London Harmony: Doghouse (5 page)

She looked so familiar to me, but I just couldn't place her.  It was a nagging in the back of my brain that I should recognize her.

I kept my eye on her a moment, wondering what an obviously upper class woman was slumming at an underground rave for.  Well upper class if you knew what you were looking at, the overall effect of her getup would have made he blend in if she didn't draw your eye with the evocative dance moves she was doing.  Her man just leaned against the wall, making an effort not to move with the beat.

The music abruptly stopped and all heads swung to the stage and everyone quieted down, though there was nervous excitement buzzing in the room, it was palpable.  Ronnie pointed down at the base of the stage.  A man with skin so dark you would have to call it ebony pulled himself up onto the stage and turned to the crowd with his chin up.  I could hear the imaginary “Boom.” as he crossed his arms and the crowd went wild.

Ronnie stepped next to the man who was just a couple inches taller than him, but much slimmer.  He looked him up and down.  He wore jeans, sneakers, a white tee, and a sideways ball cap.  It was oddly fitting to the atmosphere.  Then Ronnie said into his earbud microphone, “It seems that Thumper here has something to say.”  He handed the guy a wireless microphone.

The guy had a thick Cockney accent as he pointed back to the newcomers and said, “I challenge Scratch!  No bloody Yank tosser rules our scene.”

I almost had to cover my ears as the crowd roared.  The sheer volume of the cheers, shouts, and whistles was insane.  I don't know how the nearby residents weren't calling the cops.

But then the crowd went silent as all eyes went back to the small man leaning against the wall.  It was like the world was holding its breath.  Then the man nodded once, hidden away in the folds of the hood and the crowd went wild again as he pushed casually away from the wall and strode forward with purpose.  The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses.

He reached the stage and didn't even slow, instead of pulling himself up onto it like the other man, he leapt lightly and landed on the stage.  I wasn't prepared for the huge thrum as everyone in the crowd stomped a foot as he landed.  I couldn't help but smile, obviously this Scratch character got challenged a lot.

Before I could wonder what kind of challenge; singing, dancing, or something else.  I was answered when the guy just stepped behind one of the deejay stations, the challenger behind another.  Then I blinked at the vague recollection of New York.  Hadn't there been an elite deejay named Scratch who ruled the underground scene back there?

He motioned a hand to the challenger palm up as he inclined his head.  The other man nodded back then plugged his MP3 player into the console.  The guy said, “This shit is going to shove your little Hobbit-y ass back into the stone age you wanker.”  He turned to the crowd as he hit a button, and scratched experimentally on the scratch pad.  “Check it!”

A fresh beat hit us from the speakers, the guy was great, he was mixing on the fly.  The crowd was moshing to the beat which was infused in the familiar music.  Then in mid-song he stopped.  The silence was deafening as he pointed at Scratch.

I have to say, I was floored.  There are times you look upon talent and appreciate it, but then there are times you watch pure genius in motion.  Without a single word, this guy made it look like a dance, so smooth and seamless as he mixed and scratched.  The most incredible thing was the beats he was mixing together were unknown to me, it was all fresh talent, instead of covers like the other guy used.

They went back and forth, the crowd dancing to what they brought to bear.  I shook my head, Thumper would have been gold any other day, but Scratch had him outclassed and outgunned.

As it looked like things were winding up, Ronnie caught my eye and pointed back at my bass.  I nodded and made my way to the back of the stage.  I don't think Ronnie had to flex much as he easily lifted me to the stage with one arm.  He said into my ear to be heard, “One number, make it good.”

I nodded as he passed me an earpiece mic and I tucked it over my ear.

I started unzipping the semi-rigid case and pulled out Audrey as Scratch put the final nail into Thumper's coffin.  The tall man was actually smiling.  His bright white teeth a stark contrast to his ebony skin.  I saw him mouthing “Damn.” as he smiled.

Then Ronnie was in front of the two musical combatants, settling the cheering crowd.  He said, “Okay you surly lot, who has the crown?”  He pointed over to the challenger first and hey all clapped and cheered loudly.  Then he pointed at Scratch and everyone started stomping as they went stark raving nuts, I joined in.

Scratch had already jumped off the stage and walked through the crowd as Ronnie announced, “The champion still reigns.”  Scratch walked directly up to that well to do woman who seemed to be vibrating with excitement for her man.  They hugged and leaned against the wall.  I saw the little blondie they were with, standing in the crowd with her hands pressed together against her smiling lips at the sight.

When the new bout of cheering settled, Ronnie wiggled his fingers behind him, prompting me forward.  I moved to center stage as he said, “And now, no Ronnie Marx rave would be complete without introducing something completely different.  We're always pushing the musical envelope and tonight is no different.”  More cheering.  Then he held a hand back toward me and introduced me with flare.  “Here in London for a limited time, the musical stylings of Eliza Montrose!”

Everyone cheered as he cleared the stage.  I grinned, this was so different than playing the clubs, it was an entirely different kind of energy.  It was more explosive and expectant.  I could see people shifting around at the sight of my bass.  I smiled inwardly knowing what they were thinking, as well as them trying to figure out why Ronnie was giving me stage time.

So I went with that, I was going to play with them a minute, I started with a slow, smooth jazz swing, humming in harmony.  This was reminiscent of the Prohibition speakeasy blues, but it had the proper beat to do what I did next, my voice exploded into one of Tabby Cat's edgier songs which bordered on punk, ‘Stormy Waters.’  Thumping the bass as I walked the stings in my unique jazz and rock fusion.  I added a whiskey house swing to the beat and tempo of the words.

I noticed that Scratch and his lady were tilting their heads, listening intently.  Then Scratch moved fluidly through the dancing crowd to the edge of the stage, he looked up, but I couldn't see his face in the shadows.  He seemed to be studying me but when his gaze moved to Audrey he froze.  Then his hands went up to his hood and he pulled it back slightly and I blinked and almost stumbled on my fingerboard.

I could just make out the face in the shadows of the hood, Scratch was a woman, a stunning lady!  She was staring directly at Audrey in shock.  She seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled her hood down further then hustled back to the other woman.  They appeared to engage in a heated conversation.

That, I was not expecting.  Scratch was a girl.  I don't think she meant to expose herself to me like that.  I just smiled and closed my eyes and swayed to the swing I was letting flow through my soul, down my arms, and into Audrey so she could share my emotions with the world.  We were a team, we brought out the best in each other.

Her tone was something that vibrated up through you as I plucked her strings and sang about the torment of our lives, of the rains that wash away our sins, and the light of love that burned through the clouds to warm our hearts.  Damn, Tabby Cat sure could write them.  It was like we were getting a peek into her damaged soul.  I could empathize.

I finished into a dead silence.  I wondered if this was the wrong crowd for my music when they exploded into cheers.  Giving me the foot stomps they gave Scratch, shaking the building.  I blushed as Ronnie stepped beside me. “Eliza Montrose everyone.  She's currently in search of a quick gig or two, if you know anyone, please get a hold of me and I can pass it on.”

He gave me a little hug and wink.  I grinned at the man then dragged Audrey back and packed her away.  I handed Ronnie some of my cards as he helped me down off the stage.  Then I got mauled by the moshers.  I danced my way to giggling freedom through the slammin’ beat Ronnie cued up while a band got ready on stage.

After a couple bands, I needed to use the facilities.  I wandered over to Tia who gushed over my performance, and asked her, “Where's the bathroom?”

She pointed down the back hall and replied with a grin, “The loos are just there.”

I nodded my thanks and headed that way.  I saw the blonde had joined the other two women again.  They were slowly moving toward the hall.  I grinned at myself as I approached, my eyes on the rich woman.  I could use a little extra scratch.

I accidentally bumped into her and yelled over the music as I laid a hand on her arm, “Oh, I'm terribly sorry.  I'm so clumsy.”  She shook her head with a smile.  I could almost make out her face.  I turned and bumped into Scratch, this time really on accident.  I diverted my eyes and hustled down the hall and turned into the women's bathroom as the three walked past, listening to the blonde chirping about something amusing that had them laughing.

I closed the door behind me and reached into my bag.  Then I started to panic, where was the woman's wallet?  It was an easy matter to liberate it from her.  Then I paled.  Scratch!

I opened the door and looked at the end of the hall where Steven was letting the women out.  Scratch looked back and I could feel the smug grin even if I couldn't see it, as she held up her girl's wallet and some little blue booklet.

I paled and pawed through my bag, mumbling, “Oh dear lord, where is it?”  My passport was gone!  I ran to the door and Steven opened it for me.  I looked out as I saw the three ladies driving past, Scratch lowered her hood and winked at me.

I was in deep shit.  They had my passport.  I had no doubt the authorities would be looking for me in no time.  I wasn't too worried about them finding me, but without my passport I was stuck in England.  I could hit the Consulate up for a new one, but I'm sure there would be a warrant out for me and they'd just hand me over to the local cops.

I felt sick to my stomach.  Step one, I had to get out of there.  I headed back in and found Ronnie and thanked him.  He helped me get Audrey outside without her getting crushed by the crowd.

I thanked him again outside, “I really appreciated you giving me some heat in there.  That was hands down the most kick ass rave I've ever been to.  It was supermurgitroid.”

He beamed at the praise and gave me a little hug.

I held my arm out and Steven got the hint and gave me a hug as well.  I told him, “Take care of Ronnie.”

He nodded with a cheesy grin on his face.  Then I turned and slung my bass over my shoulder and started heading back out along the back road toward a bus stop.  Cussing at every fourth or fifth pace.  “Damn.  Damn. Damn.”

But then I straightened a bit.  How hard could it be to find someone like Scratch, or that well to do woman?  Maybe I could plead my case with them and they wouldn't turn me in.  Scratch seemed to be one who dabbled on both sides of the line, judging by the ease she reverse pickpocketed me.

That was it, my plan.  I glanced at the schedule then the time, just after midnight.  This day was getting worse, the buses stopped running at midnight.  The closest Tube station was five blocks away.  I started hoofing it.  I thought about my predicament all the way to the hostel.

The doors were locked, oh yeah, midnight curfew.  I blinked, how had such an awesome day turned to such crap?  Oh yeah, I got greedy.  I broke my own cardinal rule of only taking what I needed.  I hadn't needed the cash yet, that woman was just such a juicy target.  I deserved the karma.  I was about to call Gina when a man stumbled out the door, obviously well pickled.  I grabbed the door before it closed and slipped in.

I caged Audrey as quietly as I could then went to my cot to lay down to think.

I must have been exhausted because the next thing I realized was waking up on my bed to the tantalizing smell of coffee and eggs.  I drooled a little.  I had forgot that a complimentary continental breakfast was included with my daily fee.

I stretched and worked out the kinks.  I cracked my knuckles and flexed my fingers, working out the dull ache that announced the onset of arthritis that all string players got prematurely.  Then I walked over to the table near the office and grabbed some eggs, English muffin, and a cup of joe.  Hmm, do they just call them muffins here, or English muffins?  I chuckled at myself.

After taking a minute to eat and converse with the other travelers, I headed off to the showers to get ready for a day of hide and seek.  I told myself firmly, “You will find them.”

I headed out into London, with no clue where to start, so I began with the one thing I could control.  I called the Factory, leaving my name and number for the owner.  I figure if I bug the hell out of him, he'll give my stuff a listen just to shut me up.  I mailed off another demo CD to him too.  I would make it a daily thing until the man caved.

Then I turned and looked around at the huge city around me.  Such a giant haystack.  Now if I were a needle, where would I be hiding?  I'd give my left leg for an electromagnet about now.

I tried not to react when a police car drove past.  Best way to draw attention to yourself is to look like you're not trying to draw attention to yourself.  And maybe Scratch hadn't called the police anyway.  And maybe you'll become the next Ray Brown too Liza.  Get your head on straight lady.

I was about to employ the highly scientific method of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, to my search but then had a flash of insight.  I pulled out my cell and dialed.  “Hi, Gina?  Hi yes, it's... yes.  I was wondering what you were doing this morning, I have a couple questions, I'm... oh, church?”  It was Sunday wasn't it?  I grinned at the phone then said, “Okay, but how about the church in Covent Garden, Saint Paul's?  Great, I'll see you there in a half hour?  Bye.”

She seemed to know about the underground music scene here by proxy.  Her friends would drag her around to the various raves and clubs, so maybe she knew how to get a hold of Scratch.  I didn't really want to go back to the Garden so soon, it had been burned by that overzealous thief, but I'd rather go to a church with a preacher I knew than not.

A quick journey later and I was at the church, waiting on the walk.  Unlike my first visit, it was filling up quickly, it seemed to be a popular parish.  I didn't have to wait long before a glowing Gina, in her Sunday's finest came striding up to me looking down bashfully.  I looked down at myself, feeling a little self-conscious that I wasn't in a dress or at least some better clothes.

She stopped in front of me and cutely gave a tiny wave. “Hi, Liza.”

I just had to smile at the woman, then gave her a hug.  “Hey lady, thanks for coming.”

She nodded then looked at the church. “Figures you would choose the Actor's Church.”

I blinked at that, not getting the reference.

She chuckled.  “This church has close ties to the stage and other forms of art.  I assumed that's why you chose it.  Less chance of bursting into flames when you crossed the threshold.”

I barked out a surprised laugh.  That was really funny, and not something I would expect her to say.  She's already got bolder since I met her and I liked the tiny burst of confidence in her.  I looped an arm in hers and grinned, and said in a mock English accent, “Cheeky bird.”

She blushed at that and we stepped into the church.  I was surprised to see Father Arlington at the entry, greeting each parishioner as they entered.  It gave a small town feel to the congregation.  I grinned at the man as recognition spread on his face.  “Father Mike.”

He grinned and took my hand. “Miss Montrose, what a pleasant surprise.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Liza please, Father.  I'd like you to meet my friend, Gina Stapleton.”

He shook her hand warmly. “It's good to meet you, Gina.”

She nodded and looked at her shoes.  He motioned us in and as we stepped into the nave, I looked toward the altar and crossed myself.

I think that surprised Gina and she said to me,  “I didn't know you were religious.”

I shrugged it off as I pulled her into some empty seats in the back row of pews.  “More superstitious than anything.  I play the odds.  Better safe than sorry you know.”

She studied me for a second and her eyes narrowed.  What was she seeing?  Then she said softly, “No, there's more to it than that.”

I stiffened a bit, but she let it drop at that as Father Mike walked past toward the altar.

The sermon was almost fun.  He spoke more of self-introspection than preaching the Bible.  It was sort of refreshing.  It had been a long time sing I attended a sermon.  I preferred to visit churches on the off days to be alone as I discussed things with God, if he is up there.  I see religion as a personal thing, not a group sport.

After bidding Father Mike ado with a promise to have a pint with him before I left London, the chimes in the huge clock in the eaves of the church chimed noon.  I grinned at Gina in her dress and asked, “Shall I pizza you before I badger you for the wealth of knowledge in your cute noggin?”

She shook her head and motioned to her dress.  “This is hardly the wardrobe for pizza.”

I grinned back and wiggled my eyebrows.  “So you'll eat your slice with a knife and fork, like a lady.”

She mirrored my grin and whispered, “You are such a bad influence on me, Liza.”

I nodded and replied to her as she led me to her car, “Why yes, yes I am.”

She brought me to a back alley brick oven pizza parlor, Gertrude's.  I'm not kidding, it was in a back alley.  It was paved with cobbles and there was a handful of adorable artisan shops in the alley, tucked away in its own little world.  This is why I love befriending locals in my travels, they always know of the secret little places only a local would know about.  We sat on one of the small tables on the cobblestones under an awning since the four tables inside were full up.

I had to snort when Gina really started eating her oversize slice with a knife and fork.  She looked up at me, my slice hanging half out of my mouth as I watched her.  She grinned and said, “Bloody hell.”  And she picked up her slice and took a huge bite.

I was much happier then and continued taking my bite.

When we finished, I was surprised when the heavyset lady with the perpetual smile dropped off two more fresh slices to us.  Gina grinned at my confusion and said around another bite, “She'll feed you till you pop.”

I smiled at that.  I was a little taken aback when the woman took only our drink order when we arrived, then came back with the drinks and our first huge slices.  I didn't see any menus anywhere.  She finally put me out of my misery and explained,  “Here at Gertrude's, you just eat what is served to you.  It is seven pounds a head, all you can eat.  She's won more awards for her pizza than you can count, she's bloody brill.”

I smiled at this.  It was sort of a novel concept.  Then I paused and asked, “So, I was wondering, what do you know about the American deejay named Scratch?”

She took a sip of her iced tea then shrugged. “He's famous around here and in New York.  He can scout out the most unlikely places and find the next superstars.  I think he has something going with London Harmony, they keep signing his finds.”

I grinned, she thought Scratch was male.  Well, that's what she tried to project, I'm positive she didn't mean for me to see her face.  I nodded. “I'm trying to find... him.  He has something of mine that I need to get back.  Any clue where I should start looking?”

She contemplated this a moment.  “Not really.  He only pops up at random raves or clubs, nobody knows when he is going to show.  But a girl I went to school with, Francine Brighton, works at London Harmony, and has been seen hanging around with him from time to time.”

Great, a lead.  I swallowed a bite and said, “Great, I'll go see her at London Harmony then.”  The place was the hippest and most exclusive record label around.  I was getting a little excited that I had a reason to visit it.

Gina burst that bubble when she shook her head, saying, “It isn't that easy.  Their doors are locked, bloody exclusive, nobody even knows their number.  You can pound on the door all day, and if you don't have a J-Card, they will never open it.”  I've heard of the J-Cards that June Harris-West handed out, I thought they were just an urban legend.

I exhaled then thought.  “How good of friends are you with this Francine?  You have her number?”

Her downcast face told me the story before she replied, “No, I was sort of a loner in school.  I kept to myself, but she was always really nice to me.  I hear she is in college now, Chelsea, she actually designed the new SmartCanvas... the one for music.”  She had pride in her voice for the girl.

Okay, I could work with that.  How many students could possibly go to Chelsea College of Arts?  It is a small campus, I saw it on a map of the city core.  I spent the rest of the day crawling the city with Gina.  She was an awesome tour guide.

Mr. Raisin called to let me know he had a band who was short a man playing next Friday night.  That if I played the doghouse for them, he'd give me ten minutes of mic time after their set.  I was so stoked after that call that I gave Gina an excited kiss right on the mouth.  She blushed and smiled at my excitement.  I let her know that after that, I was one gig away from fulfilling my promise.

I spent some time with her, discussing more questions she had about determining what was real or not about her sexuality.  She was really interested in a gal who worked across the street from her at a bar, but she didn't know if it was really attraction or infatuation.  I gave her sage advice. “You never know until you try.  Remember, you can't choose who you are attracted to.”  Okay so it wasn't sage, but it was true.

I saw her home then headed off to the hostel for the night, stopping for a light snack along the way, giving me time to think.  So all I needed to do was find Francine Brighton.  I doubted the school would let me know who she was, but it never hurt to ask.  I was one step closer to Scratch now.

The next day after breakfast, I called the Factory, left a message, mailed out another demo CD and then headed out to do some exploration on my own.  I figured I'd hit Chelsea up in the afternoon, so I cued up some swing and started swaying to the music as I walked down the street.  London really was a fascinating place.

I wound up at Chelsea just after three.  I saw pictures of each graduating class on the walls of the main hall as I made my way to the main office.  It sort of answered my question as to how many students attended, it was way too many if that was the size of their graduating classes.

A graying woman stood at the counter when I stepped in.  She cocked her head in question, I smiled and asked, “Good afternoon ma'am, I was wondering if I could get help in locating a student here?  Or get a message to her?”

Her eyes narrowed at that and her voice was a little cold, almost clinical as she said, “I'm sorry, but we cannot breach the privacy of our students.”

I countered, “A message.”

She repeated, “We cannot breach the privacy of our students.”  I could see the woman had no give in her, it was frustrating for me, but at the same time it was commendable that they protected their students from what could be a crazy lady for all she knew.

I nodded and sighed.  “Thank you, ma'am.  Have a great rest of your day.”  She nodded and then looked down to her paperwork without a word.

I went back into the hall, classes must have gotten out for the day, there were hundreds of young adults crowding the hall and streaming out the exit.  I was contemplating my next move when I saw a familiar blonde exiting the building.  It was the blonde from the rave!  It had to be this Francine girl, what were the odds?

I pushed my way slowly through the crowd to the doors, then had to wait as a young man in an electric wheelchair navigated the doorway.  A book he had on his lap fell and I stooped to pick it up.  I gave it to him with a smile then ran out into the courtyard and looked around.

Damn!  I had lost her.  But then I saw the leather-clad blonde turn right out of the courtyard.  I took off running.  She was a block ahead walking with another woman.  I tried to yell over the noise of the students and the traffic, “Francine!”  But she didn't hear.  She and the other woman had headphones on going down to the cell on her hip.

I had almost caught up with them when they went into a building that looked sort of like a cross between a college dorm and an apartment building.  The sign above the doors read  “Halls of Residence, Ponsonby Place.”

I walked up to the door and watched a man wave a card and the door buzzed open.  I walked in behind him and looked around.  I saw the two woman stepping trough a turnstile down one wing of the building and started off toward them when I literally ran into someone.

I looked down, ready to apologize.  There standing in my path, like a tiny gatekeeper with her hand on my chest and blocking my way, was a short auburn haired woman with round glasses perched on her nose.  She looked a little frazzled to me and the curly hair in her rushed and crooked ponytail had some of that same frazzle.  She tucked in the loose tails of her blouse into her jeans with one hand as she held me back with the other.  I pegged her to be in her early twenties.