Funky Big Band

By: Lara

“Funky Big Band”

People gather round at the Bronx Lounge to hear the funky sounds…the beat hits so hard…there’s no cover charge…you have to feel the groove…

“C’mon, Joe!”

“Yeah, let us in!”

“We’ve been here for over an hour!”

“Okay…okay…” Joey Fatone smiled as he unlocked the door. “Quit your whining!”

People rushed by him to get out of the winter coldness. Men slapped him on the shoulder, women stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Joey smiled cheerfully, saying hello and shaking hands as the flow continued. Soon the room was warm with laughter and shouts, people greeting each other as if it had been weeks instead of hours since they had seen each other last.

“Good crowd tonight,” Chris Kirkpatrick said to his business partner, grinning as dollar signs flashed before his eyes.

“Just as long as they don’t get out of hand,” Joey murmured. Chris sighed.

“Chris, these cats love you. This place is the best in New York City. Where else can you find great booze, even greater music, and know you won’t get busted?”

“We’re just lucky that Steve works for the police force and covers for us. There’s enough booze in here to keep the Prohibitionists happy for YEARS,” Joey sighed.

“That law was the best thing that could happen to us, Joe,” Chris pointed out. “The illegality of drinking is what makes half the people drink!”

“Speaking of illegality…the baby here yet?”

“Justin? Yeah…he’s back getting himself ready.”

A cheer started from the room as a slim man came from backstage to sit at the piano. He flexed his slender fingers, and soon a cheerful melody came tinkling from the keys. “Good. Joshua is here. I thought these people were gonna mob me,” Joey said, smiling at his incredibly gifted pianist. Josh Chasez could play Bach, could play Beethoven, could play Negro spirituals, could play the best juke joint music north of the Mason-Dixon…and could fill a room with ragtime quicker then anyone Joey had ever seen. Angels had blessed Joshua with good looks and even better rhythm. Girls crowded around the piano to watch while the men cheered him on.

“Let’s just hope they like the vocalist, too,” Chris said, going back behind the bar to count the money. Joey sighed, thinking of the eighteen year old vocalist warming up backstage. He DID have the voice…and he and Josh worked well together…but could he hold the attention of a crowd used to the best music in New York?

One thing is you’ve got to be real…if you want to hear the funky big band…he who knows it feels it…got to be real…if you want to hear the funky big band…we who know it feel it…

James Lance Bass stared at the address in his hand and then at the traffic speeding by him. He definitely wasn’t in Mississippi anymore. But a traveling musician who had stopped at the one diner in his small town had assured him that this was the place to be. “It’s in the colored section…you know…that’s bad…but they allow it. This place is the BEST. Best music, best liquor, best everything. You just FEEL it, ya know? And if you’re looking to sing, Boy, you gotta go up there. Get out of this backwards town.”

And that’s what he had done. Packed his one small bag, kissed his mama goodbye, and hopped a bus to New York. Now he stood on the street, looking like a total idiot, he was sure. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was the biggest mistake he had ever made. All he knew was that he wanted to sing. And he wanted to sing HERE.

“Need a ride, sir?” A cabbie approached him.

“Yes. Here.” He thrust the paper at the cabbie, who smiled.

“You in for the ride of your life, sir.” But he took the battered suitcase and loaded it in the car.

“You’re sure this is it?” James looked at the drab building in front of him. He saw no people, heard no sounds.

“Yep. You want me to take you back to the bus station?”

“No.” He handed the cabbie the exact amount from his meager funds, with a small tip.

“Thanks, sir.” The cabbie drove off, leaving James standing in front of the building. He walked up and timidly knocked. A window in the door opened.

“Yes?”

“I…I want to come in.”

“So does half of New York, sonny. Sorry.”

“Please? I was told I could get a job here. That Mr. Fatone would hire me.”

The black face behind the window smirked. “You was told that?”

“Yes…yes sir.”

“You from the South, sonny?”

“Yes, sir. Mississippi.”

The face laughed this time. “Hold on.”

Lonnie went back behind the bar. “Mr. Kirkpatrick, there’s a wet behind the ears Southron boy at the door…wants to come in…said he hears Mr. Fatone will give him a job.”

Chris smirked. “We do need a dishwasher. Let him come in.”

“Yes, sir. Be good for a laugh if nothing else.” He went back to the door. “C’mon in, sonny.” He opened the outer door and James stepped in, shivering. “Where’s your coat, sonny?”

“I didn’t know it would be this cold,” James said, teeth chattering.

“C’mon. Mr. Kirkpatrick wants to speak with you.” He deposited James in a booth and told a waitress to bring him a hot drink. “How old are you, sonny?”

“I’m twenty,” he said.

“Give him coffee,” Lonnie told the waitress. “You wait here,” he said to James, and returned to the door.

“I hear you’re looking for a job?” An older man with dark hair and dark eyes slid into the booth.

“Are you Mr. Fatone?”

“No…I’m his partner, Christopher Kirkpatrick. You looking for work?”

“Well…a musician came through town and…”

“What town?” James named it. “What state is that?”

“Mississippi, sir,” James said politely. Chris smiled.

“Excellent. They’re hearing about us all the way down there. Well, boy, we are in dire need of a dishwasher.”

“But, I…” Lance began, then froze as the lights went out and the crowd cheered.

“Ladies and gents, we got a real treat for you tonight. Now, he’s just a baby, but he’s got the voice of an angel…so give him a warm welcome, okay? You know I only bring you the best music, and this boy is the best I seen in a while. Please give a big shout for Justin Timberlake.” Joey clapped as he walked off stage and Justin walked on, followed by a drummer, a trombone player, and a trumpet player. Josh led the first few bars on the piano, then the musicians followed.

When Justin stood in front of the microphone, a few people hooted and hollered, then they heard him sing. A strong tenor sound came from the slim body, and they began to cheer as the tempo of the song picked up. He looked like a child, but the voice ran over the fast words of the ragtime song as if he had been singing for decades.

“Not bad,” Chris said, surprised. “Not bad at all.” He turned back to James. “You want the job or not?”

“I do,” James said breathlessly, determined to stay and hear this wonderful music. “I do, sir.”

“You got a place to stay?”

“No, sir. I’m just off the bus.”

Chris sighed. “We got a room upstairs…off the back steps. You go back and start doing dishes now, and I’ll get you settled later.”

“Thank you…thank you, sir!” James enthusiastically shook Chris’ hand.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“James…I mean, Lance. Lance Bass.”

“Lance. Go back to the kitchen…talk to Johnny. He’ll get you set up.”

“Yes, sir.” Lance carefully deposited his suitcase under the table and went towards the swinging kitchen door. He walked as slowly as possible, determined to listen to that wonderful music until the very last second.

Lance worked until three in the morning, cleaning tables and washing the glasses. He was exhausted when he finally fell into bed, and didn’t wake up until nine the next morning. He jumped up, washed his face in the basin of water on a small table, then dressed in his only other set of clean clothing. He went down to the club, and Chris was making some eggs in the tiny kitchen. They didn’t serve food to the patrons at night, but since they all lived above the club, they had to eat SOMEWHERE.

“There he is. Hey, Joe!” Chris shouted, plunking a plate of eggs down on the table for Lance. “Eat,” he commanded, and Lance sat.

“Yeah?” The emcee from the night before poked his head around the backstage curtain.

“This is him…the Dixie boy,” Chris said. “Um…Lance, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, a polite one.” Joey dusted off his hands and held one out to Lance. “Joe Fatone.”

“Yes, sir!” Lance stood and shook Joey’s hand. “I have heard so much about your club, and…”

“You told me a traveling musician told him about us?” Joey asked Chris. Chris nodded. “You didn’t come here to wash dishes, did you, Lance?”

“Um…well…no, sir,” Lance admitted, blushing. Joey looked at Chris, amused. Chris just shrugged and went back to frying eggs. “I…well…I sing.”

“Another one?” Joey rolled his eyes and laughed, a friendly sound. “We have young singing boys crawling out of the woodwork, apparently. How old are you?”

“Twenty, sir.”

“And our Justin’s going on nineteen. Wonderful.” Joey was still amused.

“Justin, sir? Is that…the boy who was singing last night?” Lance ventured to ask. Joey nodded.

“Yeah. Jailbait for us if we ever had it…I mean, we’re doing enough illegal stuff as it is, but having a boy like that on stage. If the women get a hold of him…” Joey shrugged. “But did you hear him? Amazing.”

“Yes, sir. I heard his voice in my dreams last night,” Lance said before he thought. Joey laughed and Chris gave Lance a sharp look.

“You like boys, Bass?”

“No, sir. I mean, not the way you think,” Lance stammered, and he didn’t. He knew boys like that back home and he was NOT like that. He loved girls. “I just…his voice. I’ll never sound that good.”

“I’m sure you’re fine,” Joey said generously. “You have a low voice. You sing bass?” Lance nodded and blushed, knowing what was coming. “Good last name for ya,” was all Joey added.

“Hey,” a voice said sleepily, and Lance turned around to see the boy with a voice like an angel. His curls were tousled, and he wore only his long underwear top and pants. “Is there juice today?”

“Yes, Justin. In the icebox.” Chris motioned behind him. Justin pulled out a large milk bottle that had been filled to the brim with orange juice. Justin studied the blond boy at the table.

“Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, I’m back to work fixing the lights. Nice to have you around, Lance, and we’ll see what we can do about your ambitions. For now, do you mind doing dishes?” Joey asked.

“No, sir.”

“Excellent. Talk to you later.” Joey ambled back around the curtain.

“I’ve got to get to the bank. Justin, eat this time, okay?” Chris plunked another plate down. “Lance, here. Consider it an advance.” Chris took a box from behind the bar and peeled off some bills. “Get yourself some new clothes.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Lance tried not to gape at the large pile of money Chris tossed at him. Chris went to get dressed. Lance went back to his eggs. Justin studied him over his juice glass.

“Who are you?”

“Me?” Lance said quickly, and wanted to smack himself. Of course, him. “I’m Lance…I’m…uh…the dishwasher.”

“You come in last night?” Lance nodded. “Did you catch the show?”

“I sure did,” Lance breathed. “You were…amazing.”

“Think so?” Justin’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought I was off. I was nervous…you know…first show and all.” A sunny smile flittered across his face. “Actually, I was damn near petrified.”

“You couldn’t tell,” Lance said, still awestruck. “Your voice was wonderful! And the people loved it. Trust me, I heard them talking before I went into the kitchen.”

“Really? That’s great!” Justin exclaimed. He pushed his plate away. “Great,” he repeated.

“You’re not eating?”

“Chris can do a lot of things but he cannot make eggs,” Justin told Lance. Lance, who had thought Chris’ eggs were just fine, pushed back his plate as well.

“Let me see what’s back here.” Lance got up and dug through the cupboards. He pulled out some potatoes, peeled them quickly, then started to fry them. When they were almost done, he cracked some eggs and scrambled them with the potatoes. “Try this.”

Justin stared at the steaming plate and took a tiny bite. “Mmm. These are good.” He wolfed the food down as fast as he could without burning his tongue.

“Coffee…” a voice moaned before they saw the person speaking. Lance quickly poured a mug and had it ready as Josh Chasez came down the steps. “Thank you.” He sat at the table, head down.

“Morning, Mr. Chasez,” Justin said cheerfully. “This is Lance. He’s doing dishes. Lance, this is Mr. Chasez, the…”

“Pianist,” Lance said. “An honor to meet you, sir. I heard you last night. You play like a dream.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, inhaling the steam from his coffee as it cooled.

“Mr. Chasez isn’t a morning person,” Justin informed Lance. “Hey, I guess you need to buy clothes?”

“I guess so,” Lance answered, still staring at his pile of money.

“Want me to show you around? I know where the best deals are…and I can show you around New York. I’ve only been in town a year, but I know where most stuff is.”

“That would be nice, thanks,” Lance replied. “Bye, Mr. Chasez.”

“Yeah…” Josh said faintly, waving a hand as he tried to wake up.

Harlem is the place where you’ll find the face of those who feel the groove…

“So…why did Mr. Fatone set up his club out here?” Lance asked hours later as they walked back to the club. He looked up at the buildings, watching the dark faces who stared at them curiously.

Justin shrugged. “The best music you could ever hear is right on these streets,” he replied. “And it’s cheap…and the cops don’t come out this way much. His brother’s a cop, ya know.”

“Wow.” Lance digested this information.

“What did I tell ya? Great clothes at a good price, right?” Justin nudged Lance, pointing to the bag that Lance carefully held.

“Yes,” Lance said, smiling as he thought of the new pants, new shirt, and brand new suit that he held in the paper sack. “You were right.”

“I like hearing that,” Justin grinned as they walked around the back of Joey’s club. “Hey…I gotta rehearse now.”

“I supposed that I should find out if they need me to do anything in back,” Lance said soberly. His afternoon with Justin had been wonderful. They had bonded immediately, and Lance understood the light in Justin’s eyes when he talked about music.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Justin said, clapping him on the back. Lance nodded and went to find Chris or Joey as Justin went in search of Josh Chasez.

Chris sent Lance behind the bar to take stock of the alcohol. He said that he felt Lance could be trusted, but if he caught Lance trying to steal anything, he’d be out on his ass before he could say Mississippi. Lance took a tablet of paper and a pencil and knelt behind the bar, making carefully lists in his neat handwriting. A sound from the floor made him jump up suddenly, cracking his head. JC’s long fingers danced across the keyboard of the piano as he waited for Justin.

“Mr. Chasez,” Lance said, surprised. “You’re rehearsing with Justin?”

“Yep. The stuff he does with the band he already knows, but we wanna do some slow, bluesy stuff.” JC’s fingers picked out a sweet melody, then swung into a song Lance knew by heart. It was a spiritual that one of his mother’s friends had loved, and she would often sing it when she came to visit. He slowly sang along, humming at first, then singing the words as he wrote down the kinds of alcohol he found.

“Lance…right?” JC said as he stopped playing.

“Yes, sir?” Lance poked his head out from under the bar.

“Come out here,” JC commanded.

Lance slowly walked around the bar. “I was only counting them, honestly! Mr. Kirkpatrick said…”

JC laughed. “I’m not accusing you of stealing. I want you to sing again.”

“Me? But Justin…”

“Justin’s running late. We got time to waste, and you can catch up back there in a minute.” JC picked out another tune. “You know this?”

“Yes, sir.” Lance began to sing along with JC’s playing. JC had picked a song in a low enough key that Lance could easily float through it.

“Impressive,” JC said, nodding. “Very good.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lance blushed to his ears. Justin stepped out from behind the curtain.

“Can we start now?” He demanded, ignoring Lance. Lance blushed darker and hurried back behind the bar.

He spent the next hour writing, but the movements were mechanical. He was paying close attention to Justin, jealously listening to how his voice could float up into the higher scales and still sound good at a relatively lower level. JC worked with him, deciding what tempo would work best for the four songs he had chosen. “Okay…we’re done here. Go along and get some rest, Justin. I know you were running about with Lance all morning.”

“Okay.” Justin headed for the back steps. Lance hurried after him.

“Hey, Justin, that was great. You really are gonna nail those songs good.”

“Thanks,” Justin said over his shoulder. He didn’t stop walking. Lance froze, hurt.

“Um…Justin? Can I…”

“Look.” Justin stomped back. “I thought you were just a nice guy…a young guy from outta town looking to make a few bucks. I didn’t know you were after my job.”

“YOUR job?” Lance’s eyes were huge. “No! I came here looking to sing, yes, but I didn’t know that Mr. Fatone had hired you. I had no clue about you!”

“And you still don’t. That stage is mine, that job is mine. You just keep back in the kitchen, okay?” Justin turned around and headed up the steps.

One thing is you’ve got to be real…If you want to hear the funky big band…he who knows it feels it…got to be real if you want to hear the funky big band…we who know it feel it

“Bass!” Chris barked as he came back into the kitchen. The doors were about to open and Lance was stacking clean glasses on a cart.

“Yes, sir?”

“You read music?”

“Well, yes, sir,” Lance said. “I helped out with our church choir.”

“Good. Learn this. You go on at midnight.” Chris thrust a piece of paper into Lance’s hand.

Lance dropped a glass and it shattered onto the floor. “Me?” Lance said, temporarily ignoring the glass.

“Yes, you. Josh says you got something…and I wanna hear it. Justin normally breaks at midnight. You go on then.” Chris looked at him. “You DO want to sing, right?”

“Yes, well…yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Chris left the kitchen and Lance bent down to pick up the glass. He cursed as a piece embedded itself in his hand. He was standing over a sink, carefully picking out the shard, when Josh Chasez burst through the swinging door. “Lance! I’m so glad Chris took my advice!”

“I don’t know anything about singing in a club, Mr. Chasez. I’ll never be as good as Justin…they’ll hate me…and he already does,” Lance muttered as he finished.

“You just sing like you sang for me today and you’ll be good. You gotta suit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. And don’t worry about Justin. He’s too young to be that big in his britches. I can’t WAIT to get you two doing duets!” JC enthusiastically hurried back out the door. Lance sighed and wrapped his hand in a towel.

“Ladies and gents, I need you to be even nicer then you were last night for me. You’ve heard Justin Timberlake, you know how we got the best music in the state of New York…but now I got an even sweeter treat for you. He just come up from the state of Mississippi…he’s got a low voice that will curl your toes, ladies…” Lance heard the women squeal at Joey’s words and he blushed. “Let me introduce Mr. Lance Bass. And you all be kind to him, okay?” Joey clapped him on the back as he left the stage. Lance gulped in a breath and slowly walked out. He felt his knees quiver as he watched the sea of faces before him. He looked at JC, who nodded as he started to play.

Lance began to sing quietly, nervousness overcrowding his mind. The faces in the audience frowned, except one. Justin Timberlake was smiling. He WANTED Lance to fail. Lance jutted his chin in the air and sang louder. He came to New York to sing…and if nothing else, he could now say he had done it. The frowns turned to small smiles as the heads bobbed in time with the music. Lance looked at Justin coldly…and was surprised when Justin winked at him and grinned.

“Good morning, Mr. Kirkpatrick,” Lance said sleepily as he almost crawled to the table the next morning. After his song, he had gone back to washing dishes, but he was constantly interrupted by customers who called him out to talk to him. He had gone to bed at almost four, but he had been so excited he couldn’t sleep.

“Good morning, Bass. Here.” Chris set down a cup of coffee. “I’m not supposed to cook for you or something?”

“What?” Lance said groggily.

“Before Justin went to bed last night he said I wasn’t supposed to cook breakfast anymore…that only you knew how to cook it,” Chris replied, shaking his head. Lance smiled and got up to find potatoes and eggs. He went into the kitchen to find just the right fry pan. When he came out, Justin was at the table.

“I told him what you wanted, Justin,” Chris said, shaking his head. “I’m off to the bank.” He left the room. Lance concentrated on his work.

“You want juice, too?”

“I’ll get it.” Justin poured them each a glass of juice as Lance served up their breakfast. “Lance…I’m sorry. I…I thought you were here to steal my job. I worked so damn hard to get someone to hire me because of my age and all…and then you run in here fresh off the boat and Mr. Chasez has you up on stage.”

“I did come here to sing, Justin, but I didn’t think he’d really put me up there right away,” Lance said earnestly. “And it was off the bus, not off the boat.”

Justin threw a potato at him. “Anyway, I’m sorry. Our voices are so different that it’s really not a competition, is it?” Lance shook his head and grinned. They chatted as they ate their breakfasts, friends again. They froze as they heard Josh talking to Joey.

“Joe…I gotta great idea. If you let me work with those boys all day long today…I can get you some incredible duets onstage tonight.”

Lance and Justin looked at each other. All day?

“If you can get them out here, you can try it, Joshua,” Joey replied.

Justin looked at Lance. “Wanna sneak out? I know this great vaudeville theater that’s still open down the street. They have this sexy blond dancer with big brown eyes and big…”

“Lance? Justin?” Josh called. Justin didn’t finish his sentence. They grabbed their dishes, tossed them in the sink, then ran out the back door.

The End

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