by Judy Clemens
“How’d you find me?” he asked, after a while.
“Tonya Copper. I called her to see if anyone in the band had talked to you, and she figured you were probably here. Said you and Genna came here a few times.”
He looked at the ground between his feet, reached down to pick up a pebble, and tossed it into the water. “I don’t know how she knew that.”
“Genna told her.”
Jordan’s head jerked up. “Really?”
“Apparently Genna was feeling…conflicted.”
He let out a short laugh. “Conflicted.”
“She needed someone to talk to. The times the two of you came here were special to her. And confusing.”
His mouth twitched, and he looked away from me, toward two moms with strollers.
“The band seems like a pretty close-knit group,” I said, when it was obvious he wasn’t going to offer anything else.
He nodded. “They are. The three original guys who are left, anyway. After all, they’ve been together, what? Fifteen years, maybe. Since high school.”
“Really?”
“Yup. All Philly kids. Public school. Somehow they recognized each other as musicians and got together. Been together ever since.”
“What about Parker?”
“He was with them from the beginning, too. But of course he left the band last year.”
I sat forward, leaning on my hands. “What’s the deal with the switch of drummers? From your perspective?”
He shrugged. “Parker was ready to try something new. He was tired of being a drummer. The only way to get ahead in the music business is to be the one writing the songs, and drummers don’t usually get that chance.”
“How come?”
“Don’t know. Just the way it is. And with the Tom Copper Band…”
“What?”
“Everyone knows Tom’s the songwriter.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, the others have written a couple here and there, but the big hits, the ones everyone knows, those are Tom’s.”
I stared out at the water while a goose landed in the river, splashing as it hit. The band—Tom—hadn’t mentioned the songwriting bit the other day when I’d been asking them about Parker’s change of career.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“You mean about Parker leaving?”
“Yeah.”
He got up, walked to a trash can to dump his bread bag, and came back, standing with his back to me, looking at the river. “There was tension in the band about some accident they’d had. I don’t know a whole lot about it, but I think it played into Parker quitting.”
“Why?”
He squatted down, found a flat rock, and skipped it out on the water. “Parker was the driver, I guess. Fell asleep at the wheel one night on tour. Miraculously everyone was okay except Tom, who got thrown through the windshield and ended up with a damaged leg. Actually had a ballpoint pen jammed into his thigh.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. He was on crutches the next several months and ended up addicted to painkillers. Had to go through rehab to get clean before they could resume touring at a regular clip.”
“Wow. I can see why there would be some issues.”
He spun another rock across the water. “They’re pretty much over it now. Parker comes by once in a while, and everybody seems to be okay with it.”
I remembered the atmosphere backstage before the concert, with the good-natured ribbing. At least I’d assumed it was good-natured.
“How about the others?” I asked. “LeRoy and Donny? They get along with Tom okay?”
“Everyone does. He’s a great guy.”
“No clashes?”
He jostled a couple of rocks in his hands. “Not that I’ve seen. LeRoy’s a devout Christian and church-goer, which makes for some interesting conversation and schedule-juggling, but they’re all sensitive to it. It’s rare to have someone religious in a rock band, but it works.”
“And Donny?”
“Donny just sort of goes with the flow. Real laid back.”
But I’d seen fire in his eyes on Monday at Tom’s place when Ricky was putting on his show of grief. And his expression when he’d reached to comfort Tonya, only to be beaten out by Tom. Her husband.
“What’s the history with Donny and Tonya?”
Jordan shrugged. “Didn’t know there was any.” His face held no sign that he was lying. “Why?”
“Just curious. What about with Ricky? Donny get along with him?”
He glanced at me, his face closing. “They all tolerate Ricky.”
I shook my head. “But why? They could get another drummer. They’re the Tom Copper Band.”
Jordan lobbed a few last rocks into the river and looked at his watch. “I should probably get to rehearsal. You feel good enough about my well-being you can give Ma a report?”
I stood up. “How ’bout I give you a lift to practice?”
He sighed, resignation flooding his face. “You won’t just leave me alone?”
I smiled.
“I was afraid of that,” he said.
Chapter Fourteen
“I don’t really have to be here,” Jordan said. “But I often pop in on rehearsals because they have questions, and…” His voice trailed off, but I finished the sentence in my head: …it was where he got to be with Genna.
“We rehearse at Club Independence sometimes,” he continued, with a tour guide’s forced energy, “but Mann’s often got a gig going, so we end up here. This week nobody wanted to go back to the Club, so we were lucky to get a time slot here at such short notice.”
The warehouse-turned-practice-space we stepped into had signs pointing to a theater on the upper level, but the current show ran Wednesday through Sunday, so the band’s music wouldn’t disturb any patrons of the quieter arts. And the music I heard coming from the inner room would disturb just about anybody.
Jordan winced at the discordant clashing, and we hesitated at the door.
“Sure you want to go in?” I asked.
His jaw tightened, and he slowly walked into the room.
“Okay,” Tom Copper was saying quietly. “We need to try that again.”
Ricky, who sat behind his drum set in a white sleeveless undershirt, rolled his eyes. “Come on, Copper. How many times we gonna do this?”
Tom turned slowly toward the drummer. “Until we get it right. All of us.”
Jordan sucked in a quick breath, and I followed his eyes. Marley, the dark-haired groupie girl from Ricky’s inner circle, stood at a microphone, her eyes red from what I assumed had been crying. I remembered Tom saying she would probably fill in for Genna until they found someone else, and it looked like that’s what they were testing today. I also remembered Tonya Copper’s reaction to the idea of Marley as the female singer. It was anything but positive. I’d think an audience’s reaction wouldn’t be much better, the way it had sounded.
Donny and LeRoy noticed us in the doorway, but acknowledged us only by jerks of their chins. Tom was speaking directly to Ricky, in a voice that didn’t carry. From the way Ricky was glaring I figured it wasn’t good.
Jordan touched my elbow and scooted along the wall toward some chairs. I followed, surprised to see Parker, the band’s old drummer. His chair was tilted back against the wall, the front two legs in the air while he rested his feet on a wooden crate. He was watching Tom and Ricky with an amused expression, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest. He nodded at Jordan, and then at me, but went back to observing the band.
“Okay,” Tom said, turning away from Ricky. “Here we go.”
A smooth riff from Donny led them into the beginning of a song I didn’t recognize. Probably a new one they didn’t get to perform on Friday because of the bomb threat. Tom began counting out loud, leaning toward Marley, and she started to sing. It must’ve been the right place, because Tom went back to his mic and concentrate
d on guitar.
Marley didn’t sound half bad that time. Wasn’t Genna, obviously, but closer to good than she had been when we’d arrived.
I glanced beside me as the neighboring chair shifted, and Annie gave me a quick smile. I looked at Jordan, but he was immersed in the music—or in trying to forget that Genna should’ve been up there singing.
When the song ended, the tension in the room was heavy. Everyone looked at Tom, who stood with his hands still on his guitar.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s take five.”
The reflexive sigh from the band was loud enough to be heard, and the crisis was averted. For the moment.
“You here to help out?” I asked Annie.
She looked up at me, crossing one leg over the other. “Not really. I mean, I’ll help if they need me, but they usually don’t. Not for rehearsals.”
“So you’re just hanging out?”
She swung her foot back and forth. “Yeah. With Marley practicing and all…”
She broke off as Jordan got up from his chair and walked across the room to confer with LeRoy about something. They bent over to look at LeRoy’s amp, their voices lost in the chatter of the rest of the band.
I looked back at Annie, remembering my suspicions about her and the bomb in the sound system.
“So how’d you get involved with the band?” I asked.
“Huh?” She swung her head toward me.
“The band? How’d you start hanging around with them?”
“Oh, I’m not sure, exactly. Marley was a fan, and started following the guys around, going to every concert she could, waiting afterwards to try to… Well, to see the guys.” Her eyes flicked up at me.
“You don’t have to spell it out,” I said.
She squirmed.
“Which guys were interested?” I asked.
She let out a quick laugh. “None of them, really. Tom’s married, you know, which I guess wouldn’t stop everybody, but his wife’s at all the shows. LeRoy’s too religious, and Donny… Well, I’m not sure about Donny.”
Allison, the girl at the bridal shop, knew more about Donny’s tattoos than the casual observer, which made me think Donny hadn’t always turned down female attention. But that was several years before.
“How about Ricky?” I asked.
“Ricky?” Annie looked surprised. “He was with Genna.”
Like that would matter to a turd like Ricky. But I’d let the girl have her fantasies.
“You two kept hanging around anyway?”
Annie lifted a shoulder. “It was fun, talking to the guys about the music. I felt funny just doing the groupie thing, though, so I started finding little stuff to do. Jordan had me help sometimes, and that was fun. I’ve even thought about going back to school for it.”
“Sound stuff?”
“Yeah. There are theaters here in Philly, too, where you can find work.”
The band began drifting back into the practice area, and I watched Ricky saunter behind his drum set.
“So do you know how Ricky got in with the band?” I asked. “After Parker left?”
Her foot began swinging again, and I moved my leg so I wouldn’t get whacked.
“I really don’t know. By the time Marley and I started hanging around with the band Ricky was already in it. So I never heard the inside scoop.”
I watched her face, tight and closed, and wondered why she was lying, because I was sure she was.
“Okay, Marley,” Tom said, back in his spot. “Let’s try ‘Lust on Ice,’ see how you do with that one.”
Marley shuffled up to the microphone, her usual sexy bravado hidden behind self-consciousness and sniffles. I couldn’t help but wonder why Tom was even giving the girl a chance. She was obviously no professional. Was it simply the fact that they needed someone immediately—like for Lucy’s wedding? Or that a good female singer really is hard to come by? I couldn’t imagine that finding one better than Marley would be too difficult.
Ricky clacked his sticks together and the song began. I knew it well enough I could mouth the words, even with Marley’s uninspired performance.
The night is cold
And so’s my heart
It’s always numb
When we’re apart
To be your girl
I pay the price
You always keep
My lust on ice.
I stole a glance at Jordan, who had taken a seat over by LeRoy. His eyes were hooded as he watched Marley, and I was shocked by the disgust I saw in his face. I thought Marley was an embarrassment to my gender the way she threw herself around, but she wasn’t the only one who’d ever done it. I wondered if it was merely the fact that she was trying to replace Genna, or if there was something else behind Jordan’s sneer.
The song wrapped up, and again we watched Tom. He obviously wasn’t thrilled, but Marley had gotten through the song without crashing and burning, even if it wasn’t up to Genna’s quality.
“Pretty good,” Tom said.
Marley’s shoulders relaxed, if only a quarter of an inch.
“Let’s do it again to be sure.”
Ricky’s mouth opened, but Donny threw him such a violent look the drummer shut up without a peep.
The song went a little better the second time, and Tom actually complimented Marley. “You worked hard today. I know it’s not easy trying to fill in for somebody else. Thanks for helping us out.”
Red crept up Marley’s neck, and I was half afraid she was going to faint. She overcame it in a minute, and Annie joined her on the other side of the room.
“Now,” Tom said to the guys, “I want to hit ‘Expressway’ before we stop.”
Another new one, I guessed, since I’d never heard of it.
They started roughly, and repeated the beginning a few times before going on to the rest of the song. They stopped so many times to fix things I felt trapped in a disturbing déjà vu cycle. I decided to look for a bathroom.
I went out the closest door, the one Jordan and I had come in, and walked around the hallway, past the door on the other side of the room, close to where Marley and Annie were sitting. I found a ladies room in the back of the warehouse, and was using it when the outer door opened and a couple of people walked in.
“I’m telling you,” someone said. It sounded like Annie. “Ricky better get his act together or Tom’s gonna kick him out for sure, now that Genna’s not around to mediate.”
“He wouldn’t,” the other person said. Marley. “Ricky’s so awesome. And he has some songs for the band to do. You should hear them. They’re amazing.”
A stall door a few down from me squeaked open and shut, and a lock turned. “They’re not going to do his songs.” Annie. “I mean, they didn’t even do Parker’s, and he was with them for years.”
A sniff from Marley. “I’m sure Ricky’s are lots better.”
Annie made a loud production of unrolling toilet paper. “What is it with you and Ricky? You think you have to take Genna’s place there, too?”
Marley made a sound of protest. “I’m not… Well, he is hot, you know. And he’s a great musician. Besides, we’ve been…well…you know…the last couple months, anyway.”
I tried not to breathe into the shocked silence.
“I can’t believe you did that.” Annie’s voice squeaked. “You could’ve screwed up everything if Genna had found out. She would’ve had him kicked out of the band. And you’d be gone for sure.”
“Which means you would be, too,” Marley said, her voice mean.
No reply from Annie, except rustling and the sound of her zipper. “He doesn’t really like you, you know,” Annie finally said. “I heard him yelling at you backstage at the concert. He said he was going to wring your neck.”
My mouth fell open. He’d been talking to Marley?
“He didn’t mean it,” Marley said. “And he feels different now. In a day or so he won�
��t care if I French kiss him in front of the guys, let alone put my hand on his knee, like he was complaining about.”
Silence.
“I don’t care what you think,” Marley added.
The toilet flushed and the stall door swung open again. “Whether you care or not, you’d better tell Ricky to start treating Tom with a little more respect or he’s going to be out of a job. You know they only put up with him because of Genna. Heck, he only got the job because of Genna. You remember.”
So she had been lying when she’d said she didn’t know how he got hired.
Water splashed in the sink.
“Well,” Marley said, “now that I’m going to be their female singer maybe I’ll have some say in the matter.”
Yeah. And I was going to sprout wings and fly back to the farm.
The outer door creaked open and shut and I was left alone.
On the way back to the rehearsal room I could tell things weren’t going well. Instead of music, I heard yelling. I walked to the door I’d left, and peeked around the jamb.
“It’s you,” Ricky was saying. “Not me. Don’t keep fucking pointing at me.”
“Oh, it’s our fault you keep losing the beat during the refrain?” Donny said. “It’s the rest of us that are screwing up?” He snatched his water bottle from the floor and took such a long drink I thought he was going to drown.
LeRoy stood stock still, his eyes on Tom. I wondered if he was even breathing.
Tom faced forward, his back to Ricky. His hands rested on his hips, leaving his guitar hanging on his neck, and his head was bent so far down I saw the top of his head.
“It’s not us, Ricky,” he said. “It’s you. It’s you every goddamn time. You know how it’s supposed to go. You’ve spoken it, we’ve gone over it. But when we actually do the song, I have to practically jump on you for you to play it right.”
“You’re never going to get it,” Donny said. “You’re a freaking liability.”
Tom turned to stare at Donny. Donny stared back for a few moments before swinging the strap of his guitar over his head. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore today.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Ricky said. “Now even the most faithful Tom Copper disciples are leaving.”