"Yeah, that's my mom." He waved his hand in the direction of the counter. "She owns the place and I get to help out after school." His face showed his pride. She guessed he was rarely able to do any physical work, but he could at least talk to customers and feed the animals.
"Can I see that one?"
"Yeah, let me get mom to let her out for you." He turned and waved to his mother. She hurried over. "Mom, this lady would like to see the stray."
"Ok, wait one moment."
"So, what grade are you in?" The bassist asked to make conversation.
"Seventh. Or at least I will be after the summer's over."
"Cool, I remember seventh grade. It was fun. I started playing the guitar then." She smiled at the memory.
"Really? Wow. I would love to learn how to play. Do you teach?" The innocent question brought up painful memories.
"Not anymore. Though I'm not from around here anyway." She told him.
"I could tell. You sound different. Are you with one of the bands?" He looked excited.
"Actually, yeah I'm with the opening act. Laurel Kendrick at your service, but folks call me Lakky."
"Mitchell Boyd at yours. I wanted to go to the concert, but mom says I can't."
"Mitchy, you know why you can't go." His mother looked sympathetic. Laurel guessed that it had something to do with the lack of handicap access. "Anyway, here's the stray. We just got her and haven't had a chance to name her."
"Thanks." Laurel took the small dog and held her up. The puppy showed signs of life and licked her face. "Guess this means you like me?"
"It seems that way. She doesn't like anyone, not even Mitchell and he's the one all the animals love." Mrs. Boyd went to take the puppy back. It began whining and attempted to take the bassist with it.
"I think she has claimed me." Laurel made a swift decision. "How much?"
"Are you sure?" Mrs. Boyd asked.
"Very sure." Laurel grinned. Harold would hate the dog. She could see that already. It made her more determined to keep it. "I'll need puppy food and stuff like that too." She followed the pet storeowners to the counter. "But, let me make you a deal. Here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the all access passes she had been given that morning. "What say y’all bring the puppy with you to the concert tonight? You can watch from backstage and avoid the crowds."
"Can we Mom? Please?" Mitchell practically bounced on his crutches.
"Yeah, I don't see why we can't." Mrs. Boyd looked pleased. "Now, why don't you go make out a list of things we'll have to take with us tonight when we take the puppy over ok?"
"Sure Mom. Thanks Laurel. See ya tonight." He disappeared behind a door set off to the side of the counter.
"How much do I owe you?" The bassist asked again.
"You don't owe me a thing. He's been down about not being able to go to that concert. Tomorrow is his birthday, and all his friends are going tonight. But I didn't want him down front where he could get hurt and I knew they'd all talk about it at his party tomorrow evening."
"Hey, it was no trouble. We get these things all the time, and I never have anyone to give them to. I'm just glad y’all will appreciate them." Laurel took a bill from her wallet. "Now, whether or not you charge me for the puppy, take this. At least donate it to the animal shelter or something. Just don't tell me, ok?"
"Thank you. You've made two people very happy today." Mrs. Boyd took the money and set it beside the cash register.
"Nope, I should thank you. After all, you gave me a running buddy. Speaking of, I really should get back. The concert starts at 7:30, but you can get there before then. Just show those to the guys backstage at the musician's entrance and they'll let you in." Laurel bounced a little on her toes. She was looking forward to ending her first day's run. "See ya tonight." She called out as she left the store. Her heart felt a little lighter than it had in weeks.
***
"My you were up early today. You missed breakfast. Again." Melba admonished as Nicole used the kitchen door to enter the house.
"I had an assignment this morning." She sat the camera bag on one of the chairs surrounding the table and then took a seat beside it. "It sucks working freelance."
"Watch your mouth, young lady."
"It does though. I mean I only work when they need me to cover for one of the other photographers, none of them are ever sick or apparently lazy by the way, or when they want something done the others just won't do. By modern definition, the only word that fits is sucks." Nicole defended her choices of words.
"Can't you say stinks?" Melba asked.
"I would if it did, but it doesn't fit this assignment. Now the last one stunk, but that was because the River was really low and more mud was able to send its toxins airborne." She leaned back in her seat. "Can I pester you for a glass of tea?"
"Your legs ain't broke. There's some freshly made in the fridge." The housekeeper pointed to the refrigerator with a spoon. "Is it just going to be you for lunch?"
"Sheryl said she was taking a few days off, so she should be here around then." Nicole opened the brushed steel door. The coolness of the refrigerator made her wish she could climb inside. "Is it only a little after 9?"
"Yes it is. What did they have you doing so early this morning?"
"One of the local schools did this morning presentation thing for the mayor, can't imagine why since it was all a waste of time, and the only other photographer on call has been banned from our esteemed mayor's presence." She grabbed a glass from the drying rack by the sink. The tea was already so cool she did not need to add ice. "From what I was told, and was able to infer, she turned him down. Before you ask, I was able to stay out of his line of sight."
"Good thing too, otherwise I'd hafta march on City Hall." Melba was still as protective as ever. Nicole did notice that the older woman's speech patterns had relaxed back to normal. She took it as a good sign. It meant that the housekeeper was no longer thinking of her in terms of then and now. "You planning on taking a nap?"
"No." Nicole bit back a yawn. "I want to find a larger format camera. Is all daddy's stuff still in the attic?"
"Child, nothing has ever been removed from that place. I think you'll find your great-great-great grandfather's stuff up there."
"Cool. That stuff ought to be donated to a museum or something. What are you making?" The activity around the large steel pot caught her attention.
"Jay and Phil are joining you for dinner this evening. Jay has requested all day crawfish gumbo. I think Phil really wants it but blamed it on Jay."
"Sounds like something he would do." Nicole drained her glass. "Well, I'll be up in the attic if you need me."
"You be careful up there." Melba instructed.
"Oh, I'm always careful." She stopped for a moment at that phrase. It was one of Laurel's favorite lines. "I'll be fine."
Nicole was grateful the house boasted a real attic. It was almost a third floor instead of a crawl space like most houses possessed now. She vaguely remembered hearing stories of her father and his brothers fighting over converting it to a bedroom so they would no longer be required to share. She always thought that was why her grandfather made the Warehouse into an apartment building. It eased the overload.
As soon as she opened the door and walked up the stairs, Nicole could see that no one ever visited the attic. Her shoes left imprints in the dust on the stairs. She fumbled for the light switch and was surprised when the lights actually turned on for her. That was when she was presented with the full panorama of junk accumulated by generations of Heberts for the first time in her life. She had never been allowed in the attic before. Old furniture, boxes, trunks, cupboards, shelves, photographs, paintings, mirrors, an old trombone, a beanbag, drapes of cloth, and more stuff then she ever imagined was crowded all around the perimeter of the attic. Even more things were clustered together in the center.
"And this mess runs the entire length of the house?" Nicole asked herself. Her simple errand now seemed a
daunting task. She was very much a forest for the trees person, and accepted it. This almost overwhelmed her. It really made her understand her grandfather's decision more. He must not have wanted to deal with it either. There was barely a way to walk around most of the clutter.
"Why can't anything ever be easy?" She muttered the question. "Oh well, guess I have to start somewhere."
She chose the pile of clutter closest to her since she could barely move past it. She had no idea where to look for her father's camera equipment. This seemed as good a place as any to start. She cleared off an old trunk and looked through it first to make sure it did not contain anything she was needed or wanted. It was full of old fur coats and the smell of mothballs. She quickly closed it and used it as a seat while she looked through the other stuff around her.
Sometime during her dig through the past, Mozart joined her. The big dog sneezed at the dust in the air, but seemed content to lie at the top of the stairs and watch her sort through everything. She was glad for his presence. She would need him to go for help if the clutter came alive and overwhelmed her.
The strangest things she discovered were the ones she could not identify with anyone she knew. The old derby, faded from years of neglect, suffered from a drooping brim, but other than that she deemed it keepable. In fact, as soon as she wiped off the dust covering the hat and noticed that it was actually brown, she put it on to test it. She was surprised it fit. Her image reflected in the mirror across from her looked a bit goofy, but she did not care. It was a cool hat.
Several things she encountered were sat aside to be looked at in great detail later. There was a box of newspapers from the turn of the century, a scrapbook of old photographs, sheet music, flyers, handbills, campaign buttons, playbills, and more. She nudged the box so it was nearer the staircase. She wanted to examine it all somewhere a bit more comfortable.
"Hello, what is this?" She pulled a violin case from the clutter. She had yet to move farther inside the door, though she had no idea of the time. "There's no name." The violin case was covered in dust. She used a piece of lace she had uncovered earlier. A small brass nameplate was near the two inside latches, but it was blank. "This keeps getting weirder and weirder, Mo."
She forced the latches open and nearly dropped the violin in shock. It appeared to be an antique. Of course if it were as old as the rest of the stuff around it, it could very well be almost one hundred years old. She used the lace cloth to wipe the violin clean. The wood was warm, but brighter than the one she played. It was a golden brown instead of the more popular dark brown. The bow was carefully placed beside it. She picked both up with hands that shook slightly.
"I wonder." She plucked the strings and winced when it showed they were badly out of tune. Whoever had placed the violin in the case and then in the attic had detuned the strings for safekeeping. She made the appropriate adjustments and then set the bow to the strings. She soon lost herself in the sweet sounds and the search for her father's camera was quickly forgotten.
"Am I being serenaded?" The voice broke through the self-imposed trance and brought Nicole back to reality.
"What?" She turned to find Sheryl standing near by.
"Never mind. Where did you find that?" The critic asked as she used her hand to wipe a bit of floor before sitting there. "Let me guess. It was under all of that junk?"
"Yes it was. Amazing, but true." Nicole reluctantly placed the violin back in its case. "When did you get here?"
"A few minutes ago. Melba told me you were up here and to tell you that it's past lunch time so come and eat."
"Already? It doesn't seem like I've been up here that long." She stretched. "Well, I guess we can go eat. Can you grab that box for me?" She pointed to the box near the top of the stairs. "I wanna go through that later. I'll take this with me though. Where's the dog?" She closed the case and grabbed it in a gentle but secure grip.
"What are you going to do with that anyway?" Sheryl groaned as she lifted the heavy box as asked. "He's in the kitchen."
"I'm going to take it to the store and have it cleaned. Finders keepers, this is now mine." Already she was attached to it.
"Goofball. I was going to ask if you were going to sell it, but that answers that question."
"Nope. I couldn't sell a thing like this."
"That's cool. It's a nice violin. That's a nice hat by the way." Sheryl's voice was full of suppressed laughter.
"It will be when I get it cleaned too. Think there's anywhere around here that does that anymore?" Nicole closed the door to the attic behind them.
"Ask Melba. She'd know better than I would. Now let's eat. I skipped lunch just for this."
"Alright. Lead the way."
Chapter Seventeen
"Can’t these people give you a full cup of coffee?" Laurel grumbled. The trucks had needed to refuel, so the entire caravan pulled over at the nearest truck stop. Everyone who had not been sleeping had gotten out of the buses and headed into the welcoming light of the little café. Miles from nowhere, the bassist reminded herself. She had no idea what state she was in at the moment.
"Maybe they don’t think you’re old enough for a full cup." Jenna teased.
"Easy girl." BJ laid a restraining hand on the bassist’s shoulder. "It’s just in case you want to put cream in there, you know that."
"I don’t use cream." Laurel mumbled. "Only wimps use cream in their coffee." She grimaced at her old joke. Like most of her life lately, she no longer found the humor in it. In truth, she longed for Mabel’s and the conversations she used to have there. At least the coffee had been drinkable and the company had been outstanding. However she was miles away from Hattiesburg and the person she wanted to have coffee and conversation with did not return her calls. The bassist had finally given up trying to regain contact with Nicole six weeks ago. It had been a long month and a half.
"They don’t know that do they?" Steve’s voice brought her back to the present.
"Know what?" The present was more confusing than the past.
"That you don’t use cream." He gently reminded her of the topic of their conversation. He was also unhappy about the changes Harold had implemented in the band. They all missed Charles and Beth. Nothing had seemed the same with out the other two "extraneous" members of blue gecko.
"It’s just a truck stop. Did you honestly expect Starbucks?" Jenna was the only one content with the state of the band, but she was losing patience with the others.
"So, where are we playing tomorrow, err tonight?" BJ corrected himself as he glanced at his watch. He was attempting to diffuse the situation. Laurel’s temper had been increasingly on edge and he was genuinely concerned that his friend would kill Jenna. He once told her that he had no trouble imagining a spoon the bassist used to add sugar to her coffee imbedded in Jenna’s right eye.
"Outside Tulsa, I think." Jenna checked the schedule. She was the only one that kept a copy with her at all times.
"You are correct." Harold walked over to their table, pulled a chair from another and joined them. "Where’s the mutt?"
"She’s under my seat asleep." Laurel was fighting the urge to sic Muggster on the manager. Even though they had come to an understanding of sorts, she was still in a foul temper. She was irrationally mad at the world and everyone in it.
"Ok, I’m sure that violates some law around here." Jenna had not noticed the bassist sneaking the small dog into the café under her jacket.
"I’m blind, she’s here to help me see." The sarcasm was audible.
"Enough of that, I have some good news." Harold regained their attention. "As of tomorrow morning, err well, later today, blue gecko has the number three single in the county. ‘Goddess of Desire’ has skyrocketed enough that we’ve decided to do two things. The first is that we’re leaving this tour next week and joining the Fall Fun Fest the label is pushing. The second is that we’re releasing ‘Come to me’ as a single on Tuesday. Congratulations."
"Wow." All of them were speechless.
r /> "Guess you write awesome songs, Lakky." BJ gave her a stiff one-arm hug.
"And Steve sings them well." Jenna butted in to the conversation.
She had to reiterate her point. Laurel almost made BJ’s nightmares come true. The song was originally written for a female voice, in fact, the bassist had sung it herself, but the label thought it carried too much of a "lesbian overtone". Steve had to stretch to sing it, but even Laurel had to admit that he sounded decent. Of course, she and BJ commandeered the studio before they left New York and recorded an acoustic version of that song and a few others. Twenty CD’s existed of it and they had split them down the center. One each had been sent to Mandy, Sam, Nicole and Jessie. Laurel doubted the photographer had even opened the envelope much less listened to the song.
"So, we’re releasing ‘Come to me’?" The drummer asked. "We’re a hard rock group, why are we releasing ballads?"
"It’s what’s called for at the moment." Harold waved aside the question. "As it is, anyone who has been to a concert or has bought the CD knows that. The ballads just give us a wider target audience."
"Yeah, we’re catering to a bunch of candy-assed fourteen year olds." Laurel was still disgusted and if possible growing more so.
"Anyway, here’s the new schedule." As always, he ignored the bassist’s complaints as he handed out the copies. "I’ll meet you back on the bus." His job done, he left them with their coffee.
"Wow, Merry Christmas to us." BJ was happy. "We’re going home for the holidays."
"Where do you see that?" Laurel looked over his shoulder to the part of the sheet he was pointing to. "Two days in New Orleans right before Christmas. Cool."
"Oh, we’re also going to Biloxi the day before we go to New Orleans." Steve pointed out the other dates. "Looks like we’re doing the North and then the South in time to avoid snow."
"Well, least we won’t completely freeze." Laurel was not really paying attention anymore. She was lost in the formation of a plan. For the first time in weeks, her face was graced with a real smile. "Are we ready to head back to the bus?" She finished her coffee.
All That Jazz Page 18