“David, I think those guys are Dublin Up. They’re really well-known!”
David nodded and gave him a wink, and Benji’s mouth fell even farther open.
Inside the control room, Gerry looked up from his console and caught sight of them. He got to his feet and came through the double doors, then flicked a switch on the wall which immediately cut all sound from the instruments.
“What the f——”
Gerry held up his hand to the long-haired fiddler. “Watch it, boys. Kids present.” He approached them and sidled a glance at Benji, who was trying to get in as close as possible to David’s back. “So, Benji, I understand you’ve got a song you want to record.”
Benji did not reply, but gave David an anguished look and shook his head.
Gerry winked surreptitiously at David. “A bit nervous, huh? No worries, everyone’s like that.” He turned to the group, who by now had rid themselves of their instruments and were lounging around on easy chairs and lighting up cigarettes. “Patrick, what were you like when you first went into a recording studio?”
“Shi——” Patrick grimaced. “I mean, pretty scared.”
Gerry shrugged and looked back at Benji. “There you are, then. Even the lead singer of Dublin Up was scared. Would you believe that?” Putting his hand on Benji’s shoulder, he guided him forward to the microphone in front of the viewing window and pulled forward a high stool. “Right, you get your backside up on there, and I’ll adjust the microphone for you.”
Benji did as he was told, but still tried to keep his modest instrument out of sight of the group. One of them, a lanky youth with a fierce Mohican haircut and a silver ring in his eyebrow, noticed this and suddenly let out a whoop of recognition.
“Hey, you’ve got a ukulele!” He walked over and took it from him. “Great machines! I learned to play on one of these.” He stuck it under his arm and ran off some chords, and a smile slowly spread across Benji’s face as he realized that the guy was only playing G, C, and D7.
“I know those chords, too,” he said proudly.
“Well, in that case, you know as much about the ukulele as I do.” He smiled and handed the instrument back to Benji. “So let’s hear what you can do then.”
Having placed an enormous pair of earphones on Benji’s head, Gerry went into the control room, with David following hard on his heels. He flicked a couple of switches on the console. “Can you hear me, Benji?”
Benji nodded.
“Right, well, when you’re ready, just sing a couple of the lines, so that I can get the balance right.”
The boy gave David a look of sheer terror through the window. He leaned forward to Gerry’s microphone. “Just take a deep breath and do it, Benji. Doesn’t matter if you make a mistake. Gerry can do it as many times as it takes.”
And with a brave smile, Benji began to strum.
On the initial take, he managed to get through the first verse without fault, but then, as he started the second, he played a wrong chord and doubled up with embarrassment. Gerry flicked the switch on his microphone. “Don’t worry, Benji. That sounds great. We’ll do it again, only this time, keep an eye on me, ’cos I’m just going to beat out the time with my hand. You seemed to speed up a bit at the end of the verse.”
Benji’s voice sounded through the speaker. “You’ll throw me.”
Gerry smiled at him. “No, I won’t. Just watch my hand out of the corner of your eye. Are you ready?”
Benji nodded.
“Right, let’s go again.”
This time, Benji went through the whole song without fault. At the end, Gerry held his finger to his lips to indicate to everyone to keep quiet, then, after a few seconds, flicked off all the switches and gave the thumbs-up. Immediately, the muted sound of clapping came through the soundproof divide and Gerry and David watched as the group gathered around the grinning boy, giving him slaps of congratulations on the back.
They went back through into the recording studio. “Well done, Benji!” Gerry said, giving his head a light cuff. “All done in two takes! Not many professional singers can do that”—he turned to the group’s lead singer—“can they, Patrick?”
The singer laughed. “I hope you’re not implying anything by that remark!”
“Can I hear it now?” Benji asked excitedly.
“Sure you can.” He went back into the control room and patched the song through to the massive speakers in the recording studio. Benji sat with an incredulous look on his face throughout, and at the end the assembled company once more broke into applause.
Gerry came back through from the control room. “Right then, Benji, you can either take it away as it is, or, if you want, I can add a few things to it.”
Benji was silent for a moment. “What sort of things?”
“Well, we could put a drum beat to it and maybe a bit of bass.”
Benji bit at his lip, a look of uncertainty on his face. Gerry smiled reassuringly at him. “Benji, it’s your song. You wrote it and you played it. I’m just the mechanic, and I can, well, sort of fill it out a bit if you want.”
“It won’t sound stupid, will it?”
Gerry laughed. “Well, if it does, I’ll have to pack up doing what I do and get another job.”
Benji grinned and jumped off the stool. “Okay! Will you do it now?”
“Not quite now,” he said, holding up his hands. He flicked his head towards the group. “I’ve got to get this lot sorted out first, but if David returns later on this evening, I’ll give him the finished tape, so you’ll have it first thing in the morning. Would that suit?”
Benji nodded.
“Okay, then!” Gerry said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “You’ve done pretty well, my lad. You’ve a bright future in front of you!”
Outside the studio, Benji’s excitement seemed immediately to diminish, and he ambled slowly towards the car, glancing thoughtfully at his feet. David eyed him as he spun his key-ring around a finger. “What’s up?”
“David?” He paused. “You don’t think I’ll look stupid, do you?”
David shook his head. “Benji, I promise you that by this time tomorrow, you’ll be a superstar at school”—he jumped into the car and started the engine—“and twenty dollars better off!”
* * *
He arrived at the house the next morning a quarter of an hour earlier than usual to ensure that Benji had plenty of time to hand in the tape at the school office. He sounded his horn twice, then repeated it a minute later when there was still no sign of the boy. The kitchen door opened, but it was Jasmine who appeared, giving him frantic gestures to come inside.
David got out of the car and ran over to the steps, taking them in two leaps. Jasmine was waiting for him in the kitchen, a look of humorous foreboding on her face, and pointed to where Benji lay face-down on one of the beanbags.
“What’s up?” David whispered.
“Stage fright,” Jasmine mouthed at him.
David raised his eyebrows and walked over to him. “Okay, Benji—you ready to go?”
Benji let out a groan and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “I feel as if I’m going to be executed.”
David tried hard to suppress a laugh, but hearing Jasmine snigger behind him, he snorted it out through his nose.
“Sorry, Benji. I don’t mean to laugh.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him towards the door. “Come on, let’s go. It’s going to be fine.”
Benji shuffled towards the door, and as he passed Jasmine, she bent down and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.
“Go for it, maestro. Give ’em your best shot.”
He thumped his feet down the steps and mouldered down the path towards the car. “More like they’ll give me their best shot.”
Jasmine picked up his school-satchel from the sideboard and handed it to David. “Is this going to work?”
“God, I sincerely hope so!” And with crossed fingers raised, he leaped down the steps in one and ran to join
Benji in the Volkswagen.
Even though it was half an hour before school was due to begin, there was already a crowd of pupils milling around the main doors when they arrived. David pulled the car to a halt at the end of the path, and opening up the glove compartment, took out the tape and handed it to Benji.
“There you are, all ready for you. Now listen, there’s a piece of paper in the cover. Make sure that you tell whoever takes the tape from you that they must read what’s written before playing the song. Okay?”
Benji acknowledged him silently and climbed slowly out of the car. He walked round to the driver’s door and David handed him his satchel.
“Will you wait?”
David nodded. “Okay, I’ll wait right here until ten to nine.”
Taking a deep breath, he turned and made his way up the path to the main doors. As he was about to enter the building, a boy, being hotly pursued by another, came storming out and careered into him, making the tape fly out of his hand. As if in slow motion, he watched it hover in the air then threw himself forward to try to catch it, but there were too many bodies around for him to get anywhere near it. He let out a strangled yell as he watched it fall towards the ground, but just as it was about to make contact with the concrete doorstep, a hand stretched down and caught it.
Sean Dalaglio straightened up, a grin spread across his face, and held out the tape to him.
Benji breathed out a sigh of relief. “Gee, thanks, Sean.”
“Is that the song you wrote?”
Benji swallowed hard. “How d’you know about the song?”
“It’s been announced out on the PA system already. Did you write it?”
Benji nodded.
“Is it good?”
Benji did not know how to respond. He turned to look down the path to the Volkswagen. The car was there but David was not. He looked around and saw that he was slowly walking Dodie up the sidewalk. He turned back to Sean.
“Well?” Sean asked.
“I don’t … know.” He pushed his way past Sean and ran along the corridor to the office and knocked on the door. Miss Trimble, the school secretary, opened it.
“Hello, Benji.”
Benji held out the tape to her.
“Ah, this must be your song.” She glanced round at the clock on the wall. “Well, your slot’s in five minutes. We’re just about to put on Chester Todd’s poem, ‘Seagull Over the Great South Bay,’ and then it will be your turn, okay?”
Benji nodded and turned to go, then suddenly remembered what David had said.
“Miss Trimble?” he asked just as she closed the door. She opened it a fraction.
“Yes, Benji?”
“There’s a piece of paper in the cover of the tape. It has to be read out before it’s played.”
Miss Trimble smiled at him. “All right. I’ll be doing the announcement today, so I’ll make sure to read it out beforehand. Is that all?”
He nodded and Miss Trimble closed the door behind her. He stood staring at the mottled glass for a moment, then, with a sigh of resignation, walked down the corridor to his locker. As he turned the key in the lock, the PA system crackled and Miss Trimble’s voice sounded out.
“Good morning, boys and girls. The first of our entries for the talent competition today is from Chester Todd. It’s a lovely poem called ‘Seagull Over the Great South Bay.’”
There was a crackle as the tape recorder cut in and Chester’s voice began reading.
“Over the bay the seagull flies
Then on a flagpole he does sit
The trouble is he cannot fly
When he wants to have a shit
“The seagull strains his—
The tape was suddenly cut off, as the whole corridor erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Boys leaned against their lockers and slid their backs down to the ground, clutching at their knees to suppress the aching in their stomachs, while girls clustered into tight groups, sniggering into cupped hands. Then they heard Miss Trimble’s quivering voice again.
“I think that’s enough of that. Chester Todd, please go immediately to the principal’s office. Now, without further ado, I think we’ll go on to the next entry. This is a song written by Benji Newman entitled ‘I Do Love You.’”
Immediately there was a loud whooping noise from the boys in the corridor, and they all ran to crowd around him, letting out loud wolf whistles and wiggling their hips and blowing kisses at him.
That was it! He’d really screwed up this time. Why had he bothered listening to David? He should never have done this. He slammed his locker door shut and ran down the corridor to the lavatories and pushed open the door. Oh, no, there was a speaker in here as well! He darted round into an empty cubicle and pushed the door closed and locked it, and sinking down on the seat, he stuck his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes tight. Yet even in his silenced world, he could still hear the muffled tones of Miss Trimble’s voice rambling on. What was she going on about? It had to be something to do with that note in the tape-box. He pulled a ream of lavatory paper off the roll and stuffed it into his ears, then, screwing up his face, he cut out all remaining sound with his fingers.
As he sat there, his elbows resting on his knees, he suddenly became aware of a powerful, rhythmic reverberation coming up through his feet. He looked up at the door of the cubicle and saw it rattling violently against the lock on the partition wall, as if someone were trying to get in.
“Go away!” he yelled out, momentarily unblocking his ears.
There was no one there. The reverberation was not man-made, but came from the speaker high up on the wall in the corner of the lavatory, blasting out the introduction of a funky, up-tempo song. He stood up and pulled the paper out of his ears, just as the vocals of the song began. “I do love you, but it’s breaking my heart, breaking my heart in two.” He pushed open the door of the cubicle and walked out, and stood for a minute listening to his song.
It was fantastic! It was like … real! There were drums and a deep thumping bass and something like a trumpet breaking in every now and then. But other than that, it was all him—with his ukulele! He had to go and tell David about it—he had to go see him outside, right now! He began to chew apprehensively on a finger-nail. But how? He would have to get past all those boys again. He walked over to the door of the lavatory and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled it wide open and stood back. The first thing he saw was a black boy from the class above him moon-walking past the door in time with the music. He moved forward and peered round the corner. The whole way along the corridor, kids were dancing around to the song. He edged out and walked towards the main door, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible by staying close to the wall.
Sean Dalaglio was the first to spot him.
“Hey, Benji!” he yelled out, running towards him. “That’s a great song! How d’ya get Dublin Up to play session with you? They’re my favourite group! Can you get their autographs for me?”
Benji looked at him wide-eyed. “You mean, Dublin Up are—” He gulped. “I gotta go, Sean.”
He broke into a run and headed towards the main doors, and as he passed through the throng of dancing pupils, he was greeted with countless voices calling out “Great song, Benji!” and “You’re sure to win with that one, man!”
He raced outside and saw David at the other end of the path, leaning against the side of the Volkswagen, a grin stretched across his face, and between the fingers of his right hand was held the twenty-dollar bill.
Benji started to run down the path towards him, but David suddenly held up his hand to halt him in his tracks and, at the same time, pushed the bill into the breast pocket of his shirt. Benji stopped and looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. David flicked his hand at him, motioning for him to return back the way he had come. For a moment, Benji stood where he was, then, with a look of utter disappointment, he turned round, only to be faced by a crowd of pupils who had silently gathered on the wide step outside the main doo
rs. At the front stood Sean Dalaglio. Benji glanced round and gave David the broadest of smiles before heading back to school to run the gauntlet of congratulations from his friends.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
As the taxi edged forward in the solid Park Avenue traffic, Jennifer glanced at her watch. Five to seven already, and the restaurant was still another twelve blocks away. There was no way she was going to make it in the next five minutes. She leaned sideways, feeling the dampness of her shirt becoming unstuck from the dirty plastic of the seat due to the overpowering humidity outside and the lack of air-conditioning within, and looked past the driver to see the jam stretching up as far as Grand Central. She pushed herself forward in the seat and knocked on the partition glass. The driver reached back and slid it to one side.
“Ye, leddy?” he said in an accent that gave Jennifer little confidence in his ability to find the Empire State Building, let alone the Ocean Floor restaurant.
“Can’t you cut across to Lexington or Third and try going up there? This is hopeless.”
The driver smiled at her and nodded in agreement, at the same time holding up his hands and slapping them down hard against the orange acrylic steering-wheel cover.
“Yez, hopless!” he said, and remained where he was.
Jennifer stared at the back of his head, waiting for him to spin the steering wheel and make an attempt to cut off to the right, but he seemed happy to sit and wait for the traffic to start moving again, rocking his head from side to side in time to the strangled tones of the Middle Eastern singer that blared from his stereo.
She turned and looked around her in every direction to see if there was another taxi free anywhere nearby, but every one had its light off. Anyway, it would probably be out of the frying pan into the fire. She pushed her hair back off her forehead, feeling the dampness of it clammy on her hand, then, picking up her handbag, she took out her mobile phone and dialled Alex’s number. It was engaged. She turned it off and threw it back into her handbag, and leaned forward once more to the open partition glass.
An Ocean Apart Page 30