by Hadley Quinn
While she was gone, I wandered across the room toward the stage. There were more framed posters on the walls that I spent some time admiring—Johnny Cash, Aretha Franklin, Jeff Buckley, Elton John—and then I found myself standing in front of the baby grand piano.
I heard myself sigh, and since there was still no sign of the bartender or the manager, I took the liberty of pulling the bench out to have a seat. Carefully lifting the lid, I quietly spoke my tiny little mantra before I touched a single key.
And then I played it. I really didn’t give a shit if I got yelled at or not because when a piano asks me to work my magic, I listen. This one had beckoned me over. Then she made me sit down and undress her, to admire the beauty of those black and white keys underneath the lid. And then she whispered for me to touch her.
And when I touch, I touch well. So well that I get so focused I don’t know what or who is around me, and when I finish a song and someone—or several someones—clap, it catches me off guard.
Like right now.
There were four people standing there with their hands in gentle applause. The girl from the bar was there; I had no idea who the other three men were.
“Your name please?” the older man asked as he approached the stage eagerly. He was a bit thick around the middle, possibly in his late-fifties. But he had a kind smile, fatherly almost, and I instantly felt at ease.
I carefully closed the lid and took the step down from the stage. “Uh, I’m Jude.”
He nodded enthusiastically and held out his hand. “Blake Miller. Just call me Blake. I own this place.” He motioned to the tall skinny man in glasses. “This is Harry, he does my books.” Then he motioned to the other guy who was probably the youngest of the three, I’m guessing late twenties. “And this is my son, Ben Miller. He’s the entertainment manager here.”
I noticed he didn’t speak the female’s name, but she’d covertly returned to the bar already. I was about to ask about her, but Ben caught my attention with a motion of his hand toward the piano.
“That was amazing. You’re seriously interested in playing here?”
I only nodded, but Blake signaled for me to follow as he dismissed his accountant at the same time. The remaining three of us trekked to the back of the restaurant past the bathrooms and kitchen, and around a short corner with three more doors. We entered the second one, a medium-sized office in neutral tones, but the first thing that caught my eye was that this was where the true music treasures were being held.
Signed photographs. Legitimate photos that were personally autographed, not the artwork out in the restaurant that was replicated from posters and whatnot. There were at least a dozen scattered along the wall—including a guitar, but I couldn’t tell who had signed it because Ben spoke to me.
“I see you appreciate the good stuff,” he smiled.
I returned the smile as I stepped closer to an actual photo of Blake with Bob Dylan. “Yeah, you could say that.”
I took a moment to measure the words that would come next. I really wanted to give this place a try, but wanted my conditions to be clear. I wasn’t so humble that I didn’t realize my clout, but I had to look out for my best interests first. I knew my value and what me playing at this place could do for them, but also didn’t prefer to sound like a pompous asshole.
“I’m not sure if you know who I am,” I began, “but—”
Their laughter cut me off.
“Are you joking?” Ben asked. He motioned to his father. They looked quite a bit alike except the dad’s sandy hair was graying a bit. “Of course we do. The second we walked out to the front and heard you playing.”
“You’re not a face that people forget,” Blake added with a nod. “I mean you look different now and then—and especially now because you’re not wearing your, uh…” He motioned to his head to signify a hat I sometimes wore, and then suddenly seemed embarrassed.
I gripped my hands together and rubbed them methodically, not surprised. This sort of thing was familiar to me, it was just a matter of when and how the recognition set in. “Well okay, I just wanted to clarify that yes, I’d like to play here sometime but… I do have a few requests before we proceed.”
Blake looked uncomfortable right away as he cleared his throat. “Look, eh, Mr. Collins—”
“Jude is fine.”
He nodded but took his time with the delivery of his next words. “I know what you’re worth, and having you here…it would cause quite a, uh… What’s the word?”
“Commotion,” Ben filled in. “Frenzy. Excitement.”
“Sure,” the older man nodded in agreement. “It really would. And I know lately you’ve been known to pop into clubs and lounges with discreet stage names, doing unannounced shows for the public, and then as soon as people know you’re there…you never come back. Avoiding media hype?”
I carefully nodded. “Yes. But about that… If you’re willing to work with me on a few things, and if I like playing here… Maybe it could be an ongoing thing.”
Both men raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other, but it was Ben that responded. “That would be incredible, and I’m not too arrogant to admit that it would do amazing things for our business right now, but we seriously can’t afford you. I’m just stating that right now.”
I took a few beats to observe them. They seemed sincere—truly honored to have me there, which wasn’t really what I required—but all I wanted was to know if it was a direction I could go. I felt it was a good situation for me, and at that very moment, I caught another framed photo sitting on the desk…
And that’s when I knew. The same feeling hit me like it did out in the restaurant the week before.
I turned to face them again, allowing a few seconds for the emotion in my chest to become neutral again. “If I can bring my own security to get me in and out of the building without incident, I think we could work something out. You think that’s manageable? I’ll even let you book out the night and announce me ahead of time if you’d like, but just so we’re clear, all I want is honest business, okay? Straight answers, sincere desire to bring people together for entertainment, and my basic requests to be taken seriously. Does all of that sound doable?”
The Millers looked at each other, had a two-second silent conversation, and then turned to me with nods.
“Yes, we can do that,” Blake answered. “I’ll let you look over my legal papers and you can give me yours—”
I cut him off when I held up my hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do business that way these days.” I held out my right hand and asked, “Do we have a deal?”
Again they both paused but didn’t look at one another. They were both looking at me, and at the same time, they held their hands out to shake mine.
“It’s a deal,” Blake confirmed.
“Okay, then,” I nodded as I shook both of their hands. “How about I do a show on Friday, September eighteenth? That gives you almost a month to stir up some marketing. I’ll also give you a call here tomorrow and we can discuss it in more detail if you’d like.”
I turned toward the door, but had to take a look at the photo on the desk one more time before I walked myself out.
“Wait,” Ben called as I stepped into the hallway. When I faced him he asked, “Can we at least agree on a price verbally?”
I knew that’s what he’d ask, but I was surprised it hadn’t been sooner. I’m pretty sure my cocky business-deal-on-a-handshake method had stunned them both.
“I do this for free,” I said as I disappeared down the hall.
3
I wanted to bang my head against the keys but I never abused my girl that way. With a heavy sigh, I swiped at the music I’d been composing and let it flutter to the floor.
This was harder than I thought it’d be.
A day after I’d been in The Urchin, I called the restaurant and spoke to Ben. We exchanged personal contact information and he gave me a rundown of what I could expect so far. I was impressed that he’d put so m
uch thought into it, but I suppose that’s what his degree in business was for. However, I didn’t know too many twenty-seven-year-olds (I asked his age) that were as conscientious as he was.
I was extremely impressed with one thing in particular. They weren’t reserving seats for extra dollars. They wanted to reward the true music lovers; the ones that they knew personally who valued what they did. These people they had invited so far weren’t people of prominence or money, they were just average human beings that had earned the perk that was being offered to them.
I wasn’t naïve, though. Within every crowd was a critic. Or five hundred, depending on the venue size. I didn’t expect anything different this time, even as a small show. But so far I had been looking forward to the performance until it was time to decide on a set list.
It was killing me.
When Wes came home from teaching guitar lessons at the music store he worked at, he found me lying flat on my back on the floor next to my piano.
“Rough day?” he asked, setting his cased guitar against the end table so he could drop off a bag of groceries in the kitchen. “It’s almost eight o’clock. I thought you’d be pounding away at the piano until seven fifty-nine: fifty-nine.
I smiled at the fact that he was picking on me but didn’t care. He knew what was going on and didn’t even need to ask.
“I can’t do it.”
“You say that every time. And you took this step to push you out of your comfort zone, so do it.”
My arms had been across my face, covering my eyes, but I moved one to peek at him clear across the room. He was taking bananas and apples out of a bag to toss in the wire basket on the kitchen table.
“Eight songs. I still can’t do it.”
“Well four songs in, you always revert to the old songs from the band. You know why.”
Of course I knew why. Four songs was all I knew I could get through of my own stuff. I couldn’t play anything that I’d written for Lily. The truth hurt too much. Or Annalise. Couldn’t do those either. I’d attached everything I had to those songs and I couldn’t get through any of them without losing my shit. I would try, and then right there at the front of a crowd, I’d quick and change my set list and start playing the stuff I’d written and performed with the band.
And that’s when the whispering would start in the crowd; that’s when every single pair of eyes were suddenly attentive and even a baseball hat on my head couldn’t disguise me anymore. That’s when the smiles of recognition would occur, and that’s when the camera phones would come out and fingers would start texting…
“Get up, let’s go for a drive,” Wes commanded, suddenly standing over me when I looked up.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“You will feel like it because we’re going to see them.”
I uncovered my face completely. It was dark out and I knew the cemetery was closed. Wes knew what was needed right now, even if I didn’t think I had the strength to do it on my own.
I pulled myself off the floor and slipped my shoes on, following Wes out the door and blowing a kiss to the framed photo on the closest wall.
Most people didn’t like the idea of a graveyard—or cemetery, which was the kinder of the two words. But I did. Don’t ask me why. It was just a place where I felt comfortable. Or at least sometimes it was if I held myself together. My life almost ended four years ago and I was willing to let it. Two years later, I lost my father—the only family I had left and the only person who knew exactly what I was going through. I didn’t think my life could get any more painful after that. I wanted to immerse myself in music and drown out everything that pained me, but sometimes the music therapy was so consuming, it left me completely drained. Like physically drained, not just emotionally.
Every aspect of my music was directly linked to the people I loved. Sitting down at a piano, trying to play something that I could normally play in my sleep, took every ounce of life out of me and I just couldn’t do it. I spent two years writing nothing, and performing was absolutely out of the question.
One day, my father forced me to write something. Anything. He said he didn’t care if it was a re-written version of the ABCs, but my ass wasn’t leaving the piano until I did.
Well, I did what he asked of me but it was garbage. It was probably the worst song I’d ever written. My dad looked at it and said, “This is complete horse shit.”
I couldn’t be mad at him because it was true. But he handed it back to me and said, “Pick one part of this song and fix it. Just one.”
So I did.
And then he handed it back. “Fix one more.”
So I did.
And he handed it back. “Another one.”
I knew what he was doing. I’d done the same thing to Wes when he asked for my complete and honest opinion on something he had put together. I told him it was okay but a few things could be altered to make it better. Wes wanted me to show no mercy, so I gave it to him straight, even if I sounded like a complete dick. But it turned out to be one of his best songs when he was finished, and I was extremely proud of him.
When my father did the same thing to me, it forced me to stick my head above water and take a huge breath of air. It wasn’t easy, but it was the first step. I started writing more, glad I had my dad to guide me through it, and then…he was gone.
Those thoughts flooded my mind as I hopped the fence into the Eastbrook cemetery. Wes waited in the car and let me do my thing. He also knew he might be in there for a while and I was sure he had a book with him.
I took the familiar paved path to the right, passing rows and rows of nicely kept headstones. It was dark out, but I knew the exact row to turn left. Toward the end of the aisle, by the red and yellow rose bushes that always left a lovely scent when they were in bloom, I stopped.
I’d brought my own flowers with me, thanks to Wes knowing my routine and stopping on the way. I carefully arranged three little bouquets and dropped them into the vases ready with water.
This was definitely the finest establishment to be buried in and I never regretted a single dime that went to it. I also knew it had great surveillance, and even if my face popped up on a security camera, I was allowed leniency because of who I was. I was extremely grateful for that free pass to grieve here after hours. I didn’t need paparazzi in my private business more than they already were.
Kneeling down, I took the small flashlight in my hands but didn’t switch it on. I chose not to this time. I knew exactly what those headstones read, and honestly, I liked feeling those words in the dark.
My wife, Lily, was on the left. My dad was buried on the right. Protected in the middle was my sweet little Annalise, the daughter I’ll never see grow past the age of three. She would have been seven by now…
Apparently God had other plans.
The pain in my chest started up again. I hated that. I seriously didn’t know why I was still feeling such a physical loss, but I guess it’s true that it’s different for every person. I knew I would never have them again, and I knew I needed to push on without them somehow, but it seemed I did everything I was supposed to in order to survive such a loss, and some days I was still suffering like it happened yesterday.
I’m not sure how long I spent sitting there in the grass. I spoke my feelings to all three of them like I always did, talking out loud, and then I stood.
“I hope you’re all looking over me because I could really use your help right now,” I barely whispered, feeling the tears continue as I choked up again. “I love all of you. Lily, I hope you know how sorry I am, but I wish I had some answers. And Annalise, my piglet, I would give anything to see you grow up—”
I couldn’t finish the sentence and I had to kneel down on the ground for support. The heartache completely took my balance from me and I wasn’t sure if I needed to sit again.
“I would give anything to hold you again, just one more time. I don’t think I’d let you go, though. God would have a serious fight on his hands,” I
sniffled through my laugh. “Baby girl, I love you and hope you’re keeping Mommy busy. Give her a hug for me, okay?”
After a minute, I stood again and moved over to my dad. I had the least to say to him every time. It wasn’t for any reason except I felt he already knew everything. For as long as I could remember, my dad was always there for me. My mom had died during childbirth—essentially I was a miracle baby—but my dad had pulled off double duty my entire life, even while having a demanding career.
He’d been through hell and back with me when I lost Lily and Annalise, and he never made me feel guilty for how much I’d needed him and how much I questioned my life. I admired him more than any man I knew, and even though I missed him tremendously, and his death was a horrible loss in my life, I had so much of him with me and around me that I was able to feel his presence on so many occasions.
I honestly believed my father was now my guardian angel.
“I love you, Pops,” I said, feeling the final bout of exhaustion set in. I took a deep breath to regroup. “Take care of my girls. I think out of the both of us, they probably feel you’re more fun,” I smiled with a sniffle and wiped my face clear again as I walked away. “Thanks for always guiding my way, Dad,” I whispered.
My dad had been my best friend all my life. He actually knew Lily before I did. She worked public relations for him in New York before I met her, and after my father introduced us, I asked her out on a few dates. When we got married, it was Chicago we chose to plant some roots. Lily had family there and it was my hometown, so it made sense. And when my father died, it was where he wanted to be buried.
My mom’s family had refused to have her buried here and her final resting place was in West Virginia, but she and my dad hadn’t been very close. They weren’t even married when I was born and my father had a hell of a time fighting her family for me. I still barely knew any of them, and they’d had plenty of chances to get to know me as I got older. Unfortunately it wasn’t until I’d hit it big with my band that various relatives started coming out of the woodworks. I’ll admit I was curious and met some of them, but I didn’t like the vibes I got from it and decided to cut my losses.
