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Design by Nathan Everett

Online serialized version

ISBN 978-1-950183-13-5

eBook edition

ISBN 978-1-950183-15-9

Part XIII: Interlocution

Chapter 150

“For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.”

—Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution

IF IT WEREN’T FOR HAVING RACHEL cuddled next to me in the back seat of Betty’s car, I’d almost regret not driving. It was a long way from Fort Wayne to Lawrence, Kansas for the Kansas Renaissance Festival. Cindy sat next to Rachel and her head was on my hand as she leaned against us. Sophie sat in front next to Betty. Our two documentarians plus Brittany and Desi rode with Donna. Riko and Riley were in hog heaven as they drove out together in the truck with all the merchandise. They’d left two days before the rest of us. Beca had elected to spend the two weeks we were gone with Joan in Chicago. Nanette was working and holding down the fort at the farmhouse. She was going to go up to see Beca and Joan over the weekend.

Livy, of course, had left for service on the fourteenth, eight days before we left for Kansas. They had been pretty weepy days for Rachel. And the rest of us.

I was thankful Betty had agreed to drive. It gave all of us who were teens the opportunity to pretend we weren’t adults and let someone else be responsible. Of course, we all took our turns driving. Still, it was like we had a parent in the car. I’m not so sure Donna felt that way, driving four teenagers across four states.

“Will you make love to me tonight?” Rachel whispered in my ear.

“Of course I will,” I said giving her a little kiss. “How many rooms do we have? Will we have company?”

“Probably. I don’t mind, as long as you fill me and hold me. I didn’t think I’d miss her so much so soon.”

“Until you leave to start basic yourself, it’s likely to be that way,” I sighed. “Once you start, I’m sure you won’t have time to think of any of us.”

“Oh? That’s not what Joan or Emily said,” Rachel said. “But we’ll survive. Sometimes I wish I’d chosen the same induction date but I want to see Emily before I go.”

“It won’t be long now.”

We rode halfway across Missouri in relative silence before pulling in to the same Colony Inn we’d used last year. We piled into three rooms with Cindy and her mom in one and the other six of us split between two rooms with two queen beds. Our agreement with the videographers, of course, indicated they’d have private rooms. Laura and Leon weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend so it wasn’t like they could share. It would be a lot more casual when we got to the faire, since we’d be camped out in tents rather than in a hotel. Even Betty had agreed to camp out, having discovered last year in Kentucky it wasn’t that bad. I could see a glint in Cindy’s eye, though, that indicated she would not be spending every night in her mother’s tent. Even if we were making love in the big tent, Cindy wanted to be with us.

I made love to Rachel in one bed of our room. Brittany and Sophie occupied the other and Donna and Desi were in the other room. We were all quiet and went to sleep pretty quickly.

We were up early in the morning and after a quick breakfast were back on the road. Cindy and I switched cars with the videographers so we could talk program with Desi and Donna. Betty was a little miffed and I found out Cindy had slipped out of her room last night and spent the night with Donna and Desi.

We got in Thursday afternoon, set up camp, and refreshed our memory of where things were in the Renaissance Village. We had a new venue. After our successful circuit last year, we were promoted to the Queen’s Commons Stage at the heart of the village. We had forty minutes every two hours. We’d probably not be doing as much touring around the village singing and dancing as we had last year.

We put some more structure around the Shakespearean Twins theme from last year and would be using that for our performances. There was a lot of silliness involved, but some good music, too. Since we’d be doing the show so often, there was a little less improv involved, though we all had our moments. I was working with my practice guitar. The acoustics weren’t great working outdoors, so I didn’t feel compelled to bring a $20,000 guitar to the site. Or even a $3,000 guitar.

As soon as we were set up in the campsite, we headed over to the stage and got some practice time in. Donna really took to directing us and could pull lines out of thin air if we needed something extra. She got Laura and Leon positioned and even had them come up to get in on the action at one point. Riko and Riley had costumes for them as well. When we’d run things through, we sat on the stage and discussed it. If it came out as well on tape as I thought it did in person, we got some good cuts of our creative process to put in the special.

We started to lose patrons toward the end of May when they discovered we wouldn’t be producing a full program in June or July but when we started posting snippets of our rehearsals and process once a week, we gained share again. We were up over 1,500 subscribers now and it was a good thing since we were paying a modest salary and expenses for Laura and Leon, plus all our own expenses.

My two video classmates were fitting right in with the pod and with Riko and Riley. They worked as hard as any of us but were obviously having fun. I could see working with them long term, though I didn’t think they’d really fit as part of the pod. They were a little too competitive with each other. They even set up their tents on opposite sides of the site. It didn’t interfere with their work, though, so I paid little attention to the drama.

The festival opened slowly at three o’clock Friday afternoon. There were only about fifteen in the audience for our first performance at five, but more than double that for the seven o’clock show. It gave us a chance to gauge how an audience would respond to our antics and test the material.

The Saturday shows had people rushing from the entrance to be at our stage for the eleven o’clock show in the morning. After five shows, we’d been in front of something like 400 people. Donna and Sophie counted out a thousand dollars in tips. Betty agreed to take over the accounting and lock the money in the trunk of her car at night. It sounds like a lot but with six people performing and four on our crew it wouldn’t cover expenses. Especially since we performed four times Sunday and then were off for four days before we started up the holiday weekend.

We took Monday off and did some sightseeing, including going over to the university and wandering around campus. It was a relaxed day and we bought ice cream for dessert around the campfire, promising we would eat it all that night so it wouldn’t melt. We just didn’t have the kind of cooler space to keep ice cream frozen.

And after we’d eaten and sat around the campfire relaxing, we parted and went to our tents. We had a pretty big tent to accommodate the six pod mates. There were two ‘bedrooms’ and a central room where we kept our gear. We only used one bedroom with two huge air mattresses covering all the floor space. The weather was plenty warm enough not to need more than light blankets and each other for heat.

I stretched out in the darkness knowing some one or more of my mates would join me and not being concerned about which it would be. I was in a tent with five naked women and would be happy with whichever slept beside me. It turned out that Donna cuddled into my arms and we had a quiet amorous time together. There were times when Donna was still caught up in her responsible adult mode and it spilled over on how she interacted with the rest of us. She was a schoolteacher, owned a farm, and produced and directed our shows. I think she relished the moments when all the lights were out and she could simply let go of all those responsibilities and be a lover to her mates.

This was certainly such a time. We didn’t have to be up early in the morning and didn’t rush ourselves as we kissed, petted, and ultimately slid our bodies together. And being in Donna was always a sensual experience like no other. Her unique shape let me penetrate more deeply in her than in any of my other girlfriends. When she pulled her legs back at the knees to give me full access to her hot center, I felt like I could fall into her forever. And the deeper I drove, the more active she became in sucking me in.

Eventually sated, we lay on our sides whispering little love words to each other as I continued to pet the beautiful breasts that had attracted me even seventy years ago. It was so much better now that they were bare.

“Can I cuddle with you now, too?” a voice behind me asked. Cindy? “I mean, I didn’t want to interrupt. It was really pretty. Not that I could see, but I could tell what you were doing.”

“Cindy? When did you come into this tent?”

“With everyone else. I told Mom I needed to be with my pod. I think she’s finally beginning to understand.”

“Of course you can cuddle,” I said, correcting my initial shock and welcoming our youngest girlfriend. “Um… I’m kind of naked. Let me get a pair of shorts on.”

“Don’t bother. I’m kind of naked, too,” she giggled. She cuddled up to my side under my arm and for the first time, I felt Cindy’s bare breasts against my skin. “Watching and listening to you two, I had to take care of my own urges. Now I’m all sleepy.”

“So are we, sweetheart,” Donna whispered from the other side. She reached across and petted Cindy’s arm as she pressed herself against my other side. “Don’t get carried away rubbing your naked body up against our lover. You should be wide awake when you make love.”

“Donna! I’m not ready for that. I don’t have to do that, do I, Jacob?”

“Of course not, honey. Donna’s just making sure we don’t lose control because touching feels good. We’ll be fine. Let’s go to sleep now.”

“K-k.”

It was a sleepy night and the girls’ breathing soon evened out into sleep. I lay awake for a long time, just feeling Cindy’s breasts against my side, her bare leg casually draped over mine. I couldn’t really move at all. I had an arm around each girl and my legs were effectively pinned down as well. But just feeling the soft flesh of Cindy on one side and Donna on the other made me painfully hard. I know I shifted a little but didn’t expect Donna’s hand to move to cover my cock. She didn’t move from her position but kissed my shoulder as she stroked my erection. It only took about three strokes before I pulsed a stream into her palm with a sigh. She pulled the towel we’d used to clean up with earlier over me and wiped up the mess, kissed my shoulder again, and drifted off to sleep. I soon followed.

During the week, we continued to develop our own routines. I ran early in the morning and a couple of times, Rachel joined me for a jog. I didn’t think she’d have any difficulty with basic but she wasn’t interested in that much exercise. Cindy and I practiced and continued to work on our playlist for the audition. I was glad I’d have a few days to work on my viol when I got back home. Just having a practice guitar in the camp was limiting. I had my mandolin as well, but I didn’t have a big enough repertoire for it to carry around the faire.

Wednesday afternoon, we had another meeting on stage and discussed our goals as musicians. Laura and Leon recorded and then went back to camp to work on editing and uploading a new report for our patrons. People were really responding well to our unfolding adventure. It was almost like a miniseries. Our chatroom was lively.

Friday, we were back on stage performing two shows to kick off the Independence Day weekend. It was a bigger crowd the second weekend and it looked like several people would be returning. And our additional practice during the week helped smooth out the rough spots. We had good audiences, plenty generous, and sufficiently lubed up with beer to enjoy the ribald humor we added. Brittany did Malvolio’s speech when he finds Olivia’s supposed letter and analyzes it. She squatted down to draw in the dirt as she looked at the letter and said, “And thus she makes her great Ps,” the audience could not help but see the very suggestive way she was squatting. The fact that Cindy and I moved into a jig at that time and Sophie and Desi started dancing around Britt, made the whole scene funnier.

And then on Saturday, we ran ourselves to exhaustion again with five shows. The good part about this was that Em was there by the second show and immediately got in costume to help Rachel and Donna busk the crowds for tips. After the show, each of us got lovely kisses from my sister and promises of a fun night.

By the time we’d finished the fifth show, we were thankful Rachel had gone back to camp and had a big salad, burgers on the grill, and cold drinks for us. Em was good as her word and when we retired to our tent, clothes were off in an instant. That’s when everything came to a stop.

“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said. “So perfect.”

“If anything like that happened to me, I’d want the same thing,” Desi said. “You’re wonderful, Emily.” I finally got close enough to see what my girlfriends were exclaiming about. When I did, I couldn’t speak. I just clasped Emily to me in a silent embrace. I held her, unable to speak.

On her left shoulder was a new and simple tattoo. It was a wreath with a banner that said, “In memory. Peyton Hopkins 2010-2021. Beloved sister.” Yeah. I’d get more than one tattoo on my 18th birthday.

Em spent some special time with Rachel but made sure our girlfriends were all touched and kissed. I just lay back on an edge of the mattress and smiled at the sounds I heard.

“Aren’t you jealous that she’s spending all her time with the girls and not with you?” Cindy whispered as she pressed herself against me. This hadn’t become a regular thing during the week, but feeling her hot skin against mine reminded me of Celia and how I’d thought making love to Pod Cheer-up’s youngest member must be like what it would be like to make love to Cindy. Of course, I wasn’t making love to Cindy. I didn’t even touch her suggestively. My hand never strayed from her shoulder and my chest was the only part of me that touched her boobs.

It’s just that it was enough. I struggled for control.

“No. Remember, I’m leaving with Em Monday night and will have all week with her. Didn’t you get a hug from her?”

“Yeah. I like her. I’m glad she’ll be coming home soon.”

Cindy snuggled closer and before long we drifted off to sleep. When I woke in the dim light of morning, I saw Em was pressed up against her from the other side with a hand extended across to rest on my chest.

We made it through nine more performances on Sunday and Monday. It worked out well for the faire since the Fourth was on Sunday, Monday was a holiday. It worked out well for us because at the end of the last show on Monday, Em and I loaded into her car and headed for Salina. It was a pretty straight shot across on I-70 but still took nearly three hours. It gave us time to just talk and connect, and we got in about midnight.

“J, I’m a little nervous about going home,” Em said as we got ready for bed. “I don’t know what’s there for me.”

“We are,” I said quickly. “I am.”

“I know. I love you and I’m glad I have you for a few days all to myself. Those girls nearly licked a blister on my clit,” she giggled. “I know I have a loving pod that has been supportive through my whole service. This last posting has been really lonely and it would have been easy to get involved with another driver if it weren’t for my nightly talks with one or more of my mates. Between that and being on the road overnight so much, it was easy to avoid.”

“We always said you didn’t need to avoid others,” I said. It gave me a little twinge, but that was life.

“Oh, there have been a couple of times that I just wanted relief and got it,” she sighed. “Even when you’re really lonely, just having sex without really caring about the other person can leave you feeling even more isolated than abstinence.” We finished brushing our teeth and went to her narrow bed. This had once been a college dorm room; the furniture was probably the same as it had been fifty years ago. I held Em in my arms and felt her stroking my growing interest. “I’m mostly worried about being an adult. I went away for two years and learned to drive a truck. Is that my career choice now? Where am I even going to live? Our home is gone. As nice as Nan has been, Mom and Dad are guests in her home. You are a guest at Donna’s. Sophie is a guest at her sister’s. We need to do something about living quarters and whether they mean we all live together.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this,” I speculated.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. I just haven’t come up with any solutions.”

“Let us all work on it together,” I said. “That’s one thing I’ve learned. I don’t have to figure out everything on my own. We have ten other pod mates we can lean on.”

“Let’s lean on each other for a while, baby. I focused on our mates this weekend. I want to focus on you now.” Em pushed me onto my back and straddled me. It took no effort at all to slide our parts together and lose ourselves in the feeling of making love.

I joined Em Tuesday morning, riding along as she picked up a load of cattle to move to Illinois. We were gone all week, and made love each night in the berth of her cab.

Friday evening, we rolled into Salina and she delivered the truck to the lot. We cleaned it out of anything personal, including bedding, pictures, and her computer and CDs. Then we walked up to the office so she could say goodbye to her dispatcher.

“We’ve got a good run for you on Monday,” the dispatcher said. “You always liked those cowboys down in Texas. Deliver grain for the feedlot and bring back a load of cattle.”

“I’m not here Monday,” Em said. “As of five o’clock, I’m no longer in the National Service.”

“Wait! That can’t be!” the dispatcher said. “We have you scheduled. This load needs to get there. You have to stay!”

“No, I don’t have to stay,” Em said patiently. “I’ve waited two years for this moment. I’m headed home in the morning.”

“We’re preempting your discharge in order to make this delivery,” the dispatcher said firmly. “Be here at seven on Monday morning or face charges.”

Chapter 151

“If you’re going to kick authority in the teeth, you might as well use two feet.”

—Keith Richards, Keith Richards: In His Own Words

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Em screamed at her dispatcher. “I have my discharge papers. As of ten minutes ago I am no longer in the National Service.”

“We can reactivate you in an emergency,” the dispatcher growled.

“In a declared National Emergency,” I interjected. “I’ve read the manual. All thousand pages. You can’t just reactivate someone because you need an extra body. You should check the regs.”

“I don’t know who you are but you are dangerously close to being arrested for trespassing on government property. Emily Hopkins, you are reactivated for duty on Monday, July 12 under stop loss rules. Report to your vehicle at seven o’clock for instructions. Violation of this order is a federal offense and may result in up to five years in prison. Now get out of here.”

We were stunned and backed out of the office. Em had tears in her eyes but they were tears of fury.

I took the driver’s seat in Em’s Prius and headed us back to her dorm. As soon as we got there, I got Em into a shower and went to work. I called Ray Long in Chicago. He was the person best positioned to help us as far as I could tell.

“Do you have any evidence we can use?” Ray asked. “I don’t recall any stop loss clause in the National Service. That’s a military thing and is normally only used during a time of active service in a military conflict.”

“I taped it,” I said. I’d planned to record Em’s farewell to the service and clicked on the cell phone when we entered the office. Before we left the Ren Faire, Donna had impressed upon me the importance of taping anything that we might be able to use in our special. Prior to this, it had mostly been me and Em singing in the cab of her truck. I’d expected her to receive congratulations from her dispatcher.

“Send it to me.”

The file was big enough that it took a couple of minutes before Ray had it on his computer and started watching.

“That’s absurd,” he said. “Someone is stepping way over the bounds of his authority. Here’s what I want you to do: Pack. Get Emily ready to leave tomorrow. Don’t take anything to the car. In fact, don’t leave the apartment or unlock the door for any reason. I’ll make calls and get back to you. I expect to have an escort for you by noon tomorrow and you’ll be able to leave.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I need to go take care of Em now.”

“You might want to keep an eye on the news. I’m going to release this recording.”

I grinned at his suggestion. Between what Ray could do and what Joan could do, I was pretty confident we’d be out of there in no time.

We didn’t get out over the weekend. Ray had to find lawyers and people in authority who could make a decision. It was the weekend and people in authority in government are hard to find on a weekend. If someone wanted to invade the US, all they’d have to do is wait until the weekend baseball games and no one would be around to stop them. If the dispatcher had pulled this stunt on Thursday, we’d have had an injunction by the time Em was out of service on Friday night.

An injunction was what we finally got and two deputy US Marshals showed up at our door at six o’clock Monday morning. They helped us transport the boxes and clothing Em had packed down to her car. It’s amazing how much stuff you can put in the back of a Prius—or maybe it’s amazing how little Em had to pack after two years in the service.

A state trooper approached us as we were putting the first box in the car and declared he was there to escort us to the shipping yard. One look at the deputy US Marshal’s identity and a quiet explanation later, the trooper got in his car and left. We locked the door, dropped the key off in the dormitory office, and made it to the yard at exactly seven o’clock.

I had the record button pushed on my cell phone when we walked into the office. The original recording had gone viral on all the social media and was often attached to renditions of our ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’ video. I had no idea if the dispatcher paid any attention to the media. One look at him when we walked in said he did.

“Turn that off!” he shouted at me. “You can’t record in a federal facility.”

“Somebody had too much ego for breakfast,” I said.

“Security!” the guy barked into his phone. “Get in here.” He wasn’t expecting the two Deputy US Marshals who walked into the room.

“Ellis Smith, you are under arrest for subverting the authority of the United States National Service Corps with illegal orders,” the first deputy said.

“You can’t arrest a member of the corps!” he shouted back.

“The corps is a civilian organization and all members and managers are subject to civilian authority,” the Marshal said. “You have confused your role with a military one.”

“The corps is managed by the military,” Smith declared. “It operates under military rules.”

“That is an issue you will need to take up with the judge at your hearing,” the deputy said. “Ms. Hopkins, we’ve examined your discharge papers and find everything in order. You’re free to go. Mr. Smith, if you would accompany us, please.” Em and I beat a hasty retreat but I paused long enough at the car to record Smith being led from the office in cuffs. I got in the car and before we were out of range of Salina, I’d uploaded the video to Ray. Em and I relaxed as we headed east toward home.

We made it halfway across Illinois before we had to stop for the night. Em and I fell into bed at a Quality Inn in Effingham and didn’t bother with dinner. We stripped, showered, and made love for several hours, letting all our tension and frustration out before we got down to seriously expressing our love for each other.

It was another 350 miles home on Tuesday and the drive was completely relaxed. We’d burned off the stress from the weekend and didn’t have room to add the stress of reunions and homecoming. We cruised into Fort Wayne at three o’clock, which gave us plenty of time to visit at Donna’s house before we went to have dinner with my parents.

The pod was all tense. They’d been watching the videos and doing their best to boost shares all weekend. Our GBU video was back at the top of the downloads list and our new T-shirt with the slogan ‘Somebody had too much ego for breakfast,’ was selling fast. It was a new meme on Twitter and Facebook and was used for any person who remotely seemed to be bragging about something. Of course, it had been in comments to a news briefing at the White House and several statements by congressmen and senators.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the National School called to rescind their offer for an audition. If they were looking for someone to go around putting a positive spin on the National Service, I was probably not the right choice. Not after this weekend.

I’d only said two things on the video I shot and both were becoming popular memes. The other was from the first video and simply said, ‘I’ve read the manual.’ I was amazed again at how many totally unrelated things a meme could be applied to. I saw it attached to an old timey picture of a guy with a car disassembled in front of him and a puzzled look on his face. It was captioned ‘#Ivereadthemanual.’ Another showed the same array of parts leading up to a space shuttle. Cartoons appeared, too. A civilian Sad Sack kind of guy being yelled at by his boss, but shaking his head and holding up a book. It, too, said ‘I’ve read the manual.’

It was inevitable that Sophie, Donna, and Beca were all on our case immediately to come up with another parody music piece that we could use one or the other of the phrases in. It’s too bad we didn’t have the content before we finished filming in Kansas at the Ren Faire.

Em and I spent her first night back at Nanette’s house with Mom and Dad. We were all happy to be together but being in a different house just emphasized to us all that we were missing the little drop of sunshine that had been my baby sister. We all decided it was better for us to both move out to Donna’s, which we were lucky Donna agreed to. Enthusiastically.

Wednesday night was our normal sleepover night, a carryover from our Wednesday night study sessions during the school year. All of us but Joan and Livy were at the house. Still two people in service. Livy got Sunday telephone privileges now and the pod had kept her informed of what was happening with Em and me. I’m sure she was dying to know the next episode since we hadn’t had the last showdown yet when she called Rachel this week.

Em and I took Rachel to bed with us and did our best to show her how much we loved her and to comfort her after the weekend now that the drama with Emily’s service was over. Making love with Rachel has been an intense experience for us since the first time two years ago. Adding Em to our bed and Rachel’s impending induction made it even more intense. We were exhausted in each other’s arms as we finally slept for the night.

I was up early in the morning for a run with Nan. Rachel started to get up with me and Emily pulled her back into bed and kissed her so soundly that the two girls stayed put.

Summer running in the country was different than fall or spring. V1 remembered an adage when he was growing up that corn should be knee-high by the Fourth of July. Corn that was that short in this day and age was way behind or was intentionally planted late for August/September sweet corn harvest. The field corn was already above our shoulders.

That was another difference. Once, corn from Indiana fed beef, poultry, and swine to fatten them for market. Most farmers who grew corn now, did so for the ethanol market. And it paid off. Gas that was 80% ethanol was over a dollar a gallon cheaper than regular in Indiana. I noted that was not true in Missouri and Kansas. The price there was par with regular or just a few cents cheaper. Also, fewer stations carried 80% ethanol though ten and fifteen percent were common.

Nanette and I turned up a row of corn in a neighbor’s field and ran up one row and down another just for the variety of where we were running. We always had a good workout when we ran but many times, like this morning, we ran just for the joy of running and feeling the wind in our faces. We jogged to a standstill in the woodlot and Nanette stripped off her jog bra top.

“Stretch me out,” she said. I grinned at her and started by stretching her mouth with my tongue. Before long, we were both naked, using our running shorts and my T-shirt as a makeshift blanket on the ground as I lifted her legs to my chest and pressed forward to stretch her biceps femoris. As I leaned forward, the tip of my cock just touched the dampness of her pussy. I was prepared when she shifted her leg to the side and I sank into her. And there in the quiet of the woodlot, we made love.

We got back to the house carrying our clothes and stopping every few feet to kiss. We headed straight for the shower and I took all the time necessary to make sure she was very clean.

Once we were dressed, the whole pod gathered downstairs in the kitchen. Donna revealed a frittata with sixteen candles on it. We all sang happy birthday to Cindy. We don’t make a big thing about gifts for special occasions in the pod. Most of us don’t have the kind of money it would take to buy twelve people birthday presents and Christmas presents and Valentine flowers and and and… But the sixteenth birthday of my musical partner seemed to merit something special. Based on Emily, I thought pearls were something fathers gave their sixteen-year-old daughters. That’s what Em got on her sixteenth. But I did some research and discovered Cindy’s birthstone was a ruby.

I took up a collection from the pod and bought Cindy a pear-cut ruby necklace on a twenty-inch gold chain.

“This is to our youngest girlfriend from all your pod mates,” I said as I handed her the box. She opened it and squealed, handing it to me to put on her. It fell right to the cleft between her breasts. I fastened it and turned her to see it. Maybe I spent a little too long looking at where it lay.

“Sweet sixteen,” she said. “And never been kissed.” I cocked an eyebrow, remembering Beca kissing her after the Valentine’s Dance. “By a boy. On the lips.” She raised an eyebrow at me and I could feel all our pod mates holding their breath around us.

“May I be the remedy for that condition?” I asked. She blushed and nodded, closing her eyes. I pulled her to me by her shoulders and gave her a long gentle kiss, just letting our lips soften and hold the contact for a while. We didn’t turn all passionate and start Frenching. But the kiss was still as sexy as hell. If she crawled topless to me in bed and then gave me a kiss like this, I wouldn’t guarantee where it would end.

Soon, all our girlfriends wanted their sweet sixteen kiss and Cindy had her work cut out for her. I think it was the first time Nanette had felt free to embrace Cindy and the two shared a sweet kiss.

“Um… Thank you. I love all of you,” she said. We ate our breakfast and all got a chance to talk about how wonderful it was that all of us were over the age of sixteen. When breakfast was finished, Cindy excused herself and said she needed to get ready to go home because her parents were coming to pick her up and go celebrate in their way.

None of us thought a thing about it but we were sitting at the table when we heard the unmistakable sound of a girl having an orgasm upstairs. I looked. All the rest of us were accounted for. It was a solo performance.

I spent the rest of the day… and the night… with Rachel. This was it. Friday, I was headed to Washington DC for the weekend concert and Monday audition. Monday, Rachel was leaving for service. It would be weeks until we saw each other again. Longer than we’d been apart since we started dating.

We went for a long walk in the woods, just holding hands and quietly being with each other. All through the day, we found little treasures that had been left for her by our lovers. A chocolate Promise. A poem. A CD. A cup of tea. A shoulder and back rub. Everyone in the pod flitted into our day and out, acknowledging the special bond Rachel and I had as well as the fondness each of our pod mates had for her.

And we made love. Not all the time, but when we felt it was the right time. We had a long soak in Donna’s big tub. I held her against my body as she leaned back into my embrace. We kissed as I petted her breasts and ran one hand down between her legs to play in her ginger curls.

As romantic as it sounds to just slip together and make love in the tub, it isn’t that easy and rather than struggle with it, we got out of the tub, lovingly dried each other, and tumbled into bed to make love. It still took a while before we coupled. There was a lot of kissing and petting to be done before we finally slid together and Rachel pulled me on top of her, hugging me down so my weight pressed her into the mattress. We held that position as long as possible, just feeling our connection and looking into each other’s eyes. Eventually, I had to lift up so she could breathe. Our skin wanted to stick together and we giggled a little, letting our nipples touch and slide.

“I imagined that I would be out of service and out of college, working in my career, living on my own, when one day I would meet the love of my life. We would marry and soon I would be pregnant. We’d have two-point-five children, a house in the suburbs, two cars, and eventually, grandchildren who would visit us as we rocked on our front porch. One night, we would go to bed, hold hands, and die in our sleep. I never imagined that I might find the love of my life when I was just sixteen years old,” Rachel sighed as we began moving together.

“Nor that we would have ten other lovers to share our lives with,” I added.

“Yes. But even with as special a connection as I have with Livy and as much as I love Emily and all the others, I know I would be incomplete without you and Beca. Never doubt, my love; I am coming home to you.”

“And in all the time you are gone, never doubt that we are anxiously waiting your return.”

“I bear the mark of our pod on my butt,” Rachel giggled, delightfully stimulating my cock in her pussy. “And I’m going to tell everyone who sees it what that tattoo means to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be looking for opportunities to show it off,” I laughed. “Oh! Look at my butt! Know what this means?”

“Dork. Emily said there will be all too many opportunities to see my cohort naked in basic. Please work with Desi and Beca and Brittany on making sure they are comfortable with communal showers and such. And Cindy. I know that makes you nervous, but she is one of us and will be all alone when she starts service. We need to make sure she’s ready.”

“You’ll be back before she’s eligible. You and Livy will be able to see her through the hard parts, like Joan and Emily will be there for Beca and the rest of us.”

“Mmm. Move some more, lover. I can feel it building. I can feel our climax and our whole pod moving with us. I love you so much, Jacob. I love you.”

Sometime during the night, Emily and Beca slid into bed with us. We turned to our backs and Beca crawled on top of me, much like Em did on top of Rachel. We became the mattress for our smaller lovers and felt the joy each had in being close to us.

Friday morning, Emily and Donna went to the rental agency and got a fifteen-passenger bus for our trip to Washington DC. They ran it like a regular bus and picked up Laura and Leon, Betty and Cindy, Mom, and then arrived at the farmhouse to collect Sophie and me. Nine of us with our luggage, recording equipment, and instruments filled the short bus to capacity.

We had long last kisses with Rachel and left for the unknown of Washington DC.

Chapter 152

“My life has been one big audition.”

—Elizabeth Eulberg, Take a Bow

IT USED TO BE that you couldn’t rent a car until you were twenty-five. Em was twenty. But she had a National Service CDL and the agency had to recognize her as qualified and responsible. Which was good because she was the only qualified driver for our Starcraft. It felt like we were all getting on the short bus to go to school. But it was a surprisingly comfortable ride once we were all settled. Getting settled included being filmed while we got our bags aboard and finding our seats while discussing what we were going to prepare for a performance and if we could record while on the bus.

I was thankful for Laura and Leon because at least the teens weren’t completely outnumbered. Of course, Donna and Sophie tried to make sure we knew which side of the aisle they were sitting on and that they weren’t the chaperones; the moms were. Emily walked down the aisle and made sure everyone was buckled in then started the bus and pulled out of Donna’s yard.

Em was used to driving for hours on her over the road job and we had to remind her that the rest of us needed rest area stops. And legally, Em had to keep a log book regarding how many hours she drove. We took our overnight in Morgantown, West Virginia after nearly eight driving hours. It was still pretty early for most of us. We just hung out at the pool at the Quality Inn and relaxed. Of course, Leon thought it would be great to have video of us by the pool and I had to tell him to cool it. He was mostly interested in taking pictures of Cindy, Emily, Donna, and Sophie. Not that I could blame him. All four girls looked spectacular in their bathing suits. Even Cindy had a two-piece. Personally, I thought Leon should focus on improving his relationship with Laura since she looked just as good in her bikini as my girls did.

There was a minor dispute over rooms. Laura and Leon each had their own. The Moms started to object when the rest of us said we’d be good with just one room with two queen beds. Betty tried to insist that Cindy room with her and got a flat ‘no’ from her daughter.

“Mom, just because we’re on the road and you’re with us, doesn’t mean that we’re going to change our usual behavior. You know I sleep in the same room as my mates at the farm. I don’t plan to change that now.”

Betty sighed and Mom suggest the two of them room together to keep the costs down. After dinner, we retired and it didn’t take long for everyone in my pod to get naked. Including Cindy.

“Can I sleep with you and be safe from that thing poking me inappropriately?” she asked, pointing at my half-hard cock. I admit it was getting harder just from my looking at her blossoming femininity. I’d agree to just about anything if it meant she’d be pressing those lush little ‘tiddies’ into my chest. Or my hands. Or my mouth. Geez! I’m far gone.

“If that’s what you want. We can slip our underwear back on to be safe.”

“I don’t mind it touching me, I guess,” she said. “I just don’t want to hump it. But I want to be close to you. Jacob, I wouldn’t be here without you. I don’t want to be here without you.” She hugged me and that pressed my stiff cock between us. She giggled a little but didn’t back away. Frankly, I was amazed at how far she’d progressed sexually since I’d known her.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Em said. “If that thing gets in the way of a good night’s sleep, one of us will beat it into submission. Or maybe all three of us. You might have to wait a while before you have him to yourself.”

“Emily, I love all three of you and I would never stand in the way of you beating Jacob into submission. I learn something every time I see that. Eventually, I’ll be ready to try beating him myself.” I groaned. I knew my cock was leaking precome on Cindy’s belly.

I didn’t get beaten by all three of our girlfriends, but I did get a very relaxing time with Sophie before she switched beds and joined Donna and Em. I went to the bathroom and washed myself before I went to bed. As soon as I lay down, Cindy plastered herself against me and I felt those precious little buds pressed against me.

“Um… Now that I’m sixteen and I’ve actually been kissed… by a boy… on the lips, it would probably be okay to kiss goodnight. You know?” she said, scooting up so her lips were right near my face. Well, yeah, I know. I wrapped both arms around her bare back and stroked from shoulder to waist as we kissed. I’m amazed at how sexy and sensual a kiss can be that isn’t even all tongue. Just having her lips softly pressed against mine while I held her naked body against my own was enough to take both our breath away.

Then we settled and eventually, sleep claimed us.

It was soft and silky, a hard little point in the center of my hand. I squeezed and sighed. So perfect. I was lying on my back. Emily lay on my left, curled against me. Which meant the beautifully soft breast in my right hand was… Cindy! I froze, holding my breath. She lay on her back, head pillowed on my arm, my hand draped over her shoulder cupping her innocent breast. And I couldn’t do the right thing and pull away. I just lay there, pretending to be asleep while my fingers absorbed the sensations of her breast rising and falling as she breathed.

My fingers seemed to flex on their own and she moaned in her sleep. Her hand, on top of mine, seemed to flex a little, encouraging me to squeeze again. Hmm. How many people in this bed are only pretending to sleep? I turned my head slightly toward Em and saw her eyes open, focused on my hand and Cindy’s breast. Em’s hand drifted south from my chest and found my rigid member. Her hum was reflected by Cindy’s and I moaned a little, too. My hand on that breast was no longer limited to occasional squeezes. I rubbed gently and circled the nipple with my finger. I could feel Cindy’s hips shift and lift with an occasional twitch of her other hand between her legs.

Em slowly moved over me, careful not to disturb our young lover. When she was positioned, she slowly slid my shaft into her warm core. Cindy’s hand moved with more purpose and rhythm as I teased her nipple, slipping across her chest to give equal treatment to its mate. The hand that had been guiding mine left it and rose to cover her mouth as she tried to stifle her moans. We all knew Cindy could be very vocal as we’d heard her solo performance on her birthday.

We were all fully aware of each other now, Cindy’s legs spread to give her better access and leaned against Emily as my sister rocked back and forth on my cock and I rose to meet her. I heard a low whine from the other bed and could see Sophie and Donna moving against each other out of the corner of my eye. We were all, it seemed, waking to the rhythm of our own sexual heat.

My own orgasm was speeding to completion. Emily’s motions became more erratic as she felt my semen spray into her. As Em gasped and I felt her pussy clenching around my cock, Cindy went rigid next to us and whined around her hand, still covering her mouth. I lightly pinched her nipple and the sudden “Ah!” escaped around her seal. I could feel her shuddering through the finale.

Cindy rolled toward Em and me, wrapping us in her embrace as she sought a kiss from each of us—gladly given. I stroked her back and felt each of her muscles tighten and relax beneath my fingers.

“I… um… need to go take a shower. Otherwise, all my mother’s suspicions will be confirmed when she sees me.” She pushed away from us and slipped out of bed. We watched her bare bottom as she crossed to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The motion in Emily’s hips picked up with the renewed hardness she found inside. I rolled with her and she spread her legs wide to give me better access as we drove toward another orgasm, each of us thinking about the teen we’d awakened with, and the squeal from the bathroom as she satisfied herself again.

After we had breakfast at a diner near the hotel, we loaded up for the last leg into Washington, DC and Emily steered us effortlessly to a hotel not far from Kennedy Center. Let me suggest that you do not want to stay in a hotel in DC unless you are very wealthy or someone else is subsidizing you. Even with the special school rate, we paid over $250 a night per room. When they discovered how expensive it was, Laura and Leon volunteered to share a double room while we were in town. The moms talked to each of them separately to be sure they were really okay with that before consenting.

Then there was parking for the bus. The hotel directed Em to a lot nearby that had bus parking for almost as much as a room cost!

I made a call when we got to the hotel and half an hour later, Remas Hayek walked into the lobby and directly to our group. Our guide was nothing at all like any of us had anticipated. What do you anticipate when you are meeting a student from a music and art school? A kind of nerdy musician with a little voice who’s extremely shy. Not Remas.

This was a bright, bubbly, tan-skinned, brown-eyed girl, dressed in an oxford shirt, slacks, and a sweater. And a colorful scarf that wrapped around her head and hid her hair and neck.

“Marvel and Hopkins!” Remas said, coming right up to Cindy and me. “I’m Remas Hayek and the school asked me to guide you around today and make sure you are fed and get to the concert tonight. I hope you don’t mind me suggesting things and walking. Are you really shooting for your next video while you’re in town? It’s so exciting to have you visit. I hope you’ll come to school here.”

“Nice to meet you, Remas,” I said. “I’m Jacob and this is Cindy. These are our moms, Mrs. Hopkins and Mrs. Marvel.” I continued around our group introducing everyone. Remas had something to say to each person, often having to do with looks, clothes, or video equipment.

“You might have noticed I talk a lot,” Remas said after she’d checked to see that we all had comfortable walking shoes on. “That’s why I got this job. That and I asked for it. I’m a big fan of yours. You should see the poster I have on my dorm wall. It’s the western one. I just loved that video.”

“We’re flattered to have a fan way out here,” I said. I positioned Cindy between Remas and me, just for safety’s sake. She was a little overwhelming. Donna walked on my other side and held my hand.

“Lots of them,” Remas said. “So, I’m sure you’ll want to see the campus right away. You can have the whole day free tomorrow to sightsee if you want. I’m happy to join you if it’s okay. I know where most of the monuments and buildings are. We’ll customize things for your interests, so sing out if there’s something specific you want to see.”

“I didn’t even know there was a National School of the Arts until they sent me a letter,” I said. “We want to know everything.”

“Well, the campus has some venerable old buildings we share with the University. The school of the arts, though, was only founded eight years ago as part of a movement to provide critical education for musicians, actors, and dancers. The performing arts center was designed and built to provide that education from high school through young adulthood, acknowledging that each student would need to complete their National Service during the course of their education. It’s a unique program.”

“Remas, how many students are enrolled in the school?” Donna asked.

“There are currently 482 students enrolled in our various programs at all stages of their careers. With nearly 150 faculty, we have an extremely high teacher/student ratio. And I’m talking teachers and instructors, not administrative staff.”

“What year are you?” Em asked.

“Oh. Well. Things don’t quite work the same here as they do other places. We don’t really have freshmen, sophomores, and all that. We measure things as pre-service, in-service, and post-service. I’m first year in-service. But this is my third year at the school.”

“And you can continue at the school during your service?” I asked, astounded.

“Continuing here is my service,” Remas said. “Don’t think it’s just education, though. I play cello in the National Youth Orchestra and we have weekly performances. I’ll get you to Kennedy Center tonight and then leave you to go take my place onstage. There’s also a touring orchestra, two dance troupes, and a theater troupe who travel and perform as an outreach to the nation and the world. The program is really just getting stabilized in what we are asked to do. If you accept a position here at the National School of the Arts, you’ll be expected to serve your country with your art during National Service.”

That gave us a lot to think about. Through the recruiting letters I’d received and Ray’s research, we had an inkling that the invitation involved a deputation of sorts to promote the service. They were a little late getting to the public relations table. But I didn’t think we’d make the cut anyway. Based on what Remas said, there was a total of 482 students in pre, post, and in-service programs. There were four million new students eligible for National Service every year. The competition for a spot here must be fierce. Which means Remas must be wicked talented to have a spot in the orchestra.

We toured all afternoon, and finally ended up at the Jefferson Memorial. Donna and Sophie had been busy the past few weeks and we had a permit to tape at the memorial on Monday evening. We toured around, tested acoustics, and decided where we wanted to do our little performance.

“What are you playing?” Remas asked. “Do you need help? I can get half a dozen kids here to help with lighting or set up or just keeping people out of the line of sight.”

“That would be great, Remas,” Donna said. “There are instruments to schlep and a perimeter to be established. Leon and Laura are getting establishing shots now.”

“We decided on a duet variation of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40,” I said. “Just the ‘Molto Allegro’.”

“On guitar and flute? Radical!”

“No,” I said. “This is going to be our first recording of flute and viola da gamba. The melody really calls for a sustained bowing instead of my usual chicken picking guitar work.”

“I’ve played it on the cello. I know exactly what you mean. This is so exciting! I’ll have a crew ready for you.”

“Are you sure you have time?” Cindy asked quietly. She’d hardly said anything all day. “Don’t you have service duties?”

“You are my service duty this week,” Remas laughed. “I won’t have any difficulty getting a crew together.”

After a light dinner, we went to the Kennedy Center and Remas introduced us to our faculty host, Dr. Donahue. Remas left to take her place with the orchestra as Dr. Donahue led us to our seats. She reminded Laura and Leon that they could not record during the concert. There were rules.

It was a relaxing concert. I had Sophie on my left and Cindy, as had been the case all day, gripping my right hand. Beyond her was Dr. Donahue and then our mothers. Remas had spent all afternoon with us, focusing on Cindy and me. Dr. Donahue definitely focused on our mothers. I discovered the orchestra had a repertoire of concert programs. Most of the audience at the Kennedy Center are transient, so the same concert can be performed multiple times. The orchestra rotates through half a dozen programs, replacing one about every three months.

I let the music wash over me as I held Cindy’s and Sophie’s hands. I spotted Remas in the first cello chair. She’d changed from her colorful head covering to a plain black one that blended with the rest of the orchestra’s outfits. I wondered how diverse the orchestra really was.

“I’ve arranged a small reception,” Dr. Donahue said, finally paying attention to Cindy and me. “A few other instrumental soloists and the auditioning faculty will join us. How has your day been so far?”

“It’s been lovely,” I said. “Remas was delightful company and the concert this evening was really great. It was hard to believe this was the youth orchestra and not the National Symphony Orchestra.” We poured punch and met another faculty member as we paused in our conversation. But Donahue was determined to answer questions and returned to the subject as soon as we could.

“This week, the symphony played Friday night. Next week, the youth orchestra will be Friday and the symphony on Saturday. One of the major missions of our school is to make our nation’s capital a place of pride for the people. The orchestral performances, for example, are free to the public on a first come, first served basis. The same is true of theater and dance programs. The center here belongs to the people and the acts here are always free.”

“I like that policy,” I said.

“We give away our performances as well,” Cindy said. “Though donors subscribe to support us.”

“Yes. Not everything is publicly funded. You have expenses.”

“You are very kind to let us record the audition and our time in DC for our patrons,” Donna said. “And Remas has volunteered a group to assist with our taping at the Jefferson Memorial Monday night.”

“A very talented young woman and one we will welcome into longer term service if she chooses that path,” Dr. Donahue said.

“May I ask what the venue will be for our audition Monday?” I asked.

“The formal part of your audition will be in a student recital hall in the performing arts center on campus. Remas will take you there tomorrow afternoon so you can practice and get your cameras set. Don’t be surprised if other people show up during the afternoon to watch and listen,” Dr. Donahue said. She paused and beckoned me closer, dropping her voice. “You may think of the audition as being an hour on Monday afternoon during which you play for a select jury. You should start thinking of everything as an audition. Even your tour today.”

Chapter 153

“Life is funny that way. Sometimes the dumbest thing you do turns out to be the smartest.”

—Robyn Mundell, Brainwalker

18 JULY 2021

Should I tell Cindy the audition has already begun? I’ve been trying to figure out how that information affected me. It didn’t seem to affect me when it came to making love with Donna last night. Cindy chose to sleep in the other bed, next to Em and Sophie. I don’t know if that helped preserve her chastity, but I was thankful for it. I respect her stage of development. I know she’s not ready for sex, even though she’s becoming more fascinated by it and wants to ‘try out her equipment’ as Em says. I won’t cross that line with her until I know she is damn good and ready to have it crossed. But JFC! Having that sweet innocent sixteen-year-old body cuddled naked in my hands is almost too much to bear! I held her bare tits, stroked her nipples, and just wanted to do a faceplant in her chest. I want to put both hands on her butt and lift her onto my cock. I’ve reached the point where I want to fuck that girl.

None of that has anything to do with whether I should tell her. It just overwhelms me sometimes. On the plus side, she deserves to know we’re being watched for more than our playing. On the other, I can better support her by guiding her if she doesn’t know. I’m getting refocused on why I’m here. I think that’s what Donahue was really telling me. I’m here to get Cindy into the National School of the Arts. It’s me the message was really for. I need to make sure I’m showing her in her best light at all times. Otherwise, Donahue wouldn’t have waited for the one time during the evening that Cindy was answering the call of nature to talk to me.

I’ll just be casual about the whole thing. But I think I’ll clue Donna in so she knows there will be people observing us all day. Even Remas. She’s not just a student here. She’s a National Service recruiter like the one Rachel and I met with in Fort Wayne when we retested. Donna will direct Laura and Leon. God knows, this could affect their service, too.

Crap! Everything I do affects everyone.

We all hustled ourselves together and skipped breakfast until after church. Yeah, we all decided we would attend the Sunday service at the National Cathedral. Geez! It seemed like everything in this city is the National something. I wondered what was different with this rendition of the cathedral from what I remembered of V1. I had to make a conscious effort to pull V1 memories into my consciousness now but I remembered that it was high church—Episcopalian or something—and was a magnificent edifice. But that was in an era in which the church was only nominally separate from the state. In truth, it was subsidized by the state through tax exemptions.

I did some reading about the cathedral on my cellphone and discovered that it was actually a government services building and that the non-denominational ‘church’ that leased its space was charged with operating a wide variety of social services that kept our nation’s capital clean and livable. Those services included everything from childcare to homeless shelters to food banks to psychological counseling. In return for providing those services, the congregation could also worship in the vast nave.

We got there just before the service started and settled into a pew. Like the Kennedy Center, it seemed that the cathedral catered mostly to transients who were in town for a visit and wanted the experience of going to America’s cathedral. I looked in the nicely printed program they handed out and discovered the service we were attending was ‘Christian.’ During the course of the week, and even today, there were Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, and Hindu services. There were also less generic Christian services like Baptist, Catholic, Lutheran, and Methodist. The National Cathedral catered to the religions of the nation.

The main reason we wanted to attend the service, though, was the music. Remas had clued us in yesterday that there was a string quintet playing during the service that was worth getting up for. Having in mind what Dr. Donahue said, I encouraged everyone to attend. Remas was in our lobby to meet us when we left for church.

The string quintet was worth any loss of sleep we might have suffered. It was a string quartet—two violins, viola, cello—with a guitar. As I read the program notes, I discovered the composer, Luigi Boccherini, had composed a dozen guitar quintets in Italy back in the late 1700s. I made a mental note to get some of that music and see if we could add a flute and use it for our sextet in the fall. We’d have to replace our first violin and bass as they both graduated, but I was hoping we’d get to reprise the sextet.

“You could add a flute to that easily,” Remas whispered to me. Reading my mind? She’d managed to get between Donna and me when we filed into the pew. I was guessing she suggested this outing specifically to plant that idea and see if I would take it. I nodded and whispered back to her.

“We could replace the first violin part with the flute and only need minor transposing,” I whispered back. Remas nodded enthusiastically. I turned to whisper the same to Cindy and she gripped my hand enthusiastically.

We were starving after the service, having skipped breakfast. Remas led us on a quick walk from the cathedral to a restaurant just opening for its second brunch and we got right in. It was a good meal and we talked about the performance and what we could do with the quintet when we got back home.

Carrying our instruments and equipment from the hotel to the recital hall was too much to deal with and Emily went to get our bus for the fairly short trek. Remas directed her to a loading dock and put a sticker in the window so we wouldn’t get towed. We unloaded our equipment and went in to look at the hall. It was small and understated, a truly intimate setting for a recital. There were about fifty seats and a small stage. The piano was pushed back against the wall and we had plenty of room to set up our little performance area. The seats in the audience were comfortable and had fold-out armrest desks.

“Halls like this one are used for classes,” Remas said. “There’s a lot of music theory and history taught here. It doubles as an intimate performance area.”

“It’s cool,” I affirmed.

“It reminds me of the tape we did at the chapel,” Cindy said. “That was one of my favorites.”

“Oh, yes! Is that where you did the Buenos Aires? The sound and intimate audience for that one were superb,” Remas said. I wondered if she’d seen all our performances, and if perhaps she was even a patron. “What do you like best about your performances, Cindy?”

“The way Jacob’s guitar supports the music. Um… I should clarify that. I think my flute is a beautiful instrument and I get lost in playing it. But when I listen back, there are really very few pieces that feel complete with just the flute. It has enough body and volume to play with an entire orchestra backing it, but that takes away the intimacy. Jacob’s guitar and the viol both fill and complete the sound of my flute. When I play with him, it’s like my music floats on a raft on a river of sound.”

“That’s lovely,” Remas said. I’d seldom heard Cindy talk about her music like that. She was obviously becoming comfortable with Remas. “I’m here to support you. If you want lights adjusted or if you need an extension cord or whatever, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll try to keep out of your way.”

“Any time you have a suggestion, feel free to chime in,” I said. “We’d especially like to know if there are expectations our jury will have and maybe even role-play it a couple of times.”

“You got it.”

Our rehearsal went well. And as Donahue had warned me, I saw several people during the afternoon who stopped in to observe for anything from a minute to an hour. They didn’t introduce themselves and we didn’t ask. We focused on making sure we had good position, played the music appropriately, and that our cameras had good angles and some direction. Remas told us the jury members would be scattered in the room and not at a single table like America’s Got Talent or something. She asked a couple of questions, including looking at our repertoire and suggesting a number she’d like to hear us play.

We rehearsed for about three hours, letting the time slip away from us. Then Sophie suggested we rehearse the piece we’d be doing tomorrow evening at the Jefferson Memorial. We needed that practice. Sophie would be dancing to our music and we wanted the interpretation to be obvious enough that we would get the message across without seeming to club people with a book.

We were going to tie this piece directly with the videos of Em’s discharge and Sophie would conclude the piece with a scroll that unrolled stating ‘I’ve read the manual.’ We wanted our own identity stamped onto the meme. We’d looked at the sightlines at the memorial the day before and her position would be such that when she revealed the meme, the camera would pan across the inscription around the dome and return to the meme. ‘I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.’ That’s really where our manifesto began.

When we finished our third run-through, Remas applauded as did a half-dozen other spectators. We talked a little about how the dance worked with the music and where camera angles would be best as we put away our instruments. It had been a long rehearsal but we hardly felt the time pass.

We were still plenty nervous when we walked into the recital hall Monday morning. As we got our instruments out and prepared ourselves, people started filtering in and taking seats. I wondered how big the jury would be. Cindy was shaking and I caught her in my arms and hugged her. She laid her head against my chest and I talked her through deep breathing so we could both calm our nerves.

“It’s just like any other performance,” I whispered. “We do our best and we let the music take us where it will. I’ll be there for you, Cindy. We’re in this together.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” she finally sighed. “I love you.”

Well, shit. Now I’m nervous. She’d never made that an explicit declaration before and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t have time to process it all because Dr. Donahue was approaching us with instructions.

“When you are ready to begin, we’d like you to start with one of your favorites. You can choose whatever you’d like, whichever instruments you’d like. That will get us all relaxed. Then, you will hear one of us call out a piece from your repertoire. Don’t rush yourselves. Make sure you are ready and then begin when it is right. We’d rather you take your time to center yourselves and start cleanly than rush into a piece with errors,” she said. “We’ll tune the lighting so it is focused on you and the audience is blacked out of your vision. Play as we all know you are capable of playing.” We nodded and thanked Dr. Donahue for this opportunity. I watched her go to her seat as the houselights went down and the stage lights came up. Fortunately, Remas had practiced this with us yesterday. I wasn’t expecting to see every seat in the hall filled, though.

Cindy and I consulted for a minute regarding what we felt was best and ready. In some ways, the Mozart 11th piano concerto, third movement, also referred to as ‘Mozart in Hell,’ was our favorite. Might as well start out with something hot.

We completed our six-minute rendition and brought our instruments to rest, to await the first request. There was no applause, nor did we expect any from the only people whose opinions counted.

“Cantos desiertos, fourth movement, ‘Llanto,’ please,” a voice said from the darkness. Cindy and I conferred quietly, got ourselves centered and started the four-minute movement. Then, once again, we paused and waited quietly, assuming the jury was making notes.

It continued for over an hour. A voice from a different part of the room would call out a piece at random from our repertoire, we would take a minute to confer and make sure we were on the same page, and then we would play. Piazzolla. Schubert. Morricone. Pujol. Debussy. There was just one thing missing. Even when we were getting second requests for Riley, Piazzolla, Pujol, no one asked for another piece by Mozart. I was worried we might run out of pieces before they got tired of having us play.

“Thank you, Marvel and Hopkins,” the voice of Dr. Donahue spoke out at last. There was finally a solid round of applause, but the lights didn’t come up. “We have one more request for you,” she continued. “We understand you have a dancer who will perform with you later this evening. If she is available, would you please grace us with Mozart’s Symphony No. 40, first movement, Molto Allegro?”

We nodded toward the voice and Sophie joined us on the little stage. Apparently, she had been warned in time to get her costume. I had to switch instruments to the viola da gamba. Cindy dried her flute and we all met together to confer. I’d taken Dr. Donahue seriously about not rushing things and wanted to make sure we were all ready to make the transition to this rapidly moving piece. I sat in my chair with the viol grasped between my knees and Cindy leaned against my shoulder. This was the only piece in our repertoire that we really had choreography to. The rest we simply played as a duet. But having the jury specifically ask for Sophie to join us meant they wanted to see what we did with the choreography.

We’d carefully chosen our outfits for the audition. I was wearing simple black slacks and a black long-sleeved shirt, buttoned to the neck. Cindy was similarly in black slacks and a long-sleeved black blouse. Sophie created a stark contrast to us, dressed mostly in white with splashes of red and blue. The music fit Sophie’s style perfectly. For Mozart, it has a near tango rhythm. And Sophie sizzled. Cindy was not idle either. I couldn’t participate in the dance because I have to hold the viol between my knees, but Cindy chased Sophie around the stage, finally falling back in defeat as the piece reached its conclusion. We completed the seven-minute movement as Cindy and I just burned up our instruments in the heat of the moment. Sophie had her scroll with the words “I’ve read the manual,” inscribed on it and we ended and held our positions.

There was applause again and the lighting shifted to house lights.

“We have a small reception to thank Marvel and Hopkins for their audition this morning,” Dr. Donahue said, standing to address the audience. “Please join us in the Reardon Room if you have a moment to spend with them.” That effectively kept people from coming to the stage to greet us while we put away our instruments. Emily volunteered to guard the instruments for us so we could talk to the students and faculty who had attended the audition.

Coffee, tea, small sandwiches, and cookies were on the reception table. Cindy once again latched onto my hand as we negotiated the group. If I let go of her hand to shake the hand of someone else, she gripped my elbow. Sophie, having also performed, pulled my left arm around her waist, making it clear that she belonged to us. It made it awkward to hold a plate or cup of coffee. I finally gave up and just assumed I’d grab something later on.

The chit chat was pleasant. Typically, a person we met would start out with “Very nice performance. You’ll go far.” Then they would mention some particular passage that they liked or had advice on before fading back and making room for someone else. Of the fifty or so who attended, I only met three who were pre-service. The rest of the room was about evenly split between faculty and in-service with a very few post-service. Eventually, Dr. Donahue suggested we move to a conference room where the jury would discuss our audition with us.

I guess this audition was a little unusual in that we weren’t auditioning for a specific part in anything and there was no ‘competition’ auditioning right after us. We were simply being judged based on our performance. I didn’t even really know what the outcome of the audition could be.

“We’ve not formally introduced the jury or your entourage,” Dr. Donahue said. With that, the half-dozen people at the table introduced themselves. I was surprised that Remas was part of the jury as was a post-service student. “We are happy to welcome your mothers to the table,” she continued. “Perhaps you could tell us about the rest of your team.”

“Thank you, Dr. Donahue,” I said. Cindy had nearly shrunk to invisibility. “Cindy and I, along with our dancer/choreographer/agent Sophie, our producer Donna, and our logistics manager Emily, are part of the same pod. Laura and Leon are star students in our videography program at school and are working with Donna to produce a special for our patron base.”

“You say ‘part of the same pod?’ Are there more of you who consider yourselves to be part of this unit?”

“Yes, ma’am. There are seven others. We have an age range of sixteen to forty-two. We are committed to each other, personally and corporately. We will support each other through years of service and hopefully for many years to come. Two of our number are serving now and one has entered service as of this morning. We all talked to her and told her we’d be waiting for her contact from basic in three weeks.”

“That’s a total of…?”

“Twelve of us, ma’am.” I saw one of the other faculty making notes.

From that point, the questions flew regarding everything from our favorite music and musicians to our goals in life after service.

“When looking at your repertoire, we noted a strong bias toward Mozart,” one of them said. “For that reason, we focused on the other composers in your stable. You did an excellent interpretive rendition of the two pieces that showed a strong inclination toward performing beyond the bounds of the composer’s intent. Who does your arranging?”

“We’ve been fortunate to work with our orchestra conductor and our individual instrument instructors on arranging the music.”

“There are no arrangers in your pod?”

“Uh… no, sir.”

“I’d suggest you either find one or become one. You have a unique sound and instrumental combination. You need to have someone providing music for you or things will start to sound the same. That is something coming to the National School of the Arts would help you with.”

That was the first time anyone had specifically mentioned us coming to the school. It marked the turn in conversation from interview to recruitment. Each of the jury members had a good reason we should drop everything and move to Washington DC. Some of the reasons were really good. It just didn’t seem reasonable that we would make that leap with me still having to go into service and Cindy trailing behind. When the comments wound down, Dr. Donahue turned to our mothers.

“You are undoubtedly concerned about sending your children away,” she said. “I sympathize. So much so that I’m suggesting a delay.” She seemed to collect consent from each of the people at the table. “Jacob will turn eighteen this year which starts the clock ticking on when he must begin service. Cindy has a lot more time on her clock. You will note that we suggested this audition date for after Cindy turned sixteen. We can recruit students into pre-service training at that age, but that would only emphasize the difference in timing between the two. We have developed a strategy and it has been approved by our regional service headquarters. There is an early volunteer program that allows students who are under the age of eighteen to begin their service early. Unfortunately, while we can recruit Cindy as a student, we could not recruit her as a volunteer until she’s reached age seventeen, a year from now. Further, there is the matter of splitting up your pod on a moment’s notice. Getting you here for school in six weeks would create an unnecessary hardship in our opinion.”

“So, you are not offering us admission?” I asked, just to make sure I was clear on what she was saying.

“Oh, the offer is certainly on the table. We would like nothing better than to bring you and Cindy into a program here at the National School that would help guide and mold your careers, both in the service and beyond. However, we’d like to suggest this alternate course of action.” Dr. Donahue yielded the floor to the admissions director, Mr. Stern.

“We suggest that you return to Indiana for the next academic year,” he said. “Complete your diploma. Get Cindy through eleventh grade. Prepare your entire pod for a move next fall. We’ll need to assess the pre NSAT for each of your eligible pod members and those currently in service. While you may all need to complete basic and NSO training at different facilities, we would do our best to bring you all together in one location for your service. One year from this week, when Cindy turns seventeen, come here to take your induction oath and Cindy can apply to enter service a year early. As soon as you have completed basic, assuming you pass your requirements, you will be admitted to the school as an in-service student. You will get the best training we can give you to become the top musicians of your instruments. In return, you would be required to perform in a variety of venues on behalf of the National Service. It is not just a free ride to more education. You will pay with your service.”

“Um… sir?” I glanced at Cindy and she gripped my hand as tightly as she could. “You might have noticed that our performances are not always flattering of either the service or, at times, the administration. Are you saying we need to conform to a promotional mode? I’m not sure we can do that.”

Donahue grinned at me and Stern nodded his head.

“It has come to our attention that much of the country is in varying degrees of opposition to the National Service. We want a deputation team that can show the service is open to change and improvement. We are only seven years old. There are bugs to be worked out.”

Chapter 154

“The first duty of a revolutionary is to get away with it.”

—Abbie Hoffman, Steal This Book

THE REST OF OUR AFTERNOON was spent preparing for our evening taping at the Jefferson Memorial. We were thankful for Remas’s guidance through the intricacies of approaching the memorial with our bus, unloading, carting our instruments and equipment, and getting set up. Six helpers were onsite, dressed, like Remas, in National Service shirts and slacks with an orchestra emblem on the sleeve.

Donna was our official person in charge as producer and met with a National Park Ranger to show our permit. I’m still amazed that as part of the American public we were allowed to film our little dance and music expo in a memorial like this, and the permit cost $90. The ranger explained the permits were primarily to control the flow of activities so they didn’t have multiple groups trying to use the same space at the same time. And having our activity did not prevent other parts of the public from accessing the memorial. It’s open twenty-four/seven. Our shots were likely to include passersby who were just trying to get their own photos and read the many inscriptions.

We had a one-hour reservation at nine o’clock. The ranger went off duty at ten. At 8:45 we positioned my chair and the moms took charge of our instrument cases. We’d scouted the area on Saturday and knew exactly where our camera angles would be. Sophie took her position opposite the statue and people stopped to see what we were going to do. There was a little marquee stand that had the schedule of events and we had an audience of nearly a hundred by the time we struck the first note.

Laura kept her camera focused on Cindy and me most of the time. Leon was responsible for capturing the interpretive dance. But sometimes, Cindy moved away from me and joined Sophie. I was glad the two of them had worked out where the camera would be pointed when.

We weren’t really doing a public performance. That sounds strange, but our purpose was to film a ten-minute segment. We needed to do it three times in order to be sure we got everything we needed. So, there were no announcements to the public. When we were ready, we started filming and playing. Laura and Leon also had to capture some of the atmosphere around us, including the one sweeping shot that got the quote off the dome and brought the piece to a conclusion by focusing on the scroll Sophie carried.

It was an intense hour.

We finished, thanked the ranger, and took all our equipment to the bus as Emily pulled up in the turn-around; we then boarded. The helpers Remas recruited wished us well and took off. Remas got on the bus with us.

“It’s really been fun to have you here,” Remas said. “I know you got hit with a huge amount of information and you need to process everything, but I do hope you’ll be back to join us full time next year.”

“We really do need to talk it all out with our pod mates and families,” I said. Remas had made sure she was always next to me and I could see some amusement on the faces of Donna, Sophie, and Em. Cindy, of course, had only let go of my hand all weekend when she needed it to play her flute. She’d gotten a lot more comfortable with Remas and talking a bit, though with her typical soft voice, we all had to strain a little to hear her.

“It sounds exciting,” Cindy said. “So overwhelming.”

“You’re making such huge strides forward with your popularity. What I think is most important is that you are making classical music—and I use the term a little loosely—popular. You’re taking Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, and turning them into pop tunes. What you need are some more good arrangements,” Remas said.

“Dr. Donahue made it clear that we needed to focus on that,” I agreed. “I only have the vaguest ideas regarding arranging.”

“Um… I’m not a bad arranger myself,” Remas said. “Maybe I could contribute something. Like, I could arrange one of those Boccherini quintets and either replace a violin with flute or just add a flute to it. Sort of see if you like what I can do.”

“You’d do that?” Sophie asked.

“Well, yeah,” Remas said. “Maybe this winter I could come out to Indiana and you can reverse the audition process. I could audition for you and um… your pod.”

I caught Donna’s eye and she was smirking. We’d just been propositioned.

We got an early start in the morning. I spent a good long time making sure Em knew how much I appreciated her Monday night. It seemed like she was always isolated in the front of the bus, having to go off and park it, or waiting with it. And I hadn’t spent nearly enough time feasting between her legs since she got her discharge. So, Tuesday morning early, I went with her to get the bus out of hock at the parking lot and then pull into the hotel pickup to load our family. We had coffee from the hotel but once Em got on the road she didn’t want to stop until we were well clear of the metroplex. She finally pulled in at a Cracker Barrel in Frederick and we all rushed to use the bathrooms before we stoked up on biscuits and sausage gravy.

“You know, we’d have to think about stops like this more carefully,” Donna said. “Remas might have dietary restrictions and we’d need to be aware of it if she was traveling with us.”

“Wait! Traveling with us?” I said. “She’s just offered to arrange some music.”

“And to come to Indiana to audition with the pod,” Em laughed. “She did a lot of digging into what our lives were like and probably got enough from all of us that she has a profile on everyone in the pod.”

“We really don’t know much about her, though,” Sophie said.

“You should be careful about adding more people to your pod anyway,” Mom advised. “What you have now has grown organically. You knew each other. You worked with each other. You played together. There was a lot of getting to know each other and getting comfortable together that happened before people were added to the pod.”

“I completely agree, Mom,” I said—perhaps too emphatically. I really couldn’t imagine adding another woman to our group. We needed to be focused on supporting each other. And right now, I was focused on thinking about Rachel and knowing she wouldn’t be home to meet me when we got back to Fort Wayne. I whispered a little prayer for her as she moved fully into her full first day of basic training this morning. I doubted she was getting biscuits and gravy for breakfast.

“We don’t even know what color her hair is,” Cindy said. “She could be bleach-blonde under her hijab. Or bald.”

“I’m not in favor of investigating right now,” I said. “We need to really figure out what it would mean for us to accept the school’s offer. And for you to start service a year early.”

“I’m not in favor,” Betty said. “No matter what they say about the National Service, I still think you need a high school diploma. Dropping out after your junior year is just not acceptable, Cynthia.”

“Mr. Stern said part of my service would include getting my diploma,” Cindy said.

“What kind of college would accept a GED instead of a real diploma?” Betty asked.

“What other college would I want to go to?” Cindy snapped back. “This isn’t an offer to go to high school, Mother. It’s early admission into a prestigious college of music.”

“I agree,” Donna said. “Mary and I looked over the academic material carefully. It’s true that the curriculum is more specialized than in a public school. It is a school of the arts. But they have programs that would even allow Jacob to continue progressing with creative writing while he studied music. All students have to complete what they called the ‘functional studies’ that include math, English, and social studies. They would probably get a better foundation than they do in public school anyway.”

“Leonard will throw a fit,” Betty sighed.

“We’ll give him the best year he’s ever had before we leave,” I laughed.

“That sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” Mom said.

“Um… I liked what I saw and I liked what they said. The real questions for me revolve around how to hold the pod together and whether we can conform to the service enough to become a deputation team. I mean, they seemed okay with the piece we just filmed last night, even though it is a little on the rebellious side,” I said. “How far would they let us go? For that matter, how rebellious do we want to be? Are we going to make our mark doing protest videos?”

That was a preview of Double Twist. To read the rest purchase the book.

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