Bayou JazzbySateema Lunasi©
Seven o’clock, PM. It seemed later than that. By this time, on a Friday night, New Orleans was crawling with night people. The jazz clubs were full, the overpriced cafeterias serving Creole food in mass production would have lines around the blocks. Another day, another job. He would be late if he didn’t get going soon, and Jack Linds was never late.
Grabbing his jacket and stuffing a tie in his pocket, just in case anyone wanted some publicity shots of him with the singer, he picked up his camera and started out the door. Lighting a cigarette and glancing up as it began to sprinkle rain, Jack hailed a cab, a driver he knew well and gave the driver, Charlie, directions to the club.
“What ‘choo shootin’ pictures of ta’nite, Mistah Jack?” Old Charlie asked, his thick Creole accent needing to be deciphered.
“A lady singer. Creole girl from low country. Daniella.”
“Girl gotta las’ name?”
“Nah, just Daniella. Stage name I guess. Like Madonna or Sting.”
“Hmmm, girl bettah know how ta sing, she Creole and puttin’ only one silly name on herself.” Charlie mused to himself and Jack smiled, dragging on the cigarette and rubbing a weary hand over the stubble of his chin. He wished he had taken the time to shave.
People filtered in and out of the small and overcrowded jazz club in the French Quarter and Jack thought he would never get past the strong group of drunken tourists at the door. Once inside, Jack found his reserved seat at his table and patiently waited for the show to start. This girl better be good. This place was giving him a migraine.
A half an hour later, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered. There was no introduction. Jack had never heard of this girl, but the New Orleans club regulars loved her. She was their sweetheart, practically a patron saint. Jack got his camera ready, thinking of telling Martin Lourdes to fuck himself the next time he laid a piece of shit assignment like this on him. Last year he was filming the crisis in the Middle East, the floods on the Yangtze River and there was the freelance work for Explorer Magazine, filming zebras in Masai Mara. Now he was photographing some unknown overnight sensation singer in a tourist filled jazz club.
He lit another cigarette, ignoring the no smoking sign. Everyone else was. He readied his camera and watched the curvy figure saunter onto the stage.
He snapped a picture when she smiled at the crowd. She looked nervous. She should be. Jack couldn’t help thinking she was pretty. Not the conventional kind of pretty on Cosmopolitan Magazine covers, but the awkward, almost clumsy kind of appeal that some women have. The pretty that you just can’t place. Her hair was dark brown, rather plain, and piled on her head in loose curls. Her face was sweetly pretty and appealing. The eyes though...yeah, that needed to be photographed.
Jack got closer as the music started and she went into a slow ballad, her large, dark eyes twinkling. Snap.
She looked at him and tried to smile for the camera. Her nerves were really showing. Jack looked her over. Very nice, indeed. The woman was curvy, a classic hourglass shape. He wasn’t sure how she managed to get her breasts into that tight red dress, but it looked fantastic on her. She caught him eyeing the swell of her breasts over the top of the dress and she blushed, her voice going on in song. Snap. Another photo...of that blush.
It was an hour later that she accepted flowers from the admiring crowd and floated her way to the narrow hallway backstage. Jack met her there as scheduled to take some post-show photos. She was smiling.
“You’re Jack, right?” she asked.
“And you are amazing.”
“Oh, okay...you need better lines, Sweetie.” She laughed good-naturedly.
She didn’t seem to mind him taking pictures now. She was herself.
“There are so many people here...I didn’t expect so many...it is loud in here and I can barely here you, Jack. Let’s go to my dressing room. It is quiet in there.”
Jack followed her to the small and neatly kept dressing room. He took a seat in a leather backed chair against the wall and watched her take her hair down and sigh.
“I always get so nervous...” she mused out loud, to no one in particular.
And she nonchalantely began to remove her stockings and shoes,
“So what do you want to ask me, Jack, for the magazine?”
“Well, first of all...why only Daniella?”
“Hmm...ego. Next question?” she was unzipping the red dress down the side and wiggling out of it. Jack could see the confining strapless bra she wore, the stiff black cups holding her rather large breasts.
“You have no problem getting undressed in front of me?” Jack braved to ask. Then again, he had never been a shy man.
“Why would I be?” she smiled. “You aren’t going to suddenly jump up and grab me and put your hands all over me, are you?”
Jack shook his head, regretfully.
“And why not?” she asked, her sweet face becoming a flirtatious mock of herself.
“You are a flirt.” He accused lightly.
To his surprise and delight, she turned to him and reached behind her to unhook the clasp of her bra. Her luscious and cream colored breasts were free and her large, dark nipples were already hard.
“You really are a flirt.”
“I like you, Jack. You were looking at my tits weren’t you?”
“You want to touch them, Jack? Suck them?”
He did not hesitate or reply. He simply took her in his arms and rubbed a hardened peak in his thumb and finger, bending to taste the cherry-dark color of her nipples. Her legs slowly opened and he slid a hand up the warmth of her thigh, finding it wildly erotic that she wore no panties. He could feel that she had shaved off the womanly growth of hair between her thighs and he only felt a smooth patch of sensetive skin, the soft, wet folds of her, and the small, inviting opening beneath the lips.
He stroked her there, sucking at her breasts, one by one, and stroking her with his fingers until she was wet enough. She raised her hips to him, and he sucked her nipples harder. She was ready, wanting more.
Pulling her to him, closer, he stood up and bent her over the leather chair, cupping her breasts in his hands as he did so. He quickly unbuckled his pants and pressed his hardened erection to her thighs. She moaned, pushing to him. She pushed back to insert him and they both gasped at the feeling. She was so heated and wet, he almost came at once, but he held back, taking his time.
Pushing inside her and all the way back out again, he pleasured her until she began to jerk uncontrollably, coming in a wave of orgasm. He let himself go then, coming like crazy and squeezing the softness of those beautiful breasts.
It seemed surreal what he had just done with her. He helped her pull a shirt over her head and to button up the loose skirt she pulled around her hips. She tossed her hair back in a ribbon,
“I like you, Jack.”
“I like you too, Daniella.”
“Jack, my real name is Francine.”
“You can take pictures of me anytime.” She grinned.
“I will, honey, believe me, I will.”