by W E DeVore
After a few seconds of extremely uncomfortable silence, Marianne Multer finally spoke, “Of course, Mr. Wills, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thomas Gregory Wills. Junior. That’s me,” Tom said, enunciating every single syllable and smiling broadly.
Marianne continued, “Of course, we understand. The songs were just ideas. We both love your little group, don’t we, Gus?”
Q wasn’t the only one starring slack-jawed at Tom. The Senator glanced at his wife and finally replied loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear, “Yes, yes. Fine, fine. Wonderful Louisiana musicians playing beautiful Louisiana music for our uniquely Louisiana tradition, I couldn’t be happier. That’s why, as your United States Senator, it is my goal to preserve the values and traditions the people of this great state hold dear.”
Q felt everyone in the room simultaneously roll their eyes and mute their groans at the disingenuous stump speech. Multer reached out to shake Tom’s hand. Tom pretended he didn’t see it and turned around to walk back to the stage.
Once he had sat down behind the drum set, Q jumped on stage, fell to her knees and shouted, “Tom Wills, ladies and gentlemen” before prostrating herself in front of Tom. Charlie, Pete and JJ followed suit. Tom stood up and bowed. They all stood back up and finished sound check.
By the time they were done, the first guests were arriving in a flood of kaleidoscope gaiety and costumes. Ben came over to tell them to start playing and to deliver some water to Q. He pointed to the blond waitress standing by the bar. “Signal Beth if you need anything, she’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
Q took the water. “Did you get Urian on the list?”
“Yeah and I gave him a plus one just in case. You’re covered, just play well. I don’t think the Multers were too thrilled about your little performance earlier.”
She put her hand to her throat. “Who me?”
Ben scowled at her. She winked at him and kissed him on the forehead. “You worry too much.”
Q turned to The Beasts and said, “Looks like we got to rock it tonight.”
Charlie picked up his trumpet. “That’s what we came here for, isn’t it? Give all those biddies in them Mardi gras wigs a thrill?”
She looked at the crowd. Florescent purple, green, and gold wigs galore. Ben gestured to the table by the front door that held the pile of Day-Glo Tribbles.
“One more thing, darlin’…” He shoved a purple Tribble into Q’s hand. “Mrs. Multer thought it would match your eyes.”
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Not even a bit.” Ben nodded at Mrs. Multer who gave Q a little wave and a smile before pointing to her own purple wig.
“Aren’t they just adorable?” Ben lisped in a feminine Alabama drawl.
“Stop enjoying this so much.” Q snarled but obediently screwed the wig down on her head and smoothed down the square cut bangs. She shook her head in distaste, pretending not to notice how much Tom and Charlie were enjoying her humiliation. She sat down at the piano and spoke into the microphone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We are QT and The Beasts. Happy Mardi Gras!” she spoke into the microphone.
She was met with weak applause and one hoot. Q searched the audience and found Niko wearing his catering uniform. She smiled at him and yelled, “I said, ‘Happy Mardi,’ y’all!”
Slightly better than weak applause and a slightly louder “Yeah, Girl!” from Niko.
“Alright, then, we gonna rock it for you and get some booties shaking on the dance floor. One, Two, One Two Three Four.”
Tom and JJ launched into a completely different opening groove than the one she’d expected them to play. Charlie quickly caught on, blaring the opening squeal on his trumpet. Q jumped in late, surprised at the sudden song switch. She sang the first verse out of pure muscle memory:
Put on your wig, woman
We goin’ out to shake and fingerpop
As soon as the words left her mouth, she used her upstage hand to flip off Tom and JJ, both of whom were grinning like idiots. And the show began.
The first set went by in hurry. Q was thrilled to be playing with JJ, everything was gelling, and the crowd was eating it up. The dance floor was a living mass of purple, green, and gold; two hundred bodies undulating in unison, swimming through varying depths of intoxication. Charlie was burning through a wicked trumpet solo and Q watched the crowd, filling in the spaces between the bass and trumpet with a steady piano groove.
A slight woman in a tight, red vinyl skirt, wearing a bright green Mardi Gras wig, writhed between Senator Multer and his wife. The Senator’s hand slipped down to her red vinyl covered ass and gave it a tight squeeze. Q cringed and nearly missed a beat. She let her eyes follow them as they left the dance floor, disappearing down the long hallway next to the stage.
She resisted her powerful urge to gag, mainly by having to sing another verse. The crowd was all theirs now. They rolled through the last songs of the first set then took a quick ten-minute break before launching into the next.
Charlie set down his trumpet and pulled out his guitar. After that, everybody in the room was completely focused on stage.
People really do think he’s a guitar god… huh.
Q was never happier to be wrong. She glanced through the song list, looking forward to the last two songs. Both of which were her personal favorites of all the covers that they knew and played regularly. She was happy Charlie put them back into the set list.
They started into the second to the last song. Charlie was on fire. Without question, it was Q’s favorite cover. Up until now, they’d only played it as a warm-up because it was way too close to a straight up honky-tonk barnstormer for QT and The Beasts’ normal audience. She slammed into the piano groove and JJ and Tom were locked in tight.
Q sang with a husky growl:
I’m hungrier than a lion, waiting to attack
I can’t promise not to run my claws down your back
You won’t want to fight me, not even a bit
You can tame me baby, without a long, thick whip!
I’m a wild woman, honey
Catch me if you can
Charlie threw himself into the guitar solo and Q looked out into the audience. If Marianne Multer was upset that they had changed up her set list, she wasn’t showing it. She and another well-past middle age socialite were very nearly grinding each other on the dance floor. The Senator was back without his bewigged companion, ogling Q and licking his lips. Q decided that she didn’t like the way he was watching her and quickly looked away, making a mental note to avoid looking at him for the rest of the night.
Her eyes sought out Ben and found him leaning against the wall next to the front door, looking straight at her. She blew a little kiss and rounded into the outro. When they finished the song, Q turned and smiled at Charlie and nodded in appreciation. “Charlie Bourdel, ladies and gentlemen!”
The crowd enthusiastically applauded and whooped appreciatively.
“Alright y’all, we’re gonna slow it down a little and then take a break so y’all can get some more of that good food and get a few more drinks in you.”
Charlie, JJ, and Tommy launched into a slow, grinding groove. ‘Rock Me, Baby’ had been on Mrs. Multer’s original list and she let out a little yelp of approval. Q stood up and pushed in the piano bench. She sauntered to the mic stand at the front of the stage and sensually stroked the stand up and down as she crooned:
Rock me baby, rock me all night long
Rock me baby, rock me all night long
Rock me baby, like my back ain't got no bones
Q moaned and ground her hips against the mic stand. She sensed the eyes of every man in the room glued to her, but she only felt one pair: Ben’s. He was still leaning against the back wall. She pointed at him and gestured for him to come closer. He walked towards her until he was standing still in the middle of the dance floor, arms crossed on his chest staring back at her, a perfectly still island in a sea
of moving bodies:
Roll me, like an ol’ wagon wheel
I want you to roll me, babe
Just like a wagon wheel
I want you to rock and roll me
You don’t know how good you make me feel
Everyone else in the room vanished and she lost herself in the slow, erotic groove. Charlie started his guitar solo and she slinked back to the piano to play along. She let her left hand pound out the bass line and let her right hand move up and down her body and looking straight at Ben as she sang the last chorus:
Rock me baby, honey, rock me slow
Rock me baby, honey, rock me slow
Rock me baby, till I want no more
The boys stopped playing just before her last line and let her work the mic, and the audience, and then came in for the finish.
“Woo! Thank you, ladies, and gentlemen. I’m gonna go get myself a cold drink.” Q grinned and used her hand to fan herself with an antebellum flutter. “We’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”
Charlie walked over to Q and put his hand on the small of her back. “Jesus, Q, you ought to get laid more often. It’s done wonders for your stage presence. I don’t think there’s a soft dick in the room.”
She was just about to smack him with her mic, when Ben grabbed her by the wrist and said, “Come on.”
As he dragged her off the front of the stage, she helplessly handed her microphone to Charlie before leaping quickly to the ground.
“See what I mean,” Charlie called after her, making a rude gesture with the mic. Q flipped him off as Ben pulled her through the crowd.
Ben led her purposefully through the swarming bar without saying another word. His hand wrapped around her wrist a little too tightly. She decided she had embarrassed him. She had gone a little bit over the top, what with the grinding and the sex sighs and the body stroking and all. Ben strode right to the door of his office next the bar and led her inside. He closed and locked the door behind them. His office was lit only by the streetlamp shining through the window; he didn’t turn on the light.
“Ben, look, I’m sorry if I went too far….”
He pushed her up against the door and then his mouth was on hers. He pinned her arms above her head and worked his mouth down to her neck.
“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Ben whispered, continuing to kiss her neck. “Say it. Tell me your mine.”
“I’m yours.” She sighed as her head began to swim.
“Oh god, I want you.”
He slid her dress up over her hips, then his hand slipped between her thighs. Q let out a little gasp when his thumb found its way under her panties to her clitoris. She tore at the buttons of his shirt, pulling him down to her to kiss his collarbone. His other hand moved her dress off her shoulders and started fondling a breast. She pulled off his suit coat, then set to unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants as fast she could.
Ben picked her up and Q wrapped her legs around him. He pushed inside her. She gasped as his full erection drove fully inside her. She could feel her orgasm building instantly and she cried out. He grunted and clamped his mouth down hard on hers in a futile attempt to muffle their screams. She moved her hips in counterpoint to his, harder and harder, shuddering as the massive wave of pleasure hit her. She forced herself to continue moving through it. The gratification was nearly unbearable. She could hear her own cries mingling with Ben’s until he let out a loud moan, slamming his palm against the door, struggling to maintain his balance.
He kissed her slowly and deeply, clenching her hips so that he could stay completely inside her as they sank to the floor breathing heavily, exhausted and satisfied. Ben lips didn’t leave hers for several minutes. Slowly her heart rate returned to normal. She could feel her the velvet of her dress sticking to her still-sweating body.
Q tried a joke. “So I guess you liked the song.”
“Not the song, just you…” Ben replied smiling, “…Only you.”
He returned to kissing her neck for several long minutes before finally asking, “What do you have going on this week?”
“Mardi gras tomorrow, so parades. Ash Wednesday after that, so being happy I’m Jewish and don’t have to fast until July.” Q sighed and held his head to her chest.
“Look, I usually close up for the week after Mardi Gras. Stay with me?” he asked, looking timid and nervous.
She nodded and felt perfectly happy for the first time in recent memory until she caught a glimpse of Ben’s watch. “Shit, how long have we been in here?”
He looked at the time. “Not long. Ten, fifteen minutes – that must be some kinda record.” He kissed her nose. “We better clean up and get back out there though.”
They reluctantly stood up, straightening their clothes and redressing. Ben handed Q her satchel from his desk drawer so that she could fix her make-up.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
Ben grinned sheepishly and said, “Depends on whether you want everyone out there to know what we’ve been doing in here.”
She pulled out her pocket mirror and surveyed the damage. “You mean everyone out of earshot out there. I’m fairly certain that anyone standing near that door knows exactly what we’ve been doing.”
They gave each other a quick once over to confirm the damage was undone before strolling confidently out the door. As they exited, they were met with some scattered applause, mostly from Niko. Q curtsied gracefully and walked straight to the stage to start the next set. Pete wasn’t back at mixer yet, so she stopped on the way and unmuted her channels before getting back on stage.
She sat down at the piano and spoke into the microphone. “Hey ladies, y’all have yourself a handyman? A man who knows how to fix things right and just where to put his drill?”
A few drunken socialites let out a yell. A man in the back heckled, "Hey darlin’, we all heard him drill you.”
Q grinned and continued on with her shtick. “Yeah, you right. I do have me a good one. But I think mine might be the handsiest, excuse me, I meant to say ‘handiest’' man around.”
She winked at Ben who was leaning up against the door to his office staring at her and not one bit embarrassed. “He’s a stickler for maintenance, my man. Things have got to be greased up and well oiled, if you know what I mean?”
More yells and this time some more of the men laughed. “Now I’m gonna tell y’all about my man while the boys stay on break a while longer.”
She started playing the first few bars, trying to calm her heart rate back down before she sang. While her fingers lightly moved over the keyboard, she kept flashing back to the darkened office, feeling Ben’s hands on her body under her dress. She was fairly certain that a livid bite mark was developing on her left shoulder and was relieved that it facing was away from the audience. Her underwear was uncomfortably wet, making her squirm a little as she played. She tried to focus on the piano riff and the lyrics and started to sing:
Whoever said a good man’s hard to find,
Positively, absolutely certainly was blind;
I found the best that ever was,
Here's some of the things he does:
He shakes my ashes, greases my griddle,
Churns my butter, strokes my fiddle;
My man is such a handy man!
Ben’s amber eyes were burning through her. She looked up at him from across the top of the piano and winked, continuing:
Don't care if you believe or not,
He's good to have around;
Why, when my furnace gets too hot,
He turns my damper down!
For everything he's got a scheme;
You ought to see him grease my machine;
My man is such a handy man!
Q started into the piano break and a very drunk older man laughed loud enough for her to hear on stage and catcalled, “I’d love to grease that little girl’s machine.”
She answered him back in the microphone, “Sorry, grandpa, don’t think your dipstick’
s quite long enough."
The crowd laughed as she came out of the bridge and sang:
Sometimes he's up long before dawn,
Busy trimming on my lawn;
My man is such a handy man!
Never has a single thing to say,
While he's working hard;
I wish that you could see the way
He handles my front yard!
More catcalls from the audience. She ignored them and finished the last verse.
My ice don't get a chance to melt away,
I get a fresh piece every single day;
Lord, that man sure is such a handy man
She blew Ben a kiss and he gave her a proud smile and a wink. She already knew she wasn’t going to see one parade tomorrow. She didn’t mind.
She Was a Good Old Girl
The rest of the third set went by as quickly as Q could make it and the crowd started to thin out. She had to give it to Marianne Multer. She definitely knew how to make a Lundi Gras party end at a reasonable hour. She would have to remember the lullaby set concept of traditional piano tunes for the next big wedding they played. Those folks wanted to party ‘until,’ when they only paid to party until two a.m. By the time The Beasts wrapped up the final tune, the crowd was down by half and the rest were thanking their hosts and making their uneasy way to the parking lot, off to other parties mostly, by the sound of it.
Tom drained his beer. “Gonna take my time cleanin’ up tonight and wait for these drunks to get on home.”
Q nodded in agreement. “These folks sure do know how to take full advantage of an open bar.”
Pete pointed to Urian Galanos standing over by the bar. “Well, he showed. You think he’ll stick to the deal?”
