Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel

by Anton Lee Richards

  Marta’s eyes lit up. “Oh geez, I never thought of that. I’m so happy right now.” She looked around the room. “Can you make an old Bulgarian broad like me a star?” She gave a hearty laugh.

  “What do the words mean in English?” I asked.

  “It’s an angry mother singing about how her kids are misbehaving and the song is her reprimanding them,” she replied. I could see this played on the radio right after Lady Gaga.

  Willie looked at me and Janet. “Anyone else?” I shook my head no.

  Janet huffed. “I’m working on a song, but it’s not ready to present to this group yet. I know it’s good enough for you all, but not for me.” She had a smug look on her face.

  Willie rolled his eyes. “Okay, moving on, we only have me left, and we have some time. As some of you’ve heard, I placed my latest song on iTunes radio. I can’t tell you the feeling you get from seeing your own name listed on the radio. Sure, it’s listed as the ten-thousandth-something-played song, but it’s there. I’ve been playing it nonstop on my laptop, my desktop, and my phone to move it up the charts. I’m having all my friends and family do the same and would appreciate if you would too. Maybe if it moves high enough, somebody important will take notice, and they’ll make something out of it. Maybe it’ll make me famous.”

  We all shuffled in our aluminum folding chairs, waiting for Willie to find his song on the iTunes radio. He adjusted the position twice to get the best sound he could out of his laptop speakers.

  “This is not your traditional song,” he said. “Talk about Chicago alternative. This won’t hit the pop charts anytime soon. I can confidently say this is the best song about a colonoscopy.” We all laughed.

  It was in a compound meter, so it had a singsongy feel to it and was priceless. I never heard anyone rhyme karma with enema before.

  When Willie’s song died down, it became quiet in the room, as if nobody else had anything else to say, even though there was a half an hour left in the meeting. To fill the void, I blurted out, “I had a song on iTunes too.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

  Willie’s eyes lit up. “You did? The songwriting contest song?”

  My confidence drained as I didn’t want to talk about the hit song. “‘Craziest Girl in the Craziest World’ by the—”

  “Big Apple Tarts!” Leah screamed out like she was at a Justin Bieber concert. “Are you… you’re the Chicago songwriter who wrote their whole album?” She got out of her chair and came up to me. “Can I have an autograph?” That was not my style, but nobody had ever asked me for my autograph before, and this group was here to support each other in our songwriting goals, so I signed her notebook. I had a fan for a day.

  Janet sucked the air out of the room. “That stupid girl band with that stupid song with that stupid heart symbol in the song title?” The spittle flew out of her mouth in all directions.

  My throat crackled as I tried to speak. “No, that was a different song that had a heart symbol in it so—”

  “This is what’s wrong with music these days,” Janet growled with protruding eyeballs. “This is what’s wrong with the younger generation. It’s what’s wrong with America. How can we stand up for our rights when all the youth care about hearts and emojis and likes instead of what’s going on in the world?”

  The Big Apple Tarts songs weren’t meant to make everlasting change in the world. They didn’t have the power to end world hunger or poverty although it was enough for me to pay off my student loans and buy everyone in Pancake Heaven a round of mimosas.

  Stan leaned into me. “Why haven’t I heard about this? If I remember correctly,” he rubbed his chin, “I brought a song with the same exact title as that last time you were here, and now you’ve gone and sold it to an all-girl band.”

  Was he suggesting I stole the song? The nerve! “Oh really? Sing the chorus.” I crossed my arms and waited.

  Stan looked perplexed, then said, “You passed my test. Stick with me kid and I’ll get you more of a royalty share for your next hit. I can get your song placed with one of the greats. How about Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston?”

  “Whitney Houston is dead,” I said.

  “She won’t make a very good fit then.” Stan sat back in his seat, defeated.

  Thank God I had Silas to take care of the business end of things.

  Chapter Eighteen

  TERROR

  While I scrambled to come up with new songs, The Big Apple Tarts were making it big. Their debut album had six of my songs and six from other songwriters. As they grew in popularity, I had an in. I could submit any new song to a group that was now nationally famous. I couldn’t ask for anything more. Everything happened so fast. I woke up one day and “Craziest Girl in the Craziest World” was the number one song in the country. The Factory gathered in our usual booth to celebrate that night at Pancake Heaven.

  “Char, darling, could we have a round of your famous mimosas?” Marlene asked.

  “At 8 pm?” Char did a double-take. “Did you wake up late?”

  “Nope, we’re number one,” Robin said. He wore a comically oversized scarf that went down to his knees, even as he kept it wrapped around his neck inside. Maybe he was trying to compete with Marlene for attention. She didn’t seem to mind. She thrust the end piece over her like a blanket and snuggled into him.

  “Did that catchy little song of yours reach the top? How sweet.” Char said, placing her hand on her hip.

  “Sweet? It’s fucking awesome,” Silas said. “Fuck yeah, he screamed, like he was cheering some football game in a frat house.” Robin gave him a high-five.

  Basking in our glory of hitting number one left us speechless. The moment was perfect. The best part was that Silas had his spark back.

  Then Silas broke the silence. “Motherfucker, motherfucker,” he said. It was loud enough for the surrounding people to turn their heads and for Marlene to give him a dirty look. Even Char glanced over, and nothing fazes her.

  “Simmer down, man,” Robin said. He took off his sunglasses, which he was also wearing inside, to aim his pained eyes at him.

  “What do you mean, simmer down? We’re number one,” Silas said. He held his fingers up in V-formation to signal victory, à la Nixon fame.

  “Yes, we are,” I said, waving my hands, palms down, to calm him.

  More than a few mimosas later, Marlene waved her arms in the air for Char to get the check. “We’re going to Aldine’s after this, and you should all join us.”

  “Jesse’s meeting us at the club,” I said.

  “Sorry, I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” Robin said. He toyed with the silver pendant necklaces around his neck.

  “No you don’t,” Marlene said. “You just don’t want to go to a gay bar. It’s not like sharing a beer with gay men will turn you gay.”

  Robin snorted a dismissive laugh. “Oh yeah, Duncan? When was the last time you went to a straight bar?” Touché. It had been a while since visiting the dark side.

  “Count me out of the gay bar too.” Silas tapped on his chest like he was Tarzan. “Not that there’s anything wrong with gays, have your rights and all, I just don’t want all those men hitting on this fine piece of meat.” More heads turned towards our booth.

  “Pfft. Nobody will hit on you,” Marlene said. “Besides, it’ll be more than you’ve been getting at home.”

  Silas’s face crumpled, first in anger, then in agreement. He got out of the booth and dropped to his knees on the floor of the restaurant. “Number one!” Then he did a victory lap around the dining room floor, slamming his hand on every table he passed, whether or not there were customers at the table. Customers that were there jumped out of their seats in shock. Silas’s overreaction silenced my own thrill of hitting number one.

  Char ran toward us. “You can’t do that, sweetie. I don’t want to kick you out, but I will if I have to.” She slipped Marlene the check.

  “On me. Let’s go,” I said, grabbing it. I don’t even know how many twenties
I put in the check cover. Marlene, Robin, and I guided Silas out the door. I nodded to Char.

  Silas grabbed onto the restaurant’s front door as if to stay inside, but Marlene gave him a final push out. Robin flagged down a cab. “I’ll make sure he gets home safely,” Robin said, getting in. “You two have fun tonight and don’t get into too much trouble.”

  “He’s gonna piss off Rachel when he gets home,” I said to Marlene as I flagged down a cab for us.

  There was a sizable crowd in Aldine’s for a Tuesday night. Loud queens announced their entrance into the bar. We froze our asses off waiting outside for Jesse. Marlene wanted us to wait inside, but Jesse wouldn’t have wanted to enter the club alone. He says there is a stigma of desperation when you walk in one of the big clubs alone. Ridiculous.

  Jesse met us near the entrance and kissed us both. I smiled at having my two favorite people together.

  Marlene and Jesse looked at each other and frowned at me. “Are you nervous about going into a club again?” Jesse asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Why should I be?” It was the first time I’d been to a club since Kenny, but his shadow would not prevent me from living my life.

  Marlene put her arm around me. “You should feel a little nervous. But you have us here with you.”

  I didn’t respond. Their lips moved as they talked with each other, but I couldn’t understand their words over the harsh wind. What was I supposed to feel? Remorse? Guilt? I had Jesse back, and there was nothing in the world I would change for that.

  “That guy ruined your life,” Jesse said. His face was like a stone.

  “Ruined my life, or me?”

  Marlene slapped him on the chest. “An awful thing happened, but his life isn’t ruined.”

  “Let’s all shut up about it and get the alcohol flowing,” I said. The wind was cold, and the only thing I wanted was to get inside to warm up.

  “It’s normal to feel remorse for going home with a stranger,” Jesse started. We watched other people go into the club, and I craved the thumping bass that drowns out conversations. “There are consequences to our actions, and we must ask forgiveness…”

  One-minute Jesse was telling me he loved me, another he was going on and on about my faults and mistakes, never owning up to his own. I was a fish trapped in his net. All I craved was his approval. That was the only thing I needed, and all this Kenny talk would go away.

  Marlene clinched her fists. “He’s supposed to feel depressed, not guilty. He has the right to go home with any stranger he wants. We all do. We have to protect ourselves from danger, but we cannot be blamed when that danger is inflicted on us. Safety, not blame.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Everybody’s telling me how I’m supposed to act or feel. Can’t I just be me and enjoy the fact that I have the number one song in America?” I walked towards the door of the club and opened it. I held it open while the bouncer waved us in. Marlene and Jesse stared at each other before entering.

  Marlene loosened up and led us to the front of the bar. “Drinks are on him. He’s the hit songwriter,” said Marlene to the shirtless bartender.

  “One vodka Red Bull, one Corona, and one Carrie Bradshaw with a twist,” I told the bartender.

  Marlene drank the whole thing in one gulp and spun the glass on the counter in front of the bartender. Her shenanigans elicited the attention of a tall, handsome, chiseled guy. He focused his eyes on Marlene and walked right past Jesse and me. When he turned around and saw Jesse, he smiled and then ogled Jesse from head to toe. Jesse gave him a half-hearted grin, but then looked at me. I put my arm around him and gave Mr. Handsome a scornful grin. He looked me over and walked away. Jesse kissed me on the cheek.

  Three guys stood in the corner, and one was Tomás, Kenny’s friend. My heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t recognize the other two. However, their chumminess and laughter reminded me of the night I met Kenny. Tomás seemed as carefree as that fateful night. When Marlene realized who they were, she gripped my elbow and pointed me in a different direction. Thank god I wasn’t alone because Aldine’s was ten times bigger than The Blade.

  “I need to pee.” I got into fourth place in the bathroom line. Tomás came up behind me and my heart beat fast, and I panicked because Marlene and Jesse were up front by the bar. My muscles tightened like I was ready to attack. He smiled at me and rubbed his hand over my shoulder.

  “Guapo! How was your night with Kenny? Now it’s our turn.” He moved in closer and whispered in my ear, “I’ll be much better.”

  I jumped back and held my fists in fighting position. “Don’t you dare.”

  Tomás stepped back as did the other people standing around with drinks in their hands. “Why sweetie?” He put his hands on my fists and lowered my arms with caution. My tension released a little. “Did you and Kenny not work out?” He laughed. “Nobody has seen him around lately. He hasn’t shown up to work or been talking with anybody. Tell him to call me, or…” He circled the air with his finger and grinned. “Maybe… el trío amoroso? A ménage à trois?” He winked.

  Kenny’s friends didn’t even know he was in jail? Regardless of what he did to me, there were a bunch of people out there missing him. I escaped into the bathroom stall and breathed the best I could.

  When I came out of the stall, Tomás was playing with his hair in the mirror. “If Kenny were here, he would fuss over this little cowlick I call bangs.” He moved his bangs back and forth. “But I say leave it. It shows I’m a wild spirit.”

  He moved his bangs back and forth, almost like Patrick used to. I prayed he would leave the bathroom soon, and I hurried to wash my hands.

  “If I don’t run into him tonight, then I’ll see him at the homeless center on Sunday,” Tomás continued as if talking about Kenny didn’t bring him a sense of horror.

  “He’s homeless?” I asked, instantly feeling even worse about the situation.

  He brushed his hand against my forearm. “No silly, he volunteers at the homeless center every second Sunday. He cuts their hair for them.”

  “Why?” It had never occurred to me that homeless people need haircuts too. Now they won’t be getting them.

  “Kenny believes that a clean cut can bring a sense of dignity to a person who is fighting a shameful situation,” Tomás said. “Pfft. I’d rather spend my Sundays drinking margaritas.” He took out mascara and put it on his lashes. “See you on the dance floor.”

  Poor Tomás had no clue. Maybe I was the awful person, not Kenny. When I went back to meet Marlene and Jesse, I put on my brave face with a smile and tall posture for confidence.

  Marlene checked her phone for the time four times.

  “What are you looking at? Are you meeting someone?” I asked in jest.

  “No, but follow me.” I followed her to the dance floor, and Jesse tagged along by holding my hand.

  Marlene nudged me to a post on the edge of the dance floor. “Stand here and don’t move.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Frickin’ just do what I say.” She pushed me back when I tried to follow her and Jesse off the dance floor.

  The music and dancers stopped. The fog lifted, and a spotlight blinded me, putting incredible heat on my face. “What the hell is going on?” I asked Marlene. Everybody stared at me, and Marlene clapped. My knees almost buckled.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, and everything in between,” an announcer said through the speakers, “Aldine’s is proud to have in its midst, the songwriter of the Big Apple Tart’s hit ‘Craziest Girl in the Craziest World.’”

  This is not me. People joined Marlene in clapping and motioned the crowd to bow towards me. They followed. Crowds always followed Marlene. I returned a goofy smile and counted from one hundred backward, something I did when I was nervous.

  Thump, thump went the bass drum as the song played. Nobody told me there was a dance mix version of “Craziest Girl in the Craziest World.” Marlene swung her hips and boys, guys, and men came at me from all directions.


  “I can’t believe it’s you,” said a guy with a Macklemore haircut, shaved on the sides and long on top, held down by a ton of product.

  “Is Chloe still on drugs?” asked a voice to my right. There were so many people surrounding me that I couldn’t tell exactly who the question was coming from.

  “Is Brianna still with that hot tennis star?”

  “When did you first meet the Big Apple Tarts? Did you go on tour with them?” asked a small Asian guy with pink suspenders.

  “I’ve never met them,” I said. The surrounding crowd lost interest and turned their attention elsewhere.

  Somebody’s hand was rubbing my chest down towards my crotch. “But now I’ve met you,” said a muscular white guy in a cut-up tank-top with visible abs.

  “That’s enough of that,” Jesse said as he stepped between us. I could have done more to reassure Jesse but didn’t. Part of me didn’t want to. I wanted to keep him on his toes. With all we’d been through, he needed to know that I was no longer some fumbling little boy, begging for his attention. Other guys wanted me now, and if he wanted to keep me, he would have to work for it.

  “Can you get Chloe’s autograph for me?” asked a young Filipino man. Or woman. I didn’t know.

  “You’re a star,” someone said from behind me.

  “Star!” I said. I acted excited, but I was uncomfortable with all these strangers gawking at me.

  Marlene stepped in. “No, I’m the star here. He’s the songwriter that will make me a star.” She lifted a single eyebrow and fluffed her breasts with force.

  “Who are you?” asked the guy with the pink suspenders to Marlene. “Do you have a hit song?”

  She choked on her words. “I will, once Duncan gets back to writing my songs,” she said.