Desert rescue; feelings expressed, but not necessarily pleasant ones; bad reception in Denver.

"I love you."

I almost didn't hear the words because they were so quiet, and because I was frantically searching for a pulse.

"Come on, Jake. Don't do this to me, man."

There it was, oh so faint.

"Sooz, I need you to focus. Put your hands here. I need you to apply pressure. I need to make a call to 911. Can you do this for Jake? Sooz?"

She nodded numbly and then put her hands over his wrist. He was so pale. I had to turn off the flashlight app as I ran over the rise to make the call.

Every second that passed seemed to bring Jake closer and closer to death.

"Pick up. Come on. I need an operator, and I understand that they're busy."

"911, what's the nature of your emergency."

"I am in the middle of the desert, my friend tried to commit suicide. Someone is with him, but I can't get close due to a cell dead zone. He has a pulse, and he still seems to be breathing, but he's lost a lot of blood."

"We'll have someone out there as quickly as we can. Would you stay on the line please until help arrives?"

"Yes, but the girl I left with my friend is in a bit of shock. It was her boyfriend we found."

"Is she okay to be alone with him? The helicopter is ten minutes out."

"Crap, this is not good. Look, I need to get back to them, and I will lose you. I don't trust her being there alone for that long."

"I understand sir, but right now I'm worried about you going into shock."

"This isn't my first time at the rodeo, ma'am. Or even second. What can I say to convince you I need to go without being rude."

"If you could leave your phone here, where we can still get a fix on it, it will speed up the process of getting to your friend."

"Ok, got it."

I set my phone down and ran over the rise to where Susanne and Jake were. As I'd feared, Susanne had collapsed next to the still form of Jake. I had barely enough light to see their forms from the moon and stars, but I sorely wished I still had my phone so I could shed some light.

I had nothing to raise her feet or cushion her head. I placed her feet on Jake's leg, and made sure there were no rocks or roots under her head. I checked Jake's pulse and breathing and they were weaker than before.

"Come on, Jake, stay with me. Suzi needs you, man. She's actually in love with you, you idiot. Why'd you have to do something as idiotic as this?"

I just kept chanting over and over to him. I couldn't get the bleeding to stop, so I applied a tourniquet. Better no hand than no Jake. I tightened it until the blood stopped.

And then it was sitting there in the growing darkness with two unconscious friends.

Something occurred to me and I ran back to the phone.

"Hello, you still there?"

"Yes, I am. Welcome back, sir."

"I applied a tourniquet below the elbow on my friend's left arm to stop the bleeding. The hand is flopping around quite a bit and I'm afraid that he might have cut the tendon."

"Was the cut across the wrist or along it?"

"Across."

"Well, thank goodness for small miracles. Hopefully that choice has helped to keep enough blood in his system."

"My other fried has passed out, possibly due to shock. I elevated her feet, but there's not much else I can do."

"Ok, the helicopter is maybe two minutes out. They've got a bit of a higher altitude tailwind so are a bit ahead of schedule."

I knew what she was not saying, however. That meant a headwind trying to get Jake to the hospital.

"Crap."

She didn't need to ask me what I meant.

The long shot was becoming longer still. Why couldn't I have gotten here sooner?

The dispatcher chatted with me, but I was looking for the approaching running lights to signify the rescue team was close. I heard it before I saw it, and that helped me zero in.

"They're here. I need to go where my friends are."

I walked quickly through the blinding sand. The spotlight from the helicopter followed me, and then they landed nearby when I reached the forms of Susanne and Jake.

One of the EMT's rushed over to Jake while the other got my attention and gestured toward Susanne.

"We heard that she might be in shock?"

"This is her boyfriend. He ran off earlier this evening and we were out to look for him. He confessed to me about a week ago he was going to commit suicide. I suggested he talk to someone. I thought he had talked to someone. He had an appointment with a therapist any way."

"I think we've got it, Keith."

It was the same pair who'd come for Buffy. I guess that was to be expected.

"Ok. We need to stop meeting all the way out here."

"That we do. Like the new hairstyle, by the way."

I smiled at the comment. "You taking them both, or do I need to wait for Suzi to wake up?"

"Well, she seems alright, but we might as well take her with us to make sure."

"Ok. Need me along, or can I head out to start letting people know what's up?"

"Looks like my partner is almost done, you take off, as there won't really be enough room as it is."

I waved as the two of them got Jake and a still unconscious Susanne onto the helicopter and took off.

As soon as I was back in cell coverage I began calling people. "Hello? Jake is on his way to the hospital. . .yes, he tried to kill himself. I hope we found him in time."

"Hello? Buffy? Yeah, you are sounding better. Suzi is on the way to the hospital. What? No, she should be ok. She fainted. Jake tried to kill himself. Yeah, I hope he's okay as well. Ok. Thanks."

I walked out of the desert, praying to my God for their safety, hoping for some change in my life. It seemed to be one crisis after another. I really didn't know how much more of being the adult I could handle.

I broke down completely when I saw Gretchen's house, and I stumbled the last steps, barely registering what was going on around me. I sat down on one of the chairs by the pool and just wept. I couldn't handle this anymore. I wanted to retreat from the world.

I cried to God in my anguish, asking him why he had created a people so weak and imperfect. I railed against a God who would allow the pain I had seen so much of recently.

After I calmed a bit, I realized my own error, and apologized for my pride.

People were allowed the right to choose. If God were to impinge upon that right, in any way, it would destroy Him as a perfect being.

I knew this logically, but at that moment it was emotionally that I wanted to know it, and emotion doesn't bow down to logical argument.

I felt arms encircle me, and by scent I knew it was Gretchen. I let her hold me. When I was ready I pulled her around beside me and just sat there next to her looking up at the stars. I hadn't done that enough recently.

It was the canvas of the night. . .

"Gretchen, I need some paper."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was a bit asleep there."

I went inside with her, already pacing with the words that needed to get out.

I started with the music. It would borrow heavily from Mozart this time, but I wouldn't be the first rock musician to do borrow from the classics.

In fact, the title I was thinking of would be an homage to the originating song. I felt oh so very Trans-Siberian Orchestra. . .at least until I got to the words. Then the music diverged, keeping some of the same chord progression, but following the soul of the song.

The words flowed as easily as the music. I got done and realized I had a serious piece of fluff, and decided to change the name slightly from what I'd originally thought to cal it.

The words were wistful, melancholy. A dream for a better tomorrow. It talked about the future dreams of the 50s unrealized even today. It was more specifically the story of a girl out of time. Lost in the stream of life and not quite connected to anyone else.

There was a sort of lurking darkness in the music that was never realized in the words. As I played through it on my 12-String, I could feel the sense of impending doom. As if I knew something the girl didn't. It made me want to reach out to her. To stop her. But the girl was me, and I was singing. Trapped on my way to a doom of my own creation, blithely, happily, skipping. Looking more over my shoulder than in front of me.

"Something about that song gives me the chills."

"I know. Cool isn't it."

Gretchen nodded at me with a huge smile.

"Have a name for it?"

"Eine Kleine Popmusik."

"The bass harmony on that is really chilling. It is like something submerged under the water and you just want to yell at the singer to look below her."

"That is so close to what I was thinking myself."

"It is so. . .sweet that it makes my teeth hurt." she said with a huge smile.

"I know. That is why I went with pop instead of rock."

"Good choice. So, just wanted to let you know, it is early in the morning, and you probably want to get some sleep before the rest of your day."

I looked at the clock on my cell. It was almost two in the morning.

"Crap."

"Yep."

I walked inside with Gretchen, and we lay down on my bed. We talked about the new song, and about our planned life together. We even began talking about where our lives were going after we got married. I could tell that something was bothering her about it.

"Gretchen? Something bothering you?"

"No, it's nothing."

"What is it. Something worrying you about the wedding?"

"No. . ."

"There's something."

"Well, what if I don't compare?"

"To what?"

"Well, Emily said that. . ."

"Wait, what? You think that I would. . .with Emily. . .and not with you?"

Gretchen nodded, there were some tears in her eyes.

"And that's part of why you've been so insistent?"

She nodded silently and started to cry.

"Etch? Look at me please. I want you to see my eyes. I've never had sex with anyone."

"But. . ."

"I told Emily that there was no way in hell I would ever go out with her."

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, we went on a date. It was pretty okay. We went to my house and you'd just broken up with the last jerk, and you needed some comfort."

"Oh. . ."

"Yeah, you know, the night I sat with you until dawn because you wouldn't let me leave? Well, the next morning at school, Emily told me that if I wanted to have a relationship with her that I had to cease all ties with you."

Gretchen had grown silent as she listened.

"I told her that I was a packaged deal. I came with my friends, my problems, and my history. I wasn't going to change overnight, and I wasn't going to abandon people I'd known for longer than I'd been going to high school. Implied was longer than I knew Emily."

"Go on."

"She told me that if I wanted her, I would change because she was that good."

"She what?"

"Well, she did this. Exact words as close as I can remember."

I got out of bed, and I struck an Emily pose.

"Look, Keith," I said, "I am the hottest girl in this school." Gretchen began giggling at my impersonation.

"It's not every day that a guy like you gets chosen by a girl like me." I first gestured toward Gretchen and then myself. It was a really girly gesture.

"If you want to open this package," I slid both hands down my sides as I did a slight sideways hip shift, "Then there are a few ground rules. You do want to open this, don't you?" I leaned forward and used my hands to more emphasize than cover an imaginary décolletage.

Gretchen nodded while still giggling at me.

"Then I need you to realize that I am all the woman you need. Friends are great and all, but a girlfriend? Well, that's something special. You do want a girlfriend don't you?"

I gave a little pout and pulled some puppy dog eyes. I even looked a bit over my shoulder at her as if I were getting ready to walk away.

When I began batting my eyelashes Gretchen burst out laughing.

"What did you say to that?"

"I told her that if she had to advertise that aggressively then the product must be subpar or over used, and that I don't betray my friends for used goods."

Gretchen's jaw dropped.

"You didn't."

"I'm sorry to say I did. And she looked just about like you did. . .for long enough to get really pissed off."

"And then?"

"Oh, well, she said that just because she'd given a test drive or two to past boyfriends didn't make her a slut. I said that I wasn't calling her a slut, just sloppy seconds."

"Keith!"

"Sorry, I'd expected a more. . .demure? . .girl when I started dating her. She basically told me that I could jump her bones as long as I said goodbye to my relationship with you. In my book, at that moment, it made her into a prostitute haggling over price."

"Keith!"

"Well, it did."

"You didn't have to tell her that's what she was acting like."

"I tried to apologize at that point, but she was already too pissed. She told me that she'd virtually take what she'd been willing to take physically: My virginity."

"Yeah, a lot of people were shocked that the boy virgin gave it up to Emily."

"I actually liked that name."

"Well, it's good to know. I'm sorry Keith. I really am. I thought I'd lost any possibility with you when that happened. That's the main reason I dated Mr. Football at the beginning of the year."

"Shh. It's okay. Don't worry about it. If you can forgive me for having virtual sex with Emily, I can forgive you for dating the jock-strap."

She nodded and I wrapped my arms around her.

When I woke up the next morning, my arm was asleep, and I really had to use the restroom, but as far as I could tell, Gretchen was still asleep.

I began to try to extract myself without waking her when she started giggling at me.

"Good morning, Lover."

"Morning, Etch, but technically I don't think that applies."

"Sure it does. If Emily can claim she had sex with you, and you never saw her naked or vice versa, then I, who have seen you naked, and a mighty good naked it was, have all the right in the world."

"Okay. . ."

"Besides, we just had sex. . .in my dreams."

"You. . .I'm going to the bathroom."

She laughed at me as I left, but I could tell that a tension which had been in our relationship had released. I hadn't realized it was even there before it was gone.

I called Buffy. "Any word on Suzi or Jake?"

"Suzi is home, but frantic. Jake is still listed in critical condition. He's regained consciousness, briefly, but nothing since then. His vitals seem to be stable, however, so there's hope he will make a full recovery."

"I really want to stop finding my friends almost dead in the desert."

"Well, it would be better than not finding your friends and they become absolutely dead in the desert."

"I know, but I guess I more meant I wish that something in my life could change so that my friends weren't in so much danger, from themselves and otherwise."

"Keith. It's life. It's dangerous and messy and wonderful and scary. It's not supposed to bring us through the other end alive."

"Thank you, Buffy. I need to go."

"Say hi to Gretchen for me."

I passed the message along to Gretchen, who was chatting in the kitchen with Rachel, and headed out to the garage to begin really practicing 'Eine Kleine Popmusik.'

The guys, with their girls this time, showed up around noon.

"Hey guys. Former bassist is in the hospital and may never play again. I wrote a new song we should practice."

"Wait, what?" Guthrie was a bit shocked.

"Yea, you can't just drop this one on us, Keith. I'm not sure we were even aware he was back."

"He got back a week ago, right before I had to really practice for my Juilliard audition. He had planned to commit suicide, and I thought I talked him out of it. He attempted to kill himself last night."

"Wow. That's sucks."

"Yeah, Guthrie, especially since I was the one who found him."

"So sorry to hear that, boss-lady. If you want to cancel. . . "

"What? I need to work right now. Besides, new song. . ."

"Oh, I got so caught up in the first part, I missed the second,"

I handed them their copies of the sheet music I'd printed out.

"Snazzy. Printed and everything."

"Way to go boss-lady."

"I had to snag a program I used to use for sheet music so I could get my audition piece done in time. Figured I could use it instead of my chicken scratch I normally hand out."

"Boss-lady? No offense, but you have the prettiest handwriting I've ever seen from a guy."

"Davey, do you realize how weird that statement sounds?"

"Yes, I do. Doesn't make the sentiment any less true."

We played through the music a couple of times then I began to sing. We were about halfway through when Guthrie stopped playing.

"What's wrong?"

"That is the freakiest damn song I have ever heard, and I thought that 'What You See' was disturbing."

"What, Guthrie, couldn't handle being the monster in the closet?"

"More like the thing from outer space based on the lyrics."

"It's okay, wittow Guthrie. The big bad monster isn't real," I said.

"Thanks. . .Mom."

We all had a laugh at this and got back to practicing. We were taking a water break when I broke the news to them.

"We have a gig at a little bar in Denver."

"When?"

"Later this week. Think we can have 'Eine Kleine. . . ' done by then?"

"Boss-lady, 'Eine Kleine. . .' is done now. Truly scary song in my opinion. Not because of the words it uses, but because of the tools it uses. It treats it like a movie. Without the proper musical tone, a scene means nothing to you. With the proper tone?"

"Yeah. The words aren't scary at all. It's the undertone that gets to you," Guthrie added.

"Ok, then we debut 'Eine Kleine. . .' in Denver." I said.

My phone rang, and Susanne's number was on the caller ID.

"Hello, Keith?"

"What's up, Sooz?"

"Wanted to let you know that you saved Jake last night."

"It was a joint effort."

"He'd been out there for a couple of hours, Keith. Even though he only got the one wrist, it just meant that he was dying more slowly than he could have. They don't know what he used, but he cut himself deeply enough that he nicked the bone. They're afraid that he might never use that hand again."

A sense of loss overcame me, and the other guys went in to give me a moment.

"Thanks for the information, Sooz."

"Thank you again for helping me find him."

Jake, Bobby and I had spent years in Jake's garage. We'd practiced there a lot, hoping that we'd be able to make it to the top someday. Music was a huge part of all of our lives. I felt like I was in one of those cautionary tales. The ones where they try to scare young children out of doing something.

You don't want to be a rock star kiddies because your friends will wind up in jail or attempt suicide. Stalkers will come out of the woodwork to make your life miserable.

Jake had always loved the bass guitar. We would smile and joke about everything, and then push our pain into our music. I could see him on stage with me at Gothpolosion again.

It had been our one and only concert together. Bobby, he'd always been in the background to a certain extent. Always behind the two of us. Jake? He was in the spotlight with me. We were the band, and then Jake quit me.

Logically I understood that. Logically I knew that Guthrie and Davey were much better musicians than Jake or Bobby, and probably even better than I was in most regards.

Logic didn't matter to me right now.

I wanted Jake up there with me. He was my best friend. Well, second best. I would die without Gretchen. Without Jake it just wasn't as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.

Yes, I loved being on stage and the sound of the crowd cheering. I loved being loved.

But it seemed hollow without someone who had worked just as hard as I had to get there. Bobby I could do without. He'd broken not only my trust, but the law as well.

Jake on the other hand?

I felt arms gather me into a hug from behind, and a cheek pressed against my back. I put my hand on hers and felt the ring.

"Does my girlfriend know you're out here?"

"I certainly hope not. It could be awkward for you since I'm your fiancée."

"Well, that's good then. Hey, Etch."

"Hey, Keith. You okay?"

"As okay as can be expected."

"That's not sounding too good. What is it?"

"I never really thought I would be famous, Etch. It was all Jake and Bobby. Jake mostly. He pushed and pulled and dragged us to demo recordings and contests and whatnot. He is the reason that I'm somebody and he'll likely never play again."

I cried silently as Gretchen held me. The pain overwhelmed me. I've heard somewhere that boys shouldn't cry. That it's not manly.

Well, screw manly. Sometimes crying helps. When there is no other way to get the emotion out, then it is perfectly okay for boys to cry.

I cried for a while, and eventually I was well and truly cried out.

"Thank you, Etch."

"For what?" She asked, her face still buried in my now wet back.

"For being you. I love you."

"I love you too, Keith."

"Can you head in and tell the guys I'm done being a girl for the moment and we need some serious practice before our gig."

Gretchen giggled at me and left.

I quickly called Richard.

"Hello, Desi."

"Hey, Richard. When, exactly, is our concert?"

"We've finalized it for Wednesday."

"Tomorrow! I thought you meant 'LATER' later in the week."

"Well, I did. Unfortunately they've had bands booked for Thursday and Friday of this week for the past month or so."

"Anyone I know?"

"Thursday is Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools."

No, this wasn't a mental replacement. He'd actually said this one.

"So, I've never thought to look. How good are they really?"

"Well, apparently they're about to lose their contract."

"What? Why?"

"They only sold three hundred thousand copies of their first album."

"Isn't that pretty good for a first album?"

"Sure, but here's the thing. That is only the first half of the equation. They've had people requesting refunds on their concert tickets."

"Can they do that?"

"Normally? No. They like to have all sales of concert tickets final. Thing is, when you have over fifty percent of the people who bought tickets trying to return them. . .it's getting a little ugly."

"Why are they returning tickets though?"

"Well, it's rumored that you're going to be playing every one of the cities where MDI is scheduled to play, except a month later."

I heard the smile in his voice and the barely contained laughter.

"You didn't," I said a little shocked.

"Well. . .yes, I had to. After how you were treated in the press after Gothplosion, I began working on a plot to destroy MDI. I know. It's not anything you would have asked me to do. It's also the reason I started working with the bar to get you out there for real. MDI is trying to use your famous non-appearance there to one up you."

"Famous non-appearance?"

"Have you been to your fan site recently?"

"No. . .been sort of busy being a rock star."

He snorted at this, "Well, most people have decided that the information from Hole in the Wall was an elaborate publicity stunt to get people interested in Desdemona before Gothplosion. The fact that it had that effect doesn't hurt either. You literally came out of nowhere. If it wasn't for Sarah Carerra you'd own the market right now."

"We're not even going for the same audience."

"You weren't going for the same audience. After 'Daddy's Little Girl'? Especially the version on YouTube where you and Carrie Underwood are singing it? You two are sort of head-to-head right now."

"Richard, I don't need this sort of thing."

"Probably not, but it is up to the public to really decide what they want. There are even some stories set to go out when 'Daddy's Little Girl' hits the top of the charts about a grudge between you and Sarah."

"But they won't be true."

"It doesn't matter if they're true or not. It will give both of you publicity and that's usually good. Catfight of the century and all that."

"Richard, if you even think about pursuing this further, I'll out myself."

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me. Also, I've been thinking about something. Not all the time. Just when I have nothing else to worry about. I'm thinking that if no one has clued into the fact that I'm a guy by the time 'When you love somebody' goes to theaters, then I will be letting everyone know. I remember why I originally decided to pretend to be a girl, and it doesn't matter anymore. It hasn't really mattered since we signed with Spotlight and my own fears have kept me back."

"Why wait that long?"

"Because letting people know scares me. It scares me a lot."

"But a lot of people already know."

"That's what scares me."

"There are simply some things I'll never understand about you."

"Mostly, I'm scared for the people I care about when this comes out. What will happen to Gretchen when people start really digging into her life."

"Ok, here's what I think. Let's give it a couple of more weeks. We'll have the tickets for your concert tour go on sale. See how things are going. Then, on the second of August, we hold a press conference and out you to the world. We let everyone know that you, Keith Robison are the same person as Desdemona."

I felt the bottom go out of my stomach, but I knew this was the right thing.

"Make sure that something is printed on the tickets to the effect that exchanges or refunds will be accepted. Even if I have to pay for it out of my own pocket, I don't want my fans to be betrayed by me in any way."

"I'll contact Mr. Praetor and we'll get this hammered out. And hopefully we can get this sorted so you don't have to pay out of pocket for those tickets."

"Thanks, Richard. Kisses."

"Good luck, Keith. You're going to need it."

The boys had come in while I was speaking, and we got back to work practicing our songs. We were about to completely lose track of time.

"You know, we need a love song." Guthrie said out of the blue.

"What?"

"Yeah, we need a love song. Even if it's a Goth one like 'Bring Me to Life'," Guthrie replied.

"That's not a love song."

"Not a traditional one, no, but Guthrie's right about it being a love song."

I thought about the lyrics, and realized they might have a point. I wasn't granting it out of hand, but they might have a point.

"So, we going to sing a duet onstage, Guthrie?" I said as I batted my eyes.

"Hell no. I heard what you were talking to Richard about, and there's no way I'm going to have people thinking I'm gay. . .no offense, Keith."

I chuckled at this.

"I understand your position, Guthrie. I was joking anyway. Look, I've written most of our songs. Don't you guys have anything?"

"You're the composer, boss-lady."

"I don't do words, but. . ."

He handed some tabs to me, and some sheet music to Davey. I looked at the song and he had titled it 'Unconventional Love'.

I picked out the song from the tabs and it sounded so sickly sweet all the way through. Well, my portion of it did. When we added in the drums and bass, I saw where he was going with it.

The guitar, and whatever melody I added, were supposed to be pop. They were girl-next-door. They even seemed to be at a different tempo than the bass and drums.

Those two parts really seemed to be all rock. Much like 'Daddy's Little Princess,' this song began pop and went rock.

That was the only real similarity I could see.

The bass and drums were pounding, rushing, pulling the girl in a direction she didn't want to go. I began a little smile. The title helped me into it.

This wasn't a girl's song at all. This was my song. This would be me. A boy with the voice of a girl. Trying to show the world his love for music in this unconventional way.

The words came to me one after the other. I'd never felt this strongly about any of my music, as I'd always been writing for someone else, even if that someone was Desdemona. This song was Keith.

I adjusted the tempo a bit, and used the girl-next-door guitar harmony as a counterpoint for my I'm-a-guy melody.

When I began to sing the words I was feeling, Guthrie stopped playing and began to write them out.

Without specifying my gender, I sang about how I wasn't accepted by society. I sang about how I struggled for a place amidst stereotypes and labels. I spoke of my girlfriend.

I called her my girlfriend.

As clearly as I could, without saying I was a boy, I let my fans know in that song that I wasn't what I appeared to be. It could be written off as just another song, should people want to do that, but it was so much more than simply that to me.

I bared myself to my audience, and it truly left me naked for everyone to see.

It was after ten o'clock when we finished.

"So, see you guys for the plane flight out tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I forgot, sorry. We play Hole in the Wall tomorrow."

"Okay, good to know. Night, boss-lady."

"Night, Keith."

"Night guys."

I read through the words and realized that everyone was going to believe I was a lesbian after this. And unless I really looked, most of my references to being a boy were obscured behind the love story.

Well, time would tell if my fans hated me for this. Time would tell if I had any fans after I released it.

I went upstairs to go to sleep. Gretchen was in my bed again.

"Etch?"

"Keith. I know. I really do. I understand why you are so hesitant to move forward."

"Etch. . .I'm not ready for this."

"I know." She had tears in her eyes.

"Etch? What's wrong?"

"Keith? I am so worried that you don't see me as a woman. I've talked to Dr. Allen about it, but I am so scared. What if. . ."

"Shh. Etch. Stop. I think of you as a woman."

"Really? Have you even looked at me naked since I had my surgery? I mean really looked at me?"

Before I could say anything she threw back the covers and I saw her. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. She climbed out of my bed and walked over to me.

"Am I the woman you've dreamed of?"

I took her into my arms, if only to stop seeing her. I had no idea what to do, so I lead her to the bead and lay down next to her.

"Etch, we can't do this."

"Yes we can. I want you, Keith. I need you."

I couldn't say anything to that. I had no idea anymore what exactly I'd been holding out for, but I was still holding out for it.

"Etch, I love you."

She began to cry, and I just held her.

"Why won't you just have sex with me you idiot?"

"Etch?"

"I ache. I've been so good for you. I just want you to jump me and get it over with. Then we can get to the part where you realize this was all a mistake and leave me like everyone else."

"Gretchen, I don't plan on leaving you."

"That's what they've all said. I begin to get comfortable and bam, they're gone. I know you'll leave me too, I'm okay with it. I at least want to know that you were the one who made me really feel like a woman, though. Can you give that one thing to me?"

"Etch, where is this coming from?"

"I'm not real, Keith," she was sobbing and barely understandable. "I'm just a facade. I'm not a real woman, and I never will be. Someone else will give you children. I can't. You'll love someone else enough to make love to them every moment you're together. You'll have sex with her when she throws herself at you."

"Stop, it, Etch. Please? I'm just not like that."

"You could be. I want you to be."

"Why?"

"I need to feel that I did all of this for a reason."

"Gretchen, I want our first time to be. . ."

"Cut the crap, Keith. There is no such thing as special where sex is concerned. I was five years old my first time and it hurt like hell. There is what feels right, in that moment, and there's nothing else."

"Gretchen, leave my room, please."

"Oh come on. I know you want me."

She reached her hand down and grabbed hold of my erect symbol of manhood.

"GET OUT!"

She was shocked, but so was I. I never knew I had this much rage in me. She fled from my room, almost in tears. I didn't know what to do, but I was so pissed, and afraid of what I could do to her that I locked my door and did nothing. I knew that Gretchen had serious issues where sex was concerned.

I was so far out of my depth and sinking fast.

I spent a fitful night sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. My alarm on my phone told me that the night was wasted and I needed to start getting ready. We would be arriving in Denver at around noon.

As I was beginning to move around, trying to remember what Linda had told me about my look when there was a knock on my door.

"Yes?"

"It's Linda. I hear you have a concert to prepare for."

I opened the door with a smile on my face. "I need you. Get in here."

"What would your fiancée say about that?"

At seeing my change in expression, she looked a little uncomfortable.

"Bad time?"

"I guess. What have you got for me today?"

"Well, I really like the black and pink motif, so I thought. . ."

She hung a garment bag on the back of the door and opened it up for me. Inside there was a black cotton dress with a pink sequined hear just above where my left breast would be, and another on the right hip.

"It seems a little small."

"It's supposed to be a little small."

"Well, give me a moment to get changed."

I slipped it on like a tee shirt, since that's the only way it seemed to work and pulled it into place. It had a tight collar and was sleeveless. It hugged my body in a way I wasn't entirely sure I was comfortable with, and it was short. Very short. Almost, but not quite, short enough that I was afraid I would be showing panty to people closest the stage.

I tugged at it, trying to make it stretch just a bit longer.

It made me feel really vulnerable for some reason.

"Ok, have a look."

Linda came in and looked me over.

"Ok, just get your maroon leggings on and you'll be complete.

I let out a sigh of relief. "I was feeling a bit exposed."

"You thought. . ? Oh, that's rich. That wouldn't really have been Goth-next-door. More Goth-on-the-corner."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

I got myself situated in some almost flats, pink with an inch heel, and put on some makeup. We actually went porcelain doll with the makeup and it didn't look too bad. I paid attention to instructions so I could reapply it before the show, and then removed it and put something a little more normal for traveling.

We drove to the airport in Davey's van. The three of us would be going out alone. We waited in the lounge, like normal, and then found our seats for the flight. My pink hair and shoes caught people's attention, and so I signed a number of autographs. Mostly of people walking past us to get to business class or coach or whatever they offered on this flight.

By 'a number' I mean I hit #102 before the flight attendants got a little fed up over the delay.

"We understand that you're some sort of celebrity, but could you please not block the aisle with your fans?"

"Look. . .Monica? I really am sorry that I'm causing such a big nuisance, would it be better if I waited till we were in the air and signed autographs then? Moved about on my own?"

"Well, we normally don't like. . ."

"What would you suggest, then, Monica? Haven't you ever had someone that you really wanted to see, and then there he or she was? I mean, you're on a lot of flights."

"Well, okay. I can see where you're coming from."

"Then what do you suggest."

"How about we let people who want an autograph come visit you one at a time?"

"That would be great. Thank you so much, Monica."

The rest of the boarding went much more smoothly, and I even told people I'd be able to get them an autograph later when they paused for a moment.

We got everyone aboard, finally, and then they closed the door. We taxied and were on our way.

Just a side note, my favorite part of any flight is when the airplane begins acceleration for takeoff. The entire cabin seems to tilt with the force we are being pushed back into the seats. Looking out the window, it seems like the whole world is tilted a bit.

So, we got into the air, and the captain came over the intercom.

"We are now at our cruising altitude, and will be descending into Denver in a little over an hour. If any of you were not able to get an autograph from the lovely Desdemona, let one of our Flight attendants know and we will get you up to see her one at a time."

As I was signing autographs, I wondered idly if I was setting a record for number of autographs signed while in mid air.

I wondered if there was even a Guinness world record for that at all.

I was avoiding the subject that really bothered me. I had never had a real fight with Gretchen. Sure, we'd squabbled and had psychotic episodes, but we'd never actually had a fight. I finished with, ^#127A mile high heading toward Mile High City, and looked at my watch.

I still had another twenty minutes.

I picked up the in air courtesy phone, slotted in my credit card, and made a call to Gretchen.

"Hello?"

"Etch, can I apologize?"

There was no answer over the phone, but it still seemed to be connected so I continued.

"This is as touchy a subject for me as it is for you, Etch, and I should have been more careful about how I dealt with it. I know you've had your share of horrible experiences. I know this.

"Look, I can't make any promises, and I would love to be able to. I will at least try to. . .see your side of this when I get home, okay? I would prefer to go out first, but that's up to you. You make the plans and I'll try to be receptive."

"Keith, did you just say that you'll have sex with me if I ask you?"

"I told you I would do my best. I'm preemptively not turning you down. If you want it, I will be there with you. If it's a choice between getting everything I want, and losing you, then I don't lose you. Life without you would be a little less."

"A little less?"

"Less colorful. Less happy. Less enjoyable. Yes, less."

"Oh. Wow. I was really pissed at you last night for rejecting me so completely. And truth be told I'm still mad at you. But. . .I need to think about this, Keith. Okay? When are you getting home?"

"Sometime tonight. Or tomorrow morning actually," I was looking at the return flight information, and it had us getting in to SLC at 1:25 am.

"I should be home by about three-thirty or four o'clock."

"Okay. I'll definitely let you sleep, then. I'll figure out what we're doing tomorrow and get back to you. Chances are you're taking me to the Mikado."

I winced but admitted I probably deserved that. Gretchen and I had a thing for sushi, and the Mikado was rumored to be the best sushi in Utah. It was supposed to have prices to match.

"Whatever you decide, Etch. This is your night from beginning to end."

"I love you, Keith. I really do."

"I love you too, Etch. Kisses."

I hung up the phone and we descended into the airport. By the time we had our rental and were out of the airport on our way to the bar, it was already one-thirty. A combination of a headwind and long lines for car rentals had put us an hour and a half behind schedule.

We arrived at the bar and went inside. Contrary to the images the name conjured, the Hole in the Wall was quite a large place, at least without anyone there. The stage was a foot high riser along the wall furthest from the door. Everything was low ceilings and dark wood until about twenty feet from the stage. It opened up a bit there and the ceiling went up to about fifteen feet off the floor.

"You must be Desdemona. I'm Brice, but a lot of my friends just all me Canyon."

I looked at him a little blankly, and he shrugged, "well, I thought it was funny. So, I need you out here at 6 to do a couple of sets. I hear your instruments should be here shortly? Here's a key to the green room so you can lock them up 'til the show. Good luck. The crowd can be a little rough."

We collected our instruments from the private courier when he arrived, and got them properly tuned. Davey had to leave his drums on the stage.

"Brice. Davey will leave his drums on stage. Can you keep an eye on them."

"Sure thing. Thanks for doing this."

"No problem."

We hung around a city that didn't seem to offer much in the way of tourist attractions, and made our way back to the bar about four o'clock.

I got on my game face, and we were onstage by quarter to five. We did some final tuning, and then promptly at six we started in on 'Bodies'.

We were only halfway through the first verse when things just started going horribly wrong.

"You suck!"

"Get off the stage so a real band can play!"

We pushed through, but when we started playing 'My Life With You is Hell' they began to throw things onstage.

We continued to play, hoping that the bouncer or something would actually step in. We continued, that is, until a beer bottle struck me in the head.

I stopped playing, and Guthrie and Davey came to a ragged stop.

"So, is this what we can expect coming to Denver? A rude welcome, punctuated by insults and thrown bottles?"

"Go back to Utah you little t$%#. You should make babies, since you suck as a musician."

"Well, that's fine with me. You guys fine with never playing in Denver again?" I asked of my band mates. They were pissed and nodded to me.

"Ok, see you in hell, Denver since it's going to freeze over before we come back."

We walked off the stage and right out the door. "We going to need to replace your drums, Davey?"

"Nah. That was my backup set. I'm good until the next time I need a backup set."

We chuckled at this, and called for a cab. While we waited I called Richard. "Richard, I made a promise to the crowd that I would not play in Denver. Make sure that we never do."

"What happened? Other than splitting my eye open with a beer bottle? I'm heading to an emergency room and getting it cleaned up, then we're on a plane back home."

"I'm so sorry about this, Desi."

"Don't be, Richard. Looks like we're going to make the famous Utah rumor true for Denver."

"What Utah rumor?"

"Oh come on, even I heard about how supposedly U2 was booed off stage in '83, which is why they didn't do a concert in Utah until '97. Well, I'm sorry, but if Denver is going to be that rude, they deserve not to get a concert."

"Desi, think about this."

'No, Richard. I will not subject my band to this kind of behavior. I need a courier service to meet me at the hospital to get our instruments back. Just the bass and my 12-string. Davey decided to leave his drums."

"You're serious. You got booed off the stage."

"Yes, cut over my eye from a beer bottle."

"Ok, you win. No concerts in Denver."

"Thought you'd see it my way. Get the service there, and can you see if you can get us an earlier flight back?"

"It might be coach."

"I'll survive. The sooner I can shake the dust of this city from my shoes, the better I'll feel."

"Ok, Desi. See you."

"Kisses, Richard."

The cab arrived and we piled in. "Nearest hospital, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

We were dropped off at the emergency entrance, and made our way inside. I got to tell my story about a hundred times, and I'm still pretty sure that half the people were assuming a domestic disturbance was what actually caused the cut.

Wasn't it obvious to these people I was in stage makeup?"

It took two stitches to close the gash, so nothing too severe, and we were on our way to the airport.

Our flight would get us to Salt Lake by ten, and I hoped to be home by midnight. Maybe I'd be able to surprise Gretchen when I got home. Seeing her would be enough to fix a lot of what ailed me.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.