I'll Sing for my Dinner (19 page)

Myra called on my second day back in Greeley.

“Cecily, your lawyer should be sending you amended contracts to sign,” she said. “Tim and Marcus are kicking back part of their cuts, and if you agree, I’ll be working for you from now on.”

“Oh? Are you okay with that?” I asked.

“I worked for you this winter. I mean you weren’t paying me directly, but about ninety percent of what I did was directly for you. Are you okay with it?”

“So I’ll be responsible for your travel and living expenses? And how are you going to get paid when I’m not touring?” I asked. “You were a full-time employee of Marcus’s company, weren’t you?”

“I can keep your schedule, answer your fan mail, play secretary, maintain your website, coordinate your travel, you know, whatever you need done.” I could hear a hopeful, pleading note in her voice.

“How much am I paying you?”

She hesitated. “Marcus was paying me sixty thousand,” she finally said. “I was hoping I could talk you into a hundred.”

“Are you willing to move to Colorado?” I asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you ever been to Greeley, Colorado?” I couldn’t imagine a place more different from New York.

“No,” she said in a small voice. “It’s near Denver, isn’t it?”

“About an hour away. Come on out, and we’ll talk about it,” I said.

Jake and I discussed it that night.

“She could probably live in Denver,” Jake said after I explained everything. “It’s not New York, either, but for a city girl, it’s a lot closer to what she’s used to than Greeley. Does she know how to drive?”

“I think so,” I said. “She grew up in a suburb of Pittsburg, so she probably does.”

Myra flew in on Saturday, rented a car, and drove to Greeley. We put her in Mary’s room, and I took her to the Roadhouse that night. It hadn’t really occurred to me before how much Myra and Jeri looked alike. They were of similar height, their hair was the same color, and if Jeri was five years younger and twenty pounds lighter, they could have been twins. Watching them together that night, I understood why Jake always seemed so uncomfortable around Myra. He must have been seeing Jeri when he was in love with her.

Tim, the pop agent, put together a backup band for me. Electric bass, rhythm guitar, electric piano, and a violin. I didn’t meet the musicians or get to play with them until the week before the Denver concert. I picked them from recordings he sent me and interviews I conducted over the phone. They flew into Denver and came to Greeley on Sunday, and we practiced at the Roadhouse during the day and played in the evenings.

By Friday night, we sounded pretty good together. It was our only end-to-end dress rehearsal, and we played two hour-long sets. I did about half a dozen songs completely solo, and I could do them all that way if I needed to.

After we finished playing, I ate dinner with Jake, then got back on the stage and took requests, the way I used to do every evening. I knew most of the people in the audience, and it felt like coming home.

When I finished with my final set, I walked over to the table where Jeri, Myra and Terrie, the violin player with my band, were sitting. It was kind of an odd feeling. I had never had girlfriends. I considered at least two of these women as friends. I wasn’t sure about Terrie yet.

“I never get tired of listening to you sing,” Jeri said, drawing me into a quick hug. “Damn, girl, you sound like you swallowed an angel.”

I laughed. “I’m no angel. He’s over there behind the bar.”

They all turned and looked at Jake.

“Listening to her, you’d think he walked on water,” Myra said with a laugh.

Jeri shot a glance at me, and then looked at Myra. “Everyone has their own savior,” she said, then looked back at me and captured my eyes. “There’s love, and sometimes there are things beyond love.”

I licked my lips, not really sure what to say. He was everything to me, and I brought him nothing but trouble. I couldn’t even stay home with him like I should.

Suddenly I realized that the table had gone quiet and somber. “I’ll buy the next round,” I said, jumping up and walking over to the bar to tell Jake.

I started the tour in Denver so Jake could come. So did Kathy, Jeri, Jared and all the band members, and a bunch of my friends from Greeley. Jake posted promos for the concert all over town and he closed the bar that night.

We opened for a group that primarily consisted of two lesbian women, though they had a backup band. They had several top hits and several albums and had been recording and touring for at least ten or fifteen years. Tim hoped my music would resonate with their fans.

Most of the people attending had probably never heard of me. I started out with one of the songs the band played with me, the song that had the most internet hits. It started with a spotlight on Darlene playing the piano introduction. Then when the rest of the band cut in and I started to sing, the lights on the stage came on and three spots focused on me. I knew what they saw. A little blonde girl with a large guitar, standing there and hoping to make good.

It was by far the largest venue I had ever played, but I had confidence in my voice. With a microphone, I figured I could blow the roof off. The crowd was restless and excited, anticipating good music and a good time. I thought of Jake telling me that as long as I didn’t sound like a tortured cat, he would let me sing for my dinner.

I opened my mouth, and did my best to let everyone know I belonged there. I sang one more number backed up by the band, and then the lights focused only on me. Playing the Martin, I sang the song I had written for Jake, the song I played on harp for my encore in Vienna. The song was modified to a narrower vocal range, the tune re-written for guitar and a folk-pop audience. I had never heard such applause and cheering in my life. These people were a lot less restrained than classical or operatic audiences. Smiling my fool head off, I decided I could get used to it.

Ed, my guitar player, stepped up and shouted in my ear, “Screw what we planned. Do a malaguena, then do
Wandering Traveler
, and then we’ll step back in and hit them with
Dance All Night
.”

I looked at him, then at the audience. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” he said. He had done gigs with some of the biggest names in the business. I pulled a stool over, and changed to my classical guitar. A malaguena is a type of flamenco music from southern Spain. As I hit the first few notes, the audience quieted. I played through it, giving an American audience a taste of how powerful an acoustic guitar could be. While the notes were still dying away, I changed back to my Martin and sang
Wandering Traveler
, the song I wrote about walking into the Roadhouse for the first time.

When I finished, I turned to change guitars again to my electric Gibson. Ed stepped into the spotlight with me and shouted, “Miss Cecily Buchanan!” into the microphone. The audience was clapping, cheering, and stomping their feet.

I turned to the band, and launched into the opening rift of
Dance All Night.
After the second rift, they came in on time, and I turned to the mic to sing.

It’s been a lousy day

Come home to get away

Boss was a jerk, always down on me

Need to kick loose and move to feel free

Going to go out and

Dance all night

The music makes things right

Shake my ass and forget

Ain’t heard last call yet

Dance all night

Boyfriend called and moaned

Says he has to work ‘til dawn

Thinks I’m too dumb to catch on

He’s gettin’ some on the side

I ain’t staying home while he rides

Don’t want to sit around bored

Short dress and fuck-me shoes, hit the door

Going to go out and

Dance all night

The music makes things right

Shake my ass and forget

Ain’t heard last call yet

Dance all night

Don’t want to sit around bored

Short dress and fuck-me shoes, hit the door

Flirt with all the good lookin guys

Gonna find one to make me fly

Going to go out and

Dance all night

The music makes things right

Shake my ass and forget

Ain’t heard last call yet

Dance all night

When I finished, I did think the roof would come off. It was a new song, one I started thinking about in New York and finished in London. It had a dance beat, and the lyrics were inspired by all the women I saw alone in the clubs. I had practiced it with the band, but no one else had heard it. Neither Darlene nor Terrie had great singing voices, but when we practiced it we decided they should come in on the chorus.

When we finished our set, we came off the stage and the headliners, two women about twenty years older than I was, intercepted me.

“Go back out there,” the taller one said. “Do an encore.”

“I’m not supposed to,” I told her. “The contract specifically says not to.” There were reasons for that. Promoters don’t want introductory acts usurping the main show, and often the big stars are such divas that they would blow a gasket if they felt they were getting upstaged.

“Screw the contract,” she said. “Go do something. They’re going nuts out there, and you deserve it.” She turned me around and gave me a shove. So I sang one more song, a quiet one, and then left the stage.

~~~

Chapter 23

Jake

Myra and I watched Cecily’s performance from backstage. I could tell she was nervous, but when she walked out there and the spotlights hit her, she played with all of the confidence I was used to seeing. Compared to the elegant gowns she wore for her classical tour, she dressed for this performance in a sleeveless red wrap blouse, blue jeans and cowboy boots.

Myra was nervous, too, and clung to my arm through the first few songs. When it became evident that the audience loved Cecily, Myra relaxed and let me go, moving a few steps away with a flush on her face. During the week that she stayed with us in Greeley, I caught her watching me on several occasions, and took pains not to get too close to her when we were alone.