CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: The Dark Seduction
After Nick dropped off his luggage at the hotel, he took a cab to The Green Mill. There was a four-piece combo playing smoothest live jazz he had ever heard. It had been years since he had sat and relaxed to a jazz band. The waitress came to his table and took his drink order.
“I’ll have a triple Jack Daniel’s on the rocks,” he told the lovely waitress. He listened to the smooth licks coming from the guitarist. The bassist seemed as if he was playing another song, but it fit. The keyboardist was tickling the plastic ivories of his Fender Rhodes Seventy-three with the finesse of a skilled surgeon. The drummer blended in so well, Nick could barely tell there was one playing. He would accent the other musician’s strong parts, while keeping the rhythm with the precision of a metronome.
The waitress came back and Nick asked if Barry Washington was there. She pointed to the table right next to him. There was a rather large black man, with salt and pepper hair and beard, and a suit right out of the sixties. He had a gold lame jacket, ruffled shirt, and tuxedo pants. He was bobbing his head to the rhythm of the song. Nick slid his chair over to introduce himself.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Barry Washington?”
The man turned his head to look at Nick. “Who wants to know?” he asked.
“My name is Nick Peltier. I’m with Apocalypse Records.”
The man’s face lit up. “You with Apocalypse? He started laughing.
“What kind of crazy crackers does Mr. Levon got working for him now?”
“He’s not with the company anymore, sir,” said Nick. “Just as well. Record industry ain’t no place for a man of that caliber. How in the hell do you know who I am?”
“I met your daughter on the plane this evening. She said I should look you up.”
“That damn little girl of mine is always trying to start up something. I ain’t trying to get no recording contract started again.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason she wanted me to find you.”
“Well, what the hell do you think it is?”
“She said you could help me find what I’m looking for.”
“Well, spit it out, man. What you looking for?”
“A rock drummer.”
Barry started laughing. “I can tell you this, son. You ain’t gonna find one of them here. This is a jazz club. Look at that cat drumming over there. You think he’s interested in rock and roll? Hell no. He’s playing good music.”
“I have to admit it,” said Nick. “He is great, and don’t get me wrong, I love jazz. I was sent here to find a rock drummer, though, so that’s what I need to find.”
“Did Shanice mention something about you needing to find something more than just drummer?”
“As a matter of fact, she did.”
Barry started laughing again. “I love that little girl, but she’s got some crazy ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“She says I gave her some kind of gift. That’s bullcrap. She’s just a sweet child who likes to give other people hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“You know, dreams. People are always looking for something they got no idea what it is. Look at you. You’re in a jazz club looking for a rock drummer.”
“Yeah, so what is your point?”
“She sent you here to find something else.”
“Okay, I already got that impression. Do you know what it is?”
“Do I look like some kind of psychic, boy? I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“Well I don’t either. If people keep telling me I’m not looking for what I am looking for, how am I supposed to know what it is I am looking for if they won’t even tell me what it is?” Nick scowled at Barry, waiting for an answer.
Barry paused a couple of seconds, smiled, then said, “Why don’t you just kick back and listen to these cats. Maybe it’ll come to you.”
Nick finished his drink and ordered another one for himself, and one for Barry. He listed to the band go into jazzy rendition of Running with the Devil.
“What in the hell are they doing?” screamed Nick.
“Settle down, son. They’re just doing their own interpretation of a Van Halen classic. You sure are an uptight white boy.”
“How do you know about Van Halen?” asked Nick.
“Boy, I never said I didn’t like rock and roll. I’ve been keeping up. It ain’t got nothing on jazz, but it’s got its place. I sure wish Peter Frampton would come out with something new.”
“Why did you just say that?”
“What’s your problem, son?” Barry was getting a little worried.
“Why did you just say you wished Peter Frampton would come out with something new?” screamed Nick.
“You on drugs, boy? Because if you are, you got no business in here.”
Nick settled down. “No sir, I’m not on drugs. I’m just curious why a man of your age…”
“Watch it, boy.”
“I mean, a man of your generation and taste in music, would want to know when Peter Frampton would come out with something new.” “Do You Feel Like We Do,” said Barry, mentioning the famous Frampton song.
“I’m feeling a little strange, myself. I don’t know how you’re feeling. Is this another one of those trick questions?” Nick asked.
“That wasn’t a question, son. That was the song from Frampton Comes Alive. It had that jazzy part the second half of the song. I thought it was a high time for rock and roll - the fusion of free-form jazz and melodic rock. I remember that song so well. Folks like Steely Dan, Traffic and Chicago did it better, but that song really stuck with me. It was the last time I heard good fusion rock & roll. Disco came along right after that and screwed up everything.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Nick. “Its just that Peter Frampton’s name has been showing up in my life a lot lately. I’m sorry for freaking out on you. You’re an accomplished musician and deserve more respect than that.”
“You know, boy, you’re all right. Tell me this, what happened to Mr. Levon?”
“Well, he was let go just yesterday. Some big company is buying us out and I guess they didn’t have a place for him.”
“That’s a shame,” said Barry. “He’s a good man. He treated me right.”
“So why did you leave Apocalypse?” asked Nick.
“I got greedy. Atlantic offered me more money than Mr. Levon could. He understood. He never held a grudge. He’s a good man.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Hey, what did you say your last name was?”
“Peltier,” said Nick.
“That name sounds familiar. I just can’t think of it right off why.”
“Well, this might be a shot in the dark, but my dad played jazz here in the late fifties.”
Barry started thinking. “I’m sorry, son. I can’t think of nothing right off now. The late fifties was a long time ago.”
“No problem,” said Nick. He never had in interest in learning anything about his dad. He knew the story of how he was abandoned as soon as he was born. He didn’t care to know what became of…
“Fast Phil,” exclaimed Barry.
“What?”
“Fast Phil Peltier. A drummer, right?” Barry started to remember.
“From what I’ve heard.”
“And a damn fine one at that. I thought your face looked familiar. I jammed with him one night. He had a band from down south somewhere.”
“Louisiana?”
“Yeah, that’s it. They had a cool sound. Nothing like I ever heard around here.” Barry remembered the style of the band – jazz and zydeco. He never heard that style before or since.
Nick took a sudden interest. “So, you knew my father?”
“Sure did, son,” said Barry. “He had that crazy Cajun accent and played the hell out of the skins. What is he up to these days?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never met him.”
“You mean, you never met yo
ur old man at all?”
“That’s right. He took off right after I was born.”
“I’m sorry, boy. That must have torn your mother to shreds.”
Nick got solemn for a few seconds. “I never met her either. She died right after I was born.”
Barry downed the rest of his drink and shook his head. “Damn, that’s a horrible story. Why in the hell did Fast Phil leave you after something like that?”
“I guess he never wanted me. He lost my mom and didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Man, that’s really a tough one. Your dad was a typical musician, you know, kind of wild and carefree. Your mother was a beautiful woman. I remember her coming to the club before your dad met her.”
“You knew my mom?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I knew her. I would see her with her boyfriend every weekend at the club. He was a jealous man – wouldn’t let anybody near her.”
“How did my dad get her?”
“Well, if memory serves me correct, your old man sat down during a break next to your mother. I think her name was Louise, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, anyway, her boyfriend had gone to get her a drink and ended up talking to some buddies at the bar. It gave Fast Phil time to work his mojo on Louise. He stole her heart right then and there. The boyfriend, I don’t remember his name, came back after an hour or so, and saw the two of them there. He and Fast Phil got into it and decided to take it outside. About five minutes later, Fast came back into the club, a little roughed up, but okay. I never saw the other guy again. It’s a shame, though. He played guitar and jammed at the club from time to time. Can’t remember his name, damn it. I do remember that night, though. I had just got a new camera and was taking pictures of everybody at the club.”
“Did my parents seem happy together?”
“Oh, hell yeah. They spent a lot of time in here. They looked like love personified. I never heard from Fast after they moved.”
“It’s strange to hear somebody talking about my folks. My grandmother never liked to talk much about them.”
“Son, it’s important to know your roots. You white folks make fun of us putting so much emphasis on knowing our heritage. But, damn it, it’s important to know how you got where you are. It lets you know about yourself. You can take the good from it and build on it, and you can take the bad, understand it, then try to get rid of it.”
“Do you think my father had any kind of dealings with…”
“The mob?”
“No, the occult.”
“Oh, the dark side.”
“Yeah.” “I don’t know about that. Why you want to know?”
“I’m just curious. I have this sense that the devil…”
“Don’t you be talking that damn nonsense about the devil,” Barry was quick to say.
“He seems to be following me, though. Everywhere I go lately, there seems to be a sign of him being around. You just said it was important to know my roots. I just wanted to know if my father might have dabbled in some kind of black magic or something like that.”
“You know, he did use some kind of mojo to get your mom, but I don’t think it was that evil crap you call black magic. And why in the hell do they call it black magic if it’s bad. We’re always taking the rap.”
“I’m just curious.”
“Yeah, I know. Tell you what, son. It’s getting a little late. Here’s my card. Why don’t you meet me at my studio tomorrow afternoon? I got this obsession with taking pictures. See those photos behind the bar? I’ve been taking them of this place for about forty years. They don’t always stay up there. The owners let the people in the photos take them for themselves. I probably took a lot of shots of people I really no business taking. I think I might have some old photos of your mom and dad you might want to see.” Barry had taken a strong liking to Nick. He was thinking that maybe his daughter was on to something about Nick searching for something more than just a rock drummer.
“That would be great. Thank you, Mr. Washington.”
“That’s Barry to you, son. See you tomorrow afternoon.”
Nick stayed to hear the end of the set. He talked to the band members at the break. It felt good to talk with musicians who did it for the love of the art. He stayed to hear the last set. The crowd had thinned out, but there was one woman, sitting alone at a table near the stage. She was an exotic beauty. She had long, wavy, jet-black hair. She had a light olive complexion, which glowed under the reflection of the stage lights. She looked quite a few years older than Nick, but he didn’t mind. Nick walked up to her.
“Hi, is this seat taken?”
The lady looked at Nick, smiled, and said, “No but I think it would like to be.”
Nick smiled back at the exquisite beauty and sat down next to her. “This is a great band,” he said.
“Why yes, it is.”
“Do you like jazz?”
“I love any music that makes me feel sexy.”
“And how do you feel right now?”
She smiled and placed her hand on Nick’s arm. She rubbed it in a seductive manner. She softly slid it down, using only her fingertips. She went back up using the back of her blood-red nails.
“Right now, I feel – extremely sexy.”
“Wow, you sure aren’t shy.”
“Life is much too short to be shy. I always go get what I want, but sometimes – I get lucky and it comes to me.” She gave Nick a wink.
“I seem to detect an accent,” said Nick.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, I think it’s sexy.”
“I like being sexy. Would you like to know why?”
“Of course.”
“Because I like sex,” said the woman, with a serious, seductive smile.
“What a coincidence. I like it, too,” Nick said, with a goofy, drooling smile. The hand that was rubbing Nick’s arm slid up to his face. She rubbed his cheeks with the touch of a velvet scarf.
“I like the feel of a man’s face. It's rough, yet gentle.” She pulled Nick’s face closer to hers. “How do you like the feel of a woman’s face?” she grabbed Nick’s hand and put it on her face. Nick’s hand was trembling. Her skin was the smoothest he had ever felt in his life.
“My, God, you are a beautiful woman.”
“And you are quite a sexy man.” Nick had never been called sexy before. He also had never been with a mature woman, either. This was new territory for him. He had to survey the situation.
“Are you here by yourself tonight?” he asked.
“Do you see anyone else around?”
“You could be with one of the band members.”
“But, I am not.” “You could be the bartender’s girlfriend.”
“Wrong again.”
“You could be married.”
“So what if I was?”
“I don’t like the sound of that one.” Nick had never slept with a married woman, as far as he knew. Right now, however, even his lowest morals were negotiable.
“Let me just say this – if I was married, my husband is not here,” she purred.
“Where is he?”
“If there was a he to be somewhere, he would be back home, far away from here.”
“Just how much is far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“How many thousands?” Nick was gaining confidence. He hated the thought of confronting a jealous husband.
“If I were not so sure you were trying to pick me up, I’d swear you were an officer of the law with all this silly questions,” said the lady, as her right hand now started to caress his upper thigh.
“So, you think I’m trying to pick you up?” His jeans were getting awfully uncomfortable.
“Of course not.”
“But you just said you were sure I was trying to pick you up.”
“Silly boy. I’m just toying with you.” She started running her fingers through Nick’s messy hair with her left hand.
&n
bsp; “So, you’d like to be picked up?” He was confused. One hand was inches away from his erection and the other was treating him like a little puppy.
“That depends on what you mean by picked up.”
“What do you want it to mean?”
“For an American man, you are pretty good at this game.”
“So, this is a game?”
“I don’t play games.” She stopped playing with the hair and put both hands in the back of Nick’s neck. She locked her fingers together and started a slow-motion row as if they were shiatsu massage. The intoxicating smell of her perfume was not of this earth.
“You are a confusing woman,” said Nick, trying to stifle a moan from the intense pleasure he was experiencing.
“No, you are just an unperceptive man.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Whatever you want it to mean.” She unlocked her fingers and slid them down Nick’s back. Her fingertips slid just under the waistband of his jockey shorts.
“I don’t want to mean what it means,” Nick said.
“Do you know what it means?” she whispered.
“I guess it means that I’m not picking up on something I should be, right?”
“You are very perceptive.” She pulled him closer.
“Thank you. Now would you like me to pick you up?” Nick cringed after saying those words. It sounded so juvenile.
“No,” she said, pulling back.
“No?” Nick was now beyond confused.
“I would like you to...”
As she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, Nick’s jaw sunk to the ground. She used words and phrases he had never heard before. His eyes got wider with each syllable that poured past her sensual lips. This was a sophisticated woman who knew what she wanted. He was used to young, carefree women who just wanted to have fun. This woman seemed to want – well, she seemed to want to have fun too, but her definition of fun was more extreme.
“Would you like to go somewhere we can be alone?” asked Nick. The nervous sweat was cooling his hot body.
“Now you are being very perceptive. I would love to.” She gave him a soft, suggestive kiss on his quivering lips.
“I’m staying at the Hilton Chicago and Towers,” he said, with his trembling voice.
“Oh, no. I’ve got the State Suite at the Ritz-Carlton. We’ll go there.”
The lady grabbed Nick’s arm as he escorted her out the club. He leaned into the street and held out his hand for a taxi.
The lady was quick to pull Nick’s arm down. “Don’t be absurd.” She held her hand up and a black stretch limousine pulled up to them. The driver came out and opened the door for both of them. “I’m ready to go, now,” she told the driver. Once inside, she opened the chilled bottle of champagne nestled in the ice. Nick took her lead and grabbed two glasses. She poured the bubbly and said, “Here’s to an interesting evening.” They nuzzled and kissed all the way to the hotel. The driver turned on North Michigan Avenue and pulled up to the Ritz-Carlton. Nick was a little uncomfortable being dressed the way he was. He was wearing jeans with a Rollins University sweatshirt. He couldn’t believe he was about to have sex with such a classy lady. His mind was on neither Jamie nor Andie. He just wanted to get laid.
The doorman gave Nick a smile as they walked by. As they passed the front desk, the clerk smiled and said, “Your suite is prepared, Ms…”
“Stop right there,” she said. “I don’t want to cause a scene here.”
“You must be famous,” said Nick.
“No, not really. I just prefer to be discreet.”
“Oh yeah, I understand.” He really didn’t but he couldn’t care less at the moment.
They reached the State Suite and entered. Nick couldn’t believe it. It was a two-story suite with a spiral staircase in the middle. It had a breathtaking view of the lake.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” said the lady. Nick watched her as she slithered up the stairs. The slit in her ankle-length dress ran all the up to top of her thighs. She was wearing a sexy pair of boots, which came to just below her knees. He waited a few minutes then heard her call for him.
“Why don’t you come up here, darling?” Nick climbed the staircase with a sense of excitement. He walked into the bedroom and saw her lying there in a silk negligee. It barely covered her glowing body. Dozens of candles were lit all over, creating a setting that was just right for a night of wild, exotic lovemaking. He didn’t stop to think how she could have lit them all in such a short time.
“Take off those silly clothes and come here,” she ordered. Nick had no trouble taking off his shirt, but his jeans were another story. “What seems to be the problem?” asked the lady.
“The damn zipper is stuck,” said an embarrassed Nick, as he kept trying to unzip them.
“Would you like me to help?”
“Oh, no. Trust me, you wouldn’t be able to help.” The pressure against his zipper was immeasurable. He had never been this excited before. The zipper had no room to move.
“What do you need?” asked the concerned woman.
“I think I might need some kind of pliers,” said Nick. At this point, he would accept anything that would release the cause of extreme pain.
“No problem.” She turned to pick up the phone to call the front desk. “Hello, this is Lucille Fernelli in the State Suite. I need some kind of, I’m sorry, darling, what do you call those things?”
As she turned to look at Nick, all she saw was the candles flickering in the breeze, followed by the sound of footsteps sprinting down the stairs, then the slam of the front door.
The Devil's in My Bathroom Page 24