“So that’s it?” Dave responded rhetorically. Usually the more rational one of the two, Dave felt anything but rational. He felt as if he were having an out of body experience with his physical being safely teaching school back in San Francisco, while his spirit had headed off on its own adventure. Now the two worlds were colliding. “You’re worried that we’ll get too comfortable here?” he said to Ann.
An errant throw skidded to a halt at their feet and Dave picked up the Frisbee and tossed it back to Aaron.
Ann was looking down, but Dave lifted her face up gently. Her eyes were glassy and tears began to flow. “Yes, I am,” she answered.
“Ann, Ann, Ann,” Dave said as he comforted her. “That’s not how it is. I mean, maybe a couple of the guys feel that way, but I know Bert won’t let that happen. He’s tasted victory before and he won’t settle for something short of that. You’ll see. Bert moves quickly. I think he knows he’s on the clock with some of us. He knows how much I miss you and the kids and that he’s got to deliver something to prevent me from just walking out and stepping back into my old life. Hell, Bert’s got the same issues with Ethan. He knows Ethan won’t stay away from school forever.”
Dave leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, Bert has to know that Ethan and I are the cornerstones of this band. We do all the writing. Without us, all he’s got is an ordinary cover band. And while I haven’t said this to Bert, he knows that I know, and he feels the pressure.”
“Okay,” said Ann, still sniffling. “But promise me as soon as it looks like you’ve hit a dead end, you’ll come back home.”
“It’s a promise,” Dave said smiling, “but the real promise is that we’re going to be huge, and then I’ll be back home to live the rest of our lives together the way we should be.”
* * *
“Bert, I hate to have to tell you this, but we’re closing the revue show.”
Bert sat in Mark Hutchinson’s office, stunned. “But why? The crowds haven’t been that bad. And we’re just getting started.”
“This is Vegas, Bert. If the house isn’t full every night, the show’s not cutting it.”
“I see,” Bert replied softly, trying to listen to Mark while his mind raced ahead, thinking about where this news left the band.
“Frankly, I was hoping that the Redeemers would inject the type of energy that would push the show over the top.”
“But we didn’t, I guess.”
“You’re good, but you’re not the same band I fell in love with in L.A., ” Mark said frankly. “Something’s missing.”
“Charlie?”
“Maybe.”
Bert looked at Mark pensively. “So where does that leave us? Out of work?”
Mark sighed. “I’m afraid the best I can offer you at this point is the Ruby Lounge in the hotel lobby.”
“Good god!” Bert exclaimed. “A lounge? You can’t be serious! We came all the way here from Los Angeles –”
Mark cut him off. “I can’t help that things changed, Bert. I’m sorry. I truly am.” He paused and looked Bert in the eye. “But I think you know that the band I hired isn’t the band I got either.”
In his heart, Bert knew that Mark spoke the truth. Bert nodded and the two men awkwardly shook hands.
What will I tell the band? was all Bert could think as he left the Emerald City.
* * *
“That’s it. I’m outta here!” proclaimed Abe bitterly when Bert told the band the news. “California, here I come.”
“Wait!” Bert implored.
“For what? Some type of divine intervention? This sucks, man. I knew we should have stayed in L.A. and gotten ourselves a real manager.”
“Just when I was starting to believe in us,” Ethan added dourly.
The others looked on in silence, too upset to speak.
Bert had prepared himself for this reaction and launched the only strategy he thought might stand a chance of success.
“Look Abe, Ethan, Gene, Aaron, Dave,” he started, shifting his eyes from one to the other. He summoned his motivational skills from the deep recesses of his past. “We’ve been through a lot already and we can’t give up. This is just a setback. Adversity will just make us hungrier and stronger. Remember what Gene said? Let’s feed off it. Besides, we still have the opportunity to open for name acts that come here.”
Privately, Bert wondered whether that was really the case. Mark hadn’t explicitly said otherwise, but the fact remained that the Redeemers had become a shadow of the band they were with Charlie. Bert would need to find a vibrant saxophone player fast.
“What if those are few and far between?” Dave asked.
“Which they will be,” added Abe gruffly.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Bert responded calmingly. “Give it a couple of weeks. You’re not thinking rationally. I’ll fire up the network and see what I can hook us up with outside of here. In the meantime, let’s play the Ruby Lounge and pull in a few bucks to fund our next move. A couple more weeks is all I ask. If you’re not satisfied with our direction by then, we can call it quits. Okay? Abe?”
Abe nodded grudgingly.
“My summer is blown anyway, so what the hell,” replied Ethan with a wry laugh.
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” said Aaron.
Gene gave a silent nod.
All attention turned to Dave. “Well, you all know that I’m on the clock.” He paused in thought. “But I guess a couple more weeks won’t do any harm.”
* * *
Back in L.A., Charlie was doing some soul-searching. He had been spending an awful lot of time on his own. Eric was the manager of a convenience store and more often than not was tied up there. The others held jobs with schedules that shifted from week to week, so Charlie found himself constantly trying to find out who was around to help occupy his time.
He thought back to Kansas City, to a time when the world seemed to have so much to offer. He had been happy playing music in the nightclub.
San Francisco had been okay. He was making ends meet, but what kind of satisfaction had he derived from hustling strangers in a card game? And before that, there was Las Vegas. Ugh! What a disaster that had been. Clearly the low point of Charlie’s life, working menial jobs and then letting the casinos vacuum his pockets clean.
After a time, his mind worked its way back to the Redeemers, and he felt saddened. Bert had lifted him out of the abyss and given him the spirit of life again.
He thought of the Berkeley coffee house and a nostalgic smile formed on his lips. That had been a cool scene. And The Crossroads. That had been fun, even on the empty nights. And then the realization finally struck him. It wasn’t where the Redeemers played that mattered at all. What mattered was that they played. The making of the music was the end unto itself. And the camaraderie, the awkward heterogeneity of the band members, the disparate personalities, the conflicts, the resolutions – he missed all that.
Sitting alone in the hostel where he had stayed on, Charlie began to cry. He realized what needed to be done, and it wasn’t going to be easy.
* * *
The flashing neon, scrolling message boards, and dancing light bulbs of the Las Vegas strip mesmerized Charlie as a rush of emotion raced through his head with equal assertiveness. Here he was, back in Las Vegas, the city he’d sworn that he’d die before setting foot in again. It had taken most of the life from him once before, and while he had recovered, he had his doubts whether this time he would be able to keep the demons at bay. Reluctant and terrified, but resolved to do what was necessary, he had made the long bus journey.
Charlie had avoided calling Bert. What if the Redeemers found a new saxophone player and became the darlings of Las Vegas? He decided that he’d look up Mark Hutchinson instead and see what Mark could tell him. Meanwhile, he would need to steer clear of the casinos. There was no telling what pull they might have.
The afternoon Charlie arrived, he placed the call to Mark, and with mixed e
motions, listened as Mark described what had transpired for the Redeemers. Charlie felt relief that the band had not replaced him, and in a way, felt a guilty satisfaction that the band had struggled in his absence. But he quickly saw the downside. Charlie knew instinctively that it would take all of Bert’s deftness to keep the Redeemers on track.
* * *
The Ruby Lounge was situated just off the casino floor, with its name shining in metallic red mosaic script on the wall above the tables. The seating area resembled an outdoor café, perched on a platform three feet above ground level, from which the patrons could observe both the hotel lobby and the entrance to the casino. A low-rise gold railing adorned the perimeter. The stage, in the back center of the lounge, rose a few feet above the seating area.
During the break between Tuesday night’s first and second set, Ethan had started in. “If they make us play any more quietly, we may as well not be playing at all,” he said.
“Yeah,” added Aaron. “How will we ever get any attention? I can hear glasses clinking over our music. The elevator muzak is louder than this.”
Bert sighed. Whenever the band had edged up the volume, the hotel manager had politely come and requested that the band drop it down. Things were getting more frustrating every day. The band pressed on for the second set, but the emotion and will were long gone. Time was clearly running out on Bert and the Redeemers.
Bert sat somberly at the same corner table which he had sat the last four nights, his head resting on his arm, gazing across the lobby. The band was performing a rather lethargic version of its “Finding the Way” as he desperately tried to figure a way out of the pathetic situation. Suddenly, he was struck by a vision across the marble floor. Could it be? It was! There was Charlie striding through the lobby, carrying that same black saxophone case that Bert had first seen under the card table in the San Francisco subway.
Charlie didn’t notice Bert at first and nervously continued walking until he reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the left side of the stage. The musicians, facing forward, were oblivious to the prodigal son, who now took a deep breath and slowly ascended the steps. He stood to the band’s right, motionlessly watching them perform.
Dave was the first to notice Charlie and his face lit up immediately. Suddenly, the keyboard sounds created by his fingers were more crisp and full of energy. He motioned Charlie onto the stage.
Bert rose from his table and gazed at Charlie, too paralyzed to move. Charlie raised an anxious eyebrow. Bert’s emotionless face then broke slowly into a smile, and his subtle nod toward the stage gave Charlie all the approval he needed. Charlie set down the case, removed the golden instrument, and let forth a triumphant wail as he stepped onto the platform.
Aaron, revitalized, began pounding the drums with a pulsating rhythm. Ethan, unexpectedly invigorated by Charlie’s return, walked over to him and leaned on the saxophonist back-to-back as both jammed on their instruments.
Abe, startled by the new sound’s intrusion, nearly flubbed the lyrics, but he figured out what was going on even before Gene whispered into his ear. He would recognize the wail of that sax anywhere.
Bert, feeling suddenly liberated, slid over to the soundboard and pushed the volume controls full throttle. That cue fevered the band, and they let rip with everything they had. All the power that had been missing was suddenly back in a glorious blaze of guitar riffs, saxophone wails, keyboard runs, and cymbal crashes.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bert saw the hotel manager hurrying across the expansive lobby, but by the time he got there, a crowd had formed outside the railing. Bert held his hand out as if to motion ‘stop,’ wanting the manager to observe the scene before acting rashly. The manager held still and looked over his shoulder to witness more and more patrons moving toward the lounge.
Sweat poured down the faces of the Redeemers as they jammed without inhibition. Minutes passed. The crowd swelled to where the lobby was impassable. Finally, at last, the clash of Aaron’s cymbals marked the end of the song. But it didn’t stop there. A chorus of voices rose up a cappella, chanting in unison: ‘Ohh-woahh, ay-ayyy, come with me, we’ll find the way,’ led by Charlie, front and center, hands clapping over his head, goading the crowd to keep it going.
The Redeemers were back.
* * *
Later that night, when the band had struck its final chords, the manager rushed over to see Bert. Bert started to apologize for all the noise.
“Don’t be sorry,” the manager said. “You guys were fantastic!”
Then Charlie approached him and asked the manager for a few minutes alone with Bert.
The two men looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments. Finally, Bert spoke. “So here you are, back in Las Vegas.”
Charlie smiled. “It ain’t easy, man. I hate this fucking place.” He gave a big laugh.
“But you’re tougher than it is,” said Bert.
“I am this time,” Charlie replied, his eyes glistening.
Bert knew right then that his friend would bravely battle his ghosts and come out the victor. He asked lightly, “So, is this just a cameo?”
The other band members had now gathered around.
“Only if you say it is,” Charlie answered sheepishly. “Bert, I was really stu--”
Bert cut him off. “You don’t need to explain. After all, we’re the Redeemers.”
Bert wrapped both of his arms around Charlie in a bear hug. His voice cracking, he whispered, “I’m so proud of you, man.”
Then, one by one, each of the other Redeemers hugged Charlie, welcoming him back. When Charlie got to Ethan, the two men looked at one another uneasily until Ethan finally extended his hand to shake. Charlie did the same.
“Oh, what the hell,” said Ethan, and pulled Charlie into a hug. “It’s great to have you back, Charlie.”
“It’s great to be back, Ethan,” Charlie replied.
The show that night propelled the band forward again. The Ruby Lounge had heretofore been an afterthought on the Emerald City’s entertainment calendar. Now, Mark Hutchinson’s rediscovery of the band he once knew led the entertainment director to aggressively market the Redeemers’ appearances there. Over the next couple of weeks, the Ruby Lounge miraculously transformed into the city’s hip place to be.
Over this same period, Mark began to work the Redeemers back into the large theater as often as he could, and Bert continued to work himself into any situation where he could get face time with anyone of any influence in the music industry. He had amassed a nice collection of business cards along the way, but hadn’t received more than a nibble here and there regarding potential opportunities outside Las Vegas until one Saturday night, when the Redeemers opened for Unskilled Labor, an up-and-coming Europop band.
After the show, Bert managed to finagle an invitation to the backstage party for himself and the rest of the Redeemers. The private room at the back of the theater was laid out with a catered spread of food and drinks. As Bert was fixing himself a sandwich, the lead guitarist and songwriter for Unskilled Labor came over to him.
“Someone told me you’re the manager of the Redeemers,” the musician said with a British accent that was nonexistent in his singing voice.
“Yes, I am,” said Bert. “I’m Bert Ingram. And you’re Nils Anderson.” He extended his hand. Bert had always made a point of researching the bands with whom they were performing, which helped make a good impression when they met. “Great show! You guys are really going places!”
“Us?” replied Nils. “What about you guys? When they told us some house band was opening for us here, I imagined some old dude crooning ‘Feelings’, know what I mean?” He laughed and nudged Bert. “But the Redeemers are spectacular. Hey, hang on a second.” Nils looked around the room and then called out, “Tim!”
A tall, blond man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a golf shirt and sleeveless vest, looked up. Nils waved him over. “Tim, come here. There’s someone you should meet.”
Nils
made the introductions. As it turned out, Tim was the music promoter who was handling Unskilled Labor, among other bands. Bert and Tim got to talking and after a short while, Nils excused himself and headed over to the bar. Bert worked the history of the Redeemers into the conversation. Tim had seen the set and had been extremely impressed with the band. He was curious about one thing, though. “Bert,” he said after a time, “between you and me, and no disrespect intended to this place, what are you guys doing in a hotel in Las Vegas?”
Bert explained about the financial situation.
“So you’re interested in leaving Las Vegas?” Tim asked.
“For the right opportunity,” Bert answered.
“Let me make a couple phone calls this week. I’m connected with the Laguna tour. Are you familiar with that?”
“Are you kidding?” Bert exclaimed. “Of course.” The Laguna tour was the annual summer-long cross-country all-day music jam featuring the best new acts. It was sponsored by the Laguna Beverage Company.
“Then you probably know that we still have another month on the tour. There are about twenty dates left. I’m not certain that they’re taking on new acts at this point, but I can make the phone calls if you’re interested.”
“That would be a great opportunity for us,” answered Bert. “Just say the word and we’ll be in whatever city you need us.”
“You got it. Either I or Geoff Dowell, who’s the tour coordinator, will give you a call this week one way or the other.”
Bert thanked Tim, who then went off to work the rest of the crowd.
On Tuesday, a very anxious Bert got the call and on Wednesday, the Redeemers were on their way to Indiana.
Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers Page 19
