The Essential Jagged Ivory (Jagged Ivory Boxed Set)

by Lashell Collins

  “Alright,” Aaron smiled, setting the bottle back on the cart. “I'm gonna head out now. I'll see you in London, man!”

  “Yep.” Noah stepped over to him and they shook hands. “Don't miss your flight,” Noah teased, referring to the one time the tech missed a scheduled flight to Denver when they were touring the States three years ago. Aaron rolled his eyes and smiled as he left the room. And once he was gone, Noah dressed quickly, then sat for a moment to devour his pancakes. He shook his head with a smile. Aaron even knew his favorite hangover food. Chewing a mouthful, his eyes suddenly lit on the bottle of Jack still sitting on the cart. “Fuck it,” he mumbled. Reaching out, he took the bottle in his hands, opened it up, and poured a small measure into his coffee. A little hair of the dog is exactly what his hangover needed. At least that's what he told himself.

  Once he had gotten himself together and collected his things, he made his way through the hotel with his bodyguard in tow, and exited out the back entrance where the band's tour bus was already waiting. His eyes shielded from the bright sunlight behind his ever-present mirrored shades, the shrieks and screams of the fans lined up behind a small barricade did nothing to help his head.

  “Noah, I love you!”

  It was the piercing squeal of an excited female fan and Noah glanced off to his left to see a sizable throng being held at bay by a combination of the hotel's security and the band's. Normally he would stop and sign a few autographs. After all, who knew how long they had been standing out here waiting for a glimpse of him and his bandmates? And without them, Noah knew that Jagged Ivory would be nothing. So he always tried to give them their money's worth, onstage and off. But this morning, the pounding in his head wouldn't let him be as sociable as he liked. Instead, he simply smiled as he pointed to her and then blew her a kiss as he kept walking. And as he climbed aboard the bus, he could see her friends and hotel security scrambling to help her after she fainted.

  “Careful,” Buzzy smiled, pointing a drumstick at him as he entered the bus. “You're gonna kill somebody doing that shit.”

  Noah laughed and pounded his friend's fist as he walked past and slid into the seat behind Otis.

  “Morning, bitches,” Cory exclaimed jovially as he slid into the seat across from Noah's a few minutes later and settled in. Looking around, he added, “Where's Benji?”

  “He's late. We just sent someone up to his room to see what's going on,” Buz answered, tucking a strand of his long black hair behind his ear. Buzzy had that typical white boy rocker look to him and it always made Noah smile. Of the five of them, Buz and Benji – who also looked like an '80s hair band reject – were the ones who came from a strictly rock and roll background, having been firmly entrenched in the scene since they each picked up their first bass guitars as young kids. For Benji, the bass had been love at first sight. But Buz very quickly decided that the bass just wasn't for him. He moved on to the drums and never looked back.

  Otis suddenly turned in his seat and looked at Noah, fixing him with his pale green eyes. “Hey, speaking of Benji being late … I wanted to tell you something.”

  They looked a lot alike, he and Otis. Except for the minor differences in their eye and skin color. Noah was lighter, more olive in tone, with light blue-green eyes, whereas Otis' skin was only slightly more brown. They had the same reddish-brown, curly hair, even though Noah always kept his cut short while O sported a small curly afro. They definitely didn't have that typical rocker look that Buz and Benji wore so well – a fact their African-American father was all too quick to point out when his boys began dreaming of real success as a rock and roll band, telling them that their skin color would always stand in their way unless they chose to play a different type of music. That's when Noah started to make it his mission to succeed. Just to prove Monroe Ivory wrong. Plus, he had never been one to buy into that segregated music shit: white kids shouldn't like rap, and black kids shouldn't like rock. That was bullshit. Music was universal. If it moved you, it moved you … plain and simple. Besides, Noah and Otis had never really thought of themselves in terms of black or white anyway.

  “What?” Noah answered, removing his sunglasses and looking his brother in the eye somewhat warily. He was never at all certain what was going to come out of Otis' mouth at any given time. Whether he was going to compliment him or rip his head off. It was a tug-of-war they had been playing since childhood and Noah, being the younger brother, had learned to pick his battles where Otis was concerned. Most of the time, the fight just wasn't worth the trouble and he would simply take whatever crap Otis dished out. Other times, when it was something Noah felt strongly about, he would take a stand, going toe to toe with Otis if he had to. It was an interesting dynamic that only occasionally proved problematic for the band.

  “I don't know what you're doing differently this time around,” Otis continued. “But I want you to know that we all appreciate you making the effort. You haven't been late once this whole leg of the tour so … props, man.”

  Noah nodded silently, appreciating the acknowledgement of his diligence. It was nice to be noticed for doing something right. He didn't get to enjoy it long though, as Benji finally staggered onto the bus, supported greatly by his bodyguard. He took a seat behind Cory, and immediately slouched over and passed out, his long brown hair fanned out over his face.

  “Shit,” Otis muttered angrily as Benji's bodyguard turned and left the bus.

  “Okay, I admit that I'm hungover but … he is completely fucked up,” Noah said, stating the obvious. “He was fine the last I saw him! What the hell happened after I left last night? What did he do?”

  “He did a little bit of everything,” Buzzy answered.

  “More like a whole lot of everything,” Cory chimed in, running a hand through his blonde, spiked hair.

  “I do not want to go down this fucking road with him again,” Otis whispered harshly, referring to Benji's struggle with cocaine and heroin. Unfortunately, their bass player's drug-induced exploits were well documented in the press, as were the troubles it sometimes caused the band. Partying after a show was one thing, but Benji sometimes didn't seem to know how to keep the party in its proper place. After their last tour ended, his girlfriend, the band and their manager had all persuaded him to check himself into rehab. But he left after only 48 hours, insisting that he could do it himself. He tried again, just after they had finished recording Thank Heaven for Little Girls in an attempt to get himself straight before this tour, but his efforts were half-hearted. He left rehab early once again, and his girl had left him as a result.

  “Well hopefully he'll sleep it off on the plane,” Noah sighed.

  “Yeah, but we gotta get him onto the plane first,” Otis responded. “Good thing it's a private flight. The press would have a field day with this.”

  “Let's just hope no cameras caught his bodyguard practically carrying his ass onto the bus,” Buz mumbled, and Otis rolled his eyes.

  The ride to the airport was subdued as they all sat alone with their own thoughts, and Noah couldn't help but wonder what was on everyone's minds. When Benji agreed to go to rehab before, the subject of replacing him came up briefly, but none of them wanted to entertain that idea for real. They couldn't. They were a team, the five of them. Brothers. Otis may have been his only brother by blood, but to Noah … Benji, Cory and Buz were every bit as much his brothers as O was. They had been together a long, long time, and they had all given their blood, sweat and tears to the band over the years. Jagged Ivory may bear his and Otis' name, but they couldn't exist without the others. They were more than a band. They were family.

  The bus moved swiftly and efficiently through the traffic, as if their driver realized that the sooner he got them to the airport, the sooner this leg of the tour would come to an end and he would have a couple of months rest before the band was back stateside to finish the remainder of the tour's US dates. Once at the airport, the bus swung around to the tarmac where Jagged Ivory's newly acquired private jet was wait
ing to take the guys and their small entourage of handlers and security to London. The rest of the road crew, including Aaron and the other band techs, would all be flying commercial.

  As expected, Benji's bodyguard was called upon to help get him to his feet, up the steps and into the plane, where the flight attendants were instructed to bring him nothing stronger than coffee or water to drink. Assuming he wasn't just about comatose the entire seven and a half hours, of course. And as Benji slept if off, the other four men sat together around a small table in plush leather seats that faced each other. They munched on popcorn and enjoyed various adult beverages, and talked about the upcoming European leg of their tour, and whether or not to modify the setlist at all.

  “Well, you guys know I'm always in favor of throwing out the setlist completely,” Noah said with a shrug, as he explained his point. “I just think it makes a lot of sense to switch it up nightly but, I know some of you prefer a little more structure. But yeah, I mean … every night the crowds are yelling for us to do more stuff off the new album, so I just think we should give 'em what they want. It is the Thank Heaven Tour, after all.”

  “I agree, man,” Cory chimed in. “Thank Heaven for Little Girls is a great album. I don't think we could have made a better follow up to Seven Deadly Sins. And if the fans want to hear the new stuff live, I say we give it to them!”

  “We're all in agreement then,” Otis nodded looking at the other three men. “But we need to decide which ones we're going to take out too. There's no sense cutting off our nose to spite our face. I mean, we can't take out crowd favorites just to replace them with the new stuff.”

  “Yeah, like 'Surrender' and 'Hush Hush,'” Buzzy spoke up. “They love hearing those live as much as we love playing them. And 'Ms. Enigma.' Shit, they'd probably storm the stage if we didn't do that one.”

  “Oh, man,” Cory exclaimed. “Did you guys feel the energy in the stadium last night when we did 'Ms. Enigma'? That was insane!”

  “Yeah. The whole show was incredible. But … the segue from 'This Feeling' into 'Ms. Enigma' was pretty cool last night,” Otis conceded glancing across the table to Noah. “You were like … in some kind of zone last night, little brother. It was pretty fucking awesome.”

  Noah was taken aback by the compliment for a brief moment, and then he smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Thanks, man,” he said quietly.

  Otis returned his smile, and then frowned as a question crossed his mind for the hundredth time. “Alright, man … confession time. Be straight with us for a few minutes,” Otis began, eyeing his brother with a sly smile. “I have always wondered about this, and I've wanted to ask you this question for a long time now.”

  “What's that?” Noah asked with a curious frown.

  “Who was she?”

  “Who was she?” Noah repeated, still curious.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Who was who?”

  “Come on man! Ms. Enigma … the girl in the song,” Otis insisted. Then he smiled and shook his head slightly, letting out a soft exasperated sigh. “Noah, when you first brought that song to us and said that you wanted to sing it yourself … well, you know I was skeptical. I mean … no offense, man, but, everyone knows you're a hell of an axman. And we all knew that you were a hell of a songwriter but … you just never showed any interest in singing lead before 'Ms. Enigma.' But that song is something special, man. The emotion in those lyrics is so raw, and you always sing it with such heart. There's a reason that song won us our first Grammy, okay. And I have always believed that it must be about a real person if it brings out such real emotion in you. Some chick that you must have encountered at some point who rocked your world. So, give it up, man. Who was she?”

  Noah felt a slow smile creep over his face as he stared at his brother, wondering if he wanted to divulge the information as he took a swig from his bottle of Jack that Aaron had left him that morning. Finally he took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “I don't know.”

  “You don't know?” Cory chimed in, eyebrow raised.

  Noah shook his head slowly. “I don't know,” he repeated, looking Cory in the eye. “I wasn't wasted that night. But I was messed up just the same. You all remember Katie?” he asked them, referring to his old girlfriend.

  “Oh yeah … we remember her,” Buzzy confirmed with a roll of his eyes.

  “Yeah, no offense, Noah, but … bitch was toxic, man,” Cory added with a grimace. “I was so happy when you dropped her for good!”

  “Yeah, I know, she was a piece of work,” Noah agreed. “Anyway, she and I had gotten into it that night … as usual,” he said, “And I was just so pissed at her that all I wanted was to go out and screw the first hot chick I saw. Which is exactly what I did. She was just one of those bar flies that used to follow us around from club to club back then,” he shrugged as he explained. “And I admit, I had always had my eye on her because she was gorgeous. And, oh my God, was she stacked! But I was such a jerk to her,” he remembered with a slight shake of his head. “My main objective that night was sticking it to Katie so … I didn't really think too much about this chick's feelings. I thanked her after I was finished and walked her to the door. Arrogantly thinking that would be the end of it. Next day, Katie and I got back together. And every time I saw this girl after that, she always looked so hurt. And believe it or not, I was always too big a coward to say anything to her.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “I never even bothered to get her name. And you're right,” he said glancing once more at Otis. “Whoever she was, she did rock my world, because I have never forgotten her. I remember everything about her. From the smell of her skin to her big brown eyes.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Otis replied with a raised hand and an exaggerated roll of the eyes. Fixing Noah with a shocked expression, he added, “Are you telling us that not only is 'Ms. Enigma' about this mystery chick, but 'Big Brown Eyes' is too?”

  Noah smirked at his big brother, then shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “'Ms. Enigma' and 'Big Brown Eyes' on the first album,” Noah confirmed. “'Girl in My Dreams' and 'Pin-up Baby' on this new one. What can I say? She inspires me still!”

  “Wow! She must have been one damn good lay,” Cory smiled, and Noah narrowed his eyes at him. Then he laughed slightly.

  “Well, actually yes. The sex was out of this world,” Noah confirmed. “But it was more than that. There was just something about this chick. And honestly … I think part of me ran back to Katie because there was something about this girl, you know? Something I just knew I was not ready for at the time. But she left a hell of an impression, that's for sure.” Falling silent for a moment as his bandmates watched him with curious expressions, Noah replayed that night in his mind for about the millionth time.

  “Damn, man, you almost sound like you fell in love with her,” Otis said quietly. “It's probably a good thing you never got her name.”

  Noah nodded, absentmindedly acknowledging his brother's statement as his mind tried in vain to hold on to the beautiful, elusive ghost who never stopped dancing through his consciousness. She was always there, no matter what he was doing. And she would drift in at the strangest times, her big brown eyes and million dollar smile seeming to call to him like a siren. Sighing heavily once more, he looked up at Otis and said, “Maybe she was never real anyway. Maybe she was just … a figment of my imagination. My muse.”

  “Yeah, well if that's true, then we desperately need to find her,” Otis said, changing his tune with a smile. “Because as soon as this leg of the tour raps, we need to get busy writing some new material for the next album!”

  They all laughed at O's comment, Noah included. But inside, he couldn't help but wonder, as he did so often, not only where she was and what she was doing, but simply who she was. And most importantly, he wondered if she was still a Jagged Ivory fan, and if she ever saw herself in the lyrics of the JI songs he had written.

  As the plane flew on, the guys continued to talk for a while about how the tour was going. And finally
, as the hours ticked slowly by, they each fell away. Taking advantage of the time to get some much needed sleep. Or to at least try. Noah sat quietly for a while, wishing that sleep would overtake him. And as he reclined in the soft leather seat, he looked around at his sleeping bandmates and smiled slightly as thoughts of their early days floated in and out of his mind. But that only made him think of his dad once more.

  Noah and his dad had never seen eye to eye on much of anything. Even when Noah was a very young boy, they had been like oil and water, and Noah had never wanted to be anything like him. That's why it had taken him so long to pick up his first guitar. And why he had refused to take it seriously for so long once he discovered his ability. Because he never wanted Monroe Ivory to take the credit for anything good he did in his life.

  Their dad had been the lead guitarist in a funk band that had enjoyed some moderate success back in the mid 1970's. So when Noah and Otis began to show some talent for the guitar as teenagers, he had been like a proud peacock, strutting around with his chest puffed out. As if their musical ability was a gift he had bestowed upon them. Maybe it was, maybe that's how genetics worked. Noah wasn't sure. All he knew was that his father's self-righteous attitude had angered him and made him want to avoid the guitar altogether. Even though the thing had felt so good in his hands … like a natural extension of his own body. And the sounds that he could make come out of it! He had loved it instantly. But he couldn't let his dad know that. So, while Otis played eagerly – taking lessons and studying all the time, always seeking their father's approval – Noah called it stupid, and avoided it like the plague for most of his teenage years. That is, until his best friend, Cory Dutton, started taking lessons the summer before their senior year of high school.

  Noah would go hang out at Cory's place and play around with his guitar for hours, teaching himself from Cory's lessons and from his favorite songs on the radio. And it was pure rock and roll for him. None of that funk or blues stuff that his dad played around the house all the time. Not that he didn't like that stuff. Some of it he secretly thought was pretty cool, and he played around with it on occasion, but he'd never let anyone know that. Least of all his dad. But it all came as easily as breathing for him, as if he had been playing the guitar all of his life.