by Ian Finn
I shake my head. “You sound like Father Joseph now,” I say sarcastically.
I look at my watch, and realize that I have to be at the church in a couple of hours. I watch Elijah lean over his chair and whisper something into Alex’s ear. Then the two of them look at me.
Elijah says, “Alex and I had an idea. Why don’t you feature that boys’ choir as part of the Morning Madison Christmas special?”
I’m not sure if they’re joking with me or being serious. Don’t they see how nervous I am about taking this on? And are these kids even good enough, or capable of singing in a church, let alone on live television?
“Really, guys. Come on,” I say, then pause for their reaction.
But they look dead serious, so I let them know, “I don’t have what it takes to do this in the first place. How am I supposed to get together a TV-worthy performance in such a short amount of time?”
The show is beginning, and we have to move to another area of the studio. I follow behind Alex and Elijah and notice they’re whispering to one another again. When we get to an empty room, we sit down again.
Elijah gets my attention and says, “What if both of us went with you today? You know, to assess what we have to work with?”
Hmmm. Well, that might take some of the pressure off, I think.
I don’t know what Father Joseph will think if I show up with two extra people. But fuck it. It’s not like I’m getting paid to do this, and maybe just maybe I’ll get a better idea of whether or not this will work out.
And if it does, at least I’ll get Will off my back about this damn special. Having young orphan boys sing Christmas songs does sound like something that would work. It’s sure to be a real crowd pleaser.
“Hell yes, you can come with me,” I finally tell them. “Thank you!”
Chapter Four
Ryan
“Hi boys. Come on in!” my next-door neighbor says to me and Eli, after she opens her door.
Betty is a nice older lady who has taken to Eli and has been a godsend for me. We had an instant rapport with her when we first moved into the building, and have since become friends. She especially loves Eli, and will babysit him on a moment’s notice.
“Have a seat. How are you, Eli?” Betty says, as she pours us each a glass of iced tea.
He answers her with a simple, “I’m good, Miss Betty.”
Betty has shared some intimate details of her life with me, including the fact that through her own actions, she lost touch with her own son. I think it’s one of the reasons why she’s so drawn to Eli. But she has turned her life around, and deeply regrets the mistakes she made in her past.
“Thanks so much for doing this, Betty, on such short notice,” I tell her.
I asked Betty to watch Eli while I take Flynn up on his offer and go check out Mickey’s. Yay, I get a night on the town just for myself!
“I’m sure that with your music store, and taking care of Eli, your life can get a bit hectic,” she says, with a warm smile. “And you know that I’m more than happy to watch Eli anytime, Ryan. Like I told you, as long as I can make my daily AA meeting, I’m fine.”
I’m always happy to see someone like Betty turn their life around. Betty has been sober for five years now, and it’s one of the reasons why I feel comfortable leaving Eli alone with her.
“You’re right, Betty. My life is a bit overwhelming right now. Once I get into the groove with the store and learn all the ins and outs of the business, I think things should get a little easier for me.”
Then I get up and give Eli a kiss on the forehead.
“Bye honey,” I tell him.
“Bye bye, Daddy!” he says, snuggling up in a blanket on Betty’s couch, to watch TV.
He looks happy that I’m leaving – I don’t let him watch much TV at home. Hanging out with Betty always seems like a special treat for him. He’ll probably fall asleep during the show, which is a welcome change to him from sleeping in his bed at home.
“I shouldn’t be gone for more than a couple of hours,” I tell them, while walking to the door.
She follows me out and stands in the entrance of the door, while watching me head towards the elevator.
“Take your time, Ryan. Really, it’s no problem. I’m a night owl anyway, so you don’t have to worry about getting back right away,” she says.
I turn around to smile, and wave to her.
“Thanks, Betty.”
As I head down the elevator, I begin to think how sad it is that Betty cannot reconnect with her son. She told me that she thinks she failed him as a mother, and she’s too embarrassed to try and resume their mother/ son relationship.
The very last time she saw him, he told her something like, “You’ll never change, Mom. I’ve given you so many chances, and you blew every last one of them.”
But I’m a firm believer that people can change, and I let Betty know this. I told her that she’s a prime example, and I encouraged her to at least try to get in touch with her son.
Although, I suppose I can somewhat understand her reluctance. It would be heartbreaking for her if she reached out to him, and he ended up rejecting her. Especially around the holidays.
“Hiiii!” a well-dressed, bubbly, thirty-something woman says to me, as I exit the front of the building.
She quickly reaches her arm out to hold the door open, so it doesn’t lock on her.
Then asks me, “Do you know if a Betty Simms still lives here?”
When I nod, and tell her, “Yeah, she’s my neighbor,” the woman looks delighted.
“Oh good! Thank you!” she says, then comments, “I like your shoes. Are those Ferragamo?”
Now a little caught off guard, I look down, then back up at her.
“Famous Footwear,” I say, smiling.
She laughs when she hears this, then cracks, “Well hey, they’re a great knockoff. You have good taste!”
I get a glimpse of her pushing the button to the elevator, then waving goodbye to me, before I begin my trek downtown.
She was sure friendly, I think to myself, as I make the short walk to the bar. I forget how much friendlier people are in a smaller city with a laid-back atmosphere. In big, bustling Chicago, everyone rushes around like maniacs, and most people barely make eye contact with you.
The first thing I notice when I walk in to Mickey’s is the singer who is performing with his guitar on stage. What an inviting and cozy little place this is, I think to myself, as I survey the small club, which is separated by two rooms –– one with tables and chairs in the stage area, and the other with the actual bar and stools surrounding it.
Flynn sees me almost immediately and comes to greet me.
“I’m so glad you made it,” he tells me, looking excited. “Follow me; I want to introduce you to some of my friends.”
The bar is decorated with a healthy amount of twinkling Christmas lights, festive garland, and a statuesque tree, which only accentuates the already warm and intimate setting.
Flynn turns to me as we approach the table.
“You remember Brent,” he says, before introducing me to the other two men who are seated. “And this is my husband Wes, and this here is Duncan. Everyone, this is our newest friend, Ryan.”
I shake hands with everyone, genuinely happy to meet them.
When Brent and Flynn came into my store, I wondered to myself if Flynn was single or not. But I guess my question is now answered. Once I’m done introducing myself to all of them with a friendly handshake, Brent invites me to have a seat. Flynn then walks off to help a customer behind the bar.
“We met Ryan at his new store, Madison Music Center,” Brent says to Wes, and Duncan. He adds, “He just moved back to Madison from Chicago.”
Upon hearing this, Wes asks Brent if his husband, Flynn, is perhaps in the market for a new guitar. During our conversation, the singer who was playing up on stage walks to our table and begins to listen in on our conversation.
When Brent is finished ta
lking, the singer asks, “Now, who did I hear just moved back to Madison?”
Duncan then introduces us.
“This is my husband, Tyler. Tyler, this is Ryan.”
I shake his hand, and he sits down next to his husband, taking a drink from his Pilsner glass filled with beer.
Christ, are all these guys married, I begin to wonder? I’m starting to feel like the odd man out, being the only single guy amongst the group of friends.
Once he puts his glass down, Tyler gives me a curious look, and says, “You look familiar.” Then he asks, “Did you go to Madison High? Or do you have a brother that went there?”
I nod, “Yeah, maybe you’re thinking about my younger brother, Rob? Rob Kelly? We do look quite a bit alike.”
He becomes animated when he hears the name.
“That’s it!” he says, as he taps his hand on table. “Yeah, I remember Rob well. We were in band together. How is he doing?”
“Good, really good. He’s living in Colorado. He moved there for a job after he graduated from Princeton.”
Tyler nods.
“Well, welcome back to Madison!” he says in a congenial, friendly way.
I’m overjoyed at how readily these guys seem to accept me into their group of friends. Now if only my son can acclimate to Madison this well. Eli did not want to move here and had a tantrum when I told him that we were leaving Chicago. He did have a small group of neighborhood kids that he hung out with, so it’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to leave.
Since my back is to the door, I don’t realize who just walked in until I notice Brent’s face light up. He stands up and waits for his spouse to approach our table.
“Hi, babe,” he says, then kisses him, before looking down at me. “Ryan, this is my husband, Will.”
Flynn returns to the table with a glass for Will, before announcing, “Let me get you guys another pitcher.”
Then he grabs an empty one of the two pitchers that are on the table, so that he can go refill it.
“Nice to meet you, Will,” I say, as we shake hands.
I’m trying to keep my composure and not look as impressed as I feel, lest I make a fool out of myself.
Wow, I finally get to meet Will Davis, the big TV star of Madison, I can’t help but think. He’s just as good looking in person as he is on his show, and he just flashed me that winning smile of his.
Duncan then asks, “Where’s Zach? Is he coming?”
When I hear Zach’s name, my heart flutters. I realize that if this group of guys all become my friends, there’s no doubt I will eventually run into him. And it will probably happen sooner, rather than later.
“He’s directing a boys’ choir,” Will says.
I can’t help but notice a smirk on his face when he says this, and I wonder to myself if there’s something behind it.
“Really? How did he land that gig?” Duncan inquires.
Then when he too notices Will’s expression, and he tries to poke at Will to see if there’s something he’s not telling everyone.
“What’s wrong? Why did you say it like that?” he asks.
But Will just shakes his head, saying, “Oh, it’s nothing. I just think he’s a little uptight because he’s not confident he’ll be able to handle the young kids. That’s all.”
Brent then gets my attention, and says, “Hey Ryan, maybe Eli should be a part of that choir?”
I begin to think to myself that it might not be a bad idea for Eli to do something like that. Since he’s new in town, he could certainly benefit from being around other kids his age. He’s not starting school for another three weeks, and this can be a perfect opportunity for him to do something other than play with his iPad and watch TV.
“You know what? That sounds like a good idea. Do you think there will be room for another kid?” I ask.
Okay, maybe I’m getting a little bit too enthused about this idea. Perhaps this isn’t just about Eli, but it’s also about me getting the opportunity to see Zach again.
Will seems resolute when he answers me.
“If not, then we’ll make room for another kid.” He searches his pockets, then says, “I’ll be right back.”
When he returns from the bar, he’s scribbles something down, and hands me a slip of paper.
“Here’s the address of the church,” he says, then looks to Brent. “Maybe we should go with him, hon,” he says, but Brent is paying attention to a conversation between Tyler and Duncan.
“What?” Brent asks, apparently realizing that Will had been talking to him.
After Will explains, Brent looks at me, nodding. “Absolutely, we’ll go with you.”
Will glances back at me, and asks, “How does tomorrow sound to you, Ryan?”
Once I agree, I take out my phone and enter the time in my calendar. I’m feeling almost euphoric at how everything is working out tonight. First, I get to meet all these great guys, and now I can get Eli out of the house and have him look forward to something. And finally, I’m going to see Zach tomorrow.
I decide not to tell any of them that I know Zach. If I did, then Will or someone else would undoubtedly tell him, and it would ruin the surprise.
We spend the next two hours drinking and generally having a great time. I’ve never felt this comfortable with a bunch of strangers as I do with them. Will and Brent are the first to leave, as I’m sure Will probably isn’t a late-night person, having his show to do in the morning. One by one, the rest of our group leaves, until I decide I may as well, too.
It’s still fairly early when I get back to my apartment building, and I’m just about to knock on Betty’s door, but I stop myself. I decide that I could use a good hour or two alone to go through and empty some of the boxes from my move that I had haphazardly thrown into the spare bedroom. Not that I couldn’t have emptied them with Eli home, but maybe I’m using this as an excuse to simply enjoy another hour of being child free.
Where to start? I whisper to myself, as I survey the pile of boxes. I realize that this task is going to take me more than a couple hours, but I guess there’s no time like the present to begin.
I just can’t believe how much stuff I’ve accumulated over the years. I have way too many books, I think, as I begin removing and placing them on an IKEA shelf that I had bought specifically for them.
Just when I think that all the boxes are going to be filled with books, I open up one with a lot of folders and framed high school and college diplomas of mine. Don’t ask me why, but I saved a lot of essays I’d written in college, and I wonder if I should just toss them.
When I get to the bottom of the box, I notice a high school yearbook, and begin to flip through it. Naturally, I go to my class first, and when I begin scrolling through the faces, I come across Zach. A flood of memories of the two of us together begin to flood my mind, as I stare at his handsome, young face.
I think to myself about what he must look like now… if his personality has changed at all. Now I’m more determined than ever to get back in Zach’s life. Perhaps for good this time.
Chapter Five
Zach
Midway through the second day of my job as a choir director, I’m shocked, yet pleasantly surprised, by who walks through the door.
“Okay kids, let’s take a ten minute break,” I say to the choir, then look at my watch. “Be back here by five fifteen.”
“Mr. Dubois, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I say, with a congenial handshake.
Oliver Dubois is an esteemed composer, known world-wide for his Broadway musicals, and in Madison in particular because he is often assisting in some way on the Morning Madison show. Now that he has shown up for an impromptu visit, I think to myself that maybe this gig as a choir director wasn’t so bad after all. It certainly hasn’t been the disaster in waiting that I was making it out to be prior to yesterday.
I’m the first to admit that this flawed behavior of mine, where I always think of the worst-case scenario about a situation, is not one of m
y stronger suits. I should have listened to Father Joseph in the beginning when he told me that I’d be good at this, and he had no doubt that I’d succeed.
“I got a call from Alexander earlier, and he told me about the good work you were doing here, Zach,” Oliver says to me.
I have to say that I’m slightly embarrassed by this praise, because this wasn’t exactly my idea in the first place. But I doubt that Alexander told Oliver the true reason I got stuck doing this, and I’m sure as hell not going to let him in on the lurid details of the stained-glass window debacle. He’d probably never look at me the same way again, and most likely would view me as nothing more than a common thug.
“Thank you, Mr. Dubois,” I tell him, and he immediately corrects me.
“Please, call me Oliver,” he insists. “You make me feel like such an old man when you call me that.”
Then he lets out a chuckle. The fact is, he is quite elderly, so it’s a funny joke.
“Okay, Oliver, thanks,” I say to him with a smile, then with some reluctance, add, “Yeah, I don’t know how well I’m doing with these kids. I have such a minimal amount of experience directing a choir, and an even lesser amount of experience dealing with children.”
He crosses one arm, then makes a fist of his other hand and places it to his chin. He then counters my self-deprecating last statement and turns it into a compliment.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, Zach. I was listening outside the door before I walked in, and I have to say that I’m very impressed. Naturally they can use a little more work, but that’s what you’re here for.”
My immediate thought is that he’s just humoring me. How can someone with his prestige and of his caliber think that what I’m doing is any good?
But this self-criticism of mine always stems from my own perfectionism. I’m riddled with self-doubt because I’m constantly telling myself that there’s either room for improvement, or that I can approach what I’m doing from a different perspective. It’s rare that I can one hundred percent say that I’m pleased with the outcome of my work.
Nevertheless, I thank the kind composer.