Chapter 8
"So what are you doing here, Joel?"
The question came out of nowhere and Joel's fingers fumbled on the keys. He'd come in a little early to practice on Saturday because his latest temp job had ended and he had lots of free time again. Jack hadn't tried to get him to talk about things after the morning when Joel had been screaming in his sleep, and after six months here, Joel had decided that maybe Jack had simply accepted the way things were going.
Apparently, he was wrong.
He forced himself to look at Jack with an expression of simple curiosity.
"What do you mean? I'm practicing. Remember? You let me in twenty minutes ago."
Jack wasn't at all put off. He smiled.
"Yes, I did. I also have been watching you for the last six months. Anytime you sing a song about the past or about the future, you seem to feel it more."
"Maybe it's just a bad breakup," Joel said and started to turn back to the piano.
"Oh, no. It has nothing to do with a relationship going sour. It has nothing to do with other people, really. Whatever it is, it's all about you and your life. When you sing songs about relationships, you don't show anything, but you do when you sing a song about having nothing in your life. Why are you here? It's not because you're trying to make a career in music. It feels like you're waiting for something, but I don't know what that something is. ...and I'm starting to think that you don't, either."
Joel looked at the worn piano keys. Jack had been supportive ever since he'd hired Joel. He'd been willing to accept someone on faith and he'd helped out a lot more than Joel would ever have expected. Maybe he could trust that Jack wouldn't exploit his weakness. But he couldn't take it back if he was wrong.
"What is it, Joel? You need to trust someone."
"Jack..."
That was all he got out. There was a loud pounding on the door of the bar and an angry voice. A drunk angry voice if Joel was any judge. Jack looked toward the door, sighed and shook his head. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Joel.
"Call Lang," he said. "He's in my contacts. I think I might need him, but don't call the regular police number."
"What am I telling him?"
"That Louis is here again."
Joel raised an eyebrow. Jack just shrugged. Saying that Louis was here again implied that this was a fairly regular occurrence, but that he was supposed to call Langston meant that this could get violent. Jack just didn't want an actual arrest of his cousin.
"Okay."
He took the phone and dialed while Jack headed for the door.
"Langston. What's up, Jack?"
"It's Joel."
"Why do you have Jack's phone?"
"Jack gave it to me. He asked me to call you. Said that Louis is here again."
There was a sigh.
"I know he won't, but I wish he'd just let me arrest that idiot. I'll be right there."
Then, suddenly, there was a commotion from the door of the bar and Jack backed away. Louis was there all right. Joel recognized him from the day he'd been hired. He was drunk just like that first day.
...but this time, he had a gun in his hands.
"Hurry up, Langston," Joel said in a low voice. "He's got a gun this time."
"Five minutes. I'm there."
Then, the call ended. Joel put down the phone, but the movement got Louis' attention. He pointed the gun at Joel.
"Get away from my dad's piano," he said.
Carefully and slowly, Joel put up his hands and stood. He stepped away from the piano.
"Okay. That's fine."
"No! No, it's not fine! It's not yours!" Louis said.
And something about this made Joel revise his opinion. Louis didn't really seem drunk. It was more like he was on drugs. This was a stimulant, not a depressant. At the back of his mind, Joel wondered how in the world he knew this, but he was sure of it, now that he'd had a better look at Louis. It wasn't a guess.
"That's right, Louis. It's not his. It's mine," Jack said. "I gave him permission to play it."
Louis swung the gun back on Jack.
"You have no right!" he shouted.
"Yes, I do. It's my piano, Louis. It's not yours."
"It's not your piano! It's Dad's piano!"
"Your dad is dead, Louis," Jack said. "And it sucks, but he is. He killed himself and he's dead."
"No!"
"Yes, Louis. Uncle Mike died. Years ago. And he hated guns. What is his son doing with a gun in his hand?"
Joel was watching all this and he was afraid, but suddenly, completely inappropriately (he hoped), a song popped into his head. It was Jimi Hendrix instead of Billy Joel. He didn't sing it (since that seemed like a dangerous thing to do at the moment), but the lyrics were going through his head.
Hey Joe
Where you goin' with that gun in your hand?
Hey Joe
I said, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?
"I'm making things right, Jack. It's not right!"
"How is threatening to kill me going to make things right, Louis?" Jack asked, seeming completely calm. "You really think that this is going to bring your dad back? It's not. He's dead and if you want to go to Hell and never get a chance to see him in heaven, then you can kill one of us. If you want to see your dad again, you'd better put down the gun and stop being an idiot."
Joel wondered if this was the best approach, but he didn't know Louis. Maybe he would respond to it.
There was a long moment of silence. Joel was surprised, given the fear he always felt in his dreams, that he wasn't more afraid at this moment. He was afraid but not terrified.
Then, Louis focused on Joel again.
"Do you play?" he demanded.
"Yeah."
"Do you play?"
"Try me. What do you want me to play?"
"Play something about me. And you'd better get it right."
Louis was jittery and the gun was shaking in his hands, but Joel wasn't willing to test whether or not he was really going to kill one or both of them. So he slowly walked back to the piano and sat down. No quick movements. For a moment, he considered playing what Jack had told him was his uncle's suicide note, but then, that seemed like a bad idea when Louis was already off his rocker. But then, as he glanced over, he saw Jack unsure of what he was going to do and he saw Louis, boiling with drug-induced, self-righteous rage. A song popped into his head. Billy Joel, of course.
He turned back and started to play a song he'd been trying to learn, but the very beginning was way beyond his ability. He'd watched a recording of Billy Joel playing it live and his fingers had been moving so fast that they were blurred. So he skipped right to the main part of the song.
And he started to sing.
"There's a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl
He's always at home with his back to the wall
And he's proud of his scars and the battles he's lost
And he struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man."
Then, Joel kept playing, wondering if a bullet in his back was coming. But there was nothing. He kept going. Maybe if he could keep Louis distracted, Langston would arrive and would be able to take him down. He sang the second verse and then he got into a musical interlude and kept playing, although he was completely making the accompaniment up at this point. He was nervous enough that he didn't really remember how it went, but then, he got to the next verse.
"And there's always a place for the angry young man
With his fist in the air and his head in the sand
And he's never been able to learn from mistakes
So he can't understand why his heart always breaks
But his honor is pure and his courage as well
And he's fair and he's true and he's boring as hell
And he'll go to the grave as an angry old man."
Then, one more repeat of the first verse, a few loud, angry chords and he finished with a flourish and then turned around.
"Well?" Joel demanded. "Are you going to pretend that I didn't just describe you?"
Louis looked at him, almost in surprise, and the glaze in his eyes seemed to fade a little, as if he'd actually heard something in it.
"H-How did you know?" he asked, shakily. "Did Dad tell you?"
Joel looked at Jack for a fraction of a second and then made his own decision.
"Yeah, Louis. Yeah, he did. He doesn't want you to be doing this. He doesn't want his son to be a killer, and you're not yet. All you have to do is put down the gun."
He saw Langston behind Louis. His gun was drawn, but he wasn't aiming it yet. Joel was relieved to have a cop on hand, but maybe this could end without anyone dying.
"Come on, Louis. I'm nobody special, but I don't want to see you die and your dad chose to have me tell you that. You have a choice here."
There was a long pause.
Then, Louis lowered the gun. Before Joel could do or say anything else, Langston moved in and had disarmed and cuffed Louis in a second. Louis started struggling and crying, but Langston was strong enough to hold him and then pull him to his feet. Jack walked over.
"Wait a second, Lang."
"We have to arrest him this time, Jack," Langston said. "He's clearly high and he could have killed both of you."
"I know. I know, Lang." Then, Jack looked at Louis. "Your dad wouldn't want this life for you, Louis. If you actually want help, you know where I'll be, but I won't help you end up in the gutter."
Louis said nothing and Langston hauled him out of the bar. Jack sighed and shook his head.
"This is going to kill Darlene," he said, softly. "It's easy to blame it on Mike's suicide, but Louis was already starting this before he died." There was a pause and then Jack knelt down and picked up the gun. "Mike was my uncle, but I was actually really close to his age. That's what happens when you come from big Catholic families. He was the youngest of his family and I was the oldest of mine. Louis... I told Darlene I'd keep an eye on him, but that's hard to do when he's like this."
Langston came back into the bar.
"Can I take the gun, Jack?" he asked.
"Yeah. I don't even know where he got it. Mike never had any. So either he bought it or else..."
"Right. I'm sorry about this. I'll let you know what happens."
"Thanks, Lang."
"No problem. I'm glad you called for me." Then, Langston looked over at Joel. "You play pretty good and you're a pretty smooth talker."
"Good thing for me," Joel said.
"Right." Then, he looked back at Jack. "You going to open tonight?"
"No damage, no injuries. Of course I am."
Langston smiled. "All right. I'll try to drop in."
"All right."
Langston left. Joel was still standing in the same place he had been before. Jack turned and looked at Joel.
"You up for playing tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Come down early. You'll have dinner."
"You don't have to do that. I was saving myself, too."
"Yeah, I do. Now, go on. I've got things to do."
"Okay."
Joel started to leave.
"Hey, Joel."
He turned back.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Joel smiled. "You're welcome."
Then, he left and went back up to his apartment.
He sat down on the bed and looked at his hands. They were shaking a little. He had played probably as well as he ever did. He had read that Billy Joel only played "Angry Young Man" at the opening of his concerts because the beginning was so hard to play that he could only manage it when he was feeling the nerves of performance. He wondered if he would have been able to manage that had he known it well enough to try.
After a few minutes, he lay down and stared at the ceiling, not moving for a while.
Softly, he began to sing.
"Streetlife serenader
Never sang on stages
Needs no orchestration
Melody comes easy
His mind flitted around and he didn't sing the song in order. He just jumped from verse to verse. The lyrics sounded like such freedom, but at the same time, the tune was mournful. It wasn't a good thing to have no obligation, nothing to hold onto, to keep one living.
It was like saying one thing but feeling something completely different from it. Instead of finding freedom in not being tied down, it was as if he was stuck in the air, never able to land, even though he was tired of flying.
After a while, the words faded from his mind and he sighed before closing his eyes to try and get a little bit of sleep before the night's performance.