The Music Of My Life

"You know all these guys... Mr. Winkler? Chelsea said, hesitating on exactly what she should call me.

I stopped moving and looked at her. Come to think of it, that was the first time she had ever addressed me as anything. I must have looked perplexed, because she quickly tried to assuage any hurt feelings I might have.

"I-I-I'm not really sure what I should call you," she said as she and Donna exchanged puzzled looks.

We looked at each other for several long seconds.

"How about Bobby? It sounds much more friendly than Mr. Winkler, doesn't it?" I asked.

Both women let out their breath. I knew they were both afraid I would ask her to call me Dad, which I knew she couldn't do. Her dad was dead. I was well aware of that. He was apparently a very good dad, too. I would happily take someday being a friend, maybe a good friend.

"I... can do that!" she chirped happily.

"And to answer your first question, yes, I know most of them, some of them quite well. I've written songs for several of them, produced for several."

Chelsea's face lit up. I chuckled. Donna just shook her head.

Life went back to being pretty much all about work after the women went back to Chicago. I realized that in just a week, I had begun to think of them as "my girls."

I began to look for reasons to visit Champaign. I visited twice in a two-month period, and Chelsea and I had two great weekends together. She introduced me to her friends as a friend of the family. I could take that.

While I enjoyed getting to know Chelsea, I was surprised when I found myself missing her mother, Donna, as well. Aside from the fact she was a good-looking woman, she had a way about her that I found... comforting? Sexy, right? Nope, not at all. I was clueless.

I gave myself a reason to be in Chicago, and I called Donna to set up a date. A photographer friend familiar with the area recommended a restaurant called Plato's Place, and it didn't disappoint. We then went to a dance club that featured classic rock and had a blast.

Donna and I attended an art show the next day, but she insisted on making me a home-cooked meal instead of going to a restaurant. When I showed up at her house, she was wearing a tight red sweater over a pair of skintight jeans that made me anything but comfortable.

She gave me a glass of wine and I sat and talked to her as she finished up making chicken parm. Damn, those jeans were tight, and she glided around the kitchen like she was a dancer in a previous life. At one point she caught me checking out her ass... hell, I was drooling.

The meal was absolutely great. An ass to die for and she could cook, too!

We moved into the living room after supper and talked like we were the oldest of friends. When the talking stopped, we then made love like the oldest of lovers. She was active and loud, not afraid to express herself, and she spurred me on to great heights. I brought her off five times with my fingers and mouth, then made her scream twice more while she rode me cowgirl. I got to play with a very solid pair of boobs while she was riding.

"Thank you, Bobby. That's the first time I've... done that since my husband died. I might have gotten a little crazy. I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said as we cuddled afterward.

"Oh, please, think nothing of it," I said with a big smile on my face.

I started alternating between Champaign and Chicago every other weekend. Both of those relationships were building.

"So, you and Mom, huh? Wouldn't that be Karma?" Chelsea asked.

"Do you think she'd give me a real shot?" I asked.

"I really can't speak for her. She and Dad were married for 23 years. They were real lovey-dovey all the time. She was devastated when he was killed. You are the first man she's gone out with since then," Chelsea said.

I took it slow with Donna. I recognized her quiet times and gave her space. We made love on most visits. She seemed to like it slow and gentle, occasionally showing a more adventurous side.

"I'm sorry if I'm not more... demonstrative, or wild... or whatever," she whispered to me in bed one night after we made love. "I know you music people live a wilder life than I do. I'm just a housewife living a quiet life," she said.

"Babe, everybody thinks all musicians are hedonistic, drug-fueled nutballs or self-centered, self-important bastards. That's only true 90 percent of the time." I chuckled. "The rest of us are just regular people."

She smiled at me and gently punched my upper arm.

"You know what I mean, jack-off. You live in the world of the rich and famous. Hell, you ARE rich and famous. You'll get tired of me in a couple of months and go back to banging starlets."

"Wow, if I wasn't such a hedonistic jack-off I'd be insulted right now," I said.

She gave me a crooked grin. I could see the concern in her eyes. I realized she wasn't kidding.

I sat up in the bed and put a pillow behind my back up against the headboard. I tapped my hip and she took the hint and put her pillow next to mine and sat with me, my arm around her body.

"In the interest of complete honesty, yes, I have 'banged a few starlets' in my time," I said. "I've also banged a few stars and quite a few singers. Now that I'm finished bragging, though, I'll also tell you that I've only been in love with one woman, and that woman screwed me over... twice. But that's ancient history.

"Also ancient history, I spent 18 months in prison in Indiana after being wrongly set-up, and when I was in fifth grade in Omaha, I got sent to the principal's office for pulling a girl's hair."

She raised her eyebrows when I mentioned my prison term. I knew we would have to revisit that sometime in the future. Right then, though, I took my hand from around her and reached further until I was cupping her right boob. The night was still young.

Chelsea took me up on my offer to stay with me for the summer between her junior and senior years in college. I let her intern with me as my right-hand "man," teaching her the job that I had Kennedy doing for me until she got sick. We spent most of every day together and were really coming into our own.

I brought Donna out for her two-week vacation, and the three of us had a great time together. Since I didn't want to overstep my bounds, I had Donna set up in her own room. She didn't bat an eye at that when I put her suitcase in "her" room, but Chelsea about choked to death laughing when I did that.

"Oh, please! Do you think I'm actually believing that?" she crowed. "Was I born yesterday? Mom, how quietly can you sneak down the hallway at night?"

She giggled. Donna and I both blushed hard.

"It's okay, Mom. It's okay... Dad," Chelsea said.

I raised my eyebrows this time. I took a sideways look at Donna to see what she thought of that last pronouncement. She was grinning.

"Assuming it would be okay to call you that?" Chelsea added.

"Uh... yeah. If you want to," I stammered.

"So, 'rents, let's figure this out," she continued. "If I get a vote, I'd say you two need to become one, so to speak, and then we can become a cute little family. I mean, it's right, isn't it? Clueless handsome bio-dad and beautiful adoptive mom get together, and smart and beautiful daughter makes three. Practically a movie of the week."

"Yeah, but where are we going to find someone to play the part of the daughter?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Two words, neither of which is happy birthday, old man," she sassed back.

"I'm pretty sure she gets that from your side of the family," Donna said.

"Whack, slam!" I cried. "Did someone get the license plate of the bus that just ran me over?"

Both women laughed.

I've got to admit, when the kid was right, she was right.

I popped the question to Donna on the last night of her vacation with us. I had actually bought the ring the week before Donna visited. Both women cried. Donna grabbed me to her and sobbed uncontrollably, soaking the shoulder of my shirt. Although she never actually said the word, I took that as a yes.