Keira Knightley Wails Dirty Blues Ch. 01

Unbeknownst to me, the master code, once a thief has it, is capable of bypassing any guest's choice of combination. Usually, that master code is a no-brainer: something like 0-0-0-0. I woke up and even my case of French vino was stolen from my closet. The safe was wide open.

When I woke up, the TV set was loudly playing a marathon of Three's Company, my favorite TV show. Maybe that's why the car was spared? Highly unlikely though that Suzanne Somers helped me with that one!

Luckily, I happened to have left my Gibson guitar in the car so they didn't get everything.

After losing all my shit like that, I thought I was going to have to cut my trip short, leave sooner than I expected. I might never be able to help Dolores which was the name of the woman who had been sending me many letters through my little network of healers and missionaries. The Little Indians, we called ourselves. Still do.

Of course, I worked out of Chicago, so after I was robbed, I managed to leave a message for my music manager so that he could wire me something...anything. That same manager still works for me. Although Bradley Jay Johnson was fairly confident in my musical talent, it must have been very frustrating for him. He claimed that I was immeasurably talented on guitar and had a haunting voice that could break-hearts. That on top of being wickedly cute!

At the time I would not let him sign me to anything lucrative like he wanted to. I could not have the spirits or demons I had vanquished turning on a brother. As much as he dug my vibe, Bradley Jay was dangerously close to ending our partnership for good, on grounds that I was gradually becoming an unemployable performer. I would have to promise him a series of shows in New York or the greater Chicago area, and deliver. I was slowly running out of options.

Luckily, a new friend I had made in town named Levi told me that I could try renting out a cabin for the time being. I was having massive issues getting to Dolores for the spiritual work that was necessary. She lived deep in a ghost town in Montana. Montana, I found, was littered with them. Ghost towns. I desperately needed money for gas as well as a place to live in the meantime.

My friend said not to worry because he knew of a very kind and generous couple that lived way out in the country. A middle-aged couple, the Hobbs. I could finish up my work and make some money on the side. They had a ranch and a horse stable, I was told. They liked to rent out the spare cottage from time to time. Levi told me that he would give them a call. For me to just sit tight.

I had first met him on the public courthouse square on North Rodney Street where I had been busking for a while when I got into town. I had started giving the man music lessons, I remember. Just a few pointers.

Apparently, the Hobbs had a daughter who was away at college so they had nobody else around. I panicked because I made just enough money back to pay for some food by busking some more in that same area.

Just playing me some Beatles and some Rolling Stones. Their slow jams, the sadder ballads by those boys. The songs I played in my black top-hat always reflected my mood. I played "Love in Vain" ...lots. The licks in that song can go on for hours.

The hotel had already kicked me out on my ass. I could not get in touch with my manager yet but made me back some more money the following week living out of my old '71 Lincoln Continental.

I guess people was amused at seeing a black man play moody songs like that. I was able to call it a day relatively early with those kind of nice returns during that week. I had two familiars helping me to entertain, and a flurry of spirits overhead that was invisible to everyone else clapping hands around me. For those of you who do not know, familiars are powerful living beings that assist a shaman or a witch. Two fluffy white Persian cats, in this case.

Anyway, just when I was about to buy a Greyhound ticket out of there, I got a call on the payphone I used. As soon as it started to ring, I picked up.

"Frankie, they said to come by the ranch. I put in a good word for you, Dirty-blues! You can keep my violin 'cause I suck at it anyways!" Levi happily announced from the other end.

I had won the young man's violin in a contest because we had made a bet that I would not be able to play Giuseppe Tartini's Trill Sonata from memory.

We had become comfortable enough around each other for me to allow him to use my nickname. That violin was stolen in its case from my cheap hotel room as well. It was a Holstein...damn shame about that one! It made me feel so guilty because I was going to give it back to him and now I couldn't.

"Thank you for saving my black ass again, brugh! Tell them I am on my way. Lemme' get that address..."

"Sure, it's way out in the country...616..."

Chapter 1.3

So I drove out, half-expecting not to even get it. I met with the Hobbs who were at middle age and seemed fairly pleasant, but not Montana folk like Levi.

Luckily they didn't freak out when they was greeted by my onyx black skin and strong frame. Lucky for me, I always had a debonair personality, and personality opens doors. You wouldn't think it to look at them that they were as "ultra-conservative" as they were.

They walked me over to this charming, smaller, junior cottage on the property which I loved immediately. It was decorated with Victorian dollhouse furniture.

I remember that I left the ranch after our interview feeling I wouldn't get it. But soon Levi was ringing me telling me that they couldn't get enough of me and that I could move in. The Hobbs and I arranged a steady rent payment every month, I gave them a security deposit for the cabin, and that was that, I moved in.

At first they seemed very cool and I thought that I was going to really enjoy myself in my time there. I slowly learned that the Hobbs were both patrons of the arts and had friends in some high and unusual places. One just had to listen to them speak for a few minutes to figure that. Aside from them both being incredibly well spoken, famous names was always being accidentally dropped in their conversations.

The wife was named Abigail and was born in Colchester, England. She had painted for a living all her life and met with a moderate level of success for her art.

As my friend in town had said, their daughter, named Astrid, was away at Cambridge at the time.

Archie was a retired tennis player and was also very English. He was a burly man who had once excelled at both singles and doubles professional tournaments. He liked to smoke tobacco from old fashioned pipes and play the violin these days. He had an astounding collection of old violins.

Archie became sad when I informed him of the theft of my Holstein. He was quite impressed at my skill with the fiddle when he lent me one of his for the evening, but took it badly when he found out how modest I was about not revealing where I had received my training.

I did not want to reveal the name of my teacher or where I had studied, no matter how many times the man kept asking. It would have frightened him if he knew the truth anyway! A shaman should not lie, as even little lies are used against us by the spirits.

I learned from the neighbors that they no longer rented out their guest cabin but probably made an the exception when they heard I was a musician.

Archie even helped me find Dolores on a map and I booked two to three extra shows a week in the adjoining towns just by dropping his name at his country club.

I had to drive out to a place called Marysville every day to begin my work with Dolores. I told Archie that Dolores and I was distant relatives so I had a better excuse to see her. That were barely 99 people living in the entire town of Marysville at the time.

This was actually an odd but beautiful time in my life. Archie, Abigail and myself very quickly became like The Three Musketeers; or The Three Amigos depending on your sense of humor!

I could often be seen jogging and speed running alongside the ranch with Archie who also gave me free tennis lessons at his country club. I could also be seen cooking my grandmother's recipes from my ancestors alongside Abigail in the kitchen. Also horseback riding or canoeing with the both of them and their friends way up on the mountains.

Abigail was pleased to learn that my mother had been friendly with Jean-Michel Basquiat in Brooklyn. I, of course, did not tell her that I had tasked myself with tracking down the impish spirit that had eluded my mother back then, later bringing that magnificent painter and other people like him so much tragedy and depression.

I thought that this would be a painless experience for the most part, staying with the Hobbs at their ranch, but soon discovered a dire need to leave just as I had arrived. Many things also began beckoning to me from home.

My music manager Bradley Jay in Chicago was signing me to a bigger contract and needed me in the Chicago area ASAP for shows. I also received a message from Paulette, the woman I had a serious crush on in Chicago and would become my future wife, via Bradley Jay on the phone. She had been asking for me.

After beginning my work with Dolores in her little ghost town, we were now past the initial stages of defining whether or not she was still in need of the services after a ceremonial cleansing. She was.

Poor Dolores. I had unlocked both our minds and fused my mind with hers. Our spirits had hovered above our bodies in a trance for hours. Her spirit took time in leaving her body. There had been an interrogation wherein I determined that a large part of her had indeed been stolen away by that trickster entity.

Now a far more difficult task awaited. That of shining a light upon that dogged, thieving spirit that had so diminished Dolores. It had to be lassoed out. An ancient practice among shamans called: soul retrieval. Then it had to be dealt with properly and that can take some hustle.

Chapter 1.4

The Hobbs lived in the main house which was referred to as The Compound. There were also two smaller cabins at the ranch. The problems developed with the Hobbs because The Compound was the only part of the ranch with an actual kitchen, dining room, living room, etcetera.

Usually, the spare cottages were just places where one of the two would sleep in if they was in an argument, or something.

They had ordered the guardsmen of the property to clean the cottage I wasn't staying in to accommodate more current visitors. I came to understand that the Hobbs were like the popular kids at school; always getting away for long weekends; or playing host and hostess to good friends from out of town.

A bit after my arrival, I can remember that a visitor came to stay with them for a time. I carried on with my own life. I basically minded my own business after she got into town. It was not an issue, except that I would bump into all of them since we all needed to go to The Compound for our meals. Little changed.

A bit after said visitor from out of town got a bit settled in though, I find myself going out to play some tennis with Archie at his country club as usual, and he brings her up to me, lots. He mentions Gracie and implies that I should talk to her because she didn't have a boyfriend.

If I remember properly, this was actually not the first time. When she first arrived to stay with them, we had hit it off, but out of respect for the couple, I didn't really pursue anything. Charming and funny girl that she was, I was taken with her but wasn't yet sure how she felt about me. Although, sometimes when I would turn away from her I would take a side-long glance and find that she was looking right back at me with those beautiful eyes.

The night she came in, Archie asked me if I liked her right out of the gate. Abigail denied this later on though. Her name was Grace Ipswich. Grace was Asian but had been raised in England.

I remember she had a way of dragging you deep down inside her soul whenever she wished. All it took was one sexy look and her eyes had you! Those elegant sequin black eyes of hers were magick. Her dark eyes were cutely cushioned underneath her thick and adorably slanted eye-lids. With those eyes, those voluptuous cheeks and her heart-shaped lips combined, she would just make men into mush and take them hostage!

She was actually the adopted stuck-up daughter of a friend of Archie's from Middlesex. We all came to call her china-doll affectionately even though technically her birthplace had been Japan. Gracie was a pale-white, twenty-something, skinny hot mess!

She loved smokey eye-shadow, chokers, expensive perfume and her natural raven-black hair was often insanely textured, twisted or knotted. I would describe her beauty as voluptuous, bewitching and dark. Gracie was a classically trained cello player on vacation from the Łódź academy of music in Poland and was hopeful about getting into the London Philharmonic. All of this, in addition to being classically beautiful!

Little miss Ipswich was on her way to Los Angeles and made a stop in Montana to play at a music festival with a string quartet.

She liked carrying herself in a very serious manner, but Grace did have a playful side and she loved to present a British-mod look to the world in the way she dressed. Archie would teasingly refer to her by the different names of the Spice Girls, depending on her look for that day. She hated loving that.

I will always remember after we'd first said hello that her eyes kept staring at me when she thought that my back was turned. I certainly did the same for different reasons. Some country boys I was hanging out with from those parts that saw her everyday found themselves saying that Gracie had the fine little ass of a choirboy. A raunchy way of saying she had the cutest looking behind you ever saw, if you'll excuse that low-brow way of saying it.

Dressed in her designer heels and avant-garde clothing, Archie would drive and accompany her to her rehearsal room at the Montana Chamber Music Society practically every day.

Abigail also participated in the matchmaking games. She would egg Gracie and I on to get to know each other when in her company...

Like shy little kids, we both obliged her.

At The Compound, Abigail let Gracie into the kitchen all the time to help us cook my grandmother's delicacies. It was only a matter of time, I guess. These little things were fun and afforded me a little vacation from my problems back in Chicago. An escape. I was more than happy to give in. Life offers us these amazing little bubbles of happiness if we want them.

As the flickering flames of our love continued to rise, things were then taken to the next level out at Archie's country club one afternoon.

Gracie lightly flirted with me by making incisive and intellectual observations and showering me with her jokes and compliments in front of everybody. Of course, being a person of color herself, she knew how to dress to attract my eyes. I remember that she was wearing a flying Union Jack mini-skirt coupled with a russet colored half-sweater over her tight little body. Gracie didn't mind showing off her body at all, like I said.

She knew she was a hot little Asian number with tons of men wrapped around her little finger. Although I hadn't taken her flirty behavior that day very seriously, Archie noticed it too, and felt that she was sending me strong signals that I should not ignore. It would be a mistake. So I decided to take action.

While everyone else was busy schmoozing or sipping champagne into the evening, we went for drinks at the bar. I told her I might be ready to explain the origin of my Chicago nickname, Dirty-blues. She laughed uproariously at that until her tummy started aching.

Gracie started leaning into it, the bar-table, throwing me those tantric looks of hers when friends of mine from town pulled me aside to ask me about where they could see me playing live.

She was showing off her Japanese to the bartending staff, pointing something out to them but looking into my eyes with smoldering side-long glances. I can recall that Gracie's blue and white striped panties kept revealing themselves to me as she stood up on her toes in her white Prada boots.

Was by accident or by design? The hem of her Union Jack skirt kept riding up those skinny soapy upper thighs of hers. The curve of her waist was also visible because she was wearing a cut off russet-brown turtle neck sweater revealing half of her slender silky torso.

Between all that and those tear-drop breasts of hers which had been volleying loosely under her tight sweater, she had been driving me bonkers all day long. Archie kept elbowing me to make my move, so I finally did.

Without notice I decided to stop being a coward. Slowly, I walked up close behind her and plunged my hand right into the warmth of her tiny blue and white striped panties: rubbing, fondling and groping those little butt-cheeks and that little pussy. Staking my claim as her lover.

She didn't even wince and instead responded by turning her head to me and smiling all the while giving me another smoldering electric look that put all the rest to shame. "She will be all mine soon enough," I said to myself....

I would soon discover Gracie was quite a refined little lady but that she loved to be treated like a whore too. And what an amazing lay this virgin-whore turned out to be! I remember the first time we made love.

After completing her rehearsals the next day after our flirting at the country club where I had touched her, I just decided to roll the dice and invite her on a picnic and day trip.

Gracie, always impeccably dressed, was wearing a posh tuxedo blazer with this black lacy bustier underneath and these sexy high-waist pinstripe slacks that really accented those toned silky gams of hers.

Her skin seemed pampered with light powder make-up and red lipstick. Her shiny jet black hair was parted in the middle tumbling loosely over her delicate shoulders beside her sensual face. We had broken into a nearby neighbor's barn. She took me in there with the excuse that she was going to show me something.

Apparently, the Hobbs had split up a pair of horses that deeply loved one another by selling one of them off to a neighbor. She said a horse named Ollie at the Hobbs' barn would always rest its head over the neck of Emma, the horse we were there to visit.

I remember that by the time we got there, after our outing, it had turned into a rainy afternoon. We were stuck in the barn.

Ollie was a calm horse by then, but I remember when I first arrived he seemed to be very stressed as well as dangerously unmanageable. Only Abigail was skilled enough to ride him. The equine bond had been gradually restored and he was in a better place after prolonged sessions Abigail Hobbs had arranged with a horse whisperer in the area. Now anyone could ride him.

Gracie assured me that when Emma was taken away she suffered even more and that the two horses still loved one another. Gracie liked to come here just to check on Emma and play her some music without the permission of the neighbor. After petting the mare and replenishing her water, we secured her back into her space and locked the gate to her little stall using its iron slide bolt latch.

It had not been long after that, that I pulled down those dressy slacks of hers she was wearing. Down beneath her silky knees, and shoved my face deep into the tender loaves of her derrière as she bent over.

Our first time was a delight because we had been love-sick for one another and couldn't wait to start undressing each other. I couldn't quite fit myself into her hairless flower right away after she offered me those heart shaped lips around my cock, as much as she kept demanding that I fuck her. We had to engage in a long session of heated foreplay.