The Musician

by Douglas Gardham

  “There you are!” cried Syd, breaking their moment. Ethan turned and looked back toward the entrance to Tormo as she added, “He’s fucking here!”

  Ethan was about to ask who was there when he remembered Jonah and what that night was all about.

  “Fuck!” he said, speaking just above a whisper.

  “Let’s go!” Syd shouted. “He doesn’t look—”

  The rest was lost on Ethan. His eyes were on Christa.

  “Big night,” he said, not wanting to go but knowing he had to—for everyone’s sake. “Come back with me, please?”

  “I can’t,” Christa replied. “I’ve stayed too long already.”

  “But—” Ethan stopped himself and kissed her again. He didn’t want to let go of her hand or let her out of his sight. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Tuesday, December 4, 1984

  Ethan was so excited he flew up the cement stairs three at a time back into the club. Inside, Syd was standing in the shadows beside the stage, holding the neck of her white Gibson while talking to Gus. Beside her, the guitar looked the size of a cello. On seeing Ethan, she raised her guitar and wrapped her arms around the body as if she were hugging a date. She smiled and flashed her eyelids. He knew what she was insinuating. Greg was behind his drum kit, sticks in hand.

  “Where’s Jonah?” Ethan asked as he came up beside her.

  Syd nodded toward the bar. Ethan turned and saw the same guy he’d almost hit with the door downstairs balancing two drinks in one hand and looking at a pager in the other.

  “Where’s your friend?” Syd asked. Gus was adjusting his guitar strap. More people had come in since Ethan had left, but Tormo was still far from full, which surprised him. He’d hoped for more. He didn’t see Carlyn or their mother.

  “Had to go,” Ethan replied, and he grabbed his mike. “Let’s go.”

  They started the second set with Syd’s arrangement of “American Woman.” Syd’s first chords filled the bar. As the stage lights came up, he saw his mother and Carlyn come in. They added to the joy of seeing Christa, which helped bring on a surge of energy that he wasn’t about to try to contain. Kissing Christa had brought magic to the evening; anything was possible.

  Syd ripped apart Boston’s “Don’t Look Back” and the Bee Gees’ “Nights on Broadway,” but when Ethan opened his eyes, he couldn’t see Jonah. Alarmed, he scanned the room. He stepped off the small stage, still singing, but saw no sign of the man they were playing for. Though disheartened, he didn’t slow down. The tables were filling up as more people came in. He saw Carlyn—no longer beside their mother—talking to a couple of girls at the bar. It was soon evident that invites had gone out to a lot of her friends. Gus and Syd came together at the end of their Bruce Springsteen cover of “Born to Run,” bowing forward in time with Ethan’s leap into the air.

  The cheering crowd got louder but was no match for Syd’s guitar and Marshall amp in the Release’s version of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.” Ethan loved the song Gus had brought to the band, and he emulated Robert Plant’s epic vocal and stage moves. He pulled his shirttail out and went somewhere else when Gus started on the keyboard against Syd’s Jimmy Page chords. At times, when they played, the ghosts of rock seemed to find their way onto the Release’s stage.

  At the end of “Kashmir,” Ethan noticed even more people in the audience. The tables were full; Ethan saw more people than the Release had ever played to at Tormo. The crowd added fuel to Ethan and the band’s already high-energy night. Greg was playing better than ever, flipping his sticks in the air—at least as high as the ceiling would allow—and twirling them through his fingers like batons, a trick he’d refined during lulls at the studio. He hit his toms hard, pounding out Prince’s “Little Red Corvette.” The high-pitched crunch of Syd’s guitar’s distortion set Ethan off every time, putting rockets in his legs and a raspy edge to his voice. Nothing could touch him when he performed at that level. That night, the zone was all theirs.

  “You Don’t Know What You’re Saying” was up next, and though the crowd was hearing it for the first time, it was hard to tell. Girls were dancing in the small space in front of the stage. Ethan didn’t care if they were Carlyn’s friends or not; they were enjoying the Release’s music. Their original plan had been to finish the second set with “The Angel,” but Ethan wasn’t feeling it. Instead, they played Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion.” It slowed things down, but Gus’s bass groove kept those on their feet dancing. When the song ended, Ethan nodded to Syd and mouthed, “Angel.”

  Holding the mike with both hands, he spoke into its wire mesh. “We’re gonna slow things down a bit more for a very special song we recorded last week. It’s called ‘The Angel.’”

  He didn’t close his eyes until they’d reached the part that had given him so much trouble. He saw Christa sitting at the table beside the front window of Dorian’s Coffee Emporium, sipping tea. He watched her until he found the mike back in his hands, having just sung the last verse. Syd was beside him, playing, her fingers busy winding the song in for him to sing the final words.

  “We’ll be back in a few minutes,” Ethan announced to groans from the crowd after they’d finished. “But don’t go away. We’ve got a little surprise when we come back.”

  Ethan hustled around the stage. Greg was standing behind his floor tom in his sleeveless T-shirt, showing off his biceps. A short, empty hallway led to the rear of the club. Scuffed light blue walls and worn gray floor tiles led to a stairwell and the back entrance they’d hauled their equipment through earlier that day.

  He stopped near the top of the stairs, thinking about how to end the show; his adrenaline was screaming, mixing thoughts of Christa, Jonah, and their performance.

  “Syd?” he said. She was right behind him. “Let’s not stop.”

  Greg and Gus were there too. They all reflected his excitement.

  “Let’s go back on,” he said. “We’ll start with what we left out of the first set: ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ and ‘Higher Love.’ We’ll wrap up with ‘Feels Like the First Time’ if they let us.”

  Syd was nodding. “Works for me.”

  “Right fucking on!” Greg shouted.

  Gus was beside him, jumping up and down. “Let’s go.”

  Ethan was already moving toward the stage with the rest of the Release right behind him.

  CHAPTER 41

  Tuesday, December 4, 1984

  It was hard to believe such a turnabout could take place. The week before, he’d watched Syd smash an expensive twelve-string Martin to smithereens and seen a band on the brink of collapsing. But as Ethan was beginning to learn, emotions were revealed in different ways and seemed to come out more prominently when people really cared about what they were doing. The line between love and hate was almost indistinguishable when things really mattered. Despite their faults, when they were onstage or rehearsing, they all cared. They seemed to love not only what they were doing but also the people they were doing it with. It was their creation.

  Their last set was to be short, even though they came back to unexpected cheering. They tried to ascribe to the adage “Always leave them wanting more” but decided to follow “Feels Like the First Time” with their original “Never Say Never” to end the show. Ethan knew it was a risk, but greatness didn’t come from playing it safe. Besides, it was better for people to leave with the Release’s music in their heads.

  Like something from a Hollywood script, Jonah Vetch returned midway through the Foreigner song. Finishing with “Never Say Never” was ideal. The enthusiastic crowd made it even better.

  But Jonah was gone again before they finished “Never Say Never” to a standing ovation. This second disappearance was unexpected but quickly forgotten when Ethan stepped down from the stage and heard Carlyn say to one of her friends, “That’s my bro al
l right.”

  The sound of pride in her voice caught him by surprise. He turned and hugged her without saying anything. She was his little sister, yet he hardly knew her.

  Their mother still was sitting at the table she’d been at since arriving. She wore a frilly pastel blouse he’d not seen before. A half-full glass of what looked like water was on the table in front of her. Her coat hung on the back of her chair. She smiled as he caught her eye. He wondered if she was smiling for him or smiling at seeing her children together—maybe both.

  Carlyn’s friends stood around them, squeezing out any room for silence with their constant talking, most of which was about what they’d seen and heard.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Carlyn whispered in his ear before she stepped back among her friends. Ethan moved to sit down in the empty seat beside his mother. Strangers patted him on the back or extended their hands to shake his, as if they were friends from his past. As he sat down, his discomfort grew. He felt like a narcissist who needed to feed on attention.

  “It was very loud,” his mother said.

  “I warned you.”

  His mother wiped her mouth with the white paper napkin on the table. “I wish I could understand what you were singing,” she said, “and Greg hits the drums like he’s trying to kill something.” She wrapped the napkin around her glass and took a sip.

  “Greg plays hard,” he said. “Everyone does. Want to meet the others?”

  “Not tonight. I’m pretty tired. Tomorrow’s a school day for me.”

  “Thanks for coming, Ma,” he said. He didn’t want to push it. “Hope you can hear tomorrow.”

  He stood up, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Sorry your father wasn’t here,” she whispered, rubbing his arm.

  Ethan didn’t say anything. He didn’t know why she’d said that. Whatever her intentions, he wasn’t about to let her comment mar his evening; he wasn’t having any of it.

  He turned and waved to Carlyn, who was beside the stage with a group of her friends, talking to Greg and Gus. Ethan wondered how her friends had gotten in. The thought was gone as quickly as it had come. He wasn’t about to interrupt.

  He followed Syd back to the office they were using as a dressing room at the top of the back stairs. They were there only a few minutes before the door opened.

  “Holy fuck!” screamed Greg as Gus followed him in. “What a night!”

  They slapped each other high fives that ended in a group hug. That was as far as they got together. There was a knock at the door. Ethan shook his head to leave it, but Syd was already turning the doorknob.

  Jonah Vetch stepped in.

  “That was something to behold,” he said, nodding as if trying to keep some kind of internal rhythm going while he shook each of their hands. Then, in a rough Ricky Ricardo imitation, he added, “Raj has some splainin’ to do.”

  He laughed. They all smiled at the stranger who had just entered their midst. Small talk came easily with this stranger, who seemed different from the man Ethan had talked to on the phone. Syd had met him quickly before their second set.

  Jonah then told them how he knew Raj. He didn’t mention Randolph. He loved their songs. He couldn’t stop talking about their arrangements of “American Woman” and “Kashmir.” He’d only heard a little of “Never Say Never” but liked it. The cassette Raj had given him would be the next one in his tape deck.

  “You guys are tight,” Jonah said, speaking fast, as if something were burning up inside him. Genuine excitement seemed to shape his voice.

  Standing in the small office beside him, Ethan was surprised at the man’s height. He wasn’t much taller than Syd. Gus had him by a couple of inches, and Gus wasn’t tall.

  “You actually know how to play,” Jonah said.

  “Thanks,” Greg said and smiled.

  “So,” Jonah said, rubbing his palms together as if he were about to perform some kind of magic. The collar of his white shirt was buttoned to the top. He didn’t wear a tie. “Can you guys be in Chicago next Tuesday night?”

  The question came as a surprise to Ethan and likewise to the others, judging by the glances that went around the room. They’d all expected him to say something more along the lines of “So you’re looking for a manager?” But Ethan liked his response. Without explaining or filling their heads with a bunch of wishful ideas, Jonah seemed to want to do. It had been a great night—why stop?

  “Chicago?” Ethan replied, trying to think how they could manage the Gasworks Saturday and Sunday and make it to Chicago Tuesday. He didn’t want to give anything away, but inside, he was screaming. Jonah wasn’t yet their manager and had a gig for them. Ethan could only suppress his emotions for so long. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’ve a spot on the bill,” Jonah said. “My opening act just canceled. You need five songs. I know about four.”

  “‘Confusion,’” Ethan said as the others turned and looked at him. They’d played it once.

  “We’re going to fucking Chicago!” Greg shouted, thrusting his fist into the air.

  “Just a minute,” Ethan said, suddenly uncomfortable with how fast it was all happening. “You’re not our manager yet.”

  “No, I’m not,” Jonah replied quickly, looking at Ethan, “but it’s how I roll. I’ve seen what I need to see. I’m ready if you are.”

  Jonah’s reply could have come off as arrogant, but it didn’t sound that way. He likely knew more about the Release than he was letting on, Ethan thought. They had planned to spend much of the next week booking shows. Those gigs might land in their laps with Jonah Vetch. It didn’t seem possible. Jonah had a way of speaking that made Ethan want to listen; he represented hope. The Release would make music; Jonah would manage them. As hard as it was to believe, everything seemed to be coming together.

  “This is fucking it!” Greg shouted, looking to the ceiling. “Where do I sign?”

  Ethan’s head was buzzing. Less than a week ago, they’d almost packed it in. Now a potential manager was in their midst with work. They had recorded four good songs—two for a soundtrack. They’d played one of their best shows. He’d seen Christa. As his mother said, nothing ever went as planned.

  “Are we just looking at Chicago Tuesday night?” Ethan asked, needing to ask something before his insides exploded. Was there a catch to Jonah’s offer?

  “Tonight, yes,” Jonah replied. His voice trailed off.

  Ethan’s lips tightened. He thought he might be onto something. The Release was filling a need for Jonah Vetch—likely getting him out of a jam. The Release would turn their world upside down to get to Chicago. Would that be the end of it?

  Jonah’s right hand went in the front pocket of his designer jeans and then came out as if he’d pulled something out of it.

  “There’ll be more,” Jonah said, looking up at Ethan. “Much more if things work out as I think they will.”

  Ethan’s mind was racing. They’d never been stateside as a band. How was that going to work?

  “You’ve all got passports?” Jonah asked, as if reading Ethan’s mind.

  Ethan didn’t and shook his head.

  “Birth certificate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That works,” Jonah said. He looked at Syd. “You?”

  Syd twisted her face in a “Really?” frown.

  “I’m as fucking Canadian as anyone in this room,” she sneered.

  “Sorry,” Jonah replied, and he tried to recover. “Bad on me. Won’t happen again.”

  “Sure,” Syd said, and she faked a smile. “Better not.”

  Ethan looked at Gus. “The van’ll get us there?”

  “Sure,” Gus answered. He hadn’t said anything yet, and Ethan wondered whether he was buying into Jonah becoming their manager. The Chicago thing did seem a little far-fetched, given their current circumstanc
es.

  “How do we know you’re not full of shit?” Gus said.

  “You don’t,” Jonah answered, stepping back and putting his hand on the doorknob. “I can walk right out this door, and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Whoa!” shouted Greg before anyone else had a chance to speak. “That’s not gonna happen. We’re going to fucking Chicago if I have to drag everyone’s ass down there myself.”

  “You’re not dragging my ass anywhere, drummer boy,” Syd said.

  “Okay, just a minute,” Ethan said. “Nobody’s dragging anybody’s ass.”

  “I’m fucking going,” Syd said.

  Jonah handed each of them his business card.

  “What’s next?” Gus asked.

  “We’ll get to Chicago first,” Jonah said, and he looked at Ethan. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  Jonah pulled open the door and left as swiftly as he’d arrived.

  Ethan figured Jonah had known before he walked in that the Release was going to Chicago.

  CHAPTER 42

  Thursday, December 13, 1984

  Jonah, to his word, had called Ethan the next day. He said the Release had to be in Chicago by noon on the Tuesday. Ethan also learned the destination wasn’t exactly Chicago but Peoria. Ethan didn’t mind. None of them did; it was a gig stateside. If they drove straight, it would take them nine hours.

  The Release finished the week at Tormo and, as planned, played the Gasworks in downtown Toronto Saturday and Sunday night. They stayed at the house for most of Monday, rehearsing the four songs they knew and an arrangement of Ethan’s “Confusion.” They left just before midnight. The van was packed with gear. Gus and Greg did most of the driving. A friend of Greg’s Ethan hadn’t met before came along to help them load and unload. They were on their way to Peoria, USA.

  Even if they’d been told, they wouldn’t have believed what was ahead of them. They went from playing small clubs to the Peoria Civic Center, which held twelve thousand people. They didn’t know until they saw the marquee in the arena’s parking lot Tuesday morning that they were opening a show that one of the top bands in the nation—REO Speedwagon—was headlining. Like a dream, the show passed in a flash. Outside of watching backstage and receiving a few pats on the back when they came off the stage, they didn’t see the members of the headliner at all, and just as Jonah had said, they played their five songs and left. For the Release, the arena crowd was monstrous. They’d never heard such a loud response to a performance. But it was a murmur compared to thunderous ovation REO Speedwagon received when they finally took the stage an hour late. Neither Ethan nor the rest of band paid much notice to the difference. They were pinching themselves just to be performing in front of a stadium crowd and not booed off the stage. It was the first time they’d played all their own material.