the “D” get trained.”
“What, the dick?”
“Hell, no...the D. The DAWG. If you had a little something on the side, she would be a pleasant distraction. She would drain off some of that energy and prevent you from putting all of your desire in one basket.”
“Its not like that Thumper.”
“Then why are we talking?”
I had no comeback.
“You are focused and predictable. She knows you’re not stepping out and chances are you won’t. At one time you could get a blow job without asking her, now you can’t buy one. She used to be spontaneous, now you hope she’ll let you touch her, and you have to beg to kiss her.”
My silence rang loudly again.
“Chapman, you sold Terri something that she bought and turned against you. I recommend you get a piece of ass on the side or at least say “fuck it”, and act like you don’t even want her ass, then see how quickly she changes her behavior.”
I nod my head up and down as I contemplate the advice Thumper blasted at me.
“Yeah, your Dawg is completely trained. You’re a schoolgirl and you don’t even know it.”
I dropped my head and began to laugh to myself. I grabbed my face so Billy could not see me laughing at him. I was about to choke, when Randi and Randy popped into The Spot─dressed alike as usual. Entering the room like the Three Stooges with their standard “Hello, Hello, Hellooooo” introduction. As strange as they appear, they love to put on a show. Being on stage to them is like crack to a crack addict. I and Y are some of the best I have seen. If only they would get rid of those matching gold teeth they’ve had since the day after they won their first talent show. Damn, that’s a long time to be walking around thinking you are fly, when in actuality, you are the “Bama of the week”. That’s right! Kountry with a “K” is what they are. I made a deal with them, to have their gold teeth removed before we embarked on our first major tour. They agreed.
“How are you all doin’?” I said with my face twitching. Doing my best to suppress my laugh.
“We are like Sunday dinner…Good.” says Randi as she gives high five to her brother.
Billy jumped up to hug Randi as the door flies open again. It’s Fingers and Bumbatta, looking like the black Blues Brothers.
“What’s up, what’s up?” screams Fingers. “My car ran out of gas on the way to The Spot. I’m glad Boom Boom stopped and gave me a ride.”
Bumbatta punches Fingers in the back. “I tell you what, you keep calling me Boom Boom, and next time your ass will still be walking down the street.”
Everybody laughs as things began to get out of control, so I yelled at the top of my voice and I clapped my hands.
“Quiet, quiet. Look, I got some new goods.”
I moved to the stands and continued to distribute the music and everybody began to calm down and take their places. Fingers sat down and looked over his charts and began to laugh out loud.
“Stank like Chitlinz hunh? Man, what is this? Hold up, hold up!”, Fingers exclaimed to himself as he began to tinker with the music on the piano. He decoded the first few bars before he smirked. Then he nodded his head in approval.
He continued to play the beginning of the song over and over again, and before you knew it the twins added a little Afro-Caribbean percussion flavor into the background. Bumbatta, jumped on top of things with a simple foundation beat that came straight out of septic tank and Fingers seemed to become hypnotized as the music began to course through his veins. Finally feeling comfortable with the first thirty-two beats, Fingers moved the train forward and the others had no choice but to follow him down the road. He was sight-reading so hard, his nose was touching the sheet music. I jumped in with the flugal horn so I could lead them to the promised land. Billy caught up to us at the break. He came in just in time to supply a hard five-finger slap bass solo. He waltzed into the groove as if he had been there before. Thumper was showing off like all great bass players did when they got the chance. We hit the bridge and I gave the signal for everybody to take it from the top. The groove got smoother and smoother with each turn around the bend. Then, like they always did, Randi and Randy stirred in some scat vocals on top of the already saucy foundation and took away all of the negative vibes that were fighting to enter my spirit.
An idea flashed into my head like a bolt of lightening. Terri’s face flashed across my mind. Raising my hands, I motioned with an exaggerated up and down motion and slowed the meter of the music to just above the speed of a ballad. “Wow!” I haven’t felt like this in a long time. The music truly has a hold of me. You know, kind of like it does when you feel a moving song in church. It was as if Terri had telepathically ordered me to hurry home like she did so many times before. I smiled as if she would be waiting at the door with nothing on but high heeled black patent leather pumps and a smile. Umm─vanilla scented candles burning around the tub, as Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do for Love”, softly echoed in the room. My song is a testimony. A testimony of how I feel. Oh, how bad I wanted it to be like it used to be. Oh, how much I wanted to run home, hold her in my arms, and sing her one of those bedtime songs I used to sing to her. The sad truth is, its not like that anymore.
So, I stayed put and did what an old player told me a long time ago, “You got to love who loves you.” Right then and there I was feeling less than loved by Terri, but I remembered my first lady. Music…met me when I was a young boy and she was a full-grown woman. She made it easier for me, a chubby youngster to be accepted by the cool kids in school way before he shed that baby fat and became a good athlete. She watched and helped me fall in love with another lady and yet never wavered in her loyalty. She would calm me when I was in a rage, would boost me when I felt low, would make me feel attractive even after I put on a few pounds, and even when the woman I confessed all of my earthly love for, took her love and ran away from me. When I am alone, fresh out of the shower lying across the bed naked to the world, she makes my hair stand on end. She enhances my mind, mood and creativity. My heart is counting out time to my other organs like Barry White to the Love Unlimited Orchestra. More than a series of notes, rest, sharps and flats, she was whole. My sweetest lady...Music.
Whatever!
Chapter 2
Things are looking better now, as the days rolled on by. The Chapman Sweet Band has been picking up steam by the minute. We are booked as the regular featured act at Bayside in downtown Miami. Three nights a week we gig there. I have been meeting some interesting people almost every night. People liked Fe’Fe’, the exotic dancer. She works over at a black strip club called the Watch Shop. She isn’t your run-of-the-mill stand up, bump and grind, and take off your clothes kind of dancer. I am told this lady’s act includes bottles, light bulbs, and a five-foot boa constrictor named “Right There”. She even featured an ass that claps louder than a crowd of people. Besides the props, I asked myself, “Why in the hell would anyone name a snake something like ‘Right There’?”
Fe’Fe’ came to our show week-after-week. She was one of our biggest local fans and the president of the exotic dancing chapter of The Chapman Sweet Band Fan Club. She always hung around to talk to us between our sets. In her world, she is a real live superstar. She even invited us down to see her act on more than one occasion and we would always have a good excuse not to check her out. You know all of the men in the band wanted to go see her do her thing, but it was hard to tell Randi she was not welcome to
