by J. D. Ryan
Backbeat Rhythm
By J.D. Ryan
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2018 J.D. Ryan
ISBN 9781634865852
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
To all of my musical friends.
* * * *
Backbeat Rhythm
By J.D. Ryan
Chapter 1: New Kid on the Block
Chapter 2: Backbeat Rhythm
Chapter 3: Coffee, Tea, or Me?
Chapter 4: Max at Home
Chapter 5: Kit at Home
Chapter 6: Thai for Two
Chapter 7: Video Games
Chapter 8: Dinner with Max
Chapter 9: Dinner with Kit
Chapter 10: Tuesday at the Pub
Chapter 11: Pool and Burgers
Chapter 12: Afternoon Delight
Chapter 13: Family Time
Chapter 14: Music in the Park
Chapter 15: Radioactive
Chapter 16: Max Investigates
Chapter 17: Backbeat Rhythm
Chapter 1: New Kid on the Block
“Are you nervous? Don’t be nervous.” Kit Barlow tucked Ebon’s shirt in. The seven-year-old swatted Kit’s hand away, narrowing his big brown eyes.
“I ain’t nervous. We’re gonna be late.”
“Aren’t. Don’t talk like Rashaun’s Uncle Arvel.” Kit pulled out his phone to check. “And we’ve got plenty of time. Do you have your book? Do you want to practice the pledge one more time?”
“Dad!”
Ebon threw open the apartment door and danced from foot to foot in the hallway. Kit gave up and locked the door behind them. Hopefully the boy hadn’t forgotten anything important. He’d been counting down the days until he turned seven, so he could join the Cub Scouts. Scouting had been the subject of Ebon’s conversations since his best friend Rashaun had joined earlier that year. Kit would be willing to swear Ebon had not only read the entire rulebook already, but had memorized most of it.
Ebon ran to the elevator and punched the down button. Kit did a mental double-check while they waited. Scouting uniform: clean and perfectly pressed—and hadn’t that been a bitch to figure out how to iron? Book: clutched tightly in Ebon’s right hand. Official cap: tugged down on Ebon’s dark curls, heritage of his African-American mother. Wallet and keys: in Kit’s pocket.
The boy looked up for a moment, then frowned. “Dad, your hair.”
With a shrug, Kit pulled an elastic band from one pocket and quickly tugged his nearly waist-length black hair into a ponytail. Lately, Ebon had developed a thing about the hair, claiming he didn’t want people to think his dad was a girl.
“Better?” Kit checked his reflection in the elevator door and tucked in a few stray strands. His green eyes had a faintly worried expression. That had been there for a while now. Kit wondered if he should be concerned. He was too young to be a worrywart.
“You could cut it, you know.” Ebon scampered into the elevator when the doors finally opened. “Rod wouldn’t mind.”
“He would, actually.” Rod believed that any heavy metal musician worth his salt had more hair than Cher. Kit punched the “close door” button a couple of times. One day, this old machine was just going to quit working and they’d have to take the stairs. One day, maybe Kit could afford a nicer apartment. “You know we have to look the part for the crowd, kid. Quit worrying so much.”
Ebon’s lower lip stuck out. “Nobody else’s dad has girly hair. Or all those tattoos.”
“Half the kids in your class don’t even have a dad, Ebon.” Kit tugged his long sleeves further down to cover his tattooed arms. “Much less one who’d fork over all this money for Cub Scouts.”
Ebon shoved through the opening elevator doors into the lobby. “I know, I know. I need to be grateful for what we’ve got.”
“And a bit less sarcastic about it, please.”
At least Ebon had the sense to stay close while they walked to the bus stop. He’d never been one of those kids who darted off into the crowd or wandered away from his father. Kit was grateful he was such a smart little fellow, and so street-wise at his age. He might roll his eyes at his father’s fussing, but he dutifully held Kit’s hand as they crossed the street. They only had to wait ten minutes for the cross-town bus. Ebon’s school was only a few stops along the route, too, which made getting him there and back easier.
As the bus neared the school, Ebon’s excitement grew too much for him. “I can’t wait. Do you think they’ll ask me to tie any knots? I can do most of them already.”
Kit patted his son’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine. I’m sure your leader will make sure you have a good time. Just remember your manners.”
“Dad!” Ebon shifted on his seat as he watched out the window. “Rashaun says there are two leaders, anyhow. Mr. Lopez and Mr. Hill. He says they’re p cool.”
“I think I’m p cool myself.”
“Not with that ponytail.”
The bus jerked to a hissing stop at the curb and Ebon darted out ahead of Kit, who trotted down the steps at a more sedate pace. Ebon grabbed Kit’s hand and dragged him toward the school. “Hurry up, dad. Rashaun’s already there.”
Kit spotted Ebon’s friend on the sidewalk, waving for Ebon to join him. Rashaun’s mother had scraped together the money for Rashaun’s uniform, but it was already slightly too small for the growing boy, and it looked like it had last been ironed when they bought it. Raising a kid on your own was hard, but Kit had always figured that the kid’s needs came first, even if that included pressing a ridiculously complicated uniform.
“Want me to come in with you?” He asked his son.
Ebon and Rashaun gave him identical horrified looks, so he turned for the coffee shop on the corner. “I’ll come pick you up in an hour, then.”
He cast an inquisitive eye over the man at the school doorway. Must be one of the leaders. Not half bad either: tall and slender, but with enough muscle beneath his neatly pressed uniform shirt to show his fitness. Skin the color of old mahogany and black hair barely long enough to show the hint of a curl. His yardstick-straight back did hint at a no-nonsense nature, but if the boys thought he was “p cool,” he must have a more relaxed side. Didn’t look Hispanic, so this must be Mr. Hill.
Kit nearly ran into the open door of the coffee shop. He needed to quit daydreaming about hot guys. He ordered a coffee and sat by the window to people-watch. His mind kept returning to the intriguing figure of the Scout leader. Kit liked his men tall and muscular, and if truth be told, he did tend to pay more attention to darker skin. He liked to joke
that he liked his men the same way he liked his coffee: hot, sweet, and black.
* * * *
After nearly an hour had passed, Kit returned to the school to join the small group of other parents already gathered on the sidewalk. He nodded to Rashaun’s Aunt Flora, but made no attempt to join her. The woman would talk your ear off if you gave her half a chance.
One of the other women strode toward him, a hand outstretched. “You’re new. I’m Rosa Sanchez.”
Rosa introduced Kit to the other parents. They wanted to know more about him, of course. Some of them turned away with condescending smiles when he said he waited tables at Chez Nous, even though it was one of the most popular (and expensive) restaurants in the city. Kit made a good salary there, and the manager was willing to give him the day shift to work around Ebon’s school hours. He didn’t see any reason to be ashamed of his job, though he could probably make more if he went back to school and got a business degree.
He did hand out a few of his business cards to parents who seemed interested in music lessons for their kids, but he didn’t mention the band. Not many parents would be impressed to hear he played bass for a heavy metal group. He spotted a few furtive glances at his ponytail, but that was hardly a dead give-away at his third job. He’d have gotten more blatant stares if he’d not worn a long-sleeved button-down to hide the obligatory tattoos all rock musicians seemed to collect.
Finally, the school door opened and the troop spilled out, chattering excitedly to one another and calling goodbyes. Kit spotted Ebon in the crowd and gave him a little wave. Ebon wasn’t quite old enough to pretend he didn’t know his father in public, though Kit was certain that day would come. The boy pelted across the sidewalk to Kit’s side, a wide grin on his face.
“Dad, we’re going on a field trip next week! And I showed Mr. Lopez my knots and he said I could get a badge as soon as I’m old enough to be a Boy Scout.”
A stocky Hispanic man crossed to shake Kit’s hand. “Joe Lopez. Your son’s a real trooper. Glad to have him in the Scouts.”
Kit didn’t spot the very interesting Mr. Hill in the crowd. Maybe he’d stayed to clean up, or vanished out a back door. Ebon regaled Kit with the details of his meeting all the way home. It was good to have the kid so excited. Cub Scouts might be one of the best ideas old Mrs. Kennedy had suggested, back at that parent-teacher meeting. Ebon had been having trouble before, struggling with getting his work done, disinterested in the schoolwork. Now, he was eager to read his Scout book, and Kit only had to threaten to take the book away to get the boy to finish his homework. He wasn’t making all A’s by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he wasn’t in danger of failing any longer.
Ebon fell asleep with his beloved Scout book in his hands, and Kit took the time to pick up the apartment a little. Tomorrow was Friday, and the band was performing at a new club. Alicia would be sitting with Ebon, and Kit didn’t want the young lady to feel like she had to clean while she was here. He’d really lucked out getting a sitter who’d accommodate herself to his oddball schedule. Alicia was willing to house-sit for two nights every weekend while Kit worked the clubs Fridays and Saturdays. She was even willing to take the odd weekday shift if something came up unexpectedly. Worth every penny he scraped together to pay her.
* * * *
Once the place looked halfway presentable, Kit dropped to sit on the sofa for half an hour of mindless entertainment. He had to get Ebon up for school in the morning, so no late hours. A dad needed his priorities straight. He found himself thinking about Ebon’s Scout leader again. Wouldn’t it be great if the man swung the way Kit did? Of course, Ebon might not like his dad hooking up with his Scoutmaster. That didn’t stop a man from daydreaming, though.
Mr. Hill was a little more slender than Kit usually liked, but what he’d seen had been well put together. Mr. Hill had the sort of mouth that looked like it needed to be kissed frequently, and that rigid posture hinted at a forceful personality. Kit could really get into a masterful partner, especially if the man turned out to be a top, or versatile.
The television droned on in the background as Kit drifted into a happy dream of a tall, dark stranger. He jerked back awake as the Night Show music blared. Snapping off the TV, he dragged himself to bed, careful not to wake Ebon. One day, he’d be able to afford a place with a separate bedroom for the kid, but for now, Ebon didn’t seem to mind sharing a room with his old man.
Stretched out on his bed, Kit allowed his mind to drift back to the daydream he’d dozed off to: Mr. Hill taking charge of all those little things Kit was bad at, running them like a master-sergeant while Kit concentrated on his music.
“I love it when you play for me,” the man would say in a husky voice. “Lay down a heavy rhythm and let me dance for you.”
Kit’s eyes slowly slid closed, and he was off to Dreamland once again.
Chapter 2: Backbeat Rhythm
“I thought I said 8:30.” Rod’s thick eyebrows lowered over his blue eyes. “You’d better be ready to take the stage, Kit.”
“The sitter was late.” Kit pulled his bass from its case, plugged it in, and started tuning. A few curious patrons were already gathered near the stage, watching them set up. The regular groupies crowded around the sales table, grabbing T-shirts, stickers, and copies of the new CD. The rest of the club was dark and smoky, and he could see a lot of the crowd was still milling around the bar, seemingly oblivious to the band.
Rod thrust a finger at Kit’s chest. “If you weren’t such a damn good musician, I swear I’d get a new bassist.”
Kit ignored the vocalist. Rod’s temper was infamous—and it’d blow over just as quickly as it appeared. “Ebon’s after me to cut my hair again.”
Tom slammed both drumsticks down on a cymbal. “For crying out loud, doesn’t the kid understand we’re a metal band?” He tried a riff on his snare, adjusted the height of the drum just a touch, and settled onto his stool. “What’s a metal band without hair?”
Kit shucked off his jacket and thumped the E string. “He says it’s embarrassing.”
“Fathers are supposed to embarrass their kids,” said Brian, hitting an E on his guitar. “It’s in the rule book.”
Kit finished tuning up and joined the guitarists on stage. “I dunno, Bri. Maybe I should think about it. He’s a good kid, you know?”
Rod adjusted his microphone. “Nobody’s cutting their hair in this band.” He raised his voice. “We’re Radioactive. Are you ready to rock?”
The resultant applause was less than enthusiastic, but it was early. The groupies set up a cheer from the front lines, but most of the club’s patrons just watched curiously, waiting to see if they could actually perform. Chris brandished his guitar, stepped forward, and hit the opening bars of “Crazy Train.” Better to start off with cover tunes, warm up the crowd, before they introduced their own music.
The lyrics, as always, made Kit a bit broody. He had his own wounds, his own troubles. It wasn’t easy raising a seven-year-old on your own, not if you were trying to make ends meet. It’d be nice if he had a partner, but who the hell had time to go looking for one? He’d love to have a second income, another adult for Ebon to look up to, somebody to turn to when things got rough. But where was a man supposed to find such a partner nowadays, especially working as much as Kit did.
He forced himself to forget his worries and settled into the music. A good bass man teamed up with the drums to lay down the rhythm for the band without overpowering the guitars and vocalist. Most people wouldn’t be able to hum the tune he was thumping out, but they’d notice if it wasn’t there. Kit kept an eye on Tom and matched his rhythm perfectly.
If his fellow students at Julliard could see him now—their jaws would probably drop to the floor in shock. They’d have gone on to respectable careers in orchestras, or teaching at colleges. He’d actually seen one of his old professors in the crowd once, and the man had merely raised one eyebrow in Kit’s direction and kept dancing.
Kit di
d give music lessons during his free time—and in his opinion, he got more out of his students than most of his classmates probably did out of theirs. Sure, some of the kids only came to him because their parents insisted, but most found the same joy in music that Kit did. And if he gave the odd discount for a single parent with a gifted child, that was his business. But teaching sure didn’t make ends meet very well.
A tall, dark man moved to the front of the crowd, dancing as if he didn’t care who was watching. For an instant, Kit thought it was Ebon’s Scout leader, that good-looking Mr. Hill. He imagined the man extending an arm to Kit from the floor. Kit would put away his bass and join the gyrating throng, dancing just for his partner. But who was he kidding? He scarcely had time for himself, much less for a partner. Daydreams took a lot less of a man’s time. A scantily-clad female shoved through the crowd to the man’s side, running a hand along his tight backside. Fortunately for Kit’s dreams, the man turned toward the stage then, and it was obvious he wasn’t Mr. Hill.
Kit shifted rhythms as they modulated into Enter Sandman. Metallica always went over well with the fans, and soon it looked like most of the club was now on its feet and on the dance floor. Kit lost himself in the music, as he always did, letting himself become a channel for the hard rhythms pulsing through the club.
* * * *
The first break hit practically before Kit knew it. Rod and the others happily reached for the beers that were included in their pay, but Kit always asked for Coke instead. He’d sowed his wild oats early, and nearly gotten into trouble he couldn’t get back out of. No more booze or drugs for this man, not with Ebon to think of. And Ebon would never find out that he was the result of that one wild night, the time Kit got roaring drunk and decided he should try heterosexuality for once. So far as Ebon knew, his mother had left to pursue an acting career, leaving Kit to raise their son. The fact that Anita’s face never appeared on any screen Kit had ever seen didn’t seem to bother the boy, thankfully.