Chase to the Encore

by P G Loiselle

  “Good for you,” he said, not asking for details. “Well, I should be leaving Newport soon. Will you be around later?”

  “Definitely. Why don’t you come by for some beers?”

  “No, you come over,” he said, “to my mother’s place, at five, for lasagna. She’d love to have you.”

  “Really? A dinner invitation? Should I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself, Luke. That’s all we need.”

  I hung up and an even deeper feeling of relief engulfed me. None of my problems were gone, but my people, Fred, and now Mike, were beginning to gather around me again. I went back to the table and my senses blossomed. Instead of being bitter, the coffee was enjoyably pungent and eye opening. My cereal was no longer bland and like cardboard but rather fresh and crunchy. And looking down at my milk-soaked Cheerios inspired my muse to awaken.

  “Bowlful of Hurt”

  Poking holes in empty spaces

  Don’t know just where to turn, cuz the buzz is seeping out again

  Slamming doors in smiling faces

  Would you leave it all behind, resign and then just walk away?

  Sunshine distant, striking panes ablaze then fade

  Falling back, beyond the borders that we laid

  Bored and scattered creep alone along the rail

  To steal a glimpse of scenes that aren’t for sale

  Chorus:

  Have you heard

  If you crawl back in your shell, well it won’t help you change your world

  Push it further

  Don’t pull back from the game, boy to cry in a bowl full of hurt

  Belly shake awake and choose your fame

  Stretching past your cozy hideaway

  Step right out and make it play on cue

  Peel the static state right back away from you

  [Repeat Chorus]

  When the feeling’s stale / Don’t walk away

  If the bleeding stays beyond this phrase / Don’t walk away

  As the moments scrape, grab a change of pace, and claim your space / Don’t walk away

  Don’t walk away / Don’t walk away / Don’t walk away / Don’t walk away

  [Repeat Chorus]

  After breakfast, I noticed how unkempt and scummy my house looked. For weeks now, preoccupied with my troubles, I must have been blind to the gathering filth and clutter. It was time to literally clean house and I set about doing it immediately. I swept through the place from the attic to the cellar and it took all day. Not only was the house, immaculate by the time I left for the evening feast, it also felt liberating to rid my life of all that domestic chaos.

  I arrived at Mike’s mother’s house, a modest Cape in a sleepy Lincoln neighborhood, right on time. Mike was waiting on the footsteps to greet me with a businessman’s handshake. He invited me in, and I felt right at home. The living room was saturated with piles of kitsch and instead of seeming gaudy, instilled life into the space. The orchestra of delectable smells wafting throughout the house triggered a rush of juices to flow from my salivary glands. His mother raced over from the kitchen and though I hardly knew her, wrapped her arms around me and gave me a monster squeeze. I nearly disappeared within her corpulent folds.

  “So good to see you again, Luke. It’s been a while.”

  “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Abruzzo.”

  “It’s Salvatore now, Miss Salvatore. Come into the dining room and make yourself comfortable.” She looked over at Mike. “Mi dolcezza, be a dear and get your friend something to drink.” While I was escorted into the formal eating area, she resumed her activities in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on her array of culinary masterpieces.

  Supper was delicious. Miss Salvatore gorged me with platefuls of savory lasagna and a host of other scrumptious Italian edibles, including some high-end Chianti to wash it all down. She seemed thrilled to have company, and I couldn’t have thanked her enough. In private, neither Mike nor I even brought up the subject of Stone, Amy, Stevie or anything related. Instead, we opted to meet tomorrow night at The Corner to contemplate a way out of this mess. Mike said he had news to share, and so did I. It’d have to wait though. We were too busy enjoying ourselves to be burdened by any negatives. The three of us hung out for the rest of the evening, played board games and laughed until I could barely keep my eyes open and was sent home.

  Unlike the last couple of nights, instead of fighting for sleep, I’ve been struggling for the wherewithal to finish documenting today’s events before this feeling slips away. Every now and then, my pen scribbles off the page, mid-sentence, as I cross over the border to unconsciousness only to be shaken awake by my sudden head nod and realization that I need to finish the job. It might not mean much, and nothing is solved, but if I look back, I can at least see that there are good reasons to keep going. And I will keep going…tomorrow.

  Monday, August 24, 1987

  Sometimes events unfold in such unexpected ways, they seem too surreal to be real. In my mind, nothing was going to happen until evening when Mike and I would plan the next steps. After a long morning hike through Lincoln Woods and a trip to the bank with Fred, I set off to The Corner to get some lunch. I wasn’t counting on Don being there and didn’t mind if he wasn’t. It was a familiar atmosphere, the food was decent, and most likely, nobody would be sitting in my spot. I entered like I owned the place, which was rather busy for a high-noon Monday, walked straight to my empty stool and hoisted myself up. There was no one to be seen behind the bar, and I supposed that Don’s stand-in was fetching something from the storage room.

  “There he is,” said Don, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  I sprung up out of my seat in shock.

  “Oh, I’s sorry. Didn’t mean to make you all jumpety like that,” he said.

  “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

  “Thought you seen me. I reckoned you aimed to get to your seat before somebody take it. Anyhow, I save it for you already.” I looked down to see a reserved sign accompanied by a cold bottle of Budweiser.

  “You’re back. I had the impression you’d be gone longer. That substitute of yours never gives much info.”

  “He a good man, that Hank. Just don’t know how to chit-chat, I reckon. I be down to North Carolina to see Jesse. He need me and I’s glad to help him out.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back. Hank seems ok, but he’s certainly no Don.”

  We examined each other as our smiles blossomed, and I put in an order for the usual. When he came back, I told him everything, sparing no detail. Don listened attentively, repeating what I said in his own words. There was no judgement, only empathy and understanding. Mere seconds after ending my story, the cook signaled that the food was ready for pick up, and Don returned with a heaping platter of steaming wings, dripping with gooey hot sauce and accompanied by a small bunch of celery stalks. My empty bottle was replaced with a full one, and Don retreated to his duties while I dug in. Occasionally, you could hear the door open as more customers poured in for lunch. Before I even heard his voice, I felt a chilling presence amongst me, like with Devon Scheister at Best Breakfast, even more unpleasant.

  “Ah, Mr. Moore, you’re here as expected.”

  My mouth was filled with chicken parts and my face spattered with globs of sticky red sauce. I didn’t want him to see me in that condition, so I quickly cleaned myself up with a handful of napkins and replied without turning around.

  “What do you want? I have nothing for you.”

  “But I have an interesting proposition for you, Mr. Moore, that may very well be the answer to resolving our common predicament. Do you mind if I sit down?” Stone asked.

  “I do mind. Something tells me you’re going to anyway.”

  “Heh, heh. He does mind, Mr. da Silva.” It was Rodney.

  “Herbert, slap him for being so utterly moronic.”

  Babyface Herbie didn’t speak. His
answer to the order was an audible whack followed by a resonating fall to an empty table and chairs.

  “And Herbert, do make sure he cleans up after himself and pays the barkeep for damages.”

  I kept looking forward, and when Don noticed what was going on, I signaled not to interfere. If I needed him, he’d be close by. Although I asked him not to, Stone attempted to sit down to my right but couldn’t get his fat can into the elevated seat. A bloodied Rodney stepped up to help, and the two of them danced the Frankenstein waltz, bobbing and weaving, almost tipping completely. Herbie ran up to assist, and they finally heaved Stone up onto the chair. Once situated, he summoned Don and ordered a glass of the ‘finest Scotch in the house’. Don fulfilled his wish like a royal court servant.

  “So sad, Mr. Moore, a talented act like yours, in your prime, torn apart by such unfortunate circumstances. I personally was present at two of your musical events, and besides thoroughly enjoying the performances myself, I recognized your enormous potential, not only musically but also financially. Major rock and roll acts can practically write their own checks these days. It’s big business.” He paused to take a nip off his hooch, which left a brown liquid mustache. “Good stuff,” he said. I bet it was the cheapest Don had. “Now, I’m conscious of the fact that I offered to aid you with your musical career in one of our former meetings. After personally seeing two of your live performances, I’m willing to go a major step further with the offer. No matter how talented an entertainer is, if they are not well represented and improperly promoted, they will go nowhere, absolutely nowhere. I would suppose that this has been your problem all along. You need a manager, someone who has connections and knows the business, someone with keys to doors that you don’t even know exist. Do you follow me, Mr. Moore?”

  “What’s not to follow?” I said and focused my gaze towards the liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar. I felt like cracking one over his head.

  “You see, I could continue the search for my property, and one day, probably very soon, I will find what’s mine, and there will be consequences, also for you. Do you think we don’t know that you were involved in the grand escape? And you must realize that we can get to you whenever we want if we chose to. Don’t you, Mr. Moore? If I were to give the word, you’d disappear from this planet forever, without a trace. Alternatively, we can both leave this establishment knowing full well that we’ve struck the best deal possible.”

  His tongue slid out of his mouth like a pink eel as he licked his top lip, replacing the beads of alcohol with a shimmering residue of slime.

  “Here’s my offer,” he said, “and it’s non-negotiable. I’m willing to offer fifty-fifty of all net proceeds earned with the Four-n-Moore brand. That would be 10% for each member of your outfit. Think about it. We’re not only talking about concert proceeds but record sales, movie and television licensing rights, T shirts and other apparel, print medium as well as other miscellaneous items and paraphernalia. How would it make you feel, Mr. Moore, if an eight-year old’s favorite toy was a super hero action figure of you, Luke Moore, the super singer with special powers? It would be amazing.

  “And the best part of it, for you, is that I would consider the property of ours that your friends have in their possession plus the loan that you personally owe to our associates to be a non-refundable down payment. And as business partners, our utmost priority would be your safety and the safety of your friends. After all, you five would be our most valuable assets in this venture, and we would need to protect you with all the resources available to our partnership. What incentive would we have to do anything detrimental to you or your friends. And on top of that, we would make you a star. There’s absolutely nothing to lose. What do you say, Mr. Moore?”

  A lot was going through my mind as he pitched his offer; he had very good points to consider. It would be a way to guarantee our safety, which is the main factor for me, as well as give us a path to stardom. Look what they did with Fast.Fun! and they’re only average. What’s the alternative? Be on the run forever? March into battle against him and his army of legionnaires? Convince Amy of anything besides using herself or the money as bait? Even if we did somehow get him behind bars, it wouldn’t bring back Amy’s father, and there’d be a long line of his successors vying for revenge. I was taking too long to answer.

  “Yes, yes. I can understand that such decisions should be contemplated wisely,” Stone said. “But I can also see that, deep inside, you’re a businessman yourself, aren’t you? Businessmen add up the numbers and make rational decisions based on win or lose outcomes, don’t they? My offer, as it stands, is surely a win-win situation for all parties. You see that, don’t you? What do you say, Mr. Moore? Take it or leave it?”

  I turned to face him and opened my mouth even though I didn’t know myself what words would come out. “Mr. da Silva or should I call you Stone? Do you think you can come in here and intimidate me into doing business with you, the devil? It’s a definite, unequivocal screw you. We don’t want your blood money, so I suggest you go back to whatever rock you crawled out from and prepare to fight.”

  “Oh, Mr. Moore, that is so childish and irrational. Sadly, I expected such an immature reaction, so the offer is now sixty-forty and with the majority going to us. You have until the end of the week to discuss the terms with your cohorts and make a final decision. We’ll be here at this bar, your territory, on Sunday at 5:00 p.m. and expect an answer. There will be no other offer. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to think about. In the meantime, there may be additional factors that come to light for you and your so-called friends to consider.”

  Don trudged over to us. “Y’all better be leaving,” he said, telling him straight out. “Your kind ain’t wanted here.”

  Besides Don coming to the rescue, other patrons in the bar rose up and moved towards us. The trio from Hades noticed it too. Stone tried dismounting from the stool by himself and tumbled backwards onto Herbie and Rodney, which broke his fall. All three quickly regained their balance and turned to go. They were met by an angry mob of Corner loyalists who were ready to throw them out by their coattails if need be. Stone trotted towards the exit like a fat-assed hippo, and his two underlings clung right behind him. It was like a scene in a western-comedy with the bumbling villains hightailing it out of town; we all broke out into hysterics when the door hit the last of them in the keister.

  “You saved me, Don.”

  “I ain’t done nothing of the sorts. I’s only taking out the trash.”

  “Now I got you mixed up in this,” I said.

  “That’s sweet of you, son, but you ought not worry about me. I’m a big fella and can fend for myself.”

  “These aren’t people with hearts,” I said. “They’ll take down whoever gets in their way.”

  “I be careful,” he said and went into the back. He came out with a handful of wires attached with what looked like small microphones and laid them down on the bar in front of me. “See these? They be trying to wire up this place for over a month but ain’t so smart as they think they is. I know all about this spy stuff and whenever they try to plant one of these little doodads in my bar, it dudn’t take more than minutes before I find it and neutralize the sucker.”

  “You’re the man,” I said.

  “Still got me a trick or two up my sleeve, I guess. Matter of fact, pick up that Scotch glass and take a gander at the bottom.”

  I did as he told me and discovered a mini microphone built into the glass.

  “Pardon me for eavesdropping,” he said. “I done had to know if I having to break out the old Smith and Wesson. And I got all that turkey talk on a cassette tape you be needing it.”

  “On tape? Don, you’re not only the man, you’re the genius.”

  “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. That’s what I always says.” He must have sensed that customers were running on empty and excused himself to get back to work.

>   I had no idea what to do or where to go next and I decided to stay at The Corner. If I kept drinking beers, I’d be sloshed by the time Mike showed up, and I moved on to soda. A lot of the people who helped with Stone’s removal came up to chat. They had no idea what the quarrel was about, and I certainly didn’t tell them. It was a good conversation starter though.

  After a few hours, the entire lunch crowd had been swapped out by the afternoon early drinkers, the lucky ones who’d be done with work by two or three and could already start their evening activities. There was a tremendous amount of traffic going in and out, and at about four o’clock, another character in this screwed up tale drifted in. She sat down beside me, and I had to do a double take. It was Ashley White. A rush of blood shot to my head, and inside, I was burning, hardly able to contain myself. Don made a sweep over to where we were sitting, grabbed the Scotch glass and disappeared.

  “I’m sorry all this happened, Luke,” she said. “It’s not what you think,” It was Ashley alright but gone was that foxy Brit dialect I fell in love with, replaced by a mild Boston tongue.

  “Oh, it isn’t?” I said, growling and disregarded her new accent. “What is it then? Did your boss send you here to beg me to join forces? You fooled me once, Ashley, but you won’t fool me again.”

  “Boss? Join what forces?” She wrinkled her nose. “Look, my name isn’t Ashley White. It’s Christina, Christina Ashley White-Souza. And you’re right. I did fool you.” Her head sank, briefly, like a penitent churchgoer readying for a confession. “I may not look it, but my mom’s British. Once my parents split up, I moved with her to London for a few years until she remarried. I hated her new husband and moved back to Boston to live with my father and brother. I love the accent and have kept it up for years. It’s part of me. Everyone who knows me, knows the accent too. It’s also thrilling, you know, to pull off being English with someone new. That was all I did to fool you, nothing else.” Her big, innocent eyes saddened even more. “I wanted to tell you at the club, I swear, but was afraid you wouldn’t like who I really was.”