Jean Beazley sat on the forward edge of the chair and twisted the handle of her purse as she waited for her prospective employer. She needed this job. Her last boss, after she'd worked only a few nights, had closed up shop with no warning and without paying his employees what they were owed. She would have a difficult time meeting next month's rent if she didn't find employment soon.
When Mister Lawson entered the room, she stood up to greet him. "Hello," she said, managing a smile.
"Hello, Jean. Can I call you Jean?" he asked.
"Yes, of course."
"I'm Matthew," he told her. "Please, sit."
"Thank you," said Jean. She sat and pulled the compact disc from her purse, holding it out to him. "The demo tape you asked for."
He took it from her and slid it into the player. Her voice came through the speakers, singing the Etta James song 'At Last'. Matthew leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened. The next song was the standard 'Trouble in Mind' followed by the faster-paced "Rum and Coca-Cola'.
When the disk finished playing, Matthew sat up straight and looked at her. "You're very good, Jean. You should be playing the big venues. Why do you want to work here?"
She reined in the trace of annoyance she felt at that question. He had to know that it required agents and contacts to play the big venues, making a name for one's self. Jean had none of those things at present. But allowing her annoyance to show would not help.
"I haven't really sung professionally in quite a few years," she told him. "I'm looking to get back into the business. And I need the money."
"I see." He seemed sympathetic. "All right, why don't we do a trial run tonight?" He named a figure that would more than cover her rent. "If we're both satisfied, we can talk about a longer run, agreed?"
Jean thought quickly. She loved the idea (and the amount of pay he proposed) but there was one problem. "My usual accompanist isn't available," she admitted. "Out of town, I'm afraid." The rat had taken another gig without letting her know. She was still furious at him.
"We may be able to work something out," Matthew told her. "There's a pianist that plays here regularly. He might agree to help out."
"I don't know," said Jean. "Some of my songs are somewhat... obscure."
"He knows a lot of obscure songs, believe me. Why not give him a try? I assume you have your music in there." He indicated the messenger bag at her feet. "And if there's anything he doesn't know, he can pick it up pretty quickly."
Jean gave a sly smile. "He sounds very talented. Shouldn't he be playing one of the big venues?"
Matthew laughed quietly. "Touché," he said. "Come meet him, he's inside at the moment."
He ushered her into the club itself, and she could hear a slow, sorrowful rendition of 'What'll I Do' played on the piano. It made her want to weep, it was so lovely. If this was to be her accompanist, well, she could certainly find a way to work with him.
"Major, sorry to interrupt," said Matthew, resting a hand on one of the man's broad shoulders.
The pianist turned his head, and upon spotting Jean, he quickly stood up and smiled. "Hello. Who do we have here?" he asked.
Between the brilliance of the smile and the amazingly blue eyes, Jean felt like a flustered school girl.
Thankfully, Matthew spoke, giving her a moment to regain her composure. "This is Jean Beazley. Jean, this is Lucien Blake. Major, Jean is going to do a set tonight, with the possibility for signing on with us full time. Her usual accompanist is unavailable. As a favor, would you mind filling in?"
"Miss Beazley," he said, nodding to her. "Do you have a playlist?"
"It's Mrs. Beazley, actually," she said. She handed him her typed list of songs. "Mister Blake. Or do I call you 'Major'?"
"Please, no. That's Matthew's little joke. 'Lucien' will do, or 'Blake'."
"And I'm Jean," she said as he looked over her songs. "I have sheet music for any you don't know."
"I think we're good. A run-through for the right key and tempo?" he suggested.
"I'll leave you to it then," said Matthew. "If you need anything, I'll be in the office."
Jean had the impression she'd seen Lucien before, a long time before, but she couldn't place where or when. Surely she would have remembered him.
She put it out of her mind to concentrate on the business at hand. "How would you like to go about this?" she asked. "Do you want to start playing and I'll let you know?"
"Why don't you start singing and I'll pick it up from there?" he suggested.
Jean lifted an eyebrow. "Which song would you like to start with?"
"You can decide," he told her. "It's your show."
Jean wondered if he was really that good or just overconfident and trying to impress her. She decided to find out by picking a more obscure song to begin. "All right." And she began to sing 'End of the Line' in the manner of Nina Simone.
Within the first few bars he had joined in, matching his playing to her voice seamlessly. She was impressed. It hadn't been boasting or overconfidence after all. She tried a couple of other songs to vary the tone and pace, and once again he was up to the challenge.
When they paused for a break, she wanted to find out more about him. "Where else do you perform?" she asked. "Are you a session musician for one of the big recording companies?"
"No, I'm not a member of the Wrecking Crew, if that's what you're wondering," he said with a grin, referring to the legendary group of session musicians who had performed on many of the most iconic record albums of all time. "I try to avoid recording companies at all costs. Mostly I play here when Matt needs someone to fill in. He's an old friend."
"I see," said Jean, but she really didn't. Maybe if tonight's audition worked out she would get to know him better, find out his story. One of the things she loved about the music business was the kinds of people she met, most of them with interesting personal histories.
"What about you?" he asked her. "Where have you sung recently?"
"Recently? Mostly a handful of one-night-only jobs. I'm just getting back into the business after a long break to raise my children," she explained.
"You have a lovely voice. It shouldn't take you long to develop a following. Are you looking for a recording career?"
"At the moment I'm just looking for a job that will pay the rent," she sighed.
"Then I wish you all the best for tonight. Most of the regular patrons here are knowledgeable fans of the blues. If you give them an honest effort, they'll support you."
"Thank you, that's good to know." She thought he seemed to be on her side, which would definitely help her get through her set. "Shall we get back to it then?"
They went over the remainder of the songs on her intended playlist, and when they were finished she thanked him profusely as he handed back her list.
"So what do you think?" she asked him, holding out the sheet of paper.
"The songs you've chosen highlight your voice very nicely."
She sensed his hesitation. "But what?" she prompted.
"Do you really want my input?"
"I really do," she insisted. "I've been away from this for quite a while."
"Have you considered closing with something more... memorable? Something to send them away with the thought that they've enjoyed themselves and they'd really like to come back and hear you again."
"Such as?" She arched an eyebrow at him, but she also thought his idea was a good one.
"Something familiar, upbeat. And if they can sing along, all the better."
"Does this 'something' have a name?" she teased him.
"I was thinking a fast version of 'Didn't It Rain'," he explained, demonstrating the tempo on the piano.
She nodded along, then began to sing the words. When she got to the 'call and response' section, though, she stopped. He did as well.
"What is it?" he asked.
"What if no one joins in? Won't I look ridiculous?"
"Jean Beazley, you're a beautiful woman. You will never look ridiculous," he assured her. "If it will make you feel better, I give you my word I will start the 'call and response' until everyone else joins in as well. Which I have absolutely no doubt will happen."
"Well, then, I guess that's settled. Anything else?"
"Just one more suggestion. Do you have something prepared for an encore?"
"An encore? You don't really think... Do you?"
"I do," he said, flashing her that brilliant smile yet again.
It took her a moment to recover her composure yet again. "Er, how about something not strictly blues, like 'The Long and Winding Road'?"
"Perfect." He played several bars to be sure they were in agreement on the tempo.
"When Matthew indicated to me that you could play just about any song, he wasn't kidding, was he?" she said.
He laughed, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "When we were much younger Matthew and I used to play a drinking game where if he could name a song that I couldn't play, I would buy the drinks. If he didn't stump me, he would have to pay. He bought a lot of drinks, so he thinks I can play anything. The truth is he just doesn't know that many songs."
She laughed along with him.
"Now, is there anything else you need for tonight?" he asked, getting back to the business at hand.
"A place to get ready?"
"Ah, a dressing room. Of course. Come with me, please." He led her behind the "stage" area where he used a key to open a door, then flicked on the lights and allowed her to enter first. "Only two rooms back here," he explained. "The band uses the other one so..."
He picked up a stack of books and a guitar case. "Just have to move out a few things and it's all yours."
He was giving her his dressing room, she realized. "I don't want to toss you out," she began.
"You can hardly share with the band," he pointed out. "It's fine. I'll just put these in Matt's office. No worries. Anything else? Do you need passes for family or friends?"
She considered. There was no way her son Jack would show up, but if she told Christopher he might want to give his mother some support. "Just one, I think. My son, Christopher."
"What about your husband?"
Jean paused, then decided she had no reason not to tell him the truth. "I'm a widow. My husband was killed in Iraq some time ago. The first Gulf War."
She saw a flash of intense pain in his eyes, and his hands clenched tightly. Had he lost someone close to him there as well, she wondered.
"I'm so very sorry," he told her.
"Thank you," she said softly. Not wanting to dwell on it, she looked around the small room. A serviceable mirror above a table for makeup and hair supplies, a rack with hangers for her clothes, a chair and a small couch, and she could see a tiny but clean bathroom beyond. "This should be fine," she told him.
"Perfect," he said, handing her the key. "I'll leave you to it, then. Until this evening. A pleasure, Jean."
"Thank you, Lucien, for all your help. Until this evening."