The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It turned out that Sherry had her mother’s car—she got her driver’s license a few weeks earlier. Merry agreed to go with Sherry before I could offer any objection. The two girls hopped into the car and took off to the Swift residence.

June noticed me looking after them. “What’s wrong, Jim?”

“Sherry just got her license. Do you think Merry will be safe?”

“Sherry passed her driver’s test, Jim,” June said, shaking her head at me. “She’s proven that she’s capable. I doubt that the state of Illinois will give a license to a dangerous driver.”

Of course, June’s impeccable logic only made me worry even more. After all, this very state gave a license to my father. My father loved to drive, even after consuming enough alcoholic beverages that he would be asked to leave the premises that he consumed them in. Of course, he would insist on driving home. My mother and I were occupants with him on too many of those occasions.

However, I didn’t think equating Sherry with my father would be fair. I actually liked Sherry, after all.

June and I arrived at my apartment a few minutes after Sherry and Merry safely arrived.

I heard some guitar music with a lovely voice singing as I came upstairs. It took me a moment or two to recognize the singer as Kristen, singing a version of Proud Mary, totally unlike any that I’ve heard before.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” June asked, as she noticed me stop on the stairs.

“That’s Kristen singing,” I said.

“Really?” June asked. She looked at me. “That doesn’t sound like her voice.”

“You haven’t heard her sing when she thinks she’s alone.”

Apparently, Kristen didn’t adapt her voice to make herself sound like the original performer, as I tended to do. That was something that my friend Roy taught me a few years prior. When I was learning to sing, I admitted to Roy that I hated hearing my own voice when I played it back on tape. His suggestion was for me to try to imitate other singers. It took some work, but Roy and I both shared a love of music that made the effort worthwhile. Soon, we were imitating each other as well, which is why our voices sounded so nice together when we sang duets.

Anyway, I continued to stand in the stairway as Kristen finished her song.

“That’s beautiful,” I heard my sister tell Kristen. “I always thought that Ike and Tina Turner’s version was sexy, but I think I like your version better.”

I instinctively grinned at Merry’s remark. I’ve lived for a number of years listening to my sister compliment my music ability. I was glad that Merry was willing to do the same to my Goddess.

“Here’s one that I’ve been working on,” Kristen said.

I heard a delicate acoustic guitar intro. I closed my eyes, trying to place the chord sequence.

It didn’t take very long. She started hitting the chords more forcefully, and then I heard Kristen sing:

When the truth is found to be lies,

And all the joys within you dies...

Don’t you want somebody to love?

Don’t you need somebody to love?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love!

I was floored. Aside from the fact that she was playing an acoustic guitar, Kristen was able to perform that number that would rival Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane. The effect was very ethereal.

“Kris is very talented,” June whispered to me. “She and you would be a killer...”

I noticed June had stopped talking. I turned to my friend, and saw that she was just shaking her head.

“Why don’t the two of you play together?” June asked. “I mean, she was there in the jazz band at school, but the two of you as a singing duo would be wonderful!”

Actually, I was thinking the same thing. I remembered that the Swifts had told me that Kristen had formal voice lessons and could play the guitar. I was just curious as to why Kristen would perform for others, and she had never offered to do so for me.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” June asked, noticing that my face must have registered some of the emotions that I was feeling.

“Nothing,” I lied.

June wasn’t convinced, but she had the sense not to push too far.

After Kristen finished Somebody To Love, the others in the room were complimenting her again.

I started walking up the stairs again.

June was a bit surprised that I started going up, but she caught up quickly.

When June and I entered the apartment, everybody’s attention turned to me and June.

I noticed that Kristen’s guitar was against the love seat where Kristen was sitting.

Nobody mentioned Kristen’s singing and playing when I arrived.

I had no idea what to make of this.

“Jim! June! Come on in! We’ve been waiting for you two!”

Kristen gave me a big kiss, and then gave one to June. Merry decided to get in on the action, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and did the same to June. Lynette, not wanting to be left out, kissed the two of us as well.

“Is that your guitar, Kris?” I asked, indicating the instrument leaning against the love seat.

“I was picking at it before,” Kristen said. “Lynette wanted to hear me play.”

I waited a couple of seconds, but Kristen didn’t add anything else. She didn’t offer to play for me, I noticed once again.

June probably knew what was going on in my mind. Even so, she said, “Ooh, can I hear you play a song?”

Kristen blushed, and said, “Maybe later.”

I felt hurt that Kristen didn’t seem to want to play in front of me. Why was that? She never had any problem playing piano at the school, although I now recalled that she only started playing to help Amy.

Lynette changed the subject and she, Merry, June, and Sherry started talking about cheerleading.

I sat down on “my” recliner and pretended to listen to the girls talk. In my mind, however, I was brooding over Kristen’s actions.

Later on, we all went downstairs to the play room and Kristen started up a game of pool. Lynette and I teamed up against Sherry and Kristen, and I only took a half-hearted shot at a stripe and missed.

After Kristen and Sherry won, Merry and June were up. I excused myself and went into my studio.

Why wouldn’t Kristen play for me? She didn’t seem to have any problems playing for anybody else—even my sister!

I looked at my electric piano, and started doodling on it. After a couple of minutes, I was startled when I heard Lynette’s voice behind me.

“What’s got you upset, Oogie?”

“Nothing,” I lied. I continued playing what I had started before... a doodle that consisted of my left hand playing a D-minor and G-major back-and-forth progression, with some improvisations with my right hand.

Lynette noted, “That sounds a bit familiar. What is it?”

I started thinking about the chord progression that I was using. It was simple, and as Lynette had indicated, it did seem a bit familiar. Instead of answering, I simply shrugged and continued doodling.

“You’re either upset at June or Kris. I can’t believe that it’s June, so you’re mad at Kris. What’s wrong?”

Again I shrugged, and continued the improvisation.

Lynette continued to listen to me play, and I tried to think where that chord progression came from. I continued bouncing back between D-minor and G-major for eight beats at a time.

Suddenly, the song hit me. To make sure, I filled in the missing chords, continuing to improvise with my right hand. D-minor to D-augmented to F-major and finally to G-major. ”A Taste of Honey,” I said to Lynette, playing the melody line finally.

“Oh yeah,” Lynette said, recognizing the tune. “It was almost there, but it sounded strange.”

I nodded and went back to improvising on the song’s actual chord progression. I noticed that the in-between chords could be left out during the improv and made it easier for me to doodle against it.

“You’re angry that Kristen played the guitar for me and not for you,” Lynette observed.

I didn’t answer, but I felt wetness in my eyes as Lynette voiced what was going through my mind.

“She’s scared of you, you know,” Lynette softly said. “She doesn’t think she’s good enough for you.”

What did Lynette say? I actually stopped playing and turned to stare at the blonde behind me. “How did you get in here, Lynette? Wasn’t the DND light on?”

“No, Oogie. Look.”

I noticed the switch was down. I apparently forgot to turn it on when I came inside. Had I been that distracted?

“Kristen’s not good enough?” I asked. “Who told her that bullshit?”

“She thinks it, Jim,” Lynette said. “Now you’ve left her in the play room, despite the fact that Sherry and Merry are really your visitors. You’re not being a good host. I can imagine how Kris feels.”

I felt like a heel. Of course, Lynette was right. The girls were here at my invitation; they were my guests. As a proper host, I should be there with them. Just the same, I knew that I’d have to have a talk with Lynette later about Kristen.

I nodded to Lynette and the two of us left the studio and returned to the play room.

Lynette and I came in as I saw June sink the eight ball.

I did a double take, realizing that June and Merry had beaten my lovely blonde Goddess.

“We win!” June cried happily. “You’re up next, Oogie!”

Smiling, I took my cue from the rack and started racking the balls for June and Merry. As I did so, I saw some looks pass between Lynette and Kristen. I ignored them for the most part.

June sunk a solid on the break, but missed her next shot. Lynette and I were able to beat June and Merry, and we went for our rematch against Kristen and Sherry.

Lynette broke without sinking anything. Sherry was up next, and sunk a ball but scratched when the cue ball also fell into one of the pockets.

I carefully placed the cue and took my turn, sinking six balls in a row before missing.

Kristen sunk a number of balls in return, but missed her shot on the eight ball.

Lynette cleared the rest of our balls but missed the eight ball. Unfortunately for us, Lynette left an easy shot for Sherry, who sunk the eight ball.

After playing a few games and listening to songs on the radio in the play room, Kristen suggested that I take Sherry on a private tour of the music studio.

When we got there, Sherry uttered a surprised, “Wow!”

I grinned at the cheerleader, proud of my studio.

“You have three keyboards now?” Sherry noticed.

“Uh, huh,” I said, proudly. “The upright, an electric piano, and this is an electric organ.”

“Reel to reel deck, too,” Sherry said, impressed with the setup.

“It’s called open reel,” I said, grinning. I had a tape that I had been working on that neither Lynette nor Kristen had noticed when they were in the room. It was actually something for school.

The previous year, in October, there was a talent show at the school that I never got around to entering, mostly because I was preoccupied with my new relationship with Kristen, and the new responsibilities of having a jazz band.

This year, I was going to enter, and I wanted to see what Mr. Proilet thought about my idea.

“I’ve been working on something, and you’ll be my first test audience,” I told Sherry. “Not even Kristen has heard this one, yet.”

“Cool!” Sherry gave me a mischievous look.

I set up the standing mike for the final track, which I had flubbed a couple of times the last time I tried to record, so I decided to do just the lyrics. I have always found that I usually sang better when I have an audience. The actual music parts were pretty easy for the song I was doing. The song really needed a drum part, but I didn’t play those very well, and I didn’t even have a drum kit. I was going to need somebody to help me at the talent show.

I sat Sherry down at the other end of the room, so when I was standing behind the mike stand, I’d be facing her. I looked around, and almost everything was perfect.

“I’ll be right back. I need some props.”

“Huh?”

“One second, Sherry. Be right back.”

I left the room, and went across the hall to the “recovery room.” In the closet was a denim jacket that I had put there right after I decided on the song. In its left pocket was a pair of dark horn-rimmed sunglasses. In the room, I even had an unopened bottle of Vitalis that I had snagged at a drugstore. Even back in the 1970s, it was a relic, although it wasn’t impossible to find it in the stores. I rubbed the slick stuff through my hair and combed my hair into a 1950s style pompadour. I looked like a greaser from that era.

I looked in the mirror and was satisfied with the effect.

I ran back to the studio, closing the door, and then I turned on the DND light.

Sherry started giggling when she saw my new persona.

I smiled at her and put my finger to my lips as I started the recorder. I heard my acoustic piano track start the intro, and started to sing:

Oh...

Well... I’m the type of guy

That’ll never settle down.

Where pretty girls are,

Well, you know that I’m around.

I kiss ‘em and I hug ‘em,

‘Cause to me they’re all the same.

I hug ‘em and I squeeze ‘em.

They don’t even know my name.‘

They call me the Wanderer,

Yeah, the Wanderer,

I roam around, around, around, around.

I saw Sherry grin as she recognized the song. I had a special surprise for her in the next verse:

Well, there’s June on my left,

And there’s Lynette on my right.

And Sherry is the one, yeah,

That I’ll be with tonight!

And when she asks me

Which one I love the best,

I tear open my shirt,

I got “Kristen” on my chest!

Cause I’m the Wanderer,

Yeah, the Wanderer,

I roam around, around, around, around, around...

At the actual moment I was singing about opening up my shirt, I opened the denim jacket, and there was a piece of paper with “KRISTEN” written in magic marker pinned to my shirt with a safety pin. This caused Sherry to laugh out loud, which I knew meant that I’d have to do another take of the song. I was going to need to find a better directional microphone.

Actually, knowing that I’d have to do the take again, I found myself to be much looser. I continued the song, and started singing much more freely as I hammed it up for Sherry. I grabbed the mike with both hands, singing like a crooner.

I had a trumpet track that played the same part that the sax played on the Dion recording of the forty-five. During that solo, I twirled the microphone on its cord like Tom Jones or Roger Daltrey would do during a performance, which also generated laughs from Sherry.

At the end of the song, Sherry started applauding. “That’s fantastic, Jim! You sounded just like... what’s his name?”

“Dion and the Belmonts?” I offered. “Dion is the guy that sings ’The Wanderer.’”

Sherry gave me a small grin. “Do you really think that I’ll be the one with you tonight?”

I laughed. “No,” I answered, truthfully. “I never really had anybody for that third part. The last time I recorded this, I used the name Cammy.”

Sherry’s eyes widened for a quick moment, but she recovered quickly and said, “Well, you can use my name if you want. You recorded that, right?”

“Your laughter ruined the take, so I’ll probably do the track again later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry...”

“No need to apologize,” I assured Sherry. “I needed some practice with it. If it went perfect, I would have been happy, but I have until school starts to get it perfect.”

“School?”

“Talent Show.”

“You’re going to enter?” Sherry asked, surprised.

“Why not?”

“You’ll probably scare away anybody else that wants to enter, then.”

Shit. I would hate to be a disincentive to anybody at school.

“Well, I could also use it for a demo tape that Gerry can forward to Puppy Dawg’s.”

“Are you starting a band?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I figured that I might as well start earning my keep. Anyway, do you mind sitting through another attempt?”

“You’re going to record it again?”

I nodded.

“I promise not to laugh this time!”

I reset the recorder, and got back to the microphone.

This time, the song went perfect. I rewound the tape and played it, realizing a bit that I was subjecting Sherry to the song three times in short succession. However, as I was doing the playback, I added a portable cassette recorder into the output of the pre-amp to mix the four tracks down to one—a setup I had jerry-rigged when Roy came over for a visit a week before.

After I was satisfied that the song sounded all right, I shut the machine off, and popped the cassette tape out and handed it to Sherry.

“For me?” Sherry asked, quite surprised.

“You sat through three renditions of that song. That’s for hanging on like a trouper.”

Sherry took the tape, and I could see that she was genuinely impressed with that small gift.

Meanwhile, I left the studio, turning off the DND light, and entered the “recovery room.” I took off my costume and placed it back in the closet, and threw away the “KRISTEN” paper that I had safety-pinned to my T-shirt. There was a towel in the room, and I used it to try to remove the gooey Vitalis from my hair.

When I realized that the attempt was fruitless, I wrapped my head in the towel and exited the room for the shower.

June was just coming out of the playroom. “Ahab the Arab?” June asked.

“Huh?”

“The towel on your head.”

“Oh,” I said. “No. I got something in my hair and I was going to rush in and dunk my hair under a shower for a moment.”

“Oh,” June said.

Sherry left the studio, and June smiled at her. “We’re still playing pool, Sherry. Want to join us?”

Sherry looked at me, and I said, “I’ll be in the playroom in a few moments. I want to wash this crap out of my hair.”

“All right,” Sherry said.

I went into the shower, and took one of the hand held shower massage units and turned on the water, pointing the spray toward the wall. When it was the right temperature, I bent down and sprayed it on my head, being careful not to get my clothes too wet.

A few minutes later, my hair was wet but no longer greasy. It smelled fresh from the shampoo that the girls favored, which was purchased from Kristen’s hair stylist.

I wandered into the playroom to find June, Merry, Lynette, and Sherry playing teams. Kristen was watching, but not playing.

Walking over to Kristen, I planted a big kiss on her lips. “Hey, loveliness!”

“You’re sweet, Jim!” Kristen said, smiling broadly. “Sherry sounded impressed with your recording.”

“I may want to rerecord the vocals again.”

“You’re a perfectionist.”

I shrugged. “That’s the beauty of having the four track. I can record and rerecord until it’s perfect.”

“You’re wet!” Kristen said, looking at my hair.

“If I said that to you in front of Sherry, you’d blush!” I said, giggling at Kristen.

The girls reddened by my bawdy joke.

“You’ve definitely spent too much time with Camille,” Kristen observed. After a few moments, she added, “June’s been teaching your sister pool.”

I watched Merry sink an easy corner shot. She looked up at me, grinned, and then proceeded to miss her next shot.

We all played for a couple of hours until Sherry had to leave. We all said our good-byes to Sherry as well as my sister, who Sherry would drive home.

After Sherry left, Kristen told me that she had to go downtown to do some business.

“Business?” I asked, not being aware that Kristen had any plans for the day.

“KISS stuff.”

I had heard that word before. It had something to do with Kristen’s money. I decided to ask the obvious question. “What does KISS stand for, anyway?”

“Kristen Isabel Swift, Slut!” Kristen said, laughing.

“Slut?” Lynette asked, rolling her eyes.

Everybody laughed.

“Camille suggested the ‘Slut’ part,” Kristen admitted. “Actually, other than my unofficial interpretation, I think the final ‘S’ is for Securities, or Secured, or whatever. Daddy helped me set it up—he always loved how my initials were three quarters of a kiss! Anyway, the company was founded as KISS Holdings, without any periods so we don’t have to actually explain it out. It’s just a holding company consisting of a few people that Mom, Dad, and the bank recommended. It’s how I manage my money. I even have business cards and stationery in the event that I need to impress somebody.”

I shrugged. “I’m glad it doesn’t have something to do with that stage band that uses all those gaudy costumes.” Actually, Kristen’s financial business wasn’t much interest to me. “How long will you be gone?”

Kristen smiled at me. “I love the guy in the cat makeup,” she said, still smiling. She then answered my question. “A couple of hours, Oogie. Want to come along?”

I shook my head, as I said, Kristen’s financial dealings were of little interest to me. Kristen pretended to pout, and then insisted that Lynette come along and keep her company.

That left June and I for the rest of the day, but June told me that she needed to get home that day.

I shrugged and once the girls left, I retired to the studio and started working on my music, and re-recorded the vocals on the ”Wanderer“ track so that Cammy replaced Sherry’s name, and mixed the tape down to a cassette to send to Will as a possible gift for Camille.

As a kick, I added a quick and dirty version of the ”Brady Bunch Theme“ and added a second and quite dirty verse describing the sexual exploits of Marcia as played by Camille.

After that, I was sorry that I had removed Sherry’s name from the track, and took three attempts to get the final track perfect with her name on it. I really wished Sherry was there; she was an excellent audience.

I put the tape away in the desk in the room, and considered other stuff to record.

By now, I had a ton of Fake books for all styles, and I owned a bunch of piano/vocal books for the latest songs. I found it quite easy to memorize the words to songs, and having the music around helped me pick up tunes much easier.

I found I liked some books and arrangements better than others, and soon learned which publishers to avoid at the music stores. I preferred arrangements that had the songs written in the same key as the performance of the artist so I didn’t have to manually transpose the songs as I played along with their records. Even so, my vocal range wasn’t as great as Roy’s, and I occasionally still had to transpose music to get it into my own singing range. I thought about taking up Roy’s suggestion of the two of us working on my vocals.

The equipment in my studio grew to include a stereo system that Kristen and I found at the flea market, to which we added that portable cassette deck that Roy and I tricked out. We were going to look for a stereo cassette deck, but since I insisted that we were going for all second-hand equipment in the studio, the pickings were slim. The setup, while it wasn’t the top of the line, was still respectable. We had a tuner, amp, pre-amp, turntable, and that portable cassette. I could play just about any song we had a copy of at the apartment, as well as pick up music from the local stations. It was fun picking along the latest tunes on the radio.

After about three hours of playing keyboards, trumpet, recording vocals, and just lounging around listening to some Sinatra and Elton John, I noticed the intercom light was flashing.

“Oogie here!” I announced.

“About time you answered,” Kristen said.

“How long was it this time?” I asked.

“Ten minutes.”

“That’s not a record, dear.”

I could hear Lynette laughing in the background.

“Mr. Proilet’s here.”

My music teacher? “Um... be right up!”

I ran from the studio upstairs to the living room.

Mr. Proilet was sitting in the living room, flanked by Lynette and Kristen. My favorite recliner was empty and strategically located so that the three of them would be facing me.

Something told me that Kristen was in what I call her “overwhelm and conquer” mode, which I had seen a few times, most notably during the situation between my English teacher and my High School Principal.

I didn’t take my seat, but approached guardedly.

“Hey, Mr. P,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve offered Kristen a job, and she’s accepted.”

I looked at Kristen and saw a gleam in her eyes.

I turned to Lynette and said, “Lynette, can you tell me the real story?”

Mr. Proilet started laughing. “You know Kristen all right!”

Kristen didn’t react. I looked at Lynette and asked her to continue.

“Jim, I’m not aware of all the financial details, but Kristen’s KISS Holdings, along with her father’s Swift Holdings, are donating money to the High School music program.”

Mr. Proilet picked it up. “Kristen came to me a couple of weeks ago and asked what she could do to help me out this year. I told her about the increase in enrollment in the program, and that I was going to be hard pressed to fulfill everything that I would need to do as the head of the program at the school. I mean, there’s Mr. Ryan for the orchestral band, but I head the concert and marching bands. The size of the marching band has doubled, and it looks like we’re going to be invited to some more parades this year. There’s a chance that we might get invited to do a half-time show at a University football game, which might mean local television coverage.”

I nodded. The marching band didn’t interest me in the least, actually, but I knew that nearly all of the concert band members were in it. They would be practicing starting next week before school officially started to be ready for the first football game.

Mr. Proilet continued. “The money from Kristen and her father will allow me to hire two new people. The first is a guy that I have been trying to get for a couple of years now, except there was no money in the school budget for him. Last year’s concerts and musical made money, and the budget was a bit better for this year, but still not enough to get Roger Harris. When Kris called me, I told her the situation, and she offered to help fund him to work full time, taking over my responsibilities for the marching band. Kristen’s father made it a permanent donation, plus funded a new football scoreboard for the athletic department. Anyway, I’m now able to have Roger as long as I want. He’s got experience with drum and bugle corps...”

As I said, the marching band didn’t interest me. I interrupted. “Hey, Kris! That was a nice gesture!”

Mr. Proilet knew about my lack of interest in the marching band and decided to switch tack. “I talked it over with Mr. Yank, and also got him to make an agreement to accept the donation, which is a grant over a period of ten years. In addition, Stanley has agreed to allow me to hire Kristen.”

“Hire Kristen? Why?” I asked, confused.

“I’ve created a part time, student teacher job for Kristen,” Mr. Proilet answered. “She will work three days a week as Music Department Student Liaison.”

“Liaison?”

Kristen finally answered. “I’m to help out a few hours to help Jean as an interface to the students, mainly to help on some mundane chores, and extracurricular projects. This is all contingent on my being able to continue to take my courses at the college and keep up my grades.”

I picked up the important two words. “’Extracurricular projects’ as in ‘Jazz Band?’”

Kristen nodded, smiling.

Mr. Proilet added, “The chorus, also.”

There was a strange smile on Lynette’s face, and I thought silently for a few moments.

I realized that Mr. Proilet had worked it out so that I would have my muse around for another year! In addition, he was able to hire a guy that would be able to make our band more competitive on the field.

“When does this Roger start?” I asked.

“He’s already accepted, and he officially starts next week,” Mr. Proilet said, smiling. “Roger actually started work on the schematics for the drills in anticipation, once I told him that Kristen’s word was a done deal.”

I was truly happy for everybody. Kristen found a way to continue to insinuate herself into my music, even after she graduated. In addition, I knew that Mr. Proilet wanted a competitive marching band, and I think that made him feel a bit better. Mr. Proilet had been told that marching band was outside my main interests by my Junior High music teacher, Mr. Thurd.

I would like to add here parenthetically that I had a reason for not liking the marching band. I always associated the drills (especially the drum and bugle corps) with the military, and I spent a good portion of my life growing up in the 1960s, where anti-war sentiment was nearly universal among my age group. In other words, I considered the marching band to be in the same league as, say, high school R.O.T.C classes. I don’t think that I would feel the same way if I were growing up today, since marching bands have come a long way since the 1970s, and I think it was people like Roger Harris that made the bands better and made them much more popular.

Mr. Proilet, Kristen, Lynette, and I made some small talk, and eventually I brought Mr. Proilet downstairs to my studio to show him some of the stuff that I was working on. Kristen and Lynette also joined us, and I really think everybody was impressed at what I was able to do as a soloist with my own studio.

Jean actually smiled when he heard my rendition of ”The Wanderer“ with Sherry’s name in it. “You continue to amaze me, son.”

“I’m thinking of taking a gig at Puppy Dawg’s,” I told my teacher.

“Solo?”

“Well, Gerry’s band broke up, so I was going to ask for him and his drummer, who are pretty good. I could use good singers, like Roy and Stacey, and I’d like to get somebody like Sam. Of course, I’ll involve Kristen as well.”

Kristen smiled when I mentioned her name.

“I figured Kristen would be there,” Mr. Proilet said, smiling.

“I can’t see myself doing it without her. What do you think?” I asked.

“The band you envision sounds good, but the pay may not be worth it if you have to divide it among so many people.”

“Yeah,” I said. “The money is the difficult part. I’m trying to figure an angle around that.”

Mr. Proilet, Kristen, and Lynette all had the good sense not to recommend that Kristen help bankroll a band for me.

“You’ll work something out, Jim.”

“I wish Archy was here. I could use a good soloist. He was terrific on the horn.”

“Have you considered Megan?” Mr. Proilet.

Megan was going to be a senior and she played flute in the orchestral band. I had heard her accompany Roy on Colour My World during the spring concert a couple of months ago. “I forgot about her. She’d be great.”

Mr. Proilet looked serious. “You’re thinking more of a jazz band than a rock band. Will that fit into Puppy Dawg’s?”

I shrugged. “There are quite a few loose ends, and I need to work them out. Any suggestions you may have would be appreciated.”

After Mr. Proilet left, Kristen, Lynette, and I went upstairs to the apartment. Kristen put on one of her favorite albums, a two record set that her parents had imported from the United Kingdom.

I was familiar with import records. I had a nearly complete collection of U.K. imports of the Beatles at my parents’ house. I played each of those precious albums once and recorded them to cassette, which I would listen to over and over. The earlier Beatle albums were much different in their original version (U.K.) than the ones they released in America. Even some of the songs had subtle differences!

Kristen, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind that she would be putting a diamond needle—the hardest surface known to man—in the groove of a hard to come by vinyl record.

I learned not to say things like that to Kristen. In addition, the performer was Melanie, who had a few hits in the late 1960s.

Anyway, after playing the two records, Kristen flipped them over and played the other sides. Apparently, this was the first time that she had done this with me in the room, because I immediately noticed the first song that played.

“Melanie made a remake of that song?” I asked, listening to a song that was a top forty song for another group.

Kristen looked at me strangely. “Melanie wrote that song, Jim.”

The song was something that I knew that was performed by a group whose name that I had forgotten—the same group that performed “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” for the Coke commercial. I thought the title was Look What They’ve Done To My Song but the actual title was worded differently than the lyrics.

I listened to Melanie’s version of the song, and noticed the singer’s voice, while much more raw than the pop version that I was familiar with, was perfect for the song.

“I always thought of Melanie as... well, trite. You know, stuff like Brand New Key. That song sounds good!”

I knew as soon as the words came out of my mouth that I had said the wrong thing.

Kristen looked at me sadly. “You’re the last person that I thought would peg a performer for a single song.”

I guess I looked sheepish, as Kristen came over and hugged me. “I’m sorry, Love. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“No problem, Love,” Kristen said, smiling at me. “Melanie is probably just as much a victim of the music labels as anybody ever was.”

This wasn’t the first time I heard disparaging remarks about the music industry. It would also not be the last. I also promised myself that I’d never try to shoehorn another person into a specific genre.