Outbound

She bought a little place in town, a three bedroom house, and when Jennie seemed put out by that I told her she didn't need to worry; as far as I could tell Niki wasn't into guys...

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She told me she's not into guys, okay?"

"You mean she's a...?"

"Hey, I didn't go there..."

Which seemed to put an end to that -- for the time being, anyway.

And so, there we were, down on Troubadour. Tracy walking the deck and me holding on for dear life, with Niki in the cockpit staring at my ass -- or so she said -- and when we came back to sit in the shade for a while Niki leaned over and said something along the lines of "I'm late."

"Oh? How long?"

"A week?"

I shrugged. "That doesn't mean a thing."

"I know, but I feel it."

"That means something."

She grinned. "I know, Papa."

A week later, she knew. She returned to the States, began planning for a life in New Zealand. I began dreaming of a life away from women, then remembered I had a little girl who needed a father, and another who'd join us in four months. Yes, we knew now we had another girl coming and all of a sudden it looked like the very idea of sailing away was about to be buried under a pile of soiled diapers.

Then Shelly called. Thank God.

MCA wanted to know if...

"I'll be on the next flight up."

And I sat on a DC-10 thinking about diapers. Cause and effect, ya know. You use it often enough and odds are you're going to make babies. Trouble is, I knew now, I didn't want a bunch of babies. I wanted to be on Troubadour. I didn't want responsibility. I didn't want to take care of any lives beyond my own, and possibly Terry. And Terry was this self-contained fuck machine whose only interest seemed to be getting me off then disappearing into the woodwork. She was, I realized, every man's ideal playmate, and she was mine. When I wanted her. If not, just get on a plane and fly away. Come back in a few months when I needed to get laid without any head trips.

But that's not how it works, Bucko.

You fuck someone you love, you have kids you love and you get them going down the road to finding love. You don't find a girl and make her your pretend wife. You don't fuck a girl and leave her in a funny farm, take her kid and then sail away, leaving all these kids with the pretend wife. Now the pretend wife's big sister was carrying my baby too. No strings attached -- "Just get me pregnant!" -- and she'll take care of the rest.

But what was Berkeley really all about?

Wasn't it 'Freedom!'

Free speech. Free love. Open marriages. Like hummingbirds flying from flower to flower, dipping our wicks into each new golden honey pot, depositing our seed and moving on, flying to the next flower, falling in love for a half hour then flying out the window. Who knows what I left behind?

MCA wanted me to produce Niki's first real album.

Niki had flown straight to LA, flown to see Shelly, flown to get me to come back to LA. Flown to set her own trap. Trap the hummingbird, cage him, stop him from flying away again. I saw myself flying over the Pacific, my wings growing tired as I flew from flower to flower, then flying into a new house, Niki slamming the windows shut behind me, trapping me. Then diapers everywhere. Little white surrender flags covered in shit, and out the window, in the distance, a boat, sailing away. I'm hovering on the wrong side of the glass, trying to find a way back out to Freedom, but Freedom was the trap, wasn't it?

No, I had freedom and it trapped me.

Is freedom supposed to work like that?

What is Freedom? Why was Freedom a trap?

Someone was pushing on me and I woke up, saw downtown LA out the window, looked up and saw a stewardess telling me to get my seatback up and I shook the dream away -- but it didn't want to leave just yet. Like a bad aftertaste this dream was lingering, telling me to wake up before it was too late.

I looked out the window, saw the ground reaching up for me, saw Century City off in the distance. Home. I was home again. Terry would be home. Terry, with her silk legs opening to receive my seed, then flying from window to window, trying to find my way back to Freedom. Always these circles, nipping at the heels.

Part IV

She was wearing the deepest blue, blue -- like her eyes.

Shocking electric blue lingerie. And she was so beautiful sprawled out on the bed, my cum on her face. My sweat mingling with hers.

"God, I've missed you," she whispered.

"I can't keep doing this, Terry," I cried. I can't keep leaving you, wanting you and not having you. It's going to kill me, and I'm afraid it might kill you too."

"What's happened, Aaron?"

I told her about Niki and she smiled.

"So, you think she wants to trap you?"

"What else could it be?"

"Hormones. Hormonally induced insecurity. She wants to be loved right now, to be spoon fed love until that baby comes, but by then she won't have any left to give you."

"What should I do?"

"Give me your cock."

And she worked me back to life -- and I fell inside her again, like Lucifer falling through the clouds. Her physical perfection was all that I craved, her seared emotional landscape the only place left where life made any kind of sense. Her blue silk cradling my face, licking the sides of her feet while I arced into her, electric need spilling between us in endless electron flows, and when the trembling began again I turned to pure, solid spasm and yes, my seed drifted within her honey -- again.

Her hands on my face, she is licking me. Her legs have wrapped around me and she is pulling me inward again. I am on my hands, over her now, breathing hard, sweat falling again and all I feel is this liquid warmth between us. My spreading seed, her encasing flows all mingling now. Her hands coaxing me down, my lips to hers, all warm breath as tongues join, as I feel my skin so perfectly mated to hers. We fit. Together. Perfectly.

She is moving under me again, trembling anew. I feel it in her thighs, then inside her, and she has hands inside her womb milking me. Something inside grasping me, pulling me, forcing every drop of need from my body -- into hers.

"I love you so," she whispers.

I am shaking my head, now totally aware there is only one woman I'll ever truly love, and she is here, under me, and I feel so ashamed. A deceiver. Only the one person I deceived the most is me. My deceptions have led these other women on, onward into unjustified hope. Maybe I would burn in Hell if only I believed in such things, but for now I would burn inside Terry McKay -- and let the rest of the world look away. They could burn without me now -- just please, leave me inside Terry.

"I can't spend another day without you by my side," I said.

-- And she looked away.

A telling look. Like the kind that makes you think about the handwriting on the wall.

"I've met someone, Aaron. I'm leaving soon, for England. I may not be back, as a matter of fact."

"Really? What was this, then? My goodbye fuck?"

"No, I love you, but I wasn't sure I could go on like this. So I, well, I started to look for options."

"And you've found one?"

"I think so."

"It's what you want?"

"No, it isn't. Not really."

"But you're going to anyway?"

"Yes, I think so. Because I think it's what you need, too. Get me out of your system, put these dalliances out reach, someplace where you can't easily get to them. Take care of Jennie and Tracy -- and Niki, too."

"Maybe you weren't listening just now. You know, the part where I said I can't live without you?"

"You can. And you will."

"So, marry me, Terry. Stay with me. Let's finish this thing together. See where life takes us, you and me."

She shook her head, smiled at me. "I've got to let you grow up now, Aaron. Let you live up to the burden of your responsibilities. These are your children, Aaron, not mine, and not ours. You're going to have to face that. That you are a father now. That people depend on you."

"And then what? I die inside -- I die every day we're apart?"

"You raise your kids. You give them all the love I know you can. You teach them music, you teach them to paint. You love Jennie, maybe not like you love me, but you love her. You be a mensch, not a nobody."

"I can't believe this is happening."

"Aaron? If you need me, as a friend, I'll be there."

I shook my head, looked at her like she'd just knifed me in the gut, then I stood, held out my hand and helped her up. We held hands as we walked to the shower, and I bathed her, now trying to program the feel of her through our wet skin. While she dresses I notice all her clothes are gone from her closet, and I know she'll be leaving soon. While I'm drying off I hear the phone and go to take the call, and it's Shelly.

"So, you're in?"

"I am."

"Meeting at MCA, ten in the morning. Iron out the contract. I think I got you good terms."

"How'd you make out from the concert?"

"Amazing."

"So, I made some money too?"

"You didn't get me statement?"

"Nope."

"I'll bring it along with me tomorrow, but you did well, Aaron. Pops would be proud."

"So, where's Niki?"

"At the Beverly Hills. Registered as Rooster Cogburn, if you want to call."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Original, isn't it?"

"Right. Well, I'll see you in the morning."

When I turned around Terry was nowhere to be seen. Her car was gone, too, and the only thing she'd left was her lingerie and heels. I went to the kitchen and got a Baggie and put her things in the bag and sealed it shut, then walked around the house, looking at her life -- and Pop's -- spread out around the house. The place was, I saw, more a museum now that any kind of home, and I walked down to the studio, now wide awake despite the hour. I looked at the studio and my keyboards, then the phone rang and I walked over and picked it up.

"You're going to be okay," Terry said.

"Am I?"

"The spare key to my car is on the kitchen table; it's parked in the garage opposite International Departures, building 7, third floor, space C79. Do you have something to write with?"

"Yup."

She read out her phone number, where she'd be in London, and I committed the number to memory. "If that changes, I'll leave word with Shelly."

"Okay."

"Aaron? Don't ever think I did this because I've fallen out of love with you. I haven't. I can't. But we can't go on like this, can we?"

"Marry me, Terry. Stay with me."

"Call me in a few months. Do the right thing, Aaron. Not for me, but for us."

Then the line went dead and I sighed, looked at the numbers on the paper like they were a lifeline, and I sat down and looked around my studio.

I'd be bringing this room back to life tomorrow, but could I -- without Terry?

What could I do without her?

I sat in the near dark thinking about what she really meant to me, and I knew she was right. Life would go on. I would write music without her. Good music. Maybe not great, but we'd see.

Then the phone rang again and I snatched it up: "Hello?"

"It's me. Niki. Are you still up?"

"I slept on the plane."

"Could I come over?"

"Sure. Door's open, I'm downstairs."

"Is it close enough? Could I walk?"

"You could, but it's not something I'd recommend at three in the morning, not it LA."

"Don't you have a car there?"

"No. Terry left it at the airport -- I've got to run out and get it."

"What?"

"Terry left."

"For good?"

"Sounds that way."

"I'll be right there," she said, hanging up the phone.

And sure enough, I heard the front door shut about ten minutes later, then heard her coming down the stairs and into the studio. I was still sitting, inert, in the darkness. Still thinking about life after Terry -- and she came right to me and sat, took me in her arms and cradled me.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I felt too burned up inside for tears, for much of anything, but Niki got that...

"How's the baby?" I asked after a bit.

"Good."

"You been writing any songs?"

"I tried, but I'm not sure I know how, really. I think I'll rely on you this time out. Maybe teach me the basics, how you go about it."

"Got any lyrics yet?"

"Yeah. Ten songs I think are okay. A few that aren't."

"Oh? We'll look at those first. Got 'em with you?"

"I brought everything with me."

"Yeah?"

"I wanted...could I move in with you?"

I thought for a minute, then nodded my head. "Yeah, sure."

Terry was right. Niki was insecure. She needed love. And in the end, I was sure there'd be nothing left for me -- but what the fuck, ya know? What the fuck.

+++++

I tried to pretend Niki was Terry, that Niki could be my muse, but the energy was different. Not wrong, but different. Niki was a hot, wet towel draped over my face, suffocating, maybe, after the initial surge of comfort. Her lyrics were inconsequential, too, mid-western white bread. Empty love songs, all longing without purpose.

She liked country music, the real old southern country stuff, and she liked rock, but she was trying to blend the two without any idea of the structure she wanted. Creating something new out of the two forms was going to be tricky at best, because country music wasn't structured like rock. Because there was a fairly generous antipathy between Southern Country and the rest of the music world. Yet that's where she wanted to go.

So it would have to be soft-rock infused country music, a commercialized amalgam of styles I'd never tried before. I wasn't even sure why she wanted me to help her with this, as there were others who could take her into these uncharted waters a lot better than I. Still, she liked to curl up on the bed, and she even got into the whole lingerie and heels thing too, which was odd. Like she wanted to be Terry McKay, but could never be. She wanted to be sexy, and she tried to be without ever realizing that sexy is not something you can try to be. You either are or you are not, and she wasn't.

And that was a problem, too. She wanted to project sex in her album, which meant photoshoots for the album art would have to project sex, but who the devil thought sex would appeal to a Southern Country audience?

Well, color me wrong.

MCA hired a photographer who normally shot the wide open spaces for the likes of Penthouse, and with makeup artists in tow they worked for two days getting just the right look. Kind of Nashville's idea of a cowboy's hooker from hell, with no pubes or nipples and just a little symbolism to placate the Baptist set, the image reflected what I thought would be the best song of the lot, a mushy ballad called Rocking Chair. The engineers thought my Mellotrons and Moogs sounded a little too insincere so I yanked those out and inserted a seventy piece orchestra into the mix, to the tune of about 20 grand at union scales, but it sounded nice. When the single of Rocking Chair was sent to country stations around LA for a tryout it shot to number one in two days.

Then Jennie called.

"You ever coming home?"

"Yeah. We should wrap it up inside a week."

"How's Terry?"

"She's gone. Left for London, for good."

A long pause followed, then: "How's Niki?"

"She's not Terry, so don't worry."

"She told Dad she's pregnant. Any idea who the father is?"

"Nope. But nothing would surprise me. She's gotten kinda popular out here."

"What are you doing...for company?"

"Waiting to get back home."

"Yeah? You? Playing it all faithful?"

"Am I that bad?"

She laughed. "Aaron, you're a four-wheel drive cock -- in overdrive. Always on the go."

I laughed at that. "Wow. Now that's an image."

"I don't know why I love you, but I do?"

"Yeah? Well, I love you, and I know why."

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"I'll show you when I get home."

"Promises, promises."

"How's Tracy?"

"Eating like a horse. Asking about you."

"Shit."

"Yeah. She needs her daddy."

"I need her, too. How's the spud?"

"She's kicking a lot. I think she wants to get out, go for a walk on the beach."

"Maybe I should get a bigger house, one I could put a studio in, ya know?"

"If that means you stay here more, I'm all for it."

"This stuff with Niki might take off. Her first single is going to be big."

"Really?"

"Really."

"This is exciting...!"

"Unexpected, but I think we make an interesting team. Kind of like Electric Karma meets Hank Williams, Jr."

She laughed again. "Oh, gawd..."

"Yeah, driving me nuts. Deni would kill me, but it's a challenge, in a good way. Stepping outside my comfort zone...learning a lot."

And I was. That was the funny thing about it. Even the western musicians who came over to the studio had something to teach, and they learned stuff from me, too. Because in the end we were musicians, just trying to tell the stories, ya know?

Once we wrapped up the sessions we sent the tapes over to Burbank and waited for the word, and Niki went seriously Terry on me, nasty lingerie and nastier talk, and that night the L-word started slipping into her conversation more and more. I guess it had to happen. The thing is, I was starting to have real feelings for her too. I was gentle with her that night, like I didn't want to give the baby a rough ride, but I felt a tenderness towards her I hadn't felt before, too. The way I held her face, kissed her. The way she took me in her mouth, the way she hungrily told me she wanted it all. The way she swallowed, then looked up at me.

The guys at MCA were effusive the next morning, and there was talk of a concert deal.

"Count me out, guys," I said. "I've got kids to take care of."

So yeah, a studio musician could take my place on the road, no big deal, but with Niki starting to show concerts weren't what she needed to be setting out to do.

"Maybe after the baby," she said, and the studio reluctantly agreed.

So, I picked up the house, called an interior decorator and when the gal came over I told her I wanted the house redone, completely -- "Just leave my studio functionally alone," then Niki and I packed up and left for Auckland.

Jennie knew, of course. I don't know how, maybe Niki told her, but no doubt she could see it in her sister's eyes, too. Yet it didn't seem to make a difference. I was back in the same bedroom with her and that was all that seemed to matter. I found a nice place on Mellons Bay and started work on a bigger studio, met with an architect to get the project going, met with a musician's group and a few local politicians, outlined plans for a few new albums to see if I'd have community support, then I turned my attention to Troubadour.

She'd been neglected and it showed, but the damage was cosmetic and easily fixed. I started taking Tracy out several times a week, getting her used to the motion, and Jennie asked if she could come and I was adamant: not until after the baby. Same with Niki, for that matter.

Michelle was born that autumn, well, it was spring down there, and with her mother's reddish-blond curls she was gorgeous, a real green eyed lady. Granma Michelle came down to spend a month with us, and that turned to four months -- but only because the weather was so damn nice. Uh-huh, right.

But Granma Michelle was also the one to pick up on the Niki vibe. She was lady enough to not ask about it, but I could see the awareness in her eyes. I was also the one behind her oldest daughter's sudden stardom, her debut album shooting up the country charts and earning her daughter some serious money, so maybe she didn't want to rock the boat, or maybe she just didn't understand -- whatever -- she was polite to me, but that was all. And that was enough, for me. I couldn't help who I was any more than I could stop Niki or Jennie from feeling about me the way they did, and everyone was copacetic about things so there wasn't any point in rocking the boat, was there?

In the end, I was father to all their grandkids but Tracy, yet they considered Tracy their's too.