1 Jailbait

He practically raised me. I was twenty-three when I met him, technically an adult, but I was still very green, though I thought I knew it all. I'd moved away from my parent's house in Seattle to Southern California. For the first time in my life, I felt free and I was enjoying my life to the hilts.

I was sitting outside the studio's back door, listening to them rehearse. The engineers were prone to letting in pretty girls when we wanted to hang out. It was my first time here on my own and I was surprised when they let me in.

He came outside for some reason and saw me. He looked me up and down, sizing me up. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not unfriendly, just curious. I'd heard that he was a really nice guy, as I got to know him I learned how true that was. He was almost too nice, he hated to tell anyone "no" and some people weren't above taking advantage of him.

"Listening to you guys rehearse--one of the engineers let me in. I love your music."

That's the right thing to say to a musician, but I meant it. He smiled at that then asked how old I was. When I told him I was 23 he didn't believe me. I guess I look young and sometimes it's a pain in the ass. He told me I was lying, calling me "kid" and "jailbait". I showed him both my California and Washington driver's licenses before he would admit that I just might be telling the truth.

When he looked at me I wondered what he saw. I'm not pretty, it's more like I'm attractive, or cute--and I hate being called cute--cute is for puppies or kittens or maybe little kids. I didn't look like the beautiful blond on his arm at the party where I first saw him. I'm half Mexican, and I have my mother's dark brown hair and deep brown almond eyes with long lashes. My eyes and my lips are my best features. It surprises me when I attract men I don't think I stand a chance with, and I didn't think I'd stand a chance with him.

I was still pretty much the sheltered girl my parents raised. I'd experimented some with drugs--and sex--but I was still naive which made me wonder why he was paying attention to me. I knew he had a live-in girlfriend, and I didn't know what he could want from me.

I'd attended a party there a week before. My friend Gina had heard about a new recording studio that had opened near Zuma Beach and that there was going to be a party to celebrate. Not celebrities only, opening night sort of party, but if you could make it down there you were welcome. Especially if you were female.

"Come on," she said, "Let's do it. We're cute, we won't have any trouble getting in."

"You're the cute one, I'll be lucky if they let me in."

"I wish you would give yourself more credit," she fumed, "You are so insecure and shy. You've attracted a cutie I had my eye on more than once. You have pretty eyes, a nice smile, and a cute figure. I'll dress you and do your hair and makeup. I guarantee that you are going to attract at least a few hotties, even if they aren't musicians."

I think he saw me, though I wasn't sure. He had this gorgeous blond on his arm who was pretty fucked up on something, alcohol, coke, or maybe both. She stood, swaying while the band performed an impromptu set, oblivious to what people thought.

To my surprise, I caught his eye while they were playing and he winked at me. When they finished playing he gave me a smile then went back to his blond. Since this was what I expected I wasn't too disappointed, well, maybe just a little.

I wonder if I'm going to be disappointed now.

"We're taking a break, do you want to come in and see the studio?" I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Why don't you tell me your name, unless you want me to keep calling you Jailbait."

"My name is Dacy." I hate my name, my father had the same name but changed it to 'David'. "It's a weird name, but the oldest kid in our family always gets named Dacy, don't ask me why. I think a great-great-grandfather started it or something."

"It's not such a weird name, it's kind of cute. Have you ever seen a recording studio?" He gave me a quick tour, then guided me into a room with a long bar and pool tables. "So, what do you want to drink, kiddo?"

"If you have a decent scotch I'll take it on the rocks." Scotch was my latest drink of choice. I liked the bite and if you chose an expensive one it has a peaty taste and smell. "I like Glenlivet but I'll take anything you have as long as it tastes good."

"What are you doing drinking scotch?" he asked, then held up a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. "Will this do? It's all we have."

"I like Johnny Walker Red. Black's better but I'm not picky. Well, not really picky," I said as he handed me my drink. He pulled a bottle of cognac off the rack and poured some for him. Maybe I should have asked for cognac.

We sat, sipping our drinks, saying nothing but smiling at each other. There was an energy passing back and forth between the two of us--I wondered if he could feel it too. I'm sensitive psychically, I pick up on people's energy and sometimes their thoughts. I also can sense the presence of ghosts, and if there is something bad about a person I feel that too. Don't know where that comes from, sometimes I wish it would go away.

"I remember you," he said at last, "You were at the party, I was watching you. You were there with your blond friend. You left before the party really started to get going."

"We had to work the next day, that's why. We needed to go home and get some sleep, it'd been a long day."

"I was hoping you'd stay so I could talk to you. You're not beautiful but there's something about you, I think I'd like to know what that something might be. You left before I could find out."

He always knew what to say to me. He was looking at me with his soulful dark eyes and I was getting a bad case of butterflies in my stomach. I was sure that if he touched me it would feel like a jolt of electricity.

"You're good," I wanted to tell him, "Is this how you pick up women? Does it always work?"

He smiled and reached over and took my hand with a touch that was surprisingly gentle. He stood up and drew me to my feet and we took our drinks and went outside to wander in the grassy dunes.

When he found the place he was looking for he took me in his arms and kissed me. Some men don't know how to kiss, really kiss, but he did. I started to melt in his arms and when he removed my jacket and pulled off my shirt, I didn't make the objections I knew I should have.

Soon we were naked and holding each other and he pulled me down onto the ground next to him and started to make love to me. It seemed so peaceful and so right that I forgot to remember that this might get me hurt. I was just another girl on his list, like the blond at the party, fucked and forgotten.

We finished and lay in each other's arms. Above us was a sky filled with stars and we could hear the waves splashing on the sands of Zuma Beach. I nestled closer to him, inhaling his smell while he kissed me on the top of my head.

At last, he spoke, "I'd love to stay here, but I've got to go back inside and get to work. Give me your number and I'll call you sometime."

The last thing I wanted to hear, "I'll call you" means a guy wants to leave you with something because he has no intention of calling. I wasn't so sure that he'd call even though I wanted him to.

"Don't say you're going to call me unless you mean it. I'd rather have a nice, no a special, memory than be disappointed that I didn't hear from you when I was hoping I would."

"Whoa, lady, just a moment here. How do you know what I'm going to do or not do?"

"Well, you're a guy aren't you?"

"Who hurt you so bad that you're suspicious of someone you don't even know? Look you knucklehead, I do want to call you only things are complicated."

"I know, you're in a serious relationship. Everybody knows about your love life, the whole band's for that matter." I raised myself up on my elbows, "If I need to apologize, I will. And of course, I've been hurt and learned I have to be careful—when I remember. If you want my number, I would be happy to give it to you, but don't feel like you have to ask me."

I reached into the brown leather hobo bag I carried in those days and pulled out the small pad and pen I kept for notes. Please, God, I thought, don't let me be sorry I did this, I thought then wrote my first name and my number, and handed the paper to him.

He pulled his wallet from his pants and folded the piece of paper and put it in. "Don't worry," he said, "My girlfriend doesn't look through my wallet. Let's get dressed and I'll walk you to your car."

"You don't need to do that. I've parked a ways away anyway."

"I'll walk you to your car," he insisted.

When we reached my car he took me in his arms and kissed me again, a deep soulful kiss.

"Do you have an answering machine?" he asked and I nodded. "Good," he said, "If I can't reach you directly I can leave messages." I got into my car and closed the door. "Drive carefully," he said and kissed me again through the open window then said, "Sweet dreams."

Oh hell yes I'll have sweet dreams, I thought, I just wonder if he's sincere or one of those sincere-sounding liars.

The next day I sat at the console next to Gina. Being a long-distance operator can be busy as all hell, or, like today, slow.

She covered her mouthpiece, "What did you do last night, you've got circles under your eyes."

I picked up a piece of paper and wrote, "I fucked Rick Danko."

"You mean Rick Danko of 'The Band'?" she wrote and shoved the paper over to me.

"Yes," I wrote, "And he took my number but I don't think he'll call. Why would he want to call me anyway?"

She took a call, then I had one. We were back and forth with customers for about fifteen minutes before it slowed again.

"Why wouldn't he want to call you, idiot? You're not like the blond bimbo he was with at the party, you're a sweetheart. He's going to call!!"

"Liar," I muttered to myself. I just couldn't believe he'd be interested in me. Musicians, especially ones that are as handsome as him, have access to beautiful women like the beautiful blonds out there. What would he want with me?