Authors: Annie Carroll
“I wonder who that could
be.” He smiles.
Then
an older man dressed in casual slacks and shirt walks up to him.
“Hey
, Austen. Who is this pretty lady with you tonight?”
“
Julia, this is Bill Graham. He produces the shows here. The Master Maestro of rock ‘n’ roll.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Then he and Austen start talking about dates and schedules. It’s about business so I turn it off. I don’t know why, but I put my arm around his waist and lean closer to him. He tightens his fingers on my shoulder. I realize I like being the rock ‘n’ roll girlfriend.
“Have Joe call me next week. I’ll see what
we can do,” Bill says.
“Will do,” Austen answers.
We stand and watch the show for a few more minutes. My eyes are beginning to water from the smoke and glare. The noise is almost painful. Suddenly he says: “Let’s get out of here.”
A flash greets us as we walk out the door. Someone has taken a photo of us.
Another flash. He heads right to the Mustang and opens the door for me.
“
Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls the car into traffic.
“Somewhere quiet.”
He doesn’t say another word as we head out toward the Richmond District. Oh, I wonder, is he going to take me home? Or to that house on Lake? Instead he parks near a neighborhood bar. Two Tiffany-style lamps hang over the bar. The few customers seated at the bar and at tables talk in muted voices. We slip into a booth with leather seats near the back.
“Austen, what’s wrong? You seem upset.
”
A
white-shirted waiter comes and he orders white wine.
“I was looking at that crowd at the Fillmore. Dru
nk, stoned, flying on acid—I’ve seen more than enough of that when we’re on tour. It’s like Tommy and the people he hangs out with, too. He’s worse at 22 than I was at 17—but the whole scene was too much for me tonight.” Then he adds in his honey voice: “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, baby.”
The waiter brings the wine, two glasses
, pours and leaves.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me on the forehead.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because if I kissed you on your mouth I don’t think I could stop and I don’t want to be arrested for making love to you in public.” He has a smile on his face
and I realize it is a joke—sort of. Then he adds in his honey voice. “When we make love for the first time, Julia, I want it to be someplace quiet and beautiful.”
He runs his fingers gently across my lips.
“You know we’re going to make love, don’t you?”
I start to turn my head away.
It’s truth or dare again—times 10. His hand grasps my chin and he gently pulls my face back toward him.
“Don’t do that, baby. Don’t turn away from me. It won’t do you any good. It’s going to happen
and you know it.”
I feel panicky. My heart is pounding. Part of me wants to say
: ‘Yes. Yes.’ But part of me is afraid. What if I do say ‘Yes’ and he decides the next day that he is done with me and drops me like some disposable groupie. It couldn’t handle that. I don’t want to get hurt. But I want it to happen. I want him. I am afraid. I don’t know.
He laughs softly. “I’m not going to drag you off by your hair, Julia. Come on. Smile at me.”
I smile. And then we talk of other things. But my doubts, my longings linger, distracting me.
It must be close to midnight when he says: “I think we’d better call it a night. I’m driving down to L.A. tomorrow
and we want to get an early start. We’re going to begin rehearsals and recording this week. And I want to talk to Joe about Tommy. Tommy was his big idea.”
Oh, this is it. He’s leaving San Francisco.
I guess it’s better that I didn’t say ‘Yes’. Now I won’t be hurt too much. In time it will just be a brief adventure as the rock ‘n’ roll girlfriend I can look back on. In time.
The front gate squeaks as he opens it and we walk to the front door. He puts one arm around me and with his other hand lifts my face up to his and kisses me. At first soft
ly, then more intensely. I put my arms around him and melt into him. It feels so good. He feels so good. I want this to go on and on.
Then he pulls me away from him and kisses my forehead. “Sweet Dreams.
” Then kisses it again: “Dream of me. I’ll call you, Julia.”
Ali is talking about the antiwar demonstration she and Drew attended yesterday downtown. She is seeing him often. I don’t know whether it’s because she really likes him or she likes the politics of the antiwar effort or simply likes going out a lot. They were disappointed in the turnout. Maybe Sunday at a downtown location was not a good idea.
“Julia, did you hear a word I said?”
Ali asks. Her voice sounds concerned.
“Yes. You said downtown on Sunday wasn’t a good idea.”
“Well, you’re at least partly here. Why don’t you just go to bed with him? You know that’s what you want to do.” She smiles.
“He’s in L.A.”
“When did he go to Los Angeles?”
“
Yesterday morning.”
“
And how long is he going to be there?”
“
A week or two. He said they’re starting to record their next album. He said he’d call.”
“Oh Julia
, I hope that’s true. But maybe it’s…” Her voice fades then she goes on: “Let’s fix something for dinner. Would you like linguine with walnuts and ham? The recipe for it sounds quick and delicious. You can make the salad tonight.” She walks into the kitchen and opens the door to our avocado green refrigerator.
We are watching the
10 o’clock news when the phone rings. I answer it.
“Hello.”
“Hi, baby.”
I whisper to Ali: “Austen.”
Then I carry the phone into the orange bathroom. We bought an extra-long phone cord and now use the orange bathroom as a phone booth.
“How was the trip down there?”
“Not bad. This Mustang can really haul. We made good time and all the cops must have been at home eating Sunday dinner. We didn’t see one.”
“That’s good.”
The phone line is silent for a few seconds.
“I miss you
, Julia. I wish you were here in my bed right now,” he says in his honey voice. “No, not in my bed yet. You’re standing in the doorway to my bedroom dressed the way you were on Saturday night. Baby, you look really beautiful.”
I gasp and sink down to the floor, my back against the bright orange tiles.
“Do you want to know what I’m going to do with you now that you’re in my bedroom?”
“
Yes,” I whisper, barely breathing. It’s only a phone call, only words, I say to myself—but it feels like truth or dare times a million.
“First I am going
walk across the room and hold you so close and we’re going to feel like it is the first time this ever happened. This is how it is supposed to be. Just you and me, Julia. Then I’m going to kiss your pretty eyes and your sweet mouth. You feel so good, baby.”
He pauses. I can hear him breathing.
“And then I’m going to take that scarf off and kiss your soft skin on your throat and then down to the tops of those beautiful breasts. You smell so good. They feel so good. Do you want me to do that, Julia?”
I can barely breathe. “Yes.”
Only words. Only words.
“Babygirl, your breasts are so beautiful and I want to peel o
ff that shirt and kiss them all over. Then run my tongue around and around your nipples until they get hard. But I can’t do that because you still have your clothes on.” I can hear the grin on his face.
“Take them off, Austen. Take them off,” I whisper.
“Oh, I will. But not tonight.” He pauses again.
“Well, maybe there is something I can do
even though you’re still wearing that tight black top with those beautiful breasts showing. Do you want me to do it, Julia?”
I hesitate for just a second then sigh: “Yes.”
“You have to turn around, first
, baby. I want to start in back. Are you turned around?”
“Yes
.” I murmur.
“I’m going to pull your
beautiful hair aside. Oh, it smells so good. And then kiss you from your neck to your shoulders and then turn you around and kiss you, slowly, slowly, down to the tops of your breasts. And kiss them some more. Do you like this? Does it feel good?
“Yes.” I whisper
.
“
You want me to do this, don’t you, babygirl?”
“Yes.” My voice is aching for him.
He laughs softly. “We both do, but I think I’d better stop here or neither one of us is going to be able to sleep tonight. Sweet Dreams, baby. Dream of me.”
“Dream of me.” I say softly.
I hear him hang up the phone. It must be five minutes before I realize I am still hugging the phone against myself. I hang up.
* * *
Focus, Julia. Focus. Don’t make any mistakes. Do your job right. Pay attention. Focus. But that phone call. I feel weak when I think about it. No errors. Focus. It was only a phone call. Only words. Focus. You need to keep this job. You have to do it right. Don’t be distracted. Focus, Julia. Focus.
* * *
It’s almost 11 o’clock Tuesday night when the phone rings. I take it into the orange phone booth.
“Hi.” I say.
“Hi.”
It is quiet for a moment.
“I think you should change your clothes, baby. I like buttons. I like unbuttoning buttons. I like seeing what’s underneath when I unbutton buttons. I like other things, too, but right now—just buttons.” There is a smile in his voice.
Oh, this
could be fun—like playing—and it’s only words on the phone and he is almost 300 miles away. I take a deep breath and say sweetly: “I have clothes with buttons. I have a pink blouse with pink buttons up the front.”
“I remember it.”
His voice is cold.
Ooops. A mistake. He remembers me talking with
Mark at the coffeehouse. He’s not happy about it.
“Has anyone else ever unbuttoned that blouse?”
“No. Never. Only me.” I hear him exhale.
“
That’s good because I might get too excited and throw you on my bed, and shove that little black skirt up to your hips, and rip your panties off and take you hard and fast.”
I gasp.
A thought flies through my mind—maybe this is not so fun.
“Oh
no, baby, that’s too rough.” His honey voice is back. “I don’t want it rough. I want it slow and gentle. Is that what you want, babygirl?”
“Yes, Austen. Yes.”
I sigh.
“I’m going to unbutton the top button, and kiss your throat, so softly.
Then unbutton the next one, and kiss you again. Then I unbutton the next button and oh, what is this here? A lacey bra and two beautiful breasts. Then I unbutton the rest of the buttons on the blouse and slide it off you. Julia, you look so beautiful this way.”
His breathing is shallow. So is mine.
I am mesmerized by his voice.
“Then I am going to kiss the tops of your breasts and take that bra off. Do you want me to do this, babygirl?”
“Yes.” My answer is more of a breath, a murmur full of longing.
“Oh, I have your bra off and I am holding your breasts in my hands. And then I am kissing them and running my tongue around your nipples and they are so hard. I know you love the way this feels, don’t you? You want more, don’t
you?
“
Yes.” I whisper urgently.
“Oh, babygirl, I can do so much more with you. And you are going to love it. I know—“
I hear the squeak of the front gate. Ali and Drew are here.
“Oh
, no. Austen, I just heard Ali at the front gate.”
“Still have you
r early warning system in place—huh?” He laughs. “Well, I guess this evening will have to be continued… Good night Julia. Sweet Dreams. Dream of me.”
“Dream of me,” I answer.
I hang up and hurry upstairs and slip into my flannel pajamas. It is so cold here I have to wear winter pj’s in summer.
When Ali comes up the stairs later I pretend that I am asleep.
I want to ask her about her relationship with Drew—but not tonight. I want to go to sleep with Austen’s voice in my mind. And deep down, I admit to myself that I’d rather go to sleep with Austen in my bed.
When the phone rings Wednesday evening I take
it to the orange phone booth.
“Hi.”
“Hi baby.”
“How are things going down there?”
“Okay. No, not okay. That damn fool Tommy is barely functioning. Didn’t make it to rehearsals until late and was totally wasted. All he cares about is what bimbo he is screwing this week. And when John and I talked with Joe he showed us the latest sales figures and Tommy has really made a difference. Sales of that album are up—way up from the last one. Shit. Joe said to leave Tommy to his partying and only get together when we have to. Good advice, I guess, but maybe Joe is protecting his own bank account. Hell. I don’t know.”
I know there is not one thing I could say that would make a drop of difference about Tommy and the band.
“Austen,” I say sweetly. “I changed my clothes today. I am wearing jeans and a new peachy pink lacey bra. It’s from France. You can see right through it. I think you’ll like it.”
He laughs. “I am so glad I met you
, Julia.” The tone of the phone call changes immediately. His honey voice is back.
“What color are your jeans, baby?”
“They’re blue.” I answer softly.
“You should think about white jeans one of these days.”
“I will.”
We both take deep breaths.
“Now I am going to kiss your sweet nipples right through that pretty bra you’re wearing. Oh, I can feel your nipples get very hard. I know you want me, don’t you, babygirl?”
“Yes.” I whisper.
“Should I take off that bra now? Is that what you want?” His honey voice is so seductive.
“
Yes. Take it off.” I sigh, wishing it were real and not just words.
“Oh, this feels so good.
Your skin is so soft, Julia. So soft. I rub my thumbs around your nipples and I know you can feel it all the way down inside your body. I can feel it in mine. And then I run my tongue around your breasts and my body really loves this. Can you feel it, too, babygirl?”
“Yes.
” I murmur. My breathing is ragged.
“Oh god, I want so much more of you. So I am going to kiss your sweet breasts and then kiss you right down to your jeans. And then I’m going to kiss you, slowly
, slowly, all the way around the top of your jeans. I can do more. Do you want more?”
“Yes…more
...” I sigh.
He pauses for a moment.
“I am going to slip a finger inside your waistband and undo the snap and pull the zipper down just a little bit. And then pull your jeans down a little. And kiss you on your soft little belly button. Then pull your jeans down more until I see some little pink panties. I love the way they feel. So silky. Babygirl, you smell so good.”
He pauses again.
“Then I am going to run my hand down to that hot pink rose between your legs. It feels soft, baby. You’re so warm and juicy.”
I can’t say a thing. I am
curled up, my head in my knees, the phone pressed against my ear. I am utterly frozen by his voice. My body is shrieking with desire for him. I want to be in his bed. I want to feel his hands on me. I want to feel his mouth on me. I want him inside me.
“Babygirl, are you still with me?”
“Oh god, Austen, you are killing me. I can’t take anymore,” I gasp. “Why are you in L.A instead of here?”
“
What would you do if I were there?” He is smiling; I can tell.
“I’d lock Ali out of the house and take you upstairs and we would make love all night. All night, Austen, all night.”
He laughs softly. “I have something better than that planned for you, Julia. Come away with me this weekend, baby.”
I have only one answer: “Yes.”
“Sweet Dreams, Julia. Dream of me.”
“Dream of me,” I whisper.
“I always do, babygirl. Goodnight.” He leaves me stunned, breathless.