Brooklyn, New York
Friday, October 7, 1977
She was having one of those days. Seemed like every time she got into something, an interruption came along. The last X-acto knife blade in the house broke when she was laying out the design for this year’s holiday cards. She was putting the final touches on some brownies when the president of the tenants’ association dropped by and insisted on haranguing her about the latest building drama. Even her afternoon bike ride was cut short by storm clouds and drizzle. So Carla wasn’t surprised when the phone rang in the middle of her bedroom workout, just as it was getting good.
She disengaged from Jason. “Play with yourself a minute, baby. I’ll be right back.”
He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Come on, Carla, let the machine pick up. Don’t make me late for rehearsal.” He had to meet his fellow musicians over in Fort Greene in less than half an hour.
“The machine’s on the fritz. Could be a customer for Michael. I promised I’d get all his calls.” Her husband was a freelance photographer whose business depended on word of mouth contact.
“I’ll be just a minute.” She picked up the phone on the third ring. As she listened, her free hand absent-mindedly played with the spiral phone cord.
“Hi Namiko. What’s up?” Her best friend from high school had just moved from Honolulu to an apartment down the hall and was taking a rare night off from her music composition homework. She wanted to come by and visit. Michael was having dinner with his parents in Westchester, so it was a perfect time for the girls to spend some time.
“I’d love to hang out tonight. Jason and I are just finishing up. Can you come by in about twenty minutes?” Carla threw an amorous glance the guitarist’s way as she watched him become increasingly erect. As Namiko went on for a bit, she nestled the receiver between her scrunched up shoulder and right ear and started massaging her own breasts, moving her other hand to the soft wet spot between her legs. She licked her lips as she made eye contact with him and silently mouthed, “Wait for me, baby.”
“Sounds great. See you soon.” Conversation over, she dropped the handset into the cradle and jumped onto the bed. “OK, baby. Let’s fuck.”
* * * * * *
Carla heard the doorbell ring as she was toweling off from her post-coital shower. Jason was long gone, having grabbed his guitar and bolted, right after his orgasm. She threw on a white terrycloth bathrobe and headed for the front door, hair dripping wet. Namiko, sporting a light cotton dress with a bright floral pattern more suited to their hometown, was standing at the entrance. Continue reading “Onto the Scene”