Plans Change

Thank you to blackrandl1958 for her editing.

The first half of this story is based upon a true event that was related to an audience. Some names have been changed just because I wanted to do that; there are no innocents that need protecting.

We had just gotten off the stage after the greatest 45 minutes of our lives. It was fucking amazing! We woofed the house, and were hugging and high-fiving and screaming like... 12-year-old girls!

The roadies from Ravaged Crew were filtering in and starting to set up for their band, one of the world's truly great acts of the 1980s. Our band, Starhawk, was the opening act for this night's show in Lansing, MI, and we absolutely proved that we were up to the honor we earned by being named the top local band in the Lansing area. At every stop on their big tour, a popular local band got the honor of being the opening act.

We rocked the house! Ripped the doors off! Tore the plaster off the walls! We left the stage to a standing O! It was fucking fantastic!

We were soon joined off-stage by Gary's wife and Charlie's and Doug's girlfriends, and we jumped around as the volume ramped up. It suddenly occurred to me that my fiancée, Catherine, was nowhere in sight as we hailed our big moment. I quickly locked eyes with our band manager, Steve, who just shook his head and then dropped his eyes to the ground. My stomach suddenly felt as if the heavyweight boxing champ of the world had used it for a punching bag.

Catherine finally showed up, walking a bit gingerly, I thought, a few minutes later as we were packing up our gear. Her makeup looked absolutely perfect, like it had just been re-applied, but her hair looked slightly mussed, something almost unheard of in Catherine's world. I got the feeling that she was somehow in a rush to get out and join our celebration.

She was flushed and breathing heavy when she leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the lips. I know I smelled pot, aftershave and sex on her before she stepped back quickly. She never said one word about our great performance, probably because she never saw it, I quickly surmised.

We got our gear packed and then stood quietly backstage listening to Ravaged Crew do its thing. I had to admit they were a fucking great band, and I hoped we could someday be in their league and make their kind of money. I caught their drummer, Bobby Lee, peaking over at Catherine several times, and I know he winked at her once or twice. At one point he caught me watching him and gave me a shit-eating smirk. He didn't even try to hide it. I guess when you're Bobby Lee, you can get away with anything... or at least think so.

By this point in their career, Ravaged Crew was approaching legendary status as a band. As an individual, Bobby Lee was already a legend, as much for his status as a pussy-hound with a 12-inch dick as for his ability as a drummer. It was an established fact that Bobby Lee had already fucked several A-list actresses senseless, and could practically pick up a woman just by snapping his fingers. I wondered if he even had to snap to get Catherine.

I eased my way over to Steve. He ignored me for about 30 seconds, staring straight ahead, before finally turning to me.

"She left their tour bus just after you guys finished," he whispered to me. "Bobby Lee came out a few minutes earlier, dressed for the show, with that big, stupid grin on his ugly mug. She probably had to do a little straightening up."

"Fuck!"

I know, not very profound, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment.

Our crew left a little before intermission and wound up at our favorite place to celebrate, the State Street Bar & Grill. The crowd was light because a lot of the usual suspects were at the concert.

We were treated like conquering heroes as we walked in. Seems like everybody in the bar knew somebody who was at the concert, and those at the show were texting and Snapping photos from our set.

Although I was raging inside, I tried to play it cool as I needed time to figure out my next move. I didn't have to avoid Catherine, because apparently, she felt guilty enough that she stayed well away from me, trying not to make it look too obvious.

I found myself a quiet spot at the far end of the bar, sipping on my shot of Angel Envy rye. It's expensive shit, but on a night where we killed it onstage, the smooth amber liquor was well worth the money.

As I looked up at the big clock on the wall, I wondered how it all could have fallen apart so fast... less than three hours total time. We did our sound check and still had about an hour before our stage time, when Crew bass player Vince Noel invited the band and wives and girlfriends onto the Crew tour bus for a little pre-party of tequila and weed.

I know the Crew members liked the looks of our women. Who wouldn't? They were all beautiful. My Catherine, for instance, is a 5-5 Grecian goddess, with long, dark brown hair, an olive complexion, large boobs and a round ass. She was dressed to impress tonight in a tight cornflower blue, mid-thigh length dress and matching heels.

Our band members left the tour bus 10 minutes before we had to perform. Our women stayed behind at the invitation of the Crew guys. Jay, our lead guitarist, and I weren't completely comfortable with the idea, but all four of our women told us everything would be all right and they would just stick around for one more joint.

"Are you guys sure?" Jay asked.

All four nodded affirmative. We left to get ready.

"Fuck!" I muttered to no one in particular as I stormed out of the bar, got into my car and drove home... without my fiancée.

It only took five minutes after I got home before our house phone rang. Guess who?

"Hey, baby, where are you? I turned around and you were gone," Catherine said.

"And you're surprised how?" I asked. "YOU FUCKED BOBBY LEE TONIGHT! You're history, bitch!"

I slammed the phone hard into the cradle. That should have been a hint.

She walked... no, make that ran, in the door 30 minutes later, her makeup smeared from crying.

"WE NEED TO TALK, BABY!" she wailed, tears dropping from her eyes.

"Can you unfuck him, Catherine? Can you?" I yelled back at her.

She flopped down on our sofa and put her head in her hands.

"He's Bobby Lee, baby! He's a legend!" she said.

"And that matters to me, how?" I responded.

"He's Bobby Lee. THE Bobby Lee," she reiterated, looking at me as if I should be proud to share my woman with him. "I couldn't turn him down."

"Of course not," I said with my most sarcastic tone.

"I mean he's slept with actresses and supermodels..."

"And that means my former fiancée should just give herself to him," I interrupted.

She looked perturbed until her brain caught up with her hearing. Her expression then changed to anger.

"Former... fiancée? Get real, Simon!" she shrilled. "Everything's already set up and paid for. We're going to be married three months from tomorrow."

"

Were

going to be married three months from tomorrow, babe. I'm not marrying Bobby Lee's most recent conquest," I replied.

"My father is going to kill you!" she rasped. "We've got 500 guests coming to the wedding. My parents have spent a small fortune on this."

Did I mention that Catherine is the daughter of Cameron and Twyla Jefferson, of the Boston Jeffersons, one of that city's most affluent and influential families? I certainly don't know how I could have skipped that detail, because her parents like to remind me of that about every other day. They have known me for about 18 months, and I wouldn't be exaggerating to say they have reminded me about their wealth and social standing in Boston society at least three dozen times.

I was hardly their preferred choice for a son-in-law. My day job as a chemical engineer at a small firm in Lansing paid me six figures a year, and my growing reputation as a musician was bringing in good money as well, with the promise of more, but I would never be an equal to the fucking Jeffersons of Boston. I was tolerated, at best.

Which is probably the way it should be, I suppose. The biggest name from Punxsutawney, PA, belongs to a fucking groundhog. My family consists of six people, all of whom combined have a net worth not worth mentioning. My family has been in the United States for four generations. We came over steerage from someplace in middle Europe.

The Jeffersons came over soon after the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock. They made their money the old-fashioned way... banking, commerce and... sucking up to English nobility until just before the Revolution.

Catherine and I met at Michigan State early in our junior years. She was a public relations major. We were both at a '50s party. She was with a date, an uptight-looking asswipe who was pretending to be Elvis Presley. He must have had a bit too much to drink, because he tried to fight me after staggering into me and knocking my beer out of my hand. He opened a big mouth to me and I closed it for him, smashing him once in the middle of his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. He crawled around on all fours before throwing up. She left the party with me.

We dated for three months before having sex for the first time and becoming exclusive. I asked her to marry me at the one-year mark.

It hasn't always been easy. The woman knows she's beautiful, and since she comes from money she has that entitled air about her. She and some of my more crude friends don't see eye to eye. She can't see why I don't just drop them if I love her. I answer that by asking her why no one calls her Cathy, Cat or Kate.

"That's not who I am," she always insisted.

"Exactly," I would reply back.

I suddenly came back to the present when I heard Catherine pleading, "Please, Simon, I love you. Only you. We can get things back on track."

"You love me? Really?" I said. "How could you do this to me if you love me?"

"This had nothing to do with love, Si. It was a chance to do Bobby Lee..."

"And sample his 12-inch dick!" I spat. "I get it, Catherine, even though I don't get it."

She blushed crimson and looked like she wanted to respond, but while her lips moved, no sound came out. Tears continued to leak down her cheeks.

"That was absolutely cold, Catherine."

"I-I'm sorry, Si. Really. It was a mistake. Surely we can get past one mistake."

I put my hands up to the sides of my head. I suddenly had a massive tension headache.

"It was a deal-breaking mistake, babe. And we're not even married yet. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life wondering if my wife is screwing every famous guy she meets.

"And by the way, you really need to take a shower."

I didn't get much sleep on the sofa that night. I knew my decision was the right one. I was devastated by the event that led up to that decision. I loved the stupid bitch.

I was on my fifth cup of coffee when Catherine finally staggered out of the bedroom. I could see she had a fitful night of sleep because she looked like absolute shit. I wondered which bothered her more: me breaking the engagement or having to tell her parents.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on the other end of the sofa.

"Can we talk some more?" she asked quietly.

"I'm not sure there's anything more to say," I responded in a measured voice.

It took every ounce of self-control not to get up and slap the shit out of this woman.

"I'm sorry, Si, really, really sorry, both for cheating on you and hurting you. I was selfish and stupid. It was a silly mistake..."

So much for self-control.

"A SILLY MISTAKE?" I raged. "No, this was the mother of all serious mistakes. Saying I'm sorry, crying a bit and looking remorseful won't quite cut it.

"So if we're finished here, your parents want you to call them."

"Oh shit. You've already spoken with them?" she croaked.

"I figured they needed to hear the truth... and I didn't trust you to do that. It was very hard for them to hear that their perfect daughter was a perfect slut for a big-dicked Rock 'n' Roll legend. Your mother sounded embarrassed, probably wondering how she was going to explain this to her friends at tea. Your father, on the other hand... I thought he was going to have a heart attack. No father ever wants to hear that his daughter has the lead role in the Off-Broadway production of 'Slutzilla.'"

Tears turned into full-blown sobbing and wailing.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! I can't believe you threw me under the bus like that," she squeaked.

"You didn't think I was going to fall on my sword for you because you wanted to sample Bobby Lee's sword. Get real. Especially when your father starts putting dollar signs to everything he's already spent on this wedding.

"At least he had the decency to apologize to me for your... 'indiscretion,' as he put it. That was right before he told me he never wanted to see me ever again, and if he did, he might have one of his security guys break one of my legs. It's a good thing I'm the innocent party in this.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going over to Boomer's apartment so the guys and I can discuss our next few gigs... and maybe one of them will know of some place I can crash."

I found a new place to live two weeks later and Catherine was out of my life. My heart hurt, but I was young and would eventually bounce back, even though the guys in the band teased me for the next year by hiding 12-inch rulers in my car and band gear. What can I say, my friends play rough.

The end... well, not quite.

The phone was ringing as I got back to my apartment after a five-mile run on a Saturday morning about eight weeks after my split with Catherine. It rang at least six times before I finally picked up the receiver and got a surprise.

"Hello," I huffed, still slightly out of breath from my jog.

"Si... is that you? You sound like you're about to have a heart attack or something," Catherine answered.

I consciously tried to slow my breathing as I realized my ex-fiancée was on the other end of the line. I hadn't talked to her since I moved out after breaking our engagement due to her cheating on me. I have to admit I wasn't pleased to hear her voice.

"What the fuck does this bitch want from me?" cascaded around my brain.

"I just finished my Saturday morning run," I snapped. "What the fuck do you want?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. I knew my churlish answer probably threw her off.

"Umm... Si... I'm sorry to bother you... but I need to tell you that I'm pregnant."

The silence on the phone line was mine this time. I was looking at the receiver as if I expected to be able to see the words coming through the phone. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. I'm not sure how my legs were still holding me up.

"Why are you calling me, Catherine? We're not together anymore," I responded blankly, totally not seeing the big picture.

"Umm... this kind of thing didn't happen overnight, Simon. I'm about two months along. My gynecologist confirmed yesterday what the home test said," Catherine announced.

Admittedly, I went stupid for a few moments. Right after she said the word "pregnant," nothing in my life made sense anymore.

I had one of those long, stretchy phone cords on the kitchen phone. I staggered over to my small kitchenette and melted onto one of the stools.

"I intend to have this baby," she stated. "My parents and I expect you to do the right thing by our child."

"Regardless of what your parents think of me, of course I will do right by our child," I said, before the proverbial light bulb went on above my head. "But you're assuming that it is my child. That seems doubtful to me, Catherine. If memory serves me correctly... and it does... two months ago you were getting your world rocked by the legendary Bobby Lee... and I happen to know that you didn't have your diaphragm in that night. I checked in your nightstand drawer when I got home that night... just because I was pissed... and curious."

"But you and I also made love several nights before then and I didn't have my diaphragm in then, either," she snarked.

"Maybe, maybe not," I responded. "An amniocentesis could tell us in a couple of months."

"Doctors still aren't sure those tests are that safe," she said.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to wait until the baby is born to find out," I said. "Until then..."

"Look, Si, we could get back together, and I'll spend the rest of our lives making things up to you. I'm sorry, Si. I love you."

"You didn't love me enough when it counted to keep your legs closed."

I suppose there was a chance we could have made love when Catherine didn't have her diaphragm in and the kid could be mine. I seriously doubted that, but I was ready to do the right thing if that was the case. There was no way, however, that I was going to raise another man's child, particularly one from motherfucking Bobby Lee.

A week later I got another unexpected phone call... very unexpected actually. Cameron Jefferson requested we meet at his office. Oh, who am I kidding: he summoned me to meet him at his office after work the next day. I wasn't happy about being told to appear before the king in his court, but as much as anything I was curious. Yes, the possibility that he was setting me up for a broken leg crossed my mind.

I was very guarded when one of Cameron's security people escorted me into his office. I was guided to a seat across from Cameron at his huge-ass desk; in front of it was a glass of some sort of liquor in a gorgeous leaded crystal glass.

"That's Pappy Van Winkle 23-year-old bourbon there, young man. The very definition of 'sipping whiskey'. You will never taste anything as smooth as that in your life, in my very not so humble opinion," Cameron said. "It is my way of showing you one of the finer things in life that could be yours... after we conclude our business negotiation."

As he explained it, Cameron Jefferson loved his only daughter so much he was willing to give me a cushy job with a million-dollar salary and benefits galore, including a mansion near Boston, so his daughter and her husband could raise his grandchild. In translation, he didn't want anybody to know his daughter got knocked up by Bobby Lee. Even though I was a nobody, he preferred me to claim his grandchild's parentage before the world found out that his daughter got knocked up by legendary rocker and bad boy, Bobby Lee.

I listened intently to what Cam Jefferson was telling me, making my translation as he went along. To my ever-loving shame, I actually considered it. Hey, I'm human. Who wouldn't want to be an instant millionaire? And I'd get to keep my wife...

Wait. What? Why the fuck would I want to do that? Yes, she was hot, but I could find other hot chicks. Other hot chicks that wouldn't cheat on me. Other hot chicks that weren't already pregnant with Bobby Lee's child.

Okay, admittedly I couldn't necessarily find other hot chicks whose parents were "Jeffersons from Boston." But at least I would be able to shave without being ashamed of the guy looking back at me in the mirror. I politely told Cam Jefferson that I wasn't for sale. He said he understood. Said there weren't too many 20-somethings that would turn down the money he was offering.

Two months later, Cam Jefferson was a lot less cordial as he leaned over the trunk of a car into which I had been shoved.

"I should kill your ass, you little fucker. You just had to embarrass us, didn't you?"

Even if I wasn't disoriented from being smacked around, handcuffed and stuffed into a car trunk, I didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about. I said the only intelligent thing that came to my mind.

"Huh?"

That earned me a couple more gentle love taps to my face from one of Cam's security guys. My left eye was rapidly swelling closed, and I choked from the blood running down my throat.