Wishing on a Dream

by Julie Cannon

  “No. I’ll be fine. What’s on the agenda for today?” Kiersten asked.

  “When we get to Madison we’ll pull in under the stadium and park. The convoy trucks should already be there unloading the gear and equipment. It’ll take them most of the day to set everything up, and when everything is ready I do the sound check,” I said, explaining hours of technical activity in less than fifty words.

  “What does that entail?”

  Kiersten crossed her legs, and I caught more than a glimpse of bare leg before it disappeared under the table. I was glad I didn’t have my cup at my mouth or I might not have gotten out of that choking fit alive. I dragged my eyes away from the spot where I’d last seen her legs.

  “We get miked up and play a few songs as I move around. We’re checking to make sure there’s no feedback or dead space anywhere on the stage. If we have a new song we’ll use the time to try it out a few times, see how it sounds. And I need to know where the blocking areas are so I don’t step in front of the video camera. No one wants to see my ass,” I added, getting out of my chair to top off my cup.

  I felt Kiersten looking at my ass as I walked by her and tried not to trip over the small green rug on the floor between the sink and the stove. When I turned around I caught her eyes quickly moving from my butt to the dark liquid in her cup. Her face was flushed. Interesting.

  If this had been any other woman I’d take her up on the invitation she was extending. When a woman looked the way Kiersten was looking at me, I had no doubt what she wanted. But I don’t think Kiersten knew what she was doing.

  I returned to the table and sat down with one leg under my butt. When I hooked my elbow around the back of the chair my robe slipped open, and Kiersten’s eyes shot to my almost-bare chest. A self-respecting woman would delicately pull it back together and probably secure the belt a little tighter. Since I’d enjoyed the expression on Kiersten’s face more than resecuring my modesty, what did that make me? I had self-respect, but I was also a hot-blooded twenty-five-year-old lesbian who had a beautiful woman staring at her chest. It would be more unbelievable for me to cover myself than to do nothing.

  My breathing became shallow, and my nipples hardened at the raw desire I saw in her eyes. Kiersten had to have noticed because I had nothing between my two stiff peaks and the silk fabric. My stomach started to tingle and my girly parts grew warm.

  I was aroused just by a look, albeit a long, sustained look. It usually took me a long time to feel like this, and sometimes when I was with a woman I never did, particularly lately. I explained it away by saying I was tired, stressed, and road weary. It sounded good at the time.

  I had to work hard at not squirming under Kiersten’s stare. I was hot all over, and the cool air on my skin felt refreshing. I wanted to take her in my arms and make love to her until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I wanted to hear my name whispered from her lips in passion, feel her heart beat next to mine, hear her scream out loud when she came. But I didn’t move for fear I would break the connection between us and Kiersten would look away. So I stayed perfectly still, except for the racing of my pulse.

  Kiersten stood and Frank hit the brakes hard. She stumbled and fell into my lap. She was straddling me, her lips mere inches from mine. Subconsciously preparing for a kiss, I licked mine, and the white-hot heat from her eyes that were a moment before on my breasts now focused on my mouth. My hands were on her hips, and her quick breathing matched mine. Heat radiated off her, and the only thing that existed was the sensation of her in my arms. I slid my hands up her back and pulled her to me. It didn’t take much effort, and in a long, agonizing instant our lips were touching.

  Jolts of pleasure shot through my body like nothing I’d ever experienced before. My senses jumped to life, my nerve endings drinking in every sensation. From the pressure of her warm lips to the feel of her body against mine, my body was humming with desire. Kiersten Fellows was kissing me. Me. When she could have her pick of rich, sophisticated women, she was kissing me.

  Kiersten’s kisses were hesitant at first, and I didn’t push for more. Intuitively I knew that she needed to be the taker here, not the other way around. I kept my hands still until her tongue parted my lips and demanded entry. Quickly, feverishly she explored my mouth. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me harder. My clit started to throb, and my hands wandered up and down her smooth back. I slid one of them under her T-shirt and touched hot, soft skin.

  I think I moaned, but I couldn’t be sure, and frankly I didn’t care. It didn’t matter who was doing what to whom, and it was pretty damn obvious we were both enjoying what was going on. I shifted in the chair and Kiersten pulled away, a look I could only describe as shock and horror on her face. Apparently realizing where she was, she practically jumped off my lap and took several steps back. Her hands were over her mouth as if stifling a scream, her eyes wide. I started to say something but didn’t know what. I’d never been in this position before, and it was definitely not where I ever wanted to be again.

  “I…I’m sorry.” Kiersten was still breathing quickly, and I tried not to focus on her chest.

  “Kiersten,” I said. She stepped back farther and turned her back to me.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself or me.

  I stood, surprised my legs were as weak as they were. But then again the kiss was pretty powerful. I stepped toward her, but when she turned around, her words stopped me.

  “That will never happen again.” She emphasized every word, like it was the eleventh commandment.

  I could only watch as she disappeared into her room.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Come with me,” I commanded, taking Kiersten’s hand and pulling her off the couch and out the door. It had been another hour after the kiss before we stopped for breakfast, and somehow we’d managed to avoid each other until then. When she was in the shower I was up front with Frank trying not to think about her in the shower. When it was my turn, she was in her room getting dressed. The cold water did little to ease the pressure in my clit that that one hot kiss had ignited.

  Kiersten sat with Russ and Jones at the table behind me and the rest of our band. I tried to pay attention to the conversation at my table, but my ears picked up the sound of Kiersten’s voice behind me. It sounded tight, her laugh forced.

  After breakfast she accepted Russ’s invitation to ride with them, and I spent the next three hours alone, trying to figure out what had happened. I replayed the entire conversation between us, stopping to daydream about the good parts. I admit the kiss completely surprised me. There was a definite attraction between us, but I hadn’t expected it to explode like it had.

  Maybe I was out of practice. After all, I rarely engaged in foreplay and never had to seduce anyone. I didn’t keep track of time, but my sexual encounters probably lasted less than thirty minutes, and most of the time even less than that. The phrase “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” came to mind. There was nothing wrong with that, and it was always enough for me, but I could have kissed Kiersten for hours.

  And that was another mind-blower. I didn’t kiss. I licked and sucked every inch of a woman’s body, but I never kissed her. To me, kissing was more intimate than sucking a clit or burying fingers deep inside warm, tight wetness. My reaction to Kiersten’s kiss and the instant before she kissed me was completely foreign. But I wanted to experience it again. And that scared the shit out of me.

  “Where are we going?”

  I pushed the door to the coach shut and tugged on her hand. “We need to get you a pass.”

  “For what?”

  “You don’t want to be stuck in the coach twenty-four seven, do you? It’s a pass, so you can go wherever you want. If you don’t have one, you’ll be stopped by security. They’ll probably think you’re a groupie and toss you out on your cute little ass.” That was the most we had spoken since we parked in the underground staging area of the arena twenty m
inutes earlier.

  “Do you have many of those?” Kiersten asked, pulling her hand out of mine. I figured she’d want to forget this morning ever happened. I wasn’t there yet.

  “You’d be surprised what people will do to get backstage,” I said, shaking my head as I remembered some of the stupid and dangerous things I’d seen.

  “What are they looking for? What do they want?”

  “Mostly to get a photo or a piece of the equipment, or something from the band. A special souvenir or something they can sell for big bucks on eBay.”

  “People actually do that?” Kiersten asked, clearly surprised.

  “All the time. I could spend hours talking about the things fans do that are funny, sad, and downright scary. But I’ll save that for another time.”

  I opened the door of a plain-white eighteen-wheel cargo container. The master trailer, as it was known, was the nucleus of the Tobin Parks tour. Inside was one half of everything we used at every stop. The other half was in an identical trailer parked to the right. We’d learned the hard way not to put all of our eggs in one basket, as the saying goes, when one of the rigs swerved to miss a deer in the road and turned over, spilling hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment in the median of the north-and south-bound lanes of I 85. Since then we separated the gear just to be safe.

  “Hey, Barb,” I said, stepping inside the cool, windowless box. “This is Kiersten. She needs an all-access pass.” Barb was the Jill of all trades on the tour. She fetched coffee and doughnuts, always had a spare guitar string or pick, and knew the location of every truck-stop diner within fifty miles of wherever we were. She had a cure for everything and an answer before you even asked the question. She never told her age, but I guessed her to be in her mid-sixties, and she stood well over six feet tall.

  “Got it right here, Tobin.” Barb opened the drawer of her metal desk and pulled out a brightly colored card about the size of a piece of paper folded in half.

  “Just need to get a pic, and in two minutes she’ll be good to go.”

  Barb motioned Kiersten to the wall behind her and pulled out her phone. Two clicks and one lamination later, the all-access pass for the Tobin Parks tour hung prominently around Kiersten’s neck.

  “Thanks, Barb. You’re a gem.”

  “You say that to all the cute girls,” she quipped back.

  “Naw,” I said, getting up on my tiptoes and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I tell them they’re hot. You’re much better. You’re a gem.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here and go make some money. I’m due for a raise.” Her voice drifted away as we walked down the steps.

  “She’s interesting,” Kiersten said, looking at her pass.

  “She was the starting center for Texas Tech women’s basketball for four years until she broke her leg her senior year.”

  “How long has she been with you?”

  “Ever since I could afford her.”

  “Sounds to me like she needs a raise,” Kiersten teased.

  “She says that every year.”

  “And?”

  “And every year she gets one. And an end-of-tour bonus and a Christmas card.”

  “I see why she stays with you,” Kiersten said, smiling.

  “Yep, it’s the Christmas card. Best retention tool in the market. Come on,” I said, taking her by the elbow and walking toward the stadium. “Let me give you the ten-cent tour.”

  “I thought it was the nickel tour.”

  “Inflation has hit everywhere,” I replied. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep up.” Kiersten laughed and my pulse raced, my heart stuttered, and I tripped over my feet.

  Kiersten had a good sense of humor and was very easy to be around. She had a way that made people comfortable around her—at least the people I knew. And mine were as jaded as they came.

  Kiersten asked questions as I showed her around. We met up with Reggie and took the opportunity to mark my spots and block out tonight’s show. Reggie explained where the lights were and the direction of the spotlights and a few other important tidbits of information. Twenty minutes later we were at the mess tent ready for lunch.

  After lunch was a series of radio interviews taped for stops later in the tour. I did two television interviews for the local stations, and at two thirty I was done until the sound check at six. Barb came over right as the last camera was packed up.

  “Frank’s ready whenever you are.”

  “What’s next?” Kiersten asked.

  I debated on telling her and thought three or four times about taking her along. I was going to have to let her in if I wanted JOLT sponsorship.

  “Grab your purse or bag or whatever you need. I have to run an errand.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.” She looked at me skeptically. “It’s perfectly safe. Trust me.”

  Frank held the door and pushed the seat forward so Kiersten could crawl into the backseat of my 2012 Jeep Wrangler. I got a great view of her ass in her tight jeans when she did and tried not to drool on my new Nikes. We towed the Jeep behind my coach so I could get out on my own if the time and place allowed. I used it almost every stop if I had a chance. On those days when we pulled into town on the day of the show there really was no way. But today was a good day.

  I’d been stopping at various nursing homes for an hour or so every year since I was on tour. The first time was a complete publicity stunt and photo op, but when I saw the power of music transforming the faces of the residents I made it a point to do it as often as I could. Except without a camera or any pre-notice. The facility director knew I was coming but was sworn to secrecy so as not to cause a mob and upset the residents. “I had no idea,” Kiersten said from the backseat. I’d let her in on our destination a few minutes after we left the stadium.

  “You’re not supposed to,” I said. “That’s the whole point.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I was still shaking my head in disbelief when we pulled into the parking lot of the Rosedale Care Center. I’d been nervous as hell the entire ride, praying Tobin didn’t bring up our kiss in front of Frank. I’d have been embarrassed and even more mortified if she pressed me why I’d bolted the way I did. Somehow I knew I wasn’t going to get off the hook.

  I had to have been out of my mind when I kissed her.

  Frank slid out of the driver’s seat and had Tobin’s guitar out of the back before I got my feet on the ground.

  Tobin thanked him and took the scuffed black case from him. “Shall we?” she asked indicating the front door.

  A man who couldn’t have been a day younger than ninety was sitting in a chair to the left of the door, a straw stuck out of the top of his multicolored adult sippy cup. His shirt was freshly ironed and the crease in his khakis razor sharp. His brown slippers looked well worn.

  “Afternoon,” the old man greeted us, tipping his straw hat politely.

  “Yes, it is,” Tobin replied. “Good afternoon to you as well. Are you a resident here?”

  “Yep. Too ornery for any other place,” he said jokingly. I doubted that was true.

  “I’m Tobin Parks.” Tobin stepped closer, extending her hand in greeting.

  “Hollis Albert,” the man said. “And this young lady is my missus, Phyllis.” He motioned to the elderly woman to his right. She wore a paisley blue-print dress and stark-white tennis shoes. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. She wasn’t much younger but her eyes were flat, where Mr. Albert’s were full of life.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Albert, Mrs. Albert.” Tobin addressed the unmoving woman.

  “She doesn’t talk much,” Mr. Albert explained.

  “Do y’all like music?” Tobin asked.

  Mr. Albert’s face lit up. “We used to go dancing every Saturday night when we were dating,” he said, a flash of nostalgia filling his lined face.

  “Well, sir, why don’t you and your lovely missus come inside with us. Your director has been so ki
nd as to invite me over to sing a few songs. Who knows? Maybe you’ll have the urge to get up and take your wife for a spin again.”

  The old man smiled and looked from Tobin to me. “She your missus?” He addressed the question to Tobin but was looking at me.

  My mouth dropped open. I certainly never expected that question to come out of his toothless mouth. Tobin laughed. I really liked her laugh.

  “No. I’m afraid we’re just friends.” Tobin recoiled. “This is Kiersten Fellows.”

  “Don’t you want to marry her?” he asked me seriously.

  “Well, Mr. Albert, she hasn’t asked me yet.” I was joking, but my stomach bounced around at the thought.

  “Why not?” he asked Tobin. “She’s a looker.” He winked at Tobin, which made her laugh.

  My stomach tickled again.

  “Yes, sir, she is,” Tobin said. “But we don’t know each other well enough to be thinking about marriage. Besides, I’m not the marrying type.”

  My heart hesitated then resumed beating.

  “Why not? Everybody’s the marrying type. You just haven’t met the woman of your dreams yet,” Mr. Albert said, like that was all there was to it. I liked him. If only life were that simple.

  “That’s going to be pretty hard, Mr. Albert. You took the prettiest woman off the market years ago,” Tobin said, smiling and looking at Phyllis. She stepped back. “I’m going inside to see Mrs. Gough and get set up. Better hurry. The good seats fill up fast.”

  We walked past Mr. Albert and his wife, and the automatic doors opened with a whoosh. Another set of automatic doors didn’t open until the first ones closed, and I wondered out loud why that was.

  “It’s a common safety measure in facilities like this. It’s what they do so residents can’t wander off. Usually you need a code to get out the first set, then a different one to operate the outer doors.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been inside a lot of these kinds of places. They’re all pretty much the same. Some are obviously much better or worse than others…”