Jesus Christ of Rock N' Roll
By J. S. Danskin

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated but my computer died. It's a good thing I've put up all my stories on the Net, because my hard disk was faulty and I lost everything on it!!! Ah well, it's all fine now so keep checking in for more updates! So here's the next chapter . . . Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Big Cheese

"Black is black. Shading back. Need more enemies.

Show you all what a man is. Cheese glue, how are you?

You're enemies. Show you all what a man is."

Dundee, Scotland.

The phone rang at about 10am on a Wednesday in the second week of April. Sasha eagerly yanked it out of its holder and held it to her ear.

"Hello, Miss Sasha Montgomery?" the voice at the end queried. Sasha flinched at the word "Miss", but smiled on her end of the phone as if it might perhaps show through to the woman with the American accent. She was obviously calling from the offices in Seattle where the project was being planned. Sasha tingled excitedly with anticipation.

"Yes, speaking," she said pleasantly. There was a scuffling of papers over in America, but a response soon followed.

"Well, Miss Montgomery . . . " the woman started, but Sasha cut her off.

"Sasha, please," Sasha expressed, not only saying "please" to be polite and friendly, but because she hated the thought of her name having a big, dirty labelling "M-I-S-S" on front of it.

"Right," the woman agreed, evidently wanting to get on, "well, 'Sasha', we have a proposition for you." The lady in America paused for effect.

"Oh?" Sasha played along with the innocent, modest journalist role. Her heart was beginning to beat faster and the hand holding the phone began to shake. Sasha sat down on her comfortable sofa.

"To put it shortly, Miss Montgomery," the lady said. Sasha didn't even notice the "Miss" this time, she was too nervous, "we would love it if you would come and research and write the book about Kurt Cobain. Would you like to join us? We have already contacted your employer and he has agreed to let you join us for a period of six months."

Six months. It was a long time, but Sasha had plenty of it with not having to go to an office everyday or having dates or anything. Nodding into the phone, she tried to find the words.

"That would be brilliant. Thank - thank you," Sasha kicked herself, lightly though. She had wanted to give the professional yet keen British - sorry, Scottish, for the Americans only saw the British as being the English people - image, but this was foiled. No matter, this was probably just the contacting person. The secretary or something, Sasha didn't know how the American journalist system worked very well.

"I'm glad you're so eager, I'm the director of this project and am looking forward to seeing you. Our meeting is on the 1st June, will you be able to get over here alright, miss?" the DIRECTOR asked, and through gritted teeth, Sasha provided an affirmative answer, imagining that the director lady was nodding at the time, "Right. Well, I suppose I'll see you then. I'll try and get an apartment set up for you in Seattle, near our other journalist's apartment that you'll be working with. He'll be able to show you around."

'A male journalist?' thought Sasha cunningly, 'sounds interesting!' but what she said was much less tarty and unprofessional, "Thank you very much. I look forward to meeting you".

"And yourself. Goodbye, Miss Montgomery."

There goes that word again! "Goodbye."

Sasha calmly replaced the receiver and walked into the kitchen to open a bottle of champagne all to herself. All alone. No one was there to celebrate with her, and the only congratulations she received was when her boss telephoned her to see if he would get the story required for Monday.

~*~

Seattle, America

"Hello, Will?" the director asked, also on the phone, but this was no long- distance call that cost over ten dollars because the Scottish journalist kept insisting her name was Sasha. The director could call Will whatever she liked because she was his wife.

"Darling, how was your day?" Will McGregor asked. As could be depicted from his name, he also had Scottish origins, but they were very distant. His own day had been more than slightly hectic yet he had struggled through it nonetheless.

"Fine, fine. I found your co-worker."

"Oh?"

"A Miss Sasha Montgomery,"

"That's nice, dear, when are you coming home again?"

~*~

An escort with a conspicuous stereotypical sign to show Sasha where to go was standing in the middle of the large room in the airport. The aeroplane trip had been a long one and seemed all the longer because of the middle- aged man sitting next to Sasha snored away to himself for the entire flight. The sign being held up was noticed almost immediately because the black marker pen didn't have her name on it. It had her title on it, in big, nasty bold letters: "MISS MONTGOMERY".

Grumbling to herself, Sasha wandered over to the large man with a beer belly, not that there weren't plenty of them back in Scotland, "Hello," she said, holding out her hand, "I'm Sasha Montgomery." She was surprised by how Scottish her accent sounded. In Dundee she wasn't considered to have much of one because she had had quite a good upbringing compared to some of the folk in such areas as Fintry or Charleston, but she quite liked the tint in her voice amongst all these Americans.

The man took her hand and shook it dutifully. He dropped it and jerked his head to the luggage trail. Sasha nodded at the correct bags and the large man heaved them off the conveyor belt a little less than gently, and dumped them on the trolley before wheeling it off out towards the car park. Sasha followed him tentatively feeling rather intimidated by the man.

After the security checks and such like, the two were finally out in the car park in which there was a grubby Dodge car. Nodding to herself for being so stupid that she might have been picked up in a different type of Dodge (preferably a Viper), Sasha struggled into the back seat with all the guy's shit in it - well, not literally his shit - and relaxed in the grubby chair. Jet lag had taken its toll on the journalist and she fell asleep in the car, waking up with a view of a somewhat more luxurious setting.

"Is this the office where the director works?" Sasha yawned. The man grunted an affirmative, then got out of the car, walked round to her door and opened it. Stepping out and taking her heavy bags from him, she looked up at the tall building. "So this is Seattle . . . " she murmured to herself, "I watch 'Frasier' at home, you know. I quite like it. Especially the dad . . . okay." Pausing, she noticed the man didn't move. "Aren't you coming in?"

"They ain't gonna let me in there, ma'am," the man replied gruffly.

"Oh," Sasha enthused, as sincerely as she possibly could, "I wonder why."

The man didn't say anything and beckoned that she should go in. Sasha dragged her bags all the way up to the building, left them at the reception and fled into the "restrooms" to make herself look a little more representable. Now seriously running out of time and looking like she had just walked through a bush backwards, Sasha sprinted into the lift - sorry, elevator - and pressed the button for the required floor, number 17. Eventually finding the conference room, Sasha burst in and tripped over the leg of the chair as she hurried up to her new boss' desk.

~*~

Straightening herself out, Sasha laughed nervously, not daring to look the beautiful yet serious woman behind the desk staring right through her.

"Oh my God, sorry," Sasha mumbled, something she never did. She sorted herself out, straightening her skirt and sweeping dust off her arse, "not a very good first impression, I'm afraid. I'm not usually this clumsy I think it's just the . . . "

"Jet lag. I understand, Miss Montgomery. Please come and take a seat. Your co-worker will be with you any minute . . . ah, Will. Do come and join us," the director indicated for the man to take a seat just as Sasha sat down herself.

From the first look, Sasha felt her heart flutter, which was crazy. It was crazy, she didn't believe in any of that "love at first sight" malarkey. His features were young and handsome. He had long hair that covered his whole head, not at all like she had imagined a U.S. journalist to have. Despite this he was very smart, wearing a long trench coat over a professional business suit. But the first thing she noticed about him was that he had the most beautiful eyes.

Like Keanu Reeves' they were, so deep brown and big. Oh, God . . .

"Miss Montgomery, please meet my - uh - associate, Mr William McGregor." The director announced. Sasha gasped.

"That's a Scottish name!" she cried, "My mother's side of the family is McGregor as well! Isn't that funny? . . . Hold on, your name's McGregor, Sir?"

The man seemed surprised by her behaviour, "Yes," he affirmed, his face almost amused, his eyes wide.

"And your name is also McGregor, Miss?" Sasha asked the director. She looked confused for a moment, "Are you two related?"

The director nodded. "We're married," she said, almost with a hint of warning in her voice as her eyes bore into Sasha's, "happily so."

Sasha tried to ignore the threat in her tone and smiled pleasantly.

"Right!" she upbeated, "Okay then. So, when do we start?"

~*~

Author's Note: Righty-ho! Did you enjoy that? Please review, this one doesn't have very much which makes me sad and lonely and stuff.