Flotsam, But Not Jetsam

"May, no," I said as I unfolded the check and saw it drawn for $10,000.

"Momma said you wouldn't take twenty thousand. I thought I'd try ten at least."

"One dollar ... and a kiss. No more."

"Oh. Then how about two kisses? The one you already got, and the one I want so much to give you?"

I snorted a chuckle. Maybe this girl had more on the ball than I originally assumed. You read about average race IQ and if you're not careful you push every member of a race into the same bag. But for any individual, all bets are off.

"Okay. Give me your second kiss. And if it's as good as the first one, forget the dollar."

With that, she threw her arms around my shoulders, pulled me down, and this time certainly crossed my eyes.

"Okay?" she said as she finally pulled back. "So how's my hero? How's your boat. How's your truck"

"Okay, now."

"Sorry about that. I tried to tell them what really happened, but they treated me like I was still rummy or something. You sure you won't let me pay you back?"

I shook my head. What I really wanted was to find out about her. With a kiss like that, maybe I should work at becoming her most appreciative fan! What I learned was:

She was Mahalia Madison (I already knew that), and on stage: Mahalia Quartermaine.

The woman who visited me earlier was her mother, Meg Madison (which I also remembered)

Her mother was also her manager (A twenty-two year old celebrity needs manager, right?).

Her father had split before May was born.

She had no siblings, so as she put it, her mother spoiled her. (But she didn't seem one bit spoiled to me, more like damned adult for her claimed twenty-two years.)

She had tired of the phony music performance business, and went looking for more meaning from life. (That's why she was trying out windsurfing.) I'd heard that ridiculousness before about searching for life's meaning and finding oneself.

And she decided, some time during my rescue and her avoidance of death, I was her something more.

Well, with kisses like those, I certainly wouldn't mind being her something more. My only girl had gone her own way two years before and I hadn't since found anyone interesting enough to pursue.

"I think you told Momma you have no girl."

"Right."

"Why not? You like boys better?"

"Nope."

"Then how about me? Do I kiss good enough?"

I nodded, she sure did!

"I do other things I know you'll like, too."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"You tell me what you like, and I'll tell you whether I already know how to do them, or if you'll have to teach me."

Well, that pretty much covered the possibilities. I think I stammered something stupid at this point.

"Don't you want me?"

Could I come right out and say so? Of course not. I wasn't that stupid.

"What about your mother, May?" God, the last thing I wanted was to offend the mother of this beautiful woman sitting on my sofa.

"Mom's cool. She thinks I should have a man friend by now. In fact she worries that I don't."

"Oh."

"See? I was born when Momma was way younger than I am now, so she understands."

Yes, probably understands and might cut the privates off a guy who breaks-in her little girl!

"What about your bodyguard? He's still out there waiting for you, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah. Hang on a minute while I send him back to the hotel." She slipped her phone from her purse and punched it several times.

"Yah, hi, Amed. Please, you go back to the hotel, and when you get there, tell Momma I'm in good hands. If that changes, Sandy will bring me back or I'll call you. Okay? Good. See you tomorrow—maybe." That answered one of my questions. She put her phone away and turned back to me.

"So?"

So what? I thought.

"Shouldn't we get better acquainted before bedtime?"

***

My land line rang on my night-stand before I fully awoke next morning. In my half-sleep, I untangled myself from the embrace Mahalia still held around me.

"Ohhh," she moaned. "Let it ring, Honey. It'll just be Momma checking that I'm okay. I'll call her back once we've both had a chance to wake up."

I wasn't sure I'd ever reach that state. I was wrung out, I mean with a capital W. I suppose her hand, now fiddling with the hair on my chest, was supposed to help me wake up? She stretched up and kissed me gently.

"Hope you still like me this morning," she said.

I did, no doubt!

"I still like you." With that she kissed me again, but this was more of a let's continue last night sort of a kiss than a good morning, how are you? kiss.

That kiss grew and matured to include much of what we'd done before and after bedtime arrived. The phone rang twice more, before Mahalia said—a bit begrudgingly, I'd admit—"I better answer that, or Momma will get worried I died in you arms and went to heaven."

She reached for the phone, then pulled back. "That gives me an idea for a new song, you know? A girl like me wakes up in heaven, but as she comes to, realizes the heaven she's in is her boyfriend's arms. Yeah, that has possibilities!"

But, she did reach on over to the phone this time.

"Hi, Momma. Yes, this is me. What other girl would you expect to answer his phone this morning?"

A pause.

"Great, Momma. What did you expect?"

Another pause.

"I'll ask him. Wait a minute."

She rolled toward me some and kissed me before saying, "Momma wants to give us breakfast. Amed, too. Want that?"

She looked at me as if to say, "You name it: Go eat? Or stay here with me and make love." Well, there was nothing left of me with which to screw Mahalia again for a while, so maybe food would help.

"Food," I said.

"'Food,' he says, Momma. He needs to rest up."

A short pause.

"Well, I tried all night to convince him, but he wouldn't take the check. Now we're both fagged out."

Another pause.

"Oh, not that soon Momma. We got lots to do yet. How about two hours instead of one?"

Pause.

"Okay, two hours. We'll meet you there in two hours." With that she settled the phone back into its cradle. "We're to meet her at the hotel in two hours, okay? Or you want them to send a car pick us up?"

"Which hotel?"

"Wind Branch Towers."

I nodded. I knew the place, and it wasn't cheap. Was her mother, along with Amed, staying there? No wonder Mahalia looked so spiffy. Money can do wonders, but May didn't need wonders, anyway.

By time arrived that Mahalia and I should get ready for breakfast, we hadn't rested one bit. And her tell me what you like and I'll tell you if I know how, or if you'll need to teach me had shown she'd need little coaching from me. In fact although she timed it all very gently and politely, I quickly ran out of What I like and we delved deeply into what she thought I should learn to like. How could a guy my age be so inexperienced and ignorant?

So I asked her. I mean, opened my dumb mouth and just said what I thought.

Mahalia only smiled, took one hand and with the other pulled herself up to kiss me on the neck. God, that was sexy!

"Momma."

"What?" I said as I pulled back.

"I told Momma I was going to be yours forever and she better help me learn to be what you'd want."

Well, no doubt about it: Last night she'd proven she knew more than I did about what made me happy.

"Did you know you can get sex training? Buy it? I took some, even before you saved me. Like I said, Momma worried because I didn't have a man friend, and if you're going to get a good one, you better know what you're doing, right?"

I sure as hell didn't know about training. But last night said Mahalia knew far more than me. Did one take sex classes at the junior college? Or were these actor, actress, and stage performer classes you took somewhere in California?

"What's a' matter, Honey? You must have had training."

I shook my head.

"No? Must be natural talent, then, 'cause you sure were good."

Yeah, right! All last night I felt as if I was always five steps behind Mahalia.

"So what you like best so far? What you want from me we haven't tried yet?"

"Oh, Mahalia, I feel so good I just want to lie here with your wonderful body touching mine and try to recover."

"Good. I'm for that."

So was I. I found what I expected to be a sensitive bit of skin inside her elbow and rubbed it—just to let her know I hadn't fallen asleep.

"Ummm, that feels good Sandy." Her hand had found a sensitive spot on me and began a caress, but it wasn't on my arm. I squirmed a bit.

"Don't like?"

"Haven't the energy to like."

"Don't worry. You will have."

Sure. Maybe in an hour. We had an hour, didn't we?

***

We still had a half hour until departure time, way I figured it.

We both needed a shower, no question of that. I guess I needed one more than Mahalia, because she insisted on giving me mine before she'd let me give her one.

"Oooh, I like that," she moaned when I began returning the favor.

I rubbed that lucky bar of soap up her leg and into the Y where her thighs came together.

"You do that a couple more times and you know what? I'll have to call Momma and tell her to forget breakfast."

I figured that was her way of saying stop that! So I did.

"Oooh! Why did you stop?"

"I thought you maybe didn't want me to do that."

"Honey, you can do anything you want ... just so it doesn't draw blood. If it's going to draw blood, ask first, okay?"

There I had that Honey business from her again. So I went on soaping her up between her legs.

"That's better," she said.

"How about this, then?" I went further up, soaping as I went.

"Love it, Sandy." Her half sigh of a voice said keep going!

"What about time? Your mother?"

"Yeah. If you keep that up, we won't make it. I hate to stop this, but ...."

I pulled my hand and the soap back. Mahalia countered by plastering her hand over mine and rubbing them both firmly against where I figured her clit should be. Very firmly.

I'm not sure how we accomplished what we did in a half hour, but if the half hour had not included driving to the hotel, we would have made it. As it was, when our half hour's time ran out, we still had a fifteen minute drive ahead of us.

"Don't worry," Mahalia said. "Momma understands this sort of thing."

"It's just not very polite."

"And I know you that much already. Being impolite would really bother you."

I nodded.

"So, then, best I can do now is call and tell Momma and Amed we're on our way, but we'll be fifteen late. That make you feel better?"

I nodded again.

"Oh, Sandy! You'll have to help me be more—what is that word?—punctual? I'm always getting in trouble when I perform. Poor Momma, she's a worried wreck by time one of my shows is over."

"Then I'll tell you what. You be punctual, and when you are, I'll see that you get royally fucked. How's that for a trade? But if you're late, even just once during any day, and you go a full twenty-four without any lovin'."

"Ooh! Tough penalty."

"Only if you're not ... punctual."

"My only hope is you can't go without that long."

"My only hope is you get off your carelessness kick of being late. I don't want to go without, either. Do I look like I do?"

"You know, Honey? I think you're going to fix everything that's wrong with me."

"What I'm going to do is fuck you into adulthood. No more of this foolish, kiddie behavior."

"I thought you liked the kiddie behavior I gave you this morning."

"I liked the adult behavior we shared this morning."

"Me, too."

She reached over and squeezed a handful of what I had in my lap. "I think we turn at the next street. Then take another right into the hotel's parking garage," she said, looking not where we needed to go, but into my eyes.

Chapter 2

"So, Mr. Peterson," Mahalia's mother said as she welcomed us into her hotel suite. "Sure good to see you again. I don't have to ask if you two had an enjoyable evening last night. I can see it in Mahalia's eyes."

What could I say with that? We all but screwed each other's lights out?

"My pleasure to see you this morning, Ma'm."

"Oh, Momma," Mahalia said. "We really got acquainted last night. I love him so much I can hardly believe it!"

"I hope so." She paused some. "Now, Honey, remember you have a concert coming up in just twenty-seven days, so settle yourself down so you can concentrate on that." Mrs. Madison looked at me when she said this, not at her daughter.

"And I expect you to do your part, Mr. Peterson. Mahalia could get herself bumped right out of her profession real quick-like if she doesn't do what she's supposed to, when she's supposed to. The promoters stand to lose big-money if she goofs up another performance for them."

I figured as much. How would you ever refund a million dollars in ticket sales, and keep your sanity as the 40,000 would-be attendees whose plans you stiffed vented their displeasure upon you for cancelling out?

"We snuck through about cancelling her last concert because of news about her disappearance and the thought she'd been kidnaped, but that won't work again. You see, Mr. Peterson, Mahalia has a reputation for not following through like she's supposed to."

"She mentioned that."

"And her being late this morning says although she may have learned a few things while you were saving her from drowning, she hasn't yet learned the importance of getting where she's suppose to be when she'd supposed to be there."

"I'm afraid I contributed to that this morning. Sorry ... and I'll consider my hand slapped." I nodded to her so she'd know in spite of my jest, I had taken her caution seriously.

"I'm hoping," Mrs. Madison said, "this infatuation Mahalia has for you will prompt her to mature while it's wearing off."

"I'm hoping it never wears off," I said with a soft chuckle. "But she and I have pact about that. From now on, she pays courteous attention to schedules, times, and such, and I pay proper attention to her."

"Yeah, Momma. If I goof up even once a day, I get no lovin' that night."

"With that look on your face, May, I see my little girl is in big trouble!"

"Mrs. Madison—if I may stick my nose in here—Mahalia is a little girl no longer. Grown up ladies are never inconsiderate and sloppy about appointments. I'm going to be with her, reminding her that's not the way sexy, grown-up women act."

"See what I mean, Momma? He just keeps reminding me I'm all grown up now and gotta act that way."

"And how's he do that?"

I could tell from her tone she already knew that answer.

"Oh Momma, he treats me so wonderful. I just know there's no way I can disappoint him. That would break my heart."

"Mine, too," I said, looking her way, "because that would tell me you don't love me."

"You two keep working on that," Mrs. Madison said. "Meanwhile, let's see what the hotel restaurant sent up for our breakfast."

Before breakfast finished, Mahalia and her mother had discussed everything getting ready for her upcoming performance required ... several times. I'd never before thought about this enough to realize so much went into one of these shows, not only the music selection for the main act, the band backing up Mahalia, and numerous rehearsals, but also the warm-up act, the lighting and lighting crew, sound system and sound crew, security, set decoration, would there be fireworks (and if so, how many and what sort), ticket pricing decisions, contracts for ticket sales, contracts for stage crew, start time ... on and on it went.

I also discovered Amed was much more than Mahilia and her mother's bodyguard.

As we left, Mahilia said, "And Mom, I'll have my new song worked up in a week so you can see if you like it."

"May? If it puts sparkles in the audience's eyes like you get when you describe it, I'll like it."

May turned slightly toward me and gave me a smile with sparkles in it, taking my elbow as she did.

"Call me when you get home, Honey," her mother said as we headed down the hall toward the elevator, "or first thing tomorrow."

"Sure, Momma ... if I can concentrate that long!"

Mahalia was going home? Today? Home ... now? Home, as in meaning my place? Had her mother meant that the way it sounded?

***

As usual, May sat no farther across my car's seats than their arrangement required, and kept her hand in my lap. Along with her hand in my lap, her gaze seemed never to leave my face.

So what next? I'd felt like sort of a dunce during the breakfast discussion, but now? I had no clue where my beautiful music star wanted the rest of our day to go. Mind you, I had hopes, but I didn't want to overplay my hand.

"Sandy? I hope all that show stuff wasn't too boring. Now I just want you to take me somewhere romantic and make me happy like that song I'm writing."

"Yeah. That song. What was that all about?" I didn't remember anything like that.

"I told you. About waking up in a dream and discovering I was in you arms?"

"That?" I'd thought it had been only a flight of flattery, something to be enjoyed in that moment, only to become a tiny part bolstering of our relationship, not something solid enough to write a song about, then sing it on stage.

"You don't want me to make a song out of it?"

What could I say? Maybe: if it's to become a song, I only want you to sing it for me?

"I gotta make a song of it, Honey. It just buzzes around in my head all the time. It's your fault, you know. I can't help it." She stretched over and kissed me on the cheek—one of those kisses women use to say I know you'll let me, because if you hold back, I'll screw you until you give in.

"It's that good?"

"I'll make it that good. How can I go wrong with you inspiring me?"

"And meanwhile?"

"We should head straight home. This afternoon should be mostly inspiration, you and me inspiring each other, right? And after we've inspired each other 'til we're weak from exhaustion, then I'll borrow your old guitar so I can try out my ideas. Wanna be my back-up band with your banjo or 12-string? How long's it been since you played your 6-string, anyway?"

"Since college, I think. My strings may be all stretched out."

"Gut?"

"Nylon. I never toughened my fingers up well enough to play metal, and couldn't afford gut."

"It'll be plenty good for me. I'm not much of a guitar player."

I supposed not. Someone as sexy as May didn't need being a great instrumentalist.

***

She must have worked on it all day, every day while I was at work. I say must have, because to my surprise, she never worked on it while I was home. If I asked about it, she'd only say, "Oh it's coming slowly." What did that mean? No progress? Might never finish it? I'm losing interest?

In the evenings, she'd only say she needed more inspiration, so I did my best, which I hoped inspired her at least half as much as she inspired me. The sparkle I'd seen in her eyes that first time she mentioned that song, though, still radiated from her eyes when we woke each morning after yet another all-nighter, so I hoped that meant our song hadn't died.

Mahalia and her mother must have been in cahoots. Every time I prodded Meg about Mahalia's new song, she'd only say, "It's up to her. I don't know enough to say much. You just keep working on her to be prompt, okay?"

I sure planned to! Mahalia's lack of promptness seemed to have flitted away with whatever I did to inspire her, but I kept the pressure on, anyway. But that song. What about it? Twenty-eight days quickly dwindled to seven, yet I heard nothing.

Her concert fell on a Friday night, in some would-be city in California that was really part of Los Angels. I wanted so much to fly down early, too, to keep her settled down and on schedule, but work interfered. She, May, and Amed went down five days ahead. Me? With my boss' okay, I scrambled down by cutting out from work a couple hours early that last afternoon. Because of flight delay, I arrived at the auditorium just fifteen minutes before curtain time. Luckily I had my staff pass so I didn't get hung up trying to get through the crowd of over-wrought teenage girls trying to get through the main gates.