Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Midvalley's Serenade ❯ The Bruisy Woozy Blues ( Chapter 5 )

The Bruisy Woozy Blues

Chapel and I clicked as a team. Knives was reportedly very pleased with our handling of the Burns execution and if the generous bonus I received after the fact was any indication, he was, but it wasn't as if Chapel and I spent all our time running around the countryside shooting people in the head.

One of my more naive bed partners once asked me if it wasn't thrilling exercising the power over life and death. She didn't know that 99% of my job consisted of collecting money for Knives. Much as Knives hates humans, he realizes that it's hard for them to pay up when they're dead. So most of the time I was simply intimidating, not killing.

The thrilling part about killing, I have found, is surviving when the person you've been sent to kill tries to kill you back. For me, that's the bottom line. When I survive a mission, I'm pretty much thrilled.

News of our exploit got some publicity in a gossip sheet and actually made our job incredibly easy. Sax player plus priest with machine gun cross equals you with your brains splattered on the wall. "Which would you rather do, hang on to the money you stole or have your head shot off." Talk about a no-brainer.

We became almost constant companions. Our personalities complemented each other. Chapel was at his best in action flowing in combat with uncanny intuition, the way I improvise with Silvia on a song . On a mission, I was less spontaneous and needed more structure and planning ,but that worked out well for both of us. He benefited from my forethought and I from his ability to compensate for the unexpected.

I enjoyed my downtime with Chapel. I would have to say that it was the first time in years that I had enjoyed someone else's company without attaching a sexual agenda to it. Well, that's not completely true. At some level, I definitely still wanted him, but told myself I was willing to wait until he was ready. I was definitely not going to force any sexual issue with him, a sure way to lose him as a friend I was convinced. And I sincerely valued his friendship. He had a store of knowledge and was an amusing companion. He was fun to drink with. He enjoyed my company as well, but many evenings in whatever bar I was playing in he was content just to smoke in a dark quiet corner and listen to me jam with the band of the night.

Not that we were always in each others faces. Every so often, Chapel would shrug his good-byes and tell me, "I've got to go. Priestly duties call. I'll be back in a few days."

A couple of months went by like this. One night at a club I was playing I got propositioned by a band roadie. He was really nicely put together, great smile and personality, the kind I would never have refused in the past, and yet, I turned him down. I suddenly realized that I hadn't shagged any sax groupies since, well since Chapel first walked through those batwing doors. Midvalley the Hornfreak, aka the Sultan of Sax, was not getting any action-and I didn't care. I found that I would just as soon stay cooped up in a hotel room meditating on the sax while Chapel smoked and cleaned his guns. It was weird somehow, definitely unusual for me, but I was content, for the time being, just to be around him.

As it turned out, we carried out most of our missions in many of the same cities, mostly the big ones, so I kept running into a lot of the same musicians. When they saw Chapel and me together, never the one without the other, they figured something was up.

I ran into my old friend, Lenny, the drummer, who was familiar with my history. Hell, we'd even screwed each others brains out on a week-long tour some 5 or 6 years back. He saw me and he saw Chapel and gave me a speculative look. Then he leered, "So, Hornfreak, who's the momma and who's the poppa?"

"Nothing's going on."

"I believe you, Sax God," he said. Clearly he didn't.

"Nothing happened. There is nothing going on."

"Uh, huh," he said plainly unconvinced.

"I'm gonna kill you, Lenny."

"Uh-huh," he said in the same skeptical tone.

Everyone assumed we were banging each other. The only story they wouldn't have believed is that we weren't. And oddly enough it was Chapel who provided most of the grist for the gossip mill. He is by nature a demonstrative person and when my tendency to become sexually aroused around him had damped down, I found that he began to touch me more. He'd rest a hand on my elbow or shoulder and occasionally drape an arm round my neck or waist in casual friendship. These actions tugged at my heart rather than my prick and with my sensations undulled for a change by a succession of nearly nightly sexual partners, I was able to appreciate them despite their subtlety. But the affection was noticed.

And of course, business went on as usual. I say as usual, but even in the most well-oiled routine, there comes a day when first thing, you drop your soap in the shower and bang your head on the spigot as you bend to pick it up. A little later, you spill your coffee in your lap in a moment of carelessness. After you change your clothes, you're feeling a little wary, waiting for the last piece of bad luck that will end the streak, that moment during the day when you zig when you should have zagged. That moment came for me during one of our bloodier missions. One minute, I was blowing on Silvia's reed, generating one hell of a powerful shock wave, the next moment, I don't remember at all.

Then there are bits and pieces, shreds of memory I recall. A sensation of bright pain somewhere in my body. The sound of my shirt ripping. Chapel's voice, "Fuck, Midvalley." Then memory fades again.

When I woke up again, it was to see Chapel looking at me with a worried expression.

"What's wrong, Chapel. Did we screw up the mission so bad that Knives wants us dead?"

Chapel heaved a sigh of relief. "You're talking," he said, "and in complete sentences."

He seemed really pleased about that.

I looked around and took in that I was lying in a hospital bed.

"What happened with the mission? Don't tell me I fucked it up for us." Now I was the one who was worrying.

"Ease your mind, Midvalley. We got the job done. How do you feel?"

"Like shit. What happened?"

"Ricochet sliced your forehead and knocked you out. The doctor said you had a concussion. You were out for quite a while. If that bullet had gone a hair deeper, you'd be dead. Took 47 stitches to get it closed. You lost a lot of blood before I could get you here. You also took a bullet in the arm, but it didn't go deep."

"47 stitches. What does that look like?"

"Like shit," Chapel admitted.

A doctor bustled into the room. He asked me some questions, examined my reflexes and the pupils in my eyes.

"This is the guy that sewed you up," said Chapel.

"Mr. Midvalley," he said briskly, " You had a concussion. The scan we ran on you shows no brain damage, but a concussion can give you some fairly annoying symptoms. You can expect headaches. If they get very intense, come back and see us. The dressing on your arm will need changing from time to time. The nurse has instructed Mr. Wolfwood on how to care for it. So, how do you feel?"

"To tell you the truth, I've had hangovers that felt worse."

"You lost a fair amount of blood. I considered a transfusion, but unfortunately, we have a shortage of your blood type, so you need to take it slow and easy for awhile. So don't push your body too hard or your symptoms may get worse."

"I understand."

"The nurse will arrange your discharge papers, then."

Chapel had brought me a change of clothes from the hotel. I was half-way through dressing when I suddenly felt dizzy and had to sit down. A few minutes later Chapel looked in on me. He looked worried again.

"God, you look white, Midvalley. Are you all right?"

"Just a little dizzy."

"Maybe you should stay."

"I'll be all right."

"I'm going to call a taxi. You shouldn't walk and I don't want you falling off my motorcycle."

I got up and pulled on my shirt and jacket. My left arm was sore but nothing unbearable. I stepped into the bathroom to get a glass of water, glanced in the mirror and yelled, "Shit!"

Chapel barged in on the run, "Oh, you saw."

My forehead was bandaged neatly, but below, around my eyes and nose, my face was a mass of bruises, purple, blue, green and yellow.

"God!" I could just imagine myself getting on stage to play with a face like that. "Shit!"

"Don't worry, Midvalley. The bruises should clear up in a couple of weeks, a month at most. Here take my sunglasses."

"A month! Shit!"

When I came out of the bathroom, my eyes winced from the bright sunshine streaming through the window. "Give me the glasses. The glare is killing me."

He took the taxi back to the hotel with me and clucked over me like a mother hen. It was irritating. He was telling me for the tenth time to take it slow and easy up the stairs, when I suddenly couldn't take it anymore and whirled around to tell him to shut the fuck up, but then the world tipped sideways and suddenly I was glad he was there. I sagged against him and he held me up.

"Take it easy, partner. I've got you," he said.

I was lying on my bed almost before I knew it and Chapel was draping a light blanket over me.

"Get some rest, Midvalley ," he said.

He didn't have to tell me twice.

I woke up with a headache and a burning sensation in my left arm. Chapel was hovering.

"Can I get you anything to eat, coffee, pain relievers?"

"Just leave me alone."

"I'll be back," he said.

"I'll be holding my breath, " I said sarcastically.

He was back in ten minutes. He brought a glass of water from the bathroom, and said, " I got some pain relievers. I want you to take these."

I didn't really want to. But I flounced up in the bed, grabbed the pills from his hand and swallowed them down and thrust the glass back at him.

"Are you happy? Now, leave me alone!"

"Sorry, I can't. I need to clean the wound on your arm."

"Oh, Jesus, Fuck!"

"God, you're in a foul mood."

"What was your first clue?"

"Just take your shirt off."

I rolled my eyes, and was rewarded with a sharp twinge of pain.

"Ah, fuck," I snarled. I had pulled off my jacket and was working on my shirt. Chapel was in the bathroom filling a pan with warm water. When he came out, I still had my shirt half-way on.

"It's stuck," I said disgusted. Blood had leaked through the gauze bandage and stuck to the sleeve of my pink shirt. Chapel peeled the shirt away. He was gentle as he touched me and removed the bloody bandage, and cleaned the wound. I winced when he applied the antiseptic.

"Sorry," he said. Then he began to re-wrap the wound. "I never noticed before how white your skin is."

"Musician's keep vampire's hours. We get a little pale. Not every one can be tan like you, you know."

"I didn't mean," he broke off, "that." He sighed. My eyes slid shut while he worked on me. His hands slid around my arm as he wrapped the wound. And his touch was so erotic to me that I came in my pants. I moaned.

"Feeling any better, Midvalley?"

I grunted. The soft touch of his hands on my skin was still turning me on. I wanted to be in him, I wanted him in me but my face was like a fright mask. How could I possibly do the things I wanted with him when I was in such wretched shape. I ached for him, but I felt strange, like crying and sleeping at the same time. This wasn't like me. I felt weird.

"Can I get you anything, Midvalley."

"Silvia."

He brought me the sax case and said, " I left a sandwich and some soup on the table. Try to eat something. I'll be back later this afternoon."

I took Silvia out of her case and slid my hands over her curves, reverently placed my lips on the mouthpiece and started to play the first few bars of "Stranger than Fiction." A sensation of pressure built up in my head, so painfully intense I had to quit.

I went to the table, took a few bites of the sandwich, a few spoons of soup. I was at loose ends. I went into the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. The colors of my bruises had become even more garish. I took off the bandage over the stitches., saw a scar that looked like a 2 inch wide zipper smack dab in the middle of my forehead.

"Real sexy, " I said to myself. "Some leather freak is just going to love that. Shit!"

I sat down on my bed, tried to remember what Chapel's hands had felt on my body that morning and started to jerk myself off, but my arm hurt. I got distracted and lost interest and ended up just sitting there with my cock in my hand staring at the wall for the longest time until I felt cold and put it back in my pants. Then I rolled over and went to sleep.

When I woke up, the room was dark. I felt the urge to empty my bladder, so I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came out, before I turned the light off, I could see Chapel sitting at the table smoking. I went back to the bed and lay down on it. I heard him stubbing out his cigarette and he came and sat by me on the edge of my bed.

"What do you want," I asked him.

"I need to know how you're feeling."

"Not good. I just need to sleep."

I slept.

Chapel was quiet next morning. He brought me up breakfast from the restaurant and changed the bandage on my arm. I was completely distracted myself. I can't remember a time when I had been so spaced out. I couldn't focus my thoughts. I don't think I was even aware that he was changing my bandage until he finished the final taping. I heard his voice droning but I have no idea what he said.

I don't know what he brought for breakfast or if I ate it. I sat at the table drifting in and out of wakefulness. I couldn't keep my eyes open. Finally I felt strong arms enfold me, lift me and lay me on my bed. I slept.

I woke up in a strange mood, vaguely irritable. I decided to go out to a tavern, because my cabin fever was getting uncontrollable. I took a shower, shaved and dressed. I was looking for my shoes when I stubbed my toe on the metal leg of the bed. Something like that rarely phases me, but now I was angry, cursing the cock-sucking, mother-fucking goddamn, piece of shit. I had a feeling of white hot pain between my eyes. Chapel chose that moment to come back from wherever he had been., and he was all over me, like flies on honey. His arm round my waist, his touch on my face, his hand on my back, settling me, hands on my thighs, all concerned, "Are you all right? Are you feeling OK?" I was aroused but irritable.

"Keep your hands to yourself, you pathetic tease," I said in a cold nasty tone.

Chapel's face turned three shades of red.

"God if I didn't think that was the concussion talking, I would fucking kill you."

"It's not the concussion. It's the truth."

"I never asked for your lust," he said.

I pulled my left shoe on and tied it.

"I'm not a priest. I didn't take a vow of chastity. I didn't sign on to become a semi-professional virgin like you"

"Maybe you think I should be honored to find myself on the list of people you want to fuck, but your list is so long, Midvalley. Just because it's warm-blooded with legs and a hole doesn't mean you have to fuck it. Talk about pathetic." He was all contempt now.

"That's it. That is the fucking limit!" I finished tying the other shoe.

"Where are you going," he asked.

"To see if I can get laid tonight."

I shot to my feet and stormed to the door, but my vision went dark and I couldn't find the knob. I felt a prickly feeling on the back of my neck and heard a buzzing sound and Chapel's deep sigh as he caught me on the way down.

"I've got you, partner."

I woke up in the middle of the night and found myself looking for the glow of his cigarette tip. I sighed with relief when I saw it and fell back asleep.

Next morning he brought me up coffee and scrambled eggs from the hotel restaurant. I sat at the table and ate while he drank his coffee and smoked.

The silence between us was thick and uncomfortable, but I couldn't think of a damned thing to say.

Chapel seemed more tense than usual. He went through three cigarettes by the time I finished the eggs. He stared out the window and didn't look at me when he finally spoke.

"Headache better today?"

"It's gone."

"Your arm. I need to check it."

"Fine."

I peeled off the pajama top and registered that he must have undressed me last night. Pajama bottoms too. He must have gotten an eyeful I considered. I don't wear shorts.

He was careful handling me. The wound had started to scab over and the bandage was stuck to it. He soaked it loose with warm water, patted it dry and applied more antiseptic.

"The inflammation is gone."

He began to re-bandage it. I noticed that his hands were trembling.

"Better cut down on the coffee and cigarettes. You're a basket case."

He was trying to wrap the wound as fast as he could, probably because he couldn't stand touching me or my pale white skin. I wasn't remotely aroused. I was way too pissed at him.

"Shit," he said as he had to unravel where he'd left a crease, "Uh, Midvalley, about last night," he began.

I cut him off. "What's said is said. Can't be unsaid."

He silently finished taping the arm. I flexed it. It felt a lot better. "Thanks," I said.

Chapel emptied the basin and sat lit another cigarette. He took a drag, exhaled and said, "I wired Legato about your injury. I told him you'd be out of commission for another couple of weeks. He gave me an assignment out by Mei City. I should be back in a week-two weeks tops. I'm short of funds again."

"We just got paid!"

"I didn't know you'd get hurt. I settled the hospital bill and I had some other debts."

"The office is supposed to reimburse us for medical expenses."

"I know."

"You need some traveling money?"

"I'll get by." He stubbed out the butt , hoisted his cross and his duffle sack then lightly slid his hand across my upper back as he said, "Good-bye." Before I knew it I heard the door closing and then the sound of his feet hurrying down the stairs.

I wondered at how the slightest of his touches had the power to brand me. I looked down at my tented crotch and sighed, " I thought we were over that."

I had mixed feelings now that he was gone, but decided it was healthier to focus on the feeling of relief. I put some tunes on my portable player and decided to take a long relaxing bath . Some of the pain soaked out of my body as I lay there and I thought about Chapel.

He had been as nervous as I had ever seen him. My thoughts went back to the quarrel and I brooded about what he said to me. "Never asked for your lust" "Fuck anything with legs and a hole" , "Talk about pathetic." He had been pretty offensive. Eventually I got out of the tub and toweled off. I started to feel really angry with him. I tied the towel around my waist and stood at the mirror, slicked my wet hair back with a comb and looked at the wreckage of my face. The bruises were fading. The main color scheme now was chartreuse swirled with yellow and lavender. The effect on a stained-glass window would have been charming, but on my pale skin it was anything but. The stitches across my forehead were a bright seam of scarlet dotted above and below by black sutures.

I looked at my skin. I always hated the way the blue veins made it look so mottled. Trust Chapel to fasten on the feature I felt most insecure about and insult it. "Your skin is so white, Midvalley." His was like honey.

I started to shave and thought about what he'd said. "I never asked for your lust." How could he think it was just lust. I had just spent the last two months as celibate as he was. What did he expect from me?

And the part about fucking anything with two legs and a hole? "Hah!" I laughed out loud, "Well, at least I can, Chapel. At least I can!" I announced triumphantly.

"And you can't," I suddenly remembered. He had confided the fact that he was impotent to me and I threw it in his face and called him pathetic. "Semi-professional virgin" was a really low blow when I remembered what had happened to him as a child. Tears of shame came to my eyes when I realized how my words must have hurt him. All he had done was to care for me. And that was how I repaid him. He had put me to bed, brought me breakfast, asked about my headache, and cleaned my wound. I was an ass-hole.

"I'm an asshole and I'm driving him away," I said out loud. "But I'm going crazy being cooped up with no outlet."

I looked outside. The suns were blazing. If I went out in that much sun, I knew I'd get a splitting headache. I saw Silvia sitting in the easy chair where I'd left her. If only I could play without pain. I sat in the chair with the towel wrapped round my waist, pulled Silvia into my lap and gently took the reed in my mouth and coaxed out a pure sweet note and followed it with another and another and another.

I played out my shame, my tears, the friendship, the quarrel, my yearning. I lost myself in communion with Silvia, and when I had poured myself out, I set her down gently with a sigh of contentment.

I heard scattered applause in the plaza outside the hotel and walked over to the window to see what had caused the commotion. When I looked out the window, I saw Lenny leading some shop girls on their lunch break in applause. When they saw me at the window, they applauded louder, whether for my music or me in my towel, I couldn't say. Lenny hand-signaled that he was coming up.

In a couple of minutes he breezed through the door, and I waited for the barrage of comments that was so typically Lenny.

"God , you look like shit. Did you and the girlfriend have a fight? Looks like she plays rough."

"It was an accident, Lenny."

"So they all say. Say, are you hot and horny and in the mood? I just happen to be available at the moment."

"You should have been here half an hour ago. Too bad I played it all out of my system."

"Guess it's just as well. You don't look like you could handle any more rough stuff."

"That's a fact, but just why are you here?"

"I heard you were in town, but I never saw you at any of the clubs. If I hadn't lucked out and been outside when you started playing, I would never have found you. And may I say, that song, it might be the best thing you ever did."

"Glad you liked it, but I was just messing around. I haven't been able to play for a few days and I was feeling deprived."

"Can't you remember any of it?"

"It was all improv, Len."

"Well, you need to get out. It's obvious to me. So, I have a great job offer for you, playing with me in the fabulous lounge of the Scum Bag Inn, also known as the Come Back Inn by those who don't know it as well as I do. It may be the Scum Bag, but the guitarist is hot, a total professional. The bass player has great potential, but he's in a rut and needs a little inspiration so he can cut loose with the juice. I know a keyboard player who is dying to work with you even if it means working without pay, and her playing is fantastic."

"I look like shit."

"So brush your bangs over your forehead and wear dark glasses like your boyfriend does. By the way, where is he? Did you two have a lover's spat?"

"Business trip. He'll be back in two weeks."

"So, play with us, and you won't go stir crazy."

"I'm supposed to take it easy."

"Well, no one is going to be holding a gun to your head, forcing you to blow your brains out. If you need a breather, take it. You know I'm easy."

As he talked, I began to realize just how much I had missed making music with a band and suddenly I knew that the fastest way for me to get back to feeling like myself was to immerse myself in my music.

"Pick you up at 7 tonight?" he asked.

I looked hesitant.

"Hey, I know that look. You're afraid I'll kidnap you and force you to go clubbing all night. You're going to have to take a taxi back anyhow. I have "plans" for later. Remember the roadie who had the hots for you? He's with me now. We were so impressed by what you and Chapel have going that we've practically tied the knot. So let me pick you up at 7. The band needs a little jam time together before the set starts so we don't have to stink it up for a half-hour while we're trying to figure each other out.

I cringed at the reminder of just how bad good musicians can sound together.

"When you're right, you're right, Lenny. Seven it is."

I had a great time that night. The music was good and the next two weeks went by in a blur, with daily gigs and rehearsals.

The guitarist blew my mind with his fresh ideas. If the bassist had been in a rut, I saw no sign of it. In this group, he was positively inspired. The keyboard player was a matronly woman with her hair dyed bright red. She wore a red sequinned dress to match it and she was dynamite. Stride, jazz, blues, honky tonk, boogie woogie, cat house-she could play it all. I would have paid to work with her.

Then there was Lenny, the man who drove the rhythm, kept it all together. Loose, tight, low-down or up-tempo, he gave the piece of music what ever it needed so it could sing. He never stepped on another artist's solo break by playing too loud. For him, music came first and egos second. He was a prince of a musician.

I hardly noticed my bruises anymore. One day I looked in the mirror and they were just gone. The sutures on my forehead dissolved and the red seam faded to white and blended in with the other lines on my forehead. Even with my bangs brushed back to the sides of my head, the way I usually do, Dave the Roadie pronounced my scar to be "Cool". And sure enough, I started to get offers again. But, I have to say that my standards must have gone up. Outside of Chapel, the only other two people I would have considered fucking were Lenny and Dave the Roadie, and those two were so in each others pockets all the time, it didn't look like I would get laid anytime soon.

I have to admit I was beginning to feel a little infected by the enthusiasm of the twosome. They always seemed to be slipping off or coming back from somewhere with flushed, happy faces. It reminded me of how much I missed the intimacy of sex, and I made up my mind that I would tell Chapel that if he wouldn't at least try to be with me the way I wanted, then I couldn't wait for him anymore.

Chapel was due back on Friday. I hoped he'd come early, but he hadn't showed up by 7 and then I had to leave. I left him a note telling what club I was at and to please come because the music was going to be great and then the taxi came and I left.

The driver arrived at the club at a quarter to 8, but when I walked in the door, the bass player was walking around like a zombie and Lenny was nowhere in sight.

" Where's Lenny," I asked the piano player.

"He's in the bathroom. Last time I saw him he was out here crying his eyes out. He and Dave had a lover's quarrel and we go on in 40 minutes. The men's room is not my territory. Please go in there and try to talk him up. You and I both know that we can't really make this thing work without him. Not the way we want to."

I found Lenny slumped down on the floor. He was still crying his eyes out.

"Hey, Lenny, what's the matter?"

"I hit him. I hit him, and he'll never come back to me now."

I handed Lenny my handkerchief.

"But you guys have been all over each other like rabbits."

"He said he doesn't need me anymore."

"Well, we have a gig in thirty minutes. Maybe he doesn't need you but there are four other musicians who can't carry this off without you. Of course, if you absolutely can't, there's another drummer in the audience who could substitute for you. I'm pretty sure we could get Skip Walker to fill in."

"Skip Walker is a pig," said Lenny mopping up his tears.

"Yeah, but we need a drummer."

"He'll ruin everything."

"He's adequate, Lenny."

"He sucks." Lenny's tears were gone. "He plays too loud. His rhythm is off. He steps on the solos. He's never had an original musical idea in his life, and he's bland.

"Very bland," I seconded him. "Lenny, we really need you. Maybe by the time this gig is over, Dave will have gotten over whatever's eating him, and if not, why you're so hot, Lenny, I'll bet you could just about go home with anyone you set your heart on."

"Let's get this show on the road, then. Fuck Dave the Roadie."

The club was packed. The dance floor had been sacrificed to make extra room for tables for the music fans to sit at. There was barely enough room for the bar servers to get through with drinks. At 8:30, the club owner jumped up on stage and asked the audience to put their hands together for the "Midvalley Five". I looked back at Lenny and made a face. "What's that shit about?" I asked.

"Had to call us something. Guess he likes the way you play."

The five of us were primed to play and so loaded with energy, we were ready to bust loose.

"Maybe we ought to pace ourselves," said Lenny. Then he said, "Hell, no!" and ripped into "Shoot `em Up" as if he had no plans to play a second song, much less a second set. We all managed to catch up and keep up with him without sounding ragged. We were feeling just fine moving in and out and around the tune and the audience did a great job on the chorus-chiming in on time "Shoot `em up, Shoot `em up, Shoot `em up. HUH!" When we finished, the audience erupted with whoops, whistles, shrieks, hollers, and sustained applause.

"How the hell do we follow that up," I asked Lenny. "That was a show-stopper."

"Yaha!" Lenny gave me a wild laugh. "Not this show! Time to earn your money, Hornfreak! `Daredevil'" he announced.

"Start it up, Midvalley, and turn us loose!"

"Daredevil" starts out with me solo on Silvia, squeezing every last drop of juice I can find in my soul for a full solid minute. I spend the rest of the set, trying to fill in and recover while everyone else takes their breaks. Then with the breath I finally catch, God willing, I push my horn to the limit again, striving to hit an elusive high note, and we all finish together as I like to joke, lying dead on the floor. And that's what we did, except for that last part. It came off great. Even the band applauded for me on that one. But I was so wasted afterwards, I couldn't have put a sentence together if I tried and was content to look to Lenny to find out what we were playing next and play it the best I could. Finally the first set ended. I was ready for a break, but, by God, that audience loved us. There was so much applause, I almost felt guilty that I had to take a leak, but I did, so I left.

The second set was a struggle for me. I sweated profusely and I could see that Lenny was concerned that I'd be able to finish. He babied me through the set and picked songs where the sax has less to do and ballads he knew I could play in my sleep. They were crowd pleasers though. With two more songs left to play, I started to feel more clear-headed, and I wondered if Chapel had made it. Then it dawned on me that we were sold out and I wondered if he'd tried to come but been turned away at the door. So when the set was over I gave the doorman Chapel's description and asked him to let him in if he showed up. He said he hadn't seen anyone who looked like that but would be glad to let him in if he came and by the way, he really admired my playing.

I found my second wind in the third set, and Lenny smiled in relief when he heard me playing with power and confidence again. So he jumped the whole band through some pretty hoops and it was all so spontaneous and easy, I felt like I could play all night. By the time the set was over there was still no sign of Chapel.

The last set was amazing. Lenny had it planned out that for the first five tunes, each musician would have a number that really showcased his talents. Lenny himself started out the set with a killer drum solo in a number called "Glory Be". The bass player, Toby, outdid himself on "G-String." Then Dixie, the red-head piano player charged into a medley that displayed her different styles and by the time she finished, she had the audience standing up for her. Sonny, the guitar man, went next and he played a blues number so packed with feeling , I saw more than a few teary-eyed faces in the audience. Then it was my turn, and I played "Silvia's Tune" with all the emotion I could muster and as usual got a great audience response. The last few songs were as hot and tight as good sex and we ended up playing three encores before the audience would finally let us go.

Then we all went out in the crowd and spent time with the fans, shaking hands, signing autographs, accepting their compliments. After half an hour of that, I withdrew as graciously as I could. I ordered a shot and a beer from the bar. It was on the house. I tossed back the bourbon and went out the back door of the club with the long neck dangling from my right hand. I needed to find a little peace and quiet.

In part of my mind I was elated by just how good the music had been. Another part was disappointed that Chapel had not been around to share the moment. And now that I had emptied myself, I found myself feeling a little lonely, a little sad, even a little bit sorry for myself. I leaned up against a brick wall sipping my beer. Lenny had followed me out. He came up to me and pressed his body up against mine and I could feel his erection pulsing against my crotch. It felt good. He captured my lips and slipped me his tongue and I hadn't had sex for so long that I moaned with pleasure and the beer bottle slipped from my fingers. Soon we were rubbing hard up against each other. He started dry-humping me against the wall, his lips still on mine.

Then I heard a humorous voice nearby, "Hey, I'm trying to smoke out here. Would you two please get a room?"

By the light of the match he struck, he saw me and his eyes went wide.

"Fuck!" said Chapel.

"Nick!" I called after him, but he was gone.

Lenny looked scared shitless. "Gotta go, man. I can see he's the jealous type," and he melted away.

The night was unusually hot. I took a taxi back to the hotel. When I opened the door, Chapel was sitting by the open window smoking. He was bare to the waist. He looked me in the eye and held the glance for some seconds, then we both looked away.

I forced myself to look at him again. He looked sad. Untouchable. My eyes caressed the elegant lines of the body that I would never hold, the lower lip that I would never kiss, and I was overwhelmed by a sense of loss.

I went to the closet, got out my travel bag, took my clothes off the hangers and began to fold and pack them.

"What are you doing, Midvalley?" he asked me.

"I'm packing." I went into the bathroom and collected my toothbrush and razor.

"Where are you going," he asked me softly.

"To get a room."

"Are you upset with me?"

I sighed. "I know you can't help being how you are. But I can't help being the way I am, either. Tonight I realized that. I have been hungry for you for so long, but I know now that I can never have you. It just hurts too much to be around you. I have to go."

I picked up the bag and slung it over my shoulder, then picked up Silvia's case and headed for the door. He was there two steps ahead of me and stood with his back to it, facing me, looking into my eyes with an expression that I could in no way read. Then I saw. He looked scared.

"What?" I asked.

He whispered so softly I couldn't hear him. I was getting impatient and reached for the door knob.

"Sorry I didn't hear that."

His hand intercepted mine and I felt something in his touch.

He said it softly but I heard him plainly this time.

"I want you, too."

I set down Silvia and my travel bag, pinned him to the door with my body and leaned in for the kiss I had been waiting for so long. He turned his lips away shyly and offered me his cheek.

"No, no," I said. This time I held his face between my hands and moved in to claim his mouth, but his head twisted in my grasp and again my lips found his cheek.

I stood back from him and sighed.

"I can't play these games, Chapel." I picked up my bag and Silvia. "It hurts too much."

I looked at him. He had tears in his eyes, and it pained me to see them there, but I had to go. I reached for the door knob again, but he caught my hand once more, held fast to it as if it were a lifeline and said in a voice that trembled, "Don't leave. It's not a game. I don't know what to do."

I must have stood there dumbly for over a minute waiting for what he had said to sink in. Then, I set Silvia and the suitcase down gently. With my heart finally at ease, I pulled him, still weeping into a warm embrace and whispered in his ear, "I'll teach you."

We sat in the chair together, my hands cushioned in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Close your eyes." I said. And he closed them. But they popped open almost fearfully.

"Close your eyes." I said again and he closed them again.

I leaned my face towards him and he started to turn his face away instinctively.

"No, don't turn away from me. Give me your lips."

He looked so beautiful to me and so vulnerable. I closed my eyes, moved my lips to his and fastened on that so sad lower lip with the tenderest friction. With utmost care I slid my lips along his upper lip, soft, sensitive, exploratory. Then went back to the swollen bud of his lower lip and caressed it with my lips over and over, embracing it and releasing , embracing and releasing with the softest suction.

He moaned.

"Now kiss me back," I said. And he explored my lips with the same blind tender friction and found my lower lip and fed there like a hungry child starved for affection.

"More, Midvalley," he whispered in the moonlight, and I parted his lips with the moist tip of my tongue. His mouth opened softly in surprise and I lay the soft pillow of my tongue on his for the briefest moment, then withdrew it and he rewarded me with a deep and troubled sigh. His breath disturbed, I slid my tongue in again. He held it there and sucked it lightly. I answered with a sigh of my own.

"More, Midvalley," he whispered again. I kissed away the scars of the child who had been savaged in the dark while he fed me with the gift of his tongue. The dance of lips and tongues went on. Our breathing deepened, and the tender friction grew more passionate, tongue probed tongue and lip bruised lip and sighs turned to moans.

"More, Midvalley," moaned a lonely man, as lonely as myself. Heart hungry for so long, we fed on kisses until dawn.