Three Mile Island

I could tell all day Wednesday that Bernie was keeping a secret. I caught him more than once out of the corner of my eye grinning like a kid on Christmas Day. He wouldn’t cough it up, though. No matter what I tried – bribery, tickling his ribs, the silent treatment – nothing worked. So I finally gave up. I kind of had to, because we had a trauma come in that kept us busy for the rest of the afternoon.

On the way home we always walk together until Bernie has to turn off for his block by the grocer. Before he gave me his customary hug and peck goodbye, he finally told me what he had been sitting on all day. He and Kyle had gone out the night before for a few hours after work. They had invited me, but I usually don’t go out on weeknights so I declined. I guess I should have gone, because Bernie and Kyle saw Jack there with his band.

I tried to play it cool by asking Bernie if Dutch had made it home with all of his fingers intact; apparently he had. But my dear friend Bernie knows me too well. I was dying to find out if Jack had said anything about me and he could tell. Just to be coy, Bernie acted like he didn’t remember. As soon as I gave him a few noogies, he caved.

“Ow, knock it off,” he complained, rubbing the abused spot on his head.

I scowled at him and said, “Serves you right, not telling me all day what happened. Now what happened?”

“He saw us sitting at one of the tables and came over during a break in the music. He told me that his drunk friend was being an asshole, so he had to leave without getting your phone number.” He looked at me slyly and said, “But he did kiss the stuffing out of you, didn’t he?”

I flapped my hands at his impertinence, ignoring the hot, swirly feeling in my stomach and prompted him to continue, “And?”

“And he said that he would be playing at the Mirror Room this Friday night at nine and he’d like you to come down to see him.” Bernie watched me closely as I sank onto the bus stop bench to digest the information. There was no way in the world I’d be able to work two more days. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate on my job when I knew that on Friday night I was going to see Jack again? Excited did not even begin to cover what I was feeling.

I ended up bounding up and kissing Bernie smack on the lips. “Oh my God, I love you! Are you sure he wants to see me?” It sounded too good to be true, even though I knew Bernie wouldn’t pull my leg on something like this. He knew just how much I liked Jack, because I had been talking his ear off about him ever since the first night I saw him playing.

“Of course he wants to see you. He was hoping to see you last night too,” he laughed. “Now try not to have a heart attack on the way home, ok?”

Cheerfully I replied, “Nope. Healthy as a horse. Comes from breathing in all the fumes downtown.”

I looked at my watch and saw I had to scramble to make it to the gym before it closed. I fumbled for Bernie’s hand and squeezed it, hard, and said earnestly, “Thank you.”

“No problem, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I dashed home and threw on my workout clothes, then jogged the couple blocks to the gym. Normally I have to psych myself up to work out, but not this time. I jumped on the elliptical trainer and set it for a forty-five minute workout. CNN was on the television and even though I was staring at it, I was in an entirely different universe.

The next morning at work, as soon as Bernie saw me downstairs in the break room, he started cracking up. I asked him, “What’s so funny?” and he pointed out that I had put two different shoes on. Shit. I keep an extra pair of trainers in my locker, so thank goodness he was the only one to see me. Come to think of it though, the security guard did do a double take when he said, “Good morning.”

I said to Bernie as I was changing my shoes, “Y’know, if we didn’t have to be here at 6 AM, maybe accidents like this wouldn’t happen.” I really don’t mind the shift once I get there, it’s prying my butt out of bed at 4:30 in the morning that’s the hard part.

When Friday afternoon finally rolled around, I felt as if I had worked seven days in row instead of only two. Just the promise of Friday night kept me going, and the fact that I needed the pay kept me from calling in that last morning. Bernie and I walked to the Greek grocer, where he gave me a hug and admonished me to be careful and to call him if I needed anything.

We parted ways and I went home. I try to take a nap if I’m going to be going out at night after work, but I knew that I would never be able to sleep this time. Just for the hell of it, I tried to lay down, but only ended up thinking rather heated thoughts of Jack’s hands. That worked well. To keep myself from going nuts, I did what few dishes were in my sink and picked up the clothes and other things that were scattered around the apartment. One of my houseplants had suspicious cat fang sized holes in its leaves, so I put the poor thing up on a shelf.

Even though I was trying to distract myself from thinking about our kiss and the fact that there might be more of them in the near future, I kept looking at the clock every few minutes, willing it to speed up. Finally, at somewhere around 5:30, I gave up and started getting ready. I took a nice long bubble bath, shaved my legs and other bits, deep conditioned my hair, plucked my eyebrows and yelled at Diablo for playing in the toilet.

In my bedroom I opened the closet and stared at my clothing. I had no earthly idea what I was going to wear. After debating with myself for another thirty minutes, I decided on a low-slung pair of black pants, an off the shoulder red cotton blouse and my sexy red Christian Louboutin kitten heels. The shoes cost me a whole paycheck, but they were worth it.

So there I was, 7 PM, with still at least an hour and a half before I had to leave. I sat down and flicked on the lava lamp and television and found some old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons to watch for a while. At eight, I called for a cab. The Mirror Room was some ways away and I wanted to make sure I got there in time. As it happened, I ended up waiting fifteen minutes for the cab and it took another fifteen to get through traffic to the club.

I paid the cover charge and slipped inside. I looked around for Jack, but I didn’t see him. He was probably back stage getting ready. There was a huge crowd there – it seemed the band’s reputation was starting to spread across town. I found a table near the front, in the third row back and I sat down. I didn’t want to go up to the bar and possibly lose my seat, so I was relieved to see waitresses circling the room and bringing orders around. When one came my way, I ordered an Anchor Porter and looked at my watch. It was a little after 8:40.

When I heard voices coming from the back, the excitement and anticipation that had been zinging through my body all day started to rapidly increase. I kept sipping at my bottle, trying to moisten my dry mouth. Porter probably wasn’t the right beer to pick, I guess. Maybe for the next one, I’d order something lighter. Pale ale or something.

All of a sudden, the drummer Kevin and another guy started bringing his drum kit from out back. I hadn’t noticed that it wasn’t already set up, but that only took them a few minutes to complete. The same guy that had helped Kevin came out with two mike stands and set them up in the front of the stage. The amps that Jack and Dutch would be using were already in place and hooked up; there were lights on the front of them indicating they were powered up.

There was some house music playing in the background – I was able to make out The Who over the white noise of the crowd. The lights were starting to slowly dim and then the band came out on stage. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw Jack. He was looking around for me and when he saw me, he hopped lightly down off the stage and walked over towards me. The ladies at the tables in front of me craned their necks around so fast I thought they’d get whiplash when they saw him approaching me. I was barely able to restrain myself from giving them the Look that said back off, bitch.

Jack came up to me and stopped just in front of the table. I was so nervous my hands were knotted together in my lap, but I said, “Hi, Jack.” He took hold of one of my hands and squeezed lightly before releasing it.

“Hi yourself,” he said. “I’m glad to see you got the message.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “I had to give Bernie a noogie before he told me what he was hiding from me. Took him all damn day, too.”

Jack laughed, then looked up at the stage when Keith did a triple roll on the snare. “Listen, I have to get up there. We’re playing right through our set tonight because there’s another band coming on after us. Come backstage and find me after, OK? “

I gave him a nod and watched him jump back onstage gracefully. He picked up his guitar; he had a different one tonight, a red Gibson. He had good taste in instruments. Kevin started the count and they started playing a song I recognized from the other show. I had been here before and knew the acoustics were better. Indeed, the sound was louder and clearer.

For their next song, they did a cover of “Layla.” Jack was amazing. He was so into the music, so in tune with his guitar. He was singing some backup vocals tonight, but I really wanted to hear just him to see what he sounded like solo. He had a mid-range tenor speaking voice and from what I could make out, he sounded a little lower than that when singing.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him yet again. He was wearing a tight white shirt and frayed jeans that were tight enough in some places to make me bite my lip and suck in a quick steadying breath. His hair was falling into his face and I positively itched to brush it back out of the way. It didn’t take much for him to turn me on, not at all. All the feelings that I had the first time I saw him play were doubled, tripled even after our last encounter.

Throughout the songs, he kept searching me out with his eyes. He wasn’t smiling anymore – a more intense, concentrated expression was on his face, his eyes a darkened version of his normal color. I hoped I wasn’t distracting him as much as he was distracting me. There was no way I would have even been able to say the alphabet if our places were reversed.

By the end of the last song, Jack was soaked with sweat. He had played that Gibson like it was an extension of himself, with his eyes closed and head tilted back, seemingly putting forth no effort, just gliding his hands up and down the frets and across the strings. Even when he did one of those breathtaking, heart-stopping riffs, he looked like he was doing something just as natural as breathing or talking. He made that guitar sing and I unaccountably felt a brief pang of jealousy.

He looked down at me one last time and I knew he could tell he had turned me on – he, his music, his body, everything. Jack jerked his head towards the back as he was slinging the guitar strap off of his neck. All four of them filed backstage and the next band began to set up their instruments. I gave them a few minutes to swap their gear out and picked my way through the throng of people to the door I had seen them exit through. It looked like more people than just me were trying to go back there, so I got stuck in the doorway for a minute.

Jack was standing there watching for me and when he saw that I was hung up, he came forward and pulled me through the herd of people milling around. I saw that he still had that deep look of concentration on his face and I wasn’t sure how to react for a minute. I hesitated, then thought, ”Screw it,” and threw my arms around his neck. I murmured in his ear, “You were fantastic.” Even after I relaxed my hold on his neck, he kept me pinned against his side with an arm. I felt a thrill run down my spine at the steady contact.

He smiled crookedly then. “Thanks. Sorry I’m so sweaty. The lights are hot out there.”

Shyly, I said, “I don’t mind. Do you want to go change though?”

Jack nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ll change. I didn’t bring anything with me, so if you don’t mind, we’ll run over to my place. There’s a party there tonight anyway.” He turned the sentence into a question and when I said, “Yeah. Sounds great,” he led me through the back of the building, pausing once to tell Kevin that we were going back to their house. It sounded to me like the band rented together.

His car was parked in the tiny parking lot behind the club. It was a vintage Volkswagen Beetle, black in color, and just the type of car I imagined him driving. I burst out laughing when I saw it and didn’t stop giggling until we were in front of his house a short while later. He just grinned and shook his head as he parked the car, then walked around to open the door for me. Before he let go of my hand, he gently pushed me back against the car and kissed me lightly on the lips, then dropped a quick hot one on the side of my neck, making me gasp.

He looped his arm around my shoulders and walked me up the sidewalk. “Come in and I’ll show you around.”

We went inside and the place was already packed full of people. The air was hazy and blue with various kinds of smoke. Jack pulled me through the crowd and down a hall. His room was the one at the end. It was small, he said as we went down the hall, but he didn’t have to share it with anyone. There was a stoned girl sitting on Jack’s bed when we entered, but obviously they didn’t know each other, because she asked him blankly, “Who the hell are you?”

He politely but firmly guided her out of the door and shut it behind her. While he was doing that, I looked around, curious to see what kinds of things someone like Jack might have in his room. There was, of course, the requisite almost-naked female poster on the back of the door. On the opposite wall, though, was a poster of the Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover. Other photos and items were present, but my attention was drawn back to Jack, who had just attempted to peel his shirt up over his head. It was tangled in the few charms he wore around his neck. In a muffled voice, he asked me, “Open the top drawer and grab me a shirt. I’m stuck.”

I opened his drawer and could smell the scent he used drift out. I passed a hand lightly over the stacks of shirts inside and picked out a chocolate brown shirt that I thought might match his eyes. When I turned around to hand it to him, I whispered, “Oh, God,” because his torso and arms were beautiful. He could’ve been a Greek statue at a museum somewhere. When I remembered that most of those Greek statues didn’t have anything on their lower halves, my thoughts took a sharp downward turn towards the gutter and I felt myself turn scarlet.

Jack reached over and took the shirt from my limp hand and mischievously said, “Nah, just call me Jack. But I appreciate the swoon very much, indeed I do.” He was so naughty and playful that I started laughing. I really liked his sense of humor.

He had just pulled me against him with an exaggerated leer when the bedroom door swung open and a tall guy with dreadlocks and a bong in hand poked his head in. “You want to hit this?” he asked.

“No thanks,” I said. I was trying unsuccessfully to hold my breath. They do random drug screens at HCMC, and all I needed was to be in the presence of the stuff for a positive test. Jack must not smoke pot either or didn’t want to right then, because he shook his head at the guy, who then left.

“Let’s go outside and have a cigarette,” I suggested and Jack nodded his head in agreement. There were way too many people inside for comfort, and it would be just my luck to get tested on Monday or something. He guided me down the hall and into the kitchen, which led to the back door. There were a few people out there already, but nowhere near the press of humanity inside.

Jack put his hands on my waist and lifted me up to sit on the fence that ran around the small backyard, then jumped up beside me. I dug for my smokes, handed him one when he asked, and Jack lit them both with his Zippo. Idly, he took hold of my hand and started playing with my fingers as we listened to the couple over in the corner arguing about Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street.

I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “No, they got it all wrong. The Count was the pimp. Bert and Ernie were just the enforcers.” There was enough moonlight for me to see the gleam of his teeth when he smiled and laughed. “I think you’re right. He has too much bling not to be a pimp.” We both started cracking up at that. “Bling” is a word that nobody can get away with saying without looking ridiculous.

After we stubbed our butts out and threw them in the huge urn nearby, Jack cocked his head and looked at me. “Do you want to stay here, or is there somewhere else you’d like to go? Meet up with your friends maybe?”

He asked the question that I had been thinking about all day. If the opportunity came up, was I going to ask him to come home with me? I had never done that before and I truly thought just that morning even that the answer was going to be no. I was going to chicken out. But he didn’t ask the question like it was a foregone conclusion – he honestly was asking what I wanted to do.

Taking a deep breath, I said to him, “We could go back to my place if you want.”

He looked at me, his face a pale blur in the semi-darkness. I could feel the sudden tension emanating from him. He asked slowly, “That would be ok with you?”

I didn’t hesitate. I nodded my head. I had wanted him since the first day I saw him and suddenly my decision was easy to make. I hopped lightly down from the fence, my heels clicking on the concrete and said, “Only if you give me another ride in that groovy car of yours.”

Jack jumped down too, grinned at me, and took me by the hand. “Let’s go, flower child.”