"And
now I give you Mill's Creek's Billy Lee," the owner of
The Top Of The World boomed.
An enthusiastic burst of applause followed, then high pitched
whistles and stamping of feet. A spotlight shone center stage
as the musician bounded on. The chanting began: "Bill-y,
Bill-y, Bill-y."
A full house, Skye registered. Every table and chair was occupied.
Standing room only. She and Creed had been lucky to have a table
up front, prearranged by Billy, most likely.
Skye shouted over the noise. "You and Billy stayed in touch?"
"Through our agents mostly. Early in our careers we shared
the occasional gig."
The subject of their discussion brought the shiny saxophone
to his lips and blew a few tentative notes. The room quieted.
Billy's tune began softly, slowly, building in intensity. Skye
was mesmerized by his agile fingers, his mouth, the expression
on his face, as he became lost in his music - totally absorbed.
The notes trembled, then with crystal clarity, reached out and
wrapped themselves around her soul. She relaxed, the tension
slowly eroding, letting his music work its magic. Her eyes shifted
momentarily to the people around her. They, too, seemed mesmerized
as Billy made musical love to his saxophone and audience.
Skye finally dared look at Creed. He, too, had fallen under
Billy's spell. He'd let his mask down and his expression reflected
raw emotion. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. There was a
tender side to Creed Bennet, she realized.
. . . Billy's tempo picked up. He blew short, sweet notes now,
touching her emotions with his music, his fingers. He smiled
and waved to them. Creed flipped a thumb up, acknowledging the
musician's greeting, letting him know that he was more than
satisfied. Billy's eyelids lowered, his head tilted back. His
fingers stroked the saxophone, sensuality oozing with each movement.
"Let's get out of here," Creed whispered. |
|
