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Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car

By: qhml1



This story was inspired by the song by Tinsley Ellis. Give it a listen.

...............................................

Actually it was my car, I was just letting her drive it.

There must be a cheaters hand book out there somewhere. My future bride should have read it.

If you're going to cheat and still try to hang on to the man you're supposed to love, flying below the radar should be the first priority. When going to a tryst with your lover you should drive a nondescript vehicle, something that blends in.

A shit brown 2002 Camry would be perfect. There are millions out there, one more would garner no notice.

Too bad you didn't check the oil or get changes like he told you too, maybe you wouldn't have blown the engine.

You should have known driving his vintage car, a 1969 Mach 1 with loud mufflers would get you noticed. Especially since it was the only one in the world painted Carolina blue with a white pearl hood scoop. Dressing down wouldn't have hurt either. People will notice when a tall platinum blond with a killer body, wearing a scoop neck belly shirt and short shorts in bright pastel colors, your signature outfit, gets out.

Really, you should have given the plan a little more thought.

.................................................

We met in a bar. We weren't there to find love. we were working. She was a waitress, I was playing in the band.

I had been a professional musician for eight years. The group I was with now, Sound Wave, was the best group I had ever worked with. We were a party/dance band. Old rock, new country, Motown, blues, we played everything. If the crowd was younger we rocked out. If there was a lot of forties plus in the crowd, we used a slower tempo with a lot of slow songs thrown in. If it was a cowboy crowd we upped the 'yee-haw' factor. We did whatever it took to please the crowd.

Some days you're good, some days you're adequate, some days you're ashamed to take the money, and rarely, rarely, you're damn near perfect. Tonight was an almost perfect night. The band was tight, the crowd was well behaved, the sound was mixed perfectly. Musicians feed off energy like that.

We talked about it after our first set, and decided to take it up a notch. We had a set just for situations like this. No slow songs, no pauses between, just 45 minutes of hard fast music. We had to work the crowd a little to get them in the mood.

Although I wasn't the lead singer, I was the talker for the band. After returning to the stage I yelled out.

"YOU GUYS READY TO PARTY?"

A little applause a few yells were all we got.

I looked over at the keyboard player.

"I don't think they want to party Al, we must have a bunch of lightweights here tonight."

He nodded a played a few bars of slow, mournful organ.

"Let's try this again. YALL WANNA PARTY?"

They got a little louder.

"What, did you bring your mammas? Don't you want to have a good time? We do."

Much louder, they were starting to get into it.

"That more like it. We're not going to stop for 45 minutes. Think you can keep up?"

Now they were crowding the floor. I loved giving 

alcohol fueled people a challenge.

"Tell you what, if three couples can keep up, we'll give them each a band t shirt and a bar t shirt."

I held up a shirt. It was a picture of a donkey with the logo 'We danced our ass off to Sound Wave', it was always a crowd pleaser.

"All right, here we go. Time to run with the big dogs. If you can't keep up, just lay on the porch and growl. Two, three, four..."

We started up with an old southern rock song, Flirtin' With Disaster, by Molly Hatchet. Fast, loud with double lead guitars, shifting smoothly into Should I Stay Or Should I Go, by the Clash. Then just to confuse them, straight into Too Proud To Beg, the Rolling Stones version. By now we were about 16 minute in and had them sweating.

We really threw them for a loop when we went to Cotton Eye Joe. After 30 minutes there were about six couples who had been on the floor continually.

Only one couple made the whole set, and they looked like they were going to have heart attacks.

We gave them their shirts and the owner comped their drinks for the rest of the night. We threw shirts and bar vouchers randomly into the crowd.

Every body thinks that fifteen to twenty minute breaks between sets is to give the band a rest. We appreciate it, but the real reason is to sell more drinks without yelling over the music. There was over 400 people there, with just five waitresses and two bartenders. They were being worked to death. The owner had a huge smile on his face. This was our first time there and I was sure we would be back.

We did two more sets. We slowed down during the last set. It's better to send them out feeling mellow than wired up. After the last set was over I teased the crowd one more time.

"Wanna hear one more?"

There was a lot of "hell yeahs" and "go for it" .

"Well, you have to ask the boss. Buy another drink, that'll get him in a good mood."

I had preapproved this with the owner. He was all for it. Most clubs stop the music 30 to 45 minutes before last call purposely, to allow the crowd to wind down. Amid the yells and the drink orders he pretended to reluctantly give the nod.

We had all gathered in the front of the stage without our instruments. Crowding around the mikes, we launched into an accapella version of the old doo-wop song Goodnight Sweetheart. It only about two minutes long, but they loved it and left in a good mood.

It was a three day gig, so we didn't have to break down the amps, drums, or sound system. Hard experience had taught us to take anything small and portable with us. While we were packing up we talked to the customers. You never knew when the guy thanking you for playing his favorite Tom Petty song might call you up to see if you were available for a company function.

I had two other post gig duties. If anybody wanted to talk guitars, I was the man. I gave a lot of advice, and sometimes a guy would tell me about a guitar that had been in a closet or basement for years. I would perk up, buying, restoring, and selling vintage guitars was my hobby. Sometimes I got a good deal, sometimes I gave restoration advice and a rough appraisal of value. Sometimes the way they were stored ruined them, but I would pick them up for parts. Deals were getting scarcer, between the internet and collectible shows on TV people are a lot smarter.

Still, every once in a while I got lucky.

The second duty was being the designated slut magnet. All the other guys were married and in their thirties. I was twenty eight, but we had all been around long enough to get over the 'I'm gonna be a rock star and party all night' phase. 

If a woman hit on one of them they started waving their wedding rings around and talking about daycare while steering them towards me.

There were always a few that for some reason hadn't hooked up yet so they headed for us. The later it got, the drunker they got, and the more aggressive they became. A lot were married, having a girls' night out, and decided one of us would be the lucky one for tonight. Usually we were from out of town, and the chance of seeing us again soon was slight. I had a wedding ring I used when we traveled. It helped, some.

In all honesty when I was younger I hooked up a lot. The band I was with had a good agency, and they sent us all over the southeast. That all changed when I picked up an STD. You have no idea how much fun it was telling a doctor you couldn't give him the name of your partners because you hadn't bothered to get them. He had to settle for a list of the places I remembered. Management was not happy when they were contacted by the health department and were told to place posters of me in the ladies room saying if you've had contact with this man come in for a check up. The band had jobs canceled and had to fire me for self preservation. I had no hard feelings, but it was years before I played in that state again.

I still played occasionally, But I made sure they looked clean and unmarried. I had a friend who met up with a woman and made regular visits whenever he was in town. When her husband found out he smashed his hands with a ball bat, ending his career as a keyboard player. He works in a warehouse now. I also used industrial grade protection

Tonight I was still on a high from the great session we had played, so I broke my normal rule and decided to have a beer. I usually didn't drink anything after a gig because I always had to drive home at two or three in the morning, and at the first bobble you were pulled. If they smelled alcohol they made you get out of the car and do stupid human tricks. Then they brought out the breathalizer. When you only blew a 1, they usually sent you on your way after giving you a lecture. You just lost forty five minutes to an hour of your life you couldn't get back, and were even more tired when you got home.

It was five minutes for last call, just enough time for one.

I idly eavesdropped on the two waitresses sitting behind me. A tall platinum blond and a smaller but bustier redhead. I had passed them on the way to the bar. I heard one groan.

"They worked us like dogs tonight. I think my feet are gonna fall off."

"Mine too. I worked last night also. I may have to crawl to the car."

I should have left it alone, but my good mood pushed me over to the table. I gave them my best non threatening smile.

"Hi girls, may I sit?"

I could see it in their eyes, two a.m. and some asshole still wanted to hit on them. I saw a flash of recognition from the red head.

"Say, aren't you in to band?"

"Yeah, I'm the bass player. Wiley."

The redhead answered for both.

"This is Sammi, with an i. I'm sandy, with a y. Please , sit, but you'll have to get another chair. All these are tied up."

They had their feet propped on the other chairs. I grabbed one from another table.

"That's why I came over. I can fix it."

Sandy looked me over pretty good.

"How can you fix aching feet?"

"With my hands. You see before you a certified physical therapist, specializing in sports massage. I've got a diploma and a license."

This was true. Music wasn't my first choice as a profession. I played at night to make money to put me through school. I had this vision of helping female tennis and volleyball players reach new heights. When I had to do my mandatory internship, I was assigned to a college football team. After massaging the legs of a 339 lb defensive lineman who was screaming to make it stop hurting right fucking now or he was going to give me enough bruises to require my own therapist I decided not to give up my night job.

I still keep my certification up, just in case.

The blond wasn't buying it.

"A diploma. Really? Can I see it?"

I stood up. I didn't care for the sarcasm.

"Sure you can. It's hanging on my living room wall, twenty miles from here. Follow me and you can look at it. But you can't stay long, I have to sleep."

She had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"I will give you one piece of advise though. Lose the high heels and wear a comfortable walking shoe. It will reduce the strain a lot."

I was turning to leave when Sandy asked me to wait.

"The boss makes us wear them. He says it makes the men buy more drinks."

I looked at their outfits. A white form fitting scoop necked shirt and black short shorts.

"At the risk of sounding like a pig, dressed as you are how many men in here tonight could tell you what kind of shoe you had on? Let's do this, bring a pair of walking shoes in tomorrow and stash them behind my amp. Wait until it gets busy and slip them on to see if anybody notices. At the end of the night show the shoes to the boss.

I read a paper about the negative impact high heels can have on women who stand most of the time. The doctor visits and absenteeism went down 31% in one retail giant alone. I'll find it and print it out. Give it to him tomorrow. Good night girls."

Sandy pleaded.

"Please stay. I'm in pain, do what you can to help, but I swear, if I find out you're a pervert with a foot fetish a double will accidentally get dumped on your mixing board tomorrow."

I sat back down and gently took her foot in my hand.

"Please don't do that, it's exactly where we want it. I better do a good job so I don't lose a $3400

piece of equipment. Hold still."

Massage is alignment. If the muscle is properly aligned to the tendon, and the tendons are safely aligned to the bone then the pain should go away. Two days of running around in high heels on a concrete floors had her feet in terrible condition.

At first she whimpered, three minutes later she was sighing, and five minutes after that she was moaning lightly. Another five and it was time to change feet. I placed her foot gently back in the chair and waited for her to change positions so I could get to the other foot.

By now all the waitresses were gathered around our table. Sammi nudged Sandy.

"Honey, wake up. He still has to do your other foot."

She shook herself and turned a bright red.

"What did you do to me? I think I had an orgasm!"

The room echoed with laughter while I tried to tell her I hadn't massaged that part of her body.

The end result was me giving a foot massage to all five waitresses and the female bartender. The girls nagged me to do the male bartender in the interest of fairness. He was married to the oldest waitress. I looked at her and she said "please". 

Sexual innuendos had been flying since Sandy.

"All right, I"ll do it. But Linda, if he gets an erection, I'm done. And tell him to get some odor eaters."

As I worked on him I noticed the girls talking to Linda. After a minute she nodded yes and the girls crowded around Mike. I had his foot up and he was half reclining on the chair so he couldn't really move. If he moved his head he would hit a breast, and the girls were talking trash to him. 

Telling him Linda talked about what a great lover he was, how good his stamina was, how well endowed she said he was, the whole time rubbing their breasts against his arms and face. He was wiggling around hard when I noticed the bulge in his pants. I jumped up. 

"Whoa! Massage over. Linda, he's all yours."

Linda had a wolfs' grin on her face.

"Yes he is, and I intend to make good use of him. Girls, let him up before one of you pokes his eye out with a nipple. Come on honey, give me the keys. I don't think there's enough blood in your head right now to fire more than three brain cells, let me drive. Let me get you home. Between both massages I think we need to relieve a little tension."

The girls followed them to the door, whispering and nibbling in his ear. They wouldn't need to turn on headlights for a mile or so, Mikes' glowing face would light the way.

By now it was 3:30 and the cleaning crew was arriving. I thanked them all for a great night and was leaving when Sandy announced that we were all going to breakfast at Dennys. They were going to treat me to breakfast, and to make sure I showed one of them would ride with me.

My every day car is a Chrysler mini van. It was functional. If I had to carry equipment I could take the seats out. If I needed to carry band members I put the seats back in. Right now it was in equipment mode, with the seats out. It got kind of embarrassing when I realized Sandy and Sammi wanted to ride with me and everybody else had left. They decided to share the front seat, it was only five blocks.

When we got a booth Sandy ended up on one side of me and Sammi on the other, they never offered to change places with any of the others. We had a great time at breakfast but soon it was time to go.I thanked them for breakfast and they all kissed my cheek except Sandy, who gave me a brief but very satisfying kiss on the lips. For some reason Sammi seemed pissed. I got home at eight, five hours later than usual. I crashed and burned almost immediately.

I didn't wake up until 4:30. After a shower and my second breakfast in ten hours I felt much better. Such is the life of a musician.

We all met two hours early at the bar to set up some new equipment and rehearse a couple of the newer numbers. The waitresses were already there and there was a pile of bags behind my amp.

At odd times the girls would come up and give me a hug and a kiss. Each would tell me how well they slept thanks to me. It was driving the rest of the band crazy.

Jimmy, our drummer, couldn't take it any more.

"All right Wiley, spill it. I know you didn't get home until after eight this morning. My wife saw you pull in when she took the kids to school.

All the waitresses have been all over you. Which one did you get your hands on?"

I kept a straight face when I told them I had my hands on all of them.

"All of them?"

"Yes, all of them, even Mike. He was last but he didn't last long. Linda had to take him home, he was too drained to drive."

I didn't know it but Linda was behind the amp slipping into her sneakers and heard the whole thing. Just before we started playing Mike brought me a coke. He kissed me on the cheek and before anybody could speak he said-

"Thanks for last night, I know I couldn't hold still for long, but it was great. Maybe tonight you could finish me? I'll make sure the girls behave."

I never batted an eye.

"I'll make sure I do you first tonight. We'll let Linda watch."

The guys were standing there with their mouths hanging open. I grinned.

"Two, three, four..."

.................................................

We became the house band, three nights a week. I never told the guys the whole story of that night. Every once in a while one of the waitresses would ask me to do her, saying she needed it bad, or throw up the fact that I had done Jill twice, it was her turn tonight.

They were really torn up when I started dating Sammi and Sandy. I liked them both, but I could tell neither liked the fact that I was dating the other. The problem resolved itself when Sandys' mother got sick and she had to move 900 miles away to take care of her. By the time she came back ten months later, Sammi had been living with me for seven months and engaged for two.

If she had stayed maybe I would have been living with her instead. I don't think she would have stabbed me in the back or turn into a total screaming bitch.

END OF PART ONE.

Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 02



We lasted eleven weeks as the house band, a pretty good run. Our agent said it best.

"House bands are like strippers, once they get used to your face they get bored."

While we were there I got close to Sandy and Sammi, as friends. Because our schedules actually matched we could get together and go to movies, art galleries, flea markets, or just hang out. I thought things were fine until Sandy forced the issue.

"Look Wiley, you have to know we both like you. It's time to take it up a notch. We're not Mormons, polygamy isn't working for us."

I felt like I was about to go tap dancing in a minefield.

"I don't know. What if I decide I like you best but I just don't do it for you. What if I like Sammi and it ruins your friendship? Or ours?"

She grinned.

"We're big girls. Plus, we're not that close."

Well, no pain, no gain.

"Since you took the first step, are you by chance free Sunday?"

"Well" she smiled, "I was going to wash my hair, but since you asked so nicely I would be happy to see you Sunday."

"What would you like to do then?"

She surprised me.

"Oh no, you have to pick. Be creative, I get bored easily."

"All right. I'll pick you up at 2:00. Wear a nice conservative dress. And bring along jeans, at some point you might like to change. I have to go tune up now."

I saw her talking to Sammi later and she seemed irritated. I found out she assumed I would ask her first later...

When I went to pick up Sandy she was waiting at the door. At first she didn't recognize me because she was staring at my car. Up until then she had only seen my van.

"Is this your car?"

"No, I stole it to my way way over to make me look cool. Is it working?"

Not the response she was expecting.

"Yes it is. Now, when did you get this?"

"I've had it for about three years."

"It" was my 1969 Mach 1. It had the original 351 Cleveland engine, rebuilt. Loud 'glass pack' mufflers, a Holly dual line 780 four barrel carb, rebuilt three speed transmission with a short throw shifter. It would bark the tires in first and second. I had no idea what the top end was, I always chickened out about 110. No airbags.

What set mine apart from all the other 1969 Mach 1s' in the world was the paint job. It was a light blue, Carolina blue to be exact. And where the others had a black hood scoop, mine was pearl white.

I can hear the purists out there screaming. When I got it, it was dark blue. Possibly the ugliest stock color Ford ever had. It was heavily damaged on the driver side, by the time the body work was done I had already decided the paint scheme. I had seen one similar on a 1967 Chevelle and was impressed.

My paint and body man asked about the color, and when I told him what I wanted he almost paled.

"Not stock?" he said.

"No."

He argued, then stalled trying to change my mind. After two weeks I told him a wrecker would be coming tomorrow to take it to another paint shop. He had it finished in a week.

As little as I paid for it I felt like I was stealing it. After the body work, paint, and mechanical work I had just under nine thousand in it. It had 6,000 miles on the rebuild.

"How do you like my dress?"

It was a muted print with a knee lenght hemline.

"If you were going for school teacher sexy you nailed it. You look great."

I walked her to the car and opened the door for her. She seemed surprised.

"I'm kind of old fashioned. If you don't want me to open doors or pull out chairs, tell me now."

"No, I like it. I'm just not used to it. So, where are we going?"

"No, no. Surprise, remember."

We drove at a nice conservative pace, at no time did I go over 15 miles above the speed limit. By the look on her face when we pulled into the church parking lot I think my surprise worked.

"A church? Really?"

I could tell she wanted to ask more as she gave me her hand getting out of the car. 

"You'll see." I said.

It was a performance of music from the fifteenth and sixteenth century, in period dress and using traditional instruments. It was mostly hymns, with ballads and the odd drinking song, cleaned up lyrically of course. The performers were from the local college music department.

I think she enjoyed at least part of it. It is an acquired taste.

Afterward we didn't talk much because of the crowd. I knew most of the performers and many in the audience, so I was constantly being greeted. We were separated for a few minutes but I quickly moved back to her. She changed into jeans and a tee in the church office, by permission of course.

We didn't talk much in the car, but she did hold my hand, as much as possible with a straight drive. 

By then it was about six,on a pleasant early September day, Not too hot, not too cold, perfect for a picnic. I drove to a small state park that I knew wouldn't be too crowded this time of day. There were only three cars in the parking lot, all belonging to fishermen. There was a sixty acre lake, a large shelter for group functions, and picnic tables scattered around the lake shore.

After helping her out of the car, we got a picnic basket, a cooler, and a blanket out of the trunk. She picked a table and we set the stuff on it.

"So, we're on a picnic?"

"I thought you were smart. Would you like to eat now, or take a walk first?"

She chose to walk. We took one or the nature trails around the lake. I'd like to say we held hands, but the trail was at times to narrow and often uneven, so we talked. She would stop to look at the lake, or some tree or flower that took her interest. We made approving noises when an old man proudly showed us the two small mouth bass he had caught.

After we make the circle back to the picnic area I laid out our dinner, not letting her help..

Chicken salad with walnuts and chopped red grapes, a loaf of french bread, potato salad dressed with sour cream, fresh tarragon and chives, and a gallette, a rustic pie made with fresh winesap apples for dessert. Bottled water and a nice zinfandel for later.

She did slice the bread while I laid out the plates and silverware. There were only two of us and I hated plastic ware. We sat side by side on the blanket spread on the seat.

Sandy must have missed lunch, she ate two sandwiches, a large serving of potato salad, and a small piece of the pie. When she finished the first piece she got another. Didn't want to hurt my feelings, I guess.

"Where did you get lunch?" she asked as I uncorked the wine.

"I made it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." It always irked me that women thought that if you had a penis you couldn't turn on an oven or read directions. If you lived alone, you either learned to cook or lived a pretty dull life gastronomically. And my mother made sure both her boys knew how to cook.

Sipping wine she giggled.

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in an apron."

"You should see it. It says "Kiss me or get food poisoning."

She snorted into her wine.

Later as we were repacking the basket she asked how I knew so many people at the church. 

"I went to school with some, have played with some, and I'm a member."

"Really?"

"Is that your favorite expression?"

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in church."

I should probably stop now and describe myself. Six feet tall, about 180 lbs. I go to the gym about twice a week to maintain my weight. Musicians aren't the healthiest of eaters and decided early on I didn't want to be the fat one in the band. Male pattern baldness started hitting hard around twenty five, a legacy from both grandfathers. I didn't want to be addicted to rogaine for the rest of my life so I buzzed my long hair down to a quarter inch, and grew a handle bar mustache and a long pointed goatee. Naturally brown, at odd times I've dyed it black, red, blond, even purple and green. Hey, bass players are supposed to be eccentric, right? Jimmie, the drummer, hated it when I dyed it red. He said he felt like he was playing with the devil. Can you guess how I dressed when we played Halloween parties?

I promised her I would take her with me sometime and that we would sit in the front pew.

I opened the car door but she stopped me.

"This has been a really great day. Only one thing could make it better."

I fell right into it.

"What would that be?"

"Can I drive home?"

Now , I like my car, but I not fanatical about it. I do have another car beside the van, but only one other person will ever drive it. And I hadn't met her yet.

"Do you know how to drive a stick?"

She just smiled and held out her hand for the keys. Then she gave me a kiss. It was only a couple of seconds, closed mouth, but it felt great.

She wasn't too bad. After pressing my imaginary brake pedal half a dozen times I gently asked how many points she had on her license, she took the hint and slowed down.

We pulled into her apartment lot about 9:30. As I helped her out of the car she gave me her version of puppy eyes.

"One more thing?"

I was always a sucker for puppy eyes.

"What would you like, honey?'

It was the first term of endearment I had used and it brought an large smile.

"I'm not much of a cook. Can I have the leftovers?"

I carried the cooler to the door for her. She stopped me there.

"I'd love to invite you in but my roommate is home and it would be awkward. Maybe next time we could go to your house."

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me. She gave me a goodnight kiss. Then she gave me another. They were getting longer and I was just feeling a bit of tongue when the porch light came on.

"Damn, is your roommate your mother?'

Trying to hold in laughter she said "No she's just nosey, We'll discuss this after I go in. I really had a great time. Thank you."

She grabbed me and gave me a probing, intense kiss, neighbors and roommate be damned. Then she went into her apartment laughing.

I had just had one of the best dates of my life, and I was still home by 10:30.

.................................................

The date with Sammi went in a totally different direction. I had a rare Thursday night off, she changed shifts with one of the other waitresses so we could go out.

We went to a larger town thirty miles away. There was a new dance club she heard good things about. She was disappointed when I showed up in the van.

"Where's your hot car?"

It's at home under cover." It wasn't, I had it stored somewhere else.

"I wanted to ride in it. It looks so cool."

"We can go get it, but if we do we have to change plans. I don't know what kind of area this club is in. I heard it was in an old warehouse, warehouse districts aren't too secure. Plus it will be in a crowded parking lot where people will be less than vigilant because of alcohol. I know a great jazz club, if you would like to go there."

I could see the gears turning. Hot car or hot club? she went with the club.

We went to a sushi restaurant, her choice. I'm not a fan, but it wasn't bad. She had three cups of sake. She had the beginnings of a buzz before we got to the club.

It was about what I expected. An old warehouse with very little decor, it was dirty and drafty. The tables were cheap, the bar barely functional, and the sound system was about three times as powerful as it needed to be for the size of the building. As a general rule I don't like djs, every time someone hires one I feel like we lost the job, but this guy was pretty good.

Ever hear the old expression "This is about five minutes away from being five minutes ago?" I figure this place was in it's third minute.

That's why places like this don't spend a lot of money on decor or long term leases. They know they're just one buzz word away from extinction. So they jack up the drink prices and slip the reviewers a little something to keep their name on they're lips, and ride it until it falls over. Then they fade away only to pop up in a month or two somewhere else. If I sound disillusioned I'm not. It's just the way it is.

We quickly hooked up with George and Lynn, a couple we knew from the bar. I liked Lynn, but George seemed a little oily.

We got a table and ordered drinks. When the music started she grabbed me and we spent the next thirty minutes on the floor. Surprisingly, most musicians aren't good dancers. Too busy playing to learn I guess. I could dance fairly well, but had exhausted all my moves quickly. I dragged her off the floor to take a break and get something to drink. Seven bucks for a coke.

Sammi was swaying in her chair, George was bouncing in his chair, Lynn and I were just trying to catch our breath. Lynn looked at me and said "Should we turn them loose for a bit?"

I thought about it. This could be a test. If Sammi goes onto the floor without my input any relationship we could have would be over instantly. If she clears it with me first or flat out refuses her stock would go up quickly. I nodded yes. 

She bent over and said something to George. He looked at me and got Sammi up. At first she refused and then looked at me.

"Do you mind?"

"Not if it's just dancing."

She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

"I knew you had potential."

Off she went. They danced twice, and then a slow song started. He reached for her, but she stopped him and came back to me.

"Come on babe, let's get close."

And we did. She molded her body into mine and we swayed to the music. She didn't exactly grind on me, but made sure no dead space got between us.

We danced a few more fast numbers and then she took a break. She held my hand while we sat. Some guy we didn't know came over and asked her to dance. She just held my hand tighter and didn't say a thing. He got the hint and left.

We danced until two. She danced a couple more times with George, and when neither of us wanted to she grabbed Lynn and hauled her onto the floor. I liked to watch her dance. Swinging and swaying, body parts shooting off in all directions only to be snapped back to center at the last minute.

I found her outfit interesting. Bright red short shorts, a yellow scoop neck form fitting top that seemed to dare her breasts to fall out, and red three inch heels. It looked a lot like a brighter version of what she wore to work. I asked her about it a couple months later and she said she was used to it and didn't it make her look hot? Couldn't argue with that.

We went to a nearby IHOP for coffee. Lynn and George joined us, and George invited us over to party, and by us I mean Sams' boobs. Both Lynn and Sam looked disgusted. We declined.

On the way home she thanked me for allowing her to dance with George.

"I'm glad you're not one of those jealous guys."

"I am a bit of a jealous guy, but you gave me no reason to be. You asked me if it was okay first, and stayed where I could see you. When that guy asked you without clearing it with me and you shot him down. I trust you because you give me no reason not to. The first time you do otherwise, we'll stop dating. Life's too short."

I was giving her a message, and she got it.

I walked her to her door at 4:00 a.m. The goodnight kisses started slow but got steamier. At the end I was sure she was trying to verify that my tonsils had been removed with her tongue. Then the porch light flipped on. She drew back.

"Bitch!" She hissed.

"Payback." I laughed. 

That's right, they were roommates. I didn't know it until I asked Sammi out and asked where to pick her up and she said "You were just there yesterday. Have you already forgotten?

"You mean you and Sandy are living together?"

"I would say roommates, living together takes on a whole new meaning."

They both assured me they were comfortable with it , But I had my doubts. I wasn't.

It was kind of creepy kissing a girl good night while the girl you were kissing yesterday could be watching you through the blinds.

This couldn't go on much longer, and it came to a head about a month later. Sandy was on my couch. We had been getting progressively more passionate, and she had about two thirds of a bottle of wine in her. I had the lights low, a fire going, and I had gotten farther than I ever had before. I had been nuzzling her neck and nipping her earlobes, something I knew turned her on. She had a button up blouse on instead of her usual tee. I was caressing her through the material, and gently undid a button. Instead of stopping me she pushed forward. Encouraged, I undid another. And another. Soon I was on my knees kissing her throat, her shoulders, and her breasts above her bra. It was a front clasp bra, and soon it was dangling and I had one of her thick, plump nipples in my mouth. Rolling across my tongue, the sweet/salt flavor was so good I had to taste the other. Even better. She was arching forwards, trying to thrust her entire mammary gland down my throat. I was trying my best to swallow it, but losing. 

Abandoning those impressive badges of womanhood I slowly nibbled down her stomach, circling her navel, licking along the waistband of her jeans. She was making soft, whispering sounds and caressing the back of my head. I was tugging at her snap when she pushed me back.

"STOP! Please Wiley, stop."

The blood wasn't flowing uphill for me so it took a minute to adjust.

"Don't you like it?"

She had my head in her hands, staring into my eyes.

"Yes I do baby, very much. I think my panties melted, I'm so hot. But I won't, not without some ground rules."

Uncharitably, I thought she should have brought this up thirty minutes ago. If you're a guy, I'm sure at one time or another you've had an erection that actually hurts. I was aching. Honestly, between romancing both girls I had gone the longest without sex in my adult life. I wanted to end the dry spell. 

"What rules?"

She had the decency to close her top and motion me to sit beside her.

"Wiley, by now you must know I'm half in love with you, maybe more than half. You're the sweetest, most considerate man I've ever been with. Most guys would have given up on me by now. If you want me, I'm yours. But it has to be just me, understand? And I know about your past, some of the guys from the other bands that play my club have talked. As heartless as it sounds, if you choose me I'll want a clean bill of health from you, understand?"

Well, it was what it was. Sometimes history can bite you in the ass.

"Please don't answer me now. Think about it hard. Just know, if you're sure, I'll be worth the wait."

She wiped the tears away and asked me to take her home. It was a quiet ride, but she held tightly to my hand.

I walked her to the door. Her kiss was soft, chaste, but wonderful.

"Call me in a few days, my darling Wiley."

She made a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob and closed the door.

I didn't sleep much that night.

.................................................

If my life wasn't complicated enough,guess who showed up on my door step the next day. Sammi.

"We need to talk, Wiley."

Damn, how men hate to hear those words.

Blasting by me, she settled on the couch. Patting it , she motioned for me to sit beside her. Just like Sandy the night before. Deja vu all over again.

"I'll cut to the chase Wiley. Sandy talked to me last night, actually she cried on my shoulder. This makes what I'm going to say made me feel like a louse."

She leaned over and gave me a long, long kiss.

Drawing back, she cried out "I'm in love with you!"

"I've never been with anyone who treats me as well as you do. You make me feel like a woman, not some piece of meat you want to use."

I felt like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth, trying to form words. She place her hand over my mouth.

"Don't talk, do what you do well, listen to me. I know I'm a little wilder than Sandy, and sometimes you do things you don't really want to just to make me happy, but I try not to abuse that trust. I 'll do anything you want if we get together. You know both of us get miserable when the other is with you. If you choose me, you'll never regret it, I promise."




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 02



Her words had gotten faster and faster. Finally she drew a deep breath, leaned over and gave me one of her deep, soul stirring kisses, and got up. She paused at the door.

"One more thing. If you choose me, make sure your fire extinguishers are up to date, 'cause I'll scorch the sheets, the furniture, and anything else you take me on. Bye, baby. Call one or the other of us soon."

And she was gone.

I felt like a seventeen year old trying to decide who to take to the prom on one hand, and my namesake the coyote on the other, suddenly finding myself over the cliff with an anvil instead of a parachute.

.................................................

Ultimately, the decision was taken out of my hands, even after I made it.

I was on my way to the apartment with a doctors report in my hand. Sammi was at work and I knew she would be there alone.

I knocked on the door, and she literally knocked me down, crying hysterically. At first I thought it was for me, but it wasn't.

"She's had a stroke, Wiley! They need me there right away. I have to go, now. What am I going to do?"

I stroked her arms, trying to get her to calm down.

"Who had a stroke, honey?"

"Mom! She's in a coma, they need me right away. I'm her designated guardian, they can't really do anything but keep her stable until I get there. Help me, Wiley, please."

She had told me she was an only child, raised by her mother. I knew they were close. She talked to her at least twice a week, sometimes more.

"Hush, baby. First thing you need to do is pack. "I'll call and get you a ticket while you're doing that, then I'll take you to the airport."

Her mom lived 900 miles away. Sandy hadn't been home in a year. Even with good tips, bar waitresses don't make that much. She didn't have a car.

"I don't have the money for a ticket. She might be dying, oh God!"

"I'll pay for the ticket, get packed."

Instead of arguing, she just turned and went into her room. I called, they had a flight leaving in an hour, we could just make it. I booked the ticket.

"Hurry, you've got less than an hour."

It wasn't neat but we got her packed and to the airport with ten minutes to spare. Not much time.

As we drove I asked if she had any money on her. She hadn't even thought of that. We didn't have time to stop at an ATM, so I gave her what I had in my pocket, about $600.

"I can't take this much."

"Yes you can. You don't know what you're going to run into. You can give it back when you return." 

"I've made a decision, Sandy. It's-

She stopped me. 

"Don't tell me now. I need to deal with mom. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I'll call you when I can."

"But-"

"Please honey, not now. I have to go. I need to tell you I love you. I really love you."

She gave me a hard kiss and went through the lines. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the last lovers' kiss I would ever get from her.

................................................

The band was booked for a month in advance. I could have gotten one of my friends between bands to take my place, but Sandy told me to not come, her mom was in a coma and there was nothing I could do. I asked if she had anyone was with her, and she said John and Carrie were helping her. We told each other "I love you" every phone call. It made me good to hear her say it, but when I started talking about the future she would shut me down. Plenty of time later, she would say.

After six weeks I could hear her getting distant, quiet. She didn't talk long, and the last two times when I said I love you she just said bye.

Enough was enough. I got a buddy to cover and drove out to see her. I took my time and was there in two days. I went straight to the hospital and asked for her. I told the nurse we were engaged, she gave me an odd look.

She told me she hadn't been in to see her mother in two days, and wouldn't give me an address. Apparently being engaged. I called Sandy, she answered on the third ring.

"Hi, babe, How's your mom?'

"Still the same. I sit by her everyday waiting for a change. I'm starting to lose hope."

"Are you there now?"

"Yes right here beside her."

Ever hook a string and have it start unraveling? I felt like someone just pulled my string.

"Well, Good news. I got some time off and I'm on my way to see you."

"You don't need to come, Wiley. There's nothing you can do here."

Her voice was a bit off.

"I could be with you. I miss you. Besides, I'm about 45 minutes away. I'll see you soon."

I hung up before she could form a response. I went down to the lobby to wait,. It was a small regional hospital and I felt sure she would come in the front entrance.

About thirty minutes later I saw an SUV pull up to the entrance. I could clearly see Sandy in the passenger seat. She opened the door to get out, then leaned in and gave the driver a long hard kiss. It was not a friend kiss. She ruffled his hair and turned to go in. By then I was standing right behind her.

She turned with a smile on her face. The smile faded when she saw me.

"How long have you been here?"

"About ninety minutes."

"Oh."

"That's it. Oh? You didn't want me to come and see you. When I get here you're not and lie about it. I was standing right outside your mothers room when I called you. What's going on? And I saw the kiss."

"Let's go in and talk, maybe get some coffee."

I wasn't going back into that hospital.

"No, I'm fine right here. Get right to it. Am I in your life or not. No excuses, no explanations. Just the truth. Do we have a future or not? Yes or no will do."

She had the decency to look sad.

"I didn't want you to find out like this. I didn't mean-"

I shut her off.

"I'll take that as a no. Goodbye Sandy."

I heard her running after me. I turned and held up my hand.

"John or Carry?"

She hung her head.

"Carry" she whispered.

"Don't follow me."

I turned, went to my van , and backed out. I could see her fading in my rear view mirror.

And that was how the first toxic twin screwed me over. 



Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03



A short letter to my readers.

First, I need to apologize. Real life got in the way of this story. First my wife had a life threatening accident. Then a sibling collapsed and was on a death watch for a while. He's better now, but not out of the woods yet. Then my wife had another accident, not life threatening but very painful. Happily, she's on the road to a full recovery.

And the dog ate my homework.

Seriously, when you spend as much time in emergency rooms and intensive care unit waiting rooms as I did, you think about a lot of things. I started writing as a goof, telling my wife I could do a better story than some I had read. She urged me to go ahead, I might like it. And I did. The better part is still up for debate.

I don't have a laptop, so as I sat in those rooms I wrote in spiral bound notebooks. I bought three seventy page single notebooks, thinking that would last. I filled thirteen.

"I Thought She Made You Up" consumed six of the notebooks. Three more stories took the rest, but I'm not posting them until I finish this series.

Looking over the way I had finished this story, I found it lacking. Justice was not done to Wiley, and he's such a complex character I didn't want to short change him. I threw every thing out and started over. Starting with this installment, look for another chapter every four to seven days until I'm done, and I envision at least three more if I get the continuity right. Go back and read the first two, its been a while.

I changed categories, the poor boy is nowhere near ready for marriage, so I'll give you the details of his romance. Not much romance in this one, but I'll get to it.

Once again, thanks for reading and especially your comments and votes.

QHML1

.......................................

I did something I never do. 

I turned off the radio, disconnected the Ipod, and listened to the sound of silence.

Music was and is my life. We all have a personal soundtrack to our lives. We're almost always within listening distance of a radio, CD, Ipod, some guy in the park with a slightly out of tune guitar, or a live band.

A song will start playing and you think, "That's what was playing at my sisters' wedding, my uncles' funeral, while I lost my virginity, or when she dumped me, when I found out I was going to be a father, etc." Music and memories are so intertwined we take them for granted. We don't have to watch, or read, or focus on anything. All we have to do is let the music wash over us.

And just this minute, I wanted to be one of the unwashed masses.

I didn't want to remember any song that would remind me of Sandy's betrayal. Too much respect for the music. 

.......................................

I learned how women could betray you at an early age, and my mother taught the lesson.

I was thirteen, had been playing the guitar for two years, and had a habit of sneaking into my parents' room when they weren't around to listen to their records. They had a killer stereo, and excellent headphones. I would kick off my shoes, pick the albums, load the turntable and lie back. I would carefully straighten the bed and put everything back exactly, but I think they knew.

It was a Saturday morning in June. I was listening to the Beatles, "In My Life", off the Rubber Soul album I think, when my grandmother burst into the room, yelling at the top of her lungs.She had been calling for me but I didn't hear her because of the headphones. She was crying.

I knew something was wrong. She was a strong woman, the only time I saw her cry was when my grandfather died, so I scrambled up.

"Wiley, why didn't you answer the phone? Never mind, come with me right now."

"Gram what's wrong? Why are you crying? Is something wrong with Dad?"

I assumed it was my dad. He worked in a factory with a lot of machinery and was always talking about someone getting careless and being injured. My Mom stayed at home, so he worked a lot of Saturdays for the overtime. It was worth it to him so Mom could stay home with my little brother Chip. He was four, and the plan was for her to return to work when he entered school.

"No, child. It's your Mom, she and Chip were in an accident. I don't know all the details, but your Dad wants you at the hospital."

Dad was already there when we got there. I could see the tracks of tears but he was composed by then.

"How's Mom? How's Chip?" Gram and I pretty much said in unison.

He looked me in the eye. I had always admired his directness, but not today. He took me by my hand, something he almost never did. I never knew if it was shyness or upbringing, but he didn't touch much. Mom had to virtually sit on his lap to get attention. There was no doubt he loved us, he told us often.

"Son, you're mother is dying. They were hit over by the high school, a big rig lost his brakes on Simpson Hill and ran through the red light. You need to go in and see her now. She's unconscious, but maybe she'll hear you say goodbye."

I pretty much went into shock. Gram led me in. You almost couldn't recognize her with the bandages and tubes. She was on a ventilator, the machine keeping her alive. I held her hand and talked to her. To this day I don't remember what I said but it had Gram crying pretty hard. As soon as I left they turned the machines off, She just simply stopped breathing. They only left her as long as they did at my fathers' insistence.

Outside the room I saw my father talking to a doctor. He had him by the arm and wouldn't let go.

"If he needs blood my family will give it. Tell us what to do."

Chip was in a bad way. He had lost a lot of blood, and was still losing it as fast as they pumped it in him. they were running low, something about having a rare blood type, AB something.

The doctor agreed to take our blood if the types matched.

"Of course they'll match, we're his blood kin. and no, I don't remember our blood types."

He arranged for a quick test. A very odd expression was on his face when he came back.

"I'm sorry, none of you are a match. We've contacted the Red Cross and we're giving him plasma to hold him over. We're doing all we can, don't give up hope."

My Dad jumped up, indignant.

"That's not possible, one of us has to be a match. We're all related by blood. There has to be a mistake."

I understood later the doctor was trying to be diplomatic. He suggested Dad come back to the office so they could go over the typing. He agreed and got almost to the door when he realized what the doctor was trying to tell him. He went to his knees. Remembering the wail he let out makes my hair bristle even now.

He stayed on his knees sobbing for two or three minutes while two nurses and the doctor tried to get him inside the office. Shaking them off like flies, he rose slowly and looked them in the eye.

"He's still my son. What can you do?"

They assured him they were doing all they could and rushed back to the intensive care unit.

I was fourteen and found out my mother was dead and my brother may be dying. I was on emotional overload so none of what I witnessed made any sense until later.

Chip didn't recover, but he did last three weeks. I spent every minute they would let me with him. I brought my guitar and sang to him. I brought the ukelele I had given to him and put it on his bed. Through sheer determination, he had learned the notes to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and for about a month he would serenade Mom and Dad, while I backed him on guitar. I told him we would be in a band some day and be rich and famous. But, he never regained consciousness.

I would be at the hospital for hours. I would stay with Chip until I couldn't take it, then roam the halls. The nurses kind of adopted me, and one day they did something that altered my life. One of the older nurses heard me play, and asked if I had time to play for some of the other kids.

Those that could would gather in a common room, and I would play kids songs, funny songs, anything to make them forget they were sick. We made some silly songs up. I would read to the younger ones when I was tired of playing.

Some of the children were being treated for cancer, and a bald head or two was not uncommon. One girl, about eleven, became close to me. I wrote her a little song about a girl who was so pretty she didn't need hair. Just before Chip died she became so weak she couldn't come to the common room so I would go to her room and sing her a song or two every day. 

I would stop outside the door and ask permission to enter Kara's Castle, introducing myself as a lowly minstrel passing through and would play for a meal. Our meal was two Hershey's dark chocolate kisses. just about the only candy she was allowed, and then only two pieces. So when I sang her a few songs, we would share the candy like it was a feast. I would bow to her and promise to be back when I was hungry.

Chip held out as long as his broken body allowed. Every day I would say "See you tomorrow", glance around to see if anyone was watching, and kiss his forehead. I guess it was a blessing he passed in the middle of the night. Gram and Dad handled the nights while I would stay during the day.

My Dad spent every minute he didn't have to work at his bedside. Gram spent as much time consoling Dad as she did watching Chip. He was buried beside my Mom.

We were devastated. Gram gave up her house and moved in with us, saying we needed a woman's touch. Dad became even quieter than before the accident. Gram filled the void left by my mother for me, but Dad remained lost, and I feared he would never fully return.

I was always independent minded even as a child, and spent more time with my Mom. When Chip came along he was overjoyed. As soon as he was able to walk he followed Dad everywhere. If you wanted Chip, see where Dad was at. That's how he got his nickname. Everyone said he was a chip off the old block.

It was a pretty bleak summer.

When school started I gradually came out of my funk. Everything was going pretty good until about three weeks into my freshman biology class we began to examine genetics. The teacher did a class on blood types when the partially heard exchanges between my Dad and the doctors jelled in my head. I knew then Dad wasn't Chips' biological father. I became so ill Gram had to pick me up.

When we got home I told her why I had become ill. She hugged me gently and told me one day I would understand that life as an adult could be hard and confusing at times. 

It seemed simple to me. You met someone. Fell in love. Spent the rest of your life together. Death do us part and all that. Apparently nothing is so cut and dried in the real world.

.............................................

Gram told my Dad I had figured it out but he never discussed it with me. He stumbled on in a fog for almost two years.

All those years he told me how dangerous the machinery he worked with was came home to bite him. He slipped and was pulled into a machine, getting lacerations and a broken arm. He healed, but his arm required therapy.

His therapist was named Dorothy, but preferred Dottie. This woman alone restored my faith in females. She was a couple years older than my Dad, and they connected at once. I think it was because of her I went into physical therapy.

She was divorced. Health problems when she was younger made her unable to bear children. Her husband left shortly after. She told me once she had given up on love until she met Dad. They were married seven months after meeting.

Over the years I've looked at Dottie and understood why there were so many mean spirited in the world. God had accidentally given Dottie the love capacity of ten people. I never met a sweeter woman.

We started out slowly. Dottie had never been exposed to teen age boys and I had never had a stepmother. Enough time had gone by that I knew she wasn't a replacement for my mother, so I looked at her as a new experience with no baggage.

I wasn't cold to her, and we gradually warmed to each other. Her vast capacity to love found a willing recipient in a lonely teenage boy.

I never realized what I meant to her until one day about six months after she had moved in. My friends came by and wanted me to go to the mall. I still had about a month to go until I was sixteen and couldn't drive.

"Let me ask my Mom if I can go." I yelled to them. Turning around I saw Dottie looking at me with an odd expression.

I had never called her Mom before, even though I had been thinking in those terms for about a month.

"What about it, Mom? Can I go?"

She put her hands up to her mouth, burst into tears, and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door. I was freaked out.

Dad found me on the couch thirty minutes later. One look and he knew something was wrong.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Dottie, Dad. I said something and she started crying and ran into the bedroom. I don't know what I did to hurt her, honest."

He knocked on the door. 

"Dottie, what's wrong hon? Did Wiley hurt your feelings?"

The door flew open and he was dragged into the bedroom. She was still crying, and it upset him.

"I'm gonna have a long talk to that boy, straighten him up, I promise."

She finally found her voice.

"YOU WILL NOT! He didn't say anything mean. He did something I thought no one would ever do. He called me MOM. He thinks of me as a mother. His mother. I never thought it would happen to me. I'm so happy I can't stop crying."

My father grinned, his life was just about perfect now. He looked at Dottie with pure love.

"Dottie, when you calm down, you better talk to your son. He thinks you're upset with him. He's sitting on the couch badly confused."

She immediately jumped up and ran into the living room and nearly suffocated me with her hug.

"I love you, honey, So much."

When I finally got her to let me breathe I made another error that sent her back into the bedroom.

"Geez, Mom. I love you too. What's the big deal?"

Dad just grinned at me and told me to get my ass in the truck. I was still confused when he dropped me off at the mall and gave me thirty bucks. If I didn't find my friends I was to call him to be picked up.

"I need to spend a little private time with your mother, and don't worry. You did a very good thing today."

When I got home there was a huge chocolate cake on the table. We destroyed it.

When I was seventeen and playing in bands for money, I scraped together enough to get Dottie a ring for Mothers Day. It had her birthstone, my birthstone, and Dads' birthstone in it. She treated it with the same reverence as her wedding ring.

..........................................

When I got back to town I was pretty ill tempered for awhile. In fact, I was a first class asshole.

I went back to my old ways. Screwing every woman I could get my hands on, except the married ones. Probably did a few of those too, they were just smart enough to take their rings off. It made things a little tense in the band.

We were about to fall apart anyway. Two guys were catching grief from the wives about the time they spent away from the family. Another was starting to miss practices and even missed a job. We had backup material and arrangements for four instead of five, but the contract called for five, and we had to take 20% less. It didn't hurt the ones who showed financially but it did damage our credibility. If you got the reputation of not delivering what you promised, you got fewer jobs. Normally, when things happened and one of us couldn't make it, we all knew enough guys floating around between bands or in semi retirement to fill the void.

It had been seven weeks since Sandy, and we hadn't been booked into Scooters', the club where Sandy had worked and Sammi still did work, so I hadn't been there.

One night we were playing at a place across town, and had just started a break when Sammi walked in. Walked isn't an adequate word. Strutted would be more apt. Instead of her trademark shorts, she had on a short clingy black dress that hugged her curves and exposed her long, sexy legs. Every man in the place watched her glide to the table reserved for band members and friends.

She spoke to all the band members pleasantly before turning her attention to me.

"HI, Wiley. Long time no see."

She leaned over and gave me a deep, long, sensuous kiss. Then she slapped me so hard I felt like my goatee was knocked sideways.

"Get over it. The bitch dumped you. You're better off."

Then she handed me a napkin with her number on it in case I had 'forgotten' it, blew me a kiss, and strutted right back out.

I called her the next day. We talked but made no plans. Three days later she called to tell me she was off the next day, and what would we be doing?

We went to dinner and a movie, her choice. I didn't want to be anywhere near a dance club or a bar. It went very well. We took the Mach 1.

I think she loved that car more than she ever loved me. She used every excuse she could think of to get into it.

It was four weeks before she got me into bed. She was sensual, flexible, firm. I don't think she had an ounce of fat on her. Her breasts were proportional to her body, but they were the firmest I had ever felt. And her nipples, long and slender and very sensitive. I learned quickly if she was stressed or irritated at me or anything all I had to do was get a nipple in my mouth and she instantly relaxed, at least for a little while.

The fact that she had done yoga for years and was double jointed, coupled with the fact I was a certified massage specialist, made for some interesting evenings. Downward facing dog met upward thrusting penis regularly.

I didn't know how ticklish she was until one night she showed up at the hotel we were playing at and joined me in my room. She had brought our toy box and I had her in light restraints. I had warmed some scented oil and was in the process of painting her whole body with a two inch paintbrush while she screamed at the top of her lungs. I swear, I thought the room was soundproof.

The night manager suggested I cease and desist or find another place to spend the night. I compromised and gagged her. She gurgled and cried, but I got her off three times with just the bristles of the brush against her clit. I think she may have even passed out at one time.

She got her revenge by bringing me to the edge four times in an hour before finally giving me release.

We slowly got comfortable with each other. While asserting her independence, she was a bit possessive and jealous about me. We had to compromise. We realized both our professions were prone to casual liaisons, and not to allow ourselves to be tempted. It worked, I never heard anything bad about her, and she got no negative reports about me. We were progressing nicely.

Several months went by and we grew closer. The roommate that replaced Sandy was kind of unreliable, and when the lease came up she left Sammi hanging.

"What am I gonna do, honey? No way I can afford the apartment by myself, and no one seems to want to share. I'm going to be homeless soon."

It seemed simple to me.

"Sammi, relax. Move in with me. You're here most of the time anyway, shit, most of your stuff is already here. Let's try, if it doesn't work out I won't evict you. You can take the other bedroom until you can find a place."

It took a little adjustment but we soon settled down into domestic semi-bliss. She didn't like it when we had to travel for the weekend, and I didn't like it when her schedule kept her away from me.

I gently tried to persuade her to get a regular job and go back to school. She looked around but couldn't find anything that paid enough to quit the bar.

The band had smoothed out. We replaced the guy with attendance problems. The lead guitarist split from his wife, nothing to do with the band. We were working steadily, life was good.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03



........................................

When I went to college I made friends with a psychology major. I stopped in at one of the snack bars and it was crowded. There was a woman sitting at a table for two and I asked if she would mind sharing.

Dressed in tee shirt and jeans, no make up and with buzzed hair, she practically screamed BUTCH. Looking over the text book at me she shrugged. There was a hard edge to her voice.

"Sure, but don't expect anything, I'm gay."

In mock surprise I said "Really? Damn, I was already thinking of names for our kids."

It wasn't what she was expecting. She didn't know what to say for a second, then grinned.

"Sorry to break your heart. But if my girlfriend and I ever need a surrogate, I'll look you up. I'm Angie."

"Wiley," I said extended my hand and pulling it back in mock pain after we shook.

I looked at her text book.

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," I quoted.

"Freud. I'm impressed."

She looked at mine.

"The knee bone connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone connected to the hip bone...."

"Yeah, physical therapy."

We had a nice friendship. She was gay and I was a musician, go figure. She had to interview someone and create a psychological profile for a class project. She chose me.

It was a little irritating at first to have someone follow me around to watch my interactions but she soon faded to the background. She met the people I associated with and interviewed them about me. Notes and voice recordings piled up. She wouldn't let me read it when she was done, but she got an A.

I finally nagged her into sharing her findings about me. One night after she, her girlfriend, and I had consumed two bottles of wine, she opened up.

"You're an onion Wiley, an enigma hidden in a riddle surrounded by a puzzle." 

"You like people, but you don't trust most you meet, including all women. You know lots of people but have very few friends."

"You keep your thoughts to yourself. Highly compartmentalized, you keep people segregated. Your school friends know nothing about your work friends, or the people you do volunteer work with, or the people you interact with through your side business, and none know anything about your family. You,re a chameleon, Wiley, different things to different people, and you get very uncomfortable when they blend. I don't think anyone will ever know the real you, including yourself."

"You're a Gemini by birth, so you're supposed to have a split personality. But damn, Wiley, there's a whole crowd in your head. It's one of the reasons I like to hang out with you. I never know who's coming to the party."

"If it's any consolation, only highly intelligent people tend to compartmentalize. Bill Clinton is the most prominent figure I know of who does compartmentalization. It's the reason he could look the American public in the eye and say he never had sex with Monica Lewinsky. In his mind, he had separated it completely from the real world definition of sexual activity."

With that speech, she passed out on the couch.

Wow.

Compartmentalized. A fancy word for fucked up.

...........................................

She was right. I didn't like anyone to know too much about me. Sammi lived with me, and she had no idea what I did when I was away from her.

She knew I bought and sold vintage guitars, but she had no idea how many I had or the volume of business I did.

She didn't know I volunteered at the hospital. I had been doing it since I was fourteen, when I had been at the hospital with Chip.

Most of all, she didn't know what I owned or what I was worth.

I owned the house I was living in out right. The man I rented from came to me after I had been there two years to tell me he was retiring and moving out of state, and putting all his holdings up for sale. I liked the house, and the neighborhood. Most of the neighbors were middle aged or older. Everyone, included the landlord, was afraid I would be having wild parties and be loud.

The fears eased when that didn't happen, and because I was around in the daytime a lot I ended up helping out some of the older neighbors with odds and ends when they needed me. A lot of them asked for advice in dealing with grandkids. I gave what advice I considered reasonable, reminding them I had no practical experience with kids. 

I also owned some property with mini warehouses on it. This came about by accident but was a very nice investment.

All right, I was thirty years old and played in a band for a living. Where was the money coming from?

I actually made pretty good money playing music. After expenses I usually netted about forty five grand a year. The buying and selling guitars varies widely from year to year, as high as fifty thousand some years, as low as fifteen others. This was a cash thing, no IRS.

I got around twenty five thousand a year off the storage units after taxes and upkeep. So, I didn't look like much, but made more than a lot of middle management types.

The seed money for all this came from my mother. She had an insurance policy for both Chip and myself, 50,000 each. It was double indemnity, and had a clause that if either one of us happened to pass away at the same time, both policies went to the survivor.

The big truck that hit my Mom was from a national chain. They offered my Dad 100,000 to settle while Chip was still alive. He was in no shape to talk to them, so that offer slid. After Chip died they offered him fifty percent more. He settled for four times the original offer, after lawyer fees. Normally he wouldn't have gotten so much, but the trucking firm subbed out maintenance, so both companies were on the hook.

My money was in trust until I was twenty five, a good thing. I don't think I could have handled it at twenty one. At twenty five it was still a pretty big temptation, but I had been living on my own since I was nineteen, and had a pretty good grasp of how the real world worked. The only splurge I allowed myself was to buy a bass guitar I had always wanted. Collector item of course, a Dan Armstrong Ampeg with the clear acrylic body.

Oh, and I bought my house.

My accountant, a genius, incorporated me. Crazy Coyote, Ltd. He instilled the habit of meticulous record keeping. I had a company card I put everything on while on the road. Everything was on my laptop I carried with me everywhere, plus printed hard copies I kept in a file cabinet in my spare bedroom.

Nobody except my parents knew what I was worth.

.............................................

Things were going really well for Sammi and I. Co-habitating went smoother than I expected. There were minor clashes, I was a neat freak and her less so. She hated most of the music I played at home. Her procrastination drove me crazy. My tendency to over analyze things made her grit her teeth.

But we got used to each other, each agreeing to give in and compromise on most things.

The one thing that really got to me was her complete indifference to car maintenance. Her 2001 ugly brown Camry was held together by faith and imagination. She ran out of gas constantly because the gas gauge didn't work.

I had my mechanic check it out and his best advice was let it die a natural death. He did a patch job on most of the major problems but made no guarantees. Still, it ran much better when we got it back. I gave her a serious lecture about preventative maintenance that went in one ear and out the other.

We never fought about money. I told her not to worry about rent, I would cover it. She did insist on paying the power bill and we split the groceries. Instead of saving the extra money she had for a new car as I suggested, she updated her wardrobe. 

She did find another job, mostly by accident. One of the regulars at her bar had a friend with a high end restaurant who was looking for a new hostess. It was better hours, she would be home by 10:30 instead of 3:00 a.m., and the pay was about a third more than she was making now including tips.

It was a win/win situation for both of us. Her hours were long, 10:30 until 10, but only four days a week, Wednesday through Saturday. Since my schedule usually left me free the first part of the week, it was perfect. She even scheduled some classes at the community college in hotel/restaurant management.

We had just had a lust/love filled morning. I was drained and she was full of energy, like always. She was folded up like a pretzel across me, idly rubbing my buzz cut.

"Wiley, ever think about what our kids would look like?"

"Sure. Slender, tall, beautiful, a lot like their mother. I just hope they get my brains."

She slapped at me gently. Then smiled.

"I hope they get your brains, too."

I wasn't sure, but I think a step was just taken towards marriage.

I thought about it a lot for the next few days. The decision was easy.

I made a reservation at her restaurant. I got the staff involved, and slipped in while she was distracted. Carefully placing the box on a table, I had the waitress get Sammi, saying there was a problem with the table, and could she help sort it out. 

She went to the table with half the staff in tow. When she got to the table it was empty.

"What's going on?" Asked an obviously confused Sammi.

I was standing behind her, dressed in a nice suit, the first she had ever seen me in.

"The problem, my dearest Sammi, is the ring in that box is not on your finger. The problem is, when I say "Samantha Anderson, will you marry me?", you have to say "YES!", as loudly as possible. The problem is you're not sitting across the table sipping champagne, toasting the rest of our lives together."

"As hostess, isn't it up to you to fix my problem? I'm waiting."

She twirled around as I made the little speech I had rehearsed. Smothered me with kisses and hugged me tightly. Regaining her breath she stepped back and became very formal.

"Sir, it is the goal of this establishment to satisfy every customer."

She slid the ring on her finger while the waitress poured the champagne.

"Now, before we enjoy this excellent wine, isn't there a question you need to ask me?"

"Samantha Anderson, will you--"

She pulled me up from my knee and tried to suck all the air in my lungs out.

"Yes, Wiley Patterson, I believe I will."

The rest of the night was a blur of congratulations. It was one of the happiest days of my life. The only person who didn't look happy was Gary, the manager. 

You know how you can sometimes look at a person and instinctively dislike them? That was me with Gary. He was tall, good looking in a slick kind of way, and the asshole had a full head of hair. I felt like he could have been a snake oil peddler in a past life.

His seemingly sour attitude made me feel even better as I raised my glass to him.

................................................

Her car finally died and she sold it for junk. She just naturally got into the Mach 1. I warned her not to get too comfortable, the car was an investment, and sooner or later I would need the money for something else. It was why I got it in the first place. 

Some people are 'motorheads' and lived for their cars. In my experience, the most militant of this group are Mustang owners, followed closely by Corvette fans.

Some people are 'muscleheads', living for bodily perfection. These guys scare me more than the car people. If you replace the rims on a car and don't like them, you can switch them back. When you mess with steriods and cosmetic surgeries, it's a one way street.

Jesus freaks, alternative living advocates, nudists, career obsessionists, everyone has something that is their identifying marker, that proclaims "This is me!"

My marker of course, was music. I had at various times played in metal bands, beach bands, rock bands, blues, country, bluegrass, jazz, even celtic and zydeco groups.

I owned four basses, all vintage except for one. Five guitars, assorted keyboards, a grand piano, a Hammond B3 organ, tin whistles, two accordians, a mandolin, a five string banjo, and a ukelele. And I was proficient in all of them.

I was smart enough to know I couldn't continue with the line of work I was in. I had been doing it for thirteen years and was actually kind of tired of it. Unless you hit the big time there was very little fame or money in it.

Most singers or bands have a shelf life of about three to five years before fading into obscurity. I know, bands like the Rolling Stones, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, or singers like Paul McCartney or Willy Nelson can last decades, but they are the exception to the rule.

Song writers are a different group. You don't have to be able to sing or even play an instrument, just have the ability to string words together in a pleasing manner. As long as they remain inspired they can last for years.

To that end I had been writing songs for years. Most sucked, but some had potential. I mostly wrote to please myself, but recently considered polishing some of my best and pitching them. Even now, I keep little micro recorders in my vehicles in case something occurs to me and I can record my thoughts and expand on them later.

Most of my inspiration comes from real life, both mine and people I knew. Some actually come from the radio. I once heard an interview with Paul Williams, a terrific song writer from the seventies and eighties, where he said most of his best work came from listening to other songs and thinking he would have done it differently. That wisdom stuck with me.

I actually had a song that went to number one. Number one on the beach music charts. Beach music is a popular subculture in the Southeast, from Maryland to Florida. It grew from the need for music to dance the 'shag' to. Now, in England, shag means fuck, but in the U.S. it's a dance. A sped up version of the jitterbug and other popular dances from the nineteen forties. Originally danced to black r&b records, white bands recognized the potential and started doing records, usual remakes of the originals.

Realizing they could make more money with originals, they began writing their own material, usually a more sanitized version of the r&b numbers. Beach music fans are like country music fans, one hit and you have fans for life.

The band that had to get rid of me over the VD episode was a beach band. They were bemoaning the fact they had no original material one day when I suggested we write some. They scoffed, saying they had tried and their efforts sucked, but I was welcome to give it a shot.

I sat down and in forty five minutes had the nucleus of their first hit. I thought the inane dribble about blonds and fun, sands and tans, and love so sweet on a moonlit beach was pure horseshit, but they almost pissed their pants when I played it for them. They took it, arranged it with emphasis on the brass and organ, and released it.

It went to number one in two months, but then again there wasn't much competition. It boosted our performance price and everyone was happy. I still get small royalty checks every quarter.

The pressure was on me to write more, and I did write two more that charted, one at thirty two, and one at nineteen. Then I had to leave the band so that career was over.

It was enjoyable for the most part, and I really learned to appreciate the depth of a horn section.

I had made tentative contacts with several labels with a demo of some of my work but hadn't got a response when fate took a hand.

.................................................

We were engaged now, but hadn't set a date. I asked her if she had one in mind, and she suggested late June of early July, about five months away. I told her to pick a date, and I would make sure I wasn't working then. I could always get a sub. She wanted to do it between semesters, she had become quite serious about getting her degree.

I was happy she was getting serious about a career. The only thing I didn't like was her relying on Gary to help her with her studies.

"Honey, don't get all jealous on me. He has a degree and experience in the field. Why shouldn't I use him as a resource? I love you, I'm using him, It's that simple."

Those words would come back to haunt both of us.

She was happily planning the wedding. Nothing over the top, just family and a few friends. The only disagreement we had was her decision to use a DJ. I stood firm. It was a professional thing. Live music or else.

She capitulated, but said if they sucked I would never hear the end of it. After all we only get married once, right?

Wrong.

............................................

I had been married once before, for 23 days.

When Chip died, I didn't go around the hospital for about a month. 

One day I got a phone call. It was the hospital, specifically the head nurse on the floor that Chip had been on. She said she knew it was hard on me, but would I mind bringing my guitar and singing to the kids again? They had been asking for me. I talked it over with Gram. She thought it would do me good, help me heal.

I took my guitar, some tambourines and bongo drums, and had Gram deliver me. 

The kids had a ball. We made up what we lacked in talent with volume. The hospital was in the process of adding a cancer wing while Chip was there, and they had already started accepting patients.

These kids were often in the hospital for weeks, sometimes for months at a time. Some never went home. Any diversion was appreciated and since I was close to a lot of them in age I was well received.

After the second week I asked one of the nurses about Kara.

"Oh, good news, she's in remission. She still has to come in twice a month for treatments, but seems to be doing good." The next week I bought a bag of dark chocolate kisses and asked the nurse to give them to her.

According to the nurses she cried when she got them. She found out what day I came and she changed her appointment so she could see me.

When I saw her sitting in the wheelchair, [required during treatment] I immediately launched into "Kara's Song", written specifically for her.

I did it in a finger picking, folk style. As I picked the notes I sang softly.

"A minstrel travels all around, and sees beautiful girls in every town.

But I've never seen a maid so fair, As Kara so beautiful she needs no hair."

I sang the other three verses as I moved closer to her, until I was sitting by her side.

That was the exact moment when I understood the power of music. She was crying. Her Mom was crying, the nurses and some of the kids were crying. Even a doctor tried to hide his emotion.

I went on to play the songs I knew the kids liked. Being kids, they rebounded from the sadness quickly, becoming loud, happy at least for a little while to just be kids again.

While I gathered up the tambourines and bongos to be stored until the next week I got several surprises.

First, the head nurse, a black lady in her forties, came up and gave me a tremendous hug.

"Thank you, honey. I know that you could just as easily be hanging out with your friends instead of being here. You've got an important gift, Wiley. You can move people with your music. In ten or fifteen years, when your songs are on the radio, I'm gonna say I knew for years you were gonna be famous. And that you're a good man, some one I'm proud to say I call a friend."

I didn't know what to say so I hugged her back.

After seeing the head nurse hug me, the other nurses followed suit. 

Kara's Mom also stayed behind while she had her treatment. After the hug, she led me to a corner for some quiet conversation.

"Thank you, Wiley. For awhile, I thought Kara had given up hope. You have no idea what your song means to her. You never met her before, but she had beautiful hair. Long and blond, she constantly changed styles. She loved it."

"When she got sick, and found out chemo would cause her to lose her hair, she cried for days. Then, the day before the first treatment, she made me take her to a salon that participated in Locks For Love, a group that donates hair to cancer victims. I was never so proud of her as I was that day."




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03



"I'm gonna lose it anyway. This way, someone can enjoy it. I can always grow more after the treatments. Please Mom, let me do this." I still see the earnest look on her face.

"I cried with her while the stylist carefully removed her beautiful locks. Even the stylist had tears in her eyes, she had to stop once just to retain composure. She kept one single lock as a reminder of what it would grow back into."

She paused, overcome for just a second.

"I have to be honest with you. Even with her improvements and remissions, she only has a thirty per cent chance of beating her disease."

"But we hope, and we pray. Her attitude has improved tremendously since she met you. When you didn't come around for awhile she moped. Finding out you were back had her bubbling. I could see the difference."

"I need a favor. I want you to spend a little time with her alone when you can. But I need to caution you, she has a huge crush on you. Please don't hurt her."

"Will you help me?"

Well, talk about dumping a load of responsibility on a kid. But I knew I was going to do it.

I talked it over with Gram, and she encouraged me while cautioning me at the same time. She knew I was still emotionally fragile. Oddly, Dad seemed to think it was a good idea.

So, The Courtship Of Kara began.

............................................

We started hanging out on Thursdays. Gram would drive me to her house, twenty miles away, and drop me off for three hours. I never knew what she did while she waited for me. We would do what kids did. Played video games, watched TV, talked about everything. I was fourteen by then, and she was just past twelve. She probably knew more about sex than I did. Girls always seemed to be ahead of guys in these areas.

Not that we did anything remotely sexual. We were still kids. Plus, her Mom was always close. Looking back, I think she was more worried about Kara starting something than me.

She did insist on snuggling with me on the couch while we watched TV. I was uncomfortable at first, but soon it just felt natural. She also insisted I kiss her when I left. A quick peck, closed mouth. I was worried about her Mom, but she thought it was cute. She even managed to get a picture of us kissing once. Kara had it blown up to an eight by ten and displayed it on her dresser. The friends she had that still came over seemed in awe that she had caught an 'older' guy. Especially a musician who could write personal love songs.

I got a copy, wallet size. I still have it.

It was a confusing time for me. We were at the age when we first started taking a look at the opposite sex.

I was considered cute and attracted some attention from the girls. When one of them wanted to get closer and made overtures, I told her I had a girlfriend. When she asked who she was I told her she didn't go to our school. She didn't take rejection well, and had a big brother she complained to.

Kara didn't like to go out, but with my grandmother and her moms' help, I kind of forced her to. They thought it was good for her self esteem. And despite the loss of hair, she was very pretty.

We went to movies because we both liked them and no one seemed to notice her. She would get anxious once we were out in the open, and I would hold her hand. Slowly she started to relax, especially if we had one or two of her friends around us. One afternoon we were at an ice cream shop eating frozen yogurt, one of the few snacks she could have, when the girl I had rejected saw us.

The next Monday her brother ran his mouth, saying I would rather be with bald headed sickos than a real girl. I surprised everyone including myself when I tried my best to beat the shit out of him. My attack surprised him, and I had him down on the ground thumping on him pretty good before they pulled me off of him. I was still enraged, and while they held me I was screaming that if I ever heard him say another word about my girlfriend I would rip his tongue out and shove it up his ass. He must have believed me because I never heard him say another word about me or Kara. I never told Kara, but she found out somehow. The fact that I defended her got me a lot of points.

We went on like this for about four months when she suddenly took a turn for the worst. The cancer was back and more aggressive. She went in and out of the hospital for awhile. The last time she went in she never came home.

Of course I was devastated. Even though I knew it would probably happen I had the optimism of youth and thought it wouldn't. I spent every possible moment with her. The hospital staff were well used to me by now and mothered me, trying to ease my pain.

As time grew short we talked about everything, including regrets. One night, while the drugs were making her drowsy, she told me her biggest.

"I was gonna beat this, honey, and marry you. We were going to have beautiful babies with voices like angels, and we were going to live happily ever after."

I thought about this for a long time while she slept and I held her hand.

The next day I had a series of long talks with a lot of adults. Her Mom. My favorite nurse. My Dad, my Gram. Her doctor. And a Catholic priest, one of the clergy on call. They were all very surprised, but I think my earnest manner and obvious pain worked in my favor. They all agreed eventually, though the priest had to talk it over with his bishop, who gave him permission on the condition he could be a witness.

My Gram went with me to the jewelers. I picked out a sweetheart ring with a small stone for her, and a plain 'friendship' band for me.

Everyone who was in on it was at the singalong the next Saturday. After we were done, I asked everyone to stay for just a bit more, I had something I wanted to say.

Walking over to Kara, I gave the little speech I had prepared.

"You all know by now that Kara is my girlfriend, and has been for awhile. You also know why she is here. We may be running out of time so there are some things I need to say."

I dropped to my knees in front of her wheelchair.

"Kara, I love you. Will you marry me?"

There was total silence, even from the ones who knew what was going to happen, while I presented her with the ring.

She was holding her hands to her mouth, looking around in panic. Her Mom saved me.

"Answer him, honey. It's not polite to keep the man who loves you waiting, it makes him think you don't want to."

She finally gave a strangled noise that sounded like a yes, and let me slip the ring on. And she kissed me.

Not a chaste peck, but a full grown adult kiss. It set a pretty high standard for the rest of my life.

Suddenly everyone was crying, even the smaller children who didn't know what was going on.

Between Gram, her Mom, and the nurses, the wedding was planned for two weeks. Dad came forward and payed for everything, saying he wanted it done right, from the dresses to the reception.

Finally the day came. My Dad was my best man and we were in tuxes. Kara's Mom was matron of honor, her two best friends from school and two of her friends from the ward were bridesmaids, and I had my best friend and three of the older boys from the ward as ushers. We had a little four year old as the flower girl, her bald head wrapped carefully in a wreath of flowers. Another small boy from the ward was ring bearer.

We had posted an open invitation at the nurses' station, as well as a blanket invitation to the ward parents. The small hospital chapel was filled to overflowing.

Kara.

She was stunning. The simple ankle length white dress was set off by a pink sash, and small pink flowers adorned her veil. Most surprising, she had a wig on, long blond tresses flowing beneath.

Her doctor walked her down the aisle. Her father had moved across the country, lacking the moral courage to stay with a dying child and a grieving wife. I didn't know it was possible to despise someone I had never met. 

The service was simple and beautiful.

The Catholic priest, flanked by his bishop, a Methodist minister, a Jewish Rabbi, and a Muslim Iman, conducted the service. It seems the entire hospital volunteer clergy staff wanted to bear witness.

"Friends, family, welcome to this day."

"When this young man came to me with his request, I was startled. Never in my career had I been faced with this situation. So I did what all men of faith do. I investigated, then prayed for guidance. I consulted, both my bishop, and my friends, all men of faith."

"We talked, we prayed, and made our decision. God saw fit to put these children together, who are we to judge?"

"After talking to their parents, care givers, and friends, I realized that I had before two of the best examples of young people I ever had the pleasure to meet. So I talked to God again, and he led me here."

"This is not a legal ceremony. It is a marriage that will be never be consummated. What it is is an expression of love between two young people who have everything but time. I have no doubt that if things were different in a few years either me or one of my contemporaries would be performing this same ceremony."

"It is not a joining of bodies but a linking of souls. We are merely here to affirm their love for each other. They have written their own vows. Please join me in listening."

Kara went first.

"Wiley, I think I loved you the first time I saw you, singing and playing your guitar for children most people had forgotten, trying to give us hope in an essentially hopeless world."

"If things were different, we would have dated, gotten educations, gone to proms, lost our virginity to each other, married, made children, and lived our lives in love and happiness."

"But, life is what it is. We don't have time, so we take what we can get. I know I love you as much as a twelve year old girl can love anyone, and no matter how much time I have left, I intend to spend it loving you."

She hadn't told me what she was going to say, and it took me a moment to get my emotions under control.

"Kara, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The fact that you wanted to spend any time at all with me honors me."

"I don't deserve your love, but crave it, and am grateful beyond words you have given it to me."

"I feel cheated. We would have been good together. I know I never told you, but you're much smarter than I will ever be. I have a feeling in the future I'm going to wish I had your wisdom to lead me many times."

"What I really want to say is I love you, Kara. No matter how many days we have have left, I will love you. And I will love you for the rest of my life, no matter what."

We exchanged rings, then knelt before the ministers as they prayed over us.

Raising us up, the priest presented us.

"Friends, let me present Wiley and Kara. Souls joined in love. Wiley, Kara, please kiss your soul mate."

And we did.

We had a photographer record the whole thing in an album. It resides in a fireproof safe with a video of Chip singing, and Dad and Dottie's wedding pictures.

We had a reception in the hospital cafeteria. Everyone had a blast. We had a DJ, and Kara and I danced the traditional first dance. I don't think I was ever as happy in my whole life as I was while I held her and swayed to the music. I danced a slow dance with her Mom, while Dad did the same with Kara. It seemed lately every where I went there was a sea of tears. The high light was when Kara threw her bouquet.

Nurse Peters, the large black woman, caught it. Her husband had died in an accident, and she was alone with three kids. I think she was surprised she caught it. She had a soft spot for me.

Once she let it slip that her birthday was the next week, so I got together with the other nurses and we got her a cake. I had the gift shop deliver some flowers to her desk. At first she thought they were for a patient, then she read the card. They said she read the card and ran into her office. When she came out she had red eyes but was smiling. She cried again when she got the cake, and nearly smothered me with a hug.

There was a reporter there following a politician dedicating the new wing, noticed the party, and investigated.

After hearing background from several different viewpoints he approached me and asked if he could do a story. We were alone, so I promised he could have the story when Kara passed, with the permission of her mother, if he turned it into a celebration of her life. He agreed immediately, giving me his card.

I still have a clipping in the safe. He was an excellent writer and treated Kara with the respect she deserved. He ended it with a statement from me, saying that if you were stirred by her story make a donation to the cancer research foundations in her honor. The story got picked up, and people sent me cards of condolence. They also gave over ninety thousand dollars to research.

Kara lasted three weeks after the wedding. I was sitting with her a week before she died when she made her last request.

"Wiley, we need to consummate this marriage. Married people are supposed to sleep together. Will you lie down on the bed with me?"

I was uneasy, both over the moral implications and because of her increasing frailty. But she was so determined that I eased onto the bed, on top of the covers. 

"This is much better" she said snuggling under my arm. I lay there, hugging her until she went to sleep. Emotionally drained, I dozed off also.

I woke to see Nurse Peters standing at the door, tears falling out of her eyes. Why do people always cry when I'm around?

I started to get up but she motioned no, pulling another blanket out and covering me. She bent down and kissed my forehead, leaving without saying a word.

Kara's Mom woke me gently, telling me my grandmother was here to pick me up. They both had tears in their eyes, I was getting a complex.

I lay on the bed and held her every day afterwards until she passed.

She was buried in her wedding dress with a picture of our wedding kiss in her hands, wearing her ring. I slipped a cassette of Kara's Song into the casket. I still visit her, on our anniversary when possible.

................................................

I continued to play for the kids in honor of Kara. One little boy showed me a picture of a minstrel out of one of the storybooks, saying it was me. I thought about that for awhile.

My friends from college helped me, and soon I had an authentic minstrel outfit. Orange tights, green boots, pantaloons, and tunic, with a red cap that had a huge feather. It was a smash. I switched from guitar to an old gourd style mandolin for dramatic effect. Side note: It didn't take me long to figure out changing at the hospital was a good idea. You get odd looks dressed as a minstrel driving a Mach 1.

Nurse Roberts remarried about nine months after Kara passed, to a doctor she met while doing volunteer work. She introduced me to him as her white son, I was truly honored. Retired now, she volunteers, becoming famous locally as a dramatic reader, making the stories come alive. After seeing my minstrel outfit, she appears now in gypsy garb, scarfs and all. We often work together. I usually go first, and introduce her as my soul mother. Some think she actually is my mother.

.................................................

I think it was about this time when I started to compartmentalize my life. I became jealous of my volunteer time and didn't want to share it. Somehow it lodged my head it was disrespectful to Kara's memory.

I was a little shell shocked, for lack of a better term. Mom died. Chip died. Kara died. I was just over fourteen and my mother, my brother, and my first love were all gone. My father was dealing with his own demons, and my grandmother was losing her health trying to bring us both back to the land of the living.

I had it in my head if I got too close to anyone they died. It took Dottie and Gram both to bring me back.

............................................

Seeking solace in music, I studied and practiced relentlessly. My guitar instructor wanted to send a video of me to Julliard.

Life reared it's head and took that dream away too. A few of us were riding our mountain bikes around a homemade course, racing, when I tangled with my best friend and got my left hand caught in the wheels, breaking my little finger four times.

I recovered, but it left my finger weak. My instructor called after three weeks and insisted I come for my lesson. Personally, I thought it was a waste of time, but it was life altering. He introduced me to the slide. He also gave me a bass to keep my fingers limber.

My guitar teacher was an amazing guy. He was around fifty when I first met him, and had played both in big bands and early rock combos. When he met the love of his life he left the road and opened a music store, offering lessons as a sideline. Over the years he taught full time, turning the day to day operation of his store to his wife and son. His wife also taught, piano and organ. I took lessons from her, learning to love the organ.

Probably more than any other instrument, I loved playing slide guitar. After he showed me the basics I practiced constantly. In my opinion, slide is much more expressive than regular guitar. You can made it laugh or cry with you.

I studied everyone's style. In the end I developed my own. My sound was a little sharper, a little crisper than any one I emulated. Derrick Trucks, Lee Roy Parnell, Greg Allman, and most others coaxed notes out. In some of my work, it seemed like I was reaching elbow deep inside the guitar and was dragging the notes out, howling in protest. I toned it down usually, but if I got wound up that's what came out. Jimmy, the drummer, loved it when I got wound out.

Rarely with the band would I do slide work, usually when we covered the Allman Brothers. Mostly I stuck to bass, that was my role in the group.

Next to slide, I loved playing the bass. I could slap and pop with the best of the funk players, but my style evolved to the point when it often sounded like a deeper lead. It didn't work on all songs and I would tone it down when necessary.

I could sing. I had a fairly good voice, but had almost ruined it when I was young and playing in metal bands. You don't sing those songs, you scream them. Realizing what I was doing, I backed off singing lead as much, and actually studied voice to try and revive my range. I got to the point where I could do about two sets worth back to back before my voice starting going. We had a rotation in the band, there were actually three of us with good voices, and the rest did a fair job of harmonizing. 

........................................

I thought my life was going pretty good, and two things happened to alter it completely The first occurred when I met Freddie Johnson.

Most people didn't know his name, and truthfully, I didn't recognize him until he sang. But to be honest, I didn't listen to country music that often. I sold my guitars by word of mouth. If I had something, I told a few music stores I had a good relationship with, plus private collectors I had dealt with through the years. I had tried the websites, and while it got a lot of attention, few were serious and I ended up wasting a lot of time.

Freddie called and introduced himself, saying The Guitar Shop, one of the music stores I dealt with, told him I may have something he was interested in. We made plans to meet the following Monday.

He met me at the mini warehouses I owned. It was built to be a truck stop, based on inside information a developer had gotten about an interstate route coming by the location. The plan went down in flames when an investigation into a state highway official brought it all to light. The interstate route took another direction, and the property went into bankruptcy. It sat empty for eight years before the bank decided to auction it off, just to get it off the books.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03



Nine acres, all paved, with a store and attached garage with three bays big enough to handle big rigs. Estimated value was just under six hundred thousand. The bank was hoping to get two fifty.

I was twenty two, but saw possibilities. I wouldn't get my trust fund for another three years, so I talked my Dad into backing me, loan to be paid in full when I received my fund.

Property was selling well, and I figured I most likely wouldn't get it. Surprisingly, not many showed for the auction. Most investors at the time were looking into residential investments, and the property was zoned business. The location wasn't that great business wise, so there wasn't a lot of interest.

In the end, I got it for one hundred sixty four thousand. After the thirty day waiting period the bank insisted on having to entertain upset bids, we closed. Dad wrote a check.

With Dad's permission, I borrowed enough to put up mini warehouses, enclose the property with a six foot steel fence, and install security cameras. I hired a real estate firm to manage the property. Seven years later, it's paid for.

I also enclosed the store/garage building with fencing and converted the store area to a office and storage area for my instruments. In addition to security cameras, I also had a state of the art burglar alarm.

This is where I met Freddie. He walked in and looked over my instruments. "Wow" was all he said.

He was there to look at a 1956 ES 125 Gibson I had acquired. It was an arch top acoustic/electric, with a really good tone. A single p90 pickup model. I had one, a 1958, that I rarely played but couldn't seem to let go of.

I got the '56 when a young guy around fifteen inherited it from his uncle. He wanted a solid body, something more in tune with his head banger mentality. I gave him $1,000 after talking to his parents. I had just picked up a mid eighties Yamaha teardrop electric, light blue. It came with a small Fender 15 watt practice amp. I had two hundred in it. I showed it to the kid just to be nice.

He fell in love, and after talking to his parents, I gave him the guitar, amp, and five hundred cash.

I had seven hundred in it, and had it advertised for four thousand. That was a little higher than average, but it came with the original case and paperwork. I figured I could get thirty two to thirty five, making a nice profit.

Freddie was like a kid in a candy shop. He looked at everything, even those that weren't for sale. He loved my 1968 red SG and 1957 Fender Squire, also red.

I took the 125 down and he chorded it a few times, admiring the action. Then we plugged it into a small practice amp so he could get the full effect.

I had a few old metal folding chairs I had picked up at an auction. They were perfect to sit and play on. He sat down, and after a few minutes, started into She Talks To Angels, an old Black Crowes song, probably the best song they ever did.

I couldn't resist. I grabbed my 125, plugged in, and did the finger picking work while he chorded. By the time we had finished I realized who he was.

"Chance Blaze" I said grinning.

He grinned back. 

"I prefer Freddie. My manager was a big admirer of John Mellencamps' manager, who insisted he become John Cougar. So he stuck me with Chance Blaze, kinda silly, huh?"

"I have to agree. But you do have a pretty good sound."

Chance Blaze was an up and coming country singer. Just 25, he was handsome, personable, but more importantly, he could actually sing. He had the borderline bad boy image going, and many of his songs had a bit of a rock edge. At this stage he was an opening act, one or two good songs away from being a headliner.

He relaxed and we spent another ninety minute just jamming, playing anything that suited us. Towards the end, I took my SG and played slide while he did the old blues standard 'Come On In To My Kitchen' in the Warren Haynes/Greg Allman style.

He let out a little whoop when we were done.

"Damn, that was fine!"

"You're not so bad yourself. Why don't you do more lead work on your CDs?"

"I used to when I had my old band. Now I just pick up guys when I need them. I'm actually rehearsing for a tour now."

We offered and counter offered on the 125, but I knew he really wanted it, and he knew I was in the high end of the estimated value range. He ended up writing me a check for thirty five hundred.

He thanked me, and we parted not quite friends, knowing we probably never see each other again. He did tell me if I ever went to one of his shows, let his management know and he would get me backstage passes.

When I told Sammi who bought the guitar it threw her for a loop. Apparently he was one of her favorite singers. If I had known, I would have taken her with me. When I told her about his offer for backstage passes, she made me swear on my '61 EBO I would take her when he started his next tour.

............................................

A year before I met Sammi and Sandy, I had another brush with cancer. This time it was Dottie.

She was fifty six, and took regularly scheduled mammograms. Her latest showed some lumps in her left breast. It was cancer, malignant. They did exploratory, and decided they would rather be safe than sorry. The procedure was a success, but she lost her breast. She was devastated.

We hovered over Dottie until she got sick of us. Between us, she never had a chance to become depressed. When she recovered sufficiently she sent me home with an admonition that if I really wanted to make her happy, get busy and give her some grandchildren to spoil.

I kissed her cheek and promised I would get right on it.

..............................................

Thanks to my work with the kids at the hospital over the years, I became well regarded by the hospital administration. When they asked me to sit on the board of the fundraising arm of the cancer wing, I was honored.

I think they recruited me knowing my background and the fact that I was in the entertainment business. They wanted to do something different this year, something ambitious. All my years in the local music scene paid off.

I met Josh Wingate while Dottie was being treated. His wife was a breast cancer survivor, and they just happened to own the Downtown Music Hall, an old auditorium they had bought from the local school system when they closed a school down due to consolidation. It was what we called a ladder venue, booking acts that were working their way up, and those that had peaked and were on the way down. They had it refurbished, installed state of the art lighting and sound systems, and opened. They got people whose careers were rising as well as those that were declining. It had two bars, and could hold three thousand people, according to the fire rating.

It also had a mini jumbotron, twelve feet square.

He came on board and donated use of the hall for three nights in four month's time. It fell to me to get the musicians. 

I pulled in every favor I had and made promises that would haunt me for years to come.

My band was a given. I told them I would pay for their time and they laughed at me. They all knew someone or had someone with cancer, so they were on board 100%.

Next I went after the local college chamber quartet. They weren't sure how they would fit but loved the idea of that much exposure. They were in.

Horns For Hire was four guys who did session and tour work. Between them they could play every brass or woodwind instrument known to man. One of them was an old band mate, from my beach era. When I explained what I wanted they were all over it.

I had played with Blue String Theory, a bluegrass outfit on occasion. I didn't have to recruit them, they heard what I was doing and volunteered.

Hard Country was next. A top of the line country band, they had a pretty loyal following. I played with them a few times, filling in. Occasionally I would drop in and play my Gibson Lap steel on a few songs, if my band wasn't working. By now the small music scene in my area knew what was going on and before I could make my pitch they told me yes.

By then I had more than enough musicians, but kept getting volunteers.

Jenny/Ginny/Jen was an all girl trio whose music is best described as punk meets rockabilly. I knew Jenny from my music teacher. She was one of his last students before he retired. I actually handled a few of her lessons while he was sick. They were breaking up, Ginny was pregnant and Jen was getting married, and they wanted this to be their swan song. How could I say no? I had one more musician I was going after, and then we would start rehearsals.

..........................................

Moria O'Sullivan Stewart was a true Irish lass. She was only 5'3" and 115lbs. Flaming red hair, deep green eyes that look straight through your soul, a smile that could make angels sing, and a body that would make even the devil himself fall in lust. She was also Jimmy's sister, older by three years.

We met when Jimmy asked me to help him move some of his stuff out of her basement. The house was large, five bedrooms, four baths, and a fully furnished basement.

"How many people live here?" I asked Jimmy when we pulled up.

"Just Moira and her husband."

"Wow, they must be loaded." 

"Yeah, he's some financial guru to millionaires, every time he breathes money come in."

"Ever give you stock tips?"

"Hell no. He doesn't approve of my rock and roll lifestyle, even if it is a myth. When does he think we can party? We work full times jobs during the week and play most weekends, Hell, for us a good time is ten hours straight sleep."

We grabbed the stuff, mostly old baby furniture he was giving away to a friend. We were just about done when Moira came downstairs to say hello. I think my heart literally missed a beat the first time I saw her.

"I'm glad to finally meet you. Jimmy talks about you constantly. Can you really play all those instruments?"

I was telling her what I played while Jimmy was rummaging around in the corner, looking for the bolts to a baby crib. He pulled out an old photo album.

"Hey Wiley, look at this. Moria was quite the little rocker when she was young, she even had her own band."

Moria squealed. "Give me that! I'm sure he doesn't want to see it, I forgot it was here. It's embarrassing to believe I even looked like that."

Of course, with that intro, I had to see.

It was a sight. She fronted an all girl band, four teenagers with spiked hair, torn jeans, and too much make up. She was still pretty though.

She looked at the photos and couldn't help but smile.

"We thought we were going the next generation Bangles, or GoGos. We didn't last a year."

Jimmy joined the conversation.

"Don't let Sis fool you. They were pretty good, especially Moira. You should hear her play."

"Oh Jimmy, that was a long time ago. I haven't touched a guitar in years."

I thought I heard a touch of longing in her voice.

"Why not?" I couldn't help asking.

"Well, for one thing, I don't own a guitar anymore. I'm sure I don't even remember how."

"I find that hard to believe. You'd get it back in no time if you really wanted."

Holding out my hand, I said "Let me see your hands."

She looked at me oddly. Jimmy just smiled, he had been around me long enough to understand.

She slowly reached out and placed her hand in mine. I held it up, surprising her by turning it over and examining her fingers. Her hands were large, fingers long and tapered. She shyly drew it back.

She was blushing slightly.

"Please, I've always thought my hands were unattractive."

I think I shocked us all when I disagreed.

"I don't think so. You have a musicians' hands, and that makes them beautiful. You should really start playing again."

Jimmy jumped in.

"He's right Sis, you always smiled when you played, and I don't see you smile nearly enough anymore."

Something was going on I didn't know about, and I put it down as a sibling thing.

"I'll think about it. It could be fun, and I could use a new hobby."

The way she said it made me believe her.

"Well, if you need any help picking out a guitar, let us know. We could probably get you a good deal."

By then my van was loaded, so we said our goodbyes and left.

..........................................

Two weeks went by and I had pretty much put Moria out of my mind, when Jimmy called.

"We're you serious about helping Sis pick out a guitar?"

"Sure, find out when she wants to and I'll see if I can go."

"How about now?"

It was a Sunday afternoon. Sammi had to work, filling in for another girl on maternity leave. I was at my office, putting some pieces I had ordered off Ebay onto a guitar I was restoring.

"Now's not really good. I'm at the storage buildings, working on something."

He was not to be deterred.

"Great! We're finishing lunch now, we can be there in 30 minutes. See ya."

Well, there goes my afternoon, I thought as I finished fitting the pick guard on the guitar. They must have been close because twenty minutes later Jimmy was buzzing me. I flipped the switch on the gate to let them in.

Jimmy was the only true friend I had in the band, and the only one who had ever been to my office. He teased me about my security measures, but at any given time I could have $250,000 worth of equipment on hand. Not many people knew about the place, and I swore Jimmy to silence.

Moira was impressed with everything. She did what everyone does, touring and inspecting, before she spoke.

"I've decided to buy a guitar. I went down to the music store, but the selection was pretty limited. Jimmy told me you sold guitars, why didn't you tell me?"

I was uncomfortable.

"I didn't tell you because you were related to my friend. I didn't come to your home to make a sales pitch. Besides, most of my stuff is old. You look like a shiny new type girl to me."

I don't think she took that well. A bit of her Irish temper showed.

"You don't know a thing about me. And for your information, I prefer aged quality to new mediocrity. Now, what have you got?"

I pulled down a Hummingbird acoustic I had recently acquired. It had a really good sound. Not as good as my old Martin, but really nice.

She frowned.

"Sorry, not interested. I learned to play on an electric, it's what I'm comfortable with."

I laughed, and that's when she got her nickname.

"All right, Clapton. Let's see what I got."

I saw an interview whit Eric Clapton once when he talked about how it took him years to get comfortable with an acoustic because he learned on electric and that was what he was used to. It took him awhile to realize volume and tone had to be controlled by the way he played, not by the twist of a knob. He said it make him a better player.

Clapton is a really, really good guitarist, but I never understood the 'Clapton is God' thing that circulated early in his career. I keep getting a vision of two drunk limeys painting the phrase on a subway wall, one saying to the other "I don't know, mate. I'm pretty sure good has another o in it."

Every thing I showed her she didn't like. I told her that was all I had currently had for sale, if she could tell me what she wanted I would try to find it for her.

She pointed to my '57 Squire.

"Let me play that."

I plugged it up and turned her loose. It was love at first strum, and I have to admit, it looked better in her hands than mine. She was slow and missed a few notes, but I could tell at one time her skill level was exceptional. We left her alone for awhile, Jimmy wanted to see the drum kit I had picked up recently.

I don't usually fool with drums, but this was an exceptional set, Ludwig, from the era when everything had to be doubled. Double snares, double toms, double basses, fifteen cymbals. It was pretty impressive.

I got it when I looked at a guitar to see if it was restorable. It wasn't. He had it stored in a damp basement for twenty two years, exposed. The neck was warped, the body had splits and even a bit of rot.

The drums, however, had been stored lovingly, in cases in the driest part of the basement. The guy asked me if I was interested in them as a possible trade. We looked them over pretty good, they had been stored as long as the guitar. They had belonged to his brother, and he told him to get rid of them. I didn't have anything I wanted to trade, but I bought them out right for three hundred. I could play, just barely.

Jimmy was like a kid at Christmas. He started uncasing and setting up immediately. Moira came up when we were half done. I had been listening to her, muscle memory must have held up, I could hear the improvement, even in the short time she played.

"I want this one." She still had it in her hands.

"You can't have that one, it's mine and not for sale."

She didn't like being told no.

"Come on, everything has a price. I can afford it, my husband will just laugh and write you a check."

I shot her down pretty quick.

"Listen to me. This...guitar...is...not...for... sale. Did I say it slow enough for you to understand? I'll look around and try to find you one like it if you want, it shouldn't take long. Or you can go on all kinds of websites and find it yourself pretty quick."

She was not used to being told no was pretty obvious. She actually stamped her foot.

"I'll give you twice what it's worth. Please?"

I thought it was kind of funny. Jimmy was actually laughing.

"Give it up Sis. I know from experience when he says no it really means no. He's just as stubborn and headstrong as you are."

I could see her disappointment and felt bad for her. I did something totally out of character for me.

"Tell you what. I'll loan you the guitar until we can find you one. That way you can practice. How's that for a compromise?"

She thought about it for awhile, then smiled. I could almost see the gears turning in her head. If she got her hands on it, I was never going to get it back. In my mind, I was just as sure she would never keep it.

"All right, do you have an amp to go with it?"

I did, but she wasn't getting it.

"No, but you can pick up a little practice amp anywhere. Get Jimmy to run you by any music store. You can be playing by tonight. I expect you to take care of it."

She smiled. "I'll take care of it like it was mine."

"No, take care of it like it doesn't belong to you, and the guy who loaned it could be a real asshole if it gets damaged. Clear?"

There was a little tightening around her eyes, she really did have a temper. "Clear" she said, reluctantly.

"Great. Come on Clapton, I'll get you the case."

................................................

She practiced, hard. Jimmy said he didn't think it left her hands while she was awake for days.

Three weeks went by. I found a Squire similar to mine for a good price and bought it with Moira in mind. Jimmie brought her over to look at it. It was another Sunday, Sammi was working. She said it would be the last time, the girl everyone was filling in for would be back from maternity leave the next week.

I had finished setting up the drum kit, and Jimmy immediately went to it. Some of the heads had to be replaced and he was tuning it for me.

She played the guitar for a few minutes.

"It's nice, but I don't like it."

This surprised me, I thought she would love it.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, exactly. But it doesn't play as well as yours, and to be honest, I don't like the color."

It didn't play as well as mine because it was factory set. I had a man I used to set up my guitars. For comparison, there's nothing wrong with a factory set up, but if you get a pro to set one up, it's like going from a V6 Mustang to one of those monster models with the turbo charged V8's.

The guy I used was trained and licensed by Fender. You could buy a Stratocaster off the shelf in his shop for three or four hundred, or he would build you one for about eleven. It was worth the price difference. He did every guitar I owned.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03



And she didn't like the color? What a womanly reason for not liking something.

"Why don't you keep this one and sell me your old one? Everybody wins."

"Because I don't like this as well as mine. Mine has been professionally set up, that's the difference you feel. I can have this one done the same way, if you like."

"Would that change the color?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I don't want it."

Arrgh! This woman was irritating.

"Well then, we'll keep looking. I can still sell this one and make a profit."

She seemed surprised.

"Why don't you keep it, if all it needs is setting up?"

"Because it doesn't feel as good to me as mine. Besides, the color sucks."

She looked at me oddly for a second, then grinned.

"Then I guess we both have good taste, huh?"

We were just standing there, smiling, when Jimmy interrupted.

"Hey guys, I got the drums done. Let's stress test this sucker."

She plugged the 'ugly' Squire back in and I grabbed my Dan Armstrong, and we jammed for about two hours. The girl could rock out, and had some pretty decent licks.

Finally we stopped. Her face was glowing.

"Darn, I forgot how good this feels. Can we do it again next week?"

I loved her passion.

"Not next Sunday, I have plans with my girlfriend. But if you want, give me a call the first of the week. I'm usually free in the mornings."

Jimmy had a regular job and couldn't do weekday mornings, so I thought the idea was dead. Wrong as usual.

"How about Wednesday? I don't work and can come any day, usually."

We agreed to meet at the office at ten, and they left. 

Jimmy called me that night to thank me for helping her.

"Thanks, Wiley. Sis has been in a rut lately, this might be just what she needs to get her going again. It's nice to see her smiling again."

There again, something wasn't being said, but I figured if they wanted me to know they would tell me eventually.

Monday and Tuesday I spent with Sammi, reconnecting. She had been working almost non stop for about three months, but were back at full staff now. 

She made me think she was growing up to be a real, responsible adult. Her overtime was used to pay next quarters' tuition, with a little left over for a car fund. I was very proud. 

...........................................

Moira called twice to make sure I would play with her. Sammi answered the first time and I got the third degree.

"Who is she?"

"Jimmy's sister. She wants an old Squire and I'm trying to find her one."

"Is that why she's coming over?"

"Not Wednesday. We're just going to play, I promised to help her practice."

"Why can't she practice on her own?"

"She does, but sometimes if you're playing with someone else it helps."

"Is she pretty?"

I knew I had to tread carefully here.

"Yes, she is. She's also Jimmy's sister and married. If you're uncomfortable, why don't you come with me next time? I know you have to work, it's kind of why I chose Wednesday this time, but I can do it any day."

Sammi had been with me a few times when I was showing a guitar, and she knew I had a habit of playing with other people on occasion. She also knew how bored she got while she waited for me.

"No, I don't think so. But you better be a good boy, it would be hard to play with broken fingers."

She didn't look like she was kidding.

Moira was a bundle of energy. We played old stuff, simple tunes mostly. I loved to watch her, fingers flying over the strings while she had a half smile on her face, concentrating. It was very sensual.

She was getting her licks back quickly. She was very good, one of the best I had ever seen. I told her so.

It seemed to embarrass her. I asked her why she quit playing.

"I got married, and other things took priority. But I missed it. I'm glad I met you Wiley. I think Jimmy had this in mind when he brought you over."

This made me slightly uncomfortable, but what I said next actually made her flush.

"I'm glad I met you, too. You're a really good guitarist and damn easy to look at. That combination is hard to find."

She flushed, looked down, then looked back up and grinned at me. Without saying another word she hit a power chord and we were playing again.

Before she left she asked me what I was listening to when she came in. It was Warren Haynes, his "Covers" CDs. It was actually a protracted jam with different people while he tested new bass players for his band Government Mule. I loaned them to her.

Two or three weeks went by. It was Saturday, and I was meeting a man interested in the new Squire. He looked at it and we agreed on a price. I made nine hundred off it.

He was just leaving when Jim and Moira dropped by.

"Hi, guys. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Thought we would ride over to The Guitar Shop, Moira want to play one of his guitars. She can't find anything she likes more than your Squire, so she's thinking about a new one."

I said I would love too, Sammi was at work, and it was our weekend off from the band.

We decided early on to take a weekend off every couple of months. It made the spouses happy and kept us from getting burned out. I could usually catch work with someone else if I wanted. This time, I had decided to just hang out.

Jimmy wandered over to play the drums again. I knew he was going to end up with the set. It deserved to be played by someone who could do it justice. Counting the new heads, I had about five hundred in it, and I was going to let him have it for that. He didn't know it yet, I was going to let him squirm by pretending I had people interested in it.

He wasn't broke, but money was tight. He and his wife were practicing Catholics, and he already had four kids. I figured he would end up with six or seven before it was over.

I told Moira my plan. She was touched. Then she came up with a better plan.

"Wiley, his birthday is in three weeks. Let me buy them as a present. Then we can torture him a little. Tell him they're sold. I'll surprise him with them on his birthday. After all, isn't it an older sister's right to torture her little brother on occasion?"

I loved it.

"Come on. Let's start making him miserable now."

We went to him. He wasn't even aware we were there for a few minutes. He stopped when he saw us.

"Better play the hell out of them while you can, Jim. I've got someone seriously interested in them."

You could see the disappointment plainly.

"Damn, I was hoping...never mind. Someone's going to get a hell of a kit."

Moira had an evil little smile on her face.

"well while they're here let's get a little more enjoyment out of them. I want to show Wiley a new song I've learned."

We plugged in, tuned up, and got ready to play.

I flipped out when she started. It was 'Let It Rock', the Chuck Berry tune, played note for note in Warren Haynes cover. It was my favorite of all the covers. It was straight forward rock and roll. The bass line was a standard walking blues riff played like it was trying to run a marathon. Jimmy was familiar with it because every time he was in the van with me for about three months he heard it. 

Jimmy could sing it too. He had a Warren Haynes/Bob Seeger type voice that was good for about five songs a night without cracking. I stopped her.

"Wow! Let me hook a mike up for Jimmy and let's start over."

I took me a few minutes to hook up the mike and get the PA up and balanced.

"All right Jim, kick it off."

He started out with a three minute drum solo before yelling "Now, Moira!".

It was great, better than great. We must have played it six times in a row. We finally stopped, grinning like idiots.

We never did get to go look at guitars. We just played. We did 'Wild Thing', and I had Moira laughing so hard she almost missed a note when I did the kazoo solo on one of my harmonicas. Following that we did 'Paranoid', the classic Black Sabbath cover. I sang that one, She did 'Walk Like An Egyptian' and again we almost stopped because we were laughing.

Jimmy and Moira we wound tight when we stopped.

"Damn," Jimmy said, "I wish we could play for a crowd sometime."

Moira agreed.

"Yeah, I really miss it."

Neither knew, but I had the power to make it happen.

................................................

It was the Fourth of July and hotter than hell.

Every year for the last twenty years the mountain town of Crockett held their annual music festival, attracting tourists and locals alike. There were three stages, one main and two lesser, and the events were scheduled so that music was playing almost constantly for six hours over three days.I had played there before twice, with different bands.

Soundwave was officially off, so the members could spend vacation with their families. Sammi had to work, restaurants were always busy over holidays. I looked forward to doing nothing for a week. Then I got the call.

"Hey Wiley! It's Sam Wilkins. How you been?"

Sam was the was the music coordinator for the music festival, so I knew immediately this wasn't a social call.

"I'm fine, Sam. How's the festival looking this year?"

"That's why I'm calling. I need a BIG favor. Any chance your band can play Thursday and Friday for me? I wouldn't ask, but the band I booked was involved in a pile up on the way here. Broke bones and damaged equipment, you know. Any chance you can bail me out?"

I liked Sam, but I didn't think I could help him.

"Sorry, but we're on vacation and half are out of state. Can you find someone else?"

"I'm trying, but everybody is like you guys, booked or on vacation. Hell, you know everybody, can you put something together? I'll pay top dollar. Please Wiley, I'm up against it here."

I felt bad for the guy, he booked me often when I was just starting out. I was getting an idea.

"What are you looking for, musically?"

"I booked in a rock act, but anything you can come up with will work."

This was Monday. I had three days to pull a band together. I loved a challenge.

"Give me a day. I'll let you know one way or another tomorrow by the afternoon, no promise though."

After profuse thanks he hung up. I called Jimmy right away.

"Hey Jim, what are your plans this weekend?"

"Hanging around the house with a honey do list. Too broke for anything else. Why?"

"I may have something going. How would you and the family like to spend the weekend in the mountains free? Well not free exactly, we would have to play two afternoons, just two sets each time? You in?"

"I'd have to talk it over with Crystal, but it sounds great. Who we playing with?"

"So far, just you and me. I need to find a couple more. Nothing fancy, simple songs, rock based. Know anyone available? I'll be looking too. It has to be quick, we play Thursday. I'll call you in a few hours."

"Maybe, I'll check."

I pretty much struck out. Every one was either playing or out of town. I was thinking I was going to have to disappoint Sam until I called Jim back.

"Jimmy, I hope you had better luck than I did. Give me some good news."

I could hear the laughter in his voice.

"I lined up one, a pretty good singer and guitarist. Maybe we could do a three piece. Think that would fly?"

"Well, he's desperate, at this point I think he'll take anything. Who did you get?"

"Moira."

I was quiet for a moment.

"I don't know about that. It's been what, ten years since she played in front of an audience. This is a festival, it'll be a pretty big crowd. Think she can handle it?"

"If I didn't I wouldn't bring it up. You've never seen her perform, she can really work a crowd."

"All right, I'll make the call."

Sam was happy, a three piece would be fine. I told him he would have to include lodging, of course. At this late date we couldn't do it ourselves. When he asked what we needed, I told him it would be four adults and four kids, a cabin or something along that line would be nice.

He called back Tuesday and had us a house, but it was fifteen miles out of town. It did have a pool, though. That should make Jim's kids happy.

We practiced Monday night, twice Tuesday, and once Wednesday morning. We packed and left Wednesday afternoon.

Sammi was not happy, not at all. When she found out Moira was going she almost lost it. They had met, and the mutual dislike was obvious.

"What! I'm working my ass off this week while you shack up in the mountains with that red head! Bullshit, Wiley, bullshit."

I didn't understand her logic.

"In the first place, I'll be working too. And do I need to remind you, Moira is married and we're engaged. Also, Jimmy and Crystal and their kids will be right there with us. If it bothers you, take the rest of the week off and go with me."

"You know I can't do that" she snapped, "This is our busy time too. I have responsibilities, I'm trying to get the assistant manager position that's opening up."

It took a lot of discussion, but we both recognized we were letting our careers get to us. We made up, and I promised Sammi I would keep the house another few days. She would come up Saturday night and we would stay until Wednesday.

..............................................

The house was great. Secluded, with a great view of the mountains. Everyone loved the pool. We settled in quickly. Jimmie and Crystal took the big bedroom, Moira and I got the smaller ones. The kids slept in cots on the screened in porch. They loved it, it was a big adventure to them. We expected the smallest, their four year old, to sleep with Jimmy and Crystal, but she insisted she was big enough to sleep with the others. Mom and Dad had big smiles, Moira and I wondered how much sleep they would get.

We grilled burgers and dogs after the kids had a chance to play in the pool. I was put in charge of the grill while they played with them.

Moria had been in the house putting sodas in a cooler. It's a good thing the cooler was closed when she brought it out or the ice would have melted.

She barely had on a bikini. I looked at her and could hear Buster Poindexter singing "Hot, Hot, Hot" in my brain. God, she was so beautiful.

Everybody thought it was funny when I burnt the first burgers.

Jimmy saved me.

"For Gods' sake girl, put on a tee shirt before he loses consciousness from lack of blood to his brain! It's not nice to tease like that."

We both blushed and she did put on a cover. After we ate Jim and Crystal started yawning. The kids wanted to stay up and roast marshmallows. Moira and I volunteered to stay up with the kids so they could 'rest'. They almost ran to the bedroom.

We had a ball, helping the smaller ones. When we had them stuffed full of sugar we sat around and told ghost stories. I was starting to tell some really scary ones when Moira nudged me and pointed at the small ones. Their eyes had gotten huge, so I toned them down.

We had to get out the acoustic guitars and sing our small charges to sleep. I think we enjoyed it as much as they did.

After everyone was asleep I made coffee and we sat on the loveseat, enjoying the half moon over the mountain. She was cold, so I put a blanket over her.

For awhile, we just sat, enjoying the quiet. I picked up my Martin, picking out melodies and snatches of songs. It matched our mood.

I nodded towards the children.

"They're great, aren't they?"

She had a slight catch in her voice when she answered.

"Yes they are, but that might be the proud aunt talking. What about you, any children in your future?"

"I hope so, at least two. I worry though, wondering if I will be a good parent."

There was conviction in her answer.

"You'll make a great father. I've watched you with Jims', and others you come into contact with. You have a natural empathy, children trust you. It's a great quality to have."

Her opinion held a great deal of importance to me.

"What about you Moira? Ready to add a few more red headed beauties to the world?"

The depth and weight of her sadness when she answered was obvious.

"I don't think I'll have children."

I wanted to know why, of course, but a small voice in my head I had learned to trust told me to drop it. A cloud had been over the moon, but as it cleared I could swear there was tears tracks on her face. Even If it was wrong, I knew she needed a hug.

"Moira, I'm about to freeze. Share the blanket, please?"

She unwrapped and I slid underneath and snuggled her under my arm. I felt her stiffen.

"Jimmy, what are you doing?"

"Trying to get warm, and giving a hug to a friend I feel needs it. Okay?"

She sighed, leaned into me, and said okay. 

We sat like that for awhile. I could feel her shaking slightly, I knew she was crying and trying to hide it. I hugged her tighter, stroking her hair.

"Whatever it is, hon, let it out. I'm here for you."

That broke the dam. I don't know why she was so sad, but she cried, quiet sobs that went on for a bit. Gradually her sobs abated and turned into quiet even breaths. She was asleep.

I should have wakened her for bed, but I selfishly held her, wondering what could cause her such pain.

It was odd. I was holding one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, and I didn't have the first sexual thought. All I felt was love and compassion for someone who was becoming important to me. Sleep overcame me, and I gradually reclined on the loveseat, pulling Moria with me. That's where they found us the next morning.

We awoke to giggling. All the kids were watching us, Jimmy and Crystal were behind them, smirking.

Moria gave a cry and ran into the house.

I sat up and started trying to explain. Crystal laughed and held up her camera.

"Don't try to deny it. I have proof. You were sleeping with my sister."

She let me squirm and try to explain before relenting.

"Relax, Wiley. We know you, and we know Moria. All you did was sleep. But you should see the pictures, you two looked awfully comfortable. Like you belonged together, you know?"

I couldn't think of anything to say when Moira came back. She had showered and changed. No makeup, hair in a ponytail, jeans and a tee shirt. She looked even more beautiful than before.

"Come on, give him a break. Wiley, go shower and get changed. Breakfast in twenty, you get to wash up."

It was fun. Jimmy cooked while Moira and Crystal critiqued his skills. The kids ate like they were starving, I lost count of pancakes that came off the griddle. Judging by the dishes, at least a hundred people ate breakfast with us. Moira relented and helped me finish.

"We're on a clock, got to go get set up."

She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice.

Crystal stayed behind, promising the kids they would walk down to the river later, then come into town for the show.

Moira, Jimmy, and I piled into the cube van that held our equipment and went to set up. We had the dubious honor of being the very first act to perform early that afternoon.

It didn't take long to set up, years of practice from Jim and myself helped.

I was on the left, Moria was on the right. She had her/my Squire. I had my Ampeg and EBO for bass. I also had my SG and Martin, just in case.

I also set up a couple of keyboards for a few songs we may or may not do.

The look on Jim's face was priceless when he saw we had packed the Ludwig kit and left his regular set at home. In the end, Moira gave me half what the drums were worth so we could share the gift.

"Happy birthday, brother mine. And this is from both of us, so don't bitch about it, all right."

He hugged and kissed her, then did the same to me, whispering "Asshole" in my ear.

..............................................

We hadn't officially named ourselves. When I called back to confirm with Sam he asked what we were called so he could have some amended flyers printed. I hadn't really given it much thought.

"Well, we're two thirds Irish, so I guess we need to come up with..."




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 04



I said all I needed to last time. Let's just get on with it.

...................................................

Damn, damn, damn.

What the hell is so wrong with me that I can't keep a woman?

I think I'm a good person. I'm not cruel to people or animals. I pay my bills, donate time and money to charities, help my friends when they need it. When I decide to love someone I do it heart and soul.

Apparently that's not enough.

I did what any mature adult male would do under the circumstances. I cried to my Mom.

Dottie knew something was wrong the second she saw me.

"What's wrong? Is something wrong with Sammi or your friends? You look lost."

I told her the whole miserable tale. At first she was sympathetic, then she got angry.

"The nerve of that bitch! I'm gonna chew her a new ass when I see her."

It almost made me laugh. Mom didn't use profanity, and I never heard her say an ill word about anyone.

"Don't bother. I'll take care of it. She's history. I'm just glad I found out before we tied the knot. I want payback, I just need to figure out how."

Mom brought up a good point.

"She's lived with you for almost a year. You need to check with your lawyer for legal ramifications,

I don't know if palimony could come into play. Be careful, son. You don't want to lose anything over this."

Her advice was good, as usual.

...............................................

My lawyer was an old college friend. He was pre-law while I knew him, and heavily into music. He could even play, trombone. Not a rock and roll mainstay, but he was pretty good.

"You should be okay. All she has contributed seems to be paying the power bill and splitting the groceries. She didn't help with the mortgage, you don't have one. Same with car payments. Judging from the pay stub you brought me, she is capable of paying her own bills. Unless she has some agreement in writing, you're safe."

"You did furnish her a car, but from what you tell me, you made it pretty plain that the car was an investment and subject to be sold anytime.

Thanks to your almost anal retentive habit of saving receipts, you can even prove that you maintained her car for awhile. Just don't do anything stupid that would open you to litigation and you'll be fine."

"My best advice? Move her out fast, change the locks, and get on with your life. If she makes any noise refer her to me. That restaurant is part of a chain, corporations don't like scandals or bad publicity. Offer to help set her up in an apartment for old times sake if she doesn't make waves. It'll be cheaper than my fee if she tries something, and it'll look good on paper."

Then he leaned back and grinned.

"Look at the bright side. Now that you're a free agent, you can start chasing that hot woman in your band."

I sighed.

"The only drawback to that plan is her husband, and I don't break up marriages."

"Damn Wiley, your life sucks, doesn't it?"

Despite his smile I heard the ring of truth. I agreed with him.

"Yeah, pretty much."

................................................

On top of everything else, business wise I was extremely busy. We were booked solid for weeks, right up until the week of the charity concert.

We had been meeting, working up playlists, and rehearsing on Sundays. We had some pretty good discussions, for lack of a better word, over the playlist. Opinions were loud, definite and hard to negotiate. Most of the time I had headaches trying to play ringmaster.

We were doing what most bar bands fantasize about, playing what we wanted for a large audience.

Phil Specter was pretty much a miserable human being judging from the articles I had read about him, but there is no doubt that as a music producer he was a genius.

His trademark 'Wall Of Sound' was responsible for many hits in the sixties. We were trying to emulate that. Horns, strings, layered musicians. the whole ball of wax.

The crowd we expected to attract would be over thirty, more like over forty, and we wanted to play music they were familiar with. If they were happy they were much more likely to donate, and that was why we were there.

The chamber quartet recruited most of the college to help. The broadcast journalism students, the business students, and others got their professors to treat it like an extra credit, real world work experience project.

I had a budget to play with, mostly for advertising. All labor was voluntary. The broadcast students quickly became sound, lighting, and stage crew. They arranged for the whole thing to be broadcast on local access on a one day delay, with the 800 number for contributions flashing constantly.

The business students were in charge of advertising and promotion. All the music majors wanted involved, but we had all the musicians we needed, and they couldn't match our schedules.

I knew I had to do something about Sammi. I avoided her, using the benefit as an excuse. It helped that we had a two week gig up in Crockett, playing at a bar called The Black Dog.

Crockett was a college town, Mountain State University, but the Dog was more of a hangout for locals. We were well known, so there was an influx of college students. Most got along, but they had some huge bouncers, just in case.

Jimmy, Al, and especially Moira could tell something was off. When they asked I told them it was personal stuff I needed to work through. and they left me alone.

We didn't play on Monday and Tuesday, so Jim, Al, his boyfriend, and Crystal went sightseeing. The kids were at the grandparents, giving Jim and Crystal a little alone time.

Crystal was hinting around that she would like to see him settle down to a steady job. He had gotten laid off, as had so many others, and money was tight. They also thought Crystal may be pregnant again. Things were a little tense.

Moira hadn't mentioned her husband at all for a month, but she still wore the rings. Apparently he traveled a good bit and they were used to being apart. When I told them I was going back home to work on the benefit, she wanted to come along to help, and check on her house.

The ride was quiet, each absorbed in personal thoughts. When we hit town I surprised her by going to my office instead of the house.

"Aren't you going home first?" She asked in surprise.

"Not right now, I've got too much to do and this is where my notes are. Come pick me up in a couple of hours, okay?"

She just looked at me.

"I know you, Wiley, better than you think. Whatever you have going on, when you decide to tell someone, I'd like to be that person. You're not Smilin' Wiley anymore, and I miss him."

After the emotional goodbye we had at the festival back in July, we had avoided touching each other, so I was taken aback when she kissed my cheek.

"You're a good man, Wiley" was all she said before she pulled off.

The Smilin' Wiley Orchestra. That was the name they voted to use. It was a combination of the fact that I was pretty much responsible for the whole ball of wax, and I enjoyed it so much I had a permanent smile on my face. 

The drama department designed the stage. A large open area in the middle, a raised platform for the horns on the left, and one on the right for the chamber quartet. Twenty three musicians, three drum sets, four keyboard stations, five guitarists, three basses, fifty nine microphones, a mountain of amps and sound equipment, part or all being in use at the same time. Twenty three ear buds so we could monitor ourselves and get stage directions. It was a sound technician's nightmare.

We had three guys for lighting, two for sound, two stage managers and five stage hands. Add to that the videographers, and it could definitely get crowded. We were gonna have a ball.

I watched her leave, thinking about the Smilin' Wiley comment.

When everyone got together to format the benefit a lot of ideas were tossed around. It was a concert as much as a performance, and one of the drama students suggested we emulate the orchestras of the forties and fifties. We also had too many individuals and groups to list, so we had to come up with a name. They chose it, not me.

The stage guys even built stands with the initials S W O running down the front, and the O was a smiley face with the lips and tongue from the old Stones logo.

................................................

I took the Mach 1 away from Sammi, saying while they were changing oil they discovered some engine problems, and it may have to be rebuilt again. It was bullshit of course. I had hidden it in one of my empty garage units.

She wasn't a complete idiot and knew something was wrong, assuming I was pissed at her over the car. She was trying her best to make up.

I left her to her own devices on transportation. She was catching rides with coworkers, and even slick hair picked her up a time or two. There was an attempt to get me to help her car shop, but I told her I didn't have time.

Just before I left she asked me point blank what was wrong. I just told her I was dealing with a lot of stress trying to make the benefit a success, and I had recently discovered that someone I trusted had let me down unexpectedly.

She looked a little guilty. I told her it was a musician problem and she let it go.

I had been plotting revenge. Cruel, nasty, over the top punishment. But as I thought about it I decided the best way to handle it was musically. It was what I did, who I was. All I had to do was hold on for two more weeks. Besides, an old man once told me getting revenge is a lot like wrestling with a pig. You both get covered in mud and shit, and the pig likes it.

But it was still gonna be cruel and nasty.

.................................................

During this time my friendship with Freddie started to grow. He actually called me two weeks after the festival to ask about one of the songs we had done, he was thinking about covering it for his next album, and he wanted to use our arrangement.

He asked how I thought it would work, and I hesitated. He heard it right away.

"Please, Wiley, I have enough yes men. Tell me the truth."

So I did.

"The song won't be a good fit for you Freddie, but there are a couple more from the same artist that would. Have you listened to much of his stuff?"

He said he hadn't but would look his work up. We talked a few more minutes and he had a request.

"You seem to have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of music. Try and think up some stuff you think would work for me. I'm open to anything."

I had a few I'd already thought of, but I waited awhile before sharing them.

Thanks to Freddie, Two Thirds Irish had fifteen seconds of fame. He had crews taping his performances, and they had captured his rendition of 'Flirtin' With Disaster. Of course, it turned up almost instantly on his Facebook, website, and Youtube. It made us look good, although Jim and I were just side players, the camera played to Freddie and Moira. It never hurts to have a hot babe in your video.

The pictures Crystal had taken of us at lunch and in the river showed up on his website. He insisted on Facebook it was just lunch with old friends during the festival, but there were a few shots of Moira in her one piece splashing Freddie, and the magazines got hold of it and talked up romance.

It got even more improbable when Freddie said on Facebook, not that he wouldn't like to date her, but she was just a friend, and besides, she was married. To me. Apparently he had seen the newspaper article. It took a little while to straighten that one up. Jim told me her husband was actually pissed.

"Want me to talk to him and clear it up?"

I guess he didn't have a very high opinion of his brother.

"Fuck him. It's the most attention he's paid to her in a couple of years. Maybe it'll do them both some good."

I repeated my offer to Moira, but she said to forget it, she had already cleared it up.

The argument over the playlists were getting out of hand. I finally stepped in and told them to focus on what this was for and get over themselves. But, I tried to get most of them placated.

Freddie was working on his new record and lining up a new band. His last group were ultimate professionals, but they treated it like a job, and didn't invest any emotion at all. This makes for a pretty boring live show.

He called and asked if he could come by, his buddy was looking for a guitar and understood I might have what he was looking for. I flipped when he came through the door.

I knew who he was instantly but didn't comment. I just plugged the guitar up and handed it to him.

He had a small smile on his face as he started playing. Freddie just grinned at me, nodding at a case.

I flipped it open and he grabbed my 125, strumming happily. I just went with the flow and grabbed my Fender Mustang bass. We must have played fifteen minutes before anyone wanted to stop.

I had asked Freddie, so when he said yes I called Jim and Moira and told them it was life or death, get their asses over here now.

TA, as he liked to be called, was a nice guy. He wanted the guitar bad, a Gretcsh Chet Adkins Country Gentleman, autographed by Chet Adkins personally. Money was nothing to him, but I still gave him a good deal. After all, when he loomed over you at 6'5", long hair falling into his face and talking in that deep rumbling voice, it made you want to be agreeable.

We all took pictures of each other, and he really liked Moira. If I didn't know he was desperately in love with his wife, I would have been jealous. Maybe I still was, just a bit.

I think he noticed it and said something to Freddie. He just grinned at me and said something back. TA seemed surprised, looked at me like I was an idiot, and said something back to Freddie.

Don't you hate it when you know someone is talking about you?

"Wal, you're all here, might as well play something."

So we jammed for an hour. I got out the lap steel and we played old country, Hank Williams, Jimmie Dickens, other guys they had no idea I knew about.

We even did an old Bob Wills song, that Freddie sounded damn good on. Ideas were popping.

Of course, it was too good an opportunity for Freddie to pass up, so with permission, he posted pictures, apologizing for lack of sound, but thanking his good buddies Two Thirds Irish for hosting again.

Sammi was furious with me when she found out.

"Two of the biggest names in country music, and it didn't occur for you to call me. I bet you called that red headed slut quick enough, or was she already there?"

This was about two days after I found out she was cheating, so I wasn't too concerned with her feelings.

"I'm about sick of this shit of ranting about Moira. We have a professional relationship on top of being really good friends. Do I accuse you of improper behavior when you study with Gary? They say people with a guilty conscience make accusations. Anything you need to tell me, Sammi dearest?"

I couldn't quite keep the anger out of my voice.

She backed off instantly, looking nervous.

"I'm sorry honey. She's just so pretty and you're with her more than me. I trust you, really. And you know you can trust me, right?"

I wanted to take that lovely, double jointed body, tie it into a knot, and bounce it off the wall a few times. It took everything I had to regain control.

"Yes honey, I know quite well how trustworthy you are. But I'm sick of you bitching about Moira, so give it a rest. You understand?"

"Calm down, babe, please. I'll never mention her again. I'm sorry I'm so bitchy, being without a car and trying to finish our wedding details is stressing me out."

I accepted her apology, but didn't make much effort to cuddle or talk afterward. She got the message and left me alone.

.................................................

I had heard an r & b version of 'Walking After Midnight', the great Patsy Cline tune, when I was much younger. It stuck with me.

It would pop in my head from time to time, and I would fool with it. Part of my garage was converted into a recording studio with an almost obsolete 32 track system. I had a friend who was an electrical engineer and singer/rapper who tweaked the system as I had the money, so we could get a pretty good product out. We actually did demos for people, mostly CDs for fellow bar bands to use for attracting business. Mel, the engineer, would also video tape performances to accompany the CD.

We overlay the basic soundtrack with horns, faked on my keyboards, and a screaming slide guitar lead. Backing vocals that had an almost doo wop feel. It sounded like western swing on jet fuel, but it worked. I just needed a vocalist who could do it justice, and it wasn't me. Moira would have been a good choice, in fact we did a version in some of our sets, but the way it was set up called for a man's voice.

I sent it off to Freddie, who played it for his producers, and they all agreed it would be great for him. A country classic with a new, modern feel. It would be the lead off single off his next project.

He was bubbling when he called.

"Man, that was great! Can I get your band to back me in the studio?"

Duh, duh, duh. The chance to work on an album with a singer destined to do great things? Gee, we would have to think about it for awhile. And of course, we would get credit, and get paid.

He called about every other day. What did I think of this song? Would that sound good with horns?

His biggest concern was originals. He used some of the most talented songwriters in country music, but was having trouble getting a 'signature song', something fans would automatically identify him with. What he had done so far was good, but almost generic. You could almost interchange any new singer with the material and nobody would notice. It was very frustrating.

"Damn Wiley, you know almost ever musician in three states. Isn't anybody out there writing?

I'll listen to anything, you just never know."

Well, since you asked. I sent him one of mine.

................................................

I made phone calls, set up rehearsals, checked on advertising. Tried to get three days worth of work done in two hours.

I took a break. There were some things packed in a corner I wanted to move to another unit for more work space. Nothing valuable to anyone but me.

My grandmothers' rocking chair. My Dads' old stereo and albums. Two or three boxes of children's books she used to read to Chip. And probably me when I was young. They were dogeared, worn with use and love. I planned on reading those same books to my children, even though the odds of that happening was growing less and less.

Moira came in while I was sorting and offered to help. I could tell something was wrong, but we had learned to give each other room, so I didn't say anything.

She was moving a box of books when the bottom came apart. She retaped the box and started stacking. She picked up a book and just stopped, frozen. 

I Love You This Much, by Sue Buchanan, one of the best children's books ever written, was in her hands. It was Chips' favorite book, read almost every night, especially if Gram was around. She had read it to me at his age.

She leafed through it, not really reading. There was something in her manner that spoke of pain. I picked up my old mandolin and started strumming.

I had made up a little song based on the book I used to sing to Chip some days when no one wanted to read it to him.

"I love you this much/my heart swells at your touch/I can never get enough/'cause I love you this much." I sang softly. 

There were four more verses, but before I could sing them, Moira let out a small sigh and collapsed slowly towards the floor.

I dropped my mandolin and grabbed her just before she fell, lowering myself into the rocking chair.

Her arms circled my neck and she put her head against my neck and cried.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 04



And cried, and cried some more. I didn't know what to do so I just held her, rocking gently, petting her as I would a child. Slowly the sobs subsided and she became quiet. I held her for about forty five minutes, thinking she was asleep.

She stirred after a while, then started and jumped out of my arms. She looked shattered, lost, and so alone. I wanted nothing more in the world than to scoop her back into my embrace and tell it was all right, that she was a good person and loved, especially by me.

I realized then that I wasn't in love with Sammi anymore, I was in love with Moira, and had been since the first time we played together. Damn, why did she have to be so married? Of course, with my track record, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

Instead of following my instincts, I helped her into the rocking chair and got her a box of tissues. She wiped her eyes, dabbed her cheek, and did a very unladylike job of blowing her nose.

It was damn near a honk, and it made her giggle.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked gently.

She nodded and got her purse. She pulled a picture out and handed it to me.

It was a picture of a child, a red haired beauty with a beautiful smile. It must have been a Halloween photo. She was dressed as a fairy, in a little green satin dress with gossamer wings. At first I thought it was Moira until I looked a little closer. I looked to Moira for confirmation.

She nodded.

"My daughter, Erin. She had just turned four when that was taken."

.................................................

"Where is she now?" I was picturing a scenario of a vengeful ex husband stealing her away.

"Forest Lawn. That picture was taken about seven months before she passed. Aggressive form of childhood cancer. From diagnosis to passing was only ten months. She would have turned seven today."

I didn't know what to say.

"Paul and I were supposed to visit her today, that's why I rode down with you. But he called about an hour after he was supposed to be home. Emergency meeting, couldn't be avoided. What could be more important to him than honoring her memory? Damn him!"

She was sobbing again.

"Moira, I'll take you. I'm overdue for a visit myself."

She tried to stop me, but I led her to the van and buckled her in. The fight had gone out of her, she just stared out the window while I drove.

I stopped at a florist and bought three bouquets. She noticed the number but said nothing.

"Which section?" I asked as we pulled through the gate.

"Northeast corner, section C."

I parked as close as I could and helped her out. I handed her the flowers I had picked, the florist said it was appropriate for a seven year old girl. I picked up the other two and told her I would give her privacy.

She put her hand on my arm. "Please go with me."

She looked desperate, so I took her hand and followed her.

Forest Lawn didn't allow stones, but accepted sculptures. Near her plaque was a small angel, arms reaching heavenward. If you looked close you could see it resembled a fairy. The engraving said: "To all the small angels". I knew who funded it without question.

She talked for half an hour. She apologized for her father not being there for her birthday, and said he would make it up to her. She told her about her life, and being in a band, introducing me as her band mate and best friend. She wound up by talking about the flowers. Finally she told her she loved her more today than ever, and that she would be back soon. She kissed her hand and placed it on the plaque, then turned and strode off for awhile. 

She was staring off into the distance, but took my hand when I joined her.

"Thank you, Wiley. Now let's go visit your loved ones."

I took her to see Mom and Chip, buried side by side. I told her who they were, and before I could stop myself told her the whole story. She didn't say a word, just held my hand tighter.

She was surprised when I laid only one bouquet down.

Then I took her over and introduced her to Kara, again telling the whole story. 

She gazed down for awhile, then whispered, "You lucky, lucky girl, getting to love Wiley first. I envy you, but think I understand him better now. Thank you for loving him."

We were quiet when we left.

"Wiley, just drive around for a little, will you?"

I didn't say a word, and thirty minutes later we were at the state park that I had taken Sandy to on our first date. The place was always soothing to me. We sat on the picnic table and watched the fishermen and the families picnicing for awhile.

She hadn't let go of my hand since we got out of the car.

"Thank you for being there when I needed you. Now, please, I can tell you're in some kind of pain. Let me help. If nothing else I'll be glad to listen. You do it for me. Please, hon, tell me what's going on."

I think the 'hon' broke me, so I told her about the last two years, first with Sandy, and now Sammi. She was livid.

"What the hell is wrong with these women? Does the blood not go all the way to their brains? You're the finest man I've ever met. Kind, gentle, loving, loyal, what the hell is wrong with them?"

I sincerely hope I never see that look she had on her face directed at me.

"What are you going to do about her?" She demanded indignantly.

So I told her. She looked confused, surprised, and finally happy.

"I'm gonna have to reevaluate my opinion of you, but I like it. And I'm gonna help you."

She smile she had was not pleasant.

................................................

Things were rapidly coming to a head, and just when I thought if I had one more crisis to deal with I would blow my brains out, a big one came at me.

"Wiley, honey, how are you? I've got a problem I need help with, and you're the first one I thought of. Will you help me, please?"

It was Mrs. Miller, my old piano/organ teacher, wife of the man who taught me to play guitar. They were more than teachers, almost a second set of grandparents. He had passed away last year, and I checked on her from time to time.

She didn't have anyone else. Her only child and his wife were killed in an auto accident years before.

What she had was their son, her grandson, probably the most useless human I had ever met. He was due a trust fund from the accident when he was thirty. He was twenty two now and a two time convicted felon. We lived in a three strike state, and I would have bet every guitar I owned he would go down for the count way before then.

He was in trouble, again. She had gone through most of her savings paying for bail and lawyers.

The grandson was a unrepentant druggie and had been caught with a felony amount of crack on him.

No doubt about it, he was gone.

She was trying to raise bail money, but with his

track record nobody wanted to bond him. She finally found one who would do it, if she put the whole $50,000 up front. If he made his court date he would refund 90%. 

I tried my best to talk her out of it. He was her last living relative, and she had a blind spot as far as he was concerned.

He had been through rehab twice, as well as several twelve step programs. He would last a month, a week, a day, and be back hustling the street for his next fix.

.................................................

Spending my life in music, I had more than a little experience with drugs. Not the superstar 'I've got money so fuck the world' scenario, but the day to day, grind out for a living musicians, who fell prey to the ready availability. Knew three who ended up in jail, five that lost everything including their families, and two who lost everything including their lives.

I had dabbled. I was young, it was available, so I sampled.

I didn't like pot because I didn't smoke and it tore my lungs up. I was scared of heroin so that was out. Did two lines of coke once and played so badly, they cut my amp off. I was so messed up I didn't even realize it. I still drank, rarely to excess.

Luckily, I looked around, saw what it was doing to my friends, and stopped.

.................................................

Mrs Myers, or 'Nonnie' as her she had her students call her, was distraught.

"I can't get that kind of money up. What am I going to do?"

My first response would have been leave him where he was, but I knew she wouldn't do that. I was afraid she would do something foolish like remortgage her house if I didn't step in.

She had something of value, something she didn't even realize she had. Her husband was the one who got me started collecting guitars, and she had a few of them left.

"Nonnie, I think I can help you. How many of Carl's old guitars do you still have?"

"I don't know, Wiley, he packed them all up when he got sick and told me to give them to Carl Jr. when he passed. When Junior died and I forgot all them. They're in the back bedroom still, I guess."

They were still there. Apparently the grandson had no idea how much they were worth, or they would have been long gone. Everything he had was top of the line, and he had a life time to collect them.

He had five guitars. The first three were valuable, but not rare. On a quick sale I could probably get between eight and twelve thousand for all three.

The other two fell into a completely different area. They amounted to the holy grail for guitar collectors.

One was a 1953 gold top Les Paul, made the first year they put serial numbers on them. This one was in the low three hundred range. It still had the original box and paperwork, and more importantly, it was signed by Les Paul himself, and there was a picture of him in the late fifties holding the guitar. The picture was inscribed with "Carl, treat it well, play it often, love the music, your friend, Les Paul."

The Les Paul model was actually designed by one of Gibson's engineers. Les was brought into the project pretty late, a fifties version of branding a product.

Truth be told, the '53 model wasn't a very good guitar. It was a bitch to keep tuned and wasn't really that playable. This didn't matter at all to most collectors.

By 1957 they had taken the bugs out and had a very good product. The other guitar was a 1957 sunburst Les Paul, also with original paperwork and case. Together they could bring in the mid six figures at the right auction.

I wrote Nonnie a check for the first three, giving her full value. I wasn't in this one for a profit.

I gave her fifty thousand for a 25% interest in both Les Paul models, having my lawyer draw up a binding contract. We immediately shipped them to Sotheby Auctions in London for an instrument sale they had coming up. We insured them for half a million.

She bailed him out, and the judge put in a proviso that he had to wear an ankle bracelet and could not leave town. If he passed the city limits the bond would be revoked and he would be back in jail.

I had a long talk with the bondsman. Most bondsmen are nice guys if you play by the rules, and this one actually liked Nonnie. We agreed that in addition to the bracelet one of his guys would spot check him several times a day, as long as I paid for his time. I thought it was a good investment.

................................................

This put a serious dent in my ready cash, so I called up a guy who had been bugging me about the Mach 1, and sold it to him for $35,00. I could have probably gotten a lot more for it if I put in one of those auctions you see on television, but one, I needed working capital, and two, I knew it would piss Sammi off.

It did. She raised hell, she actually loved the car.

"Damn it Wiley, I was hoping you would give it to me for a wedding present."

I just smiled, which made her angrier.

"I told you when you started driving it not to get attached. I needed the money so I sold it."

I'm sure with her knowledge of my finances she wondered why I needed the money, but she didn't dare ask.

"When are we going to look for me a car? I need one pretty bad."

"Tell you what, after the benefit we'll address your transportation problem. Right now I've got to focus on that."

"And our marriage." 

She all but spit the words out.

"Oh yeah, I'm working on that" I replied.

.............................................

Suddenly, I was tired. Tired of Sammi, tired of the band, tired of responsibilities, even tired of Moira because I couldn't have her. Most of all I was tired of me and the continual mess my life had become. I declared an unscheduled holiday and disappeared for thirty six hours.

I was even tired of driving my van, I actually missed the Mach 1. Changing my voicemail to say I would be unavailable for the next twenty four hours, I rented the most powerful Mustang they had on the lot, and drove off into the sunset.

................................................

Actually, since I was heading east, I was driving into the sunrise. There was someone I needed to see.

My lesbian buddy from college now had a thriving practice in another state. We kept in touch through reunions and alumni updates, so I had access to her number.

I called, got her receptionist. She was in a session and would be available in about an hour. I gave her my number and told her to say it was the future father of her children. I know the receptionist was startled, but then I laughed and told her my name. 

She called back in fifty minutes.

"Where the hell have you been? My girlfriend has been ovulating for seven years. You're about to run out of time."

We joked and reminisced for a few minutes before I got to the reason I called her.

Somehow she didn't seemed that surprised. Her day was full, but if I was willing to buy her dinner she would make herself available.

There were hugs and kisses. Her girlfriend was there and showed me pictures of the two kids they had by artificial insemination.

"Got tired of waiting, you slack ass." 

Soon her spouse said her goodbyes and we headed back to her office.

"All right, we're on the clock. Start talking."

So I told her about my life for the last two years, all of it. When I was done she just nodded and looked out the window for a second.

"I'll be brutally honest here. I don't think you were in love with Sandy, or Sammi either. In your head, I think you could hear a clock ticking and felt it was time to find a mate. You wanted to be in love so you talked yourself into it."

"From what I hear about your friend Moira, the way you talk about her, you may actually love her. But she's unattainable."

"Something you need to realize, Wiley, if you're ever going to have a successful relationship, is that you have to give all of yourself to whoever you choose. You can't give her half, or just the parts you want her to know about, but all of you.

You can't keep people in little boxes, neatly tagged. Life is sloppy, messy, and you can't control it all the time."

"Don't get me wrong here. Everybody has secrets, it's human nature. Just keep your priorities straight. If you decide to love someone, do it with all of your heart and mind. If you get hurt, you get hurt. But eventually, usually when you least expect it, you'll find what you're looking for."

"And when you do, I expect to hear all about it."

I thought about what she said a lot on the way home. I hate when someone tells you something you should have been smart enough to figure out on your own.

I also made a standing appointment for once a month. The habits of a lifetime were going to be hard to change.

.................................................

The first thing I did when I got home was try to talk to Sammi. I wasn't going to mention her cheating. In my mind I had been cheating her by not committing fully. I decided to keep the rental Mustang for a few days so she would have transportation.

She burst out of the house when I pulled up. Her face was flushed and she seemed very, very, nervous and angry.

"Where the fuck have you been? The phone has been ringing off the hook. Everybody has been looking for you. I didn't know what to tell them, so I just took messages. Goddammit, why did you turn off your cell?"

I'm sure it was just a coincidence that I saw Garys' car pulling away as I turned into my street. 

Her attitude, and seeing his car pull away, altered the forgiving mood I was in. No, I didn't love her anymore, we probably wouldn't have made it even if she didn't cheat, but the fact was she did, and I had a hard time handling it.

"I had a lot to think about, things I had to work out. I know I should have talked to you, but the fact is I didn't. I'm sorry, I should have. But I feel better now, I actually talked to a professional and she pointed out a lot of things I need to work on to be a better person. It's been a lot to process."

I wanted to have a serious discussion, to be honest with each other, but she chose to attack.

"Well, that's just fucking ducky. You leave me in the middle and go out to find yourself. What about me? Maybe I should take a few days and go looking for myself too. What about that?"

She didn't like my answer.

"That might be a good idea. Take the Mustang, it's a rental, but it's paid for for the next few days. Think about things, like should we continue.

We haven't really gotten along lately, maybe that's a warning."

Not what she was expecting, not at all. But she had her temper up.

"Maybe I will! Maybe I'll find someone else who is interested a real relationship. He might even have red hair. What do you think of that?"

"I think you should do whatever makes you happy. I bet you won't have to go out of town, I bet you could look a lot closer to home and find that. Maybe you already have."

We had been getting progressively louder, and hadn't even made it into the house. I'm sure the neighbors were getting an earful.

My last statement shocked her, I saw a brief flash of guilt maybe, but she forged ahead.

"Fuck you!" She screamed, snatching the keys from my hand and peeling off down the street as I stood there in surprise.

"That went well" I said to myself as I watched her speed away. I called Jimmy to come pick me up, forgetting he stayed in Crockett.

"Where the hell have you been? Moria has been climbing the wall, looking for you. Remember, she has your van. Turn your damn cell on, call her, and get your asses up here. We got a show in six hours, and it takes almost four hours to get here."

I couldn't turn my cell on, it was in the Mustang.

I called Moira from the house and she was there in fifteen minutes. Red haired women sure have a way with words. Her ass chewing would have made a drill instructor blush. She got louder, her brogue got thicker, I even believe her hair got a deeper red. When she finally got done telling me what an inconsiderate asshole I was she threw her phone at me.

"Call your mother, she's been worried sick."

I immediately called Dottie.

"Hi Mom. Sorry I missed your call. How are you?"

She lit into me so hard I had to hold the phone away from my ear for about three minutes. Moira thought it was funny and that I deserved it. When she wound down I apologized.

"Mom, calm down. I left a message saying I wasn't answering the phone for twenty four hours. I had things to think about. Nothing is wrong, I'm fine, see you Sunday."

Remembering the advice I had just gotten, I told Moira where I had gone and why.

"I used to think I was a nice guy, you know? But now I'm not so sure. I know I need to work on being a better communicator, that's for sure."

She listened but didn't agree.

"You ARE a nice guy. You're emphatic, compassionate, and loving. Your brains are a little scrambled right now. At least you're getting help, I could never get my husband to do that after Erin died, and he, make that we, really could have used it. Maybe things would have turned out differently if we had."





Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 04



She didn't elaborate and I didn't push it.

For the next three hours I gave her the Reader's Digest version of my life. When I got done she knew more about me than anyone alive other than my parents. She seemed spellbound. When I finally wound down she had only one thing to say.

"Wow."

Of course, for all my openness, I made her promise to keep what I told her in confidence.

We made it back to Crockett with forty five minutes to spare. Jim was about to give me shit but Moira warned him off.

When the show was over I went to Wal-Mart and got one of those cheap pay as you go phones with an unlimited plan. It wasn't my IPhone but it would keep me in touch until I could get it back.

..................................................

I had called Sammi every day but she wouldn't talk to me. So much for my new resolve to be a better communicator. I checked, she did turn the rental in and they had my phone.

Sammi actually did me a favor by letting everyone know as far as she was concerned the wedding was on hold. We were having 'communication' issues.

Since she wasn't talking to me and hadn't returned to the house, I had to agree with her.

It was the week of the benefit, finally. Everyone involved was keyed up, the rehearsals had gone well, the equipment had been checked. We had been advertised heavily on radio and TV, and a few of us hit the local morning shows to promote it. 

My band and the horn section actually played a couple of songs in studio, trying to generate more interest. It went so well they played a clip on the evening news cast. Luckily, we had a last minute addition to announce. Mr. Chance Blaze was going to make a brief appearance, and might bring a friend or two.

Freddie confirmed this on his Facebook page, saying he wasn't sure which night he would appear because of rehearsal schedules. He did this deliberately, hoping to boost ticket sales.

It was a three night event, and you had the option of buying a ticket for one performance or for all three nights. 

We had a few tickets given away on radio, but since it was a benefit they were limited. Pre-sales were actually pretty good.

................................................

Nonnie's grandson decided to run the same week. He cut his ankle bracelet loose, hoping he could be gone before anyone noticed it.

The flaw to that plan was that the bracelet had a temperature sensor built in. If it dropped below body temperature for more than two minutes it alerted the monitor.

The monitor went off just as he was leaving the house. The guy who was spot checking for me was already on the scene.

He followed the car he was in, calling for backup.

In a classic box move they bracketed his car and forced him over within sight of the city limits.

The driver was high, and showed mighty poor judgement by waving a pistol around. Bondsmen don't play. They had their weapons out and were in a pretty tense standoff until the police arrived.

The driver was arrested for weapons and drug charges, along with aiding a fleeing felon. The grandson was arrested for violating his bond and remanded, without the availability of bail.

Nonnie got back ninety percent of the money, but spent it all on lawyers, even though they advised her to just let it happen.

.................................................

Sammi finally called me on Wednesday morning. She was staying with Sandy, of all people. Seemed she had moved back to town when her bisexual lover decided he really wanted to play on the boys' team. She even had her old job back.

""She wants to talk to you, to apologize in person. Will you let her?"

I thought that was a conversation I really wanted to have.

We agreed that Sammi should stay where she was until after the benefit. I did make her promise to come, and had tickets delivered to the restaurant, including one for Sandy and Gary, telling her she should bring him along as a thank you for helping her. He was just as big a fan of Freddie as she was and I was pretty sure he would take the bait. I sweetened it by promising to introduce them to Freddie.

................................................

Freddie surprised me by agreeing to make an appearance, but there were motivating factors.

One, he had a niece with cancer, and two he really wanted to record the song I had sent him.

"I Got A Plan' was written when I was thinking about proposing to Sammi. Freddie's whole production team was drooling. This could be his signature song. I didn't tell him who wrote it, but he suspected.

"This is yours, isn't it?" He hadn't called, just shown up.

When I admitted it was he immediately wanted to know if I had more. I showed him my file cabinet and told him there was probably a hundred and fifty in various stages of completion. I thought he was gonna wet himself.

He immediately demanded first choice, and I told him we would talk about it after the benefit.

After swearing the whole group of us to secrecy, he wanted to debut 'I Got A Plan' during the benefit, to gauge crowd reaction. We practiced it four times in private, just Freddie, Moira, Jim, Al, me, and Frank, the guitarist from Hard Country. Moira stepped in and totally reworked the music, turning it into a wide open party song instead of the ballad I envisioned. It was a hundred percent better. I finally allowed myself to get excited about it.

...............................................

Finally it was Thursday night. 

After talking it over we decided to limit the number of tickets to twenty two hundred, and leave a space for dancing. We were all veterans of bar bands, and knew that if people wanted to dance we should make space. It would make them happy, and happy people tended to donate more. A quick ticket count confirmed there were about sixteen hundred paying customers out there. Not bad for an opening night.

We were all seasoned professionals, but the adrenalin level was way up for everyone.

Mellow Mel, my engineer/singer/rapper buddy was MC. He walked onto the stage and under a single spotlight greeted the crowd.

"Welcome to the show. Thank you all for coming. As you know, 100% of all proceeds go the the cancer research foundation. And if for some reason you feel an urge to donate more, we have volunteers to assist you."

"Now for the show. We're going to start with a light classical number and go from there. Please, sit back and enjoy the show."

A spotlight hit the chamber quartet, stage right on a raised platform. They started the opening notes of Beethovens' fifth symphony, and the horns joined in, also on a raised platform, stage left.

Three bars in a spotlight hit Moira, and she hit the Chuck Berry chords, followed by everyone on stage as we launched into 'Roll Over Beethoven'.

Three drummers, five guitarists, three bassists, three keyboards, all playing wide open. The crowd loved it. We stretched it out to a little over ten minutes, and already had people on their feet.

We didn't stop, just switched over to 'Rosalita', one of the best Springsteen songs ever written.

Next came '10th Avenue Freeze Out', since we were into the Springsteen thing.

By now we were interchanging musicians as the song called for them, allowing most everyone to take a breather while keeping the music going.

We played a full hour before taking a break. You have to stop once in a while or the audience goes into auditory overload.

We had preplanned it, and at the break all twenty four musicians worked the crowd, shaking hands and thanking them for coming.

People had already started dancing, so we did a beach music set next. 'Back To Louisiana' a Delbert McClinton song, 'Thank You John', oddly enough about a hooker, her pimp, and john, and one of my favorites, 'Rainy Day Girl', a song written for the Harlem Globetrotter cartoon of the early seventies, that actually has two of the Globetrotters singing on it. A few more beach standards and the crowd was shagging its' ass off.

After the next break we did what we called a "girl power' set. Moira, Jenn/Ginny/Jen, Amber from Hard Country, and three of the chamber quartet, all women, took the stage. Nodding to the country element they did 'Passionate Kisses' and 'Feels Like A Woman' with the horn section.

A version of 'Girls Talk', 'Walk Like An Egyptian', and the great rockabilly song by Imelda May, 'Mayhem', finishing out with 'Walking On Sunshine'. The crowd was roaring by then.

We did five sets, playing from eight until about one thirty. The crowd definitely got full value for their money. Everyone seemed happy when they left, so I was pretty sure we would get buzz the next morning.

I was right. By lunchtime Friday 'Roll Over Beethoven' had been playing on the local access channel almost hourly, along with clips of the girl power set and the beach set. Local TV, radio, and newspapers all gave us good reviews.

I did a radio interview, saying that the sets tonight would not be the same as last night, there was a lot of good music we hadn't got to yet. I also hinted strongly that Chance Blaze might show up. We sold out all twenty two hundred tickets by show time. 

The energy was even higher that night. We had gotten the small flaws worked out from last night and we were almost machine like in our precision.

We decided to give each group a nod and feature them just before and after the breaks. Blue String Theory, the bluegrass band went first, doing 'Sis Draper', with me helping with claw hammer banjo.

After the break, Hard Country did 'Drink In My Hand', the Eric Church hit. It had the crowd jumping. The house roared when Freddie walked onstage.

He did his best song, then went into two western swing songs. He really sounded great, he had the voice for it.

Then he talked the audience up, introducing his newest song, to be released in the next few weeks.

"This one has potential. Oh, and by the way, it was written by Wiley Patterson, and arranged by Moira Stewart, local musicians. Hope you like it."

Thanks to Moira, it was a uptempo, feel good song.

The crowd liked it immediately.

It was a song that had a vision of life with his lover.

"I got the champange on ice/I got the ring in my hand/when it comes to loving you babe/I got a plan."

"I want the white picket fence and the minivan/two dogs and a cat/and all the kids we stand/when it comes to loving you babe/I got a plan."

"When we're eighty I want to sit on our front porch/holding your hand/ looking back with love/ glad I stuck to my plan/ when it came to loving you/ I was glad for my plan."

It was a happy, feel good song about a young man in love. They loved it.

He left the stage to cries of more, after promising to return tomorrow.

There was a local entertainment reporter in the audience, and Freddie gave him an interview after the show. He insisted Moira and I be there.

Yes, he was excited about the new song. Yes, he would be touring again in about two months. He introduced us, saying we were the writers of his song, and would probably be in his band for the tour. This was the first either of us knew about it.

Moira was quick to point out that I wrote the song, she had just helped arrange it. I countered by saying without her arranging skills it would still be a dull little ballad.

The reporter laughed and asked how long we had been married. Freddie laughed and said for as long as he had known us. We corrected him, of course. Freddie ended the interview by saying as good as the show was tonight, tomorrow would be even better, and yes, he would be there.

He grinned at us when he left, saying we would have a serious discussion soon.

The next day the front page of the entertainment section was all about the benefit, Freddie, his new song, and us. We were sold out before ten that morning. Sixty four hundred tickets for all three nights at thirty bucks a pop, not too bad. Plus, the owners kicked in all the profits from alcohol sales, we estimated a net of around thirty thousand, plus any donations we received,

made for a pretty successful event.

The broadcast students had gone above and beyond, putting together two video segments for the last night.

We played the first clip just before the second break. Mel set it up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, before we take this next break, we'd like to take a moment to remember those we have lost. Please join us in this memorial, and remember, we have volunteers willing to take any additional donations you would like to make."

"Everybody Hurts' is an REM song purportedly written for Kurt Cobain.

Freddie sang it, playing a grand piano. I was at my B3, and Moira was on guitar. As he started singing, the jumbotron started showing pictures and videos of loved ones lost to cancer. The ages ranged from a few months to upper nineties, with their names, age, and date of death.

By the second verse the tears started, and by the end, when the strings kicked in, I doubt if there was a dry eye in the house.

I didn't know if I would be able to last dry eyed, so I had on a pair of Ray Bans. I watched the video of the performance later, and you could clearly see the tears leaking from underneath. Moira had come over and sat on the bench with me while we played, and you could see her tears as well. When the song ended she hugged me fiercely, sharing comfort and compassion.

The last three images were of Kara, standing in her wedding dress, and then a split screen of Erin, a video of her twirling around in her fairy outfit, with Chip, playing his ukelele and dancing. I know, he wasn't a cancer victim, but I wanted to honor him, and it made a perfect counterpoint to Erin dancing.

When the last notes faded away, all you could hear was crying, then the applause started. The donation table stayed busy for an hour.

Sammi, Sandy, and slick hair were there, sitting at a VIP table. I sent a message that I would be there when I had a break.

Moira had agreed to help with my revenge, but she had her own ideas and got most of the girls to help her. She had her own surprises.

Red was the color of the foundation we were supporting, and in honor all the guys were wearing black slacks and red dress shirts, and all the girls had on red dresses, except Moira.

She had on a simple, knee length black dress with red sequins on the bodice. She blended in and stood out at the same time.

At the end of the next set Mel announced the second video segment, with audience support. All cancer survivors were asked to wear red to the show. We were in the girl power set and as they started on 'Walking On Sunshine' every musician and stage hand went through the crowd, pulling survivors out of their seats and onto the stage.

I had gotten Mom and Dad a table as far away from Sammi as I could, and I made a bee line for her.

Dad knew what was going to happen and practically pushed her to her feet. I pulled her onto the stage. She was alternately pulling back and laughing at the same time.

The cameras were panning around, focusing on red.

Soon the stage and the floor directly in front were crowded with red.

When the song ended, we kept everyone on stage. Mel came out and made a speech.

"Folks, look around. This is what your contributions are for. Everyone here is a survivor. Because of the treatment and medicines available now, these people will continue to be mothers, fathers, lovers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, children, and grandparents. Give them a hand."

The applause was thunderous.

As prearranged, Mel handed off the microphone off to me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is my Mother, Dottie, a survivor. It's also her birthday tomorrow, I know it's hokey, but I love her, so help me sing happy birthday to her."

Everyone was in a good mood, so the rafters resounded with the song, while the jumbotron showed a closeup of Mom, alternately trying to hide her face and fight the tears. At the end Dad kissed her on one cheek while I kissed her on the other. She said later it embarrassed her to death, but I've caught her watching the video, especially after dad passed. She would always freeze it where we were kissing her.

I lost control of my revenge on Sammi pretty quick. By now everyone was in on it and I got stuck playing along. It started during the girl power set, when Moira sang 'Passionate Kisses'.

Instead of playing she just sang. The girls from the chamber quartet had surrounded me. I wasn't paying attention until Moira walked over to where I was standing just offstage. The girls grabbed me and pushed me onstage. Moira held my hand and sang the rest of the song looking into my face, especially the part about "passionate kisses from you". The crowd thought it was part of the show and loved it, but I glanced at Sammi and could see the smoke rise. It didn't help her frame of mind when Moira leaned in and gave me a kiss. It was the first time we had touched lips, and I felt the jolt all the way to my toes.

The next set was pretty much mine. Mel came over and introduced me as the force behind the benefit. They gave me a nice round of applause.

One of the drama students got a dance teacher involved, and she showed us some simple steps. She had the horn section swaying in synchronized movement. She taught me, Freddie, Jim, Frank, and Al some simple Motown moves, emulating the Temptation and The Four Tops.

I did 'Too Proud To Beg' singing lead while the rest stayed with the choreography. It was a riot.

Moira flounced on stage with exaggerated movements, and I dropped to my knees, begging and following around. At the end of the song she gave me a big smile and kissed me. Again. I could get used to this.

Next the girls came on stage to help me with 'Shake Your Moneymaker'. I had a headset mike, and a wireless cord so I had mobility, and when I got to the verse "I got a girl and she just can't be true" I was right in front of Sammi and Sandy. I'm sure each thought I was singing about the other.

I jumped back onstage and started my slide solo.

I was playing my SG, Jenny had my EBO, and Moira had borrowed Frank's SG, so we coordinated. That seemed to mean more to women.

I tend to play with my eyes closed when I really get into it, and when I heard the crowd roar I thought I was really doing good. 

Then I opened my eyes. Every woman was onstage, with their back to the crowd, shaking their "moneymakers". I nearly fell off the stage laughing.

The next song Moira insisted on. As I've said before, I like to take songs and tweak them. "Somebody Like You', the monster hit by Adele, one of the best voices I've ever heard, became a target. I replace the piano with my B3, playing with an intensity that made the melody hypnotic, overlaying it with strings. She heard it while I wasn't aware she was there, and her keen arranging talent kicked in.

The stage went dark, and then a spotlight hit Moira, standing in front of a grand piano. Al started the song and the crowd seemed spellbound.

Just before the bridge I started playing the chords softly, and as the piano notes tapered off I started playing the melody. A second spotlight hit me behind my B3, and I sang most of the second part of the song. I don't have a lot of range, but I do have a talent of infusing emotion into my song.

As I sang I thought about Sandy, Sammi, and most of all Moira. I knew I would never have her, and the pain in my voice was real. She slowly walked over to me, and as the strings came in we did a duet on the last verse, and as the music faded she leaned over the organ pulling my head into contact with hers and holding it into place as the spotlight faded.

If you're an entertainer, there are two ways to know you have absolute control over the crowd. One is when they're so loud you can't hear yourself think. The other is when they go absolutely silent.

You could have heard a pin drop. It was like everyone was holding their breath. A few seconds later a sob broke the silence, and the applause became thunderous in intensity.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 04



The lights came back on and Moira, Al, and I took a bow, waving our thanks to the quartet. Moira had a death grip on my hand. I made no effort to remove it.

.................................................

Sammi looked like she was about to charge the stage.

I took a microphone and addressed the crowd. 

"Now that we've managed to depress you, let's try for something totally different. Fred-I mean Chance, could you come back onstage?"

He was surprised, having done all the things we had rehearsed. I caught him singing 'Pumped Up Kick' by Foster The People, and gave him hell. He just grinned.

"Just because I sing country doesn't mean I listen to it all the time. I might be pulling a Conway Twitty, most of the songs he did towards the end of his career were reworked rock songs."

"Besides, it has a really good bass line, doesn't it?"

He was right, it did have a good bass line.

We had rehearsed until we felt comfortable in anticipation.

Moira dragged him onstage while I started the song. Mel was walking around the stage doing vocal effects, and we more or less shoved the mike in his hands.

At first the crowd laughed, but he did a really good job, and the laughter stopped. When it came to the whistling part, Moira had tweaked it, with three flutes and the strings. We had even learned a little dance that Moira and I did while we bracketed him. He loved it.

It was getting time for me to finish my set, so I started my last song, dedicating it to Sammi.

'The Thrill Is Gone by BB King. We gave it the full treatment, horns and strings. I was wireless again, so I stood right in front of her while I sang. At first she was angry, but as I looked from her to Gary, she seemed to shrink. I think she got the message. By now even the crowd could figure out what was going on.

I was going to leave the stage but once again lost control. I had written a song and showed it to Moira. Once again she went in a different, better direction with it. She brought stools out and once again the spotlight was on us. She demanded I do the song, so I did.

'How Could You Love Me?' was written right after I found out Sammi was screwing Gary.

It was a song about heartbreak and betrayal, short at just two minutes and twenty seconds.

I was on a stool in front, and just behind me was Moira with my ES 125. It was perfect for jazz, and she did it in a jazzy, finger picking style.

The only other accompaniment were the horn players, just snapping their fingers in time.

As I sang the last verse I looked right into her eyes.

You broke my heart/baby that's a fact/love's all gone/and it ain't coming back.

You say that you love me/I know it's a lie/ cause how could you love me/how could you love me/ ooh how could you love me/and sleep with that guy.

I stood up and Moira handed me my favorite guitar. It's a 1958 Harmony Stratatone, an almost exact copy of the Les Paul Jr so popular at the time. It was the least valuable of any I owned, just seven to nine hundred, but the sound was distinct, especially for slide work. I gave five bucks for it at a yard sale. Someone had taken a paintbrush to it when the original finish became 

worn. It took me two months to restore it.

................................................

I walked over to the table while everyone else was setting up.

"I know about you and Gary. Why didn't you tell me and just move on? It would have hurt me but I would have respected you. Now, not so much."

"We moved everything that I knew was yours to Sandy's apartment. If I missed anything feel free to come and get it. You'll have to call, the locks are changed."

"Just for the record, the kisses you saw tonight was the only time our lips touched. She's still married, and I won't pursue her. And just so you know, almost all the times I hung out with her were while you were at work or we were working. I didn't take any time away from us. Can you say the same?"

"Still, you kept the house clean and as far as I know never brought him home. I think at one time you actually loved me. I've paid three month's rent, and I found you a really good used Camry, it looks a lot like your old one. If you want it, I'll cosign, but I won't give you any money."

I looked over at Gary.

"As for you, you're a low life motherfucker. You knew she was engaged, why didn't you leave her alone? Need another notch in your belt that bad?"

"Wonder what corporate would say about your seduction of someone who works under you? Think they could stand the publicity?"

He boiled over at the last statement.

"You son of a bitch! I'm gonna kick your ass!"

The dumbass actually swung.

I flipped my guitar and he slammed into it hard. If you look at the back in just the right light, you can see three little dimples. He broke two knuckles. He pulled back in pain, and I should have left him alone. But he was a wide open target, so I slammed the guitar into his nose, breaking it. Damn, I had to retune.

I heard later he tried to press charges, but the whole thing was taped from four different angles, and it was ruled self defense. It helped that most of the altercation was caught on audio.

Sammi stood through most of this with her mouth hanging open, and just as she was about to say something Moira and the girls dragged me back to the stage. Just then the opening notes of 'Fuck You' by Celo Green, rang out. Mel sang it.

A spot light stayed on their table, and every time they came to the chorus, I swear most everyone in the building sang along, just about evenly divided between singing "Forget you" and "fuck you". They grabbed Gary and fled the building.

When it was over I grabbed a mike.

"Well, that was interesting. Time for a break."

Backstage I jumped Moira. She didn't seem at all repentant.

"Whose idea was that?"

She just grinned. "Everyone's, actually."

What could I say?

................................................

The final set. Damn, this had been a lot of fun.

We saved some crowd favorites from the first two nights, and added some new ones.

'Tell Momma', an Etta James song. Most of us were wireless and we followed Jenny, who was singing lead, up and down the aisles.

We followed that with our trademark, "Let It Rock', and everyone was screaming "slide, slide" so during her last solo I took off. Moira was waiting for me.

She usually wore jeans. When she did wear a dress or a skirt, she had thick black tights on. When she stepped up on me and I saw she had on thigh highs and a green silk thong, I did something I've never done as a professional. I stopped playing. She hopped off and grabbed my shirtfront, hauling me up. Then she gave me the most sensual kiss I've ever had. Then she whispered in my ear.

"My divorce was final Tuesday."

Then she dropped me and sashayed off.



Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 05



This one and another chapter should finish. Thanks for staying with me. I'm tired of making apologies for my lack of consistency, but my computer crashed and it took this long to come up with the money to get another. Can't blame it on the dog this time.

................................................

I lay in the floor in a daze. Did she really say what I thought she did?

Freddie brought me back to reality by shaking me.

"Wiley, WILEY! Are you okay?"

"Huh? I mean yeah, I'm all right,"

"Well get up then, get squared away. Everybody is getting ready for the last number."

I got up, swapping my bass for my Stratatone. This song had a good slide lead in it. I looked around but couldn't see Moira anywhere, so I took my place.

The three drummers led us off. 'Twisting The Night Away' was an old Sam Cooke song. When I was about twelve, just when I was getting familiar with a guitar, my Mom and Dad dragged me to a Rod Stewart concert. They were big fans and had a lot of his work, including when he fronted the Faces.

They pretty much had everything except his disco stuff, Dad felt he sold out and stopped listening to him for years. When Rod came out and apologized for his disco era Dad forgave him.

Even to a twelve year old the music wasn't half bad, He was younger and still had his voice.

His finisher was 'Twisting The night Away', and it blew the crowd away.

When we were trying to find a closer, I thought of it and pulled it up in the computer, finding a clip from the right era. Everyone saw the potential. Old time rock and roll, using every musician except the strings, and they could be back up singers.

I could do a fair Rod Stewart, so I sang the first verse before stepping back to turn my slide loose. Freddie sang the second, then Frank sang the third. We went into the long break, featuring the horns, particularly saxophone.

A new spotlight came on, and there was Moira and all the girls, clustered around two mikes, singing away. We did the last verse, and came to a thunderous finish. The lights went off, and there were call of thanks and goodnight.

We stood in the dark for a full two minutes. People started to leave, and then the drums started up and we redid the last verse. When the vocals were over we just jammed while Mel came on and introduced every musician that shared the stage. Freddie got the most applause, followed by Moira, and then me. Musically it was the best night of my life.

.................................................

Ever been physically exhausted while at the same time mentally exhilarated? That was us afterwards.

Freddie came to me. 

"Man! What a show. Playing with you guys is never dull, but I'm beat. I'll call you Monday, we've got things to talk about."

I looked, but Moira was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy said she left right after the show, and promised to call Monday. Sammi left word she would like to talk to me also, if I had some free time Monday.

I better rest tomorrow, Monday was gonna be really busy.

I had lunch with Mom and Dad Sunday. As usual Mom talked and we listened. If Dad had something important to say he would, but if not he would let Dottie talk. She gently chewed me out over my failed love life. Then she said better days were ahead for me, she can feel it.

I hope so, and she was usually right.

..................................................

I met Freddie Monday morning at my studio. He was bubbling over, and had brought his manager and producer with him.

The manager just smiled while the producer raved about the show. He went on and on about chemistry and quality. I knew he was leading up to something so I let him ramble. He finally wound down.

Freddie took over.

"This isn't a strictly social visit, Wiley. I'll get right to the point. How committed is your band in the near future?"

Our agency handled the bookings, but I had final say. There are some places that for various reasons I refuse to play at. Some were dives, some were run by people who didn't like to pay on time, and some I just didn't like period.

"We're three weeks out that I know of. I'm supposed to call this afternoon and confirm about another three weeks' worth, bu that's tentative right now."

The manager stepped in.

"What we'd like to do is hire you to work on Freds' new album, as well as be his backup band on his next tour. We've got eight dates we have to honor as a warmup act, but we're anticipating doing a headline tour after that. We'll go into details later, but we'll pay well and it could be a tremendous opportunity for you and your band."

Wow. Double wow.

Fred broke in to try and seal the deal.

"By your band, we don't mean Half Irish. We want the Smilin' Wiley Orchestra, at least most of it.

The crowd really seemed to like the western swing, and we're thinking about doing a tribute to Bob Wills and some of the other pioneers. It won't be just me singing, either. I've already got a few more artists interested in doing a song or at least a cameo. This could be big, Wiley, big."

"And we don't want you as just a musician, we want you to be musical director for the project, and I'm sure you'll bring Moira in to help with the arranging. Think about it for a few days and get back to us. Now, we need to have a serious discussion."

This wasn't a serious discussion already? I didn't know what to expect.

Apparently it was time for the producer to speak.

"I've been doing this for twenty five years. In that time, if you don't have an 'ear', you're not very successful. And if I didn't have that 'ear' I would have been gone a long time ago."

"I guarantee you 'I Got A Plan' will be Freddie's breakout record. Platinum, minimum. And your song Saturday, 'How Could You Love Me', will probably perform just as well."

"As a matter of fact, we want to record and release it as soon as possible before the tour.

I want it done just like you did it Saturday night, down to your partner playing."

"And one more thing. Fred tells me you have a whole file cabinet full of songs. I want first choice at them. If it won't fit Freddie, well, I produce a lot of acts. If I can't find anyone in house to do a song you've given me, I have lots of friends that do what I do. One of them will have the right artist for the song. I'm willing to pay a very generous retainer. Think about all we've said and try to get back to us by Friday."

He paused for just a second.

"While you're thinking, let's work on "How Could You Love Me'. I'd like to have the video out in two weeks."

Two weeks? The music business never moves that fast.

I wouldn't commit to anything until I talked to Moira and Jimmy. If they came on board we would recruit the rest later. 

I called Jimmy and had him get Moira and come over. It was a lot for them to digest. Instead of bars we would be playing to thousands on a regular basis. True, we wouldn't be the focus, but we would be up there none the less. I was single. Moira was now single, so we weren't leaving anyone behind.

Jimmy had to sell it to Crystal. It was only eight dates to start with, but we had to record and rehearse, and we couldn't do it in our hometown. They had four kids not counting the one on the way.

Mom, bless her heart, volunteered to help her. She said she would use his kids as practice for her own grandchildren. We would be back from tour two months before the due date. They really needed the money and it was a great opportunity, so she came on board.

After Jimmy left that Monday, Moira and I had our first serious talk.

I started it.

"You know why Sammi and I split up, but tell me what happened to your marriage."

She collected herself, looking inward.

"We were desperately in love. He was smart, handsome, and on his way to being very successful.

We had a plan. Two kids at least. I was going to be a homemaker, at least until they got older."

"Erin was a joy. A quiet, happy baby. We wanted to space them apart, and we decided to wait at least three years before we had another."

"Then his business took off. He started traveling more and more."

"When Erin got sick, my whole world collapsed. Because he was gone so often, I had to handle everything myself. When I finally asked him to cut back and help, he agreed. For about two months he stayed close to home. But, as Erin got worse he started traveling more. I think he couldn't face the fact that she was dying."

"At the same time, he was insisting we keep to the schedule we had agreed on and have another child."

You could see the pain on her face.

"I couldn't, Wiley, I just couldn't. I was spending every hour with Erin, grieving her impending death, and I just wasn't up to getting pregnant. I think I was afraid if I had another there was a chance that child would get sick too."

"I think it was the beginning of the end for us. After Erin passed I just went through the motions for awhile. I refused to go off the pill. I was just too afraid."

"After that we just started drifting apart. We stayed intimate for awhile, but when he saw I wasn't going to get pregnant he pretty much lost interest. We've worked together for a little over a year and I hadn't shared his bed for about six months prior."

"Finally, three months ago, he flew home, asking him to meet him at the airport."

"When we got home he said the infamous words-we need to talk. He had fallen out of love with me, and had met someone. In fact, she was three months pregnant. He wanted a divorce."

"I wanted to feel angry, or betrayed, but all I felt was relief. I still loved him, but not like a wife should love her husband."

"We were very amicable, and he was far more generous than he needed to be. I got the house and enough money to see me living comfortable for the rest of my life. He got to move on and marry his girlfriend. I didn't know it, but he had changed his legal address to Reno. You can apply for a divorce after six weeks and get it almost immediately."

She moved around restlessly, touching my guitars, taking down my Martin and strumming it for a minute before putting it back.

She stopped moving and sat on a stool she had moved so she could be close and watch my reactions.

"And now the million dollar question. What to do about us. You know I have feelings for you, and I feel the same from you. It was easy when you were engaged and I was married, we could look but not touch. What happens now?"

I collected my thoughts. What I said now could determine the rest of my life.

"Moira, we're friends, friends for a year. I'm glad. With Sandy and Sammi I just jumped right into love. We both know how that worked out."

"Now, without any pressure, I've gotten to know you pretty well. I know you hate bigoted people, have very little tolerance for rudeness, and love children. I know you are afraid of snakes and thunderstorms. You stick out your tongue slightly when you're concentrating, and you love to wear black."

"You know you're pretty but you don't seem to be vain. You're fiercely loyal to family and friends."

"Most importantly to me, you seem to have an unending capacity for love. I want that love very badly."

"Here is what I would like. We're both coming out of flawed relationships. I want to go slow, build on our friendship. In the end, I want you to love me as much as I think I'm going to love you. Does that sound acceptable?"

She started to answer when I held up my hand.

"I want just one more thing. If it doesn't work out, if you find you're interested in someone else, tell me up front and walk away. I'll make the same promise to you."

She sat on the stool, staring into my face for a minute or so. Then she grinned.

"I find your proposal acceptable Mr. Patterson. I'd like to shake on it as friends."

She held out her hand and I took it. She didn't let go and pulled me to her unexpectedly, planting her lips on mine and giving me a very enjoyable kiss.

She pulled back, laughing.

"I wanted to shake as friends, but kiss as the lovers we're on our way to becoming. Now, fill me in on the details of our new career."

................................................

I had my conversation with Sandy and Sammi at the bar where we first met. After greeting my old friends we got a booth. It was early on a Monday evening so very few people were around.

Sandy started first.

"God Wiley, I'm so sorry for the way I treated you. I wish I could take it back but I can't. Mom was dying, I was vulnerable, and he was very good at seduction. We never had a chance, you and I. I know it's a lot to ask, if you and Sammi are really through, could we go out sometimes?"

The look Sammi gave her was murderous. I'm pretty sure she didn't expect this. I cut in before she could say anything.

"I don't think so, Sandy. Too much history. I don't think I could go back down that road."

She nodded, sadly. I think she expected my response.

Sammi was passionate, eloquent, outlining why we should try again. She didn't take my traveling well, she was jealous of Moira or girls I could meet while out of town. She really did love me.

I just nodded.

"Tell me Sammi, if we got together again, what would change? I'd still travel. In fact I've been offered a job that will have me traveling all over the country, not just a few towns over. I'll even be out of the country for two weeks. Are you telling me you could handle that?"

She was nodding vigorously.

"Yes, yes I can. I'll be stronger, you'll see."

"I don't think so. You were cheating on me before I met Moira, so that argument won't fly. But tell me, would you sign a prenuptial agreement, excluding everything except what we would accumulate together?"

Her eyes widened and she hesitated before saying she would, money meant nothing.

"Really? Then explain this to me."

I played a copy of the tape I had for them. Sammi slumped afterwards, knowing she was finished.

I felt a little pity on her.

"I'm sorry Sammi, but the fact is even if we could get past this, I'm just not in love with you anymore. I hope both you girls find somebody, I'm going to try to, sometime down the line."

They were both sniffling when I left, but didn't seem the least bit interested in consoling each other.

.................................................

In the end, The Smilin" Wiley Orchestra consisted of me, Moira, Jim, Al, all four guys from Horns For Hire, Frank and Amber from Hard Country. one of the violinists from the chamber quartet, and two new members. 

Celtic Curry happened when an Irish engineer meets an Indian widow with two small girls while on a job in India, marries her and emigrates to the U.S. The girls embraced the Celtic music their stepdad exposed them to, and started a group with the younger brother that was a result of that union. The brother was following in Dad's footsteps and going off to college to be an engineer. One of the older sisters was getting married, so I got Sarah. Her real name wasn't Sarah but was hard to pronounce, so she chose one people could handle.

Jenny from Jenny/Ginny/Jen was at loose ends since her band dissolved, and was a perfect fit.

The orchestra had four women, one black, one Indian, and two white. Ten guys, if you count Freddie,three black, six white, one Asian. It was the least likely country band I had ever seen.

Of the fourteen of us, nine could play multiple instruments, so if we needed a sound, we could produce it.

Rehearsals were grueling but fun. I pretty much set the guidelines, so anybody could make a suggestion and it would be considered, but the eventual decision would be made by me and Moira, with input from Freddie. It worked.

I was wrong about the speed of the music business, or perhaps the ability of his producer, because 'How Could You Love Me' was recorded in four days, and the video was finished in one.

Of course, when all you need is two stools on a sound stage, and three spotlights, it is pretty easy. Van Halen spent six hundred fifty dollars filming the video for 'Jump', basically just taking turns filming each other jump around. They probably spent more than that on ours, but not a whole lot more.

He was supposed to lip sync and Moiras' guitar wasn't supposed to be on, but it came out more realistic to just let them sing and play.

He was in a spotlight dead center, and she was sitting just behind him to the left. I was in it.

I was one of the guys snapping in time. There was a spotlight on our hands and forearms, the other three guys were stagehands. Every thing was totally dark except the area under spotlight.

Moira insisted I be there because I was the writer. I was actually co-writer, and published the song in both our names. I wrote the basic lyrics, Moira wrote the music and suggested a few lyric changes that I agreed bettered the song.

It eventually peaked at number three, his highest charting to date.

'I Got A Plan' was huge. Nine weeks at number one, in the top twenty for thirty one total.

The man behind the video was a certified genius.

It started out in a small cafe for the proposal, with Freddie and an attractive actress. It switched to an empty lot where a house literally sprang from the ground. It was a modular house, moved to the site and assembled. It took five days, and that was just rushing a shell up.

While he was singing about the white picket fence it appeared in sections, and when he got to the line about two dogs, a cat, and all the kids they could stand, first the dogs and cat appeared on the porch. followed by two boys and a small girl, each holding a pet.

The scene changed and the house was surrounded by mature bushes and trees, with two old people sitting in a porch swing holding hands while the sun set behind them. It was Freddie and the woman, heavily made up. 

It won awards.

................................................

We were in the big time, but we weren't big time. With the band being so large we had to stay two to a room.

Imagine the surprise when Moira and I found out we were room mates. We asked Freddie about it and he seemed surprised.

"Frank and Amber are married so obviously they're sharing a room. Sarah and Jenny aren't romantically entangled with anyone I know of, so they share a room. You two are obviously together so we--"

He stopped, and started laughing. 

"You mean you're not, that is to say you haven't, I mean seriously, you two aren't sleeping with each other? Why? You're glued at the hip every time I see you. I'll ask one of you a question and the other answers. If you want, I can switch Moira to Jimmy, and you can split a room with Al. You know he's gay, right?"

Before I could answer Moira decided the issue for me.

"I don't want Wiley to be tempted to change teams. I've got my own plans for him. The room  assignments will be fine just the way they are.

Come on, honey, let's go look at our room."

We had started out slowly, as we agreed. We went on real dates. It was kind of odd. We rehearsed and arranged for ten or more hours a day, then went home to the same house, went into separate rooms, got ready, and then went out.

We had to move to Nashville for the rehearsals, so we rented a four bedroom on a monthly basis. It was Jim, Al, Moira, and me. It was almost as cheap and a lot more comfortable than a motel room. We took turns cooking until we found Al couldn't boil water. We all tried to teach him but it just didn't take.

Jim and Al would go home about every other weekend so they could see their loved ones.

Jim and Moira's parents had retired to Ireland, so she had no one to visit. Every other weekend we had the house to ourselves.

We explored. Found out on top of other things Moira was afraid of caves. Went to the home of Andrew Jackson. Hit a few of the well known bars that hosted open mike night. No one knew who we were so we did a few songs just for fun.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 05



One Saturday Freddie got us tickets to the Grand Ole Opry. It was great. Some of the legends were there, along with established acts, and talented newcomers. Freddie had played there three times.

We talked, we held hands, we kissed, sometimes pretty intensely, but we slept in separate rooms.

I think both of us wanted to be really sure.

I did insist we go home once a month. We stayed in my house and spent most of time with my parents. Dottie loved her. She would smile at me when Moira wasn't looking, and the first visit we had she slipped a small note in my pocket.

"Read it when you're alone." 

It was three words. "She's the one."

I still have it.

.................................................

In a bar band, you usually play a place three or four nights in a row, so the pace is pretty slow. Get there, set your equipment. Leave the big stuff and secure the instruments at night, and you were set.

In a tour band, you usually arrive in town the day before, sometimes the day of, the show. Your crew sets you up, you come onstage, fine tune your instruments, and play. Then you hang around backstage or go back to your room.

When the show is over, your crew tears it down, packs it up, and the next day you do the whole thing in another town. After awhile it stopped being an adventure, and unless you were on stage it was pretty boring.

It was getting harder and harder to sleep in the same room. At first it was pajamas, but it gradually changed to silk gowns and shorty pajama sets. There was always a steamy goodnight kiss. The feel of her firm body under those gowns didn't help me sleep well. I took a lot of cold showers and used a lot of hand lotion.

It all came to a head in Oklahoma City, the next to last stop as a warmup. They had tornado warnings out, and that's a big deal in Oklahoma.

The show was over, and we had just gotten to bed when there was an enormous flash of lightning followed by a deafening boom of thunder. I was mostly asleep when Moira dove into my bed, scooting under the covers and hugging me tightly.

"Did you see that?" 

She sounded like a little girl.

I put my arms around her and held her.

"Relax honey, it's just a storm. We'll be fine."

But we weren't. The wind was blowing so hard you could feel the building sway, and we were seventeen stories up. She had flipped on the TV, and there were reports of multiple tornadoes in the immediate area. Moira started to cry.

I had read somewhere the safest place to be in a tornado was the smallest room in your house, because the smaller it was, the more structurally stable it would be. I got her up and carried all the blankets into the bathroom, putting them into the tub. Thankfully, it was a big tub.

I snuggled us down and wrapped her in my arms.

"Hush now, I won't let anything happen to you. I have too many plans for you."

I gave her a big kiss and she returned it. I was rubbing my hands over her back, her smooth arms, and the sides of the body under the satin gown she was wearing. After a couple of minutes she pulled back and hugged me tighter, murmuring into my chest.

"What kind of plans?" It was spoken in a flirty voice, but had undertones of seriousness.

I had stopped caressing her, and she took my hands and started moving them again. I was more than willing to continue.

"Sure you want to hear them?" I tried to keep it light, while at the same time trying to force love through my hands and voice straight into her heart. She nodded into my chest.

"I plan on loving you for the rest of your life. I plan on making your life so happy you can't wait to see me or hear my voice, and never being out of arms reach for the rest of your life."

I felt the trickle of tears slide down my chest. I lifted her face up until we were nose to nose.

We felt the building lurch and she flinched and burrowed deeper into my embrace.

"Most of all, when this night is over, I plan on you wearing the ring I've been carrying around in my pocket for the last two months. Marry me, Moira, make us complete."

She was so surprised she forgot to be scared.

"Are you sure?"

Not the answer I wanted.

"Well, since you put it like that, let me think about it for a few more years. I'll get back to you."

I had forgotten how large the hands were on that small body. She started pounding on my chest. 

" Out, out, get out of the tub! I want my ring, and I want right now! Move your ass."

"But honey, what about the storm?"

"Fuck that storm! Ring! Now! Move!"

I went back into the bedroom and got the ring out of the suitcase I had hidden it in. I messed with her head a little.

"Damn, I could have sworn I put it in the dresser. maybe it's in my jeans, no, no, maybe it's in my suitcase."

She was standing in the door of the bathroom, literally hopping from one foot to the other,flinching every time she saw it lightning. I started feeling a little guilty so I held the box up for her to see.

"Ah, found it."

She grabbed me at the door and dragged me back to the tub. After we had settled in with her more or less on top of me. She tilted her head back and kissed my cheek.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to give me my ring?"

"No, it's not yours yet."

"What do you mean it's not mine yet? Why not?"

"Because I've haven't heard an answer yet. All I've heard is 'I want my ring'. That's not an answer."

She wriggled around until we were face to face.

"Ask me again. All this talk made me forget the question."

'Well in this case I can't get down on one knee, but Moira O'Sullivan(she had taken her maiden name back after the divorce), will you marry me?"

"OH, that question. I'd like to think about it for awhile, but since that pretty much all I've thought about for the last four months, I believe I can make an informed decision."

"Yes, Wiley Patterson, I would love to marry you.

Now give me that ring, and I mean right this second."

So we got engaged in a bathtub on the seventeenth

floor of a hotel in Oklahoma City right in the middle of an F2 tornado.

It wasn't candle light around a king size bed, but we made do.

I slid the soft gown over her head, it was the only garment I had to remove. Her breasts were small, firm, and were capped by the most sensitive nipples I had ever encountered. She told me later they were so sensitive that she would sometimes have small orgasms when Erin fed.

I didn't get to explore her fully that night, but I did learn she was a true redhead, reaffirmed but her soft, neatly trimmed bush. I also learned the trips we made to the gym in various cities had paid off with a nice firm butt.

She loved being nibbled and licked. When I ran my tongue from just below the back of her knees to the tops of her thighs it sounded like she was purring.

I also found her hands to have a lot more talent than guitar playing, and her mouth could do more than sing.

We were cuddled in exhaustion when she noticed the storm had passed, but we were happy where we were. 

.............................................

We were late getting to breakfast. Everyone stopped eating and stared.

Cheers broke out. Nikki, our violin player, was dancing around, singing.

"I won, I won! Pay up, suckers."

We kind of stood there, with the deer in the headlights look, before Moira asked what she was talking about.

Jimmy was grinning.

"The 'When are they finally gonna do it' pool. I

thought it wouldn't happen this soon, you guys are kind of slow sometimes. On the bright side, it looks like I win the engagement pool."

All the girls immediately went into full marriage mode, and dragged her off to admire the ring and start talking about wedding plans.

We gave our last performance as a warmup band the next night and went home. The headliner wasn't sorry to see us go, we kind of tore the crowd up. Papers and magazines were interviewing Freddie more and more, and he gave a lot of credit to us.

By then he had released 'Walking After Midnight' and it became his third top ten hit in just seven months. He was suddenly the 'hot' act in country music. and his management team was already putting together his first headliner tour.

................................................

We all went home for two weeks. Moira and Dottie made and remade wedding plans. When the smoke cleared, it was to be an outdoor wedding, in the little state park I was so fond of. You could rent an area for group events that included a large pavilion. We tried to keep it small.

I invited my shrink and her wife, my lawyer and a few more of my old college friends. Moira had a few close friends she used as bridesmaids, and the balance of attendees were somehow music related. I did invite my favorite nurse and a few more from the hospital.

Jimmy was my best man. Freddie, Al, Frank, and the rest of the men in our band were ushers. Beside her old friends, Sarah, Amber, Jenny, and Nikki were also bridesmaids. Dottie was matron of honor, testament to how quickly they bonded, and my dad gave her away. Her mother was ill and they couldn't make the flight, but we promised part of our honeymoon would be spent in Ireland with them. 

People were amazed we were getting married so quickly. The truth of the matter was Moira got pregnant the first night we made love.  

She hadn't been with a man in a long time so she went off the pill. We were both so excited protection never entered our mind.

It was kind of funny. The first serious discussion we had after getting engaged was about children. I was almost thirty two, and she was almost thirty five. We knew the older we were the more dangerous it was for her to get pregnant, and we both were hesitant. I wanted kids, and Moira said she was ready to be a mom again. We agreed that after our first year we would seriously look at adoption, at least two. Looked like the first one was going to be homemade.

The whole band played for us before the regular wedding band we hired played. Love songs, sung by Freddie and Jenny. Because Freddie was getting so popular we even had a few reporters show up. They were polite, though, and even attended the reception.

We ended up in a few fan magazines, background to Freddie being interviewed, and we got some really nice additional wedding photos out of it.

................................................

We spent two weeks in Ireland with her folks. It was a blast. Her parents were nice, and the small town they lived in treated us like celebrities.

That was probably due to her mother bragging about the country music star Moira was becoming.

It seems American country music had a big following, and the video of 'How Could You Love Me' was very popular. A local TV morning show even had us on, introducing us as "The up and coming music star and home town girl Moira Patterson, and her husband." It embarrassed Moira to death but it was all I could do to keep from laughing as they gushed over her. We even went to the local pub a few times with her folks and played with the house band.

..............................................

When we got back home we had to go right to work.

With Freddie, I had picked out the songs for his western swing tribute album. Three Bob Wills tunes, a couple from Milton Brown, a great Mexican polka 'Jessie' from the Texas Wanderers, and two more from lesser known groups. Freddie wanted an original, and by then he was convinced I could write anything on demand.

I came up with 'Moonlight In Tennessee', a slow waltz. Freddie actually helped, along with Moira, and of course she did the arranging.

Most of the band had gone back home while Freddie did personal appearances and the talk show circuit, so we laid most of the instrumental tracks down at my little studio. I took some of my songwriting money and expanded it.

Finally, we went back to Tennessee to add the vocals and polish it up. We spent most afternoons rehearsing to get the live sound tight, and many of the evenings on the record. I was very protective of Moira, but she would laugh and say she was fine, she wasn't far enough along to worry about anything but morning sickness. I still kept a close eye on her.

Finally it was done, and we took a short vacation before starting the tour.

................................................

When we first came back to Tennessee I was pleased to hear from an old friend. It was the nurse I had grown close to while Kara was dying.

"Wiley honey, how are you? Dottie gave me your number, I hope you don't mind. I hear you finally got married, congratulations. Yes, we're all fine, thanks for asking. We live here now, my husband and I work at St. Judes'."

"Remember how you used to come and sing for the kids? We get all kinds of entertainers here, but most are just here for a photo op. What I wouldn't give to see you come through the door with your guitar."

She rambled on for awhile, and after inviting us out to their house hung up.

We did go to see them. Her kids were all grown, two were nurses, one was a doctor. It was a pleasant evening, and as we drove home Moira was pensive. I asked her and she said she hoped we would be as in love when we got their age. I kissed her and told her to ask me that again in about forty years.

A few days later she asked me, out of the blue, if I missed going to the hospital to play for the kids.

"Yes I do. It was a big part of my life for a long time, you know. What we're doing, what we've become, it's very satisfying. But it wouldn't make the least bit of difference to those kids if Elvis himself came to see them if he could make them smile for a few minutes, and give them a bright spot to remember in their normally gray lives."

I didn't think anymore about it until three days later when she handed me a package.

"What's this?"

"It's your minstrel suit, I got your Mom to ship it up. I talked to Cora[the nurse], and she said come anytime. So, when are we going?"

Damn, I wish I could love this woman even more.

We set it up for a Thursday, simply because it was my favorite day of the week. I surprised Moira by handing her a package.

"What's this?"

"It's your costume. You don't think I'm going around in tights while you wear jeans, it would spoil the effect."

It was a dress, green satin. The skirt was layered to look like leaves, while the top was form fitting and had one shoulder bare. There were matching tights, and silver slippers with little bells. Even with her three and a half month bump, she was so beautiful it made my eyes water.

"What am I?"

"Silly girl, you're a genuine fairy, come all the way from Ireland to spread cheer and give comfort."

She twirled before the mirror. With her red hair, green eyes, and slightly pointed ears, she looked like she had just stepped off the pages of a story book.

We got off the elevator and Cora was standing there with a huge smile.

"Come on! I promised these people a treat."

She showed us a lounge we could change in, chattering the whole way.

"Wiley, remember when you were fourteen and I told you some day I would be listening to your songs on the radio? This is one time in my life when I can take great joy in saying I told you so."

We changed. I looked at her and realized that for the rest of my life I would be standing in the shadow of her beauty. And I was more than okay with that.

We carried our gear to the ward day room. Heads turned as we passed.

The kids stopped chattering when we came in. They

didn't know quite what to make of us. Cora made the introductions. 

"Kids, remember the minstrel we read about in the storybook yesterday? Well, this a real live, genuine minstrel, and he brought a special friend all the way from Ireland. This is Moira, queen of the fairies."

Wow, now she was royalty.

We played the simple songs, the silly songs, the songs they liked. They liked me, but they flocked to her, touching shyly, almost in awe. she patted hands and hugged everyone. Occasionally I would see tears in her eyes and knew she was thinking of Erin.

One little girl, maybe three or four, sat quietly in a corner. She would smile occasionally, but never joined in. We took a short break and Moira asked Cora about her. We knew from experience the bald head was a bad sign.

"That's April. She's here all alone. Her father is a single parent and has two more at home. Because he has to support the other two and there is no other relatives, he has to leave her alone for extended periods of time. It's killing both of them."

She asked what the father's name was, and told me to get my mandolin.

She walked up to the little girl.

"April, you know I'm a fairy, right? The Queen, actually."

She nodded her head, shyly.

"One of the advantages of being the queen of the fairies is the ability to read thoughts from a long distance. I've been getting a message from your father, Tim."

Her eyes got wide at the mention of his name.

She reached down and stood her up.

"You have to stand for this message. Now, hold your arms out."

Moira held her arms out wide and April did the same.

"Your dad says to tell you he misses you terribly, and he loves you this much."

She held her arms out even wider.

I knew instantly where this was going, so when she started singing I was right there with the mandolin.

"I love you this much/my heart melts at your touch/and I'll be strong enough, 'cause I love you this much."

She had modified the lyrics a little to fit the occasion, but it sounded just as good. 

It was our lullaby, we used to sing it to each other almost every night we were on tour.

She took her hand and put it in the boy standing beside her and almost hypnotically he reached for the child beside him. Soon everyone in the room, kids, doctors, parents, were holding each others' hands as widely as they could.

By the time she had done all five verses, most had tears in their eyes, one, a doctor in his late fifties, was crying openly. He said later he was thinking of his wife, who had just passed.

Moira had been twirling slowly, as as the last chords lingered she knelt and picked up April, who was crying, well, like the baby she was.

"Your Daddy loves you April, be strong for him."

She nodded, and then buried her head in her shoulder and tried to hug her harder. 

.................................................

The spell was broken by a voice at the door.

"What's all this? I didn't know there was another act here. Does this mean I don't have to do this, Bob?"

It was Freddie's producer, along with one of his other clients, a young woman with a minor hit who he was thinking about producing. He was there as a favor to her manager. 

She seemed indifferent, and a little stoned. I could tell from the look on Bobs' face her chances of working with him were getting slimmer.

He told her to go on home, and one of the agents' asssistants stayed to try doing damage control.

He followed us as we said our goodbyes. It took awhile, seems everyone wanted to thank us, hug us, I even got a kiss or two. Cora made us promise on pain of death to return soon.

As soon as we got changed Bob charged into the room.

"I suppose that was one of yours?"

I only nodded.

"I've got the perfect singer, she's---"

"No, the only one who gets to sing this is Moira. No one else, don't bother. If she wants to record it she will, otherwise it stays a private lullaby."

Both looked at me with stunned faces.

Bob tried to bluster.

"We agreed, I get first choice, remember?"

"No, you offered me a retainer but I didn't take it."

"Most songs it won't matter, but some are special to me, and I'll choose who sings it. No discussion."

And that's how Faerie was born.



Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 06



The last chapter. As promised, I dedicate this to my biggest fan, Anonymous.

................................................


After Bob saw I wasn't giving the song to anyone else, he begged to produce it.

"This one is bigger than anything else you've written. When did you come up with this one?"

Moira was laughing.

"When he was twelve."

"What? You've been writing songs of this quality since you were twelve? Please tell me you've got a twenty year stockpile just like it."

By now I was grinning.

"Oh, I may have one or two lying around."

He went into full business mode.

"Have you got enough to fill an album? Are you gonna do it as a duo or is it just gonna be Moira?

When can we start?"

"Yes, I don't know, and it depends. She's going to be almost eight months along before Freddies' tour ends. I WILL NOT put too much strain on her.

We'll talk it over and let you know. We would love for you to produce it, but I want Mel to engineer it. He did the instrumental tracks for his album and I trust him."

After he left I asked Moira what she thought.

"I don't know. We're having fun just being in the band. I don't know how far this will go, I'm sure it'll be a hit. Do you want to be a star?"

"Oh no. If we do this, you'll be the star. You'll be singing it, you're beautiful, and the spotlight will be on you. Are you up for it?"

She absently rubbed her tummy.

"I think so. It's like a teenage fantasy come true. As long as we don't endanger our son, I'd like to give it a try."

Yes, it was as boy.

I was secretly pleased that she would get a chance to shine. I was already reviewing songs in my head.

We recorded "Erins' Song' over the next week. I changed the title because I didn't want any allegations for copyright infringement from the book, though I did acknowledge as partial inspiration for the song.

It wasn't a duo. It was Moira, me, Jimmy, Al, and Jenny. The name was chosen by me, and I thought the old English spelling suited it better.

We got the genius who did Freddies' videos to work with us on ours. He heard Bob describe the scene at the hospital, and ran with it.

We filmed it at St. Judes', with permission, and it started out in the day room where we first sang it. Moira was in her fairy outfit, I was dressed as a minstrel. She picked up April as she sang and had her open her arms. Soon all the children were joined by the doctors, nurses, orderlies, and parents in the room. She went out in the hall, where more hands were joined. By the end of the video she had gone down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk, and down the street. She went all the way round the building and back inside, eventually ending up back in the day room. I"m not sure how many volunteer extras he used. We ended the song with Moira holding April, giving a plea to help support the hospital.

He also did the CD cover. We hadn't really thought about it, but one Saturday he was driving by one of those little county courthouses so common in the South. It was on a slight rise and the lawn sloped away. It was freshly mown, and had rained several days before. Mushrooms usually pop up a few days afterwards.

It was almost a perfect circle of crisp white mushrooms. A fairy circle. Folklore had it you would find treasure at the center. When he called us almost screaming to get her outfit and get over there before he lost the perfect light. we did.

He had already called his crew to set up the cameras and reflectors. When we got there he had measured and put Moira right in the center, with her knees drawn up like she was in deep thought. He got about fifteen shots in before the cops asked us to leave. He had to go back the next week to get retroactive permission for the shoot.

I looked at the photos and decided there was a treasure in the center. We named that CD 'Circle'.

We didn't finish the project until after we had the baby. Aaron James Patterson. It was a disappointment to me he didn't have red hair, but other wise he was just perfect. And his auburn hair had red highlights in the summertime.

................................................

Fred had decided to retire the Chance Blaze persona and start using his real name. Freddie Johnson and the Smyrna Playboys[and Girls} got rave reviews. Western Swing was having a resurgence, and we were very popular. 

The CD sold well. Not epic proportions, but that style of music didn't appeal to everyone.

We got tired of wearing those western suits pretty fast, so we would play the first half of a show as a Western Swing band, then take a fifteen minute intermission and come back in regular clothes and finish the show doing his hits. He started closing the show with 'Twisting The Night Away'. It put everyone in a good mood for the trip home.

As her tummy grew, Moira moved less, and in the end she sat on a stool through most of the songs.

At one time I almost made her leave the tour and go home. She was taking her vitamins and getting her rest, and insisted she was fine. The other girls, in fact all of us, watched her like a hawk. She was a little snappy from time to time, said she was tired of being smothered.

I would let her vent on me mostly, then hug and rock her, whispering silly nothings in her ear until she started giggling. 

This probably sounds glamorous and exciting, and it was, to a point. But mostly it was just hard, repetitive work. Before the show I would work on songs for Faerie, as well as songs for Freddies' next album, sometimes putting sixteen hour days in. Moira would fuss and I would stop for awhile, but as soon as she was asleep I would start again.

The hardest thing about touring is the boredom.

Fly here, do a show. Drive there, do a show. The normal routines of life were so disrupted sometimes you didn't even know what day it was or even where you were at. Some of us would hit the gym, go to movies, museums, or read. Freddie, Sarah, and Barry, one of the horn players, were golfers and would try to play as often as they could.

Sarah, Jenny, and Nikki were single, as well as half the guys, so romantic entanglements were inevitable. It was none of my business, but I gave them all fair warning. Keep it away from the band. If trouble or jealousies developed, home they went. I did have a serious talk with one of the horn players who was paying to much attention to Amber. Her husband Frank hadn't noticed it yet, but sooner or later he would, so I gave him an option. Stop or leave the band. He stopped.

After what seemed like forever it was time for the last show. We were in Atlanta, and the last five shows we did were sold out. The show was on Friday, and management talked us into doing one more on Saturday afternoon. It sold out in five hours.

I liked to read newspapers and had a habit of picking one up wherever we were. It soothed me to read about people who didn't have to be five hundred miles away tomorrow or on the opposite coast the next. I always read the classifieds, my habit of looking for guitars had never died.

There was an ad for a community yard sale in a small park, and one of the items listed was old guitars. I told Moira, who like everyone else was craving normalcy, and we decided to go. Freddie wanted to go, and so did Sarah, so we rented a car and went.

It was great. For a little while we were just two average couples out for a morning of leisurely fun.

The yard sale was a lot bigger than I thought. Spread throughout the park, it easily covered two acres. We stayed together for awhile, but soon Freddie and Sarah wandered away, holding hands. I nudged Moira and she just smiled.

"How long?"

"Since Chicago. They look good together, don't they?"

They did, but road romances rarely lasted. I wished them the best.

I found the guitars. Two cheap Japanese models, but one old electric Kay. I bought it, not even arguing the price. They agreed to hold it while we looked, so we slowly rambled, holding hands.

Occasionally someone would congratulate us, Moira was pretty big by now. She just glowed, as least to me.

We came to a table with a big banner: Babycakes Cupcakes, help me see Freddie Johnson. We couldn't help it, we went over.

There was a girl, twelve or thirteen maybe, and her mom. I have to admit, the cupcakes did look good. The woman said hi, the girl was busy with a customer, but just as soon as she was done, she came over.

She looked at Moira hard.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Moira Patterson, the guitar player for Freddie Johnson?"

She looked at me but nothing registered. I had on a ball cap and sunglasses, not because of fear of being recognized, but because it was sunny and I didn't want a sunburned scalp.

Moira just smiled.

"I get that a lot. Must not be that many red haired guitar players in the world. Could we get a couple cupcakes?"

She had eight different flavors. Moira got red velvet with cream cheese icing. After tasting a sample, I went with prune. Moira looked at me funny until she tasted a sample, then she had to have one of those too.

"What's in this?"

The girl smiled.

"A good baker never reveals her recipes, but I will tell you it has a spice cake base, and the cream cheese icing has a little sweetened prune juice in it."

"You do know his shows are sold out, right?"

She sighed. 

"I know, but I'm hoping we'll make enough money to get two tickets from a scalper. But they want twice the price, and I don't think I'll make that much"

I did some quick calculations. Fourteen band members, six crew, security guys, stadium workers,management. Say sixty to seventy.

"We might can help you out. Think you can have two hundred cupcakes by four this afternoon?"

Her eyes got huge.

"Are you serious, mister?"

Moira stepped in.

"Sure we are honey. I want fifty red velvet, and I'm sure my husband wants that many prune. We've got some friends here, let me call them over and see what flavors they'd like."

She called Sarah and told them to come over to the east side of the park, near the picnic shelter.

They came over, still hand in hand. Freddie was like me, ball cap and glasses, but his was so no one would recognize him. They took in the banner and started grinning.

"Guys, taste these, aren't they great? Which flavor do you like best?"

They tasted the samples. The girl was looking at Freddie closely, frowning.

Sarah was a chocoholic, so she wanted fifty of the double chocolate. Fred choose peach, an unusual flavor, but it was Atlanta after all.

Suddenly, her face fell. Moira noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"We don't have a car. Are you going to pick them up?"

"Sure we will. I'll send a car over, give me the address."

She was still looking distressed.

"Could you, um, pay half up front? I need to buy more flour and sugar."

We gave her the full amount. While we were doing that Freddie had the mom off to the side. Her hands flew to her mouth and tears came to her eyes. She was composed, though, when she came back. Her smile was just slightly bigger than a mile wide.

When we got back to the car Sarah and Moira gave us both a kiss.

"We know what you two were thinking. You're really good men, you know that?"

Moira slapped me on the shoulder when I asked her if she was willing to put that in the writing.

We let the rest of the band in on the plan. We had brought all the cupcakes she had back, and a mini sugar orgy ensued.

I wished we had filmed it. Her mom said she cried when the limo pulled up. The driver told them he was supposed to deliver them and the cupcakes to the address he was given, and to please dress suitably.

They put on their best dresses, loaded the cupcakes, and were off. The first stop was one of the best restaurant in town. The driver instructed them to go in, they were expected.

Her mom said she looked like she was going to her execution. When they were seated the waiter told them to order anything they wanted, the bill was already taken care of. Mom got lobster. The girl,

Julie, asked for a burger, but her mom said no, order something she had never had. She ordered lobster also.

After dinner, they were delivered to the stadium. Julie saw Freddies name in lights and started crying. The limo pulled around back to the artist entrance. Security gathered the cupcakes and the girls and took them backstage.

Freddie met her and told her he was always glad to meet a big fan. He apologized for not being able to get her a ticket, and asked her if hanging around with us backstage would be all right. She still hadn't stopped crying but nodded yes.

The girls and her mom took her to the dressing room to clean her face. She finally stopped crying and the girls put a little light make up on her. She and her mom stood just offstage for the whole show. Fred would look over every once in a while and wink.

At the end of the show they brought two stools out and put them center stage.

Freddie put down his guitar and grabbed a mike.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to what is probably my biggest fan and the best cupcake maker I know. Please welcome hometown girl Julie Franklin!"

Julie froze. The girls led her gently out to the stool.

Freddie took the other stool and held her hand.

"Julie, this song is for you."

'Bring Out The Boogie In Me' was an old blues song by the great duo Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. It was a feel good song that he was putting on his next CD, and we gave it the full big band treatment.

When he sang the last verse he sang it just to her.

"When you woo like that, when you coo like that, you shake my peaches down from the tree/ you're my sweet cupcake maker and you bring out the boogie in me."

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek while we played, and had her stand with him and wave as he said goodnight. The crowd ate it up.

He released the live video to promote his next CD, it made Julie and her mom minor celebrities, and their cupcakes became so popular they opened a shop. Every time he or Faerie came to town they had standing backstage passes.

.................................................

We went home, tired but satisfied. Took a little time off while waiting for the baby. I was still working on the songs for our first effort. I wouldn't let Moira work, which pissed her off no end. I did relent and gave her the songs to arrange as I got them, but no more than three hour a day.

She was working on an arrangement while I was writing a lyric down, when she missed a note. She never misses a note. I looked up.

She was smiling and crying at the same time.

"Honey, let's go, my water just broke."

The nurses said it was one of the easiest labors they had seen in a while, but it was still five hours before he came.

I held her hands and when she got close the doctor told her to vent, yell or scream, it would help with the pain.

She was looking into my eyes.

"You son of a bitch. I hate you! When I get outta here I'm gonna shove a guitar up your ass and see how you like it. Oh God, here he comes! I love you honey! I love youuuuu."

It ended as a scream, them mumbling over and over "I love you, I love you, I love you".

Tears flowed as I put our new son on his mothers' breast, and suddenly I had to sit down. I went pale and the nurses were laughing.

"Put your head between your legs and breath, you'll be okay in a minute."

Thankfully I was. 

Moira delivered a week early, so Dad and Dottie didn't get to be there at the birth. Mom was pissed but got over it instantly when she got her hands on her grandson. Dad just stood there with a stunned look on his face. Tears ran down his cheeks when he touched Aarons' hand and it curled around his little finger.

Dad retired and they moved to Nashville. Dottie said no way she was going to be away from him while he grew up. They bought a house nearby, which I thought was a waste because they were always at our house.

..............................................

We finished the first CD. Erins' Song went to number one on the pop and country charts. We redid 'Perfect' as a duet between Moira and Jenny and it charted at five before dropping off. 'Hanging On The End Of a Kiss',one I wrote and Jenny sang, went to three on the country charts and one on the pop charts. 

Life was good. No, my life was great. We were successful, pretty well off, and loved each other and our son madly.

After we finished our album, we concentrated on Freddies'. We had a few tracks down, and they were good solid songs, but none of them were hits.

I was going over old songs I had one day when Fred came by. He looked like hell. Bleary eyed, moving slow. He piled into a chair and laid his head back.

"What happened to you?"

He grunted.

"I think my truck got drunk last night."

I looked out in the driveway. He had a 1984 four wheel drive Silverado that he had restored and loved more than was reasonable. Usually a shining silver, it was covered with mud.

"Don't tell me you drove last night?"

"Nah, Sarah drove us home. She's a little pissed. We went down to the bar last night and some guy was bragging about his Dodge. I had enough beer in me to challenge him, and we went to the pits.

'The Pits' was a four wheel drive park, where several acres were constantly kept muddy. People paid a fee and 'slung mud' to their hearts content.

"What happened?"

"Hell, we both ended up stuck. To add insult to injury some girl in a hopped up Jeep pulled us loose enough to get out. Damn my head hurts."

I just grinned and left him to nap on my chair.

The next day I gave him the first draft of his next hit.

"Think my truck got drunk last night/pretty sure he started a fight/with a Jeep and a big Dodge Ram/ things got out of hand."

"Started talking trash/wrote checks my gas had to cash, ended up slinging mud/we were out for blood."

Three more verses followed. He laughed his ass off. Moira gave it a good beat with a lot of steel guitar.

We probably had more fun doing that video than any we've done before or since. We used his truck, a big Dodge dually, and a monster jeep painted bright pink.

JT, our video genius, filmed it a bar and The Pits. I don't know how he did it, but he got the Mattel people to let us use the Barbie logo on the jeep.

Singers are almost as superstitious as baseball players. Freddie insisted Moira and I be in his videos for luck, so I drove the Dodge, and Moira had the Jeep. We had stunt drivers for the serious stuff.

Remember the old Alan Jackson video where he walked through the mud sling without getting any on his white shirt? We borrowed that idea, and he even did a cameo where he was standing beside the pit in a white shirt while mud hit everyone but him. While the two trucks got covered with mud, through the magic of cameras and computers, the Jeep never got a speck on it. She even pulled the trucks out. At the very end, Moira stepped out of the Jeep wearing the black and white one piece swimsuit that was on the original 1958 Barbie. She had lost the baby weight, and at 37 she stilled looked amazing.

Mattel even put out the jeep and a reissue of the original Barbie as a tie in. Sales were through the roof, and 100 were signed by Moira and Freddie and distributed randomly.

Moira had so much fun she wanted the Jeep, so the monster ended up sitting in our driveway. As Aaron got older, whenever she went somewhere he would cry "Jeep, Mommy, Jeep." he loved it.

On the subject of cars, remember when I said I had another car stored at my storage buildings?

It was a 1970 Grandee Mustang, generally acknowledged as the 'girl' model of Mustang. It belonged to my grandmother, the only new car she ever owned. She loved them when they first came out, but couldn't afford one. A few pay increases later and after an enormous amount of overtime. my grandfather bought it for her to commemorate their twentieth anniversary. She told me she cried for a week, it meant more to her than anything he had ever given her. She was going to give it to my mother, but when she was killed in the accident, she promised it to me. To be given to my wife when we married. Oddly enough, I never thought once about giving it to Sammi.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 06



Moira cried when I gave it to her as a wedding present and told her the history. Nobody, not even me, was allowed to drive it. If she was going anywhere alone it was her favorite transportation.

Life flowed smoothly. We were working on the next Faerie album and one night I noticed Jenny was looking down. Moira had to get Aaron and take him home, and the others drifted off. I asked her what was bothering her.

"Today would have been my fifth wedding anniversary."

I didn't know she had been married. She was about twenty five, and I really didn't have much contact with her after her guitar lessons.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked her gently.

"Not much to tell. We got married right out of high school. We couldn't find good jobs so Gerry got this idea we should both enlist. We could do our hitch and come back with a skill and some college money."

"The plan went to pieces when he couldn't pass his physical. Heart murmur. We had gone to different recruiters, so I didn't know until after I had signed the papers. I ended up in the military and he didn't."

"After basic I was assigned to a motor brigade and and shipped out. We cried our eyes out, him, me, and my best friend. I made her promise to watch over him because of his heart condition."

"I was a rear echelon driver, shuttling officers and VIPs around. At first the emails and letters came almost every day. Then they slowed, and then she stopped communicating with me completely. I started getting a bad feeling, but what could I do? I might have as well been a million miles away. When I got home from the first tour they met me. She was eight months pregnant. It was his."

Tears flowed freely now. I sat beside her and held her, feeling outrage at her betrayal.

"I loved him so much. Her too, we were closer than sisters. I sucked it up, did another tour, went home and finished my enlistment. But it still hurts, even after all this time."

We stayed together for a little while and she thanked me for being there, then went home.

I sat there alone in the studio, thinking about the unfairness of life, when it hit me.

I was above average as a songwriter. I even had a few articles written about me in several music magazines. 'I Got A Plan' 'Erins' Song' and 'My Truck Got Drunk Last Night', and a few more were successful. But every writer hopes there is a Monster in him somewhere. A song so strong that even if they never knew who wrote it, they would always remember it. Jenny gave me my monster.

I never went home. Moira called me about eleven and told me to get my ass home. I told her I was onto something. She knew how I wrote so she told me not to stay up all night.

Some songs take time. A lyric here, six months later one there, until one day it's finished.

Some songs are like mining for gold or jewels, you hope it's buried in there somewhere so you keep digging. And some just flow out of you like water from a spring.

'A million Miles Away' flew from me like a burst dam.

I woke Moira up about seven thirty the next morning. When the sleep cleared her eyes she looked at me.

"Jesus, Wiley. Did you come to bed last night?"

I was still on a writing high.

"Just got home. Here."

I gave her a printout of the lyrics and chord progressions.

"Tweak this, but not much. I'm taking a shower and sleeping for awhile. Wake me about noon."

I looked at her sleep tousled hair, her right breast partially exposed because of the way her gown was bunched, just her general beauty.

I gave her a deep, soul touching kiss.

When we came up for air her eyes were sparkling and her nipples were erect.

"What was that for?"

"For never being a million miles away."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

I resumed kissing her and was tugging her gown over her head when Aaron woke up crying.

She slid her gown back down.

"Sorry love, but somebody wants breakfast."

I picked her up off the bed and twirled her around before setting her down and handing her her robe.

"This will continue without interruption very soon."

I swatted her on her bottom and went off to shower and sleep.

.................................................

She let me sleep until three, then did the same thing I did, except she was naked.

"Aaron is with your mom, time for you to prove up on your morning promises."

We didn't leave the bed until five.

After we finally got up and got something to eat Moira started.

"It's powerful stuff, Wiley. Maybe the best thing you've ever written. I was almost in tears working through it. Where did it come from?"

"Jenny. It's basically her story."

I told her the story. It made her angry.

"Damn them! She didn't deserve that!"

"Nobody does, honey. But it happens, a lot. If it didn't a lot of country writers would be out of business."

We got Jenny to the side and asked her to stay after everyone left.

Moira played it for her. She burst into tears and ran from the studio. Ten minutes later, just when we were going to look for her, she came back.

Jenny hugged me for about five minutes before reaching for Moira and hugging us both. Finally she stepped back.

"God Wiley, that's my life story. You came up with this last night?"

"Well, it took all night, actually. Took me that long to get it right. Even dreamed up the video for it while I slept. Enough about that. I want you to sing it, Jenny. Not as part of Faerie or Freddies band, but as Jenny Green solo. Can you handle that?"

Moira looked surprised, I think she wanted to sing it, but she told me later she couldn't have done the job Jenny did.

'A Million Miles Away' was a crossover hit. It went to number one on the pop charts, number one on the country charts, and was number one on the British charts at the same time.

The video was amazing.

The first scene was of Jenny, her husband and her friend saying goodbye when she shipped out. Then it went to a split screen for awhile, showing Jenny in Iraq on one side and her husband and friend on the other. It gradually showed the friend and husband getting together while Jenny was getting shot at.

Then it dissolved into one screen, whit her friend and husband in bed while she stood at the foot in her uniform with sand swirling around her, singing.

If you're gonna stray/ there's nothing I can say/ that would matter anyway/cause I'm a million miles away.

It dissolved into another scene where the best friend is sitting up in bed while the husband sleeps singing.

I know that it was wrong/when he started coming on/but I'm just not that strong/and we just keep on going on

The next scene shows her coming home, to be met by her husband and her very pregnant best friend.

The husband looks at her and sings.

There's nothing I could say/ that could take the pain away/ now I'll see you every day/ wish I was a million miles away.

The final scene shows Jenny sitting on her bunk in a green tee shirt and fatigues, picking out the notes on an acoustic guitar with tears in her eyes. She looks up and sees a poster hanging on the wall that shows three soldiers in full full combat gear with the logo "Army Strong".

She gets a determined look on face and it fades to her onstage with her black Les Paul, doing power chords and singing.

na na, na na na na, na na, na na na na, a million miles away.

That dissolves into a scene at a local army base where the soldiers are singing it in time as they march.

The whole video lasted nine and a half minutes, the actual song was only just about four.

It became the unofficial anthem of the Iraq and Afghanistan conflict. Go on any base any where around the world, and you'll find it on the jukebox.

Suddenly I had to come up with an albums' worth of songs for her solo project. Jenny had a couple she wrote that were pretty good, we did a couple of covers, Bob gave her a song another writer he was working with and I gave her 'You Should Have Held On', my song about Sandy betraying me.

I've gotten long winded, sorry. I'll wrap it up.

..................................................

Moira and I were on the cover of Guitar Player 

magazine, surrounded by our guitars, our two Grammys together, my three on my own, and our four CMA awards. She got a contract from Fender to furnish her guitars, I got one from Gibson.

Rolling Stone had Freddie, Jenny, Moira, and me on the cover with the caption 'Southern Dynasty'.

Faerie did two more albums, Dust, and a live album with three studio tracks, called Tales, before hanging it up.

Jenny still records and tours, as does Freddie.

I nagged Moira into doing a solo project which was well received. She actually opened up for

Freddie on one tour, but retired after that because she said it was no fun if I wasn't with her.

Horns for Hire made a good living doing studio work, as did Al. I use them quite often.

I pretty much retired to run my studio and produce new acts. I learned a lot working with Bob, and he sold me part of his business and pretty much lets me run it, while he scouts new talent as a hobby.

So there it is, all sweetness and light.

You really think so? Not all the tears we shed were tears of joy.

Every garden has snakes, and the larger and richer the garden, the bigger and slimier the snakes.

Frank and Amber divorced because the horn player I had warned away on the road decided that since we were home she was fair game. He dumped her afterwards, and she moved back home. Frank stayed and does session work, and is still a part of Freddies' band. The rest of the guys in Horns for Hire were so pissed they threw the guy out.

Jenny got married to a loser who tried to take her to the cleaners despite the prenups, saw he was going to lose, stole everything he could from her and disappeared. She's seeing someone now who is serious, a rapper of all things, who treats her like gold. We'll see if it works out.

The worst thing of all was what happened to my best friend and brother. Crystal wouldn't leave our home town, so Jimmy did a lot of commuting. Luckily the older kids were in high school and could help their mom, but things became strained.

Jimmy came to us after the last Faerie album and said he was retiring, the money he made he had invested with Moira's ex, of all people. Apparently he approved of the rock and roll lifestyle if it paid well. It allowed him to buy half interest in the guitar shop we used to do business with. They were going to expand and he was going to teach drums.

Things had been really tense between he and Crystal, and he was sure his career change and being home all the time would fix it. He had kept it secret to surprise her.

He walked into his house unexpectedly with flowers to give her the good news, only to catch her in bed with someone else. Enraged he started fighting.

The guy managed to get away from him long enough to get his gun and shot and killed him. Crystal was screaming and trying to get the gun away when it went off and shot her. She lasted for a week before passing.

The guy was a cop and shot them with his service weapon. He got convicted of two counts of second degree murder, he'll be sixty seven before he's eligible for parole.

Jenny and Freddie sang at the funeral.

We got the kids. One was just starting college, two were in high school. Jan was in middle school, and the baby was in the second grade.

We didn't have to adopt for Aaron to have brothers and sisters.

I had always been close to Jan, and after a year she and Suzy, the youngest, were calling us Mom and Dad. It was bittersweet.

There was a rift in the relationship between Fred

and I that took a long time to heal.

He had been living with Sarah for a few years, and bought her an engagement ring. Four months before the wedding the gossip magazines linked him with a young singer just twenty one. He denied there was anything to it until Sarah caught them together and moved out. The singer rode the publicity hard and them dumped him.

He stayed away from me for awhile because he knew I was pissed.

It kind of came to a head when Sarah, with no place to go and no money, moved in with us. She told me one night it came as a complete surprise to her, but even if she had known it would have still hurt as bad.

I thought about that for a few days and wrote 'If I'd Seen I Coming'. I gave it to a well known singer with a deep baritone voice. We did the video with him sitting on a stool singing while I played piano, Frank played a mournful steel, and Sarah and Nikki played violin.

It was powerful. As he sang the last verse, if you watch the video, you can make out the tears in Sarahs' eyes.

"You thought it was sweet/ your surprise was complete/ when I realized I'd been had

But who am I funnin'/ if I'd seen it comin'/ it still would have hurt just as bad/ yeah it still would have hurt just as bad."

It went diamond and I got a CMA for song of the year, my third.

Freddie was livid. He hadn't had a hit for over a year and felt his star was fading. He knew better to come to the house while Sarah was there, so he called and just raised hell.

"Goddamnit! Why didn't you give that song to me? I need a hit pretty bad right now. I thought we were tight."

I took a few breaths before answering him.

"We were tight, still are as far as I know. You didn't get the song because it was about Sarah and how hard she took the breakup. You're an idiot, you know that? It's been months and she still cries. No way was I going to reward you for doing what you did to her."

He sighed into the phone.

"You're right, I was and still am an asshole. I don't know what I was thinking. I've tried to apologize to Sarah, but she refuses to talk to me.

Can you help me?"

"Oh no, I'm not going to be your go between. Maybe she'll calm down and talk to you eventually, but right now you need to give her space. And don't try to rope Moira into this, she's pretty mad at you right now."

"Any advice? I know I don't deserve her, but I want her back bad."

"All I can say is you're still a public figure. Give an interview or two and bring it up. She still watches TV. Maybe she'll see it."

He was abject and miserable in the interviews. Told the reporter he made the biggest mistake of his life. He actually said me wished he was me, so he could write the perfect apology song. The most compelling statement he made was he wished he could see her one more time, just to say how sorry he was for causing he so much pain.

Sarah saw the interviews and came to us for advice. I gave the universal truth.

"Are you happier without him or with him? Can you forgive him? Does he deserve it? Do you think he'll do it again? Be sure about all of that and you'll have your answer."

She thought about it for a week and asked me one day if he could come over for our once monthly barbeque. Moira and I told her to do what she wanted, we'd support her.

He came, stayed away from her for awhile, then gradually worked his way over to her. They said hi, and just stared at each other for a second. We watched them pretty closely, and soon they were on a bench talking quietly. They talked for about an hour, and she went inside.

He left, but not before hugging Moira and me. He was crying as he thanked us.

I thought things went wrong, but Moira went in, then came back with a smile.

"They have a date tomorrow."

They went to a movie and dinner, then she insisted he bring her straight home. I peeked out the window when they got home.

Moira laughed at me.

"Don't worry, daddy. He's not going to hurt your little girl."

I couldn't help it, force of habit. I went from having one little boy to having him plus five girls. Three teenagers, a preteen and a seven year old who was always following her sisters around. Seemed like there was always one or two teenage boys hanging around the house. I spent many weekend nights not sleeping until the girls were home from their dates.

We were rich, not billionares, but very, very, comfortable. When we suddenly inherited five kids, we had to find a bigger house. 

We looked, but couldn't find anything we liked, when an old friend gave us a call.

We met Mike and Shanna Hoage at a roadside peach stand. They were on vacation, driving aimlessly in his 1968 Firebird convertible. Shanna and Moira hit it off right away, and I liked Mike. He was huge, 6'6" at least, and probably weighed two hundred fifty pounds. He was in real estate out west, and was worth about half a billion. We didn't find that out until later. Moira and Shanna exchanged emails, and when we toured out west we invited them to the shows.

I usually read people pretty well, but couldn't get a fix on Mike. He reminded me of me when I was having compartmentalization issues, but I was guessing it went a lot deeper.

He did us a favor and found us a house locally that wasn't even listed yet. It belonged to some financial whiz who made some very bad investment decisions.

Moira gasped when she saw it the first time.

It wasn't a house, it was an estate. One hundred twenty acres completely surrounded by a six foot chain link fence. An olympic size swimming pool that could be enclosed, a hot tub and waterfall. A six car garage, a three bedroom guest house, a two bedroom apartment over the garage.

The house was three stories with a basement. Nine bedrooms, state of the art kitchen, formal living room, dining room, den, and library. Seven bathrooms.

Mike got it for about forty percent of what it was worth, and it was still more than I ever expected to make in my lifetime.

Mom and Dad moved into the guesthouse so she would never be too far from her grandchildren, and we used the garage apartment for guests.

Everybody had privacy, and we converted the basement into a media/playroom, where the kids could hang out and we could keep an eye on everyone.

There were two ponds and a large creek running through the property, and in the summertime you would find my Dad, Aaron, and often Suzy, fishing. A tractor and all the equipment came with it, and Dad would amuse himself with a garden, mowing the fields, and scraping the driveway when it snowed. We had professional help, he just enjoyed doing it. He lived happily for ten years before a heart attack took him. Dottie lived another eight years but was never quite the same.

I added one more accomplishment to my resume. I used to tell Aaron a bedroom story about a wandering minstrel and the fairy he fell in love with. I expanded it into a childrens' book, got a really good illustrator, and published it. It was very well received. I dedicated it to my own personal fairy, with all the love I had.

Moira and I had only one real problem our whole life together. Freddie got the acting bug, and did a few movies. Of course, he made sure we had bit parts, part of his superstition going back to the videos.

Moira loved it and started taking acting lessons, and gradually got bigger and bigger parts. Oddly enough, I was offered several parts in other movies, seems I was a natural, stemming from my early habit of morphing into whatever group I was with when I was younger.

I didn't like it when Moira had to go on location, couldn't stand the thought of being away from her. I did do an indie film once while she was on location. Double Shot of Love, about a middle aged bar owner who was widowed, and his twenty something gay daughter, who both managed to fall in love with the same woman. It was a hit at Sundance and Montreal, and actually made decent money. I got a few offers, but my heaqrt wasn't in it.

This was the only time in our relationship that we had serious trouble.

My personal snake was named Calvin. He was Moiras'

manager, and he had his sites set on her from the beginning. I didn't like him, called him Chipmonk, which pissed him off no end.

He worked her hard, often on location when I wasn't around. I told Moira, but she laughed it off, saying he didn't mean anything, it was just fun.




Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 06



She was forty five by then, still beautiful, but not a starlet. She was on location when they decided to rewrite the script to include a nude scene. He was trying to get her to do it, saying it was the only way she could compete with the younger actresses.

He was spiking her water with a mood inhibitor, and had installed hidden cameras in her room and shower. His plan to seduce her went to pieces when Megan flew up to see why we were having trouble talking to her. Alvin tried everything he could think of to keep them apart, but she raised so much hell with the production company that she got to see her.

She called me and I immediately chartered a plane and told Megan not to leave her side. I told her in the meantime call Mike Hoage, he only lived an hour away. I don't know who Mike called, but in forty five minutes four very large men with serious attitudes were right behind Megan and Moira. One got her checked into a hospital and had a drug screen ran, while one of the others searched her room. He found the minicams, and they found the drug used on her in Alvins' room.

He declared no knowledge, then he insisted the drugs were hers, then said she wanted to be filmed to prepare for the nude scenes. The DA and the judge didn't believe him. 

No one knew who posted bail, but he disappeared. Permanently. Forever, never to be seen again.

Still think I'm pure as the driven snow? There was a guy in LA who learned the hard way I wasn't. And to quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."

Moira retired, saying she never wanted to spend another night out of my arms.

I still write songs, but not like I did. Moira still appears at a benefit, or charity event, and we still play one or two dates with Freddie and

Jenny when they tour just for fun.

We spend our days together with the grand kids, five to be exact, with one on the way and three weddings to go before we get more. And we lived happily ever after.

POSTSCRIPT: Nonnie's guitars got the highest price for Les Paul guitars up to that date, 638,000 dollars.

I never did get my Squire back.

But I did get my 1969 Mach One back, paying almost twice what I sold it for, but he knew I had it and that I wanted it bad.

Thanks for sticking with me 'til the end.