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Who Wrote the Song - Part 1 |
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By Margo Perry
Jack breathed deeply, measuring his steps. He needed to be relaxed and ready for the interview that, he feared, could spell life or death to his career. The smell of rotting paper and cement, wet after the day’s rain, didn’t help. But the sound of footsteps, echoing through the alley, did. There were four feet, his and his agent’s, and that’s all that mattered because Jack Lerner didn’t want to be alone.
“I told you how I met Michael, didn’t I,” Jack asked.
“Many times. You were at the agency when he and Maggie brought in his songs. Your management took him to the top. What I don’t understand is the dynamic between you. There’s this intensity, this rivalry, coming more from you than him, if I might say. What’s it all about, Jack? Is that why you slept with Maggie?”
“No, that’s not why I slept with Maggie,” Jack snapped.
He heard the sharpness in his tone and his head nodded violently to the right, a tick persisting from his youth. The cold stung his flaring nostrils. Both were signs of his high level of anxiety.
Why does Michael always come out on top? Well, not this time. I’ve got to win this one.
Jack lapsed into silence and began his meditations again.
Mid-stride, he grabbed, Nick’s arm, jerking them both out from under the streetlights and into the shadows of the building.
“I know that car,” Jack whispered.
“Who’s is it?”
Jack didn’t answer. He was too busy studying the dark limo that had eased to a stop outside the television studio’s back entrance. He watched as the driver moved quickly around the back of the car, opened the rear passenger door and held up an umbrella, although there was no rain.
“Damn,” Jack said, as a woman emerged and was spirited inside, but not before he recognized her familiar profile, chillingly beautiful in the glare of the security spotlight just over the studio’s entrance. “I’m screwed,” Jack spat under his breath. “Don’t like the sound of that. Who is that woman and what does she know?” “It’s Maggie, Michael’s ex-girlfriend. She used to write lyrics for him, so she knows his work. But there’s really no proof in that, is there?” “Proof! What proof? You’re heading into a television interview with that shark, Mercedes Cambridge. All she wants is ratings! And when the court couldn’t make a ruling in Swans’ plagiarism suit, she bet she could uncover the truth. She’s not bound by the rules of law, Jack. With her, it’s not about proof. It’s about the perceptions of her millions of viewers. And you want to tell me that Maggie, who used to write Michael’s lyrics, is on the scene? The Maggie you just had to fuck? The woman you unseated to become Michael’s partner, just when they were becoming successful? That Maggie?” “I repeat. I’m screwed.” “Not good enough. I’m your agent and friend and I need to know the whole story. The film company won’t sign unless this thing is resolved. Everybody has a lot riding on this.” It was so cold, Jack could see steam hissing from Nick’s every word. He hitched his coat collar up a bit higher. “I’ll tell you everything when we get inside, I just . . . ” “Just nothing. I don’t know if I’m going inside. Spill!” Jack knew that tone. Knew that if he didn’t talk, and fast, he might lose the best agent in the business. “What do you want to know?” “The truth and the whole truth. What happened that day in rehearsals?” “One week before opening night, the director decided that we needed one more song for the show.” “Let’s get this straight. Michael was at this point the composer and you were acting more as a producer. Right?” “Right. Anyway, Michael left to write the reprise and I followed him with a pot of coffee. I knew he’d go down to the basement where the techies hung out and where there was always a joint.” “Get to the point! Did you pour coffee or help write the song?” “I helped a bit. Besides, if I hadn’t put the package together, there wouldn’t have been a show. That’s how we worked. We shared everything and when that particular song became a hit and everybody and his uncle wanted to sing it, well . . .” “You saw dollar signs and decided to claim co-authorship.” “I didn’t think there’d be a problem.” “There might not have been if you’d been disciplined enough to keep your hands off his woman. You’re a real idiot, Jack. Well, running away will give Cambridge even more ammunition, so we might as well go in. All you can do is your best.” “I’m truly sorry about all this, Nick. I don’t think sometimes. I’m too ambitious, too impatient. Michael says that’s what’s wrong with my songs.” “When did you last see Michael.” “Not since we met for a drink and he said that if I gave up my composer’s credit, he'd share all funds.” “So, for Michael, it wasn’t about the money. He just couldn’t let you steal his woman and then his work. And you turned down the deal because ...?” “Because I was a rat in a corner being called a rat. I had to deny. Pride, you know.” “Well, you know what they say about Pride. Let’s go in and get this over with.” They had to buzz in. A fresh faced young man in an usher’s uniform admitted them. “Good evening, Mr. Lerner,” he said. “I’ll take you to make-up.” “Meet my agent, Nick Stein.” “Yes Mr. Stein. We’ve reserved a seat for you.” Another usher magically appeared and Nick was led away. The halls swarmed with people, all rushing in different directions.
“How many studios are there?” Jack asked.
“Four,” the usher answered. “We’ll be taping in Studio 3, the one we just passed.”
Girls high pitched giggles and chatter filtered out of the make-up room.
He was so funny and gorgeous … that head full of thick black curls and twinkling blue eyes … and single … how tall is he? At least 6’2” … I feel sorry for the other guy …
Jack’s usher looked embarrassed. They were obviously talking about Michael. He, Jack, was the sorry other guy.
“Mr. Lerner, we’re ready for you.”
Jack at the top of his game would have enjoyed the challenge of out-charming Michael Swan, but he was too rattled by Maggie’s presence. Sighing he leaned back, retreating into his own thoughts, as the ladies applied their creams and colours.
How did Michael always end up unscathed?
Jack remembered clearly the night Maggie had come to him, wet from the rain and from weeping. She was full of rage having just discovered that Michael was carrying on an affair with one of her friends. Jack had known about her friend and about so many others. Women were as irresistible to Michael as he was to them. So, Jack didn’t want to resist when she came out of the bathroom, his robe draped casually over her shoulders.
“I need you, Jack,” she’d whispered, running her hands over firm breasts, lifting them, offering them.
Her face was devoid of make-up, her full lips and brown eyes intent on seduction. She walked slowly toward him, dropping her cover as she moved. Jack remembered how hard she’d made him. How much he’d wanted her. Wanted to take away the pain that Michael had caused. She, with her Nordic beauty, was hardly his type. He loved tits, the bigger the better. Maggie was a lovely C-CUP, appreciated, but too small. Just not his type. But she wanted him.
He remembered how out of character she’d been. The restrained Maggie had disappeared in favour of this hot and demanding self and he had no choice but to obey her.
“Get naked,” she’d growled, dropping to the floor, stalking him on all fours.
He stripped quickly and sat back naked in his armless chair. She was all sex. Pure animal. He still remembered the feel of her moist dampness as she slid her pussy down over his ramrod cock. She pressed her breasts into his chest as she nibbled and licked his neck, her breath a tropical breeze, hot just before the storm. She’d been slow, moving her pelvis in ways that aroused him to boiling point. He managed to hold on, gripping the cheeks of her ass. Supporting her. Egging her on with his thrusts. He knew when she was ready because her pussy became electric. He could smell the scent of her and it became a physical force pushing him over the edge. And the muscles in her cunt, squeezing, demanding his release was the very last straw.
“Oh Michael, I’m coming! Please love me, Michael,” she screamed. “Please love me.”
The plaintive sound in her voice and Michael’s name had drawn Jack away from the edge of his own pleasure and he was happy to hold her, while she cried and cried and cried.
Michael always won.
“You’re set, Mr. Lerner, and just in time. They’re calling for you. Your usher is waiting outside.”
Jack looked at himself. Looked into sparkling green eyes, a strongly defined jaw line and a perfectly tanned complexion. He looked like his old handsome self. “Thanks,” he said, getting up, relieved that he looked much better than he felt. If he was going to lose, he might as well do it looking good.
“Break a leg,” one of them said.
“I’ll take you to the green room. You have twenty minutes,” the usher said, leading him away.
“Jack, we’ve been waiting for you,” Michael said, jumping up to throw his arms around Jack’s neck. “I’m so sorry about all this and it’s going to stop now!”
Jack couldn’t believe what was happening. And then Michael moved away and Maggie stepped up to wrap her arms around Jack’s neck.
“I told him about that night. Why I slept with you,” Maggie whispered in Jack’s ear.
“Look, I was a bastard in those days,” Michael admitted. “I had no right to take it out on you. It was my fault. You can have the song if you want. Maggie and I just want to put things right with you.”
“Maggie and you?”
“We’re going to try again,” Michael said, “but only after we put things right with you. What’ll it take?”
“I’ll take whatever you give me,” Jack heard himself say.
He felt as if he’d been just let out of solitary. He felt alive, connected again. Nothing was more important than having these two friends back, for work and for play.
“Let’s get this Mercedes woman in here and let her know that we’re not going through with her nasty interview,” Maggie said, “that we’ve resolved things.”
“I don’t think so!”
Jack looked toward the voice, the door. Mercedes Cambridge stood, an imposing figure in a classical black suit. But her breasts were the largest breasts he’d ever seen and they were hypnotising him. Their outline was clear under her cream, almost see-through blouse. Pendulous. Hanging almost to her waist. Her blonde hair was brushed back into a French roll that ended in one single thick curl that hung over her shoulder, onto her massive tit. She was all female power in her large hoop gold earrings.
“You will all do the interview and I will reveal the true writer of the song. No side deals. You’re mine, all three of you, especially Jack. If you need to check with your lawyers, hurry. We’re taping in ten. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The three old new friends stared at each other. Michael was on his cell, presumably talking to his lawyer. From his expressions, it wasn’t looking good. Jack could see tears in Maggie’s eyes.
“Mercedes really came after me,” Maggie said. “Michael and I used to hum melodies and sing lyrics into tapes years ago. I stupidly allowed Mercedes to listen to some of them and she found one that has almost all the same chord progressions as the song in question, written over ten years ago. I could kill myself.”
Jack was only half listening. His mind was still on Mercedes breasts. They were haunting him. Arousing him. And there was something about her face. Memories teased him A football field. A young girl, too tall, too smart, not pretty, but with huge irresistible tits. Jack the high school football star, behind the bleachers, feeling her up after the game. Going too far. Taking her virginity. Dropping her cold when the boys found out and made fun of him. Mercy Hall was her name, a.k.a. Mercedes Cambridge.
“We’ve got to do this or we’ll be sued within an inch of our lives. The lawyers says she’ll even own our puppies.” Michael’s face was grim.
The roller coaster of emotions had left Jack mute. There was no escape. All of his chickens were coming home to roost and Jack expected to be plucked, hair by hair, in front of millions. The three old friends stared at each other. Only Jack knew how bad it could get.
- To be continued in Part Two -
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