“All right,” Jake said when they finished the fourth rendition. “I guess I’ll give it a shot.”
“Perfect,” Z said, smiling. “We’re going to replace Sea Breeze with Blur for the next five shows then. Jake, that’ll be the sixth song in the set, right after Time to Talk. You down with it?”
“I’m down with it,” he said.
“Excellent. Now then. Which one of my tunes do you want to sing?”
“My favorite Bobby Z tune—and the one I’m most familiar with—would have to be I’ll Call You Tomorrow.”
“Aww man!” Z complained. “That’s one of my most popular pieces! One of the few that actually hit mainstream.”
“It’s a good tune,” Jake said. “I like the cynical tone of the lyrics quite a bit. And you did say I could do any of your tunes I wanted, right?”
“I did say that,” Z said, shaking his head. “All right. Let’s hear you do it. If you can pull it off, we’ll move that one from the number eight slot and make it the first encore. Do you need the specs on the tune, Jake?”
Jake shook his head. “As long as you’re playing it in G major and I’m only singing, I think I can handle it.”
“We are indeed playing it in G major,” Z said. “All right. Let’s give it a shot.”
This turned out to be even easier than playing Blur had been. The band, including Sally and Squiggle this time, were already well-rehearsed on this particular tune since they had been playing it nightly for the past three months. Jake was familiar enough with the tune and the lyrics to it that it was simply an exercise in karaoke for him. Again, it sounded a tad rough at times (primarily because of Jake’s timing), but again, that was kind of the effect they were going for.
“Very nice,” Z said when they finished. “Let’s do it again.”
They did it again, and then again, and then one more time for good measure. After that, they decided to go through Blur two more times, just to be sure of themselves. They continued to play Blur in an aesthetically pleasing manner as well.
“All right then,” Z said with satisfaction. “It looks like we got ourselves a special guest for the next five shows.”
“Looks like it,” Jake agreed.
Laura had her own private dressing room in the arena. She and Jake retired to it as soon as the sound check was done and Z’s opening band (they used local jazz bands to open for them at every venue—in this venue it was the West Texas A&M ensemble) began to assemble their equipment for their own sound check.
“Jake, I should take a shower first,” Laura said breathlessly as Jake threw her against the sitting chair and began tugging on her shirt to remove it.
“Shower after,” he told her, running his hands over the smooth skin of her flanks for a moment before returning to the task of taking off the shirt.
“But I’ve been on the bus all day,” she panted. “And then out doing record store signings in this muggy heat, and then in the hot arena doing the sound check. I’m all smelly and gross! And I haven’t shaved ... you know... down there in a couple of days now.”
“I don’t care,” he told her, pulling off the shirt and tossing it behind him. “I’ve been waiting months for this moment. I need you now.”
“But...”
“No buts,” he said, covering her mouth with his. He slid his tongue between her lips while his hands went to the snap on her bra. A second later it was loose and fluttering to the floor.
“Wow,” she breathed as his hands covered her breasts, squeezing them, pinching at the nipples. “I find you make a good argument.”
“Yeah,” he said, nibbling at her neck. “Let’s get those pants off of you.”
She dropped her pants and underwear to the ground and he turned her around, bending her over the back of the dressing room chair. He then dropped his own pants. A moment later, he had himself in hand and was rubbing the head of his little buddy against her slit. She was very wet down there, red stubble and all. And there was indeed a strong odor of musk and girlish sweat rising into the air from her. This did nothing but turn him on more. He pushed forward and sank inside of her in one stroke.
“Ohhh, my god,” she moaned. “Yes! Fuck me!”
He fucked her, falling quickly into that age-old motion of love, thrusting away, his hands gripping her hips as his member felt the glorious friction of an orifice that was specifically designed to pleasure it for the first time in forever.
“Oh ... Jake,” she panted as she thrust back at him. “I’ve missed this so much.”
“Me too,” he breathed.
“Do it harder!” she commanded. “And feel my tits! Put your hands all over them!”
He was nothing if not obedient.
None of the members of Bobby Z’s band caught the West Texas A&M jazz ensemble as they performed their forty-five minute set. Jake didn’t catch them either. They were all in the locker room area, sitting in chairs, drinking water from plastic bottles, and telling each other tales from the road. All were now dressed in their stage clothes. For Z it was a pair of tight black pants and a black button-up shirt. For Laura, this was a green and white dress that fell to just above her knees. Her hair had been washed and styled by Roger “Ribby” Jones, the flamboyantly gay hairdresser who proclaimed that the highlight of each of his days on this tour was getting to style an actual female’s hair. Squiggle and Sally were both dressed in neatly pressed slacks and dress shirts to match Laura’s look in the horn section. Groove and Homer, like Jake, were both dressed in jeans and simple dark colored pull-over shirts. All of them had their all-access backstage passes hung around their necks.
“So, I hear you and Celia Valdez have been working with Dexter on your latest projects,” Z said casually. It was the first time he mentioned his former lover.
“That’s right,” Jake said with a nod. “We had to sign him up after you stole Laura from us.”
Z chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair enough,” he said. “He’s a great sax player, a great musician in general.”
“He is,” Jake agreed. “He was able to get into our groove pretty easily.”
“Unlike someone else you used to play with?” Laura asked. She was sitting in one of the large chairs next to Jake, her legs stretched out across his lap.
“Hey, you got into it eventually,” Jake said. “Once we broke you of that snobby attitude.”
“Shut up,” Laura said, slapping at his shoulder. “I wasn’t that bad of a snob.” Jake gave her a look and she giggled. “Okay, maybe I was,” she then conceded.
“I’m glad to hear Dex is doing okay,” Z said. “A great musician, but not so great as a boyfriend. A little too much jealousy in that heart. Couldn’t stand to see the ladies fawning over me after the shows. He kept accusing me of going all hetero on him behind his back.” He shook his head. “As if.”
“That’s kind of an interesting dynamic,” Jake had to admit.
“Right,” Z said. “If you think being hetero in this business is complicated, try being a homo sometime.”
“I think I’ll pass on that one,” Jake said. “Seems more trouble than it’s worth.”
“A pity,” Z said with true regret. He had been admiring Jake’s derriere ever since he’d arrived. “Anyway ... has Dex been ... you know ... seeing anyone?”
“Well...” Jake said carefully, “I kind of make it a point to mind my own business in matters such as that, but ... honestly ... I don’t think he’s been seeing anyone exclusively. He and Phil—that’s Laura’s ex-roomie who sings some backup for us—were in the habit of going out together on Saturday nights after rehearsal, but I’m pretty sure they were not ... you know... together. They were just going out to hit the clubs and pick up a little something for themselves.”