I didn't want to commit to anything. Linda and I have been together for about a year. She had moved in to my place and had set up her nest. We hadn't spoken about marriage, but the idea was a strong undercurrent in most things we did."Dan?" she asked. I looked at her and smiled. I gave her no other indication as to what I felt about the subject. She continued to nuzzle against me.The first evening Frieda moved in, we celebrated by having a grand dinner together. Both Linda and Frieda busied themselves in the kitchen, shooing me back to the living room while they prepared the elaborate meal for the evening.We sat at the table, me at the head of the table and Linda and Frieda at either side. We all clasped hands and bent our heads as I said grace.We dug in and for the first time I started to appreciate Frieda moving in with us. She was a far better cook than either Linda or I.Several months later after another noisy night of passion, Linda hugged me and kissed my chest. "You are so. There was no way I could take him in a fight. The guy wastoo big. I was tall: six-two, but I was a wimp. While other boys haddeveloped their bodies playing football and soccer I'd holed up in myroom studying piano and guitar, mastering scales and copying the licksof my musical idols like Hendrix and Clapton.Music had always been my thing. It still was and I made no apologies forit. That was the reason I was in New Orleans. I'd landed a full musicscholarship at Tulane. I was hoping to turn my passion into a career andthe Crescent City was the perfect place to do that. It offered anopportunity to watch some of the best musicians in the country performlive. Things were falling in place. It was looking more and more like Iwould realize my dream. Then I decided to try to catch my favorite bandof all time, "Black Salt." Salt," as fans referred to them, were an odd lot. They were an indieband only getting air play on the handful of alternative music stationsthat bordered on the lunatic.
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