Stacy's Song Page 3

  “How are we going to get our instruments and equipment over there?” he said.

  “No problem,” Jimmy said with a cheerful grin. “I got my driver’s license last Thursday. My dad’s offered me an old van. No one else wants to use it anyway. My mother can’t drive a standard transmission and now that Pop is doing pretty good with the garage the old wreck is beneath him. I’ve been working on it at the garage and got it running like a clock. It’s perfect for transporting our stuff around.”

  Liz threw her arms around Jimmy’s neck and hugged him; he turned an amazing shade of red, like a rare roast beef.

  “Oh, Jimmy, you’re wonderful! Now all we have to do is be stupendously smashing for our audition.”

  ****

  Club Paradise isn’t much of a club and it certainly was no paradise. But that hardly mattered to us. We were all uneasy. We might as well have been performing for the President. Michael kept worrying how we hadn’t practiced enough. Jimmy was pale and silent. He kept wiping his clammy hands against his coveralls. Liz bit down on her lower lip. The coloring in her face reminded me of a peeled squash. Strange as it may sound, I think I was the calmest of the four of us.

  Mr. Kemp met us and came up to shake my hand after we had set up. He took a seat up front and we began. “Bring it on,” he said.

  Michael should have introduced us or said something about what we were about to play but he was too nervous. Our first number sounded subdued and Mr. Kemp didn’t look impressed.

  Jimmy tugged at his copper hair, which reminded me of a freshly minted penny. His timing on the drums was just a little off and it was hurting my concentration. I looked over at Mr. Kemp again. His jowly face set in a hard frown. He studied his fingernails. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see we were losing him.

  “Michael, let’s do Corona of the Sun next, okay? I’ll sing it with you.”

  We were always better when we started things off with a vocal instead of an instrumental arrangement. Sure enough, Mr. Kemp’s face brightened with the song. That made Jimmy and Liz relax enough so their playing improved quite a bit. By the time we ended our third number, Mr. Kemp actually smiled and we were at the top of our form. Mr. Kemp stopped us there.

  “Okay kids, I’ve heard enough. You’re hired. Starting this week and every Wednesday, we’re going to have teen night here. If it works out, the job will be yours for the summer. So tell your friends to come around. I serve the best root beer and cola in town. Spread the word.”

  Jimmy let out a loud rebel yell and hugged Liz. I looked over at Michael, but I couldn’t tell how he felt. His face was a mask that betrayed no emotion.

  ****

  Liz sang on the drive home while Jimmy whistled along. In contrast to their elation, Michael sat silent and stiff.

  “I can’t believe it,” Jimmy said. “Our first gig playing as a group and we’re even going to be paid!”

  “Not much,” Michael cautioned. “We’ll need to save every cent to buy our new equipment. That means nobody takes any money for themselves until we get it, agreed?” We weren’t about to argue with him. “Okay, good, then I’ll assume you’re with me on this. So I guess we’re officially a band.”

  “We’ve got to give ourselves a name,” Liz said.

  “How about Samson and the Agonistes?” Michael said sarcasm dripping.

  “Huh?” Jimmy responded.

  “That was one of Michael’s private blind jokes,” Liz explained. “Skip it.”

  “Why don’t we just call ourselves The Band, at least for the time being,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Jimmy reacted doubtfully. “All the big groups have weird or imaginative names.”

  “But we’re not very weird and we’re definitely not big,” Liz observed, “so I go along with Stacy’s suggestion.”

  “There’s an old group called The Band,” Michael informed us. “It’ll confuse people if we use the same name.”

  “You think of a name then,” I countered.

  “Blind Luck,” he said.

  We all looked at him.

  “Why not?” Jimmy said. “It’s as good as anything else.”

  ****

  On the Fourth of July, Mr. Kemp had us play for the huge throng of people, members and guests who congregated at the swim club. We played up on the permanent bandstand that faced the largest of the three pools comprising the club. We hadn’t been first choice for the gig but the band Mr. Kemp originally invited had been engaged elsewhere, so it turned out to be a break for us.

  It hit ninety-two degrees at noon with the brilliant summer sun beating down on the roof of the bandstand, but we barely felt the heat. We were totally psyched.

  I knew many of the people there, which included my parents and my little brother. When we started to play I looked over at my mother and there was no mistaking the expression of pride on her face; it made me feel good inside. Kids danced to our music and everyone seemed to be having a good time. In between sets I jumped into the pool and took a swim just to cool off. I felt terrific.

  I drifted through the month of July, going swimming each day, weather permitting. Karen went with me as a guest most of the time. We often went horseback riding since Mr. Kemp had a stable out at his farm and brought the horses in for pool members to ride. I was having a great summer, but Karen moped around a good deal of the time.

  “If only we had boyfriends,” she moaned. With that in mind she hung around the lifeguards as much as possible but it seemed like every other girl had the same idea.

  The truth was I kept too busy working to worry about not having a social life. Michael had us practicing every evening. He was as obsessive in his way as Karen was in hers.

  The third week in July I invited Karen to come to Teen Night at the club. But when we got there I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

  “I’ll be working most of the evening. You’ll be by yourself. I hope you won’t be bored.”

  “That depends,” Karen said. She was all dressed up in a forest green slacks outfit that accentuated the deep russet hi-lights in her hair and brought out the green in her eyes. She’d gone a little heavy on the eye makeup but I had to admit, she did look good. “Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight. You did say guys come right? Besides, you can always sit with me between sets.”

  Michael called out my name and I hurried to join the others on stage. We started playing at 8:30, but the club didn’t start to fill up for another hour. By then, I reckoned Karen had to have personally bought enough sodas to keep Mr. Kemp’s club financially afloat for the week. Her bladder had to be floating as well. When I joined her at ten o’clock, she was beginning to look as though she’d had it with the place. “The food’s rotten,” she complained. “I asked for a well-done burger and this one is still mooing at me.”

  I didn’t venture a reply. I knew very well the real reason for Karen’s dissatisfaction. It didn’t take an Einstein.

  “The kid who leads your group, did you say he’s blind?”

  “You got that right,” I acknowledged.

  “What a shame. How about the drummer? Will you introduce me? He’s kind of cute.”

  “I’m fairly certain he’s interested in Liz, and she’s into him too.”

  Karen groaned. “There is no justice!” Karen twirled a strand of auburn hair. She lowered her eyes in dejection.

  “I’ll have them get you another burger of the non-mooing variety. Honor bright. Okay?”

  Karen looked up and shrugged. “Well, at least the music’s good.”

  I felt better for Karen when a group of boys arrived during the next set. They stood by the bar looking around. I recognized Greg Lawson immediately. I didn’t need very good eyesight because he was easily six foot three and would have stood out in any crowd. Here I was at center stage and I thought maybe he might notice me now but he was still unaware of me as an individual. To him we musicians must be nothing more than part of the club’s atmosphere, strictly background noise.

  It was after
the boys had ordered their sodas that I noticed several of them nudging one in the group in Karen’s direction. I knew him from all the way back in elementary school. Randy Farrell was tall and broad with an unusually thick neck. He approached Karen shyly, occasionally looking back at his friends for support. I could see that Karen was pleased. She invited him to join her. The other boys in Greg Lawson’s group didn’t bother to socialize with anyone else in the club. They just hung out together, laughing, shoving each other every once in a while, generally goofing around.

  On my break I sat down with Karen and Randy. I could tell they were hitting it off. It thrilled me.

  “Hi, Giraffe, I mean, Stacy, how’s your summer going?”

  “Fine, and yours?”

  “Improving a whole lot.” He smiled at Karen.

  “How did you average out in American History?” I asked him, remembering it was the one class we shared sophomore year.

  “Managed to pull off a C at the end. I slept through that class for most of the year.” Karen giggled as if he’d said something clever. “It’s true. Ask Stacy.”

  “He did,” I agreed.

  “Callan’s so boring he even yawned during his own lectures.”

  Karen smiled at Randy as if to acknowledge his wit. Actually, Randy was kind of a half-wit, but his heart was okay. Randy smiled back at Karen and then picked up the menu. “Can I order you girls something?”

  “I don’t recommend the food here,” Karen warned. “The meat bites back.”

  “I’ve got a cast-iron stomach. Coach says that’s what makes me so valuable as a lineman. He wants me to keep putting weight on so I’ll be first-string varsity in the fall. Not that any of this is fat,” he hastened to add. Randy flexed his biceps for Karen.

  “You are so strong,” Karen responded in an animated, flirtatious manner. I almost groaned. The way she acted seemed ridiculous to me. But Randy bought it completely like it was pizza with extra cheese.

  “It’s the weightlifting. Coach has us press every other day. Secret of a winning team,” he explained with a wink.

  I left them to continue their gooey conversation and went back to the stage. It was a fact that I had never seen Karen so happy and animated. She obviously enjoyed Randy’s company. So why was I feeling this way, as if I had lost something? Was I jealous? Maybe, but if so, I knew it was wrong. I sighed and got ready to perform again. My best friend met a guy she could like. That happened to be a good thing.

  Karen came home with me, Jimmy driving us back to my house. She was sleeping over. As we got ready for bed all Karen could talk about was Randy Farrell. She bubbled with joy.

  “He said he’s going to call me. Isn’t that awesome? I can hardly wait!” She hugged the pillow close to her. “Of course, I do wish it had been Greg Lawson. I mean, he is older and cuter, more popular too, but Randy’s nice, don’t you think? And doesn’t he have a great sense of humor?” Karen didn’t wait for a reply; she continued to rhapsodize. “This is the best night of my life ever.” Karen was too excited to sleep so we talked into the early hours of the morning.

  The next day I woke up with a bad sore throat. At first I thought I must have strained my vocal cords from too much singing. But by the afternoon my inability to swallow properly was accompanied with a headache. I dragged myself through the day. At the pool I stayed out of the water, studying in the shade. I was prone to strep infections and had to be careful.

  I didn’t feel like going to band practice that evening, but I went anyway. The heat of the day was down and a spectacular blood-sun was setting in the sky as I climbed the porch steps to the Norris house.

  We had a set routine which involved getting down to practice without a lot of chitchat. Michael sat at the piano working on a new piece. Liz sat beside him writing down on paper the notes he played. They stopped and got ready for our practice.

  Liz handed me a copy of the new stuff. The pain in my head was now centered on the sockets of my eyes. I found it difficult to concentrate and made several mistakes playing the new work. The first time Michael only moved his head in my direction frowning, the second time he glowered and the third he signaled us to stop with an irate wave of his hand.

  “What’s the matter? Too much social life?”

  His mocking tone infuriated me. I was in no mood to put up with his lousy attitude. “I made a mistake, all right? Big deal.”

  “As a matter of fact, it is. We’re trying to put together a professional sound. If you’re slumming you don’t belong with us.”

  “I’m not feeling well, okay?” I tried not to whine. I hate people who whine and sure didn’t want to join their ranks. “Maybe I made a mistake coming tonight.”

  “Maybe you did at that,” Michael agreed without the slightest shred of sympathy or compassion. “Let’s continue—if you can pay attention.”

  Now I was just plain angry. “I read somewhere that Lincoln freed the slaves.”

  He was on his feet looking ominous. “So I’m a slave-driver, is that it? Well, let me tell you something. Liz and Jimmy both have full-time jobs for the summer, but I don’t hear any complaints or excuses from them. Tough lounging around a pool all day, isn’t it?”

  I felt my cheeks flame like cherries jubilee. “Sorry if that makes you sore.” I ran out of the room and toward the front door.

  Liz came after me. “Wait, Stacy!”

  I didn’t listen but I kept on walking, if only so that no one would see the tears welling up in my eyes. I was still smarting from the sting of Michael’s remarks and feeling pretty sorry for myself when Liz caught my arm on the front porch.

  “He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, you know.”

  “Didn’t he?”

  Liz’s grave gray eyes looked at me evenly. She reminded me of an owl just then. “I know how it must seem, but it’s just that he’s suffered a lot the last few years. Certain memories torture him and leave him feeling bitter and angry. Sometimes, he takes it out on the wrong people.”

  I couldn’t answer her, I just left as fast as my long legs would carry me. There was something about Michael, something that always disturbed me. It seemed like whenever I had personal contact with him, I wound up feeling emotionally upset. When someone has a great talent the way Michael does, you can forgive a lot. And the beauty and greatness of his music made me think that there was something wonderful deep inside of him. Just the same, at moments like this, I could have easily murdered him. Hang tough, I told myself, don’t let him get to you! But like most things, it’s easier said than done.

  Chapter Three

  The next few days were downright depressing. My headache developed into a fever that was gone every morning but returned by late afternoon. Mom pampered me, however, I insisted she leave and take Andy to the pool each day. There was no point spoiling things for them. It was great swimming weather, hitting over ninety degrees every day. As for me, I stayed in the air-conditioning, moped around my room and tried to study vocabulary and reading for the SATs. I felt too rotten to bother coping with the math, the sight of which made me sick even when I felt well.

  I only heard once from Karen the entire week. She and Randy were spending a lot of time together. When the phone rang on Friday evening and Mom said that it was for me, I assumed it was my friend calling. “Karen?” I asked.

  “No, it’s a boy.” Her eyebrows rose.

  “Wrong number, most likely.”

  “No, he asked for you,” Mom said with a smile.

  That surprised me. As far as I knew, there weren’t any boys interested enough to phone me. I took the call at the telephone that sat on the nightstand in my parents’ bedroom. Okay, I admit I wanted some privacy. Just in case. I mean, every girl has hopes, right?

  “Hello,” I said uncertainly.

  “This is Michael, Michael Norris. Remember me?”

  “Of course.” How could I forget?

  “How are you feeling?” His voice sounded funny, as though it had thickened.

  “I’ve
been better. Why did you call?”

  “Isn’t that obvious, to find out how you are.”

  “Liz must have told you to phone, right?”

  There was a hesitation at the other end.

  “What if she did? I did the calling, didn’t I?” He sounded angry, defensive. Same old Michael! Some things never changed.

  “How much do you care about other people’s feelings?” I could get angry too.

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “I don’t know, do you?” I countered. Then suddenly I heard him laughing and I found myself joining him.

  “Okay, truce. I concede the fact that I’m a selfish jerk. Now do you feel better? Can we stop playing dueling questions?”

  “I don’t know, can we?”

  “Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

  “Nope, that’s you, Michael. No more questions for me. I accept your apology for acting like a rat.”

  “You’re all heart, Stacy.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, even my heart is big, just like the rest of me. Anyhow, the fact you can apologize and admit you’re wrong about something means there’s hope you’ll change.”

  I heard him sigh. “Not necessarily. Just because I admit to my faults doesn’t mean I’ll improve any. But for the record, I didn’t exactly apologize. I suppose you think I should apologize to you for the way I acted and admit that I was wrong?”

  I could hardly believe this was the same Michael Norris. “As a matter of fact, I would appreciate an apology.”

  “Good, then it’s settled. I’ll expect you at practice Monday evening as usual. You should be feeling better by then. Goodnight.” He hung up, not giving me a chance to say another word.

  As I heard the click at the other end, I realized that he’d gotten the better of me. How disgusting! He never actually did apologize or say he was sorry, but I felt certain he would tell Liz that he had. How totally impossible he behaved! And yet our brief conversation had for some unexplainable reason improved my mood.