Double Twist
Chapter 164
“Governments have always tried to crush reform movements, to destroy ideas, to kill the thing that cannot die. Without regard to history, which shows that no Government have ever succeeded in doing this, they go on trying in the old, senseless way.”
—Emmeline Pankhurst, My Own Story
WE GOT TO THE THEATER at ten and set our charts on the stands that were in the middle of the space with a couple of chairs and stools. The audience risers had apparently been pulled out by a night crew after we left. There were no chairs on them yet, but I could see people would have pretty good sightlines in the U-shape of the layout.
“Let’s do one run-through of everything we’ve identified and see what we’ve got,” Cindy said. When it came to rehearsals and music direction, she easily took over. Donna, Sophie, Nanette, Emily, Beca, and Britt positioned themselves in different parts of the room while Desi, Remas, Cindy, and I arranged things so we could reach our instruments and get timings. We started at the top of our playlist and ‘ran through’ it. In a few instances, that included stalling on a piece, backing up, starting over, and even discarding one we didn’t think we could pull into shape. Cindy and I both had all the charts for our music on our iPads, so we had just about everything to choose from. We finished playing the new piece from Glory with Sophie and Brittany dancing a little before noon.
“You have plenty of material,” Donna said. “I figured about eighty minutes. So, you have room to pick and choose a little.”
“That’s good news. I wasn’t comfortable with the Riley piece,” I said. “I’ve always struggled with that transition.”
“It’s good for you,” Cindy laughed. “You’ll expand your abilities and we’ll be able to play more stuff.”
“You’re always a comfort, Piper. How about we leave it out for this week?”
“We can do that. What did you like or not like, Desi?”
“Well, I only really have two pieces to be concerned with. Something we couldn’t try in the original performance, though, was playing GBU from three different positions in the auditorium. I’d like to try that and see if the composition holds up with us farther apart instead of face to face,” Desi said.
“I could see that working, but we’ll have to make sure everyone can be heard from every angle,” I said. “Remas? Any suggestions?”
“Thank you for letting me join in on the Mozart 11. It feels almost improvisational, just building on the general theme of the concerto. I’m glad the Glory piece still sounds fresh and solid, as does I read the manual.”
“Girlfriends?” Cindy called out. Her voice was just a little louder than normal speaking voice when she called to them but didn’t come close to matching the volume of her orgasms.
“I know the purpose of this performance is the Glory piece,” Em said after conversing with Beca for a minute. “We think you should still consider putting Mozart 11th Piano Concerto at the end of the show. Maybe even use it as an encore like you did in Cindy’s first recital.”
“And can Desi add her voice into that piece?” Beca asked. “I liked what Remas added and think you could cut loose on an improvisational encore.”
About that time, the tech crew came in and we had to walk through everything so they could spike positions on the floor. That meant using pieces of tape to mark where our chairs went and even the path of Sophie’s and Brittany’s dances. We tried out the positions for GBU and were close to fifteen feet apart as we played our parts back and forth. We’d rehearse it carefully later and see if it held together. The techies said it was no problem to ignore a light once it was set but that it was harder to add a new setting since scaffolding had to be moved in to change the lights. They started grousing about it being a ridiculous oversight not to have catwalks above the lights.
About 1:30, Em and Beca returned with subs for everyone and we sat outside to eat before trying another run-through. I liked it and by five o’clock we felt we had the program set. I wanted to rehearse some more, but we had that stupid commission reception to go to. I appreciated them wanting my input, but the schmoozing just didn’t do a thing for me. We went back to the apartment to get cleaned up and put on pretty clothes.
The Arts Club of Washington is a huge old mansion, once the home of James Monroe before he became president. It’s beautiful and is one of the historical sites that makes a visit to the nation’s capital exciting. The venue hosts parties and weddings of up to 400 people, but the front drawing room upstairs was perfect for the forty or fifty guests at the reception. A jazz trio—piano, bass, and drums—played in one corner of the room. Remas went over to say hi to the players.
Our lunch had been light, and we didn’t really have dinner before the reception, so the little sandwiches and fruit were welcome. We all headed straight for the buffet table before we even greeted anyone. I managed a compromise with Cindy. Instead of holding my hand, she placed a hand on my elbow so I could hold a plate of food and we could both eat from it. Of course, we had to finish our food before we could hold drinks. We’d been there for almost half an hour before we talked to anyone but our own pod.
That’s when Dr. Donahue arrived with four distinguished-looking people and we assumed the leaders of the commission had appeared. She sought us out and made introductions. The only name I recognized was Aaron Adamson, the Governor of Vermont and chairman of the commission.
“I’m glad you are able to be with us,” he said as he grasped my hand. He was wearing a campaign button that said, ‘I read the manual.’ Sheesh! “I’m looking forward to our interview and hearing what the sage of reform has to say.”
“Sage of reform?” I laughed. “That’s kind of pretentious. You might be better positioning me as the smartass of Mad Anthony High School.” I realized I’d just dissed the governor and commission chairperson and started to blush. Fortunately, he laughed.
“I’ll be sure to have that put on your nametag. But, seriously, you are in a unique position to influence the rewrite of the National Service. I hope you are prepared.”
“I’ll offer what thoughts I have, sir, but please remember I’m seventeen and my thoughts are colored by impending servitude,” I said. He sighed.
“That’s the thing we messed up most, isn’t it? The service shouldn’t be looked at as a period of slavery. It was supposed to be an opportunity to take pride and ownership in America. How do we go about reforming and revamping it so it isn’t looked at as servitude?” I think he was asking a rhetorical question, but I couldn’t stop my smart mouth.
“Induct old men instead of teens. The service would be reformed in a month,” I said. He looked at me and nodded.
“Perhaps so.”
By the time we left the reception at nine o’clock, we were all dead tired and ready for bed. We’d met a bunch of people, including six others who were called as resources and would be interviewed during the day Wednesday as we rehearsed. Technically, I was the one called before the commission, but they invited the whole pod to attend. We were last on their agenda the next day.
When we got to the apartments, I kissed my lovers goodnight and headed for the bathroom. I was so tired, I didn’t care who or even if anyone joined me in bed. I was ready to sleep. Of course, those plans got interrupted when I crawled into bed next to Remas.
“I’m sure I warned you that if you crawled into my bed naked, I wouldn’t be able to control my hands,” I said.
“Duly noted,” she answered. “I didn’t get a goodnight kiss. From you.”
“Am I the only one you didn’t get a kiss from?”
“Well… actually… yes. In case you are wondering, everyone knows I’m in here with you. And, I’m not like Cindy.”
“You mean you don’t scream your orgasms to the world?” I laughed.
“That. And I’m not off limits for other activities. Not required, mind you, but definitely not forbidden.”
“Is that what you want, Remas?”
“When you’re ready, we’re ready.” She looked at me in the dim light from the window. There’s no place in the metroplex that is actually dark at night. “I would like a kiss, though, if that’s okay.”
It was okay. Having Remas naked in my arms while we made out had predictable results, even as tired as I was. I had a feeling Remas was just as tired. That didn’t stop me from thoroughly exploring her breasts with my hands and my lips and sliding a hand between her legs as she stroked my cock. Our climaxes were a little weaker than they might have been if we weren’t so tired, but they were mutually satisfying anyway. By that time, though, sleep was winning out over sex. She lay partially on top of me with a leg over my messy cock and my hand on her ass. That was a good feeling and I went off to sleep.
Light. The same light I went to sleep to made it difficult to tell what time it was. I thought it was about the time I’d usually rise to run. I was rising, but it was to the insistent rubbing of my cock between Remas’s buns. I squished one of her boobs with my hand wrapped around her. She increased her movement, making sure I knew she was trying to get me hard. And succeeding easily. I rubbed my face in her light brown hair until I found her ear.
“Now?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she answered. I rolled back to my back and tugged at her. She got the message and in a moment was sitting straddling my thighs, holding my cock in her hands. She sat there for a minute, looking down at what she held, stroking slightly to make sure I was hard. Then she rose up and positioned me at her entrance and slowly sank down. Hot. Wet. Slippery. Tight. All the usual descriptions applied but the intensity expressed on her face made everything else seem irrelevant. I imagine that is what I look like when I have my first sip of coffee in the morning. I’ve seen the expression on Donna’s face when she bites into a bar of dark chocolate. It’s on Nanette’s face when she crosses a finish line.
Most of my girlfriends are too young to have had an experience that is so physically and emotionally overwhelming it preempts all their bodily functions. Oh, they are beautiful when they climax. That expression of rictus and delight is hard to mistake and is among the most beautiful in the world. But usually, unless Rachel and I are looking into each other’s eyes as we collide in orgasm, the experience is primarily physical. The expression I was seeing on Remas’s face combined the physical high and emotional rapture of a spiritual experience. I was entranced and tried to immerse myself in her experience. It was mystical.
And then it was sexual. We connected and ground our sex together, mounting toward that other peak. In a matter of a few minutes it arrived. She called out my name as I emptied myself into her willing chamber.
Well, actually, she called out “Oh, God!” but at the moment, I felt like a god—all powerful and all knowing. I could see the secrets of the universe unfolding before my eyes. I was a symphony being played by masters. A score composed by…
All right. You get the point. Remas slowly lowered herself until we lay connected and chest to chest. We kissed until I was ready to go again and then we let our bodies dictate what happened. We started with her on top again but soon rolled until I was over her and her toes pointed to the ceiling. I lifted her by her butt and drove into her from a higher angle and she mounted to another earthshaking orgasm. I joined her and let myself collapse until my weight pressed her into the mattress and we kissed some more.
I shrank out of her at last and slid to the side to hold her spooned against me—the position this escapade had started in. She rocked her butt against my flaccid penis and whispered, “Any time.”
Anytime included when I woke again to see the sun streaming through the window and the urgency of getting out to run. Nanette was already out when I finally got my running clothes and shoes on. I found the footbridge crossing over the Potomac and ran the mall to the end at the capitol building and then to the Lincoln Memorial. I ran down to the Jefferson Memorial and back across the bridge to circle Arlington Cemetery and headed back to the apartment.
When I got there, my head was clear and after a shower, I felt like I could take on the world. Thirteen. We might not be quite there yet, but there were going to be thirteen in our pod.
The bus arrived and we loaded our instruments to go rehearse.
“You two have veto power, of course,” Donna began. That always made me alert. She must have a brilliant idea. “I think we should stream the whole show and not just the six-minute new piece. We can cut it and release just the six minutes on YouTube in a week.”
“Will people tune in for it?” I asked. It seemed like awfully short notice to our patrons.
“We announced the stream for eight o’clock and didn’t put a length on the announcement because we weren’t sure of the timing yet,” Donna said. “We’ve got two hundred new subscribers since the announcement. I don’t think you need to worry about an audience.”
“Let’s do it!” Cindy said. I looked at her and something told me she felt as invigorated this morning as I did.
Our first rehearsal was strictly tech. The techies called it their ‘wet tech.’ They’d already run cue to cue last night. Our camera crew was on the move as well. They had three cameras and a mixer. Someone was shelling out for a major production on this. Remas had sent a complete score of the program to the mixer the night before, which explained why she wasn’t at the reception. There was a soundproof booth behind one block of the audience and the mixer sat with another woman, both looking over the score as we played.
“Break!” the mixer called. “We need a light-level adjustment.” She left her speaker open so we could all hear the two in the booth discuss how to remedy the bright spot washing out Sophie’s face at the end of I read the manual. They planned to superimpose footage of the quote from the Jefferson Memorial at the end. It wouldn’t be visible to the live audience, but the stream would see it. Then we were back in action until they needed to correct something else. Sometimes it was lighting, sometimes it was when one of us strayed off our mark, and sometimes it was to correct a camera position or angle. Whatever, it was a tedious two hours after which we did a full ‘dress rehearsal’ straight through the way we planned to perform it. During that one, I noticed Donna was in the booth with the two techs, as well.
We met together over cartons of Thai food in the lobby after that to discuss any concerns. When we’d eaten, the techs left, and we ran the whole thing again. I felt pretty good about it when we’d finished what we now called Mozart on Fire, our encore.
Remas got those of us performing out of our clothes in a dressing room and bagged each outfit as we dressed for our interview with the commission. She handed the bags off to someone as we left the dressing room with instructions that they were to be returned to the dressing room at noon tomorrow.
We boarded the bus and were delivered to the Watergate Hotel where the commission had a conference room for the interviews. Remas assured us our instruments would be safe on the bus.
We had to wait outside the room for about twenty minutes before a haggard-looking guy left. The National Service didn’t have a uniform, but corps members were issued patches to identify their service and could put them on whatever clothes they wanted. This guy had a hoe and shovel on his patch which identified him as serving in the fields somewhere. I hoped he gave them an earful.
“Jacob Hopkins,” Governor Adamson greeted me when we were all settled in the room. It was set up a lot like a senate hearing room with a long table for us to sit at on one side and a long table with the commission members at it on the other. There were a few people in spectator seats, too. “Welcome to this interview with the President’s National Service Review Commission. First off, I want you all to know this is not a hearing or legal testimony. We have no judgmental authority, no oaths, and no recriminations, regardless of what you say. It is a fact and opinion gathering expedition and we thank you for your participation.”
“I understand, Governor,” I answered.
“Perhaps you would start by giving us an introduction to members of your pod. This is the first and, I believe, only interview that involves an entire pod and you have the largest pod we have researched. Please tell us who your mates are and a little background about their status.”
I did the introductions, including ages, professions, or year in school. I included having three members of our pod who were in-service. The members seemed impressed that our pod included professionals who would never have to serve and one post-service member.
“If you would, Jacob, I’d like you to describe what you consider the single biggest issue regarding the service to be from your perspective as one preparing to serve. Then we’ll turn it over to questions from the commission.”
“Thank you, sir.” I figured this would be the biggie and even though I felt there were three issues of almost equal validity, it wasn’t difficult for me to identify the one that concerned us the most. “Governor and members of the commission. Honored guests. The National Service was created with noble intent. The twenty-eighth amendment languished for ten years until the tragic events of 9/11 when states rushed to ratify it. Even the law that was written to govern the service, while a bit of a hodge-podge, was passed with good intentions. Sadly, it left the actual operation of the service in the hands of those managing it and it turned that management over to the United States military. While I consider that a miscarriage of intent, what I want to focus on is the procedural manual that seems to grow almost daily. I paid $100 per volume of the three-volume eBook last year when the national emergency was declared and at least twelve revisions have been released since then. That is another issue. What I’d like to focus on, however, is one section of the procedures.” I opened the relevant section on my iPad for reference.
“Induction and Basic Training,” I read. “It appears human hands never touched this section. The text indicates that ‘based on NSAT aptitudes, the new recruits will be assigned to a basic training camp for eight weeks of standardized training with people of like aptitude.’ After doing some digging, I discovered this assignment is made by the National Service computer which balances out not only the aptitudes, but how full different camps are and what the current needs of the service are. I understand that inducting four million youth a year is the greatest strain on a draft organization the nation has ever known. It makes sense to use the computer to at least make suggestions.”
“I see you have the manual open,” Governor Adamson said. “Can you give us the approximate page and section you are referring to?” I gave him the citation and nearly everyone on the commission found the place. I noticed a couple of them had printed copies and were marking them up as we talked.
“Two items are overlooked in this section, however. First, it gives no consideration to any personal needs or desires. No weight is given to interests as opposed to aptitude, family and personal relationships, or even childcare. Inductees are not even given an idea of where they will be going or what they will be doing before the morning they arrive at the induction center and board a bus. Second, it forces people together who are of similar aptitude, keeping them from integrating with people who are different. Moving from basic to National Service Occupation training, it seems no effort is ever made for people with different interests and aptitudes to get together, share ideas, and bond.
“I am most concerned about what this has done to friendships and family relationships. It seems that without an open declaration of intent, the induction, basic training, NSO training, and ultimate career assignments are designed to disrupt the social fabric of the nation. This extends in section 107 of the training procedures to reassigning dormitory or barracks rooms every two to three weeks so recruits find themselves with a new cadre of denizens and split away from fragile new friendships and even romantic relationships that might be forming.
“This disruption of traditional relationships is what has given rise to new kinds of relationships like that of our pod, formed in part to create a stable home base for in-service personnel. We believe the tensions and stress caused by this policy to be a fundamental flaw in the National Service.”
Some of the questions that followed were hostile, but most seemed to understand where we were coming from. They spread the questions out among our pod, so everyone got to answer at least one. It was an exhausting two hours. Not only that, but the two-hour interview was followed by dinner with some of the other advisors, at which we were continually peppered with questions and the commission seemed to embody my complaint by trying to get us separated for certain questions. For once, I was glad Cindy kept her grip on my arm through the whole affair.
I got back to our room once again, too exhausted to care who got in bed with me and thankful to find Beca and Donna there.
We went to sleep.
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