Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  I picked up my bag from the floor and dug inside, finally pulling out a song I’d discovered in Marigold’s closet in one of the ‘original songs’ boxes. Marigold and I had penned it about a month after I joined the band but never had the guts to bring it out in public. I’d skimmed through it the first night I’d spent in Marigold’s old room and initially discarded it for the cd, since I wasn’t sure if I even liked the song. I actually thought the lyrics were weird, my melodies weirder, and at the time I’d noticed it, I hadn’t even considered the possibility Pieces would be hiring another female singer. After the meeting with the guys earlier this evening, I’d dug it out again and stuffed in into my bag as a “see if this girl can deliver as advertised” test case. It was called, “Test the Waters.” Fitting.

  I plopped the music onto the stand Saffron had appropriated, and then quietly distributed the sheets with the chords to Dusty and Cam. Marigold had made at least five copies of every song she ever wrote so I hadn’t had to waste time today standing in front of a machine in a print shop in Georgetown.

  Dusty glanced at the chords and lyrics. He cringed. “Shee-it. Are you nuts? Maybe we should go with something we’re actually going to do on the album? It’s like you went into Mozart land on acid with the melody, oh classical girl. And the lyrics are not exactly Marigold’s best. I’d come closer to worst.”

  The new soprano sneered at him and waved the music in the air. “Are you serious? Give it up, Mr. Sears. This is a no-brainer. Easy pickin’s. Let’s kick it.”

  The band attempted to get through the song three times. The first time the guys stopped when Cam couldn’t get a blues riff down the way he wanted. Then there was the halt after Nic slowed the tempo at an odd spot. The third time was to give Dusty a chance to gripe over the general sound. Saffron stayed silent through each missed run. After finally singing through the entire song without needing to stop, Saffron shook her head and then glared at everyone in turn.

  “Is everyone through clowning around?”

  Cam and Nic appeared somewhat disconcerted.

  Dusty smiled at Ms. Baker. “Saffron, we’re sorry. We’re not used to having anyone but—Marigolddoing soprano leads, so we’re a bit off our game. Bear with us though, would you?” Saffron did not smile back.

  Glenn quietly stated, “This is tough on everyone. Dusty’s right. We’re struggling hearing a new sound but you’re an awesome talent and we need you. Would you please be part of Pieces?”

  She smiled. Regally. Then she picked up her carryall bag and strolled toward the exit. “Glad to help out. See y’all later.”

  She was out the door before anyone could react.

  After a few seconds of hearing “what’s?’ from Dusty and watching Cam stand ineffectually shaking his head, I snapped to, ran outside and reached Saffron’s hybrid car just as the soprano was revving up and shifting into reverse. “Saffron, hang on a sec. Are you aware we have rehearsal tomorrow night for the dance at the ballroom? The old Palace Theatre. Did Glenn tell you?”

  “He did. “

  “Well, it’s at nine. And uh, we only have the space for two hours. By the way, thanks for filling in. Sorry there’s still so much angst about Marigold. It’s taking us all some time to get used to hearing Pieces without her.”

  Saffron stared at me. She leaned out the window. “I get it. Y’all miss her. No big surprise. But the deification needs to stop. I’m tellin’ ya now, you and the sweet boys in thereincluding Nicholaswell, you all just imagine you knew Marigold. I mean, yeah, sure, you tolerated the drinking and the running around. But she did things . . . shee-it, honey . . . she couldn’t tell any of you. Marigold emailed me the night before she disappeared. We’d kept in touch over the years after we knew each other as kids. She told me she was involved in something wrong. Justwrong. It backfired. And it’s what got her killed.”

  Saffron’s voice choked. Then she began singing Gold Dust Woman in her full, rich, coloratura soprano. She raised the key to a good octave higher than Stevie Nicks ever even considered trying. The sound filled the dusty air in the parking lot in front of the studio. I stood in shocked silence watching Saffron speed off down I-35 to who knew where.

  Chapter 15

  Ms. Juniper Blume has always possessed a remarkable sense of what’s appropriate, no matter the circumstances. For example, at home she dressed in what Marigold and I used to call her Woodstock hippie peasant outfits, complete with tie-dye tee shirts boasting anti-war slogans, love beads, bell-bottom denims and earrings shaped liked peace signs. When she attended church on Sundays, she donned a dress and heels and even threw on a piece or two of jewelry, although most were still shaped like peace symbols. Admittedly, the heels were nearly always boots and the dress more on the order of Seventies vintage multi-tiered skirts and tops, and the jewelry consisted of quadruple studs in one ear, but Juniper was out of her jeans for at least an hour to join the congregation of the Christian Fellowship Church in Pflugerville right up the road from Georgetown.

  Junie also deemed certain behaviors as appropriate. One such behavior was daily tea. Preferably at four but daily no matter the time. A ritual. With wonderful croissants or British-style biscuits or scones and real clotted cream. This day’s tea fest had been postponed until six p.m. when the guys had trooped in to argue about inviting Saffron to join the band, so instead of dinner at a relatively normal hour, there’d been scones and tea before rehearsal. All lovely and wonderful, but not physically sustaining after three hours of singing one’s heart and lungs and throat out. So I was bemoaning the lack of foodstuffs when the clock stuck midnight and all of Pieces (sans the newest member) plus Stone and Glenn entered the Blume kitchen. My misery turned to delight upon spying the feast of Tex-Mex treats neatly set out on the buffet table.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  Junie eased out of a chair at the head of the table, motioning for me to take her place. “Sit. I already ate. And I knew because I remember. Rehearsals. Musicians. Starving. I’ve been through this too many times to count.”

  True. The Blume household should have erected a billboard on the front lawn: Welcome to Blume’s 24 Hour Diner, Bar and Confessional for Distraught Singers.” The entire year I had sung with Pieces, the pattern had been to head for the Blume home after a rehearsal, after a recording session, after a gig, after mid-term exams, and after a fight with a romantic partner. The occasion didn’t matter. Stone would almost always join the group, Junie would set out what was needed, and then discreetly leave the band and the brother to sing, bicker, laugh, eat, drink, and plot the takeover of the music world. Sadly, the drinking had been something Marigold excelled at, especially in the month before the Beta Zeta dance.

  I pushed that last thought aside, hugged Junie, and thanked her again for the spread. She smiled but her face was pale. “I’m well aware a little something extra was happening at tonight. Plus, we’re all still worried since Arianna’s been missing over twenty-four hours. Consequently there are margaritas waiting in the kitchen for those of you who want them.”

  “Extra? What do you mean?” Nic inquired.

  “Saffron. Who put the imp in impossible. She used to be practically one of the family years ago.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. I haven’t seen her for years but I’m sure her personality is the same. People don’t generally change much unless something major happens. Saffron and Marigold were together at Our Lady of Sorrows in Taylor. I’m not Catholic but I put Marigold in school there because I hoped the nuns could knock some sense into her. Who was I kidding? Not in the realm of possible.”

  My jaw dropped. “Saffron and Marigold were in school together? I thought that was college.”

  Junie nodded. “Eighth grade. Heaven help those nuns. The girls were incorrigible and smart and both of them had constantly been in trouble at their respective middle schools before they wound up at Our Lady of Sorrows. They were singing rivals; always up for the same voice competitions since th
ey both had such an incrediblyclean soprano sound. And each girl had far too much brass and attitude for most folks to take and they looked like they could have been twinswhich somehow made the behavior even worse. The pair of them fought like sharks the first three months of school.”

  Cam was stunned. “You mean for spots in choir?”

  Junie answered, “That too, but I literally meant physically. I used to keep a first aid kit in every car I owned so I’d be prepared for any contingency. I’d get what seemed like a daily call from Sister Mary Katherine telling me the girls were practicing kicks and punches on each other’s butts.” She fluttered her lashes. “Sister Mary Kate didn’t put it quite so crudely, but you get the picture. It was so funny. Here were these two tiny blondes trying to whup one another nine ways to Sunday. Marigold used to practice moves from old martial arts movies.”

  I broke in with, “She told me once she was very partial to Bruce Lee and Jean-Claude Van Damme.”

  Stone sighed. “She nearly broke my arm more than once because she’d tried them out on me when I was like six or seven. Stone Blume the guinea pig.”

  Juniper chuckled. “I remember walking in on the two of them and yelling at Marigold to quit tormenting her brother, which she ignored. She’d maniacally perfect her skills to get the jump on Saffron, which never worked. Saffron always won. She’d call Marigold at home to needle her about beating the crap out of her at school earlier in the afternoon and Marigold would taunt her by listing all the competitions she’d won.”

  “So what finally happened?” Nic asked.

  “Marigold bested Saffron using a new Van Damme trick she’d seen in some movie the night before. She’d practiced it all night leaping off the living room couch. Saffron had to acknowledge defeat when she was forced to go to the school nurse for something to put on her rapidly blackening eye. The day after the fight Saffron placed one point higher than Marigold in a vocal competition.”

  I was fascinated. “Did this kick up the rivalry?”

  Junie grinned. “Just the opposite. They’d become best buddies. Hung out with each other the rest of the year. Then Saffron’s family moved down to Houston. Marigold was devastated but they kept in touch and they’d meet up during high school and college choir competitions. Cause more trouble. I haven’t seen Saffron since she was about fifteen and came to spend the night here after a competition in Austin, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s still incorrigible, still tough, and still has an attitude loaded for bear.”

  The entire Pieces band, plus Stone and Glenn, lifted the glasses in a mock toast to both girls.

  Dusty proceeded to tell Junie about tonight’s session with Saffron. “Well, we must confess, Saffron is amazingly talented although she can also be purty damn testy. We’ll have one helluva great cd on our hands, if we can live through the rest of the week without one of us murdering her.”

  He cringed. For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Junie held up a hand as if to say ‘Stop.’

  “Kids. Enough. We can’t keep tiptoeing around phrases. It’s the kind of thing everyone says and no one means. And remember, there’s no proof Marigold was actually murdered. Or even Daria or Arianna. So let’s drop the dramatic pauses every time a remark about murder gets tossed out. Okay?”

  There were nods of agreement but I was sure it wouldn’t be long before a comment was made from a tactless mouth and embarrassment would once again sweep through Pieces.

  Chapter 16

  Junie handed me a glass of herbal iced tea. I needed it. The practice session had drained me right into dehydration city. Junie cocked an eyebrow, “So, Bebe, how did she do? Saffron? I mean, attitude notwithstanding, does she still have the pipes?”

  I gratefully sucked down the tea and expressed admiration for the newest band member’s amazing voice, while inwardly trying to ignore my many questions regarding Saffron’s precise and current relationship with Nic. “She was awesome. And Dusty’s right. If we can stand her being condescending, rude and abrasive for the week and get Pieces Together finished, we’ll have the makings of a major album totally ready for prime time.”

  Cam interjected, “I agree. However, I’m not sure how much more discussion about Saffron I can stand right now. I vote for closing the topic of Ms. Baker for the night, with one last question. Anyone want to take bets as to whether she’ll actually show up for tomorrow’s rehearsal at the Palace?”

  Various responses were shouted in response to the question. Cam wisely ignored everyone and instead took the opportunity to turn to me. “Intrigued as I am by Saffron Baker and her eccentricities, I have something more urgent on my mind. Bebe, didn’t you tell us you’d found a bunch of new songs in Marigold’s closet?”

  “I did. I haven’t had a chance to go through all of them but so far there are some good ones I’ve skimmed through. And of course, there’s the one we sang today down in Round Rock along with the woman we’re not discussing anymore.”

  “So are you planning to continue scrounging through the muck and mire of the closet and check for anything else we can use?” Cam scowled but his eyes twinkled. “Just no reggae, please.”

  “What? You don’t want me to go all Nana Banana on you?” I feigned surprise and dismay. “I am hurt. I thought it was destined as the next I Shot the Sheriff or Don’t Worry/ Be Happy. At the very least, Gangnam Style.”

  Groans issued from all the men present. Stone’s eyebrow’s shot up. “Are you seriously telling us your crazy name song is still floating around?”

  “Oh yeah. But remember, it was Marigold who wrote the words. Not my fault. Swear to God. Anyway, I found the lyrics last night when I was semi-sorting music to see what was in what box.” I fluttered my lashes. “Shoot! Guys, we should do it. Obviously not for the cd but it’d be fun to sing at the dance Saturday. The Beta girls and the frat boys would love it. We can let Saffron take the lead. It’s perfect for her voice.” I added a slight dig, “And we’ll find out just how much humor is buried under the attitude.”

  Nic seemed to be about to say something, but it was Stone who inquired, “Anything else of real interest in those boxes? And do you need help looking? Willing hands all around here.”

  The prospect of any of the guys sifting through the music in Marigold’s room struck odd discords in my mind. I shook my head. “Tell you what. I’ll look through tonight if I don’t immediately fall asleep, and I’ll keep digging tomorrow before rehearsal. Promise. I appreciate the offer of help, but if I’m alone I can also sift through all the lyrics and get a feel for possible new tunes without the smart-ass comments I’m certain would be forthcoming from . . . certain people who shall remain nameless but are currently hovering like vultures.”

  Nic clapped a hand over his heart. “I personally am devastated. Wounded. Undone as it were. Do you mean to say you don’t want our valuable advice?”

  I winked at him. “Yep. Pretty much. Now then, if you gentlemen want to stay here and guzzle tequilas and snarf down more tacos, well, I’m sure Junie is fine and won’t toss you out. But I’m off to the closet to unearth nuggets of musical gold. With any luck after I find them, I might manage a couple hours sleep. If there’s anything noteworthy in the music, I’ll bring it to rehearsal tomorrow.”

  I waved and then headed for the staircase leading to the bedrooms. Once upstairs in Marigold’s room, I hauled out the box of original lyrics out of the closet. An hour later the room was filled with papers and I was filled with confusion as to which of these poems could be set to music in the next few days. There were three in particular I believed would be great choices and oddly enough all three were the songs I’d found my first night digging into Marigold’s music. One could be a cool ‘up’ tunea real rock n’ roll piece in the tradition of the 1950s. Marigold hadn’t given it a title but since the song contained lines about traveling down highways through dark nights with wind blowing through hair, I dubbed it “Windy Highway.”

  The second song screamed rock ballad. This one was all about hea
rtbreak and despair. The words lent themselves easily to a bluesy tempo and a low voice. Marigold had named it “Block My Heart.” Not the best title ever written, and rather medical sounding, but I figured I’d keep it for the time being. I could always ask the guys if they had a better idea. Titles had never been my strong suit.

  The third song was the one I kept coming back to, knowing it would make this recording better than the band’s first album, even without Marigold’s vocals. The lyrics were strange, haunting, and fiercely compelling. The phrases were disjointed, but the imagery was clean and vivid. This was “Chasm,” which was also the piece I’d told Nic about while we’d been searching for Arianna much earlier this day. I hadn’t had a chance to do much more than muse about possibilities but now, even though the hour was ridiculously late (or early depending on one’s point of view) I somehow felt I needed to take the time to decide if I’d truly found the masterpiece I’d originally believed it to be.

  Marigold had jotted notes in the corner about possible musical styles but they were nearly illegible. I had no idea how to make these words scan for any real musicality. Yet I was drawn almost mystically to the song.

  I was now almost certain Chasm had been the number Marigold had chosen to sing as a solo the night of the sorority dance. Possibly it meant so much to Marigold she’d been willing to tick off everyone in the band by surprisingthe guys with it and be sure it was heardnot tossed aside.

  Since the papers in my hand held words only, I dug back inside the box for more hints as to what had been in Marigold’s mind if I wanted to create great melodies. I couldn’t find anything harkening back to any of the three songs. I remembered Marigold had had copies for all her song ideas and she’d given them to me. I’d stuck them in my bag—which had also gone missing at some point during intermission. I’d been horribly preoccupied, first with Marigold’s behavior, and then finding those seeds and realizing she’d vanished, all of which had added the mix of emotions surrounding Nic. I hadn’t cared about my missing carryall other than the hassle of replacing cards and cosmetics. Now I was sorry I hadn’t pressed the police to please find the bag itself especially since a voice in my brain (remarkably like Marigold’s) kept yelling at me, insisting that Chasm held the answers I needed about who had grabbed my best friend.