One Week Gig. Rufus Jr. Curry Jr.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ students to break up into sections so they could go over the new music for the homecoming show. This was also a time for him to touch up on some of the new charts he planned to introduce to his band at the next practice session. One was a real spicy dance groove called “Oil Paint On Velvet”, and a hypnotic vocal duet called, “Perfect Love”. Chapman sat at his desk and began to hum “Perfect Love” to himself. The deeper he got into the tune, the farther out in space he seemed to drift. He would periodically return to earth and peer out into the band room to make sure there was no bloodshed going on. The students had begun to get a little loud which prompted Chapman to spring into action. Poking his head out of his office door, with a serious face on and there was no sign of the smile he wore as he drove to work this morning.

      “Uh, ladies and gents. Remember, this music must be memorized by tomorrow. I will be going down the rows one by one to see who is on and who is off. Don’t think I won’t take a fifty-piece marching band to Tallahassee to march in the homecoming parade. That’s right, right behind the Marching “100". A fifty-piece Marching Bull Dog Band. But all of them will be playing and marching. We don’t need any dead leaves on this tree. We don’t employ instrument holders in this organization. You know what um’ sayin’ Dog? I know you do.”

      Stepping back into his office, he leered at the students through the large window. All you could hear after his brief, strong speech were horns, drums and cymbals crashing.

      Settling back into his seat, Chapman began to think about the job he was about to try to get. It seemed like a real attractive offer. Hell, he didn’t even know if he would ever be seriously considered for the job. “Would I like it? Can I handle the office situation? Will I like working with other adults when they do not have instruments in their hands?” These were some of the questions he ran through his mind. Well, he knew one thing for sure, the thought of him taking this job sure made his wife act really different. She was easier to talk to. She even kissed him goodbye in the morning and initiated intimacy. Maybe this job was the magic bullet their relationship needed.

      “I will not let this job make me lose sight of my dream,” is the mantra he kept saying over and over in his head like a broken record.

      The more he thought about losing sight of his dreams, the more nervous he became. The hours slipped by as if they were strapped to the bumper of a speeding car. The buzz of teenage voices grew louder and louder as the throng of students gorged the hallway and made their way home. Band students began to stream into the band room and wave at Chapman as he sat in his office under the pressure of deep thought. Finally he emerged with a list of practice objectives written on a sheet of paper and his baton tucked in his back pocket. He said nothing. The drum majors noticed his serious face and the firmness of his stride. The head drum major interpreted Chapman’s demeanor to mean serious business, so he blew his whistle and shouted instructions for all of the band members to report to the practice field immediately.

      In minutes, the band room was vacant and everybody was on the field and appearing to be constructively engaged. The dance routine committee broke the band down into sections and began to teach the steps to the new music that Chapman had arranged. He viewed the band from a high tower located on the sideline at the fifty yard-line of the practice field. The kids called him “The General”, because he paced back and forth on high as they slaved like troops in the military. His mind raced off again and before he knew it, the time allotted for practice had come and gone like a thief in the night.

      Chapman knew he needed the counsel of his best boy, so he hopped into his car and a few minutes later he drove up into the driveway of Thumper’s house. He knocked on the door and while he waited for someone to answer, he played the thoughts he wanted to share with Thumper backward and forward in his mind. Precious answered and greeted him with a big hug; the kind your largest aunt always gave you when your head was about breast high to her, and she would damn near smother you with that cheap perfume she splashed on like mosquito repellant.

      “You know I ain’t one to be checking out my boy’s ole lady. But, I must continue to compliment him on the choice he made, or should I say the choice that made him,” zipped through his head after Precious turned to lead him into the house.

      She told him to, have a seat, and that Billy would be home in a few minutes then she poured Chapman a glass of his favorite juice and turned the plasma screen TV to B.E.T. He thought about his own wife. “More sisters needed to act like Precious.” Sitting in the plush leather chair, with his feet up, Bobby Womack’s “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much” resonated in his ear. Startled, Chapman rushed to clear the song out of his mind. He began to look around the den, as if he hadn’t been in the house a million times before. He remembered how he used to drive those hotties crazy. Sweet Man Chapman was his moniker. Sitting up straight, Chapman tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing when he brought his running around to a screeching halt.

      Thumper used to be the co-King of The Hotty Slayers. He never even seriously toyed with the idea of getting out of the freak game. Chapman didn’t want to hate on his friend, but he couldn’t help but envy the outcome of Thumpers decision to not quit the game, in contrast to his situation. Precious appeared to love Thumper’s dirty stinkin’ drawz. Thumper is a good provider and he treats Precious like a queen. Privy to the fact that Thumper still peeps into a stray hole every now and then, Chapman sensed it didn’t have a negative impact on their relationship. “I must be the sucker of the month. I look at what he appears to have and I can’t seem to come up with any advantages to living like I am living.”

      Thumper entered the door as the green-eyed monster was beating the hell out of Chapman. Thumper is a happy go lucky brother who would give you the shirt off of his back.

      As he entered the den Precious cut him off and gave him a big, wet kiss. “I thought you were never coming back,” she purred in a low, sexy voice. She pinched him on his butt as he walked away from her.

      “What’s up, Black Man?”

      “You Thump, you.”

      “So what brings you by me casa this afternoon?”

      Chapman dropped his head and said nothing.

      “I know you got some more funky music on paper by now.”

      “You know I do.”

      “Shit...Man, I can see right through your ass.”

      Chapman knows he can’t lie to Thumper. Thumper motioned for him to follow him out into the tool shed, actually, his music studio and cigar smoking room. It is the only place where Precious won’t bother him about smoking. Working the combination to the padlock, and opened the steel door to the shed.

      “Watch your step. I don’t want to lose a friend over some damn homeowner’s insurance, or the lack of homeowners insurance.”

      Chapman flopped down into the big leather chair and kicked his feet up on the footrest. Thumper positioned his body in front of the wall safe and dialed in the magic numbers. With a snap of his wrist, he opened the safe and withdrew a little wooden box. It was one of his prized possessions. His humidor was packed with cigars from everywhere in the world. He said he started smoking cigars when he first picked up the bass guitar. Experiencing the smoke in his eyes when he played his bass, made him feel more in the mood. He’d confessed to Chapman that he used to smoke weed to get the same effect, but his daddy slapped him upside the head when he caught him smoking out in the back of the house in high school. His dad took the bass from him for a month and that was enough to cure that brother of the want for weed.

      Pulling out two cigars, he closed the humidor and placed it back into the wall safe. The sight of him preparing the cigars was almost poetic…The way he ran each stick under his nose, checking the aroma СКАЧАТЬ