My no is disgruntled.
"What?" Peter asks. "The man must be gay."
Jacqueline stares off. She feels as lost in the world as I do but for different reasons. It breaks my heart. She has been so amazing to me that this is the least I can do for her. "Let's give it a shot and see what happens."
"Really?"
I nod and Jacqueline hugs me before swiping up her roses and making for her room. Peter's fingers glide over my arm. "Darling, I really don't like the sound of where this is going."
"Why, Peter, you are jealous!"
Peter leans in and whispers in my ear, sending beautiful tingles of fairy dust swirling around me. "Somehow I will find a way to show you a world so fabulous you could never dream it existed."
"And how do you propose to do that? You're a little on the dead side."
"No matter what that Niles guy has to offer, be sure to save your heart for me." His hand passes a caress through my chin. The resulting sensation coursing through my veins sends my heart thundering. Peter fades, yet the passion lingers on.
Wedding Ring
February 1967
Crazy as it was, four months into our relationship Jane and I officially decided to live together. Of course her parents were completely flipping their lids. As we all sat around the dining room table her father took the news so harshly the old geezer almost choked on his roast. He gulped down the meat and turned flaming red. He was ready to throttle me.
I panicked. This was my love we were talking about. The thought of being without her made me wish my body were devoid of blood. She adored her father, and I feared what his lack of acceptance could mean to us. My heart's words raced forth without my brain's consent. "Mr. MacFadden, I don't intend to shack up with your daughter. I plan to marry her. In fact, the reason I am here tonight is to ask for your daughter's hand."
My bold declaration surprised everyone, especially myself. However, even if I had planned the most romantic of proposals in the most opulent of spaces I could not have meant it more. From the moment I entered Jane's makeup room my mind turned all other women into shapeless mannequins.
With sheepish excitement I turned to Jane. Her tender lips I longed to kiss slowly parted while she internally questioned if I were serious. Marriage was to be down the road, yet my nod conveyed my words were for the now.
The tiny tears that formed in Jane's eyes told me she was more than fine with professing our love legally. The modern notion of taking your time before saying I do seemed crazy when you'd found the one who makes life worth living—the one who helps you find purpose in the mundane. That's exactly what I had found in Jane.
Jane's father turned to her. His voice was unmistakably stern. "Clearly you didn't know about this. How do you feel about this matter?" Matter was said like a filthy word reserved for trick turners in alleyways.
Jane smiled and my insides burst with joy. She answered by dashing around the table with her locks flapping in the breeze from her speed. I pushed back my chair, eager to run to her, but she plopped herself into my lap before I could rise. Her sweet lips made for the perfect dessert. "You're really serious, aren't you?"
My actions answered the question. I motioned her off of my lap with the intent of getting on one knee, but locks of her hair had flown across her face, and I didn't want even the slightest bit of her beauty concealed. As my fingers combed the locks away her eyes drew me in. I became so enchanted by them I lost track of formalities. Finally my left knee touched the ground.
"Jane MacFadden, the day we met you said you would never let another opportunity at happiness pass you by. You always put a smile on my face no matter how miserable I may be. How you manage to love me despite my quirks is completely without reason. Will you do me the incredible honor of spending the rest of our days together?"
"Yes!" she cried over and over again while bouncing at the knees. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" My lips met hers and the peace brought on by our decision was akin to finding comfort in front of a crackling fire. I didn't just have her in my arms. I now held all that was precious in the world.
Jane's mother sobbed, absolutely thrilled for her daughter. Jane's father, however, was silent except for his fingers that thunked rapidly on the table. "Daddy, are you okay with this?"
Her father groused, and I wanted to say something to plead my case to the judge but knew it was best to keep my yackety trap shut.
"Honey," Jane's mother addressed her husband, "I'd like to remind you that when we married we had been together fewer than six months. That was twenty-five years ago."
"Yes, but this is my daughter, and they've only been together four months."
"You're right, Daddy," Jane sighed remorsefully. Her smirk was concealed from all but me. I knew whatever she had cooked up would lead me into a whirlwind that I'd no desire to escape. "Peter, we have to wait until we reach the six-month mark. Meanwhile we'll live together as planned."
Mr. MacFadden seemed to be on the verge of having steam coming out of his reddening ears. "And just where do you plan to shack up with my daughter? I won't allow her to be in some rickety flat in London where the radiator never works and you're lucky if the plumbing does!"
Now this I was ready for; because while marriage is a formality, true happiness hinges on the dreams of the heart becoming a reality. "Actually, sir, that's a little surprise Jane's unaware of. Now that our second album was just released with a bullet I've secured a house in the country. We'll rent for now, but as soon as she decides it's where she wants to be, we'll buy it."
Jane squealed and gripped me tighter. Her father smacked his napkin onto the table as if it were a glass he wished to shatter. "Fine! Marry the man. You have my blessing but on one condition. None of this living together business. I don't care if you marry at the Registrar's Office. No daughter of mine lives in sin!"
Jane's eyes reminded me of diamonds in the sun. She knew my thoughts and didn't hesitate. "Well, Peter, what do you say? This weekend?"
"This weekend," I confirmed. Our lips met, and at that moment, as far as our hearts were concerned, Jane and I became one forever.
Oliver's Army
"My God, who is that?" Inside the lobby at work I walk up to Darla as she stares out the window at a beautiful specimen. His deeply toned skin is so smooth it is jealousy inducing. "Damn, his cheekbones are as high as a skyscraper."
"Davion Pense," she says through a breathy sigh. "He applied for a job in the warehouse. You should get a good look at his lips. They are so kissable that I almost jumped across my desk and grabbed dessert. He's also single."
"How do you know that?"
"We had a nice chat while he waited for his interview. He lost his wife of nearly a decade last year and just moved here to start over. He's one of those striving-for-change, never-give-up types that we all try to be."
The smell of cigarettes coming from behind tells me the clicking of the heels I just heard belong to Oliver. "What are you two looking at?" All eyes remain locked on the target.
"Heaven," Darla says while sounding as if the man is a creature of her dreams.
I share in her revelry. "With the way he's built it's no wonder he applied to work in the warehouse. He would be perfect."
"Perfect for what?" Even though Oliver nudges my shoulder, it's Darla who gives his arm a playful smack. Here they go again.
"That's a nice thought, but he doesn't have the right forklift license. There's no time to train him, so they went with another guy."
"Bummer." I can't help but check out his ass as he walks to his car. "It would be nice to have a little more eye candy around this place."
Darla rolls her eyes. "You mean some eye candy!"
"Hey, what am I?" Oliver protests.
Darla's eyes twinkle with mischief. "A thorn in my side who smokes too close to my lobby while yammering on his cell phone."
"I'd return the banter, but as a male member of the species I have learned not to fight. Instead I'll just put tape over the earpiece on your phone so you'll think you are grow
ing old and losing your hearing."
"Well, I suppose it's not any worse than the time I used high-tac to stick your stapler to the ceiling." Darla tosses a copy of the dreamboat's résumé onto her desk. "I'm keeping this, just in case we ever need it."
I grab it for a once over. "Wow, he's got a lot of job stability and great letters of recommendation."
"Why can't all guys come with résumés and references?"
"Amen to that, sister!"
Oliver flails his arms. "Hey, hello! Guy standing right here, totally willing to be ogled instead of slammed for being male."
"Tell ya what, Oliver. You help Rox by grabbing this box one of the managers left on my credenza because he was too lazy to walk to the elevator, and I promise to watch as you do it."
"What? Are you serious?" I turn to find an overflowing Banker's Box of ratty folders. The ridiculousness just never ends around this place. "These are personnel folders." At least they're in a box this time.
"Yeah, he was gonna leave them for you in the break room but then he decided he shouldn't be so lazy and left them here."
How non-chivalrous, not to mention the fact those should always be under lock and key. How is it I know more about employee confidentiality than the managers? I've got to get out of this place.
Oliver takes the box from me as I start to head back to my office. "Here, allow me. If I can't get ogled, at least I can be useful."
As he passes Darla's desk he stops and whispers to her, "Hey, thanks for covering for me the other day when I spaced on that meeting. You really saved my ass. Seriously, one slip and I could have lost my job. That would have lost me my kids as well."
Darla waves it off. However, the forty minutes she spent faking to the boss that Oliver was with a client while he was really off trying to patch things with his ex got pretty hair-raising. "No worries. You know I've always got your back."
"No, Darla, you've always got everyone's back. I owe you."
The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle
April 1967
I'd been waiting in Chadwick Gordon's lobby for over half an hour. He told me to haul it in because he had my check for the last album that hit the top of the charts two months before. Stop me if you've heard this one before, but to date, after all the expenses had been deducted the fact we had one of the hottest selling albums in all of the UK meant nothing financially—at least not in our pockets.
The secretary continuously eyed me. She must have thought I was a thieving delinquent who'd spring up from his chair and knife her. With a clearing of her throat she gingerly rolled her chair back from her desk, afraid to make a sudden movement. Cup in hand, she dashed out of the room. The sound of coffee pouring invaded my head, so I took advantage of my time alone by listening through the office door. From inside boomed not the voice of Gordon but that of Stoddard. Why was he there?
The click of the secretary's heels signaled it was time to slip back into my seat. On my way I grabbed a magazine so that it looked as if I had been up for a legitimate reason. Did B.S. know I was out there?
Finally the secretary got a call from the next room. Gordon's voice faintly came through the phone as he said it was time to cut my check. The door opened, and I kept my eyes to the magazine while wondering if B.S. would acknowledge me. The only greeting I got was a nose-itching whiff of his cologne and cigar smoke as he strode past.
The secretary flipped out the checkbook and started writing. Once finished, she announced Mr. Gordon would see me and guided me into the office. As if she was eager to no longer have it in contact with her skin, the secretary slid the check across the desk for signature before slipping out of the room. Gordon scribbled on the thing and then came round and patted me on the back. It seemed he wished he had a knife to jab in. When I looked down at the check the knife I feared sat before me.
"Thirty-four hundred quid? What is this for? Are you requesting I pick up your dry cleaning?"
Gordon chuckled as he rocked back on his heels. I was being treated like a five-year-old whom had just been given some penny sweets. "Peter, I really must see you more often. I forget how entertaining that sense of humor of yours is."
"It seems you're the one with the sense of humor. You mean I spent what felt like an eternity in the studio recording that bloody album and I get this in return? I expect I'm to split this with the rest of the band. How are we supposed to eat?"
"No, Peter, that is all yours. I'm paying all of you individually. You're actually getting a bonus." He handed me a check for another thousand.
"What's this for?"
"You contribute far more than the other lads, so I thought you deserved a little surprise. You know, since you're so interested in the business aspects. I figure that means you understand how these things work, right, boy?"
Oh, yeah. I knew too well that piddly check was hush money. He wanted me to keep my trap shut because I was the one who'd been speaking out about the ridiculous sum of money we didn't make. I knew we were being screwed. I just couldn't figure out how.
Mr. Giant Arse gave me a grin coated in smarminess. He then picked up the phone and called his secretary. "Mrs. Saunders, would you please send in that gentleman friend of mine? I think Mr. Lane might like to talk to him."
Great. He'd just given her the code to send in the goons. With the checks in hand I headed out the door. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers." He and I both knew it was an empty threat. Something very shady was going on, which meant that no one his right mind would go up against the guy.
The secretary's eyes were fixated on her desk, and this dog that had just been given a bone could smell she was embarrassed. I took pity and wished her a nice day. With her eyes still to the desk I swear she mouthed, "I'm sorry, Peter."
The last place I wanted to do my wallowing was at home in front of Jane, so I decided to do it over a pint at the pub downstairs from Gordon's office. I tossed myself into a booth, pissed off as all hell. Even with those checks I'd barely a penny to my name. I had to wait too long between payments and the bills had piled. I hadn't a clue when more money would trickle in.
The booth's partition took my body's burden as I tried to find some semblance of peace within myself. Across the room a young man played darts. Each shot he took was a little jab to my soul. He looked hopeful and happy. I remembered looking like that as if it were yesterday. Actually, it pretty much had been.
Laughter burst from the next booth. Loud, jovial, maniacal laughter from a voice I recognized all too well. I should have known Stoddard would celebrate my misery at the closest pub. My head hung down to my beer as his words flowed through the partition and jabbed into me.
"To Mega Records," B.S. said, "and their partnership with Chadwick Gordon." Glasses clanked and beers were guzzled.
"It was a brilliant idea, boss," an unknown voice said. "Buying out the label and making a ridiculous deal with the manager for such a high percentage of sales is genius. Between that, selling the band and the masters of the new album, along with what you skimmed off the top and your commission, those guys are barely going to keep a dime."
Mr. B.S. cleared his throat. "Freddy, you need to learn the art of boasting. I wouldn't exactly call it skimming. It's a legitimate business deal. We just got a little creative with the numbers. It's like what we did with the clothing stores on Carnaby by persuading them to give us products in exchange for publicity, yet adding the receipts to the ledger anyway."
It wasn't creative; it was damned brilliant. And yes, the art of boasting was indeed right. Stoddard was great at letting the world know he was an over-handed crook. People were so busy watching both their fronts and their backs that they didn't have time to mess with him.
"You know what though, Freddy? Money may mean everything to the ladies, but to guys like me, it's more of an insurance policy. No woman or rock star wants to be left in a rich man's dust."
I downed my beer with the intent of punching the guy. My foot hit the floor, and Jane's image coated my mind. I didn't want t
o cause her humiliation, so I slipped out the door before anyone could notice. All the while I vowed that I would get that man's head on a platter if it was the last thing I did.
Stupid Jerk
Rosalyn and I ride in the back of Tom's Mercedes. She looks incredible in a black, nineteen fifties' wiggle dress that hugs her figure and shows off her curves. The cleavage is nice as well.
Maybe a little too nice.
What caused this scratch in the leather on the back of Tom's seat? A brief case? Ski poles? A girl clawing to get away? A gentleman keeps his eyes on the seat; a pig keeps them on the cleavage.
Rosalyn's cleavage is a deep pool that I want to dive into.
Tom takes his sweet time getting out of the car. He whips out his phone and snickers while responding to a text before futzing with his sports coat. Does the guy not own a tie? Jacqueline waits, so I open her door along with Rosalyn's. "Sorry," Jacqueline whispers as she steps out.
Finally Tom makes his way around the car. "Thanks, man." He leans in and tells me on the sly, "Last night's hottie wants more lovin'. You know how it is." With a wink he takes Jacqueline's hand. What a scumbag.
Rosalyn shakes her head and stares at Tom as he strolls off. "I'll talk to Jacqueline inside," she groans.
Simple moments like this scare me, so Rosalyn is offered my arm. The layers of fabric that cover it remind me of Linus clinging to his security blanket. I'm an idiot for delaying the inevitable.
I'm fully mortified. Tom needs to learn the definition of the word whisper along with a few others, such as class and humility. Niles raises one side of his lips in awkward acknowledgement to the fact I'm hip to that asshole. He whispers in my ear, "I would never do that to you," then offers his arm. My heart melts as I'm reminded I'm on a date with a guy I'm getting to be pretty crazy over. However, the second we get in the restaurant I haul Jacqueline off to the restroom and fill her in on the ridiculousness.
Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 8