Abbey O'Neill wasn't going to let an opportunity like this slip by.
The petite Penrith native had finally begun to make a name for herself as a saxophonist in New York after several years of hard work. Not only had she become a go-to session player, she was now being hired for soundtrack work for films and television shows. It was good to finally be rewarded, financially and artistically, for all of her effort; Abbey felt proud of having proved wrong everyone who had told her, both here and back home, that the prospects of her becoming a star saxophonist were remote.
When Abbey's manager, Mick Morris, told her that the acclaimed jazz guitarist Ron McBride wanted her to perform on his new album, she was beyond thrilled. McBride, the "young legend" from Atlanta, had largely gone into semi-retirement after making several successful albums in his 20s and 30s; the notoriously shy and reclusive McBride was rumored to rarely leave his Brooklyn apartment these days. Abbey couldn't wait to meet him, as she had long enjoyed his work.
Two weeks after Morris told Abbey of Ron's interest, the jazz icon visited Abbey's apartment in Nolita, the "Little Australia" section of New York. Ron was quite tall; his 6'3" frame was quite a contrast to that of Abbey, who was a full foot shorter. His shining dark skin and bald head was also a contrast to Abbey's pale, lightly freckled skin and long, curly, reddish-blonde hair.
"I don't know what to say--it's an honor!" said an awestruck Abbey.
"No," replied Ron in his baritone voice, "the honor is all mine. You're the legend, as far as I'm concerned."
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome," said Ron, sitting down on a chair next to Abbey's bed. "I must say it's great to hear an Australian accent again--I haven't toured there in some time, but I was always greeted warmly Down Under."
"Yes, they love you. Everyone I know there loves you."
As she looked at Ron, Abbey felt her whole body tingle; she remembered kissing his album-cover photos as a teenager, imaging what it would be like to be a groupie at one of his concerts and going back to his hotel room with him. Ron was widely rumored to have slept with numerous female fans during his heyday, and she regretted not being a part of that lucky list.
"Thanks," the jazz giant replied. "Well, let me be quick. I really want you on my album because you are the most talented saxophone player I have ever heard--it's as though Grover Washington Jr. came back to life listening to you."
"Oh no! I'm going to melt. You're much too kind!"
"It's not kindness. It's the truth. A white girl from Australia is the best sax player in the world."
As they talked, Ron tried his best to hide how lovely he thought Abbey was; he had just turned 50 while she was only 31, and he didn't want to come across as an older man more interested in sex than sax. Yet he couldn't keep his eyes off her pale, lightly freckled legs; in his mind's eye, he kept seeing himself between those thighs, penetrating her and hearing her cum in her Aussie accent...
After two hours of conversation and laughs, Ron prepared to leave. Abbey handed him his coat.
