Notes From the Midnight Driver Page 8

  “Heh. ‘Trust me,’ he says. My grandmother always used to tell me, ‘Nisht azoi gich macht zich vi es tracht zich.’”

  “And that would mean…?”

  “Easier said than done, boychik. Easier said than done.”

  “Uh, okay. Sol, there’s another thing I wanted to talk about today. I’m really not a criminal or anything. The only reason I got in trouble was because, well, my parents are divorced, and my mom was going out on a date, so I took my mom’s car and…”

  “Wait a minute. What about the drinking?”

  “Okay, I was drinking. But…”

  “You see, Alex, again with the ‘but.’ But, but, but. Always with the but. A criminal, you’re not. You might even be a nice boy. But you did something wrong, and you got caught. That’s all I need to know. Everything else is just excuses.”

  “But…”

  “See?”

  “Aaarrrggghhh! You’re so frustrating!”

  “I know. Thank God I’m also handsome, or who knows how I would have gotten along in the world?”

  January 3

  Dear Judge Trent,

  I am pleased to report a new breakthrough in my community service work. Much as I enjoy serving Mr. Lewis, I have come to realize that I could do even more if I set my mind to it. In light of this, I have decided to arrange and perform a concert of Mr. Lewis’s beloved jazz music for the entire resident population at the home. I feel that this will provide an enjoyable cultural experience for the community members there, and also give Mr. Lewis something to look forward to as he recovers from some recent health difficulties he has experienced.

  I told Mr. Lewis of my plan the other day, and he appeared enthusiastic. In just one visit, he wished me a happy new year, told me I was a nice boy, AND said the concert could be, and I quote, “entertaining.” Yes, I suppose you could say we are really bonding now.

  Thank you for a wonderful growth opportunity.

  Sincerely,

  Alex Gregory

  PS—There are only forty-two hours remaining in my sentence. Have you considered my earlier request to extend my time at the home? I really think Sol would miss me if I stopped visiting him.

  AM I A GREAT MUSICIAN, OR WHAT?

  My first practice session with Steven and Annette was like being dragged around by a fast horse. Adding to my pleasure was the fact that Laurie was going to show up at some point to watch us. Because, let’s face it, if there was a possibility that I might be humiliated completely, Laurie wanted to be in the front row.

  While we got set up with our instruments, I told Steven and Annette what I wanted us to play, basically a bunch of the easiest songs we already did in jazz band. Between the time crunch and the fact that both Steven and Annette were so much better than I was, I figured simple was good. Both of them agreed that the list would work, so we were ready to go. They looked at me. Annette said, “Hey, Alex, call the first tune.”

  “Uh, how about ‘Mercy, Mercy, Mercy’?”

  They both took out the chart and put it on their music stands. Then they started giving me that “you are an idiot” look—Sol had once referred to it as “the fish eye”—again. Steven asked me, in the same voice that kindergarten teachers use with their slowest pupils, “Aren’t you going to count it off?”

  It’s weird being in charge. “Sure. One—two—three—four.” We started playing, but I knew right away something was wrong. Annette stopped.

  “That’s too fast, Alex. This song is supposed to have a groove.”

  Oh, excuse me, Hipster Girl. “Sorry. One—two—three—four.”

  Annette was right. The new tempo was better. Steven had this whole laid-back backbeat going on; Annette was doing a cool bass line with her left hand, and chording with her right. I had the melody, and thought I was actually doing a good job with it. Then we got to the solo section, and all hell broke loose. First Annette soloed while I just played the chords, which should have been easy enough. But then she started playing these funky accents all over the place, and somehow I lost the beat. It was like when you’re trying to remember a number and your friend purposely yells out random sequences of digits to mess you up.

  Well, Annette messed me up. When she realized I was totally lost, she glanced over and said, “eighteen-two-three-four, nineteen-two-three-four,” so I’d know what measure we were up to. Five bars later, it was Steven’s turn to make me look like a goon. All of a sudden, Annette was playing the chords again, so I switched over to the melody. But just as I was attempting to get my feel back, Steven started doing all these weird odd-time rolls on the toms, with quick little offbeat accents on the cymbals. I almost counted my way through the chaos by concentrating on the steady boom-boom of the bass drum, until he started messing around with that, too.

  It was hopeless. I was lost in a vast, storm-tossed sea of shifting rhythmic complexities. Of course, at my instant of deepest confusion, Laurie walked in. So she got to see Steven whisper to me cuttingly, “Psst! DROP OUT!” I stopped playing, and Steven and Annette continued, playfully turning the rest of the song into a drum-and-piano conversation. He would play a rhythm, she would play it back at him. She would do a tinkling little run on the high notes, he would somehow echo it instantly on the bells of his cymbals. He would go nuts with his bass drum, she would suddenly fire back a flurry of wacky low notes. I was just sitting there, cradling my guitar in my lap. Laurie was shaking her head at the scene. And then, suddenly, Steven and Annette were playing the main theme of the song in perfect unison, and the song ended with a perfect fade-out. Laurie applauded, I glared. Everyone’s eyes were on me. I had to say something.

  “Well, that one shows promise. What’s next?”

  “You’re kidding, right? We need to do that one again from the top. Right, Steven?”

  “Yeah. But maybe we should play simpler this time, until…”

  “Until what? Until I develop mental telepathy like you guys have?”

  “No, just until you learn the music. Are you always this touchy?”

  Laurie had to pipe up. “Why, yes, Steven, he is.”

  So we took it from the top. Again and again. Until I was practically begging for some “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” myself. But we did get to the point where I could play through the song without completely self-destructing, which was a plus. We ran through a couple of other songs, too, and I managed to fool myself into believing that I was really holding my own. At the end of the rehearsal, Annette gave me a list of things she thought I should focus on while practicing at home. I was thinking, Wow, and I thought Laurie was bossy. How does Steven stand it? But they seemed so happy together, and I had the dating record of a leper, so maybe I was missing something.

  On the walk home, I kept waiting for Laurie to bust on me about my performance, but she was in a really contemplative mood. Every once in a while this happened, like the time she made me camp out in her backyard when we were nine and we made up stories about the stars until we both fell asleep. Or once at the beach, when she started wondering whether there were two other kids in Europe or Africa watching these same waves rolling away from their beach. Tonight’s food for thought was whether it was possible to be happily married.

  “Alex, do you think your parents are going to stay together this time?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “Well, I was just thinking about it. I mean, won’t the same stuff that drove them apart the first time just drive them apart again?”

  “It depends, I guess. I’m not even sure what the problem was in the first place—but maybe they’re different now. Don’t you think people can change for the better if they want to?”

  “I’m not sure. My mom was a miserable wife and mother for us, but now she’s trying again with a new husband. So SHE must think she’s changed.”

  “Unless she just thinks it was all your dad’s fault, and she’ll be the perfect mate for your stepdad.”

  “You know, Alex, she probably IS the perfect mate for my stepdad—they’
re both idiots!” She got quiet for a minute, and then blew the hair out of her eyes. “Men and women CAN be happy together, though, right? I mean, somehow, somewhere?”

  “Sure, Laur. Look at Steven and Annette. I think she orders him around so much, she should have given him a tip at the end of the rehearsal, but he must love something about her.”

  “Alex, can I ask you something?”

  “Just did.”

  “Ha-ha. Do you think Annette is pretty?”

  I wanted to shout, “You’re prettier!” But you never know how Laurie is going to respond to a statement like that, and there’s always that “sudden use of karate” problem she tends to have. So I just said, “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, in a band-geek kind of way. Why?”

  “I dunno. Steven just looks at her like she hung the moon or something. I think it would be great if a guy looked at me that way. I could see staying together for life with somebody who cared about me that much.”

  “I care about you that much.” Oops, dang! Did I say that out loud?

  “Yeah, but I mean a real guy.”

  I must have had some facial reaction to that one, because Laurie backtracked. “I mean, you’re a real guy, and you’re good-looking and nice to me and funny and…umm…I dunno, great. But you’re my ALEX. You know?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.” But I was a little hurt anyway. “You know who I think is REALLY hot? That girl Stephanie Simon, from homeroom.”

  “The snotty cheerleader? For real?”

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely for real.”

  “You don’t think she’s a little—I don’t know—trashy with the tight clothes and everything?”

  “Sure, but she has other good points, too.”

  “Chuckle, chuckle. And don’t you think her face is a little odd-looking?”

  “Stephanie Simon has a face? I don’t think I ever noticed that before. Huh, who knew?”

  At that point, I knew the chop was coming. But I couldn’t stop it. That’s why Laurie had a black belt and I just had lots of bruises. But when Laurie hit me this time, it felt extra-hard, even for her. “OOWWW!”

  “Oh, it hurts when I do that? Huh, who knew?” We were in front of Laurie’s house at that point, so she just flounced away up her driveway, leaving me to wonder how we had gone from a philosophical discussion to me getting pounded on in just a few short blocks. I watched her until she got inside. Just before she shut the door, she stuck out her tongue at me. Which is weird, because whatever had just happened, I was pretty certain she had started it.

  January 26

  Dear Judge Trent,

  It is with the greatest pleasure that I humbly extend my invitation for you to attend the first-ever Egbert P. Johnson Memorial Home for the Aged Winter Jazz Thingie, an event that will have a fancier title as soon as I think of one. This will be a spectacular concert, featuring me on guitar, and precocious jazz geniuses Steven Alper and Annette Watson on drums and piano, respectively. The festivities will begin promptly at six P.M. Eastern Standard Time on February 7, at the recreation hall on the first floor of the home.

  I would relish the opportunity to demonstrate to you the sincerity and strength of my newfound enthusiasm for assisting the elderly, as well as my organizational and musical skills.

  If it is not too much trouble, please let me know as soon as possible whether you will be attending, so that I may reserve you a seat of honor in the front between my mother, with whom you are acquainted, and my good friend, Mr. Solomon Lewis.

  Thank you.

  Yours truly,

  Alex Gregory

  January 30

  Dear Alex,

  Your concert sounds like a wonderful event, as well as a marvelous learning experience for all involved. However, I am afraid I have to decline your invitation to attend, due to some unfinished private business of my own.

  I look forward to hearing of your great success in this worthy endeavor.

  Sincerely,

  Judge J. Trent

  A NIGHT FOR SURPRISES

  The month of January was a mind-numbing slog through hell. I had practice with the Cha-KINGS two days a week and visits with Sol on the in-between days.On the weekends, even if I hadn’t been grounded, I would have had to ground myself to study for my midterms, which were the last week of the month. My parents were now officially “dating” each other, which was odd and icky, so I just tried to completely ignore it, although at least my dad seemed to have forgotten about moving to Philadelphia for the time being. Oh, and to top it all off, things were awkward and strange with Laurie. I really wanted my old pal, Laurie, back, so we could laugh and make egg creams, get kicked out of the mall restaurants together, and just generally hang. But instead I had this weird new Laurie, who smiled less, battered me more, and still somehow made me think of her constantly. I was tired all the time, and my dreams were a terrifying jumble of random, out-of-tune guitar noises, massive precalc problems, scrambled American history factoids, and images of my parents and Laurie; Sol and Laurie; Annette, Steven, and Laurie.

  With some extra Laurie thrown in for good luck.

  Somehow, I made it through the month, passed my midterms, and staggered into my last practice before the concert. I even remembered my guitar and sheet music, which I thought was a nice touch. The Cha-KINGS were all set up, but had an odd, almost guilty expression on their usually eager faces. Annette dropped the bomb: “Alex, first of all, we want to thank you very much for the opportunity you have offered us to play at the home tomorrow. It’s always nice to be given a chance to help people, and you know we both love playing music. But…” She stopped talking and straightened out her very preppy band-geek skirt. It was hard to believe, but Annette seemed, well, nervous.

  “Okay, but?”

  “Uh…we don’t think you’re really ready to play with us tomorrow. Steven knows his parts cold, and I certainly have a handle on what I’m doing, but your playing is still not really where it should be.”

  “I’m doing okay. We’ll get through the concert. Listen, just last Tuesday, you said my solo on the Fiddler medley was ‘nice,’ and I haven’t gotten lost and had to drop out of anything for at least a week.”

  Steven took his potshot at the rapidly deflating target formerly known as my ego. “Alex, you’re doing OKAY. But we want better than just OKAY. We want GREAT. We want EXCELLENT. And even though you’ve been trying much harder than I’d thought you could, you’re just…not…quite…there. I’m sorry.”

  “Wait a minute. Annette, Steven, listen to me. All of those people at the home, they’re depending on us. They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. They don’t have much going on in their lives, and they need a little inspiration. Maybe we could bring a smile to their faces. Who knows? Maybe our little concert could even help somebody to…hey, wait. Why are you laughing?”

  Laurie popped up from behind the piano, and growled, “Gotcha!” Actually, it was a pretty respectable imitation of Sol, although I was NOT pleased that Laurie had added this newest weapon to her arsenal of Alex-torture methods. “Wow, Alex, you sounded like a guy who cares for a moment there. It scared me.”

  Steven and Annette were cracking up now. I had always thought the Cha-KINGS were stiff and dull, but I guess you can just add that to my long list of misjudgments. “I DO care!” And I did. I mean, Laurie had a point. I used to not care. And Sol still bugged me, and irritated me, and even got me furious pretty much every time. But I wanted this concert to go right.

  Annette said, “We know, Alex. Just because we’re the Cha-KINGS doesn’t mean we can’t tell when a person is serious about a project. Don’t worry, we’re going to play the job. How could we miss it? Laurie told us your friend Sol is the most entertaining man on earth.”

  Wait just one cotton-pickin’ minute! They knew I called them the Cha-KINGS? I was going to KILL Laurie. Right until she took the surprise cake out from behind her back.

  “Congratulations, Alex. You’re really going to pull this thing off. And it will be
an event to remember.”

  Laurie was right, too, although not quite in any way we could have imagined. The concert was a success in all the ways you’d want. The stage got set up. The orderlies transported everyone to the right place at the right time. The oldsters loved the music. Steven and Annette got a big kick out of playing. My parents sat together in the front row with Laurie and Sol, and didn’t make any kind of fighting scene whatsoever. And I got through the whole first half of the program without any major embarrassments.

  I admit, I was a little tense at the start of the show. The big manager lady of the home said a few words about how wonderful it was to see young people being active in the community, blah blah blah. Then she handed the microphone to me. I had been so focused on the musical part that it never crossed my mind that I’d have to speak in public, too. I looked at my mom and dad, who were leaning forward a bit, waiting to hear my brilliant words. I looked at Sol, who was coughing hard into a napkin, totally oblivious to the onstage festivities. I looked at Laurie, who was crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at me. I took a breath.

  “Uh, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. I mean, not coming exactly, since most of you live here, but…well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I’m Alex, and the drummer is Steven. Annette over there is playing piano. Well, she isn’t playing piano right NOW, but she will be once I shut up. Okay, here’s a song called ‘Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.’”

  I’m man enough to face the fact that my little blurb wasn’t going to win me any speaker-of-the-year awards, but at least I hadn’t tripped and fallen off the stage, crushing and killing three elderly jazz fans. Whatever. It was time to play and we did. I could have been looser and more relaxed, but I didn’t make any glaring errors. Plus, the Cha-KINGS were so devastatingly skilled that I could probably have been reading my sheet music upside down, playing in the wrong key, and setting my guitar on fire while juggling five enraged cats without anyone particularly noticing. I just basically stayed out of their way, played chords when it was chord time, played melodies when it was my turn to do that, and kept my solos simple. Steven was a subtle tornado. His arms barely even moved, but somehow he played these super-quick fills that always stopped EXACTLY on time. His bass drum danced through the tunes, twining into Annette’s bass notes and propelling all of us along with a gliding feel I had never quite heard him achieve before. And Annette. Holy cow! I had once heard Steven say he thought she was most beautiful when she played, and at the time, I hadn’t seen it. But she really was striking to watch now. Her fingers had that same light, darting thing going on that Steven’s hands did, and her face was totally serene—like she had been born to do this, just exactly this, totally and only this. And then once in a while, when she and Steven did one of their mentaltelepathy accent runs together, she locked eyes with him in a way that almost made me blush. But instead of blushing, I found myself turning away from Annette to gaze at Laurie.