The Boy from the Band

Jailbait

He practically raised me. I was twenty-three when I met him, technically an adult, but 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 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, especially if they thought they might get laid. It was my first time here on my own and I was surprised when they let me in.

Rick came outside for some fresh air and to smoke a cigarette.  He saw me and 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, and 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 twenty-three 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.

His looks are heartbreaking, that's the best way to describe it. He has this impossibly thick hair that's so dark a brown it's almost black.  His eyes are narrow, almost Asian and it's hard to tell whether they're brown or black.  His mouth is well shaped with these full lips showing beneath his mustache. I'd like to know how it feels to be kissed by those lips, and what his tall, skinny body looks like without his clothes covering it.

He's not just looking at me, he's studying me. I wonder what he thinks.  I'm no beauty, I'm attractive, I'm cute, though I hate to be called that. Kittens and babies are cute.  I didn't look like the beautiful woman on his arm at the party where I first saw him. Sometimes I attract men I don't think I stand a chance with, but I didn't think I'd stand a chance with him.

 I didn't look like an actress/model, I look like my Mexican mother. I have her almond eyes with long lashes and her Aztec cheekbones. My eyes and my lips are my best features. If you look at me you might think I'm Indian, and technically, I am--well, half.

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 was with this gorgeous blond who looked like she was an actress, or maybe a model. She 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.