Diary of a Blues Goddess (12 page)

I kissed him back.

We went from kissing, to making love. It wasn't crazy love, but slow, sexy and tender. Then we fell asleep like all our nights on the road. Only this time, we were naked.

Musicians aren't like other people.

We don't live in the nine-to-five world full of gray flannel suits. We live in the nighttime world of neon colors.

We are a breed apart. We sleep in. We eat breakfast at noon and supper on the run. We drink mint juleps and champagne cocktails and spend lazy days doing nothing and then work our asses off on weekends. We party until we drop. And we wouldn't be caught dead behind a desk.

Consequently, I use the word
morning
liberally. When morning came, it was close to noon, and I was distinctly aware that I had a stiff neck from sleeping in the crook of Jack's arm. I got up to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I had that postsex maybe-we've-made-a-
huge
-mistake, Georgie-what-were-you-
thinking
panic. The face staring back at me in the mirror was not pretty. I had neglected to take off my makeup the night before. Or I had, but just not enough to remove all my mascara, which had given me raccoon eyes. My hair, merely fur-ball wild not a few hours before, had taken over like a Chia Pet on steroids.

I had never really worried about how I looked in front of Jack before. When we shared a hotel room, Jack could be in the shower and I'd also be in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, removing my makeup… peeing. We were roomies. I'd seen his penis, aka Jack Junior. But I'd never
touched
it. Touching it meant it was now, officially, a
cock
, something sexual, and not a penis, as in Jack's penis that I'd seen in the shower and hadn't given a thought to before.

Jack, for his part, had seen me stepping out of my dress. He'd seen me right after a shower. Without makeup. In my underwear. Fighting to put on my bra. (I always hook it in front first and then slide it around.) Even vomiting, the time I'd gotten food poisoning from a bad batch of crawfish. He'd cleaned up after me without a word, and he'd gone out in the middle of the night in search of Gatorade and ginger ale, the only thing my stomach would tolerate. A relationship of vomiting and peeing, seeing each other at best and worst, friendship and laughter, destroyed by a nuclear explosion of hormones—a night of sex.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I pulled on a T-shirt and returned to bed. Jack was opening his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, smiling, his voice raspy.

"Hey, Jack."

"No regrets this morning, I hope."

I shrugged. "Not really."

"Not really isn't exactly a 'No, Jack, last night was fantastic. You are a sex god.'"

"It was and you are, but in the light of day this may not be the most intelligent thing we've ever done."

He sat up. "We fit, Georgie. We always have."

"I know. But let's just figure this out on our own before we tell anyone. This could get really complicated with the band. Really complicated… period."

"Our secret then." He slid out from bed. There was his cock again. Cock, not penis, at half-mast. He pulled on his sweatpants. Picking up his T-shirt from the floor, he smiled at me. "But I've thought about this for a long time."

"That makes one of us… Remember, my last boyfriend was married. Though he neglected to tell me that little detail
before
we got involved. The one before that was gay. It took sleeping with me for him to really get in touch with that. Before last night, I was considering joining a convent."

He kissed my cheek. "No convent for you, I'm afraid. Sister Georgia, Patron Saint of All Things Blues, I'm off to shower. Then I'm going to practice in my room awhile."

He left, and I snuggled down into the blankets. It was only noon, for God's sake. I could sleep more.

I have always had an uncanny ability to ignore my treadmill, my laundry, and even, on occasion, the chaos of Mardi Gras for a nice long nap. So I dozed, reveling in lazy sleep until my phone rang. I had forgotten to turn off the ringer. Caller ID told me it was Maggie. If I wasn't panicked before about sleeping with Jack, I was overwhelmed now. Ordinarily, I dish with Maggie about everything. Everything. Our periods are even in sync. We've spilled all there was to tell about lovers. From cock size and oral-sex techniques to heartaches and butterfly kisses, I don't think I've ever held anything back from her—not even the night I got drunk and kissed a woman who turned out to be a man… but that was another story—however, if Maggie knew about Jack, she'd be crushed. What the hell had I just done to one of my best friends with one of my best friends? Guilt stabbing me in my gut, I picked up the phone.

"Hey, Mags." My voice was gravelly.

"Not so much as a hint of a pass."

"Hmm?"

"Jack. He didn't kiss me good-night. He didn't hold my hand. Didn't even hug me. Nothing."

I had forgotten he'd walked her home. "Well… he's just been burned by Sara. Big-time. He's not ready for another relationship." The irony of this was not lost on me.

"Who said anything about a relationship? I'll take a two-week fling. He knows I like him. He has to. I've dropped every hint under the sun. Short of showing up naked in his bed—"

"I wouldn't recommend that." By now I was sitting up. "Maggie… I don't even know that he's your type. Not when it comes right down to it. He's pretty conservative. Neat. If he walked into your apartment he'd faint."

"I can be neat."

"No, you can't. Nor can you be on time. Neither can I. And it drives him crazy."

"He drives me crazy. God… he is so fucking hot." Jack was the band member voted "most likely to go home with a bridesmaid." Women fell for those soulful eyes, and guitarist's biceps and forearms. In a tuxedo, he looked like a model, and because he was a touch on the neat-freak side, his tux was always perfectly pressed and crisp.

"Tony is just as hot." I thought about how he had blushed the night before, how his grin was slightly lopsided and impish. "So's Mike."

"Mike is an alcoholic. Or almost one. And Tony's cute," Maggie mused, "but he's not Jack."

"Well… you can pine for Jack, but I think it's a waste of time. Look at Sara. She is one of those down-home Southern belles you and I can't stand. Perfect highlights. Perfect smile. Perfect everything. And you, my dear, are the total antithesis of that."

"And proud of it."

"Exactly. But Jack has a long pattern of going for blondes." Of course, last night ruined that theory.

"What are you doing today?"

"Sleeping. Sadie was door slamming last night. Long story. We were all up until four o'clock in the morning."

"Does anyone ever sleep over there?" she asked. More irony.

"Margaritas later?" I changed the subject.

"Sure." Maggie's salon was closed on Mondays.

I ran my hand through my hair. It was a mass of knots. "But I have to tell… Dominique is breaking out cucumber masks today."

"Gross."

"Consider yourself warned."

I hung up the phone but couldn't fall back to sleep.

My relationships with Maggie and Dominique had buoyed me through more bad dates, bad-hair days and much darker moments than I could count. I had now committed a sin of omission, which was the same as lying in my book. Sadie would surely slam a few doors over this one.