AT 29 (86 page)

“All set?”

“Everything's in place, tested and ready.”

“Good. The videotape has to be perfect. Sound?”

“Should be okay. You want the crowd noise?”

“Absolutely, but it can't drown out the songs. Can you do that?”

“No problem.”

McCabe didn't know about this extra technician. No one knew. This was a personal thing Winfield wanted, his own master tapes of the concert, money to be made.

Kate spotted Jimmy, sitting alone in the first row of seats setup just behind the pit. It was Saturday morning and the road crews were busy putting the finishing touches to the stage. She was up and out of her hotel early, nervous once again, but getting used to her condition. None of the other performers had arrived. The morning air was clear and cool. She came down a side stair to the ground and walked over, taking the seat next to his.

“You look like you could use a friend.”

Jimmy decided he must have looked lonely although he was only thinking about the night's performance. “Just going over some of the songs in my head. Taking in the venue.

“Me, too. It helps to visualize. I saw Winfield prowling around a minute ago.”

“Making sure. Doing his job.”

“So what's new?”

“Whitehurst.”

“He's good. Did you catch his rehearsal? It blew me away.”

“He's done with small venues after tonight.”

***

Les sat with Nicky alone at a table in the kitchen. Every so often she checked her watch. She knew the time difference by heart. Jimmy would take the stage in few hours. He sounded distant on the phone that morning, preoccupied. She knew he was under pressure. Headlining the tour's biggest outdoor rock concert had to be a heavy burden. She felt a pang of regret. She wished she could be there for him. She turned her attention to the little boy, applesauce, a minor breakthrough. She lifted another spoonful to his mouth, watching with satisfaction, as he opened wide, accepting her offering. Five days and he was beginning to respond. Sister Marie had continued to coach her.

“All orphans come with emotional traumas,” she cautioned, “but some have special burdens. These are the ones that need us the most. Nigel was one. I made sure to give him extra care. That's what you must do for the Aldridge boy.”

“I love all the boys.”

“Yes, but for this one you must go further.”

“I might not be able to bring him along.”

The Mother Superior dismissed this with a shake of her head. “Mornings are best to teach him what he never learned. Do it apart from the other boys before the day's routine. At night take him away again, read to him, hold him.”

“Yes, sister.” Les got up to leave. Sister Marie reached for her hand.

“This part of your job is just as important as all the other things you do. It is also the most rewarding.”

“I'll do my best, sister.” She turned to the door.

Sister Marie called after her. “If you succeed he'll feel loved, which is what he needs. If that happens you must guard your heart. In the end, our goal is give him the tools to find his own way. That is, if it's not too late.”

“Too late, sister?”

“I have found that five is a precarious age. Psychological damage and the traits they manifest are often too ingrained to cure.”

“But, Nigel…”

“He was three when he arrived. Even so, he still harbors his demons. Time will tell with the Aldridge boy.”

***

There is something about the California scene that no other place can match. Free spirited, innovative, careless, outrageous, laid back and intense all at once. Generations of writers have tried to capture what everyone knows can only be felt. The youth of California make newness seem easy. Celebrity rules - the assembly lines of back lots, manufacturing endless Charlie Chaplins and Marilyn Monroes who ascend the world stage from anonymity overnight. The opposite is equally true, precipitous falls.

Alice Limoges considered this, as she forced her brain to fight through the previous night's haze of sex and cocaine so she could concentrate on the theme of her next piece. The tide was turning. Jim Buckman's six-month reign was over. He was an established star and there was no doubt he would continue to fill seats wherever he went, but
Back and Blue
no longer occupied the number one position on the charts. Like the others in Blossom's remarkable stable, he had six months to go on the Blossom Presents national tour, but during those months another would eclipse him. Someone from far
away who, based upon a brilliant number one debut album, would exit this bellwether state as fickle fandoms' new king.

Her editors wanted to know everything about this new singer from Australia. No, they didn't care that his three current singles, sitting in Billboard's Top Ten, were written by Jim Buckman or that a fourth, simply called
Number Twelve
was also Buckman's and destined to reside at number one longer than any other single in history. Nor did they care that the rest of
Yarra
's songs were collaborations with Buckman. Their readers didn't want those details. They wanted to know about the performer with the magnificent voice. The huge Adonis who played the fiddle and pranced the stage with such energy, such originality that his live performances were becoming a must-see cult of braggadocio for anyone who could say, ‘I saw him live!'

And, she sighed, her editors were right. His rehearsal sealed Alice's opinion that he was one of a kind. Her loyalty to Jimmy was secure. He was first rate, finally recognized for the talent he possessed and holding the awards to prove it. But Nigel Whitehurst was something else. Jim Buckman led the pack of rock stars at the top of their games. Whitehurst played an altogether different and far better game. Tonight, California, represented by twenty-five thousand lucky fans, would witness a new level of live performance. Blossom Presents would reap even more grandeur. All of its budding artists would ride the coattails of the new megastar to stardom of their own.

She had completed her interview a week earlier in New York. She had a better sense of the man, too. The kind a physical roll in the hay produced. That was nice, she thought, we'll do it again. Now, all she needed was a taste of his presence on the stage. The rehearsal was a good start, but until she saw him for real, in front of a huge audience, she would not have what she wanted to finish her piece.

The Riland Brothers Band opened spectacularly in front of their home state crowd. They were not the unsophisticated San Jose garage band that Cindy scooped from obscurity. The hard work in Millburn paid off with a better sound, honed to take advantage of Jeff and Randy's special skills. Their truce made the difference. They exchanged fighting for cooperation. Impromptu practice jams with Jimmy and Sonny also helped, more than they cared to admit. By the time they left the stage their fates were sealed. Never again would they play small-time venues.

It was much the same for Danny MacGregor. He was a throwback to a decade and a half earlier when folk-rock ruled. California loved the change of pace, loved the poetic lyrics and simple chords that created a story. Besides, the weed hadn't taken hold. The minds of those listening still had enough clarity to follow the singer's message. His album found a new audience, soon to build into a nationwide following just as McCabe hoped.

Rebellion kicked off the main event. Kate blew the doors down with a combination of vocals and sexual energy that had the audience on its feet. It was expected, anticipated from months before when she surprised a nationwide audience with her win at the Grammy Awards. Her nerves always played a part, but now she harnessed the negative energy and used it to her advantage, turning her inner doubts to outward gyrations as she willed her voice to new heights. It came easier, the songs so ingrained that she found herself urging the audience to join in and gaining added confidence as the chorus of voices matched her's above the earsplitting guitars. Sometimes, she cast her eyes to the side, looking for Jimmy, the only man she trusted to understand what it all
meant, not the place, not the people, not the adulation. It was the music, her music that filled her heart with unearthly pleasure.

The intermission was short. Rebellion exited to a standing ovation, leaving the stage to shimmer in low light as the roadies scurried to replace instruments and rearrange amplifiers. As if on cue, thousands of lighters twinkled, bringing life to an assortment of joints and emitting a similar, but slightly exotic aroma born from distant growing fields around the globe. Northern California, Mexico, Kansas, Central Canada, Hawaii, the Caribbean, Europe, Asia and yes, Australia, all contributed their special crops to the night air. Marijuana, that essential prop of the rock world, made its mind-altering entrance to the night scene, stimulating synapses so that vision, hearing and feeling all rose to the occasion.

Nigel Whitehurst opened alone on his fiddle, a single spotlight blasting his image onto the video screens, obscuring all else on the stage. He began slowly, stringing single notes in long eerie back and forth motions of his bow. Jimmy recognized it right away, the song from the church in Apollo Bay. Once again, he found himself wondering who wrote it, wondering why it sounded so familiar yet so unique, determined to one day hear the original from which the Australian had created this version. The opening was little different from the first time Jimmy witnessed it at Willies. Nigel seemed to be at peace with this song, so unlike the ones they had written together and so unrepresentative of the booming voice that was to come. Still, it was the perfect opening. Whitehurst was building interest note by note, all eyes and ears on him, ready for the next level.

Miles McCabe leaned forward in his seat. The luxury box was above and to the right of the stage. The Plexiglas windows had been removed so that nothing interfered with sight and sound. Cindy was standing in the corner, eyes fixed on the stage. Ellis, Winfield and some of the promoters stood at the opposite corner, also focused on the performer and his violin. Only Ellis had seen Whitehurst live on this national tour. He knew what would come next, but that did not interfere with his concentration. His interest was keen, born from an innate sense of what made money. He, like everyone else, was shocked by
Yarra
's meteoric climb up the charts. Now, Whitehurst was out of the mid-America wilderness and on a huge stage in front of many thousands where his reputation as a live performer would be made.

Gradually, Nigel picked up the tempo. The bass payer stepped forward, out of the shadows with his guitar. One by one, the other players joined in, picking up speed and growing louder as each instrument added its role. The cavernous Coliseum began to vibrate as people started to clap with the beat. Then the drums kicked in, adding structure to the thunderous clap, clap, clap that rose from the thousands of hands in the audience. Nigel Whitehurst had not uttered a word of introduction, yet everyone was engaged. It was his night. The songs of
Yarra
captured the crowd from start to finish.

Mid-way through, Winfield took the seat next to McCabe. “He's your main man, now. We need to get behind him, re-work the tour schedule. I'll take the lead.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“I'm switching from Buckman to him, starting now. I'll takeover from Dorman. Everything I've done for Buckman; interviews, stage shows, promo parties, now I do that for Whitehurst. I'll keep
Yarra
at the top of the charts for another six months.”

“What happens to Jimmy?”

“Who cares?”

“Me, I care.”

“Let Dorman, or that other guy with Rebellion run things for him.”

McCabe was suspicious. He realized that Winfield was right about the ascendancy of Whitehurst, but he wasn't sure a change was necessary. The Blossom Presents format was working well.
Yarra
was climbing without any special push from Winfield. Still, with
Back and Blue
past its peak, adding longevity to
Yarra
meant more money for the label. He was thinking several moves ahead.

“What can you do for the Riland Brothers and MacGregor?”

Winfield recognized the quid pro quo. “I can give their albums a push on my show. We do it slow. I hit the road with Whitehurst, pull out all the stops. We run from now to the end of the year, hyping the hell out of
Yarra
. In between, I give your other guys a nudge, nothing too obvious, airtime every other day, deep dive once a week for starters. Then when
Yarra
begins to drop, I'll get behind the other two in a big way. All my buddies across the country, expert critiques, on-air interviews just like we did for Buckman and
Back and Blue
.” He saw Miles nod. “Yeah, they slide in right as
Yarra
fades, a nice bit of momentum until Buckman and Whitehurst release their next albums. Meanwhile, you bring in new talent and we ride this momentum thing as far as it takes us. Maybe it never stops.”

Jimmy took the stage as a second to Whitehurst. His performance was as good as any other, but the crowd wanted the Australian. It was past eleven when the last words of
Peg
resonated from the sound system. Almost immediately after the applause died down, the shouting for Whitehurst to retake the stage began. The baton of Blossom's main headliner was unceremoniously passed.

***

“It's all set. I'm switching over to Whitehurst.” Benson had joined Jimmy and Sonny in the hotel coffee shop the next morning. “I'm having my stuff moved over to his trailers.”

“Who plays drums for Jimmy?” Sonny was irritated.

“That kid from Australia. We switch bands. Like I said, it's all set.”

“When did you start making the decisions?” Jimmy was secretly intrigued.

“We talked. Whitehurst is behind it all the way.”

“He told me he liked Travis.”