Chapter 24: Makin' it big in the city

Brad had been increasingly making himself scarce these past few weeks. It seemed that he'd fallen in with a bunch of musically like-minded guys, and they were working on something big. To Brad, Doug's apartment was now just a place to shit-shower-shave and gobble some cornflakes before dashing off across town for yet another practice session or gig.

This suited Janelle just fine, 'cos then the coast would be clear for her to brutalize Doug at her leisure.

But on the occasions their paths did cross, Brad would wheedle and whine about Auntie Nerissa's promise to him.

"Has she called?"

"Who?"

"Auntie N. Any message?"

"Nope."

"But she did mean it, right?"

"Mean what?"

"About hooking me up with some producers. Some music moguls. She did mean it, right?"

"How da fuck should I know?"

This kind of response was guaranteed to leave him surly and morose.

But amazingly, about three weeks after Cyclone Nerissa had struck the apartment, Janelle was phoned by her and asked to pass on a message to Brad.

It was tantalizingly brief.

"Be ready at 10.00pm this Friday. Bring your guitar."

"Just me? What about my buddies?"

"How da fuck should I know?"

Janelle was seriously thinking of having that phrase printed-up as a slogan on a t-shirt, so she could wear it around the apartment and just point at it every time he asked another question.

Friday night, at last.

Doug was boring the other two stupid by watching CNN. Brad, who'd got himself ready hours before, went to the fridge for a coke.

Janelle appeared suddenly beside him in the kitchen, and deftly unzipped the fly of his artfully ripped jeans. He jumped, and nearly dropped his cola.

"Janelle!" he hissed so Doug wouldn't hear, "Give it a rest, will ya?"

"What undies you got on? I wanna see."

"Please! Gimme a break, tonight of all nights!"

But he secretly thrilled that her hand was rummaging right next to his dick, which went almost instantly hard.

"Brad! You're supposed to be wearing the panties I gave you! Get rid of these briefs at once!"

"But..."

"NOW! And I shall want to inspect once you're done changing them."

That was more like it. He wouldn't easily forgo another chance to have her fumble with his prick. He was back in an instant, and even undid his fly for her.

Janelle inserted her hand to verify from the slippery feel of the fabric that the swap she'd ordered had indeed taken place. She took care to leave her hand against his boner for perhaps a fraction longer than was really necessary. God, the boy was big!

But to her, that was completely beside the point. The point was, tonight might be his night. Tonight he'd be strutting his stuff on stage, trying to prove he had the chops to go far in the music biz as a macho gee-tar hero. And all the while he'd have a pair of her own silky, dainty knickers adorning his nether regions. The thought of it was just too delicious!

At the appointed time, Auntie N's voice crackled in the apartment speakerphone.

"Brad? You ready, boy? Git yer ass on down here!"

He shot out the door, with battered guitarcase trailing behind him.

Down at street level, Nerissa's imposing bulk was leaning casually against an enormous white stretch-limo pulled up next to the curb. She had party gear on, as did three other black chicks talking and giggling inside.

These companions were of far more svelte proportions than Nerissa, which was just as well because there was nevertheless quite a log-jam of long dark legs filling the cabin space by the time they had all piled in. Brad tried, fairly unsuccessfully, to avoid glancing up any of their miniskirts. They tittered at his obvious discomfort.

"Girls! This is Brad. He wants to be a star."

"Hi Braaad!" they all chorussed, and he blushed. He was squashed up hard against Nerissa's meaty thigh. She took up as much seatroom as two of the other ladies combined.

They didn't need to be driven all that far, just to the other end of the downtown district. Into a private parking building and then, girls giggling and tottering along on very spiky heels, they crammed into an elevator.

They emerged into a lobby, which was full of people.

Noisy people. Party people. Young girls, black, white and Asian, in outrageous outfits. Guys ranging from young and cool to middle-aged and moneyed. The drinks had been flowing for a while already, it seemed.

Behind them all, he could see through long mid-level windows into inner rooms. Guitars, amplifiers and assorted band gear were set up in there. Tangled black thickets of electric leads dangled and ran everywhere.

So - it was a recording studio. Self-consciously he slid his guitar case behind a reception desk to get it out of sight.

Over the din and hub-bub, Nerissa spoke in his ear.

"They just completed an album."

"Who?"

She pointed out some faces in the room, and he recognised them at once as a well-respected and already-established hard-rock act.

"They finally got it all in the can this afternoon, so they ready to let off some steam now. It's always a milestone, even if that's mostly the easy part."

"What is?"

"Laying down the tracks. That can happen pretty quick, if they got their shit together. It's the mixing and post-production that takes the time."

"But they don't hafta do that, right? They got engineers to do all that."

"If they got any sense, they'll stick around for the mixing. It's a critical part of the artistic process."

He nodded sagely, as if he already knew that.

One of the other chicky-babes re-appeared and pressed a drink into his hand. Bourbon and coke, it tasted like. He barely sipped at it. Gotta stay alert for his big chance.

"Tommy!" Nerissa yelled at a paunchy guy walking past. Balding on top, he had long greying hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Nerissa!" he acknowledged, "How ya doin'? Thanks for helpin' me keep these guys organised this past week."

"Thanks for the use of your limo."

"You're most welcome."

"Tommy this is Brad, the kid I was tellin' ya about the other day."

Tommy gave Brad a look up and down, but didn't address him directly.

"You said he can play? You heard him already?"

"Not yet" Nerissa acknowledged, "but he's keen to jam. I tole him if he falls flat on his ass then that's his own lookout."

"Yeah, why not? They'll probably want to crank up some amps in a little while. They're happy to jam with all-comers, so long as you can hold your own."

Sure enough, after about another hour of indulgence in alcohol and perhaps one or two other substances, a couple of the guys Nerissa'd pointed out made their way to some instruments set up at the far end of the lobby. They took up the bass, drums and keyboard slots, while the guitars got picked up by people Brad didn't recognise.

A blizzard of fat-sounding licks from one of the guitars hushed the room momentarily, then they eased into that staple of all jam sessions, a slow blues. Pretty soon the din from the other merrymakers had risen back to its previous level, but was as nothing now compared to the band as they picked up momentum.

The players were slick and professional, yet relaxed and having fun. Playing with humour, almost. And very fucking good. Brad wondered who the guitarists were. He knew they were not members of this particular band.

"Where's ya gee-tar?"

It was Nerissa that was yelling in his ear.

He pointed.

"Get it out, and go stand by the speaker stack."

"Huh?"

"They'll see you, and ask you up."

"But... will they know my stuff? I want to play my stuff!"

"Fuck your stuff! If ya wanna get noticed, ya first gotta play well on their stuff! It's their jam!"

With these words, she poked him forwards.

He was nervous as he stood there waiting. Impatient, too. He wanted to be up and running.

They did three numbers before the drummer finally yelled something at one of the guitarists, who un-slung his axe and proffered the jack-plug of its lead to Brad.

He stepped up, plugged in, and waited expectantly as the drummer counted them in.

It was fast and furious, and he sat out for the first few bars until he'd got his bearings within the tune. As soon as it fell into place he took over the rhythm, blocking in the chords so the other guy could go noodling off into the stratosphere.

It was a simple enough tune, built on pretty standard changes. So simple, he really had to do something different with it. These guys were good, and well-respected and everything, but they obviously hadn't yet heard what an unknown bunch of young, pimply, out-of-work teenagers had been brewing lately in the garages of this city.

So when it was his turn to blow, it came out like pent-up fury. Fuck tasteful licks, here comes the next New Thing! There was a fuzz-box on the rack in front of him, and he'd kicked it in as soon as he was ready for single-note lines. Jagged, angular phrases, weird tonality that pushed at the boundaries of tunefulness, swooping up to chiming arpeggios that created a massive wall of sound. This boy had been very busy these past few weeks!

It was getting attention. Quite a few of the jaded party people there had perked up to check out what was happening.

Not that he knew it yet. He could literally play with his eyes closed, and often did just that. His solo reached its crescendo, and burst in an orgasmic rush. Then he eased back into rhythm mode so the keyboard player could have a go.

He caught the bassist nodding at him in a grudging approval. It'd come across as kinda weird, but it had worked. This kid could certainly play, and had a style all of his own. Something really fresh.

Brad stayed for another tune after that, then the drummer was urging him to unplug for someone else waiting in the wings. He scuttled back to the reception area and stowed his guitar in its case again.

Nerissa was there.

"What da fuck d'ya call that? I ain't never heard nobody play like that before!"

Now Brad may still be young and lacking in confidence on certain matters in life, but on musical issues he had unshakable convictions.

"I don't EVER wanna play like anybody you've heard before!"

Tommy the Producer sidled up at that moment.

"Nice one, kid. That was... different."

"Thanks."

"There's more than just the one of you, am I right?"

"Yeah, there is."

"Any of you writing at all?"

"Yeah, it's totally our own stuff."

Tommy pressed a business card into Brad's hand.

"Call me when you next got a gig, so's I can check y'all out."

"I'll definitely do that."

Tommy patted him on his shoulder, then moved on.

"Wow!" Brad exclaimed to Nerissa, "Is he serious!"

"On music and money, Tommy is always serious." Nerissa replied and added wistfully, "On women, he is never serious."

After that Brad relaxed and began to enjoy himself. He felt the way you do at school when exams have just ended. The next six bourbons slid down so nice and easy that he scarcely felt their impact.

Then he went to the bathroom for a pee. In order to wash his hands, he had to jostle for space at the wash-stand. They had a big piece of broken mirror laying flat there, with some lines of powder on it.

"Are ya on for some blow?" they asked him, having all just indulged and finding there were a couple of lines left.

Well, that's mighty hospitable of them, he thought, and felt too polite to spurn such a gesture. Inexpertly he snorted up a line with the silver tube they'd held out to him, then started on another.

"Hey, take it easy!" he was told. "Fuck, you'll be goin' ape-shit if ya don't watch out!"

Back at the party, his glass of bourbon seemed to keep re-filling itself by magic thanks to the attentions of chicky-babe number-two, Darlene.

He felt energised. Perceptions clear, and thoughts profound. All systems go. The jam session was roaring full-tilt, yet he'd swear he could still hear a pin drop.

Nerissa was saying something to him, but it sounded tiny and far away.

He got the urge to be outta there, somewhere clear, somewhere fresh. Somewhere dark.

Wandering about the room, he saw a small group head down a corridor and he followed. Through a sliding glass door the corridor opened out onto a roof-top terrace.

This was more like it! The breeze was cool and invigorating. The lights of the city looked magical. The higher storeys, with their rooftop superstructure of aerials and dishes, were lit up like an ancient Greek temple.

He got close to the edge of the parapet and stood there, pointing up into the breeze. At this altitude the wind had considerable force, and he felt moved to lift his outstretched arms like an albatross ready to take flight.

He stood there, transfixed, arms out, bourbon glass still clutched in one hand, and looking for all the world like Christ on Calvary.

And that was the way Nerissa found him, after an exhaustive search of the premises.

She approached him.

"Brad? You okay?"

To him her voice was still faraway, and it barely registered. He himself seemed incapable of speech.

"Brad?"

One by one Nerissa uncurled his fingers from the glass in his hand and took it, sniffing its contents suspiciously. She hurled it from the building, making a mental note to interrogate Darlene as to whether she'd been up to any of her tricks again.