Johanna - 7 free porn video

I was finished with all my law school exams and coursework at the end of Spring 2016. My grades were high, my interview schedule had gone well and I was feeling very positive. I was with Duane at the Irish bar after his show, when he was approached by a middle-aged guy with a shock of white hair.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“I’ll never refuse a Guinness,” said Duane. He turned to me. “How about you, Johanna?”

“I’ll have one if you are,” I said.

The guy bought three pints of Guinness and passed Duane a card.

“I’m a producer,” he said. “In LA. I liked what I saw tonight.”

“You want us to audition?” asked Duane, passing the card to me. “I’ll round up the guys.”

I read ‘Aaron Lindwall’ along with a phone number and a string of social media addresses.

“Not the band,” Lindwall said. “Just you. I think I heard something, but I’d like to be sure. I want to hear you again, by yourself.”

“Well…” began Duane.

“He’ll do it,” I said. “Just give us the studio address and a time.”

“Whoa, whoa, not so fast, lady,” he said. “Who’re you?”

“She’s my girlfriend, Johanna,” said Duane.

“I don’t have a studio in New York,” said Lindwall. “I’m in town for a bachelor party. I’ll give you a thousand dollars to play the party tomorrow.”

“We’ll take it,” I said, impetuously.

“I’m not talking to you, Johanna,” said Lindwall, clapping Duane on the shoulder. “I want to hear from my man.”

“If Johanna says okay, I’m okay,” said Duane.

 Lindwall wrote an address on a cocktail napkin and handed it to Duane.

“Give them my name at the door,” he said. “I’ll see you at nine. The guys will be properly liquored up by then, but don’t mind them. You’re playing for me.”

“Give us half the money upfront,” I said. “Drunk people tend to forget their promises.”

He looked at me critically, and said, “You’re a hardnosed b–.”

He said the letter ‘b’, but his meaning was plain. He pulled out his wallet and counted out five hundreds. I gave them to one of the barmen and asked him to run a counterfeit pen over them. Lindwall looked on, expressionless, and said, “Tomorrow,” before leaving.

The following day, I got home from the law school library at eight and changed into some nice lingerie, with a sleeveless silk top, a tight, short dress, and high heels.

“Where are you going?” Duane asked.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“Are you sure? It’s a bachelor party, not the best place for a girl.”

“I want to make sure he pays you,” I said. “I thought he looked rather shifty.”

“I looked him up online, Johanna. He really is a music producer. He lists a lot of big names.”

“Anyone can put up a website,” I said.

The bachelor party was in the private room of an upscale club in the Village. We gave Lindwall’s name at the door, and a waiter escorted us upstairs.

It was a fair-sized room with its own bar. There was a barman along with two waitresses in short skirts. There were about thirty men over the entire age range from twentysomethings on up. As Lindwall had predicted, they were properly ‘liquored up’. There was a lot of loud ribald laughter and the waitresses were having a hard time with prying hands.

“I think you should go home, Johanna,” Duane whispered to me.

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

I went to the small stage in the corner with Duane and he tapped the mike to get their attention. There was a brief moment of quiet.

“I’m Duane Byrne,” he said. “Who’s the groom?”

“He is!”, “This is the guy!”, several of the men called out, pushing a fellow with light brown hair forward. He was stocky and well-built, but looked the worse for wear. His tie was askew, several buttons of his shirt were undone, and one of his shirttails was out of his pants.

“Okay, me lad,” said Duane, his Irish accent coming on strong. “Here’s something to remind you of what you’re giving up.”

He strummed his guitar and then launched into a bawdy, foot-tapping ditty about the joys of bachelorhood. Every verse ended with, Drinking till the wee hours of the night, With __ to hold me tight, a different woman’s name each time. There was plenty of coarse languages, and he soon had the crowd on its feet, braying along with him.

“He’s not bad, your boyfriend,” said Lindwall. “A nice voice, warm and round.”

I nearly jumped, for I had not seen him come up beside me.

“You owe five hundred,” I said.

He handed me a thick wad of twenties and I put it in my purse.

“Not going to count it?” he asked, with a hint of levity.

“If you stiff Duane over a few twenties, that’ll tell him all he needs to know about you.” I looked over at him. “Are you going to give him a real audition?”

“I’m leaning that way, yes.”

“Are we done here for the night?”

“Just a bit longer. I need some music for the next act.”

Almost on cue, there was a huge shout from the crowd. A buxom young blonde entered the room and got on the stage with Duane. She waved to the men and blew them kisses. Lindwall went up and spoke in Duane’s ear. He shook his head vigorously, clearly upset. I went over.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“I’m asking your boyfriend for a small favor,” said Lindwall, pointing to a battered piano at the corner of the stage. “I need some music for Bree, something better than the boombox she’s got. But he’s balking.”

“Come on, Johanna,” said Duane. “Let’s go.”

I looked at Lindwall. He put up his hands.

“You’re free to go,” he said, his meaning clear. No play, no audition.

“I’ll play,” I said. “But I want your word that Duane has an audition. In a studio in LA.”

“You have my word.”

“Maybe I’m stupid,” I said. “But I’ll trust you.”

“You’re not stupid,” said Lindwall.

I sat down at the piano and looked over at Bree.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Something fast to start,” she said. “Then slower and slower.”

I played fast, simple and repetitious, the sort of music a kindergarten teacher would play. However, the monotony of the melody didn’t matter, for everyone’s attention was riveted on Bree. She was a good dancer, and her pulsing, rhythmic movements were boldly sexual and suggestive. She communicated with me with her eyes, clearly indicating when she wanted me to slow a notch. She moved into the crowd and back onto the stage with consummate skill. She allowed the men just enough liberty to keep them on edge.

I slowed the music one more notch, and she writhed on the stage in a snake-like motion. It was so sensual, I could see the men literally salivating.

“Take it off!” one man shouted.

His shout was taken up by another, and another, till there was a cacophonous, foot-stamping chorus, “Take it off! Take it off!! TAKE IT OFF!”

She nodded to me, and my fingers slowed along the keys. She began her strip-tease routine, starting with her long gloves.

Then she undid her blouse, a button at a time, cueing me with her eyes as she showed them more of her full breasts. She wore a bright red bra, so low cut that her aureoles were partly visible. When she shimmered out of her blouse, there were hoots and hollers.

Her skirt was next. First, she raised it to give them tantalizing up-skirt glimpses of her red panties, stocking tops, and garters. Then, she slowly unzipped it. When she finally let it fall, I hit a deep bass note. It was nearly drowned out by the yelling. She pranced around the stage on her platform heels in her bra, panties, stockings, and garters.

One of the men pointed to me.

“Hey, the girl at the piano still has all her clothes on!”

“Yeah!” said another. “Come on, we paid you! Take it off!”

Bree looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head.

“I’m the stripper, boys,” Bree said, loudly. “She’s just the piano player.”

“I want to see her tits and ass!” the groom shouted, pointing at me.

I saw Duane stand up with a furious look on his face, and knew I had to do something to forestall him. I swiveled on my piano stool, and called out, “Anything for the groom!” I undid several buttons of my silk blouse, enough to show them my bra.

“More, more!” yelled the groom.

I pulled down my bra cups for a few moments saying, “Not much to see, boys!”

They were drunk enough to laugh, and let me go back to the piano. I played till Bree finished her act. She went around the crowd to get her tips wearing nothing but her red garters and shoes. She handled the aggressive pawing dexterously, never letting it escalate into sexual assault. I buttoned up my blouse and headed for the door with Duane.

“You get ten percent of the tips,” Bree said to me, as we passed. “I’ll give you twenty since you showed them your tits.”

“It’s all yours, Bree,” I said. “You earned it.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said with a grateful smile.

Lindwall walked us out.

“I like you, Johanna,” Lindwall said.

“I don’t like you,” I replied. “But I’ll respect you if you keep your word.”

“Give me your contacts,” Lindwall said to Duane. He handed over his card without a word. Lindwall looked at it briefly before putting it in his pocket. “I’m back in LA tomorrow. We’ll have you out soon.”

Duane was still mad and began to walk away without replying.

“Make him come, Johanna,” Lindwall said to me. “I don’t have the time or patience to deal with immaturity.”

“He’ll be there,” I said.

*

On the advice of my professors and with their blessing, I applied for court clerkships, rather than going directly on the job market with law firms. It is well known that a prestigious clerkship can catapult a young lawyer into a fast-track career. The day after my adventure with Duane at the bachelor party, I got the notification that I had been selected for a prized clerkship at the Supreme Court. I immediately called Mom and Roberta with my news, giddy with excitement.

Duane took me out after his evening gig. When we got home, we had the best sex we had had in a long time. He went down on me, then had me sit on his face. He let me ride him, and I did so with wild abandon. He held back even more than usual. I came several times and went to sleep in his arms sated and content.

I dreamed I was marrying him in a lovely gown of virginal white. Dad was walking me down the aisle. Mom and Roberta were in the front pews. It all seemed so real, that I woke smiling, thinking we were on our honeymoon. As reality set in, I considered telling Duane about it. But when he woke, I worried he would think I was trying to entrap him. So I didn’t.

*

I graduated law school in the summer of 2016. I was twenty-four, one of the youngest graduates in my class. Mom and Roberta were supposed to come to my graduation. At the last minute, Mom called to say she couldn’t come.

Roberta did come and she brought her new boyfriend, coincidentally a Silicon Valley corporate lawyer named Owen Lawler. The four of us – Roberta and I, Duane and Owen went out for brunch before heading to the graduation ceremony. Owen seemed nice enough and he was attentive to Roberta, which made me happy.

On paper, Owen and I should have gotten along famously. He was in the profession I was entering, he was outdoorsy and fit, and we shared a lot of interests. But somehow, he and I just didn’t have chemistry. I can’t explain it.

I went to see Mom immediately after my graduation. I was sure she would not have missed it unless something was very wrong. Roberta came with me.

I had been working so hard at law school (and spending every free moment with Duane), that I had not been home to Wisconsin since Christmas 2015. When we got home, I shocked to see how pale and wan Mom looked. She was still pretty, but walked slowly and painfully. Roberta took us out to dinner at a nice French restaurant to celebrate my graduation. Mom asked to go home midway through the meal pleading tiredness, so we cut it short.

She changed into her nightgown and we tucked her into bed.

“Mom,” I said. “You’re hiding things from us again.”

“What do you mean, cherie?”

“The cancer has come back, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mom quietly.

“How did you know?” asked Roberta, aghast.

“I was with her when she went through it the last time,” I said. “When are you going into chemo?”

“Next week,” said Mom.

“I’m staying here with you,” I said.

“No, no, cherie,” Mom said, distressed. “You have this prestigious clerkship at the Supreme Court. I’m so proud of you! I will be fine by myself.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s just a job. I’ll get another one after you’re better.”

“You’ll never be offered a Supreme Court clerkship again,” said Mom.

“It’s nothing compared to what you gave up for me,” I said.

“What are do you mean, cherie?”

“I know, Mom. I know about the Chicago Symphony tour.”

“How do you know?” asked Mom.

“What are you talking about?” asked Roberta.

 “Mom soloed with the Chicago Symphony a few times,” I said.

“I know that,” replied Roberta.

“When I was six, she was offered a contract as the principal soloist on the Symphony’s World Tour. It was for nine months, included dozens of performances. It would have put her in front of discerning audiences all over the world. It would almost certainly have led to a big recording contract. But she turned it down because she didn’t want to leave me for that long.” I looked at Mom. “Rudolf told me. He said everyone in the university music department knows.”

Mom sighed.

“You were too young, cherie, you needed me. And it would probably have come to nothing. Just the money from the nine-month contract.”

“Mom!” Roberta exclaimed, wide-eyed. “The Chicago Symphony! Dozens of concerts!”

“She would have been famous,” I said to Roberta. “You know Mom’s touch and instinct are superb. She’s so much better than the young soloists of today like Yuja Wang, that girl everyone raves about.”

“I’ll stay, too,” said Roberta.

Roberta stayed a week, but then she had to go back to work in San Fran. She left, saying she would call every day and be back in a month.

I called the Supreme Court justice’s office and asked if I could defer my clerkship. I was told, very politely, that it was a “take it or leave it” offer. I reluctantly sent them an email, declining the offer.

Mom’s chemo was much more painful this time round. She rapidly lost all her hair, and so much weight that the wigs I had bought her the last time looked ridiculous on her. We resorted to big floppy hats whenever I took her out on short walks around the neighborhood.

The cancer was very aggressive and Mom had bi-weekly infusions. But in spite of the heavy dosages, the cancer continued to spread. At the end of two months, her lead doctor was frank.

“We’re not stopping the cancer,” he said to Mom. “All we’re doing is making you weaker and more miserable. I’m afraid we’ve run out of treatment options.”

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

“I recommend stopping the chemo and transitioning to palliative care. We can begin with pain medication.” He looked at Mom encouragingly. “You’ll feel a lot better for a while. After all, chemo is poison.”

“How long do I have?” Mom asked quietly.

“A few months,” he said. “Six months at most.”

On the drive home, Mom spoke lightly, trying to get my spirits up. But I too sad to be cheered up.

“Come on, Johanna,” she said at last. “Let’s stop by the store at the university dairy for ice cream. You always loved doing that.”

“I’m not six, Mom.”

“You were such an adorable six-year-old! I should have been a better mother to you.”

“You’ve been the best mother anyone ever had,” I said, through the lump in my throat.

I started crying and pulled over. Mom put her arms around me and wiped my tears. I wished I was six again.

“You heard him,” she said. “I’m going to feel better soon.” When I did not respond, she went on. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I said.

“I want you to take me to Montana, while I’m still strong enough. I want to go where your father took me after we were first married.”

“Where was that?”

“Wild Horse Island in Flathead Lake,” she said. “I didn’t appreciate it back then. But I think I will now.”

“Dad took me there lots of times,” I said. “It was one of his favorite places in the world. Mine, too.”

A week without chemo and Mom felt much better. She even put on a bit of weight and her face seemed fuller. I booked us flights to Billings and rented a car there. I got my old camping gear down out of the attic and we packed. I called Roberta, but she could not get leave to join us. I think she may have been secretly relieved, as she never liked camping.

On the way to the airport, Mom was exceedingly cheerful, and I caught a bit of her good mood. During the flight, she talked about her Montana trips with Dad, all of which had occurred before I was born.

“The local people around Dad’s place thought I was stuck-up,” she told me. “Looking back, I can see there was some truth to that.”

“It was very foreign to you, Mom.”

“I should have been nicer, especially to your father. He tried so hard to please me.” She was quiet for a while, and then went on. “I want to go back to Robert’s place as well. To see who’s still around. Can you take me?”

 “Of course, Mom,” I said. “But let’s go to Wild Horse Island first, shall we?”

I drove to Flathead Lake, made camp, and rented a small motorboat. I got Mom to sit at the stern beside me, as it is the most stable section. I sat by the tiller of the outboard motor to guide us across. I warned Mom that it would be windy, and she held on to me and the gunwale, clenching her teeth. But she was a trooper and made no complaint on the choppy ride.

We spent the day hiking the trails, taking pictures of mule deer and enormous bighorn sheep. We saw a bald eagle up close, as well as one of the few horses on the island. I used my rod and caught us a nice lake trout that I stashed in my daypack.

I overestimated Mom’s strength, and by the time we reached the caldera-like formation at the top of the island, she was exhausted. I put my arm around her and she leaned on me gratefully all the way back to the boat. She slumped on my shoulder on the trip back across the water. She crawled into the tent and rested while I built a fire and cooked the trout. The smell got to her culinary senses and she came out as it was done. I served it out and she took a bite with undisguised relish.

“This is wonderful, cherie,” she said. “You are your father’s daughter, you could live off the land if you had to. And live well.”

“It’s not haute cuisine,” I said. “But everything tastes better outdoors.”

“Get me some pine needles, cherie,” she said. “Let me contribute to this meal.”

I gathered some, and she put them in the hot oil residue in the cast iron pan. She stirred them around for a few minutes to make a greenish sauce that she brushed on top of my fish. It gave the fish a tart, pleasing flavor.

“Wow, Mom!” I said. “You can make anything taste better!”

After we ate, we lay side by side and looked up at the stars. Mom held my hand, and I put my arms around her. I kissed her on the lips, as she liked.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for years, Johanna, but I kept putting it off, waiting for the right moment. But I don’t have many moments left, so I’d better do now.”

I opened my mouth but she put up her hand.

“I always wanted you to be more like Roberta. All the time you were growing up, I made you feel second best. That was very wrong of me. I want to tell you that regardless of how I acted, I never loved you less. I love both my daughters equally, but you were always my baby, my little one. The last few years that you have been in New York, I’ve been thinking about all your trials and hurts, and how I often made them worse. I hope you can forgive me.”

I held her and cuddled her.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Mom. I’ve always felt your love. Ever since you cried with me on your lap when Dad died.”

She smiled.

“Did you really hit Gordon Greene that hard?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing. “I got him good.”

*

We camped by Flathead Lake for several nights before packing the car and heading to Dad’s small town. Mom suggested that we drive straight to the old ranch. The new owners were affluent people from California. They had knocked down the old ranch house, bunkhouse, and barn, and built a mega-mansion in its place. It looked out of place in the stark surroundings, and Mom wrinkled her nose.

“I should never have sold it,” she said. “This was your inheritance.”

“No, it was yours, Mom.”

We drove to town and parked in front of the only motel. When we got out of the car, we almost tripped over Regan Jennings, Dad’s old girlfriend.

“Hello, Regan,” Mom said with warmth in her voice. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Marie-Aude von Eschenbach.”

“Of course, I remember you, Mrs. von Eschenbach,” Regan said, a bit of color rising to her cheeks. She turned to me and spoke more easily. “And hi there, Johanna.”

Regan had aged well. She was in her mid-forties, still lean and pretty.

“Johanna and I are in town for a few days, reminiscing,” said Mom. She looked up and down the single street. “Everything seems much the same.”

“A few changes in the faces,” said Regan, regaining her composure.

“Is there a place we could sit down and have a coffee?” asked Mom. Regan looked surprised, so Mom went on. “I would love to talk to you.”

“Sure, sure,” said Regan. “Not much by way of restaurants here, but you’re welcome to stop by my place. I can whip up some coffee.”

A short while later we were in Regan’s cozy living room, sipping coffee, and munching on her homemade cookies. They tasted just as I remembered them.

“I wanted to talk to you about Robert,” said Mom. Her tone soft rather than confrontational, and Regan relaxed. “All of us loved him. You and I were his lovers. You were better to him than me. I’m grateful to you for that.”

“He was fond of me,” said Regan. “But he loved you. He never stopped loving you.”

“I’ve made many mistakes in my life,” said Mom. “But losing Robert was the biggest one.”

“Well, he gave you Johanna,” said Regan. “She’s a treasure.”

“Yes,” said Mom. “In many ways, I’ve been very lucky.”

We stayed for a week. I drove Mom all around the surrounding mountains to show her my favorite spots. Regan packed us picnic lunches and came with us on some of these trips.

On the flight back to Wisconsin, Mom looked exhausted, but her expression was blissful.

“Johanna, I have one last wish,” she said. “And I know it may be difficult, so feel free to refuse. When I die, I would like to buried in the churchyard by your father.”

“But, Mom, we need to get a plot –” I began.

“I already spoke to Regan about it. We got it marked and I already put the money down.”

“Of course, I’ll do it,” I said.

Mom looked out the aircraft window for a while. Suddenly, she looked back at me.

“I’m not a great one for giving advice, Johanna,” she said. “You’ve seen what a mess I made of my life. But learn from my mistakes – don’t do what I did.”

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“I like your boy, this Duane,” she said. “He seems genuine, and I think he loves you.”

“Sometimes he does, Mom.”

“No one loves anyone all the time, Johanna. That was my mistake with your father. He was a man that loved me most of the time. But I expected him to change, to become the man I wanted, one who would love me all the time. And that’s impossible.” She paused. “Do you love him?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Have you told him?”

“He knows. I’ve told him I care for him.”

“Men like to be told, Johanna. You must go to him and tell him. Don’t let him slip away from you.”

Mom seemed to have a sixth sense, and Duane called very soon after we got to her house. He sounded buoyant and in my depressed state, it irritated me.

“Great news, Johanna! The audition was superb! There was a lot of lawyering, and that took quite a bit of time. But the label’s now given me a three-record deal, more money than I’ve made since I was born! Lindwall’s signed on to produce. We recorded the first three tracks last week.”

“That’s great, darling,” I said.

“You don’t sound thrilled,” he said, disappointed.

“Of course, I’m thrilled!” I said. I tried to sound more upbeat but could not keep a slight tinge of annoyance out of my voice.  I thought – My mom’s dying, and you want me to be happy over a stupid record deal.

“I’ve always been there to celebrate your victories with you, Johanna. This is the biggest one of my life! I want you to fly out and celebrate with me. I’ll send you a first-class ticket. I’ve texted you the address of the place the label has rented for me in Santa Monica.”

“I’m sorry, Duane, I can’t come right now. I need to be with my mom.”

“Are you sure? I really want you with me.”

“I’ll come as soon as I can, Duane.”

“Okay,” he said and cut the line abruptly.

I thought of calling him back, but then I didn’t.

*

It seemed like Mom had stored up all her last reserves of strength for the Montana trip. As soon as we got back to Wisconsin, she went downhill very fast. A month after we got back, she could no longer get out of bed, and we both knew the end was near. I called Roberta, and she flew in immediately.

As soon as Roberta arrived, Mom asked us to help her to her bureau and pulled out two velvet-covered jewelry cases. She handed one to Roberta and one to me. I opened mine and the first things I saw were the gold snake pendant with the matching gold bracelets that she’d promised me back when I was fourteen.

“Sell all the rest of the jewelry if you wish,” she said. “But please keep these pieces and pass them on to your children. Each of them has a detailed provenance related to our family history in France.”

Roberta and I took turns sitting by Mom’s bedside 24/7. She tried to be brave and hide her fear from us, and that broke our hearts. We made her as comfortable as we could and gave her opioid pain killers on the schedule the doctor gave us. At first, she refused them, but soon the pain grew so great that she gave in.

“My girls, my girls, my beautiful girls,” she said, in one of her last lucid moments in English. “You two are my greatest achievements. You’ve given me so much joy, so much to be proud of. My life would have been empty without you.”

When it was apparent that she would not last much longer, we followed her wishes and brought in a Catholic priest to administer the last rites.

Mom died in mid-August early in the morning, with Roberta and me each holding one of her hands. I’m not sure she was aware of us, but after a long night of great pain, in the end she was smiling.

*

The next few weeks passed in a blur. We flew with the casket to Montana. Regan and a few of Dad’s old family friends came to the funeral. I’d emailed her cousins in Paris as soon as she died, but none of them came.

We carried out her last wishes and buried her as a von Eschenbach, next to Dad and close to grandma and grandpa. We got the headstone with the exact wording she wanted:

Marie-Aude Thérèse von Eschenbach

Beloved wife of Robert, mother of Roberta and Johanna

I am home

She made no mention of her old aristocratic French family.

Neither Roberta nor I had the stomach to go back to Wisconsin. We called the lawyer and asked if we could settle the immediate matters pertaining to Mom’s will and estate by mail and email. We were relieved when he agreed.

We flew back to Chicago together on our return tickets. We held each other and cried a lot. We checked into a hotel, just to give ourselves some space and time. We had dinner at a restaurant in the Loop. We ate in silence, each with our private thoughts. The anonymity of the big city was comforting.

“Let’s go to a bar,” said Roberta after dinner.

This was uncharacteristic, for my sister was not much of a drinker. Most of her alcoholic consumption consisted of wine with a meal. Her expression was distant, almost vacant, and it worried me.

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to upset her.

We went into the first bar we found, a bit of a dive. There were some women there, but it soon became clear that we were the only unaccompanied ones. We seated ourselves on barstools and Roberta ordered a shot of tequila. I asked for a beer. Roberta tossed it back and asked for another one. And then a third. And a fourth.

She was thirty-six, blonde and gorgeous, and her rapid-fire drinking caught the attention of every man in the bar. She’d had six shots when two paunchy, broad-shouldered forty-somethings in business suits came up beside us.

“The next few rounds are on me, beautiful,” said one, putting a hand on her waist.

The other stood behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hello, boys,” said Roberta, in a throaty voice.

“Get lost,” I said.

“Hey, hey,” said the guy who had spoken. “I wasn’t talking to you.” He looked me up and down mockingly. “Not interested in you, anyway. The lady and I were just getting friendly.”

“I’m in, too,” said the other guy. “She said ‘boys’.”

“I did say boys,” said Roberta, batting her eyelashes.

Roberta always spoke clear as a bell, but she was slurring now and it was obvious that she was drunk.

“She’s my sister,” I said. “If you guys don’t leave us alone, I’ll punch your lights out.”

“Will you, now?” said the first guy.

“Not in here,” said the barman. “You want to fight, you go outside. There’s a vacant lot out back.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you, sister,” said the second guy. “Thad here was a boxer in college.”

“Don’t get into it, Johanna,” said Roberta, with a lopsided smile. “I’ll go out with these gentlemen. They seem very friendly.”

“Oh, we’re very friendly,” said the second guy. “We’ll show you how friendly out back.”

“Oh,” said Roberta, striking her forehead. “I was going to call Jack as soon as I got in, he lives in Chicago. Let me do that before I forget.”

“No, no,” said Thad, the first guy. “You don’t want to call Jack. Walker and I are right here, we’re all you need.”

“Call him,” I said, clutching at any delay. “Call him right now.”

As she fumbled with her phone, the two guys bought a flight of six shots. We could hear her end of the conversation.

“Jack, Jack,” she mumbled, with the phone on her ear. “It’s me, Roberta… I’m here in Chicago….in the Loop… in a bar… I’m with Johanna and these two nice gentlemen… they want to go out back with me… What? What?” She put her hand on the phone and leaned over toward the barman. “What’s the name of this bar? The Loop Tavern… Okay, okay.”

She looked at the two men and me triumphantly.

“Jack says to have a few drinks first,” she said. “Before I head out back.”

I got her to sip her shots rather than chug them and managed to kill half an hour. They had their hands all over my sister. I couldn’t stop them for she didn’t resist and worse, giggled uncontrollably every time they touched her intimately.

“Okay,” said Thad, when they’d finished the six shots. “Let’s go, Roberta. You won’t regret it!”

“Sure, sure,” she said absently.

They hustled her out the back door. I went to the pool table, and ignoring the shouts of the bartender, took a cue and followed them out back. By the time I got out, they had her against the back wall of the tavern with her dress hiked up around her waist. Thad had a hand on her crotch, and the other guy, Walker, was unzipping his trousers.

I raised the pool cue. But before I could say or do anything, the tavern back door opened again and a tall, athletic man emerged. He walked up quickly, got Thad by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off Roberta. Holding him effortlessly with one hand, he pointed at the other guy with a menacing forefinger.

“Zip up your pants,” he said. His voice was gravelly, very masculine. “Before I cut your dick off.”

He released Thad saying, “Now get the hell out of here, assholes.”

Thad put his fists saying, “You want a piece of me? Try me!”

The tall man simply looked at him and said, “I suggest you leave.”

Thad rushed him, and the next thing I knew, Thad was on his back on the ground, blood running from his nose.

“Oh fuck!” he wailed. “I’m going to sue you ….”

“Let me hit you again so you have something to show in court.”

The tall man took a step forward, and both guys turned tail and fled.

He looked over at me, took in the pool cue in my hands, and an amused expression creased his face. I saw now that he was a very good-looking man and wore a jacket over a black turtleneck.

“I guess I needn’t have come,” he said. “You look like you had the situation under control, Johanna.”

He went over and straightened Roberta’s clothing. She leaned on him, as he led us out the alley instead of going through the bar.

“I’m Jack Halvorsen,” he said, when we got to the sidewalk.

“Thanks, Jack,” I said.

“Where are you staying?”

I gave him the name of our hotel, he flagged down a cab, and almost before I knew it, we were back in our room, sitting on the wide king bed. The whole episode at the bar seemed like a bad dream – except that Roberta was very, very drunk.

In the room, she progressed from being nearly unconscious to babbling.

“Jack, Jack, I knew you’d come!” she said, clinging to him “I’ve missed you, Jack.”

“It’s been a few years, Bobbie.”

“Bobbie?” I said.

“I’ve always called her Bobbie,” he said.

“Yeah, Jack and Bobbie,” said Roberta in a singsong, childish voice. “Bobbie and Jack. Bobbie and Jack made a baby. A baby!”

“What?” I was aghast.

“She didn’t tell you?” he asked.

“No!”

“Jack fucks Bobbie,” Roberta lilted. “So hard! So good! Fuck me tonight, Jack!”

She rubbed her beautiful breasts on him, slid down on to the bed, and fell asleep.

“Well, so much for that,” said Jack, smiling.

“Roberta and I wrote naughty stories about a man named Jack Grierson,” I said. “I thought it was all her imagination. But he was you, wasn’t he?” I looked into his twinkling blue eyes. “Is there any truth to her fictional tales about you? About the women you’ve had? About how sex with you drives women wild?”

“I enjoy giving women pleasure,” he said. “I enjoy sex.”

“How long have you known my sister?”

“Since she was a freshman in college,” he said. “In Boston. I’ve always loved her. But I’m no good for her. I knew that from the start.”

“What about this baby?”

“I got her pregnant as a sophomore. But we both knew that we couldn’t handle a baby then. She put our baby up for adoption. A little blonde girl with an Ivy League mother like Roberta – there was a queue a mile long for her at the agency, so we could be very picky. She was adopted by a college professor and his wife in Boston. Her adoptive parents love her madly. I see her every chance I get.”

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered. “I have a niece. She must be in high school by now. What about Roberta?”

“I guess it’s much more difficult for the mother, especially with a daughter. She has a lot of guilt. She can’t bring herself to face our daughter. But she talks to me for hours about her.”

“Roberta’s been like a second mother to me. My only mother, now that our mom has passed.”

“She’s a princess, your sister,” Jack said, looking down at her breathing steadily and deeply in her sleep. “I’m her knave. She always comes to me when she’s broken or hurt. She wants hard sex from me, nothing else. To forget whatever pain she’s feeling.”

“That’s so unfair to you,” I said.

“It’s all I deserve.”

“So that’s why she called you tonight. She just wants to numb all the hurt from the passing of our mother. So she drinks herself into oblivion and calls her Jack.”

“Yes,” he said, standing up. “Well, she’s in good hands now. Take care of her. I’ll be going.”

I stood up as well.

“She’s not the only one in pain.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there with his hands in his pockets.

“Just because I didn’t get drunk and throw myself at strange men doesn’t mean I’m not hurting.”

I unbuttoned my blouse to show him my bra and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Don’t, Johanna,” he said.

“I’ve always been the second sister. The flat-chested one. The less attractive one.”

“It’s not a competition, Johanna. You’re beautiful in your own way.”

He turned to go.

“So beautiful that even when I throw myself at a man, he walks away.”

“You want someone to fuck you? You want hard sex? I’ll be your toy if you want.”

“No,” I said in a low voice. “I don’t want you to be my toy. But I do want to be held tonight.”

“Okay,” he said.

Jack slept with me that night. He held me tight and gave me warmth. But we didn’t have sex. Looking back, it seems almost impossible. I knew I aroused him, for I felt his cock against me, skin to skin. He was hard and absolutely massive, leaking strong-smelling pre-cum. To say that I was tempted would be an understatement. If he had made the slightest move on me, I would have rolled him over and impaled myself on his huge, hard organ. 

But I thought of Duane, of the wedding in my dream, and I resisted the temptation. Eventually, I fell asleep, feeling safe and sheltered.

In the morning, I woke before him. I lightly traced the many scars on his perfect body, lingering on the two bullet pockmarks on his lower back and the special forces tattoos on his forearms. I thought my touch was so delicate that he was unaware. But then he opened his eyes, and I realized that he had been awake all along.

*

It was September and there was nothing waiting for me in New York, so I flew to San Fran with Roberta. I stayed with her for a few days, still sunk in my grief, still not quite aware of the passage of time. In that small window, her boyfriend Owen Lawler asked her to marry him, and she said yes. But it didn’t fully register with me till he took us out for lunch on the weekend to mark the occasion. The tension between the two of us was still there and the outing was not a success.

“You should call your boyfriend Duane,” Roberta said when we got home. “It’s been a long time, months by now. He must be worried about you.”

I realized that I hadn’t even told him about Mom.

“I’ll go down and surprise him,” I said. “I have his address in LA.”

I flew down that afternoon. The grief of Mom’s passing was still there, but the thought of picking up my life with Duane again was a step toward coming to terms with it. On the way from the airport to his place, I began to feel increasingly excited.

I knew that real estate in California is crazy expensive, so I was knocked for a loop by his place in Santa Monica. It was huge and just a few blocks from the beach, obviously worth millions. The record label was clearly treating him well. I looked at it for a moment, letting the reality of his success sink in. Then I rang the doorbell and waited, deciding to throw myself into his arms as soon as he opened the door.

But it was answered by a tanned athletic blonde with pale blue eyes, wearing a bikini and flipflops. She looked like a movie starlet and was very young. I was not yet twenty-five, but she made me feel old.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Duane Byrne,” I said.

“Who’re you?”

“My name is Johanna,” I said. “Is this the right place? Is he home?”

“Yes, and yes,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and yelled, “Duane! Someone to see you!”

It took a few minutes before Duane arrived, wearing swim trunks, a T-shirt, and sandals. He stopped when he saw me, and I could see that he was shocked.

“Johanna! You didn’t call!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text. But I’m here now.”

“Well, come in,” he said.

He led the way through the opulent house to the predictable pool out back and went to the wet bar.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“No, I just want to talk to you.” I glanced at the blonde. “Alone.”

“Listen up, Johanna,” said the blonde. “You’re not talking to my boyfriend without me.”

“Please, Duane,” I begged.

He looked conflicted, but finally said to the blonde, “Barb, I’ll just be a short while.”

“Where are you taking her?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t gracious either.

“The coffee shop on main. The one we always go to.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Duane and I walked back through the house and through a series of utility rooms to the garage. There was a brand-new Mustang convertible parked alongside a beat-up Subaru. The top of the Mustang was down, and he hopped in without opening the door. I did the same on the passenger side, and he drove to the coffee shop, fast and confidently.

“You look like you’ve adjusted to California,” I said as he drove.

“I like it here,” he said. “It’s not depressing like New York.”

“Well, you’re doing very well here. I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

He did not respond, and the conversation died. He parked in front of the coffee shop, we went in, and he bought us coffees and croissants. We sat at an outdoor table.

“You have a new girlfriend,” I said, stating the obvious.

I tried to keep the bitchiness out of my voice but did not succeed.

“What did you expect me to do, Johanna? You didn’t text or call, wouldn’t come out here when I invited you to celebrate my record deal. I thought you were done with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t communicate with you, Duane. My mom died. I was very close to her, I had to be with her in her last days. I just didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with anyone or anything else.”

“We were headed for a breakup anyway,” he said. “This seems a natural outcome.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said. “I thought you loved me. You told me so, dozens of times.”

“I thought I did, Johanna. But toward the end of our time in New York, I realized that the girl I loved was mostly in my imagination.”

“What did I do wrong?” I asked, my voice low.

“I couldn’t quite put my finger on it till Barb pointed it out,” he said. “But once she did, it was all crystal clear.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You always made me feel inadequate, Johanna. Like that time at Gore Mountain on that incredibly steep slope, Rumor. I kept saying that the warning signs at the top meant that it was too hard for me, but you talked me into it.”

“You got down fine, Duane. You just needed to loosen up, and you would have enjoyed it.”

“I was petrified! And just to make me feel even more stupid, you showed how easy it was for you, did that huge jump over the headwall. Then you skied off the edge of the slope into the trees through those incredibly narrow gaps and back out again. At the time, I thought you were just crazy, but looking back, I see that you were asserting your superiority.”

“I never meant to make you feel less of a man, Duane.”

“And it wasn’t just you. When your mother visited, she played those incredibly complex pieces on my keyboards, then had you play duets with her. I’m a professional musician and I couldn’t play with her nearly as well. You always tore me down like that, undermining my self-confidence.”

“You’re just not very good at reading music, Duane. Plus, I was used to her. You’re a brilliant musician. I just play a bit, I’m not in your class.”

“I could see in her eyes your mother thought I was worthless.”

“Mom was never judgmental!” I said sharply. “She was one of the best pianists in the world, but she never flaunted her genius. She was kind and understanding, always spoke highly of you. Don’t speak ill of her, I won’t have it.”

Thinking of Mom, I thought my heart would break. I wanted to disappear, to be alone and mourn. But she’d seen good in Duane, so I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“When did you meet Barb?”

“Soon after I moved into this house. She works nearby, I met her on the beach.”

“She’s very beautiful. What does she do?”

“She works in a surf shop.” He smiled and seemed relieved with this retreat into banal conversation. “And auditions for modeling and acting jobs. California cliché.”

“Is she a good surfer? Teach you to surf?”

“She can barely get up on a board. She mostly models them on the beach.”

“I see. Is she musical?”

“No. But she enjoys my music.” He looked at me, his expression hardening. “I know you’re trying to belittle her, but it won’t work, Johanna. Barb builds me up, she gives me confidence. She tells me she loves me all the time, and her love makes me feel like I’m invincible. Whereas with you, I always felt afraid. That time with the mugger, and then again at that bachelor party, it all came together for me. You’re just too ‘take charge’, Johanna, all this energy and strength, no softness, no femininity. For all those times I told you I loved you, you never once told me you loved me back.”

“I love you, Duane. I always did. I thought my actions spoke louder than words.” My voice broke, and I began to cry. “I’d do anything to help you, anything to keep you safe. I’d debase myself for you, I’d take a bullet for you.”

It was the wrong thing to say, for it pointed to exactly the things he said he didn’t like about me. I saw his eyes grow distant.

“I want a lover, not a bodyguard,” he said.

I wiped my eyes, but the tears kept dribbling out. I could see I was making him uncomfortable, so I looked down to keep my tears away from him. I made a last-ditch attempt.

“I’ll do anything, Duane. I’ll change, I’ll try to be what you want. I’ll learn to be feminine, and soft. Please give me a chance. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if you want.”

“No, Johanna,” he said. “I’m very happy with Barb. She’s the one for me. She’s all woman.”

He left ‘and you’re not’ unsaid but both of us knew it was there. I stood up and wiped my eyes again. I dried my right hand on my skirt and offered it to him. He stood up as well and shook my hand formally.

“Goodbye, Duane. I’ll hope you’re happy and successful. I’ll always wish for the best for you. I never meant to undermine you or weaken you. Quite the reverse. I love you.” I wanted him to give me one last Duane smile, where his eyes crinkled and he showed his dimples. But he remained stone-faced and I felt a pain in my chest. “I’m sorry, Duane. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I turned and walked away down the sidewalk.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” he called out to my back.

I was still crying quietly and didn’t want to show him my face, so I kept walking without replying.

*

I would have gone back to Roberta’s, but I didn’t want to see Owen again. And I didn’t want to upset things between her and her new fiancé. I decided to call Jack, surprised at how he had suddenly grown so large in my life.

“I need you, Jack,” I said.

I began to sob. I tried to choke the sobs back, but I only made myself sound worse.

“Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

“I’m in LA. But I’d like to go to New York.”

“Text me your address in New York.”

“I don’t have any money. I don’t know how I’ll get there.”

“Go to LAX, to the American service desk. There’ll be a plane ticket to Newark for you, along with some money. I’ll meet your flight when you land.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“I love the von Eschenbach girls,” he said.

“You sound like Dad,” I said, feeling a little better.

I’d never said that to any man before.

“I was Army, not Marines,” he said. “But I’m very flattered.”

Jack was there to receive me at Newark as he promised. He had taken a flight from Chicago and arrived just a short while before me. I took him to the apartment that I had shared with Duane in Jersey City.

He let me babble at him for hours, sniffling and bawling at regular intervals. He did not interrupt or say much, but he did put his strong arms around me. I don’t know how he did it, but he comforted me without words, just by being there.

Later that night I finally said, “I’ve been acting as though my problems are bigger and more important than anyone else’s, Jack. But you must have your own problems. Will your wife be upset if you spend the night here?”

“Ex-wife. She won’t care one way or the other. Not much love left there.”

“Was there ever any?”

“About ten years’ worth. It was my fault, I was never home, and was not the most faithful husband. She eventually got tired of all the waiting, all the cheating.”

“Children?”

“A boy and a girl. Both adults now, both their mother’s children. Not had much success in my personal life.”

“Nor mine,” I said.

“Let’s get a drink,” he said, rising. “This is your neighborhood, you choose.”

I thought of taking him to the one I always went to, but remembered it was Duane’s favorite and changed my mind. Instead, I took him to a rooftop place that was frequented by businesspeople. It had a nice view of Manhattan and Jack pronounced himself satisfied.

“We’ve only just met, Johanna,” he said to me, once we had beers and seats with a view. “But I feel like I’ve known you for years. Roberta and you are so close, you know how much she loves you. But you may not know how proud she is of you.”

“She’s proud of me? That’s backwards! She’s the gifted one, I’ve always been second best.”

“Not according to her.”

“Why didn’t you marry her back when you got her pregnant?” I asked, suddenly curious.

“We talked about it. But decided that we were too much like your parents. And that hadn’t worked out very well.”

“I can see that,” I said.

He looked pensive and did not speak for a while. We were surprisingly easy with each other and it was not uncomfortable.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. “About your dad.”

“Did you know him?”

“Not personally. But when he died, Roberta pushed me to find out all about it. I looked around, and eventually found a friend of a friend who’d been with him in that action.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want to make things worse by bringing up painful memories., Johanna. Especially now.”

"I’d like to know, especially if Roberta already does,” I said.

“I wasn’t there, so I can’t give you the long story. But I heard it from one of the marines who was there, he was eighteen years old at the time. He was with a rifle squad that was patrolling a neighborhood in Falluja that our intelligence claimed was ‘pacified’ and was controlled by a militia that supported us. Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell the militia that. The dozen marines in the squad came under heavy fire, found themselves surrounded by over 500 militiamen. When they called in for extraction. Your dad was in a convoy of three armored Humvees doing surveillance in a neighboring area. They diverted there immediately, finding the squad pinned down, two of them dead and the others all too badly wounded to move on their own. Your dad and another marine made trips from the Humvees to the building and carried the guys out, two at a time. Your dad was hit on his last trip. Badly wounded, he still managed to drag the last marine to the shelter of the Humvee. They tried to patch him up on the way back, but he died before they could get him to surgery.”

I sat looking out the big picture window at the Manhattan skyline. Jack did not say anything further. A waiter came by and we ordered something to eat.

“I’m sorry if I brought up painful memories,” said Jack after we finished eating.

“Dad was always there for those who needed help,” I said. “Thank you for telling me.”

We went back to my apartment together.

“Will you sleep with me?” I asked once we were inside.

“Sleep with you or have sex with you?”

“Your choice,” I said, with a tired smile.

“Sleep,” he said.

“You could at least pretend to be tempted,” I replied. “I’m not that bad in bed.”

I turned and went to the bedroom, affecting to be in huff. He followed me and put his arms around my waist. He kissed my forehead and pressed his lower body against mine. I felt the hardness of his incipient erection through our clothes.

“You are so tempting that it’s taking every fiber of my being to resist,” he whispered.

“Don’t resist,” I whispered back. “You had sex with Roberta, you can have sex with me.”

I unbuttoned my blouse and unzipped my skirt slowly with exaggerated stripper movements. He picked me up and carried me to the bed in my bra and panties. I was not a small girl – 5’8”, 125 pounds – and was surprised by how easily he did it. He lay down beside me and cuddled me.

“You’re in a vulnerable state right now, Johanna. Taking advantage of that would be no better than rape.”

“I’m not vulnerable, Jack, I’m strong. I’ve got no softness, no femininity, that’s what Duane just told me.”

He kissed my forehead again.

“Let me tell you something, Johanna. There are three kinds of people in this world. Most people are sheep, they flock together, conform, chew the grass, and hope for the best. Others are wolves, they have sharp teeth and prey on the sheep in one way or the other. And then there are a few sheepdogs. They have sharp teeth too, but they’re protectors, not predators. They stand between the ravening wolves and the helpless sheep.”

He stroked my hair.

“Both wolves and sheepdogs have sharp teeth, so often sheep can’t tell them apart and hate both equally. Even when they can tell the difference, they still hate the sheepdogs, because they make them feel weak, inadequate.”

He kissed the tip of my nose.

“You’re a sheepdog, Johanna, like your dad. You’re hard on the outside, soft on the inside. But most people can’t see the inside. They can’t see that your psyche is torn, bleeding, because you hide it so well. That’s the sheepdog in you – you protect everyone but yourself.”

I felt tiredness coming on and yawned.

“I think I love you, Jack Halvorsen,” I said, sleepily.

“Rebound romances never work,” replied Jack with a smile.