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| Will baritone Leandro Vasquez obtain the release he is seeking, with Jeannie Jacobs, an older opera patron? |
A boo is an audio clip made using Audioboo, a site that allows you to upload or record sound from your smart phone or, in this case, from my laptop.
I thought about all the writing I could record as I experimented with Audioboo. One obvious choice came to mind: an excerpt from my novel DEVILED BY DON, which I read at a residency in the Wilkes University Writing Program.
It's my favorite scene from the entire book. My Wilkes classmates loved it.
Now you can listen to it, too. And read the accompanying text below, if you like, since the boo finishes a few lines earlier than the scene.
In case you're wondering, this is definitely a PG-13 boo! Just click the round button below to hear my boo!
DEVILED BY DON, Chapter 20, "The Divo"
New Yorkers reacted to Leandro Vasquez like he’d come out of nowhere. They said things like, “Where were you hiding?” and “Who kept a delectable thing like you under wraps?” And not just female New Yorkers either.
Well, he wasn’t hiding now. Leandro Vasquez, who had been a lowly gaucho in Argentina who sang to his cattle, was performing in New York City of all places. Now that he’d been seen by New York critics, producers, and agents, finally he was somebody in a way he’d never been before. And he had wanted all that. But tonight, more than anything else, now that he’d earned the applause and the reviews and the critical acclaim he sought, he needed release. He was bursting with sexual energy. He wanted to get the head.
“I want to—get the head,” he whispered in the ear of the blonde actress seated beside him.
“I want to get ahead,” she said, “but first I have to use the little girl’s room,” and slipped out of her chair with a rubbery ease signifying she was more than tipsy.
“Get the head?” That was the expression; he was certain of it. So, why had the lovely blonde deserted him?
A matronly woman slipped into the empty seat beside Vasquez. As he turned to face her, she held out a hand with rocks the size of coffee beans on more than one finger but wore no wedding band. He took it, kissing her wrinkled flesh which felt thinner than parchment to his full lips. Though intially the feel of her skin had put him off, her overall appearance was very pleasing. She looked trim in an off- beaded gown the color of casaba, falling off her shoulders. Her eyes were aquamarine and reminded him of Vivian Perelli’s. Soft, full, dewy.
“I’m Jeannie Jacobs,” she said with the confidence of a woman who lacked for nothing. “And you are an incredible specimen of a man.” Then she shuddered, and the beads lining her décolletage rattled softly against themselves, creating flashes of light tinkling against heaving, freckled breasts.
Vasquez marveled at the reactions of American women. In Baltimore, they were wild for his Giovanni. What was it about American ladies, that they couldn’t tear themselves away from bad boys? Unfathomable—this weakness for men who used them and then discarded them. He intended to take full advantage of this baffling inclination.
He wondered if this older lady gave the head. Could he ask her that? Could he pull her aside and say, “Madam, you intrigue me. Would you like to give me the head?”
Back in Argentina he would say, “Haceme un pete.” If he said that now, would she understand what he wanted?
“Now that you’ve conquered New York, Mr. Vasquez,” Jeannie said, “what’s next?”
He leaned in close, tasting her flowery scent, and said in a husky voice, “Haceme un pete.”
*
He slipped the key card into his hotel room door and let her in first. Wordlessly, he removed his jacket from around her shoulders and tossed it on the floor. Jeannie unraveled his bow tie and began loosening the studs on his tuxedo shirt. She slipped her hands inside, first stroking then kneading his bare chest, moaning softly. Leandro slipped the strap off her shoulder and eased her gown down to her waist. He expected to see bare breasts but was surprised by a little strapless bra barely covering her nipples. He unfastened it with a one hand and massaged her generous breasts with the other. He bent over and said in a low voice, “Haceme un pete.”If he said that to a girl back in Argentina, she would crack him across the mouth. Then she would go tell her father. Then her father would shoot a hole in his heart.
“What is this ‘Haceme something,’ Leandro?” she said breathlessly.
She didn’t know Argentine Spanish? How to explain this. You’d think a woman who’d been around the square as many times as she has surely would know what he wanted. What he needed. He took her hand, placed it on his crotch and moved it up and down. She rubbed him a few times before reaching up, unfastening his pants, and undoing the zipper. Little Leandro sprang out from confinement.
“Un pete. Mi pija. Mi pija,” he murmured, grazing her lips with his, placing her hands on his penis, trying to impart understanding to her bejeweled hand just like Annie Sullivan spelling “wawa” into Helen Keller’s dainty palm.
Jeannie rubbed and rubbed his pija. Enough with the rubbing, he thought.
“I could buy and sell you many times over,” she said, covering his face with kisses. “But I didn’t have to—did I?”
Leandro heard her say, “Buy and sell.” She was a prostitute? A little old for a whore, he thought. But if she needed the cash to give him un pete, he was in no position to argue at the moment. With his left hand, he fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He wasn’t sure how much he had. Enough to buy a couple rounds of drinks. Probably enough for un pete from a woman her age. He slipped the bills into her hand, closing it around them.
Jeannie tightened her hand around the money and stopped rubbing. She pulled her body away from his, yanking up her dress, gasping. “You think I’m a hooker? A goddamn hooker?” She raised her right hand, turned her palm towards his cheek and cuffed it. She clenched the money balled up in her left hand and threw it at him. “And here I thought you were a nice boy,” she said, turning her back to him. Then she stalked out of his hotel room.
# # #
So, did you like my boo? Then go boo, yourself.
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