THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART III, A SHORT STORY

The four band members began filtering in at eight o’clock, nodded to their boss, and began setting up the stage.

Mac walked up to the stage.

“What’s up, boss?” asked Joe the piano player.

“Might have a sax player for y’all.”

Frank, the drummer, said, “That’s great!  About time somebody saw your damn sign.”  The other band members laughed as they nodded in agreement.

“Don’t get too worked up,” said Mac.  “He’s just a kid.  I’m sure he lied about his age.  But there aren’t many musicians in this part of the city, and those that wouldn’t work in a dive like this.  Hell, by this time of night, there ain’t many sober folks of any sort in this part of the city.  He’ll be here at nine.  We’ll see if he has anything.”

At nine sharp the door to the club opened and Sweats walked in carrying his sax in a beat-up case.

Joe took one look at Sweats and muttered, “Shit.”

Sweats walked to the stage.

 “So they call you Sweats,” Joe said.  “Does your mom know you’re here, little boy?” 

Sweats’ forehead instantly grew a glistening sheen.

After studying Sweats’ face, Joe said, “I take that to be a no.  Well, boy, I’m sure it’s going to be a waste of our good time, but we’ll give you a try.”

Sweats hurriedly took out his sax and scanned the sheet music handed to him, while Joe introduced the band.  Pointing to each member, he said, “This here is Frank.  He plays drums.  Leroy, over there, plays brass and Fats plays bass.”  The musicians looked Sweats up and down.  He could see the ridicule in their eyes.

 The band began to play the first set.  Sweats was nervous at first and made some mistakes, causing Joe to wince.  But halfway through the second piece, Sweats fell into his groove and took off.  The rest of the band had to work to keep up with him.  One by one, the band members stopped playing and listened.  The conversation in the club died down.  Only the sweet sound of Sweats playing his sax filled the club.  Sweats was lost in the music.  He was at a level the band members tried for but never attained.  At that moment, his entire world consisted of his sax and the notes it produced.  When Sweats was done, he was drenched; the club was silent.  Slowly, the audience began to clap.  The enthusiasm of the crowd picked up with shouts for more.

Joe handed Sweats more music and the band played until one.  As they were packing up, Joe said, “See you at eight tomorrow night, kid.  We play Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.  That okay with you?”

“That’s fine sir.”  Sweats was getting ready to leave when Mac called out his name and motioned him to the bar.  “Looks like you got yourself a job, kid.  I got to tell ya’, kid, you fooled me big time.”  He handed Sweats two twenty-dollar bills.

He had totally forgotten that he would be getting paid to play.  However, his euphoria ended when he thought about going home and facing his mother.  He knew she would be home before him, probably waiting for him now. 

Sweats made his way home on the darkened streets to the apartment he shared with his mother.  Entering quietly, he locked the door behind him.  He put down his instrument in the hallway and walked into the tiny kitchen.  His mother sat at the beat-up table drinking coffee. 

“Where in the hell you been, boy?”

“I got the job, Mom,” Sweats said as he laid his pay on the table and pushed it across to her.

“What kind of job, and where you working?” she said as she looked down at the money.

“Playing my sax, Mom.  I’m getting paid to play.  Shit, I’d play for nothing if I had to, but they’re paying me.”

“Watch your mouth, boy”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Listen, Jerome, the streets around here aren’t safe during the day, never mind at night.”

“I’ll be careful Mom.  I’m playing with a band, and I love it.”  As he said this, Sweats pushed the money closer to his mom.  She looked at the money.  Sweats knew they were barely making it.

“Oh, Baby,” said his mom.

Sweats knew he had her, again.