A Duet for Three

We had had a couple of glasses of single malt scotch from Al's liquor cabinet before making our way over a couple of blocks to the First Presbyterian Church for the 7:30 service. The Christmas service was something called a Moravian Lovefeast. It consisted of a bun, punch, and singing hymns. I was never much of a churchgoer, but Traci had been a member of Chicago's huge Fourth Presbyterian Church on Michigan Avenue, and Emma and I had enjoyed going with her on Christmas Eve for the candlelight service. Tyler's First Presbyterian was not nearly as impressive as Chicago's Fourth Presbyterian, but it was nice.

After the church service, we walked back to the D'Amico's home, and I had put Emma to bed.

"Can we talk," Traci asked.

I had known this was coming, "Sure, let me get my jacket,"

We walked in silence for a few minutes, taking in the brightly decorated homes in the historical district.

"You know I still love you, don't you?" Traci asked.

"I know that you believe that," I replied.

"You don't think I still love you?" Traci asked.

"I don't think that someone who truly loves another person will cheat on them. I think that every bit of closeness you achieved with Ryker came at a cost of an equal amount of distance between us. For you to be naked in his hotel room, I believe that you had to put away all your love for me. Otherwise, you couldn't have cheated."

"And now you no longer love me," Traci said sadly.

"No, I still love you. I probably always will."

"But you can't forgive me,"

"I don't know Trace. Maybe I could if I really wanted to. I'm not sure I want to. I still see you in his room. You were naked except for your panties. Do you remember that?"

"I do remember that. I'm ashamed of myself."

"Maybe you are and maybe you aren't. I have no way of knowing. But here's what I do know. I know how you get after singing on stage in front of a crowd. You are on fire. You want to be pounded into the mattress. You want it hard and fast, and you don't care who hears you screaming. When I walked into that hotel room, you were leaning back on the bed on your elbows, and you were topless, and your nipples were rock hard. Your legs were hanging over the bed kind of spread out. Do you remember what panties you were wearing?"

Traci nodded her head. Tears were starting to stream down her face as I could see her relive that awful night. She had been wearing the emerald Honey Birdette set that I had given her as an anniversary gift.

"I saw you in that emerald thong and I know how horny you get after performing. In my mind's eye, I can see that thong soaked through and plastered against your cunt. I can smell your arousal filling up that hotel room. God knows I've had that smell in my nostrils often enough. I can imagine how worked up you were for him. Waiting for him with your legs spread and your wetness soaking through that thong.

"So, tell me; how do I get past that? How do I get that image out of my mind? How do I get that smell out of my nostrils."

I paused and looked at Traci. Her eyes were opened wide in horror as she shook her head. "No. No. It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that."

We turned in silence to walk back to her parent's house as she continued to shake her head and repeat to herself, "No. No."

@@@@@@

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. Everyone knew that Traci and Coy had gone for a walk last night and it must not have gone well as Traci seemed sad and depressed when they arrived back at the house.

The next morning, presents were quickly unwrapped and then taken to cars. Hugs were exchanged by everyone except Coy and Traci, who avoided each other. Coy and Emma were the first to leave, followed shortly afterward by Coy's parents. Traci had retired to her room. A gloomy pall hung over the house. Her parents could hear her crying and at one point wailing. They looked at each other helplessly. They had questioned the wisdom of moving to Texas. Al thought it was a bad idea, but Traci decided she was moving regardless. Jean wanted to be close by to support her daughter.

Now here they were. They owned a big house in Tyler, Texas and now he owned a car dealership that he did not need or want. What a mess.

The day after Christmas, Traci met with her parents.

"I know you've tried to be there for me as I wreck my life. I appreciate it. I do. But I have caused everyone nothing but misery. I think it's time I moved away. Maybe go to Europe or something."

Jean gasped in shock. Her father, on the other hand just rolled his eyes.

"Well, that's just about the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Al said. "You've had two years to deal with this shit and you haven't been able to. So, the first time that you have a real heart-to-heart talk, and he doesn't drop down on his knee and ask you to get remarried, you're throwing in the towel?" Al shook his head and looked towards Jean.

"Who was it? Who was Traci's father?"

Jean looked at her husband in confusion.

"I'm serious. Someone other than me had to be her father. Because no child of mine would be willing to give up so easily. You had to have been fucking around on me and I want to know who it was."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You got me. It was Larry, the package room guy at the condo building."

"Wait, Larry? The fat guy with the lazy eye?"

"His eye wasn't that lazy, if you know what I mean."

"No, I have no idea. What does that even mean? His eye wasn't that lazy?"

Traci watched the byplay between her parents. She knew that they were joking around. Her mother had never cheated on her husband. No, cheating on your husband was something she did, not her mother.

Al and Jean saw their daughter working through some things in her mind before Traci looked at them with a slightly devious smile.

"I have an idea..."

@@@@@

It was New Year's Eve and Shooter's was rocking. Shooter's was a golf-themed sports bar and grill with autographed posters of infamous PGA golfer Shooter McGavin on prominent display throughout the building. It was busy on normal nights. Tonight, it was packed elbow to elbow. Our little group was lucky in that Al had a reserved table.

No one in either one of our families was going to New Year's Eve Parties. Instead, we converged on Shooters. All except for Traci, who was still not feeling well, and Emma who was staying overnight with a school friend whose Church of Christ parents were not going to be staying up late to celebrate the arrival of another sin-filled year. I thought Emma's friend was a sweetheart, but her parents were a couple of tools.

"Karaoke? Is that why you brought me here? For karaoke? You know how I feel about karaoke."

"We're here because I was given free passes for this place for tonight with a reserved table. You can't get in anywhere else. It's New Year's Eve and it's 63 degrees outside and every bar and restaurant in Tyler is packed to the gills. If we want to celebrate the new year, it's either this or drinks at our house."

"I vote for here," my folks chimed in.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

We had to suffer through a variety of excruciating versions of "Sweet Caroline," "Keep Your Hands to Yourself," and "Friends in Low Places." That's the thing about karaoke; everyone sings the same dozen or so songs and they usually sing them very badly. I was looking at my watch trying to decide how to possibly extricate myself from this situation.

We had been having our eardrums brutalized for about ninety minutes when the familiar synthesizer introduction to an old Bonnie Tyler song began. Then the singer began:

Where have all the good men gone

And where are all the Gods?

Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?

Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?

Late at night, I toss and I turn

And I dream of what I need

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

He's gotta be strong

And he's gotta be fast

And he's gotta be fresh from the fight

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light

He's gotta be sure

And it's gotta be soon

And he's gotta be larger than life

Larger than life (ah, ah)

I looked at my parents and my ex-in-laws who avoided my gaze as they looked up, down, and around. Anywhere and everywhere but in my direction.

As Traci finished the song, the crowd went crazy with applause. Several people knew who she was because of the popularity of the high school musical. This just endeared her to them even more.

When the song finished, Traci spoke to the crowd.

"Several years ago, when I lived in Chicago, I used to do a lot of karaoke with my husband. There was a song that we sang together. Then I was asked to join a band. Now, those of you who know who I am may not know this, but I'm a born performer. I love being in front of a crowd and entertaining them. I love the applause and I love being the center of attention. I started singing the song that had been special between me and my husband with the lead singer of that band. We became very popular. So popular that I lost sight of who I was and what was important to me."

By now, the crowd noise had died down and it was as quiet as a church. Everyone listened in rapt fascination to Traci's speech. Confession. Whatever.

"I almost did the worst thing a wife can do to a husband. If my husband hadn't stopped me, I would have crossed a line from which there is no coming back. He stopped me but he could not forgive me, and he divorced me."

The crowd started to grumble at that, and Traci held up her hand. "No, he was right to divorce me. But I lost my love of performing. This is the first time I've sung in front of a crowd since the night my husband caught me about to make a big mistake. But there's one song that terrifies me. It was the song that I would sing with my husband. The song that I started singing with someone else. The last time I heard this song, I was in the car with my father. I had a complete meltdown and he had to turn the car around and drive me a hundred miles back to Chicago."

Traci took a deep breath. I had turned my chair around and was watching her. She looked my way.

"Coy, I have no right to ask you this, but would you sing this with me? If nothing else, I want to be able to listen to the song without winding up in a psych ward." The announcer walked over and handed me a mic.

The crowd started applauding and I was left with only two choices, one of which would make me a total asshole and probably get my ass kicked by the crowd. I stood and started walking towards the stage as the intro began. It had been several years since I had heard the song, but I still managed to start on time the opening line to Part 1, "Paradise."

I remember every little thing

As if it happened only yesterday

Parking by the lake

And there was not another car in sight

And I never had a girl

Looking any better than you did

And all the kids at school

They were wishing they were me that night

And now our bodies are oh so close and tight

It never felt so good, it never felt so right

And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife

Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife

C'mon! Hold on tight!

C'mon! Hold on tight!

Traci joined me in the next stanza which was sung at a slower tempo:

Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night

I can see paradise by the dashboard light

I then picked up the next verse.

Ain't no doubt about it

We were doubly blessed

'Cause we were barely seventeen

And we were barely dressed

Ain't no doubt about it

Baby got to go and shout it

Ain't no doubt about it

We were doubly blessed

'Cause we were barely seventeen

And we were barely dressed

That night, in Shooter's Bar and Grill, Traci and I sang that song with more passion than we had ever sung before. Maybe it was pent-up emotion. Maybe it was pent-up desire. I don't know what it was, but when we got through Part 2, "The Baseball Broadcast" where I had to take over Phil Rizzuto's famous voice-over, Traci was panting.

I could smell her arousal. Her scent hung heavy in the air. Her scent hung heavy in the air at Shooter's, but it had not been present in Ryker's hotel room—despite my mind trying to convince me otherwise.

As Part 3, "Stop Right There!" began, Traci had a wild, almost feral look in her eyes. It was a look I had never seen as she started to sing her part, loudly shouting the first line with a hard pause at the end before backing off for the second line of the verse.

Stop right there!

I gotta know right now!

Before we go any further!

Do you love me?

Will you love me forever?

Do you need me?

Will you never leave me?

Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?

Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?

Do you love me!?

Will you love me forever!?

Do you need me!?

Will you never leave me!?

Will you make me happy for the rest of my life!?

Will you take me away and will you make me your wife!?

I gotta know right now

Before we go any further

Do you love me!?

Will you love me forever!?

I have seen videos of Meatloaf singing this song with Karla Devito and I have seen him sing it with Ellen Foley, who sang it with him on the Bat Out of Hell album. But no one has ever sung it with the wanton and lusty passion of Traci that night.

As Part 4, "Praying for the End of Time" ended, I finished the song.

It never felt so good

It never felt so right

And we were glowing like

A metal on the edge of a knife

It never felt so good

It never felt so right

And we were glowing like

A metal on the edge of a knife

As we finished, I tossed my mic to the manager and grabbed Traci by her hand as she dropped her mic to the floor. I practically dragged her through the bar as she ran to keep up with me. Our dads sat in open-mouthed shock, while our moms sat there with big stupid grins on their faces.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she slid into the front seat of my pickup truck.

"My house," I growled as I jabbed the start button.

Traci nodded. She reached under her skirt and shimmied her panties down her legs and handed them to me. It was a light blue thong, and it was drenched. No, the thong in the hotel room in Milwaukee was never like this. These were slick and shiny with her wetness. I put them to my face and inhaled her scent.

"Can't this truck go any faster?" Traci asked.

+++

When Emma came home from her overnight, she was not surprised to see Traci eating breakfast and wearing one of my t-shirts.

"You knew that I was being set up?" I asked my daughter. We had pledged no secrets.

"No one told me anything. But I guessed. I didn't think she would give up that easily. She didn't move to Texas to lay down and die."

I just shook my head. It was hard to believe she was only eight.

"I'm really glad you're here. Good job, Dad. And you too..." Her voice trailed off in an implied question.

I rolled my eyes. "You can say it."

"And you too, Mom," Emma said with a huge smile. Traci dropped to her knees and gave Emma a crushing hug.

"We're going to take things slow," I said later. Emma had gone to bed for a nap, and Traci and I had enjoyed a couple of more rounds of lovemaking. It had been almost three years for each of us. I had once heard one of my mechanics say that he had enough semen built up to shampoo a buffalo. That was a pretty good description of how I felt. I expected Traci would be leaking for the next several days.

"Definitely," she said, nodding her head in agreement. "Very slowly."

I just looked at her. "You think you're moving in today, don't you."

Traci nodded her head happily. "When you were in the shower, I called my mom to pack a suitcase for me."

"We still have some issues to deal with. I don't trust you."

"We'll get some counseling. And you don't have any reason to trust me. But you will."

"What about wanting to be on stage and be the center of attention?"

"I discovered something about myself recently. The feeling I get from directing the Christmas Show? That was way more satisfying than the applause I got from being on stage with The Meltdown, just in a different way. Maybe it's a sign of maturity. Maybe it's just me getting older. Maybe I know what I lost and never want to go through that again. Probably a bit of all three. Directing that musical was what my ego needed, and I'll be satisfied with that."

"But turning me on? Getting me all hot and horny? Shooter's has karaoke a couple of times a month," Traci said with a wicked grin.

I nodded. We'll see.

And we did.

Epilogue.

Christmas, one year later.

The Connery's were again spending another Christmas with the D'Amico's. Coy's parents were sitting in the living room with cocktails as Coy and Emma walked through the front door. Traci was right behind them carrying Bonnie, their three-month-old. It had been so long since Coy and Traci had made love, and they were so inflamed for each other, that birth control was the farthest thing from their mind last New Year's Eve. By the time it occurred to them, they had already gone six times. They looked at each other, shrugged, and came to the silent agreement that if it happened, it happened.

And it most certainly happened. Bonnie (named after Bonnie Tyler, of course) was the quietest, happiest baby in the world. You could probably add smartest and cutest to the list too.

Emma loved her little sister and could not stop looking at her when she was brought home. She had reminded Traci and her dad about their promise that Traci would adopt her once they had another child. Coy explained that first, they had to get married. Then the adoption would follow. Emma had tapped her wrist as if to say, "Time's a-wastin'."

As both families sat down to dinner, the awkwardness of last year was a forgotten memory. Traci looked from Coy to Emma to Bonnie and then to her parents and ex-soon-to-be-new in-laws. She felt a wave of happiness sweep over her. She did not think she would ever be this happy again. She knew she did not deserve it, but she would hang on to it with both hands and never let it go.

Merry Christmas!

Paradise by the Dashboard Lights Copyright 1975 by Jim Steinman

Holding Out for a Hero Copyright 1983 by Jim Steinman; Dean Pitchford