All characters in this story are age 18 or older.
*
The knock on Olaffsen's door was soft, almost timid. His invitation was the same: "Come!"
Hillary Fairchild slinked in, doing her best to make a catwalk out of her two steps in the door.
Olaffsen did not crumble before her feminine wiles. "What can I do for you, Miss Fairchild?"
Hillary got right to the point: "I'd like to audition."
"I must be dreaming," muttered the teacher.
"What?"
"Nothing. Sit down. For what would you like to audition?"
The beauty queen took a deep breath. "The spring swing concert."
Olaffsen peered at the backpack slouched at the girl's feet. It didn't look like a guitar case, but that was okay. He already knew he was dreaming. It was undoubtedly one of those dreams that takes a cryogenic flash of memory and mixes in a heavy dose of fantasy. Voilà! The music teacher dreams that every day, a student will appear at his door, wanting to make music.
"Uh-huh," he nodded politely. "What role do you expect to fill?"
"I can sing better than Allison Katz. In eighth grade I was really good."
"I did not hear you in eighth grade." The words were evenly spaced, almost cold. It was Olaffsen's habit to make his students prove their desires, even as he had his Marines. His unshakable viewpoint was that nothing worth having came easy.
For the first time, Hillary faltered. Her beauty had opened so many doors for her; she was a tad bit overconfident. But she plunged ahead.
"Will you hear me now?"
Inside, Olaffsen danced a jig. Wait until the school board heard about this! He kept his composure, however, and gave the young lady her due. She pulled a CD player from her pack and asked his permission to shut the door.
This he declined. "I'm sorry, Miss Fairchild. If you can sing in front of me, you must be prepared to sing in front of an auditorium full of people."
He didn't add that the last thing he could professionally afford was to fall into a potential trap set by a little blonde tart. But as he spoke, he kicked a block to the doorjamb and pushed the door against it. The world would get a four-inch tweeter.
"Satisfied?"
Hillary nodded. Suddenly she looked as if her stomach was dropping. But she responded when he told her to proceed, pressing the button and making her way through "Georgia On My Mind."
That was when Olaffsen closed his eyes. The girl's alto was unschooled, but strong. Hillary saw the effect she had on him and pressed her advantage. Her voice rose to a climax and trailed to a tender whisper. A muscle moved in Jake's cheek. He'd be a liar if he said her wail didn't inspire him to other thoughts.
He called on his old friend, discipline, to try to push away the fantastic image of holding this student on his lap. His pants would be unzipped, just enough to impale her as she straddled him on his office chair. She would tilt back, her low voice rising in crescendo as he teased the sweet young nipples with little flicks of his hand. She would squirm, begging for something she didn't fully know about yet... he would teach her ...
"Well? How was I?" Hillary's voice interrupted Jake's thoughts.
Olaffsen cleared his throat. "Very good. However..." He shook his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts.
"But what? Do I get to sing, or don't I?"
Hilary's immature whine was the cold bucket of water he needed.
"Miss Fairchild, I'm very sorry I'm out of time. But I promise I'll be in touch." He stood in a gesture of dismissal, thankful again he hadn't shut the door. He clamped down on the impulse to shake her hand.
Hillary swallowed and looked upset. She was not used to being denied, or even told to wait. Her pouting lower lip haunted him for the rest of the day, and far into the night.
* * *
The first meeting of the little group, now swollen to a sextet, was understandably tense. Hillary had been revolted to discover Craig's participation, and David wasn't trying very hard to disguise his loathing of the latter, either.
Allison was amazed and delighted to have Hillary on board. The lack of competition took some of the wind out of Hillary's sails.
"You mean you don't mind?"
"No! I'm so glad to find you."
The two women chatted amiably by the upright. Allie explained that she would have loved to find a torch singer on "Do Right" in the fall. Hillary had a moment of genuine wonder that someone might have been after her for more than her boobs.
In a way, her competitive nature was disappointed. After the concert, Hillary had seethed for the spotlight. "I'll get my chance," she promised herself. Now, discovering that the queen didn't want the throne, Hill was a bit disconcerted.
David twisted to focus on the erstwhile rivals. He found himself thinking, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all: making music, flanked by two beautiful females. Automatically his fingers started weaving his thoughts. A higher melody for Hillary, with her bright blonde hair ... a darker counterpoint for Allison ... the notes pulsed out of him. The more he developed the lines, the more they made sense. It pleased him. He improvised, drifting his fingertips in between their voices.
Craig watched the three of them with envy. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt inadequate. He could see the way the women were charmed by this, this geek. They were smiling at the young piano player as he conjured pretty sounds. Goddamn his scrawny ass. Craig's visions of being a rock star evaporated. David had talent born of years of practice; there was no way to compete with that. He could almost hear his father reciting, "You can't cheat the farm."
Stan saw the unhappiness in the would-be guitarist's face.
"Hey, you want to go over this?"
Craig's attention snapped to Allison's dad. "Uh, sure," he agreed quietly. Had they been alone, he might have said: "You mean you don't hate me?" But he decided to stay the course of his intentions, and show by his actions that he meant well. Studiously he turned his attention to the tablature.
Stan walked him through it. Craig worried aloud about doubling Stan and making a mistake. The bassist gave his trademark crooked grin. "Don't worry, I can work around you."
The kindness reassured and emboldened the former athlete. He looked into the eyes of the man whose daughter he had badly frightened, and breathed out, "Thank you."
Stan simply nodded. The forgiven one nodded back. A tiny breath choked the wrong way in the young man's throat. He didn't cry, but he knew that he would practice now harder than ever.
Jake hit a cymbal to get the group's attention.
"Okay, people, let's get started."
Allison looked guilty and hastily stuck a reed in her mouth. Craig saw her suck on the wood and could not help thinking about what it would feel like to have her suck on his. He was glad the guitar was shielding him below the waist.
Unbeknownst to Craig, the music teacher was having similar problems, albeit not due to the same woman. Jake Olaffsen hitched himself closer behind the kickdrum and started issuing orders.
"We're in C minor." This was for the benefit of the newcomers. He pointed to them in turn as he continued directing: "Hillary, look over David's shoulder. Craig, follow Stan. Okay, Dave, cut time, from the edge."
This arrangement succeeded in getting the beauty queen to stop staring at him and pay attention to the business at hand. It also gave the new guitarist guidance on his first excursion with the group. In thoughts deeper than words, Jake knew again that younger people needed direction, more than they would ever admit. He'd been an outstanding DI, and those same skills served him well in teaching and directing.
