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A Dream of the Heart

We ended our regular Friday nightclub gig at near 2am, the usual time with the usual bored, drunken crowd in attendance. All they wanted to hear were the oldies from the sixties and seventies and eighties, maybe a few early nineties songs. They would even get a bit surly if we tried to play something original or anything newer than those eight-year-old nineties songs. Oh well, maybe tomorrow's crowd at the other place would be more open-minded. I had a few new tunes that I wanted to try out, including a jazz piece that I'd written over a year ago for my Dad. I only played it twice before, once for him to try and cheer him up while he was sick and then again at his funeral. Too bad it didn't cheer him up very much, he had wanted to play along on his sax, but he was far too weak. He'd just leaned back in his hospital bed and tried to move his gnarled fingers along with the notes I was playing. I was hoping that Mike, our lead singer and manager, would let me try it out. I'm Ted, the flute player for a two-bit oldies band. This is only my weekend job, I work most days in a supermarket just to pay the bills, but music is my first love.

I tried not to think of Dad as I packed my flute in its case and helped the band pack the rest of the gear. We only had the chance to play in local clubs and we didn't even have roadies to help setup or tear down. We played different clubs on Friday and Saturday so everything had to be moved each time.

I had Saturday off from the supermarket, so I slept late the next day like club musicians often do. But I still had a lot of Dad's old stuff to sort through. I had moved in with him a few months before he passed away to help do what I could. I really didn't need my old apartment after my divorce. Twenty years together and some of those were actually happy. The marriage went completely to hell after our 21-year-old son moved out and quit talking to us. Sometimes I found myself wishing that we had been more careful about protection back in those college days, but you get drunk and horny and things happen. Then you wind up married with a kid and dropping out of school to get a supermarket job.

I wanted to use the afternoon to continue sorting through all Dad's junk that had collected over the years. It was amazing the amount of trash that accumulates in a house over the course of fifty years and I had to look over everything to sort out any treasures from all the trash. It was taking me months. Early on, I found a few of my old things that had been packed away and forgotten.

There was all my old college stuff in a couple of boxes, carefully packed as if I were going to go back any minute now to finish my degree. Fat chance of that after so many years. I threw away most of it, except for a few special things, sheets of music I had written, tapes of recitals when I was still young and eager, that sort of thing.

One special item had caught my attention. It was a song lyric that I had scribed on fake parchment for a calligraphy class. I had taken the class on a whim and turned out to be rather good at it. Too bad I couldn't make any money at it, especially now that computer word processors did fancy printing that replaced real calligraphy. The sheet was covered with fancy lettering, a border of leaves drawn down the side and little stick figures danced in or around some of the capital letters. One of the best things I had ever done for that class. The song was from one of my favorite groups at the time, but it wasn't one of their most popular tunes. I liked it anyway, enough to use it as the final project of the class.

The group was called Heart, and it was the song “The Dream of the Archer” off of their “Little Queen” album. Their music was really great, but I think part of my attraction was the raven-haired lead singer and sometimes flute and guitar player, Ann Wilson. Her voice was powerful and seductive all at once and with it she could tear a man's soul in two. Her photo on the album cover, her holding a crystal ball, didn't hurt, either. Especially her sultry look and the way she filled out that black velvet gypsy dress. For some reason that particular song just appealed to me, probably because I took target archery for my PE requirement in college and liked the sport. I could even overlook Heart's little errors in archery terms. Target archers shoot at the gold not the goal, for most targets the bull's-eye is a yellow color. And archers release the string or the shot, not the aim. But then, with a voice like Ann Wilson's singing, who cares about an odd word or two?

However the band Heart had been dormant for several years. I heard they were trying to make a comeback and wished them the best of luck. The music scene had always been a jungle and it was even worse now. Maybe things would work out for them, I always loved Ann's powerful voice and amazing control.

Just for grins, I had packed the calligraphy in a mailing tube with a little note of explanation and sent it to the band's label, directed to Ann but hoping it would get to any one of them. Preferably Ann Wilson herself. Probably not, but I was hopeful. It had been several weeks since I sent it with no word back from the publisher. Maybe by now it was hanging on the wall of some minor music executive's office or else got tossed in the dumpster.


That night we were at our usual Saturday-night club, but instead of being the main act we were opening for a cover band called Heartthrob. Not a very clever name, but it still let everyone know that they were a Heart lookalike band. With luck, they would even sound like Heart. I'd never heard of them before, but that's not surprising, I was hardly at the center of the local music scene.

The crowd seemed to have a good energy to them, much better than last night. So we opened with some newer stuff, but still covered the 70's and 80's. I managed to slip in one of my own songs near the end of the set. Nobody noticed. We cleared off of the stage and let the next act set up. I figured they must have a pretty good show, they even had a few roadies to set up for them. The house was well packed by then, so I was really surprised when Tony the manager pointed me at a table right down front. I barely had enough time to sit down, set my flute case on the table and hoist my beer when Heartthrob took the stage. It was amazing, but they really did look like the original group Heart. Especially the two front gals, the lead singer and the guitarist. A bit older than what I remembered the band from the last concert I was at, but then that was over a decade ago.

They started with an instrumental warm-up of “Dreamboat Annie,” one of Heart's older tunes, then the singer introduced the band by the first names of Heart's original members. I thought it was kind of silly to use the stage names of the band being covered, instead of everyone's real names, but that's just me. I guess they were trying to reinforce the illusion that they were actually the original Heart instead of a cover band. I have to admit, they were very convincing. Their voices, movement and especially their musical style were exactly the same as the original Heart. Even their outfits matched the original band with the guitarist in her beaded shirt and tight jeans, and the curvy lead singer in a clingy black dress. After the next song, they nearly had me convinced that they were the original band, except for the fact that the originals would never play in a cheap club like this. I just sat back, enjoyed the music and especially the lead singer. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She had Ann Wilson's moves down perfectly, her voice was exactly the same. Even the little vocal tricks that Anne liked to put into songs were there, like that wonderful wailing noise in the song “Alone.” She was pleasantly plump, but just as beautiful and sexy as Ann, so that added to the pleasure of watching her.

They were amazing, every Heart song they covered was done perfectly, just the same as the originals. If I didn't look around at the rest of the club, I would have sworn that this was Heart up on that dinky stage. At the end of their set, I stood and applauded loudly, but the lead singer motioned for everyone to sit down.

“We've got one more song we want to do, but with a special guest.” She announced. “Ted, are you in here? Come on up and bring your flute.”

I wasn't sure how I got my flute out of its case or how I got to the stage, I was in such a daze at having my name announced. I was even more confused by her next statement.

“Ted, I know there's a song that we do that's special to you and we'd like you to join us for it. It's called The Dream of the Archer.”

They started playing right away, jumping into the mandolin intro without even waiting for the brief applause to die down. Even though the song didn't have a flute part, I quickly got my flute into position and followed along as best I could without any rehearsing, taking one of the mandolin parts.

Ann sang the opening lines. “Wayfaring warrior soul, still wild the archer stands. Arrow measured to the goal, sing of strong and living man.”

I still couldn't figure out what was going on. How did this cover band know that I sent the calligraphy of this song's lyrics to Ann Wilson? The only thing I could think is that this was really the original Heart. With all this going on in my head, I hope I made it through the song without any serious mistakes, but the audience seemed to like it.

“Gentle archer, ages old, release the aim and free the goal. Come and roll your arrow to my soul, release the aim, free the goal.” Ann finished the last words and stepped back from the mike.

The applause went on and on, but the band didn't take bows, they kept their positions while Ann stepped up to the mike again.

“We're not done yet!” She practically shouted over the noise and the band jumped right into a rendition of “Never.” Again a song without a flute part. I tried to stay with the song and got caught up in the music. Ann surprised me by pulling out her seldom-seen flute after the first chorus and started echoing my flute playing.

I tried to follow along when Ann broke away from the melody and set off on an improvisation of her own. Musicians say that when you play with a better musician, your own music immediately improves. I knew this to be true from the times that I would play along with my Dad. Ann was an expert, very much in the style of Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, and I was playing like I'd never played before. Our tunes swirled around each other, sometimes growing further apart, sometimes in unison, like two tongues caught in a musical kiss. First Ann would set the direction and then I would follow, then we reversed roles. Each of us trying to get the feel of the other's musical inventiveness. I was adding riffs from other old and new rock songs, progressive jazz pieces and even the occasional classical work. Ann stayed with me every note of the way and kept adding her own riffs. We soon forgot about the crowd, the rest of the band and everything else except the music that we were making together. Some people say that good music is like a conversation, but it goes much deeper than that. Music touches on the emotions deep inside the human soul, feeding off them and adding to them. Really good improvisation between two musicians becomes a caress, a kiss, a joining of the emotions that is as deep as really good lovemaking can be.

Finally, we were exhausted and turned the song over to the rest of the band. I stared into Ann's eyes, oblivious to the cheers of the crowded room. We were both breathless, sweaty and disheveled, just like after a session of wild sex. Ann's plump face was flushed, as if she had just had an orgasm. I so desperately wanted to take her in my arms and just kiss her, deeply and thoroughly, even though my lower lip was raw from the mouth-rest of the flute. She leaned towards me slightly as if that's what she wanted, too. I was just about to respond when the rest of her band ended the song and grabbed both of us for a bow to the audience.

Shouts of “Encore, encore!” echoed around the room. Ann looked into my eyes again, communicating without words. I raised one eyebrow, questioning and she nodded in agreement. I held her gaze, raised my flute to my lips once more and started to play the opening notes of “Unchained Melody,” slowly and seductively playing it at a much slower tempo than usual. Ann joined in, her strong voice seductively crooning the lyrics so I could switch to the harmony, playing in thirds and fifths around her voice. This was slower than the last song, but still just as deep and emotional. The crowd went dead silent and a steady tap on the rim of the snare was the only sound from the rest of the band. Slowly and languidly, we built the music to a climax, with Ann taking up her flute so each of us would switch off playing the harmony. Ann locked my eyes in her gaze and never once looked away the entire time. The sexuality of her look was unmistakable and I have to admit that I felt a bit of pressure growing in my pants. By the time the song was ended, I was ready to tear her clothes off and have her right there on the stage. She must have been feeling the sexuality of the moment as well. As the last notes echoed around the room, she lowered her flute, leaned across and wrapped an arm around my neck. I couldn't help myself, our lips met and the audience howled in approval, shocking us both back into reality.

Ann disentangled herself and stepped back a half step. I grabbed her free hand before she got entirely away and held on to it while we took our bows. She smiled at that and gave my hand a squeeze as she turned towards the audience.

“I want to talk to you in a minute, let me go freshen up first.” She whispered, well actually she half-shouted in my ear over the roar of the applause after we took several bows.

I guess I nodded, I was still dazed from the performance and I headed off to the men's room to rinse the sweat off my face. Just to make sure it wasn't a dream, I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered. What chance did I have with a beautiful, successful rock star? For that matter, what the hell was she doing in a local club playing music with the likes of us? Of me? I'm just a burned-out two-bit player in a local club, balding and out-of-shape. How did she even find this place? I whispered a quiet prayer to the Rock 'N Roll Gods that she wouldn't come to her senses too soon. I wanted another kiss, more private this time, so I would have some time to explore the wonders of Ann's tongue. I didn't dare hope for any more. Years ago I would drift off to sleep, thinking of Ann as she appeared on that Little Queen album cover, looking sultry in her black velvet Gypsy dress, tall boots and purple stockings. Like a fine wine, she had improved with age, softening her curves and adding to her character.

I got back to the main room to find Heartthrob all packed and ready to leave. Damn, I guess I missed that chance for one last kiss. Just then, Ann emerged from the ladies' room, headed straight for me and wrapped a friendly arm around my waist. I draped my arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, enjoying the feel of her softness against my side. She headed for the parking lot, dragging me along.

“Well, that was a damned good set. You're fun to play with, Ted.” She smiled at me and my heart melted.

“That was, was, amazing, the best I've ever played. I'd love to play with you more… uh, that is… I mean, uh, music. Play music with you. Uh… Yeah, that's it.” I stammered.

She laughed at my discomfort and I tried not to blush.

“That's okay, I knew what you meant.” She tilted her head at me and smiled.

The next thing I knew she was in my arms again, her sweet, soft body pressed fully against me, and her lips planted firmly against my mouth. Raw or not, those lips were reviving me and they parted, allowing our tongues to come together. There was no way I could hide my physical reaction from her, not when we were this close. My hardness grew between us, pressing into the soft curves of her lower belly. She didn't break the kiss immediately, but instead ground her hips against me for a moment before turning loose.

“I want to talk to you some more, I want to find out why you sent me that calligraphy and why a hot flute player like you isn't in a top band.” She whispered, shoving something into the pocket of my jeans. “Call me at that number. Tonight.”

She stepped back, keeping hold of my hands and slowly slid hers away, holding my gaze one more moment before turning and boarding the waiting car. It sped off immediately, leaving me standing there in the parking lot, still dazed.

I headed back in to the club to pack my flute and help stow the band's gear in our van. Of course the rest of the losers in the band had to make fun of my getting some interest from the lead singer. I wonder if they realized that it really was Ann Wilson, the original and not some look-alike. It didn't take long to finish packing and I was soon in my car, headed for home.


I was thinking about Ann while heading home, driving almost by autopilot when a sudden realization hit me. Ann had stuck something in my pocket when we kissed. It took this long for it to sink in because I was thinking way too much about her soft lips and sexy body. I pulled over and dug the slip of paper out of my pocket. It was a Post-it note with her name on it and a phone number. My hands started shaking, which made it difficult for me to punch the number into my cell phone, but I managed. After just two rings, a woman's voice answered. It was Ann.

“Hi Ted, what took you so long? I was worried that you wouldn't call.”

“I had to get rid of my band first.” I tried to explain. “What would you like to do?”

“I'd like to talk to you, come to my hotel.” She mentioned a courtyard hotel that was only a few blocks from the club and gave me her room number.

If my junky car were capable of peeling rubber, I would have while making that illegal U-turn. Ann was in the lobby, still wearing her black dress, waiting for me by the time I got there. She greeted me with a hug, but this time her kiss was little more than a closed-mouth peck on the lips. In her room, she sat us together on the couch, not the bed.

“So tell me, what are you doing in a weekend bar band?” She started.

“There's not much interesting to tell, I'd rather hear about you.” I was hoping my voice sounded as earnest as my feelings.

“Ha.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Everybody wants to hear about me, I'm tired of it. Tell me about you.”

“Okay, but I warn you, it's pretty boring.” I filled her in on my long relationship with music, how my Dad toured with a Big Band in the 40's, then settled down as a studio musician playing background on everyone else's albums and never getting credit. How he taught me to play flute, sax and piano, almost before I could walk.

“Wait a minute,” She interrupted me, “you said your Dad toured with the Al North Swing Ambassadors?”

“Yeah, that was one of the bands, there was also a progressive jazz quartet and a…”

“I think I heard of them. He also did recording studio work?”

“A few movie gigs, too.” I mentioned the movies and a few of the recording studios he worked with.

“Then I did meet him.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “It was an early album for a real studio. We got this tiny room down the hall from the main studio where a Big Band was recording. He got my attention because he had both flute and sax, so I talked with him a while.”

“Too bad I didn't meet you then… well, maybe its better I didn't. I would have just stared and drooled.”

She giggled at that. “Go on, you've still got more story to go.”

“Wait a minute, how did you find where I was playing?”

Updated: December 18, 2016 — 2:48 am
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