Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

by Kisner, Stevie

  I wonder when he’ll be home? Home…this isn’t home. I wonder if he’ll ever really be home again. And when he does return, or rather when we all do, will he be in any shape to know it, will he recognize it? Dammit.

  She straightened and pressed her hands into the small of her back with a sigh. Things are so complicated now. Sometimes I wish I was still in that dead-end job and that life was normal again. That Mark wasn’t going to die, that I’d never met JT Blackwood, that….well, fuck, if I’m going to wish, then I might as well wish for the moon. Wishing won’t change one damn thing.

  Still, I wonder when he’ll be back? and what they’re talking about?

  ****

  JT sat alone at the table in the deepest corner of the hotel bar, watching nothing in particular. The drone of scattered conversations surrounded him but he was too deep in thought to notice.

  Mark had taken his leave some time ago, but if asked, JT couldn’t say how long it had been. He wasn’t wearing a watch; he was certain the time was well after curfew, but he didn’t care. If Stuart wants me in my room, he can damn well come and get me.

  He looked down into his drink and shook his head at the glass. Hello there, old friend. Thanks for joining me. Ahh, a perfect night to get completely sotted. And if one more gushing fan tried to invite herself to sit down…

  Normally, he was more than cordial to every fan who approached, posing for endless photos and bussing myriad cheeks. And how he hated the taste of makeup… Even the rude ones who interrupted conversations and meals were never treated poorly in return. Not warmly, perhaps, but never rudely.

  This night, however, was about as far from normal as one could get. And the interruptions were constant, even more than usual. So were the number of propositions he’d received this fine evening.

  JT smiled softly to himself, thinking of the look of shock on Mark’s face as he watched JT turn down each one of them. Politely but firmly, leaving no uncertainty, no possibility of ‘maybe if you come back a little later, luv.’

  “Does it happen all the time like this, JT?” Mark had asked after one pretty and extremely buxom blonde left their table, the disappointment clearly shining in her eyes.

  JT shrugged. “Some nights are worse than others. This is one of the worst ones.” He sipped his drink and met Mark’s eyes with a guilt-free glance. Their conversation had wandered into ‘you will watch out for her while you’re on the road, won’t you?’ territory, and JT wanted to be certain Mark understood how he felt about sleeping with the nameless fans and faceless groupies.

  “Worse? You mean it doesn’t stroke your ego to have all those gorgeous women just throwing themselves at you?”

  “Nah. Not anymore. When I was younger, yeah, we all loved it. Now…” he shrugged again and his head assumed the slightly arrogant side tilt that indicated he was thinking hard and deep, “now it’s almost embarrassing. To think that these women want to sleep with me when they don’t even know me, and to realize that if I didn’t have that sort of reputation from such a long time ago, they wouldn’t even try. For me, sex isn’t just sex. It has to mean something. I have to have some sort of emotional involvement.” His brows knitted together and he leveled a strong look at Mark. “Did that make any sense? You and Korina have been married for… how long? Sixteen years? So I’m certain you’ll either know exactly what I mean, or you won’t have the slightest clue.”

  Mark nodded. “No, you make absolute sense. I remember when I was a young single guy. It didn’t matter whether I even liked the woman much, just as long as she was willing. But you’re right. And I thought it was because we were married that the sex was so much better. I know what makes her toes curl, and she knows how to get to me. Maybe part of it is the maturity as we get older. Less time in front of the cart means things have to have some purpose, some meaning…” He didn’t finish the thought.

  JT was momentarily flummoxed. His feelings for Korina extended beyond all reason, and here was her husband telling him about their sex life. He had to remind himself that Mark didn’t know in whose arms she would find her comfort when he was gone. Or then again, it seemed Mark was beginning to have his suspicions, and this entire conversation might be a test of some sort. JT tried to put that thought out of his mind and simply be himself. It kept returning to nag at him, however, like a gnat swirling around his head. Except this one flew on the inside.

  JT’s thoughts turned back to things said both earlier and later in their long, oft-interrupted conversation. Mark told him he wasn’t afraid of death, but he was utterly terrified of the act of dying. He attempted to explain the philosophy of life both he and Korina shared. JT was a little familiar with the concepts from that first night when he’d met Korina and she talked to him about Kahunas and mystics and the literal (if ethereal) ties that bind one person to another.

  “We’re all beings of energy, light and love,” he said. “We inhabit bodies because we all have lessons to learn before we can move on and become part of the collective whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. Some people call this God, some call it Jehovah or Allah. It doesn’t matter what you name it, and the It doesn’t care. It simply is. It’s the Is, the It, the higher power that guides us, tells us what lessons we need to learn, what experiences we need to have in order to become complete and move into becoming a part of Itself. For some of those lessons, we need flesh. There are certain things to learn that can’t be found any other way. Pleasure. Pain. Love. Forgiveness. Pride. All of these take a corporeal body to fully understand and assimilate. And many lifetimes, many fleshly bodies. I’m not afraid of becoming part of that, nor of returning if more learning is necessary. What scares the living hell out of me is the letting go. The dying of this body and the release of my spirit.” Mark paused to take a long pull from the mug of beer in front of him.

  “What if I get lost on the way? What if my spirit is denied entrance, and is sent back again to learn more, and I get lost? Or worse, if I decide that I’ve spent enough time inhabiting the limits of a material body and won’t go back? Then I become an aimless soul, not done enough to be done, and too proud to seek a new body assignment after I’d already refused one. A ghost. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to be. That would be utter aloneness. And while I might say now that it’s not something I’d do, I don’t believe that we can truly know the mind of our soul until it’s all that we are.”

  JT couldn’t reassure him nor argue his points. Both Mark and Korina had studied religious thought and philosophy in college, and JT had nothing more than the rather informal bible school he’d been forced to attend as a child on Sundays when his parents went to church. And he only retained a dim memory of what they’d taught. The Golden Rule and a few basic prayers. No organized classes, no delving textbooks, no liberal-minded instructors who welcomed questions.

  He’d read things, listened to people, and tried (and sometimes failed) to live his life according to the one basic rule that seemed to pervade every possible school of religious thought. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Mark’s ideas seemed just as plausible as anything else he’d ever known.

  But later, when Mark voiced his concerns about his family and how they’d fare after he was gone, JT could at least offer his assurance that, as long as the band continued… no, he’d told him, scratch that. As long as he himself drew breath, Korina and Zach would be looked after. It was a rare thing to be fired once a person’s on the payroll, JT told him. She’d always have a job, and a friend who’d understand. He’d make absolutely certain of that. Mark seemed to take that news to heart, and sat quietly for the longest time before posing one last question. The question, as far as JT was concerned. The rest had all been preamble. And though he’d suspected it would be coming eventually, he still had no clear answer prepared.

  JT had been glancing around the brightly-lit room, people-watching, while Mark gathered his thoughts. His heavy sigh brought JT’s eyes swiveling back to him. “JT,” he began, “what, exactly, are y
our feelings toward my wife? I know it’s more than simple friendship. I’ve seen how you look at her. I’ve heard the change in her tone when she talks to me about you. I’ve noticed conversations abruptly ending when I enter a room. I’m not stupid, but sometimes I think it would be easier if I were. You two have grown close in just these few months, haven’t you?”

  Oh, hell. Why ask this tonight? JT decided that hedging with the truth would be the safest thing to do. But not the whole truth, that’s for damn sure. “It’s more than a simple friendship, that’s true. And it’s been going on for far longer than just these last few months, Mark.” He paused to draw a breath to steady his jangling nerves. Mark’s face immediately registered hurt and surprise, and JT silently commended him for making no comment and letting him continue.

  “Korina gets into my mind, mate. Plucks out thoughts like picking cherries from a tree. And apparently she’s been at it for a long time. Since long before we’ve known each other face to face. She’s told me about instances from years ago that she’d seen while they were happening. She’s got quite a gift, one I’m sure you know much more about than I do. So, yeah, to say we’ve become close would be accurate.” In more ways than one.

  Mark said nothing at first, absorbing this bevy of information before responding. And when he did finally speak, what he said startled JT more than the original question had. “So it’s you. It’s been you. All along, it was you.”

  JT’s brows jerked up into his hairline. “Beg pardon?”

  Mark chuckled softly, confounding JT further. “She used to tell me she dreamed she was someone else, somewhere else, living a life that wasn’t hers. And yet she knew all the people, knew their families, knew what they did yesterday. She’d complain that she felt as if she hadn’t rested while she slept, because whoever it was that she was never seemed to be still. Even when the body wasn’t moving, the mind constantly was. The only thing she didn’t know was the names. Your name. Your friends names. Because you never thought them. You simply knew the people, so thinking a name when you saw someone just didn’t happen. It didn’t have to. You knew them, and while she was visiting you, so did she. Whoa. Of all the people to pick to invade…”

  “I don’t think she picked me, really. It just seems we’re alike in so many ways, even mannerisms. Like we were raised together. I noticed that straightaway. That look she gives with the one eyebrow, for instance.” JT wondered if their mannerisms were simply alike, or she’d learned them while hanging about in his thoughts. Or if he’d picked them up from her reactions to his situations. No wonder she doesn’t need a lot of sleep. It’s not like she rested much while she was unconscious. How’s that saying go? No rest for the weary? or is it no rest for the wicked? He smiled at his thought; Mark seemed to think it was a smile recalling when he’d been hit with her skeptical one-eyebrow glare, and JT let him continue to think so.

  Mark returned the smile and added a soft laugh. “Oh, yes. That one can make you confess to anything, just so she’ll put that eyebrow away again.”

  Satisfied that he’d sidestepped the question, JT motioned for the waitress to bring another round. They talked only a little while longer, and of far less serious things, when Mark looked at his wristwatch and said that he ought to call it a night. “Unlike Kori, I do need my sleep. And recently, I need even more of it. God, just living is getting so tiring, JT. I’d better haul my sorry ass upstairs before I can’t get there and wind up sleeping in the lobby or on the tourbus out in the back parking lot.”

  JT stayed in the bar, concurrently celebrating his linguistic victory and drowning his sorrows in the drink before him on the table.

  ****

  He leaned his head back against the wall with a grimace. Beads of sweat dotted his damp forehead and shimmers of light capered across his black-tunneled vision. He held his breath as the vice around his gut squeezed increasingly tighter. Releasing his air in low grunts helped to manage the pain, but also meant he’d have to inhale again, and expanding his lungs was a painful prospect he wanted to avoid for as long as possible. He fought to hold it in a little while longer.

  Holy crap that hurts. When I went for that farewell night out with my best friend I discovered that liquor had become a no-go, and it felt just like this. Now I can’t even manage a beer. Well, okay, so it was more like six. But after this, I don’t know if even one would be wise.

  I can’t go back upstairs like this. Kori’ll be terrorized. I’m just lucky this hit before I got on the elevator, and that it didn’t get almost too bad to walk until I was close to the tourbus. And again, lucky for me (if you could call this luck, anyway) that the security guard had just gone to check on the other bus, since I forgot my laminate pass in our room. I know he would have given me a hassle if I tried to get in here without it. And a hassle is just something I don’t need any more of right nnnOWWWWW…

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the tightening pain in his midsection and took another deep breath, clenching his teeth to hold back a groan. Holy fucking hell…

  Black spots replaced the sparkling dancers in his vision and he wished (for easily the tenth time since climbing into the dark bus) that he felt awful enough to vomit. Perhaps if he could get the alcohol out of his stomach, his overtaxed organs could stop trying to metabolize it with razor blades and sledgehammers. What was it they told me in ambulatory rehab after my crash? Take myself somewhere else. Think about something serious that would keep my mind too busy to register the pain…

  He thought of Korina, of the strange conversation he’d had with JT earlier (don’t think about all the drinking though, Mark) and tried to figure out if there had been a point to it other than an exorcism for his fears.

  First and foremost in his thoughts was his wife. God, she’s amazing. I still consider myself a lucky man to have caught her. So beautiful and passionate, filled with hope and life. And I’m afraid to try to make love to her anymore. I don’t want to fall flat and disappoint her again. And that’s the other thing that really has me worried. Disappointing her. I feel like my body has betrayed me and let her down. And soon she’ll be on her own. I won’t be here to hold her and soothe away her fears. JT said he would be, and I hope he’s enough. Or that he isn’t too much.

  Dammit, I don’t want her to be alone after I’m gone, and she’s always harbored a secret little lusty crush on JT that she didn’t think I knew about, but anything more than a professional relationship with him would be a huge mistake. I know his reputation and his lifestyle. His career just begs for female attention. If she were to get involved with him, he’d crush her. She’d lose her heart and her job. But who do I warn? Him? Her? Both?

  And what would I say? What could I say? Hey, JT, keep your paws off my wife? Even though she won’t be my wife any more, just stay away ‘cause you’ll only hurt her?

  Or, Gee Kori, I know he’s right there and all, and I know all about that crush you’ve had on him, but single men are a whole different creature, and rock stars are the worst of the worst?

  Not that I think JT’s a bad guy. I actually do like him. Just not for my Korina. I know his type of man, and he talked a good game tonight, made a big show of turning down all those women who wanted to jump in the sack. But when it all boils down, there will eventually be that one woman he can’t say no to.

  I’m not blind, nor am I stupid. I’ve seen how he looks at her. And I wonder how many other women get that same look.

  And I’ve seen her watching him. Her eyes follow him, like she’s just drawn to him somehow. Maybe she is. Lord knows she’s been connected with him on some level for years now. He’s been the one she merged with in her dreams since before she and I met. The one she has been seeing through the eyes of, living little snippets of life with, remembering his memories…they were destined to meet somehow. For some reason.

  I just hope it’s not too late. That my words won’t fall on deaf ears. He’ll rip her heart to shreds without meaning to, but he’ll do it all the same.

  Someho
w, though, I think what I have to say won’t matter. To either one of them. They’ve been connected on that odd wavelength for some time now, and I get this feeling there will most definitely be more than just a friendship between them.

  “Oh, Kori, don’t do it. He can’t ever love you like I have. Like I do. He’s made of a whole different substance than other men. Can’t you see that?” he murmured through the haze of pain that threatened his mind with total blackness. “God, woman, you have to see it. It’s so clear…”

  The blackness beckoned, and with it no more awareness of his pain. He gladly went to it, surrendering his consciousness to the dark landscape where he would soon find himself a more and more regular visitor.

  JT exited the elevator and turned toward his room. He walked down the empty hallway, passing the first few doors before his footsteps faltered, his heightened sense of her causing him to hesitate. She feels… lonely. No, not quite. It seems more alone than lonely.

  He knew Zach must be with her, as should Mark. Still, her sense of abandonment and gloom was palpable.

  And he could do nothing to assuage it right now. Nor could he face returning alone to his room. In every stop on the tour since she joined them, he found himself sharing a common wall with their (her) room, no matter that in the last city he’d vowed to stay at the other end of the hall, to be as far from her as he could get and still be on the same floor. He nonetheless wound up right next door. And this time, what lay right next door was both the source of those bleak emotions and the reason he felt powerless.

  Cursing himself for a coward, he turned away and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive and remove him from the dark cloud of pathos that pervaded the entire upper floor.

  He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t really care. Just as long as it was away from her, away from the helplessness, away from the guilt and sadness. Far from the emptiness of his own arms. They didn’t feel quite so useless when she was further away.