"Red Hot & Blue"
by Adhara Law
(c) 1998 Adhara Law. All rights reserved. May not be reproduced
without express written permission by the author.
The pungent odor of smoke and alcohol and the sharp twang of guitars
filled her senses as she pulled open the door of the small bar. Chatter and
clapping harmonized with the last bars of a guitar solo by the lead member
of the band on stage. She chose a table near the front.
"Got anything German and dark?" She asked the waitress over the noise.
Through the dim light and haze she saw the waitress nod and heard her holler
out the brand. Mira didn't hear her, but nodded to signal she'd take one,
whatever it was.
"Cold Shot". She knew the song well. Classic Stevie Ray Vaughn, she thought
to herself. Her head bobbed absent-mindedly to the beat as the waitress set a
cold, slick brown bottle in front of her. She took a gulp while looking over
the band onstage and smiled at the taste; Tucher, her favorite. She could get
to like this place.
She gave a cursory look to the drummer. Percussion was never her thing. She
smirked at the second guitarist; classic guitar face. If musicians only knew
what they looked like when they were into the music, she thought. Out of
habit she stopped at the bassist. Every detail of his playing style filtered
into her memory without her knowing. It was subconscious after all these
years.
The lead guitarist caught her attention, an unusual thing. Tall, muscular
without being overbuilt, long hair. She noticed the expression on his
face while he played -- he was completely absorbed, but he controlled the
music, not the other way around. She nodded her head in approval in time with
the beat.
People milled through the dark haze of the room, shadows grazing past her
solitary form as she sat alone at her table. She saw a few male heads turn
her way, but they didn't follow through. The looks weren't unusual. Her long
black hair and pale skin were pretty, but there were more beautiful women in
the bar than her; she knew, though, that when she felt like it, she could
carry herself in a way that would shame a supermodel. Tonight was one of
those nights. And she didn't look to be in need of company. She liked being
alone.
The band ended the set with a tight guitar solo and a nicely done flourish on
the cymbals. She watched as the laid their instruments down carefully
and exited the stage for the bar. The last drops of the cool amber ale slid
down her throat, tasting so good that she thought she'd go to the bar for a
refill.
"Tucher," she told the bartender. He nodded and turned his back to her while
he fetched another bottle of the dark German brew.
"They have Tucher here?"
She turned to see the lead guitarist from the band smiling at her.
"Yeah. Hard to believe, huh?" She sized him up. Taller than he seemed
onstage. His eyes were much greener this close. "Nice set," she said.
"Thanks. Blues fan?"
She nodded and took a when the bartender handed her the bottle.
"Always liked Stevie Ray Vaughn." She turned back to him. "By the way, your
bassist is pretty fancy with that fretless Hagstrom."
His eyebrows arched. "You play?" He asked tentatively, sounding as if he
couldn't believe that she did.
She shrugged. "A bit," she answered, turning around to watch the throngs of
people milling around the bar. She could feel it starting -- a warm tingle
that crept up the inside of her thighs. Not again, she thought. She ticked
off the reasons in her head -- no steady job, late nights, undependable...
She drained the last of the bottle in a couple of swallows and slapped a few
bills onto the bar. "Again, nice set," she said quickly as she turned to walk
out of the bar. She didn't bother to watch his eyes as they followed her out.
* * *
They were playing again the next night. She pushed her way slowly through the
swaying crowd as they moved in near unison to the rhythm of John Lee Hooker.
She took the same table by the stage, ordered the same beer from the same
waitress, and looked into the same green eyes from the night before.
She watched the bassist for a while. His fingers adeptly plucked the
steel strings of his guitar, an ivory-colored job that looked like it had
seen better days. She knew, though, that it was often the roughest looking
instruments that gave the best sound.
She meandered over to the bar for a refill and found an empty stool. When the
set was over, she watched as the lead guitarist wove through the crowd to the
bar.
"You left before I could get your name last night," he said when he saw her.
She paused, looking into the mouth of the brown bottle in her hand. "Mira,"
she replied. "You?"
"David." He ordered up a Tucher. "So you play. What do you have?"
She took a deep of beer. "'71 Fender Jazz. Old, but the best bass
I've ever played."
He nodded appreciatively. He stared into her eyes while a just behind
him, she noticed, stared a little lower. "In a band?" He asked.
She shook her head. "Just moved here. Checking out the place."
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything his bassist
brushed past her to crowd in. "David," he said, almost panting. "I gotta go.
Kate just called, Matt broke his arm in football."
"Ah, geez," David replied. "Go. Let me know how he's doing."
Mira watched as the bassist stepped quickly through the crowd and out the
door.
"His kid," David said as he watched him go. "Son's 13. Hope he didn't break
it too badly." He ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair. "Shit, we're
going to have to cancel the second set."
Mira swallowed the last of her beer and set the bottle on the bar. "I'll play
it."
David stared for a second, then smiled broadly. "You know Muddy Waters?"
She nodded.
"Lowell Fulson?"
She nodded again.
He smiled even wider. "You'll work out just fine."
They walked to the stage. Her fingers started to itch just thinking of
picking up that bass, getting into those blue notes. She climbed up onto the
stage and lifted the guitar, adjusting the strap so it hung comfortably on
her. Her fingers caressed the neck as she plucked out a rippling riff to
test out the feel.
David's eyes widened. "Nice."
He showed her the set list. She recognized almost every song. "That last
one," she said as she pointed to the sheet. "I don't know it."
"Don't worry; simple twelve bar blues in A."
She nodded. Then they started playing.
She knew she probably had the same look on her face that she noticed on the
guitarist her first night in there. She didn't care. She was playing, and it
felt good.
They played Muddy Waters "I Can't Call Her Sugar". She ticked the notes off
the steel strings like she'd been doing it all of her life and fell into the
rhythm as she and David watched each other. She felt connected to him,
playing off of him as they danced through John Lee Hooker's "Solid Sender".
They were two people playing like one person. A connection she hadn't felt
in a long time.
She watched David's eyes soak in the sight of her fingers as they tickled the
neck of the fretless bass, pulling out notes she didn't know were there. She
watched David for the changes in the last song while she felt for where the
music was going. Her body melted into the instrument hanging on her and it
almost felt like she was playing herself. She wanted, instead, to be David's
guitar. She tried to keep her mind on the music.
The set ended. As the clapping subsided, she ran a hand along the cool wood
of the neck and slowly lifted the guitar off of her, setting it down on the
stage. She flashed a quick smile to David as she brushed past him, hopping
off the stage and toward the exit.
The cool air as she threw open the door hit her hard, but she needed it. Not
tonight, not ever, she thought to herself. She'd been through this before.
The lack of stability inherent in a relationship where the meals were
measured out by potential gigs. She didn't need it again. She walked away
from the bar and away from David, trying to push him out of her mind.
"Hey," she heard him call as he ran out the door after her.
She walked toward the back of the building, cool wind tangling her hair as
she tried to put some distance between them.
"Mira!" He caught up to her and gently took her arm as she turned the corner
of the bar. "That was great playing. Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
She turned to him and smiled, almost laughed. "That was fun, but I gotta get
going," she said.
"Why?"
She stared at him so hard that she thought he would shatter into a million
pieces. She ran her eyes over his hair, the shoulders that flowed under the
flannel he wore. She let them run down his chest and over his crotch.
"You want to know why?" She said, her voice low and raw. "I'll show you why."
She grabbed his face with both her hands and kissed him hard.
She felt him pull for a brief moment and then sink into the kiss. As she
kissed him, she leaned back against the old, weathered wood of the back of
the bar, pulling him with her. The constant whine of the crickets in the
grass measured the heat. She felt the beat of "It Serves Me Right To Suffer"
thumping against the walls from inside the bar as someone punched it up on
the jukebox. How appropriate, she thought.
David pulled out of the kiss. Catching his breath, he closed his eyes but
said nothing.
"I don't love you," Mira said to him.
His eyes flew open in surprise, but still he was silent.
She looked down, ran a hand over the jeans covering his thigh. She heard his
breath catch as he closed his eyes again. It had been so, so long, she
thought. "And that's why this is all right," she finished. She ran her
fingers over his crotch, feeling the hardness that was catching up with her
thoughts.
He moaned so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. It egged her on. She
unzipped his jeans and tugged on them roughly, shoving her hand under the
cotton fabric of his underwear. He'd caught up by now.
"Mira," he started, his eyes still closed. "Are you sure...?"
She pressed her lips to his with such force that there could be no doubt as
to whether or not she was sure. The light sensation of his fingers as they
undid the buttons of her thin tickled her and made her nipples harden
in anticipation. She felt David slide the thin silk over her shoulders and
glide around to her back, where he unhooked her bra.
When his hands moved forward, she grabbed them lightly and held them away
from her as she stared at him, lowering her body to kneel in front of him.
The cotton of his underwear slid away from him as she moved it aside, sliding
his cock as far into her mouth as it would go, making him moan and steady
himself against the back of the bar. The moonless night gave nothing away.
She moved with the steady rhythm beat out against the walls from the music
within, the rhythm she played best in. When he breathed that he couldn't
stand much more, she slowly stood up, her hands still gripping the backs of
his thighs, and pulled him into her.
When his fingers found the silk of her and roughly pushed it aside,
she moaned. Small breaths escaped her as she let her head roll back, his
fingers sliding into her already wet pussy. But it wasn't enough. Her
fingernails dug into the smooth skin of his ass as she pulled at him roughly,
coaxing him into her. They both gasped as he started the rhythm, but she
didn't care about rhythm anymore. Fast and furiously, her hips ground against
his, wanting it all right then. She bit her lip as she began to come, sooner
than she ever had before, and locked his hips against hers as she let slip a
short, muffled cry. A few movements later and he moaned his own arrival.
They were silent for a few moments. "Mira," he said finally. "Nice set."
She couldn't help but laugh.
"Would you consider playing tomorrow night?" He asked. He ran a hand over her
neck.
She stared up into the sky. "I think that can be arranged."
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I strongly encourage both positive and negative feedback on my stories. Please
write to me, Adhara Law, at adhara_law@hotmail.com and let me know what you
thought of this story.
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