compose myself and figure out how I wanted to reply to her inquiry.

I figured a direct, blunt approach would work best with Lynette’s direct, blunt question. Therefore, I simply replied, “I sure have, numerous times,” as I sat back against the backrest.

“Hum, I figured you probably had,” my girlfriend said as she rested her hands on my right thigh. “I was just kinda surprised at how you reacted when I touched you, and said what I said to you back there.”

“I guess that only proves I’m a real sixteen-year-old guy with sixteen-year-old responses in unexpected events like that. I, uh, think if I knew you were planning on doing something like THAT ... then, uh, my previous experiences might have kicked in, and prepared me for that shocking, but wonderful state of affairs.”

Right then, we both saw the headlights from Jennifer’s truck shine upon us as she turned in and pulled up Lynette’s drive. As Lynette scooted over to the passenger door, she said, “What you just said seems to make sense. I like it ... when I can surprise you like that, and, uh, bring out the true sixteen-year-old in you.”

“Isn’t that just wonderful,” I sarcastically said as I stepped out of the car.

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Lynette replied as she walked around the front of her mom’s car. “And you’ll love some of the surprises I have in store for you, Cuda.”

“Hey, Volcano!” Cathy shouted as she stepped out of Jennifer’s truck. “Please tell me you weren’t getting a head start on this evening’s FUN activities ... on the road back there?”

“Yeah, Girlfriend,” Jennifer said, “we saw your car almost veer off into the ditch.”

“No, no, you know I wouldn’t...” Lynette started to fibbed.

“Oh, yes she was,” I interrupted my now blushing girlfriend as I set my gym bag down by the door.

“Michael!” Lynette cried out and smacked me on my shoulder with her uninjured and strong left fist as I worked on putting the key in the door to her house.

“I told ya, that was what was going on,” Jennifer laughed out as both she and Cathy skipped up between the car and Lynette’s house, each with a gym bag in their hand.

“Lynette, how could you start without me?” Cathy asked and then immediately dropped her bag and brought her hands up to cover her face.

Lynette’s eyes got as big, and as shiny as the silver hubcaps on Mrs. R’s car when she heard Cathy’s ‘slipped-up’ question.

“Start what?” I innocently asked knowing full well what these girls had planned. I didn’t press on with this question, though; as I pushed open the side door into Lynette’s house, and reached down to grab my gym bag.

“Uh, well, since your mom and dad came to your victorious basketball game last night in Dorchester, and you rode home with them,” Lynette stumbled up the two entry steps and with her response to my query. “And I, uh, didn’t get a chance to BE with you last night, I just thought I could, you know...”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I falsely replied and leaned down to give Lynette a kiss as she returned to my side after she turned on the kitchen lights.

When Cathy gave Lynette a soft pat on her shoulder as she walked past, I figured they thought their upcoming ‘hot-tubbing’ scheme was still a mystery to me. Jennifer grinned and winked at me as she zipped past me and joined Cathy in the living room. It was nice to know that Jennifer hadn’t mentioned our Thursday night discussion with either Lynette or Cathy, which gave me, us a little advantage in the game of love, or lust that was about to take place.

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s not fair,” Lynette called out as she lined up her billiard’s shot. My guess was she didn’t appreciate how I was sliding my left hand over and under her tight red running shorts. Lynette was on fire, both as she played ‘Spots and Stripes‘ and with how she looked. My girlfriend had changed into her hot pink bikini, which had black trim around its edges and for its straps. She had put on a pair of running shorts while walking around the house, and now in her family’s game room.

“What?” I replied, which earned a round of cheers from the guys in the room. When Lynette peered back over her shoulder at me with playful daggers in her brown-green eyes, I said, “I don’t recall body contact being against the rules ... especially after you pretended to be tired and rested your bikini-boobs on my back as I lined up a few shots.”

“Okay, okay,” Lynette sneered and then tried to refocus on her planned ‘3-6’ combination shot. “That’s fine,” she added as she leaned over and braced her legs for stability. “Just no ‘goosing’ the other player when they are making their shot, okay?”

“Agreed,” I replied as I switched to a fingertip style of caressing her butt. Because I had observed her pre-shot ritual, I knew she would draw her cue back twice before striking the cue-ball. On Lynette’s second motion, I purposefully moved my fingertips down and lightly traced them over the sensitive skin on the back of her thighs where her stellar stems joined her bubble butt.

“Errrr! Cuuu-da!” Lynette cried out as she watched the cue-ball strike the ‘3-ball’ slightly off her intended location. That in turn caused the ‘3-ball’ to mishit the ‘6-ball’, which caromed off the side bumper rail. When my girlfriend turned to face me, those playful daggers in her eyes had taken on a more menacing appearance.

Fortunately for me, my silly grin and soft response, “I didn’t goose ya, Cano-Baby,” took some of the menace from her demeanor.

The shouts of joy from the guys as they saw Lynette’s missed shot only spurred her on as she stepped towards me and pressed her hands against my cheeks. She used her hands on my face to pull me down towards her face and gave me a long, soft kiss with some major-league tongue action.

Her actions honestly didn’t surprise me at that moment. However, when she pushed me away from her soft, hot pink lips, she distinctly said, “Paybacks are a ‘B-I-T-C-H’, Cuda. Remember that.”

It was now the girls’ turn to shout and holler as Lynette stepped back and allowed me to move around the table to look at my next shot. While I walked clockwise, I heard a commotion behind me. When I turned to see what was going on, all the girls were suddenly huddling up around Lynette.

When Andy Lunby tried to stick his head into their little scrum to find out what was going down, Jennifer looked up at him and snapped, “If you, Andy Lunby have any hopes or dreams of laying ... even a single finger on my body... EVER, you best beat it, buster!”