by Zuri Day
Jan struggled with a thought, then made a decision. “I have some news to share. It may not be a million-dollar miracle, but it puts me on the radar of possibilities.”
“What’s that?”
“I wrote a song and it’s going to be professionally recorded.”
“Hmm.”
A disappointing reaction, but Jan pressed on. “It’s an empowering number about being happy in your own skin, with being who you are. Doug’s sister-in-law heard about my struggles in the industry, of not being that perfect size 2 like most pop stars. She encouraged me to write my feelings about the experience and then Thump, the bandleader in the group I front one Friday a month, put some music to the words. We performed it at the holiday party last week. The crowd loved it!”
“I’m happy they liked your song, Jan. But let me ask you something. How much money is this recording going to cost you, and what will you do with the song once it’s on tape? You have a beautiful voice, Jan, I’ve always told you that. But there are thousands of women with beautiful voices and millions of records out there. So what do you hope to gain from recording this song?”
Jan told her about the Englishman who approached her at the party. “He was out of town last week when I called, but his assistant told me to call back tomorrow, which I will, first thing. What do I expect to get out of it? I don’t really have any expectations. But this is costing me nothing and will give me a professionally recorded and mastered song to use for auditions. I might even get it made into a video and upload it to YouTube. Who knows what might happen?”
“I understand you taking advantage of an opportunity, but I sure hope you’re not thinking about quitting your job to pursue this again full-time.”
“No, Mom. I’m not thinking that.” Jan watched her mom place aside the letters and envelopes and run a weary hand across her face. Her heart broke for the woman who gave so much to her and Lionel and seemed to get so little in return. “Mom, have you ever had a dream, or wanted something out of life and went for it?”
Rochelle thought for a minute. “I wanted to be a wife, a mother. That didn’t turn out quite like I planned it, but I have no regrets. Even with the situation being what it is, you and Lionel are blessings in my life.”
“So that was your only dream? To be married with children?”
“Growing up the way I did, we weren’t encouraged to dream. Life was looked at from a very practical point of view.” Her mother paused, looked off into the distance. “I used to draw, back when I was a kid.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Was pretty good at it, too.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“I don’t know, really. Before your dad I dated this one guy who was a lot like me. Practical. No-nonsense. He was a good man, really hard worker. Never relaxed. Never just sat around and did nothing. If he came over and saw me doing that he’d say I was lazy.”
“He saw you drawing and said that?”
“No, I think I’d already stopped by then. But I used to love crossword puzzles, stuff like that. I’d sit and do that after coming home and cooking dinner, waiting for him to come over. He would and if I was sitting there doing puzzles or watching TV he’d shake his head as if I’d committed a crime. After a while I made sure not to be doing that when he came over and then I guess, slowly, I just stopped doing it at all.
“Then I met your dad, had you, and started working. After that it was all about his dream.”
“What was that?”
Rochelle looked at Jan, her expression unreadable. “He wanted to own a supper club.”
“What? Daddy?”
“Yep, your daddy was one of those suave fellas, classy. He had an idea to operate a club where we’d put on these shows and serve great food. He was a musician, played the saxophone, but a businessman, too. You’re a lot like him.”
“Wow, Mom. I don’t remember ever hearing you guys talk about any of this. I had no idea.” They were both silent, lost in thought for a beat or two. “So what happened?”
“His current wife. They met and the next thing I knew we were divorced and he was in Texas. I heard he started a barbeque restaurant down there and then sold it several years later. Made a little profit, too. I guess that’s the closest he came to the supper club dream.” Rochelle looked at Jan, her smile bittersweet. “I’m glad you’ve got this chance, Jan, to have your song recorded. Maybe you’ll let me hear it when it’s done.”
“Of course, Mom, I’d love that.”
“I know I’m not one of those show moms pushing you toward that life. It’s always been one of fantasy for me, something I can’t even imagine. I live in a very literal reality. What’s important to me are those things I can see, touch, actualize as something I can do. But I love you, Jan, both you and Lionel, and I want you to be happy. It looks like you are.”
“I want you to be happy, too, Mom. You do for us, but you need your own life. And maybe even a boyfriend, or companion.”
“Now you’re talking crazy.”
“Why, you’re not that old? I can’t remember the last time I heard you mention a man. How long has it been since you’ve dated?”
“Not long enough.” Rochelle stood. “I’m going back in the room to watch a little television. Get to bed early.”
Jan stood, too. “Thanks for sharing with me about Dad, Mom. I’m glad you want to hear my song.” She put her hands around a mom who rarely showed such affection. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
40
“What are you doing today?”
“A whole lot of nothing.” At eleven in the morning on this chilly Saturday she still lay in bed with no guilt at all.
“You should come riding with me.”
Jan looked at her phone as if Doug could see her. “Riding what?”
“My bike. What else?”
“You know I don’t do that.”
“I know, but you should.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re my ride-or-die chick.”
“That I could die riding is exactly my point.”
“You can die crossing the street, or watching TV. When it’s your time, it’s your time.”
“I’m trying not to go before my time.”
“Jan . . . don’t you trust me? I’d never do anything to jeopardize your safety.”
“This from the guy who on my first day at work almost ran me over.”
“You’re being dramatic. At no time that you’ve seen me riding have I not been in control of my bike.” Silence. “Come on, Jan. I want to see that bunch of plump you call a booty on my seat, have your arms wrapped around my waist and your titties smushed into my back. Get you some black leather pants and some thigh-high boots with real tall heels.”
“Oh, so you want me to fall before getting on the bike.”
“Don’t worry about any of that, baby. I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry, Doug. It’s not just that I don’t like motorcycles. I really don’t feel like getting out.”
“Okay, but know that before it’s all over I’m going to have you on my bike.”
“We’ll see.”
“At the very least you can come hang with me at the club. Later on tonight, one of the members will be celebrating his birthday there.”
“What club?”
“The only one that matters, baby. My motorcycle club, the Ace Imperials.”
“What time?”
“Things will probably get started around nine or ten.”
“That sounds okay. It will give me the whole day to relax and do the mundane chores I’ve been avoiding like, for starters, washing the mound of clothes piled on my closet floor.”
“All right, then. Call me later. And make sure and wear something tight and sexy to the party. I’ll be showing you off and want all of my boys’ mouths to water.”
“Doug, that sounds sexist.”
“Maybe, but I still want to see you in some pants squeezing the life out
of that plump rump.”
“Somebody’s beeping in. I have to go.”
“Call me later.”
Jan clicked over and put the phone on speaker as she climbed out of bed. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jan?”
She stopped, looked at the phone as if it would help her ascertain the identity of the accented voice coming out of it. “Yes?”
“My name is Peter. I’m Chandler Thomas’s brother.”
“Oh, hi!”
“Hello. I’d like to chat with you for a bit. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure. Are you calling me from London?”
“New York, actually. I’m over here on a short promo tour with one of my groups.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You have a new fan in my brother Chandler. He said glowing things about you and your performance the other night.”
“It was a wonderful party.”
“And he sent me the song you’ve written.”
“Sorry about the quality of that recording. It was done on my band leader’s mini-mixer, very basic.”
“But good enough for me to get a feel for it and I must admit I quite like it.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s why I’m calling, actually. I was hoping that while in New York I could get you to join me and do the recording.”
“Come to New York? Really? When?”
“It would have to be next week.”
“Oh, that fast?”
“I know it’s short notice, but we’ll be flying back to London next Saturday. A good friend of mine has a studio in Tribeca on the Lower East Side. I was hoping you could fly up on Thursday.”
Jan didn’t fly often but knew that fares got higher the closer the trip. That it was right after Christmas and she’d bought more gifts than she’d expected, the bank account was on the lean side.
“Um . . . I’d have to . . . check a few things. See if I can get off work, and the flight schedules . . .”
“If you could let me know as soon as possible I’ll have my assistant book your flight.”
“Oh, you’d book the flight?”
“Sure, that wouldn’t be a problem.”
Jan wanted to break out into the happy dance but forced herself to remain calm. “Then let me make a call right now and see if I can get off work.”
“Thank you, Jan. I look forward to hearing back from you.”
“Thank you, Peter. And give Chandler my best.”
“Will do.”
Jan hit the button twice to make sure the call was ended, then exploded. “Woohoo!”
“What’s all that noise?” Lionel yelled from down the hall.
Jan ran in and told him what had happened. “I can’t believe it! I just recently told someone about the last time I was there, which was ten years ago! About how much I enjoyed it and wanted to go back. And now this happens. I can’t believe it.”
“Make sure everything is wheelchair accessible because as your, um, producer, I’m going with you.”
“How do you figure?”
“How do you not figure? You know that without me that song would have sounded like a nineties throwback.”
“Okay, then, Mr. Producer, I’ll most definitely see what I can do.”
They talked a bit more and then Jan left the room to call Doug. She was totally joking when she’d promised the trip to her brother. But she’d soon find out that life had more surprises in store for her than she’d realized.
41
The following Thursday afternoon Jan and Lionel arrived at New York’s JFK Airport. They deplaned and thanks to the wheelchair assistant went directly to ground transportation where Peter said a car would be waiting.
“I can’t believe I’m in New York,” Lionel said, his eyes shining.
“I still can’t figure out how that extra ticket magically appeared.”
That was Doug’s story that no matter what he stuck to, but Jan believed Doug’s brother Nelson, who worked at LAX, had a lot to do with the magic. She’d said as much and tried to get the cost out of him so she could repay it. No way did she believe it was free, as she’d been told. It was a blessing, as Pat had pointed out. So Jan had decided to take her wise coworker’s advice and not knock it or block it but to be grateful and keep quiet about it.
That Lionel was with her made the trip that much more special, as was her witnessing his first flight. The last time they’d taken a trip together was five years ago, when they went to Vegas for Aunt Brenda’s wedding. They hadn’t hung out together much. She’d been part of the bridal party and spent most of her time with Crystal helping her aunt get ready. Lionel and the friends who’d met him there spent their time at the pool. During the five hours on their nonstop journey, they’d talked the whole time. His helping her out with the song and her helping to get him involved in the basketball camp had brought them closer together. She’d always loved her brother, but these days she liked him a lot, too.
Downstairs, there was a man holding a sign that said BAKER. They walked over to him.
“You’re here for me, Jan Baker?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“This is my brother, Lionel.”
“Hello, Lionel. I’m parked right outside. Let’s get going.”
She’d hoped they’d stop by the hotel first, but the driver took them directly to the studio. From the airport to the studio the driver was like a personal tour guide. When he found out it was Lionel’s first trip to New York he gave a running commentary of the areas they passed, the buildings they saw, and the people who lived there. Jan learned a lot that she hadn’t known. The drive to Tribeca felt a lot shorter than the hour that it actually took.
The studio was in a large warehouse that had been converted to offices, lofts, and artist work spaces. They took a large, antiquated-looking elevator to the third floor, then walked down a series of halls to the studio on the other side. Peter was there, as were five rocker-type musicians: long hair, one with dreads, tats, leather, and chains. These guys were definitely being who they were and looked to be winning in their skin. For Jan, the excitement caused her stomach to flutter. It was going to be an interesting night.
“Hello, there.”
“Hey, Peter. Hey, guys.” Jan introduced Lionel. Peter introduced the band and the engineers who sat behind a large mixing board on the other side of the glass, including a young guy, almost twenty-five but looking sixteen with his Buddy Holly-style glasses and shock of red hair. He looked more like a nerd who should be conducting a scientific experiment in a college, not someone producing dope beats and fusing rock with funk. But that’s what Peter said he did, and that he was one of the best.
“Okay, Lionel, if you’ll go in the other room with the engineers and help them out I’ll get Jan set up in her booth. The band is going to be out here. This is one of the best studios in New York. Everyone will blend perfectly.”
“Are we going to rehearse first?”
“Oh yes, my dear. We’re going to rehearse a lot.”
And they did. For hours. Over and over. Take after take. At first, Jan felt a bit dubious about the rock edge that the song had been given, but the more she let loose and went with it, as Peter suggested, the more she liked it. At around midnight, Peter told them to take five.
They did. Jan went to the restroom. Peter began talking as soon as she returned. “Okay, guys. I think we’re ready to do this. Jan, just relax and keep your lips close to the shield. Remember to feel the music, perform the song. Lionel, are you guys ready in there?”
“Ready, boss.”
“All right, then, guys. Let’s make a hit record!”
An hour later, Jan sat on a black leather couch in the general area, sipping a bottle of water, feeling totally happy and incredibly drained. She’d given everything she had, pulled energy from her toes, and left it all in the studio. Hearing the playback was proof that it had been well worth the effort. Once it was mixed and compressed she felt “What I Am” could go toe-to-toe with any
hit out there.
Peter walked into the room. “Jan, how are you feeling? Ready for a good night’s sleep at the hotel?”
“I can’t move. But I guess I need to because I could definitely use a hot shower and a soft bed.”
“You’ll find neither of those here so, come on, up with you.”
With Peter giving her a helping hand, she struggled to her feet. “Thank you. I can’t believe how tired I am. Singing is hard work!”
“Yes, it is. You need to work out to get in better shape, so when we get called out to go on tour, you’ll have the kind of stamina you need on the road.”
“Wow, a tour. Sounds like a dream.”
“One that could become reality. That’s what daydreamers do. We make it happen.”
After gathering her things, she, Peter, and Lionel walked to their cars parked on the street just steps from the studio door. The band had left thirty minutes before. The same driver who’d driven them from the airport was standing by.
She turned and gave Peter a hug. “Thanks for everything. Believing in me, taking a chance on me, pairing me with those crazy knuckleheads you call a band. They’re a great group of musicians who can play their asses off. So thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. Once we get this mastered down I plan to put it on ReverbNation, get some feedback, see what happens.”
“That’s a great idea!”
Jan knew about this platform designed for musicians to showcase their work, network with people in the industry, and where music lovers could find amazing artists not getting radio play. She’d even surfed the site a few times but had never considered it as an avenue for her own success.
“Doesn’t hurt to put it out there. Even though I have friends in the business and am a producer myself, I still use the site as a way to take the temperature of the listening audience. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. One of the bands I’m managing on this tour has done very well over there, kick-started their success, really.”