London Harmony: Water Gypsy

By Erik Schubach

Self publishing

P.O. Box 523

Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026

Cover Photo © 2015 Yurka Immortal / RA2 Studio / ShutterStock.com license

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Manufactured in the United States of America

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-9909806-4-3

Zilrita and I were peeking into the main studio. Tabitha Romanov was in the isolation booth belting out her latest hit. Yes, that's right, Tabby Cat herself. God I loved working here at London Harmony, I got to experience music in a way I never had when living on the streets of New York. Now I'm in on the ground floor, watching so many talented people actually create the magic! I get to hear the music before the rest of the world, and the privilege made my body hum with excitement.

At the mixing console was Mickey, his hands were deftly flashing across the controls, fine tuning the sliders and dials. Standing behind him rocking out to the solid power solo were my sister, Vannie, and the woman who fought to keep my sister and me together through near disaster in New York. None other than June Harris-West. I love her like a sister, she's my personal hero.

I just wish Vannie would give her a break and admit to her that she loves her. But she loves the seductive game she plays with June, keeping her chasing her when all she really wants to do is fall into the sack with her. I grinned. Then again, June seems to love the chase. They are the cutest couple, not couple, sorta couple, definite couple? Whatever, they heat up the room to supernova every time they are together. The rare kisses Vannie gifts her can melt a sun.

They both had their eyes closed, immersed in the music so much it was like they were part of it. The look of pure joy on Vanessa's face was priceless as she banged her head in time with her fist arcing high over her head as Tabby hit each note like a vocal hammer on an anvil. She had one of those rare voices that could slam out the power notes one instant and then hit such subdued, emotional notes the next instant without voice tremors or sliding. People compare her ability to Penny Franklin. I can see that. I almost giggled at the thought that both of them used cats as their inner animal.

June was swaying as she was almost in a trance, one hand held above her head, gracefully like a cobra smoothly rearing, ready to strike, her fingers grabbing and grasping at the high notes. Her other hand down by her hips, palm down. Thumping the air like a bass drum in time with the beat.

This was definitely the business those two belonged in, producing music. It was part of their souls. The corner of my mouth quirked up in memory at that thought. Vannie swears she can see the music playing in June's eyes. The music playing in her soul. June owns Harmony Trax here in London, my sister is her lead talent scout and sometimes enforcer.

I'm just the Small Fry, as they call me. I grin whenever they do. June has this weird obsession with giving everyone nicknames. I work here part-time after school. Mostly just weekends. I help out wherever they need me. June says I have my sister's gift for finding breakout bands and singers from the pack.

When Vannie or I find someone in the oceans of talent in the underground music scene here in London, June will covertly find a way to listen to them in person, at a rave or bar. If she agrees with our assessment and thinks the band or singer would be a good fit with London Harmony, she will discreetly leave her calling card as an invitation to meet with us here at the studio. LH is an invitation only studio. The only way to be signed with the studio is if you have one of June's cards in your hands.

They are a glossy black plastic business card with a gold J embossed on one side and London Harmony's phone number on the other. The underground music scene here has dubbed them J-Cards. It is any musician's dream to find a J-Card among their things after a set. It is reaching the level of urban legend almost. Just like some of the legendary antics June and a group of her friends, called June’s Eight, would pull off when they were in college. Only six cards have been handed out in the year and a half since London Harmony opened its doors.

I looked up to Zil. The goth woman grinned back down at me as we watched. She was a marketing and business whiz who sort of ran London Harmony for June. She could multi-task like nobody else on this planet. Just stay out of her reach if you aren't a touchy feely person. She's a hug-o-holic who gives what June has dubbed squid hugs.

The set ended and after a couple beats of silence for the sound man to shut the mics off. Everyone cheered as a super smiley Tabby Cat took off her headset and came out of the isolation booth for high fives and hugs all around.

She had gained so much confidence and poise since she first became part of or LH family. I remember the amazement and disbelief on her face the first time she walked through the doors here.

I woke up on my mattress on the floor shivering, I was so through with this bloody cold snap. The past two nights had been record lows in February here in London. I pulled my old quilt around me as I huddled into the corner of my room near the chimney of the old oil stove from below that went through the four upper deck rooms on the old grain barge. I yawned and looked around my room if you could really call it a room. It wasn't much, but it was mine. For now at least, until I could save enough lolly to let a proper apartment on dry land.

The Plexiglas window had frost on the inside and outside, telling me we had yet another night below freezing. The frost on the inside was from the condensation of my breathing. The plywood walls of the shack-like room were perpetually moist with mold starting to show. I'd have to get some cleaner in town to get rid of the nasty stuff again. That's a problem living on one of the floating houseboat slums on the River Thames. I reached over to the strip of tarp that had fallen out of a crack in the exterior plywood, letting a biting breeze into my room. I stuffed it back in then blew on my hands and held them close to the stove-pipe.

I checked my mobile for the time. I yawned again and stretched. Time to get up, the generators would be on in an hour. We only got four hours of power each day. Two in the morning and two in the evening. We had to plan our activities around it. I threw on some sweats from my two suitcases I had stacked against the wall of the tiny space, my own makeshift dresser. They took up almost half of the free space in my room that my mattress didn't occupy.

As I got dressed and grabbed a towel, I knocked lightly on the port plywood wall and said softly, “Mrs. Thatcher. Sixty minutes till power.”

I heard her groan and say, “Thank you Tabatha dear.” Followed by Terminator's happy whining. The elderly woman and her long hair chihuahua have been my neighbors here the past four months. They have been tenants on this barge for two years now.

I grinned and reached over and banged a little more loudly on the stern wall. “Wendell, get up. Less than an hour till power.”

I heard the bloke groan loudly and almost whisper through the paper thin wall, “Oh, sod off would ya?”

I grinned and sighed before I replied tersely, “Get up you lazy lout, you need to find a job, even a temp or Social Services are going to cut you off the Dole at the end of the week.” I clapped my hands together loudly three times. “Come on man, up with you.”

He groaned again and I heard him moving around. “Fine. Anyone tell you, you're a right pain in the ass Romanov?”

I nodded to myself and said, “That task would be your daily job... without fail.”

He chuckled and I grinned, he was a pleasant sort, just a little grumpy in the mornings. He said, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

I said, “Be a good bloke and rouse Mr. Illes?”

I heard the deep gravelly voice of the man catty-corner from my cabin say in his heavy Hungarian accent. “I have heard all your ruckus, and I am up. Thank you, my tiny virag.” I smiled, I liked it when the dock worker called me his tiny flower.

I slipped on my shoes and pulled on my heavy coat and stood, stooping slightly. The ceiling was only one and a half meters, then stomped on the deck three times to start the wake-up ritual for the new tenants below. I got three thumps from below in response. I had spent my first two months down in the three compartments below before Tess moved out of this room and I got to move above deck and have a window.

I gathered my things and squinted an eye as I wondered how I had become the alarm clock for this barge in the group of three that were moored at public lands. It sort of started my first week here, when I did Mrs. Thatcher a favor and woke her before the scheduled power-up so she could walk Terminator to do his thing. That was the beginning and it sort of snowballed quickly. I kind of liked it. It felt like I had a job in the little micro-community of our barge.

I braced myself and opened the little door that most likely was found in a bin somewhere that served as my front door and swung it open stepping into the crisp winter air on the main deck. I breathed deeply as I jammed my hands into my pockets. I smiled at the skyline of the most amazing city in the world. Then glanced over at the central barge, the only one of the three with an operational engine, it was more like an improvised tug. The other two of the group were lashed tightly to it.

I grinned at the twin ten-year old boys on deck there, slipping into their backpacks. James and Theodore. They smiled and waved, I waved back. I called out, “Good morning. Have a good day in classes boys.” They chimed out together, “Good morning Miss.” Then they scampered off onto the shore.

I stepped around the makeshift cabins to the center of the grain barge. It looked to be a remnant from the Big War. I stepped onto the board that was lashed to the ship that extended to the bank, it had some frost on it and was a little slick. I looked at Mrs. Thatcher's little red door in concern and reached over to the small trowel in the bucket of sand next to the plank and dusted the plank with sand.

I stepped onto it, the vessel groaned a bit as the current pushed at the mooring and I tested my footing. Much better. Then I almost skipped down the plank and hopped onto the shore soundly with two feet.

There wasn't the sucking squish there normally was. This cold snap was actually freezing the ground. Well, as with all things here, that will change quickly. In a day or two we'll be back to the normal four or five degrees for this time of year and everything will thaw.

I made my way quickly to the road and up a block to a local boxing club “Joe's” that allows the destitute and rough sleepers to use the showers before they open. I hated having to use the generosity of places like this, but I keep telling myself it is temporary. Until I can save up enough to properly let somewhere.

My previous government subsidized apartment's contracts expired with the city and they were going condo. I and ten other people found ourselves without a place to live. I was on a waiting list for various programs for a rent controlled flat, but I know some people who have been on those list for three or four months. But there is the catch 22 of it all. I've had to turn down three places already due to lack of funds. London is expensive to live in. You need first and last months rent, damage deposit, and agency fees. That can all tally almost two thousand quid in some cases.

The plus is that rent is low, around three hundred quid for the government contracted locations. I get public assistance of five hundred quid a month, on the months I qualify for the Dole, three hundred the rest of the time.

I was able to find my current room for just a hundred and fifty pounds a month with no deposits or fees. True we are one step away from homeless there and have a single chemical toilet and no running water there, but it is home... for now. People think our little floating slums are an eyesore and they call us either water rats or water gypsies. I prefer water gypsy, it has a tone of adventure and mystery to it. I know it's supposed to be a derision, but I don't take it as such. I already have four hundred and ninety quid saved up. By this time next year, I should have what I need to get into a real flat again. Then maybe my luck will turn around.

I got to Joe's and tapped on the back door. Joe himself opened the door and inclined his head in greeting before sitting back on his stool just inside the opening and started reading his newspaper, mumbling “Morning comrade.”

I chuckled as I headed for the showers. I called back over my shoulder, “Still not Russian Joe, and good morning to you too.”

He snorted and said without looking up from his paper, “Your accent says otherwise.”

I rolled my eyes at the familiar banter. My father was from the Ukraine, my mum from London. I picked up a slight Russian accent from him as I grew up, most people don't even notice it. But I was born and raised right here in London.

There was another woman, who I have seen around, in the showers already. We exchanged the nods of acknowledgment all familiar strangers share then I got ready to shower as the brunette left with her things. I leaned over the sink and looked at myself in the old mirror, that had lost a lot of its silvering around the edges. It was almost like a halo of fog on the reflective surface.

I sighed at the woman I saw there. Disappointed that she couldn't even seem to take care of herself. I felt like a failure, but as mum always says, “It is the low times in our lives that actually show us the value of the brighter times.” So I'm gathering karma here. One day, I'm going to prove to myself I can be something better, someone better.

I looked at my darker caramel blonde hair which almost bordered on red, I guess copper-ish would be a more apt descriptor. I'd need it trimmed up soon, the bob style I preferred was starting to shag out. My eyes always looked freaky to me, hazel with amber highlights almost the same color as my hair. It seemed almost unnatural or like I was wearing contacts to match my hair color.

At twenty-two I had finally outgrown my gawky, gangly phase, and grown into my rounded face with my jutting chin. I always thought it would come in handy if I wound up in a sword fight and needed an extra blade. I chuckled at myself. There, that's the one thing I genuinely like about my face. That smile... it's my mum’s smile.

I missed her so much. She won custody of me in the divorce and dad went back to the Ukraine. I visit him once a year when I get funds, he pays for half my travel even though he's not much better off than me. Mum had gone off on a humanitarian mission in South Africa two years back and I opted to stay here in London. It had been my home my entire life and I didn't want to leave it. I'm sort of second guessing my decision now. I'm such a bloody git in retrospect.

I'm glad I got mum's stature instead of dad's. I love being tiny, just a little over one and a half meters and slightly under seven stone. Makes me feel small but mighty.

Oh, there we go, a new lyric, small but mighty. I smiled hugely as I stripped and stepped into the open shower area with five stalls and started cleaning up. I closed my eyes and started singing. Toying with a new idea for a song incorporating the small but mighty line. I let my emotions soar. This was what I loved, creating and becoming the music. Letting it take me places I could only dream of. Searching out all of the hidden wonders of the world and caressing it, nurturing it with the melody.

You can always tell when you find the right words... when they resonate with the emotion behind them, creating something even bigger than themselves. That resonance causing a wave to build and sweep you that much higher.

Yes, this was it. That was what the song needed. I'd have to jot that down before I went to work today. I couldn't get the silly smile off my face as I finished cleaning up and dressing then headed back down the hall with my stuff.

Joe looked up from his paper and smiled. “I'll be hearing that in concert one day, mark my words comrade.”

I blushed in the embarrassment that he heard me singing again. “In my dreams Joe... in my dreams. Thanks for the facilities, you're a good bloke.” Then I smirked. “And Joe... still not Russian.”

He chuckled and opened the security door for me and the cold air hit me like a blast of ice. My wet hair sucked up the cold and pressed it against my scalp. I bundled up and gave the musclebound man a little wave as I stepped outside, the heavy door thudding shut behind me.

I grinned, there was a light snow falling. I loved the snow! Too bad it wouldn't stick around long. I shivered and pulled out my mobile to check the time. My eyes went wide, it was almost seven, I didn't want to waste any time from the power up. I hustled back to my barge, the Persephone.

I saw the landlord, Captain McCray, moving down from the central barge's main cabin and wheelhouse, the only decent quarters on the three ships. The big man paused when he saw me, his dark eyes looking right through me like they always did, then he started moving below decks. That was as close to a greeting as the man ever gave anyone.

I scurried up the board and hopped on the deck of my home and moved into my cabin and shut the door. I huddled next to the stove pipe, my hands hovering just a few centimeters away from it to warm back up. Seconds later I heard the huge generators on the center ship, the Tennessee, start up and saw the black plume of diesel exhaust raise up from behind the wheelhouse through my little window.

The little light hanging from the electrics by the stove pipe, above the small mirror I had stuck to the wall with duct tape, flickered on. I quickly hooked my mobile and my tablet up to their chargers. I heard a radio come to life at Mrs. Thatcher's, playing oldies, of course. I hooked up my hair dryer and brushed out my hair. The warm air on my scalp felt heavenly and went a long way to chasing the chill from my body.

I took a moment to listen, and heard the flotilla coming to life around me as it always did during a power-up, bustling with the activity we could only do when the generators were running. I defrosted my window with the hair dryer before I shut it off. I braced myself then got out of my sweats and into my work clothes.

I shivered in the knee length sky blue dress and made sure my nametag was affixed then bundled up in my coat, slipped my boots on, and slipped my work flats into my purse.

Then I laid on my mattress and started making notes and changes to my music on my charging tablet. I hummed out some verses and sang some others. I got some pounding from below. I said, “My apologies.” I tried to be quieter. I know I had seniority over those below decks and thus more latitude, but I didn't want to be a bother.