Stacy's Song (4 page)

***
*

Liz sang on the drive home while Jimmy whistled along. In contrast to their elation, Michael sat silent and stiff.

“I can't believe
it,” Jimmy said. “Our first gig
playing as a group and we're even going to be paid!”

“Not
much,” Michael cautioned. “We'll need to save every cent to buy our new equipment. That means nobody takes any money for themselves until we get it, agreed?” We weren't about to argue with him. “Okay, good, then I'll assume you're with me on this. So I guess we're officially a band.”

“We've got to give ourselves a name,” Liz said.

“How about Samson a
nd the Agonistes?” Michael said sarcasm
dripping.

“Huh?” Jimmy responded.

“That was one of Michael's private blind jokes,” Liz explained. “Skip it.”

“Why don't we just call ourselves The Band, at least for the time being,” I said.

“I don't know,” Jimmy reacted doubtfully. “All the big groups have weird or imaginative names.”

“But we're not very weird and we're definitely not big,” Liz observed, “
s
o
I go along with Stacy's suggestion.”

“There's an old group called The Band,” Michael informed us. “It'll confuse people if we use the same name.”

“You think of a name then,” I countered.

“Blind Luck,” he said.

We all looked at him.

“Why not?” Jimmy said. “It's as good as anything else.”

***
*

On the Fourth of July, Mr. Kemp had us play for the huge throng
of people, members and guests
who congregated at the swim club. We played up on the permanent bandstand that faced the largest of the three pools
comprising the club. W
e hadn'
t been first choice for the gig
but the band Mr. Kemp originally invited had been engaged elsewhere, so it turned out to be a break for us.

It hit ninety-two degrees at noon with the brilliant summer sun beating down on the roof of the bandstand, but we barely felt the heat. We were totally psyched.

I knew many of the people there, which included my parents and my little b
rother. When we started to play
I looked over at my mother and there was no mistaking the expression of prid
e on her face
;
it made me feel
good inside. Kids danced to our music and everyone seemed to be having a goo
d time. In between sets
I jumped into the pool and took a swim just to cool off. I felt terrific.

I drifted through the month of July, going swimming each day, weather permitting. Karen went with me as a guest most of the time. We often went horseback riding since Mr. Kemp had a stable out at his farm and brought the horses in for pool members to ride. I was having a great summer, but Karen moped around a good deal of the time.

“If only we had boyfriends,
” she moaned. With that in mind
she hung around the
lifeguards as much as possible
but it seemed like every other girl had the same idea.

The truth was I kept too busy working to worry about not having a social life. Michael had us practicing every evening. He was as obsessive in his way as Karen was in hers.

The third week in July
I invited Karen to come to Teen Night at
the club. But when we got there
I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

“I'll be working most of the evening. You'll be by yourself. I hope you won't be bored.”

“That depends,” Karen said. She was all dressed up in a forest green slacks outfit that accentuated the deep russet hi-lights in her hair and brought out the green in her eyes. She'd gone a little heavy on the eye
makeup but I had to admit, she
did look good. “Maybe I'll get lucky ton
ight. You did say guys come
right? Besides, you can always sit with me between sets.”

Michael
called out my name
and I hurried to join the others on stage. We started playing at 8:30
, but the club
didn't start to fill up for another hour. By then, I reckoned Karen had to have personally bought enough sodas to keep Mr. Kemp's club financially afloat for the week. Her bladder had to be floating as well. When I joined her at ten o'clock, she was beginning to look as though she'd had it with the place. “The food's rotten,” she complained. “I asked for a well-done burger and this one is still mooing at me.”

I didn't venture a reply. I knew very well the real reason for Karen's dissatisfaction. It didn't take an Einstein.

“The kid who leads your group, did you say he's blind?”

“You got that right,” I acknowledged.

“What a shame. How about the drummer? Will you introduce me? He's kind of cute.”

“I'm fairly certain he's interested in Liz, and she's into him too.”

Karen groaned. “There is no justice!” Karen twirled a strand of auburn hair. She lowered her eyes in dejection.

“I'll have them get you another burger of the non-mooing variety. Honor bright. Okay?”

Karen looked up and shrugged. “Well, at least the music's good.”

I felt better for Karen when a group of boys arrived during the
next set. They stood by the bar
looking around. I recognized Greg Lawson immediately. I
didn't need very good eyesight because
he was easily six foot three and would have stood out in any cr
owd. Here I was at center stage and
I thought ma
ybe he might notice me now
but he was
still
unaware
of me as an individual. To him
we musicians
must be
nothing more than part of the club's atmosphere, strictly background noise.

It was after the boys had ordered their sodas that I noticed several of them nudgin
g one in
the group in Karen's direction. I knew him from all the way back in elementary school. Randy Farrell was tall and broad with an unusually thick neck. He approached Karen shyly, occasionally looking back at his friends for supp
ort. I could see that Karen was
pleased. She invited him to join her. The other boys in Greg Lawson's group didn't bother to socialize with anyone else in the club. They just hung out together, laughing, shoving each other every once in a while, generally goofing around.

On my
break
I sat down with Karen and Randy. I could tell they were hitting it off. It thrilled me.

“Hi, Giraffe, I mean, Stacy, how's your summer going?”

“Fine, and yours?”

“Improving a whole lot.” He smiled at Karen.

“How did you average out in American History?” I asked him, remembering it was the one class we shared sophomore year.

“
Managed to pull off a C at the
end. I slept through that class for most of the year.” Karen giggled as if he'd said something clever. “It's true. Ask Stacy.”

“He did,” I agreed.

“Callan's so boring he even yawned during his own lectures.”

Karen smiled at Randy as if to acknowledge his wit. Actually, Randy was kind of a half-wit, but his heart was o
kay. Randy smiled back at Karen and
then picked up the menu. “Can I order you girls something?”

“I don't recommend the food here,” Karen warned. “The meat bites back.”

“I've got a cast-iron stomach. Coach says that's what makes me so valuable as a lineman. He wants me to keep putting weight on so I'll be first-string varsity in the fall. Not that any of this is fat,” he hastened to add. Randy flexed his biceps for Karen.

“Yo
u
are so strong,” Karen responded in an animated, flirtatious manner. I almost groaned. The way she acted seemed ridiculous to me. But Randy bought it completely like it was pizza with extra cheese.

“It's the weightlifting. Coach has us press every other day. Secret of a winning team,” he explained with a wink.

I left them to continue their gooey conversation and went back to the stage. It was a fact that I had never seen Karen so happy and animated. She obviously enjoyed Randy's company. So why was I feeling this way, as if I had lost something? Was I jealous? Maybe, but if so, I knew it was wrong. I sighed and got ready to perform again. My best friend met a guy she could like. That happened to be a good thing.

Karen came home with me, Jimmy driving us back to my house. She was sleepin
g over. As we got ready for bed
all Karen could talk about was Randy Farrell. She bubbled with joy.

“He said he's going to call me. Isn't that awesome? I can hardly wait!” She hugged the pillow close to her. “Of course, I do wish it had been Greg Lawson. I mean, he is older and cuter,
more popular too, but Randy's
nice, don't you think? And doesn't he have a great sense of humor?” Karen didn't wait for a reply; she continued to rhapsodize. “This is the best night of my life ever.” Karen was too excited to sleep so we talked into the early hours of the morning.

The next day
I woke up w
ith a bad sore throat. At first
I thought I must have strained my vocal cords from too muc
h singing. But by the afternoon
my inability to swallow properly was accompanied with a headache. I dragged myse
lf through the day. At the pool
I stayed out of the water, studying in the shade. I
was
prone to strep infections and ha
d
to be careful.

I didn't
feel like going to band practice that evening, but I went anyway. The heat of the day was down and a spectacular blood-sun was setting in the sky as I climbed the porch steps to the Norris house.

We had a set routine which involved getting down to practice without a lot of
chitchat
. Michael sat at the piano working on a new piece. Liz sat beside him writing down on paper the notes he played. They stopped and got ready for our practice.

Liz handed me a copy of the new stuff. The pain in my head was now centered
on
the sockets of my eyes. I found it difficult to concentrate and made several mistakes playi
ng the new work. The first time
Michael only moved hi
s head in my direction frowning, the second time he glowered and
the third
he signaled us to stop with an irate wave of his hand.

“What's the matter
? Too much social life?”

His mocking tone infuriated me. I was in no mood to put up with his lousy attitude. “I made a mistake, all right? Big deal.”

“As a matter of fact, it is. We're trying to put together a profess
ional sound. If you're slumming
you don't belong with us.”

“I'm not feeling well, okay?” I tried not to whine. I hate people who whine and sure didn't want to join their ranks. “Maybe I made a mistake coming tonight.”

“Maybe you did at that,” Michael agreed without the slightest shred of sympathy or compassion. “Let's continue—if you can pay attention.”

Now I was just plain angry. “I read somewhere that Lincoln freed the slaves.”

He was on his feet looking ominous. “So I'm a slave-driver, is that it? Well, let me tell you something. Liz and Jimmy both have full-time jobs for the summer, but I don't hear any complaints or excuses from them. Tough lounging around a pool all day, isn't it?”

I felt my cheeks flame like cherries jubilee. “Sorry if that makes you sore.” I ran out of the room and toward the front door.

Liz came after me. “Wait, Stacy!”

I didn't listen but
I kept on walking, if only so that no one would see the tears welling up in my eyes. I was still smarting from the sting of Michael's remarks and feeling pretty sorry for myself when Liz caught my arm on the front porch.

“He didn't mean to hurt your feelings, you know.”

“Didn't he?”

Liz's grave
gray eyes looked at me evenly. She reminded me of an owl just then. “I know how it must seem, but it's just that he's suffered a lot the last few years. Certain memories torture him and leave him feeling bitter and angry. Sometimes, he takes it out on the wrong people.”

I couldn't answer her,
I just left as fast as my long legs would carry me. There was something about Michael, something that always disturbed me. It seemed like whenever I had personal contact with him, I wound up feeling emotionally upset. When someone has a great talent the way Michael does, you can forgive a lot. And the beauty and greatness of his music made me think that the
re was
something wonderful deep inside of him. Just the same, at moments like this, I could have easily murdered him. Hang tough, I told myself, don't let him get to you! But like most things, it's easier said than done.