Free Zipless by Diane Dooley

Zippy’s shocked face. Her hands found the music for a piece she hadn’t yet written the words to. Or thought she hadn’t. The lyrics consisted mostly of the words “fuck you.”   She dropped her hands. “Want to see my tits, do you?” She ripped her shirt, starting at her neckline, shredding it down the seam of one sleeve. She yanked it down, her bra strap coming with it. With one breast exposed, she started playing again, faster, faster, louder, louder, until ending on one long desperate discordant note. Panting and gasping, she licked the beer that still dripped down her face.
    She walked up to Chris. “Want an encore, you fucker?”
    He nodded, looking appalled. Lou lurched forward and gave him the Glasgow kiss—her forehead smacking hard into the bridge of his nose. Then she turned, switched off the amp and collapsed on the couch. She glanced down at her bare breast and shrugged. “I’m not getting off.”
    Chris held his nose and stared at her wide-eyed. “Oh, yes, you are.” He stood and walked toward her, yanked Beloved away from her and tossed the guitar onto the couch. He grabbed her by the arms, pulled her to her feet, then, unbelievably, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her into the bedroom, dropped her onto the bed and stood above her, staring down.
    “What the—” But then Lou felt all the fight go out of her. His mouth was on her breast, then licking the beer from her face, then tenderly nibbling at her lips. His hands couldn’t seem to decide which part of her to touch first, so they were trying for everywhere. He mumbled in her ear. Something that ended with a “please.” She shoved him off her.
    “What did you say?”
    He looked down, panting, his eyes wild and barely focused. “I said don’t do the bare breast thing on network TV. Please.”
    And then his mouth was on her neck and his hand unzipping her jeans. So she was going to get off then? She grabbed his shoulders. She’d done it! She’d performed a song in front of someone else and she’d done it well. She hadn’t thought of Strathglennan Miners’ Club. She’d been too angry. And Chris had got her there. To that place she’d needed to go.
    She relaxed into the pillows, lying back, allowing Chris to make her feel good, to bring that rage back under control, to get her off. She grinned. Would she be able to do it again? Strange how she didn’t doubt it. It was like a dam had burst or a volcano erupted. Unstoppable, now. She felt it. She knew it.
    She looked down at Chris’ head as he worked his way south. “My tits are out, now get me off.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured into her belly. He looked up, grinning. “You’d best enjoy this, Lou, because we still have work to do. Every time you do good. Every time you impress me. I’ll get you off.” He slid the denim over her hips. “Every.” Kiss. “Single.” Kiss. “Time.”
     

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Chris scurried to his seat. Front row, center. Right in Lou’s sight line. She knew if she started to feel nervous, she was to look at him, only him, until she regained her confidence. He looked around. Typical studio audience for Music After Midnight. Some New York City hipsters, some tourists. Further down his row he recognized Dave Locke from the label. If all went well tonight he didn’t doubt Dave would want to talk to Lou about making a deal. Get her in the studio, get those fantastic songs recorded the way they were meant to be—by Lou.
    The show progressed per its usual routine. Monologue by presenter, Jimmy Foo. Commercial break. Uncomfortable interview with a Canadian folkie with a brand new release and a very old drinking problem. Commercial break. Round-up of news and music biz gossip. The folkie performed a boring song with a noticeable slur. Commercial break. The latest teenage pop diva performed a lip-synched version of her current hit, then went to the couch and flirted coyly with Jimmy. Commercial break.
    Chris was biting