Lowdown and Lush

by Selena Laurence

  When I finally roll off of her, I’m too drained even to take the damn condom off. I lie on my back like a corpse. Soon, she’s stroking my chest, her fingertips tracing my areolas and pecs.

  “Was it okay?” she asks shyly.

  I turn my head and look at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. I mean, you did everything you were supposed to?”

  “Jesus, Jenny. What bed were you in? I think I may have just broken the Guinness World Record for longest orgasm.”

  “So it was good then?”

  I roll onto my side so I can see her better. “It was incredible.” I rub my thumb along her bottom lip. “And how about for you?”

  “There aren’t words,” she answers. “It was amazing.”

  “You aren’t too sore?” I move my hand to caress her where the injury was done.

  “No. Everything feels pretty good, actually.” She smiles.

  “Good enough to go again?”

  “You’re insatiable.”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “I love you.”

  “And I love you, Sunshine. Always.”

  Jenny

  MY LIFE has narrowed down to three things—music, sex, and more sex. Michael might as well move into Walsh and Tammy’s—he spends every night there making me feel these delicious things I can’t begin to describe. Then we spend most of every day in the studio. The album is coming along beautifully. In a couple of weeks we’ll be done at Studio B.

  Richard’s recovery has gone great since they adjusted his blood pressure medication. Michael goes over every morning early to cook him breakfast and then stops by again after we’re done with work in the afternoon. Another week and he can go back to work, although Michael’s trying to talk him out of it or at least get him to wait a while longer.

  But the one thing we haven’t discussed is what happens once we’re done with the studio work. There will still be several weeks of fine-tuning the tracks, and then we’ll need to work on developing the media campaign. Michael is talking to a lot of people he knows in the business about distribution outlets and marketing strategies. Tammy’s been feeling better in her third trimester now, so she wants to be as involved as she can until she gets to the last few weeks. Walsh has said that for the last two weeks she has to “stay home and pay attention to me before the baby sucks us dry for the next twenty years.” We all know he’s kidding—sort of.

  Maybe it’s because I know our need to be in Portland is coming to an end, but I’m more and more homesick every day. I’m realizing that I’m both Jenny who was raised in a tiny Texas town and Jenny who wants to be a country music star. No matter how much I want to live a different life than my parents plotted for me, I can’t completely shake who I’ve been for nearly a quarter century. I want even more than I thought I did. I want my dream, my man, and my home.

  I miss my mama, my friends, and my brother. I don’t want Michael to think that I don’t appreciate everything he’s done for me, but I’ve never been away from my family this long. Though I love him and his friends and family, I still can’t help but feel an ache for how much my own are missing by not being on this journey with me.

  As if she can feel my pain from a few thousand miles away—like I suspect most mothers can—my mama calls me out of the blue one Saturday afternoon. I’m lying with my feet in Michael’s lap while I read a magazine and he strums his guitar, playing some melody he’s been repeating over and over for days now.

  My cell phone rings, and although I don’t recognize the number, it’s the area code for my hometown, so I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Jenny Lynn?” my mama’s voice comes through the invisible waves, and it’s like a sledgehammer to my heart.

  “Mama?” I cry out, tears appearing in my eyes.

  Michael puts his guitar to one side and rests his hands on my ankles, stroking my skin in a measure of comfort.

  “Oh, Jenny Lynn,” she chokes out. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  The tears spill over, running down my face. “I’ve missed you too, Mama. It’s so good to hear your voice. What phone are you calling from? I don’t recognize it.”

  “I’m at Mrs. Stallworth’s,” she answers. “Your daddy is at a regional retreat in Dallas for the day, but he sees the phone bill for the house, so I can’t call from there.”

  Mrs. Stallworth owns the boarding house in town where Walsh once stayed for a few months and Colin still lives part of the time. My stomach roils at the idea that my father hates me so much that he won’t allow my own mother to speak with me via phone. But I decide that now isn’t the time to fight that particular battle. I just want to hear my mother’s voice for as long as I can.

  “How are you, Mama? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. It’s you I worry about. Tell me what you’re doing. How is Dallas?”

  “Well, Mama, I’m actually in Portland—“

  “What?” My mother sounds panicked.

  “Michael’s father had a heart attack and Michael needed to be with him during his recovery, so we came up here. I’ve been staying with Tammy and Walsh.” I know this will make her feel better about things.

  “Oh, I’m so happy you’ve had Tammy with you.” Bingo.

  “We’ve been recording here at the band’s old studio. We’re almost done with it. Oh, Mama, you should see it—the recording studio, all the equipment, and the sound engineers. I recorded a song with Luc Nellos, Will’s son.”

  “Jenny Lynn.” My mother sounds like she’s about to faint. “You aren’t serious.”

  I smile at Michael. “I am, Mama. He’s a nice guy, and he played guitar and sang backup on one of my songs. Also, I recorded a duet with Joss Jamison and one with Vincent G.”

  “Oh, Jenny Lynn.” I can hear the tears in my mother’s voice. “I’m so proud of you. The Lord truly did bless you with that voice. You sing like an angel, and now everyone around the world will get to hear my baby’s beautiful music.”

  I’m about to break into sobs now. I look up at the ceiling of Tammy’s living room, trying so hard not to cry and ruin this rare moment.

  “I got my voice from you, Mama, and I want you to see some of this with me. Maybe you and Brian could come visit? I could show you the studio where we record and you could meet some of the guys who play backup. You already know Walsh and Tammy, and I’d introduce you to Mel and Joss too. They’re getting married in the spring, and Mel is Tammy’s sister. Michael has already said he’ll pay for you to come visit. His dad would love to meet you too.” I pause, my heart beating faster than hummingbird’s. “Please?” I ask.

  Her sigh comes through loud and clear although her voice sounds as far away as it is. “Oh, Jenny, sweetheart. You know I can’t. Daddy would never allow it. Maybe you could send me some pictures at Mrs. Stallworth’s? I would love some pictures to look at.”

  “Mama…” There’s desperation in my voice.

  Her voice grows soft. “He’s my husband, Jenny Lynn. I don’t have any other home, no job, no education. Why do you think I insisted that you go to college and get a practical degree? You’re able to take care of yourself. I’m not.”

  I sit and listen to her breathe for a moment—regret, anger, sympathy, and so many other emotions churning through my chest and gut. I try to control my response, not sure whether I want to sob or shout.

  “Okay, Mama. I’ll send some photos. But, Mama, there’s something you should know. Michael and I…we’re together now. I meant it when I said that we were just friends. It was the truth—then. But after his dad got sick and I came out here to support him, we realized that we’re in love. He’s wonderful, Mama. He treats me like a princess, and his family and friends are so supportive. He’s taking good care of me. I wish you could get to know him.” I glance at the man in question, who is watching me with a sad expression on his face. He knows just how much this call means to me. “I miss you, Mama.”

  There’s silence on the
other end of the phone for a moment. “I’m happy for you, Jenny,” she says sadly. “I’ll try to call again if I get a chance.”

  “Okay, Mama. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  And then she’s gone.

  I set the phone down on the coffee table and clutch my hands together in my lap for a moment.

  “Come here, Sunshine,” he says in a rough voice. I sit up and lean into his warm embrace. “Go ahead,” he tells me. “Let it go.”

  And I do, sobbing until his T-shirt is soaked and my nose is stuffed.

  Through it all Michael holds me, stroking my hair and rocking me. When I’ve finally spent every available drop of water in my body, he leans back so he can see my face.

  “Oh, Jen,” he whispers, drying my last tears with the hem of his shirt. “You’re killing me here.”

  “I’m s-s-sorry,” I stutter out, my voice raspy from the breakdown.

  “No, don’t you dare apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. You love your family and they love you. Your old man shouldn’t be keeping you from them. It’s just… Damn. It’s so wrong. I want to go down there and knock some sense into him.”

  I rub the soft cotton of his worn Rolling Stones T-shirt between my fingers. It’s such a contrast to the body that it covers—sheer, hard planes and rigid muscles.

  “Michael? I need to go home. Not right now, but when we’re done week after next? I need to go back to Texas. Nothing’s going to be right until I figure this out with my family.”

  He sits up straighter and holds my face between his palms. “Then we’ll go back to Texas. Once we’re done with this set of recordings, we can be anyplace you want. The sound engineers will be making small changes. They’ll send them to us every night for review. If we need to talk in real time, we’ll Skype about it. All the other stuff—the marketing plans and distribution negotiations—can be done via e-mail.”

  My heart lifts just the tiniest bit. “Really?” I ask. “You’re sure? What about your dad?”

  “You know, I can get someone to come in and clean the house, make him breakfast every day so we know he’s doing okay. But if I get my way, he won’t be going back to work and we’ll get him to come to Dallas with us. The loft is ready, baby.” He smiles.

  I clap my hands and bounce on the sofa. “It is? Why didn’t you say anything? Are we both going to stay there? Do you think your dad will do it?”

  He laughs. “First off, you’d better stay there with me. I’ve gotten damned used to that special way you wake me up.”

  I feel my cheeks heat and I elbow him. I’ll just say that I do now know how to give a blowjob, and according to Michael, I’m exceptionally good at it.

  “As for Dad, he might come to Dallas if you asked him. Would you be okay with having him there?”

  I smile. I may not have my own right now, but family is everything to me. That Michael and his dad are back on good terms is a beautiful thing I want to help with.

  “Of course. You and your dad need to spend as much time together as you can. I would love it if he came to Dallas with us.”

  Michael stands and holds out his hand. “Good. It’s all settled then. As soon as we get these last two tracks wrapped, we’ll pack up and head to Dallas. In the meantime, you’ll work on my dad, we’ll work on a plan to get your parents on board, and I’ll work on you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Work on me? What’s that mean?”

  He pulls my hand and leads me out of the room. “Take me to your bedroom and I’ll show you.” He grins.

  IT’S A Sunday when it happens. I’ve just gotten back to Walsh and Tammy’s after church. I’ve told Michael that he’s welcome to come with me whenever he wants, but he hasn’t taken me up on it and that’s fine. Since coming to Portland, I’ve been trying out some different churches. More like my brother’s congregation in Killeen.

  Unlike my father, I refuse to accept the idea that everyone who believes differently than me is sinful. The truth is that I need to find a church that won’t condemn me for my choices. I have sex out of wedlock every night, I defied my parents to pursue a vain occupation, and I haven’t done a single charitable act in months. But the thing is, aside from missing my mother and brother, I’m the happiest I’ve been in my life. No matter how I spin it, I can’t believe that the things Michael and I do together in the privacy of our own bed are sinful. He loves me and I love him. I don’t think God minds that.

  When I walk in from church, the house is really quiet for a Sunday. Most Sundays, Tammy’s and Walsh’s parents come over for brunch, and of course that means Mel and Joss do as well. Sometimes Michael and I make it. Sometimes he and his dad do their own thing and I catch up with them later. But today, the house is silent. I walk through calling out for Tammy but get no response. I head out to the patio and still nothing.

  I’m digging through my purse to find my phone so I can call her when it rings. I find it buried underneath my wallet in the outside pocket of my bag.

  It’s Michael.

  “Good morning, you,” I say cheerfully. “What are you up to?”

  “Hey, are you done with church?” His voice tells me that something’s not right.

  “Yeah, I just got home. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Tammy. She’s bleeding or something. Walsh called and I’m headed to the E.R. to meet them.”

  I put my hand over my mouth, fear and bile rising in me concurrently. “Oh my God. They love that baby so much.”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice somber. “But we don’t know anything yet. Let’s just get over there and find out what the doctors say.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

  WHEN I walk into the hospital, Michael is waiting for me in the lobby.

  “Hi,” he says, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “Everyone’s upstairs in the maternity ward.”

  The place is busy, people walking in and out. A few do a double take of Michael, but they have the decency not to approach us. He leads me by the hand to the elevators, where we ride up with several other people, so we can’t talk.

  When we get off at the maternity floor, he strides down the hall to a small waiting area, where Joss and Mel sit along with Tammy’s parents. It’s obviously intended to be a private space, and there aren’t any other families in there.

  “Oh, Jenny, you beautiful girl. How sweet of you to come.” Mrs. DiLorenzo leaps from one of the hard, plastic chairs to come hug me.

  I hug her back. “It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. D. I didn’t see Tammy before I left the house this morning, but she was fine last night. Do you know what’s happened?”

  Mel stands and comes over, giving me a quick hug too. Michael squeezes my hand then moves to sit with Mr. D. and Joss.

  “She woke up this morning and was bleeding,” Mel tells me, grimacing. “It wasn’t an injury or anything, so they’re checking her out now. Doing an ultrasound…” Mel’s voice fades away and she swallows before clearing her throat.

  Mrs. D. tsks. “Those fancy cameras don’t know everything. When I was pregnant with you, I had this same thing happen, Melanie. Your sister’s going to be fine. Women in our family always have healthy babies, and Walsh is a tall, strong man. That baby is going to be beautiful like his parents and we’re going to have a big baptism since they wouldn’t let us have a wedding. I’m thinking we can hold it at St. Isabelle’s and then a brunch afterwards at the Julian Hotel.”

  I see Mel’s teeth clench. I’m trying not to smile, having heard a whole lot about Mrs. D.’s penchant for enormous family parties, particularly when her sons-in-law pay for them. Walsh and Tammy escaped the wedding by eloping to Vegas, but I doubt they’ll be able to get out of the massive baptism so easily.

  “Let’s get the baby born first, Mom,” Mel admonishes.

  “Events like this need to planned months in advance, Melanie. And we have to time it so it doesn’t interfere with your wedding…”

  Mel gives me an apologetic shrug as she follows her
mother back to the chairs. I walk to where Michael is whispering to Joss and sit on the other side of him. Mr. DiLorenzo seems completely unfazed by all of it and is reading his newspaper.

  The light from the overhead fluorescents casts the whole room in a bluish tint, and the hum of the hospital is like background noise that blends with the voices of everyone in the room. I shiver a touch when I sit on the hard, cold plastic.

  “You okay, Sunshine?” Michael asks, putting an arm around me and rubbing my shoulder.

  “Yeah. They just keep these rooms too cold.”

  “So Tammy was feeling fine last night?” Joss asks.

  I’ve never heard what happened between Joss, Tammy, and Walsh, but it broke up the band, and none of them will discuss it. When I asked Michael, he said he’d told the story once when it wasn’t his to tell and he would never make that mistake again. It cost him his band, and I think, in retrospect, he regrets that deeply. I can guess at the possibilities, and none of them are good. But I have to say that the three of them really seem to have put it behind them. Joss and Tammy get along fine—not too friendly, but they obviously care about each other the way a brother and sister-in-law should.

  “She was fine,” I tell him, noticing the lines of worry between his brows. “Things like this happen a lot in pregnancies,” I say, trying to offer comfort. “Chances are she and the baby are just fine.”

  He presses his lips together and gives a quick nod. “I hope so. She and Walsh…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “They’ve been through a lot…more than their share. Things are good now. They deserve some good.”

  Michael nods. “Amen, brotha’.”

  I squeeze Michael’s hand and close my eyes to pray for Walsh, Tammy, and the baby. Michael just holds on and lets me be. When I’m done, I open my eyes and he’s looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

  “I was saying a prayer for them,” I explain.

  “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.” Then he smiles sweetly at me—yes, I said sweetly. Michael can be sweet when he wants to be. “You’re a good person, Jenny Turner. I wish your father could see what everyone else does when they look at you.”