For Janet; and Sarah; and Julie, a newfound freckled fan.
(Please note: all characters in this story are over 18)
*****
Setting up for a gig is a major pain in the ass. As much as I loved performing, we weren't exactly The Rolling Stones, with a battalion of veteran roadies to handle the grunt work. So it was on us to lug around the bulky equipment, wire up the effects busses, amps, speakers, mikes and mixing board (each with it's own specific cable), tune the instruments, tweak the volume, gain, compression and tone controls, and pray the room's acoustics and ambient noise weren't too obstreperous. Bruce, our keyboard player, handled most of the mechanical details, but I had the best set of ears, so it fell on me to adjust the levels for our makeshift sound system. Normally, I would grit my teeth and soldier through the process, grumbling when confronted with the inevitable technical difficulties. But, that night was different. That night, I really wanted everything to be spot on, and I embraced the procedure like a man possessed. That night, my new girlfriend - a girl I had been obsessed with since first I saw her - was coming to hear us perform. It all had to be perfect; for her.
My single-mindedness was not lost on my band mates. I had already told my closest friend and percussionist Steve about Janet, and he waisted no time sharing his intel with the other guys. It wasn't long before I was peppered with the inevitable comments and questions laced with puerile sexual innuendo. Boys will be boys.
Steve was the only one who'd ever seen Janet, but that was way back in seventh grade. His exclusive point of reference - that girl with the freckles.
It was visions of those myriad freckles covering that supple naked body on our transcendent first night of lovemaking that fueled my drive for a performance nonpareil. More than anything, I wanted to dazzle my freckled enchantress.
Just as we were about finished setting up, I saw her. She had on skin tight black jeans, accentuating those lithe legs and perfect ass; but what captivated me was the ruby-red spaghetti strap half camisole she wore. It's deep crimson color dramatically contrasted the creamy whiteness of her exposed midriff, arms, shoulders and décolletage. More than anything, it unveiled my singular carnal obsession; that ubiquitous spread of irresistibly sensuous freckles. My eyes fixed on Janet as she walked across the room into my waiting arms. Wordlessly, we kissed; deeply, passionately, wantonly. I never wanted it to end.
When our lips finally parted, I whispered in her ear, "God, you are so fucking hot, that outfit, damn, I want you right this second."
"I wore it specially for you," she simpered. "But I think you have a show to do; and remember, my parents are away 'till tomorrow night."
"It's gonna be hard for me to concentrate. Can't you feel what you've done to me?" I moaned. Pressing a into her, I knew she would sense my fully engorged hard-on straining against the fabric of my jeans.
"Mmmm, I'll take really good care of that later," she cooed.
Then I heard Bruce's amplified voice announcing over the PA, "Ground control to Lead guitar, come in please, you have a sound check to finish."
I sighed to Janet, "Business before pleasure."
"I'll leave you alone for a few," she replied.
"No need, stick with me," I answered, and we traversed the venue to the vantage point I had selected for completing the sound check. "It's all done with hand signals," I explained. "Thumbs up or down to adjust volume, gain, and EQ for each instrument and mike. Bruce and I have it down to a science."
When we finished, I walked her back to the stage to meet the band.
"So Janet, this is Bruce, our resident techno-geek keyboard player; Johnny, lead vocals, rhythm guitar and self proclaimed chick magnet; Danny, bass and backup vocals, and Steve, I think you know from seventh grade, percussion. Guys, Janet... my girlfriend."
She smiled and said, "Hey guys, I'm really psyched to hear you play."
I watched them size her up as I made the introductions, hoping they would modulate the usual torrent of inappropriate comments.
Steve was first with an innocuous, "hey, how's it going, long time no see."
Bruce, who was oblivious to everything save the equipment, replied with a perfunctory, "how ya doin'."
Danny, who was always jittery before a gig, offered a laconic, "nice to meet you."
It was Johnny that worried me the most. The ladies loved his affected James Dean machismo, and despite an overtly contemptuous love 'em and leave 'em modus operandi, he never failed to satisfy this compulsion for a different girl night after night. It all made sense several years later when he finally "came out" to us.
"So you're the mystery girlfriend," he began his leering assessment. "Okay, decent body, diggin' the outfit..."
"All right," I abruptly interrupted. "finish the appraisal later, let's get ready."
I gave Janet a quick kiss and said, "see you after the show."
"Good luck, I'll be waiting," she replied with a wink and a smile. "Think I'll scope out the place before you go on."
We gathered back stage, and I reviewed the set list as well as a few key elements in each song. We always began with several crowd-pleasing covers, and segued into the original material that Steve and I had written and arranged. For me, that was what mattered most.
While we waited back stage for the "MC/DJ" to introduce us, Johnny - as expected - started in on me.
"So dude, what's the deal with freckle girl?" he smirked. "I mean, I've never seen a chick with that many spots, it's kinda freaky."
"Yeah man, well I guess she's not in the same league with that parade of brainless skanks you constantly hit on," I shot back.
"Oooo, looks like I struck a nerve, huh?" he taunted.
My reply was deadpan. "Hey, I can handle all the shit you can throw at me, no problem; just leave her the fuck alone."
He backed off - a little. "No problem dude, she's your girl, I get it, no problem, just hope Miss Freckles puts out enough to make my boy happy."
"You don't need to worry about that," I retorted. "Take care of your own business; I think I saw some drunk chick puking her guts out by the service elevator...just your type."
He laughed and said, "thanks for the heads up, I'll go check her out."
Although I knew his razzing was essentially harmless bravado, I still wanted Johnny - and all of them - to know that Janet was the real deal.
Finally we went on stage and started our set. Johnny really was an engaging front man with a great vocal range, and he warmed up the audience quickly. Girls danced and sang along; guys played air guitar; we received generous applause; the crowd was hooked.
Then came the moment critique, when we introduced and began playing our original tunes. We had a repertoire of a dozen that were performance-ready (with three times that many in development) which Steve and I had reworked and polished for well over two years. I selected five that I felt would be most relatable to this particular audience; mostly high energy rhythm-driven dance tunes. We rocked; and they danced; and clapped; and cheered; and called us back for two encores. It was our best set ever, and above the clamorous throng, the loudest accolades came from this girl in a ruby-red spaghetti strap half camisole who was covered with freckles.
When I exited the stage, Janet practically jumped into my arms and began kissing me.
"That was fantastic!" she gushed between kisses, "you guys were sooo great."
She looked over at Steve and said, "the original material, amazing! I loved that hook on the second song, can't get it out of my head! And you, Danny, Bruce, the rhythm section was so tight! Did you see how everyone was dancing!"
She saved the last for our front man, "and Johnny, your stage presence, it's like, magnetic, girls just couldn't take their eyes off you."
A look of supreme self-satisfaction crossed his face.
"You know, your girl's alright," he preened, "I might just have to steal her from you."
She turned to me and winked, "tempting, but I'm sticking with this guy," she replied while taking my hand. "Besides, you know I'm not in your league."
He smiled, and took off for this cute but visibly intoxicated Asian girl who'd been sending him signals all night.
"Well, as usual, he's not gonna be any help," lamented Bruce, who was fanatical about breaking down and securing our equipment. "Let's get to work, guys."
"Can I do something?" Janet offered.
"Sure," I said, as Bruce rolled his eyes. He was meticulously anal about how our gear was handled and stored, and freaked out when it wasn't done to his exacting specifications.
"Let me show you how to roll cables," he said. "Please pay attention, if you don't do it right, I'm gonna have to redo it later."
She watched as he demonstrated his method which mitigated against damage to the wire while making it easy to unfurl. After observing and doing a supervised test run, Janet quickly managed to sort out and wrap the tangle of wires to Bruce's satisfaction. Then, she began helping me break down the mike, speaker and music stands, pack up the instruments and even carry equipment down the freight elevator.
When everything was loaded into the van, Bruce smiled at her and said, "You're hired! No, seriously, great job, you did much more work than Johnny ever does, I really appreciate the help."
"Happy to be of service," she replied, "you guys were so great it's the least I could do."
Bruce looked at me and said, "She's alright, man, definitely a keeper. So, we're gonna stick around for a while, sign some autographs, maybe get lucky, you in? I mean, Janet's welcome to hang with us, she's cool, I'll drive you both home later."
"Thanks," she replied, "but I took my dads car...and besides, I'm pretty sure I got lucky already."
