Fanfare (Country Roads #2) - Chapter 22

I couldn’t tell the guys right away, because there was a third person with them when they pulled up. I guessed he was the bass player Seth had been talking about, and I didn’t want to start talking about gigs with someone if he wasn’t going to stick.

“This is Paulie,” Seth said when they walked up, confirming my guess.

“Hey, good to meet you,” I said, offering my hand.

“Yeah, good to meet you too, kid,” he said, shaking it limply.

That set me on edge, and I could tell Marco saw the problem, but Seth ignored it so I decided not to make a big deal of it.

“Willie said we could use their setup, if that’s alright. They have a drum kit already on stage.”

“I’m still gonna bring in my keyboard. A drum kit is a drum kit, but a stand-up piano sounds too different from my keyboard for us to get everything dialed in,” Marco said.

“A drum kit is a drum kit?” Seth asked, jokingly angry.

“Yep. Deal with it.”

“All right,” I said, “let’s get set up.”

We got Marco’s keyboard, amp, cables, and Paulie’s bass out of Seth’s car and set everything up on stage. Paulie was already starting to rub me the wrong way, correcting me several times when I started talking about what I wanted to practice and some thoughts on song order. I again ignored it, since we hadn’t really started yet.

“Did Seth give you the music we’re gonna play?” I asked Paulie.

“Yeah. It’s cute.”

“Sure,” I said, repressing what I actually wanted to say. “Let’s start with Country Roads. I want to go through it once like we’ve done it before, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, and then I have a change to throw in.”

“You sure? It’s pretty good as it is,” Seth said. “You gotta be careful tinkering with a song too much. Sometimes you gotta say ‘okay, it’s done’ and just walk away.”

“Yeah, but you’re right. Someone told me the same thing the other day. Just hear it out and if you think it’s too much, just tell me.”

I don’t know why I avoided saying it was Mr. French, since both Seth and Marco had met him at my party earlier in the week, but the ‘kid’ comment had gotten to me, even though I knew it shouldn’t. I knew I was young and a lot of people might see me like that, and it got to me sometimes, if I thought about it.

Seth gave the lead in beat and we started playing. To Seth’s credit, he was right. Paulie was really good. If I was being honest I’d say I was still better, but it’d be close. He went off book in between the second verse and the chorus, doing this little riff before dropping into the chorus that was really good. It didn’t match the song and wasn’t something that I’d keep, but it showed off his skill, which I guess wasn’t a bad idea when auditioning.

“Not bad,” I said as we finished the song. “What was with that little riff?”

“Just something that felt right,” Paulie said. “It was just kind of boring and I thought it could use something. You can keep that in if you bring me on.”

I didn’t feel like arguing with him about what was right or wrong for the song, and tried to just keep going. My instincts told me this wasn’t the guy, but he was really good, and maybe I was just projecting from the bad experience with Rodney.

“Sure,” I said instead. “Let’s do Hush next.”

“Really? I thought that was a joke. How about this, let’s skip that one and the next one, do Seth’s song, and then I have a few covers that I think we could probably kill.”

“What?” I asked.

“Hey, I’m not trying to step on any toes, and you aren’t bad on that thing, but this is all just too … cute, you know. If you really want to do something, you gotta take some risks and really get down. I heard about the talent scout, and I can tell you we’ll never get a second look with this crap.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’ You understand this was an audition, right? You came here to show us what you had to offer and see if we were a good fit. Hell, it’s the first time you’ve played with us and after one song you want to start having a say in what songs we play?”

“Hey, don’t get in a twist. I get it, you’re new at this and you feel like you gotta stand up and show whose boss. That’s cool, but you gotta learn to take criticism. I mean, I heard that you could shred, but that won’t mean nothin’ if you don’t listen to advice.”

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” I said, setting my guitar down on its stand. “Thanks for coming.”

“What? You get a little criticism and you can’t take it. Weak. Seth, man, I wish you would have told me about this kid before you wasted my time. Let’s pack up and go,” Paulie said, unplugging and grabbing his case, carrying both out separately.

Seth looked at the door and then back and me, clearly torn while Marco just looked uncomfortable.

“Charlie, man, I’m sorry. I’ve played with him a few times and I knew he was really good, but I didn’t think he’d go like this. The few times we’ve hung out after a show, we were okay.”

To his credit, he seemed really genuine and we hadn’t had any problems when they’d come to audition for Willie, so I was pretty sure we could still work together.

“It’s fine, I’m not going to blame you for Paulie being a tool. If you still want to do this, then I’m still in.”

“I do. Really, I’m serious, I do,” he said.

“Let’s just call this practice a wash and try again tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to have to deal with Paulie again and I’d rather you guys just took him back.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, helping Marco unplug.

“I might know someone,” Marco said.

“I don’t know,” I said, pausing. “I mean, we do need a bass player, but that’s two really bad ones in a row. I don’t know how much time I want to burn having them come out to our practices, just to have it end like this. Besides, in two weeks we do our first set here, and an audition goes bad then, we’ll have to just miss an entire night. I don’t want to screw over Willie or Chef like that.”

“I know, but it’s tough to make the trip back and forth more than a few times a week. Look, we’re only practicing next weekend. Let me talk to her and see if she’ll do it. She’s not as good as Paulie, but she’s pretty decent and I think she might mesh better.”

I gave a sigh and kept helping him pack up. We needed a bass player, preferably before we had to play here in two weeks. I think maybe I was just getting discouraged.

“Fine. Talk to her and let’s see how it goes.”

“Sure,” he said, picking up his cables and keyboard.

“Charlie, I just want to say again how sorry I am.”

“Stop apologizing. I’m not blaming you for this. In fact, I might have some good news. I have us our first paying gig that isn’t the Blue Ridge.”

“Really?” Marco said.

“Yep. It won’t pay great. You two and whoever we have on bass by then will have to split two hundred, but it’s for my school’s Prom. I don’t know if that’s your thing or not, and I can still turn it down if you don’t want to do it.”

“No. I’ve made less on a gig and a prom sounds good. Besides, stage time is stage time. It’s still kind of early for proms, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, this isn’t until May. I’ll have more detail on the exact day coming up. Thanks, guys.”

“Hey, so you’ve arranged for a steady two nights a week, a gig months in advance, and a look by a record talent scout. You’re doing more than most bands managers at our level.”

“Guys, are we bailing or what,” Paulie said, stepping back into the front door.

“Get him out of here before I kick his ass,” I said.

Seth looked apoplectic again, but Marco smiled and shook his head.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Marco said, hopping off the stage.

I watched them leave as Hanna, who’d been sitting off to the side watching our practice walked over.

“Well, that sucked.”

“Are all bass players’ jerks?” she asked.

“Nah. I knew a bunch that played at the same places as Dad, and they were all cool. We’ve just had bad luck. I guess I’ll get changed and go start training.”

Chef would probably be busy for another hour, since he would have expected me to be practicing, but I thought I could use some exercises to work off my annoyance.

The next day’s practice went much better, reinforcing my belief that I’d made a good choice with Marco and Seth. We made a pass at the new song, which Marco really liked. They both had some input, a lot of which was good and would end up in the final song.

Seth was back to himself after the disaster the day before, although he still tried to apologize one more time. As we were finishing up, Chef did something he hadn’t done before, he met me by the stage where we’d been practicing. Normally, I’d get changed and go outside to begin warming up and he’d show up when he felt I was ready to start or when he’d finished whatever he was working on. The one thing he didn’t do, at least not after the first couple of lessons months ago was come and get me since, as the student, I was supposed to be ready for him, not the other way around.

“Did you drive here today?” he asked, his eyes going to Hanna who’d been sitting near the stage.

“Yeah. Hanna drove on her own, because she wanted to sit in on the practice.”

“Okay. Then drop your stuff up in my apartment and then meet me out in the parking lot. Make sure you have your driver’s license.”

“Okay?” I said, more as a question than anything else, because I was thrown by the sudden change.

He didn’t explain, which I guess was his right as my instructor. I said ‘bye’ to the guys and collected my backpack and guitar and ran up to his apartment before meeting him outside. I couldn’t figure out what the license part was about since, if I needed driving lessons, three days after I got my license was a little late.

“We’re going to drive down to Asheville, and get you signed up for the competition,” he explained as we were getting into his truck.

“Ohh. I assumed that was a thing you did over the internet or by calling them, or whatever.”

“Usually, yes, but Shan likes people who are nearby to come and sign up in person, so he can meet them. If we were further out, we’d call and get you signed up, but I’d never hear the end of it if I tried to do that.”

“He’s your friend?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away, which kind of answered my question.

Finally, he said, “It’s a small community, especially in an area like this, so we have to deal with each other from time to time. It’s best to keep things cordial. Besides, it’s his competition, so it’s the respectful thing to do.”

“Ohh. So you aren’t friends.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We just have different philosophies on kung fu. We’ll be going to his school, so it’ll be an opportunity to see how other people train. Broaden your horizons.”

His school turned out to be in the back of a Chinese community center not far from downtown Asheville. The center itself was pretty busy, with people coming and going, although all the signs except the name of the community center were in Chinese. Some of the random people we passed seemed to know Chef, since there were a few head nods and mumbled greetings as we passed them.

It was weird. At the Blue Ridge, I felt completely at home, but now, following behind Chef, I felt like an outsider. I could feel eyes on me as I followed in his wake and I knew I stood out like a sore thumb.

We walked through a big empty room that must have been used for events or something and through a door with a picture of a bowing man on it, and into what I had imagined in my head when Chef first mentioned teaching me to fight. I would call this a dojo, since it was exactly what movies had convinced me dojos looked like, except I didn’t know if there was a Chinese version of the word.

The floor had a thick, padded carpet and the walls had mirrors stretching its entire length, except for one side that had cubicles and the door to an office. There was a class going on, so we walked around the outskirts of the room, stopping a few steps from the office. Chef told me to wait for a moment while he stuck his head inside the office door, and then disappeared inside.

The training that they were doing was very different than what I’d experienced at his school. For one, they were all dressed in grey robe tops where one side folded over the other, and loose-fitting pants, tied with rope at the bottom. It was exactly what I’d always imagined monks looked like, again influenced by movies. Their shoes were generally white and looked to be canvas with incredibly thin soles.

There were about twenty people ranging from teens to people I’d guess were in their mid-thirties and forties in two lines, with an instructor in a black monk outfit standing in front of them.

He was calling out numbers, and the rows of people all did moves in unison. I actually recognized some of the moves as things Chef had been teaching me. First, they dropped into horse stance, which we didn’t use in actual training, but Chef sometimes used as punishment, and then they twisted, lunging into a Gong Bu, which we did use The lunging twisting motion with your knee at a ninety-degree angle and your other leg extended back gave you very solid support and the twisting punch allowed you to put real power behind your blow.

We didn’t normally hold that stance, and it was more like an in-between move that you would drop into in certain circumstances, or as you were getting out of something lower.

What they were doing was interesting, especially how they were doing everything in unison, but I was having trouble seeing how you’d use the practical application. A lot was familiar, but when Chef was teaching me, it was with a focus on defense. This seemed more like a focus for style, rather than anything else, with the corrections being given to students mostly about body position which I wouldn’t think about if I was actually fighting.

Before I could consider it more Chef tapped my shoulder and waved for me to follow him into the office.

“Charlie, this is Master Zheng. Shan, this is the student I was talking about.”

Since Chef had called him master, I assumed I should bow like I did to Chef, which I guess was right since no one acted like it was the wrong thing to do.

“Ni hao, Shifu,” I said, using the second of three phrases I’d learned.

“Shifu Tang tells me you are interested in competing in our juniors’ competition.”

Although it was more the other way around, I wasn’t going to call out Chef in front of another master.

“Yes. I just started learning and this would be my first competition.”

“That’s fine. If we were talking about something like Wushu or traditional Shaolin that might be a problem, but there’s an age minimum for actual contact matches and we separate the juniors by age bracket. You’ll be with the other sixteen-year-olds, which is the minimum age you have to be to compete. Some of them will have been training for maybe a year or two, but I don’t think any of the schools start training much earlier than that, and none of them will have competed before. You should be about equally matched.”

“Okay.”

While it was good news that they’d all be first-timers too, my six months versus two years of training still seemed like a pretty wide gap.

“You’re still mixing disciplines?” he asked Chef.

“Yep.”

“Okay. You’re all set. The competition is on May fifteenth and starts at noon. It’s single-elimination, and right now we have about fifty kids in your age bracket, although there’s a chance we’ll get a few more.”

“Okay,” I said again.

Considering Chef called this a small tournament and we weren’t exactly in a heavily populated area, I was a little surprised there were fifty other kids in the sixteen-year-old bracket. I’d been expecting a smaller number, although if it was single-elimination I guess it didn’t matter much, since at most I’d have to fight five or six, and that was only if I got all the way to the final.

“The entry fee is one-fifty and first place gets a trophy and a purse which breaks down to seven-hundred and fifty for first and two-fifty for second place, so if you make it to the final, you’re guaranteed to walk away with some money. It looks like you’re all paid up and good to go. It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he said.

I bowed again, but gave a glance to Chef. He hadn’t mentioned an entry fee or a cash prize for the winner. Although I was starting to make some money with my music, Mom and I still needed every dollar we could get, especially after she bought me the car.

Chef shook his hand and we left, almost running into two very large kids and an older man, who I swore glared at us when he noticed us. Chef stopped instead of going around them, so I stopped too.

“Tang,” The older man said in a thick accent. “This your new one?”

“Yep,” Chef said.

I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t introduce me this time.

“How old are you kid?” the guy asked, looking at me finally.

“Sixteen.”

“Excellent. Jason and Todd need some practice.”

The way the two kids smiled, I assumed they were the Jason and Todd in question. Both guys looked like weightlifters more than someone I’d peg as doing martial arts, and both of them had smirks that matched who I assumed was their coach.

“See you then,” Chef said, gripping my arm and leading me around the two guys.

Once we were outside the community center, he let go and I stopped dead in my tracks.

“I’m going to have to fight those two guys?”

“Maybe, although fifty kids, they might be in a different bracket or get knocked out before you go against them. It’s only a one in fifty chance on the first bout.”

“They’re huge. Do they even do martial arts?”

“Not really. To a point, but they’re more brawlers. MMA competitions bring out all sorts from single discipline guys of all stripes to multi-discipline like how you’ve been learning, to guys without any style at all.”

“Do they need it if they’re that huge?”

“Yes. Charlie, just because someone’s big doesn’t mean they can’t be taken down.”

“So you’re saying they’ll be easy because they don’t really know what they’re doing?”

“No. Sergei knows his stuff; he just trains differently than most of the other people you’ll be facing. They’ll be a challenge for sure, but I don’t want you to get hung up on how big they are. I think you’ll face harder people that are smaller. Some of the Brazilian judo guys are really tough, especially if they can get you on the ground.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.”

“Charlie, I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think you could compete. We still have a couple of months to train and I think you’ll be ready. I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park, but you have the ability and you work harder than most of the kids you’ll be up against. Let’s get going. I don’t want to explain to your mother why I got you home late.”

It was funny how he deferred to Mom, a small, rail-thin woman who I’d never seen lift a hand in anger before. Not that I wasn’t terrified of her. It was just weird seeing someone like Chef have a similar reaction.

“So what was with those guys? They didn’t seem particularly friendly,” I said when we got in the car.

“Sergei and I have had our disagreements,” Chef said without elaborating further.

I knew Chef well enough to know he wasn’t going to say anything else on that subject. If I had to bet, I’d say they hated each other, but Chef was the kind of guy who wouldn’t actually say that about someone else, especially about another coach. He was a big believer in giving respect to the position, regardless of the person in it.

“Are any of the people I saw training in the competition?”

“Some might, but most probably won’t. Master Zheng only does a couple of MMA classes a week and the rest of his school is dedicated to Shaolin and Wushu. His master trained at the same temple as my father, which is how we know each other.”

“It’s weird there are two of y’all way out here in the rural North Carolina.”

“Not as weird as you’d think. A master my father’s age moved out here from the temple because his son decided to stay here after graduating from UNC Asheville, and decided to set up a school when he got his green card so he could keep busy while being near his grandkids. Some students moved here and, after several years, broke off and started their own schools. It’s like that all over. You’d be surprised by how many schools like this are in the US. You just have to know where to look.”

“Ohh,” I said.

He switched on some music, which I guess was the signal that he was done talking, and we rode the rest of the way back in silence. I think I was less sold on doing this competition now than when we’d gotten here, especially after getting a first-hand view of some of the people I might be fighting. I didn’t feel any overwhelming need to prove that I was better than anyone else and, while I enjoyed the training and it had kept me from getting hurt several times, it wasn’t my passion.

Still, it wasn’t like I was going to say no to Chef. He’d helped me out more than anyone else and he really wanted me to do this, so I’d just suck it up and do it … and hope I didn’t get hurt too badly.

Because I was driving to the Blue Ridge and to school on my own now, I hadn’t seen as much of Hanna as I was used to, except in passing at the Blue Ridge. More importantly, I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the two giants I might have to fight, so I decided to head by her house after training on Monday.

“But Chef said they might get knocked out of the tournament without you having to fight them, right?” Hanna asked.

Since I was there at dinner time, we were talking at her dining room table, while her mom set out a casserole. I couldn’t actually tell what it was, but it was better than the sandwich I would have had at home.

“Sure, although then I’ve got to go against someone capable of taking down one of them, which is scary all by itself.”

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” Mrs. Phillips asked as she put the last thing on the table and sat down with us. “It sounds dangerous. Has your mom talked to Chef about this?”

“Uhh, I may not have mentioned it to her yet, but Chef seemed to think it was okay. It was his idea. I have so much going on I’d honestly prefer to skip it, but Chef thought it was something I needed to do. It’s an actual tournament though and I think they’ll have refs and stuff and it’s not boxing. He’s had me training in padding, since that’s required and that includes headgear, so I think it should be okay.”

“You still need to talk to your mother,” she said, giving me a stern look.

“Yes, Ma'am,” I said.

I actually really liked that Hanna’s house had become almost a second home to me and I loved her mom, but there were times when having a second, unofficial mother could be inconvenient.

“I just know that, if Hanna was involved in something like this, I’d want to know about it. This isn’t the kind of thing to keep secret.”

“I wasn’t keeping it secret, not really. Chef mentioned it just after Christmas but until yesterday when he told me we were going to Asheville, I hadn’t really thought about it. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”

“Good,” she said, giving me a smile.

“So practice went well,” Hanna said, changing topics. “I think that new song is going to be a banger, especially once you get a bass player.”

“Yeah, but we have to find one first. Our luck hasn’t been so great on that front.”

“I’m sure you will. After you left yesterday I talked to Marco about her for a while, and she seems cool.”

“You talked to Charlie’s friend about a bass player for his band?” Mrs. Phillips asked Hanna.

“Yeah. They finished up and Charlie had to get going, so I was helping them pack up.”

“You’ve been going to a lot of his practices lately,” she asked, looking between us.

“It’s not like that,” I said, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice. “A few weeks ago Kat had this idea, since Hanna was saying that she didn’t know what she wanted to major in at college. She suggested that Hanna major in talent management or whatever business major would cover that, and come manage my band after …”

I trailed off as Hanna started giving me ‘shut up’ looks that got more frantic the longer I talked.

“Hanna, what’s he talking about?”

“It’s nothing. It was something Kat suggested, and I didn’t really take it seriously.”

“So it’s just a coincidence you’ve started going to all of his practices and to see him play the other weekend in Asheville?”

“No,” Hanna said, flustered. “I mean, I’m not saying I haven’t been thinking about it, but I haven’t decided what to do about my major yet. You know I’d already been thinking about business, but that’s kind of general. The more I thought about it, I thought maybe working in talent management or acquisition might be interesting.”

“You know I think the world of Charlie and I know you have faith that he’s going to go places with his music, but I’m not sure planning your life around what your friend does is the best idea. I don’t mean any offense to you Charlie, but I think one of the keys to getting a degree is to make sure she sets herself up to be able to take care of herself independently.”

“I get it,” I said, feeling uncomfortable with this whole thing. “When Kat suggested it, she made sure to say that working with me would only be one option and she thought it was a good idea because Hanna seemed interested in it whenever we talked about stuff like that. She pointed out that, even if I never made it, there are a lot of opportunities for someone with a specialization in that area. There are a couple of talent management firms in Raleigh and more if you go out to California or up to New York, and it covers a lot more than music. The same skills are used for managing or whatever, for actors or athletes.”

“It still sounds like something you wouldn’t have considered if you didn’t have Charlie as a friend.”

“But that’s just where the idea comes from,” Hanna said, starting to get defensive. “I’ve looked into it since Kat first brought it up and there are lots of options for it. UNC has it as one of their concentrations under their business management degree programs. So do several of the other colleges I applied for. It’s a real career path.”

“But getting involved in Charlie's band auditions, performances and practices seems like you’re still thinking about him as your first option. Now, I mean no offense Charlie. You know we love you and want you to succeed, but I can’t say that I’m sold on her putting all of her preparations relying on you. I think that it’s great you’re getting ready ahead of time, but there have to be better ways to prepare than just following Charlie’s band around. If you’re thinking about this as a career path, shouldn’t you look at something that would help you in areas other than just managing a small, unsigned band?”

“Where do you think I’m going to find something in this area other than Charlie? There aren’t a lot of movie stars out here. This gives me a first-hand look at what happens behind the scenes that I’m betting anyone else going for the same degree will have. I can’t believe you. A month ago you were all over me to pick out my major and figure out what school I wanted to go to, and now that I’ve started showing an interest in something, you’re telling me I’m too focused,” Hanna started getting heated, her volume going up with each sentence.

I felt incredibly awkward. Partly because I was being talked about in the third person but also because I’d sort of pushed the idea on Hanna a couple of times and felt a little responsible. I could see where Mrs. Phillips was coming from. Looking at it from her point of view, I hadn’t actually done anything yet. I was all potential, which could be pretty fleeting, and she was worried about Hanna’s long-term future. That especially made sense considering how young she’d been when she got married and how planning her life around that had turned out in the end.

Mrs. Phillips set down her fork, frustration starting to seep into her tone.

“You know that’s not what I was saying. I’m glad to see you’ve started making decisions. I just think you might be too focused on working with Charlie, and not thinking more long term.”

“Would it be so bad if I did decide what I wanted to do is be Charlie’s manager?” Hanna said, yelling now. “Sure, right now he’s a high school kid with a band, but he’s getting his own paying gigs, a shot at a real audition with a record label, and guys seven years older than him are driving hours out of their way several times a week just to get to play with him. You need to stop looking at everything from how bad Dad screwed you over. Sometimes things do work out.”

“I think maybe I should excuse myself, and go back home,” I said on that note.

“I think that’s probably a good idea,” Mrs. Phillips said, working hard to keep her temper under control.

I barely made it out of the front door before things exploded inside. I knew a lot of that didn’t have anything to do with me. Hanna and her mother often went at it, in what I thought was a common mother-daughter clash, with Mrs. Phillips telling Hanna she was being immature and irresponsible and Hanna saying her mother was too controlling.

That being said, I did feel guilty this time as I’d been, at least tangentially, the cause of this fight. I also felt torn over what to do about it, since part of me really liked the idea of Hanna and I staying friends after high school, which I knew wasn’t all that common, but the other part of me agreed with her mom. Having talked to Willie and Mr. French, I knew a lot could go wrong just to get to the place of being a working artist, and anything beyond that was dumb luck. There were a lot of really good bands that most people would never hear about because they never broke through enough to become popular. If Hanna hitched her wagon to me and I failed to make something out of my music, I wouldn’t just be letting myself and my band down, I’d also be letting her down.

It was a lot of pressure, thinking about the people relying on you and how the smallest slipup could end it for everyone.