Love on Stage

by Neil Plakcy

“I thought a pit bull was a kind of dog,” Aunt Ida said. “Is that the name of a band too?”

  Miles gently explained who Pitbull was, and Aunt Ida said, “Oh, yes, I know that song.” She sang, “Haha, it’s Mr. 305 checking in for the remix.”

  Gavin’s eyes opened wide at his aunt’s high-pitched rendition of the opening lyric, and then Aunt Ida stopped and smiled.

  “We’re not encased in amber,” Grandma Frances said. “We do follow modern music.”

  Gavin caught Miles’s eye and saw he was entranced. It was going to be a good couple of weeks—as long as he could get some alone time with Miles too.

  After dinner the grandmothers sat on the porch, and the younger generation turned around the lawn chairs to face them.

  “Can you all sing something for me?” Miles asked.

  “Gavin doesn’t have much of a repertoire,” Erica said. She turned to him. “Why don’t you pick something and start, and we’ll all fall in.”

  Gavin was stressed. What if he was off-key? He’d embarrass himself in front of his family and Miles. Then he remembered what his father had said, that it was time he acted like an adult. Without thinking, he sang the first line of “Amazing Grace,” and his grandmother joined him, their voices blending sweetly. Then Erica and Aunt Ida came in, followed by Archie and Aunt Myrtle.

  Erica soared on the last line, her soprano climbing, and Archie began beat-boxing in his bass. Grandma Frances faded, and Gavin was left carrying the main line.

  The last notes disappeared into the gathering dusk, and then Miles stood up and applauded. “That was great,” he said. “I love the way your voices blend so effortlessly. It’s as if you’ve been singing together your whole lives.”

  “Well, we have,” Grandma Frances said. “My sisters and I sang together from the time we were babies. And there was always music up here at the lake.”

  “I can tell,” Miles said. “You guys are going to be terrific at your concert.”

  The grandmothers went to bed soon after, leaving Gavin in the yard with his cousins and Miles. They all walked down to the lakefront to watch the last rays of the setting sun.

  “Do you sing, Miles?” Erica asked.

  “Not like you guys,” he said. “I’m more of an instrumentalist.”

  “Sing something for us.”

  He shook his head. “I never sing without at least a keyboard.”

  “Come on,” Gavin said. “We sang for you.”

  Miles turned to Archie. “Will you help me out with the rhythm?”

  “Sure.”

  He began to sing, a song Gavin quickly recognized as Billy Joel’s “River of Dreams,” and he wondered if Miles too had seen the YouTube video of Archie’s group perform the song. Archie began beat-boxing, and Erica added her soprano, and when they got to the chorus, even Gavin had to join in because it looked like they were all having so much fun.

  After they finished, they lay around on the grass for a while watching the stars come out. Then Erica said, “Hey, Arch, can you come up to the house with me? I have something I want to show you.”

  Gavin sat up. “Yeah, I guess we should all go up there.”

  “No, you and Miles stay down here.” Erica tugged on Archie’s arm. “Arch, come on.”

  After they left, Miles turned to Gavin. “Do your cousins know that you and I are…”

  Gavin shook his head. “I said you’re a friend, that you’re helping us because you dig the music.”

  “That’s good,” Miles said. “I don’t want them to think that I’m favoring you or anything or that I’m not serious about getting you guys good enough to record.”

  “You think we can?”

  “After listening to you tonight? I’m sure. The Singing Sweethearts were great for their time—their voices go well together, and the harmonies sound good. But adding some lower voices—yours and Archie’s—makes those old songs sound contemporary. And I can already hear that Erica can hit the high notes her grandmother can’t anymore and that you can carry the melody with your grandmother’s help. And the beat-boxing? Very cool, adds a hip vibe to the retro music.”

  “Wow,” Gavin said. “You really think so?”

  “I don’t just think it, I know it,” Miles said. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. This gig is really important to me, not just because of, you know, what we have going on. I want to start to produce music on my own, not just help out others. You guys could be my ticket.”

  “You’ve got a ticket to ride,” Gavin sang. He leaned over and kissed Miles on the lips.

  Miles kissed him, then pulled back. “Are we all right out here?”

  “I’m sure the grannies are in bed by now,” Gavin said. “And Erica was pretty clear that she and Archie were leaving us alone.”

  Miles smiled, and Gavin felt his heart expand. “We have beds back up at the house,” Gavin said. “But we could hang here for a while, if you want.”

  “I want,” Miles said and then pulled Gavin into an embrace. Crickets chirped in the hedge, and water lapped at the shore. Gavin nuzzled against Miles’s neck and smelled his cologne. Miles ran his hands through Gavin’s hair, and they cuddled together on the fresh-cut grass.

  Gavin rested his head on Miles’s chest, feeling the gentle rhythm of Miles’s heartbeat. He remembered being back in Miles’s apartment, talking about words and music.

  Miles yawned, and Gavin looked up at him. “Am I keeping you awake?”

  “It was a long drive,” Miles said.

  Gavin sat up and took Miles’s hand, then got to his feet, tugging Miles along. “Come on. We’ll walk up to the house together.” Just before they reached the broad porch, Gavin pulled Miles into the shelter of a tall pine tree, and they kissed good night.

  Gavin left Miles in his first-floor room and went up to the bedroom he’d claimed. The bed there was a double, with a white iron frame. The sheets were old and faded, and the pillows were flat. He sat up for a while, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar bed. But he knew there were other reasons why he couldn’t sleep.

  Pitch

  Gavin was up early, a habit he’d developed from so many shifts at Java Joe’s. He found Archie in the kitchen slicing a loaf of white bread for toast and said, “If you throw a couple of slices in for me, I’ll make coffee.”

  “This could be sweet, having a professional barista around,” Archie said, and he threw a couple of extra slices in.

  Gavin unpacked the cappuccino maker he had brought from Java Joe’s, along with a bag of ground beans. He found a soothing regularity in making coffee drinks; though the specifics changed from customer to customer, there were certain skills that remained the same, like preparing the shots, foaming the milk, and then decorating the drink.

  He made cappuccinos for himself and Archie, using the foam to decorate his cousin’s with a leaf design.

  “Just like the professionals,” Archie said admiringly. “You ever think about opening your own coffee shop?”

  They sat at the kitchen table to drink their coffee and munch on their toast. “I’m not much of a business guy,” Gavin said. “I’m more the customer-service type.”

  “I’ll have the business skills in a couple of years. Maybe we could do something together.”

  “That would be cool,” Gavin said. He’d never thought much beyond his modeling work and his shifts at Java Joe’s. He knew that neither would last forever; he found it sad to see middle-aged guys working for minimum wage. Music might be the ticket. Or he could take over the dealership from his father before he started getting modeling gigs for adult incontinence wear.

  Archie left for work, and gradually the rest of the household filed in. Gavin made regular drip coffee in a French press for Grandma Frances and Aunt Myrtle, who disdained what Myrtle called “foofery” when it came to food. Aunt Ida was willing to try what Erica was drinking, so he made mochas for both of them, decorated with a fleur-de-lis. It was his trademark at Java Joe’s; he was the only barista who could manage it. When Miles c
ame downstairs, he made Miles his Jumbo Joe with the music note, and Miles smiled.

  It was a bright, sunny morning, and the yellow walls of the kitchen, which had been decorated years before with humorous photographs of cows, enhanced the happy mood.

  “I need to finish getting my gear set up,” Miles said when he finished his coffee. “And then I’d like to do some recording. First the ladies as a trio, then Gavin and Erica on your own.”

  “You need help?” Gavin asked.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Miles said. “But thanks.” He had already finished his breakfast, so he left the kitchen.

  Gavin looked around at his grandmother, her sisters, and Erica. It was odd being around grannies without an insulating layer of parents. He was able to see each of them as an individual—the way Ida wore so much jewelry just to breakfast, how Myrtle kept unconsciously primping her bouffant, the way his grandmother’s voice cracked sometimes in the middle of a sentence.

  Erica left to practice her operatic exercises, and Gavin cleaned up the coffee machine while the grannies chatted. Then Miles was ready for them, and Gavin went outside. He felt awkward doing the exercises Miles had given him around anyone else, so he walked down to the lakefront to practice.

  A robin on a branch of the maple stared at him curiously as he sang, “Nay, nay, nay,” and “Gee, gee, gee,” trying them in different keys. He practiced his breathing and his scales, walking along the water’s edge. A powerboat was out on the lake, the rumble of its engines adding a bass note to his singing. On the far shore, a family romped at the public beach. After an hour, he walked back up to the house.

  Erica stepped out onto the porch as he approached. “There you are. Miles is ready for you now.”

  “How did it go?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a whole different way of singing than opera. He kept telling me to hold back, which doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Gavin walked into the impromptu studio. Miles had moved all the bedroom furniture over to one wall and set up a standing mike on the opposite side of the room from his keyboard and other equipment.

  “Hey, Gavin.” He nodded toward the mike. “Let’s get started. I want you to sing ‘Apple Cider Time’ through once so I can record it.”

  It was weird the way Miles was all business. They were in private. Why no good-morning kiss? But this was why they’d come up, after all. To work like this.

  Even though he’d sung the song a dozen times for Miles, Gavin was nervous. This whole process was getting real—he and his family would be practicing for only two and a half weeks, then stepping out on stage at the Wisconsin Dells.

  When he transitioned from the end of the first verse into the chorus, he was sure he’d changed keys, but Miles didn’t make him stop, so he kept on going. By the time he sang the last notes, he felt a lot better. He could do this, he thought.

  Miles pulled off his headset and said, “Man, that was crap. This whole project is a way bigger mess than I expected.”

  Gavin’s heart thunked down in his chest. “Really?”

  “You can’t stay on key,” he said. “Your cousin thinks she’s on the stage of the frigging Metropolitan Opera. Your grandma’s voice goes in and out. Ida’s voice wavers, and Myrtle forgot the lyrics to the second verse and just hummed. And I can’t even hear Archie until tonight, so who knows what problems he has.”

  Gavin slumped down on the bed, knocking over a cascade of magazines. “Should we just give up?”

  “Give up? No way. It just means we have a lot of work to do.”

  “But all those problems. Aunt Myrtle’s losing it, and I can’t stay in tune. How are we going to get around those?”

  “Practice, my man,” Miles said, and Gavin felt a little shiver at being called Miles’s anything. His dick responded too at the sight of Miles sitting behind his keyboard, his faded Springsteen concert T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest.

  “Do you work out?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  Gavin realized that he shouldn’t have said that out loud. “Just wondering,” he mumbled, looking down. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been admiring Miles’s chest.

  “Not in a gym,” Miles said. “Mostly I run and do aerobics and Zumba.”

  Gavin laughed. “You won’t find that in Wisconsin.”

  “I already checked,” Miles said. “There’s a class in Eau Claire tomorrow evening. I probably can’t go, though, because of Archie’s schedule.”

  “We should totally go,” Gavin said. “What time is it?”

  The class met at four, which meant that they could get down to Eau Claire, dance their asses off, and then get back to Starlit Lake for dinner.

  Miles suddenly looked down at his keyboard and played a couple of notes. “But we’re way off topic here. I need to get you some exercises you can do to stay on key.” He looked at Gavin. “Do you know what pitch is?”

  “It’s one of those words,” Gavin said. “You know, that guy on American Idol is always saying people are pitchy. But could I define it? No.”

  “Listen to this,” Miles said. He played a single note and waited until it faded away. “See, that’s a fixed sound—it doesn’t go up or down, just fades away. All instruments, and singers, use the notes that the piano can play in order to make music. Pitch refers to the height or depth of the sound.”

  He played a couple of notes. “You hear how one note is deeper than the other?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “When we say someone is off-pitch, it means they’re not in tune with the exact fixed note that’s supposed to be heard.” He hit a key, then sang a note, then held up his index finger. He repeated the process—same key, but then Gavin could hear that he sang a slightly different note, which didn’t sound as good.

  “I get it,” Gavin said. “Play some more.”

  Miles repeated the process a bunch of times, and Gavin felt like he was starting to understand.

  “Here’s your assignment,” Miles said. “Sit down at the piano in the living room. I checked it out last night; it’s in pretty good tune. Practice going up and down the scale—hit a key, then match the note. Once you can do that, then practice with random keys.”

  “But everybody can hear me,” Gavin protested.

  “Get Erica to help you. You may sound like crap at first, but you’ll get better.” He waved his hand. “Go get started. I’ve got some work to do for a client, but I’ll see you later today.”

  “And tonight, I hope,” Gavin said.

  Miles smiled. “And tonight. Now that I have a good night’s sleep under my belt.”

  That made Gavin very happy.

  Golden Boy

  By the time Archie got back from work, the grannies had all had dinner and were sitting on the porch, with Erica and Gavin on the lawn.

  “We waited for you,” Erica said to Archie as he walked up the path. She stood up. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

  Miles came out on the porch then. “Can I get a sample from Archie first?”

  “No way,” Archie said. “I’m beat and I want to have some dinner.”

  “Archie, the whole point is to have time to rehearse with Miles,” Gavin said.

  “No, Gavin, the whole point is me keeping my job while wasting time on this crap.” He stalked inside, and Gavin, Erica, and Miles followed.

  The mood around the dinner table was tense, but Erica kept asking Miles questions, and Gavin was impressed at how easily Miles talked about the famous stars he’d worked with.

  Not that he was bragging; most of the stories reflected badly on him, like the way one of the Bee Gees caught him off-key, or the time Ricky Martin showed him a dance move that Miles had been having trouble mastering.

  He realized that he was staring at Miles and quickly looked down at his plate, hoping no one in the family had noticed. By the time dinner was over, the mood was lighter, and Archie agreed to go into the studio with Miles.

  Archie came out a half hour later in a bad mood once again a
nd stalked upstairs.

  “I wonder what went wrong,” Gavin said to Erica. “I’m going to ask Miles.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sure he criticized Archie the same way he did with both of us. Let them both chill out.”

  Gavin was reluctant. What he wanted to do was to find Miles and then…what? Hang out with him? Kiss him? Strip his clothes off and make wild monkey love? All of the above?

  Maybe Miles was right and them having sex would screw up the way they all worked together. Gavin wasn’t very good at managing exes. He’d had a couple of boyfriends in college—brief affairs fueled by passion that sputtered out rapidly. He had to admit he’d been glad when Lazaro had graduated and left for Atlanta; four months was about his limit. Mostly he stuck to one-night stands or casual fucks among friends, like Tate.

  “Come take a walk with me,” Erica said, tugging on Gavin’s arm.

  They went outside into the cool dusk. The sun was just setting over the lake, its last golden rays scalding the tips of the wavelets.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked. “You’ve been on edge all day. Was it the critique you got from Miles?”

  Gavin shrugged. “I guess.”

  “What do you want from him, Gavin?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” She stopped at the edge of the dock and turned to face him. “What’s going on with you two? Are you in love with him?”

  Gavin sat on the dock and dangled his feet above the water. It hadn’t rained in a while, and Starlit Lake was low. “I don’t know what I feel. Can I tell you something?”

  She sat beside him. “Of course.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever fallen in love. Lust, for sure. But not love.” He looked over at her. “Have you?”

  “I thought I was in love with Ming.” She tapped her fingers on the dock beside her.

  “He was the Chinese guy?”

  “Uh-huh. We met in music theory freshman year, and he was so adorably confused by everything. The only place he was comfortable was when he was singing or playing an instrument. We dated for, like, two, two and a half years. I thought it was love, back then. He was sweet and gentle, and I only wanted to be with him, but gradually I realized that we just didn’t, you know, click, somehow. It’s hard to explain.”