Son of a Preacher Man
Son of a Preacher Man
Songs:
Young Folks, by Peter, Bjorn and John
Son of a Preacher Man, by Dusty Springfield
Ain’t Got No…I’ve Got Life, by Nina Simone
Chapter 15
Caleb was whistling.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered, trying to hide beneath the pillow.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” he quickly warned her.
Caleb was still a believer, and was genuinely concerned about going to hell. She wasn’t as frightened of life after death as he was, but she obliged, and swore no more. She wasn’t looking for an early morning sermon.
It was either this—this song, or watching cowboy movies. The summer wasn’t particularly exciting. After they had returned from the Oklahoma, Caleb was deeply entrenched in writing songs. Some he crossed off the list, others he made up on the spot, still others he worked long and hard on, scribbling and tucking his hair behind his ears like a maniac, chewing on his lip.
He whistled again.
“Will you stop it?” she hissed.
“It’s a catchy tune,” he shrugged. “Who knew these Swedes can write fun music?”
She emerged from under the pillow and looked at him.
He was sitting naked on the rug, papers scattered around him on the floor, and he was trying to construct something sensible of what he had written.
They were in her apartment, in the den. Last night, they stumbled in after a night of heavy drinking and playing pool. Nathan and Caleb got into some kind of scuffle, but it didn’t end in violence, which was a progress. Usually, when under the influence, Caleb wasn’t much of a sexual “performer” (hence “Soft”), but yesterday they had barely made it through the doors, when he lunged at her with ravenous hunger. It still surprised her, this passion that he had for her. As days rolled into one another, in the minutia of errands, squabbles, drinking, touring and press, it was easy to forget that in fact, Caleb was deeply, massively, thoroughly in love.
She ran her fingers though her hair and sat up.
“Have you heard of ABBA?” she reminded him.
He thought for a second and then nodded,
“Oh, yeah…ABBA! They are pretty good.”
“Well, they are no Townes, but they are good.”
“Oh, and Ace of Base,” he flicked his fingers, “they are Swedish too, aint they?”
She nodded, “yep.”
Shaking his head, he took a sip of coffee from a mug and muttered,
“Man, Swedish chicks….” he whistled, “not half fucking bad! Gorgeous!”
“Yay,” she gushed dryly, rolled her eyes and then invited, “tell me more, why don’t you?”
He realised his faux pas and exclaimed,
“Well, I aint comparing!”
“Aha…”
“And even if I was,” he crouched on all fours and slowly made his way across the room, to the sleeper sofa, “you have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t?”
He kissed her calf and thrust is head and shoulders under the blanket.
“Not at all,” she heard the muffled vow, as he slowly kissed her knees and thighs, “I compare everyone to you. Not the other way around.”
The delicious warmth of his breath made her shudder against him, and then he bit the fleshy skin of her pubis.
“Man, I’ve missed you!” he moaned, his long, thick tongue slowly dragging upwards her stomach, towards her breasts. “Why didn’t you come with me?”
She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
“You are a bad girlfriend.”
“I am all right,” she argued. “We don’t need to be attached at the hip all the time. Besides, it’s not like you went for something interesting. You were introducing music videos for MTV2. And that’s where you got this stupid tune,”
“I just think it’s a song about us,”
“How’s so?”
“Well, it’s called Young Folks—which we are, and he asks her if he told her all the things about him, would she go out with him? If he told her everything, word for word?”
She smiled and answered,
“And she says yes, I would go out with you, no matter what you do.”
His face was finally next to hers, and he kissed her chin, burying his face in her neck. She held him close. His breathing steadied and the body grew heavier, as he fell asleep.
It was a herculean task on her behalf not to disturb him, to let him sleep peacefully, instead of reaching for that familiar hard body, wrap herself around him, coil her legs around the compact hips and feel the hot breath inside her mouth.
Anonymity was hard to come by. There was always family, brothers, mother, cousins, hangers on, women, other girlfriends, roadies, reporters. Stealing moments of solitary intimacy wasn’t always easy, and therefore she cherished them so much more. She kissed the big hand that grasped her shoulder and closed her eyes.
The next time she woke up was feeling that most skin all over her body, his powerful, wide torso looming over her, his lips fused with hers. She couldn’t even close her eyes, for he was so beautiful to her right now, with his penetrating, ocean-blue eyes, and the summer tan that made his skin the color of dark honey. Everything about him was slow and lingering and unhurried, like dripping molasses, and when he spoke and whispered something loving to her, the words rolled off smoothly, in that husky Southern drawl, which became more pronounced when he was home. She smiled.
“Something funny?” he inquired.
“No. I just thought of something. When you get nervous, you start saying “Like I said” a lot.”
“I do?”
“Yeah,” she nodded and laughed. “Your expression is always, “well, like I say…”. But you’ve never really use that with me.
“It makes me happy.”
“Oh, man,” he marveled, “you are weird!”
“Thanks, my darling.”
“No problem. I like weird chicks.”
The singular push of his body, and the blissful feeling of ravishment engulfed her, as soon as he pushed her knees apart and she grabbed a handful of his flesh. Her hips shot up to meet him and he buried himself in her. She licked on the protruding collarbone, tasting the familiar scent of sweat, salty and sweet on her tongue. His thick, beefy arms wrapped around her waist, grasping her closer, lifting her off the mattress a little, hips melting into hers, and her legs glided up his torso, just like she imagined and wished for in her dreamy state. There was no gentlemanly gentleness about him now, rather impatient, delicious desire, which made his cross slide wildly across her chest with every push of his body. His yet unshaved chin scratched her cheeks when he kissed her. She ran her hand over a red, but healing scratch on his arm. They had to make good their escape when BettyAnn almost walked on them, and while jumping over a fence, Caleb stumbled and landed on his arm, which was then bleeding like a bitch.
When she squeezed the wound hard, he didn’t wince, and she liked that about him.
His body melded into her, every bit of him fit just right. Every bone and muscle lodged into her skin in some kind of odd, insane perfection. Her vision swam with warmth and pleasure, and every swipe of his long tongue over her neck and breasts made her yelp weakly, the pressure of him inside of her unbearable, and yet as always, she never wished for it to end. It was a slow, delectable torture, an agonizing dance of happiness and pleasure, which finally ended in an explosive, yet soothing waves, which swept over her endlessly, crashed against his, and arrived again. Panting, she fell onto the uncomfortable mattress of the sleeper, with sheets tangled all around them, his firm, strong body splayed over hers. He pulled her face to him and kissed her so strongly, it almost hurt. His chest rose and fell quickly, and as always, he was a weakling after sex, soft and exhausted and sleepy.
“I’ll go shower,” she kissed his nipple and stroked his neck gently.
“You know that I love you, right?” he asked seriously.
She smiled and nodded,
“I know.”
She kissed his lips and murmured,
“I love you too…very much. More than anything else.”
“Okay, that’s good,” he was pleased and placated.
She smiled and left him.
It was a sunny, warm Sunday.
Her back hurt from sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa, with that metal spring digging into her ribs and Caleb stretched over her, to top it off.
When she returned to the room, he was sitting in bed, writing in his brown book.
“Come on,” she called, “”Pancake Pantry”.”
He looked at her guiltily and shook his head,
“Babe, I can’t! I have to write.”
“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed, “you’ll write later.”
“I’ve got a good thing going. I don’t want to lose it. I am sorry. I have a band to run…”
She pouted, but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll take you out, I promise,” he vowed, looking defeated.
“It’s okay,” she said, relenting. “But why can’t someone else write? Ask Jared!”
They looked at each other for a moment, and then simultaneously burst into hysterical laughter.
“Right. Jared.”
“Fine,” she agreed, “perhaps Jared isn’t very introspective…”
“You think? In the beginning, we wouldn’t let him do interviews, because he just went off in one of his first interviews and called people and things “gay”….It was a disaster. Jared needs to be controlled. He yaps much too much as it is. But we try to send Matt along with him,”
“Matt never says anything,”
“He doesn’t, but he is there to sort of control Jared. If Jared gets off track, Matt will kind of bring it back.”
“I think that you still owe Jared, from that time in Scotland.”
Back when they were on tour, the brothers brawled, and Caleb, drunk out of his mind, threw a broken beer bottle at Jared, passing his face by mere inches. If his aim would have been better, the whole thing might have ended tragically.
The next morning, Caleb woke up a new man, remembering nothing of the previous night. But that time, she wasn’t going to let it slide. She threw a monumental fit—by far the most serious, volatile fight that they had—telling him that if he didn’t clean up his act, they were done. In all seriousness, she was ready to buy a plane ticket from Glasgow to Nashville, come back here, and having been accepted to NYU earlier, take up the offer and move to New York. Her anger and cold, logical threat freaked Caleb out. He saw that she wasn’t going to put up with the psychotic behavior any longer. She could take an occasional hotel urination, or naked sleepwalking in public places, but this violence was the last straw. Just like with smoking, and then drugs, he made the decision to curb his whiskey intake. Before concerts, he still slipped a couple of Adderoll, which was basically a breath away from meth, but it was something he could control, and she didn’t have to know about it. Tequila took place of whiskey, and it mellowed him out in the past 4-5 months. No drug or drink was worth losing her. Though he idolized alcoholics, especially creative ones, Caleb was too driven and focused on his success to allow addiction to sidetrack him. He’s seen it happen before, and in truth, there was little glamour in succumbing to your demons.
“Jared will survive. Not like he is yearning to “create” and I am stifling his talents.”
She began to dress. He was watching her with pleasure.
“How ‘bout a go?” he said with a mischievous wink.
“Oh, really? For someone so busy with writing, you miraculously find time and energy for another go. But when it comes to breakfast, suddenly you are occupied.”
“All right, all right. I’ll take you to Miro’s or Kobe Steaks—how does that sound?”
“Pffff….okayish.”
Caleb laughed loudly and shook his head.
“You are fucking incredible. How can I not love you?”
She went to the “Pancake Pantry” alone. The line snaked down the block, as usual.
She didn’t care if she was alone. She had a book with her. Besides, the bustling place would give her the feeling of normalcy. No rock stars or groupies or anyone else.
She stood in line, playing on her phone, when she heard someone call her name.
She turned around.
“Hi Albert!”
“Hey, I thought it was you.”
Albert was the same major as her, and they had a lot of the same classes.
He was very tall, good looking, named with this unusual name by his Polish mother, a spiffy dresser if there ever was one.
“You alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I join you?”
She thought for a second, and nodded. Declining would’ve been awkward. She also suspected that Albert had a crush on her.
When they were seated, she got her favorite—sweet potato pancakes, and he ordered chocolate chip with bananas.
It was a little odd for her to be sitting with a man, who wasn’t Caleb, and know that there would be no chance that they would be interrupted by an adoring Irish fan or a rare American, who knew of Kings of Leon. She was also sort of used to her position as “Caleb’s woman”. That meant that she was off limits to everyone else. Simply put, men weren’t “allowed” to look at her—roadies, promoters, friends. She was spoken for, by none other than Caleb. Occasionally, she encountered a hateful gaze or shout from female fans who knew of her, but it wasn’t female attention that she missed.
Albert was just a guy, and someone she’d in fact consider dating if it weren’t for Caleb. He was going to go places, she could see it. And it was also amusing for her to talk to someone outside the music industry, someone simple and without “airs”, someone who was interested in her, and not because of who she was with.
And yet, as they sipped coffee and ate their pancakes, all she could think of was Caleb. Albert was asking her about her summer, and she truthfully said that she was in Europe, and then they discussed movies, though she hadn’t seen much of anything other than old cowboy films that Caleb was suddenly obsessing on. According to him, those old movies were the only ones that he could relate to, because they showed him his own love for her. Nothing else was as “truthful”.
“So……..” Albert took a gulp of water.
Here it comes, she thought.
“Are you doing anything on Wednesday?”
“Wednesday,”
“I mean, I’d like to take you out for a drink, maybe go to the movies…”
She didn’t answer.
He looked at her expectantly, and then it dawned on him.
“Oh…oh.”
His face fell.
“You seeing somebody?”
“Well, kind of,”
“I didn’t think…Sorry. I mean I never saw you with anyone. So assumed that you are single. “
He smiled crookedly and sadly.
“My loss, yeah? If I didn’t waste so much time…well,”
As if there ever was a choice.
If she ever had a choice not no love Caleb?
She recalled seeing him for the first time, over a year now, so beyond handsome, in tight jeans and with long hair, buying shrimp. And there it was. The falling in love. Truly she fell, mindless and blinded. For that accursed son of a preacher. And she faded into him, consumed, just as he was consumed with her.
She wanted to be alone.
“I am sorry Albert, but I gotta go.”
“It was nice seeing you,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, I got it,” he took out cash from his wallet and paid the bill. She hugged him. “Thank you.” He held her, a little longer than it was appropriate, and then said, “Have a good rest of the summer. Give me a buzz…you know, if something changes. “
“I promise.”
She didn’t go home, but went to the park by the university.
Training for various sports already began—lacrosse, football, running. Guys were running on the fields, yelling, pushing, throwing balls.
She was only 21 years old. Wasn’t it a little early to stake her whole life on a man? Besides, to stake it on a man who gave her no promises and was very far from stable. There was also Lily, in NYC, and who knew if there weren’t other women around the world? Caleb wasn’t known for fidelity, and possessed a wildly roving eye. So what was she expecting? A ring? A declaration of loyalty and love? A proposal? Surely Caleb was in no hurry to marry, and particularly not before Nathan, who in turn, also wasn’t going to get hitched in the near future. So there would be quite a few years before anything of sort would take place, if ever.
She sat under a tree and thought. Her phone rang once, then twice. Caleb both times. She didn’t answer. Then her mom called. She ignored her as well.
It was already twilight when she came home.
She opened the door and Caleb rushed to her and squeezed her in his arms.
“Where were you?” he cried. “I was worried sick! I called your mom!”
She stroked his cheeks and whispered,
“Caleb,”
He kept kissing her, as if she was gone for days, smoothing her hair with nervous fingers.
“You okay?” he asked at last.
“I am. I just needed a little time. To think.”
He stepped back and looked at her intently, holding her face between his hands.
“About what?”
“Us.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Ugh…I don’t like those thoughts. And conversations.”
She smiled.
“I know. I don’t like those either.”
She shook his hands off her head and walked into the apartment. As she walked, she removed her skirt, tossed her shoes, took off her shirt, and then her undergarments. He followed her eagerly, until he caught up with her and his brown arm wrapped around her waist.
Heavily he plopped on a chair and she straddled him. He grabbed her hips and bit her nipple, which loomed temptingly next to his face. She feverishly worked on his belt, wincing from the appealing pain that he inflicted, and at once discovering his huge erection. He lifted her off his lap and then forcefully pushed her back down, piercing her instantly. She squeezed him so hard, he gasped and growled,
“Easy woman! I aint gonna last long if you do this.”
She kissed her kindly and softly, stroking him lovingly and helping him out of his t-shirt.
“Whatever you thought, must have been pretty good,” he smiled humorously.
That sharp, lopsided smile only confirmed her resolution.
“Yeah…guess the only one that could ever reach me, is the sweet-talkin’ son of a preacher man. Thank Dusty Springfield for making it an easy decision.”
“Thank you, Dusty.”
