The Story of Lansing Lotte (8 page)

When Arturo found out he was a father the first time, things were complicated. He had only recently been reunited with his mother, acknowledged by a father, who died before they could meet, and discovered that he had passionate sex with his unknown stepsister. Add to that the fact that he had a son whom he didn’t know existed. Arturo was a mess in his private affairs.  Publicly, he was becoming a shooting star and with it rose the band. 

I had my own personal demons along with Arturo. I had found out within those years that, I too, had come from a powerful man named Ben Wicke, and his beautiful wife, Ellen.  Unfortunately, Ben had died from a heart attack when I was only a toddler and Ellen had a nervous breakdown. I wasn’t raised by my natural parents, just like Arturo hadn’t been raised by his. I had a foster mother, though, who turned out to be a liar. I didn’t like to dwell on Vivian DuLac. I was always conflicted when it came to my feelings about her, but I did think of her as I questioned what type of mother Guinevere would have been, and what kind of father I could be one day, as well.

As a band we hadn’t discussed our postponed concert. Kaye Sirs took care of things as our manager, and my mind had been such a blur, the last month or more, I didn’t stop to question the process of that postponement. I assumed ticket sales were returned, venues cancelled, and an announcement made. I was beginning to think the world tour needed to be on indefinite hold. I hadn’t felt sorry for the band collectively as an entity, but suddenly I did. I added to my list of curses at Arturo King: the loss of not only his person, his baby, and his troubled girl, but the loss of the band. We didn’t know what to do without him. We functioned in a routine of numbness, wandering in and out of his apartment. Perk had been lost to me lately with his new girl, and Tristan was losing himself in booze and women at a rapidly growing pace. I realized I was barely functioning myself. When Guinevere told me a second time I should go, I decided to leave. I needed something for me. I called Layne.

Layne answered on the second ring, as if she had been waiting for me. I couldn’t do a date, but I didn’t want to wait to see her. I asked her to meet me for coffee. It was only late morning anyway and I just wanted to share an apology with her.

“Something happened to Guinie and I needed to be there,” I said, once I sat across from her at the coffee shop between our two apartment buildings. Layne nodded once before looking out the window at the busy street life. I noticed she wore her hair looser, but the front was still pulled back with some elaborate braid. Tons of thick curls swirled around her neck and down her back. I briefly wondered what it would be like to wrap my hands in that hair and place my lips on her china white neck. She wore a red sweater that somehow accentuated her highlights when it should have clashed. Her brown eyes looked troubled when they returned to mine.

“You always place her first.” She smiled weakly.

I didn’t know how to respond. I did pick Guinevere all those years ago over Layne, but nothing happened between Guinevere and I after that one moment. Somehow, I think Layne knew that.

“We never dated.”

“I know,” she sighed deeply, “but you wanted to. What happened?”

I couldn’t tell Layne. I wanted to be honest with her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth of what I had learned the following day.

“It’s a long story,” I said and stalled by sipping my coffee.

I felt Layne watching me, waiting, but I wasn’t going to answer. She seemed to know that so she asked me something else.

“Why not me?”

I blinked. I didn’t know how to respond to that any more than I could plan to respond to the question of what happened.

“It isn’t you…” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“Don’t say it…” she laughed softly, bitterly. She seemed to be thinking and I let her have her thoughts as I questioned myself.
Why hadn’t I picked Layne?
She was pretty, though I don’t recall her being as beautiful before. She was sweet, but I sensed an eagerness in her. She was unknowingly seductive, despite her innocence. Not for the first time, I felt myself slowly react to Layne. I had to admit I enjoyed spending time with her. 

“Wanna do something today?” she said breaking into my thoughts.

“Sure,” I blurted. With no concert, no band practice, and no Guinevere, I didn’t have anything else to do.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, when Layne had the cab drop us off behind the Lexington Opera House. We were able to enter the backstage doors as someone else was leaving.

“Did you get a gig here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure that was the right term for singing opera, and Layne only shook her head, but smiled. We wandered through the narrow halls, and even narrower ropes for curtains, as Layne said hello to various people. They all knew her name. When we finally arrived just off stage, we were greeted by an older gentleman, who Layne introduced as Hank.

“Layne, honey, you’re going to wear yourself out,” he laughed at her, as she beamed up at him.

“Lock up when you’re done and don’t get caught.”

I didn’t question what he meant as Layne hugged the gray-haired man, who blushed before releasing her.

“Now, none of that, honey. You know I’m a sucker for the ladies which my wife doesn’t appreciate.” He winked at Layne and addressed me, “You’re a lucky man.”

My mouth opened to deny that Layne and I were together, but I decided it wasn’t worth the explanation. She reached for my hand and dragged me onto the stage. The opera house was dark except for a dim spotlight highlighting the center of the wooden floor.

“Have a seat,” she said and waved her hand toward the red velvet rows. I wasn’t sure I wanted to jump down. I was looking over my shoulder to the backstage to see that it was suddenly pitch black. I wouldn’t have known where to go to find a staircase.

“Here,” she said and she guided me to the edge of the stage. “Just sit here, let your feet hang over.  I don’t know if I can do this after all, knowing you’re watching me.”

I did as she directed. She seemed nervous but giddy. 

“Now, close your eyes,” she said softly to my ear, as she placed her hands on my shoulders once I sat. 

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t you trust me?” her voice hinted at a smile. Her face was lit up like the day before and I had to smile slowly back at her. She was flirting with me and I was being an idiot not to catch on.

I turned my back on her and let my eyes close as I gripped the edge of the stage. My legs dangled. I could hear Layne’s heels click softly across the wooden floor then stop. She cleared her throat and began a slow melody. I didn’t recognize the song or the words. They were distinctly foreign, but her voice. My God, her voice. If her appearance was beautiful, her voice could only be described as heavenly. A sissy sounding word, but it was the best I could think of. Her voice was soothing and romantic. I felt as if I was being seduced. 

The tempo was changing and I swear, despite the language, it sounded like she was building up to have an orgasm. Her voice rose in speed as if she was trying to catch her breath, as if I were pleasuring her and the pressure was building. I couldn’t help myself; a body part of mine began to rise, as well. I had to adjust my jeans and her pace quickened. She was suddenly taking sharp, short breaths, gasping as if she was being pounded at the pace of a heartbeat while she was entered over and over and over.  I was rock hard in my jeans and had to lean back on my hands to allow for the growth in my pants. 

My palms were beginning to sweat. I let her voice consume me, wash over my body and tempt me. Her voice rose to that strangled height of release, she called out my name in song as if I had caused her to burst forth the glorious tension. She sucked in a final breath and let it out slowly, finishing her piece with a sigh of relief. I might have actually jizzed a bit in my pants.

I was still so enthralled with her voice and the sensation of it over me, that for a brief moment I understood how all those women claimed to orgasm at the sound of Arturo. I was still in my daze, when hands slid around my chest and legs straddled my body from behind. She breathed into my ear.

“Did you like that?”

I could only nod with a slight moan. I felt worked over even though nothing had happened.

“Lansing?”

“Hmmm…?” I tilted my head back knowing she was resting hers against my neck.

“How much did you like it?” she asked, as her hands cautiously descended down my chest, across my abs, and brushed lightly over the bulge in my jeans.

I sat up immediately, like an embarrassed school boy, and Layne pulled back directly.

“I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry…I just heard…” Layne was rambling so quickly. Her own embarrassment was just as evident in her voice.

I turned to look at her, my eyes searching her face as she lowered it to hide from me.

“I’m curious, Layne. What did you hear?”

“I’ve heard that song can bring men to their knees.”

“How?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

“It’s the tempo. It sounds like…” Her voice trailed off, but I could see a quirk of a smile, despite her hidden face.

“It sounds like what?” I teased.

“You know…” she giggled.

“What?” I urged stronger.

“An orgasm,” she whispered.

“Hmmm…and is that what you wanted to give me? An orgasm.”

The shocked look on her face was indescribable when she peered up at me with those innocent brown eyes.

“Or…if this was meant to bring me to my knees, maybe you wanted the orgasm instead?” I implied, raising an eyebrow and looking blatantly between her legs, still spread wide behind my body.  I turned completely to rest on my knees which forced Layne to lean back on her hands as I knelt between her open legs.

“Is that what you want, Layne? An orgasm from me?” I didn’t recognize my own voice.  I sounded bitter, as if Layne was any other girl who wanted to get off on being with a guy in a band.

“No, I…I just…”

“Just what?” I snipped.

“I just wanted to please you,” she said softly to the space between her legs and my knees.  Her voice was hurt, almost frightened, like she realized she had done the opposite. She had displeased me, but it was still evident in my jeans that displeasure was far from the truth. 

I tenderly touched under her chin, forcing her eyes to look up at mine. Those brown eyes could melt a lesser man. Her light colored mouth opened on a sigh, just by staring at me. I was overwhelmed with a need to taste that sigh, and I allowed my lips to softly cover hers. She was sweet, like a ripe peach, but she was reserved after my angered words. I sensed her confusion that I was kissing her after accusing her of trying to get off by me.

“I’m sorry,” I said against her lips. “I’m not myself lately.”

She pulled back from me and stared into my eyes, as if looking for sincerity. She must have seen it and forgiven me, because she leaned forward and returned the attempted kiss with more eagerness. Her lips were delicate and unseasoned. She was experimenting with me, and I let her lead as she let her tongue slip out to trace my own. I opened in invitation, and I again felt her hesitation before she slid inside me. I surprised her when I grazed my teeth over her tongue; she giggled into me before pulling back with a start. We eyed each other for a moment before she laughed outright.

“Guess you can tell I don’t have much experience?”

“I find that hard to believe,” I lied.

“I think I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous. Don’t you trust me?” I teased with her words.

She laughed again.

“Actually, I think that’s just it, Lansing. I trust you to do anything with me.” Her voice held a hint of things I just couldn’t allow myself to imagine.

We kissed for several more minutes before an overhead house light went on and a strong voice boomed through the silence.

“What’s going on up there?”

I leaned back to shield my eyes as I looked for the person that held such a voice.  Layne seemed to be hiding behind me. I was happy to protect her from our interruption. A large body was rapidly coming down the aisle. The heavy sound of his footsteps matched his stern voice. I began to slowly rise, shielding Layne, who pressed into my back.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” he demanded.

“I’m Lansing Lotte, sir.”

He stopped before me as I looked down on him. He was a stout man with a moustache and slightly greasy looking hair. He had too much product in it in an attempt to look – good? 

“We didn’t mean to intrude. We were let in and…”

“Layne? Layne Ascolat, is that you?” his voice thundered.

Her hands gripped the back of my shirt and her forehead rolled across my back before she replied meekly, “Yes, sir.”

“How many times have I told you, you cannot keep sneaking in here to practice? You need to get to work before tonight’s show. This is your last warning, girl. If I find out that Hank helped you again, he’s fired, too.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh,” I scolded.

“And who did you say you were again?”

“I’m Lansing Lotte.”