Untitled

by Jackie Chanel

  “Hi, Miss K. What ya doin’?”

  “Planning a trip,” she answered without looking up. “Me and Jerry thinking about goin’ to Chicago for our anniversary.”

  “I wanna go,” I joked. But a free trip to Chicago sounds pretty good though.

  “Boy, didn’t you hear what I said? I said me and Jerry. You ain’t invited.” She looked up from her brochure. “What are you doin’ here before we open anyway?”

  “What do you mean? I’m playing tonight.”

  Kat frowned. “Jerry didn’t call you?”

  I shook my head. My phone works and the only people who’ve been calling me were Yvette, Paulie, and a few girls whose names I can’t remember.

  “Why was Jerry supposed to be calling me?” I have a sinking feeling that I already know that the answer.

  “You ain’t playin’ tonight,” Kat said. “Ain’t nobody else takin’ the stage except the Players.”

  “What? Why not?” I try not to ever disrespect Kat by yelling. This isn’t her fault anyway. Like she always says, she doesn’t have anything to do with the bands that come through Rabbit’s.

  “Aiden, I don’t know,” Kat sighed. “Go talk to Jerry about that.”

  “This is bullshit,” I mumbled. There’s no reason to talk to Jerry. This isn’t the first time that a band hasn’t wanted me to open for them.

  The ATL Players, the Georgia Boys, the Blues Boys; all of them are a bunch of pussies, scared of a little competition. They all know that I can headline a show under my own name and I don’t have even have my own band.

  For a second, I wished that Kat was in charge of the bands. It may seem like she doesn’t care, but Kat doesn’t like taking money out of people’s pockets. That’s exactly what Jerry is doing to me. Every time he allows these bands to come into his place of business and demand that the house band not open for them, we don’t get paid.

  I decided to talk to Jerry after all. I depend on this money to live. Besides the fact that I know I’m better than any of the band leaders who are complaining about me, how am I supposed to pay my bills if Jerry won’t stand up and enforce his own rules?

  My relationship with Jerry isn’t nearly as good as my relationship with his wife. Kat loves me and treats me like her son. I’m not the only one she treats like her child, but I am the youngest. She’s never had any children of her own but Jerry has a son from a previous marriage.

  Jerald Jr. or JJ, is also the drummer for the ATL Players and I’d bet my last dime that he’s the one who keeps getting his father to cancel our sets.

  I found Jerry sitting in the kitchen with Jo-Jo, the head cook. They were eating cornbread and buttermilk and big bowls of black eyed peas. Both of them are one plate of ribs and macaroni & cheese away from a coronary.

  “Hey Jerry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Can’t you see I’m eating?”

  You’re always eating, I thought but didn’t say. It’s probably best not to start the conversation by pissing him off. Besides, our relationship is already strained, at best. I don’t know what it is about me that rubs Jerry the wrong way and I really don’t care. He just an older, black version of my father.

  “I know, but I really need to talk to you about tonight.”

  Jerry wiped his lips and motioned for me to enter the kitchen with one greasy finger. He reminds me of an old outdated pimp. He’s always dressed in a suit, normally royal blue, green, or mustard, but never regular colors like black or brown. He wears about five gold chains around his neck and all ten of his fingers have gold and diamond rings on them. Every time I look at Jerry, I laugh.

  “You want something to eat, Aiden?” Jo-Jo asked. I politely declined. Since I started coming here, I’ve put on at least fifteen pounds, not a good look for a rock star.

  What do you have to say?” Jerry asked.

  Most people at Rabbit’s are afraid of Jerry. I don’t know why. They need to be more afraid of Kat. It’s her club. Jerry just married into it.

  “How come we’re not playing tonight?” I asked outright, not having to explain who we are.

  “Are you questioning me about my scheduling?”

  “No, but the last time I checked, the house band was on the schedule for tonight. Last time I checked, we were scheduled to go on at 9:30.”

  Jerry’s eyes darkened with obvious fury as he scowled at me. He didn’t like being confronted by me.

  “I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, boy. You better be happy that I even let your ass play at all.”

  “Let me play?” I asked heatedly. “I play because that’s what you pay me to do. I play,” I yelled, “because I’m who your customers pay to see!”

  Jerry’s hands were shaking as he got up and stalked towards me. His large frame was intimidating so I stepped back but stood tall. I’m not backing down from my argument just because he’s mad.

  “You’ve cancelled us three times already! We don’t play, we don’t get paid,” I reminded him.

  “Then maybe you should do like the rest of them and get a damn job,” he growled. “You don’t question me about what I do in my place of business. You work for me, boy. You don’t like it...quit. Otherwise, shut up and get out of my face!”

  I was skating on thin ice. He was so mad that he probably wanted to hit me but fear of his wife was keeping him in check. Kat will shit bricks if he punched me. We both know it. Plus, I resent the way he’s acting like my music isn’t putting money in his pockets.

  “Maybe I will quit.”

  “Yeah right,” he laughed shrewdly. “Where else you gon play, boy? Ain’t too many spots hankerin’ for a cocky ass white boy who thinks he can play the blues. This is it for you and you know it. So take your ass home and wait for me to put you back on the schedule.”

  He pushed past me, mumbling something about me learning my place and that made me even more upset. I think my time here is done.

  I don’t think I can play...I know I can.

  There are a hundred spots in Atlanta where I can play. If Jerry doesn’t want me and doesn’t appreciate what I do for this club, there’s another bar owner that will. I’ll show him.

  I picked up my guitar and stormed into Kat’s office. She looked up when her door slammed against the wall.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “I quit!” I yelled. “I’m too good for this bullshit!”

  “Aiden, stop all that yellin’. What happened?”

  I told her what Jerry had said. She didn’t blink an eye or even look surprised.

  “Aiden, sit down and listen to me,” Kat ordered. I sat in one of the white leather armchairs and waited for her to continue.

  “You need to learn some patience, Aiden,” Kat began. “You running around throwin’ temper tantrums like some kid who been told that he ain’t allowed to play outside. You are a musician, true, but you ain’t the only musician in this city. Hell, you ain’t even the best one. Just like every other guitar player, every horn player, every drummer that’s come through here, you’ve got to pay your dues. It’s people out here who’ve already done that, Aiden. You’re just the new kid on the scene. Believe me, baby, this is not going to be the last time you get bumped for another act. It’s the nature of the business. Grow up and get used to it.”

  I sulked in my seat. I was expecting Kat to be on my side but here she was, telling me that I’m not that good, that I still have dues to pay. I’ve been the opening act in her club for months now. What the hell does she think I’ve been doing?

  “I’ve paid my dues,” I stated angrily.

  She laughed. “Boy, you ain’t paid shit. All you’ve done is play here a few nights a week. You’re just a spoiled little boy from the suburbs trying to play the blues. You got a long way to go.”

  “You’re wrong,” I pouted. “I’m damn good. If I’m just alright, why the hell do you have me playing?”

  “Because you’ve got to start somewhere,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I di
dn’t start playing here,” I countered. “I’ve had gigs before this one. And I’ll have more gigs after.”

  Kat looked at me and I saw the disappointment in her eyes before I heard it in her voice.

  “Fine, Aiden. You think you know best, go on out there and see what the world has to offer you. But I tell you what, little boy.” Her tone was no longer sympathetic or disappointed. It was hard.

  “My mama used to tell me that I had a hard head and a soft behind. That I had to learn everything the hard way. I see that’s the way you are as well. The world ain’t gon be easy on you, but you’ll learn,”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh yes, you’ll learn. So go ahead and see what you can do out there on your own, without any help. Go on now!”

  She shooed me out of her office with a wave of her hand.

  I sat in my car, in the parking lot, wondering if I made the right decision. The thought didn’t last long. Of course I’d made the right decision. I’m a musician. I can play. If I’m not wanted at Rabbit’s, I’ve built enough of a reputation that if I want to play somewhere else, they’ll accept me.

  Chapter 13

  I dream that you are here when I’m alone at night

  Holding me in your arms and squeezing me tight

  Ugh! I don’t know where these sappy lovey-dovey lyrics are coming from. It’s frustrating because I don’t like to write love songs. I’ve never been in love so how can I write about being in love.

  Lately, all I’ve been hearing on MTV and BET are love ballads. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to listen to other people’s music right before picking up my own notebook and pen. I can’t help it though. I’m bored as hell. I haven’t had a gig in weeks.

  Every bar or club that I’ve been trying to play isn’t interested in live music. All they want to hear is gangster rap and booty shaking music. This is ridiculous. I have to hear that crap all day long, blaring out of Tameka’s apartment. It’s either that or the Tejano music coming from Juan’s place.

  The only time I ever find any solace is when Sunny is home. She plays nothing but old school R&B or the blues. I don’t know what she does in her apartment all day because I haven’t talked to her since the day she barged into my apartment and kicked Yvette out.

  I haven’t talked to Yvette either, not that I’m losing any sleep over it. She was getting too clingy, especially when she started talking about breaking up with her boyfriend. I definitely don’t need that right now. I’m trying to get into a more creative headspace so I can record a demo, so I have to leave the girls alone for minute. It’s not easy to do that. This is Atlanta, where females outnumber males like five to one.

  I stared at my notebook and the many scratched out lines of bad lyrics before tossing my pen to the floor. This isn’t working. I’ve learned that I cannot write while I’m bored and frustrated.

  I turned on the television and channel surfed for ten minutes. Daytime television sucks if you’re not a soap opera watching housewife or non-working welfare recipient like Tameka.

  It’s only noon so it’s too early to go hang out with Paulie and my band mates aren’t speaking to me since I quit Rabbit’s. The only other option I have is to turn off the television and play my guitar. That’s what I usually do when I’m this bored. I pulled out my guitar and plugged in to my amp and speakers.

  I started to play my favorite Hendrix song Purple Haze. I have some awesome chord progressions in my mind that would make Jimi himself cheer. The next time I get a real gig, I’ll play it my way and see how the crowd reacts.

  In the middle of the song, I heard someone knocking on my door. I usually don’t have company, except Paulie who always just walks right in. No one ever comes over without calling either. It had to be one of my neighbors, most likely Tameka coming down to complain. I ignored the knocking. She can kiss my ass. Consider it payback for all the nights she and her kids kept me up.

  The knocking continued, getting more persistent with every bang on the thin plywood. I sat my guitar down and opened the door.

  “What the hell?” I stopped short. I could have died from the shock of seeing the two faces I never thought I’d see in Atlanta.

  This isn’t good.

  Doug and Dina were standing outside my door. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my parents. Judging by the expressions on their faces, this isn’t a social visit. The jig is up.

  “Mom...Dad, what are you doing here?” I managed to say without stuttering.

  “We should be asking you the same thing, Aiden,” my mother replied. Her voice wasn’t as loving and caring as it usually was.

  I groaned. Nothing good can possibly come from this surprise visit. I glanced quickly around my apartment wondering if this would be the last time I’d be here. Surely, my parents wouldn’t be down here together to give me their blessing to live my life the way I want to. They would have done that over the phone.

  My father brushed past me and stepped into the living room. He gazed disapprovingly at my messy apartment then glared at me. My mom stood behind with the same look of disapproval and disappointment.

  “What is going on with you, Aiden?” she asked sadly.

  I took a seat on my tattered sofa, wondering which one of my sisters had spilled the beans.

  “Nothing’s going on with me,” was my quiet answer.

  I didn’t like the disappointed expression on my mother’s face. I don’t like seeing her sad and I really don’t enjoy being the cause of her sadness. Maybe I could find the right words to say that would make her understand why I quit school.

  My father kicked an empty beer can out of his path. It crashed against the wall as he sat down on my matching tattered loveseat.

  “Dad, I can-”

  “Shut up,” he replied. “Don’t say a word.”

  I looked at my mother. She nodded.

  For the first time since my senior year in high school, I actually felt a tiny bit afraid of my father. Back then, I thought he was wrong for trying to control me and making me do things that I didn’t want to do. But now, he has every right to be pissed at me. I’ve lied to them about everything. My parents thought I was still in school. Up until now they had no idea of what I was actually doing in Atlanta.

  Not only that, but I’d involved my sisters in my deception. If I was them, I would have killed my child. I’m actually surprised that my father didn’t start choking me as soon as I opened the door.

  “Guess what we received in the mail the other day,” my dad said, looking at me as if he was expecting an answer to his rhetorical question.

  I stared down at a beer stain on the carpet.

  “A letter from Emory University stating that Aiden Tyler is not registered as a student and they are refunding the tuition payment that we sent them. Can you believe that?”

  My throat burned and it felt like I’d swallowed a large apple that was now lodged in the back of my throat. I’d forgotten all about tuition! Of course Emory couldn’t keep my parents money.

  “So then I asked your sisters if they knew anything about you quitting school,” Dad went on. “Of course they tried to cover for you. But in the end, all I had to do was ask Eric Pitts. Imagine his surprise that you hadn’t told your own parents what you’ve been up.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Aiden?” my mother asked. There was a hint of anger in her voice. “Why in the world would you quit school?”

  I – unsuccessfully - tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve pissed both of my parents off – quite often – but this is so much more than them being mad. In twenty years I’ve never heard my mother as much as whisper a curse word.

  Both of them were looking at me, expecting an answer. I blurted out the first thing that came to, which happens to be the lamest excuse a guy in my situation could ever give.

  “College isn’t for me.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, my father looked like he was about to lunge for my neck. I rose from the sofa at lightning speed
and got as far away from him as possible. My mother placed her hands on his shoulders to keep him on the loveseat. She shook her head at him.

  “Doug, I know you want to kill him but that just won’t be productive. Let me talk to him alone for a minute.”

  “Fine, Dina, talk to your son. I’ll start calling around to see what can be done with all this junk. We might have to get a moving company.”

  “Moving company?” I said loudly, feeling brave enough to come out of the kitchen. “What are you talking about?”

  My mother grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and practically dragged me down the short hallway to my bedroom. She slammed the door behind her and glared at me so hard that I was sure daggers would come shooting out of her eyes and stab me right in the heart.

  “Do you realize that I just spent the last four hours trying to convince your father that he really doesn’t want to murder you? And you’re yelling at him? What the hell is wrong with you, Aiden? What’s happened to my son?” She shook her head back and forth.

  “I cannot believe you did this, Aiden. I really can’t believe this.”

  “Mom, you don’t understand,” I tried to explain. “But I’m not lying. College just wasn’t the place for me.”

  “Do I look like I’m buying that bullshit, Aiden?” she yelled. “If this was just about you not wanting to go school, we wouldn’t be here right now! You’ve been lying to us for over a damn year! I sent you money for books and tuition and you used it to move into the damn projects! What is wrong with you?”

  ‘Nothing is wrong with me. But that place was killing me, Mom,” I tried to explain again. “I want to play music and Emory University is not a place where I can do that.”

  “Music?” she yelled, appalled. “You quit school because you want to play music?” She leaned against the wall and held both of her hands against her head.

  “You’re killing me, Aiden. That’s what you’re doing. I’m so disappointed in you.”