I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The dim light made my hair glint coppery. I put the poster in the mirror, wedging the paper between the frame and the glass until it stayed without flopping over. In the photo, Georgia looked off to the side, her hands planted on her hips. No one messes with me, her posture said. She was wearing a strapless gown, her bare shoulders gleamed. Red lipstick, almost scarlet, accentuated her full lips and creamy skin, but it was the only makeup she wore. It was all she needed to wear. My mom was beautiful.
Digging through my makeup bin, I found a lipstick and smeared it on. The colour looked brash. I pulled my tank top off my shoulders so they were bare and matched her stance. I held my head up, pushed my shoulders back and lengthened my spine.
I took a hard look at myself: bony shoulders and a collarbone that stuck out. I looked like a scrawny teenager playing dress up. I grabbed a tissue and rubbed the lipstick off, smearing it until my lips were swollen.
“Why’d you leave?” I asked the poster, staring at it with narrow-eyed anger. Yanking it out of my mirror, I rolled the poster into a tube and stuffed it behind my dresser where it could join dust bunnies and a few forgotten hair elastics.
- 8 -
Ray
The notes vibrated against my lips. Nothing, nothing, beats the sound of the saxophone. Like a woman whispering my name, her hot breath dripping against my neck. Sometimes she’s calling me, wailing, and other times, it’s just a sultry moan. Even the way you hold a sax means something. Your whole body’s got to lean into it, like a dance. I had to get halfway out of my seat when I played. The notes wanted to burst through the metal. I had to contain them, let ’em loose a little at a time. Fell in love with the sax first time I picked it up. All those buttons that you gotta know how to touch just right, the feel of the metal. Languid. That’s what a sax is. Like a tall, cool drink of water, if you get my meaning. Gotta touch it just the right way, caress it. Make it love you.
Tried to explain it to the guys once. They laughed like I was talking dirty. Guess I kind of was, but they got my meaning. They knew me, better than anyone. Some of them have known me since I was Lou’s age. I was a lot more trouble than Lou, though. God, when I thought about all the shit I put my folks through. Running away, leaving town with five bucks and a dream. Like a frigging cliché. Back in those days, I slept where I could. Ate nothing but bread and canned ham for weeks at a time, but I didn’t care. I was making music, doing what I loved. It was all part of the life.
Things changed when I met Georgia. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I wanted a better life for her. She deserved it; that’s what I thought back then. That voice of hers. Man. First time I heard it, my heart stopped. Swear to God. Had to thump my chest to get it going again. Never loved anything more than the sax until I heard her singing. That was all it took for me, just hearing her singing in some dive bar, thick with smoke. Where I was didn’t matter, cuz all I could hear was her voice.
Couldn’t see what she looked like till she came off the stage. She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Too beautiful to be in that place, but she loved being on stage. I offered her a drink, had it in my hands before she could say no. We sat at that bar talking till they kicked us out.
Being with Georgia, I felt like the whole world had stopped. It was just me and her. I’d never felt like that before and I’ve never felt it since. We loved hard and we fought hard, but no matter how loud we yelled, I always had that first night to hold on to. Even now, when I thought of her, I didn’t like to think of her leaving, or the doors that we slammed. I thought about that first night in the bar and how her voice took my breath away.
- 9 -
Dizzy
Jeremy was working when I walked into the store after school. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“He’s doing paperwork in the back.”
I groaned. Letting Dad do paperwork was never a good idea. He’d get halfway through checking over an invoice and then stuff it into an old record sleeve. At tax season, he’d have all of us rooting through boxes, drawers, and old files trying to find the receipts and invoices he’d put somewhere for “safekeeping.”
Sure enough, the paperwork had been pushed to the corner of the desk; a few papers dangled off the edge and the calculator had a long roll of curling paper looping out the end of it. Dad had his feet up on his desk and headphones on. His eyes were closed and a smile stretched across his face.
I watched him for a couple of minutes. We were past month end and he really did have to get the paperwork done. I liked to chart our sales to see which months were our strongest.
“Dad?” I called. “Da-a-d?” I tapped his foot and his eyes shot open.
He let his feet fall to the floor and he sat up in his chair. “Hey, Dizz.”
“Who were you listening to?” I asked, letting my backpack drop to the floor. He gave me a guilty look and his face clouded over.
“Georgia. I found another one of her records on the shelf.”
I plopped down on the couch next to him.
“Want to listen?” He passed me the headphones and went to the turntable, moving the needle to the beginning of the song. Seconds later, a familiar throaty laugh echoed against the grainy texture of a demo record.
Should I start now? Georgia asked. Someone must have given her the thumbs-up because she took a breath and started singing. There was no accompaniment. No background. Just her voice bursting through the headphones and into my ears, settling like a cloud in my brain, moving into every open space and expanding, filling my head with nothing but her.
When the song ended, I didn’t take my headphones off right away. I didn’t want to let go of the tendrils of sound floating in my head.
“Pretty great, huh?” he asked when I opened my eyes and pulled off the headphones.
“Yeah,” I sighed.
“Guess you heard she’s doing a show.”
“There’s a million posters around. Hard to miss.” The question that had been on my mind stalled on my tongue. I looked at Dad, wishing he could read my mind. “Do you think she’ll come by?”
Dad slid his hand across the couch to cover mine, the chunky rings cool next to the warmth of his calloused fingertips. “It’s been a long time.” He let his voice trail off. “Honestly, not sure I want her to.”
I stared at the headphones in my hands, conscious of how quiet it was in the office. “Do you hate her?”
Dad winced at my question and let out a long exhale. “No.” His face softened. “Not hate. It’s complicated, Dizz. But I could never hate her.”
“Even after everything —”
“Even after everything,” he assured me. He gave me a long look, his eyes dancing over my face and hair. “Can’t believe how much you’re starting to look like her.” Dad ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. A life on the road had left him with a face full of character, deep grooves etched into the skin around his eyes. “Sometimes, it’s better to just let things go.” He looked at me with sad eyes like it was hard for him to say these things. “I know it’s hard on you, knowing she’s out there.”
I twisted the cord of the headphones around my finger until the tip swelled. Dad leaned forward and picked up two photos that lay face down on the coffee table. “Found these in the record sleeve. Must have stuck them in there years ago. For safekeeping.”
He held a photo in his hands for a minute and then tilted it toward me. My throat tightened. A much younger Dad had his hands wrapped around Georgia’s round belly. A little boy, Lou, was clutching Georgia’s legs, laughing, his eyes squinting with delight.
“We didn’t take a lot of pictures. Not sure who gave me this one. I used to have it framed. Before,” he trailed off and shook his head.
I grabbed the photo greedily, eating up the details with my eyes. “You look happy.”
Dad gave a little laugh. “We were. For a while.”
The other picture was a small one of Georgia holding me. We were both sleeping. I was wearing a pink sleepe
r and looked really tiny. My head was resting on her shoulder, a fuzzy cap of reddish hair covered my head. I stared at that picture for a long time. Her hand cradled my head and her lips were turned up in a peaceful smile. It was a close-up shot and the top part of her head was out of the frame. “See,” Dad said quietly. “Told you she loved you. Look at her face there.” He rubbed a finger lightly across the picture. “That’s love right there.”
I stared at the photo for a long time, memorizing the angle of her chin, the slant of her eyebrows, and curve of her cheek. “Can I keep them?” I asked.
Dad hesitated.
“Please?” I saw his brow furrow, his mind working out the right thing to do. “I’ll keep them hidden. I won’t let anyone see them, not even Maya.”
Dad scratched his head as I clutched them to my chest, like they were already mine. I was careful not to crinkle the photo paper under my palm. Finally, he nodded. “Thanks,” I said.
He gave another small nod as if he was still unsure if he’d done the right thing. “I’ll go put them away,” I said and ran upstairs to put them in my drawer, under my socks, tucking them away like a secret treasure. Her records, the photos, and an upcoming tour. I ticked through the signs. Were they a coincidence? Or was the universe trying to tell me something? Maybe this was my chance to meet Georgia, again, ten years later. Maybe this time she wouldn’t walk away from us.
And maybe, instead of waiting around for someone else to make it happen, it was up to me.
- 10 -
Lou
A bunch of orders for records needed to be filled, hard-to-find records that the customers had probably spent years searching for. How excited would they be when the padded envelope marked “Fragile” arrived? The invoices sat along the messy back counter behind me at the cash desk. I thought about getting to them, but I was in no rush. The whole day stretched in front of me, which felt like a hundred-pound weight on my shoulder.
It had been quiet at the store lately, which meant lots of time to read. And think. The concert kept popping up in my head: whether or not I should go. On one hand, I thought, yes. In order to prove to myself that I truly Did Not Care About Georgia Waters, I should go to the concert and sit there, unaffected. Like when the guy came to hang up the posters on the pole outside. At first, I tried to ignore them. What did I care? Georgia Waters was nothing to me, right? Tearing them down after he left would mean that I did care.
And I didn’t. Care.
But then, I reasoned, if I did care, I’d want to look at them. If I covered them up, that proved I really didn’t care, so that was what I did. I put our Friday Night Spin posters right over top of Georgia’s.
What would people do if they found out the truth about her? That she’d abandoned her children and had only seen them once? Dad said he’d kept her secret to protect us. He didn’t want us to turn into fodder for tabloids. But I wondered if we were the only ones he was protecting. I’d seen the look on his face when I told him about the concert. You’d think after fourteen years, he’d have let her go, moved on. I mean, she sure as hell had.
But Dad’s feelings for her were mottled, like a piece of metal that’s been hammered and bent. They must have had some good times; they’d had two kids together. And maybe, over the years, his hurt at the way she’d left had mellowed.
But she’d still left. And then come back, promising things would be different. That was the part that pissed me off, that made it hard to not care.
Who knows? Maybe it was a good thing that she left. Our lives would be completely different if people knew we were Georgia Waters’s kids. Sure, we’d have more money and all that came with being rich, but we wouldn’t be Lou and Dizzy Doucette. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew it didn’t involve being known as someone’s kid.
It was bad enough that every musician who came into the store asked if I was Ray’s son. The second question was usually, “What instrument do you play?” I needed to get out of his shadow. Like in The Elders of Warren. Murdoch left his town because his dad was the High Wizard, Vizier to Sir Langsdale, and everyone expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps. He hated the pressure, so he took off one night. That was what started his adventure. Of course, I didn’t have magical abilities, but I understood why he’d left. Maybe that was why that book meant so much to me: I could relate to Murdoch; he wanted something that was his.
Jer kept telling me that for someone who liked to read as much as I did, I should go to university. We got a lot of university kids in the store. I’d started paying attention, asking what they’re taking. I was kind of curious. Going to university might be a way out for me. Never know.
- 11 -
Dizzy
Maya and I were standing on the front steps at school waiting for her mom. Between school work and staying up late practising at the turntables, the days had flown by. Friday had finally arrived. As DJ Erika’s show time drew closer, butterflies had started an assault on my stomach.
“I’ll come to the store as soon as I can,” Maya promised. “Mom just has to take Lily to the walk-in. She’s got a rash or something.” She made a face.
A white minivan pulled up to the curb. I waved to Maya’s mom, but she was too frazzled to notice. Maya opened the front passenger door. Her mom was talking to one of the twins over some high-pitched little kid music, while the other one cried. Maya shot me a comical “get me out of here” look as she stepped inside.
I gave her a sympathetic wave, secretly relieved that I wasn’t going with her.
I shouldered my way through the groups of kids waiting for the bus or a ride home and dug my phone out of my pocket. Lou had been busy on social media. A stream of posts, tweets, and snaps filled my phone: #vinyl #DJErika #spinning. I tried to share as many as I could while I walked home.
When I got to the store, there were a few customers. Lou was tidying up behind the cash desk and Jeremy was helping someone. A check of the clock started my countdown. Four and a half hours till show time. “As soon as we’re closed, let’s start moving shelves to clear the floor,” Lou said to me. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked.
“Yes!” I replied, annoyed that he still doubted I could do it. But then he grinned at me and I knew he was teasing, trying to get a reaction. “Jerk,” I said and punched him on the arm.
Dad came downstairs, whistling. “Store looks good,” he said, surveying the wiped-clean cash desk and organized bins. “How many are you expecting?”
Lou looked up from his phone, thumbs paused in midair. “It’s her hometown. Maybe a hundred.”
“A hundred?” Dad choked on the number. “For a DJ?”
We all knew Dad’s respect for DJing was limited. I don’t think he understood that music wasn’t just about instruments anymore; it was about melding sounds and using technology to create something new. Dad had tried to teach us how to play guitar, keyboards, even his beloved sax, but neither of us loved it like he did. Lou had picked up drumming for a while. Barney used to come on Sunday mornings to teach him, but thankfully, his interest waned and then disappeared altogether. Maya thought it was funny that we were surrounded by music and musicians and neither of us played anything. Maybe talent like Dad’s and Georgia’s skipped a generation, or maybe we just took having music in our lives for granted. Lou would rather have his nose in a book, and I preferred sampling and spinning.
I was too nervous to eat dinner and stayed downstairs prepping the DJ booth. I checked the connections for the fifteenth time and went through the vinyl I was going to play.
The first guests started arriving at eight thirty. Jeremy and Lou worked the door, directing people where to put their coats and bags. Dad hung at the back of the store keeping an eye out for wandering fingers.
“Ready?” Jeremy asked, leaving his post at the front and sidling up to me.
I nodded and took a deep breath.
“I’ve never seen you look nervous,” he said with a laugh. “Relax, okay? It’s going to
be fun. Just pretend you’re playing for me, Lou, your dad —” He broke off, looking around the store. “Where’s Maya? I thought she was coming.”
I sighed. “She texted. Her mom’s stuck at a walk-in with one of the girls. She’s going to come as soon as she can.”
Jeremy’s mouth twitched in disappointment for me. “Well, you’ve still got us.” He checked his phone. “Erika should be here soon.” DJs usually liked to get to their gigs early to set up the music and get their computer hooked up to the gear. DJ Erika probably had state-of-the-art equipment, which had made me self-conscious about our second-hand turntables and mixers.
I craned my neck to check the door as a crush of people entered. It was almost time for me to go on. I took a deep breath, trying not to let the size of the crowd throw me off. The butterflies were going haywire in my stomach. Jeremy raised his eyebrows at me and looked at the growing crowd. I guess I looked as nervous as I felt because he said, “You can do this,” in his best coach-before-the-big-game voice.
“There are more people than I thought there’d be.” A lineup of people had developed at the cash desk and Dad moved up front to help out. The store was getting stuffy with so many bodies. Jackets and coats were slung over the coat racks at the front of the store and people were packed into every available spot on the floor. “We’re gonna have to start turning people away,” Dad shouted to us. “We’re at max capacity.”
Lou gave me a signal. Showtime.
Jeremy put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You. Will. Rock.”
My stomach flipped. Was I really doing this? As soon as the needle hit the vinyl, everyone in the store would be listening to me. This is what you wanted, I reminded myself.
My hands trembled as I put on the first track. Now that there was activity at the DJ table, people were craning their necks to see who it was. I could feel their eyes on me. From the cash desk, I heard a “Woot!” from Dad. I pulled out another record and started it spinning, fading the beat of the first so that the two of them synced. There were more appreciative shouts from the crowd. They liked the music! A crowd formed around the DJ table; people moved and swayed to the music, feeling it.
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