Free Painted Black by Greg Kihn

and Bobby’s calculations made it four in the afternoon in Baltimore. A good time to call. Bobby had no idea what he was going to say when he finally got Cricket on the phone. He just knew he had to say something.
    He dialed the overly long international number to their place in Baltimore and waited. It rang and rang. There was no answer. Was she ignoring him? Maybe she was out. Maybe she was with her father in the hospital. That made sense. It was visiting time at the hospital. Bobby briefly considered calling the hospital and asking for her father’s room in the hopes that she’d be there. Then he realized she wouldn’t talk in front of her family. Bobby wondered what she had told them.
    Bobby hung up the phone after a few minutes of listening to the ringing tone. He was reluctant to cut the connection even though he knew there would be no answer. His thoughts swirled around Cricket. Had he blown it?
    Bobby decided to send Cricket a telegram explaining the airline strike. He wrote out the message to her and called Western Union.
    My Dear Sweet Wife—
    Can’t fly out due to airline strike. Stop. Will arrive ASAP. Stop. Miss you. Stop. Can explain everything. Stop.
    Your Loyal Husband, Bobby.
    Everybody liked Claudine Jillian. She was a sassy blonde from Sheffield, raised just far enough away from London to be untouched by its pretense and close enough to know what to watch out for. For a while, she had been the girlfriend of several major rock stars. Lately, she’d been floating around between boyfriends and having a ball as one of London’s most beautiful faces. Her modeling career had made her a substantial independent living before her rock star liaisons, so Claudine could pick and choose her way through life.
    Of course she knew Renee. Renee was part of the same scene but lacked the class of Claudine. Claudine had a modeling career. Renee did not. Claudine knew Anita Pallenberg and had been inside Brian’s house several times. Renee had not. Renee was very jealous but never showed it. As part of the infamous London club scene, Renee and Claudine were sisters in arms. They drank and danced together at a mod place called The Speakeasy Club at 48 Margaret Street. That’s where they were the night after Brian slapped Anita at The Scotch of Saint James. Brian hitting Anita was the talk of the town. Both girls were obsessed with Brian Jones and had trouble believing he had actually struck Anita. No one they knew had actually witnessed it.
    And if he did, so what? The crazy bitch drove him to it, that much you could see. To Claudine and Renee, Brian Jones was a saint, incapable of such savagery .
    Claudine knew most of the same people Renee knew, they were all familiar faces on the nightclub scene. After a few hours of nursing drinks and hanging out at The Speakeasy Club, Renee had given up and gone home. It was around one in the morning. Claudine stayed for one last drink when Brian walked in. He walked right up to Claudine and touched her cheek.
    â€œHi,” he said.
    â€œHi,” she replied.
    â€œLet’s spend the night together.”
    Claudine blushed. She was speechless for a moment. Was Brian quoting a Stones song or propositioning her? The lustful look Brian eye gave him away. This is what she’d always wanted, a whole evening with Brian Jones. Her heart raced and she tried not to look too thrilled.
    â€œI don’t want to be alone,” Brian whispered.
    â€œOkay,” said Claudine.
    Brian’s intoxicating presence made her bolder.
    â€œYour place or mine?”
    â€œBetter make it yours. I’m afraid I’m being watched.”
    Claudine scanned the room to see who was looking. She shouldn’t have bothered. Every eye in the place was on them. It would be hard to walk out of The Speakeasy Club with Prince Jones without half the world knowing it, including snooping Fleet Street reporters who hung around the clubs looking for a story.