“How have you been?” she asked as she sat down. “I haven’t seen or heard anything from you.”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” The volume in the room was making conversation difficult.
Kirsten shot me a sympathetic look as Monique returned, her ego bruised somewhat.
“I don’t know why I agreed to come tonight,” she grumbled.
“You did great!” Sam chimed in.
Monique shrugged. “I know how well I did.”
The conversation at the table fell away with the noise at the bar making it hard to hear or be heard, but I was conscious of Laura’s gaze every moment I was at the table. When she wasn’t watching the stage, she was invariably looking at me, and I was once again feeling slightly creeped out. I wasn’t used to being sexualized like this, and if it was someone I was into I might have found it flattering, but from Laura I was just uncomfortable.
The evening went on with minimal conversation. Laura got up out of order to sing “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift, staring at me the whole time as she sang of unrequited love. She wasn’t a terrible singer, and Monique seemed to think it was hilarious, but mostly I just buried my nose in my beer, regretting the life choices that had led to this.
An hour and two beers later, the bar had lapped itself and we all had our second chances to sing. Inspired, I suggested to Kirsten we get up and sing a duet. She loved the idea, and we decided on “It Ain’t Me Babe,” the version by Johnny Cash and June Carter. Johnny’s vocals were right in the heart of my range, and the soaring female part I thought Kirsten could nail. We got up and, well, we knocked it out of the park. The crowd in the bar had grown, and I’d played onstage enough times to know how to project my voice and to demonstrate chemistry with my duet partner. We flirted with our eyes and our body movements as we sang and danced, and when we finished we got the largest round of applause of the evening.
“That was incredible!” Sam gushed as we returned to the table. “You guys need to play together more!”
“I’m down!” I shouted.
“Sure!” Kirsten took my cell phone and texted herself my number. “Let’s do it!”
Laura said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her jealousy. I tried not to notice.
After more rounds of karaoke, more drinks (Vanessa in particular was looking over the limit), and very little talking over the squall of noise, we were all pleasantly inebriated and started the walk home. Laura, Monique, and Mark lived in the same neighbourhood as Vanessa and I, so we decided to walk together. I saw Kirsten off with a promise to text her, then finally I was faced with the inevitable.
“You’ve been awfully distant,” Laura began as we headed for home. The others had paired off and were walking ahead of us, out of easy earshot.
“I mean…” I paused, not sure what to say. “It’s not like we ever really talked before.”
“Yeah, but things are different now.”
“Are they?” I asked. “It was a one-night stand.”
Laura’s face fell. “Yeah, I know. But…”
I let the word hang in the night air.
“We had sex,” Laura finally said. “I thought things would be different after.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”
“So you used me?” she asked, suddenly upset.
“No, I went into it with my eyes open, and I was honest with you,” I said sharply. “I said before it happened that it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry your expectations weren’t in line with mine, really I am. I didn’t know you had any deeper feelings for me, and if I’d known that I never would have done it. I’m sorry if you’re hurt, but it would hurt you more stringing you along.”
Laura sighed and remained silent for a moment. “Well, maybe I can change your mind someday,” she finally said.
With nothing else to say to her, I caught up to the rest of the group with Laura in tow, and we walked the rest of the way home.
That night as I was shutting off my phone to go to sleep, a message came in from Laura. It was a picture, taken from her perspective, looking down her clothed body to her hand planted between her legs in her unzipped jeans. It was captioned “Thinking of you.” My cock jumped slightly, and the temptation to sext with her momentarily coursed through me, but I forced myself to shut my phone off and go to bed. I still found Laura physically attractive, but I was determined not to sleep with her again knowing it was only going to cause her more hurt in the long run.
The next day, Kirsten texted me.
Hey, Peter. Do you want to come over tonight to jam?
I’d love to, I answered. I’ll bring my guitar and amp, do I need anything else?
I’ve got a pretty well-equipped home studio here, she answered. Bring whatever guitar stuff you want, but otherwise we should be good.
I put on a nice polo shirt and khakis before heading out that evening, gathering up my prized cherry red Gibson 335 guitar, Vox amp and pedal board into Mom’s car. It was a short drive to Kirsten’s, and despite Monique’s earlier prodding, I wasn’t thinking about sex, only about jamming and making music. Apart from Walt, I didn’t really have many remaining musical friends in town, and I was excited to have found someone talented to play with.
Kirsten’s family lived out in the northern suburbs in a relatively big house. Her Dad was locally famous for his radio commercials for his car lot, but other than that, the fact she was musical, and her being friends with Vanessa, I barely knew a thing about her. From what I could remember, she’d only moved to Guelph in the eleventh grade, after I’d graduated, and since Vanessa didn’t hang out at our house with her friends that often from then on, I’d only met her a handful of times.
Kirsten greeted me at the door wearing a comfortable loose-fitting yoga top and sweatpants. Despite the dressed-down look and lack of makeup I thought she looked lovely, with fair, lightly-freckled skin, blindingly white teeth, and piercing blue eyes. Her lustrous blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. “Nice to see you, Peter!”
I returned the greeting as I bundled my gear into the house.
“Hallo, Peter,” a familiar accented radio voice greeted me.
“Mr. Bäumler.”
“Call me Helmut.” Her dad extended his hand. “Kirsten has told me about you. I’ve been ordered to stay out of the basement tonight, but maybe you’ll allow an old keyboardist to join you sometime.”
“Dad, please,” Kirsten blushed.
“It’s fine, I love jamming with my stepdad,” I reassured. “Maybe the four of us will play sometime.”
“Does your stepfather play?” Kirsten’s father seemed genuinely excited.
“Let’s go, Peter.” Kirsten picked up my amp and started heading for the basement stairs.
“I’m being summoned, but yes, he plays guitar and bass.”
“We’ll talk later,” Helmut chuckled. “My daughter is still sometimes embarrassed of her old dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Helmut,” I said apologetically as I headed for the basement stairs.
I hadn’t known what to expect, but Kirsten’s basement was a music studio of near professional grade. Sound-dampening insulation covered the walls and ceiling and Turkish carpets covered the floor. There was a baby grand piano in the centre of the room, a small collection of guitars and amps, and a 16-track mixing console that looked like it could have come out of a professional studio. Most impressively to my eyes, though, was the synthesizers — the family had a collection of seven or eight of them, all seemingly vintage from the 1980’s, and most clearly well-used, like someone had taken them all on the road.