by Jen Luerssen
She gasps and we make eye contact and laugh uncontrollably until we are in tears. The rest of the table looks over and I see my band members looking puzzled at my outburst, especially because laughing for me is considered out of character.
“Where did you get yours?” she asks.
“Mermaids, in the city.”
“Shut up,” she says with a flirtatious smack to my shoulder. “Did Anne do yours too?”
I chuckle, “She sure did. We really are twins.”
“I fucking hope not, since I’m going to fuck your brains out soon and I really do not want to go full Lannister.”
“Are you insinuating you’re part Lannister?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I may have a bit of Cersei, a splash of Jaime, and a huge dash of Tyrion, but mostly Tyrion.”
“Like your wine and whores, do ya?” I ask.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me close. “Technically, I am your boss, as part owner of the winery, so I’m paying you. I’m open to playing wine and whores with you anytime.”
My lips whisper across hers. “I’ll sharpen my sword,” I say.
We are interrupted by Joe who squats down in between us. “Hey Frank one and Frank two, Sebass is going to show us the stage where we’ll set up tomorrow for the party. C’mon you kids.”
After he walks away, and as we get up to follow, Mikey gives me a slow smile. “I’ll prepare my chalice while you sharpen that sword, just don’t be bringing me Needle, I want the Ice.”
F*cking Twins
THE NEXT DAY IS BUSY with party preparations, sound checks, rehearsal and beautiful weather. Even I’m in a good mood and my band keeps looking at me like I’ve been taken over by aliens. It’s hard to be grumpy when the weather is nice, you’re playing music with people you like, and there’s a chance of getting laid soon. This summer is looking better every minute.
“Fucking Frank, what is happening, you are almost chipper,” Lia says when I add a little jaunty solo to the end of Blank Space, which I loathe normally, but it’s a fun arrangement.
“Seriously, you are freaking me out,” Andrew chimes in, “did you take something?”
“I’m not on drugs. I just like it here, it’s peaceful, it’s nice out, and until right now, I was having fun playing music with my friends.”
Joe pats me on the back. “Leave Frank alone, he’s going to have sex with the girl version of him and he’s ecstatic. Not many of us get to fuck ourselves.”
“I’m ignoring the obvious disturbing part of that, but what’s this about sex with a girl?” Andrew asks me.
“Our young Frank here has captured the attention of the winemaker, Mikey,” Lia tells Andrew since he missed dinner last night.
“Wait, now I’m really confused, I thought a woman was interested in Frank.”
“Mikey is a woman,” I say, “she’s fucking gorgeous and has good taste. We have the same cephalopod tattoo by the same artist, over our hearts. Even I can’t ignore that kind of romantic fate.”
Andrew smiles wide. “Our little Frankie has found a special lady friend?”
“Yep, and get this, when we met her yesterday they were wearing the exact same outfit,” Lia adds.
“To be fair it was jeans, a white shirt, and Docs, total hipster uniform,” Joe explains, “but the glasses, bad attitude, and tattoos bring it all together to them being basically twins.”
“Are we done yet talking about my shit?” I’m starting to lose my good mood because these assholes are not going to let it go. It’s their goal in life to give me as much shit as possible whenever I do something nice or thoughtful. The possibility that I may be happy over a woman is catnip for these dick licks.
Lia grins widely at me and shakes her head. “Oh Frankenweiner, no. We are most certainly not done talking about you and Mikey.” She clasps her hands together and starts to jump up and down. “You guys, this is going to be the best summer ever.”
Joe joins in the jumping and they start chanting, “Frankie and Mikey, we likey!” over and over.
“Now who’s making it awkward,” I shout over the two of them.
Andrew is laughing but he pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry dude, it’ll be a novelty for a bit since you’ve been single for a minute. They’ll go back to normal eventually and you can torture them back.”
We play another few songs, working on a new arrangement of Brass Monkey, by the Beastie Boys per Sebastian’s request. We have a large song list, customers can make requests off of the list so no performance will be the same but Sebass wants us to open with his song every evening.
In between each song, the asshat twins, Joe and Lia, start their chant up again. They are jumping up and down chanting when I see Mikey walking toward the stage. I try to stop them, gesturing at my neck to tell them to cut it out. Nothing works and so Mikey saunters up smirk safely on her gorgeous face. She’s wearing long fitted cut-off army green shorts, Docs, and a black tank top with the winery’s logo on it, a graphic of a monkey, drunk on the floor, surrounded by empty wine bottles.
“You let them carry on like this without junk punches?” she asks me.
“I’m showing restraint today,” I reply through my gritted teeth.
“Holy shit, you guys were right,” Andrew says and gestures to Mikey and me.
The two fuckwits finally cease their chant to observe that yes, Mikey and I are wearing identical outfits again. I am wearing my green cut off Dickies, and a black winery tee Sebass gave me for my birthday, the cheap ass. The kicker is that we are both wearing a dark purple bandana. Hers tied like a headband and mine is tied around the crown of my head to keep sweat out of my eyes.
“Holy Yoko, are you guys fucking with us now?” Lia asks. “Are you coordinating outfits?”
“No!” Mikey and I snap at the same time.
I hop off the stage, grab her hand and lead her to the side, away from my ‘friends.’ “I’m sorry, they are like dogs with a bone, they probably won’t let this go for a while.”
She gives me a half smile and I crowd her against the stage, my hands on her hips. “I feel like I should be making a joke about your bone but your hands are distracting.”
My fingers travel up over her hip bones, under her shirt to the smooth skin of her abdomen. Her hands go to the back of my neck and she gives me a tug. I oblige and kiss her thoroughly. We get lost in each other until I hear that fucking chant amplified. As I lean my forehead on hers, I hear Lia and Joe not just chanting but singing and harmonizing for fuck’s sake. “For fuck’s sake,” I whisper.
Mikey chuckles and kisses the side of my mouth. “I can take it if you can.”
“Sure, you busy all day? Maybe we can have lunch or coffee.” There, I put myself out there.
“I wish I could, but today is jam-packed. I’ll catch you at the party, though, and we can get a drink.” I’m disappointed but understand.
“I like to drink,” I say, like a dumb ass.
“I know, you drink the same as me, Jameson’s on the rocks with a twist of lime,” she says. “We really are twins.” She gives me another peck on the lips and strides off. I watch her as she does.
I return to the stage where Andrew is now in on the sing-along. They are singing ‘Frankie and Mikey, we likey,’ in three-part harmony and it’s giving me a headache. “I hate you fucking tool bags.”
Joe sees me coming and reflexively covers his junk. Lia is belting and in the zone so she doesn’t see me approaching. Andrew steps in my way. “Hey now, no hitting women.”
Lia stops and rolls her eyes. “How about no hitting anyone? Why does it always have to be just women not getting hit? No hitting, period.”
“You all deserve a good junk punch or taco kick. Stop embarrassing me in front of Mikey. I like her and I don’t need any extra help in fucking it up, thank you very much,” I say and Andrew joins Joe in covering his jewels. “Oh come on, like I’d really hit you guys. I’m a non-violent son of hippies.”
“Sorry, Frank, we’re just h
appy for you and this is how we express our joyful feelings, we are the worst,” Lia explains, hands outstretched.
“You really are.” I turn to pick up my bass and we continue to practice for the party. Thank fucking god I don’t hear that chant again for the rest of the day.
* * *
There are way too many people here for my liking. They are all the worst type of people too, rich dickwads with disposable income and plastic infused women drinking large glasses of chardonnay. The stage we are on is to the side of the main backyard where the party is sprawled out. We are background music for the party but we have a small crowd of Lia groupies, in other words, rich dickwads who are probably married gathered to ogle my friend.
In the middle of our second set, I spot Mikey and huff out a laugh. Joe follows my sight line and also lets out a laugh. Mikey is unbelievably stunning in a sexy black suit. It’s fitted, and she’s wearing a white shirt with an orange tie. The shirt and tie are feminine and low cut, her tattoo peeking out with her cleavage. On her feet, she’s wearing black and white checked Vans. It shouldn’t work, but on her it does. Lia finally gets a glimpse of Mikey and stares back at me with wide eyes.
Yep, you guessed it, I’m wearing a black suit with a white shirt and an orange tie. I also ditched my Docs for the more comfortable pair of black and white checked Vans that look awesome with my suit and my giant feet. When I make eye contact with Mikey, she rolls her eyes at me and flips me the bird.
F*cking In the Mix
“I SWEAR I DON’T TRY to dress like a tall, fuck-hot, tattooed dude,” Mikey says as we clink our glasses during a break. The party is in full swing and people are drowning in wine. Mikey and I are the exceptions with our whiskey tumblers. She told me she likes whiskey because drinking wine feels like work.
“I don’t usually dress like a stunning, blue-eyed, brunette either.” What? I can flirt.
“I’m actually curious now to see if we keep it up. I can’t imagine you have coral pedal pushers and a black and white floral tunic for tomorrow?”
I smile at her because I have something that might work. “Thanks for the heads up, as long as you’re wearing your Doc’s with the outfit we’re good to go.”
“Shut up, you ass, it’s like we’re some twisted version of an old couple that dresses alike to go to the mall,” she says and god I like her. “You guys are getting a lot of compliments tonight. I like your style. I saw you play at Sheba a few months ago and I remember you singing A Boy Named Sue, you have a great voice.”
“Not sure that’s true but every once in a while, Lia lets me sing something. No one in the crowd is coming to see me or the other guys, she is the star attraction.” I’m curious that she saw us play and I don’t remember seeing her. Normally I’m in a meditative state when I play, but I still notice beautiful women. “I’m surprised I didn’t notice you that night.”
Her smile is a little sad. “Well, I was toward the back and I was with a guy who is a shitty person who didn’t like the music and made me leave early.”
“I’m honestly shocked that anyone could make you do anything,” I say surprised that she would date someone that was shitty.
“We all make poor choices in life. It was one of those flings that was fun at the beginning and then all of the sudden it wasn’t,” she says and I nod. “Sometimes even I can’t see through someone else’s crap.”
“I’ve dated a few women who presented differently at the beginning and then when they got comfortable with me they showed their ass and it wasn’t the good side.”
“I do like a good side of an ass,” she says cheekily, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Do you get to the city often?” I ask, dodging her challenge.
“About once or twice a month. It’s great up here in the country but I do like when shit is close to other shit.” She swirls the ice left in her glass. “I like to be in a city where there’s a lot going on, but I also like the Slow-noma life. Which is good since it’s nearly impossible to grow grapes and make wine in a city.”
“It does seem like winemaking takes up a lot of room. What’s your favorite part of the process?” I ask her, genuinely interested.
“It’s going to sound bad but I love it when it’s done, when it’s bottled and ready to age.” Her knee brushes mine and I lean my leg back into her. “It’s like any kind of art, the feeling of producing something and having a final product is very satisfying. I’d imagine it’d feel that way to an author finishing a book or you when you finish a record.”
I nod, “Yeah, as a session musician I have a lot of finished work out there. The real satisfaction for me is playing live and getting a reaction from the crowd.”
“Oh, so we can have dual masturbatory times this summer when people are applauding you while sipping my Pinot,” she says dryly.
I turn to her, maneuvering her so my legs are surrounding hers. “Tell me more about this dual masturbation.”
She reaches out to grab my tie, I mimic her and grab hers. She gives mine a gentle tug. “What is it about you, Fucking Frank?” she asks rhetorically.
Our mouths meet in a sweet kiss then I drag my nose across her cheek to bury my face in her throat and hair. “I find you endlessly fascinating, and I’m not saying that because we have similar tastes. I’m saying that because I want to see how you taste.” I nibble her neck and she sighs.
“You’re going to be a distraction, aren’t you?” Her hand slides to my lap and I’m probably going to have to go back on stage with a hard dick.
“Frank, get off the other Frank and get back on stage,” Joe interrupts us rudely.
I flip him off and kiss my way back to Mikey’s full pink lips. “I’m going to need a minute.”
He chuckles as he walks off, and I sit back and adjust myself.
“At least you have a giant instrument to cover your giant instrument,” Mikey cracks and I stare at each other for a beat and then laugh.
* * *
We play two more sets and the crowd gets louder and drunker. I saw two women throwing up in the bushes earlier. Something about wine makes people drink more than they usually do, this is why I stick to whiskey for the most part. It’s a drink to savor, and appreciate slowly.
After the last set, we pack up and put most of our equipment in a shed that will house our things for the duration of our time here. I place my bass just inside, knowing I’ll grab it later. I’d never leave my baby in a shed for fuck’s sake. Joe shuts the door and padlocks it. We all have the combination so we can get in and out of it whenever we need to.
“Am I going to need earplugs tonight, lover boy?” Joe asks—asks for my foot to connect with his nuts.
“Cool it, Joe. We’ve been here like 30 hours and I have no idea what’s happening. It would be nice if you assholes would lay off for a bit.”
“Got it, you’re boning her at her place. That’s all you had to say, big guy.” Joe ducks my attempt to smack the back of his head and skips away laughing.
“Boning is my least favorite way to describe fucking, don’t you agree?” I huff out a frustrated breath because Mikey’s comment means she heard at least the last part of my conversation with Joe. “My place is as good a place as any and I’d prefer to not have an audience. Although, sometimes Seawitch bunks with me and she’s a fucking voyeur that one.”
I turn while she’s talking, relieved that she’s taking the teasing in stride. I have a feeling’s not going to get any better if we continue with this, whatever it is. “I can see that about her, it’s the quiet ones that are the biggest deviants.”
“So what do you say, want to come over and plan out our outfits for the week so we can freak out everyone we work with?” she asks and I’m unable to resist her charm. She’s really nothing like me. “Boning is optional.”
After I retrieve my bass from the where I just put it, I wrap my arm around her and start walking her away from the shed. “Let’s go quickly before Seawitch notices.”
She laughs as we hop into an available golf cart and head out into the night.
F*cking Boning
AS A CHILD OF HEALTH store owners and overall health freak hippies, if I ever was at a friend’s house, I always took advantage and stuffed my face with whatever snack or treat they had on hand. Joe’s mom stocked It’s It ice cream sandwiches just for me. When she died I ate a whole box. Being with Mikey feels like that. Not that she’s forbidden but that she is the joy, the indulgence, the naughty little snack that I’m dying to get my hands on and feast until I make myself sick. My hope is that she’ll turn into a well-rounded meal, or at the very least a fancy dessert. It’s possible I’m a little hungry right now.
Mikey’s cottage is more of a full-sized house set back over a hill of vineyards and tucked into a little copse of trees. It’s warm and inviting, not unlike its owner. We park the golf cart in front and climb the stairs to her porch which is small but holds a sturdy swing on one side and a bench on the other. The door is unlocked which I don’t like because it’s pretty remote out here. The main room is open with a small sectional facing a corner fireplace, a dining area, and an open kitchen. It’s not big but it’s perfectly sized. I’ve always lived in apartments so even the smallest houses feel big to me. I love my apartment, especially the picture window facing the Pacific Ocean. I’ve been there since I moved out of my parents’ house at 19. My surfing buddy has owned the building for over 30 years and even though the rent seemed high at the time, he hasn’t raised it even the small percentage he’s allowed since I moved in 15 years ago, so I appreciate it as the San Francisco unicorn that it is.
The style of her house is pretty clean and modern but not so much that it feels cold. It’s definitely lived in with books and mail on the dining room table, and bottles and bottles of wine, everywhere. “You bring work home with you, huh?”
“Just a little,” she says amused. “There’s always tweaking and I need space for that, my office is too small for my mad scientist tendencies.”