FALL INTO WINTER
Four erotic novellas by
Eden Baylee
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Published by and Copyright 2011 Eden Baylee
Smashwords Edition
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Learn more about the author and her work at:
Cover design by John Beadle.
Cover photographs courtesy of iStockphoto.
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For my husband, who makes it all possible
contents
When I set out to write my first book of erotic fiction, it came after a lengthy period of introspection, indecision, and intimidation. Intimidation, you ask? Of what … or by whom?
Many people dream of quitting their day jobs to pursue different paths. I was one of them, and my dream was to write. After more than thirty years of writing for my own pleasure, I took the leap to doing it full time. I could no longer meet the demands on my left brain during the day and expect to have anything of creative value for my right brain at night. When I finally made the decision to leave my job, it was surprising how right it felt.
Of course, when giving up something secure and familiar to follow a dream, there are consequences. I suppose that’s what I meant by intimidation. There’s something quite intimidating about those damn consequences! The thoughts of failure, looking foolish, or not being able to support oneself are only the obvious ones. I was the one who had intimidated myself out of pursuing a life as a writer, and now I had to embrace it. But what of this life? Could it be as easy as waking up and writing every day, and was it possible for me to work in isolation and be so disciplined? For now, I am happy to say yes, but one book does not a writer make. At least not in my books—pun intended. Time will tell.
Erotica has been part of my library since before I reached puberty, so it’s no surprise it left an indelible mark on my psyche. Don’t ask me how I got away with reading such stuff as a kid—I just did. I’m sure it’s why I have always had an active fantasy life—one I now intend to share with you through my writing. Much of the inspiration for my book began as sparks from past experiences, but there also exists a huge element from mundane events. The simplest things can be so sensual. I encourage you to consider that when you go about your daily life—getting dressed to go out, drinking a glass of water, or engaging in conversation with a stranger. It’s my belief that everyday life is rich with the seeds for erotica when we are in tune with our bodies and minds.
Fall into Winter is a collection of four tales designed to stimulate and heighten your senses. Though common elements unify the stories, each one is unique and stands alone—feel free to read them out of order. With plenty of sex to tie the plots and characters together, my hope is that these stories will make you feel sensuous and sexier for having read them.
Re-creating oneself is never easy; however, I’ve been able to do it with the help of some amazing people in my life. You’re the ones I’ve stayed in touch with and go to for support, whose advice I value, and who I’m proud to include in my circle of family and friends. It is encouraging to see this circle grow wider with each passing season.
The one person who deserves special mention is the man who inspires me daily with his own creative spirit. I am now, and will forever be, in your debt.
Stay sexy,
Eden Baylee
Ella Jamieson took a sip of her scotch and glanced over at the man to her left. They stood at the bar of X-tasy, the newest nightclub in town. It was billed as the next hot spot in New York since Marquee went under a few months ago, and Ella had received comps after a sweltering summer. She had taken in the scene for the past hour and was just about to leave when he walked up beside her. It had been boring up to that point, and she craved some excitement. For some reason, the young man standing next to her made her feel particularly wicked.
“Did you come here to get laid?” she asked, not even looking in his direction, though it was obvious her question was intended for no one else.
“Pardon me?” He turned to her—his eyes narrowing to focus in the dark room.
“I asked if you came here to get laid.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The music was loud, and she knew he was having difficulty hearing her. She moved to face him. “I mean, I hope you’re not here for the music.”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Nothing’s wrong, but you can’t call this music—a DJ playing shitty remixes of eighties’ hits is just bad.”
“This isn’t an eighties song.”
She heard defiance in his voice and immediately felt aroused. “How much do you want to bet?”
“What are we betting for?”
“A drink.” Ella sipped the last of her scotch.
“Deal.”
They shook on it, and now Ella took a long hard look at him. She guessed him to be in his midtwenties, probably still in diapers when this song came out. He was cute, though—definitely her type—boyish, tall, and lean.
Over the last few decades, some of the best music from the sixties and seventies were sampled and remixed in clubs. She didn’t even include eighties music, as disco had already sucked a lot of originality out of that era, being the decade littered with one-hit wonders. Ella felt there was so little originality in any of the new music released today, and with few exceptions, most artists had no staying power. She much preferred the music of earlier generations.
“Do you even know this song?” she asked.
“No, but I’m looking it up on my iPhone. Tell you in a sec.”
“Don’t bother. It’s called ‘Everything She Wants.’”
He glared at her with his baby blues. “How’d you know that?”
“I’ve been around music for a while.”
He fidgeted with his phone, inputting her information.
“Trust me,” she said, amused he wasn’t taking her word for it. “I’m right. The song is by Wham.”
“Shit, you are right. ‘Everything She Wants’ came out in nineteen eighty-five.”
“Yes, so why are we listening to a bad remix of a twenty-five-year-old song?”
“You have a point.”
The bartender came by, and she ordered a double. “He’s paying,” she said, nodding in her young man’s direction. She turned and walked to a nearby table.
She could tell he was intrigued—they usually were. At thirty-eight, she had been on the singles’ scene for longer than she cared to remember and was resigned to staying that way. Ella stood five feet seven with heels and had the supple, slim body of a woman in her midtwenties. Her curly auburn hair fell just below her shoulders, highlighting her dark brown eyes. Tonight, she wore a black lambskin pencil skirt with a slit up the back and a matching jacket. She loved leather and wore it often in the fall. It made her feel powerful and seductive. Underneath, she was dressed only in red silk lingerie. Her bare legs were exposed, wearing a pair of scarlet pumps.
Working as a promoter for a rock radio station had provided her with plenty of opportunities to go to clubs, but the hours had meant other areas of her life had suffered. Though she met many men, and suspected she had more sex than any of her married girlfriends did, finding that special someone had eluded her.
He brought their drinks and sat down next to her. “So … are you here on your own?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s John.”
“I’m Ella. Nice to meet you, John.”
“Ella? Named after the ‘First Lady of Song’?”
“If you mean Ella Fitzgerald, that’s right. You’re familiar with her music?”
“I dabble in jazz. Are you a fan?”
“Not at all. Classic rock is my specialty.”
Just then, a remix of David Bowie’s 1983 hit “China Girl” came on.
“Another eighties song?” he asked.
“Yes, do you want to bet again?”
“No, no, I get the feeling I’m out of my league here.”
A sense of humor, polite, and cute—he was definitely fuckable material. Aside from his messy mop of dark brown hair, he was extremely clean-cut. He wore a light dress shirt with a jacket and black jeans. She guessed him to be some Wall Street banker, possibly a lawyer, less likely an accountant. He appeared well built and obviously went to the gym—that was a given. Like most of the men she met who enjoyed coming to the clubs, he probably didn’t have a clue about music prior to the nineties. By contrast, Ella grew up in the seventies with two older siblings. From early on, she was immersed in the British Invasion and Motown, and she had a collection of vinyl that would probably make her seem ancient to someone John’s age.
“So, John, how did you get into this place?”
“I came with a friend, but he had to leave early. You?”
“I’m on the job.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“Radio promoter.”
“Aha! No wonder you know so much about music. You must have taken me for a sucker right away.”
No, she didn’t, but she wouldn’t mind being sucked by him.
“Actually, that’s not true,” she said. “I got into radio because of my interest in music, not the other way around.”
“Still, I’m not sure our bet was made in good faith. You had an unfair advantage.”
“Yes, I did, but that’s the nature of making a bet, isn’t it? I’m not required to disclose all the facts.”
“Okay, how about you give me a chance to even things up?”
“What did you have in mind?” Ella was always up for a flirtatious sparring match.
“Now that I know what you do, how about you guess what I do for a living? If you’re wrong, you buy the next round.”
“And if I’m right?”
“I don’t think you’ll be right.”
He was cocky, something she attributed to his young age. She guessed he had no idea how old she was.
“Okay John, you’re on. How many guesses do I get?”
“I’ll be a gentleman and give you two.”
“Very generous of you.” She went with her gut instinct. “My guess is you’re a banker.”
“Nope,” he said, smirking.
“All right, then … a lawyer.”
He eyed her with defeat, but only for a second before he let out an exuberant laugh. “The lady’s getting the next round!”
Ella was shocked. It was rare she was wrong about these things, having had ample experience with younger men. John was sly—she had to give him that.
“Give me one more guess.” She hated to lose.
“Okay, but you’re still buying me a drink.”
“All right, all right.” She liked that he didn’t give in to her. “I almost said this as my second choice—an accountant.”
“Survey says … so sorry!”
“Damn!” she said.
John motioned for the waitress. “I’ll have a vodka martini with a twist please.” He looked over to Ella. “And another double scotch for the lady— neat, right?”
“Yes, thanks. I need it.” Ella was having fun despite losing the bet.
The noise of the club suddenly became unbearable with the Britney Spears version of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ “I Love Rock ’n Roll.” That was about all she could take. When X-tasy billed itself as the next big club with a retro feel, she had thought she would be listening to some old classics, not bad remakes of them.
“It’s getting louder in here, if that’s even possible,” he yelled into her ear.
Ella found the perfect opening for her next move. “I know. Let’s leave after this drink.”
* * * *
They hailed a cab to Madame Z, an established bar and lounge club she had frequented in her twenties—John suggested it. She heard it was turned into a jazz and blues club several years ago, but the name had remained.
“Exactly how old are you?” she asked him in the cab.
“Twenty-six. Why?”
“Just curious. I didn’t think you would know of Madame Z. It’s a bit old for you, isn’t it?”
“I have eclectic tastes—that includes my music.”
“Really? And what else?”
“Women,” he said, staring straight at her. She felt her pussy flutter and found him quite adorable.
“So, John, are you going to tell me what you do?”
“No, I want to keep you guessing.” He was a flirt—and a very good one at that.
It was close to ten thirty when they arrived at the club, and she was beginning to feel the effects of the drinks she had. When they got out of the cab, she casually glanced at who the headliner was for the coming week and saw a poster of John on the front window. It read JOHN COOK—BLUES GUITARIST. SELECTED EVENING SHOWS.
“What’s this?” She turned to him, her mouth agape.
“Just something I do when I’m not playing a banker or a lawyer.”
“You’re performing here?”
“I wouldn’t believe everything you read. Just because the sign says …”
Ella punched him on the shoulder. “Damn it! You led me to think you knew nothing about music, and you’re a bloody musician!”
He laughed loudly and guided her into the club. “Ella, you never asked, and I didn’t lead you on. True, I may not be familiar with rock or pop music, but there’s probably little about jazz and blues I don’t know.”
Ella had to admit this was the biggest surprise she’d had in a long time.
“You’ve played here before?”
“Once or twice.”
“Everyone seemed to know you when we came in.”
“One of the perks of being part owner.”
“Really?” Ella was impressed, and that didn’t happen often, certainly not when it came to younger men and what they did for a living.
John brought her upstairs to his private office, and they sat facing each other on a plush, velvety red couch. Ella surveyed the surroundings and found the room functional and cozy. The lighting was dim and the decor contemporary. There was a desk with a computer on it, and a stand with three guitars in the corner. The walls were bare except for a large black-and- white print of John Lee Hooker. The room had a sexy vibe to it, and it was comfortable—too much so. She couldn’t remember the last time a man took charge with her, almost forgetting that she had intended to make the conquest. For someone only in his twenties, he had an air of sophistication she had never encountered.
“Do you bring all your young women here?”
John looked at her seriously with his pale blue eyes. “I don’t bring women here. This is where I work.”
“Oh, so you brought me up here for business?”
“No, but sometimes it’s good to mix business with pleasure.”
She liked how he played with words. His calm intelligence turned her on.
“Why me, then?”
“I liked you from the moment I saw you, and when you asked me if I was at X-tasy to get laid … I must admit, I found that impossible to resist.”
Ella now felt embarrassed for saying it. “That was pretty forward of me.”
“Yes, it was, and to answer your question … I didn’t go there to get laid, but the night is still young.”
He leaned in to kiss her. Though she was used to being in control, she thought she might give up some of it—just for tonight.
He licked around her mouth and gently bit her lips. She liked that he was in no hurry. With his fingers tangled in her curls, John drew her in. Ella met his tongue with hers, wrestling with it and tasting the smoky-sweet combination of his martini and her scotch. He cradled her back and nuzzled behind her ears, sending chills up her spine. It didn’t take her long to feel hot moisture seep between her slit.
At that moment, she decided she had to have more of him and got up from the couch. Removing her jacket and hiking up her skirt, she sat on John’s lap facing him, kneeling with her calves spread out on either side of his thighs. She could tell he was surprised by her aggressiveness, but he was obviously turned on—the bulge in his pants proved it. Ella thrust against him in an erotic grinding motion. He groaned, and she pressed her lips on top of his. They battled inside each other’s mouths. John held her ass while she gyrated. He slipped his right hand down the front of her panties.
“Damn. Ella, you’re dripping.”
He penetrated her with his middle finger. She rode him and felt another inserted into her as his thumb worked its magic on her clit. He slid a hand underneath her bra, grasping her left breast. He squeezed till she moaned. Her nipples were already stiff when he pinched them.
Ella arched backward as John thrilled her by tonguing between her cleavage. She felt him growing bigger as she pushed her pussy toward him. Her breathing became labored as he continued to play with her. She shut her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulders—she was close.
“John, you’re up in fifteen!” yelled a voice from outside the door.
Ella froze.
“Okay, Bill,” he said. “I’ll be right there.” His voice was composed.
“Shit! You’re performing tonight?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Yup, in fifteen, like the man said.”
“You have to go.” Ella moved to get off him.
“No, no, not yet.” He didn’t stop touching her for a second. “We have a little pleasure to take care of first.” John resumed stroking her in the same unhurried manner as before. Soon she felt the heat building again in her groin.
Ella held onto his shoulders and adjusted her position to allow his thumb more room to vibrate her swollen bud. She was amazed at how agile his fingers were within the confines of her underwear.
She sensed his arousal as she raised her hips before pounding down on him again. She hated to rush, but she couldn’t control herself even if she wanted to; she was on the verge.
“In five, John!” Bill called out again.
“Yup, no problem. I’m coming,” he replied.
Ella didn’t even flinch this time. She was too engrossed in how John made her feel to care about anything else. She bounced with full force before succumbing.
“John … I’m—” Slamming her ass on top of him, her pussy contracted repeatedly. Multiple waves swept over her, leaving her dizzy from the frenzy of her movements.
John kissed all around her neck until her convulsions subsided. When Ella finally stopped shaking, he withdrew from inside her. She watched as he took his fingers, soaked in her juices, and rubbed them on his lips before sucking each one into his mouth. Ella felt butterflies in her stomach at the sight of such an intimate gesture.
“Damn, Ella, I thought you were going to cut off the circulation to them.”
She was still breathing heavily when she dismounted him. “We can’t have that. You need them to play.”
“Yes, so true, and not just with my guitar.”
She was sweating from exerting herself and from the sheer bliss of her climax.
“John, time!” It was Bill again.
She looked at John, and they both cracked up.
“You were wonderful, Ella. Will you stay for the show?”
She heard the longing in his voice. A part of her wanted to, but she wasn’t sure. “You’ve got to go,” she said.
He pulled her in for another kiss, a lengthy one that left her tingling.
“To be continued?” he said, combing his fingers through his hair.
His words sounded more like a statement than a question. She saw him walk out the door, patting down the creases of his shirt and tugging at his crotch to shake off his unfulfilled desire. She, however, smiled and was quite content to bask in the afterglow of her orgasm.
* * * *
“I got your note. Not exactly what I was hoping for.”
“Who …? What …? Who is this?” Ella was awakened out of a deep sleep.
She’d almost dropped the cordless phone as she snatched it from its base. Consciousness crept in, and she peeked at the clock beside her bed. It was six thirty in the morning, on one of the few days she could normally sleep in.
“It’s John. Remember me? The man you left last night with a raging hard-on?”
“How did you get my number?”
“I have my sources.”
She was not in the phone book, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to find her.
“It’s early. Don’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was looking forward to seeing you after the show.”
“John, I’m sorry I left. I stayed for a few songs, but then—”
“But what? To say your note was brief is an understatement—‘Thanks for a lovely time’? Is that all I was?”
Ella had known as she wrote it that he would be upset. She was aware the note was curt, but her intention had been to make a clean break.
“I had to go,” she said.
“Obviously, you were in such a hurry you didn’t even sign your name.”
“John, please.”
“What happened? I thought we had something.”
They did, and Ella had felt it—that was the problem. Since reaching her midthirties, she had kept her younger men neatly compartmentalized. She picked them up, she determined when and where they fucked, and she ended it—usually after they had sex, which typically happened the same night she met them.
It was an unspoken rule—she was the older woman, and she called the shots. She never deluded herself into assuming something more could come out of a one-night stand. Things with John didn’t quite happen that way, and she found him impossible to fit in a box.
“John, I don’t normally—”
“What? Go out with guys my age?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“So, what’s the problem then?”
“I—”
“Listen Ella, if you don’t like me, tell me, but if you think there’s an issue with my being younger than you, I can assure you there isn’t.”
“John, I’m thirty-eight, which makes me twelve years older than you.”
“Fantastic.”
“Fantastic?”
“Look, I don’t give a damn how old you are. We connected and that’s all I care about. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman, and I want to see you again. Say you don’t want the same thing, and I’ll stop bothering you.”
Ella sighed, and there was a moment of silence on the line. She remembered his skilled fingers on her.
The buzzer to her apartment went off. Who could that be on a Sunday morning?
“I like you, John. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I’m glad to hear that, I’d hate to be a cliché.”
The buzzer sounded again. Damn it, who was it at this hour?
Ella set the phone on speaker mode. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She was flushed from the conversation. Returning to her bedroom, she wrapped the bedsheet around her naked body.
“Am I beginning to wear you down?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she said as she walked through the living room.
“Good.”
Now there was a knock on the door.
“Shit,” she muttered. “John, there’s someone at my door. Let me go see who it is.”
She went to open it.
“Hello, Ella,” he said.
She saw John standing there, his hair a mess, cell phone in hand, and looking more delicious than she remembered.
* * * *
After her initial shock of seeing him, she let him in. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” she said.
Shedding his jacket, he stood facing her in the living room. “I didn’t get a chance to finish what we started.”
“You are resourceful. I’ll give you that.”
“I know what I want.”
“I see.” She felt flushed all over. “How did you get in the building?”
“A nice old lady let me in. I think she was leaving for church.”
“Security just isn’t what it used to be.”
“When I said I couldn’t stop thinking of you, Ella—I meant it. The taste of you kept me awake all night.”
Ella breathed deeply and recalled the way he’d smeared her cum on his lips. “I hope it didn’t affect your performance.”
“It improved it.”
She gave him a weak smile. It was small talk, and they both knew it.
The way he was leering at her made her blush. She felt almost paralyzed, but then she let the sheet cascade off her to form a puddle around her ankles.
“Fuck …,” he said.
He walked over and grabbed her, forcibly drawing her to him in one hard move. With one hand, he brushed the hair away from her face; with the other, he clutched her ass, pulling her even closer to him. He planted his mouth on hers with such ferocity that it made Ella feel faint. She opened up, sucking on him while she grappled with his jeans, unzipping them and trying to get them off him. He helped her, shed his underwear as well, and then kicked them clear across the room. With one quick motion, he whipped off his T-shirt, and they fell on the couch together. Ella sat on top of him, kissing him, her tongue tickling his palate.
John seized her boobs, and she bent backward. He took her large and sensitive nipples between his lips, alternating licks between each one. Ella had always considered her small plum-shaped breasts to be one of her best features.
His fingertips were calloused, likely from playing the guitar, and his hands were chafed but not rough. When he fondled her, she felt the power behind the music he created and loved being his instrument.
“Ella, you’ve made me crazy. I had a boner all night thinking about you.”
She guessed he hadn’t slept, given his pent-up frustration. Now he was fighting to keep from losing control—and it was time to exert hers.
Ella held his head, which he’d deposited in her bosom and guided his lips to hers. She wanted to slow things down. She explored the curves and ridges of his mouth. She still smelled herself on him, and it turned her on even more. When she advanced to bite his neck and ears, she felt him poke her in the belly. She got off the couch and knelt in front of him on the floor.
“I think I need to take care of you,” she said. “You’ve waited long enough.”
He gazed at her, not saying a word. His breathing was shallow. She knew he was mesmerized by the thought of what she was about to do to him.
She took a pillow to kneel on and gasped when she saw his young, stiff cock. John’s penis was a remarkable sight. It was perfectly straight, and the tip was already moist with frustration. He was big, probably seven inches long, but what really got her attention was how thick he was. She closed her eyes for a moment to imagine how he would feel inside her.
“See what I mean?” he said. “I haven’t been able to get him down all night.”
“We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
Ella tasted the wet bead that had formed over his glans. She inhaled the musky aroma before darting her tongue around the knob.
She felt John’s fingers in her hair and looked up to see him watching her. She could tell he was in ecstasy. Ella heard him groan as she licked the underside of his cock. With one hand, she reached up to touch his chest. He was firm with very little hair. She tweaked his nipples and felt them stand up erect before running her nails along his washboard abdomen.
Ella continued nibbling John until she sensed he was ready to explode, but before she took him inside her, she burrowed between his legs to become acquainted with his testicles.
John was squirming now, pushing himself toward her. She knew he wanted her to devour him. Gripping him at the base, she encircled her lips over his bulbous head. Holding him tightly, she glided her palm along his shaft as she sucked him in. She proceeded with her unhurried blow job, bobbing until she sensed tiny tremors arising from within him. Concurrently, she ran her tongue across the rim in a continuous spiral.
Ella took him deeper into her throat. She relaxed her muscles so she was able to swallow repeatedly, creating vibrations against him with her vocal chords and her lips. It was not long before she felt spasms course through him.
He let go of her hair and flung his arms atop the back of the couch. Ella saw he was preparing to surrender. She grabbed his ass and dug her nails into his fleshy cheeks. He tensed, and convulsions surged through him.
“Oh … fuck!” he said, spurting his cum in several erratic thrusts.
She tried gulping as much as she could, but it was impossible. His cream spilled out the corners of her mouth and dribbled down her chin—she didn’t stop sucking him.
John came for some time, and she massaged his balls until he was completely emptied. His erection did not die immediately. Ella now realized he was not kidding when he said he had saved it up—he certainly had an abundance to give her.
“Oh, my god … Ella.”
She climbed on top of him again and kissed him. In the light of day, she realized how intense the blue of his eyes was. It was not a baby blue, as she had first thought, but a rich violet color. In them, she saw the spirit of an old soul.
“Did you like that?” she asked.
“Are you joking with me?” He was out of breath. “I’ve never had a blow job like that.”
“As a musician, I thought you’d appreciate a hummer.”
“It was fantastic. I hope I wasn’t too much for you.”
“I admit you probably exceeded my daily requirement of protein!” She wiped her chin with her fingers and touched them to her nipples.
He seemed slightly self-conscious. “Ella …”
She was enjoying how he looked at her as she spread his semen around her breasts. “No worries, John. You weren’t too much.” She grinned. “In fact, you were just perfect.”
* * * *
They took a shower together, and it was John’s turn to see Ella more closely now.
“I knew you were shaven when I touched you last night. I’ve never seen that before.” He was referring to her “landing strip.” Ella preferred to go hairless otherwise, and she got a Brazilian wax every six weeks.
John recovered quickly after their shower and tried to initiate another make-out session, but Ella restrained herself. She couldn’t deny how turned on he made her feel, but it was uncharted territory for her. She needed time to think about what she wanted to do.
It was a crisp autumn morning as they walked out of her place in the Lower East Side. For the past few weeks, cooler days had replaced the humidity of the hot city. Ella loved the dog days of summer, but she had to admit the fall was a welcome change, given she didn’t own an air-conditioner.
They were seated at her favorite greasy spoon, just up the corner from her apartment. They both ordered steak and eggs and settled in for a leisurely breakfast.
“So how did you get to be part owner of Madame Z?” she asked.
John had a sip of his coffee. “My father bought it about five years ago with my older brother, James. Dad always dreamt of owning a blues club.”
“Was he in the business?”
“No, he was just a real music fan. I got my love of jazz and blues from him.”
“And your brother—he was into music too?”
“Yes, but in a different way. He liked the lifestyle—he enjoyed being with musicians.”
“How long have you been playing guitar?”
“Since I was about seven, my dad encouraged me to take up an instrument, and one day he put on John Lee Hooker’s ‘Boogie Chillun’.’ After that, I was hooked, no pun intended.”
“You were named after him, weren’t you?”
“Yes, he was one of Dad’s favorites.”
“Isn’t it funny that we were both named after musicians?”
“Yes, great names, both of them—but difficult to live up to.”
“For me, definitely. I know so little about jazz, and can’t sing to save my life, but you play like your namesake.”
“Thanks, but I still have a lot to learn.”
Ella liked his modesty, even though she had heard part of his performance and thought he sounded sensational.
“It must have taken a lot of hard work.”
“Yeah, when other kids were riding their bikes or shooting hoops, I was home practicing blues riffs.”
“You seem very disciplined.”
He paused a moment, and she sensed there was something he wanted to tell her.
“I don’t know about that. I gave up blues for a while.”
“It’s only natural to try different things when you’re young.”
“Of course, but I knew I would come back to it eventually. I just wasn’t prepared for how it happened.”
“What do you mean?” She was fascinated.
The server brought their orders, and amid a flurry of condiments, cutting of food, and more coffee, John continued.
“My parents died a few years ago, a freak accident on the highway.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry, John.”
“Yeah, it was a rough period.” He stared off into the distance, and Ella gave him a moment.
“So it’s just the two of you?”
“Yeah, just me and James.”
“And you took your father’s place when he passed away?”
“Actually, no, my uncle did, and then he removed James as partner and asked me to join him instead.”
Ella was missing something. “Your brother didn’t want to do it anymore?”
“He wasn’t able to. He was a drug addict and had been in and out of rehab. My parents were going to visit him in a hospital in Syracuse when they had the accident.”
“How tragic.” Ella couldn’t imagine what John had endured at such an early age.
“Yes, it was brutal. James blamed himself, and he was in no condition to run a club. My uncle’s a lawyer and was executor of my parents’ estate, so he looked after the finances, but he didn’t know anything about music.”
“So it was a natural fit for you.”
“In a way, though it took me awhile to find my place there.”
“Of course. It couldn’t have been easy to step into your brother’s shoes.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t that. James never ran the place. My dad made him a partner to give him something to belong to. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out.”
“I see. Were you angry he didn’t offer you a partnership to begin with?”
“No, not at all. I was too young then. I was also in a band, so I had my own thing going on.”
“Are you and your brother in touch?”
“Yes, every few weeks. He’s been clean since our parents died. I think their deaths scared him straight, or maybe the guilt did.”
“He doesn’t want to return to the business?”
“No, he has no interest, says I’m better at handling the scene, whatever that means.”
Ella noticed how John took a mouthful of food and chewed nervously while trying to dismiss his brother’s comment. “I think it’s pretty clear what he means.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he’s knows you’re the one who will fulfill your dad’s vision for the club.”
John stopped eating and frowned. He looked at Ella, and she could see he was in deep thought. Had she said something to offend him? Though it was certainly not her intention, Ella knew she was often too outspoken, and her words could sometimes be construed as tactless.
He leaned forward and kissed her slowly, licking her lips, and she tasted the ketchup on his tongue. She was both confused and relieved by his reaction.
“You’re very perceptive, Ella.”
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t say anything to upset you.”
“No, it’s just that—”
“You don’t have to explain—”
“No, I want to. My father had great plans for the club. When he first bought it, I wasn’t all that interested because I was touring, and it wasn’t with a blues band.”
“What was it?”
“Rockabilly, mostly.”
“Funny, I don’t picture you playing that.”
“No, I liked it, but it’s not what was in my soul, and I wanted to get back to the blues anyway.”
“And now you have.”
“True. Although I wish my dad were still around to see me perform at the club. I know he’s gone, but I’ll always consider it his club.”
“I’m sure he’s listening from wherever he is.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
She saw sadness in his eyes, but there was something else there too. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“It’ll be exactly three years ago tomorrow since my parents died. I haven’t talked about this in a long time.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Ella had a sudden urge to reach out and hug him.
“Yes, actually.”
“What is it?”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night, my place. I’ll cook.”
She had wanted to take it slow. “John, are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather spend it with someone you feel closer to?”
“I feel close to you.”
She found it impossible to say no to him.
* * * *
John lived in Greenwich Village—the opposite side of the city from Ella. When she arrived at his address, she discovered that it was a beautiful loft, complete with doorman service.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, walking in and casually handing him a bottle of wine when he opened the door.
“Thanks.”
Nervous, she had thought about calling him as late as a few hours before their date to cancel it. In the end, she knew the only reason she was apprehensive was because she had let him control the situation. She just needed to remember that it would not lead to anything, even though she liked him very much.
Ella surveyed the high-beamed ceilings and wood floors. She saw that there were at least two bedrooms, and the kitchen looked newly renovated. There was music playing softly in the background.
John came up from behind her and touched her shoulder. She turned to him.
“I forgot to do something when you first came in.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
He kissed her. It was long and deep, and it left her wanting. She dissolved into him and felt her stomach flutter as he held her in his arms.
“Welcome to my home, Ella.”
“Thank you. Is it hot in here … or is it just me?”
“We’re the ones heating up the place,” he said.
They snickered at how corny they sounded.
“I think that could be the start of a blues song, don’t you?” she asked.
“No, I’d say those are more like country lyrics.”
“True!” she said, knowing how bad some of those lyrics could be.
John looked great wearing black jeans and a gray T-shirt. It was a cool evening, and Ella had spent almost half an hour deciding what to wear. She finally threw on a sleeveless wool dress, draped with a pashmina scarf. It was unlike her to fuss so much for a date, but then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. According to her girlfriends, she didn’t have dates—she had “fuck sessions.”
“Can I help you with anything?” The place smelled terrific, and she wasn’t sure what he was making for dinner.
“No, it’s almost done. Why don’t you take care of the wine?” he said.
Ella sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island and watched him make last-minute touches.
“What are we having?”
“Take a guess.”
“We already know I’m a bad guesser, remember?”
He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll give you a hint, and you only have to come up with the type of food we’re having.”
“That should be easier … I think.”
“It’s a night to celebrate the blues.”
“Okay.” She pulled the cork out of the bottle.
“So I cooked in the tradition of African Americans responsible for blues music.”
“Hmm.” She noticed he was cutting a leafy green vegetable. “Would that be soul food?”
“Correct! See, you’re not so bad after all.”
“Yay! Do I win anything?”
He stopped chopping and walked over to her.
“What would you like?” he asked.
She blushed, so easily seduced by him.
John moved in to kiss her, and she sensed a shower of heat in her loins rising up to her cheeks. She had never felt this way before with a man, and at times, she had to remind herself he was only twenty-six. Ella poured the wine, and he proposed a toast.
“To my dad, for nurturing my love of music, and to my parents—gone but not forgotten.”
They clinked glasses and had a sip of the Napa Valley Cabernet Ella had brought.
“Beautiful toast, John. Your parents would have been proud. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose them both like that.”
“Shitty. They had a wonderful marriage, and there was so much more they wanted to do. You just never think …” He stared at his glass absentmindedly and swirled it against the counter.
There was silence, but it was not uncomfortable. When he looked up at her again, she kissed him—a slow, lingering caress of her lips on his—until she felt a stirring in her stomach.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“No reason. Just happy to be here.”
“I’m happy you’re here too—I really didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
It was Ella’s first glimpse of John’s vulnerable side.
* * * *
“Have you been to any soul food places up in Harlem?” he asked.
“Just to Aunt Ruth’s Restaurant. I liked it.”
“You should. It’s one of the best in town, and where I got some of these recipes.”
They were enjoying a meal of ribs, candied yams, and collard greens. Ella took another piece of corn bread.
“This is the best corn bread I’ve ever had. I can’t believe you made this.”
“That was the most difficult part of the entire meal.”
“It’s fantastic. I love the jalapenos in it. It’s got a bite.”
“You can really eat, but it doesn’t show on you.”
“I have a healthy appetite.”
“Good to know. There’re plenty of ribs left.”
“Thanks. They’re great.” She was messy and had accumulated a huge pile of bones on her plate and sticky barbecue sauce all over her fingers. There was something raw and sensual about eating with her hands. Between the wine and the spicy bread, she was feeling both hot and flustered.
“Who’s playing right now?” Ella asked.
John listened a second. “This is Albert King. Do you like it?”
“Yes. ‘Born Under a Bad Sign.’ I know this song, but not by him.”
“He originally recorded it back in sixty-seven, but it’s been covered by other artists.”
“You’re right. It was done by Cream.”
“Clapton’s band,” he said.
“So you do know a little about rock music.”
“I know him because he’s a guitarist. Most of his influences stem from the blues.”
“I see. I didn’t realize blues had such a big impact on rock music.”
“It certainly does, more than people would think. Many rock icons owe their careers to blues artists.”
“Like who?”
“Like Elvis, the Stones, Van Morrison—”
“Van the Man?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely.”
“He’s one of my favorites, reinventing himself constantly—a very resilient artist.”
“True, his main influences were Muddy Waters and Charlie Parker. He and John Lee Hooker were also friends.”
“Right, they had quite a few collaborations.”
“Didn’t they put out an album together? It was called—”
“Don’t Look Back,” she said.
“That’s the one.”
Ella was impressed to be having a conversation with this man about music they both listened to and liked.
“You know a lot about music, but I’ll bet you don’t know a little known fact about Van Morrison that I know,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She motioned him to come closer, as if she had a secret to share.
He leaned in, his face just inches from hers.
“Have you heard his song ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?” she asked.
“Yes.” John appeared genuinely intrigued.
She turned to whisper in his ear. “He wrote that for me.”
“Really?” He looked at her, feigning surprise.
Ella grinned and nodded, feeling lightheaded from the wine. “Yes, and don’t believe any stories to the contrary.”
“Ella.”
“Yes?”
“I’m crazy about you.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t say anything else. She had wanted to be funny, but she was also aware that she was flirting with him, and it felt good. She knew he was smitten with her, but was that what she truly wanted?
* * * *
John had picked up sweet potato pie for dessert. It was the only part of dinner he didn’t make, but Ella was too full. They decided to take a break from the meal.
“Come, I want to show you something,” he said.
“Okay, where are we going?”
“My studio.”
She followed him into a room she’d initially thought was a second bedroom. Filled with at least ten guitars, amplifiers, and recording equipment, there was also a computer and a couple of flat-screen monitors on a desk. It was a decent size and felt cool and airy. On the walls hung large posters of legendary musicians, most of them in black and white.
“What a great room,” she said. “Is this where you create your music?”
“Yes, and it’s a place to store my guitars.”
“Do you write your own stuff?”
“For a while now. I’m trying to put it all together.”
“Excellent. You should record an album.”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’d buy it.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
Ella walked around the room. “Fantastic posters.” She recognized the ones of John Lee Hooker and Robert Johnson, but there were a few she didn’t know. She was staring at one of an older black woman.
“That’s Ma Rainey,” John said. “She’s considered ‘Mother of the Blues.’”
“And who’s that?” Ella stood in front of another female—only she was much younger.
“Sister Rosetta Tharpe—she mastered the guitar by the age of six. She started as a gospel singer but then changed over to blues in the fifties—hell of a performer. If you get a chance, look at some old footage of her singing ‘Down by the Riverside.’ She’s riveting.”
“I will, and that’s a beautiful instrument she’s holding too.”
“Yes, a Gibson SG—standard for blues.”
“Is that what you have?”
“No, mine is a Gibson ES 335. It’s one John Lee Hooker also played.” He took it off the rack to show her—it had a rich cherry finish.
Ella ran her hand across the neck of it. “That is one gorgeous instrument.”
“It sure is.”
“Will you perform something for me?”
“You mean … now? Here?”
“Yes.”
He appeared reticent. “I don’t know …”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me no one has ever asked you to do that …”
“Actually, no. No one has.”
It surprised her that he seemed so reserved. “You mean to say you’ve never played for any of your girlfriends here before?” Ella was fishing, though she was trying not to be too obvious.
“No, I don’t bring anyone in this room, but I’ll do it for you … if that’s what you want.”
She almost felt sorry for being so presumptuous. Thankfully, he didn’t seem put off by her comments. “Yes, I’d very much like to hear you play.”
“Any special requests?” he asked.
“No, but a blues song would be good.” Ella sat on a nearby chair.
John brought out a different guitar and plugged it into an amplifier.
“That’s a Dobro, isn’t it?” she asked.
“That’s right. You’re familiar with it?”
“Yes, the first time I heard one live was at a Mark Knopfler concert.”
“Former lead man for Dire Straits—excellent guitarist.”
“It’s a unique sound.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy this, then.”
She loved the way he looked setting up his instrument. She guessed that the metal Dobro must have been quite heavy, as his muscles flexed in his arms when he held it. He also attached a harmonica to the neck brace he placed around himself.
“You look just like Dylan!” she said, howling with delight.
“I sure hope I look better than him!”
“Of course.”
She thought rock musicians were hot when they performed on stage, but having a private show in John’s studio was so much sexier.
“All right. Here’s a song from one of my favorites,” he said. “Have you heard of Taj Mahal?”
“I’m assuming we’re not referring to the mausoleum in India.”
“No, we’re not.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He shook his head, and Ella could tell he was amused.
“Taj Mahal was born Henry St. Claire Fredericks, here in Harlem. His mother sang in a gospel choir, and his father was a jazz pianist.”
“So he was brought up with music.”
“Yes, unfortunately, his father had to work on a farm to support the family. He was later killed when a tractor fell on him.”
“How terrible.”
“It sure was. Taj Mahal was barely a teen at the time. Later, a neighbor taught him the guitar, and he’s been at it ever since. It’s been more than forty years, and he still tours today.”
“Fabulous, now that’s staying power.”
“That’s what I admire about him. Like your man, Van Morrison, Taj Mahal constantly reinvents himself. He’s also one of the few blues Dobro players.”
Ella loved that John talked about music with so much authority and enthusiasm.
“I’ll do a song from his album Phantom Blues. Clapton and Bonnie Raitt also appeared on it.”
“Sounds good. What’s it called?”
“The name of the song is ‘Lovin’ in my Baby’s Eyes.’”
Ella sat with her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in her hands. She listened intently and saw how John fluidly moved his fingers across the guitar as he sucked and blew the harp. The raw quality of his voice was captivating.
It was a song with simple lyrics, but they resonated deeply with her. They spoke about how he wanted to be her man, and how he would do anything in the world for her to see the love in her eyes.
If machinery could weep, its cries would be the sounds John made with his Dobro. As she watched the pained expressions on his face, she was moved beyond anything she had ever experienced. The way he looked at her when he sang the words made her believe the lyrics had been written just for her.
Ella clapped when he finished. The song had made her hot—really hot. She wanted him, but she felt glued to her seat. It was as if she were thinking inappropriate thoughts in John’s sacred space. She was completely mesmerized by the song and could not remember when she was more touched by something a man did for her.
“How was that?” he asked.
“I loved it, everything about it.”
He returned the guitar to the stand, turned off the amplifier, and walked over to her.
“I’ve done that song so many times with no one in mind, but now …”
“John, I—”
“No, let me finish Ella. It’s corny as hell, but it’s the love in your eyes I want to see.”
“John—”
“I know you have reservations about me because of my age, but—”
“John! Please let me say something.” She stood up and couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Sorry, go ahead.”
“Do you know how I feel right now?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Ask.”
“All right, how do you feel?”
“More turned on than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.”
* * * *
The sexual tension between them was excruciating, so much so that when John’s lips brushed hers, she melted into his arms and was barely able to stand. He swung her off her feet into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. She buried her head in the nape of his neck and kissed him. She wanted him so badly it hurt. She had never had anyone perform for her, nor had she ever been so seduced by a song.
His bedroom was located down the hall from his studio. Its sparse furnishings included a king-size bed, a couple of night tables, and a pair of in-wall speakers.
He laid her on the bed and switched on a lamp. The room was painted a rich dark chocolate color. It was masculine but still warm. John lit a couple of small candles and turned off the light.
Ella shook with anticipation. She realized she had given up control, and to her amazement, she actually liked it. She reasoned that it was probably something she had always wanted to do but had never met the right man to surrender to.
John had maturity, passion, and intelligence—qualities she thought were impossible to find in someone his age. She was wrong.
He stood by the bed, ogling her as she lay breathless with need for him. He started unbuckling his belt. He took his time undressing. When he finally stood naked in front of her, Ella got up on her knees.