With a Tilt of My Hat

by Mary Matuskey

  Fresh rainy air slapped my face, cooling my skin. I sensed a familiarity about Heather, and don’t recall ever having such a magnitude of emotions for another person. I felt like I could have stayed there and chatted with her all day. I decided I’d definitely make a point to have coffee here again soon, with hoped she would, too. For now, though, I’d head back to my hotel; the rain had turned to pouring gush and the fog had blinded my path.

  John and Bo Bo were in the lobby bar drinking cocktails. When I approached them, they merely laughed at the sight of my saggy, wet clothes.

  “Pull up a seat man, I’ll order you a drink,” Bo Bo insisted.

  “Let’s not overdo the alcohol this afternoon, guys, we have a four o’clock rehearsal later today, so stay sober,” John said once I sat down.

  “I’m looking forward to it, John. I’ll clean up after I finish this one drink.”

  Rows of bars, cafés, and stores lined the street. I could hear the sound of music flow in all directions when we opened the door to the Blue Waterfront Club. Old wooden walls circled the room while the tables were perfectly set like a carousel. A few feet away, another row of tables circled the same, and then another until there were only two tables standing alone in the middle of the room.

  “Outstanding ambience,” I told John.

  “This place reeks of cigar smoke and jazz. I think I died and went to heaven,” Bo Bo said.

  “Heaven it is for me, too.” John lifted his arms as if he were cheering.

  Mr. Barrows, the owner, came to welcome us. He shook our hands then motioned us to take a seat at a nearby table. He was dressed in a black fedora hat that made him appear taller than he really was. He wore a blazer with designer jeans and black Italian boots. Mr. Barrows was definitely “the man.” He was going over the club rules for musicians and guests when suddenly, a strong deep voice bellowed out from him, “Hey, Randy, what the hell ya doing back there making so much of a racket!”

  “Sorry, boss, the pans are sticking together,” Randy replied.

  “Well, handle it later. I have guests.”

  “Listen fellas, its standard procedure, same contract anywhere, so let’s get to it. Why don’t you just start your session so I can listen to you in private for a bit, ya know what I talking about?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrows, we’ll set up on stage right away,” John replied.

  The stage was shaped in a half-moon design, adorned with wood carvings of a cello, saxophone, and trumpet. Mid-stage stood three microphones, old style poles, which were the same kind that you could drop and roll just like Miles Davis.

  “Man, a month of performing here and I’ll never want to go back to Portland,” Bo Bo said in a way only a musician could understand.

  The acoustics in here really held the sound waves, enhancing the tone of each note as we started our first practice set. One by one, we played a solo and listened to the key level of each note, each strum, each beat.

  “All right guys, let’s begin and work our way smoothly it into the song, ‘Shifty Jazz’ taking it up to the second verse,” John said.

  Chapter 58

  Breakfast with Ryan was beyond fantastic. The three of us literally kicked up our heels when he announced that our CD VitalWinds hit the stores this morning. First thing we did after eating was head straight to the nearest music store to view it in its full splendor. We were amazed to see our music merchandised in plastic and presented for customers to purchase.

  John held up VitalWinds and asked the store clerk if he had heard this CD before.

  “No, I haven’t, but the manager left instructions for me to jam it throughout the walls today,” the clerk replied.

  “Fantastic, absolutely fantastic;” Bo Bo said with excitement.

  “Put it on now, we’d like to get a taste of it before purchasing,” Ryan told him.

  Guitar sounds, drum beats, the cello bow flowed over its strings and through the speakers we heard the sounds of gypsy jazz…our jazz. Emotions penetrated each of us, and John shook head with a full smile that radiated across his face.

  “What do you think about the music, kid?” I asked the store clerk.

  “Kinda has a tone of new age jazz mixed with the sounds of years gone by. It sure has a smooth beat to it. I tell ya, I like it man, I can handle this music all day,” the clerk replied.

  “Would you like a signed copy, because you’re standing in front of the band that composed and performed it?” Ryan told him.

  “Shit man, no shit, you guys are VitalWinds? Frickin’ awesome, man, here, sign this one!” the clerk shouted.

  We each autographed four more CDs, to give to the store manager. “You can catch more of our tunes down at the Blue Waterfront Jazz Club on Friday, hope to see you there, kid,” John said.

  The soft gray clouds smothered the skies but allowed a slit of sunlight for a glimpse of the Space Needle. The closer Bo Bo and I came to our destination, the faster my feet sprang on the sidewalk. We turned left and headed into the vast area of Pike Marketplace. I was hungry for the local entertainment, crafts, food and fish. I grabbed a banana from a fruit stand at the entrance, and then dropped a quarter into the man’s hand.

  Two large papier-mâché pigs that were decorated with fish and flowers sat atop a hay wagon in the center of the courtyard. There was a three-man band performing just adjacent to the fish stand. They played fiddle music to a crowd of people who watched men toss large fish back and forth to a clerk behind a glass display case.

  It was fun to observe these men, who wore their yellow and orange rain gear and jumped up for the fish, like children at play. One of the fish nearly hit the cement floor, and just missed Bo Bo’s leg. The fisherman brushed his glove across Bo Bo’s shin, and caught the fish in time.

  Everyone laughed at this ridiculous scene and Bo Bo finally exhaled and smiled, too.

  “I’ll take this one here.” A small-framed lady wearing red glasses yelled and pointed to a medium sized salmon.

  “You got it, miss.” The man’s orange rain gear squeaked when he moved toward the icy table and removed the fish from the glass display case. The crowd shouted in what was a traditional manner, “Toss it to the clerk for wrapping.” The fish man threw it perfectly to the clerk so he could wrap it in brown paper.

  I squeezed past the huge crowd, and we made our way downstairs to check out the craft booths. A small patio with tables and chairs was set upon vintage floorboards that overlooked the ocean’s waves. Below that the water crashed against its pillars. From there we ascended the narrow stairway towards the flower carts. Huge bouquets were for sale at only five dollars a bunch. They were the most gorgeous flowers the four of us had ever seen. Without hesitation, Ryan pulled a five-dollar bill from his wallet. He held the bouquet to his nose and sniffed the aroma of each flower.

  A couple of hours later, we exited the marketplace and walked to a deli restaurant that John suggested for lunch. “Would you please move those damn flowers, man, I want to smell pastrami on rye,” Bo Bo said, sarcastically to Ryan.

  “Really now, can’t you delight in both?” Ryan asked.

  “I’d rather not, I much prefer the sandwich. So, could you please just put your lovely bouquet down!” Bo Bo said.

  Ever so gently, Ryan placed the flowers on an upper shelf behind the booth, far out of Bo Bo’s reach.

  The sandwiches arrived at the perfect moment; we just finished taking in the sight of a horse pulling a beautiful pearl white carriage. I was in awe at the elegant way the driver turned the corner. He held his whip high in the air, and snapped it in picturesque form.

  Now that our stomachs were content, we went back to the hotel. Bo Bo and I split up in the lobby and headed to our separate rooms. I mentally prepared myself for the club gig, which began in a few hours.

  I decided this was the perfect in-between time to call Kari. After four rings, she answered. “Steven, I’m so thrilled to hear your voice, how is everything going in Seattle? Tell me what do you think of the jazz c
lub? What have you seen so far?” Kari overlapped her questions.

  “It’s so very nice to hear your voice, too,” I butted in, laughing.

  Kari changed the conversation and spoke in her sweet way using her sensual voice.

  In whispered tones, we talked phone sex to each other, rousingly with loving pleasure. After I shared my experiences in Seattle thus far, I noticed it was the top of the hour. “Listen Kari, I love you. I am looking forward to your visit next weekend. I really have to run now to catch the shuttle to the club.” Pushing the End button, I visualized her standing in Oregon holding her phone.

  Before opening the door to the Blue Waterfront our eyes panned over the nightclub poster in the window. VitalWinds Gypsy Jazz performing Friday thru Sunday 7-midnight. An individual profile of each one of us was written below with graphics of glowing white and blue colors encircling the picture.

  “The pictures are nicely done. They came out perfect,” said Ryan.

  “Let’s go inside and prove ourselves,” John said with enthusiasm.

  This time Mr. Barrows wasn’t present. Only the bartender was in, busy counting a liquor bottle shipment. The red metal dolly sat just to the right of the bar, and stacked on it were four boxes. He gave us a quick nod to acknowledge our presence. He walked over to the stereo and turned off the music.

  Anxious to get started, we set up the stage, which was easy considering our instruments were already there. I positioned a chair center stage; opened the case, removed my guitar, and gently stroked the neck. Two beats from Bo Bo’s drum head, John came in on bass, and I picked up the pace, which set us into gypsy jazz mode.

  We played two songs; one swing and the other one carried a lighter mellow beat. It was so easy playing here. The vibes of past jazz musicians were felt in the walls as our music flowed into them. Bo Bo’s drumsticks were exceptional today; with each strike on the drum heads I felt his energy through me, which filled me with more excitement.

  John swung his bass with an air of lightness as his foot tapped the stage floor. Smooth silk, melted like warm butter. He bobbed his body from side to side playing with enthusiasm like it he was performing his first gig ever.

  All this blended so well for us, and when the song came to its end, I pounded out a beat with my hand right on the heart of my guitar. It was immense; this session was positively immense.

  Chapter 59

  Awakened by lightning and thunder; the beating sound of rain made it impossible for Jay to sleep. In the corner, he sat on a chair and rocked faster with his eyes closed tight but nothing would detour it. “Please stop this fucking noise!” he shouted at the walls. The cat was purring now.

  Where am I, I don’t own a damn cat. Whose cat is this anyways!

  When he reached for the light switch, his thoughts brought forth the memory of last night. I entered a small cottage house surrounded by pine trees. I found no one at home, so I took advantage, desperately needing the shelter.

  Jay stood up, turned on the stereo and listened to the sounds of rock music. Then he walked to the fridge, opened it, took a soda can, and sat on the couch stroking the cat. She curled up nicely on his lap purring affectingly, an act he was in need of. Slowly Jay relaxed and the tension on the back of his neck dissipated.

  The back door opened. The cat didn’t move an inch…until the sound of a man’s footsteps pounded on the hardwood floor. She startled and sprang from his lap. The man picked up a piece of firewood. Jay saw this and ran to him then head-butted him with full force directly into the man’s abdomen. The man knocked the wood against Jay’s side, hitting the right kidney, which caused Jay to spit blood. But he quickly recovered with a hard kick to the man’s groin that kept him lying down. Jay had just enough time to tie his legs together with a bed sheet, before he hit him once more to keep him still.

  He reached in the pocket of his jacket for the gray tape to cover the man’s mouth and bind his wrists. Suddenly Jay’s lower body burned with desire to attack.

  Look at this large man below me, wanting me to take him, arousing me to an unexpected yet fucking bit of pleasure.

  Scrambled thoughts rattled in his mind, Jay became confused with crazy energy. He came to me. Like a gift, he came into this house to me. I fucking did not go searching for him! In a rage of anger and desire, Jay stared into the man’s eyes and yelled, “Do you want this!” Jay dropped his pants and exposed his erection. With an insane smile, he stared at him and recognized the utmost fear in the man. His face became anguished and distraught and he froze when Jay straddled himself over him.

  Jolted into clarity of a normal mindset, Jay’s momentum stopped.

  What the fuck is wrong with me!

  Sickened by his desires to brutally harm this man, Jay rolled onto the floor. With tears of shame, he lay there trembling in a confused state of sadness. “Again with these damn fucking headaches!” Jay yelled. The man squeezed his eyes shut.

  But Jay did nothing; instead he held his head and cradled it with both hands then rubbed his scalp in hopes to release the pain of the excruciating headache. Minutes passed before he straightened up from his knees to a standing position. He looked at the distraught man taped and tied. Jay shuddered in movement then walked into the living room, humiliated with displaced anger.

  After he lit a couple of wood logs in the fireplace, he sat mesmerized, lost in the orange and red flames that reached to the chimney shaft. The crackling sounds of wood burning echoed off the cottage walls. Thoughts of comfort, familiarity, and the longing of home began to settle his mind. Embraced by the forest of Washington, he was nearly home.

  Please! I want to be home!

  Jay reached down and patted the cat’s soft fur while the animal rubbed against his leg. “This is good,” he mumbled.

  Tonight’s tension pours off me like warm oil as the air in the room becomes increasingly hot from the fire. I stretch my legs in front of me and lie down. Mentally exhausted from my own turmoil, and the room goes black.

  Hours later, the clock read 4:10 in the morning. The man lay asleep on the floor with his knees brought into his stomach, as close as his restrained legs would allow.

  Damn, he is a handsome male, ripe for my pleasures.

  Jay cut the tape from the man’s hands then exited the house.

  The cold dew of the morning air blew hard on his face, like a dirty slap. A burst of pain surged upon Jay’s forehead and he walked toward the woods behind the house. He ventured deep into its core and was soon lost in its depth of brush and trees.

  Purples and orange hues emerged from the ground as the sun rose into the sky. Daybreak set upon the earth shining a blanket of haze, breathtaking and new. Sensing his anxiousness, he could almost see it as his footsteps descended upon the cabin.

  Jay’s arms outstretched like a child pretending to be an airplane. Humorous thoughts of playtime once forgotten embarked his mind as if it were yesterday. The path had become narrower when he climbed over the grassy hill to witness the glorious meadows. Through teary eyes he panned over the terrain, and walked to that which was familiar.

  The old wooden cabin looked the same. A bit of nostalgia overtook him when he unlocked the front door. The glow was gone. “What the fuck is this!”

  The room was empty; no framed photographs, the walls were completely bare. They were once adorned with paintings and family treasures. Frantically, he searched the bedrooms. An empty bed stood in each room with empty dressers beside it. The kitchen table was gone and so was the couch, which stood in front of the fireplace.

  Mother, what have you done, you destroyed my cabin! You have taken away my comfort, my home!

  He wondered if his mom had removed all the items in the shed. Agitated he went out to check; he walked to the shed feeling his soul dying. But everything was in its place, “Thank you.” He picked up his tackle box. Immediately, he opened it and grew calm. All his agitation was released once his items were in the palms of his hands.

  He dialed Beth’s number. She answered
on the first ring. “Beth, this is Sal, I need you to come to me.”

  “I’m not going back to Oregon! Whatever the hell your real name is!” she yelled at him.

  “Shut the fuck up right now. I’m home; meet me near the stream. You know the place. Be there in one hour,” Sal/Jay ordered.

  With the utmost care, he placed each item back into the tackle box and tucked it under the shelf. As he eyed the guns and knives displayed on their racks, one in particular caught Jay’s attention. His beginner knife was there, the exact one used when he first learned to skin jackrabbits. He held the knife and felt the darkness seethe through his veins, exited to kill again.

  * * * *

  Beth stood like a devil between two trees with her backpack slung over one arm and holding a soda can in her other hand.

  She’s prepared, I can tell by the look on her face, she yearning to do it to me, to fulfill my pleasures.

  “Sal, it’s awesome to see you. I’m feeling such a needy pain for you, baby,” Beth moaned.

  “I know you are. I could do you right here, but I have a better place prepared, follow me.”

  This time he took Beth deeper into the woods—a fifteen-minute hike—and she fucking talked the entire way. Dense trees, dark shadows, and wet ground immersed them. Sal jolted to a stop; Beth toppled onto him.

  He could barely see the string of netting, which was camouflaged by the leaves he created. “I made this for us.” Sal showed her the four by eight foot grave-shaped hole in the earth beneath the netting.

  “Wow, Sal, it’s so kinky, when did you do this?” Beth said, delighted.

  “It was about a year ago, before everything in my life went to shit. I really wanted us to indulge in some crazy sex before I left the state,” Sal told her.

  She slid herself into the makeshift grave. Beth held Sal’s hand after she tossed her bag down.

  Lust and sexual frustration tormented Sal as he unfastened her belt. Beth felt overwhelmed to be near him, she slid his pants down to rest at his feet. Tight and wrapped at the ankles, just how she remembered he liked it. A small blanket lay on the dirt ready for them to use. Together they lowered their bodies onto it. Oils squirted everywhere when Beth doused her thumbs with the scented pomegranate. Gently, with the utmost fun of foreplay, she rubbed his inner thighs. He arched his back, escalating into hardness. Beth excited him more when her lips sucked upon his shaft.