Drummer Girl

by Karen Bass

  “Hey, now,” Rake said. “Be nice. We aren’t so old we can’t admire a pretty girl. Introduce us to your beau.”

  Sid hesitated at that. She noticed Brad’s flush. “Brad isn’t my boyfriend, Rake. We met last night at my cousin’s wedding.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rake said, teeth gleaming in his dark face. “Nice to meet you, Brad. I’m Rake. That’s Ten Pin on drums, Jo-Jo on sax and this here is Jo-Jo’s new gal, Sonja. You play? We got a few more instruments over there.”

  “No,” Brad said. “I’m just here to listen if that’s all right.”

  “Sure enough. Or you can dance.” Rake grinned again.

  Ten Pin started drumming the same beat and the other band members picked up in the middle of the song. Sonja’s voice started to weave through the music. No lyrics, just a string of words and sounds that seemed to fill out the sound, make it richer.

  Brad shrugged, took Sid’s hand and started to dance like someone their parents’ age, the way they had during their first slow dance the night before. Sid understood. It was awkward knowing that four sets of eyes were watching. The song faded to an even slower rhythm, one that begged to be swayed to, and Sid had the feeling that Rake was playing matchmaker.

  “What’s with the singing?” Brad asked. “Lots of sounds and, what are they called, scales?”

  “This is improv. It’s sort of like playing in a musical sandbox. No set music, just play as it moves you, see what kind of song comes out of it.”

  Brad tucked his arm in and cradled Sid’s hand against his chest. “I could get used to this.”

  “It isn’t always this slow. I think Rake is trying to make it romantic or something.”

  “It’s kind of cool, having a band play just for you.”

  “Cool but awkward. Hard to get into the music with three grandpas watching you.”

  “We could shake them up with a kiss.”

  “I don’t think it would shake Rake. I think he’d cheer.” Sid eyed his smiling mouth. She was tempted. Very tempted. She started to lift her face.

  The music stopped. Rake said, “You wanna play, Sid? Ten Pin’s startin’ to drag.”

  Sid smiled at his timing. Maybe a kiss would have shaken him up. “How can you tell if he’s dragging when the music is so slow it’s almost going backwards?”

  “Don’t you get sassy with me. Set your young man down and get up here. I wanna hear if you’ve improved any.”

  Sid snorted. Brad let her go and walked toward the nearest table. It was piled with bottled colas and water. Rake said, “Help yourself, son. Dancing can be mighty thirsty work.”

  In reply, Brad reached for a cola. Sid jogged up the two steps to the stage and snatched Rake’s fedora from the piano bench. Ignoring Rake’s mild protest, she plopped the hat on her head and took the brushes from Ten Pin’s outstretched hand, then exchanged them for sticks and pointed them at Rake. “Let’s crank it up.”

  Rake’s teeth flashed. “Set the pulse, little drummer girl.”

  As Sid repositioned the stool a bit and sat down, straddling the snare drum, she realized that a short skirt wasn’t the best clothing for drumming. Too late now. The bass drum hid her legs anyway. She tapped the wooden block to count down, choosing a moderate beat and tapping her toes on the floor to keep away from the kick drum which was often too overpowering for jazz. Rake started doodling on the piano, Jo-Jo and Sonja only two beats behind.

  When they’d all grown comfortable with the low-key beat, Sid suddenly drummed a fill of sixteenth-note triplets and moved her foot to the kick pedal. The bass beat vibrated through her as she picked up the tempo. Rake didn’t falter, matching the change. Jo-Jo followed Rake’s lead and Sonja began singing an improv version of “When the Saints Come Marching In.”

  “Oh when. Oh when the saints. Honey, I said when the. Oh the saints come marching. Marching in. Oh-yeah.” Off she went on a bebop string that had Rake grinning and bouncing on his piano bench like an old video he’d once shown Sid of the blind musician, Ray Charles.

  Sid laughed. Her bare legs stuck to the edge of the throne’s leather padding. She shook her head to clear some sweat from her eyes. The beat thrummed through her and the other instruments seemed to fade. She was alone with the drums.

  She lost concentration for a second and flipped the beat, so she recovered with a fill of triplets and rippled the sticks over the ride cymbal, then dropped them to the floor tom. Drum roll, clash! Drum roll, clash! She sensed the band had stopped, but the new beat held her in its thrall. The drum solo she’d been working on flowed down her arms by itself. A few minutes of hard drumming and she let loose a double flam tap on the floor tom, then ended with a single hit on the crash cymbal.

  She pushed Rake’s fedora back on her forehead. Jo-Jo looked amused, Sonja a bit dazed, but Rake looked sad. Ten Pin sat down by Brad, pulling on a cola and shaking his head. Only Brad looked cautiously impressed. That was something, at least.

  Rake said, “Honey, you know that rock noise doesn’t belong in my club.”

  Sid stood and laid the sticks on the stool. “Sorry, Rake. I got carried away.”

  He sighed. “Head-aching, gut-twisting clamour.”

  Sid had never heard Rake sound so discouraged. Puzzled, she walked to the piano and laid the fedora on its smooth brown surface. “I said I was sorry. I was just feeling the beat. Isn’t that what you always tell me to do?”

  “Sure, honey, sure. You got to feel it, but you also got to control the flow so you don’t start flailing like a chicken with its head chopped off.” He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his plaid coat, wiped the hatband of the fedora, and set it on his white afro. “Jazz is fine, fine music. Playing jazz is like a woodcarver finishing a carving with tiny, precise cuts using his smallest knife. That –” He waved at the drums. “– was more like taking an axe to fell a tree. Ain’t no finesse, just pound, pound, pound.”

  Sid huffed out her breath. “A lot of skill goes into a drum solo, Rake.”

  “Maybe so. But it sure gives me a headache.” The skin around his eyes drooped like a Saint Bernard dog’s; he looked so old. Something in Sid’s stomach squeezed. She kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks, anyway, for letting me play.”

  As she stepped off the stage, Rake said, “You don’t wait another two months to come back, you hear? You’ll do better next time. I know it.”

  Sid smiled. Rake couldn’t hold unhappiness any more than splayed fingers could hold water. Brad took her hand and they walked out. It had clouded over and had cooled off. Goosebumps shivered up Sid’s bare legs and arms. “What time is it?”

  “Three.”

  “Do you think we have time to go to my place so I can change?”

  “Probably.” As they climbed in the Jeep, a few drops of rain splattered against the windshield. Sid scowled. “I hope it doesn’t start raining at the shower. Aunt Kathy will have fits.”

  “They’ll move inside.”

  “While Aunt Kathy has fits.”

  Brad laughed and pulled out of the parking spot. He stalled at the first corner and gave her a rueful grin. “Haven’t been driving stick shift for long.”

  “You’re way ahead of me. Dad’s car is an automatic. When I get my licence I won’t have a clue what to do with a standard.”

  “Maybe I could teach you.”

  “After you get a little better...?”

  Brad’s ears turned pink. “Right. So how do we get to your place?”

  Sid gave directions and marvelled at how easy it was to talk to Brad. Almost like talking to Taylor, except she never wanted to kiss Taylor.

  When they walked in her front door, she paused, wondering

  what to suggest Brad do while he waited. He stepped in close behind her. “Wow. Our living room is never that clean.”

  “Maybe
because you actually live in it.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Dad lives in his office. I hang out downstairs.” Sid brightened. “Do you want to see my kit?”

  His brow wrinkled. “What kind of kit?”

  “My drum kit.” She took his hand and led him to the basement. They paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Welcome to the drum pit, as Dad calls it.”

  As Brad glanced around, Sid wondered what he saw. Odd pieces of mismatched furniture, a battered entertainment centre and bookcase that had been used as a cat’s scratching post before they had brought it home, always intending to sand it down but never getting around to it. Even the drums showed their age. Sid had bought them second-hand and the only new piece in the kit was the floor tom, which her dad had splurged and bought for her last birthday.

  Brad kicked his toe into the red shag carpet. “Nice rug.”

  “Maybe thirty years ago.” She paused. “Oh. Sarcasm, right?”

  Smirking and nodding, Brad walked toward the drums.

  “Try them out,” Sid said.

  “I’d rather listen to you. You’re pretty good.” Brad veered toward the sofa and stretched out on it. He linked his fingers behind his head and smiled at her.

  “If I don’t go too fast. Sometimes I lose the beat when I try for speed. Rake’s always telling me that I’ve got to slow down before I speed up.”

  “Why do you want speed?”

  “Haven’t you heard any speed metal bands? Their drummers are awesome.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know much metal past the big names like Metallica and Iron Maiden.” He nodded toward her. “Rush isn’t metal, is it?”

  Sid glanced down at her t-shirt. “No. But their drummer is one of the best. Definitely the most versatile. He even has a dvd out on doing a drum solo. I keep dropping hints to Dad that he should get it for my birthday but he hasn’t been hearing much of anything these days.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s stressed at work. Big promotion that has him working twice the hours. Brings work home. Usually he likes to unwind by cooking supper. Lately it’s been, ‘Fend for yourself. There’s pizza in the fridge or meat pies in the freezer. I just need to finish this one report.’ Which’d be fine once in a while, but now it’s every night.”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  Sid had drifted to the sofa while she talked. Now she sat down by Brad’s feet. “She took off when I was three.”

  “That’s lousy.”

  Sid shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” She wasn’t about to let it start bugging her now, even if Brad was giving her a sweet sad look.

  After a moment Brad said, “My folks yell a lot. So do my grandparents. I think it’s the Greek in them or something. Lots of arm waving, too. Once Mom even chucked an empty coffee cup at Dad. Which made them yell even louder, each one blaming the other for what she’d done. I always feel like crawling under the furniture when they start. Maybe that’s why I like math.”

  “Because it doesn’t yell?” Sid spoke with a teasing lilt.

  “Well, yes. It’s quiet and logical and way easier to figure out than relationships.”

  “I’m not good at math or relationships.”

  “I don’t know. You seem to get along with your brother.”

  “That’s Devin. He could make friends with a rabid pit bull. I really only hang with my buddy, Tay, and his friend, Narain. And lately Tay’s not talking to me.”

  “Why not?”

  Sid frowned down at her bare legs. “He doesn’t like my new look.”

  “This is new? It’s nice.”

  Sid smiled. “And it’s even better when you take your glasses off and it goes all blurry.”

  “You really don’t know you’re pretty, do you?” Brad blushed, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  “Am I?”

  He nodded, ears bright red. “I can’t figure why you’re spending time with me.”

  Sid wriggled her way up the sofa, making Brad ease onto his side to make room for her. She took off his glasses and set them on her Drum magazine on the end table. “You really don’t know you’re cute, do you?”

  He shook his head. “Ask any girl in my school. I am the math geek.”

  “Coo coo coo choo.” Sid sang softly. Puzzlement curved his eyebrows and she said, “You need to sing that to the tune of ‘I am the Walrus.’ You know, the old Beatles song?” She sang, “I am the math geek. Coo coo coo choo.”

  His hand cupped the back of her neck and eased her head down. Their lips brushed. They paused. Without his glasses on, Brad’s eyes were the deep blue of a warm summer’s day. Hypnotic, Sid thought as their lips touched again. She was suddenly glad he wore geeky glasses because most girls would never see past them to discover the intensity they hid.

  Butterfly kisses changed to lingering ones. Somewhere along the way, Sid stretched out beside him and ditched the belt because it was digging into her side. They shifted again and Sid found herself on top of Brad. The kissing went from mild and teasing to deep. They were both breathing hard. Sid’s bones were liquefying. Heat pooled everywhere they were touching and she expected them to burst into flames. She wanted to burst into flames. Cool fingers slid under her shirt, caressed her back as they skimmed upwards. Sid moaned.

  They stopped kissing for a moment, noses touching and gazes linked as Brad fumbled with her bra fastener. She wanted to reach back and help but his eyes held her immobile.

  “Sid!”

  Her dad’s voice jolted her. She flung herself to the side and landed in a lump on the floor. James stood at the bottom of the stairs. His face was pale and he almost looked like he was vibrating. In a clipped tone, he said, “I think it’s time for your...friend...to leave.”

  James spun and headed up the stairs, his footfalls thudding on each step, driving home the word, leave. Leave. Leave!

  Brad sat up, ears so red they looked like they hurt. She crawled to the side, got his glasses and handed them to him. He muttered thanks and lurched off the sofa. He stumbled past the drums and paused, looking back as if he wanted to say something, but then he fled.

  Sid just knew she’d never see him again. She pulled her knees to her chest and hung her head.

  15 | backbeat

  Sid couldn’t believe she could go from feeling so hot to so cold in a few heartbeats. She hadn’t heard Brad leave but she could hear James crashing around in the kitchen. How embarrassing, having your dad catch you necking with a guy.

  Heaving a long sigh, Sid got to her feet, almost tripping over her belt in the process. She strapped it on and climbed the stairs on wooden legs that didn’t want to bend. As she pushed the door open, a crash shattered what was left of her nerves. She glimpsed shards of sunlight spraying across the room. When she entered the kitchen she saw the metal ring and plastic handle and plastic lid – all that was left of the glass coffee pot – on the floor. Her dad stood like a mannequin with head down and hand outstretched.

  Sid closed the door and leaned against it as she tried to get her heart to stop racing. She exhaled slowly. “That’s a drastic way to cut back on your caffeine intake.”

  James flinched at the sound of her voice, snatched the bottle of antacid tablets from the little shelf that curved from the cupboard to the window frame. His hand shook as he opened it; pills sprayed across the counter. He plucked up two and popped them in his mouth, then stood with his back to the kitchen. His knuckles whitened as they wrapped over the edge of the counter.

  Worry gripped Sid. She had done this to him. She got the broom and dustpan, swept up all the pieces of glass she could see and dumped them into the garbage can with a clatter. James didn’t move through the whole process.

  She leaned against the fridge and clutched the handle. “Dad, we were only kissing.”


  James salvaged another two tablets from the counter, chewed them and said, “You were about to do more than that. I saw where his hands were.”

  She sighed. “We weren’t going to...”

  “Don’t, Sid. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turned and crossed his arms. Shadows painted a crescent under each eye. “Have you ever kissed a guy like that before?”

  She scowled, not liking where the conversation had suddenly turned, but knowing she had started it so needed to see it through. “No.”

  “Then you have no idea how quickly things can get carried away. How easy it is to get caught up in the feeling and before you know it...”

  She studied his socks as she felt his gaze boring into her. He couldn’t think she’d –. They would’ve stopped. Wouldn’t they? Needing to reassure herself, she whispered, “Have a little faith in me, Dad.”

  His socks came closer. His hand peeled hers from the handle and he guided her to the kitchen table. “We need to talk, Sid.”

  “You did the talk, Dad. Remember? The little book. You asked if I understood it all.”

  “Not that talk.”

  Sid was relieved. She got more than enough talks at school about safe sex and stds and any number of things she really didn’t want to discuss with her father. Not after just getting caught kissing... Her stomach tightened at the thought of those kisses. Where, thought Sid, had Brad learned to kiss like that? Did she want to know?

  James gently pushed her down into her usual chair and sat across from, instead of beside, her. Sid waited with hands in her lap, fingers linked so tightly that they ached. For once she didn’t feel like tapping any kind of rhythm.

  James cleared his throat. “I guess I should have expected something like this, especially since Heather’s ‘fashion consultation’.” It’s a hard change to get used to, Sid. I’m shocked, but I’m not going to lecture you.” Her shoulders loosened a fraction. He cleared his throat again. “What do you remember about your mom?”

  Sid looked up sharply. “Nothing. I remember being mad and yelling for her, and Devin being really upset. I might remember the smell of vanilla. Was that her?”