Alligators in the Trees
Page 6
“How you like egg?” Frank was demanding of the attention-shy celebrity when she came to his rescue.
“Well, he managed to eat it, Frank, so I guess we need to give him credit for that,” she said, as she wedged herself between the two men on the pretext of filling Tobias’s nearly full cup.
“Wa credit? No take credit,” Frank protested in his usual semi-hysterical fashion.
“That’s not what I meant. He ate it, so obviously it was fine. You know, I just saw June hang a couple orders. No time to rest on your laurels, Frank. Can’t keep your customers waiting,” Priscilla patiently instructed her employer. She narrowed her eyes to convey the significance of her meaning, but as usual, Frank missed the point.
“I go to kitchen—make more good food,” he said uncertainly.
“That’s right, Frank. Your customers need you in the kitchen more than they do out here.”
“Customers need more good food,” he said nodding. Priscilla nodded along with him. “Oh yes,” he squealed with delight, “must make more good food.” Priscilla let out a sigh of relief as she watched Frank make his way back to his post, only briefly accosting two other diners along the way.
“I assume you’re done with these,” she said to Tobias as she cleared his plates. She caught sight of his lyric-covered placemat, but she carefully averted her eyes this time.
“What was that all about?”
“I don’t know. His leash must’ve snapped. We’ll do our best to see it doesn’t happen again,” she said with exaggerated regret. Tobias chuckled softly.
“He didn’t really bother me. I just couldn’t understand what the hell he was trying to say.”
“Yeah, well, that is a hazard.”
“How do you manage it?” he asked. “I honestly could only make out every fourth or fifth word.”
“That’s not bad for a beginner. Understanding Frank is an acquired skill. In fact, my namesake never quite got the hang of it. Frank tried to tell her one day he liked her hair, and she thought he was firing her. She changed out of her uniform, told him off and marched out the door never to be seen again. I consider her to be one of the lucky ones. Can I get you anything else…Bromoseltzer?…Barf bag…?” Tobias laughed, a sound that was enormously pleasant to Priscilla’s ears.
“No, that’ll do it,” he said. Priscilla was walking away when he stopped her. “One question though, if you don’t mind.”
“I suppose one question a day is permissible,” she said, dishes suspended in one hand while the other rested on her hip.
“Why do you work here?”
Priscilla exhaled deeply. “How can I answer that? I can only assume I have some deep-seated psychological disorder. I mean, who else but a crazy person would prefer working at Frank’s to actually making a living?” Never mind, I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s just say the customers keep me here,” she said facetiously, anxious to escape the spotlight.
The wry smile on Tobias’s face made her acutely self-conscious. She turned her back on him abruptly, intent on the nearest bus tray. She passed Philip’s table, pausing only long enough to inquire if he needed any change. Philip shook his head agreeably, as if her question was one of the nicest things anyone had ever asked him. Priscilla blinked then resumed her charge.
She had been so sidetracked by distractions the last few minutes, she had failed to notice the booth of hungry men who had seated themselves in her section. All five were glaring at her from a distance, their dispositions souring as their impatience grew.
She dropped the plates hastily and grabbed a pot of coffee, an act in itself that was a type of retaliation. “Good morning, gentlemen. I see you’ve had ample time to make your decisions, so what will it be?” she said, filling coffee cups all around. The men rattled off their orders, none willing to let her off the hook yet. She calmly took down their orders and set off to deal with their numerous requests.
Tobias watched this exchange and became inspired by what he witnessed. He flipped over his placemat and continued to watch Priscilla as she flitted around, dishing out abuse to Frank, and his mediocre cooking to her customers. She dealt with everyone quickly, despite her somewhat tardy start with the party of five, and it was hard to imagine someone who lacked Priscilla’s detachment doing her job as well.
Splash of coffee
Clank of change
Keep your fork
It’s not Le Grange
Arms full of plates
Pocket full of tickets
Corn beef hash and
Gravy for your biscuits…
He paused and watched her as she made her way from the cash register to a recently vacated table and back to the pick-up window to collect more hot plates.
Counting quarters, marking time
Scooping tips, stacking dimes
Lousy tips
Should be a crime
Here’s some advice
Don’t be a schmuck
If the check says five
Better leave a buck…
Girls like these
Aren’t hard to please
Skip the small talk
And forget the tease
Save the smiles
And the mild flirtation
They’re not working for
Adoration…
Just leave a big tip, baby
Just give till it hurts
Just empty your wallet, honey
I’ll be your favorite flirt
But show some appreciation
And I don’t mean with words…
Reach deep down in your pocket
Fifteen percent is absurd…
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Lots of taking
Lots of giving
Oh, what the hell
It’s a living…
Tobias smiled to himself, the whole song now alive in his head. He heard the backup singers, the key, the intro, the repeating rhythm, the orchestration, the whole works. It was the first song he had summoned up in its entirety in probably a decade. Sure, it had an openly light-hearted tone, but it still had a core of cynicism.
More importantly, when they were finished with it, it would have the unmistakable sound of a top ten hit—not that that sort of thing had ever mattered to him before, but he supposed that’s what a comeback was all about. It was always the songs he personally liked the least that turned into their big money makers.
He was sure this one would make Brody happy. It was just the kind of ditty he liked to sink his teeth into: lyrics and a basic melody of benign fluff that he could spin with sophisticated guitar licks and fancy arrangements, transforming it from mindless verse to a piece of classic rock.
He glanced down at his watch: quarter to eleven. He never got around to booking some studio time with Brody, despite his promising breakthrough the previous day. No worries, though. Brody was sure to jump at the chance to work on fresh material.
Tobias fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and, as discretely as possible, called Brody’s mobile number.
“Brody,” his erstwhile partner announced after the third ring.
“It’s Tobias.”
“Yeah…?”
The freeze-out, Tobias thought. His punishment for being a bad boy. “I’ve got a bona fide, honest-to-God, guaranteed Billboard climber. Thought you might like to hear it. Your studio or mine?” A rather lengthy pause ensued, in which Tobias wondered if Brody had hung up on him out of spite.
“I’m two minutes from mine,” Brody said at last.
“I’ll meet you there in five.”
He turned the phone back off, just in case his wife or girlfriend tried to track him down. He carefully folded his new lyrics and stowed them in the other pocket. He then located the wad of bills in his pants pocket and peeled off a ten for the check and another ten for a tip. Extravagant, yes, but he owed his waitress a lot more than that. He took one last look at Prisci
lla as she haggled with Frank over an order, then slipped out the front door.
By the time Priscilla turned around, both Philip and Tobias had vanished like a pair of ghosts. All that was left of either one of them were oversize gratuities. She lingered over Tobias Jordan’s table longer than was necessary to wipe it down and rearrange the salt and pepper shakers, replaying their brief conversations in her head. She had to admit that coming in such close contact with her girlhood idol was an unexpected perk of working for Frank.
She picked up the check with the ten-dollar bill on it, and after pocketing the other ten, took the check to the register to ring it up. His check had barely exceeded seven dollars, so she had almost another three bucks to add to her kitty. Not a bad take. Too bad all her customers weren’t so generous. It sure would make her job more bearable if they were.
She grabbed a clean rag and headed for Phil’s table. Breaking his custom, Phil had placed his daily tip not in the folded placemat, but under the water glass. The placemat was folded in half as usual, with the predictable inscription on the outside. Puzzled by his breach of protocol, Priscilla cautiously opened the placemat, leaving it on the table as she examined it.
What she found inside was a caricature easily identified as Philip, proposing various possible outings for the two of them. All around the centrally placed figure, he had sketched out his suggestions: the zoo, complete with monkeys swinging in trees; a movie theater; a pizza parlor; a walk in the park; and a visit to the Statue of Liberty. Across the top, he had written:
The purpose of this is not to ask you out on a date, but rather to extend an invitation to you to accompany me—strictly as a friend—to any venue depicted here, or any other place you might have in mind. And since I’m not asking you on a date, you are under no pressure to give me an answer. Just keep my offer—and my number—in the back of your mind, and should you ever have need of a little non-threatening company, give me a call. Yours sincerely, Philip
Priscilla closed the placemat and looked up to see if anyone had been watching her. She knew this turn of events had been inevitable, so why had it come as such an unwelcome surprise? She snatched the twenty from under the water glass and shoved it into her apron pocket. Well, she knew it would come to an end sooner or later, and she really had had an amazing run with Phil—thirty-three hundred bucks worth, to be exact. So why did she feel so let down?
Priscilla finished out her day in a daze. She didn’t know how the totally uncomplicated job of being a waitress in a coffee shop could become so confusing. Why, for example, did Philip—she didn’t even know his last name—suddenly materialize eight months ago, only to spoil her with outrageous gratuities and undeserved admiration? What made him think she’d have any interest in dating one of her patrons, or more to the point, what made him remotely interested in someone like her?
As if all that wasn’t perplexing enough, she now had the sneaking suspicion that something was up with Tobias Jordan, reclusive rock star extraordinaire. One day he looks as if he wants to rip her head off, the very next day he’s back, all smiles. It didn’t make sense.
Priscilla shivered all the way home, for the warm, beautiful spring-like weather had retreated, along with all semblance of sanity. Nothing made sense anymore, not even the stuff that was too banal to matter.
Six
Tobias paced in front of Brody’s building for fifteen minutes before his partner showed up. He could have waited in the lobby, but he was too keyed up to just sit there. He should have known that Brody would dawdle, if for no other reason than to pay him back for failing to show up for several studio sessions. It was just like Brody to seek retribution rather than make the most of their opportunity. He always was the petty one.
Tobias was about ready to walk away from the whole idea of reviving their band when he spotted Brody’s lumbering frame on the opposite side of the street. During their hiatus, Brody had transformed his blubbery hulk into that of a muscle-bound fitness freak. And with the old physique went the sloppy, baggy clothes, the wire-rim glasses and the lank, greasy hair. If you didn’t know him, you’d never guess in a hundred years what his vocation was. Even Tobias hadn’t recognized him until he noticed Brody’s distinctive lurch.
But as Tobias decided to swallow his irritation at having to wait so long in favor of starting out on the right note, he realized Brody was not alone. Stepping double time to keep pace with him was a petite blonde in her early thirties. It galled him anew that Brody would bring his chippie along, especially since Tobias had been quite specific about the potential of the piece he had to offer.
“Hey, man—hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Brody said as he slowed to a halt in front of his apartment building.
“Only fifteen minutes,” Tobias replied coldly.
“This is Roberta. You don’t mind if she hangs out, do you?” Brody asked, oblivious to Tobias’s growing agitation.
“Actually—”
“I’ll be as quiet as a ghost,” Roberta said pleasantly, swishing playfully beneath her fur-trimmed coat. Tobias caught a glimpse of her silk slip of a dress and the knee-high suede boots, as she smiled admiringly up at her giant beau. With her long, straight locks and her rather colorful eye makeup, she was a flawless flashback to the late seventies groupies who had flocked around them like fame-seeking moths back in the band’s early days.
Tobias automatically downgraded Brody’s progress; apparently, all the changes had been to his exterior. At least Tobias had kept up with the times; these days no self-respecting rocker of any importance dated less notable girls than supermodels or actresses.
As if the question of Roberta’s presence had been settled, Brody ushered them past the concierge and into the elevator, where Tobias brooded over his mounting grievances. But once they entered Brody’s state-of-the-art studio, the inspiration that had caused Tobias to initiate this meeting began to flare again.
Good to her word, Roberta made herself invisible, blending in with the furniture and freeing Tobias’s mind from external static. In no time he had conjured up the tune that had come to him only an hour earlier—fresh, crisp, but still full of their characteristically moody sound. After Tobias had worked out the basic melody, Brody joined in on the bass, adding the driving pulse to Tobias’s bright organ chords.
Tobias listened as Brody played with an intro, then switched to the Kurzweil for added instrumentation. He set the drums to a steady background beat and added a little slide guitar to the end of each of Brody’s passages. Laughing, they started from the beginning, this time with Tobias singing the lyrics he had written. He could tell by the expression on Brody’s face that he got a kick out of them. His improvised riffs between stanzas proved it. If Brody was already enthusiastic at this stage, Tobias was certain it was going to be a winner.
They worked from noon till half past six without stopping except to wet their whistles. By the time they finished, both men were as tired as if they had just given ten back-to-back performances. They each slumped over their instruments, exhausted.
“I’m beginning to remember why we gave this up,” Tobias said as Brody handed him a beer from the mini fridge. “We’re not exactly kids anymore.”
Brody laughed and drank his beer in one long, noisy gulp. He waited for the inevitable belch before commenting. “You’re just a little out of practice, man. Me, I’m not even at my peak yet,” Brody said, flexing his new and improved biceps. Tobias decided the only thing worse than a slob was a reformed slob, for they never tired of bragging about their virtuous new selves. He winced as Brody patted his washboard stomach with one hand and gave Roberta a squeeze with the other.
“Man, I gotta tell you, I was beginning to have my doubts about you. But I must admit I was wrong. You haven’t lost your touch. This song’s still rough, but I think we can finesse it into something quite nice.”
Tobias took another drink of his beer, too tired to challenge Brody on the state of their latest effort. They had made remarkable progress, conside
ring this tune didn’t even exist until a few hours ago. A couple more days of studio spit and polish and they’d have it down. And not to be petty, but Brody’s contribution had been minimal, as usual.
Tobias laughed bitterly at himself, for even though a decade had passed since Brody and he had called it quits, they had managed to pick up exactly where they had left off. Sure, the publicized version of the breakup cited their individual desires to pursue different avenues of their art, but in reality, the reason they disbanded was due to a growing resentment between the two men. Tobias had resented the fact that he contributed far more creatively than his partner, and Brody resented the insinuation that he was hanging on to Tobias’s coattails.
Plus, there were other factors that added to the over-all disharmony—lifestyle preferences, mostly. Before the split, Brody was becoming increasingly content to lock himself in the studio, growing fatter and more slovenly with each passing day, whereas Tobias was hell-bent on cramming the antics of seven playboys into one lifetime.
Brody felt alienated by Tobias’s divided attention; the bond of creating music had been all that supported Brody’s existence up to that point. After all, a career in music had been his life’s objective. It was he who had attended the Eastman School of Music for three years, gaining the musical background and ability to turn Tobias’s crudely executed numbers into rock masterpieces. Underneath everything, it still rankled him that Tobias had been given such extraordinary talents, without ever being enslaved by gnawing ambition.
Even though Absent Among Us was Brody’s lifeline, it was he who had initiated the breakup. He had used the tactic as a threat, a way to reel in Tobias and force him to see he was neglecting the very thing that had brought him the fame and money and all those babes in the first place.
Ironically, it was when his ploy backfired that Brody underwent the positive change that led to a more satisfying life. True, he didn’t have much in the way of a musical outlet anymore, aside from producing the odd garage band and the occasional studio work that came his way. Tobias, on the other hand, had been so cocky and sure of his abilities that he marched off into a solo career, only to fall flat on his face.