Rhythms of Love

by Beverly Jenkins; Elaine Overton

  His brown eyes closed briefly as he considered the fact that this room and others like it had been his life for the past five years. This was his familiar world, this was what he knew. Now he was about to undertake something that would forever change that.

  Tristan wasn’t so humble as to not recognize that he was an incredibly gifted musician and vocalist. But how many incredibly gifted musicians had never made it? How many of them had faded into obscurity or lived on the outer fringes of the industry barely scraping by, as everything from backup singers in low-rate commercials to performing on the street? Barely getting by was not an option as far as Tristan was concerned. He would either go all the way or not at all.

  As he walked down the hallway past the main office, the principal, Chad Atchison, came out of the office. Tristan stopped, and the two men stood watching each other for several seconds before Chad finally spoke.

  “Well…this is it, huh?”

  Tristan smiled. “Yep, this is it.”

  “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

  He shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “You know you can always come back. There will always be a job here for you.”

  “Thank you, but if everything goes well, I won’t need it.”

  Chad looked him in the eyes as if to convey the sincerity of his next words. “If you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

  Unable to hold back the emotions, Tristan stepped forward and hugged his godfather. Like Tristan, Chad was a musician. He’d played bass guitar for the former jazz band Montage at the height of their success thirty years ago. The same jazz band that his mother, Katherine, had sung lead for.

  The band had had nominal success in its time, but they’d never really had that one big break that seemed to be the difference between legendary groups and those whose names no one remembered. Now, looking at the man who’d been like a favorite uncle for most of his life, Tristan felt guilty for the thought that crossed his mind. He wondered how often Chad ran into former fans.

  Maybe in the grocery store or at the car wash. “Hey!” the stranger would say. “You look like that guy who used to sing with that group! What was the name…” the stranger would wonder out loud.

  Holding his head up, Chad would quietly answer, “Montage.”

  “Yeah!” the stranger would say with glee, as the brief memory of a different time in his life would flash through his mind. “Yeah! That’s right—Montage. You guys were the jam back in the day!”

  Back in the day, Tristan thought. And although Tristan loved Chad like a favorite uncle, he had absolutely no intention of ending his life as a high-school principal in a small town while his music became nothing more than the random memory of some stranger he ran into on the street.

  But then again, he thought as he continued on down the hall and out the doors of the high school…neither had Chad.

  Later that evening, as he sat beside her at the elegantly decorated dinner table in his sister’s home, Tristan could feel his mother’s eyes on him. They’d always been close, and even as a twenty-four-year-old man, he knew her maternal instincts were alerting her to a change in her son.

  He turned to look at her, and she smiled at him. “What are you up to?”

  Tristan’s eyes widened. “What makes you think I’m up to something?”

  She smirked as she tilted her head. “You have that look in your eyes. That I-know-something-you-don’t look.”

  Tristan laughed. “Maybe I do.”

  Ben Daniels, sitting across from them, had been listening to the conversation. He waited for his son to continue and when Tristan said nothing more, he prompted, “Well?”

  “Well, I’ve made a decision about my music career.”

  “What music career?” Tracy commented as she passed behind his chair, carrying in a casserole tray.

  “That’s exactly my point.” He glanced at his sister. She was starting already. “Up until now, I haven’t really been taking it seriously. I haven’t given it the kind of attention it deserves.”

  “How much attention does it deserve?” Tracy continued, taking a seat beside her husband at the table. “It’s a hobby, and quite frankly a waste of your time and energy.”

  Katherine frowned at her daughter. “I was a professional musician for thirty years, Tracy. Are you saying my life has been a waste of time and energy?”

  Tracy nervously glanced at her mother. “Of course not, Mom. You made a career of it and did very well. I’m talking about Tristan. For years now he’s just been playing in all these little local clubs and bars, traveling all the time from city to city and getting nowhere. Not to mention the cost of all that equipment he’s constantly buying. I mean, what’s the point?”

  “I gave you each a trust fund to provide an income and you are free to spend it on what you want,” Ben said, as he spilled mixed salad onto his plate. “Does anyone complain about the amount of money you spend on those trendy designer clothes you love so?”

  “That’s different, Daddy. I need to buy clothes for work. I’m not only an executive, but the daughter of Ben Daniels. I have a reputation and image to uphold.” She looked to her right where Calvin sat with his full and complete attention focused on the steaming, bubbling lasagna in the casserole bowl sitting before him.

  Realizing he’d missed his prompt, Tracy nudged his shoulder. “Right?”

  Calvin looked up at his wife. “Oh, right, absolutely.”

  Having done his part, he reached for the spatula to begin cutting up the lasagna.

  Tristan simply shook his head, wondering if his brother-in-law would ever develop a spine where his overbearing wife was concerned. Deciding probably not, he turned his attention back to his mother.

  “I’m moving to New York.” Tristan was surprised by how the room exploded in chaos at his five-word announcement. And the person he was certain would be happy for him instead looked troubled.

  Tristan blocked out the others and focused on his mother. “What’s wrong?”

  She forced a smile. “Oh, don’t mind me. I had just hoped you would always remain around here. In Albany, close to your family.”

  “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I won’t be back.”

  She reached over and touched his face. “I know.”

  Tristan reached over and hugged her. His mother had always encouraged his dream. He knew she would stand solidly behind him.

  Continuing to ignore Tracy’s ranting, he then turned his attention to his father who now sat solemn faced. “Well, Dad?” he asked.

  Realizing Tristan was not listening to her, Tracy decided to reach him through their father. “Please, Daddy,” Tracy whined. “Please tell him what a crazy idea this is!”

  “Tracy, this is Tristan’s life—” Calvin started to say, but his wife’s deadly look stopped him in midsentence. Everyone at the table turned to look at the man who almost never spoke out against his wife.

  No one was more surprised than Tristan as he sat staring at his brother-in-law in wide-eyed amazement.

  “He’s my little brother!” Tracy glared at her husband, seeming to have found a new outlet for her rage. “And if I see him making a mess of his life, it’s my duty to set him straight!”

  Moment of bravery over, Calvin bowed his head and returned his attention to the lasagna.

  Ben Daniels stared at his son for several long minutes before he finally nodded. “If this is what you want, son, we’ll help you anyway we can.”

  “You just watch!” Tracy jumped up from her seat and came around the table to stand in front of Tristan. “You are not going to be in town for one week before you’re headed home!”

  Tracy had never been known as having a calm, rational demeanor, but Tristan couldn’t help feeling her anger and hostility was a bit much even for her. “What is your problem, Tracy?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t have a problem. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” For the first time, she sounded sympathetic and he b
elieved that maybe his welfare was her only concern.

  “I appreciate your concern. But this is something I plan to do whether you like it or not.”

  “When are you leaving?” Kate Daniels asked.

  Tristan turned in his mother’s direction and could feel his sister moving away from him as she returned to her seat at the table.

  “Next week. I’m taking the train.”

  Kate took Tristan’s hand in hers. “You know, when my best friend betrayed me it was the worst moment of my life. I didn’t think I would ever want to sing again. Not only because she’d stolen my song, but because I thought she was my friend. I trusted her, I loved her.”

  “I know, Mom.” And Tristan did. From the time they were little, he and Tracy had heard this story of how their mother’s best friend betrayed their mother’s friendship and, in Kate’s opinion, stolen her only shot at stardom.

  Apparently, the two women had grown up together as close as sisters. Both had an interest in entertainment. Monique wanted to be an actress and Kate wanted to sing. As young women they’d moved to the city and shared an apartment. Kate had joined Montage and Monique had begun to take some acting classes with little luck.

  Even though they had been best friends all their lives, Kate had not noticed the warning signs that things were changing. The signs that Monique was growing disillusioned by her lack of success in finding an acting job while Montage was doing more and more shows every week in various venues around the city. Since Kate joined the band they had taken off, and most attributed it to the new style of songs they were singing, songs written by Kate.

  When their big break came, Kate had to share it with Monique, believing her friend would be nothing but happy for her. She told Monique about the big-time talent scout that was coming to hear them play that night. She told her about the new song she’d written just for the agent, and even sang it for Monique. And Monique had pretended to be happy for her until Kate arrived at the club later that night to see Monique already on the stage singing her song!

  Kate had been so stunned by the betrayal she found it hard to even stay on her feet and, with her head still reeling, she plopped down in the closest chair she could find. Her fellow band members had a little more reflexive reaction. Chad had tried to forcibly remove Monique from the stage, which brought the club security into the mix. That was when the other band members jumped into the fray, then the partygoers, and before long it was an all-out brawl.

  By the time she got home that night, Monique and all her possessions were gone. Although Kate never saw Monique again after that night, the full implication of her betrayal would not be realized until three months later when Kate heard her own song being played over the radio. She later found out that Monique had talked to the agent before her performance and told the man she’d written the song, and although the agent barely escaped the nightclub with his life he was so impressed when Monique later contacted him he signed her right away.

  Kate had always considered the night of the bar brawl the night her singing career ended because as word of the fight got around the rumors grew more and more outrageous until no one was willing to book Montage for fear of disaster.

  Kate leaned forward and kissed her son on the cheek. “But despite everything that happened, the music is still with me. Even to this day. It never goes away. I do understand, son. You have to follow your dreams wherever they may lead.”

  Looking into the eyes he loved so much, Tristan smiled. “I knew you would understand.” Tristan also understood that the experiences of that one night had shaped his mother as much as all the success that came before it, and that some part of Kate wanted him to succeed not only for him but for the young songstress whose career died too soon.

  He glanced at his father. “Dad?”

  Ben simply stared at his son for a moment, then with a single nod of his head gave Tristan the blessing he desperately wanted.

  Tracy glanced at each of her parents. “So? That’s it? Just like that he’s headed to New York to become a full-time musician in a city full of professional musicians. Aren’t either of you going to say anything about his obligation to the family? To the business?”

  Ben frowned at his daughter. “Tristan has never wanted to work for the firm. So why should we expect him to now?”

  “I just thought…” Tracy folded her arms across her chest, and pressed her lips together as if fighting back the urge to say something.

  Tristan watched his sister’s tense body language for a second. “Tracy, the firm is doing just fine without me. It always has.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Don’t you think I get it? The firm is your passion, and you want nothing more than to see it succeed. For some reason, you’ve always believed it takes both of us to achieve that, but it doesn’t. You are doing a wonderful job, Tracy. You don’t need me. Now it’s time for me to follow my passion.”

  She turned to look at her little brother, her eyes narrowed on his face, and Tristan was surprised by the water that caused them to glisten with unshed tears. “You just watch,” she hissed through her teeth. “That town is going to eat you alive.”

  Chapter 2

  Tristan had never been so afraid in his life as he stared down the barrel of the small pistol. It was nothing like he’d been told, where your life was supposed to flash before your eyes. How could anything flash before your eyes when they were totally focused on the wide, dark cylinder of a handgun?

  The young man on the other end of the gun watched him with a hawklike intensity and looked only too eager to pull the trigger. Meanwhile, two other thugs were rummaging through his luggage nearby.

  Tristan stood silently, trying not to show fear while he was being held captive in the men’s bathroom of Grand Central Terminal. The fourth thug, who was playing lookout at the door, began to make wild gestures.

  “Hurry up! Hurry up! Security is headed this way!”

  “Just grab everything!” one of the rummaging thugs said to the other as he scooped up two of Tristan’s tote bags, now with clothes hanging out the ends. The other thug grabbed up the other two bags while the teen holding the gun on him narrowed his eyes as if he were considering shooting him.

  “Come on, man!” The other two thugs were long gone and the lookout was calling to the one holding the gun. “Let’s get out of here!”

  With that final warning, he disappeared through the door and the one holding the gun continued to stare at Tristan a moment longer before he finally rushed out the door, as well.

  It had only been a matter of minutes since Tristan had collected his bags from the train and entered this bathroom but it felt like a lifetime.

  He looked down at his hands to see they were still shaking. The young man holding the gun could not have been more than seventeen—maybe eighteen at the most, but the look in his eyes told Tristan he’d killed before and would kill again.

  He hadn’t seen them, not at all. He’d been so involved in getting his luggage and finding a hotel that he was not paying attention to his surroundings and all four had followed him into the bathroom.

  In the back of his mind he wondered what would’ve happened if security had not been actively patrolling the area. He reached down and touched the side of his loafer where he always kept five hundred bucks for emergencies. The kind of emergencies he’d considered were a lost wallet or being locked out of his home or car, not anything like this.

  He took a deep breath to pull himself together and turned to face the mirror. “Welcome to the big city,” he told his reflection. And what a way to start. As much as he hated to admit it, Tracy’s words seemed to be an omen. That town is going to eat you alive.

  He looked away from the man in the mirror, feeling more than just a little mortified by the recent events. A thousand questions were racing through his brain. Should he have fought back? Were there even any bullets in the gun? And the most troubling—had he made the right decision in coming here? If he couldn’t even hold on to his luggage f
or more than a few minutes how was he supposed to wind his way through the sharks of the music business? Or should he just get on the next train headed back to Albany? Just as Tracy had predicted.

  He closed his eyes and could almost see the gloating expression on her face when he called to tell them what had happened. Not to mention his mother’s worried concern. He knew she would plead with him to come home at once.

  He would deal with all that later; right now he just needed to get his credit cards canceled. He started to pull out his cell phone to call for help and then remembered, the thieves had gotten that, too.

  He opened the door and saw the security guard who’d made his attackers nervous leaning against a baluster a few feet away. He glanced around, but as expected the thieves were long gone. He headed toward the guard, deciding that the only way forward was to deal with the things he could and worry about the rest later.

  Three nights later, Tristan was standing at the window of the budget hotel where he’d taken a room using part of his emergency money. He was biding his time, waiting for his credit cards to be replaced as well as his cell phone.

  The smart thing, of course, would’ve been to find the nearest bank and take a withdrawal from his trust fund to hold him over. Right now, he could be resting up in some plush five-star Manhattan hotel. But to his way of thinking, that would’ve been surrendering, and he wasn’t yet ready to surrender. No, he would find a paying gig and live off what he made, just as he’d always done.

  In the end, he’d decided not to tell his family what had happened. But more important, he’d also decided he would not let anything, not even the memory of a pistol in his face, stop him from pursuing his dream. He’d come to New York for his music and he would not leave without giving his music a chance.

  He picked up the newspaper section he’d laid on a nearby table and scanned it quickly, as if expecting something new to magically appear. He’d already read through the entire classified section, circling every ad for guitarist, surprised to find there were so many. But still something was holding him back, something keeping him from actually leaving the hotel room. It wasn’t fear, he was certain of that. Was it self-doubt?