Applehead Fever

21 - a tense temptation

A sultry zephyr whispered across the wooden veneer of my living room floor, shifting papers out of my eyeline. I stretched my arm to slide them back over, a bored exhale sending small curls fluttering off my skin.

Here I was, trying to be productive today and read this manual on driving—which had been shoved in my drawer for so many years it was losing pages—but I couldn't focus for the life of me. Every time I read a sentence, ten seconds later I would forget what it was about. The different signals, signs, and right of ways were giving me a headache and I was so easily distracted by absolutely nothing happening outside that I kept leaving my spot to hover by the window.

"This is ridiculous!" I groaned hanging my head in my hands. "Just learn how to do it already! You're 27 years old!"

Through the open window, I heard a car honk as it sped down the street and I resisted the urge to get up and see what that was about. I looked down and tried to read the string of letters on one of the torn out pages. Yet again, they became an incoherent blur and I finally gave up.

I unfolded my long legs, papers in hand, and stalked back into my bedroom to shove them in the same place I'd retrieved them from. I'd just have to try again another day.

Back in the living room, I stood around silently. Unsure what to do now. Filming for The Temptation's music video had indeed been delayed to allow cleanup crew and the set designer to put things back in order. I had three days off, and no clue how to spend them. Going to a club had been one option I considered, but I wasn't in the mood for the heat and jostling sensation of being surrounded by bodies right now.

Despite that, I wouldn't mind some music. Maybe a dance session as well. I had been starved of those in my last projects.

The record player in the corner of my living room gleamed enticingly at me as I neared it. Under the table it sat on was a box filled with tons of different records, some singles, some albums. Also thrown in the mix were a few cassettes that I bought at my last trip to the music store.

I only sifted through my collection for a moment—pulling a record out that read Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA. It was a song I found helped me practice tight and quick spins, and the melody gave me such a rush. My fuel for longer dancing.

A smile flitted across my lips and I placed it on the record. The needle gently pressed down on the record and began to play a familiar strings intro. In only seconds I was spinning around my living room, the couch and table moved to the side to accommodate my needs. This was usually how I kept myself lithe and flexible. Training my body on days which I had nothing more to do.

Multiple songs later I sat on my living room floor again, this time radiating heat and trying to catch my breath. The record player spun Rasputin by Boney M. behind me and I merely listened to the pulse of the bass.

Without the centralization on where to put my feet to match with the beat, thoughts of a certain singer wafted gradually to the anterior of my mind. He was still in Japan, though only because of popular demand. Originally, Michael was supposed to be performing nine shows, but he added five more onto the tour to satisfy his fans' inclination. The tour wouldn't return to America soon, as they still had to go to Australia.

That being the case, I felt like I couldn't wait another couple month until he returned. For many reasons.

Pertaining to the celebrity, my nerves fried at similar thoughts about the music video. It had yet to be released. I kept waiting for the moment it would pop up on my TV screen one evening, displaying our combined work to millions. So far, no news.

That statement was contradicted when the phone in my kitchen trilled. The noise was muffled under the music still playing on my recorder. When I realized it was the phone, I surged up from my fatigued sprawl on the floor and snatched it from the wall.