"Thank you, and keep an eye out for our CD. We're blue gecko." Jenna yelled into the microphone. The audience's applause was lukewarm.
"Well, least that is over." BJ jumped out of the way. A roadie was intent of setting a record for dismantling a drum set. "Can we go back to the hotel now?"
"Nope, we're going for coffee and then we're going to discuss stage presence." Jenna was still hyper.
"Why on earth would we want to do that?" Laurel asked. She wanted nothing more than a bottle of water and a soft, flat space.
"Because you have no stage presence, and we need to work on that." Harold appeared from behind them. "Come on, let's find an open coffee shop."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Laurel grumbled. She was sorry she quit her day job.
"What luck. There's one right over there." Jenna pointed. She was practically bouncing on her toes.
"Great." BJ groaned. He was massaging his right hand.
"What happened?" Laurel asked as the others bent their heads to the rain and walked across the parking lot to the restaurant.
"A stick broke. I think I have a splinter that tried to pierce my palm." He flexed it experimentally. "Can't see for shit though."
"Well, I'll help you get it out later. Let's catch up before they decide we're paying." Laurel quickened her pace.
"I'm coming." He answered.
Fortunately, the restaurant was not far away. Unfortunately, it was across the highway from the club. Laurel was glad she always wore the same pair of construction boots during a concert. They had great grip even on wet surfaces, and they were heavy enough to keep her from lifting her feet too far off the ground. Other members of the band were not so fortunate. Steve slipped a little, but did not fall as they crossed the road. However, Jenna's stylish tennis shoes did not have a lot of traction.
"God damn it!" Jenna separated the phrase in her frustration.
"Here, let me help." Harold's assistance almost caused him to land beside her. BJ was quick enough to save their manager that embarrassment though.
"Thanks." Harold straightened his suit jacket. "Are you ok?"
"No, I think I busted my knee." Jenna limped to the curb.
"Well, we can check it inside." Steve chivalrously offered his arm but was rebuffed. "Too bad she didn't bust her ass. She would have bounced to safety then." He muttered as she limped out of hearing range.
"Really." Laurel was struggling to keep from laughing. The sight of Jenna sprawled indignantly on the highway would be a happy memory for the bassist. "Let's get this over with."
"And soon. I'm exhausted and I have a wooden stake in my palm." BJ complained as they entered the establishment. Jenna and Harold had already claimed a table in the back.
"Coffee for everyone?" The manager asked as they seated themselves around the table. He was greeted with a chorus of affirmatives. "Very well then, we need to discuss your stage presence or lack thereof." He waved over a waitress and placed the order.
"Are you saying we're too stiff?" Laurel asked.
"In a way, yes I am. Now first off, Lakky, most of this is not meant for you. Believe it or not, you have incredible presence on stage. Matter of fact, I believe more people watched you than the rest of the band. That is as good as it is bad. We want people to watch the entire band, so we need to get Jenna and Steve to move around a bit."
"I move." Jenna protested.
"I know I don't." Steve accepted the criticism.
"Neither of you do. Jenna, you look like a cardboard cut out on stage. If I were just seeing you all for the first time, I would have watched Lakky and no one else. It would appear to me as if she were the real leader of the band. Thank you." He was polite as the waitress sat five cups of coffee on the table. "Since you claim that's not the case, Jenna, I suggest you do something about it. Loosen up a bit. No one likes to watch four people just standing around playing. You'll put the audience to sleep no matter how good your music is. That fake British accent has to go, and please for God's sake, listen to your band mates."
"So you just wanted to humiliate me over coffee in front of them, is that right?" Jenna did not seem to handle the criticism well.
"No, this is to all of you. You are a band. You are one on that stage. Act like it or you won't exist for much longer. You'll fall apart. I've seen it happen too many times to count. You must get the audience in the energy, but first you have to possess that energy. Work on it. If I need to, I will sign you up for aerobics, dance lessons, karate, whatever."
"Oh, I wanna take karate." Laurel was almost eager for that.
"Why do I get the feeling teaching you a better way to hit people would be bad?" Jenna commented.
"I haven't hit you. Yet."
"Ladies, please. Do not turn on one another. Remember it takes the four of you to make this work. Now, I'm going to ask for general comments. You all tell me what you think was good and what was bad about this concert. We'll see what we need to improve and what needs to be tossed." Harold downed his coffee. "Get comfortable. We're going to be here for a while."
"That explains the coffee." Steve commented mildly.
"That it does. Now, who goes first?" No one said a word. "We're not leaving here until this has been discussed."
"Alright. I'll go." BJ sounded resigned to the situation.
One by one they each highlighted the good parts and the bad points from their different perspectives. Harold wrote each suggestion down on a notepad he always seemed to carry with him. It took them five cups of coffee and ten pages of notes before he seemed satisfied with their participation. By the time they made it back to the bus, everyone else had gone. The concert was over and everyone was back at the hotel. Laurel could not wait to join them, though she knew it would be sometime before the coffee let her sleep. That was what the laptop was for since Harold had confiscated the water pistols.
***
The waiting room was sparsely populated. In the week since she returned to New Orleans, Nicole had talked to most of the people there. Two were elderly women waiting for news of their brother's condition, one was an old man slowly watching his wife die, and another was a young woman too scared and too young to be widowed. She empathized with them all. Every time a doctor appeared, they all cringed. So far, she had seen the after effects of one death, and it looked as if she would see at least one more before her grandmother was released.
Adia was placed in the ICU because of her age. At least, that is what the doctors kept telling the family and their reluctant patient. Nicole, however, knew the truth. The cancer was spread too far to contain. She had to bully the doctor, but he finally broke down and told her the truth. So far, the only person she had told was her Aunt Kay. Together, they decided to keep the truth from Adia. It would only weaken the old woman's resolve and speed up the process.
"Why don't you go home and let Melba feed you?" Kay asked as she returned from the cafeteria.
"Why? I'll just sit there and wonder. Might as well do it here where at least I can do something."
"Something? Honey, all you've done here is wear a track in the floor from your pacing. You could return to Hattiesburg you know."
"I know, but I'm not going to. Mozart's here. There's nothing else for me there now." Nicole took the cup her aunt offered. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. You should at least go back and pick up clothes, check your mail and messages, get out of the hospital." Kay suggested.
"I was going to call Sheryl and have her do all that for me. I've decided to move back into the house to help out. Grandma wants to come home, and I want to be there when they let her." She took a sip of the pale brown liquid. "I hate hospital coffee."
"Don't we all?" Kay gave her niece a half smile. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes I am. I'll call the phone company and get the phone disconnected. I'll get one of those things from the post office and have the mail forwarded here; Sheryl can pack some stuff and get everything else turned off for me. We've already planned for that if it c
ame to it, and it looks as if it's coming to it."
"This isn't something your grandmother talked you into is it?"
"No, I haven't mentioned it to her yet. She apologized, well in her way she did, for what happened between us, and we've both kinda put it past us. She doesn't have enough time left for that to bog either of us down. I'm moving back here because I want to." She did not mention that she really did not have anything tying her to Hattiesburg since Laurel went to New York. "I need to be here for this." Something in her told her it was the right thing to do. For once, she was following that inner voice.
"Alright, at least go make all the calls you need to. Oh, I heard that the paper is looking for part timers and freelance photographers. One of the local magazines is too. You may want to look into that if you plan on staying."
"Thanks, Aunt Kay. I guess I will go back to the house, though I won't be able to reach Sheryl until tonight. She's supposed to come down this weekend. I'll have her bring my portfolio too." Since Nicole no longer worked at the paper, the critic had her weekends free again. The photographer knew that Sheryl planned on spending every one in New Orleans while Nicole stayed there. It was another sign of how strong their friendship was, for Nicole would do the same for her friend if the situation were reversed.
"Get some rest before we're visiting you in here, ok?"
"Ok. I'll see you later." With reluctance, she turned and walked back down the hall to the elevators. "At least I don't have to donate blood this time." She muttered as she waited on the elevator to reach her floor. The first and only time she donated blood, she almost passed out. It was not a pleasant experience. Stan had the same reaction, but his was from anemia. Jay, Phil and Laurel had forced her to see a doctor to make sure she was not anemic as well. She was not; her body just reacted badly to having blood removed.
The University Medical Center was farther away from the house than it was the Warehouse, but Nicole did not mind the drive. She liked driving down St. Charles and seeing the old trees lining the road. The part she did hate was the roundabout, especially when a streetcar was in motion. She was grateful it was mid afternoon. It was too early for rush hour and too late for lunchtime traffic so there were barely any cars on the road.
She eased the car onto the old driveway and pulled up as far as she dared. The garage was slightly off to the side and she did not want to block it. That of course was from years of habit and not necessity. Inside the garage were three cars and none of them were driven any longer. After her grandfather died, her grandmother hired a car and driver. One thing Adia could not do was drive. She had never gotten her license. Nicole always wondered about that, but never asked to find out the reasoning behind it.
"Nicole is that you?" Melba called out when she opened the door.
"Yes ma'am." Nicole tossed her keys on the table beside the door. She still used the front door despite living at the house again. The rest of the family used the side door or the kitchen door.
"Well, come on back here and get something to eat. I know you didn't eat anything at the cafeteria at the hospital."
"No ma'am. I didn't." She followed the housekeeper's voice to the kitchen.
"Well, this isn't soup from a can, but I think you'll like it." Melba sat a plate of leftover roast and potatoes in front of her. "You would have liked it last night, but you didn't eat with us. You didn't eat at all did you?"
"Yeah, I grabbed something." Nicole wilted under the housekeeper's stern stare. "No, I didn't."
"Nicky, what's wrong? You've been moping around here when you haven't been at that hospital. Something is up with you, wanna talk about it?"
"Not really. Matter of fact, I'm sick of thinking about it." She was. The day before she had caught herself surfing the net looking for any information on blue gecko instead of checking her email.
"So when are you going back home?" The housekeeper joined her at the table with two glasses of ice tea.
"I am home. I'm moving back here to help out."
"Really? What brought this on?"
"I don't know. It just seems like I ought to you know?" She could not describe the emotional pull New Orleans had over her. Though she was emotionally bruised and battered and wanted something stable and familiar around her, Nicole knew that there was so much more to it. She had not yet figured out why, but she knew this was the place she was supposed to be.
"Yeah I know. I knew that the moment my husband decided we were moving down here from Lake Charles, but when I'm hurting, like I was when I lost him, I want family around me. Is that why?"
"There's more to it than that, but I'm not sure what it is. It's weird and I can't describe it, but it feels right to be here." Nicole cut into the roast with her fork. She was envious of Melba's talent with roast. She never could get it that tender. "This is good."
"It was better last night. You make sure you eat all of that. We don't need you to get yourself sick over some girl."
"Laurel isn't just some girl though." Even the bassist's name caused her pain. She chocked down another piece of roast. "Got any ketchup?"
"Good lord girl, must you put that stuff on everything?" The housekeeper grumbled as she got up to get the bottle of ketchup from the refrigerator.
"I don't put it on everything." Nicole protested. "I was going to use it for the potatoes. Potatoes require ketchup. It's a rule."
"Uh huh. So, she wasn't just some girl. True love?" Melba handed her the bottle and reclaimed her seat. "I guess it had to be for you to defy your grandmother like you did. Honey, I went through several men before I settled on my husband. It may sound trite, but there are other people out there. Y’all aren't together anymore. Give it your grief and then get over it. You have to move on before you're able to meet other people."
"I know." The photographer knew it was not that simple, but she did not want to argue with the housekeeper. Melba was right to a certain extent, but Nicole knew what was wrong about that statement. There was no one else like Laurel. There never would be again.
"Now finish up your lunch. We're having catfish for dinner, and you will eat that too."
"I would if I ate catfish. It tastes like sand."
"Tut. I'll see what else I've got in there." Melba pointed to the refrigerator. "I almost forgot you were a picky eater."
"I'm not a picky eater. I just don't eat what I don't like."
"Or you cover it up so you can't taste it." She stretched as she stood. "Go on now and eat. I have a few things I have to do before I start dinner. What do you have planned?"
"I have a few phone calls to make, but other than that, nothing really." Nicole laughed softly as Melba grimaced at the ketchup covered potato. "Do what you need to do. I'll entertain myself unless you need help."
"Nope, I don't need any help. You just make yourself at home." The housekeeper called out as she disappeared down the hall.
"I'll try. I really will try." She told herself softly. Now that Melba was out of the room, she was free to dip her roast into the ketchup. It added to the flavor.
Chapter Fifteen
Laurel leaned back into her seat. The band could not yet afford a more luxurious tour bus. They had to make do with a reconditioned one. It was built to transport tourist to and from scenic points of interest. At least it was clean and almost comfortable.
She reached behind her and repositioned the pillow she used as a backrest. The last bump they went over caused it to slip. The arm of the seat was starting to dig into her back again. Her movement caused the ice pack balanced on her knee to slip. She groaned as she picked it up off the floor. It was dripping slightly so she grabbed a small towel from her bag. The towel was courtesy of the last hotel they stayed at. Of course, the management of the hotel did not know they had so generously donated it. She figured what they did not know would not hurt her.
Idly she traced the scar that ran the length of her knee. One stupid mistake and she was scarred for life. She possessed three visible reminders of that car accident as well as count
less invisible ones. The visible ones were at least easy to hide. Bangs hid the one on her forehead, the one in her right eyebrow was barely visible from a distance, and she rarely wore shorts. Even in summer, jeans covered her disfigured knee. Some people regarded scars as badges of honor. Laurel regarded her three as badges of shame.
Though she hated touring, it was getting harder to keep herself from liking the concerts. She loved playing music. Playing in front of a live audience had an allure she did not know she could guard against. More and more fans were appearing at each venue the band played. Their one and only single was selling out everywhere. It boded well for the success of the CD. That was due out in a week. She did not concern herself too much with the finer points of band management. She just played. Although, sometimes late at night the thoughts that she might miss this life occurred to her. She had not asked for it, but it was hers just the same.
"Not sleeping?" Harold asked as he sat down on the seat in front of her.
"Not yet. I can barely hear over the ringing in my head." The after effects of the amplifiers sometimes took hours to undo. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to talk to you for a few. It seems as if I were given some bad advice."
"Advice about what?"
"How to deal with you. You don't seem to respond well to orders. You don't seem to follow blindly either." He reclined the seat so he could see her better.
"Let me guess. Jenna gave you that advice?" It was easy to deduce.
"Yes and quite a bit more. If you hate this so much, why are you still here?"
"Aren't I still under contract?"
"For now. Your lawyer seems to be working on that."
"I thought as much." Laurel nodded to herself. It was a good question. Why was she still on tour?
"Do you dislike touring that much? I've seen you on stage. I've seen the joy you have for your music. It is starting to affect you isn't?"
"What do you mean?" She did not want to give him more information in case it became ammunition later.
"I mean you love playing don't you?"
"I wouldn't be a musician if I didn't."
All That Jazz Page 16