“For everyone!” Crow cried. “We’ve got a positive feedback loop going on here. Word that you’re performing with Z has spread and we’re selling out the goddamn arenas, raking in the ticket revenue. This means that people who are not Bobby Z fans, who don’t even like smooth jazz as a genre, are coming to those concerts to see you play. They’re being exposed to Z’s music and getting into it. His album sales are spiking well above the baseline in every city you visit right after you leave there! Do you know what that means?”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “It means I’m helping introduce Z to some new fans and he’s selling more albums because of it. It’s cool, and I’m happy for Z, but I’ve got a contract in place for that studio time. I can’t put it off.”
“What if we pay the cancellation fee for you at Blake Studios and let you use our studio after the Bobby Z tour at half cost? Would that convince you?”
“Sorry,” Jake said. “That would screw up Celia’s schedule as well, even if I was inclined to spend six months traipsing around the US and South America. It’s just not going to happen, Crow.”
Crow actually worked his way up to offering to pay Celia’s cancellation fee as well, upgrading the accommodations for Z and the rest of them, and then to let Jake, Celia, and the entire group use National’s studio for free if Jake would just stay throughout the American portion of the tour.
“No can do,” Jake told him. “I’m on the plane from Vegas back to LA on Friday night. The next morning, I’ll be in my own plane on the way to Coos Bay.”
“You’re passing up an incredible opportunity for publicity and album sales, Jake,” Crow chastised once he finally concluded that Jake was serious and not just sweetening his negotiation position.
“Yeah,” Jake told him, “most of which would benefit National Records. Goodbye, Crow. As always, it was a pleasure speaking to you.”
He hung up before Crow could try again.
Now, however, as he packed up his belongings in Room 207 of the North Las Vegas Motel 6, where the band was staying on their extended travel day before tomorrow’s show, a big part of him wished he had shirked his responsibilities and agreed to stay with the tour.
His motivation was not financial in any way. Part of it was that he’d truly enjoyed his brief foray back into life on the road. He was a traveling musician and it had been a blast to dip back into the lifestyle for a week. Getting up on stage and performing before an audience was a great high, better than the finest bud, the purest cocaine, the most premium of spirits. He longed to do it more, to walk out into the bright lights and play his guitar and sing. It was an addiction like any other and now he’d had a renewed taste of it.
The biggest part of his regret, however, was the redheaded sax player who was laying on the bed, wearing only a T-shirt that barely covered her sexy legs, watching him pack up with a mournful, sad expression on her face. She did not want him to go either, but she knew he had to.
Spending the last seven days and nights with her, performing with her on the stage, watching her perform alone on stage, had done nothing but reaffirm the intense love he felt for her. They had reveled in each other’s presence as they had back in Oregon when they first became romantic with each other. Their spark for each other was still very much alive and had burned brightly for the past week. They had been after each other’s body at every opportunity, doing it every night in every hotel room, in the showers after performances, on the bus one time, and even in the backstage area, inside one of the packing cases, on one memorable occasion. They had just been at each other twenty minutes before, right before Jake had stepped into the shower to clean up before leaving for the airport.
“How long until your cab gets here?” she asked him as he closed up his suitcase and dropped it next to the door beside the guitar case and the soprano sax case.
“Less than five minutes, they say,” he said.
She nodded softly, a single tear running down her face. “God I’m going to miss you,” she said. “I can’t believe how fast this week went by.”
“I know,” he said, coming over and sitting on the foot of the bed. He reached out and stroked her bare leg. “It was the experience of a lifetime though, wasn’t it?”
She wiped the tear away and smiled. “It was that. And my poor little pussy has been rubbed raw by all the fucking we’ve done.”
“My poor little dick is in the same shape,” he said.
“At least we’ll have time to heal up before the next time, huh?”
“I guess there’s always a silver lining,” he agreed.
She spread her legs apart, showing him that she was not wearing any underpants. She then reached forward and grabbed his hand, pulling it further up her leg, onto her thigh. “Do you think that maybe we have time for one more quick one before the cab gets here?” she whispered.
He looked at the junction of her legs. She had just shaved when she’d taken her post-bus ride shower. She was still swollen and wet from their last encounter. Despite the fact that he’d already come once in her mouth and once in her vagina in the past twelve hours, he felt himself stirring inside his pants. He swallowed audibly.
“I have to fly on an airplane in an hour,” he told her. “I can’t do that smelling like you.”
“Why not?” she asked. “I’m sure that’s not the nastiest thing you’ve ever done on an airplane, is it?”
“Uh ... well...” he said, remembering another redhead in the bathroom of a 747 many years before. “I’m gonna take the Fifth on that one.”
She moved her bare foot up and began to caress his crotch with it. “Come on, sweetie,” she said. “You’re sitting in first class, aren’t you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, his voice not quite steady, his member stiffening even more as her foot rubbed it.
“I have no idea,” she said with a giggle. “But you’re Jake Kingsley. People expect you to smell like you just fucked someone. Now come on, earn that smell. I want one more before you go.”
“Well ... if you insist,” he said, standing up and moving his hands to his belt.
“I insist,” she said, scooting up the edge of the bed and hiking up the hem of her T-shirt.
They did it fast and hard, his manhood plunging in and out of her, his hands pulling on her hair, his mouth alternating between bites on her neck and deep tongue swirling kisses on her mouth. She came quickly under this treatment and he was right behind her, pouring himself into her body one last time.
No sooner had the final spasm faded out, the final post-coital kiss of passion wrapped up, that the splash of headlights from outside suddenly blazed across the cheap motel curtains covering the window. A horn sounded twice.
Jake sighed. “I gotta go,” he said.
“I know,” she said, still holding him tight against her. He could feel her tears on his neck now.
Finally, after the horn sounded again, she released him. He stood up, his now wilted penis slipping out of her body with a drool of their combined juices. He still had his shoes and pants on. He pulled them up and buckled them, wincing a little as the material of his underwear rubbed against his abraded and sore phallus. He walked quickly to the door, opened it a crack, and made eye contact with the cabbie behind the wheel of the idling Yellow cab. He held up one finger and got a thumbs up in return.
When he turned around, Laura was standing there, the tears flowing freely down her face now. “I love you, Jake,” she told him.
“I love you too,” he assured her.
They shared one last hug, one last kiss, and then he picked up his baggage and walked out the door. Laura closed it behind him and he walked to the cab. The driver had already popped the trunk. Jake put the baggage inside and slammed down the trunk lid. He took one last look at the closed door of the motel room and then wiped at his eyes. He then opened the rear door of the cab and sat down.