I had just decided to give up and move on to the second rave in my hunt when there was a commotion near the exit and someone started moving through the crowd. I just caught the top of the head of a short individual making their way to the improvised stage. He was shrouded in an oversize black hoodie. I grinned, that was Scratch, he hasn't changed his look in the years I have been absent.
The guy took to the stage and thrust his chest toward the other DJ, making a menacing lunge. The other guy grabbed a mic. “Step off dude, this is my throng.”
Scratch wordlessly shook his head and pulled some stuff out of his pack and stood by one of the turntables and motioned toward the other one. The other DJ said with a ton of artistic flair, “Oh, so you gonna' do me like that? This is some fresh shit I got here.” He turned to the crowd as he stepped to the other turntable. They both were hooking their mp3 players to the sound boards. The first DJ turned to the crowd. “This shit here is legendary, Scratch is about to go down in mediocrity? Y'all ready for his beat-down?”
The crowd went insane. The guy held a hand to his ear in Scratch's direction. “What's that? Nothing to say?” He bobbed his head like he was laughing and continued, “I thought not. Eat my beat Scratchy ass.”
Then an epic DJ battle ensued. I had to hand it to the first guy, his new mix was much better than the pedestrian stuff he was peddling earlier. But Scratch has this way, I can't explain. The man feels the music, puts himself inside it, makes you feel it the way he does and accomplished it without ever uttering a syllable. I often wondered if he were mute and maybe this is how he expressed himself.
But the most amazing thing he did was to hunt down amazing talents in the underground music scene. The alternative music he could dig up was a step above everyone else. Almost like he knew exactly which bands had that magic it took to make it in the music industry.
And it showed tonight, in his mix, there were at least three bands I wanted to know more about and one I'd probably like to sign at Harmony London. It was obvious by the crowd's reaction that I wasn't the only one who felt that way. The went insane for Scratch.
The other DJ was obviously out of his depth and extremely aggravated when the battle was over. Scratch just made an ushering motion with his hand and the other man stepped off the stage to the cheering of the crowd.
Scratch held up one of his small hands and the crowd went deathly silent. He commanded his audience like mother did in the videos I have seen of her in concert. Then he dropped his hand and slammed his head to the beat of a new track he started up.
Everyone started dancing. The party has really started now! I blinked at the song that was playing. It was brilliant! I pushed through the crowd to get up to the stage. I got up to it and looked up at the man. He was dancing to the music with virtually no movement, the economy of motion was intriguing, it was like he were restraining himself. I looked up and tried to get his attention. Finally, he looked down and all that subtle motion of his body stopped.
I couldn't make out his face in the shadows of the oversized black hood, but he just stood stock still. I yelled out, “Hey Scratch. I need to talk to you! Business!”
He stayed motionless for a couple more seconds then was suddenly in motion. Stuffing his things into his... purple backpack? The music stopped as he leapt off the stage and started pushing through a complaining crowd to the exit. I was in hot pursuit as I realized his shoes didn't match.
My eyes snapped wider at my realization of who it was as I got out to the alley. Scratch was thirty feet down the alley and walking fast. My pickpocket was slapping her head and snapping out, “No you're wrong. She can't be here.” She grumbled something and snapped again, “She isn't real.”
I caught up with her and walked backwards in front of her as I said, “Scratch. I need to talk with you.”
She pulled her hood back and ran both of her hands through her long hair, pulling it back frantically as she chanted, “You're not real. You're not real.” As she dodged around me in a quick walk.
I hustled up beside her, walking double-time, my chest was heavy with concern. This woman wasn't right. I said, “I'm as real as you. Are you ok?” Then I added, “My name is June. June Harris-West.”
She stopped dead and swung toward me and she started saying, “You're not r... there it is again, the music. It's playing in your eyes.” I had stopped breathing when our eyes met. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. And what I saw was the most complex person I had ever laid eyes on.
There was so much pain in those eyes, confusion, longing, intelligence, humor, and... terror. I reached out tentatively and laid a hand gently on her arm. This seemed to shock her as she yanked away and looked at my hand then her arm. She was talking mostly to herself. “You... touched me... but you're not real. But the others, they never touch me.” She slapped the side of her head roughly.
Then she looked into my eyes again and this time she smiled a little and asked with much more clarity in her eyes and even some mischief, “You're real? With those eyes?” I nodded and she smiled. Holy mother of all platypus queens! My legs felt like they were suddenly made of rubber and butterflies were threatening to rip out of my stomach. Wow! Nobody has ever done that to me with just a look.
She continued, “You're real and in the park, I took your...” She got a silly tooth grin on her face and said, “Ooops.” I couldn't stop my matching grin. Then her smile soured as her eyes darted around as if she were a cornered fox. “They sent you didn't they? You're tuning me in? They're watching!”
She looked like a caged squirrel. I reached out again and laid my hand on her arm again, shaking my head. I replied softly as we started walking somewhere, “No. I'm not. Who is they?”
I gave her a reassuring smile. She calmed a bit and shrugged. “I don't know. Them! They are always out to get us. Always watching.”
Then she squinted her eyes and asked in a hesitant manner, like I was trying to deceive her. “If you're real, then how is the music playing in your eyes?” Then she started ignoring me when I tried speaking with her, but she didn't respond. Instead, she started singing to herself as we walked briskly a few blocks and ducked into an alley.
I was asking where she was going when she pulled some corrugated steel siding aside on a derelict auto shop building. She unshouldered her backpack and started pulling off the black hoodie as we walked toward the light in a glass walled office in the abandoned space.
We walked in and there was a young girl, possibly thirteen or fourteen sitting cross-legged on a pile of sleeping bags and blankets. A kerosene lantern sat nearby illuminating the space. She was writing on some manila envelopes.
She was rail thin, a little undernourished, but in decent clothing and was clean. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her features looked eerily similar to Scratch's. They had to be siblings.
She turned to look up at us and paused a second then smiled at Scratch, “Hi Vanessa. Who's your friend?” Ah! Vanessa!
Vanessa froze and stared at the younger version of herself and then back at me before looking at her again and asking in a strained voice, “You... you can see her too Fran?”
Fran hopped to her feet with a look of concern on her face and pulled her into a hug. She said in a comforting voice, “Yes, I can see her sis. She's real.” The older sister seemed to convulse a few times as tears streamed down her face.
They broke apart and both turned toward me. Vanessa wiped the tears from her face and said, “Well then. Apparently this is June, June Harris-West, then. June, this is my baby sister Francine.”
The young one reached out a hand to shake mine as she scrunched up her face in a cute manner and said absently, “June Harr...” Her eyes flew wide and covered her mouth in surprise. “Oh my!” She reached down and shuffled through the envelopes and pulled one out and handed to me. “I suppose you're here for this then.”
I looked at the envelope that had my address on it and like a gajillion stamps, then at the two girls
. They both had shame on their faces. I opened the envelope, it had some heft to it and found my wallet. I looked inside and everything was there except my cash.
Fran said with her head lowered, “It's all there... well except your money. But you look rich. She only steals from well off looking people.”
I was more confused than ever now as I looked at them then my wallet as I slid it into my purse. “What is...?”
Fran shrugged and said as Vanessa looked away, “We hate doing it, but we need the money for Vannie's drugs. She's been without them too long, it's getting bad. They won't give them to her without reassessing her first, it all costs money.” Then she said brightly, “We send all the wallets back!”
I looked at the ladies then took a deep breath. My god. They were living on the streets and stealing to get the drugs the woman obviously was in need of? I think my heart broke at that moment. I felt a pain in my chest I never had in my life. It was a real, actual, and physical pain. I placed a hand on my chest. “Is it ok if I sit?” They both nodded and we all sat on the bunch of blankets and sleeping bags.
I smiled at the young one, hmmm, she needs a nickname. “No Small Fry, I actually came to offer your sister a job.”
The shocked and confused look on both of their faces was priceless.
Chapter 5 – Job Offer
They both just sat blinking at me and I had to chuckle. It was beyond adorable, the similar look on their faces. I smiled and explained, “As you know, I'm June Harris-West. I'm setting up a recording studio in London in an attempt to discover fresh talent in the underground music scene there.”
I sat back to rest my back against the wall as I spread my hands in front of me as I explained. “I need good people to staff it. Only the best. I have most of the people I need but I don't have any decent scouts that have a true ear for music, and can envision who has the chops to really leave a mark on the music industry.”
Vanessa tilted her head, squinting her eyes warily. “And what does that have to do with me?”
I crinkled my nose and gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Well, I came to New York to hunt down this mysterious DJ that dominated the underground scene back when I was going to college here. This guy never spoke and always wore a hoodie to hide his face. He was a genius at mixing and only used the freshest sounds that stood out above the rest. The guy's name was Scratch.”
Small Fry was smiling ear to ear as I said Scratch. She couldn't hide the excitement on her face. Vanessa, however, narrowed her eyes, I'm sure, looking for my angle. I sighed at that and continued, “I came in search of Scratch to head up my scouting efforts at London Harmony. My contacts here told me that Scratch hadn't lost his golden touch. Color me shocked when I discovered that not only was Scratch a woman, but a hot pickpocket too.”
Fran giggled at her sister's obvious embarrassment and discomfort. I took a pen and paper from my purse and wrote down some numbers. I had a little fun with the zeroes. Then handed it to Vanessa who stared down at it blankly. Fran pulled her arm over so she could read the numbers.
I said, “That first number is the signing bonus should you decide to come work with me. The second is a moving stipend to relocate to London. The third is your salary. Then, of course, there will be bonuses for every artist we sign.”
Vanessa just locked her crystal blue eyes on me as she handed the paper back, and said hoarsely but forcefully, “You don't want me, I'm... not right...” She hit the side of her head violently twice.
I winced and said quickly, “We can get you some help.”
She almost hissed out, “I don't need your help! You're with them aren't you?” Then she stormed out of the office and stalked toward some stairs, apparently arguing with someone as she went. Then she yelled back to Fran, “Don't you have homework to do?”
I started to stand to follow, but a small hand on my arm stopped me. I looked over and Fran just shook her head once, a shadow clouding her eyes and she said quietly. “No. Let her go. She needs to... come back to herself. She'll be back.”
I looked back to where her older sister had disappeared up the metal grate stairs. Then I looked at Small Fry. “What... what's wrong with her?”
She had a look somewhere between exhaustion and anger. She snapped, “She's fine! It isn't her fault!” But then she calmed down a bit and then exhaled and seemed to deflate. “Sorry. I just don't like people looking down on her, thinking she's broken.”
I nodded and said wistfully, “I understand, I have a sister too. I didn't mean to imply anything. I want... I want to help if I can.”
She looked at me then back to where her sister went. Then she wrapped her arms around herself and sank away from me, resting herself against an old metal desk. “You just want her to make money for you.”
I shook my head slowly. “On the professional end, yes. On a personal and emotional end, I can see the specter hanging over her and I truly want to help her. There's... something about her... I... I don't know, I sound stupid babbling like this.”
She relaxed a bit then just shrugged. “When she was my age, she started talking to people who weren't there and she was always fidgety thinking people were out to get her. Our mom wasn't too stable herself and was strung out or drunk more often than not. We wound up in the foster care system. The couple we were put with brought Van in to get her unorthodox behavior checked out as it got worse.”
She seemed to sink down a bit. “She was diagnosed with severe paranoid schizophrenia, and had a couple psychotic episodes, but she never hurt me. They separated us and put her on anti-psychotics and anti-depressants. All through it she found ways to visit with me and talk to me. When she became eighteen, she got legal guardianship of me and pulled me out of the system. Vannie is awesome!”
Then she tilted her head and her eyes got more distant. “But she lost her job when this repair shop went out of business. We couldn't make ends meet and wound up losing the apartment. We've been living here ever since. She makes sure I go to school, and she uses all our money for clothes and food for me.”
Then her voice hardened, “One day after I graduate, I'll get a good job somewhere and I'll take care of her. She's the best person I know, there's nobody stronger. I don't care about the hallucinations or the voices she thinks she hears. Once we get her back on her meds, she'll be better, really, I swear.” God, my eyes are watering up.
Then she looked around and looked at her watch. “It's almost midnight, I'm not really supposed to be up this late on a school night. I was just staying up to make sure she got home ok.”
That was her subtle way of telling me she didn't want to talk anymore. I looked around at what she called 'home.' Then just smiled and nodded to her and stood. She slid under the blankets and I said, “Good night Small Fry. I hope to talk again soon.”
She grunted and turned down the lamp. I smiled and then walked quietly out of the office. I stopped dead in my tracks. The streetlights from outside, streaming in from the high windows at the roof line, cast eerie shadows on the face of an angel sitting on the stairs against the wall. She was just staring at me, studying me. She stood and started up the stairs, not breaking eye contact. I got the impression she wanted me to follow, so I quickly did.
I had to power walk to keep up with her as she made her way to the back of the building's roof. She silently sat down on a sleeping bag facing the alley between the auto shop and what appeared to be an old brick produce warehouse.
She leaned her back on a duct which came up onto the roof to plunge back through it about ten feet later. Her eyes flicked to me then the sleeping bag beside her. She just said, “Thursday night.”
I sat hesitantly, she was making a point of not looking at me. I said, “Yes it is. I just wanted to...”
She held up a finger to stop me. She looked at the time on her iPod as she said in a hushed tone, “It's almost midnight!” There was excitement in her voice. I didn't know what to say so I just nodded like an idiot. Then she turned and our eyes met again.
&nb
sp; I don't know how long we sat there like that. It felt so comfortable, so exciting, so... right? I realized I wasn't breathing and exhaled. Then I sucked in a quick breath as I felt her hand in mine and she turned away from me and motioned her head toward the end of the alley and a two story brick wall from the back of another building blocked it off. She repeated, “It's Thursday night.” In a whisper that was barely there.
I swallowed and tried to slow down my heart-rate as I turned to look. There was nothing for a few seconds, then a boy who looked no more than nineteen or twenty looked over the edge of the roof on the two story building. I couldn't see well in the dark, but the city lights dimly illuminated him, he looked to be a street person like Vanessa.
He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled quickly but shrilly. Moments later two other figures popped up beside him and threw something over the edge of the roof. It unraveled and hung down against the wall. It looked to be some white sheets that were sewn together.
I started hearing voices as they straightened the sheets, and I leaned forward and looked down into the alley. There were dozens people showing up with lawn-chairs or sections of cardboard to sit on. I leaned back against the duct-work and looked at the woman who brought me up here, but her eyes were locked on the sheets hanging off the other building.
The bells of a nearby church chimed once, signaling midnight, and I heard a loud click from the now silent alley and light flickered onto the sheets. I could hear an old film projector chattering as a countdown appeared on the wall. They were all here to watch a movie in an alley? I glanced at my companion and a huge smile bloomed on her face as The Sound of Music started on that makeshift screen. Damn that smile is adorable.
Her grip tightened on my hand. So there I sat, with this confusing woman, on a rooftop, watching an old musical. It struck me as I looked down at our hands as she slowly laced our fingers, that there was nowhere on Earth that I would rather have been at that particular moment in time. I relaxed and laid back against the duct and marveled at the look of peace and contentment on that woman's face during each song. I let go of all the stress in my life just then, and lived in that moment.
June Page 4
