BLACK to Reality

by Russell Blake

  He padded down the stairs, a towel draped over his shoulders, and studiously ignored Ed’s raised eyebrows as he slipped past the game table. Christina was already in the Jacuzzi, warm bubbles frothing around her, a fresh bottle of champagne in an ice bucket next to the tub.

  “I thought a little bubbly would be nice,” she said. Black eased himself into the water and sighed. She poured him a drink and they toasted. “To a big win.”

  Black smiled. “And many more.”

  Christina downed half her glass in a swallow and set it down as she glanced at the house. “What did you think of the hired talent?” she asked.

  “The girls? Cute. But that’s kind of what they do for a living, isn’t it?”

  “Aren’t you temped by all that flesh? I never see you with anyone.”

  “I…I’m sort of in a relationship.”

  “Sort of?” She smirked.

  “That sounds lame, I know. The truth is, I don’t know whether I am or not.” He took another swallow of champagne and felt the effervescent warmth flow to his stomach.

  “As a woman, I hate to break it to you, but if you don’t know whether you are, you’re not.” She finished her glass, poured herself another, and topped off Black’s.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story. I’ve got time.” She smiled again and lifted her hair off her neck. “Mmm, this is nice.”

  “Relaxing.”

  “So what’s the deal, Black?”

  “It’s complicated.” He took her through it and realized as he described what had happened that it seemed like a year ago. When he was finished, she looked at him for a long time.

  “Thank God. For a while there I was afraid you batted for the other team.”

  Black laughed. “Being married to Nina could do that to you.” He closed his eyes.

  They finished their second glass, and Black split the last of the bottle between them before sticking it upside down in the steel bucket.

  “So what kind of women do you like? What’s your type?” Christina asked.

  “I…I’m not sure I have a type.”

  Her foot touched his calf, and an electric charge seemed to course through him from the connection. He didn’t know whether he was misinterpreting what had just happened, so he stayed still. Christina’s eyes met his, and she moved to him and kissed him, taking her time, her breath sweet, her lips full. After what seemed like an hour, he pulled away. She regarded him curiously.

  “What? You no like?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just…we’re in a band, working together. This isn’t a great idea.”

  “I’m an adult.”

  “I know. But it’s…the timing’s wrong.”

  She smirked. “You’re going to let that stop you?”

  “I have to. I don’t want to blow this.”

  Christina sighed and nodded. “We aren’t going to be in this contest forever. Only six more weeks.”

  “Six long weeks, at this rate.”

  She laughed. “Very long. But there’s always week seven to look forward to.” The invitation was unmistakable.

  They finished their drinks, the moment over, and Black said goodnight when Ed left the game and came out to socialize. His mind was racing as he climbed the stairs, wondering whether he’d done the right thing or was being a complete dolt, turning down a willing, available, extremely hot woman who seemed into him. Mugsy lifted his head as he entered the room and then returned to his catnap.

  Black changed into sweats and was about to brush his teeth when his phone rang. He did a double take when he saw the number and punched the line to life.

  “Sylvia! You…you called.”

  “About time, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a month. No, longer.”

  “I left town.”

  “What? Where did you go?”

  “Home. Switzerland. My parents bought me a ticket. Said they missed me, so I thought I’d take them up on the offer of free food and drink for a while.”

  “I miss you too,” Black said quietly, relief at having declined Christina’s overture flooding him.

  “Oh, Black…” she said, her voice closing down on her as she tried to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I was thinking about your car. I wonder if it’ll start?”

  “If not, you can always get a jump.”

  “Seems like nice weather for a trip to Malibu,” she said.

  “With the top down.”

  “Maybe a picnic on the beach? Unless you’re busy…”

  “I have the whole day.”

  The silence was uncomfortable, and when Sylvia asked her question, there was no mistaking her meaning. “Is there anything you want to tell me? About…while I was gone?”

  He was glad he didn’t have to lie. Much. “No. Just that I really miss you.”

  The relief in her voice was clear. “That’s nice to hear. I’ll call you in the morning when I’m ready to head out.”

  “If you can’t get the car moving, take a cab. I’ll pay for it.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  Black was grinning ear to ear when he lay down, and even tolerated Mugsy waddling over and hopping onto the bed. As Black drifted off to sleep, whiffs of cat gas rolling over him like waves of pungent surf, an image of Sylvia played in his imagination, and for the first time in weeks he felt homesick for his old, uneventful life.

  Chapter 23

  Black spent Sunday with Sylvia ambling by the water’s edge while they exchanged stories about Switzerland and life on a reality TV show. They checked into a motel near the beach after an early dinner and spent four hours in each other’s arms before Black’s curfew pulled him back into his chaotic make-believe world of round-the-clock filming and arrested development.

  The next two weeks went by quickly, with another vapid team activity out of the way before hearing about their fourth musical competition: a charity event in Northern California, near the wine country. For that concert they would be only one of the draws, with several major acts playing to raise money for Native American scholarships. It was already sold out, limited to a thousand lucky attendees in general admission, with an additional ten dinner tables in a VIP area running five hundred dollars a seat.

  Last Call drew Wilson Pickett’s “Mustang Sally” as their song and spent the week making it their own. Christina’s vocals shined on it, and by the time they loaded onto the bus for the eight-hour drive north, everyone in the band was pumped. Rooster would fly in, as would Holly, David, and the judges. The plan was to arrive, have an early dinner while the headline bands played, and then close the concert with the four performances by the Rock of Ages contenders.

  Black dozed most of the way, the luxury coach’s suspension softening the ride as it droned toward San Francisco. The concert location turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by redwood forest, with a newly constructed lodge boasting twenty guest rooms on the perimeter and the stage erected in the center of a large clearing. It was three o’clock when he stepped off the bus and stretched. Lunch in San Jose sat like a lead brick in his stomach, and the sun felt good on his skin as he waited for Sarah to arrive and tell them what to do.

  He counted fifteen semi-rigs parked near the stage, along with a bank of industrial generators to supply power. The audience wouldn’t be allowed on the grounds until five, with the concert starting at six and ending at nine with the Rock of Ages performances. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what the darkened area would look like, under the stars with a thousand people, when a voice like nails on a chalkboard called out from behind him.

  “Artemus! You’re here!”

  Black’s stomach did a flip as he turned slowly. His parents, Spring and Chakra, approached wearing their usual tie-dyed hippy outfits, Spring with flowers in her gray hair.

  �
�Mom. Dad. What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice several pitches higher than normal.

  “I thought you knew! This is our retreat. Remember we told you we were going to buy it? What do you think? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And it’s Spring, not Mom.”

  “You own this?”

  “That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

  “How did the show wind up choosing this, of all places…?”

  “Nina put the producer in touch with us. She’s a doll. She’s supposed to be here in a few hours.” Spring looked him up and down. “Have you put on a few pounds, Artemus?”

  “No, it must be this outfit. And everybody calls me Black. Just Black.”

  “It’s not really your color, is it?”

  “Nice to see you,” Black lied.

  Sarah, who was standing by the bus, clapped her hands together and called for everyone’s attention. Black excused himself and went to her, grateful for the reprieve. He loved his parents, but it was an adoration he preferred to appreciate at a distance – the greater the better.

  Sarah gave a typically efficient orientation. They’d be staying in the lodge overnight, two to a room, and dinner would be in the main building – a towering A-frame next to the guest facility. Sound check would be in two hours, at 4:00, with each group allocated fifteen minutes to get familiar with the setup. The two headliner acts would each get an hour. As she was speaking, a squeal of feedback shrieked from the tower of speakers on both sides of the stage.

  The band members followed her to the rooms as Black returned to his parents.

  “This is quite a spread. It’s…bigger than I thought it would be. How many acres is it?” he asked.

  His mother looked at his dad, who had a typically tuned-out expression on his face, his eyes veiled behind a pair of cheap sunglasses. “Oh, I can never remember. Do you know, Chakra?” she asked.

  “Not really. Something like…twenty, maybe? Or two hundred. Whatever the number, it’s got a two in it, I’m pretty sure.”

  Black bit back his annoyed response. “Wow. And what are you doing with it? Besides the concert, I mean?”

  “We have retreats here,” Spring said. “We just started a few weeks ago, and we’re already booked up for most of the year. Meditation. Yoga. Drum circles, modern dance and movement…whatever interests us. There’s a whole roster of guest speakers and instructors scheduled. And of course, corporate events. You’d be surprised at how many big companies want to send their managers somewhere to get in touch with their spirit guides in a peaceful environment.”

  “Nothing would surprise me,” Black agreed. The irony was lost on his parents.

  “Well, honey, it’s just so good to see you. And it’s so exciting that you’re back in the music thing. You always seemed to like that.”

  “It’s a culture shock after being out for twenty years.”

  “Has it been that long? Where does the time go?”

  A blare of guitar sounded from the stage, followed by the beginning of the drum check, starting with the kick. The thudding sounded like the gods themselves were hammering on an anvil, each boom more explosive than the last, which thankfully cut short their discussion.

  “All right. Well, nice to see you. I’ve got to get to my room and get ready for the show. I’ll see you after, okay?” he yelled as both his parents held their fingers in their ears. His mother nodded, and he seized the opportunity to make his escape.

  Ed waved to him from the doorway of an upstairs room, and Black mounted the steps to join him, toting the Gretsch. The drum check ended and the bass guitar began playing as Black set the guitar case down inside the simple room and eyed the narrow beds.

  “Not exactly the mansion, is it?” Ed said.

  “I’ve seen surfboards wider than that.”

  “Hey, they may not be wide, but at least they’re uncomfortable,” Ed said, bouncing on the one nearest the bathroom. “Who were you talking to?”

  “It’s a long story. My parents.”

  Ed’s eyes widened. “Whoa. That’s cool. They came all the way out to see you? They live around here?”

  “Sort of.”

  “My parents don’t even watch the show. I haven’t talked to them in forever. They hate me being a musician. They’re both schoolteachers. Total tight-asses.”

  “When you’re rich and famous, it won’t matter much.”

  “That seems a long way away. Or it did until you started playing with us.”

  They approached the stage at 4:00 and watched as Bend in the Creek did a blistering version of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive”. Last Call was up next, and they deliberately kept their playing low key, not wanting to give the competition any hint of what they were up against – on Black’s advice. When they finished, Black glanced at the round tables set up around the judges’ pods, where a hundred privileged diners would enjoy the show untroubled by the throng on the other side of the barricades. Black approached Sarah, who was standing by the monitor board, and pointed to an adjacent area with folding chairs.

  “Who’s that for?”

  “Oh, the Native Americans. They’re bussing in a bunch from Southern California.”

  “They don’t get tables?”

  Sarah smiled. “They didn’t pay five Benjamins apiece to be here, did they?”

  “Well, we did sort of take their whole country away.”

  She shrugged. “Those are padded folding chairs. Could be worse.”

  Sarah turned back to the soundman, the same from the prior show. Black nodded at him, and he returned the gesture, his face impassive.

  Dinner was a variety of organic dishes and curries prepared by a rotund chef, served by a variety of sixties throwbacks typical of those his parents surrounded themselves with. Black leaned in to Christina as a waitress set a plate of unidentifiable sludge in front of him and whispered, “I haven’t seen this much underarm hair in a long time.”

  “And that’s just the women.” She smiled. “Ed tells me your parents are here? You have to introduce me.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”

  “Imagine the worst thing ever, cube it, and that’s not even close.”

  “Everyone feels that way about their parents. I bet they’re cute.”

  “The way a pit viper’s cute.”

  “Well, I still want to meet them after we win tonight.”

  “Which we will.” He gave her a high five.

  “I know. Although Menudo over there sounded pretty good at rehearsal,” she said, indicating On Top with a nod of her head.

  Black made a face. “We’ve got the strength of ten boy bands.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve got shiny pants and dance moves.”

  “Good point.”

  After dinner the bands went their separate ways. The field was packed with concert-goers waiting in anticipation of the first headliner. When the first band took the stage, guitars held aloft, the clearing broke out in cheers, and then the first thundering riff of the group’s signature tune thundered from the speakers while the lead singer let loose a sustained shriek that could have broken glass.

  Black watched from his position backstage, noting that the monitor system seemed to be working flawlessly. He caught a glimpse of the VIP tables filled with well-fed Silicon Valley CEOs and Napa winemakers drinking champagne and enjoying the show next to the Native American contingent, who sat drinking beer with unreadable expressions as they watched the band gyrate and bop. For a brief moment Black was struck by the absurdity, but he decided not to let it bother him – he had more important matters to occupy his limited mental bandwidth.

  There was a brief intermission between the first band and the second: one of the most beloved country rock groups from the seventies, still going strong with its geriatric members the worse for wear from their epic battles with the bottle and drugs. When it opened its set with a song that had been a number one hit in 1976, the genteel crowd went wild, and even the bu
ssed-in tribe seemed to be enjoying it.

  Then it was time for the contest. Holly and David had appeared in a rented black SUV an hour before the camera crews started filming, and Black watched as three Humvee limousines rolled down the long dirt drive toward the backstage area. Nina emerged from the lead car accompanied by Simon and a curvy platinum blonde half his age, and Black considered again how much he’d missed in life by not being a record mogul. Nina cheek-kissed the members of the legendary band who had just finished their set, obviously friends. Black noticed none had given him even a second glance.

  Last Call had drawn third slot, with Bend in the Creek opening, followed by Strobe. On Top got the final position, which was fine by Black. Following Last Call’s performance would be a tough act if things went as they had in rehearsals.

  Bend in the Creek delivered a scorching rendition of Falco’s “Der Kommissar”, which surprised Black given its origins, but the country-infused approach actually worked, and Black wasn’t shocked by the two tens and a nine awarded by the panel. Strobe did its usual stand-offish but polished techno rendition of Robert Palmer’s “Simply Irresistible”, which garnered nines across the board, and then it was Last Call’s turn at bat. Peter’s bass rumbled like a chained dog and Black’s guitar wailed distorted torture for several seconds before fading off and cleaning up, cutting into the main chords as Christina’s voice transfixed the crowd. By the final chorus of “Mustang Sally”, the audience was singing along and cheering, and it looked like a clean win, barring the unexpected from On Top. Two tens and a nine tied them with Bend in the Creek for the night.

  They bounded off stage, adrenaline coursing through their systems, and Rooster high-fived everyone while woo-hooing and slapping them on the back.