Soteria- The Crisis Forge

by Roberto Arcoleo

  Jason opened his eyes and quickly arose from the bed. It seemed like an eternity since he had walked the streets of the city. He yearned for the rush of the club, the excitement of his band, and the cheering of the crowd. The Dom was the hottest club in New York. Every corner dripped with pleasure. He only ever wanted to be there, but on this day, Jason sat contemplating what he had gleaned. Aware of Mark’s visit to the psychiatrist, he pondered the reasons for his actions.

  It’s that human, Gabriela. Did he think he could hide this from me? He knows that’s not possible. What could he be thinking? Until this point, the two brothers had shared all thoughts and considered themselves extensions of each other. Maybe we are approaching the time of our separation; maybe he has gained some power I am not aware of. But why would he want to keep something from me? Jason recalled how Mark had been upset with him about the human lives he had taken, but he dismissed the idea as having little bearing. To him, a few humans were of little consequence. Mark, on the other hand, had grown enamored by one. And his feelings for this woman were baffling. We have been instructed to learn about these beings, to understand them, to absorb their thinking and nature, but he has taken this too far. He has allowed their feelings to enter him. My music may start with the humans, but I never surrender my control.

  He began to dress. He put on a black t-shirt with a few holes and a white skull graphic. Jason’s hair was jet black, a foil to the fairer hair of Mark’s, and his eyes were a deep, dark blue, as opposed to Mark’s lighter ones. Both brothers were hypnotic and beautiful, and they hummed with mysteries that could not be defined. To look at them was to be lost in them, seduced and captured by their splendor.

  He put on his boots and his leather jacket that was draped with chains and embellished with metal studs, picked up his guitar, put on his dark Ray-Bans to conceal his eyes and opened the door. He walked out into the night and breathed in the sounds of the streets.

  Speedily he walked towards St. Mark’s Place, knowing that Helena, Gary, and BoBo would be there. He had promised them new music, and they were eagerly awaiting his appearance. They had been arguing over a name for their new band. This mattered little to Jason; this was just a passing amusement for him. He knew they would never be a professional band. Too much visibility, too much attention, for that to be, but the music... The music, the magnificent, beautiful music, that flow which rose beyond superlatives: that is what he loved. Jason could create landscapes of cadence, melodic passions that would leave one breathless. Everyone knew Jason was special. When he went onstage, the experience was transformative. He would often think, too bad this can never last. It will all have to end soon, but not too soon.

  He approached St. Mark’s Place and heard a girl yelling from behind.

  “Jason! Jason!” she cried out. It was Helena.

  Helena could turn every head in a restaurant, and when she sang, her voice would melt the room. She was the daughter of a famous New Orleans African-American jazz musician and a Danish model. Every pore in her body exuded sexuality; as she passed, pheromones filled the air. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her features chiseled. A fair-skinned beauty, her looks echoed the heritage of her Scandinavian mother, but her soul belonged to her piano man father. She was unique; wanted by all. All but Jason, that is, who never paid her a thought. She was simply a part of the music, and he had no desire for her. But this did not stop Helena’s yearnings for him; she loved him madly.

  “Do you have the music?” she cried, as she ran after him. “Do I have my words, my new words? I can’t wait!” Her voice was sweet, with a French Quarter accent inherited from her dad.

  “There are no words for you,” he said.

  She stopped short with shock. “No words for me?” she whimpered.

  “No words, but you will sing like the nightingale you are,” he replied, knowing that the purity of her voice, moaning, sighing, and always drenched in the blues, would be enough for his piece. “You will be magnificent. There will be only one line, a melodic repetition that I will sing as a counter to your free flow. I will sing ‘Only for Tonight’ over and over, bouncing off you and the music. It will be great. You will understand later.”

  Her eyes beamed, and a smile appeared. She always trusted Jason; she always knew it would work. They never had to rehearse a song more than once. It was not like all the other bands she had known, requiring hours of repetition and practice to get it right. It was always right. Always perfect.

  They entered The Dom together. Helena took off her coat and slung it over her arm. She was wearing a ruby-colored silk dress that clung to her like a second skin. Cut high above the knee, it shimmered with highlights as she walked. Her dark green stockings and high heels accentuated her long legs. The music blared at a deafening pitch as they crossed the large floor swarming with people dancing. Smoke and perspiration filled the air as they weaved through the crowd. A hundred eyes followed them, many acknowledging the recognition of their arrival. Jason was there.

  “Jason! Jason!” was heard from the back of the room. It was Gary, his lead guitar player, waving madly for them to join him. “Jason!” he said again. “Janis Joplin’s agent is here, and he won’t leave until he’s seen you.

  “Where’s BoBo?” asked Jason.

  “Upstairs in our private room hitting his drums,” replied Gary.

  “Good,” said Jason, “let’s go. Tell Janis we can talk later.”

  They walked up the back stairs to their private room, the exclusive domain of the group. BoBo was at the drums banging out some of his favorite patterns.

  “Hey, BoBo, are you ready?”

  “Ready?” he replied, “I’ve been waiting for hours.” BoBo was a very large and overweight, hard-drinking, hard-talking southern boy, always ready for a party or a fight. Gary, on the other hand, looked like a stiff wind would blow him to Idaho – oh, but could he play! That is, when he wasn’t so stoned that he could not stand… They were the most talented musicians in the city.

  Jason turned to each member of the group and relayed the music they were to play. At the same moment, he planted the music deep into each one’s subconscious. He could have easily skipped the ritual, but this would have been too overt a use of his abilities, which he was still keeping secret. They practiced the music once, and it was perfect.

  Helena turned to him and murmured softly, “Oh Jason, thank you.” The other two just kept shaking their heads up and down in recognition.

  “Ok,” said Jason, “now let’s go listen to Janis!”

  They descended the stairs to the back of the main room. The crowd was roaring as Joplin walked onto the stage. The group sat at their private table and ordered drinks with a wave of the hand. The waiter knew what they all wanted. They always had the same.

  BoBo tapped out some coke on a silver tray and started to make lines. He rolled up a twenty and quickly inhaled two. He passed the tray to Jason. Jason snorted a line, but it had no effect on him. He would engage in drugs, as well as eating and drinking, to keep a low profile and appear human. Gary was next, and Helena was last. She always wanted to go last. Then came her signature words, “Oh, so superb!”

  The music filled the room as the crowd cheered louder. Janis was singing, “Oh come on, come on…” and a frenzy of cheers and screams broke out.

  Soulful groans went forth as only Joplin could evoke. The audience erupted with enthusiasm. She was the queen of funk, unmatched in her power on stage. The set lasted over an hour, driving the music deep into the crowd.

  As her performance was coming to an end, the audience appeared exhausted. But little did they know what they were about to experience. Jason was coming.

  The stage manager came to the table. “You’re up next!”

  They walked backstage as the equipment was being set up.

  “This is going to be so great!” Helena cooed.

  Gary nodded and added, “They are never going to hear anything like this.” BoBo was completely wasted on coke and whiskey, but this did no
t worry Jason; he knew his force of will would carry all of them, and the music would be perfect. Perfection was what mattered to him. This was why he loved music and gave it such attention; it was one of the great human accomplishments: this universal language of abstraction. From the complexity of Beethoven and Bach to the funky guitars wailing from windows on Eighth Street, music amazed him. Other than dreaming, it was one of the most awe-inspiring things that mesmerized his species from thousands of light years away.

  The group took to the stage and opened the set with one of their favorites. The place was jumping. They played two more songs, and then Jason nodded: it was time for the new song.

  “Let’s stretch it out,” he said. Jason started to play; stillness stole the room. One by one, each of the band members joined in.

  First, Bobo pounded out a beat, and then Gary’s strings started their elongated whine as if they were crying in pain, and lastly, Helena’s voice warmed the air. They all joined forces, their collaboration rising in harmony. A somber tranquil wave enveloped the stage and drifted out to the crowd. Then Jason’s elusive voice grew higher, and without warning, it descended softly to a hidden place. The room fell silent.

  “Only for tonight…” he sang, as Helena’s voice continued with a vibrating moan. Their voices echoed and blended, always with Jason’s voice ascending above, pulling and pushing at the same time, as if telepathy had queried them, and while this seamless precision left the stage, the audience was transported into a state of euphoria.

  For twenty minutes, the crowd stood transfixed. When the music stopped, the room remained silent, as if in a coma. Then a single clap rang out, then another, until the whole room had broken into a shattering applause that lasted well after they had left.

  As they exited to the left of the stage, Joplin ran up to Jason. “My God! I have never heard anything like that! It was beyond… beyond! How… Where did that come from?”

  Jason smiled. “It was you guys who were great,” he said.

  “Yes, we were great…but that was something else! Please…please! My label is begging me to get you.”

  A man in a blue suit interrupted, “Jason, please let us work with you.” His band stood behind him proudly, bursting with excitement.

  “You’re from San Francisco?” asked Jason.

  “Yes,” he said. “We handle Janis. We just cut her album, she can tell you we are fair people and we understand music, and everyone likes the way we work. If you will you come to the coast, we can do some great things? We’ll cut an album and set up a tour.”

  “Sure,” replied Jason. But he knew that would never happen. Too much recognition might interfere with his main task. What good is a rock group if you have no planet to rock?

  Jason turned and started to walk up the stairs. He looked at Joplin.

  “Thanks for the walk-on performance. I know this was not on your schedule, especially since you were doing the Fillmore this week.”

  “I wanted to see you.” She winked. “You know I love your ass. If you’ll let me drag you into my arms sometime, well, we’ll party till dawn. We’re going back to the hotel for a bash. Wanna come?”

  Jason smiled. “Maybe later. I have to do some stuff upstairs with the group.”

  “OK, baby,” she replied. “I’ll be waiting!”

  He smiled and turned to go up the stairs to his private room. The band had just arrived, but already Gary had dotted the room with an assortment of groupies from the crowd. They were stoned and seemed to be undressing. Bobo had a redhead and a blonde under his arm.

  “This is Silvia, and this is Rachel,” he introduced them, respectively. “They always come as a team, and they are dying to get to know you, Jason.” Jason thought; how the hell did this happen so fast? They had only gotten to the room two minutes before him.

  Jason put down his guitar and had just sat down when the bouncers knocked, “There is someone here to see you, Jason.” The bouncers were two huge men, Malcolm and Antonio. Malcolm was a black man who had been a lineman at Penn State, one of the only openly gay football players in the league. Antonio, a product of Bronx Latin street gangs, was equally large. Both were devoted to Jason and protected the members of the group when he was not around.

  “Who is it?” asked Jason.

  “Guy Lucasie,” replied Antonio.

  Jason could hear Lucasie in the hall telling his bodyguard, “Wait downstairs! I don’t want to scare this hippy douchebag kid before I make a deal.”

  Everyone had heard about this man. He was a Mafia capo who controlled much of the music industry, as well as entertainment venues for the mob. The word was that he was dangerous and very connected. He could be a good friend or a ruthless enemy.

  Jason didn’t have anything to fear from him, but to keep up his appearance in front of his band, he would speak politely and try to show the appropriate respect.

  Lucasie walked into the room. He was a short man, about 60-years-old, dressed in a gray sharkskin suit and a blue silk tie held in place with a star sapphire pin. He appeared as wide as he was tall. He walked stiffly and deliberately and reminded Jason of a stout bulldog.

  His girlfriend, a curvaceous femme fatale accompanied him. Dark-haired, with enchanting eyes, she was a full-breasted, sumptuous woman. She looked about 25-years-old, and she clung to his arm like a piece of jewelry. Her name was Angela. “The Angel,” Lucasie called her. The rumor was that she was from Naples, Italy and Lucasie was crazed with possessiveness over her. There was a story floating around that he once had a bodyguard’s fingers broken for touching her.

  Lucasie grumbled, “May I sit down and have a word or two with you?”

  Jason acknowledged him with a smile.

  Lucasie leaned forward in his chair. He was obvious in his body language. Every motion he made was intended to convey his strength and control; each gesture an expression of influence and bravado.

  “So, I heard your set, and I liked it. I can do things for you and your band.” He spoke with a tone of authority. Jason was already annoyed.

  He’s arrogant, he thought.

  Lucasie started to speak. “I also know people are talking to you and your band. West coast people, that’s no good! Cio, non va bene,” he said, as he turned to Angela and smiled.

  Lucasie continued, “I hear you make all the decisions.”

  Again, Jason looked up and replied with an indifferent voice, “My opinion is well respected in the group.” Lucasie was posturing and trying to size Jason up. Jason was amused. All this bravado! All this theater! Does this guy always feel he has to play the Don? Is he always afraid to lose face? There is no one here to impress or lose face to. There is no entourage of Mafia kingpins here. Maybe he just can’t help it… he reflected. Or maybe it is something else. Jason penetrated Lucasie’s mind.

  Lucasie continued to speak in an agitated manner, “I can offer you more than anyone else: recording, touring, and a $100,000 advance.” He opened his briefcase. It was full of cash. He put it on the table in front of Jason. Jason was no longer paying attention to what Lucasie was saying but was looking past it and into his mind and that of his angel.

  To his amazement, he sensed that Angela was deeply turned on by the orgy filling the room. Her discomfort was distressing them both. The two girls making out in the corner, entwined with BoBo, stole all of her attention. She was trying to hide her excitement, but she started to squirm in her seat. He could tell that Lucasie knew she wanted to be in the corner of that room.

  Jason saw all of this, as well as Lucasie’s burning anger. He wanted to make his deal and get out of there but did not dare to look weak or seem like he was not in control. His frustration grew as he directed his hostility towards Jason, but Angela was the source of it all.

  Jason’s dislike of this guy intensified; his arrogance needed a lesson, so Jason decided to play with him a bit.

  “Interesting, aren’t they?” he suggested, nodding his head towards the corner, though not directing the question specifically
to Angela.

  Lucasie responded sharply, “I’m here to talk business! I’m offering you a deal. Not for anything else, so let’s talk business!”

  Ignoring his outburst, Jason again directed his eyes towards the corner. He called, “Silvia… Rachel… Say hi to Angela.” This time, he looked directly at Angela. The girls looked over and smiled, giving a wave. Silvia and Angela locked eyes.

  Lucasie’s face began to flush. “Hey pal, I am here to talk business! Not to fuck around!”

  “Oh, of course…” replied Jason. “Say, will everyone leave us alone for a minute? He wants to talk business…” Everyone got up to leave. Jason looked at the two girls. “Everyone but Bobo and you two,” he said to Silvia. “We have things to do later.” They smiled and sat back in the corner on a sofa the size of a king-sized bed.

  The room cleared but for but the five of them. One could feel the tension in Lucasie’s voice as he shouted, “Why are they here? I don’t like this!”

  “Well they make the room pretty, and I like visuals,” replied Jason. “Don’t you?” Lucasie’s face started to burn. A vein under his eye pulsated as fury rose in his gut.

  Jason did not respond but just looked at him. He removed his sunglasses, revealing his cobalt blue eyes. Lucasie found that he couldn’t look away from them.

  “What…?” Lucasie murmured.

  Jason smiled again, returning his sunglasses to his face. “I was just thinking we could have a little fun. We are having a party, aren’t we?” Lucasie shifted in his seat.

  Jason’s voice took on a sardonic tone. “I think my friends like your girlfriend. What do you think?

  Lucasie’s face grew red. “What! Are you crazy? Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you?”

  “You know, I think you’ve talked enough for a while,” said Jason. “I think I’d prefer if you just sat there and didn’t speak at all.”

  Lucasie tried to get up, but he could not. He tried to talk, and then scream, but just air passed his lips. He was frozen to his chair, paralyzed and unable to neither flex a muscle nor utter a word. Only grunts and groans came forth, and the more he struggled, the more he felt a great weight bearing down on him. Terror churned in his stomach.