Revenge Of A Band Geek Gone Bad (11 page)

"Well, I don't want you speaking to me in that tone," Mom snapped.  "I'm just
happy
for you is all," she finished quietly.

"Um, Lydia, Hank ... it was great seeing you guys, but Mel and I need to get ready," Lana cut in.  Even though she's like family, she always gets uncomfortable when we start sniping at each other.  "We'll see you later."  I shot my friend a grateful look and we bolted upstairs.

"God, she's so annoying!"  I hissed.

"She's kind of right, you know," Lana replied.  "Up
til
now, you haven't had much of a life."  She looked around my room.  "
Ew
, what's the deal with all the eyeballs?"

"They're my new paintings," I explained.  I held up
False Mirror
.  "They're modeled after this."

"They're creepy," Lana complained, making a face.  "I feel like they're all looking at me!"  She then laughed.  "See, now
this
is why your mom worries about you. 
Normal
people don't go around making scary eyeball paintings!"

I held up a painting and waved it in her face.  "Who says I even
want
to be normal?"

###

An hour later, Josh picked me up by Lana's.  As soon as the beat-up green station wagon pulled into the driveway, I noticed that there was something different
about him: he was wearing a black suit and tie.

Lana beamed. 
"He looks hot, Mel!"
 
she
whispered.

Yeah, he did, but next to him I looked positively frumpy in my jeans (thankfully this pair fit!) and blue sweater.

I went out to greet him and was hit by a blast of the cool fall air.  "You didn't tell me that we were supposed to get dressed up," I said, looking down at my outfit.

He opened my door for me.  "You look fine."

"Then why are you wearing fancy clothes?"  I asked as I hopped into the passenger seat.

He shrugged.  "I just wanted a change of pace."

###

After riding for a few minutes, I noticed that Josh didn't have his usual rock station on.  Instead, he pulled out a CD by Dave Brubeck.  "I figured we'd listen to some jazz tonight," he said, popping the CD into the slot.  "It feels kind of like a jazzy night, doesn't it?"

I looked outside into the nighttime sky.  It was a cool, windy evening, but the sky was clear.  You could even see a full moon.  If Josh were my boyfriend, this would be romantic, I thought.  I just said, "Yeah, it kind of is."

We rode for a while in silence, listening to the music.  This was different from the jazz my dad played; the songs had all these off-beat rhythms and harmonies.  I liked it.

"You know, I don't know how you can stand playing the stuff we do in band since you seem to have hard-core tastes," I said.

Josh laughed.  "Well, yeah.  Rock and jazz are more my thing than those stupid Broadway medleys we're doing.  But I like being part of a band, even if the songs we play are crap.  It's fun."

"It is," I agreed.  I then found myself admitting something I didn't discuss with many people.  "To tell you the truth, I don't feel like I fit in most of the time, but in band, I do.  I'm part of the team.  And I like performing for everyone.  It's nice to make people happy."

"That's cool, but for me it's more about the challenge," Josh explained.  "I mean, think about it, we have, what, 50 band members or so?  And when we perform for a concert, we're
all
expected to get every note right.  It's not like when we're in
rehearsal and get do-overs.  It's
do
or die on stage.  And it's exciting when it's
do
or die for so many people at once."

"I never thought of it like that."

"That's why I really like improvising music," Josh said.  He looked at me.  "Have you ever just played something you made up on the spot?"  I shook my head.  "Well, it's awesome.  Imagine having no sheet music to read off of, no practice, hell, sometimes you've never even heard the song before, and you're just making it up as you go along.  It's like the notes are this runaway train and you're trying to catch it and you almost have it, but it feels like the music is always one step ahead of you."  His voice got low and he got that dreamy look in his eyes, that same look he'd had when we were listening to music in his room.

"That's what
I
like," he finished.  "I like it when I have no boundaries."

I sighed and felt a shiver run up my spine.  Josh managed to make music sound so exciting —- and
dangerous
.

###

Josh drove past the factories until we were almost near the train station.  He pulled into the driveway for this old shack-like building that looked as if it would topple over the second a gust of wind hit it.  A neon sign hung over the entranceway, but the D was broken.  "
Ew
Drop Inn," it said.  Yeah, "
Ew
," just about summed up this place.

Josh got out of the car, whistling to himself as if there were nothing unusual about two underage kids going to this decrepit bar on what was literally the wrong side of the tracks.  I hung back, taking it all in.

A couple of guys on the other side of the parking lot made their way into the place.  Both had denim jackets and hair that was short in the front and long in the back.  Even I could tell that they needed some help in the fashion department.  One gave me a long, leering smile.  I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.  "I don't think we can go in there," I said.

"Why not?"
 
called
Josh, who was fiddling with the trunk. He finally managed to get it open.  "I go here all the time."

"You do?"  I took another look at the place.  What could possibly be so great about a run-down dive bar?  "But I mean, how?"  I asked.  "You're not old enough.  What, do you have a fake ID?"  Of course, he did, I realized.  Guys like Josh always know how to sneak into buildings and always have fake IDs.  That’s just the way things are.

Josh laughed.  "You've really led a sheltered life, Mel."

I glared.  "Maybe, but I'm not going into that place if we're going to get busted.  There are plenty of other things we could be doing."

He gave me his lopsided smile.  "
What,
like play mini-golf?  Look," he said, "just don't order any alcohol.  If you don't do that, you'll be fine."

It wasn't like I was planning to drink anyway, but I still wasn't sure.  "I'm old friends with the owners of this place," Josh explained.  I now noticed that he had his trumpet with him.  He nodded toward the entranceway. "Just stick with me and you'll be fine, okay?  Stop worrying!"

"Okay," I said.  I shrugged and walked in with him.

###

The inside of the bar wasn't much better looking than the outside.  The lights were low, but even in the dim setting, I could see that the paint was peeling and there were chunks of plaster missing from the ceiling.  Meanwhile, the tables all sat on an angle as if someone had gone around and sawed off part of each leg.  Though no one was smoking inside, thanks to New York’s law, the thick odor of what seemed to be about 50 years of cigarettes still hung in the air.  I went to put my stuff down at one of the ramshackle tables, but Josh stopped me.

"Come on," he said, beckoning me to join him.  There are some people I want you to meet."

Josh led me past the bar and pool tables to the back where there was a tiny makeshift stage.  On it sat a piano, a drum set and a little stand that held a sax, clarinet and flute.  By one of the tables nearby sat three
guys
playing cards.  They looked to be in their 50s, maybe even their 60s, but all were dressed like Josh in suit jackets and ties.  He took me over to them.

"Hey, it's the
Joshster
!" exclaimed the tallest guy, who had wrinkles and a big nose.  He stood up to hug Josh, his dark eyes twinkling.  "It's been several weeks.  We've missed you."

"I've been kind of busy," Josh said, indicating me with a wink and a smile.

"Yes, I see," said the second man, who was African-American and looked to be a few years younger than Wrinkled Guy.  "Who's your lady friend?"  He flashed me a smile that lit up his whole face.  I immediately liked him.

"Melinda Rhodes, this is Chuck Davis" – Wrinkled Guy waved --"and Marty Johnson" --the African-American man smiled.  "And that's Dave Douglas."  The
balding, overweight guy, who seemed to be the quietest out of them, gave me a nod and a grunt.  "My mom used to work here," Josh explained to me.  "These guys are old friends of the family."

"Nice to meet you."
  I tried to picture Lily as a cocktail waitress in a skimpy outfit, but couldn't.

"Mel here is a friend from band," Josh said.  He wore a proud expression.  "She's an awesome flute player. 
The best in our school."
  I blushed, pleased by Josh's praise.

"That's great," said Marty, nodding at me.  "Do you play professionally?"

"No," I answered.  "Do you?"

The men burst into laughter.  I raised an eyebrow at them.

"Come now,
Joshy
," said Chuck, "You brought this pretty girl all the way down here and didn't even tell her why?"

My already red cheeks deepened in color at Chuck's compliment.  It's not like men call me "pretty" that often.

"No time like the present for her to find out," Josh said. He led me to a seat in the bar.

###

I waited for a while, sipping a Diet Coke as I sat.  Now that it was getting later, the bar was quickly filling up with people, most of them in groups.  I felt pretty self-conscious since I was obviously underage and
well,
don't really look like someone who'd frequent a bar.  But no one seemed to care.  A couple of ladies with bleached-blonde hair sat down next to me and ordered up a round of beers.  They didn't even seem to notice that I was at the table with them.

A few minutes later, Chuck walked to the front of the small stage.  He fumbled at the
mic
and it made a loud squealing sound.  One of the women at my table put her hands to her ears.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that," called Chuck as he adjusted the microphone.  He spoke into it again.  "Um, testing ... testing, 1 ...
2 ..
3.
"  His
buddies rolled their eyes.  "Okay, it seems to be working," he called.  He then cleared his throat and tried again.  "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, spreading his arms wide.  "Thank you so much for coming out here tonight.  We hope you eat good, drink good ... and tip great."  The crowd laughed.  "And now it's time for Chuck Davis and the B-Sharps ... and back by popular demand is Mr. Josh Kowalski!"

Everyone cheered as my jaw hit the ground.  I figured we'd be seeing some kind of musical act, but I had no idea that Josh would be the main attraction.

The already dim lights lowered to almost total darkness; a few seconds later, the stage lights came on, bathing the entire room in soft blues and reds.  Suddenly the Dew Drop Inn changed form and I could no longer see the decay in the ceilings and walls or the
mis
-matched nature of the chairs and tables.  Instead the place glowed with
a warmth
I hadn't appreciated before.  I took a more careful look around, this time taking in the rows of old photographs and art-deco jukebox.  The bar wasn't merely old; it was full of history, full of people's stories.  No wonder Josh loved it.  He knew it was a "classic."

And then the B-Sharps began their set.  I soon understood why Chuck and Marty had laughed when I'd asked them about their musical careers.  Chuck was a master pianist, gliding over the keys as if they were made of water.  His hands moved so quickly from one position to the next that I briefly wondered if he had more than one pair.   Marty, meanwhile, treated his saxophone as if it were physically attached to him.  Whenever he played a long note, he'd lean way back, pulling the instrument with him; when he zoomed through the fast passages, his whole body swayed as if he were dancing.  From time to time, he'd also change to flute or clarinet, making the transitions so seamlessly that he appeared to be performing magic.

Doug, on the other hand, alerted us to his every move, banging and pounding the drums as if he were conjuring up a thunderstorm.  I now understood why he was so quiet.  He didn't need to speak since he was so loud on stage.

But it was Josh who got most of my attention.  In his day-to-day life, he was almost always in motion —- snapping his fingers, drumming lightly against his steering wheel -- but all of his quirks came together when he played.  He held his trumpet high above his head, the red and blue lights dancing off its bell.  And when he blew through it, the warm tones enveloped me like a protective blanket.  Throughout the entire set, he tapped his feet and bobbed his head in time to the music, though the sounds the escaped from his instrument weren't bound to any particular meter or scale.  His improvised melodies spun the notes out into space in a way that defied their form and function, but at the same time his melodies made me feel a sense of nostalgia for something I couldn't quite place.