Can You Feel It?

Her

***A/N Blame Amazon and the Jackson Five for this story folks, I heard that song for the first time in years and downloaded it. It's a powerful song, one of their best and one of Michael's best. What's it doing as a title to a Buckingham/Nicks fic? Nothing other than it's stuck in my head! Oh, and Christine presented Michael with a Grammy that one-time 😉 Usual disclaimer I own nothing copyrighted, this fic will at some point or other contain, drugs, sex, rock and roll, and violence. This is a work of pure fiction based on real people, no disrespect is meant and in fact quite the opposite, so please do not sue me! On with the show!***

Los Angeles 1974 Boadies Bar

Beauty, in all it's many forms on earth can never be truly captured by any one object. Because beauty is subjective to the eyes beholding it. I can count the number of truly beautiful things I've ever seen in my life on one hand. A Gibson sunburst acoustic guitar straight from the factory, Pappy Van Winkle single malt scotch, eight years old. Jimmy Hendrix live in concert. And her. I'm not a shy man by any stretch of the imagination. I've had women, more than my fair share some might say. I have one now, she's sitting next to me snorting about eight-hundred dollars worth of cocaine off my crotch as a matter of fact.

She's easy, and I mean easy. We fight constantly, sometimes violently. But she always comes back, and because I'm lazy I let her. In these moments, blitzed out of my mind on some of the same coke my so-called girlfriend is inhaling off me between giggles, I think of the other her. The beauty I see in her, that I long to posses in every way possible. She's a bartender, original right? But more then that, she's a dancer too. Boadies is a down market Studio 54 and it boasts chick bartenders who regularly interrupted their cocktail mixing by shaking everything the lord gave them in sequeined costumes atop a precariously slick bar...in suede pumps.

It's a sight to behold, but it holds my interest only in so far as she's performing. And in my haze I always envision her performances to be solely for me. When I was new in this industry, playing back up guitar for the Everly Brothers of all things I had hopes beyond where I am now. I was going to be a rock God like Hendrix or The Beatles, sold out concerts platinum albums the whole nine yards. But it didn't end up that way. I've always been better at producing other peoples music then marketing my own so I gave in and decided to join the sleaze circuit of rock producers in LA. I'm good. Very good. I can have literally any woman I want. I want her.

But she's not mine to have. In fact she's taken. One of my most successful artists Don Henley, swooped in one night and swept her off her feet with whiskey and southern charm. She took one look at him and his greasy exterior and fell head over heels. She's his favorite road fuck in LA, he's got one in every port. I have no room to lecture, I don't exactly go without female attention on and off the road. Carol, my girlfriend, could care less. So long as I provide her with enough coke and money I can have as much stray ass as I want. But she's the one living in my mansion, she's the one playing hostess at my parties redecorating my condo in Manhattan and hinting around in no so subtle ways that she'd be more than welcoming to a proposal of marriage. You know, when I'm ready-

"Lindsey-mmmmm I wanna fuck" speaking of, she's finished her bump and now she's horny. Me? I'm not there not yet. The lights hit the bar, Tom Jones starts to play bar service stops. Men start whooping on the dance floor, my interest in my surroundings intensifies "Lindsey!" annoyed I brush Carol aside standing up "I want another drink, here" absently I toss the remainder of my blow at her I've had enough anyway. Not giving me a second glance she dolls the powder out on the table cutting it with one of my platinum cards "Don't do too much of that shit, I don't wanna have to get your nose fixed again"

"You broke my nose asshole" did I? I don't remember, maybe I did. We fight a lot, and like I said it can get physical "Whatever, I'm going to the bar" she rolls her eyes but drops it. Good, the girls are taking their positions and front and center. My little angel. Petit, blonde, slender, but stacked. Her ass alone is enough to make me pant like a fucking dog in heat. Some chubby bar fly is clapping his hands to the beat when I walk up, annoyed I motion for Darren the security manager to move him. He does so clearing a space for me to settle in for my private show.