Free Keep Dancing by Leslie Wells Page B

uncle.”
    “That’s not funny. Do you think he can sleep on the couch tonight?” I asked.
    “I dunno. We can try it. I’m going to take him to Odeon for lunch, and then to the studio. Mark’s going to let him bash around on the drums.”
    I couldn’t picture Ollie sitting still for long at the fancy restaurant. “Drums sound like just the ticket,” I said. “Let him get his ya-yas out.”
     
    After several days I was getting used to Ollie being at our place, but it was taking a toll on Jack. Not that he didn’t love spending time with his nephew. Over the weekend we’d gone to the Museum of Natural History (Jack wearing a floppy hat so he wouldn’t be recognized); to Serendipity on the Upper East Side for ice cream, where Jack got mobbed by a bunch of teenage girls; and on several outings to the studio, where Ollie was allowed to have at Mark’s drums and Sammy’s keyboard.
    After we finished a late breakfast on Sunday, Jack got on the phone with Sammy. “I owe you one,” I heard him say before hanging up. “Me knob’s turning blue.”
    “It’s only been four days,” I said.
    “Four and a half. Sammy’s taking him to the zoo. It’ll be fun for Oliver, and even more fun for me.” Jack waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
    I had to admit, I was ready for a little adult time too. Jack roused Ollie from his cartoon-watching and got him dressed in warm clothes. “Do they have elephants?” he asked as Jack pulled a sweater over his head.
    “No elephants. But a very cool panther, I’ve heard.”
    “Why aren’t you coming?” Ollie asked. Jack zipped him into his coat.
    “Julia has to do some editing, and I have to concentrate on this song. It’s only for a few hours,” he said.
    There was a knock, and Sammy entered the loft blowing on his fingers. His sandy brown hair was shoulder-length, and his soul patch had flecks of snow in it.
    “Cold as a witch’s ti—hey there, young fella!” He came up to Ollie and rumpled his hair. “Ready to shake up the wild animals? How are you, Miz Julia?” he asked in his Marietta, Georgia drawl.
    “I’m good. Thanks for this,” I said.
    “Sam-my! Sam-my!” Oliver chanted, pulling on his coattails. “Did you bring me some sweets?”
    “I may have something in here for you,” Sammy said. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a joint. “Whoops, wrong pocket. You ready to rock an’ roll?”
    “Yeah!” Ollie cried.
    “Don’t rush back,” Jack said, plumping Oliver’s hat on his head and escorting them to the door. “Take your time. Go out for lunch after. On me.”
    “All right, I got it. Julia, I want him good and relaxed when I get back,” Sammy replied with a grin.
    I blushed. “I’ll do my best.”
    “Alone at last.” Jack shut the door. “Now come here. I have a vision of what I want to do to you. You’re gonna get very hot and sweaty before it’s all over.”
     
    After a little nap, Jack rolled onto his back and lit a joint. “De ganja make de mon happy.” He inhaled deeply, held it in for an interminable minute and then blew an acrid-smelling cloud toward the ceiling. “I’m afraid to smoke around Ollie; Sharon would skin me alive. Want some?”
    “I’d better not. I have to get some work done this afternoon,” I said. The few times I’d tried pot, it had really knocked me out.
    “Maybe it would help with the editing.” Jack took another big suck of the joint, sparking the tip. “Puts me in the mood to make music.”
    “It would put me in the mood to go to sleep. After I giggled for about an hour.”
    “That’s what you always say. Are you ever able to read just for pleasure, or are you always thinking while you’re reading? Being an editor, I mean.” Jack gazed at me through his eyelashes.
    “It is a little hard to turn it off, even when I’m reading for fun. I’m usually analyzing the word choices the author made. How about you, when you’re listening to other people’s music?”
    “Nah, I can’t