On the Road Again
"You ready?" Sy asked Zib as he leaned in to talk quietly.
"Shh, here it comes." Zib replied, happy to be sober enough to remember the moment.
They were filling in space in the back as several dozen people who were friends and family watched Ethan and Isabella exchange their vows. Ethan was standing tall with Rocky, Freckle, Joseph and Riley behind him. On the other side of the altar was Isabella in a simple but elegant dress of her own mother's design along with Ivy, Alena, and two friends from the university behind her.
In attendance was Isabella's family, whom Zib had only met yesterday. He could recall her parents being Andres and Julia. Both were indeed talented at their craft. Though simple in design, the band's attire for the wedding fit like a second skin and enabled enough movement for all of them to make the most of their instruments. White pants and white vests with gold trim were the perfect facelift they needed to keep up with the other jazz bands of the age clad in white. Isabella's parents had saw to it that they band could still retain a bit of their own colors though. Ties and hand bands matched the color of their usual attire. Zib had satin red, Sy had satin green, J.J. retained his blue while Mozzie had charcoal grey and Big Ben had black. Walter had opted to stick with white since he was planning to return the outfit after he wrapped up the wedding gig. They were even allowed to keep their attire on one condition, to tell anyone that asks who made their suits to send them straight to St. Louis and the Moreno family.
As I listened to the priest, my eyes couldn't help but take in the glorious woman that was now before me. Sure, there were fancier dresses in the world, but Isabella was as perfect as a cat could be. She and I smiled at each other, only breaking away to say our respective parts. To think that our journey together had come so far so quickly. It was like yesterday when my eyes had first met hers in that park pathway next to the pond. And before that was twenty-seven years of fighting for a life of my own. I was absolutely overjoyed to have not only succeeded, but to now have someone to share that life from this day onward.
And finally those words I had been anxiously waiting for all morning left the priest's lips. "In sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss!"
I had rehearsed this moment many times and now could put it all into action. Stepping forward to fill the space between us, I held Bella close and kissed her with all my passion, something she was quick to reciprocate. The rush of emotion and excitement whirled around us and soon we were dancing in the farm yard, the circular drive serving as our dance floor. Behind us the house was bright and new, but no sooner had the boys and I put a final coat of paint on the walls that we realized this home was quickly going to outgrow the family. Unfortunately, funds to expand were going to be a little tight until other things could be handled. This car was an unnecessary expense, but at least Wick would be understanding about how fast we could repay him and Mitzi would assure him that it was a worthy cause. Mere pocket change for the "baron of industry" in St. Louis.
As the band readied themselves for another son, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Andres.
"Ethan, my dear Bella. I am so proud of both of you, congratulations!"
"Thank you, sir!" I said while Bella kissed her father.
"There is, however, one tradition I must insist on. Every father should dance with his daughter at her wedding."
"Of course, papa!" Bella said, taking him by the hand.
Bidding them both a happy dance, I retreated to the side tables in the barn where our appetizers were quickly being devoured by our families. Finally able to relax, I found myself in good company with Rocky. "You got to try these… things. I don't know what they are, but they're delicious!" He said, elbowing me.
I quickly inspected one of the delicacies in front of us. "That's fried zucchini, Rocky. Gotta leave some for everyone else." I replied, but did help myself to one of them. "Say, when are you going to go dance with your girlfriend?"
"My, uh, we. Oh, we aren't… It's not that we don't, I guess you could say Evelyn and I—"
"Rocky, you've been dating Evelyn now for a few weeks, there's no need to dance around the subject."
"Is it that obvious?" He asked.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Yes Rocky, you've been on how many dates now? If she hasn't pushed you away yet then Ivy considers you two an item.
"She's over there with Alena." Rocky said, gesturing to the small gathering of women who were only loosely affiliated with the family. "Come on, lover boy, let's get those feet moving."
Riley snapped pictures of all the couples and other small parties around the wedding. She had more than enough film for the occasion and enough coaching from Mitzi to trust that her exposure and focus was correct more often than not. She focused her lens on Rocky and Evelyn who were struggling to keep up with an especially fast song that we're pretty sure Zib pulled out to challenge his violinist.
"I need to get you and Bella next!" Riley said.
"Let her and Mr. Moreno have their moment, then I'll need to claim my bride for some well-earned dancing."
The time arrived soon enough. Bella and I paused briefly as the song ended for Riley to capture our likeness. This was a moment I hoped to remember forever! We all gathered together for the toasts and feasts, though besides some jokes and a nice toast by Andres there wasn't too much to write home about. One by one, guests departed until there was just the core of our makeshift, cobbled-together family called the Lackadaisy crew. After borrowing the house for a few minutes, Zib and the band emerged in their usual clothes and began packing up the car.
"Alright boys, we gotta get as far south tonight as possible." Mozzie said as he looked over the map once more.
"I wish I could come with, Zib." Rocky said as he helped load up Ben's upright bass.
"Nonsense, Rocky. You've got your life here." Zib said as he lit up a cigarette. "I remember when Mitzi first brought you in off the street…"
"That was a great day!" Rocky recalled. "You were so impressed, right?"
"Actually, I didn't think you'd get far." Zib flatly said.
"Oh…"
"But you proved me wrong. I never thought a self-taught violinist could master jazz and yet you did in a matter of weeks."
"You know, if you wanted some extra help—"
Zib shook his head and placed a hand on Rocky's shoulder. "No, kid. This is where you're needed. You've got a son, a family, and a girl. We are on one last ride for glory and fame, but you already have what you need."
Rocky, of course, knew Zib was right. He was echoing what Ethan had said the other day. But he also didn't want to say goodbye.
"But…"
"No, Rocky. We'll come look you up though whenever we come through town."
Mitzi joined the boys at that moment with a camera in hand. "You're really going through with it, aren't you?"
Zib winked at her. "At some point we got to keep moving on. The world doesn't stop spinning just because we're having a good time. And you've also found a place where you're needed." He said, pointing his thumb at Wick as he got the vehicle ready.
"It was fun while it lasted." Mitzi said, hugging Wick. Now, I think we need one last picture for the wall. Zib, you stand in front of the car. Come on boys, tall in the back, shorter in the front. And you move a little to the left hon."
Mitzi then dialed in the settings before handing the camera to Riley. "Okay, Riley, just focus the lens and press the shutter button."
The rest of us stood behind Riley as the "Dixie Drifters" took their last picture together. I couldn't help but think of how we were slowly but surely moving on to new things. Most of us were going to be in St. Louis and in touch with each other often, but the band needed to find greener pastures if they were going to keep doing what they loved. After the photo, Walter grabbed his coat and shook his friends' hands.
"You gentlemen take care; it was an honor. Can't wait to hear you guys tearing up the airwaves."
"Good luck, Walter." Sy said, patting him on the back as the cat got into his girlfriend's car and drove off, waving at Mitzi on his way out.
"I'm going to miss you boys so much!" Mitzi said, hugging and kissing all of them individually. Zib tried to hide it but he was teary-eyed.
When Mitzi had said her goodbyes, Rocky stepped forward. Zib went to shake Rocky's hand, but Rocky batted it away and hugged his mentor tight around the waist.
"Alright, I guess this is happening now. Hey, take it easy kid. It's all okay."
"I know." Rocky said, wiping away tears. "I just don't want to say goodbye."
"I'll see you around, Rocky. Now go hug your boy for me, would ya?"
Rocky did as he was told, picking up Joseph and kissing the boy on the cheek before holding the kid close.
"Well gang, it's been a ride. Don't forget to tune in during the radio show." Zib said, climbing into the driver seat of the model T right behind the other members of the band. With one last wave, Zib fired the machine up and threw it into gear. We all stood there and bid them farewell and good luck as they putzed down the driveway and turned down the gravel road.
"I hope they make it." Ivy said, pulling Freckle next to her. "It wasn't easy to patch the old girl up."
"Eh, I'm sure they'll be fine." I said. "Now Rocky on the other hand…" we turned around and noticed a look on Rocky's face which gave us some amount of pity. It was like a piece of him had left with the band, some of the most important people in his life were in that car. Joseph, now standing on firm ground next to his dad, hugged Rocky from the side, letting his head lean on Rocky's hip. Though he didn't look down, Rocky's tail curled around the boy in a gesture of thanks. Evelyn quickly hugged Rocky as well, burying her head in his shoulder. "It's okay, Rocky."
"Come on boys, let's get the emotional wreck inside before he has a breakdown." Ivy said. We helped Rocky into the living room followed closely by Mitzi. She sat down next to Rocky while the rest of us got on with cleaning up after the wedding.
"You've still got me, hon." She said, kissing Rocky on the cheek. This seemed to break him out of his trance. "Thanks, Miss M. I'm going to miss them."
"I'm going to miss then too, Rocky. But if there's anything I've learned from the past year, it's that we have to say goodbye when the time comes. I still miss Atlas, but I'd rather have Wick, Ivy, and my boys here with me. That includes you, dear. Now, I believe you've got a son and one hell of a woman to give you all the company you need." Mitzi stood up and winked at Evelyn.
"Thank you, Miss M." Evelyn said as she took Mitzi's spot next to Rocky.
"And you're sure you'll be alright here with the others?" I asked Riley as I helped her put her clothes away and find something more suitable for being on the farm.
"I'll be fine, Ethan." Riley said as she came out from behind her dressing pane in a shirt and her undergarments.
"Just want to be sure. It'll be hard to get Isabella to turn around once we get all the way up there. She's excited. You know, you could come with if you want?"
"Taking your kid sister with you on your honeymoon?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. I guess even to a child that sounded silly.
"Alright, fair enough. But I'm going to make sure Ivy and Freckle watch over you. You'll go where they go until we get back. Now, are you going with a skirt or pants?" I asked, holding up the two items she had thrown at me earlier from her dresser.
"It's hot out, I think I'll wear the skirt."
"Then here you go. Now, I need to get myself packed and ready."
"You're going tomorrow?"
"I think we'll give it a day. See if Rocky is still upset about having say goodbye to the band."
Goodbye, St. Louis!
Motoring their way around the south end of St. Louis, Zib spotted a shiny new sign. "Route 61."
Well boys, here it is. Goodbye Saint Louis!" Zib said as he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the city getting smaller behind them. They motored on uneventfully, stopping briefly for gas at a small-town station. It was mid-afternoon when they left and they didn't expect to get too far south before making camp, but Zib was determined to get every bit of distance he could. The little motor started to struggle to keep up a steady pace though as they entered the hill country south of Selma. Nearing the top at Bloomsdale, Zib finally called it quits and pulled into a section of public land outside of town that looked ideal for a camp.
Pitching the tarp over the car and tying it to a couple of nearby trees, the gang soon had their own camp made up just as the sun set below the horizon. In the distance they could hear the Mississippi rolling a few hundred yards from the road. Behind them were hills which got taller the further they looked west until they became the Ozarks. Mozzie looked over the map again, doing back-of-the-hand calculations for gas and estimated time. J.J. and Ben pulled out the food which they had packed yesterday. It wasn't much, but beans and canned meat were at least calories.
"What's tomorrow look like, Mozzie?" Sy asked as he handed their navigator a portion of dinner.
"We only got around 70 miles or so tomorrow before we get to my cousin's club. But at the speed our Empress is going in these hills it might well take us four hours of driving."
"Well, at least we can sleep in." Zib said as he settled into the back seat of the Ford with a cigarette in hand. "All we're missing now is a drink."
"I got us covered." J.J. said as he stood up and rummaged around in the back of the car before producing two bottles of whiskey.
"Where the hell did you come up with that?" Ben asked as he reached for one of the bottles.
"There's still some of the good stuff down in the Lackadaisy. I swiped us a few bottles before locking up the place for good."
"Well I'll be damned, good thinking J.J." Zib said before taking a swig and passing it down to Mozzie.
"Now our only problem is going to be keeping the coffers full." Sy said as he counted out the cash.
"How do you mean?" Mozzie asked.
"I hope this club of your cousin's is going to be worth it because we don't have a lot of cash to get all the way to New Orleans. In fact, if anything goes wrong, I doubt we'll have enough for food and gas to get us to Memphis."
"Well what happened to the money from the wedding gig?" Ben asked as he passed a bottle to J.J.
"Ethan gave us most of that in advance, which we promptly spent on food, cigarettes, gasoline, and our other supplies. I didn't feel right asking for more because he went out and got us a set of wheels on short notice."
"We will just have to make do." Zib said before slumping back down into the car. "That crew has been doing right by us for years."
As dusk turned into night, the sounds of the forest around them came to life. A whippoorwill called every so often as the little night hawk caught bugs around camp. Out in the distance a great horned owl hooted while mice and voles scurried around the forest floor. It was a symphony of nature to Zib's ears, and one he hadn't heard in quite some time. All those years in the cave and walking through the city streets had almost made him forget how comforting the forest was on a peaceful night.
He thought back to his childhood up in Wisconsin. He and the family would take trips out of Milwaukee to the great north woods. His dad was a hunter and a beast of a man, and Zib's brothers took after him in everything from mannerisms to muscle. Zib was the odd one out, the middle child. Quieter, not quite as strong though just as tall. And while he wasn't cut out for stalking deer in the fall or working on his uncle's farm in the summer, Zib still enjoyed the serenity which came with nature.
"Dang bird is starting to get on my nerves." Sy whispered from the front seat as he tossed and turned.
"What, you mean the little night hawk?"
"Yeah, doesn't it both you?"
"Not really. Just one instrument in a massive band."
"Well lucky you." Sy said as he twisted himself trying to get comfortable. Zib rolled his eyes and scooted himself into the corner of the seat. "Hop over, the back seat is bigger with it all folded down flat."
The seat came down flat in a special modification that the owner must have requested back in the day. Sy flipped himself over the back of the front seat and landed next to Zib on the makeshift bed. "Huh, this is better."
Sure enough, Sy was finally asleep while Zib lit up another cigarette for himself. The tarp blocked his view of the night sky, which was a shame because he had been wanting to see all those stars again. Still, he was happy to know the band was mostly still intact and able to sleep on the road. One of his secret fears was that the Lackadaisy might have made them soft and unable to handle the rigors of the road.
The fear of failure still nagged him, however. They did all they could up until this point and the contest was going to be their last chance to make it big. But the very fact that it was the last chance scared him. Zib had been playing music for most of his life. It was the one honest-to-goodness skill he possessed and he knew he was damn good at it. But the life of an artist was tough. Living on the road, roaming the country, playing for tips and hoping that someone would notice him was the life he had chosen, but it came with addictions, stresses, and always running low on basic items. Even now they were living on the edge with their one chance for glory.
But that was something he could avoid worrying about until tomorrow. Laying on his side, Zib put his arm over Sy before falling asleep next to his friend.
Dawn came too early for their liking, but the sun quickly rose up above the canvas tarp. This gave Zib and his band a couple more hours of snoozing before it dawned on Zib that they should probably get moving. Stretching himself out and letting his feet dangle over the side of the Model T, Zib lit a fresh cigarette for himself while staring up through the canvas tent at the sun as the celestial body slowly made its way higher into the air. Tonight was going to be their first test since leaving the city. Could they win over enough hearts and minds to refill their wallets?
"Anybody got the time?" Zib asked as he attempted to sit upright.
Ben groaned then turned himself over on top of his coat before checking his watch. "9:30."
"Well, we better pack up and get a move on." Zib said as he nudged Sy awake.
"I don' t think I've ever heard you say that before, Zibowski." Mozzie chuckled as he pulled himself onto his feet.
Soon the band was on the road, but it was slow going just as Mozzie predicted. The terrain in this section made the little old car with the twenty-horse motor struggle to keep her speed. On the uphill sections, the Empress would slow to a crawl before rocketing down the other side doing about forty. Luckily, after a few miles the hills became less prominent and the road instead rose and fell on gentle grades atop rolling hills. Even so, it was past noon when they rolled into the small and growing city of Cape Girardeau. Houses were being built up and down freshly made streets extending in a network out from the old downtown.
"Alright, Mozzie, where's this place of your cousin's?" Zib hollered over the engine.
"We gotta go south of town a way. Just over the canal between here and Scott City. Right on the cross section between sixty-one and Nash Road."
Following the general directions given to him, Zib steered the car through town and across the diversion canal full of spring water. They were now in cropland country and on the side of town which was decidedly less high class than the venues they had played in St. Louis. The separation between felines was palpable, and Zib realized that they had made it back into dixie once again. Pulling up to the intersection, a dusty old sign pointed to a shed and a shack attached to it with the name of the establishment hand-painted on the front. "The Canal House".
Zib pulled the car into the parking lot underneath a big cottonwood tree. Shutting the engine off, he kicked open the door that seemed to have wedged itself shut during the drive. The June heat was already getting to him, so Zib removed the coat from his body and opted to sling it over his shoulder, holding onto it by the collar.
"Where might he be this time of day?" Zib asked as Mozzie followed the band leader out of the car.
"It's been a while, but he's usually around back in the house."
"Lead the way."
Tommy
Walking around the back of the Canal House, Zib and Mozzie were greeted with a moldy, disgusting sight. The "house", if you could call it that, was nothing more than a glorified shed with a halfway collapsed porch out front. Chickens were pecking dirt around the building and an open coop was in the back. Apparently, the owner saw no need to have a fence around the place, and the shotgun against the door was likely the security system to defend the witless birds against foxes and other creatures of the night.
"I can't wait to see the inside of the club." Zib remarked as he lit a cigarette.
"Now, now, Zib. This is the best club in the area… according to Martin."
"Right. Well, we need money and I don't see other options."
Mozzie knocked on the door, though it rattled on the loose hinges. The porch creaked as the two cats shifted back to wait patiently. Floorboards groaned as someone inside approached. "If it's about the damn water bill, the check's already in the mail!" The cat inside shouted as he came to the door. Stepping into the opening, the ragged cat squinted in the midday light. He looked like a beefier version of Virgil, with a cheap cigar in one hand and a small jug of clear liquor in the other. After a moment of adjustment to the bright light, the cat recognized his kin.
"Cousin! Well how the hell are ya, Mozzie?!" The cat said while his mouth opened in a big, almost toothless smile.
"I'm well, Martin. How are things out here? Club doing well?"
"Better than it's been in years, let me tell ya! Been some big names coming through this place lately. Billy Bonner, Johnny Brown, Hershel Walker, Jimmy Smith…"
"Who?" Zib asked, cocking his head to the side. He had toured around enough to know a lot of musicians and there wasn't anyone in the jazz scene by those names.
"Ah, and this must be your newest upstart!" Martin said while aggressively shaking Zib's hand. "Mozzie's always been one to take musicians under his wing."
Now Zib was offended. "I happen to be considerably older than Mozzie, thank you very much. And I've played from Milwaukee to Pensacola."
"Now, there ain't no shame in havin' someone like Mozzie showin' ya them ropes. Why, I was damn near forty when I finally bought the club, and now look at her! Beautiful as ever!"
Mozzie, deciding not to push the subject of seniority, redirected his cousin to more pressing matters. "Speaking of music, Martin, we happen to be on the road to New Orleans and needed to get some extra cash. You wouldn't happen to have an opening for my… I mean, the band, would you?"
"For one's own kin, there's always an opening! Come on, let's get the place opened up and you can all make yourselves at home." Martin said, waving to the pair to follow him.
"Newest upstart?" Zib asked Mozzie, narrowing his eyes at Mozzie.
"Hey, my cousin isn't all there, alright? I swear, I haven't been telling people otherwise. Well, except mom. Don't want her knowing we're actually in the dire straits. Martin might have heard something through my uncle."
"Dammit…" Zib said, shaking his head. "Well, we're here and we need money. It must look like the Ritz inside the way he's talking about it."
It did not, in fact, look like the Ritz inside. But there was a stage, a bar, and plenty of room for all kinds of activities. It must have generated enough revenue to pay off the local cops because there was nothing stopping anyone from busting this place wide open. The fact that the nearest Treasury agent was likely in St. Louis or Memphis probably made bribes easier.
"Now let's see… I think we can fit you in right at the opening. Six o'clock. Then, if you do good, you could close out."
Zib groaned at the thought. They were a premiere band in St. Louis! Now they were opening for some unknowns in a bar out in the middle of nowhere. "So who's the headliner tonight?"
"Oh, it'll be a good crowd tonight for sure! We got the one and only Tommy Johnson!"
Finally, that was a name Zib was vaguely familiar with. Johnson was fresh on the scene when Zib settled in St. Louis.
"Great! Crowds are good. So where's the star of the evening?" Zib asked.
"Oh, he's in the back. Been here two days now."
Mozzie and Zib looked at each other before going backstage. There in the shadows sat a figure blowing smoke from his cigar. A tumbler full of whiskey on the rocks sat on the small table beside him. In his lap was a guitar with a small waist and a big, round chamber for bass notes. Just like the cat, it was worn and dirty, but strong in spirit. Even with the lightest pluck of a string would reverberate a sound that could be felt deep in the soul. The fur on Zib's arm stood up when the man played a lick before setting the instrument down carefully in the lounge chair next to him. This Tommy Johnson respected his guitar enough to give it a better seat than himself.
"I could hear ya'll are the openers."
"You heard right, friend." Mozzie said, stepping forward to shake the cat's hand. Johnson looked at Mozzie's hand for a moment before shaking it. "You must be from up north."
"St. Louis." Zib said shaking Johnson's hand in turn. "We're the Dixie Drifters. A five-piece jazz band."
"Jazz? You musta gotten turned around somewhere. The jazz club is back in town."
"I'm, uh, actually Martin's cousin." Mozzie explained. "We're on our way to New Orleans and need to stop in a few places for cash."
"Ah. Well, jazz does great in them city venues. But out here the blues is still king. If its money you need and it's the highway 61 you plan to ride, you may want to adapt your sound. You'll need a guitar though."
Zib sneered at the thought. Sure, he had tried blues once or twice, but ragtime was what he heard growing up followed by the early jazz bands in the Midwest. Besides, they weren't set up to play the blues. "We'll just have to make do and hope our sound is too the peoples' liking."
After unloading the car and setting up all their instruments, Zib looked out across the empty club. It was four hours until showtime, but he wanted to make sure they all left a good impression. Tuning his sax just right, he waited for the others to get ready. Johnson sat in the back by the bar, waiting patiently to hear what this band that came blowing in on the wind could do. Zib couldn't help but smile with confidence. His band was well-practiced and could play just about any kind of jazz out there. Everything from Chicago to New York to New Orleans was locked neatly in their heads. And for the less-practiced stuff.
"Ready, boys?" Zib asked behind him.
"Set." Sy said, winking at Zib.
J.J. nodded his head while Big Ben loosened up his fingers and Mozzie opened up the dusty upright piano that was slightly out of tune. Mozzie looked at Zib after dusting off the keyboard. "What to start with, boss?"
"Let's try something from the Rhythm Kings. Milenberg Joys. Follow my tempo, Ben. Mozzie, fill in where you can. Sy, ready yourself for the solo after the second verse."
Zib set a fast tempo with his sax, and within seconds the rest of the band joined in. He hit every note and even put in a few flourishes. Tommy was tapping along in the back, obviously recognizing the tune. If they had one skeptic on their side then surely the rest of the crowd that night would follow! Then Sy had his big moment. At once all that could be heard was the echo of a trumpet going nuts. Sy was adding his signature improvisations between the necessary notes, weaving a tapestry of sound that few could match. With a long final note, the rest of the horn section joined in, closing out the song at a brisk two and a half minutes. Perfect length for a recording.
Tommy smiled and nodded his head, clapping. "Quite the show!"
"Thank you. About time someone appreciated our sound—"
"Of course, you'd be a hit back in town. It's just not the right sound for the people coming here."
Zib gritted his teeth. "Now look here—"
"Zib, don't!" Sy held his friend back. "He's not trying to rile you up."
"Well he's doing a fine job of it!" Zib snorted. "Me and the boys have been playing every joint from Tallahassee to Texarkana. Everywhere we've gone the crowds have loved us, so why is this place any different?"
"Because it's the Delta, mister. I was born down the Mississippi where the cotton grows tall and the stars shine in the night. These people don't listen to jazz. We take turns on stage for the nightly entertainment cause we ain't got no records. You want cash? For a couple of dem smokes I'll show ya'll what we call the Delta Blues."
Zib had been insulted enough, however. The ego of an artist was big and wouldn't easily be defeated. Remembering the meditation exercises he had read about, he calmed himself down. "I think we'll be fine, Johnson."
The guitarist shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself. Name's Tommy, by the way. Just Tommy."
That Delta Sound
"Can you believe that guy?!" Zib growled as he paced back and forth. "We've been doing this for how long? Hell, I've been playing jazz since that guy was on his mother's lap!"
Sy merely smoked underneath the cottonwood tree outside the club, watching Zib work himself into a fuss. "Zib, sit down and have a smoke, would ya? You're digging yourself into a hole."
"Am not, the ground looks fine to me. This clay is harder than bricks when dry."
"I'm not talking about the damn dirt. The guy doesn't care, so you causing a fuss is just going to cause trouble for the rest of us."
"You're right…" Zib said as he slumped down, taking in some deep breaths. "Seeing as you're suddenly the wise sage between us, what's the plan?"
"Play our best, give it our all, and we'll be rewarded for it." Sy said, handing Zib a cigarette and lighting it for him with his lighter. "You're usually the calm and cool one, Zib. Why's this guy getting under your skin?"
Zib drooped his head low, almost into his knees. "It's not him. It's the stress. This is the biggest risk of our careers, and the thought that we'll get stuck in some backwards little town instead of getting to perform in New Orleans terrifies me. Maybe Walter had the right idea—"
"He had the right idea… for him. He's got a life in St. Louis. We all knew that him staying was a strong possibility. But you've got the right idea for us. I think, one way or another, this whole thing is going to pan out. We just have to believe it."
"You're putting too much faith in me, you know that, right?"
"I put my faith in you all the time." Sy said, leaning against his friend's shoulder. "I need to rest a while before we get started."
"And ever since, I've been roaming around. Got the wife down in Drew where my brothers are. I've been comin' up the river every summer now for the last three or four years. I'll be back in Mississippi when the leaves turn."
Mozzie, J.J., and Ben sat around Tommy listening to his life story. Despite only being on the music scene for a few years, he had already made a name for himself and had even secured a recording contract. It didn't pay much, but for a few songs it was worth the fame.
"So, headed to New Orleans. What for?" Tommy asked, passing the cigarette over to Ben. Mozzie leaned back in his chair. "There's a contest for bands down there. It's big enough that Louie Armstrong is part of it."
"You'll do well if you can get there. It's a long road South."
"We know." J.J. said, polishing his trombone. "We can't afford to stop for too long in one spot. Gotta keep moving South to make the contest in time."
"Lack of funds is a problem, though." Ben said, handing the cigarette back to Tommy. "You say the people here don't go for jazz?"
Tommy tipped his hat back and drank a glass of whiskey. "Some might appreciate the jazz sound. We've got plenty of brothers up north and in the big cities. But out here we've been playin' the same music since my granddad was pickin' cotton in chains. The city folk took our sound and made it their own, and that's what ya'll know. If you want to win over the folk out here, ya gotta give 'em what they want. Blues from the Delta."
"We're not exactly blues musicians." J.J. said. "I mean, since when has country blues had a trombone?"
"No reason why it couldn't." Tommy countered. "But ya'll do need a guitar player."
"I've played a bit." Mozzie said. "But only classical, and that was back in school."
"You need a guitar, you need a harmonica, and you need that bass. After that, put in whatever you think they'll want to hear. That one with the saxophone, can he sing?"
"If you get him drunk enough." Ben said.
"Or he sees someone he likes." Mozzie added, rolling his eyes.
"Well, ya'll can't have my songs. But writin' and singin' and playin' yer own ain't hard. It's gotta be sad or sweet and come from the soul. You'll get a sound that's all yer own before you're south of Baton Rouge."
"Right, harmonica, guitar, vocals, improvise the rest. I guess we can find what we need soon. But tonight we'll give the crowd a taste of that New Orleans music." Mozzie said before pouring himself a glass. "To a profitable night." He toasted.
"To a fun night. Can't wait to watch." Tommy replied, raising a new glass of his own.
With the sun setting low, it was time to get started. The question that had been on the band's mind all afternoon was finally ready to be answered. One by one and two by two, people entered into the club and found tables or seats. They were ordering food while the half-drunk chef cooked some intoxicating stew with fried catfish on the side. These cats were indeed a bit different to what Zib and the band were used to performing for, but it was far too late to bail out and try their luck back in town.
Zib stayed in the background while Martin hobbled up onto the stage and took the microphone hanging from the ceiling in hand.
"Welcome!" He spoke, his voice reverberating throughout the club. "Ya'll are always welcome down here at the Canal Road!"
Claps and cheers came from the crowd. "Now I know what you're all waiting for. It's the third and last night for your guest and friend, Tommy Johnson!"
The crowd roared with more cheers. Tommy stood up briefly and tipped his hat to his fans before sitting back down.
"But tonight you're all here to see somethin' special. My kin from up North has come down here and is eager to entertain…"
The crowd calmed down, listening intently for what their favorite club owner was about to say next.
"So it is my sincere pleasure to introduce my cousin, Mozzie, and his Dixie Drifters band!"
The applause was decidedly calmer than before as Zib took center stage, growling with displeasure that his band was being credited to Mozzie of all people. At least it wasn't J.J. or Rocky that were being given undue credit. That might make his blood simmer like the chef's stew in the kitchen. Mozzie, for his part, merely stood up and waved to the crowd before thanking his cousin and taking his place at the piano.
"What's the plan, Zib?" Sy asked as he took his place next to the saxophonist. Zib looked out at the crowd and noted that while they weren't clapping with the same enthusiasm as before, they did seem interested to hear what they had to play.
"Let's give them our best. You know our custom medley?"
"Yeah?" Sy replied.
Zib turned around to face the whole band. "We'll do our club medley, that should carry us through the first set. Don't let up, and make it sound a bit rural. Sy, you come in at the end with the big solo. Blow their socks off. J.J. and Mozzie, hold down our base and baritone section while we do the work."
With the band in agreement, Zib stepped forward and put out his cigarette, crushing it under his foot. He leaned into the microphone, taking it in hand before it could swing away. His low, weathered voice echoed across the room.
"My name is Zib, that's Mozzie over there on the piano. We're a jazz band from St. Louis and we are over the moon to be here tonight. So sit back, relax, and let our melodies carry you back into a good place."
With a long starting note from the Saxophone, Zib got everyone's attention. He was immediately joined with the trombone, trumpet, bass, and piano in a chorus made up of a single chord. They then dived right in with a fast dance tempo that even Ivy would struggle to keep up with. Zib gave it his all for the first part of the medley before turning over the center of the stage to Sy. Just like earlier in the day, Sy hit every note and then some. No wonder he was a good kisser! The set lasted for a solid five minutes, ending with Sy's big solo he had practiced a thousand times before.
Barely skipping a beat, Zib called out the next several songs. They wanted to give the audience a memorable performance. "Peanut Cackle", "Then I'll be Happy", "Swanee Shore", and finally the "Southern Dixie Medley" to cap off their performance. In twenty minutes they had played a wider variety of music than in the last two years. And while the crowd wasn't hostile, it became apparent that their sound really wasn't what they wanted to hear.
A signal from Martin to Mozzie made it clear that they should wrap it up before people started leaving in disinterest.
Nearly out of breath, Zib made his way back up to the microphone. "We thank you kindly. Enjoy the rest of the show."
Sitting down in back, Zib put his head into his knees. They weren't going to get much in the way of tips after their efforts. Perhaps he should have tried a different variety of songs? No, they had covered all their bases with their selection. Fast, slow, dancing, soulful, technically brilliant, nothing seemed to catch.
"Well, that was certainly… different." Martin said as he came back stage. "Can't say my customers are all that thrilled about this new sound you brought here."
"Really? I didn't notice!" Zib said, growling. But Martin didn't catch the sarcasm. "Now, it's all right. New upstarts gotta find their feet and learn to crawl before they walk."
"I. am. Not. An. Upstart!" Zib hissed while breathing through his teeth. Only Sy was able to get him to calm down. "Hey, we still got money to get further South. We'll just have to hit a better venue."
Suddenly, the crowd out front went wild. Martin had a grin from ear to ear. "Now you boys are about to see a magician at work."
Beware the Crossroads
Smoking a cigarette, Tommy placed a tall chair in the middle of the stage right in front of the microphone. He needed no introduction and only had to wait for the crowd to settle down enough to hear his guitar. Tuning the instrument, he dropped it down into an open G, his favorite for most of his songs. With a grunt and a cough, Tommy cleared his throat and then proceeded to begin playing. Zib's eyes widened when he heard a sound which was almost otherworldly. It was as if two guitarists were on stage, though it was one man playing. Tommy's thumb ran a base line while the rest of his fingers strategically plucked the higher notes. His other hand did the hard work, running up and down the fretboard with a glass bottle neck wrapped around one finger.
The beat was steady, and soon his voice joined in with a short ballad. Sy's ears perked up when the falsetto voice echoed hauntingly through the building. The crowd went silent as the story revealed itself in four minutes. At the conclusion, the crowd went nuts. Zib, Sy, and the others could only sit and watch as Tommy played a guitar like they'd never seen. He could play it right-handed, left-handed, behind his back, between his legs. He could play the guitar even while dancing and jumping around or wailing like a banshee.
At last, Tommy sat back and rested, enjoying the roars and cheers from the crowd. After a couple of minutes of bowing and pointing out different people he knew in the audience, Tommy put his hand up to calm everyone down. They were starving for a second act!
"I'm lovin' this crowd tonight!" Tommy said into the mic. "You know, I had the privilege while the sun was still up to see the openers settin' up. Now, they don't come from these parts and the ain't ever heard of the delta sound. But I feel like we ought to learn them some tonight. Should we?"
The audience was confused, but several started clapping in favor of what Tommy had suggested. Others soon joined in and it was soon clear that the audience wanted to hear some blues with the band as a backup. Zib and Sy looked at each other as Tommy turned around and motioned for them to join him on stage.
"Should we do it?" J.J. asked.
"I don't think we got much choice if we're hoping to get some cash tips." Sy said before shoving Zib back on stage. "Let's see what this Tommy Johnson wants from us."
The crowd exercised a forgiving patience as Zib and the band set up once more. Tommy gave out orders. "Key of D for this one. You got somethin' other than a saxophone?" He asked Zib.
"Well, I uh, got my clarinet."
"That'll do. Bring her out and let's give these people an act to remember."
"What are we playing?" Sy asked while Zib quickly put his clarinet together.
"Ever play Bye-Bye Blues?" Tommy said.
"Yes, but—"
"We'll give 'em that, but with a bit o' your jazz an' a bit o' mine blues."
Zib checked his clarinet once more and gave Tommy the O.K. Tommy smiled back and motioned for him to come up front.
"Just follow my lead, jazz man. Tonight you're getting a lesson in the delta sound."
As promised, Tommy led the way while the band kept up with all their knowledge and talent. At the conclusion of the song it was obvious the crowd was eating up what they were hearing and were hungry for more. The band kept playing for another half hour, learning with each new song a little bit about this sound they hadn't tried before. It was rarely put on records and seldom heard outside the Mississippi Delta. By the end, Tommy helped the band win the crowd over, and with the last notes still echoing through the amplifying system they all took a final bow. And an hour later they were sitting in a mostly empty club with a full tip jar and a bottle of whiskey for their trouble.
"How'd we do?" Sy asked Mozzie as he added up the change.
"We made about fifty dollars. Here's your half, sir." He said, holding a stack of ones and fives for Tommy. After taking the money, he counted out a mere ten dollars and handed the rest back, much to Mozzie's confusion.
"You sure? You earned it more than us tonight."
"Oh, I got my share already." Tommy said, pulling out his own wad of money from the previous two days. "You boys need all the help you can get if you're gonna make New Orleans in time."
"Well cousin, I thought you was done fer after that first act. Glad Tommy was kind enough to let ya'll back up on stage. An' you won them over." Martin said, patting his cousin on the back. "You know, we could use a band round here, good place for upstarts like yerselves."
Zib was about to let loose his bottled anger for the day, but Sy held Zib back and in a moment, he was able to regain his composure before any regrettable words could be exchanged. Zib breathed in deeply before taking a calmer approach. "You know what, we made money and earned a bottle of booze. We came out on top, and I thank you kindly for the chance. But we've got one more chance at glory and New Orleans is where we got to be."
"Yes, we had best get on the road and make tracks as soon as possible." Mozzie said, shaking his cousin's hand. "Let's get packed up. Thank you again, cousin. And you, Mr. Johnson. It was a pleasure to share the stage tonight."
"The pleasure is mutual. Remember my advice. Get a guitar man, a harmonica, and learn to sing the blues. You won't starve in these parts."
Loaded up, Zib climbed in to start the car but stopped short of firing up the engine when he saw Tommy walking toward them. He came up to the door and looked over the worn-out model T.
"Thanks again, Tommy." Zib said. "You might have saved our expedition."
"Nonsense, you saved yourselves. I only came here to give you one more piece of advice to all you."
"Oh?" Sy asked.
"Stay away from the crossroads at night in these parts. Spirits and devils are around here in the dark, and if you ain't careful you might just sell your soul to the devil. He loves people who'd pay anything to learn the blues like I have, and the price is your souls."
Though Zib wasn't one for superstition, it was late and the lights weren't all that useful on the Empress for piercing into the night air. Calling it a night a couple dozen miles out in the sticks, Zib pulled in to a good spot not too far from the river. They all hastily made camp before settling in for the night. Zib and Sy found themselves in the backseat once more, staring up into the night sky.
"You think we'll make it?" Sy asked.
"What do you mean? We're making good time." Zib replied, whispering.
"No, I mean you think we'll finally make it big?"
"I know we will, friend. I'm starting to find my faith again, little by little. If we get another couple of nights like this one, we'll be in New Orleans with some days to spare."
"Yeah, but when we get there, you think we still have what it takes? I mean, look at the crowd tonight. If it weren't for Tommy, we would be walking away hungry and broke."
"One step at a time, Sy. Also, I need to give you something."
"Hmm—"
Zib kissed Sy on the cheek. "Thanks for keeping my head on straight today. Still can't believe Mozzie's cousin thought I was the side-show and Mozzie was the big shot."
"That's what I'm here for." Sy said. He curled up in the seat and tried to get some sleep. They still had a long road ahead of them and it was only a few hours until dawn.