Double Twist
Chapter 194
“Maybe we’ll have a vampire prom.”
He shot me an appalled look. “What is this, Twilight?”
—Veronica Wolff, Vampire’s Kiss
OUR LIVES were defined by concerts. Saturday, we performed in our first ‘public’ venue at Marion Civic Center. There were around five hundred in attendance. Doesn’t sound like much compared to the thousands we performed for in California. Cindy and I lowered our expectations. We weren’t in a huge production with a cast of hundreds. We were two classical musicians performing a free two-hour show in smalltown Indiana. We were lucky there weren’t hogs in the audience. Our reception was positive, though. The audience balanced toward our teen demographic but because of the kind of music, a good many parents attended with them.
V1, a presence I seldom thought about these days, would have been in that audience rather than on stage. I’d have tested high in math and physics aptitude and be preparing for a life as an engineer of some sort. I could expect to spend my National Service repairing conveyor belts or some similar activity.
V2… He would have been dead. I’d come to better understand the fourteen-year-old who stepped in front of a bus three years ago. The experience of being buried alive, his unnatural lust for his sister, his unending nightmares, all indicated a depressed and tortured soul. If he had failed in his first attempt, he would have tried again.
That’s when I merged and became V3. The old man distanced himself from the memory of the childhood trauma, substituting his own life memories and ultimately coming to understand and master the nightmares. I still had an occasional nightmare; that’s part of life. Our subconscious attempts to make sense of the multiple sensory inputs in life and the random combination of synapses firing isn’t always pleasant. My nightmares were far more likely to be about a different kind of pressure than being buried alive. If that popped into my sleeping brain, it was figurative.
And the relationship with my sister was resolved by my simply not recognizing her as the same person as my miserable and bitter V1 sister. I couldn’t equate in my mind or my heart a relationship with her as a forbidden incestuous crime. I embraced my love for her and she had found a way to embrace me.
Where V2 had attempted to pour out his misery through music, V3 was filled with joy from it. Picking up my guitar was almost as sensual an experience as caressing a lover. I’d let the love of music totally overwhelm my aptitude for math and physics. Which didn’t mean I couldn’t sit down and describe the exact frequencies of each string and the difference in tone between plucking a string with the flat of my finger and the tip of my nail. I knew the physics of music as well as the artistry of it. I could tell exactly when a certain tone of Cindy’s flute would blend with a tone from my guitar.
And on stage, I let the music carry me into the magical world of our relationship. Something I couldn’t describe with physics.
“You need to focus your time on getting your classes finished,” Em said as I sat strumming my guitar on Sunday morning. “I know some of these things like physics and business math come easy to you but even as a musician, you need to have a solid enough foundation to proceed at the National School. You’ll get more art and music training, but they aren’t going to let you slide by without history, English, and science.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. I’d slipped into a rock star mindset. I didn’t need to study because I made tons of money playing music. And money was all that mattered for a successful life. I knew the fallacy of that line of thinking and mentally kicked myself. If I hadn’t devoted the time it took to learn about the National Service and the law and regulations that governed it, I’d never be in the position of playing promotional concerts for them.
“J, what’s been on your mind lately? I know it’s been busy as hell since we got back from DC, but you seem a little distracted.”
“You know me so well,” I laughed. “I guess I’ve been worried about the impact we’re having on the family. I feel like I’ve forced a decision on everyone. The pod was supposed to help us support each other when we were away in service. It wasn’t supposed to force everyone to join up.”
“Everyone isn’t,” Em said. “I’ve agreed to reenlist for two years when you, Cindy, Desi, Beca, and Brittany go in. And believe me, I’m getting my contract inspected before I ever sign it. They are offering me a great job that will let me manage the logistics of your travel and performance. I’ll also have Desi and Brittany to manage when they start performing, if they go out on deputation assignments like you do. It’s an ideal career step and someone insisted that important management positions within the service be filled by members of the service.”
“See? That’s what I mean. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have been able to just get hired by them to manage logistics without being forced to reenlist.”
“It’s all good, J. I’m going to love having Rachel as my boss. And don’t be surprised in two years if we’re all sitting down together to discuss reupping for another term.”
“What a change, huh?”
“If you need distractions from your schoolwork, you should be focusing on prom. You have eleven dates.”
I’d been so focused on adulting that I’d ignored the growing excitement around me at school. There are two capstones to a high school career: Senior prom and commencement. They were both rushing toward us. It was less than three weeks until prom and six until commencement.
My girlfriends… Scratch that. My wives had orchestrated a coup on the principal of our school. We’d obligingly let the Valentine’s Dance slide in exchange for guaranteed admission of the entire pod for senior prom. With only three weeks between prom and the end of the school year, Principal Rice had assured us there would be no issue in attending the prom as a complete plural domestic partnership. A table would be reserved at the prom for Pod Octave.
But that still meant everyone was in all-out prom prep mode. All of us except Cindy had attended at least one prom in our lives. As a result, she became the focus of all the prep, even calling her mother in to help shop for a prom dress—which pleased Betty no end. Shopping for dresses for dinner at the White House was easy compared with prom shopping.
Of course, Cindy’s and my concert schedule made it even more difficult. Friday after our senior assembly at Northrop, Betty met Emily, Cindy, and me to do our prom shopping. I’m not sure how I survived. I think Emily and Cindy tried on a hundred dresses between them. I had to inspect each one. A couple, I had to surreptitiously check to see if I could get my hand inside. Well, it was prom. There had to be a little subtle access.
I was afraid Emily would go for something plain and simple like she had for her own senior prom. She looked lovely but the dress was something she could wear to church, too. I wanted her to go a little wild. And she did. The top was a stretchy blue band that wrapped her breasts and down to her waist. That was really easy to get a hand inside. The skirt blew me away. It was yellow with an abstract geometric print. And was completely translucent. You could see right through it to the matching blue tap pants beneath. I was having some serious thoughts about leaving Cindy and her mom to finish while I took Emily home to ravish her.
Then I saw the dress Cindy chose. It was the picture of pink innocence. Spaghetti straps held up the form-fitting bodice that hugged her body down to the flare of her hips and then fell in satiny folds to her feet. The neckline was cut in a vee to below her breasts making it obvious there was nothing but Cindy under the dress. When Betty went to check on something with the sales clerk, I checked to make sure the access to Cindy’s beautiful breasts was truly as easy as it looked. It was. I don’t know how it is possible for a girl to look so completely shy and innocent and ready to fuck as she did.
Of course, I had to stop at Louie’s to order a tux. He outdid himself again. I was so pleased with this one, I decided to buy it instead of rent it. He made a few alteration chalk marks to be sure it fit perfectly and told me it would be ready next weekend. It had a cutaway jacket with a thin silver lapel stripe. The vest was a matching silver gray with a black lapel stripe. And the tie wasn’t really a tie. It was a kind of cravat that had a ruffled band that slid up to hold it together instead of being knotted. The silver and black combination was worn over a black formal shirt—no ruffles, but French cuffs and studs. Even Betty seemed to be enthused about the suit, based on the way she kept touching it and running her hands inside the lapels and over the back. Or maybe she was just checking for ease of access.
Beca, Brittany, Sophie, Donna, and Nanette took off for Chicago that afternoon. They decided to shop on Saturday with Joan while Cindy, Emily, and I headed to our concert at the Legion Hall in Anderson.
That was interesting. I did my usual spiel about the service changing and needing the reform legislation to pass but, to my surprise, got heckled.
“Just play the music. Nobody needs your politics!” a guy yelled from the back of the room.
“This is one of the reasons everyone who opposes service reform needs to be voted out of congress this year,” I said. “This district needs to come out strong on behalf of the youth who are here and are going to be serving in just a few months.”
That got a couple more jeers but Cindy and I went into a lively tango in which we chased each other a few steps across the stage and back. I was a bit upset by the heckler but I tried not to show it.
“I got information on the heckler,” Em said when we were packed and leaving the hall. I saw some guys standing around in the parking lot head toward us. I got our instruments in the truck and slammed the door as Em started the engine. She pressed the door locks as the truck came to life and we pulled out. Someone pounded on the side of the truck with his fist.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked, trying to see back into the lot.
“From what I was told backstage, the District 5 incumbent has been launching a major attack against service reform. He’s been telling the locals that service reform will have an immediate impact on local food prices and service personnel need to suck it up and do their part to feed America,” Em said as we hit the entrance ramp to I-69. We all relaxed into the ride, feeling safe now that we were out on the highway.
“Our message is getting through to people,” Cindy said softly. “Don’t let the heckler get to you, Jacob. It just means the message is getting through.”
“Thanks, Piper. I just don’t want us to get in a situation where you or Emily might get hurt. We need to talk to Rachel about that,” I said.
“That’s a good idea,” Emily said. “At least we should know when we’re heading into potentially hostile territory. There must be information at the OCS on which districts have anti-reform incumbents or strong candidates.”
“Clever how they slated a performance in each of our Northern Indiana congressional districts,” I said.
“The objective is to get you more home base support and recognition. Come June, you’ll be all over the Midwest,” Emily said.
“Do you suppose they’d credit us with three months’ time served when we join the service?” Cindy sighed. Hmm. Good idea.
Joan took the day before the prom off and drove down to Fort Wayne in time to meet Livy, Desi, and Rachel after their flight arrived. Unfortunately, Cindy, Emily, and I were all the way across the state at Lafayette Jefferson High School for a senior assembly. It’s another big school like ours. Rachel had done a good job of profiling schools that would give us the biggest bang for the buck, so to speak. The previous week we’d been at Penn, one of the biggest high schools in the state. On this Friday, we were presenting in an auditorium that seated far more than the 500 seniors who were there.
Lafayette is a university town with Purdue in West Lafayette, just a couple of miles from the high school. Purdue doesn’t have a reputation for being as liberal as IU, but the higher educated profile of the populace meant people tended to be more critical of the government. In addition to the seniors, the high school had invited any parents who could attend the eleven o’clock assembly. It was a pretty good crowd. Our music was well-accepted and people applauded the political message politely if not enthusiastically.
Finishing the assembly didn’t end our work in Lafayette. We weren’t traveling to perform on Saturday because of the prom. But Rachel had booked us at the university Friday night. That performance was open to the public and, according to National Service standards, was free to all.
I wasn’t sure about the wisdom of performing for a college crowd, most of whom had completed their service. Why would they be interested in reform? It turned out to be our most enthusiastic crowd so far. At the end of the two-hour performance, the audience picked up the chant ‘Recover the dream,’ and were still going when we left through the stage door to get in the truck. I hated Emily having to drive across the state at ten o’clock at night but she was okay with it. She truly enjoyed driving.
The house was quiet when we pulled in about midnight but three beautiful sweethearts were in my bed waiting for me when I crawled in.
I wasn’t sure we’d last through Saturday to stay awake during the prom. We started with a spa day.
Let me correct that. We started with sex. Lots of it before we ever even got to breakfast. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing being worn in the house and everyone wanted at least some kissing and petting from her wives or husband. We managed to get through breakfast with only two orgasms at the table. It seemed that everyone was extremely horny on prom day.
Okay, then we went for a spa day. We got massaged, barbered, and made up. We had lunch at a bistro near the spa and then went home to dress. By three o’clock, we were all dressed and our limo showed up. Yeah. The prom wasn’t for four hours yet. But the limo took us to Olan Mills for photos. That was not a short process. In addition to our full family photos, we wanted a lot of couples and small group photos, too. Rachel and I wanted a photo together. Rachel and Livy wanted a photo together. Rachel and Livy wanted a photo with me. Ditto Nanette, Sophie, and Brittany. Beca and Joan wanted couple and triple photos. Donna, Desi, Em, and Cindy all wanted couple’s shots with me. We made it out of the studio in time for our dinner reservation and then on to the prom.
The theme this year was ‘Masquerade.’ I thought the decorations were a little simpler than they’d been in years past but it was all attractive. When the girls went to Chicago to get their dresses, they’d bought masks for everyone, too. Mine was a kind of half mask that reminded me of Phantom of the Opera, except instead of plain white, it was encrusted with jewels. Desi went with a Victorian steampunk look, wearing leather that left her cleavage in full view and a gap between the leather bra top and the short skirt. Her mask had goggles on it.
We had a table reserved for us and made quite a scene coming into the ballroom. Donna wore a form-hugging silver white long gown with a neckline that plunged deep between her breasts. It hugged her sexy shape to just above the knees and then flared out in layers of taffeta. A lot of seniors had Donna for freshman and sophomore honors English and she created quite a stir when she went to the dance floor with me. People started gravitating to our table to talk to her and find out about our pod. They were surprised to find us in a clinch and Donna being passed from wife to wife when we came off the dance floor.
Rachel, Livy, Sophie, Joan, Beca, Brittany—there is just nothing you could do to make those luscious girls look anything less than edible. In fact, I was looking forward to eating several of them when we left the prom for our suite in the Hilton.
The surprise—and perhaps the scandal—of the evening was Nanette. Nan has moments of insecurity because she’s the oldest of us and sometimes feels like she’s competing with the eternally young and beautiful. At forty-four, she was an incredible beauty as far as I was concerned. Livy, our other thin and trim runner, commented that she hoped she’d look like Nanette as she got older. Nanette said, “I hope I look more like you when I get older, too.” But the outfit she chose for her prom debut was the sexiest thing I saw anywhere in the prom.
She wore a pants suit, if you can believe that! I love her legs, but the black slacks were only slightly less form-fitting than yoga pants. Beneath the hem, she wore very pointy, very high heels—black with a silver strap up the top of her foot and around her ankle. It was like she’d chosen them to show she was with me. The slacks stopped just below her navel. And we could see it clearly. She wore a black jacket with just one button about halfway between her navel and her breasts. And nothing under it. She had to keep that button fastened or she’d just pop out of the top. Talk about easy access.
“You guys are the talk of the prom,” Carol said when she joined us. “You all look so incredible and everyone is whispering about which of you are sleeping together.”
“The answer is all of us,” Beca said.
“Yeah. I tried answering that way when someone asked me my opinion and no one would believe me,” Carol giggled.
“Where’s your date?” I asked. I just assumed she’d be with someone. It was prom, right?
“Oh, I came stag. Half a dozen of us just got dressed up and came together without pairing up. Actually, I came over here to see if I could get a dance.” Well, that was only a little surprising. Carol had been hanging out at our table at lunch as often as not.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Cindy, may I have the honor of this next dance with you?” Carol said. What? Cindy was blushing but held out her hand. Carol took it and led her to the dance floor.
Well, Carol’s success unleashed a horde. There was a steady stream of guys and gals coming to our table asking for a dance. We just threw up our hands and said, “Why not?” I noticed Nan was especially popular among guys who couldn’t keep their eyes off her chest. And Donna, of course, was a favorite of all her former students. She was still a wet dream. When Sophie and Brittany began teaching salsa dancing, another line formed. And I believe every senior in the orchestra asked Cindy to dance.
Carol asked me to dance after she handed Cindy off to another. I took the violinist in my arms and we began to glide around the floor.
“What are your prospects for service?” I asked. It was a popular topic of discussion at the prom. Most of us would be in by the end of summer.
“It seems music is still in my future,” she said. “I found out there are more places than the National School where you and Cindy are going. I received an offer to audition with a group in LA. If all goes well, I’ll take my oath out there and go directly to a music basic camp that will evolve into doing film scores. I don’t know how these places get service kids assigned to them. As far as I can tell, the school has nothing at all to do with the service.”
“That’s a good question. Mr. Richards thinks companies are lining the pockets of service personnel in order to get the pick of the inductees. I think he’s probably right. That’s probably why there’s resistance to reform in congress. Someone is making money from the system the way it works now,” I said.
“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“I’m, like, unattached. Do you suppose your girlfriends… er, wives… would object to a little intimate time together? You and me? Um… and Cindy? I know we’re all headed different directions, but I hate the idea of not having found out what having sex with a guy and a girl would be like.”
“I don’t think it will work out tonight,” I said. “But yeah. I’d like to make love to you, Carol. I think we can arrange it.”
Why not?
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