Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel

by Anton Lee Richards

  “I’m not staying for this,” Robin said. He tried to leave but couldn’t because I was blocking his path.

  “Neither am I,” Marlene said.

  “Sit down!” I yelled, loud enough to startle the whole restaurant. Everyone grew quiet and looked over at us. Marlene’s and Robin’s faces froze in horror. They took their seats. I slammed my hand on the table and glared at them one at a time. “You’re all going to listen to what I have to say,” I said.

  “Fine,” said Marlene.

  “We all need each other, okay? None of us can find success without each other. I’m willing to give my share of the split to ‘Never Seen, Never Heard’ to the three of you, if you come back together. I have some propositions that you can agree or disagree with but you’re each going to listen. First, I think we can all agree that the amount of money we’ve made is nothing compared to what we’re capable of.”

  They each nodded.

  “We have a lot of unrecorded songs. I propose we record five songs for demos for song pluggers and five songs for Marlene, then switch back and forth. We’ll meet two, three times a week to get the extra songs done.

  “It’s a good idea,” Silas said.

  “It’ll give us a way to reach all our goals,” Marlene said. “Robin?”

  Robin rolled his head back. “Okay, fine. I’ll go with it.”

  “The Factory strike is over,” said Silas.

  “We’re not taking your money, Duncan. It’s not about that,” Marlene said. “And congrats on growing a pair.”

  “Star!”

  “I have word from another filmmaker who liked the soundtrack to Find My Way Home,” Silas said. “It’ll be different, though. We’d work hand-in-hand writing songs for each scene.”

  “So, I wouldn’t be writing about my feelings for another boy?” The three of them rolled their eyes in unison. “I’d have to at least see the movie before writing the song. Char zoomed past us with five plates, distracting me.

  “We may even write the background music to the song before you pen a word,” Silas said. “They may request a slow song in one scene or a thick arrangement in another. It’ll be different, that’s for sure.” That’s how most artists did it these days. I was an old-school songwriter, a traitor to my generation.

  After we walked out of the restaurant, Silas and Robin turned left toward their cars, while Marlene and I headed down the street to our apartment.

  “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” I asked Marlene.

  She wouldn’t look at me. “No, but it’s the right thing to do,” she said, hugging her chest.

  “What about you and Robin?”

  She shook her head in disgust. “We’ll never be together again. He can’t take back the things he said.”

  “Sorry.” Both of their cars passed us on the street. I didn’t ask what else Robin had said to hurt her.

  “Don’t be sorry. Because of you, people are watching a movie and hearing my voice. I’ve never had that in my life before.” She hung her head down. “He thought The Factory could use other singers for demos and movie bits. He implied that the song was special, not the performer. Doesn’t he know it’s the singer that brings it to life?” She looked at me then put her arm around me. “Of course, that singer needs a song to make magic with.”

  “It’s both. The production too,” I paused. “And I suppose, even the marketing, in a way.”

  “I wanted us to work out this time.” she whimpered.

  “Dreams can come true, I guess. Just not all of them.”

  Part Eight

  Blackberry Pancakes

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FLAGSHIP REBELLION

  Marlene soon played gig after gig, two or three shows a week. Silas booked weekday shows in Chicago. On weekends, we’d take mini-road trips to Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Kansas City, Detroit. It was fun to visit these smaller, interesting Midwestern towns.

  It seemed like we were doing a lot of work for the small bits of success we received in return. The Big Apple Tarts went from nothing to the top in no time, so they didn’t have to go through the process of playing show after show for drunken bar patrons. It’s easy to put on a show for a crowd of adoring fans like The Big Apple Tarts did, but Marlene had to keep a straight face and high energy, even when nobody in the club was listening. If it weren’t for her energy and enthusiasm, Silas and I would have quit long ago.

  Along the way, she picked up a secret admirer. Somebody had been recording some of her live performances and uploading them to YouTube. These recordings tripled the number of downloads from her website, but we couldn’t figure out who was doing it. At every show, I would scout through the crowd in search of her secret admirer. They didn’t seem like average bootleg recordings either. The quality of the audio and the angles of the shot were too perfect. In the back of my mind, I considered it could have been Kenny, trying to exact revenge on me. Marlene reminded me how stupid the notion was that Kenny broke out of jail, bought an expensive camera, set up a YouTube channel, and filmed my best friend singing to get back at me for not having sex with him.

  “Touch My Soul” was the first one uploaded. They filmed it at a club in Aurora called the Flagship Rebellion. In the beginning, Marlene had to beg friends to show up to the club to prove to the club’s owners that she had the power to bring in an audience. Now crowds were growing, making it harder and harder to find the secret admirer. Still, this club was too small for me to have missed somebody with a camera focused on her the whole time.

  Two days after the show, downloads from the website tripled. As days went by, downloads came in from out of state, even Europe. How were Europeans learning of a local Chicago artist? A fan sent a question through the website asking if she had other videos like the ones on YouTube. Just as Silas answered that fan, there was already another fan-made video of “Never Seen, Never Heard,” filmed at another club. Nobody gave them permission to record her or to post it on the Internet. No complaints though because it was helping her career.

  “Forty-two downloads from Paris,” I said to her one day. “How do they even know about you?”

  “I wish I hadn’t flunked out of French class in high school,” she said. “We should to do a French version of ‘Touch My Soul’ for my adoring fans in France.”

  In our apartment, I sat at the laptop while Marlene switched between peering over my shoulder to pacing back and forth.

  “How do we replicate it everywhere else in the world?” I asked.

  “I’m gonna have the biggest hit in North Korea.”

  Then came the YouTube video to “Radiate My World.” Again, we were tipped off only after a spike in downloads of the song. This time the video was of her performing at a club in Lakeview. There were four other performers that night, so the crowd was even larger, but the angle was still dead on as if a true professional did it.

  “Are you sure you’re not doing this yourself for promotion without telling me?” I asked her.

  “Nope, but it’s a damn good idea in case this guy gets a cold and misses a show.”

  Later, other recordings of “Radiate My World” – all performed at different clubs – appeared online. We posted links to them on her website.

  The last version of “I Can’t Miss You More” landed Marlene a performance on a morning talk show on a local TV station. They asked her to perform, but she didn’t have a full-time band yet. Silas and I created backing tracks and nobody complained about the pre-recorded background. After all, she was the show. Watching her sing and contort her body mesmerized the audience so much that they didn’t care it was only me behind her pressing buttons on a laptop.

  By then, Silas resumed his on-again-off-again with Rachel, and I took over the managerial aspects of her career. I was fine booking a few Chicago clubs here and there. But TV? I was out of my league. Soon Marlene and I agreed she needed a real manager.

  “When you stop and think about it, some strange guy is recording you without your permission
,” I told her one night back at the apartment. We had been on the road the entire weekend, and it was nice to sit on the couch and do nothing for a while. “It’s kind of stalker-ish, don’t you think?” I stirred some hot cocoa mix into hot water.

  “How do you know it’s a guy?” She winked at me. “Besides, every singer dreams of having a stalker.” She yawned. “I’d rather the stalker be a guy, though.” She used her Valley Girl accent.

  “Yeah, until he kidnaps you and chokes you to death.” I put on my extra-cozy wool socks and put my feet up on the coffee table before sipping some hot cocoa.

  Marlene perked up and smiled so wide it frightened me.

  “I don’t want to know,” I said, imagining sex acts she probably engaged in, or at least wanted to. I added some mini-marshmallows and watched them bounce.

  “But this guy seems too creepy,” she said. “I probably wouldn’t want him to choke me… probably.” She reclined in the La-Z-Boy and stretched her hands to the ceiling and then yawned again while checking out her new French nails.

  I added even more mini-marshmallows. There were now more in the cup than hot cocoa. “When you played at Clandestine, I scanned the crowd like a hawk and found nothing. Yet there was a video on YouTube the next day. The best publicity.”

  “Perhaps I need to release an accidental sex tape. Cause some scandal.” She put her hair in a ponytail and rubbed lotion on her arms.

  “Can’t you pull one off the shelf from your collection?”

  “Okay, Mister Funnypants. At the very least I need a wardrobe malfunction. I can’t have a career without an accident like that.”

  Silas showed up at my cubicle at work, and we went out to lunch. I was looking forward to the escape. I grabbed my jacket, but when we walked out the door, I realized I didn’t need it. Typical April weather: forty-four degrees yesterday, seventy-four today. Silas took me to Greektown to a place with an outdoor patio that felt like you were in Mykonos. Even though you are just a block away from a busy highway, they block it off with stone walls covered in ivy, and you can’t see or hear the traffic, giving you the illusion of a Greek resort.

  “I took Rachel here once, and we decided if we went on vacation again, it would be to Greece,” Silas said. It didn’t sound like things were going well between them after Rachel had moved back the previous week, but I would tread lightly before asking for details.

  The restaurant rarely had the patio open until late spring or summer, so they had to scramble put it together for the lunch crowd dying for a taste of the outdoors. Then sat us at a table next to a Corinthian column. I couldn’t help but giggle at the marble relief of cherubs making wine.

  “How does Rachel feel about us being in your condo recording all the time?” I asked.

  “She’s too busy with the baby to notice. The sound-proofing blocks any noise coming from the studio. She bitched at having strangers walking through her home until she saw the money roll in from the movie. Then she shut up.”

  “And the time you spend away from her?” I scanned the menu for octopus and flaming cheese, the only thing I wanted.

  “We can’t stand each other, anyway. We’d split for good if it weren’t for the baby.” He looked away to the other side of the restaurant. “I shouldn’t be saying all this to you.”

  “We can’t stand each other, anyway. We’d split for good if it weren’t for the baby.” He looked away to the other side of the restaurant. “I shouldn’t be saying all this to you.”

  I waved my hand as if I was shooing him. “Don’t give it a second thought. You have to listen to all my drama through songs. If you and Rachel can’t stand each other, how would you survive Mykonos together?”

  “She’d go to Mykonos. I’d go to Hanoi.” He cranked the blue and white umbrella shade over the table. “She’s says we have decent songs, but that I’m an incompetent manager,” he said. “It’s a sham marriage, really. The day before Caleb was born I cheated on her. Again. Do you know Caitlin, the project manager?”

  Ick. “Is she as incompetent in the sack as she is as a project manager?”

  “She’s a dynamite in the sack. I can’t wait to fuck her again.”

  “And you have a baby at home.” I smiled, but I was no one to judge.

  “I don’t even care anymore. She can move to Montana with the baby, and I’ll happily pay child support as long as I don’t have to see her again. But if I’m the one to leave, then I’d be the asshole. Like my dad.” He had vacant eyes but calmed down. “I wrote a song about how much I can’t stand her, but I can’t play it for anybody because it would be too obvious. Wouldn’t hurt to have you take a listen.” He searched for the song on his phone.

  “I can tell everybody I wrote it. A song is a song, and if it’s any good, it’s a product. What’s it called?”

  “Stuck With You.” He laughed and I shook my head with a smile. I leaned into his phone when he pressed play. The lyrics were so angry, I didn’t know what to think. Tears appeared in Silas’s eyes. One minute he was laughing and the next he was almost about to cry. It freaked me out seeing Silas like this.

  “You okay?” He tried to hold back the tears but wound up turning his head away from me. Patrons waiting for a table in the lobby took notice of him crying.

  “I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this situation and I can’t get out of it. How old does the kid have to be before I can leave without being the bad guy?”

  Every time I was alone with Silas, I felt uncomfortable in one way or another. He looked at me like he expected me to say something reassuring.

  Later in his studio, Silas played the whole song for me. We re-recorded it with my scratch vocals before the other two could hear it. He didn’t even want Marlene and Robin to know he wrote the song. The cringes on their faces spoke volumes.

  “Are things that bad with Jesse?” Marlene placed her hand on my arm.

  “No, this is a memory of a boyfriend long ago, before I met you,” I said. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could use past experiences for ideas and not rely on whatever up-or-down I‘m going through at the time.” I hoped she would buy it.

  Marlene did a double take and stared me down with concern. We sat on the couch, her arms crossed, and her forehead twisted into a knot. “Why did you stay with this guy then?”

  “Dunno. I was young and didn’t know when to let the relationship die. I thought getting treated like crap was part of the deal.”

  “It sounds alternative,” said Robin as it played. He looked at Marlene. “It won’t work for her. Do you think some budding pop starlet will record this?”

  “Hardly, but it doesn’t hurt to have in our coffers,” Silas said.

  “It’s a hot song even if it’s not marketable,” Robin added. “Let’s keep it.”

  I arrived at Silas’s condo before Robin and Marlene so we could import a new song. As I stood on the front porch ready to ring the doorbell, a yell came out the window.

  “I gave up my career to take care of this baby. What did you give up?” Rachel yelled. I stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do next.

  “Sanity,” yelled Silas. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this kid if I knew you would carry yourself on a cross every night.” I moved closer to the window so that I could eavesdrop better.

  “Who are you to talk? Drudging at a job you hate because you don’t dare to make a living as a music producer. What happened to your convictions?”

  “I need that job because I need to support this family. I’m doing everything required of a man.”

  “Who’s on the cross now?”

  The cold wind blew hard enough so that I couldn’t hear the next part of the argument, other than some loud booms and a crash. I didn’t know if I should ring the doorbell or leave. Two young men came out the door and turned their head towards Silas’s window. They looked up and laughed. They probably lived on the top floor of the two-flat. The whole neighborhood was lined with two-flats, all in the same bland brick red.

 
; “You should have had the abortion,” Silas yelled.

  I recoiled.

  “Jesus. We talked about this. Beating the dead horse again,” Rachel said. A thump came from the window.

  “You kept saying ‘we’re going to have a family anyway,’ like it was just the luck of the draw that you became pregnant.”

  “Oh please, the two-point-five children with the white picket fence wasn’t me either,” she said, slamming the door. “I went to your shows and supported your band. I was the cool wife who carried the amps, remember?” Another thump near the window startled me.

  I’d heard Silas talk shit about his wife before, but I’d never heard either Silas or Rachel talk this way to each other. On the one hand, I didn’t want to ring the bell and get in the middle of their drama. On the other hand, maybe I should have rung it to stop them. Either way, I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. I let a minute pass before ringing the bell.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Silas arrived at the door with a relaxed face and smile.

  “I have a new song,” I said.

  After walking down to the basement, he sat at his computer and looked down. “You heard, didn’t you?” I shrugged my shoulders and didn’t know what to say. “It’s okay. It was over long ago.” He entered his password. Then he wrote down the password and handed it to me. I wondered why.

  “Why don’t you leave then?” I didn’t know whether I should put my bag down and take off my shoes because I didn’t know if I was staying.

  “Leave my recording studio?” He waved his hand, pointing to all his recording equipment.” What else would I have?”

  “If you need to get away, you could crash on my couch for a couple of days.”

  “I might take you up on that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  STUCK WITH YOU

  The next day, Silas took me out to lunch at our favorite Italian joint, West Loop Palermo. Before the oregano hit my nose as we walked into the lobby, Silas turned to me and covered his face with his hands.