Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers

by Michael Scott Miller

  Charlie told Mark the history of the Redeemers, and then Mark filled Charlie in on all that had transpired in his life since the days when they’d worked together in Las Vegas. They hadn’t known one another well, their time at the bar overlapping by only a few months, but Charlie had spent enough time there in between and after sets that the two had some conversational history.

  Mark downed the last of his beer. “Listen,” Mark said, “I’ve got to get going. I have an early flight tomorrow, but here’s my card. If you’re ever back in Vegas, look me up. And by the way, you guys have a really bright future ahead of you. Hell, I’d love to get my hands on you guys.” He smiled broadly. “Do you have a business card?”

  Charlie dug into his pocket for one of Bert’s cards and handed it to Mark. The two shook again and Mark disappeared into the crowd, heading for the exit.

  Charlie suddenly found Bert alongside him. Bert had been watching the scene and observed the business card exchange.

  “Who was that you were talking to?” he asked.

  Charlie explained.

  Bert’s eyes widened. “And you got his card?” he asked excitedly.

  “Yes,” Charlie answered slowly, “but why is that important?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” said Bert. “But you never know when someone will be of some use, especially someone in that type of position.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I suppose so, but I couldn’t see us playing Vegas. What would we do, open for Charo?” He laughed.

  Bert was deep in thought and gave a reflexive chuckle, but didn’t answer.

  * * *

  It turned out that Bert didn’t have to spend much time figuring out how to make use of Charlie’s chance meeting with the former bartender. On the Wednesday following the Friday night performance, Bert received an unexpected call from Mark Tomlinson, who said he was calling to discuss an opportunity.

  Bert felt his heart rate quicken, but he tried to relax by telling himself that this call could amount to nothing.

  “You probably know that I saw the Redeemers play in Los Angeles,” Mark went on. “You guys were brilliant. Really. I can’t remember the last time I was struck so immediately and so powerfully by a band.”

  “That’s very flattering,” replied Bert. “We like to consider ourselves set apart from all other bands.”

  “And that’s why I’m calling. We’d like to bring your unique style of music up here to Las Vegas.”

  “What are you thinking specifically? Are we talking about a lounge act?”

  “No, of course not,” Mark answered. “You’re way better than that. We’ve got a musical review that runs five nights a week here, Sunday through Thursday nights, and we thought it would be great for you to be the opener for it. And that’s not all. A number of the marquee performers we get here--you know, singers, comedians, whatever--don’t have opening acts touring with them. You would get to open for them on some Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “Wow!” escaped Bert’s mouth. Then, catching himself, he said more casually, “That sounds like quite an offer so far. And what are we talking about financially?”

  “We can offer you $1,000 per show on the weeknights and $3,000 per show for any performance as an opener for one of the name entertainers.”

  Those weren’t world-beating numbers, but they were the biggest numbers Bert had heard in a long, long time. He decided to press it a little. “What about accommodations? Is there anything you can do for us in terms of housing?”

  “Sure. We own some rental properties away from the strip. I’m sure we could put you up there for as long as you’re playing at the hotel.”

  Bert felt as though he could hear the blood pumping through his veins. He thanked Mark for the offer and said that that he would get back to him, but that it sounded exciting.

  Now he needed to roll the pros and cons around in his mind. On the one hand, Mark’s offer represented steady work in a major town. That was a big plus. And the frank reality that Bert had avoided contemplating now entered his mind. The band was on a collision course with bankruptcy. While it was nice to be drawing income from the performances at The Crossroads, the money wasn’t enough to offset the living expenses in Los Angeles, and the deficit was creating a steady drain on Bert’s limited savings.

  He had brought the band to L.A. to quickly win over the record companies, not to have an extended stay playing in a bar. True, The Crossroads had given the band a big boost, and under normal circumstances, it would have been an extremely welcome entrée into the L.A. music scene. But these circumstances were anything but normal. There were too many disparate personalities, too much restlessness, and too much infighting to hold the band together through a long slow haul. Without a change of scenery, the band could unravel. And it sure would be good to extricate Charlie from the grip of Los Angeles.

  On the other hand, Los Angeles offered endless possibilities, and what could be better than L.A. for an aspiring band? Yet, it was easy to get lost here, and Bert’s psyche had taken some not insignificant punishment.

  And what about Las Vegas, the city of glitz, excess, and decadence? Is that where the band should be? What kind of opportunities might that create? And how would the band react, especially Charlie?

  These questions roiled him, attacking his thoughts in rapid succession until, in the end, he went with his instincts, which told him to get the hell out of L.A. Even if Las Vegas turned out to be a dead end, at a minimum, Bert could sock away enough money to finance the band’s next move.

  He decided to float the idea by Charlie over the weekend. If nothing else, the conversation would draw the proverbial line in the sand, forcing Charlie to choose one side or the other.

  * * *

  “Aren’t you excited, Charlie?” Bert asked after telling him the news.

  “I can’t go back to Vegas, Bert. You know that.”

  Bert recalled the story Charlie had told him when they first met about Charlie’s gambling addiction.

  “C’mon. That was a long time ago. You’re beyond all that. You’ve proven it to yourself all these years in San Francisco.”

  “I don’t know about that. I haven’t faced that kind of temptation. Look at me. I’m shaking just talking to you about it. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “You’ve got to believe in yourself and believe in the band. We need to do what’s best for the band.” Bert wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulder. “Besides, you know I’ll watch out for you.”

  Charlie forced a smile. “Sure, but with all due respect, your track record isn’t so great either. Besides, I kind of like it here. For the first time in a long time, I’m somebody.”

  “I know you’ve made some friends here. But you’ll make friends in Las Vegas too.”

  “It’s not the same, Bert. I’ve found my niche here. I’ve got a band. I’ve got friends. I’m having the time of my life. Let’s just stay here for awhile.”

  “We can’t stay, Charlie. It’s time for us to move on.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I’m not ready to move on. Don’t you see? I mean, I love you like a brother, Bert. I really do. But the rest of the guys in the band are just my band mates. I’ve got something special here. I’ve never been part of the ‘in crowd’ before. I’ve never been this accepted for just being me.”

  “Are you saying you would leave the band if we went to Las Vegas?” Bert asked, his heart pounding. “You can’t mean that, Charlie. After all we’ve been through?”

  “Don’t make me choose, Bert. Please.”

  “I’m afraid you have to,” Bert replied.

  A painful sadness raced through Bert as he waited for the answer and then listened to words he hoped to never hear.

  “It’s nothing personal, Bert. I owe a lot to you. And to the others. But I’ve got too many relationships here to go anywhere now.”

  “Hollow ones,” said Bert flatly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie asked.

  “C’mon,
Charlie,” said Bert. “You know there’s more to life than staying out late, picking up woman, and drinking.”

  “You’re jealous! That’s it, isn’t it?” said Charlie with a sudden look of realization spreading across his face.

  Bert thought for a moment about how to answer the tricky question. “Yes, that’s true. I’ll admit it. But that has nothing to do with this. You’ve never seen me do anything that wasn’t in the best interest of the band and in the best interest of each of you. I just don’t want to see you throw your life away again.”

  Charlie flushed with anger. “You don’t need to take care of me. You’re not my father, you know.” He paused, calming himself. Then he spoke very directly. “I want to stay in L.A.”

  Bert saw that further discussion on this topic would not do either of them any good. Not today, anyway.

  “I think you need some time to evaluate your priorities,” Bert said gently. He left Charlie to his thoughts.

  * * *

  Come Monday, Bert had arrived at a decision. He pushed the conversation with Charlie aside in his mind as he addressed the Redeemers, save for the renegade saxophone player, in the shared room in the hostel that afternoon. “Gather ’round! I’ve got some exciting news!”

  Ethan looked up from the magazine he was reading on his cot and sat up, throwing his legs over the side. Abe took off his headphones and propped himself up on his bed. Dave, Aaron, and Gene, who were playing cards at the room’s lone table, placed their hands face down in front of themselves.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve been discovered!” opened Bert with a flourish. “I received a phone call from the entertainment director at the Emerald City Hotel in Las Vegas. He saw us play here and he’s offered us a regular schedule there. What do you think?”

  “Live from the Coconut Lounge, it’s the Redeemers! Please remember to tip your waitresses,” said Ethan.

  “Ha, ha. That’s funny,” replied Bert, brushing aside the sarcasm.

  “Seriously, Bert,” said Aaron, “isn’t Las Vegas where rock bands go on their way down?”

  “So we’ll play there on the way up and the way down,” laughed Bert uneasily. He had known this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. As their manager, he could probably force them to Las Vegas, but he knew that was a dangerous game. It would be appreciably more effective to get their buy-in.

  “What’s the deal?” asked Abe.

  Bert explained Mark’s offer. He told them that while Las Vegas wasn’t traditionally a breeding ground for new acts, it did afford the band the opportunity to perform before a broad array of influential people, as well as connect with promoters from other musical acts. He also told them his concern that L.A. was going to tear them apart.

  The Redeemers’ mixed feelings were quickly apparent. They were animatedly talking over one another, splitting into side conversations, stopping abruptly to hear one another whenever it seemed like someone had a particularly insightful thought on the prospect, and then talking over one another again.

  Bert then added the kicker. “By the way, Mark also offered to put us up in one of his rental properties.”

  “Count me in, baby!” exclaimed Abe. “Anything to get out of this shithole. Do I get my own room?” Bert knew that Abe had lived in squalor for most of his life. As the years passed by, his existence had become little more than an exercise in survival – earn a little money for food and shelter, eat, sleep, wake up, and do it again. For him, creature comforts now reigned.

  “I think so,” said Bert. “I don’t have all the specifics yet.”

  “Let’s not be foolish,” cautioned Aaron. “We can’t decide what our best path to success is based on our living accommodations.”

  “I think we’ve got to factor that in, man,” said Abe. “How long are any of us going to tolerate living in some tiny room with six roommates? None of us needs to be at the Ritz. I mean, that’s not what we’re about. But we’ve got to have some basic human needs met, and a little living space and privacy are the most basic of basics. There are going to be trade-offs along our way and this is one I’m willing to make.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ethan, not contentiously, but thoughtfully. “I hear you, Abe, but Los Angeles versus Las Vegas? I mean, come on!”

  “What about Charlie?” asked Dave suddenly. All other conversation halted.

  Bert grew somber. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure that he would go with us.”

  “We wouldn’t just leave him here, would we?” asked Dave, beginning to assess the dilemma pragmatically.

  “Well, I can’t force him to come,” answered Bert. “He has to make his own choices.”

  “I can’t imagine Charlie not being with us,” Dave replied, as much to himself as to anyone. “We’ve been through so much together--courting Ethan at Berkeley, rescuing Gene from the old folks’ home. We’ve come too far together to cast him aside.

  “It’s not about his saxophone playing,” Dave continued, head in his hands now. “In a lot of ways, Charlie has held us together. I, for one, am not ready to let go.”

  Everyone’s eyes were still on Dave, so he went on. “I don’t know. This just doesn’t feel right to me. I mean, we’ve been like family these last months.”

  “I say screw him,” blurted Abe. “He doesn’t care anything about us anymore, just his posse.” Abe’s emotional scaffolding was firmly in place. “If Charlie doesn’t care about me, then I don’t care about Charlie. No let downs. No sadness. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.”

  “Your thoughts, Ethan?” Bert asked, turning to the guitar player.

  Ethan looked surprised to be put on the spot. “Uh, well,” he stammered, searching for the right thing to say. “I think you all know that I could have left Charlie behind long ago. But I have to admit, the Redeemers wouldn’t be the same without him. He’s a key member of this band.” He paused and looked contritely from member to member. “Each of us is.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m with Abe,” said Aaron.

  All faces turned abruptly toward the drummer, who was typically the most easy-going member of the troupe.

  “He’s hurt us,” Aaron continued with a tear building in the corner of his eye. “He clearly has no time for us, so I don’t see why we should have the time for him.” He choked back tears. “I just wish things were back the way they were before we got here.”

  Bert watched as Aaron, the most fragile of the Redeemers, ranted like a bitter child. “The band had been going great. I was having the time of my life. Why did Charlie have to go and spoil everything?” He was talking to no one in particular.

  Bert had seen this tempest brewing over these past few weeks, as Aaron felt spurned, vainly reaching out to Charlie on those rare moments when Charlie was around. But Charlie had become economical with his words to Aaron and to the others -- a grunt here, a nod there, like he was barely listening.

  Gene approached Aaron and rested a paternal hand on his shoulder. “You can’t will things to be the way you want them to be,” he said. He then looked at the others. “Adversity can motivate or destroy, depending upon the mettle of the man. I believe that we will soon need to choose down which path we let it lead us.”

  Silence filled the room. Eventually, Bert spoke. “Look, everyone. We don’t need to decide this immediately. Give it some thought and we’ll talk more in a couple of days.”

  * * *

  A surprise guest showed up at the Friday night show at The Crossroads. Off to the band’s right, about halfway toward the back of the room, Bert spotted Edgar James, sitting and sipping a drink.

  Bert made eye contact with him, but waited until the performance was over before walking to the table. It would have been too loud to have a conversation before then anyway. The two shook hands, and Edgar gestured for Bert to sit down across from him.

  Bert said jokingly, “I didn’t realize you were still part of the bar scene.”

  “No, unfortunately, my barfly days are well behind me. But my brother-in-law ke
pt hounding me about some band that I just had to see. He said something about my referring the band to him.” Edgar’s coyness triggered Bert’s radar.

  “Uh huh. And what did you think of this band?” asked Bert.

  “Needs a little work,” answered Edgar, with faux disinterest.

  Bert continued to look at Edgar, waiting for the next move.

  “Actually, Bert, I was quite impressed. Your boys have a fun, up-tempo sound. Not quite polished, but plenty of energy and creativity.”

  “Thanks. It was nice of you to come see us play,” responded Bert cautiously.

  “Let me cut to the chase. I was doing some thinking while your boys were playing and I’ve got a proposal for you.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I’m still not sure what we have here, but I’d like to get the Redeemers on the L.A. club circuit and see how the crowds respond.”

  “That sounds great!” Bert grinned.

  “Yes, well, there’s one issue that would need to be resolved,” said Edgar, his facial expression becoming frank. “I think we both know that you’ve taken this band as far as you can. Not to take anything away from you. Hats off to the job you’ve done. But I think the band needs a professional’s touch. Someone who can take them to the next level. I have a guy--”

  So that was the game, thought Bert. Well, Edgar wasn’t going to do this to him again. Bert cut him off hastily. “We’re not interested,” he said tightly. “You can take your offer and shove--”

  “Careful, Bert. You never want to burn bridges in this industry. Besides, we’d compensate you well. Think about it. You deserve something for all the work you’ve done. We would just be buying the rights to the band from you.”

  A rush of hostility coursed through Bert’s veins. He raised his voice and looked Edgar dead in the eye. “Whatever your offer is, I don’t want it,” he said, slowly articulating each word. “You’re not going to bully me out this time. We can make it without you.”

  Bert rose and had started to walk away when Edgar shouted to him, “You’re only thinking about yourself. What would the band say to my offer?”