Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers

by Michael Scott Miller

  * * *

  In the early morning hours, two days after the Redeemers arrived in Los Angeles, they found themselves setting up their equipment right on Wilshire Boulevard, in front of the glass-lined walls of Sapphire Records.

  The day before, Bert had left a cryptic voicemail message for Edgar that the Redeemers marketing campaign was underway. It rankled him beyond anything imaginable to think that once again, Edgar’s whims would influence his fate. He would have liked nothing more than to climb all the way back up while Edgar watched jealously on the sidelines, having missed the opportunity of a lifetime. But Bert had no one else to reach out to, so his path and Edgar’s, at least for the moment, were hopelessly intertwined.

  The Redeemers busied themselves building a drum set, setting up wireless microphones, and removing instruments from cases. They were taking a chance, but they hoped that in a city with as many law enforcement opportunities as Los Angeles, the police wouldn’t bother them for playing music out on the sidewalk.

  Sure enough, the band performed without confrontation. They were met with smiles and nods from the passersby and no shortage of curious stares. Nearly an hour into it, Edgar arrived. He paused for a moment and appeared to be enjoying the sounds. A small smile formed on his lips as he looked from player to player until his gaze met Bert’s and the penny dropped. Edgar’s smile suddenly gave way to a long and profound glare. Then he pivoted and walked into the building.

  The band played for a while longer, until Bert called them to a halt at 9:00. “That should do it, boys,” he said, not mentioning the silent communication between Edgar and himself. “That was good exposure to the record company, and we probably ought to get going before we’re asked to move. Great set, everyone!”

  “So that’s it? That’s the plan?” asked Abe. “We’re just going to play in front of record companies and hope to attract attention?”

  “Well, yes and no,” Bert answered. “It’s worked before. Many a band has resorted to publicity stunts to grab the attention of a record label. It’s all about the exposure. Stick with me. I’ve got a plan that’s sure to get some attention.”

  “Yeah, until we end up at the courthouse,” muttered Abe.

  The next day, the band set up in Hancock Park, across the street from Sapphire, and played through the lunch hour. Bert noticed Edgar, who was accompanied by two colleagues as he passed along the park. Edgar’s eyes were riveted forward, but it was obvious to Bert from Edgar’s body language and his hurried gait that he damn well knew they were there.

  On Monday of the following week, Bert asked to be connected to Edgar’s voicemail. He then played the band’s adrenalin-infused “Finding the Way” into the phone until the beep came after a full minute signaling the automatic message cutoff.

  Perhaps Bert’s favorite stunt took place later that same day. Bert had Charlie go over to the outdoor parking lot Edgar used and slip the attendant twenty dollars to put the Redeemers’ CD into the car stereo of Edgar’s silver Audi A4. Bert wished he could have seen Edgar’s face when he turned the ignition key and the music began to play.

  It was the stunt pulled on the following day, however, that Edgar couldn’t ignore. Under the pretense of delivering musical equipment, Bert and the Redeemers managed to get past the building’s security and make their way to the top floor and out through an emergency exit onto the roof.

  With a light wind in their faces, hair blowing gently in the breeze, a bright sun beaming down on them, the Redeemers began playing their tunes against the backdrop of Los Angeles rooftops and high rises.

  As crazy as it seemed, to a man, the band members felt alive up there. There wasn’t a formal path to their musical success. Bert had done his best to warn them about that, but they all knew it anyway. They weren’t even sure whether the road down which Bert led them would lead to salvation or if they were just blindly following a dreamer. But at that moment, what they were doing was absolute, unadulterated fun. The musical energy flowed like blood through their veins, and it was hard for most of them to argue that what they were doing wasn’t better than the drudgery they had left behind in Northern California.

  The band members were just beginning to wonder how much attention they were attracting, which was the point, of course, when the steel rooftop door burst open and three security guards clad in brown uniforms stepped out.

  “Uh oh,” uttered Aaron as the music ground to a halt.

  “This is not good,” added Dave.

  The apparent leader of the guards spoke as his eyes moved from member to member, sizing up the band. “You boys are trespassing. How did you get up here?”

  Bert addressed him, but didn’t answer his question directly. “Sir, we didn’t mean any harm. We’re just getting some publicity for our band.”

  “So I imagined. You’re not the first band to pull this type of stunt.” He paused and looked at the other two guards and then back at Bert, who had stepped forward. “I’m sorry, but the police are on their way. Standard procedure. I’d suggest you start packing up your things.”

  “What’s going to happen then?” asked Charlie, more curious than concerned.

  “They’ll ask you some questions, escort you out, and probably issue a citation,” answered the lead guard.

  Just then, a few professionally dressed men and women came out onto the roof, including Edgar, who probably had taken no more than a few seconds to figure out what was going on once he heard that a band was up there.

  “The police are on the way, sir,” the security guard told him.

  Edgar groaned as he stepped onto the concrete surface and spotted Bert.

  The woman striding next to Edgar, dressed in a maroon suit and black heels, looked at him in surprise. “Do you know these guys?”

  Edgar rolled his eyes and nodded in aggravation. “I know one of them. He used to work here.”

  “So we meet again,” said Bert in mock surprise as Edgar and the others approached him. “We seem to keep crossing paths.”

  Edgar didn’t respond. Instead, he conferred quietly with the woman in maroon. He then spoke to Bert. “Let’s talk for a minute,” he said and gently led Bert by the arm away from the three distinct groups of people and over toward the edge of the roof.

  “You’re not going to push me off the building, are you?” Bert asked.

  “No. Too many witnesses,” Edgar answered. “Seriously, though, what do I need to do, Bert?” he entreated. “Do I need to get a restraining order for you? Should I just have you arrested now?”

  “You wouldn’t do that to your old pal, would you?” Bert responded. “You know we can’t afford a citation. Besides, we were just trying to get your attention, you know that. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sign us?”

  “Well you got my attention, all right. But there’s nothing I can do for you. You’ve got no following! I have a reputation here. I can’t just take a chance on some band because I used to work with their manager. Look,” he said pointing to the woman with whom he had come onto the roof. “Do you know who she is?”

  Bert shook his head no.

  “She’s my boss. She’s in charge of A&R for all of Sapphire Records. I happened to be in a meeting with her when I heard what was going on up here and put two and two together.”

  “Then she’d understand my proposal. I’m giving you the opportunity to sign us cheap. Once we’re really popular, we’ll be a lot more expensive.”

  Edgar laughed. “My god, Bert. Do you really believe your own sales pitches?”

  From the corner of his eye, Bert could see the others looking on as he and Edgar gestured wildly, mouthing words that were undoubtedly carried off in the wind before they could reach them.

  “I believe in the Redeemers, Edgar. That’s all I believe in. I’m asking you to give us some kind of chance.”

  Edgar looked up toward the sky and then around the rooftop as he thought silently. Then he looked Bert in the eye. “Okay, I’ll make you an offer, and it’s take it or leave it. I wo
n’t negotiate with you.”

  “Go on.”

  “My brother-in-law owns a club not too far from here on Santa Monica Boulevard. He has bands there every night, and he’s always looking for something new and fresh. I’m sure I could get you an audition, and if he likes you he would set you up with a regular schedule. In return, you have to, and I mean this, have to stop stalking me.”

  Bert gave him a look reflecting the inadequacy of the offer and started to respond, but Edgar cut him off.

  “That’s it, Bert. That’s the best I can do right now, and frankly, I think you’d be wise to take me up on it,” he said firmly.

  Bert had always considered himself an expert on reading people and knowing when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, as the song said. This was a time to fold ’em.

  “All right, Edgar,” he conceded. “I accept your offer and I thank you for going out on a limb for us with your brother-in-law.”

  “Well, it’s not really that big a risk. I don’t care for him much, to tell you the truth, but he and I keep it pleasant and help each other out for my wife’s benefit.”

  “Nonetheless, you have my thanks. Promise me you’ll come see us there sometime?” Bert said as the two men started walking back toward the others.

  Edgar laughed. “That’s one thing I always did like about you, Bert. You were never afraid to ask for more. I’ll try.”

  Edgar explained to security that they could call off the police and that Bert and the band would leave cooperatively. He and Bert made arrangements for Bert to contact Edgar’s brother-in-law, and then Edgar and his colleagues disappeared through the roof door. The security guards, however, stuck around until the Redeemers and all their equipment were fully out of the building.

  * * *

  It was quickly apparent after the Redeemers’ audition at The Crossroads that Edgar had borrowed a favor from his brother-in-law. The band had played for the club’s manager, Pete Wilson, who without so much as a telephone call afterward, immediately offered the Redeemers the opportunity to play Tuesday and Wednesday nights at the club.

  The Crossroads was a medium-size club with a long bar running along the left side. The bar area was long and narrow and separated from the entertainment side by a dark brick wall with four arched cutaways. Bert crossed to the elevated stage, which was set along the front wall, and looked out onto a beige tiled dance floor flanked by tables on both sides. More tables extended beyond the dance floor to the back of the building. The brick walls were minimally decorated, and the club gave off a homey feel. Bert would reserve judgment, though, until he saw it with people inside.

  Once Tuesday night arrived, it was evident that the club did not draw a great midweek crowd.

  “It’s a little quiet in here,” Charlie had said as the Redeemers set up their equipment on the first night.

  “Maybe it draws a late crowd,” suggested Aaron. The band was scheduled to go on at 9:00.

  But it didn’t draw a late crowd that night, the following night, or Tuesday or Wednesday night the following week. The club wasn’t empty, but at any point in time, open tables could be readily found and patrons could move freely around the bar area, sure indications that they weren’t packing them in.

  Meanwhile, Charlie found himself some new friends in Los Angeles. On the night of the second show at the club, he was drawn into a cluster of African-American men and women who were carrying on loudly at the bar. One of the men had waved Charlie over as the band exited the stage. He introduced himself as Eric.

  “Man, you guys are awesome! Where are you from?” Eric had asked as the others looked on.

  “We’re from the Bay Area,” answered Charlie with a smile and an extension of his hand. “We came down to L.A. to be discovered. How do you like our chances?”

  “Like them? I don’t see how you can miss!” Eric called to one of the others, “Hey, Leon, grab a beer for my friend Charlie here.”

  Leon obediently turned to the bartender to order the beverage while Eric made introductions. “Charlie, this is Serena, George, Alicia, Claire, Randall, and that’s Leon over there,” he said pointing to the bar. Leon waved.

  Charlie greeted each, noticing that they were a group that valued style. The men were all clad in handsome leather jackets over their lightweight sweaters or dress shirts, which were complemented by their neatly pressed slacks and leather shoes. The women’s outfits were uniformly snug, and each had obviously spent a fair amount of time getting their hair just so.

  Leon returned from the bar and handed Charlie the beer. Charlie shook his hand and thanked him.

  The group chatted together for awhile, asking Charlie about himself and the band. They enjoyed the stories about how the band had come together and how they ultimately ended up at The Crossroads that night.

  Bert listened distractedly as he watched the other Redeemers pack up their equipment. When they were done, Bert walked over.

  “Hey guys,” Charlie addressed the group, “let me introduce you to the founder and leader of the Redeemers. This is Bert Ingram.”

  Bert politely said hello to each, but he had an uneasy feeling. “Very nice to meet you all. Thanks for coming out to see us.” Then he turned to Charlie. “We’re heading out now. Are you coming?”

  Charlie started to answer, but Eric quickly leapt in. “Charlie, we’re heading out to another club after this, if you want to join us.”

  “I could stand to get out and see some of Los Angeles.” He looked at Bert. “You go ahead, Bert. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

  Bert uttered a forced good night to the group, and with a nod to Charlie, walked back to the band. He could feel a pull at his heart. Was it jealousy? No, Bert resolved. It wasn’t that. Well, maybe a little, but Bert’s instincts told him that this was the beginning of some trouble.

  Charlie didn’t make it back to the hostel that night until 4:00 A.M. Bert awoke briefly, just enough to feel the relief that he had returned.

  Things seemed back to normal the next day and stayed that way until late that Saturday afternoon, when Charlie announced to Bert that he was going out with Eric and the gang that evening.

  Bert started to object, but then he caught himself. After all, Charlie wasn’t doing anything wrong. He didn’t want to show how badly it pained him to have to share his closest friend in the world.

  Charlie didn’t return until the sun was already up the following morning.

  “Where were you?” asked Aaron curiously as the other band mates looked on.

  “Just out with some friends,” Charlie replied, a smile creeping across his lips. “One of the ladies and I hit it off and the night just kind of got away from us.” He winked at Aaron who gave a short laugh.

  “Well, well,” said Abe. “Sounds like the blind squirrel finally found an acorn.”

  It had been a running joke with the band that every night at Berkeley ended with Charlie chatting up a different college student, trying in vain to get her to come home with him. Even Ethan, who had at first fretted over any and every interaction between his band mates and his classmates, had ultimately found Charlie’s hopeless attempts amusing.

  But Bert was not amused. Things were different in L.A. This wasn’t a bunch of playful college students who were entertained by, but sufficiently wary of, the thirty-something street hustler. No, the situation here had the makings of a distraction for the band. But Bert resolved to be patient and let the situation play itself out. Besides, there was nothing he could say to Charlie at this point that would come across as anything other than paternalistic. Maybe this would just blow over.

  Shortly after the start of the Redeemers’ set the following Tuesday night, Bert noticed Eric and a few of his friends walk in. As the band played, more friends joined them, some from the time before, and some new faces.

  When the band stepped down from the stage, Charlie immediately walked over to the group, slapping hands in greeting and placing his arm around one of the female members of the entourage. The j
ovial greetings Bert observed confirmed what he had suspected when they had started arriving during the set. This would not go away quietly or easily.

  Charlie’s posse came to see the band play again the following night, and after the set, Charlie spent the remainder of the evening huddled with the woman from the night before and the others in a corner of the bar.

  When Charlie showed up for practice with the woman, whom he introduced as Doris, later that week, the seemingly harmless relationship began to drive a wedge between Charlie and the rest of the Redeemers. His eyes kept wandering toward her. He spent each break talking to her. He clearly wasn’t focusing on any of the instructions from Bert. Worst of all, Charlie added spontaneous saxophone riffs throughout the pieces. He was showboating for Doris.

  “Our practice sessions are closed to outsiders from this point forward!” Bert hissed at Charlie when the session was over.

  “What are you talking about?” Charlie asked incredulously. “We’re the same guys who used to practice at frat parties and in subway stations. How much more open could our practices be?”

  “No one was making googly eyes at the fraternity brothers instead of practicing. It’s different now. We’re not some college frat band.”

  Abe, who was listening to the dialogue, muttered, “Yeah, we’re not even that popular.”

  Bert ignored the comment and continued to press Charlie. “I feel like your head’s not in this right now. What was all that nonsense in there?”

  “I was just having a little fun, that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s hurting the band. This is serious business now. We need your focus.”

  Charlie looked at Bert silently for a long time. “All right,” he acquiesced. “I’ll tone it down.” He then walked over to Doris, slung his arm around her, and without looking back, walked out the door.