Words and Music

by Gina Watson

  “I’m freaked out too. I want you to get a bodyguard.”

  “A bodyguard? That’s ridiculous. Do you know I was in the audience at one of my concerts and a guy was talking to me, about me?”

  “Talking to you, about you?”

  “I’m just saying…it’s not like I have a throng of anxious fans following me about. I don’t even get recognized at my own concerts and I like it that way.”

  “It could be a guy you know.”

  “What?” he said with a raised, disbelieving voice.

  She lifted a shoulder, “You don’t know for certain it’s a woman. It could be a man.”

  “She sent her dirty panties to me.”

  “So? Men can wear panties.”

  Walking their bowls back to the table, they sputtered with steam. “Meg, it’s just crazy inside your beautiful head.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t wear my panties?”

  He cocked his head to the side, thoughtfully weighing her inquiry. “Hmm, actually I would, but I didn’t realize it until just now.”

  She squealed at his answer and threw her napkin in his face. “Really, you’d wear them? Ooh, you can wear them tonight.”

  “I won’t wear them tonight.”

  “Oh, you will.”

  “No.”

  “But if you wear them, I’ll give you a surprise tonight.”

  His growing smile said he was intrigued. “What kind of surprise?”

  “It’s a surprise, silly. By definition, I can’t tell you.” Come on…just take the bait. She didn’t know why, but she really wanted him to wear her panties on stage.

  “Get me the panties.” Shit. Now what was she going to do for his surprise?

  Chapter 4

  Duke’s was the proverbial college dive bar. The stage sat at the back, the ceilings were low, and the bar was long. Along the side wall, behind the bar, were the most beer taps Meg had ever seen. A quick count told her there were more than forty beer brands on tap. Opposite the bar on the other side of the room French doors opened onto a large, fenced-in patio that could accommodate dozens of patrons.

  She followed Cam onto the stage. The place was empty, but at two hours to curtain, they were there early so he could conduct a sound check. “Hey, Mike.” He waved to a man down in front of the bar. “Can I get a backstage pass for Meg?”

  Mike was a large, blonde, muscle bound guy about ten years their senior. His fists were the size of cantaloupes and she wondered how many times he’d had to use them. He wore a tank top displaying local gym insignia.

  He splayed his upper body across the counter of the bar and leaned over to pull something from below. Megan thought she heard the furniture groan at the attack. Back on his feet he held up a long lanyard with an attached permit. She walked to him, claiming her prize. Looking at Cam, he said, “About ten of those were given out. I could have made a shitload if you’d let me sell more.” He turned to Meg. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held his hand out to her and she shook it.

  “Megan Price.”

  “Oh yeah. You look different in person.”

  “A lot of people say that.”

  “It’s the hair.” His fingers took a lock of her hair and tested its texture.

  “Thanks Mike, we’re good.” Cam pulled her free of the blonde beast, grumbling as he led her to a chair in front of the stage.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  His lip snarled at her. “Why do you let everybody touch you?”

  “Let them?”

  “Cheyenne Cooper, Mike, I’m sure there are others I haven’t been around to observe.”

  “What do you want me to do, Cam?”

  “I want you to tell them to get lost!”

  At his yell, she sat back deeper in the chair. He forced his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry. I just can’t stand seeing other guys with their hands on you.”

  “Well, this is the South. People are chummy.”

  “I know about the South, Meg. I was born and bred here.”

  “Cameron, we’re ready for you.”

  He looked across the room and nodded. “Coming.” Sighing he said, “Look, I gotta go. Just sit here and don’t get into any trouble.”

  She grasped his arm before he exceeded her reach. Leaning down to her, she whispered in his ear, “Are you wearing them?”

  Green emerald slits glowed at her. “You bet your ass I’m wearing them. Your prize better be huge. I never realized how uncomfortable thong underwear is.”

  He tried to escape again, but she pulled him back. “Show me.”

  “I can’t show you.”

  “Then how do I know you’re wearing them?”

  “I’ll show you tonight.” He attempted to pull his hand free.

  She shook her head and held him near. “Show me now.”

  He looked around their immediate vicinity. Turning, he pulled up the tail of his shirt. His jeans hung low enough on his hips that she could see the purple elastic of the panties against his skin. “Huge surprise Meg. I’ll be thinking about it all night.” He winked at her and headed for the stage.

  While Cam tuned his guitar and cleared his pipes by holding out notes, Meg accessed her email through her phone. She always had a ton of correspondence given her position as anchor. Everybody had something they wanted her to promote or an opinion to share regarding the big issues of the day. What no one seemed to understand is that she presented factual information free of her own opinions. She just presented the material. The open airwaves were no place for her personal views and she would never take sides.

  She played around with a few signoffs for Toronto News Twelve…tell your friends about us…tune in for the total truth…you can take it to the bank…news you can use. “Ugh, I suck.” She scratched her neck, thinking she desperately needed to come up with something clever for Cam’s prize. She thought of a striptease and lap dance, but that just seemed cruel given their vow of celibacy. Strip poker? There again—that wouldn’t do. Maybe she could draw him a bath, and then she could wash his hair and him. No, definitely not a bath. Oh! She had it. She texted Kim to see if she’d be able to drop what she’d need at her apartment.

  While she waited for Kim’s reply, she watched Cam as he was entirely focused on the sounds that emitted from the mic and his guitar. His eyes would close, but when they reopened he’d been transported. She wondered what he thought about when he sang.

  Her phone chirped and she read the text from Kim:

  Sure, I can drop that by. Got a hot date to use them on?

  Smiling she texted: I’ll never kiss and tell.

  With that settled, she was about to go back into her email, but at the sound of her name she turned. Mike sat in a chair directly beside her and passed her a glass. “Here you go…I call it a Dukey bomb.”

  “Ew.” She took the proffered glass.

  “The college kids love ‘em.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Guinness stout, Kahlua, vodka, and an espresso shot.”

  He sipped from a long neck bottle and she wondered where his Dukey bomb was.

  “Meg, can I talk to you up here for a second?” Looking at the stage, she saw a seemingly intense Cam with his hands running through his hair, his guitar hanging from a strap around his body.

  “Excuse me.” She carried the concoction to the stage and watched as Cam stepped down to meet her.

  “Don’t drink anything from anyone tonight.”

  “No, I wasn’t. He just brought it over without asking.”

  His lips pursed as he looked into the glass.

  “What can I do with it…I don’t want to be rude?”

  “Is it also rude that he’s trying to get you shit-faced?”

  “Oh, do you think so?” She looked back over her shoulder,
but Mike was no longer sitting in the lounge.

  “Christ Meg, when will you get it?” He relieved her of the drink. “If he offers you any more alcohol tell him you don’t drink.”

  He seemed really put out. “Okay.” She crossed her arms, rubbing warmth into her limbs. “Why are you so upset at me?”

  “Not at you—at him and anyone else who tries to take advantage of you.”

  She wasn’t so happy about his demeanor or his words. “You know Cam, it’s a wonder I’ve been able to survive this long without you.”

  “What?” His voice was grave and she regretted her catty words.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” His jaw tensed and his green gaze was glacial.

  “I’m just used to taking care of myself. I still can.”

  “Of course you can. Forgive me.” He turned, leaving her standing in the middle of the lounge alone and cold. If she hadn’t made a promise to him, she’d be leaving. Instead, she gathered her purse and headed out to sit in her car before his set.

  She reclined the car seat and pressed fingers to her brow to relieve the building tension. Their coupledom was starting off with a bang. She couldn’t understand where his possession stemmed from. She’d been alone since she left home at the age of eighteen. At twenty-six, she’d learned a thing or two about taking care of herself. Certainly she could thwart the advances of over anxious men. She’d been doing it for years.

  A knock at her window stole her thoughts away from her current turmoil. Cranking the knob in her trusty old Corolla, she rolled down the window.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just taking a break.”

  “You can do that backstage.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you mean you were trying to take a break from me?”

  “No. I never need a break from you.” It was true. She didn’t. She’d come out to the car to clear her mind. That’s all.

  “Meg,” he panted. “I need you in there. Won’t you come back inside?” He bounced with edgy energy. She’d seen him like this many times before…usually when one of his brothers was in trouble or on the anniversary of his mom’s death. He opened the door and she exited the Corolla.

  “The set starts in an hour. Will you sit with me backstage?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  He seemed relieved as his smile grew until it reached his mouth from corner to corner, brightening their walk. “I thought of a great surprise for you.”

  “Did you now?” He smirked. “When will the requirement be fulfilled?”

  “Tonight.”

  At the threshold, he stood toe to toe, facing her. “I can’t wait. I wish I could kiss you right now.”

  She glanced around the parking lot. People were starting to line up for the concert and even though security had the area roped off, eyes were on them. “Maybe inside.” She still didn’t understand his sense of possession when it came to men approaching her, but she knew he’d need to keep a clear head for his show. She let go of her irritation in order to provide him with the support he needed.

  Backstage the room reserved for the guests was small. He closed and locked the door and since they were alone, they stole a moment. He sat on a black leather loveseat and pulled her across his lap. He smiled down at her like an idiot in love and she shot back a grin of her own.

  She leaned against his chest as he wrote out his set list. He was quiet and deep in thought. The moment was so content that she closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  “Hey babe.” He woke her with a sweet kiss on the lips. “I gotta get ready for my set.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “You did—drooled a little bit too.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yeah”—he touched his shirt where her cheek had been and scrunched up his nose—“snored too.”

  She felt her face heat at his playful puns, using her as bait. “I’m going to go scope out the best seat in the house before they open the doors.”

  “I’ll be looking for you.” They quickly kissed and she walked to the lounge and concert area. There was only a handful of seats—executive seating Mike had called it. The chairs were sectioned off from the standing area. A large beefy man was already in place near the ropes used to separate the space. He looked at her badge and then nodded. He pressed a finger to his ear and listened. “Set and ready.”

  If Ashton and Harmony expected to sit up front, he needed to get here. She pulled her phone from her bag and texted Harmony.

  Where R U?

  Parking. Save us seats.

  Down in front. Hurry.

  She waited, nervously tapping her foot. She hated saving seats and hoped she wouldn’t have to fight for two. She set her purse on a chair to her left and pulled the chair to her right in close.

  Craning her neck to look behind her, she saw an empty room and made eye contact with the large, burly man who was clearly acting security. She smiled nervously and turned back around.

  The clicking of heels on the wood floor preceded Harmony. Ashton followed quietly behind his wife. The couple waved and met Meg at the front row.

  She stood and hugs were given all around. Harmony had dressed in jeggings and a cream colored silk blouse.

  “Hey”—Meg pointed at Harmony’s beige stilettos—“you’re wearing heels. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d venture out in anything over two inches.”

  They sat, placing Harmony in the middle. “I’m trying to get my lips closer to his,” with her thumb she pointed toward Ashton.

  Ashton leaned in and demonstrated their kissing skills. “I’m going to go get a beer. What would you like?”

  “Champagne.”

  He smiled at his wife. “And for you, Megan?”

  “I’ll have the same.” Another kiss and he thudded across the wood floor to get their drinks. The venue was already packed with people and still more trickled inside. They placed their purses on the empty chair and spread out to ensure it would be saved.

  Harmony kicked her feet out in front of her. “In these, I’m five-ten. Still not tall enough to meet his lips mind you, but every inch puts me that much closer.”

  Meg held her hand up to halt the information. “TMI, Harmony. T…M…I.”

  “Please”—she slapped Meg’s thigh—“I’ve heard you and Cam going at it like rabbits at the plantation.”

  “Oh my God!” Meg’s fingertips landed on her warm cheeks. “Be quiet! Someone may hear you.”

  “I’m pretty sure the whole town knows you guys had a one nighter.”

  Thinking that they enjoyed one another for the night was preferable to anyone thinking they were in a relationship so Meg went along with the story. No one needed to know that they were intimate whenever he was in town. “It was a night to remember.”

  “It sounded like it.”

  “Cam said he’s staying with you while the plantation is undergoing renovation.”

  “Yeah…he uh…he sleeps on the couch and makes a mean shrimp Alfredo.”

  “I’m glad you were able to put him up. Ashton was going to erect a tent for him to sleep in.”

  “A tent?”

  “Well, I suggested the couch in the cottage, but Ashton was not receptive to it since the place is so small and we are newlyweds.” She giggled. Meg was happy her long time friend had found so much joy.

  Ashton returned with their drinks just as the lights in the house went down. An MC completed a generic greeting, and then Cam walked onto the stage.

  The room became quiet as he approached the mic. Meg looked around the hall. All eyes were focused on Cam. He held the audience captive—mesmerized by his movements and the clearing of his voice. He blew into the mic a few times…it was something he always did. “Good evening Baton Rouge.” As she always did,
she felt his low raspy voice curl between her legs.

  Whistles and howls erupted all around. “Duke’s is a southern Louisiana right of passage isn’t it?”

  More cheers and chanting of Duke’s could be heard. “We’re gonna have some fun tonight. Sit back, drink, smoke, make out.” The crowd went crazy. Women yelled his name.

  “All right. This first song is one that I wrote when I was feeling absolutely sorry for myself. You know how it happens…first world problems and all. Anyway, I went into this gray place and I didn’t know how or when or if I was ever going to get out. But I kept pushing and scratching and clawing until I managed to find that thread…that one string that, if you can just stretch to reach it all your problems will be solved.”

  Cam always introduced his songs with the story surrounding how he’d come to write each one. His music dripped emotion from every pore and she knew it was because he’d written each song at a moment in his life when he’d needed the healing that only his music could bring.

  He played the intro chords, but when he began to sing the molecules in the room transformed into sizzling momentum that filled her belly with a frisson of energy. His voice was rich and he had great range, but what added dimension to his music were the little imperfections and idiosyncrasies, like when he inhaled sharply through his teeth and created friction in the air. Sometimes he’d push the last line from his lungs using reserve air giving the sound a desperate, urgent quality.

  All of his songs had a clear beginning, middle, and ending. She noticed the ending was softer and slower than the beginning and the middle was hard and fast, and usually included a crescendo of rhythms and notes.

  She could literally sit and listen to him perform live all day. His was the kind of music that was better in person than when made in a studio. Studio work was good for creating a clean cut, but something became lost in the translation. Cam’s music wasn’t meant to be neat and clean…it was gritty, raw, and quite dirty.

  He played most of his set list, but somewhere toward the end of the concert he shifted gears, offering new material.