by Cooper West
Tally held still for a moment. He claimed it was one of his negotiating strengths to just shut up and stare down his opponent, and Gary could see why. Chuck stared back at him firmly, but it was hard to miss the shift in posture that suggested uncertainty. Finally, when Chuck was visibly fighting not to squirm under his scrutiny, Tallyspoke.
“I’m really not interested in Gary’s ass, so spare me your macho posturing. I don’t care. In fact I’m probably the only person Gary knows who encouraged himto hook up with you. Okay? I’mhere for the music, that’s all. Gary’s got experience, but he’s no sound engineer, and I know the sound I want out of you guys. So here I am, prostituting my very expensive conservatory education for the sake of a barely there bluegrass band. You need to act grateful. And? Back. The fuck. Off.”
Chuck’s eyebrows shot up, but he relaxed and nodded. “S’longas we understand eachother.”
Tally turned to face Gary. “Is he for real? Or did he just walk out ofa Clint Eastwood movie?” “Tally,”Garysighed.
“Has he beensleepingonmybed?”
“Your bed?”
“I bought it. I get dibs.”
Chuck cleared his throat. “I’m not using it.” His ear tips turned bright red, and Gary had to stop and marvel, because he had never seen Chuck embarrassed about anythingbefore.
Tally glared at Chuck for a moment before grabbing his bag and thudding up the stairs to “his” room.
“That went well,” Gary said and stomped into the kitchen. Chuck followed him, still clutching his fiddle as if it was some kind of security blanket, but he did not say anything. Chuck poured himself more tea before sitting at the dinette and staring at Chuck. “Tally’s not a threat. I told youthat before. So what’s goingonhere?”
Chuck stood tensely, his eyes flicking around the room. “I haven’t beenout ofthe closet since Atlanta.”
“And what the hell does that have to do with Tally?”
“You think I haven’t played footsie around here? But it’s all fly-by-night: meet up at some out of the way make-out spot, get off, get out. I’ve avoided the glory holes on principle, but don’t think I haven’t been tempted. Ain’t beenable to take things slow, or serious, in over ten years, and I’m a little rusty and a little protective. Give me a damnbreak.”
Gary sat back, a little stunned by the confession. Chuck looked straight at him, nodded, then turned around and walked out. After a few seconds, Gary heard himretuning his fiddle and working on some song Garydid not know.
“What really happened?” Tally asked, walking in and helping himself to the tea in the refrigerator, althoughhe gave the beer a longinglook.
Gary sighed and splayed his hands. “We got caught making out by a bitchy cousin of his. She ‘told’ on him, if you can believe that shit. Anyway there’s some kind of soap opera going on with his family. His father isn’t healthy, and there’s a faction trying to oust Chuck from the business, but Chuck’s in like Flynn there, so now I guess it’s down to the lawyers. I don’t know. He keeps that part at arm’s length fromme, and I’mgood withthat.”
Tally looked thoughtful, leaning against the counter and sipping his tea. Then he frowned. “This needs more vodka and less sugar.”He glared at the tea, affronted. Garylaughed.
“Maybe later. We might allneed it.”
Tally listened for a bit to Chuck playing. “As good as I remember,”he commented quietly.
Gary nodded. “Yeah, the half-assed recordings I’ve sent you so far don’t really do us much justice. With Fran and Jamie, we’ve got a solid sound. You’ll like it.”
“I already do, and that’s off your crappy mike.” Tallysat downacross fromhim. “So whenare youguys actuallyrecording?”
“I arranged to hold the equipment for a few days extra. Our first session is tomorrow, late morning. Everyone’s rearranging work schedules to fit in five days of solid time at our ‘studio’, which, right before Christmas, is getting me a lot of bitching. The only bonus is that the store is closed for the time being due to the family squabble, so we won’t have to work around customers.”
“Actually, this might work for the best. Lets me set up the equipment properly.”
Gary was not actually looking forward to the black-hole nexus that would be micromanager Tally going head-to-head with Jamie’s persnicketiness and just hoped that, in the end, it would work in everyone’s favor. Tallyrubbed his face.
“I had to rearrange my schedule to be here, and I crammed in some important meetings before jumping the plane to get into Charlotte, not counting the drive here.”
“You came in from Charlotte?” Gary was surprised, because Braedondid have a smallairport.
“Cheaper and quicker, believe it or not.”
“Still, you dropped everything right before Christmas to come downhere?”
“I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘escaping the future in-laws’.”
Garygrinned at him. “Gina’s pissed, isn’t she?”
Tallygot a nervous, scared look onhis face for an instant. “Youhave no idea.”
“Oh, I bet I do!”
Tally shook his head. “Anyway, less snow here. Look, I’mbeat. I’mgoing to go up there, wash up, and go to sleep. Wake me for dinner.”
“We’re downto peanut butter sandwiches.”
“Wake me when you two are ready to go out to dinner.”
Garynodded at Tally’s retreatingback.
That evening, Chuck and Gary sat in the living roomonthe porchchairs. Garyhad brought theminside during the last of autumn in November, when cool afternoons on the porch were slowly replaced by warm evenings by the fireplace. With the finaldeparture ofthe hideous couchto parts unknown(Garydid not ask after they loaded it up one day in Chuck’s truck, and Chuck took it away), the living room had been bare of any place to sit other than the stools they used during band practice. The porch chairs were the only pieces of furniture that were comfortable enough to sit in for longer than five minutes, and they were easy to move out ofthe wayfor practice sessions.
Tallyplodded downstairs. “Dinner?”
“It’s Thursday. Dinner at Brunhilde’s, then the jamsessionat the Lower Forty.”
Tally blinked, waved a sleepy hand at them, and went into the kitchen, coming back out with a beer. He sat downcarefullyinthe last available porchchair.
“First, we talk.”
Gary groaned into his own beer, but Chuck simplynodded.
“I’m here to get these recordings done. I’ve got contracts with me for everyone to sign.” He paused, lookingat Chuck.
“I’d like mylawyer to look it over.”
Tally nodded. “I thought you would. Not a problem for me. So, anyway, next is getting the fully produced songs online and the website live. Then….” This time he looked at Gary as his words trailed off, his expressiongrim.
“No.”
Tally crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, making it creak dangerously. Startled, he sat forward again. Chuck coughed, and Gary had to bite his lip not to laugh. Tallyglared at bothofthem.
“Yes. Tour for you and your backup band. US and Canada, guaranteed. I mean a year on the road: three weeks on, one week off. We’ll do a few live recordings and add themto the website…."
Garyshook his head. “No.”
Chuck gave him a sidelong glance but stayed quiet.
“Damn it, Gary, I can’t continue to invest money inthis project ifyouwon’t back it.”
“This isn’t exactly a choice, goddammit! I’m not being ‘difficult’here, Tally. It’s a fucking mentalblock!”
“Which you aren’t even trying to fix, are you?” Tally yelled back, then turned to Chuck. “He isn’t, is he? Go on. Tellme I’mwrong.”
Chuck shook his head. “Nope. Not too wrong.”
“Fuck you,”Garysnarled, gettingup to pace.
“The man’s right. He’s a businessman, Gary, and that’s not your thing, but it is mine, and I see what he’s saying. You got to tour, if you’re going to make a
go at this.”
Gary kicked his chair just hard enough to make it jump. Chuck held up his hands, still sprawled out in his ownchair.
“Don’t be getting mad at us, hear? You know it’s a problem.”
“Yes, thanks, I do know it’s a fuckingproblem.”
“And youknow how to fixit.”
Tallylooked at Chuck, surprised. “He does?”
Chuck nodded. “He does.”
“What? No ‘he’ doesn’t!”Garysnapped.
“You did it the first time we played with Fran and Jamie.”
Garyblinked. “That doesn’t count.”
“Sure thingit does.”
“I can’t turn my back on a paying audience, Chuck.”
Tally settled in like he was watching a tennis match, sipping his beer. Gary hated himright then, even ifhe knew he was beingunfair.
“No, but you can turn your back on people watching you and play. I’ve seen you do it, so don’t evenargue withme.”
“Are you just not making the connection here? Tally, youwant to explainthe differences to him?”
Chuck spoke up before Tally even tried to answer. “It’s a start, and it may not work. Maybe you never overcome it. But it’s a workaround, which I think is more thanyou’ve had inyears.”
Gary nodded dumbly, knowing it was true but unable to see any further than using the technique in a controlled studio setting.
“So, tonight we are bringingyour guitar withus.”
Tally snapped his fingers like he had thought of it, nodding. “Great idea! He cantryit out.”
“No!” Gary’s heart started beating wildly at the thought ofclimbingup to playinfront ofeveryone at the Lower Forty.
Chuck leaned forward, serious and focused on Gary. “Fran and Jamie will be there. You’ll play with us, not anyone else. We’ll do it just like we did here. You face the back wallwhile we play. I’lleven beat the stage sitters back.”
Gary felt his chest tighten as he gulped for air. “No, I don’t… I can’t.”
“That’s your first problem: thinking you can’t.” Tally pointed at him. “I can’t stop you from thinking about freakingout, but whydon’t youtrythinkingabout making this work? Just to see?” Tally got up and walked over to where Gary felt like he was melting down and put a hand on his shoulder. It was not as broad or sure as Chuck’s, but it was familiar, and he slowed downhis breathing.
“You’ve been spiraling down this road for five years, since things really went sour with Roger, and I’m betting it goes even deeper than that,” Tally said. Gary peripherally saw Chuck perk up at the information. “It might take time, but you’ve got a chance here to move on and get your career back on track. I’mbacking you with my money and my beliefin your talent. I work with musicians every day, and let me tell you, skill is like confetti—it’s everywhere. But talent? That’s why I represent you, and damn it, that’s me taking a risk on you. Have a little faith, and take a risk onyourself.”
Chuck nodded approvingly while Gary sucked in air. “And ifI fail? IfI tryand fail?”
“ThenI’llbe reallypissed off.”
Gary busted out with nervous laughter, shoving Tallyaway. “Fine! Fine, youfuckers. I’ll… I’lltry.”
ChapterSixteen
Theyate at Brunhilde’s, which was busy but not
crowded, due to the proximity of the holidays. Taking a table inthe bar area, they kept a low profile and did not do much talking, other than Gary trying to convince Tally and Chuck that he was going to fail miserably, have a panic attack, and collapse from a coronary. Tally nodded, saying he had heard it all before, and Chuck ignored him.
“Fine, but you’ll live to regret this,” Gary said, waving his knife at both of them over his Wiener schnitzel.
Gary regretted it for all of them as soon as he walked into the Lower Forty, and it had nothing to do with his guitar. Next to him, Chuck carried his fiddle case lightly, but his expressionwas grim, focused mostly on the floor three feet in front of them. Around them, the place was quiet as a grave, everyone staring at Chuck. Afew seconds passed before the quiet murmur oftalking picked up again, but it was clear that Chuck’s presence was both a surprise and, at least in some quarters, unwelcome.
Fairly familiar with the specter of homophobia, Gary had not directly confronted it in years, outside of Roger’s family. He stood to the side as a defensive measure, closer to Tally than Chuck, while Chuck threaded through the crowd to where Fran was waving themover to her table, set up with a couple of buckets of beer on ice. They sat down, and there was a sudden release of tension in the room, as if everyone had been waitingfor a fight to start.
“Well, this should be exciting,” Tally said, looking marginally out of place in his slacks and blazer combo, his blond curls perfectly styled and his hands well manicured. Gary loved the irony that the gayest man at the table was the straight guy, but that did not really help matters too much when everyone in the room knew about Chuck’s falling-out with Cornerstone. Tally sighed. “Good thing I grew up in the projects. I’ll be able fight my way out. You guys are on your own, though.”
Jamie sighed back at him, prim and proper even in jeans and a checked shirt. “Don’t worry. I’ll point at Fran and tell them she’s a wicked witch. You all can make a runfor it while theyset up a stake for burning.”
Fran laughed so hard beer came out her nose while Teddy slapped her on the back. It lightened the mood at the table but did nothing for the boiling rage curlingthroughGary’s stomach.
“This is just fucked up, though. They’ve allknown you your whole life.” Gary frowned as he took the beer Franpushed toward him.
“And most don’t care, if you look. Only takes a few, though,”Chuck said quietlyinto his ownbeer. “We’re on after the Buzzies,” Fran leapt in, obviouslytryingto change the subject.
“The whosits?”Tallygrinned.
“The Buzzies—local group of high school—oh no, theygraduated. Whatever. Localband, then. Alittle too much Dave Matthews influence to be real bluegrass, but everyone likes them.”
Tally grunted in acknowledgement. Gary saw him moving into business mode, turning over the idea of the Buzzies, and he wondered if the kids would even have the nerve to play if they knew exactly who was in the audience.
They exchanged small talk as the Buzzies set up, and Gary tried not to think about performing in front of a group of complete strangers, some of whom were homophobic bigots. The thought did not settle his stomach.
“Chuck,” Tally said abruptly, causing everyone to stop and look at him. Chuck nodded for him to go ahead.
“Tell me, if Gary gets up there and turns his back onthis crowd, are theygoingto get upset bythat?”
Chuck frowned. “Don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Where I’m from that’s rude as shit. And given the vibes going on here, people might take it as some kind of… I don’t know, politicalstatement, maybe?”
“Huh.”Chuck bit his lip.
“I don’t care.” Everyone stared at him, but Gary shook his head. “I really don’t. If it starts a fight, then fine.”
Tally turned in his chair to face him. “You just spent our entire mealtryingto get out ofthis.”
“That was then. Now I’mpissed.”
Chuck’s eyebrows shot up, but he did not say anything.
Tallysnorted. “Well, ifyou’re sure….”
“Fuck, I’m scared to death. But I’m also mad, because this is unfair. So I’ll give it a shot, because Chuck deserves better thanthis.”
Tally clapped him on the shoulder. “I got your back.”
“I hope you got a gun,” Jamie said, smiling slyly. Fran’s boyfriend choked with laughter, starting themall off. Everyone was fairly relaxed again by the time the Buzzies took the stage. Tally watched the young group with interest, which Gary understood because they were good. They were also done fairly quickly, and before Gary had reached for his second beer, Chuck, Fran, and Jamie were onstage arranging things for their set. Due
to the last-minute nature of their decision to perform, Jamie had to settle for the old standup piano, grimacing as he played over the keys. It was in tune but hardly a precision instrument, and Jamie banged out a round “Chopsticks” in revolt. Chuck laughed and patted Jamie onhis shoulder.
Gary sat in his chair, watching, fighting nausea, his hands clutching at his thighs. After a few moments, looking at the stage was too much so he turned away, only to be hit by the sight of everyone staring at Chuck. Most expressions were blank or sad, but a few looked angry as hell, and in one corner some guys were whispering dangerously. Gary had no proof they were talking about Chuck, but the vicious glances they cast toward the stage made himthink theywere.
“Some people will always hate you,” Tally said quietly, glancing over at the same guys Gary focused on.
“I don’t care. I’m mad because of Chuck. He deserves better.”
Tallysat back, surprised.
“What?”
“For fuck’s sake, Gary, so do you.” Gary opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to reply. It was true, he thought angrily. He did deserve better—a better career thanhe suffered up until then, a better relationship than he ever had with Roger, and a better future than he ever let himselfdreamabout. He deserved allthat, and most importantlyright then, he deserved the chance to be happy with Chuck, to be with Chuck, no matter what a small number of bigoted asshole locals (or a large number of Chuck’s family) thought about it. He rode the anger up and out of his chair to the stage, unpacking his guitar with his back to the audience, deciding that if they were going to be assholes, thentheycould dealwiththe idea ofhimbeing rude.
Since everything in the Lower Forty was an acoustic set with just a few microphones for pickup, it did not take long before they were ready to go. Gary sat on the edge of his stool, his pulse racing with nerves and anger, keepinghis focus onthe memoryofthe jerks inthe corner talkingshit about Chuck.
“Ladies and gentlemen, something different tonight. We’ve been practicing with professional recording artist Gary Winston here, in preparation for recording his debut solo album. There’s something new about the tunes we’re going to play for you tonight, although you might recognize them. Enjoy.” Chuck’s introduction was over quickly, and he followed it by drawing a note to pull them all together. Gary thought for a second about the people behind him, the noises they made, the expectations they had, and he fumbled the first bar of“Cattle in the Cane.” The others stopped quickly, looking at himto see if he was going to go on. He shook his head, his eyes closed tight, until he felt Chuck’s hand onhis shoulder.
