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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 01/31/2018
The photo posted with the story is of the author Charles E.J. Moulton in one of his concert costumes for a rock show, singing Jim Croce's "Bad Leroy Brown".
Begging for Inspiration
Flash Fiction by Charles E.J. Moulton
Allanah Myles crooned her big hit on Stan's radio, her voice caressing his soul, Jimmy Rogers' "Black Velvet" and a little-boy-smile reminding him of years gone by. Stan remembered hearing, yes, singing those words before, being a young buck, flopping that LP on his grammophone, listening to a rocky blues sung by a sexy mezzo - angelic tones mixed with a dark bassguitar.
The passionate baritone with the crazy mind ended up sitting on the living room couch listening to Idaho radio that New Year's Eve, letting the sultry midnight snack of a wet dream croak her career upon his eardrum.
"Allanah," he whispered to himself, taking a second sip of Miguel Torres Bull's Blood Rioja. Sangre de Torro slipped down his throat and warmed up his gums. The raunchy blues turned into alcoholic heat, saving him from the dark clouds that were gathering up above, outside their house, turning white skies into dark grey matter.
As dark as his moods? No. Allanah was not dark. She was sultry. That was a difference. Dark matter, as in outer space. What mattered there? Allanah? The wine? New Year's Eve? Raunchy blues? Or his wife glancing at him from the side, wondering why he, once again, drifted away into Allanah's inner space.
Okay, here was another song, introduced by a perky female announcer. Monday, Monday, that day that gave that guy no warning. It couldn't guarantee anything. No way. All those close harmony changes beating the bucket. That expression had been his own in his 9th grade school band. They had called themselves "Miles of Myles" and Monday had just come along for the ride. Irish Blues-rock Myles-Style. That was their musical description. They had played Allanah's tunes and some other stuff on makeshift instruments: a beat up old Oklahoma guitar, a Sony synthesizer, an acoustic bass and a bucket. Hence, the name. Irish, because all the guys had Irish ancestry. Until people stopped coming and they were forced to put up raunchy pics of Allanah and offer free drinks.
Stan Rathers, who'd been called "Stan, the Dan-Man" in high school for his similarity to Dan Rather, stood up, Monday morning giving him no warning, approaching his wife with particular care.
"What?" his wife spat, drying the dishes and shoving them into the cupboards.
"You look good when you're angry," he mused. "Hot."
She turned around, her black hair flying about with her pirouette, her Spanish eyes throwing sparks.
"You're welcome."
Stan remembered that. She had given him the cold shoulder on their first date after he told her she looked hot, leaving him standing on a street corner, picking his nose.
"You splitting?"
Eve raised one eyebrow, shaking her head. "I just hate sharing you with Allanah Myles," she growled. "I hated it in high school and I hate it now."
A rainbow-like wave of warmth came rushing over Stan. He embraced his wife. "Look, I just like her music. Besides, we can call all the band members and tell them we have a female vocalist. Our own Allanah."
Eve sniggered. "I haven't sung in years."
Stan smiled. "I hear you in the bathtub, crooning Bonnie Tyler tunes. You rock."
Now, Eve raised both eyebrows.
Stan could see the wheels turn in his wife's mind.
On a whim, she rushed out of the kitchen to the livingroom radio and turned it off, bending over the cupboard, rummaging inside the drawer.
Stan walked after her, standing feet away from her, wondering what she was doing.
In minutes, Eve whipped out an old CD, marked "Karaoke". When she flipped it into the machine and turned up the volume, Stan nearly flipped.
"Black Velvet". Yes, indeed.
Eve raunched it, raved it, guttered it, wailed it. Stan called the old keyboarder from the band on his smartphone and had Eve sing the song for him.
Well, Eve was hired on the spot, the band was reformed and gigs were performed.
A half year later, Eve and Stan sat on the couch, both listening to Allanah, begging for inspiration and getting it.
Fame?
Indeed.
Begging for Inspiration(Charles E.J. Moulton)
The photo posted with the story is of the author Charles E.J. Moulton in one of his concert costumes for a rock show, singing Jim Croce's "Bad Leroy Brown".
Begging for Inspiration
Flash Fiction by Charles E.J. Moulton
Allanah Myles crooned her big hit on Stan's radio, her voice caressing his soul, Jimmy Rogers' "Black Velvet" and a little-boy-smile reminding him of years gone by. Stan remembered hearing, yes, singing those words before, being a young buck, flopping that LP on his grammophone, listening to a rocky blues sung by a sexy mezzo - angelic tones mixed with a dark bassguitar.
The passionate baritone with the crazy mind ended up sitting on the living room couch listening to Idaho radio that New Year's Eve, letting the sultry midnight snack of a wet dream croak her career upon his eardrum.
"Allanah," he whispered to himself, taking a second sip of Miguel Torres Bull's Blood Rioja. Sangre de Torro slipped down his throat and warmed up his gums. The raunchy blues turned into alcoholic heat, saving him from the dark clouds that were gathering up above, outside their house, turning white skies into dark grey matter.
As dark as his moods? No. Allanah was not dark. She was sultry. That was a difference. Dark matter, as in outer space. What mattered there? Allanah? The wine? New Year's Eve? Raunchy blues? Or his wife glancing at him from the side, wondering why he, once again, drifted away into Allanah's inner space.
Okay, here was another song, introduced by a perky female announcer. Monday, Monday, that day that gave that guy no warning. It couldn't guarantee anything. No way. All those close harmony changes beating the bucket. That expression had been his own in his 9th grade school band. They had called themselves "Miles of Myles" and Monday had just come along for the ride. Irish Blues-rock Myles-Style. That was their musical description. They had played Allanah's tunes and some other stuff on makeshift instruments: a beat up old Oklahoma guitar, a Sony synthesizer, an acoustic bass and a bucket. Hence, the name. Irish, because all the guys had Irish ancestry. Until people stopped coming and they were forced to put up raunchy pics of Allanah and offer free drinks.
Stan Rathers, who'd been called "Stan, the Dan-Man" in high school for his similarity to Dan Rather, stood up, Monday morning giving him no warning, approaching his wife with particular care.
"What?" his wife spat, drying the dishes and shoving them into the cupboards.
"You look good when you're angry," he mused. "Hot."
She turned around, her black hair flying about with her pirouette, her Spanish eyes throwing sparks.
"You're welcome."
Stan remembered that. She had given him the cold shoulder on their first date after he told her she looked hot, leaving him standing on a street corner, picking his nose.
"You splitting?"
Eve raised one eyebrow, shaking her head. "I just hate sharing you with Allanah Myles," she growled. "I hated it in high school and I hate it now."
A rainbow-like wave of warmth came rushing over Stan. He embraced his wife. "Look, I just like her music. Besides, we can call all the band members and tell them we have a female vocalist. Our own Allanah."
Eve sniggered. "I haven't sung in years."
Stan smiled. "I hear you in the bathtub, crooning Bonnie Tyler tunes. You rock."
Now, Eve raised both eyebrows.
Stan could see the wheels turn in his wife's mind.
On a whim, she rushed out of the kitchen to the livingroom radio and turned it off, bending over the cupboard, rummaging inside the drawer.
Stan walked after her, standing feet away from her, wondering what she was doing.
In minutes, Eve whipped out an old CD, marked "Karaoke". When she flipped it into the machine and turned up the volume, Stan nearly flipped.
"Black Velvet". Yes, indeed.
Eve raunched it, raved it, guttered it, wailed it. Stan called the old keyboarder from the band on his smartphone and had Eve sing the song for him.
Well, Eve was hired on the spot, the band was reformed and gigs were performed.
A half year later, Eve and Stan sat on the couch, both listening to Allanah, begging for inspiration and getting it.
Fame?
Indeed.
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