Jessie Ch. 09

I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife

It's lonely out in space

On such a timeless flight...

- Rocket Man, Elton John

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May

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Another three days. Three more days before I could sleep in my own bed, sleep under Jessie, eat homemade food, do something with my time besides listening to presenters drone on about government regulation.

I like detail, the ways and rules that make things work - shit, I'd been on track for a programming degree at a Minnesota University before dropping out to study economics at a community college - but this presenter had a voice like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, and listening to people I'd never choose to meet or listen to tell me how to do my job pissed me off totally.

My bank had sent me and the rest of the commercial loan managers in the organization to one of our satellite facilities across the lake to brush up on our regulatory compliance, so here I was in Detroit, sitting in a hotel bar at the end of a long day, missing my home and my woman, nursing a drink and enjoying the silence.

Besides the government monotone man droning on, I was getting sick of hearing the same questions from my fellow commercial loan managers. I was something of a celebrity in the bank culture after surviving Morgan's attack in my office, and it seemed like just about everyone I ran into wanted to hear about it. The nosy wanted to see the scar on the side of my head. The REALLY nosy had plugged my name into Google and found this was not the first time I'd been shot. I was polite to them that wanted to hear about the fight in my office, but when people brought up Minnesota, they were politely and in only slightly different words told to fuck off.

It had gotten so irritating that rather than going back to the company-provided hotel for a company-provided meal and the same three conversations with my fellow students, I'd walked straight out the doors and into the warm spring air of the downtown.

I'd Skype'd Jessie and we'd wandered around the downtown together, looking at the tall buildings, the riverfront, the parks. Besides the size of the buildings and the names of the streets, I was coming to the opinion that most big cities were pretty much the same. You see one or two, you see them all.

Jessie and I ate dinner together, her eating curry from Ashley's store, me chowing down on a thick piece of Detroit pizza down by the water's edge. She'd asked me how my day was, if the other managers were still irritating, if I'd slept with anyone fun on the trip.

Boring, yes, no.

I wished I could've brought her. Sitting by the river would've been fun, and I could easily imagine her infectious, giggly energy as we explored the city.

But it was not to be. The first semester of nursing classes was almost done, and she was stressing out about finals. Essentially unemployed now that her marketing work was done and she was sitting on an absurdly large bank account, she'd taken an extra-heavy course-load, and now she was feeling it. I asked if she'd slept with anyone fun in my absence - she'd previously told me about a really hot guy in her Ethics One class that she wanted to invite to a threesome - and she pouted and said no.

I let her go early so she could study, and she'd flashed me her tits, blew me a kiss, and told me that she loved and missed me and that she couldn't wait for me to get back.

And then the call terminated, and I was watching the sun descend and turn Motor City gray and gold.

I wandered down streets shaded from the dying light by cliffs of concrete and steel and glass, watched orange lights spring to burning life as the sky turned to dark blue and black. The streets were a little more deserted late at night, but the storefronts were still lit, bright yellow and white light casting stark shadows on the sidewalks, and I weaved among shoppers and joggers and people heading to and from bars and dinner and tried to turn my mind off.

I tried not to miss Jessie. Tried not to be irritated by the droning, mundane presenter. I tried not to think about Sienna, who hadn't said even one word about our kiss, and was acting distant to me and friendly to Jess.

I tried not to think about the OTHER reason I hadn't invited the love of my life to experience a new big city with me.

The Brotherhood of The Red Flag.

As much as Detroit had rebounded in the late twenty-teens, there was still a graveyard of poverty around it. Outside of the downtown and the suburbs, square miles of literally crumbling neighborhoods sagged towards the ground, utilities intermittent at best, house condemned, windows smashed out, unmaintained homes showcasing the worst possible outcomes of the worst possible corporate and governmental policies.

The Brotherhood hasn't needed to put much effort into recruiting here, they'd found angry, disaffected people aplenty.

Strangely, there was a larger contingent of the California neo-Luddite movement here as well. Those amusing radicals had been popping up all throughout the coastal state for the past ten years to vandalize and harass tech companies, arguing that big businesses weren't wanted or needed, that what California really needed was an agrarian, communal way of life and less electronic distractions created by companies that did nothing to help the local population.

They sure did use a lot of smartphones for a group of people who wanted to jackhammer the Google Headquarters and plant crops in the ruins.

Now that the weather was warming up, the agitators were out in force. Every day found this strange confluence of groups protesting outside one or more of the businesses downtown, usually banks or one of the technology orgs that had moved in as the Detroit downtown had been revitalized in the twenty-tens.

It was disconcerting to look out the conference room windows on a break and see an ocean of black and red and protest signs down in the streets below. It was a nightly occurrence to hear sirens responding to flipped, torched cars, smashed storefronts.

So as much as I missed Jessie, there was no way I was bringing her into this political powderkeg of violence, even if she could get away from her studies. Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt.

I wandered the streets aimlessly, savoring the feeling of being anonymous, one nameless blood cell in the organism that was the city. The sky darkened overhead, dark blue to deep black, stars poking bright white pinholes in the canvas of night, streetlights shining radioactive orange on the corners, headlights sweeping the streets and casting long shadows. I checked my phone. I didn't have to be back at the hotel for a long while, the last two days were late starts.

Time to find a drink.

I picked The Shinola because the name amused me.

The interior was very...square. Bold-colored chairs and couches, blonde wood tables, even the blonde woodwork and the light fixtures on the walls were mathematically precise to the ninetieth degree. The walls were peach and white and covered with abstract art and random portraits, and a real wood fire blazed in the - again, very sparsely square - fireplace.

I bypassed the greeter desk and headed for the back corner, a softly lit bar room of light brown leather and dark brown wood. The bottles in front of the etched mirror were perfectly regimented and a burly, bearded guy lounged against the bartop, checking his phone. I sat down on one of the stools and scanned the selection as he straightened. "Evening," he rumbled.

"Night, actually," I replied with a grin. "How your day going? Doesn't seem to be too busy."

"Easy day. Looking to be an easy night. What can I get ya?"

"You have Wild Turkey?"

He shook his head without even turning towards the bar. "Regular, no. Russell's, yes. Same distillery. Sort of like an enhanced version."

I shrugged, pulled out my wallet, flipped my ID and credit card on the bar. "Double on the rocks if it's not too much trouble."

He rolled his eyes, made a big show of looking around the nearly deserted bar. "Really?"

I watched as he hunted up the squat, cranberry bottle from its fellow soldiers, drizzled the amber liquid generously over the ice, finishing the pour with a precise lift and gentle turn. "Tab or finish?"

"Tab." I sipped at the bourbon, enjoying the burn, a little harsher and a little more flavorful than I was used to. Good though.

"Here on business?" the bartender asked, scrubbing out a tumbler with a bar towel, removing whatever microscopic speck of dust he thought occupied the already spotless glass.

"Yeah. Weeklong company gig. I've had more fun at the dentist's office."

"Well, at least you're finishing out the day right."

I raised my glass. "Indeed." I registered motion at the bar doorway in my peripheral, glanced back to see a well-dressed party of seven or eight head toward a both at the back. The bartender smiled, said "Let me know if you need anything," and headed to help them.

I sighed and relaxed, rolled my back and neck to get the creaks out. Too long sitting in an office chair today.

My phone held my attention for a while after that as I perused Detroit attractions, other bars, parks, sights to see, historical attractions. Maybe someday I'd bring Jessie here. I had a feeling she'd enjoy it. Maybe someday when the world was more peaceful.

I snorted to myself at that ridiculous thought.

"You don't know what a Lemmy is? Don't you guys keep notes from one night to the next?" A female voice cut through my musing on the dismal state of the world, a combination of high and deep, restrained power.

"Yes, we do. The bartender last night said you were trouble."

I looked over to see a young woman on the stool two down from mine, elbows on the bar learning forward with a look of disbelief.

"She means a Jack and Coke, bud," I told him, trying to defuse the bemused, turning-to-angry moment between the two.

"Could've just said that," he grumbled, then turned away to assemble the drink.

She swiveled the still towards me. "It's not like I ordered a Black Tooth Grin," she said, a hint of amazement in her voice.

"Never even heard of it." Turned towards me I could get a better look at her. Red and black striped dress down to her thighs. The skin between the dress and her black leather knee-high boots was crisscrossed with fishnet stockings. She completed the aggressive look with a sleek but busy side-zip leather jacket. Wavy, auburn hair hung down to below her collarbone, and her face was youthfully soft, wide lips stretched back in a smile even wider than one of Jessie's gasps of pleasure, eyes that seemed made for a scowl. Something about her seemed familiar but different. Like I'd seen her across the room before or met her at a checkout counter.

I held my hand out and she shook it. There was strength in this woman. If she told me she was an MMA fighter or a boxer, I wouldn't be surprised.

"Keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna ask you to pull my hair," she said with a grin. Her voice was femininely powerful, and I couldn't help imagining her sounds of pleasure, given her overtly sexual comment.

"Sorry. My bad."

"Sound like an accusation?" She slid off the stool, climbed up on the one next to me.

"Damn, you guys are corny," the bartender muttered as he measured ingredients into a shaker.

She flipped him the bird over her shoulder, and he flipped her one back before bringing her the drink. She sipped at the thin straw and sighed. "So what brings you to the most expensive hotel in Detroit at this late hour?"

I shrugged. "I was out walking. Liked the name. You?"

"Negotiating. I wrote it into the contract."

I leaned forward. "Whatcha negotiating?"

Her smile was conspiratorial and self-satisfied. "A stadium."

"And how did that go?"

"I'm celebrating."

"Congrats." I raised my glass and she clinked.

"Thanks."

We sipped in silence for a while, checking our phones, and then she turned back to me, held out her hand. "I'm Beth."

"Gary." I shook her hand, and it was damp from holding her drink. "You seem familiar. Have I met you before?"

She chuckled. "I'd like to think you know who I am. Depends on the kind of music you listen to though."

"Beth, Motor City, rockstar. Your parents must've listened to a lot of KISS."

"Not exactly from Detroit, but yeah, they did." She seemed sheepish to admit it.

"Cool."

"So have you heard any of my songs?"

"Probably once or twice on the radio. I'm a book on tape guy."

"Awwww... That's too bad."

"Tell me the name of your band, I'll look you up." I waggled my phone in the air.

Beth gave me a wide smile. "Nuh-uh. If you don't know it, I'm not telling."

"No fair, don't you want to recruit another fan?"

"No, I think tonight I want to maintain my ineffable air of mystery."

I snorted, putting a hundred plus proof right into my sinuses and putting me into a coughing fit. Beth put a hand on my knee. "Need me to pound on your back?"

I waved her off. "No...I...I think I'm... Good." I sucked in air, stared at my traitorous glass, and drained it.

"Your not leaving, are you?" she seemed worried by my sudden lack of alcohol.

"Thinking about it. Why?"

She looked down at her own glass, sweating between her hands, beads of water tracing a ring around the bottom with a wet bar napkin. When she spoke, her voice was softer. Still powerful, but modulated for quiet. "It's not often I get to talk to someone who doesn't know who I am. I don't get to be a random girl in a bar very much anymore. Girls want autographs, guys wanna score with a rocker chick."

"No worry about that," I told her. "I've got a rocker chick of my own back home in Wisconsin."

"Awwwww, I was hoping you had one here, two is fun, three is better." Her voice had lost its contemplative edge, and she was smirking.

I matched her smirk. "I bet she would be happy to hear that."

Beth raised an eyebrow at me, licked her lip very deliberately. "So what does she sing?"

"As raunchy of rock as she can find, usually. Classic rock too. She's been branching out though. A little rap, some new age, I hear her band has a country set planned."

"Cool. What's her name?"

"Jessie. She sings, her best friend McKenna plays bass. Their band is The RocketGirls. Elton John inspired. Or maybe William Shatner."

"Nice."

Given her provocative comments, I tried one of my own. "Eh, it means McKenna's around the house a lot. She's fun in the sack, but she can be a bit of a brat sometimes. I think she tries to be."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "So Jessie has no problem sharing... Interesting."

I leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. "As you said, three is more fun."

She laughed. "Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Definitely not in my experience." I waved the bartender over and set my glass on the bar. "Could I get another?"

"Sure thing. And another Jack and Coke for you?" he asked Beth.

"Another Lemmy, sure."

He rolled his eyes and moved away to pour our drinks. I turned back to the pretty young woman on the barstool next to me. "So. Tell me about yourself. How'd you become a rockstar?"

Two hours, two more drinks apiece, and a basket of sour cream and chive fries later, the bartender was casting significant looks in our direction while washing glasses from all the other patrons who had come and gone. Beth was an interesting individual. She'd picked up a guitar at the age of four and had been playing ever since. Detroit was going to be one of their first big shows, after selling out local venues in their smirkingly-unspecified home state. They had two CDs, and she promised me that if I could figure out who she was, both Jessie and I would like them.

For my part, I gave her the nonpartisan, PG Thirteen version of my life story. Teacher and kinky dating app inventor, parents dying, caught up in a terrorist attack, moved to Florida, moved to Milwaukee. For once on this trip, it was nice to talk to a human being who didn't want to hear about getting shot in my own office, and I got a sense from Beth that she felt something similar. Her tough-girl demeanor softened and at times she even appeared wistful, sharing anecdotes from her childhood, stories of her parents and sister.

I yawned, tired, not bored. "I think I should head back to my hotel. That bartender looks like he wants to chase is out of here with one of those little plastic olive swords."

Beth stuck out her lower lip. "But this is nice... Do you want to find another bar?"

I shook my head, dropped cash on the bar to an approving nod from the bearded guy behind it, and slid off my barstool. "I really should head back to my hotel. I've still got work tomorrow, even if it is a late start. It was good talking to you."

She made puppy dog eyes at me, and then the playful demeanor melted into something more... Intense. Not purely sexual either, just intense. "My room has a record player. You wanna join me up there?"

I studied her soft, youthful face. "Probably not a good idea."

"Because of Jessie?" We started walking towards the door, and she kept her eyes turned towards me the entire time.

We stopped at the entry to the hotel lobby, and I looked down at her, lowered my voice. "Jessie doesn't care. You just don't want some guy you met in a bar trying to get in your pants. Which, if we went back to your room, I would almost certainly want to do. Let's close this night out right."

Beth gave me a lopsided grin. "What do you think 'listen to some records' is code for?"

"I was thinking it was code for enjoying the auditory output of a turntable."

"Not exactly. I've gotta get on a plane at six in the morning to set up another concert, and I'm lonely as fuck, and I've been thinking for the last hour how nice it would be to spend the rest of my time in Detroit with you inside me."

"You sure?"

Her smirk softened. "If you were a fan, absolutely not. But we're just two random people who met in a bar. I don't know you, you don't know me. Yeah, that sounds wonderful."

"Ok."

"Ok," she repeated, uncertainty in her voice. "Ok."

"I've got some stuff to take care of down here for a few minutes, then I'll come up. What's your room number?"

She dug around in her jacket pocket and handed me a high tech key card, a wide smile crossing her face. "I'll be waiting." Her fingers lingered when they brushed mine, and then she departed, heading up a staircase in the lobby.

The lobby was dark, but I found their concession slash gift shop open, staffed by a bored-looking clerk reading a paperback. I picked out condoms and wet wipes, and on a whom, took a look at their souvenirs. As befitted their heritage, the hotel had a small selection of classic records, and I sorted through them. Jackson, Metallica, Beatles, Stones... I found one that I recognized, and the clerk gave me an odd look as he rang up my purchase.

There were single-occupancy bathrooms in a hall behind the lobby, and I locked myself in one to clean up. I wasn't particularly dirty or sweaty, but I had been out walking after a long day of sitting, and when a woman offers to share her holiest of holies with you, I had long been under the impression that the good, right, and nice thing to do was smell and taste good for her. Once cleaned up, I leaned on the counter and stared myself down. Mid-thirties and I thought I still looked good. Apparently this glamorous, early twenties rocker chick did too. I contemplated my reflection, my feelings about the situation.

I felt no guilt about anything that was about to transpire. Jessie practically expected me to find some company on the trip, and I expected the same from her while I was gone. Sex was fun, it was exercise, it was recreation, and outside of emotional bonds, I found it relatively meaningless except for the physical enjoyment.