"Hey Tucker!" Adam greeted him at the door. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Band practise. Every Thursday. You know that."
Tucker eyed his black haired brother, and wondered WHY he was dressed in white jeans and a black top. He looked like a deformed cow.
Adam saw the look and interpreted it correctly. "Don't start on my clothing."
"Okay, so don't start on mine." Tucker returned.
"OH! I get it. Cassy! Baby!" Adam made smoochy noises as Tucker sat down at the kitchen table, tearing open a envelope lying there, having made sure it was addressed to him.
"Shurrup." Tucker turned the letter over, read it, frowned, and tossed it in the bin.
"There's more important things that your danged letters," Adam drawled, and Tugger looked at him, then returned to his mail.
"I just got the gossip from Jerry about a hour ago," Adam started. "There's this HOT nightclub in town, he works there. He actually didn't realise what went on in there, until last weekend, and he just told me to get my arse down there."
"How come he never noticed?" Tucker asked, depositing a application for a credit card in the bin.
"He's always outside. He's the bouncer. He got all done up and went in last Monday and the place was crawling Tuck."
"And we've not been there?"
"Wow. A nightclub we never went to." Tucker remarked, throwing two letters from old girlfriends in the bin in pieces.
Adam stopped him leafing through the mail. "Go and change. Mike will be here soon. Action at the club starts seven-thirty pm sharp."
Tucker glanced at the clock, then gave a agonised howl and fled the room, yelling "TWO HOURS? It takes me two hours to do my hair!"
Adam grinned, went to the bottom of the stairs, and yelled back "Now you know why I told you to get ready so early!"
As he waited for Mike later, watching Tucker tear around the house, getting ready, he reclined on the sofa and thought about tonight. Okay so Jerry wasn't the brightest cookie in the pack, and hadn't realised what went on in that club he worked at, but he was a good friend.
And wow, if the place was crawling, there would be girls there....he wondered what type he should look for. He was a smart dark haired, dark eyed man, who loved women, but who didn't seem to love him. In fact, Tucker was no bright cookie, but got all the girls. Adam remembered when he had tried to sing along with Tucker when he played with the band, and he failed and they laughed at him, and since then he had never sung. He broke from his reverie as the doorbell rang, and went to answer it.
Mike Trapp, another friend of Adam's, stepped into the house. At that point Tucker decided he wanted to bolt downstairs, and as he ran past the other two, half dressed, not shy about his body at all, Adam called to him, "Tucker? Aren't you ready?" and Tucker yelled back "One minute!" He started hunting for something in the kitchen.
"Have you seen my....?" he yelled, then stopped, opened the freezer, yelled "AHA!" and tore back upstairs, a comb in hand.
Mike watched the activities, and when Tucker was out of earshot, remarked to Adam, "That's your brother?"
"Hmm. Don't remind me." Adam rolled his eyes, and Mike grinned, sticking his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers, removing one a little later to tug on the collar of the grey shirt he was wearing.
"Hurry up Tucker!" Adam yelled, and Mike looked up as Tucker reappeared, now completely ready. He was wearing skintight blue jeans, and a close fitting dark blue shirt, and his hair was swept back rakishly, giving him a wild, sexy look. Mike ran his hand through his own dark hair, and his hazel eyes took in Tucker as the young man picked up his keys, and his mobile, and came over to shake Mike's hand.
"Tucker," Mike said, taking his hand, and greeting him with a firm handshake.
"Mike." Tucker shook his hand, looked at it as if there were germs, and then, when no one was looking, wiped it on his jeans.
"Well, are we just gonna stand around chatting like old women, or are we gonna move?" Adam asked. "It's ten past seven."
"Geez! Adam! Why didn't you say? We're gonna be late!" Mike was a stickler for being punctual, and now turned, opened the door, and fled the house, running towards his silver Jeep, the other two following him.
I have to rouse my daughters. Well, they're not all my daughters, just one. I always insist on them bathing, then having a good nap, followed by a equally good meal. They need all three in their line of work. Tonight I've prepared their favourite dinner. Hot meat chunks, served with onions, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and lashings of gravy. I'm half Spanish, so getting used to English cuisine was a pain, but I think I'm nearly there, nearly succeeded. I go upstairs, calling to Ronny - that's my husband - to set the table and that I'll be back down in a few minutes.
I enter my step-daughters' room, and rouse them separately. "Up up, time for tea."
The youngest opens her eyes. She's 22 years old, with dark brown eyes, reddish-brown hair, and always has a cheeky grin. The elder is 24, dark blonde hair, darker at the roots, and pale skinned, with green eyes, and always seems scared. She's been running a long time. They both have. Heck I'm their step-mother. I know these things.
I leave them to their own devices in the bathroom, and in front of the mirror and wardrobe, and go to tend to my youngest.
"Ma," she whispers as I come in. I give her a friendly kiss, and she crawls cat-like out of bed to hug me. "I'm excited," she whispers to me.
Of course she is. Tonight, at the tender age of eighteen, she's going to perform her first show. She's got a wonderful voice, like her step-sisters. She must have got it from me. I tell her to get dressed and come downstairs, and to ask her sisters for any help she needs to get her brown hair right. Her brown eyes sparkle back at me.
"Okay Ma," she says, and goes to the wardrobe to look for some decent clothes.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, Ronny calls, "Bella? I smell burning."