Memphis Black

by Mj Fields

  “Are you serious?” he gasps.

  Finn pats him on the back and points. “A fucking legend has returned to stage; do you think he’s kidding?”

  “Great set, gentleman,” T, the drummer for Burning Souls, says as he pats my back while walking by. “Let’s hit this shit, Hines,” he yells back.

  “That his wife?” River asks as we all stand, watching Maddox pull a blonde chick hard against him.

  “Yeah, fucking hot, too.” I shake my head. “But why the hell get bogged down at the beginning of your career, then walk away?”

  “Everyone has a story, man,” Finn says. “Google it. Unreal.”

  River snickers. “I’d bang her like a fucking bass.”

  Maddox Hines’s head snaps right, and he steps back, but his wife catches his hand and shakes her head.

  “Sweetness,” he growls.

  “Get out there and show me you haven’t lost it.” She blushes.

  He smirks. “You know I haven’t.”

  Then she whispers something in his ear, and his eyebrows shoot up.

  “It’s on.” He pulls back and then walks at us. “Say one thing about her, and I’ll hear it, even on that stage. I will—”

  “Maddox.” His wife is next to him instantly.

  “Mine,” he growls at us before kissing her, then walking on stage.

  “Hello, New Jersey!” Maddox yells to the screaming crowd. “This is one hell of a crowd to end the Burning Souls US tour. Thanks for coming out tonight! Feels like déjà vu. It was only three years ago I stood here on this very stage at Bader Field, doing the same damn thing: ending one hell of a tour!”

  The crowd screams. They love it.

  “Did you miss me? Of course you did. I missed you, too!”

  “Sorry about that.” His wife smiles at us, then quickly walks to a stool that is obviously purposely set just off stage and sits.

  A dark-haired chick almost skips past us to her side, and they hug then begin singing.

  I notice Maddox look at her, and apparently, he likes that her friend is present. I kind of like it, too. She has a nice, round ass.

  “Squats.” I nod.

  “Definitely.” Finn, River, Billy, and Sleazy laugh.

  Being backstage, watching the Burning Souls, is different than being on stage myself. There is electricity, a current surging invisibly in the air, connecting everyone together, including us. I felt that same electricity when I went to my first concert as a kid. Hell, I was only, like, ten. Pearl Jam.

  The crowd didn’t come to see us; they came to see them. They got us as a little added bonus.

  As Burning Souls play their asses off, I’m having fun, even singing along. I know their sets just like I know my own. Don’t get me wrong, Steel Total Destruction is better. Well, okay, maybe different is a better choice of words.

  “I wanna end tonight with a song that changed my life, a song I hope will change yours, too. When you find that one person who can make you want to spend the rest of your life with them, hold on to them. When you feel that pull, that force that is greater than you, embrace it, follow it. Life changing events can happen when you finally let someone in.”

  “Fucking pussy whipped,” I mumble.

  “Did you see his wife? I’d let that pussy whip me.” River grabs his dick. “Any fucking day. Her and that little piece next to her.”

  “To each their own man,” Finn says as Maddox Hines begins to sing “Stained.”

  Waves crash like thunder.

  I run.

  Inside my mind,

  I run.

  The sea’s grand reflection opens the warmth,

  Undone, undone,

  Reflecting the love, my soul.

  Burning inside my soul,

  The sea whispers softly, no longer hide.

  Don’t hide, don’t hide, don’t hide, don’t hide.

  Washed away by the sea’s calm,

  Nurtured by the wind, the sound of her song.

  The breeze gently holds me high.

  The weight’s lifted up to the sky

  Elevated, raised, floating up high.

  What remains is a stain, just a stain, a stain.

  Lips touching softly on mine, hidden desperations,

  An island of questions, my pride.

  My pride, my pride, my pride.

  The phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out to see it’s my sister Madison, so I push ignore. Hell, I wish I had that ability growing up.

  Twenty seconds later, it goes off again.

  911, call me now

  I walk away to call her back, expecting the worst.

  “Memphis,” she whispers.

  “Mads, what’s going on? Mom and Dad—”

  “They’re fine. It’s Tally.”

  “Did they get the flowers I sent to the service?”

  “Her dad died, like, two months ago.”

  “So what’s the problem, Mads?”

  “I want to bring her with me to—”

  “Oh, hell no.” I laugh. “Can you even imagine her hanging out with the band?”

  “She needs to get away. If she can’t come, then I’m not coming, either,” she huffs the threat.

  “All right then. See you next—”

  “Memphis!” she screams in the phone.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mads, fine. Whatever. Just don’t expect me to hang out with her.” She starts to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. “I’m at my last show, Mads. Chat in a couple days.”

  I shove my phone back in my pocket just in time to hear the last chorus.

  ***

  Last night, we actually crashed at our place for the first time in as long as I can remember. It was actually nice to dive into my bed—alone—and sleep.

  Sleep? Hell, is it possible? A one year’s tour has ended, a year of traveling across country, spreading STD everywhere. It was a fucking dream come true. Record sales were good, and we were getting airtime on local radio shows and satellite radio.

  We rode coattails. It’s never been my style, but the opportunity to do so was sick. So, last night, as I lay in my king size bed, butt-ass naked with the fan blowing across my freshly showered body, I couldn’t stop the shit-ass grin from spreading across my face.

  I cannot believe it. I’m a fucking rock star, bitches!

  Now, we sit back at headquarters, Forever Four, and wait for Xavier and Nickie D. For once, we’re on time, and they are late.

  “I can’t wait to get away. Need some inspiration,” Finn says as he links his hands behind his head.

  “And a razor.” River smirks.

  “Fuck that,” Finn grumbles, running his hands over his beard.

  “Lumber-sexual,” Billy says, and we all look at him like he’s lost it. “Read it somewhere.”

  The door opens, and X-man walks in with Nickie D behind him.

  “You’re late,” I say smugly.

  “We were on an important call,” Xavier says as he sits down with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You ready to do this without Burning Souls?”

  “Fuck yes—”

  “After a vacation, I hope,” Billy interrupts. Again, we look at him like he has three fucking heads. “Never wanted in to start.”

  “You like it, and you know it, Billy-boy. Stop acting like this isn’t the greatest fucking thing you’ve ever done in your life.” I laugh, and he looks at me. “Come on, man, tickling the ivory then whatever piece of ass you want after.”

  “I am a pianist,” he states blankly, “not a rock star.”

  We all look up as Taelyn Steel slides in and shuts the door behind her. “You love it, and you know it, Billy.”

  “Okay, bottom line”—Xavier stands up—“opening for Burning Souls was an amazing opportunity for Steel Total Destruction.” He tries to look annoyed whenever he says the band’s name, but I know better—hell, we all do. X-man is amused as hell by the band’s name. “But headlining your own tour is insane. It’s the difference between twenty-
five K a show, which you get eighty percent of, split between four of you after expenses: gas, bus rental, crew, hotels, meals, and whatever incidentals you have. You each probably made seventy K for the year—”

  “That’s a shit load of money.” River rubs his hands together, and all I can think is, how much of that shit will you spend on candy?

  “It’s really good.” Xavier nods. “But do you want more?”

  “Who doesn’t want more? Hell, show me the dough, bro.” I laugh.

  Instantly, everyone is in hell-yes-we-do mode.

  “Irish,”-Xavier’s nickname for Taelyn-. “Nickie, and I have lined up a fifteen city tour. The lowest paying gig is two hundred K; highest is two hundred fifty K. That means three million dollars. A million will—”

  “What the hell did you just say?” River gasps.

  “Fifteen city tour,” Xavier says, looking at him.

  Finn looks at him suspiciously. “No, man, after that. The money.”

  “Three mil.” Nickie D smirks. “That’s saying no one backs out. Contracts are on their way as we speak.”

  “Fifteen percent stays here,” Xavier interjects. “Expect twenty percent to be used for expenses. Merchandise will be split fifty-fifty after expenses. My guess is you’ll each make about five hundred K after all is said and done.”

  “Holy fuck! Holy motherfucking fuck!” River says what we are all thinking.

  “If that gets you excited, man, understand that isn’t shit compared to what record sales can be if you get your asses writing.” Xavier looks at River. “And stay fucking sober.”

  “Like you did for Burning Souls tour,” Taelyn interjects, making a point to her husband about River’s ability to keep his shit together for the tour.

  “I know you’re all heading down to vacay in Miami for a while, but you need to be writing music, too, not just getting laid. You catch me?” Nicki D says sternly. “The more we have out, the better sales are, and the better sales—”

  “More money, baby.” I high-five Nickie.

  “More money.” He grins.

  My father passed away from a heart attack four month ago. In that time, I have watched Mom, the grieving minister’s wife, go from singing his praises in front of the congregation he led for more than fifteen years before the Lord Jesus Christ took him home, to a sobbing mess who is trying to figure out what to do next when she thinks I am asleep.

  After his death, I spent spring break helping her pack up the parsonage, where we had lived there my entire youth. His church family adored him and whenever there was talk about moving us to another church, they fought to keep him here

  “No, honey, that belongs to the church,” she would say as she took pots and pans out of the boxes I was packing them in. Then the same was said for the knives, the plates, the forks, even the furniture.

  “This is all you have?” I asked, as I looked at the seven boxes that contained fifteen years of personal property collected between her and my father.

  She smiles. “That’s more than I’ll need.”

  Once in the tiny, furnished apartment, we put away those seven boxes, and she was right. In a five hundred square-foot apartment, she would not be able to fit much more.

  Today, I look around my side of the empty, shared dorm room. One year under my belt at Julliard was much more than I had ever dreamed or prayed for. One year of instruction in classical ballet, I think as I open the dresser drawers one more time to make sure I haven’t left anything more behind.

  I won’t be coming back.

  I feel tears prick my eyes, and I push them back. I don’t want my mother to see that this is bothersome to me. She has already offered to pay next year’s tuition with the money from my father’s very small life insurance policy he had from working at the church. However, I refused because that is all she has. That and a social security check that would just barely pay for the rented one bedroom apartment she just moved into and her health insurance premium.

  I sit on the bed, looking out the window of Meredith Willson Residence Hall and onto the rooftop of the connecting building that is the school I love so much. Then I stand up and walk to the door when I hear a knock. It’s my mother; I know it is. I hold my head against the cool, metal frame and take in a deep breath as I try to brace myself for what may come.

  I open the door to find she is spreading fake sunshine through a smile. Her graying hair is piled in a perfect bun on top of her head, and she is dressed in an ankle length skirt and long sleeve, button up in May, perfectly proper.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, giving her a hug that I know she needs.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Her voice hitches, and I hug her tighter.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Tally. All of it. I—”

  “Mom.” I give her back the sunshine as I throw my backpack over my shoulders and grab my large, wheeled suitcases. “I had a fantastic year. It just wasn’t in the plans.”

  “God has big things in store for you,” she says, as she grabs the duffle that has all my dance gear in it.

  “I know, Mom,” I tell her as I hold the door open.

  We get to the KIA, and she gets in the driver’s seat.

  “You sure, Mom? I can drive.”

  “No, sweetheart, I have to do these things now.” She pauses and swallows down her emotions.

  “I really don’t mind,” I say as I load my bags in the tiny back seat.

  “I’m okay,” she says, and then the dam breaks.

  When I walk over and open the driver’s door, she gets out, and I slide in.

  “I’m sorry, Tally.” She grabs the small purse size packet of Kleenex and then blows her nose.

  “Don’t be, Mom. I understand.”

  The entire time we drive through the city, she has a white-knuckle grip on the oh-shiz handles: one on the dash and the other over the door. I am careful not to scare her too much, though. I know how she hates city driving. Heck, she hates driving period.

  Once we make it through the tunnel and head toward Jersey, she begins to relax a little.

  “I should really skip the walk. I should really stay home.”

  Mom is going on a weeklong Christian women’s retreat with some of the ladies at church. It’s supposed to bring her closer to God. I hope, when she gets close enough, she can ask Him why He took Dad and left her penniless.

  “The walk will do you good, Mom.”

  Sunshine, always spreading sunshine.

  “You can stay, you know. You don’t have to go with Madison and her family to Florida, sweetheart. It’s so hot there this time of year.”

  I swallow back the guilt I feel for the little white lie I told her. I am going to stay with Madison, but her parents will not be there. Madison and I still talk all the time, and I certainly can’t wait for a two-week vacation with her on the beach in south Florida. I need some healing time myself.

  I will definitely be entertained.

  After unpacking my bags from the car, Mom makes me a peanut butter and homemade strawberry rhubarb jelly sandwich—my favorite from childhood.

  She grabs the step stool and reaches above the cabinet for a coffee can and sets it in front of me. “There is four hundred dollars for you to—”

  “No, Mom, I have—”

  “There is four hundred dollars, Tally. I won’t take no for an answer. I want you to have fun, to be able to buy lunch or a pop when you’re on the beach, sunscreen, or whatever you need.”

  “You need this, Mom.” I try to push the can back toward her.

  “No. I need to do this for you, Tally. Let me.”

  ***

  I land at Miami International Airport at eleven p.m. with my bag over my shoulder and a carry-on in my hand. Madison’s flight lands just fifteen minutes after mine.

  Not needing to collect my bags from the carousel, I walk over and sit to wait. After half an hour, I look at the screen to see that her flight from South Bend Airport is delayed an hour.

  I look at my phone, seeing I still have
it set to airplane mode. Once I switch it, I see that I have several missed calls and texts from Madison.

  I redial her number and she answers. “What a bunch of fucking shit!”

  I laugh at her.

  “I just want to get out of this hell hole. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “It’s no problem, Madison. I’m fine.”

  “Like hell you are. I’m gonna text Memphis and—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you. We’re staying with the band.” She says it so nonchalantly it’s as if I wouldn’t be bothered by it. “You still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not mad, just wish I had known.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure what their schedule was, honestly.”

  “Honestly,” I say dryly, hoping she knows I am not buying it.

  “I was hoping we’d see them. Hell, last time I saw my brother was on stage. Come on, chin up, Tally. When’s the last time you saw Memphis?”

  I feel my face flush and am thankful no one sees my embarrassment. “A long time ago.”

  “Well, I am waiting for him to message me back. I asked him to go pick you up.”

  “NO! I can wait for you.”

  “Nonsense, Tally. Who the hell knows when the plane will take off? Neither of us wants you sleeping in the airport.”

  “Where are we staying?” I can’t believe I didn’t ask that before.

  “85 Palm Avenue, Miami Beach. Google it, Tally. We are living it up for two fucking weeks. Me, you, and let’s hope some hot, hot men in super tiny speedos that leave nothing to the imagination.”

  I laugh. “Gross.”

  “No, girlfriend. So very far from gross.”

  We spent the day on the beach, drinks in hand, nearly molested by hot-ass babes sporting dental floss. There was little left to the imagination, very little. I got head in the ocean, which was a first, and now I am pretty confident the two chicks who have been eager for my attention are on board with going back to the beach pad with me, just me.

  “You guys ready to head back?” I ask River, Finn, and Billy.