Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  To make up for my shortcomings in self-expression, I opted to be a man of action. Several days of planning went into the date with Ellie that night. Arrangements were made at LeClair’s. Flowers were ordered. I even spent all my time off trying to finish the Mercedes so that I could pick her up with an automobile that actually had a top. In the end, I had the new engine installed, and the car was running like a fine-oiled machine, yet the damage to the interior could not be finished in time. The best I could do was put the top and doors on the Jeep.

  After a quick workout, I showered and changed into some jeans with a fitted shirt and sports jacket; she liked me in jeans. I wanted the night to be special, the whole chivalry thing. Walking her out to the car, opening doors, pulling out her chair, the whole nine yards.

  The weather was cooperating, and the setting sun was casting a warm glow all about the city of Memphis as I arrived at her apartment on Mud Island. When I moved to Memphis, most of Mud Island was a scrubby sandbar, but a local developer had a vision for the tiny peninsula, and the result was a truly fascinating community that emphasized a social front porch mentality over the privacy fence, back patio reality seen in most suburbs. Ellie had been quick to move into the developing area.

  Her front door was open, so I let myself in through the screen door. Soon after, she entered the living room looking absolutely radiant in a white, sleeveless summer dress cut above the knee. She gave me a peck and asked me what I had planned for the evening.

  I said, “Dinner, but first I want to walk along the river while this sun finishes setting.”

  Few words were exchanged as we walked arm in arm along the river enjoying the radiant colors of the setting sun. My timing was impeccable. We arrived at the Hernando de Soto Bridge just as the sky exploded into a virtual kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, violets and purples. The classic double arches of the bridge affectionately labeled the “New Bridge” cut a picturesque silhouette against nature’s majestic show.

  We stopped to take it all in, watching as the hues darkened until the slightest twinges of red-orange were visible on the highest, wispiest clouds. I had witnessed a few prettier sunsets over the ocean while stationed in the Philippines, but not many.

  Ellie was beaming. “How did you plan that one, sailor boy?”

  “I figured the world owed me a favor once in a while, although I didn’t realize it was going to pay it forward like that. I only wish I knew how to take a decent picture; that was breathtaking.”

  After finishing our stroll along the river, we visited a popular local Italian restaurant. Over appetizers at the bar, she briefly described her day, and I told her about the broken window.

  Ellie said, “The note was a little cryptic. What’s up with that?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s face it; the note could have been intended for either one of us. It went through his window, but after your colleague did that bit outside my building she kind of let people know where I live.”

  “I think you are wrong about that.”

  “How so?”

  “I saw the replay of her piece outside your place. The cameraman was so zoomed in on her that very little of your building was visible. I definitely didn’t see anything that would tell anybody where you live unless they recognized your front door.”

  “Those are custom doors, but it still seems like it would be dumb luck that someone recognized them. Maybe it was meant for John. I could have sworn he was lying about something when we questioned him.”

  “How do you know he was lying?”

  “I may only have a few talents, but human lie detector is among them.”

  “Human lie detector, huh? Was that a good skill for an Admiral’s aide involved in intelligence matters?”

  Was the question rhetorical? I could not tell.

  “You know how a bunch of intelligence guys can be?”

  “Actually, no, I don’t. How can they be?”

  “Bunch of spooks and spies all gathered together. Telling which ones are lying comes in handy.”

  She smiled. Thank God.

  “By the way, I hope Beale Street is okay with you tonight. LeClair tells me there is a really good blues band at his place tonight. Muddy White Boy. He says it might be the best cover band he’s ever had in there. I hope you’re interested.”

  “I’m game. Muddy White Boy, what’s with the name?”

  “I asked LeClair the same question; he just said ‘You’ll see.’”

  After dinner, we drove over to LeClair’s. As we walked up, we saw that the line outside LeClair’s was crazy. The doorman was stopping people from going in, telling them that the place was full and they would have to wait until someone left to get in. Something about fire codes and capacity issues. Ellie murmured something about us being too late, but I simply smiled and continued walking. Her arm was interlocked with mine, so she continued as well. After directing her around the line, I nodded at the doorman, who moved to one side to let us in. A few people balked, but I didn’t care. I did not even stop to pay the cover charge.

  The place was packed. Every table was taken, the bar had people lined up three deep, and people were jammed on the dance floor, dancing to a revved up version of B.B. King’s “Whole Lotta’ Love.” The guitarist was in the zone. I glanced at the band, six seasoned black musicians on guitar, drums, bass, keyboard, and horns. The lead singer was white and looked to be in his early twenties with long hair worn in a Seventies rock star style. He was wearing all black. Black boots, black jeans, and a black Foreigner tee shirt.

  The Foreigner shirt was the giveaway. “I get it. Muddy White Boy, it’s a play on words.” Ellie smiled and nodded, but I don’t think she got the reference. She was not the blues aficionado that I was.

  “We’re never going to find a table.” Ellie strained to be heard over the music.

  I kept walking, maneuvering us through the crowd to my destination, a small table near the front with a white tablecloth and a RESERVED sign along with a dozen red roses in the center. Pulling out her chair for her, I noticed her mouth was parted slightly, blissfully, with the tiniest of smiles, but her eyes were beaming. She looked impressed. I had hardly pushed in her chair for her when a waitress brought by a Long Island Iced Tea for her and water for me. I did not even have to order.

  Ellie motioned towards the band. “They are really good.”

  “I disagree…they are spectacular. I can understand why LeClair was so excited to book them for five straight nights. He must be making a mint. We will be lucky if he comes by the table at all.”

  It was the band’s third night at LeClair’s, and I could tell that word had gotten around. Calling them a cover band was a disgrace; they made each song their own. Their version of “Hoochie Coochie Man” was the best I had heard since the original by Muddy Waters himself, and I equally liked their Blues interpretation of “Urgent” and “Juke Box Hero” by Foreigner. But my favorite was their performance of “Evil” by Howlin’ Wolf. The band was impeccable, the singer had soul, and the crowd was eating it up.

  During the intermission, Ellie asked, “What is all this?”

  “All what?”

  “You know what. The VIP treatment at the door, the reserved table, the flowers. You are pulling out all the stops tonight, L.T.”

  “You deserve a real date once in a while. And what good is it to be friends with the owner if you don’t take advantage of the privileges. I only wish I had the Mercedes finished.”

  “If you picked me up looking the way you do in those jeans in a brand new red Mercedes convertible, I would not be able to control myself. As is, you have earned a whole lot of brownie points tonight, sailor.”

  I was glad she was pleased.

  During the second set, the band only seemed to get better. Halfway through the set, the band changed tempo; they slowed it down and played a version of “Built for Comfort” by Howlin’ Wolf followed by “Something to Talk About” by Bonnie Raitt that was perfect for slow dancing. There was not a luckier man in th
e place as she melded her body against mine. We were both breathing heavily as we left the dance floor.

  LeClair never did come by the table, yet he spotted my appreciative nod after the second set, and he responded with a nod and a thumbs-up.

  We left LeClair’s the same way we arrived. Walking with our arms interlocked. Only this time, I was carrying a vase with a dozen roses. The bucket seats prevented too much intimacy on the ride back to her apartment, although she did place her hand on mine while I was shifting gears in the Jeep. After I had walked her to her front door, Ellie took the flowers from me and gently placed them on the ground. She leaned in and gave me a hungry, passionate kiss. I loved every minute of it, and there was more than one minute to the kiss. When she broke the kiss, she pushed me away, bent over and grabbed her flowers. “Thank you for making me feel like a lady all evening. Now go home before I change my mind about remaining so lady-like.”

  CHAPTER 6

  By mid-week, the Mercedes I wanted to finish so badly was ready to be taken to an upholstery shop to repair the slashed bucket seats and convertible top. Just in time for me to fly to Miami for a medical seminar needed to help fulfill some continuing education requirements. Instead of flying back to Memphis, I stopped over in Huntsville, Alabama to visit my best friend, Virgil Johnson. We had been friends since junior high, roommates in college, and even joined the Navy together. He was the only bridge between my past and my present.

  Big Clint Eastwood fans, we watched the movie Unforgiven on Friday night at the theater and then went to bed early. We were going hiking with friends the next morning and the three and a half hour drive to Memphis meant we needed to get an early start. We were about an hour into the trip when I finished telling him about my date with Ellie the previous weekend.

  “Sounds like you guys had a good time.”

  “The band was amazing. Best darn cover band I ever saw.”

  “And you got a great kiss and were sent home. Alone.”

  “Yeah, what’s your point, Virgil?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just surprised you are having so much trouble closing with this girl.”

  “I’m not having trouble closing. I’m not trying to close. I really like this girl.”

  A quick glance revealed Virgil was smirking. “I know that. I just like giving you a hard time. Ellie is a keeper; that’s for sure. But us men are always trying to close. You are just thinking long term, not short term. I get that. Mrs. Ellie McCain does have a nice ring to it.”

  “Whatever man.”

  Virgil changed the subject. Earlier in the week, we had talked about the incident with Tom Harty on the phone, but I had not finished telling him about my conversation with Dr. Lowe. Virgil was as surprised as I was concerning Dr. Lowe’s response. He could not fathom me being chastised for possibly saving lives.

  Virgil said, “Did you let him know you have experience in these types of situations?”

  “I think nearly everyone in that hospital that knows me is aware that I do martial arts, and Dr. Lowe knows I was in the military.”

  “Maybe you should have explained yourself better. Told him you used to arrest people while in the Navy.”

  “You might be right, but I was too irritated to talk to him any longer, and I don’t think it would have mattered anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think the real problem is that he thinks I’m building my own medical clinic.”

  Virgil said, “Let me guess. He found out about the office building you are remodeling and thinks it is for a medical clinic.”

  “Give that man a star; that’s exactly what he thinks. And now he is mad at himself since he realizes the hospital doesn’t have a non-compete agreement with me.”

  “I guess you didn’t bother telling him that you are merely remodeling the building as an investment?”

  “No. He thinks he is so smart, like he figured something out, so I will just let him revel in his own cleverness for a while. I don’t like the man, enough said.”

  “You are a hard man sometimes, L.T. You could easily clear this up by just telling him your intentions with the building.”

  “Virgil, I love you, man. You are so practical and honest and a truly decent human being, but you are not a strategist when it comes to human nature. If I clear up the confusion on the building for him, then he will only look for something else to use against me. For some reason, this is personal for him. I don’t know why. But if I let him think he already has something over me, then when he finally makes his play against me, it will be very easy to trump him. Strategy, my boy, strategy. Besides, this is more fun.”

  “And maybe you are not as smart as you think you are. Maybe the only reason this is personal is because of the confusion with the building. Maybe you are allowing your animosity towards him cloud your judgment. Why don’t you clear it up for him and see if things get better? Not everything in life is tactical, L.T. Not everyone has a hidden agenda, even if they are an asshole.”

  I told Virgil I would give his suggestions some thought. He shook his head at me; he seemed to doubt that I would try to clear up the problem with Dr. Lowe. He was probably right about that.

  “So how is Harty?” asked Virgil.

  “The same. At least he was the last time I checked on him.”

  “When did you check last?”

  “Sunday. So six days ago.”

  “You don’t seem too concerned.”

  “You know me, Virgil. I can’t change the past. I don’t deliberate the past. I made a decision, and it was the right decision in my opinion.”

  “Do you ever listen to the words that come out of your mouth sometimes? You don’t deliberate the past. That’s bull. Your past is why you are 33 and in your first serious relationship with a woman and I’m still your only friend. You’ve allowed your past to dictate your future for too long now. What happened with your parents is done. You’re right; you can’t change the past, but it sure has changed you.”

  “It’s made me cautious is all. Besides, I went to med school and have a great job, and things are looking up for me.”

  “You copped out, L.T. You should be a Pro Bowl tight-end in the NFL right now, a future Hall of Famer. Or you should have won an Olympic gold medal in wrestling and started coaching at some Big 10 school inspiring young men to follow in your footsteps. You might have been the next Dan Gable. Or if you had stayed in the Navy, you would have been a captain by now with a long list of medals and accommodations; you were on the fast track, my friend.”

  “No, I should be running my dad’s business right now.”

  “I’m sorry, L.T. I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you. It would have been great, although your dad would have wanted you to achieve greatness on your own first before taking over the family business.”

  “Maybe so, but what’s wrong with being a doctor? I help people.”

  Virgil said, “Nothing, nothing at all. It’s an admirable profession. You worked hard at it, and that hard work has paid off. And I don’t mean this like the profession is beneath you somehow, but it still feels like you found the best plan B you could find and jumped on it. In your desire to be normal, you have forgotten that your mom was right; you were never meant to be normal.”

  “Leave my mother out of this!”

  “No. She was right about you. You were meant to be exceptional, or inspirational, a leader. You are not a live-in-the-shadows kind of guy, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be happy, truly happy. Stop wallowing in normalcy, L.T., because that is beneath you.”

  “You’re a dick, Virgil.” But I was not really angry with Virgil. I couldn’t be. He was my best friend. He knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.

  Virgil replied, “Sure I am. Wussy.”

  We were both smiling; knowing smiles that only best friends can still have when one of them has just called the other one out on something. And right then I was sure that I wanted to punch him in the nose and say thank you all at the same time.<
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  ***

  We pulled up to my apartment with 20 minutes to spare, long enough to grab the necessities for an easy day-hike. We had just finished packing when the rest of the group started to arrive. Ellie arrived first, followed by her friend and co-worker, Lisa. Paul Deland arrived last. He had brought two friends, Kate and Steve. Introductions were quickly made and we decided we would need two vehicles. Virgil volunteered to follow Paul in his car.

  Virgil and I were in the front of his brand new Maxima while Lisa and Ellie were in the back. Virgil was playing a Van Morrison CD. He didn’t share my love of the Blues, but he still had great taste in music. After a few songs, I turned in the seat so I could see everyone and asked if anyone had been to Holly Springs before. I got a unanimous “no.” I did not know what to expect during our hike. More than once, I had driven between Huntsville and Memphis on Highway 72, which goes through Holly Springs National Forest, and I did not find that part of the trip particularly scenic.

  Ellie said, “Why are we going there then?”

  I replied, “Paul’s sister is a photographer and was supposed to be on this trip. She was there when Paul proposed the idea. She said it was pretty and was up for getting a few more photos of the area.”

  Ellie asked, “Paul’s dad is John Deland, the attorney that rents from you, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And you dated his sister Beth, right?”

  “We went on one dinner date, nothing more.”

  “Except you bought a lot of pictures from her and hung them in your apartment.”

  I was pretty sure Ellie was teasing me, yet I could not be sure. She usually could not keep a straight face this long when she was joking around.

  “Well, Beth’s business was much newer then, and she didn’t have a lot of money, so how else was she going to pay for the sex.”