If you’re like most of us, you need to earn money by working for a living. Describe your ultimate job. If you’re in your dream job, tell us all about it — what is it that you love? What fulfills you? If you’re not in your dream job, describe for us what your ultimate job would be.
When I read the prompt, the first thing that popped into my mind was the classic Dire Straits line, ‘Money for nothing and your chicks for free.’ So I decided to let some characters I know tell you about it.
Money for Nothing
“This,” Chris said emphatically, as if putting his foot down, “is the best job in the world.”
“Money for nothing?” Jay, saxophonist extraordinaire, asked.
Chris gave him the smile that thrilled thousands of girls out of their underwear. “And your chicks for free!”
Somebody groaned, probably Kerry.
“Hey, it’s true,” Chris went on, sipping his drink. “We get to travel all over the world.”
“It’s not free,” Jay pointed out.
“Hell, at this stage, what do we care? The shows pay for themselves and more. Best food, best hotels, best parties, best sex… and all we have to do is get on stage and do what we love.”
Unable to argue the point, Jay stayed silent, letting Chris bask. Maybe he shouldn’t, but after all they had been through, why not? The other man might be the biggest asshole in the world at time, perfectionist to the nth degree, ego bigger than the clouds plus that artistic temperament on the side, but he was Chris. Who’d want to change that?
It was Chris’ genuis with music and lyrics – and his face – which propelled them to stardom. Not that he and the others weren’t talented, they all were, but in the face of Chris’ genius, ego and face? Way outclassed. Which was okay. He didn’t want the spotlight. He wanted to play his sax and enjoy life. They’d all fallen into their little niches, each one a perfect fit. He liked his niche.
“So, we know it’s the groupi…. girls….. for you, Chris,” Kerry said, accent not as heavy as it had once been, “but not for us all. I personally go for the ‘get off the sheep farm’ view of the deal.”
“Yeah, well,” Chris replied, “You were the one born all hell out in the backwater of some dinky Welsh town. No wonder you wanted out.”
Kerry laughed. It was true. He couldn’t see himself a craggy old sheep farmer. He loved his home but sheep….not so much. He played because he loved music, so when he was offered a chance to join the band, he’d jumped and hadn’t regretted it since. This was the life he’d dreamed of since before he could remember.
“We travel all over the world,” Chris repeated, “do what we love… by which I am speaking of music, Kerry, so get your mind out of the gutter.”
Snorting, Kerry zinged, “There isn’t enough room in the gutter with you there.”
“Then wait your turn like a good little Welshie.”
Jay smiled. They were all so different, brought together through the love of music. Music did things to the heart and soul, woke memories of ancient things, times when maybe men had trusted each other and lived in peace. Music was life and life was music. Anybody who thought different was deluded. Music was everywhere. In the stars, in the sky, in the babbling brook. The wind. Rain. Even the deep throb of bass in the cacophony of human life. They had been born to music, carried it in their souls wherever they went..
In the arena, the crowd was screaming, ready to fall in love all over again. In Chris’ case, panties at the ready. They exploded onto the stage like fireworks, pouring out their collective soul to the universe.
This was the best job in the world.