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.
“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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