Authors: Diane Dooley
Zipless (9 page)
Chris held his nose and stared at her wide-eyed. “Oh, yes, you are.” He stood and walked toward her, yanked Beloved away from her and tossed the guitar onto the couch. He grabbed her by the arms, pulled her to her feet, then, unbelievably, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her into the bedroom, dropped her onto the bed and stood above her, staring down.
“What the—” But then Lou felt all the fight go out of her. His mouth was on her breast, then licking the beer from her face, then tenderly nibbling at her lips. His hands couldn’t seem to decide which part of her to touch first, so they were trying for everywhere. He mumbled in her ear. Something that ended with a “please.” She shoved him off her.
“What did you say?”
He looked down, panting, his eyes wild and barely focused. “I said don’t do the bare breast thing on network TV. Please.”
And then his mouth was on her neck and his hand unzipping her jeans. So she was going to get off then? She grabbed his shoulders. She’d done it! She’d performed a song in front of someone else and she’d done it well. She hadn’t thought of Strathglennan Miners’ Club. She’d been too angry. And Chris had got her there. To that place she’d needed to go.
She relaxed into the pillows, lying back, allowing Chris to make her feel good, to bring that rage back under control, to get her off. She grinned. Would she be able to do it again? Strange how she didn’t doubt it. It was like a dam had burst or a volcano erupted. Unstoppable, now. She felt it. She knew it.
She looked down at Chris’ head as he worked his way south. “My tits are out, now get me off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured into her belly. He looked up, grinning. “You’d best enjoy this, Lou, because we still have work to do. Every time you do good. Every time you impress me. I’ll get you off.” He slid the denim over her hips. “Every.” Kiss. “Single.” Kiss. “Time.”
Chapter 5
Chris scurried to his seat. Front row, center. Right in Lou’s sight line. She knew if she started to feel nervous, she was to look at him, only him, until she regained her confidence. He looked around. Typical studio audience for Music After Midnight. Some New York City hipsters, some tourists. Further down his row he recognized Dave Locke from the label. If all went well tonight he didn’t doubt Dave would want to talk to Lou about making a deal. Get her in the studio, get those fantastic songs recorded the way they were meant to be—by Lou.
The show progressed per its usual routine. Monologue by presenter, Jimmy Foo. Commercial break. Uncomfortable interview with a Canadian folkie with a brand new release and a very old drinking problem. Commercial break. Round-up of news and music biz gossip. The folkie performed a boring song with a noticeable slur. Commercial break. The latest teenage pop diva performed a lip-synched version of her current hit, then went to the couch and flirted coyly with Jimmy. Commercial break.
Chris was biting his nails. Soon it would be Lou’s turn. She’d done okay in her quick rehearsal but he’d told her she’d need to bring more volume and attitude. Her performance had been shy, understated. She’d need to pull out all the stops tonight for this, for what he hoped would be her big break. She had all her props if she felt she needed them and she’d surprised him when she’d kicked him out of her dressing room. She’d said she needed to polish up the lyrics to the song she’d finished writing that afternoon, from which he’d helped her remove all the cusswords.
Network television wasn’t the best venue for the song she’d named “Don’t Mess With Me,” but with a bit more polish, it could be a number one.
Jimmy Foo caught his eye and winked. Chris had stopped by his dressing room and chatted with him briefly, told him that Lou was the real deal and would close out the show with something fantastic. He closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer.
Do it, Lou. Give it all you’ve got, and for God’s sake, don’t get your tits out tonight.
Jimmy was back on air. “And closing out the show tonight, all the way from Glasgow, Scotland. Please welcome, Lou Marzaroli!”
The audience clapped politely. They had all seemed pretty underwhelmed with the show so far, and were just biding their time until it was off the air. The applause had ended before Lou was even center stage.
Uh oh. She was using all her props: the crazy blonde wig, the sunglasses, the four inch stiletto shoes, the crimson lipstick. But she didn’t seem nervous. She stood there glaring at the audience, then launched into “Don’t Mess” with even more speed and brio than the last performance she’d done in his suite, the one that had led the management to call up and offer to book them a soundproofed rehearsal space.
The crowd was electrified. Chris could feel it just as sure as he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, as sure as he could feel his heart pound with excitement.
Lou reached up and pulled off the wig, tossing it into the crowd. One of the hipsters leapt up to catch it. Next the shoes got kicked off, one narrowly missing a chubby tourist in the second row, the other ending up on Jimmy’s desk.
The sunglasses came flying in his direction, along with a wicked grin. She’d never missed a beat, hadn’t forgotten a word, and the crowd was on its feet well before the song careened its way to the final gut-wrenching guitar solo, which Lou dropped to her knees to perform, with all the swagger and poise of ol’ Crash Burns himself. And she even kept her t-shirt on! He looked at it, suddenly realizing he recognized it. She must have pulled that old faded thing out of his drawer back at the Chelsea. He was on it. Wearing the infamous thong.
The crowd whooped and clapped as Jimmy Foo made his way over to her and bent to whisper in her ear. She nodded and got to her feet. Jimmy saw the show off the air with the audience still clapping. The house lights came on, but nobody made a move to leave.
“Lou has agreed to perform one more song, ladies and gentleman, even though we’re off the air. This one’s for you.” He leaned in and gave Lou a pat on the back and he returned to his desk, giving Chris an enthusiastic thumbs up as he did so.
Lou looked nervous now. She could see the audience and didn’t have any of the props to protect herself with. She looked down at her guitar as if deciding, then moved her capo down a fret. She stepped up to the microphone. “I finished two new songs today. The first one, ‘Don’t Mess With Me,’ I played already. I finished this next one in my dressing room earlier. It’s called ‘Zipless.’”
The crowd waited for her to launch into something fast, furious and angry—but she didn’t. She started strumming her favorite chord—B7th, Chris now knew. As she started to sing, her voice strong but bittersweet, Chris felt a curl of happiness in his belly. He’d hinted earlier that she was welcome to crash at his place and stay in New York a little longer. He’d mentioned it oh-so casually, so she wouldn’t think he was asking her to move in or something. He’d told her he was sick of his suite at the Chelsea and had been thinking of buying a big old brownstone, then soundproofing one of the rooms so he could rehearse and write in it. He wondered if she’d help him out by maybe looking at places with him, perhaps, if she wasn’t too busy? She hadn’t said yes. She hadn’t said no. She’d just shrugged and smiled a mysterious smile.
But as Chris listened to the words of her song, he knew what her answer was. She launched into the chorus, taking the crowd with her. Her voice full of longing and desire. “So tired of all the boys and immature men. Don’t want to be zipless ever again.”
No one in the audience knew exactly what she meant. They knew she wanted something so badly it was making her voice soar in hope, was making her guitar ache and moan. But
he
knew what she was saying.
He
knew who she was saying it to. The label dude was shaking his shoulder, asking him to make sure he got to meet Lou after the show.
But Chris barely heard him.
All he could see was Lou. Up there on the stage, singing her hard little heart out at him. Wearing him across her chest.
“Don’t wanna be zipless…” She played the final notes on her guitar, then went a cappella. “Ever…” She paused, letting the silence fill the studio. She ended it on a soft, sad whisper that could be heard in the farthest row. “Again.”
Silence. He stared at Lou and she stared back. Then, as the applause exploded out of the audience and filled the space, he found himself walking towards her. His Maggie May. His Jolene. His Lou. His muse. His love.
And then she was in his arms, kissing him—and the applause grew even louder.
* * * *
Lou leaned against the bedroom door and gazed around the suite. It was scattered with guitars, take-out containers, empty wine bottles, picks, condom wrappers, and a few more guitars. Zippy was sleeping. She smiled, remembering him last night, drunkenly playing his mirrored guitar, wearing his thong and jumping on the bed. She remembered how she’d confiscated the guitar, removed the thong with her teeth and shoved the lovely man down on the bed and thoroughly exhausted him.
Five days since they’d last left the suite, four nights since her appearance on Music After Midnight, one day before she was meeting with the label to go over her recording contract. In that time, they’d written five songs and made hot, sticky, wonderful love more times than she could count. She’d never been so happy. Ever.
Zippy slouched through the bedroom door and wandered into the kitchenette, naked. “Got a call. We’re being evicted, darlin’. Can’t say I blame them.” He glanced up at her as he bent and reached into the refrigerator, digging around until he found the carton of orange juice. “Wanna come look at a brownstone with me?”
“I suppose I can help you out,” Lou replied, smiling. “Anything else you need?”
He approached and tipped the carton up to her mouth, helping her take little sips. “Need to keep your strength up,” he muttered, his other hand encircling her waist. “Because, yes. There are other things I need.”
She swallowed her juice. “And what might they be?”
He kissed a dribble of juice off her chin. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly. “Just everything.”
She sighed, then kissed him back. “Be more specific, please.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Was planning on buying something pretty big.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Wouldn’t wanna get lonely.”
Lou smiled inwardly. She was going to make him tell her exactly everything he wanted. She could guess it. And she knew what she would say. She giggled softly. “Yes, I’ll move in. What else do you want?” She heard him sigh happily.
He looked at her, more seriously. “The music, Lou. We…fit. We…”
“Complement each other. I start a lyric and you finish it. I play a note, you find the perfect chord. I sing a line…”
“I harmonize.” He stroked the hair back from her face. “So, I want us to continue making music together.”
“Yes,” she said. “I want that, too.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips delicately. “Anything else, Zip?”
He looked down at her, his face slightly flushed. “Um. Yeah. If…” He swallowed audibly. “If everything works out, I want to… I mean, we haven’t known each other even a week yet, but I’ve got such a good feeling about us. So, if everything stays good, well… Would you, I mean…” He dropped to his knees. “You’re younger than me and I don’t want to rush you into anything, but in exactly six months time I want you to tell me yes or no to the question…” He leaned forward and kissed her belly. “Will you marry me?”
He wasn’t kidding. He wanted it all. “Marriage?”
“Don’t answer me yet. Wait six months. You may discover you don’t like me that much after all.” He grinned adorably.
“Um. Children?”
“When you’re ready, if you want to, but yes. Like I said. Everything.”
Lou sank to her knees and grabbed him, pulling him to her as hard as she could, latching onto his mouth like she would never, ever let him go. Which, of course, she knew she wouldn’t. She pulled back, smiling. “First things first, Zip. Let’s go look at that brownstone.”
Diane Dooley
Diane Dooley was born in the Channel Islands and grew up in Scotland. After many years of moving and traveling she finally settled down in Upstate New York where the summers are short and the winters just might kill you. She lives with her best friend/husband and two obstreperous boy children in a falling-down farmhouse in the sticks.
She writes short stories and novellas in a variety of genres and has been published in a variety of online and print publications, as well as by several digital-first publishing houses.
