“I thought you were here to stop it.”
His green eyes glared at her. “It would seem I have failed.”
Part Three
The Songbirds
I
January 28, 2018…Chicago, Illinois
Nigel settled back into the leather couch and took a sip of the bourbon held in his right hand.
The lights of Chicago twinkled in through the condo floor-to-ceiling windows. The moon hunt off just left of center and a few stars glistened between the lights if passing airplanes.
His left hand stroked Sheila’s hair as, from her knees, she slowly sucked his erection deep into her mouth. “So, seriously, Indiana tomorrow?”
Busy, she ignored him.
A wisp of cloud passed in front of the moon and gave the ground a shot of lightning.
The lighting briefly sparked the jewel in his ring…his class ring from 1991 at Northern University.
II
August 22, 1986
“You have a great voice.”
Nigel grinned at the blonde. His skinny black necktie felt just a little too tight, and his father’s black suit felt just a little too big. “I’m not sure I could talk much into a microphone. I’m more a technical guy.”
He had arrived in Chicago only two days earlier. This had all started when a football recruiter from Northern had been on vacation in the United Kingdom with his wife. The recruiter’s rental car broke down on Ilkeston Rd. in Nottingham…popping a tire right in front of the auto garage where 20-year old Nigel just happened to fix cars. Young Nigel talked with the man and his wife, Tony and Tina, as he put the spare on.
In the ultimate cliché of one thing leading to another, while getting past their differences on what the word “football” meant, Tony and Tina soon found themselves staring in awe at the tiny radio studio that Nigel had built in the back of the auto shop. He and a few friends would broadcast most evenings. They would make fun of the daily news between playing cuts on the turntable of the Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and throwing in the occasional Rush tune for some foreign flavor.
Three weeks later an unexpected letter from Northern offered a scholarship for Nigel to come to Chicago and study media arts. His mother, a seamstress working for a local department store, said it was a chance to see the New World. She also mentioned it was a good chance for Nigel to put his father’s death behind him.
So here he sat across the desk from the campus radio manager for Northern Radio, WNUR FM 89.3. The speakers into the room filled with the new GTR cut as the current host, DJ Dave, played for the two or three he thought were listening.
“Angela? Aren’t you supposed to support independent music?” Nigel asked.
Her blue eyes met his briefly before shying away. “Of course.” Her face looked stern, not seeming to be impressed by his questioning of station content before he was hired.
“But GTR is a spin-off of both Yes and Genesis. How are they independent?”
A blank stare as her eyes lifted back up, this time not shying away.
“The two Steve’s playing guitar in the band. Steve Howe is from Yes and Steve Hackett was the original Genesis guitar player.”
“I guess Dave didn’t know.”
“I guess,” Nigel mimicked with a cluck of his tongue. “What about the cut before that? Does he think that Van Halen is a tiny band now that Sammy Hagar is singing for them?”
Angela’s sternness began to vanish.
“Why the fuck doesn’t the guy play Huey Lewis while he’s at it?”
She laughed. “Huey Lewis will never be…”
“Mark my words, Dave will play them if you don’t pay attention. For the ones listening to this station, he should be playing Floyd to help them smoke up at least.”
“They’re not exactly independent, either,” she pointed out.
“No, but they have a much more appropriate feel for what you’re going for, love.”
“I’ll hire you on one condition.”
Nigel was now speechless for a moment. “A fucking condition? You dare give me a fucking condition?” His tone was more mocking, as he knew he would take the job unless the condition was utterly ridiculous.
Her laugh suggested he guessed right. She knew already not to take him seriously.
“What condition?”
“You replace Dave on the air tomorrow.”
“But I’m more a technical guy. I don’t…”
“You know the bands. I want you in the chair with that knowledge.”
“I don’t know the independents.”
“Perhaps not, but from what you have already told me, you’ll learn.”
Nigel shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to lose the accent…and learn to watch my language, then.”
“Don’t you fucking dare do either,” she whispered. “Let’s go meet your producer.”
She stood and led him from the office and out to the studio.
Dave’s voice filled the hallway, “Of course tomorrow, the Bears will host the St. Louis Cardinals in the third preseason game of the season. The preseason will close with them in Buffalo next week, before hosting the Cleveland Browns to open the regular season at Soldier Field on the seventh of September. Make sure you get your tickets.”
“Football, my arse,” Nigel said under his breath as he followed Angela through the maze of halls.
Finally, they found the studio and the focal point was seeing DJ Dave through the glass where he continued to talk about nothing through his full beard with his beret and red shirt.
“Is the guy a fucking beatnik?” Nigel asked.
On this side of the glass, however, was a brunette showing just a little too much cleavage and a little too much leg. More importantly, however, she laughed at Nigel’s comment.
That evening, as Nigel lay in Angela’s queen-sized bed snuggled between Angela and the brunette, he thought it was funny how he ended getting to this point.
III
January 28, 2018
Nigel still thought it was funny as he made eye contact with that very same brunette, Sheila, while she sucked. The thought, that Angela would be joining them at Club Exclusive tomorrow for play, made it even seem funnier.
“Thanks, Tony,” he whispered and sipped his bourbon again before his eyes returned to the stars and incoming planes outside his condo window.
IV
January 29, 2018
“Nigel? Are you ready?” Sheila pulled the string of pearls around her neck and clasped them. She sat at her desk in the bedroom with a large mirror behind it…it would sub as both her home workspace and make-up table when needed.
One thing she and Nigel both had in common was that they did not need physical space…they were both minimalists in their wants for materials and home, thus the custom condo that they had built was perfect for them. The condo offered large windows, but very little floor space. The loft area, dominated by the hot tub, was the largest area in the place.
“Almost. Angela here yet?” Nigel’s voice sounded strained. That meant he was putting his tie on. He hated ties. The last time he had worn a tie it was his father’s, and it was for the first time he met Angela in a university interview.
The first guitar licks by Alex Lifeson and drum rolls by Neil Peart began to fill the rooms with the newest tune from the Rush anthology. Then Geddy Lee’s high voice began to drift along from the speakers strategically scattered throughout the condo.
“All the journeys of this great adventure, it didn’t always feel this way, I wouldn’t trade them because I made them, the best I could, and that’s enough to say,” Geddy sang.
Sheila had always been an odd woman in that Rush was her favorite band…bar none. The band was usually seen as one that appealed much more to the male populous. With makeup and jewelry on…ready to go…she allowed herself to relax and close her eyes.
The drive would be about four hours to Indianapolis before a night at Club Exclusive with Angela. The same woman who had hired Nigel and b
rought him into Sheila’s life in the first place.
Her mind slipped backward to that first time she and Nigel had discussed the band…
V
August 22, 1986
“You are a gorgeous one.”
Sheila looked up into his blue eyes. She had always found accents to be a turn on and his British one was no different. With the weather still reaching 80 degrees that day, she had chosen a short black skirt, a red halter-top, and almost non-existent black flip-flops. Her voice, however, was at a loss…no one had used that as an opening line greeting to her before.
“You’re listening to WNUR eighty-nine point three from Northern University, have a great weekend!” DJ Dave nearly cried out over the airwaves before spinning the next tune.
Geddy Lee started singing about Big Money from the most recent Rush album.
The Brit smiled. “Here’s some music I can get behind. Shame they are Canadian.”
Sheila turned to flip the “on-air” light outside the booth door off.
Dave, in the booth, stood and pulled his headphones off. Quickly he was out the booth door, snapping it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found the man standing over Sheila. “Hi, I’m DJ Dave.” His eyes then flashed to Angela beside the man…she ran the station…ignoring the confusion, he returned his focus to the man. “Autograph?”
The man turned from Sheila and almost laughed. “You have something for me to sign?”
The confusion on Dave’s face grew. “Um…”
Sheila knew what was happening. Dave had never been quick on the draw, which is what made a good radio host and she had always felt he was not long for this radio life.
“Dave,” Angela cut in before comedy gold turned into a Brit pummeling a Yankee. “This is Nigel.”
Nigel offered a hand that DJ Dave shook.
Stepping beside Dave, she put an arm around him. “You’ve been promoted.”
Dave’s face lit up like it was the fourth of July.
“Let’s go in my office and talk.”
Led by Angela, he vanished from the booth.
“Promoted?”
Sheila laughed. The accent really worked on her. “I think she is spinning his demotion to the overnight crew.”
“Ah, I see. So I’m Nigel.” He first wiped it off on the back of his jeans, but then offered her the same hand that Dave had shaken just a moment ago.
Another laugh. “He’s not that slimy.” She accepted the hand and held it for a moment longer than intended. His mesmerizing eyes soon had her clasping both of her hands around his.
“Perhaps, not, but there is just something about him.”
“Oh, and I’m Sheila.”
“My new producer, or so Angela told me.”
“You’re the new talent?”
“Funny, but I came in looking for a tech job. I’m good with my hands, but she seems to want me for my lips.”
More laughs escaped her as she nearly swooned at the dripping euphemisms. Finally, her hands released his. “So tell me…what do you have against Canadians?”
“Eh?” His Pink Floyd t-shirt was the typical black and slightly too big for him and was contradicted by the blue jeans that were just a little too tight.
Another giggle as her chin dropped to her chest and her eyes looked up at him. “You said it was a shame Rush was Canadian.”
“Oh. There is nothing wrong with Canadians. Even as an independent they just would have been marketed better were they British or even American.”
Angela returned stepping quickly through the door. “So you two are getting to know each other, I hope?”
Sheila nodded. “Yes, that will take some time, however.”
“I have an idea.” Nigel winked. “How about the three of us go have a drink and then you two both join me at my place…”
The glare that came from both women was shock and disgust…that slowly melted to curiosity.
Angela shook her head. “How dare you!”
An hour later, Nigel was on his back with Angela straddling him and Sheila licking his balls.
Sheila stared at his ball sack and watched as Angela’s pussy played “hide the erection” over and over. This was not truly where she had expected herself to be this afternoon. She also had figured that it would have taken her a few drinks to get into such a place…but both she and Angela had agreed to save the drinks for later when the pubs were busier. Instead, here she was sitting in Angela’s office chair and watching her boss fuck the talent on the boss’ desk.
VI
Sheila snapped back to reality as the phone rang.
From the mumbling sound of Nigel’s voice, the concierge had called up to say their car was ready.
A smile slipped across her lips. She knew that they would be recreating that first meeting with Nigel later this evening.
VII
November 15, 2016
“What would Jesus say?” Miriam asked with a smirk that defied Anne Wilson’s vocals that were slipping into the room from the speakers in the hall.
Nigel and Sheila sat across the boardroom table from Miriam and her lawyer. This meeting usually happened monthly when some soccer-mom Christian right-winger would march into the station to try and shut Nigel’s show down. Nigel often joked that he exchanged sex for Sheila’s lawyer work.
The room had no windows and was in the center of the radio station’s office space. When legal issues were being resolved, they wanted no light on the subject…at least no natural light.
Sheila looked around the room. “I’m sorry, but is he here? Unless he is, his potential testimony had very little to do with this.”
“The snarky attitude is not required. My client is giving you the opportunity to stop your broadcasts before we go with obscenity charges.” The other lawyer was young and fresh from law school…obviously not realizing that this was not Nigel and Sheila’s first rodeo.
“The entire threat of a lawsuit is snarky, Mister…” Her eyes drifted down to try and show disdain by not remembering his name…that, with her eidetic memory was just for show. “…Sanders.”
“What about the children that might hear your show?” Miriam folded her hands on the table and her blue sundress creased even more.
The word ‘frumpy’ crossed Nigel’s mind often since she first walked into the room. It also struck him as odd that she would wear a sundress in November. “We offer them sex ed., love,” he said laying on the British accent. With how long he had lived in the US, he could turn the accent on and off as needed, but felt he wanted to be particularly condescending at the moment. He always found the colonists, especially the holier than thou colonists, reacted poorly to accents. “Ow! What the fuck?” he leaned forward from the kick Sheila had got his shin with.
“See! Such language!” Marian’s finger flared out like a broadsword and shook at him.
“It’s just words, darlin’.” Nigel grinned and realized that she would look good if the dress was not so conservative. He sensed a slender, curvy body beneath the frock that he would love to spread the legs of and taste. These thoughts, as usual, caused his mouth to water.
“…free speech…” Sheila said.
His mind wandered to what it would look like if she allowed him to pull out the bun her blonde hair was being held in and pulling it just enough for him to explore the neck that it would expose. The freckles on her face somehow gave this adventure a whiff of taboo. He then imagined sliding his hand along the fabric and pushing right between her breasts to feel, but not see her cleavage.
“…burden of proof…” Sheila continued.
Well, at first, anyway.
The dress would have to go. He wanted Sheila in front of her, kissing her while Nigel plowed his hard cock into get from behind while wrapping his hands in her hair and pulling.
“…completely fucking insane…”
His mind then drifted to her lips and how they would feel wrapped around his Johnson…he always called it his Johnson in honor of Johnson and Johns
on, not related, as played by Robert Davi and Grand L. Cook. Naming his cock after Die Hard characters always tickled him…even if they did die in a fiery helicopter crash brought on by their own trigger-happiness.
“Nigel, are you with me?”
His mind snapped back to the real. “Where did they go?” He blinked, realizing that the room was now empty save him and Sheila.
“As usual, you zoned out and stopped talking. Amazing how quickly I can make then go away when that happens.”
“Oh, yeah, maybe I should be quiet more.”
Sheila laughed. “We’d both be out of jobs then.”
“Good point. You know, if you dress her in something other than a drop cloth…”
“Don’t fucking go there!”
He grimaced. “Ah. Sorry.”
“You’re right, though.”
“So, are we done here? Can we go fuck at the club now?”
Eyes squinted before Sheila spoke. “We’re done, but I have a feeling we will be hearing from her again. She’s not the usual skittish sheep.”
“Good to know.” His head tilted up in thought…for two seconds… “So, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?”
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky, let’s go fuck.”
VIII
December 4, 2016…Chicago, Illinois
The bathroom had yellow paint…yes, yellow. It was the yellow shade of a slightly dull banana. The yellow of a 1960s VW Beetle that is still on the road still and in sore need of having a new paint job. The yellow of an ancient submarine that once carried four other types of Beatles.
The chrome faucet over the sink showed some serious wear. It also showed some toothpaste that the children were kind enough to spill before rushing off to school. It was the only line of defense the white sink had, which also showed signs of the toothpaste assault. First defense at any assault was to splash the culprit. Unfortunately, that always meant splashing the white countertop as well…the counter was always collateral damage.
Just Prey: Savannah - Book One Page 4