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

by Kisner, Stevie

  ****

  They stepped out the same back door she had used earlier to jog to her car. Kori shivered in the cool autumn desert-night air, glad for the jacket over her tank top. No matter the season, she always worked concerts sleeveless. Being close to the stage was usually a hot place to be. Besides, sleeves were often an interference when trying to move about, or get down low for an up-angle shot - they tended to snag on things.

  JT hadn’t said a word since they left the greeting room backstage, leaving her to wonder what it was he wanted, and where they were going. She wasn’t good at smalltalk; hated it, in fact. Words were one of her favorite tools, and she hated to waste them or dilute them with trite use. She’d just wait for his lead, trusting that he wasn’t a dangerous man to be alone with, even if he did give her a firm dressing-down for her fiction. That’s what this had to be about. She hadn’t said anything really noteworthy anywhere else about the band.

  Still, she wasn’t about to be ashamed of her work, even if they didn’t like being the main characters. She loved to write, loved the band, and there was a ready audience, one who liked to listen to the fantasies she could weave. It was a lot of fun, and a great place to practice her skills. She’d met some wonderful people there on the forum and the fiction list, some she considered friends; it would probably sound odd if she tried to explain that to him, having friends you’d never spoken to face-to-face, but they were her friends, nonetheless.

  He wondered what she was thinking about. This was another sort of test, a rather cruel one, to be sure, but one she had to pass before he broached any possibility of working with the band. So far, so good. No questions, no filling the silence with unnecessary words. Either she wasn’t nervous, or she wasn’t one to babble when she was. Good. No nervous babies need apply. Step two of the ‘interview’ was going well.

  He stopped at the rear of a silver Sonata coupe parked near the tour busses. “This is my rental,” he said simply. “Got any suggestions for someplace to eat? The show, and this altitude, is very draining, and I have a taste for something really hot.”

  She raised her brows at the car. Somehow, just not what she’d pictured him choosing as a rental. She couldn’t help the giggle that worked its way from her throat. She clamped her lips shut to prevent more escapees.

  “What? Did I say something funny?” he asked as he unlocked her door and held it open.

  “No, this just isn’t exactly what I pictured you driving. It’s so… boring.”

  “And the only stick-shift they had available. I hate automatics. I keep stomping on the floor with my left foot, trying to find a clutch. And it’s got a helluva stereo.” He stood by her door, obviously waiting for her to get in. His mum raised him right, she thought. A man with manners. And a potty mouth. What a combination.

  She took off her camera and dropped it to the backseat floor gently, then started to get in the low-slung car, still distracted by the thoughts running through her head. She smacked her ear, and the portion of her skull behind it, into the edge of the roof. “OWW!”

  “What? Are you okay?” He hadn’t been watching and wondered if he’d left something on the seat.

  “I’m fine. Just being a klutz, as usual.” She rubbed her ear as she finished getting in. “Damn low ceilings,” she mumbled after he closed the door.

  He opened his own door, then got in slowly, headfirst, almost crawling into the driver’s seat. “Gotta watch that doorframe. Bit me earlier. Twice,” he said, noticing she was holding her ear.

  “Well, thanks for warning me before I hit my head,” she laughed. “Bloodthirsty bitch, isn’t she?”

  “Sorry, luv. I thought it happened because I was so tall,” he said after starting the engine. “So, where are we going?”

  “Well, that depends on what you mean by ‘really hot.’ Have you ever had New Mexican food? Green chile is a dietary staple around here, but it does nasty things to your intestines.”

  “I love Mexican food. The hotter the better. If I can handle curry, I can take your chile.”

  “Not ‘Mexican,’ New Mexican. There’s a difference. It’s much hotter. There’s a great place close by called Chaves Kitchen, open all night. And there’s Sarafina, which is about half an hour away, and it’s open until two. I recommend the further one, if you can wait to eat. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about what it’ll do to you.”

  He backed out of the parking space. “Sarafina it is, then. Just tell me how to get there.”

  “Surface streets are faster. The freeway doesn’t go in that direction. I’ll just tell you when to turn. Do you mind if I turn on the radio? My ears are ringing, and the music helps drown out the humming until it passes. Go that way,” she said, pointing to the right.

  “You don’t wear earplugs when you’re that close? You really should, you know.” He turned out of the parking lot in the direction she pointed.

  “Yeah, yeah. I have them, but can’t bring myself to put them in. Too muted that way.” She noticed he was slowing as they approached an intersection. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes on this street, so don’t worry. I’ll keep watching. I won’t let us get lost.”

  She tuned in her favorite rock station and left the volume low. “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about? I’m not exactly accustomed to taking off with rock stars, especially for unknown reasons.” She fixed her gaze on his profile.

  He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel her stare. Ah, that’s wonderful. To the point. And not shy about it. Another plus.

  “That’s fair. I haven’t exactly been forthcoming, have I?” he smiled.

  “No, and you’re still not. Get it over with.”

  “Get what over with?”

  “Chewing me out.” She bit her lip and looked down at the hands knotted in her lap.

  “Now why would I want to do that?” They stopped at a red light, and he turned toward her.

  “For the fiction. It’s not like I wrote anything on your forum worth taking me off somewhere to talk to me about. So go ahead and bitch at me and get it over with.” She met his eyes with defiance.

  “I’ve read it, I’ll admit that. It doesn’t upset me, not any of us. Well, except Rafe. He’s still oversensitive about falling off that stage. Seems nobody will ever let him live that down.” The light changed, and they began to move again.

  Shit. He has read it. At least he didn’t mention the other one. “Why do I have this feeling that he’s never allowed to forget it?” That’s it, change the subject, before he can bring up the sex story.

  “Because we don’t let him,” he laughed. “Seriously, you’re really good. But that was something I wanted to talk about later. About both stories I’ve read.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and saw her gaping at him. “You’d better close your mouth, luv, or you’ll catch flies.” He laughed again. “Okay, let me get one thing said, and then we’ll talk about why I’ve absconded with you. It was very flattering, and no, I’m not angry about it. I’m the only one of us who read that one, in case you’re wondering. I found it to be very… erotic.” Even in the dimness of the car interior, he could see her blush. “I saw that you ended it, but if there’s more, I’d really like to read it. I meant it when I said you wrote well.”

  Kori struggled to keep her thoughts straight. He’s read it, he liked it, and wants more. Oh, this is embarrassing. I am sooo fucked. “Uhm, well,” she stammered, “there is a bit more, I guess. But are you sure you want to read it? I mean, it’s about you, and I wrote you as a fictional character, so…”

  Now he was curious. “How much more?” They had stopped at another red light, and again, he looked at her full-on, raising his eyebrows.

  “Beyond what was posted? A-about forty-five more pages,” she answered in a tiny voice.

  “And that’s ‘a bit’ more? It only printed out at forty-two to begin with!”

  “You printed it? Oh, Lord, I am so fucked here,” she mumbled. Louder, she said, “Well, it just sort of t
ook on a life of its own. It ran around in my head, demanding to be written, and who was I to say no?”

  He cocked a brow. “Yes, I printed it. Don’t worry, it’s safely packed away. Paul won’t see it unless you say so. It was getting a bit, um, shall we say, difficult, to read laying in a hotel bed with my laptop.” He noticed her blush was gone. He could see her getting on with the hijinks of the band on the road. And doing some in return. He lit a cigarette, tossing the lighter into the console between the seats.

  “Turn left at the light after this one. It’s sort of an express by-way. We’ll be on this for a while, so I’ll tell you when we get near the exit.” She shifted in her seat, searching her pockets for her cigarettes.

  Click; click; click. “Damn refillable lighter never works,” she muttered. “Can I borrow yours? Somebody stole mine yesterday, and I’m stuck with this stupid thing that doesn’t work most of the time.”

  “Sure. I think I dropped it in the console,” he replied, completely forgetting that he was yesterday’s lighter thief. He permanently borrowed lighters all the time. She picked it up, noticing the color, and the half torn-off bar code label. This is my lighter. It was you yesterday. You son-of-a-bitch, were you spying on me? Now just what the hell is going on?

  “You were going to tell me what this was all about?” she asked ever-so-sweetly, pocketing the red lighter. Two can play at this game.

  JT noticed the change in her tone, but wasn’t sure what she was about. “We’re playing at a charity soccer exhibition tomorrow, and Russell Crader, our usual photographer, has the flu. We need someone to fill in for him, and wanted to offer you the job.” That didn’t come out quite the way he’d intended, but there. It was said.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Filling in for Russell Crader of Rolling Stone magazine fame? A paying photo gig? Not freelance, hoping to recoup her expenses by selling a few eight-bys? And of them? Oh, pinch me, this must be a dream. She cleared her throat, stalling for time. “As it happens, I’m off for the next few days. I’ll need to get daylight-speed film first, but I can be there. Oh, get over to the right here, we get off in a minute.”

  She didn’t want to bring up what she would be paid; hell, this was an opportunity she’d have gladly paid them for. She wondered how he could know her photography was good enough. He hadn’t seen any of it yet. She remembered the missing example shots and realized where they went. Whatever the offer, she’d raise it.

  “It’s up ahead, on the right.” They parked and went inside. JT asked for a quiet corner booth in the smoking section. He pulled out his cigarettes as he perused the menu. “Any suggestions? And can I borrow your lighter, I seem to be minus one again.”

  She handed him the red disposable. “Sure, as long as you return it this time.” He didn’t meet her eyes, which threatened to bore holes in his face.

  His normal self-confidence dropped a notch under that angry glare; the last thing he wanted was to piss her off. He voiced his excuses quickly, stress thickening his accent. “I was going to get to that. Honestly, I was. Me an’ Clay went by there yesterday to see your work. The concierge at the hotel recommended you quite highly, and said you had some of your photos about, if we wanted to know how good you were. So we looked, and…”

  “And you helped yourself. I would’ve just given them to you, you know. I don’t appreciate sneaking. Why did you steal them?”

  “To show the band. Well, that’s why I took the Roth one. Clay actually stole the other one, to give to Paul. He and Jules Scott were quite good friends. You have an excellent eye and a steady hand, even Russell said it rivaled his work. He was impressed, and said he’s looking forward to seeing what you took tonight. So am I.”

  This time, he looked straight at her; his eyes shone a clear and honest green. Her anger dissolved. Slightly.

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing them, myself. I process my own work, so that might be a while, depending on what time you need me for the match. When is it?”

  “At two. If you could be there at one, that would be perfect. I think that waitress is eyeing us, so we’d better decide what to order.”

  “I’ll just have an iced mocha. Do not get the bowl of green chile, or you’ll be sorry. Anything else is probably safe for gringo consumption.” She lit a cigarette and put the lighter on her side of the table.

  “You’re not eating anything? It’s alright, I’m paying,” he said.

  “Really, I’m not hungry. Live on caffeine and nicotine, my two vices and main sources of nourishment.”

  He remembered the picture of a much larger woman, and decided not to push the issue. “At least have a beer with me, then.”

  She considered. “Just one. I’m a lightweight, and I don’t want to get loaded. We still have business to discuss.”

  The waitress materialized as if on cue. JT ordered a pitcher of beer and an enchilada plate.

  “Red or green?” the waitress asked.

  He cocked a brow. “Beg pardon? Red or green what?”

  Korina had to giggle; this was a common question here, but to an Englishman, it must sound very odd. “Chile. What kind of chile. Pick the green. It’s not as hot, and tastes better.”

  “Green it is, then. And would you mind bringing the beer straightaway?” He fixed his gaze on her again. She met his eyes without looking away. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. Good God, but he could melt ice with those eyes. Her stomach started to flutter.

  “So, what’s your price?” he asked.

  Prize? Price? What? Price for what? What just happened?

  He recognized the lost, panicked look, and broke his stare. Inside, he was smiling.

  She felt her mind returning when he looked away. “What’s your offer?” she responded a bit more breathlessly than she’d intended.

  “How’s three thousand for tomorrow, plus your expenses? And I’d like to option the rights to tonight’s photos, as well. Sight unseen.”

  “You want to include the option to all the photos in that three thousand? Uh-uh. I shot fourteen rolls. That’s, uh, five hundred and four pictures. An extra two for the option only, that just gives you first dibs. For the three tomorrow, those shots are all yours. I’ll surrender copyright, under contract. If you don’t like any of the concert shots, I’ll return the two thousand. If you want even one of them, I keep it. The rest is open, per shot or roll, depending on how many, and if I lose the rights to all the negs because of your choices.”

  His eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t expected her to be this shrewd.

  “You haven’t seen my portfolio. You’ve only seen the two shots you helped yourselves to. I’m worth it. It’s a hard business to break into, but just because you haven’t seen me in Rolling Stone yet doesn’t mean I’m no good. I know what I saw through my lens, and I can sell these. In a heartbeat.” She was bluffing, but he didn’t know that. If only one of her shots made it to the website, or a CD sleeve, she’d have a name, a credit, at last. It was worth the gamble.

  She met his eyes once more. “And I’ll throw in the lighter. Even two.”

  He emitted a surprised laugh. “Deal,” he said, just as the waitress arrived with the pitcher and two chilled glasses.

  ****

  Her glass seemed to keep magically refilling itself. She’d take a swallow or two, and when she looked back, it was full to the brim again. “Mr. Blackwood,” she asked, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Drunk? No… more relaxed, yes. You seem a bit nervous yet.” He smiled a hundred-kilowatter at her. They could be a hard-drinking crew sometimes, even after all these years, and he wanted to be certain she wasn’t a nasty, or wantonly horny, drunk. Both could spell disaster for having her write about them

  The beer was pleasantly traveling around in her brain, and the smile didn’t faze her this time. Much. “Well, I’m beyond relaxed right now, and on my way to buzzed. I’ll warn you; I get silly and tend to talk in shorthand if I drink too much. So just you watch those little refills, or this i
s as intelligent as this conversation will get.”

  “Talk in shorthand? What’s that mean?”

  “Oh, you know, blurt out something in the middle of a thought, and you haven’t a clue what I’m talking about. Combine two or three words into one. I think faster than I talk.”

  The waitress arrived with his food, warning him that the plate was quite hot. Korina asked her for two glasses of water. “Trust me, you’ll need it,” she told him.

  The enchilada was enormous and swimming in green chile sauce. “Christ, this is huge! Tell me you’ll share. I can’t possibly eat all of this.” He picked up his fork and cut a dripping wedge of cheese-covered tortilla.

  “Maybe a bite or two. That chile smells too good to pass up.” She grinned, waiting for him to take that first bite.

  He put the forkful into his mouth. “It’s not that hot,” he admonished through his mouthful of food.

  Don’t laugh yet, Kori, just wait ‘til he swallows and the burn kicks in…

  He swallowed. “I don’t know what all the fuss was ab—Oh Fuck! My tongue is on FIRE!” He grappled for his beer.

  “Don’t do that,” Kori managed between laughs, “beer makes it worse.”

  Heedless of her warning, he took a long pull on the glass.

  “Ahhhh…” he smiled, only to immediately replace it with a look of shock. “Shit! Now it’s my whole mouth!” The waitress arrived with the water, and not a moment too soon in JT’s opinion. He gulped down half the glassful. “Now it’s better. You eat this stuff? Voluntarily? What the hell is in it?”