by C. T. Sloan
This is officially the most insane fuck of my life. I am lying against a brick wall, in an alleyway, while getting eaten out by a guy whose name I don’t even know. Even by LA standards, this is a little left of normal. The handsome stranger is determined to make me cum right here in the back of the alley. And he is doing a hell of a job of getting me there. My stomach convulses as that tongue laps up my most intimate place. The handsome stranger licks and licks until I bury my fingernails into his scalp. That’s enough for my lover to drop me to the ground, turn me around and fuck me from behind.
My hair whips around as my anonymous lover covers my mouth with his hands. He rails me so well that I bite down on his fingers. That, however, is not deterring him at all. In fact, the harder I bite my lover, the harder he fucks me. “You are so fucking beautiful at that piano,” he says as I feel myself reaching closer and closer to climax.
My lover bends me over until the top of my head is touching the brick wall in front of me. He grabs my tits and fucks me deep. I scream. I cum so hard that my head slams against the wall. It feels like I’ve just been in a car accident. The two of us hold each other’s bodies as he lay against the brick wall behind the Arrow Bar. Even though we are undressed, the perfect Santa Monica evening makes our bodies feel nice and relaxed.
“I’ve never had so much crazy sex,” I tell my anonymous lover.
“You have inspired me to find new ways to fuck you,” he responds. We get dressed and make our way back to the club. My dress sticks to my body as the heat from the club makes me feel like I am in a sauna. We get to the bar. I ask for a drink of ice water. My anonymous lover goes straight for his rum and Coke.
As I take my drink, I notice a couple of people staring at me. It’s strange, even though I am no longer on stage, people continue to look at me like I am somebody.
“Carrie?” I hear a voice say behind my back. I turn around and see a forty-something guy with shoulder length hair and a three-day growth of facial hair.
“I just wanted to tell you that your last song was incredible. Are you recording with anyone?”
“No.”
“You are not signed to a label?
“I just started playing live a couple of days ago.”
“Really?” the scruffy guy says with a mix of surprise and intrigue. “My name Is Jonathan Ellis, I have a music production house just down the street. We mostly do commercial music and sound production. I would like to record and produce that last song, ‘Lover with No Name.’ I know some people at a couple of labels. I’d be more than happy to pass the song along.”
My eyes open wide as this scruffy guy offers me the chance to record the song. I look at my anonymous lover, and he also appears impressed by the offer.
“To be honest, I’ve never recorded anything in a proper studio. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“It’s easy. I’ll produce and set everything up. Your song is great because it’s simple. It’s just you and a piano. Maybe you’ll want to try adding a few strings and percussion. You have a song that is sexual yet real. I’ll be honest and tell you that I’ve never heard a song quite like that in a long, long time.”
I can’t believe this. Just three days ago, my keyboard was collecting dust under my bed. Now, this guy wants to record and produce my song. “I totally want to do it.”
“Great. What time is good for you?”
“Let’s do it in the late afternoon like 5:00,” I offer.
“Sounds good.”
I hug my anonymous lover. Jonathan is bemused by my outward show of affection. “So I take it the song is about him?” Jonathan says as he looks at my anonymous lover.
“Yeah.”
“And you seriously don’t know his name?!” Jonathan asks.
“Nope.”
The music producer laughs. “Well, it looks like the best songs are truly based on real life.”
My lover and I spend a few more minutes at the bar. Then we decide to go for a walk outside.
Every day, we seem to draw closer and closer though I do not know much more about my anonymous lover.
“I know we aren’t supposed to reveal that much about each other but, I’d like to ask you one question,” I say.
“I can’t promise that I will answer but, feel free to ask,” my anonymous lover responds.
“Have you ever done this anonymous relationship stuff before?”
“Yeah.”
“How do those relationships end?”
“The girl always tries to find out about me.”
“Am I close to losing you?”
“I don’t know,” my anonymous lover says as he looks at me. “I want to see you every night. But I can’t get too close to anyone. If I feel the relationship is getting too personal, I’ll break away.”
Boy, I think this relationship could spark a new song every single night!
****
It’s 8:30 a.m. I am sitting at the edge of my bed. It’s already too late for me to leave for work. For the past hour, I have been staring at the clock. I don’t want to go to that job. I don’t want to drive to downtown LA, fight traffic and sit at that reception desk for another day. Like my anonymous lover says, “Life is too short.” I pick up my cell phone and call my boss.
“This is Carol.”
“Hi Carol. It’s Carrie.”
“Don’t tell me you are taking another day off.”
“I’m quitting.”
“Why?”
“I’m um, found a new job.”
“Alright, well, you’ll have to do an exit interview when you pick up your final paycheck.”
“Alright.”
“So, tell me. What kind of great new job did you find?”
What am I supposed to tell her. I’m leaving a perfectly good receptionist job to play piano at a bar in Santa Monica. “I found a place to work closer to home.”
“Alright, well. Good luck at your new job.”
The second after I hang up with my boss, panic sets in. This is real. I have given up my only stable form of income. And I still have to come up with my half of the rent and utilities for this apartment. That’s about seven hundred bucks a month. I quickly begin to calculate how much in tips I’d have to earn each night. Even if I worked 30 nights a month, I would have to get at least 30 bucks to cover living expenses. Well, I better learn to become a better singer-songwriter pretty quick.
I pick up my keyboard and begin to play. To start things off, I play the songs that are already familiar with me. Then I try my hand at composing something new. Two hours go by and I don’t have much. I guess I can’t come up with a lightning bolt of inspiration every day. I continue to practice until about four in the afternoon. Then I get into my car and head over to Jonathan Ellis’ production house in Santa Monica.
The production house, named Ellis Arts, is located about five blocks down from the bar. Funny, I have walked past this two story concrete and glass building thousands of times and never knew what they did in there. I go up to the intercom and mention my name. The door buzzes. I open the door and head up a flight of stairs to the reception area. A wave of excitement and nerves runs through my body. This is it. This is my first recording session!
Jonathan shows up with a recording engineer and walks me to his personal recording studio. The place is nice and big with guitars, amps, drum kits and keyboards all over the room.
“I was thinking that you should just record with a piano and then you can decide if you want to add an arrangement,” Jonathan explains.
Sounds good to me. As I sit myself at this baby grand, several assistant engineers set up microphones as well as prep the mixing boards.
After several minutes, I am left alone in the recording room while everyone sits on the other side of the glass.
“Anytime you’re ready,” the engineer tells me. I close my eyes and picture the anonymous stranger. Then I begin to play. The song is so well imprinted in my mind that I don’t even need to refer to the sheet music.
About five minutes later, I finish the song. As the final note reverberates through my headphones, I exhale deeply and relax at the piano.
“Wow,” Jonathan says.
“Would you like me to do another take?”
“Do as many as you want.”
I play the song a few more times. During my last take, I even improvise a little piano solo in the middle of the song. My body is completely comfortable. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am doing what I was meant to do in this world.
The engineer plays back each of the takes. Jonathan and I discuss possible string or percussion accompaniments to the song. But after a little debate, we decide that the song is stronger with just the piano and my vocals.
“You have something really special,” Jonathan tells me. “Most of the sexy songs on the radio just sound so manufactured. In an ideal world, this song would be a number one hit. I can’t promise you that. But I will assure you that you have a definite future as a singer-songwriter.”
“Wow. That’s all I needed to hear,” I gush.
Jonathan offers me a tour of his facility while the engineer does a final mix on the song. He shows me the half-dozen or so studios in his building. We walk in on one session where several musicians are laying down a score for a beer commercial. It’s kinda fun seeing a music jingle composed in front of your eyes.
“This work pays the bills. But to get some creative juices going, I like to find up-and-coming musicians and give them some studio time. I’ve discovered lots of talent over on Venice Beach. Some of them have gotten on record labels. Nothing big. I definitely believe you will get signed to someone based on your song,” Jonathan says.
As we walk down the hall, the receptionist walks up with a package. She has a perplexed look on her face as she walks up to her boss holding the package. “Um, I have no idea who this package is for,” the young blonde girl says. “It’s addressed to, ‘A Lover With No Name.’”
Jonathan looks at me as he grabs the package. “This might be for you,” he says as he hands me the mysterious large white envelope.
I look at the words and immediately recognize the handwriting of my anonymous lover. I smile widely and tell both of them, “Oh yeah. This is for me.” I open the envelope and find a map of Hollywood. On the map is a heart drawn over the corner of Hollywood and Highland with a note that says, “Meet me at Midnight.”
Jonathan can’t help but look over my shoulder, trying to decipher the cryptic message. “What is all that about?” he asks. Well, what am I supposed to tell him? That my anonymous lover only communicates with me through handwritten notes? I just look at my producer and tell him, “Looks like I have a date tonight.”
***
I spent the rest of the afternoon just walking around Santa Monica. I walked along the beach and made my way to some of the super and scary-talented street musicians over on the Venice Boardwalk. For the first time, I feel a kindred spirit with these folks. While the rest of the world is working in offices, we pursue our passion in hopes that these passions will put food on our table. Well, they have Venice Beach and I have the Arrow Bar.
I get to the bar at around 9:00 p.m. The bartender waves over to me and says, “Half these people are asking if you are going to play tonight.” Wow. I actually have fans?! The bartender tells me that I can have anything I want from the bar. So I ask for a glass of Rum and Coke. Might as well go for some strong stuff before I hit the piano.
At 9:15, I walk up to the stage to some scattered applause. That completely catches me off guard. As I look out into the audience, I see some familiar faces from last night. I sit down at the piano and tell the audience, “It’s great to be back tonight.” Then I begin to play. I start to play some of my older songs. There are about six tables of people right up in front of the piano. Their attention is fixated on me. I see a couple of girls around my age who are really into my music. I can’t even begin to tell you how that affects me because I know how they feel. When I first heard Fiona Apple’s music at ten years old, it changed my world. When I first saw her at the Coachella Music Festival, I cried. I don’t know if I will have that exact effect on my fans but it feels good to have people listen to my music.
After I finish my first song, several people come up to the piano and leave tips. There must be about twenty bucks in the tip jar. Nice! I just earned back my gas money. I play a few more songs before I launch into my new signature piece. “I just recorded this song this afternoon thanks to my new producer Jonathan Ellis. I hope you like it. It’s called, ‘Lover With No Name.’” Before I can even finish the title to the song, I hear people clap. Damn, that feels good!
I close my eyes and play my song. Again, the bar begins to fall quiet as I pour out my most intimate lyrics. When I open my eyes, I notice the entire bar just looking at me. My heart swells with pride as I continue to play this ode to my anonymous lover. When I am finished, I am treated to a huge wave of applause. The outpouring is so great that I give a little bow to the audience. Several people leave me cash in the tip jar. This time, the tippers are almost exclusively all men. They leave tens and twenties. Damn, this is stripper cash! One pudgy, balding middle-aged guy leaves me a hundred-dollar bill with his phone number written on it. It looks like I have gotten my first stalker!
I finish my set at 11:00. My tip jar overflows with cash. I grab the money and start to count it as I make my way to the bar. Fuck! I just made $337! My eyes open wide as I stuff the cash into my purse.
“Can’t you stay for another hour?! Business is hopping and the tips are great!” the bartender pleads.
I reach into my purse and hand the bartender $50. “I have to be somewhere at midnight. But I promise to do some longer sets in the future.”
The bartender happily takes my tip and says, “You are welcome back here anytime!”
I skip out of the bar overwhelmed with a sense of pride that I have never felt in my life. I get to my car and head over to Hollywood and Highland. As I drive over to Hollywood, I begin to wonder why my anonymous lover would want to meet me in such a random place. Not that I mind. I would meet the handsome stranger in the middle of a junkyard if he demanded it. As I drive towards Hollywood, I am treated to a freak show of crazy homeless people, scary looking drug dealers, street walkers and other weirdos. I park my car at the Hollywood and Highland Center. Then I refer to the map to find out exactly where my anonymous lover wants me.
As I walk down the street, I notice that I am walking right on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I see some familiar names on the sidewalk. When I get to the exact corner marked on the map sent to me, I see a strange star sitting right on the corner. It appears that someone placed a fake “Star” right at the corner. I lean over and read the name, “Anonymous Girl.”
“Until you get the real thing,” a familiar voice says behind my back. I turn around and see my anonymous lover. He has a wide smile on his face. I give him a hug.
“That is so sweet!” I tell him.
“I thought it would be funny,” he says. “And I am surprised no one stole it. It’s been sitting there on the corner for about fifteen minutes.”
“So I quit my job,” I tell my lover.
“Good for you. It’s probably not what you wanted to do in life.”
“It certainly is not,” I say as I reach into my purse and proudly pull out the hundred-dollar bill with a phone number on it. “Check this out. I got a tip from this guy who left his phone number on it.”
My anonymous lover looks at the bill and checks out the phone number. “Well, that’s what comes with eventual fame. Soon, you’ll have thousands of guys lusting after you.”
“I never thought I’d be proud to have a stalker,” I say as we walk down Hollywood Boulevard.
“Well, celebrities eventually date other celebrities. You’ll soon find yourself in the arms of some rock star.”
I stop and look at the anonymous stranger oddly. Why would he say something like that? “I don’t want to date a celebrit
y. I want to be with you.”
My lover looks at me. I don’t like the look. “You know what we have can’t last forever.”
“What do you mean?! Are you going to dump me?!” I ask.
“Look, we don’t really know each other,” my lover tells me as he grabs my hand. “You’re young. You are going to have wonderful relationships with really interesting guys. And you are going to be rich and famous. You are going to have your pick of guys.”
“I don’t want other guys! I want you!” I yell.