The sun was down, but her own heat had only risen higher, as a cooler night promised an adventure in a place she knew she should not go. Her Momma had told her so. A girl her age was not allowed in places like that, because liquor was served and there were cigarettes. Places like that were for grown-ups. Period.
Even so, she’d heard the strains of the saxophone, the lush fruity chords of the jazz piano so cool and smooth, felt the drums, amplified across the large field behind her apartment complex, and though it was inside the poured concrete walls of the Lenox Hill Shopping Center, the music club was meant for her….calling out to her. Even at age 14 she knew she wanted to join the music. The Hit Parade was her favorite TV show. She wanted that.
And so, telling her kindly Mom she was going over to Karen’s place for TV, she made her way instead through the tall backyard grass, lit by a slowly setting sun, and stepped onto the larger field that soon brought her to the edge of the parking lot. She knew the back doors to the center were open because she had tried them, during the day when the club was silently recovering from its previous night’s wear and tear.
The empty hallway smelled of beer and cigarettes, which made her feel older than 14. And though she knew the clubs doors did not open for a couple of hours (she’d looked that up on their front door earlier too), music was already happening behind those doors. Rehearsal. Though at her school, they’d call it “practice”. She knew the word “rehearsal” from TV.
No way that THAT back door was unlocked, she thought. But…..making her stomach leap into her throat, she discovered it was, easily allowing her to enter the darkened space, where beer and tobacco smells were thicker. She was too excited to feel anything except good, being so close to the source of the music she had been hearing from afar. There four men playing instruments on a lit stage, sleeves rolled up, one wearing sunglasses (she wondered about that) and one guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he played the guitar. It all looked like a painting to her. She immediately felt comfortable, like she’d stepped into the TV screen and it felt right.
She edged her bottom onto a vinyl-covered banquette cushion and hid behind the salt shaker and ketchup bottle. No one seemed to notice she’d entered this forbidden space. She hid , her sweat-damp thighs sticking a little to the cooler plastic. It was summer in Atlanta and everyone wore shorts all the time, no matter what.
She hid and felt surrounded by a sort of familiarity. They were playing “When Sunny Gets Blue”, one of her Daddy’s favorites. She felt her Daddy’s smile as she listened. He’d understand why she was there hiding.
Bravely, she inched herself upright and began to watch the quartet from where she sat in what turned out to be the middle of the empty room. It didn’t take long for the guy with the cigarette to notice her. Not making a big deal out of it, he took his cigarette from his lips with one hand and waved with his other. He told his pals they had a visitor. She felt as if a huge spotlight had surrounded her with warmth. She waved back.
“Whatcha doin?” cigarette man asked.
“I like your music,” she replied.
“Why, thank you, little missy!”
“You like music, huh?” , asked sun glasses guy.
“I really do!” , she had no trouble offering. “I wanna be a singer.”
The entire group of four mildly exploded at that, with such good natured acknowledgement , even a slight drum riff, she felt emboldened to continue .
“I’m gonna do that…I’m gonna be a singer with a band.”
“Well, that’s swell…”, someone said. “Wanna sing now?”
She felt herself leave her own body, as she heard her own voice say “Yes! Yes, I’d like to…can I?”
“Of course, little missy….Whaddya know? Whaddya wanna sing? Come on up here!”
Unsure of how she ever got her body moving from the vinyl cushion, she made it up to the little stage and as they adjusted the tall stand-up mic, she asked if they knew “Blue Moon”.
Of course they did, so, she faced a real microphone for the first time.
And proceeded to sing the worst rendition of “Blue Moon” that was ever sung.
Probably because she had totally forgotten to breathe.
She never forgot the applause from the band.