It started as a trickle, but over the next couple of days, the frequency of calls began to rise. They came from music critics from newspapers, writers from music industry publications, and the alternative press.
Of all the phone calls Bert received, though, one immediately brought him to full alert. It was a message from Linda Baines of Arista records, with whom he had reconnected briefly back in Los Angeles. She had gotten word of the band’s success and was interested in coming to see them play.
Bert returned the telephone call from a local bar in Syracuse, where the Redeemers were having a few beers and some chicken wings before the midnight bus call for the ride to the tour’s finale in Buffalo. Bert moved to a neighboring table to distance himself from the din of the conversation.
He was patched through to Linda, and after the necessary pleasantries, she cut to the chase. “Bert, the Redeemers have shown up on the radar of our record label out here. What are the chances I can fly out somewhere to see you perform and talk with you?”
What timing! Here Bert was with a chance to showcase the Redeemers for a major label, and the band was down to its last show. “I don’t suppose you could make it out here by two o’clock tomorrow?” he said hopefully, but without expectation.
“That depends on where ‘here’ is. Last I heard you were on the east coast.”
“Syracuse, on our way over to Buffalo tonight,” Bert answered.
“How convenient,” Linda said sardonically. “I suppose that’s not quite the farthest spot from L.A. in the continental U.S. No, I’m afraid I couldn’t swing that. I have a commitment tomorrow morning here in L.A. that I can’t reschedule. What else do you have?”
Bert thought for a minute. “Let me give you a call back, Linda. I’ve got something in the pipeline and I’ll let you know as soon as it’s firmed up.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you then,” she said.
Truth was, Bert had nothing in the pipeline, but he sure as hell needed to come up with something, and quickly. His mind had been preoccupied of late, worrying that despite all the band had worked toward, and all they had been through, they had run out of time. Linda’s phone call now confirmed what Bert had suspected. He desperately needed to buy a little more of it.
These thoughts continued to plague Bert throughout the nighttime ride to Buffalo, but in the morning an idea germinated, an idea that would become epic. He shook Charlie awake and told him the epiphany: the Redeemers would play a free concert in New York City’s Central Park on Labor Day.
“I don’t know,” Charlie mumbled through a sleepy haze. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the daylight pouring in through the bus windows. “The natives are getting restless. I think the guys are about ready to head home.”
“C’mon, Charlie, it’s only another two weeks.”
“Yeah, but to these guys it’s a couple more days here, a couple days there, a trip to L.A., a trip to Las Vegas, bus rides all over creation…”
“I know, I know,” Bert acknowledged, “but this would really be it. I promise we can all go back home after the show.”
“Hey, I’m just telling you what I hear. Just be sensitive when you break the news to the others.”
“Sensitive. Got it,” Bert replied dismissively.
Charlie shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Somehow I get the feeling we’re never going home.”
* * *
When the last of the Redeemers had awakened, Bert pulled them together and told them the idea.
Aaron was the first to speak. “Are you crazy, dude? Do you know what it would take for us to play Central Park? We don’t really have a gig there, do we?”
“No. Not yet,” Bert admitted. “But don’t worry. We will. We’ve got to take advantage of all this publicity. We’re right on the cusp of fame, and what better way to push us over the brink than by making a big splash in the Big Apple?”
True to Charlie’s estimation, there was grumbling about the extension of time away from their west coast home. Bert was able to mute the reaction, though, with an oath that the Redeemers would return to San Francisco, win or lose, after the New York City show.
Eventually coming around, Ethan announced, “So if I’m getting the plan correctly, the concert gets hyped and the record labels flock to the show.”
“Ahh, you have learned well, my friend. That is precisely the plan,” Bert replied, feeling very satisfied about Ethan’s newfound perceptiveness.
“Are we really ready for New York?” asked Abe.
“Someone once said if we can make it there, we can make it anywhere,” answered Bert, half jokingly.
“Yeah,” responded Abe, “some well-connected white dude from Jersey. That ain’t us.”
Ethan spoke again. “How are we going to pull it off? We can’t just show up and start playing, can we?”
“No. Probably not,” Bert answered. “Especially if the crowd is going to be as large as we want it to be. We’ll need some type of security for crowd control. and --”
“And bathrooms, and a stage, and sound equipment, and promotion, and…” continued Charlie.
“This will get pretty expensive and need a lot of coordination,” said Aaron.
“I know,” replied Bert. “Let me make a phone call.”
Bert exited the bus and found an isolated area of the parking lot. He hurriedly pulled his cell phone out of his breast pocket and nearly dropped it in the rush to punch up Geoff Dowell.
“I love it!” Geoff exclaimed immediately after Bert had laid out the proposal.
“So you’ll do it?” Bert asked eagerly.
“I don’t know,” Geoff replied. Bert’s heart sank. He was hoping it would be easy. “I don’t have final say in these things. And realistically, it’s pretty late to pull this off.”
Bert remained steadfast. The concert would happen. It had to. Anything else was unthinkable. “I’ve got six men ready to help day and night, Geoff,” he offered. “I’d hate like hell to have a different sponsor,” he added, in hope of applying a little pressure.
“It is intriguing,” Geoff said after a moment’s silence. “Tell you what. Let me try to sell it to Laguna on Monday and I’ll give you a call.”
* * *
Later that morning, a stroll through Buffalo’s bohemian Allentown section allowed the Redeemers to clear their minds of the frenzy of the preceding weeks and to free themselves from the newfound attention, if only for a few hours. The brief escape also provided time to reflect on all that had been accomplished by this unlikely assembly before they prepared for the final stop on the tour.
That afternoon, after the band concluded its final set of the Laguna tour, Bert got back to business, the first order of which was to alert the media to the news that the Redeemers would be performing a free concert in Central Park on the Monday afternoon of Labor Day weekend. Once these calls were made, there was no turning back. The show would have to go on. Some way.
Bert’s brainstorm was perfect on so many levels. At its heart, it was a great publicity stunt. Pure and simple. But it was much more than that. It was an opportunity to introduce the Redeemers’ music to a big audience in New York City. It created a setting in which to perform before representatives from the major record labels. And perhaps most importantly, it bought Bert two more weeks to keep the band focused while the media attention spread.
The biggest problem with the idea was the finances. The Redeemers needed a sponsor to take on the costs of setting up and taking down the equipment, security, and promotion, among other things. Bert prayed that Laguna would come through. If they didn’t, Bert would need to find another sponsor, a tall order even if they had more lead time. It would be an uncertain prospect at best.
On Monday, an anxious Bert Ingram took a phone call from Geoff Dowell. Laguna was on board!
The following morning, the Redeemers had their much-anticipated appearance on USA Daybreak. As Aaron struck the cymbals, ending their one-song set, Leslie Brown, the show’s host, stood a
nd clapped as scripted while the Redeemers walked from the stage to the sitting area. Once they were all situated for the interview portion of the program, she lobbed an opening question at them.
“So guys,” said the vivacious and perfectly made-up host, “you’ve gone from obscurity to a national audience in just a few months. How are you enjoying all the attention?”
Bert, who had managed to take the prime position closest to Leslie, spoke for the band. “It’s been an exhilarating ride, Leslie. We’re loving every minute of it. In fact, we can’t wait for Labor Day weekend to reach out to all our great fans here in New York City.”
“Ah, yes. You mentioned backstage that you’ll be playing in Central Park.”
“That’s right,” responded Bert as he turned toward the camera. “We don’t have all the specifics nailed down yet, but we have a sponsor lined up and we’ll be finalizing all the arrangements in the next couple of days.”
Leslie moved the conversation away from Bert’s less-than-subtle promotional announcement and on to the history of the Redeemers with a few more standard questions, which the band members took turns answering. Concluding the brief dialog, the host thanked the Redeemers for the appearance, previewed the next segment, a visit from the latest castoff from a reality dating show, and cued the commercial break.
That afternoon, Bert’s cell phone kicked into overdrive. His voice message box filled again and again, and it was all he could do to clear it out and keep a log of all the calls he needed to return. Calls were now coming in from Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, Newsweek, Time magazine, and newspapers across the country. Radio stations, too, were calling to talk to the band.
The Redeemers had become media darlings.
Bert frantically worked the phones, inviting each and every caller to come see the band play in Central Park and scheduling time with each to conduct whatever interviews or photo sessions were requested.
Bert barely found the time to sleep over the next week and a half, spending every waking hour either doing PR for the band or obsessively following up to ensure that the arrangements for the Central Park show were progressing on schedule and that not even the subtlest detail was overlooked. Every effort the Redeemers had put forth in the last year, every sacrifice made by themselves and their families, every ounce of sweat and energy, and every emotional investment would boil down to one hour under the microscope in New York City. Nothing could be taken for granted and nothing could go wrong.
On Monday, one week before the big event, Bert received an unexpected call. It was Edgar James, but the conversation had a decidedly different tone than had their last. Bert fantasized momentarily about the multitude of ways in which he would enjoy responding to Edgar, from not taking his calls to having him grovel for forgiveness. But, while the scent of a recording contract was so near that Bert could almost smell it, nothing was yet assured, and he was in no position to offend anyone, even Edgar. And so it was with his teeth firmly clamped to his tongue that Bert graciously invited Edgar to come see the band play in Central Park.
Over the next several days, Bert and the band worked so hard that it made the frenetic Laguna tour schedule look like summer vacation. All focus was on the Central Park event and they now had just a week left to pull it off. Phone calls were made. Plans were developed, shredded, and put together again. Issues of security and crowd control, sound systems, first aid, and promotion were worked through. The details were almost overwhelming. Bert drew upon his long-dormant event-planning skills and, paired with the public relations team from the Laguna Beverage Company, mapped out the task list and the sequencing.
Finally, after hour upon hour and day upon day of preparation, the first Monday of September arrived. Labor Day. It had been an unusually mild summer, and the day that unofficially marked summer’s end was no exception. The forecast was for a high of seventy-five degrees, although it would undoubtedly feel hotter in the open area in Central Park, where there was little relief from the sun. The concert was scheduled for high noon with the thought of allowing time for city dwellers to get to their late-afternoon barbecues.
At 8:00 A.M., Bert hovered around his charges like a nervous hen. Most seemed relaxed, but Ethan was pacing nervously in the makeshift backstage area as the crew did the sound check. He clutched his cell phone and gave it a glance every minute or two. Something was clearly on his mind.
The band wasn’t set to go on still for a few more hours, but Bert had instructed all of them to be there by eight for any preparation, “meet and greets,” and any contingencies which might arise.
“I just hope the music industry scouts show up,” said Aaron to no one in particular.
“No need to worry,” Bert assured him. “They’ll be here.”
And they were. In force. Representatives from no fewer than seven record labels arrived and introduced themselves to the Redeemers and to Bert over the hours leading up to showtime. Bert held court, cordially thanking each of them for coming, even Edgar’s rep from Sapphire, and explaining he would have more opportunity to speak with them after the performance. For a moment, he thought he had been transported back in time.
The backstage area had become a virtual parade. Suddenly, intermixed between the record label reps, the media, and the various well-wishers from the band’s past, appeared Ann, Kate, and Jack. Dave was over in a corner talking to Charlie when a huge smile lit up Charlie’s face and he told Dave to turn around just in time to be slammed into by the two children, their arms extended wide to hug their father.
“Ann!” Dave exclaimed to his wife, who was glowing before him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“The kids wanted it to be a surprise,” she answered as Dave took her in a long embrace.
A short while later, another surprise visitor appeared.
“Alice!” Bert cried out when he saw the Berkeley radio station manager outfitted in a yellow sleeveless summer dress, made up, and looking significantly more feminine than the last time Bert had seen her. She ran over to him and jumped into his waiting arms.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he joyfully spun her around.
“Did you think that after all I’ve done for the Redeemers I wouldn’t be here for this?” She eyed Bert coyly. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you made it home afterward.”
While people shuffled in and out, Ethan nervously eyed his watch and mysteriously paced around the small area.
At a few minutes after noon, the Redeemers huddled out of sight at the back of the stage, waiting to be announced. They took turns peering around the scaffolding to observe the sea of humanity. Upwards of 40,000 spectators huddled shoulder to shoulder on the grass fronting the stage, waiting just for them.
Just then, a stocky white man with a rumpled shirt and pants that were not quite long enough to touch his shoes, accompanied by an aging African-American woman, pushed their way toward the band. Ethan raced over to greet them, a look of distress on his face turning to relief.
The other band members looked on curiously as Ethan and the man engaged in a short conversation. Ethan then took the woman by the hand and walked her over to where the band waited.
“Abe,” Ethan called. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Abe turned toward Ethan.
“Abraham Ezekiel Jackson!” the woman cried out wondrously, enunciating each syllable. “My lord, it really is you.”
Abe looked stunned. He had not heard his middle name uttered in nearly thirty years. In fact, he had never shared it with anyone. There could only be one person who would know it. Yet it couldn’t be.
“Who are you?” he demanded as he stepped toward her, his big body starting to quiver.
“It’s me, Abraham. Your mother,” said the woman, her soft voice cracking.
“It can’t be. It’s impossible. My mother died when I was a child,” Abe replied, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
“No, Abraham,” said the woman. “I didn’t. But I was sick for
a long, long time. So long that by the time I got well enough to come find you, you had disappeared without a trace.” She studied his face. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“You know my middle name. You sound like the woman I remember, but… but I just wish I could be sure. I mean --”
Tears trickled down the woman’s face as she approached the singer. “It’s really me, Abraham,” she assured him, grabbing each of his forearms with her hands. Then she started singing a lullaby.
The song erased all doubt. The timbre of her voice, her soulful delivery, her reassuring, comforting intonation had not changed with the passage of time. Suddenly, Abe’s emotional veil lifted, and all the repressed anguish accumulated over the years came pouring forth.
“Oh my God, Mama,” Abe declared. “It really is you. How did you find me?”
“You have your friend Ethan to thank. He hired Mr. Pitts over there to track me down.” She cast each of them a smile. Then she pulled Abe in close and gave him a long hug. “I’ve missed you so much, my son.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mama. I looked for you all those years ago, and when I couldn’t find you, I just drifted away,” sniffed Abe as tears flowed down his cheeks.
“Well, you’re not getting away this time,” she admonished playfully.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Abe replied, a radiant smile now forcing its way through the tears.
They embraced for a long time.
A few steps away stood Ethan, observing the reunion. The private investigator he had hired to track Abe’s mother had come through and his timing could not have been more perfect. What a way to cap the tour!
Abe moved his head as if he were scanning the area. “Ethan, where are you?” he called out loudly. “Come over here.”
Ethan strode over as Abe extended a hand to shake. But as their hands touched, Abe pulled Ethan in close and gave him a bear hug. As he did so, his hand brushed against Ethan’s face, and Abe felt the tears of joy that were not just dripping, but gushing freely down Ethan’s face too. “Thanks, buddy,” he whispered in his ear.
Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers Page 22
