by Cooper West
“We got this. We know this. Just play.” There was a burst of laughter from the back of the room, vicious and loud. Chuck stepped back, letting his hand drop fromGary’s shoulder, and Gary saw red. He knew it was the group of jerks he spotted earlier, mocking them, making everyone including Chuck uncomfortable with their hostile antagonism. Gary’s fingers started up again, tense enough to screw up but trained enough to keep going, and by the third bar they were allswingingalonginthe songdespite Gary’s overhammered, heated playing. It took him half the song to wind down, but when Chuck’s mini-solo was done, Gary picked up the lead again, and they were off, playingas tightlyas iftheyhad beenpracticingallday.
It was a long song, something Gary strung out fromthe short traditional melody with his own brand of jazz. By the time they were done, ten minutes were gone to the music, and Gary felt elated. They were good, they were even great, and not a person in the audience could denythemthat.
Chuck’s eyebrows shot up as the crowd clapped and cheered. Fran raised her banjo up like a prize kill, grinning at Gary. He smiled back at her, shifting a little, and it took him a second to realize that he had just played his own music in front of a crowd of strangers. His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could call up the panic, Chuck’s hand was on his shoulder again. They looked at each other as the crowd continued clappingand shoutingout praise.
“Yougood?”
“Readyto roll. ‘Dawninthe Orchard’?”
It was the one song Gary wrote where the fiddle did most ofthe talking, a strong, aggressive piece witha thread of melancholy through the chorus. He wrote it for Chuck, and anyone who knew anything about music would see that pretty clearly once it got rolling. Chuck gave himanenigmatic look, nodded, and beganplaying.
Halfway through, during a quieter section of the song, Gary realized that he was not hearing anything from the audience behind him. He kept playing, his nerves ratcheting up with every note played, imagining that the place had simply emptied out, people too disgusted by Chuck and Gary to even stay and listen. He nearlyfumbled, somethingFrannoticed witha sharp look, but his heart was racing, and he started sweating buckets. Chuck was too wrapped up in holding the song together to notice, and Gary grew desperate. He twisted a little to look out the corner of his eye at the audience, whichhe hoped theystillhad.
The place was packed, silent and watching. Some people had picked up the melody and were nodding along, but most focused on the stage, their faces rapt with attention. Gary felt a jolt through him, a recognition that seeing so many people watching him onstage should terrifyhim, but he did not feelit at allexcept as a distant, removed worry. His terror wasn’t gone, but it was compartmentalized, shoved into a corner box while he was busyplaying.
Smiling, he turned a bit more until he hit his wall, which was about two-thirds of the way around. He noticed it was at the point where Chuck was becoming peripheral, so he shuffled on the chair until he had his band all in his sight but still partially faced the audience. Chuck finally glanced over and skipped a note, sliding back into the song professionally enough that probably no one inthe audience noticed it.
They played out to another round of cheering. Gary smiled at Chuck, who wore a slightly stunned expression. Another quick glance at the audience showed a couple of empty tables, including where the jerks had been sitting. Gary felt nothing about that. Years ago, the idea of offending anyone in his audience would have horrified him, especially in regards to his homosexuality. Right then, with Fran plucking happily at her banjo and Jamie (still) frowning at the piano, and Chuck blushing with pleased embarrassment, Chuck saw it all slide together: how his shame and anger had merged and fought to stalemate; how Roger had unconsciously encouraged Gary’s stage fright by being ashamed of their relationship; and how Gary’s own insecurities let that situation fester until he was at the point ofruininghis career, ifnot his life.
It was a window opening up in a musty room of his soul, an explanation he knew was true and could work with. His fear was not gone, but the stalemate was pushed back by his anger stepping forward at Tally’s words:Garydeserved better.
And maybe, now, he had finallyfound it. Without a thought, he started on “Irish Medley (The Traveler/Green Gates)”, a snappy little tune arranged by one of Chuck’s favorite bands, the longlasting group Special Consensus. It was a fast-paced song that was fancy but not tricky, and while it was not one of the songs they regularly practiced it was familiar enoughthat the other three jumped ineasily.
Gary looped them through it twice, Chuck laughing out loud when he swung the end of the tune back around to the beginning. Around them, people were clappingalong, yellingencouragement at the solos. Garylet Franwrap it up witha flourishto loud cheering.
Gary let the others take the bows, not quite ready to completely turn and face the sea of people, but he waved as he walked off the stage. He noticed for the first time that the regular players ofthe jamsessionwere already starting to crowd closer as he worked his way back to the table where Tally sat. A few people slapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him as he passed. He collapsed into his chair feeling shocky. Tally shoved a beer at him.
“I don’t know what happened up there, but I think my therapist would say you had a ‘breakthrough.’” Tally used air quotes, leaning forward with a serious expression on his face. Gary took a large swigofhis beer.
“Youhave a therapist?”
Tally rolled his eyes, settling back in his chair again. “Yes, I am a fragile, delicate snowflake with a historyofchildhood physicalabuse and druguse.”
Gary laughed until he realized Tally was not laughingwithhim.
“Everybody’s got a past, Gary. I didn’t crawl out of the Chicago projects unscathed.” Tally shrugged, unembarrassed but talking softly so others would not overhear. “Music was my refuge. It was my way out. But I stillpaid a price.”
Gary nodded, completely thrown by the confessionthat Tallyoffered so casually.
“I think you found yourself, up there,” Tally waved his beer at the stage, talking louder since the jam sessionhad beguninearnest. Chuck stood inthe middle of it all, grinning like a loon, holding host over proceedings as he always did. Gary could imagine how relieved he felt and smiled at him.
“Some things came together for me,” he said in agreement. Tallysmirked, so Garykicked his chair.
“Hey! You sure it did not involve some kind of regression, here? Yougoingto pullmypigtails next?”
“Do youlike me, yes/no?”Garylaughed.
Tallylaughed too, but he gave Garya criticallook after a moment. “I more than like you; I think you are going to make me a hell of a lot of money. You guys were tight up there, and your arrangements are firstclass.”
Gary shook his head. “Bluegrass isn’t where millionaires are made.”
“I’m already a millionaire. I don’t need the money. I just want more of it. And there isn’t a musical genre out there that doesn’t have millionaires in it. You can take that to the bank. It might take you ten years, but playinglike that willget youthere.”
Tally radiated seriousness, which threw Gary. He never thought that far out and wondered if he would be happy doing this for the next decade or more, surprised at the pleasure the idea gave him. He smiled at Tally, knowing he probably looked a little predatory. Tally returned with an exasperated look, punched him in the arm, thenturned to focus onthe jamsession.
The somewhat disorganized song everyone onstage was playing came to a not-very-neat end, people slightly buzzed and laughing at each other over their instruments. Chuck waved his bow around to get everyone’s attention.
“We have a special guest in our midst. You might remember the fine set of his hair from his last visit: producer and manager to the stars, TallyMcGuire!”
Tally threw Chuck a blistering look, but everyone around them laughed louder and gave Tally a round of applause. A few people on stage were surprised, recognizingthe name.
“I think you made angels weep last time you visited us, Mr
. McGuire. Maybe Jamie could be talked into giving up that fine instrument”—Jamie snorted loudly behind Chuck as he spoke—“to give you a chance at her. Maybe you can keep up with a bunch of hay-pickers like us?”
It was a friendly challenge, the sort that Gary saw Tally turn down by the dozen back in Chicago, but with a nod he stood up and headed for the stage. Jamie traded out, heading like an arrow for the bar, as Chuck and Tally talked while Tally sat down. It was a completely different experience from the first time Tally played, during his last visit. This time Chuck was relaxed and friendly, Tally was not showing out quite as much, and everyone else enjoyed trying to keep pace with them. The party atmosphere kept rolling around and over Garyas he watched the stage, sippinghis beer as he finallystarted to relaxagain.
Gary wandered onto the stage at some point, not to play but to simply chat it up with Tally during pauses. Tally did not know most of the songs everyone else knew, but he sailed gracefully through every challenge thrown his way and even flirted with Mae Jackson, the octogenarian fiddle player who had taught most everyone onstage at one time or another, including Chuck. It was a family-friendly evening in every sense of the word, and while Gary still had stomach flutters from his adrenaline rush earlier, he managed to untwist enough to relax and enjoy the music. Chuck got a few curious glances, and Gary suspected he did too when he wasn’t looking, but on the whole it was not much different from any other Thursday jam session. The night ended with Tally still at the piano as the last of the musicians packed up and headed out, but Gary eventually managed to drag him off the poor, battered instrument.
The drive back to the house inChuck’s truck was quiet, though. Tally sat in the backseat and massaged his fingers, tired and buzzed and mumbling every once ina while about how muchhe missed Gina. Garyput his hand on Chuck’s thigh for the trip, earning him a fond look in the dark of the cab. When he pulled up in front ofthe house, though, Chuck did not get out.
“I’mgoinghome. I need to see mykids, check on my house,” he said across the seat as Tally lurched out of the truck. Gary closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, letting Tally wander into the house onhis own.
“What’s up? Can’t youleave inthe morning?”
Chuck opened the door but did not get out, reaching instead to pull Gary to his side. Gary leaned in awkwardly, trying not to bang his shin on the step as Chuck wrapped his arms around his waist.
“I want to wake up inmyownhouse, Gary. Have Jessica drop the kids off early so I can take them to schoolmyself, explainwhat’s goingon. They’ve already heard the talk going around, but after tonight gossip’ll pick up. I want to stayhere, sure, but….”
“I know, okay.” He patted Chuck’s shoulder, pulling out of the embrace. It had been a nice week living in denial about Chuck’s family, but real life was out there, and Gary was not going to hold Chuck back fromthat.
“Hey.”
Gary nodded, still pushing off, but Chuck tightened his grip.
“Hey, I’m not leaving. I’m not going backward. Tonight was important to me. It changes everything.”
“Sure. Fine. I’mgood, really, so….”
“Damn it, I told you I’m not leaving you. I just have business to take care of,” Chuck sighed, resting his forehead on Gary’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’llfigure out where to go fromhere.”
Garynodded, tryingto act like anadult. He stood back to look at Chuck, whose eyes showed mostly worry, then leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet, lingering kiss that Chuck returned in kind before finally letting go. They didn’t say anything else. Just waved to eachother as Chuck pulled back out into the night.
ChapterSeventeen
“Wait, what?” Tally looked around as if Chuck was
hidingbehind the refrigerator.
“He. Went. Home,”Garyground out the words. “I thought things went really well last night?” Tally
asked, clutching his coffee. He did not drink enough the night before to have a hangover, so Gary suspected it was some kind of emotional fallout from playing the piano for hours. Although it could also have just been normal morning grumpiness. Gary was not in the mood to find out. Slumping over his own cup of coffee, he shook his head.
“No, maybe, yes—I don’t know. Said he had
business to take care of.”
“Hmph.”Tallyglared at no one inparticular. After
a long pause where they both drank deeply from their
cups, Tallyshrugged. “He does, that’s for damnsure.” Gary nodded, debated going back to bed but
ended up inthe denlisteningto albums he’d had no time
or energy to digest before. Tally came in, turning up the
volume before he crashed into one of the porch chairs.
He looked dead asleep, but Garyknew he was listening
just as closelyand a lot more criticallythanGary. It was
a pleasant way to spend the morning and distracting
enough that Gary was surprised when the phone in the
kitchenrang.
“Hello?” he said, picking it up and fighting with
the cord of the receiver because he kept forgetting it
had one.
“Gary,” Chuck’s warm voice answered back,
soundinglike he was smiling.
“Oh. Hey.”
“You didn’t expect me to call,” Chuck said, his
tone droppingto unhappy.
“Last time you lit out, there was no contact. I
wasn’t going to wait around, if that’s what you’re
asking.”
“Not asking. I told you I would call, and I’m
calling.”
“Uhm, thanks.”
Chuck laughed softly. “Don’t forget I set up with
Franand Jamie to do some recordingtomorrow. I think
we can wrangle four days out of them this week, and
maybe one or two evenings. They have family
obligations with Christmas coming up, but it’s the best
we cando.”
“Oh hey, that’s good. It’ll get us back on track.
Tally might have to leave halfway through, but he can
get all the sound adjusted. Sounds like a plan.” He
stopped for a moment before decidingto plow forward.
“What’s up withyour family? Are the kids okay?” Chuck was quiet for long enough that Gary
thought he had overstepped. There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Martha is a bit rattled but hanging in there. Evan, I don’t know. He’s thirteen and opinionated like his mother and doesn’t want people to think his father is gay. I can’t help that, and he’s got his newfound manhood on the line, I think. It’s going to be
a while before he adjusts to this.”
Gary thought it might not happen at all, but he
could not bring himself to be a doomsayer with the
boy’s ownfather. “He’llcome around.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s old enough to know
his own mind but young enough to change it. Time will
tell on that one. Martha was really keen to start putting
rainbow flags all over her backpack, though,” Chuck
sighed morosely. “I had to tell her it was inappropriate
for mytruck.”
Gary snickered, amused by Chuck’s
defensiveness over his truck giventhat he had just come
out to his family.
“Gary, I’m going to be spending this weekend at
home when we’re not recording. I don’t want you to
think anything ofit, but they are my children. I hope you
understand that.”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, I wish you were here, but
okay. I know things are tough for you over there,
anyway.”
“Lawyers are still sniping at each other. No real
progress there. I want to focus on family for r
ight now,
over the holidays, before things start gettingtornapart.” “I get that. Look, I’m with you, okay? As much
as I canbe, anyway.”
There was another long pause before Chuck
spoke again. “Youknow I’minlove withyou, right?” Gary’s mouthdropped open.
“You’re good for me… in ways my family never
was. You remind me of who I am. I can’t keep playing
these games with Daddy. It’s not worth it anymore. I
love you, and that’s where this begins and ends for me.” “Oh. Uhm.”
“I’m not looking for a declaration here. Just
remember what I said. I gotta go. See you tomorrow,
10 a.m., at the store.” Chuck hung up before Gary’s brain kicked in, which was fine with him because even thenhe could not think ofwhat to say.
Everythingwas above-board professional for the
next five days. Tally set up the recording equipment the way he wanted it, Jamie fussing over his shoulder to the point that Gary thought he might have to make them bothsit inthe corner. By the end ofthe first day, Chuck and Tally were thick as thieves, causing Gary to be slightly suspicious but not overly worried since Tally wasn’t exactly competition. During breaks, Chuck checked his phone and a few times went outside to returna phone call.
“What are you two talking about?” Gary finally gave in to curiosity as Chuck stepped outside with his phone for the second time that day. It was the third day ofrecordingand Tally’s last dayintown. Earlier, Chuck and Tally had gone so far as to skip out and go to lunch together, alone. Garyhad reached his breakingpoint.
“I’m throwing Gina over for the gay. Chuck’s goingto make me anhonest man.”
