Angela Kelly - Second Best Fantasy

Second Best Fantasy

By Angela Kelly

Published by JMS Books LLC

This book is available in print.

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2011 Angela Kelly

ISBN 978-1-61152-152-8

Cover Photo Credit: Jose Antonio Snchez Reyes Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

Cover Design: J.M. Snyder

All Rights Reserved

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the authors imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

Authors Note: Although within these pages Janine Jordan is a fictional character, all song titles and lyrics are courtesy of the amazing Kayla Brown. To find out more about her and her music, visit myspace.com/kaylabrownmusic.

* * * *

Second Best Fantasy

By Angela Kelly

For Cin, my fantasy woman incarnate.

And for Kayla, whose talent the world needs to know.

Joan Orlean.

I couldnt believe it. After two years of entering my name into dozens of email pools to attend record release parties for rock stars I either didnt care for or didnt know, I had missed my opportunity to catch a glimpse of someone I really admired.

Fuck.

I had missed work due to an overindulgence of Southern Comfort and less than satisfying sex the night before. Then, while still lying in bed unshowered, nauseous, and with a jackhammer deep in my cerebellum, the phone rang. Jan, a co-worker, had called to announce she had won the pool and would be trotting down to Avenue A Records the following Saturday to meet the one, the only, the every-lesbian-in-the-world-wanted-to-touch Joan Orlean.

It was out and out unfair; especially given the fact Jan wasnt even gay. The heinous wrong was equal to a straight guy winning first row tickets to a Melissa Etheridge concert. As I was ready to tell Jan to fuck off and never speak to me by the coffee maker again, she made me glad I hadnt said anything.

I just wanted you to know that, although I would never surrender my invitation to anyone, even at gunpoint, I think theres a way I can get you in. I know youre a big fan, she said.

Swallowing bile, I managed to reply, Any chance you can give me Id pay money for.

Well, thats exactly what youll have to do. I have a bartender friend down at the Red Robin. He told me Jack Kasper is one of the owners of Hammerfield and Company. They are the caterers for the party. My friend claims Jack is a big time lush 1

and a regular at the Robin. If you feed him enough whiskey, hes been known to take bribes to sneak people in through the kitchen for other high profile events. I looked into this myself before I knew Id won the pool.

Only in New York, I thought to myself.

Thanks Jan, Ill give it a shot.

How are you feeling, by the way?

Ill be in tomorrow.

Jan wasnt so bad. I hardly knew her except in an office environment kind of way, and I was touched shed gone through the trouble of calling and advising me on how I could meet one of my few idols. The trick then became feeling well enough to venture out and smooth talk some catering drunk who was quite likely also an asshole.

* * * *

I guess you would say I was a high-society dyke, looking at my life from the outside in. My life at that time was the envy of a lot of friends, and with good reason. I drove a moderately priced car that I owned outright, I had a home in the east village, and I had a great job. However, I wasnt snobby or some rich kid, which redeemed me in the eyes of most people. I had worked hard for everything I had, and considered myself a genuinely good person. And, like many people that arouse jealousy in others, I was often lonely.

It was late summer in 1994 and life in New York then was any lesbians dream. You could simply be out among your own,

take refuge as a stranger, go pick someone up or be picked up, or even seek out a friend instead of a lover, all dependent upon which bar, restaurant, or store you walked into.

I belonged in New York. Born and bred in New Jersey, educated in the Midwest, there was no place else on earth I would have ever wanted to call home.

I had moved to New York when I was thirty. After so many years of working hard and feeling like my wheels were spinning, perhaps turning thirty was all I ever needed to do. It was the 2

most fortunate year of my life.

I had returned to school when I was 24 and spent four years in the University of Illinois getting a Masters degree in English. I didnt want to teach so I found a great job in Illinois with a book compositor that didnt pay much but gave me priceless experience that allowed me to land my job in the big city and move back closer to my roots. Within a month of my big three zero, I had flown to New York for both a first and second interview at my job, packed up my apartment into a Ryder truck, untangled myself from yet another woman gone bad, and drove away, knowing I would never miss the cornfields of the Midwest.

The luckiest stroke was still to come. After commuting from a friends place in New Jersey for three long months, I met a real estate agent in a gay bar who wanted to fuck me so badly she offered me a deal on a sublet in the village for a price that was simply unheard of.

* * * *

My job was a dream job. I became an English major because I wanted to work in the publishing industry, so my education combined with my experience at the compositor allowed me the luxury of actually being in the profession I chose, something I know has only happened to one, maybe two people Id ever met in my entire life.

I had acquired two solid years of production experience by the time I first flew to New York to meet the Human Resources director for Phantom Publishing, Inc. Phantom was indirectly affiliated with the music industry. Our clients were publishers that specialized in rock biographies, scene magazines, websites, and project management plans that were farmed out from record labels when they had more than they could handle.

Our responsibilities to the clients ranged from editing and proofreading to being customer service liaisons between them and the authors. If you owned any CD that was on the charts, chances are a colleague or I had scribbled corrections all over the inside cover jacket at one time. I was far removed from any 3

customer contact and thats exactly the way I liked it. I thanked the heavens each day as I rode the train to the shiny marble office building.

* * * *

I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees in the tub and let the shower wash away the debauchery of the night before.

Id made myself a breakfast of Bloody Marys and French toast at three oclock in the afternoon after Id gotten off the phone with Jan. I still felt woozy, but knew from experience a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a half dozen Advil would have me on my feet and looking good enough to make the drunk caterer swoon.