By The Way
copyright 2006 by Mark Logan
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 24
Spring quarter of that year flew by. I
couldn't believe that my first year in architecture school was over, and I was
one of the people remaining in the program. Originally, around one hundred and
sixty people had enrolled in my class but by the end of the year that number had
been narrowed down to a little over ninety. That's some serious attrition. I'd
had a rough go of it at the end of winter quarter--my final project didn't get
the best reviews from the jury, but their critiques only served to steel my
resolve to slug through the next quarter with my head held higher. But then,
I've always been good at receiving serious critiques and learning from them.
Sadly, Glen and I were totally on the outs by the end of that year. He and I
sent a couple of letters back and forth to each other discussing the state of
our friendship, and in each new letter the tone towards the other person got
progressively worse. I hated losing his friendship, and I especially hated not
being able to talk with him anymore. But sometimes, folks, that's how the
cookie crumbles. Glen had gotten me through some really rough times in my life,
and I always figured that he'd be a steady part of it. What can you do? Like
the song says, "Some good things never last."
I wasn't always able to keep up with the voice lessons that the club was paying
for. By the end of the quarter I was only able to go twice a month, which still
wasn't bad. It wouldn't be long before I was supposed to start working
full-time at Rhett's, and I was fairly certain that I was ready to hit the
stage. The organization of the group of singers had changed a lot by the time
June rolled around. I guess the partners were trying different ways to present
the singers to the patrons. For a while, each person would sing their entire
set, with brief intermissions between singers. Then the partners decided to
have each person sing only two or three songs at a time. The last change made
was to rotate all of the singers so that they only sang one song at a time. I
think the last was the best idea, because while this was a place where people
were to be entertained on the weekends, it didn't make sense to make the patrons
slog through an entire set of music that they didn't like in order to hear the
next singer.
I'd been to Rhett's a number of times, not only to get more familiar with the
place, but also to get more familiar with the other people who would be singing
as well. It really reminded me of a club that my grandmother used to sing in
back in the forties in East St. Louis, where most of the waitresses were
singers, and not only served the customers drinks, but also provided the
entertainment. On many occasions I'd bring Don along with me. Normally he
would be working in Buckhead on the weekends, but every once in a while he'd get
a night off. He liked the place so much that he applied for a security position
there as well. The managers did the whole "we'll-keep-your-file-on-record, and
call you if we need something" deal, so he wasn't hired immediately.
I'd been meeting with the guys in the band for several weekends to practice my
set and work on the song arrangements. It was something that I'd never had the
opportunity to do before, and I found it to be a very enjoyable experience.
These guys were pros, too. At least I thought so. For some of the music, the
bass player would put up his electric bass and switch to the bass fiddle - the
kind that old jazz bands used to use. There was a piano player who could play
any style of music you might want to hear, as well as being quite adept on the
synthesizer. We had a couple of guitar players, and of course a drummer. It
was a really nice little combo.
It was on a Saturday afternoon when I sang the songs for the partners' approval,
and I was slated to start working the following Friday. Kylie, Jim and Rob
thought that they were all good choices...except for one.
"Um...Paul," Jim said. "We liked the set, but...we're not too sure about the
last song."
"Why?" I asked.
"Well...." he started to say.
"I'm just not so sure a song like that would work
here," Rob finished.
"Why not? It's a good song."
"I'm sure it is," Kylie said, "but, eh...."
"Did it sound bad, or something?"
"No. No, you sang it really well. I'm not quite sure how you came up with that
choice...," Jim said.
I felt a bit like I was in the twilight zone. We'd really worked hard on all of
the material that I'd be singing for the first weekend or so, especially on this
particular song. It wasn't the easiest to sing, with a total of three key
changes in it, and the last note held for four to five bars. The partners were
sounding odd, and yet they still wouldn't tell me what the problem was. "Can
y'all throw me a bone or somethin'? I'm still not understanding... Look, I-I've
spent a lot of time...working on this."
"It's just not what we're trying to...do here."
"But why...why are you--" I started.
"It's just not a very commercial song." Jim was looking uncomfortable.
"What is commercial, really?" The irritation was beginning to show in my voice.
"The people that have been coming here so far...they're not going to like it,"
Kylie chimed in.
"Well how...how do you know? It's a really good song."
"They're not going to like it," he repeated.
"Guys, come on," I let out an exasperated laugh, "we've worked really hard on
it, and I still don't understand the
problem with it."
They all looked at each other again and whispered a few things back and forth.
Finally, Rob spoke up. "Can you change the word 'man' to 'girl'?"
"Huh?"
"The word 'man'. Can you change it to 'girl'?" he repeated.
"Um...uhhh," I stammered.
"Or how about 'gal'? Something...female." Jim suggested.
I thought about the song and the lyrics for a second. "No. It would sound
pretty stupid, if you did that."
"But it just...might...not go over too well, a guy singing a song like that..."
Jim said.
"Guys, I don't know what to tell you. Rupert Holmes and Paul Williams wrote the
song. They're both men, and they didn't have a problem with the lyric. What's
the big deal?" As I was talking, a man I'd never met before came walking up out
of the shadows from the back of the club. He was dressed in a pair of nice
slacks and a golf shirt, but the air about him said "I've got a lot of money,
though I'm only going to show you a little of it." He was a tall man with gray
hair that was slicked back on his head. He walked around and turned his back to
me, facing Jim, Rob and Kylie, then started speaking quietly to them. I turned
and looked at the guys in the band, shaking my head in frustration and rolling
my eyes. When I heard footsteps approach behind me, I looked back around.
"Paul," the man with the gray hair said, "I'm sorry, but we've never had the
privilege of meeting. My name is Rhett Broussard."
"Nice to meet you, Rhett," I extended my hand. "Wait a minute. Rhett, as
in...'Rhett's'?"
He face lit up in a warm smile and he nodded. "One in the same."
"But I thought that they were the
partners who ran the place."
"Well," he said, still smiling, "I'm the 'silent' partner. And my name's on the
door, so every once in a while I get to have the final say." He had an
unmistakable gleam in his eye that told me I'd won. "Please, feel free to sing
whatever you like. I really enjoyed the last song, and frankly, I think it's
very ballsy for you to sing it."
"Well, I just thought it was a good song, that's all. And these guys," I
gestured to the combo behind me, "well, they've been an absolute pleasure to
sing with."
"Yes. They are a great group, aren't they." It was more of a statement than a
question. "Well, I'll let you get back to your work, gentlemen," he said,
looking between myself and the others. "Have a nice afternoon. I'm looking
forward to Friday, Paul. Best of luck." He reached his hand out, and we shook
hands again.
"Thank you, sir. And....thank you."
"You're more than welcome, son," and he winked, then turned and walked away.
* * * * *
Friday night came around and I was more than a little nervous. Having worked at
a restaurant the previous summer, I at least had an idea how they were run.
This was the first time I'd ever waited on anybody, though, and I knew that it
would take a while to get to the point where I could memorize orders and not
write them down. Luckily, there were a couple of really good waiter trainers.
I was most freaking out, however, about singing for the first time. Sure I sang
all the time to myself, in studio, under my breath around friends, but the idea
of standing on a small stage with a spotlight on you and an extremely talented
band behind you proved to be more than a little nerve wracking.
I'd invited both Don and Alan to the club for my first night. I'm not sure why,
but it still amazed me how well the two got along with each other. Perhaps it
had something to do with the fact that they were both athletes, who knows. I
was glad, though, because they were both pretty important people in my life.
Now that school was out for the summer, I'd be able to see them a bit more than
I had. Architecture school really can make you a recluse from your former life
if you're not careful. Don was just...Don. We'd talk occasionally on the
phone, and not a whole lot more. But we had become close again, and I was glad
for that.
Alan and I had had some ups and downs, albeit minor ones, since his visit to my
school back in March. Some days were good for me, and other days were really
horrible. The horrible days I worked very hard to keep from him. There was
never really a middle ground when it came to him. We almost never talked about
Reed, which was probably good for the both of us. He had one year left of
school and already was being scouted to play pro ball. It was hard for me to to
think that the young man who was the favorite running back of so many people in
Georgia, was the same nutty guy that I'd befriended and fell in love with in
high school. He was definitely bigger and faster than he was back when we first
met. Hell, you couldn't watch a Georgia Bulldogs game on television without
hearing "Diesel" this or "Diesel" that from the announcers. It never really
bothered me, not that it should, but to me he was always just Alan. Plain and
simple.
Because of his popularity, and I'm sure partly because of his good looks, he got
a lot of camera time on the field. It never really went to his head, though.
He was always just a regular guy who happened to be extremely good at a
particular sport. The few times that I'd been out with him lately, he would have
several people, mostly guys, who'd come up and start shooting the shit about
football, the Bulldogs, or sports in general. Watching the women approach him
always got me to laughin'. I knew that he had absolutely no interest in them,
but they'd show up, with their breasts pushed up around their necks like goiter,
laughing and throwing their heads back, touching his arm, flipping their hair.
The had no idea just how little his interest in them was.
Originally, he had intended on going to school for a B.B.A., but lately he'd had
plans to continue his education and get his M.B.A. With four years left of my
five-year architecture program, it still meant that I'd be in school one year
longer than he would be. Since our long discussion in my dorm room three months
before, we sort of let any talk about our futures settle down on the back
burner. I might have had long-range goals, but I also knew that you couldn't
predict the future, and I wouldn't get my hopes up. At the very least,
regardless of whatever rough times we may face, I knew that our friendship was
cemented stronger than ever.
Back to that Friday night at the bar. I had my six songs lined up, and here and
there between filling drink and food orders, I'd run them through my head. At
one point I became so damn nervous that I thought I was going to just say fuck
it all, and leave without even performing. Whenever I'd think of that, I'd just
look over at Don and Alan, and remember that they were there to support me. I
knew I wasn't supposed to, but once or twice I'd belt back a Jack and Coke just
to calm my nerves a bit. That only helped so much, though.
A few minutes before I was to go on stage for the first time, one of the other
singer/waiters filled a drink order for me. I was shaking like a leaf and
walked over to Don and Alan. "Hey guys, wish me luck," I said.
"You up now?" Don asked.
I just nodded.
"You nervous?" he asked.
I nodded again, more vigorously this time.
"You'll be fine," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. I
noticed that Alan quickly glanced at him then back at me.
"Yeah, man," Alan said, "go...break a leg, or whatever y'all do up there."
I smiled a bit, then headed toward the stage area of the club, which wasn't far
from the bar and still viewable from there. Once I was introduced, I stepped up
and walked over to the mike, amid polite applause from the audience. The stage
was only a couple of steps off of the main floor, and wasn't very large. The
combo took up about the back third of the stage, and the microphone was in the
center, near the front. Even though I'd practiced at the club with the guys the
week before, it was still hard to get used to having a bright light shining in
my face. Walking up to the microphone seemed to take thirty minutes, and I knew
that there was no turning back now. For a brief moment, I'd forgotten what
songs I was going to sing, and a million thoughts raced through my mind. Would
I sing in the right key? Would I remember the words? Would I remember the
order? Wait, that didn't matter because I wasn't running the whole set at
once. What if my legs locked up and I got dizzy and keeled over? Would I
remember to bend my knees just slightly? Would I remember to smile when I
needed to.....
Then the music started and the first strains of "Crazy Arms" began. Peter, the
bass player, was using the bass fiddle, and John, the drummer, was tapping out
what I always referred to as his groovy Calypso beat. Then Mark came in with
the strings as well as the piano on his keyboards, and the key was locked into
my head. As soon as that happened, I forgot all about the people in front of me
as being scary. Instead, I glued a slight smile on my face and made it a point
to make eye contact with as many people as I could. My head started moving
slightly to the groove that John was sending out and I leaned into the
microphone and did my best to have a good time.
When I sing, my arms have a tendency to move around a bit, much in the fashion
that Patsy Cline's did when she sang, and this time was no exception. The boys
in the combo played flawlessly, and I just concentrated on having a good time.
When I finally finished singing, the applause was not exactly thunderous, but it
was a helluva lot more than just polite. I was pumped! I couldn't wait until
the next song, because now I had stage fever. I loved being up there in front
of everyone, just singing and having a great time.
Dynamite couldn't have taken the smile off of my face as I went up to the bar
and received high-fives from Don and Alan. They were so excited for me that
they just laughed the whole time and clapped me on the back.
"I told you you could sing, you son of a bitch," Don said, still laughing.
"Yeah, well..." I said, still beaming. "That was pretty fun!" We all laughed
again at that. Once our momentary high was over, I went back to taking drink
orders for the people at my station in the bar area. One guy in particular was
somewhat drunk, but seemed very happy to give me compliments. It was about
fifteen minutes or so until I had to sing again, and my nervousness was
completely gone as I approached the stage for the second time that night.
Having six people singing five to six songs apiece meant that there was live
entertainment for most of the night. There were a couple of breaks throughout
the evening to give the guys playing in the combo a bit of a rest.
While I was slated to sing what the partners termed "torch songs", I made it a
point to try and at least keep the song choices a little upbeat. As the evening
went on I'd learned that the one drunk guy who kept giving me compliments was
named Damon. I never really asked him his name, but somehow everyone around him
seemed to know it. Damon had also moved over to the bar and was a few seats
away from Alan, and every so often he'd look over towards Alan and Don and
holler out, "Hey Diesel! Go Dawgs!" then he'd let out some horrible noise that
was supposed to be dogs howling or barking. Alan would just politely tip his
beer and nod.
It was finally time for me to sing my last song of the evening, and by now the
adrenaline surge had passed, and I was feeling very comfortable singing in front
of people. In the back of my mind I knew that the three partners still weren't
thrilled about this song choice, but at least now I had the support of Rhett,
the club's namesake.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome back to the stage, Paul Lyons!" There was
a lot of applause from people who weren't quite drunk, but at this time of night
were probably a bit more than just buzzed. I walked up to the stage and for
some reason got an extreme case of nerves. The song is called "Everything," and
began with Mark playing some chords to open it up. While he did that, I looked
past the glare of the spotlight and smiled as I saw Alan and Don both leaning
back against the bar. I couldn't have asked for better friends.
"I want to learn what life is for.
I don't want much, I just want more.
Ask what I want, and I will sing:
'I want everything, everything.'
I'd cure the cold and the traffic jam.
If there were floods, I'd give a damn.
I'd never sleep, I'd only sing:
'Let me do everything, everything.'
I'd like to plan a city and play the cello,
Play at Monte Carlo, play Othello,
Move into the White House, paint it yellow,
Speak Portuguese and Dutch,
And if it's not too much
I'd like to have the perfect twin.
One who'd go out as I came in.
I've got to grab the big brass ring!
So I'll have everything, everything.
I'm like a child who's set free at the funfair,
Every ride invites me, and it's unfair
Saying that I only get my one share,
Doesn't seem just. I could live as I must
If they'd give me the time to turn the tide.
Give me the truth, if once I lied.
Give me the man who's gonna bring
More of everything.
Then I'll have everything.
Everything!"
The applause started out as merely polite, yet as Don and Alan were both
cheering and hollering loudly, the rest of the audience seemed to warm up to the
song even more, and their applause grew very loud and very strong. I was just
thrilled because I was able to get past all three key changes and hold the word
"man" for its two bars and the final "thing" through its four bars without a
problem. I was so glad that Rhett had convinced the other partners to let me
sing the song, and the patrons seemed to really like it, too.
I stepped off the stage and heard a lot of the female patrons saying things
like, "Nice goin' Paul," and "Loved it," among other things. I think that many
of the guys were still a little reluctant to applaud for a guy who had just sung
about wanting a man who'd bring him everything, but hell, a good song is a good
song, regardless of who actually sings it and what it's actually about.
I got back to the bar area to talk to Don and Alan. I think they were more
excited about the night than I was. At least, they acted it. I still had a
hard time believing that people were applauding my singing, but that's just me.
"So," Alan said, "that's 'the song'." I'd told him about the initial reaction
from the three partners, and how Rhett had stepped in and changed their minds
for them.
"Yep. That's the one."
"Hmmm. I thought it was a good song," he said.
"Me too. That's why I sang it."
"What was the problem with the song?" Don asked.
"Well, I don't think they liked the part where I say 'give me the man who's
gonna bring more of everything, then I'll have everything."
He just shrugged his shoulders and took a pull off of his beer. "Have anyone in
mind?" he winked.
"Oh, shut--"
"Hey man, what the fuck was that
about?" Drunken Damon had maneuvered his way next to Alan and seemed barely
able to keep his eyes open.
I looked around to make sure he was talking to me. It was obvious he was.
"What?" I asked, starting to get defensive.
"That...'I want a man' or whatever the fuck you said up there."
I rolled my eyes and turned to walk off. "Whatever," I mumbled, but then he
caught me by the arm.
"No...seriushly...ain't that kinda 'hoo-hoo'?" he said, fluttering his hands at
the wrist, indicating that it was gay.
I shrugged. "It is what it is." I started to walk off again, and he grabbed my
arm again. "Get your fuckin' hand off of me." The guy was a lot bigger than I
was, and while I knew I couldn't hold my own in a fight with this booze hound,
in the back of my mind I knew that right now it paid to have Don and Alan as my
allies.
" 'Get your fuckin' hand off me, princess,' " he mocked in a feminine voice.
Behind him, in the distance, I could see one of the security guys walking our
way.
"Fuck you, asshole," I said, and as I did, his arm came up as though he were
going to take a swing at me. He was still next to Alan, who quickly grabbed the
guy's arm and wrenched it behind his back.
"Why don't you take a seat and finish your beer, fuck face." Had a guy like
Alan said that to me, I would've have immediately sat down and crapped my
pants. But Damon was drunk and wasn't quite thinking clearly.
"What the fuck to you care, Diesel? This guy your fuckin' boyfriend, or
somethin'? What a faggot...singing about wanting a man."
This was all looking like a scene from a bad movie, and somehow, I was at the
center of it.
"What's the problem here?" It was Zack, the guy from security who'd finally
made his way over to us. By now there was a small crowd of about ten people or
so gawking at us all.
Alan let Damon go. "Nothing, man. Guy's got just a bit of the whiskey muscle
talkin' tonight. He was just goin' back to his seat."
Zack eyed the situation, and stayed there while Damon shrugged his shirt back
into place, muttered something, then headed back to his bar stool. When things
seemed to settle down, Zack walked off, but remained closer to us than he
originally was.
I started to say something to Don, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash
from behind Alan. "Alan, get--" I shouted, but it was too late. That asshole
Damon had taken his beer mug and swung it at the back of Alan's head who went
down like a lead pipe, landing on his hands and knees. It all happened so fast
and seemed so surreal. In an instant, Don grabbed Damon's arm, spun around and
pulled him off of the stool. Then Don crouched down and flipped Damon over his
head and onto the floor beside Alan, who was now leaning down and holding his
face in his hands very close to the floor. The wind was knocked out of Damon
and his eyes were wide with shock. As Zack ran over to us, I dropped down next
to Alan.
"Alan! Holy fuck! Are you okay?"
He just rocked back and forth, holding his head and groaning. By pure, dumb
luck, the mug didn't break on his head. Maybe that would've been better than
being hit by the solid glass itself. Zack and I tried getting him up off of the
floor, but I couldn't budge him. "Don, help me."
I felt my arm being pulled as Don got me away from Alan and then stepped in to
help Zack pull him up. The drunken Damon was still lying on the floor, wheezing
as his breath came back to him, and it took everything I had not to kick him in
the head. Now there was a crowd around us and two of the other security guys
came through to help calm the situation down. Don and Zack pulled Alan up and
sat him at a stool. His eyes were closed as he held onto the place where the
mug had hit him. He said that he didn't need an ambulance, but Don and I
insisted that we take him to the hospital. He didn't want that either, but we
didn't give him a choice. Don and Zack held him up a little bit, and I took
Don's keys and ran out to get his car. When I pulled up at the door, the three
of them were standing there, Alan looking unsteady on his feet.
After they got him in the car, I drove as fast as I could over to Piedmont
Hospital. It was only about six blocks or so away, but it felt like an eternity
getting there. Two hours later with a prescription for pain in his hand, Alan,
Don and I left the hospital. Luckily, all he had was a huge goose egg on the
back of his head. He kept making jokes about getting more hurt in a bar than on
the football field. I was just glad that he was going to be okay.
"Dude," I said to Don, "where in the hell did you learn to move that quick?"
Don just shrugged as he drove back to Rhett's.
"What are you talking about?" Alan asked.
"Man," I laughed a bit, as the tension of the night died away, "after that guy
hit you with the mug, Don jerked his arm , did something I couldn't see, then
the guy was flipped over and landed on the floor."
"Hmm," Alan said. "A regular 'Charlie's Angels' move, huh?"
Don snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, you dick."
"Seriously," I said. "You should've seen it. It was fuckin' awesome."
"I told you he wanted you, Lyons." He grinned a little as he spoke.
"Shut the fuck up, Alan," Don said with a grin. "It was
you I was defending."
Alan sat there, thinking for a second. "Oh. So you want both of us. I get
it," he said with a shit-eating grin.
"I'm glad that you can crack such witty jokes, Alan," I groaned. He just smiled
back.
"Yeah," Don said laughing, glancing back and reaching his hand back, "lean in
and let me smack the other side of your head."
"Now, now boys, that's enough excitement for the evening, thank you very much,"
I said. It was obvious that we all were good friends, because only good friends
could sit around cracking jokes when one of them has just gotten hit in the head
with a beer mug.
Don pulled up to Alan's car, and Alan, who by now was feeling somewhat better,
promised to call me when he got home. Don made sure that I was okay. I was
fine, though a little shaken up, as I headed back into Rhett's. He left to go
home and made me promise to let him know how things were with Alan.
Once I got back into the bar, Kylie came up to me with some bad news. It turns
out that the drunken sot Damon was not arrested after all. Even though the
police had been called, not a single person saw him actually throw the mug. I
wasn't sure how that was possible, considering the small number of people around
us during the original commotion. Unfortunately, there was nothing that I, or
anyone else for that matter, could do.
It was the end of a very long night, and once I counted my tips and clocked out,
I tipped the bus boys, then headed out. My car was near the back of the parking
lot, and as I approached it I thought that it looked kind of odd; sort of
sitting at a funny angle. When I got closer I realized why. The two tires on
the driver's side were slashed. Not only that, but the windshield was smashed
into a spiderweb. "Son of a bitch!" I hollered, and turned back to the bar to
once again call the police to Rhett's.
* * * * *
"Everything" music and lyrics copyrighted 1976 by Rupert Holmes and Paul
Williams