“I’m glad somebody does.”
“You’re gonna be famous,” he said.
I pulled away to catch his gaze. “Yeah, right.”
“You’ll be singing in arenas and festivals soon.”
“Street corners, maybe. But I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
He nudged his knee against mine. “I’m serious, Suzie. You’re really, really good. I’ve never heard anyone sing like you.” He pointed at the stage. “You’ll be on the bill for the second Aquarian festival.”
I rolled my eyes, pushed him playfully. “You’re blitzed!”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if I turn onThe Ed Sullivan Showand there you are. Ladies and gentlemen, Suzie Withers!” he mimicked, like he was Ed himself.
“Now you’ve enteredThe Twilight Zone.”
“Will you still know me when you’re famous?”
I shoved him again. Harder.
Crouching low, he protected his face with the back of his hand. “Will you wave if you see me in the crowd at one of your shows?”
I leaned toward him, with hands on my hips. “You should know the answer to that, buster. You just said you’ve learned a lot about me.” As dear as his compliment was, it reminded me that the sand in our hourglass was falling fast. “I don’t want to think of you as another face in the crowd.”
Leon’s shoulders drooped, as if the thought made him sad too. Instead of talking about it, though, he changed the subject. “This time tomorrow night we’ll be watching Crosby, Stills & Nash.”
“And Young,” I added.
In the background, we heard the tapping of a kick drum and the tuning of an electric guitar.
“Wait till you see the way Neil smokes,” Leon said, moving his fingers up and down an imaginary guitar.
The pasture darkened. Blue lights lit the stage. A smattering of whistles and cheers sounded from the audience. Creedence Clearwater Revival had arrived.
Spotlights illuminated John Fogerty’s mop top as Creedence strolled over to their instruments at about twelve thirty in the morning. Seconds later “Born on the Bayou” rang out into the night sky. Only a small number of audience members roused. Most were asleep.
Even so, song after song, Creedence showed us why they belonged on top of the charts. “Green River.” “Bad Moon Rising.” “Proud Mary.”They played their hearts out for the Woodstockers. But all they got in return was meager applause. The band members looked frustrated.
“Don’t worry about it, John,” some guy in the audience yelled. “We’re with you!”
The only reason I wasn’t asleep was because Leon had scooted in behind me with his legs on either side of mine. He played with my hair, gently pulling it back into a ponytail, stroking his fingers in circles against my scalp. I’d never had a head massage.Luxury comes in many forms.
With his chin resting atop my head and his arms encircling my shoulders, his body felt like a security blanket. While John Fogerty sang “I Put a Spell on You,” Leon put a spell on me. It was the same chilly temperature as the night before, yet I didn’t care.
“You’re so small,” he whispered, caressing my waist.
I leaned back into him, feeling his chest curl around me. A current of electricity jolted inside my veins as he reached around to kiss my cheek. He lingered on the tip of my ear, kissing it softly. I closed my eyes as he combed my hair to the side and brushed his lips across my neck. For the first time since falling for Paul McCartney, I ached to make love.
Unfortunately, Creedence left the stage without playing “Suzie Q.” I was disappointed, but Leon whispered, “They’ll be back. I told them to save the best for last.”
He must have. It took only a minute for them to return to their instruments. The unmistakable first chords of “Suzie Q” roused the sleepy crowd. Many people, including Leon and me, stood to dance.
Leon sang all the words to me. Even theI love youpart. My heart exploded into a cascade of red fireworks.
Once the song was over, Creedence left the stage. And Chip came back to the microphone. “After a very short intermission, we will continue.”
The audience booed.
