SailtotheMoon (18 page)

He had to sing. That song, the one he’d written when he
thought he’d never get any of his dreams, when yet another woman had flipped
him off in favor of someone with money, actual folding cash to spend. More
self-pitying than he’d ever felt before, he’d written the song and somehow
wrenched truth out of it. For some reason people loved it. It had remained a
standard in their repertoire, something they used to gauge the mood of the
audience, a versatile tune they could take up or down.

His heart wasn’t in the song anymore. Time to give it a
rest. He wouldn’t sing anything he couldn’t throw his soul into. If he lost
that truth, he’d lose himself. So he brought the song to an early conclusion
after one verse. He ignored the groans from the audience, which had somehow
grown bigger while they’d been playing, and glanced at Riku. They knew the set list.
He played the first few notes of
Injustice or Death
and heard the
familiar twang of a Strat behind him. Someone had given Riku one of his favorite
instruments. They were doomed. Doomed to play until they dropped.

He loved this. Fucking
loved
it. He’d grown weary
recently, tired of the road, the endless hotels, but these days self-pity
wasn’t his thing, and he’d given himself a mocking “poor baby” and carried on.
But he was glad the tour was ending, much though he loved playing live. He
wanted a rest. He wanted Laura to himself for a while.

A decision arrived in his mind in the middle of the fourth
song, when his father was playing a sublime and complex scale, like a bird
flying.

At once Zazz felt more settled. He had his priorities right
this time. He knew what would happen next. Or he knew what he
wanted
to
happen next, a very different thing. Whatever else happened he would do it
around that single decision.

Laura watched the playing and tried not to swoon, like a
Victorian bride confronted by her first penis. To have Jimmy A, Zazz and Riku
on the same stage was unbelievably good. Soon someone else joined them—a man as
old as Jimmy with a brilliant touch on the drums. He took over from the mundane
player, giving him a smile and a pat. Laura didn’t know who he was, but he was
good. What must have once been jet-black hair had faded to a salt-and-pepper,
the gnarled hands had swollen knuckles, probably from arthritis. But he could
still hold drumsticks and he could still play.

They played a few Murder City Ravens songs and some jazz
standards. When they swung into a soft version of
Fly Me to the Moon
and
Zazz glanced in her direction and smiled her troubles melted away. For now,
they existed for each other. He’d found his father, and she was keeping a keen
eye on the old man, watching for signs of stress.

She was ninety percent sure Jimmy A was clean and sober. Whatever
he’d done last night, he hadn’t carried on today, which was a blessing. But she
watched carefully for any twitches, or signs that he was tiring, or hankering
for more. She knew what to watch for. She’d helped Jimmy stay straight and the
thought of all that work going for nothing gave her heartache.

He wasn’t the first addict she’d helped, but she’d never
allowed herself to get so personally involved before. Every success brought
pleasure, but it was a professional pleasure, the satisfaction of a job well
done. With Jimmy she’d grown involved, fond of him, and so discovered herself
and what she really wanted. She owed it to Jimmy, who’d listened to her music
without prejudice and was the first man to judge it as a musician. The first
one not to think she was insane for writing songs.

Before his son arrived, that was. The bitch was, she’d love
Zazz if he was still James, a member of the crew of Murder City Ravens instead
of the man front and center at every concert. The man thousands, maybe millions
judging from the album sales, of young women lusted after. A heady thought.

Fuck, he was good. And he was good because he cared. Here,
in front of a couple hundred people, he took as much meticulous care as he had
in front of thousands. He showed the same dedication, the same love of the
music, the same astonishing innovation. He’d skip a beat or two, speed
something up or slow it down, confident the musicians with him would follow his
lead. Sometimes Riku did the same, and sometimes they stepped back and gave the
old guys a chance to shine. They effortlessly did so, although that seeming
lack of diligence came from years of practice and playing. He forgot everything
but the music when he was onstage, only he did it in a strange way. He would
have won an Oscar, so real was his interpretation of songs he hadn’t written or
had no experience of. He gave a plaintive, soulful rendition of
Strange
Fruit
, a song he shouldn’t have had any connection with. She guessed he’d
linked it with injustices in this country. Just as the kids from the industrial
centers of Britain had given new life to the blues of the Mississippi basin and
Chicago because they shared poverty and helplessness in the face of moneyed
power, so did Zazz link something in his past with the fate of the lynched
African-Americans of the song.

It made her want to give up. She’d never approach that kind
of greatness. But, she reminded herself, she did her thing another way, and
with different emphasis. If she concentrated on her music and practiced every
day, she might just get there. Even if her age was against her.

When Jimmy A gave his first bum note, she turned her
attention to him. So did Zazz. He turned his head sharply, before carrying on
with the song and finishing it, probably sooner than he’d planned. Then
addressed the audience. “This is jam night, and we’ve hogged the mic for far
too long. Time we let someone else take over.” Despite the cheers and yells for
more, he handed the guitar back to the guy who’d lent it to him, taking time to
thank him properly. He handed over his card, the one with his private number on
it. Riku behaved similarly with the woman who’d lent him her Strat, lingering
to exchange a few words and eventually motioning toward their table.

She accompanied him when they left the stage, and Riku found
a seat for her, much to Kelsie’s disgust. Before they reached them, Laura
murmured to her, “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Like you, you mean?” Kelsie all but spat. “You should tell
me your secret. Does he like anal? Spanking? Do you have to give him head all
the time? I’ve heard rock stars like that, because they don’t have to do any
work.”

Laura swallowed and prayed he hadn’t heard. The slight lull
while the next people set up might not have helped. Although he shot her friend
a glare, he didn’t have time to say anything before his father and friend were
on them.

Then they had to spread more, and Jimmy introduced his
friend. “Bill Altoid.” He laughed, the hoarse wheezing sound somehow joyous.
“Never called him anything but Altoid. Always got a good laugh when he told
people his name, and he lived up to it. Don’t ask why if you don’t know. He’s
had a great career sitting at the back of bands. Probably earned more than I
did at the front. Great enough to do his own thing, but he had other fish to
fry.”

“Bein’ a wife and kids and now grandkids.” Altoid grinned.
“Worth everything else. I got offers, but I was earning. I let other people
take the strain.” Interesting accent he had. Certainly not Mancunian. More like
Chicago, the twist the native Chicagoan gave to their vowels a dead giveaway. His
grin widened. “Yep, I did a Jimmy A in reverse. I came here with my wife. Had a
few years in London, but I did a lot of session work and paid the bills.”

“More than I did at times,” Jimmy admitted.

Laura turned so only Zazz could see her and mouthed, “Altoid?”

He laughed, the sound free and easy, and leaned closer to
whisper to her. “If a woman sucks a mint while she’s giving head, it can take a
man’s head off.”

She raised a brow. He laughed more. Oh she would so be
trying that with him.

A blast came from the stage as the trombone player got into
gear. Zazz sat behind his father so he could keep an eye on him. Laura caught
his attention and didn’t have to see any more. “It’s been great meeting Altoid
again,” Jimmy said, “but I got some news for you, and I can’t tell you here.
Besides, I need my rest these days.”

Zazz held back his father’s chair and had a word with one of
the Band’s staff, who came over to chat. She left, promising to call taxis, but
Riku waved them off. “If you’re okay, I’ll hang here for a while.” He grinned
at the new woman. “We have a lot to talk about. Thanks for calling me, Kelsie.”

Zazz and Riku did the forearm shake, a weird male custom
that involved grasping each other’s forearms and backslapping. Laura assumed
that meant Zazz was thanking Riku for coming, since they didn’t behave that way
every time they met. Weird creatures, men.

Then Zazz glanced at her, before turning to his father and
taking his arm. As she could have told him, Jimmy A shook him off irritably. “I
can walk to a taxi, boy. See to your woman.”

With a grin, Zazz did as he was told and wrapped his arm
around her waist, bending to murmur in her ear, “I don’t think he’s high.”

“I know he isn’t. I don’t think that’s what he was doing.”

Altoid came with them, and Jimmy paused before they climbed
into the back of the black cab. “I want to show you something.”

“Now?”

“Sure. It’s not even midnight. That’s one of the things I
want to show you.”

Mystified, they climbed into the cab and heard Jimmy give
the address. It meant nothing to either of them, except that the area was a
good one, much better than where Jimmy was currently living.

They alighted outside a large mock-Tudor house at the end of
a neat, curving drive. One of the mansions built by the Victorian
industrialists keen to show off their new wealth. The night enveloped them, but
as they approached the front door, security lights came on. Altoid produced a
key. “Wow, you’ve done well,” Laura said, unthinkingly, and heard Altoid’s low
chuckle.

“Yeah, in a way. Come in.”

They entered a spacious square hall. Lights came on as soon
as they entered, brightly glaring, making Laura squint. “Yeah, we need the
light,” Altoid said. “Come upstairs.”

Laura glanced at Zazz. She was beginning to understand, but
she’d leave Jimmy to do the explanations. Altoid led them upstairs and unlocked
a paneled wooden door. Inside they found a large room, furnished as an
apartment. Comfortable chairs dominated the space, and over the fireplace hung
a large-screen TV. Altoid chuckled. “Still love my football, and I ain’t
talking soccer. I get the Bears beamed over. Technology is wonderful, ain’t it?
Anyone like a drink?”

“Don’t want to keep you too long, Altoid,” Jimmy huffed.

“You’re staying the night,” Altoid said. “Too late to go to
your place, and if I’m not mistaken, these two want to get somewhere else.” He
guessed right, but Laura had already put aside what she wanted to do. Although,
with Zazz holding her close, she found it increasingly difficult. That tensile
strength, the scent of him, all reminded her of where she wanted to go right
now.

Jimmy chuckled. “Just as well you’ve got more than one pair
of pajamas. I never used to wear them.”

Altoid nodded at the sofa placed opposite the TV. “That
converts into a bed. I have a bedroom, this room and a private bathroom. It’s
expensive, but worth it.”

Laura glanced into the bathroom and saw the red pull that
confirmed what she was thinking. “This is sheltered housing, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. The best I’ve come across. If you’re nuts you
can’t stay here, but they can cope with ordinary infirmity.” He walked to the
sink in the corner and picked up the kettle on the draining board. “Tea?”

“No thanks,” she said. “Not for me. Tell me more about this
place. I thought I’d covered the housing in the area.”

“It’s private, and it’s invitation only,” Altoid said. “It’s
for people who used to be in the entertainment industry. An ex-clown lives
downstairs.” He shuddered. “Never could stand them. But the guy is nice enough
and he never puts on the war paint. All the apartments have this set of rooms,
some are doubles, but there’s one vacant. Jimmy had his interview today.”

“And?” Jimmy demanded.

Altoid beamed. “They’d love to have you, if you want to
come.”

Laura nearly exploded but took a moment to calm herself a tad
before she spoke. “I’ve found brochures, we’ve visited places and you never
said you liked any of them. What is it about this place that’s so special? I
mean, it’s nice, but—”

She stopped, aware that the others were staring. Oh fuck,
she’d shown herself up. But she didn’t know why this place was any better than
the others she’d taken her time sourcing. And why hadn’t this come up on her
radar?

Jimmy shuffled across the room, showing the weariness Laura
had spotted in him earlier. He laid his gnarled hand on hers. She hadn’t
realized she’d balled it into a fist until then. “Last night, we had a party.
Invited people from the club. I discovered I don’t want that anymore. They were
great, sure, but Altoid and me, we left early and came here so we could get some
sleep. This place has people I like in it, and they understand about musicians
keeping late hours. I fought homes because I felt they were institutionalized.
This place is by musicians, for musicians. A private charity.” He glanced at
Zazz, his wry smile one she’d seen on his son’s face before. “I expect you to
donate.”

“Too right.” Zazz drew Laura closer. “So this is the place
for you?”

“It seems so. And it’s time.” Jimmy heaved a sigh. “Where I
live, it’s not getting any easier. The lift is out of action more than not, and
it stinks of piss. The gangs don’t run the area like they used to, which is one
thing I’m glad about, but it’s time to go. A wise man decides for himself. At
the back of my mind I knew this place existed. I was waiting for it to show
up.”

Laura sighed. “And it’s not in my area, so I wouldn’t come
here to visit.” That was the only way she’d discover it. Manchester was a huge
area with different jurisdictions and her area, Trafford, was miles away from
this one. Oh the place had to have licenses, and she’d check them first thing
in the morning, but she had no idea. She’d shown Jimmy the ones she knew about
and he’d rejected them all. When Zazz had said he could afford anything the old
man wanted, she extended her search. From what she saw, this place would be
expensive.

“I want to meet the people in charge,” said Zazz.

Altoid grinned. “There’ll be one on duty, but the rest are
in bed. Each resident has one person as their personal assistant. And I like
that too. Assistant. Yeah, I can see what you’re thinking. This place costs.
There’s a fund, and the people who founded the place left a trust. But they
said it should stay private, and no publicity, because some of the residents
are what you might call high profile.” He glanced at Jimmy. “Present company excluded.”

Jimmy and Altoid went off into peals of hoarse laughter.

“Sure,” Jimmy said when he could catch his breath. Then he
turned to Zazz, a broad smile wreathing his features.

Without Jimmy pulling them back to Manchester, she might have
let her life go on as it was, never realizing what was missing, despite her
brave resolutions. She’d have put it off until she worked her notice, or found
a new flatmate for Kelsie, or some other shit, and never done it. She’d have
kept in touch with Zazz, but long distance didn’t have as good a chance. And
she was hungry for Zazz. If he wanted her. But he’d never told her. He said he
loved her, but V and Matt loved each other and managed a long-distance
relationship with aplomb. V had already left for Chicago, where they’d meet
next month.