Meeting the music teacher

"Brian Watts. I'm a teacher here," you answer, but she only shakes her head and points to the microphone on the console in front of you.

"Press the button on the mike," she tells you, the irritation in her voice coming through the speakers.

"Brian Watts. I'm a teacher here."

"Oh yeah, the jock," she says with a brief nod, that seems almost dismissive.

"And who are you?" you ask ascerbically, irritated by her attitude.

"I'm Bobby Fuller, who does it look like?" she answers, shaking her head in disdain. "What are you doing in my studio? You better not have messed with any of my settings."

"I came in because I heard you playing and stayed to watch," you reply. "Didn't realise this was a closed session."

She makes an odd little grimace, then shakes her head again. "Come on in here and we'll talk about it," she says, pointing to the door. "I'll unlock it. I don't like having conversations over a microphone." She puts her guitar down on a stand and flicks her mike switch off before going over to the door and turning the lock.

When you get to the corridor she's holding the door of the studio open, waiting for you. She gives you a bold, appraising stare as you approach, and never one to be shy you return the favour. You see that she's not as young as you had first thought, probably about your age. You also see that she is a strikingly attractive woman with a glint in her dark eyes and the hint of a smile quirking her mouth.

"You look a little young to be Bobby Fuller," you say with a smile. "And maybe the wrong gender. Didn't he release 'I Fought the Law' in 1965?"

"'66. And its Christina Thorpe," she says letting her smile bloom. "I teach music here. Come on in."

You follow her into the studio and take a seat on a high stool that she gestures at. It looks like a very well appointed and professional studio, and once again you're reminded of how much money Pink Rose Academy has.

"You're good," you say, nodding towards her guitar.

"I know," she says with no hint of false modesty. "Do you play?"

"A little, but nothing close to that." You can't help letting your eyes wander as you talk, looking at her extensive tattoos, and checking out her toned body. She sees you looking and laughs.

"I'm guessing you don't think I look much like a teacher."

"Not in a place like this," you nod.

"The tats all cover with a shirt, and I don't show off my tits like this except when I'm on stage," she laughs.

"On stage here?"

"Hell no! I have a band. Two bands actually. Play on weekends in local towns, and during the summer as much as I can. Here I teach our fine young ladies choir and band. A few of them are actually pretty good. Last year our jazz band won prizes at a couple of festivals."

"Sounds pretty good," you nod.

"That better not be you patronising me," she says with a grin, although there is steel in her eyes. "It's damn good for a school this size with girls that don't have any motivation to work at music unless they love it. Damn good."

You hold up your hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender.

"No offence meant. I was sincere, just not articulate."

"I'm just fuckin' with you," she laughs. "You just get here today?"

"About an hour ago. Met Ms. Naylor and unpacked. I thought I'd explore and I wound up here."

"What did you think of our Headmistress?"

"Pleasant enough, although she told me she has doubts about having men teach here."

"She has more than doubts. She fought it like there was a cliff two feet behind her. She's a bit uptight, but she's actually not too bad. She listens before she makes decisions." She looks at you thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "So how'd you get into teaching?"

You give her a brief summary of your career, while she watches you carefully, her eyes seeming to miss nothing.

"So you washed out, and didn't just sit around and mope. Good for you." she nods approvingly.

"What about you?"

"Oh I was one of those child prodigies you hear about. Playing piano by the time I was three, violin by four, that kind of thing. Went to Julliard when I was nine, that's in their pre-college division, finished my Bachelor degree by the time I was 19, well ahead of schedule. Then I horrified my family and most of my teachers by going on the road with a blues band for a while. We recorded a few things, but the band split up. I did some studio work for a while, and took a shot at my own band, but times got tough and I decided I needed a steady paycheck. Took my teaching diploma, wrote my resume so it showed off Julliard, covered up my tats, and got hired here. It's not bad, and I can still gig on weekends."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then picked up her guitar and held it out to you.

"You said you could play a little. Let's hear it."

"I'm not very good," you say honestly.

"Take it and play a little," she says firmly, her eyes brooking no dissent. Shrugging you take the guitar and sling the strap over you. It's an Epiphone Sheraton, old but in great shape and a real pleasure to pick up. You play a few chords to get used to the feel of it, then start a 12 bar blues shuffle, that you only fumble twice.

Christina nods at your effort, then holds out her hand for the guitar.

"So you weren't lying," she smiles. "You do play a little. A lot of guys will say that, but its just a shuck. Like I'm supposed to heat up because of it. You play anything else?"

"Back in college one of my teammates taught me how to play blues harp. We'd do a little act in the clubhouse sometimes, him on guitar and me on the harp."

"Yeah?" she says with interest, getting up and opening a cabinet, returning with a Hohner blues harp and handing it to you as she picks up her guitar and sits on a stool beside you.

"You know 'Boom Boom' by John Lee Hooker?" she asks, playing first few bars. You nod and start to play, keeping up with her and adding a few riffs that you and your old teammate worked on. Christina smiles and nods, adding riffs of her own that keep you off balance, but not so hard that you lose her completely. When the two of you bring it to an end she's laughing, and claps her hands in praise.

"You're not bad for a jock," she laughs. "Not bad at all. Almost sounded like Little Walter there for a minute. What are you doing tonight?"

You look at her puzzled, realising that she changes conversational directions as quickly as she plays.

"Tonight. My band is playing tonight," she says as if explaining something to a slow learner. "Town about thirty miles away. You want to come watch?"

"Sure, that would be great," you say. "I don't have a car though."

"You can ride with me. I'll pick you up at seven. Show starts at nine."

"Sounds great. I'm looking forward to it," you smile.

"Most guys do," she says with a laugh as she puts her guitar and stands up, stepping towards you. "They think if they praise my playing they have a shot at getting in my pants." She steps closer to you, her eyes playful, then reaches behind you and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head towards her. Her mouth is hot and exciting on yours, her tongue electric and exploring. When you start to put your hands on her waist she breaks the kiss with a laugh and steps back.

"Just wanted to see if you were up to rock star standards," she laughs, picking up her guitar and carrying it to a case across the room. "See you at seven," she says over her shoulder. "Have fun exploring the school."