by Han Nolan
"You mean me and the band or just me?" I asked.
He said, "Your band isn't a good fit They're mediocre. They won't get out of the South with their sound, but you could. With the right music, the right backup, you could make it, Leshaya."
I dumped Kind of Blue right then, right there. Didn't go back to tell nobody I were leavin', I just quick packed up my stuff and left At long last my day had come.
I went to Atlanta, Georgia, and stayed with Mick at the fancy Ritz-Carlton hotel downtown. He introduced me to Paul, lead guitarist in my new band.
Paul were twenty-one, just outta college, tall, white, and real serious-lookin'. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his eyes look like a couple of M&M's, but when he took them off, when he got tired, I could see he had big eyes—big, deep, mud brown eyes. For white, he were pretty good-lookin' behind them glasses, but he never laughed or smiled, and were a long time comin' before I ever seen him lay down his guitar.
Turned out Paul wrote music. He already had a CD out with just instrumentals on it This time he had written a couple of songs that needed a singer, and Mick said I were the perfect one. He wanted me and Paul to record those songs together, and he'd see where that got us. He said he thought we could really go somewhere, make big money.
I looked over at Paul, who were sitting at the table they got in Mick's hotel suite, pickin' at his guitar and sucking on a grape he pinched from a big basket of fruit sitting in the middle of the table. The dude didn't even look up when Mick said we could really go somewhere. I wanted to jump up and down on the bed and kiss Mick's feet for what he were telling me, and Paul just picked at his guitar like he were making up a new tune right there in front of us. I figured the only thing that would get this dude excited be if his guitar be on fire, which were a tempting idea to me, but turned out something else got him excited—me, and not in a good way. Plenty of times I were ready to quit and go on back to Kind of Blue. Turned out Paul were a perfectionist. A pain-in-the-ass perfectionist!
Only way I could learn his song were if I listened to it, 'cause I ain't never learned to read music.
The dude were pitchin' a fit all over the place for that. "You can't read music?" he said, flopping his hand on the side of the chair like he just giving up on me right there, before even hearing me sing. He looked over at Mick with this give-me-a-break attitude, like he knew Mick made a big mistake getting me for his music.
"What's wrong with that?" I said. "Plenty of famous singers and guitar players cain't read music. Maybe you stink singin', so you don't want me to hear. Maybe you stink playin', too!"
Mick stepped in between us and settled us down and made Paul sing and play his song.
Didn't take me long to learn it, and I thought that would impress Paul, along with my voice, but forget that. He gone ballistic 'cause my phrasing weren't right Then my attack weren't right. I weren't giving it the right sound—the right delivery, he called it—and I weren't "coming in right on the beat"
"Lookit, asshole," I said, "give me a second or two to learn it, why don't you. I got the stupid-ass tune down, so give me a break."
"I could give you a year and you wouldn't have it!" He pulled off his glasses and glared at Mick. "She's not right She'll ruin it. Look at her, she's high. She on something? I don't want her singing my song. She doesn't even get it"
"Who wants to?" I said. "All them big words and rooty-tooty poetry stuff. The song ain't got no soul to sing. How can I deliver what ain't there? All you got is a tune. You ain't goin' nowhere, and you nothin' without me singin' your song, but baby, you just lost your chance."
I tossed his rooty-tooty song on the bed, flipped my ass, and made for the door.
Mick hurried to grab me and pulled me back. "Don't be childish," he said. "If you want this, you'll have to work for it, both of you." He gave Paul the eyeball. "Leshaya, dear, you're good but rough. And you're right—you don't know the song yet"
"A hour ago you was actin' like I be the greatest singer since Billie Holiday, and now I'm shit? I don't gotta take this. His song be garbage, anyway." I tossed a look Paul's way, and he were studying his sheet of music like his own words be foreign to him.
"Yeah, you writin' your words like you in a English class," I said to him, going over to where he sittin'. "Stop trying to be so college, and get real. You got to get out of your head and into your heart." I stole that saying from Rosalie, who said Cliff were always in his heart and never in his head. Even though I stole the thought, it were true 'bout Paul. Were like he wore his brain on the outside of his head, the way you could see he were thinking too hard all the time.
Paul give me a hard stare, and Mick come up behind me and said, "All right, now, come on and sit down." He put his hand on my back and moved me toward the chair. He sat down between us two and looked at us both. "You two need each other to make this work Now, I'll have someone come in to coach Leshaya, and Paul, you can look over your words tonight, maybe smooth it out a bit before you leave for the Shoals in the morning."
"The Shoals?" I asked. "He be goin' up there tomorrow? You said two weeks. You said in two weeks we be goin' up to record."
Paul said, "The band's going up tomorrow to record the rest of my music. We only need you for a couple of songs."
Mick nodded. "That's right. Paul will be back, though, and the two of you can practice together. Then, Leshaya, you'll go up with the band and record the songs."
I worked hard on those two songs, harder than I ever worked. The coach I had made me do breathing exercises, so I used toy belly more, and had me change my dynamics—that's what he called it—so I weren't all comin' on strong the whole way through but had softer parts. He told me to think tender thoughts, like I were holding something precious, and that got me remembering my baby, Etta Harmony, and couldn't hardly sing at all, then.
Paul changed his words, and every day I practiced, I had to keep learning new stuff 'cause of how often he kept callin' from the Shoals with new changes for me to learn. But more and more the song were something that made sense to me and I could feel the tender come out of me without thinking of baby Etta. I could just concentrate on the words I were singin'.
We went up to the Shoals to record the songs for real two weeks later, just like Mick said.
Up there, we worked even more hard. There was nine of us in the band, including me—two girls and seven guys. Most of them I just met for the first time that morning, and a couple of them lived right there in Florence. I eyed them good to see if they be from the band I sang with last time I come up to the Shoals, but for as I could tell, they wasn't, and I were glad of that.
We got to the studio—nothing fancy 'cept the equipment and the photographs of famous singers hanging on the walls. I spotted Etta James's picture, and I got chills thinking she recorded right where I were gonna record. I asked about her, but no one at the studio knew if she were gonna come back anytime soon. Still, knowing she been there—she been right where I were standing—made me sure I could do it, too. I were gonna sing in this small little town and make it all the way across the U.S.A. That's what I told myself over and over, and I tried to act nice to Paul 'cause he were part of my ticket to ride, but weren't easy.
Paul still had to get everything just right. He wouldn't let none of us take a break till we got it down perfect, and he were still losing his temper at me and the rest of the band. Sometimes he even tore up on his own self, cursing 'cause he did something nobody in the world would notice. Mick, back in the booth behind the glass window, reminded Paul how we could dub over the mistakes, but Paul wanted a perfect play-through, no fake dubbing stuff. "If we went on tour with this, we couldn't fake it," he said.
"And we couldn't keep stoppin' in the middle, neither," I said back. I were getting tired and so were my voice. I hadn't hardly had nothin' to smoke or drink since I got working with Mick and the coach, and things was wearing on me. "You ain't never gonna be perfect," I said. "Nobody's perfect."
He said back, "You won't get far with
that attitude. You're always going to settle for being average, aren't you? You'll always just be average."
"Ain't nobody ever said I be average. Look to your own self for average." I grabbed at his head of perfect-cut hair and yanked on it good, and Mick and a couple of other dudes rushed in from the booth to pull me off him.
Then Mick made us take a break, and too bad for Paul, 'cause everybody else were tired, too. While we ate bagels with jelly and drank down Cokes, we heard a playback of our songs. Away from the room we all had been crowded into, away from being so tensed up trying to do everything perfect, we sounded better than we knew. We sounded hot Even Paul almost cracked a smile. Others in the band said I got it down solid. When I hit this one note I had to hold a long time, a couple of dudes said they got chills. And I knew what they was saying, 'cause so did I.
Lisa, the drummer, said, "Average, my ass. Nobody's average on this. This is superior."
Yeah, everyone were certain one song, "Clear Out of the Blue," were gonna be a crossover hit. Everyone 'cept Paul, of course.
Chapter-Thirty-Three
MICK HAD TO GET back to Atlanta that same day, but the rest of us hung out in Muscle Shoals and parried high at Lisa's place. She had her own house, didn't share with no one, and she were only twenty-three years old. Turned out she played drums on a lot of recordings of famous people but never played with Etta James. She said she met her once, though, and the lady were real nice. Were like Etta James be a shadow in my life, always just here, just there, meeting people I meet, but never can I catch her my own self.
I wore me a sexy black dress I stole from a Wal-Mart, back when I were living with Cliff and Rosalie and them, to Lisa's party. It were shorter and tighter than it used to be, so it showed off my body real fine. It had thin shoulder straps, with a bit of lace at the hem, like a slip, even felt like a slip. It were plenty cold outside that night, but at Lisa's house I knew I'd be hot struttin' round in my dress. I felt like I be Tina Turner in that dress.
Lisa had Greek food she ordered up from some place in town set out on a table, and I dove right into that, eating stuffed grape leaves and puffy pastry things I thought was gonna be sweet but turned out to be filled with cheese. Then I got mellow with a little dope and slinked around the room, rubbing myself up on this dude and that one, moving with the music Lisa had playing on her CD player, and all the while Paul were sitting off in a corner, Mr. Antisocial. I laughed extra loud, just trying to get him to lift up his head, but he were so into hanging over his guitar and picking at it, weren't nothing going to distract him 'less I fell into his lap, so that's what I done. I were careful not to bang into his guitar too hard, kinda coming at him sideways and stumbling into him. I laughed and looked into his eyes, and he said real mean, "Get off me!"
"What's wrong with you?" I asked him, still laughing like the way he said get off didn't mean nothin' to me. "You gay? Cain't handle a little female attention?"
"No, I'm not gay," he said. "Just picky."
"Well, don't you worry. You sure as hell ain't my type, neither."
I wiggled my ass at him and left, hooking up with Steve, who were glad to run his hands over my body. Didn't matter about Paul. He were so boring, just looking at him could put you in a coma. I told myself to just go on and ignore him, but the more I told myself that, the more I had to keep looking over at him.
I saw him set down his guitar and pull a pad out of his pocket and write something on it He hung over the little pad like he afraid it gonna get away from him. His bangs slipped out of place on his head and fell in his eyes, and he didn't never brush them away, just kept writing. Later I saw him back with his guitar, tapping out some rhythm, different from what were playing on the CD, then leaning over to make more notes in his pad.
A while after that I saw him eating a plate of food and drinking a Coke and talking with Lisa. The two of them talked close like weren't no one else around, and he got his bangs back behind his ears again so he were looking at Lisa real intenselike. Don't know why, but I bad wanted to know what they was saying. What kind of talk got Paid listening? I figured it had to be guitar talk, but they hung out a long time and Paul had put his guitar down and didn't even look at it once when he were talking with Lisa.
I wiggled my way back over in that direction with Steve's arms wrapped round me and tried to hear what they was saying, but I couldn't hear nothin' over the music. Steve said in my ear that we needed to be alone. "Come on," he said, "Lisa's bedroom's nice and quiet Can't hear anything in here."
I didn't want to go, and that got me mad with myself. Why should I care what Paul and Lisa was saying? Why did I want to hang round listening and hearing nothin' but bad music when I could be rollin' round on the bed with Steve?
I grabbed Steve's hand and dragged him off to Lisa's W bedroom. We got goin' at it, burnin' up the sheets, but I couldn't get my mind on what I were doing. All I could think 'bout were working that song over and over again at the studio, getting it perfect for Paul—Paul wanting to do it one more time—Paul and his big hands. I didn't know I even noticed them hands. Big hands, with wide flat fingernails playing that guitar so fine. Right then, thinking 'bout those hands, I couldn't stand Steve being on me. Were the first time I cared one way or 'nother who I be doin' it with, and I couldn't take it I pushed Steve off and he cursed at me.
"Think I'm gonna be sick," I said, struggling up out the bed. "Let's go eat something. Think Lisa's got any plain old bread laying round her kitchen?" I got my clothes back on, and Steve sat and watched me, stunned, like he don't know where he at all the sudden. I slipped my sandals back on and walked on out the room, leaving the door open so Steve could come on if he wanted.
When I got back to the party, Paul weren't sitting in his corner and Lisa weren't, neither. Both of them was gone, but Paul's guitar were there set back in the case Paul carried it in. I asked round where them two gone off to, and someone said they left.
I run out the house like I thought I gonna catch up with them. I checked out the cars, peeking in, thinking Paul and Lisa might be doin' it in one of them, but weren't nobody there. Didn't have no plan in case I did find them, and that were stupid, 'cause then I heard talk ing and looked up to find the two of them coming round the house, walking right toward me.
I jumped fast away from the car.
They both saw me, and Lisa called out, "You doin' okay?"
"Yeah, just cold. I were thinking of maybe gettin' a sweater out the car, but they both locked up. You got a key, Paul?"
"Ask Steve," he said. "He drove us here."
Paul didn't look at me when he talked. Him and Lisa kept walking past me, goin' round the house again.
I didn't know what to do 'cept stand there and watch them walk away. Then when I heard them coming back, I ran inside.
Steve were sitting in the corner, next to Paul's guitar. He were chasin' the dragon—sniffin' up heroin burning on a bit of foil. I went over and joined him and tried to forget about Paul.
Chapter Thirty-Four
NEXT MORNING THE group of us going back to Atlanta got together, and everybody squeezed into Steve's car 'cept me and Paul. Paul were gonna drive the U-Haul truck with all the instruments in it, and I said I were gonna ride with him 'cause I ain't never rid in a truck before.
Steve said to me, "I was hoping you'd want to ride up front in the car with me."
Paul said to me, "The truck's no big deal. Anyway, I like being alone, if you don't mind."
I said to Paul, "Yeah, I do mind, and it ain't your truck."
I opened the door and climbed in, ignoring the both of them. Were a small truck, so Paul were right—wasn't no big deal—but I kicked off my shoes, put my bare feet up on the dash, and settled myself. I looked out the window, and I saw Paul hand a piece of paper to Lisa. She kissed him on the cheek and they shook hands. I rolled down my window, and I heard Steve ask Paul if he was gonna follow him or what.
Paul said he would follow, then he come round the truck and opened the door o
n the driver's side. He saw me like he forgot I were gonna be there and gave me a look like he already tired of me, and we hadn't even got on the road. He sighed big and climbed on in. He started up the truck and we was off.
We got riding along and I pulled me out a cigarette. Didn't really smoke 'cept at parties if someone give me one, but I had a couple I took off of Steve, in my pack, and since weren't no talking going on, I figured I'd light up to give me something to do.
"No smoking," Paul said.
"Say what?"
"No smoking."
"You ain't my health doctor. I can do what I want," I said.
"Out of deference to me, would you mind not smoking?"
"What you say? Man, I don't even know what you saying." I put the cigarette away and pulled out a stick of gum. "Can I chew gum or is that deference to you, too?"
"Be my guest," he said, waving his big ol' hand practically in my face. He changed lanes to stay up with Steve and said, "What's this guy doing?"
"What's wrong?"
"He's driving like we're doing the Indy Five Hundred. This truck isn't built for that kind of speed. We're losing him."
"Don't you know the way back?"
Paul give me a look like I be a bug workin' my way up his nose. "Of course I do."
"Then don't sweat it" I popped my gum at him and grinned.
Paul slowed down. "That must be your motto."
"Say what?"
"'Don't sweat it' You don't care about anything much, do you?"
I shrugged and set my feet down on the floor, feeling for my shoes. "Don't care 'bout stupid stuff."
"You think making music is stupid?"
"That ain't what I said. Didn't say nothin' 'bout music. I care. I care 'bout singin', so just shut yourself up on that"
