Take a journey back in time to the sexy 70s, where innocence and wildness collide against the backdrop of the Vietnam War. In the midst of social and political turmoil, two young women embark on a path of self-discovery and sexual awakening.
Brenda, a classical musician, is looking for a roommate to help alleviate the costs of living in expensive Southern California. All the while trying to fend off the attention of her amorous, bullying conductor, deal with her meddling family, and understand her feelings for Greg, the building’s young, sexy owner.
Rosy, a nurse, recently arrived from Australia, hates the Vietnam War, in particular what it has done to her patients. She agrees to room with Brenda to save money. But can a war protestor and war supporter live peaceably under one roof? And why is Rosy unable to shake her attraction to her gorgeous, unconscious patient, Jack?
........“Would you like a hand?” she asked.
“You’ll get paint all over your clothes,” he pointed out.
“Good,” she replied. “I think I hate these pants.”
He shrugged and handed her a spare brush. “So, Miss Brenda, you know how to paint?”
“Oh sure,” she replied. “I was raised in a traditional family. Before I threw it all over for this wild bohemian lifestyle, I painted walls, hung wallpaper, did cross stitch and cooked. I just don’t like admitting it. I wouldn’t want anyone mistaking me for a husband-hunter. I have better things to do with my time.”
“Wild lifestyle?” he asked, and though she didn’t look at him, feigning intense interest in applying the paint evenly on the wall, she could picture the raised eyebrow in his tone.
“Uh huh,” she said noncommittally.
“I’d like to hear more about this,” he said, his own voice as filled with false nonchalance as hers.
Brenda’s heart began to pound, realizing the serious talk they’d been needing to have for a while was looming. Greg was also looming, having climbed up a ladder beside which she was standing. Paint dripped into her hair. “Hey,” she hollered, laughing. “Watch it with that paintbrush, pardner. It’s loaded.”
He laughed. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Uh, yeah,” she drawled. “Did you think I would be a sour-faced old Beethoven all the time?”
“For that sarcastic tone, you will receive a severe consequence,” he quipped… and then he dragged the paintbrush along the top of her head.
“Why you….” She painted his foot.
He jumped down from the ladder and tickled her middle with his brush, leaving a big white smear on the taupe fabric. She poked him in the chest with hers. They dueled with their messy paintbrushes, smearing each other with the stinking substance, advancing and retreating around the room until Brenda, not looking where she was going, tripped over a paint bucket and nearly fell. Greg dropped his brush and caught her up in his arms.
In an instant, playful silliness dissolved. Face to face, the unexpressed attraction between them flared. Greg stared down at her and she returned his gaze, admiring his handsome, chiseled face. His hair, she noted idly, was longer than hers. She licked her lip. He followed the movement with a soft exhalation. And then, as though he couldn’t resist, his head lowered.
“Greg?” Brenda said. He gave her a questioning look. “On the lips this time.”
He grinned. And then he kissed her. Though technically still a virgin, Brenda had been kissed before. However, she could never remember Jeff’s mouth on hers eliciting such a powerful, passionate response. Greg opened his lips on hers and sucked her plump lower lip into his mouth. “Hmmm,” he hummed. “You taste so good, pretty Brenda. Just like I thought you would.”
Feeling bold, she dared flick his lips with her tongue. His snaked out to meet hers and they tangled and played for long moments while his hands stroked up and down her back, hers toyed with the over long hair at the back of his neck.
“Sweet girl,” he murmured at last. “I want you so bad. Is there any chance we…”
“Oh I think so,” she replied softly.
He beamed, and then suddenly seemed to notice their location. “Um, why don’t we go… somewhere? This is no place for private conversations… or kissing either. How about you go change, and we grab some dinner.”
“You mean like… a date?” she asked, her eyes widening. Oh, that sounds sooooo good.
“Yes, Brenda. I’d like a date very much. Something simple, since you have paint in your hair, okay?”
She nodded, heading for the stairs.
“Wait,” he called. She turned. “Your viola, babe.”
She gulped. How could she have forgotten her reason for living? She’d never be able to replace such an expensive instrument, and without it, her career would be reduced to, “Would you like fries with that?”
Glaring at the viola as though it was its fault she was so distracted, she scooped up the case and headed for the stairs.
“Hurry, Brenda,” he urged.