by J. J. Murray
“Dream Song” oozed sex, and the crowd added ooh’s and aah’s. The first melody was slow and sure, the second melody faster, almost scampering. The third melody had a definite far eastern, Indian sound.
Wow, Trina thought. He has just played Angela the sure one, Aika the rabbit, and Naini the exotic Hindu goddess. I can’t wait for my melody.
The fourth melody had a little grind to it, and Trina thought she heard the sultry whine of saxophones. Oh yes, Tony. Play me. Play me seductively.
“Tony must have had some dream,” Aika whispered in Trina’s ear.
You don’t know the half of it, Trina thought. But my melody is the best. Look at all the people slow dancing around us. I’m sure a whole bunch of babies will be conceived to this song.
Tim stuck his head between Aika and Trina. “He is fusing four different melodies into one continuous whole. Two is hard enough. Three is difficult. Four is next to impossible. How does he come up with these songs?”
“He dreams them,” Trina said. “And then he plays them when he wakes up.”
“I don’t know anything about what he’s got, but I wish I had it,” Tim said. “That’s the hand of God or something.”
Or the voices of the angels. “I have a suggestion for you, Tim.”
“I’m all ears,” Tim said.
“Drink more root beer.” She smiled. “You just need more sugar.”
After some nice applause, Tony pushed back the bench.
The crowd cheered.
Tony smiled. “You like when I do not sit down.”
The crowd cheered louder.
Tony leaned into the microphone. “This is called ‘Colorful Life.’ It will be loud.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Get ready to rumble.”
Playing the bass with both hands, Tony created quite a rumble. He kept the bass rolling with only his left before adding staccato bursts with his fists on top of the piano.
That sounds like gunfire, Trina thought. This is real gangster music.
Tony followed the gunfire with the distinctive wail of an ambulance. He took a breath and played a tune right out of the circus before playing a “conversation” between two loud women.
The ambulance returned.
The crowd laughed.
Tony stopped and looked at the audience. He blinked several times.
The ambulance returned.
The rest of the song took off at breakneck speed, ending with a terrible crash—
And the ambulance.
I think we’ve all just heard a musical drive-by, Trina thought.
A drunk took the opportunity during the applause to put a dollar in Tony’s tip jar. “Play some Journey, dude!” he shouted.
Angelo reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulders. “He plays what he plays, pal.”
“And I came here to hear some Journey!” the drunk yelled.
“Do you see Steve Perry up there?” Angelo asked.
“No,” the drunk said, twisting away from Angelo’s grasp. “But this is a piano bar. The pianist is supposed to take requests. Journey! Journey! Journey!”
In a moment, many in the crowd were chanting, “Journey! Journey!”
This could get ugly, Trina said. This is a Journey town.
“Just keep playing what you want to play, Tony,” Angelo said. “Don’t listen to them.”
A few more drunk and boisterous men broke through the front row. “Journey! Journey! Journey!”
Trina crawled through them to Tony. “Do you know ‘Don’t Stop Believing’? That has a nice piano part in it.”
Tony nodded. “I have heard that one.” He picked up the microphone. “This is called . . .” He drummed on the top of the piano. “ ‘Don’t Stop Believing.’”
The crowd roared.
Then Tony Santangelo from Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, New York, USA, played the living hell out of that classic Journey song as the crowd sang along. In yet another YouTube video gone viral, Tony ended the song by doing an incredible “drum solo” on the piano and the piano bench as the crowd sang the chorus a cappella for five consecutive minutes.
When he finished, the crowd gave him a three-minute ovation.
“Take a bow, Tony,” Trina said.
Tony bowed.
Two minutes of furious noise later, Tony had drunk three glasses of root beer without a pause.
As Trina mopped Tony’s face with some napkins at the main bar, Mr. Kelly approached. “Tony,” Mr. Kelly said, “are you going to be here tomorrow night?”
“Why do you want to know?” Angelo asked.
“If we know Tony’s coming,” Mr. Kelly said, “we can promote him better.”
“And increase your weekend cover charge from ten to twenty,” Trina said.
“We always have a ten-dollar cover on Fridays and Saturdays,” Mr. Kelly said. “I was thinking fifteen. We’ll pay Tony for his time, of course.”
“Tony has played here three nights in a row,” Trina said. “And now you want to pay him?”
“I will play for free,” Tony said, sipping his fourth root beer.
“No, you won’t,” Angelo said.
“What if we give him thirty percent of the gate?” Mr. Kelly asked.
Angelo scowled. “Tony is a living legend. Thirty percent? Are you crazy?”
“I will play for free,” Tony said.
“You’re not playing for free,” Angelo said. “You shouldn’t even be playing in this place anyway. You should be at the Hollywood Bowl or at Carnegie Hall.”
Tony shook his head. “I will play for free.”
Trina rubbed Tony’s shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure,” Tony said. “Music should be free.”
“But Mr. Kelly plans to charge people to hear you play tomorrow night,” Trina said.
Tony looked at Mr. Kelly. “Then I will not play.”
Mr. Kelly sighed. “You won’t?”
“Music is for everyone,” Tony said. “Music should be free.”
“You make a mint off drinks when he’s here, don’t you?” Angelo asked.
“Best three weeknights I’ve ever had,” Mr. Kelly said. “And I have sold more root beer in three days than I usually sell in a year.”
“If you do not charge,” Tony said, “I will play.”
“Okay,” Mr. Kelly said. “No cover charge tomorrow night.”
“I will be here,” Tony said.
After Mr. Kelly left the bar, a man writing on a notepad moved over a seat. “Oh, that was good.”
“What was?” Angelo asked.
The man read from the notepad. “ ‘Music is for everyone. Music should be free.’ I wonder what other musicians and singers will think about that.” The man smiled. “Bobby Bodkins, Associated Press.”
“You’re taking what Tony said out of context,” Trina said. “You’re going to misquote him.”
“It won’t be a misquote, honey,” Bodkins said. “‘Music should be free.’ Said by a living legend. Twice.”
Trina dropped off her stool and stuck a finger in Bodkins’s face. “That was a private conversation.”
Bodkins shook his head. “Not when you’re in a public place and especially not when you’re a celebrity like Tony here. This is going to make headlines. Think I ought to get Naomi Stringer’s take on this? Huh?”
Aika pulled Trina away. “No one will take this turd seriously, Trina. Let’s go.”
Tony slid off his stool and towered over Bodkins. “You are not a turd.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Bodkins said. “It’s nice to know that someone here has manners.”
Tony smiled. “A turd smells better.”
Bodkins pushed by him.
“Do not misquote me on that,” Tony said.
Trina laughed and hugged him. “You are so funny.” She winked. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “We must go.”
Fewer paparazzi chronicled their walk to Trina’s apartment building, and only one remained
while Angelo and Aika waited for their taxi to arrive.
“We’ll see you, what, around noon again?” Angelo asked.
“Let’s play it by ear, Angelo,” Aika said.
“Haven’t we seen everything there is to see already?” Angelo asked.
“Not everything,” Trina said.
“I want to go to Chinatown,” Tony said. “It is supposed to be nice outside tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” Trina said.
“How about . . . seven-thirty?” Angelo asked.
“That’s too early,” Aika said.
“But that way I can make sure Tony gets a good breakfast for a change,” Angelo said.
“Make it eleven or so,” Aika said. “I want to sleep in.”
Angelo sighed. “Okay, okay. Eleven.” He turned to Tony as the taxi pulled up to the curb. “No messing around.”
Tony said nothing.
“Did you hear what I said?” Angelo asked.
“I heard you,” Tony said. “Good-night, Aika.”
“Good-night, Tony,” Aika said.
Angelo opened the back door, and Aika got inside. “No messing around,” Angelo said, and he got in, closed the door, and the taxi rolled away.
On the way up to her apartment, Trina asked, “Why didn’t you answer him?”
Tony smiled. “I did not want to lie to him.”
Oh, yes, Trina thought. We are messing around tonight.
32
The second Trina closed the apartment door, Tony said, “I want to push your button.”
“I need to wash my hair first,” Trina said.
I appreciate his enthusiasm—I really, really do—but how do I explain “I’m not in the mood yet because my hair is a wreck”? And what if I don’t respond like I did before? I am wasted tired from the workout he gave me at the museum and the workout I witnessed at Johnny Foley’s.
“Okay,” Tony said, looking at the floor.
“I’m going to need your help,” Trina said.
“Okay,” Tony said, smiling.
He is so willing! Or am I manipulating him. Hmm. Maybe a little of both? “I’m going to put on some different clothes first.”
“I will wait in the bathroom for you,” Tony said.
“I wash my hair over the kitchen sink,” Trina said.
Tony blinked. “In the kitchen.”
“Right,” Trina said.
Tony wrinkled up his lips. “Not in the shower.”
“No,” Trina said.
“Okay.”
Trina went into her bedroom and searched for something slinky to wear. She disrobed completely and put on some aqua-green panties and the orange and black flannel shirt. These panties aren’t exactly blue, but they’ll have to do. She unbuttoned the flannel shirt to her breastbone. I am a mismatched woman about to have a man run his fingers through her hair.
After getting the shampoo and conditioner and two towels from the bathroom, she went to the kitchen sink and ran some hot water mixed with a little cold water.
“I want you to stand behind me,” Trina said. “I’m going to wet my hair first.” She spread out the towel on the sliver of counter in front of the sink. “I want you to get close to me to make sure I get all my hair wet.”
“Okay.”
Tony moved closer.
That’s the way to do it, Trina thought. Get all up in my booty.
She put her head under the faucet and soaked her hair. “Is it all wet?”
Tony moved even closer. “Yes.”
He’s practically splitting my booty in two! “Fill your hands with shampoo.” She heard a long squirting sound. “Now work it into my scalp. If you need more shampoo, just add more.”
“Okay.”
Trina nearly fainted when Tony vigorously worked the shampoo into her scalp. She felt his bulge grow when she reached back to grab his buttocks. “You’re good at this.”
“Thank you,” Tony said.
“It is all soapy?” Am I all juicy? Oh, yes.
“Yes,” Tony said.
“Rinse your hands.”
He did.
“I’m going to rinse off now,” Trina said. “Stay very close to me so you can see any suds I miss.”
Tony pressed hard against her. “I am close.”
I feel you, man. Whoo. And I’m getting closer. “See any suds?”
“On your ears,” Tony said.
She rinsed her ears. “See any more?”
“No.”
Trina took the towel now pinned to her chest and wrapped it around her head. She dried her face and arms off with the other towel. “Now I put conditioner in my hair. Would you like to do it?”
“Yes,” Tony said. “How much?”
“As much as your hands can hold.” She removed the towel from her head and leaned over the sink. She heard Tony squirting conditioner for a long time. “Are your hands full of conditioner yet?”
“Not yet,” Tony said. “I have big hands.”
Trina undid another button to accommodate Tony’s big hands. “Just . . . work it into my scalp and make sure you cover every bit of my hair.”
Tony worked it in.
Trina nearly fainted again. “That feels good.” Trina wiggled her buttocks against Tony. And that feels big. “Are you working it in?”
“Yes,” Tony said. “It is slippery.”
You’re telling me! She undid one more button. “What do you see back there?”
“I see your hair, your neck, and your breasts,” Tony said. “Your nipples are sticking out.”
Because this counter is cold! “Are you peeking down my shirt?”
“Yes,” Tony said.
“Do you like my breasts, Tony?” Trina whispered.
“Yes,” Tony said.
“Have you worked all the conditioner into my hair?” Trina asked.
“Yes,” Tony said.
“Rinse your hands.”
Tony did.
“I have to wait a few minutes, and then I have to rinse out all the conditioner,” Trina said. “And then I have to blow-dry it.” She turned to face him and undid the last button.
“Your nipples are pointy,” Tony said.
“Because the air is cold,” Trina said.
“I will warm them,” Tony said, and he covered her breasts with his hands.
Where’d my breasts go?
“Are they getting warmer?” Tony asked.
“Yes,” Trina said. And so is this room. “I’m going to rinse now. Make sure all the conditioner disappears, okay?”
“May I still keep your breasts warm?” Tony asked.
“Yes,” Trina said. “Don’t let go of them.” She turned and rinsed off her hair while Tony’s hot hands squeezed and caressed her breasts. “Is all the conditioner gone?”
“Yes,” Tony said.
Trina stood and dried her hair with the towel, Tony’s hands firmly gripping her breasts. I have a pair of man’s hands where my breasts used to be.
“Your breasts are soft and warm,” Tony said.
“You can let go now,” Trina said.
Tony removed his hands.
“Let’s go to the bedroom so I can blow-dry my hair.”
“Okay.”
Trina dried her hair with a blow dryer, combing it out with her fingers, her shirt open, her forehead and nose sweaty.
“I am growing, Trina,” Tony said. He looked down at his crotch.
Trina smiled. “How am I exciting you?” So much! He’s going to rip his pants!
“Your shirt is open and I see your breasts and your nipples are sticking out and you have sweat on your forehead and your legs are naked and your panties are wet.”
Just hearing Tony saying all that excites me, too! “And what do you want to do about it?”
“I want to push your button,” Tony said.
“And what else do you want to do?” Trina whispered.
“I want to put my erect penis into your moist vagina,” Tony said. “It is time, Trina.”
Tony took off his pants and underwear. “Tell me what to do.”
“First we’ll need a condom,” Trina said.
Tony blinked. “I do not have a condom.”
Neither do I. Hmm.
“Why do we need a condom?” Tony asked.
“Um, well . . .” I shouldn’t be worried about STDs with Tony since he has never been with another woman, but he could get me pregnant. Would that be so bad?
“I will go get a condom,” Tony said.
I have a feeling we’d need a full box, and I don’t want to wait any longer! “No, it’s okay.” Trina stretched out her arms. “Come down here.”
Tony crawled onto the bed. “I am excited, Trina.”
“So am I.” She hooked her legs around his thighs and felt the tip of his penis rubbing against her vulva. “You have never done this with another woman before, right?”
“I have never done this before,” Tony said. “Tell me what to do.”
“You’re doing it, Tony,” Trina said, and she guided him inside her. That’s . . . that’s gooooood . . .
Tony moaned and thrust several times. “Oh, Trina. I am coming.”
I want to cry! A man came the second he was inside me.
Tony pushed himself up and looked down between Trina’s legs. “I am a part of you, Trina. I see white and brown. It feels like a hand is holding me.”
She pressed on his back. “You don’t have to stop moving.”
“I will not stop.” Tony started a slow grind. “Am I doing it right?”
Hell yes! “You have a nice rhythm.”
Tony smiled. “The bed is making noise.”
“Are you going to write a song about this?” Please say yes!
“No,” Tony said. “This music will stay in my head.” He thrust deeper and looked down. “It is almost all the way in.”
That thing will never go all the way in. “Don’t stop.”
He moved back slightly and picked up her legs. “I am going in and out of you.”
“Yes,” Trina whispered.
“You did not have an orgasm when I did,” Tony said.
“It’s . . . different this way,” Trina said. “It takes me longer, unless . . . unless you press my button.”
Tony used his right thumb to make small circles on her clitoris. “Like this?”
“Yes,” Trina whispered.