Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue
*** January 1992 ***
The four women entering the Western-themed club in Denver that evening might have appeared mismatched to the casual observer. The waitress who seated them surely didn’t give them any thought beyond hope for a good tip.
That casual observer would probably first notice the diminutive redhead with the stunning figure who captivated observers despite her short stature. Then the unnamed observer might be startled by the tall and muscular African-American woman who moved with the strength and ease of a panther. Next, the observer might note the gorgeous blond of medium height with a pageant-winning smile. Last but not least, the observer’s eyes might take in the calm assurance and guarded features of the attractive woman with wavy brown shoulder-length hair. Of the four, the tall African-American woman might be judged to be the least attractive of the four, but only by comparison with her companions. They were each of them more than merely pleasant to look at.
Any single one of them would call attention to herself simply by entering a room. Together, they created a mild stir in the dining room as they sat down and ordered non-alcoholic drinks and a single appetizer, a plate of mild buffalo wings. That casual observer might then turn back to his or her meal and dinner conversation, never realizing that he or she had been looking at the Mountaintops, an up-and-coming rock quartet from the West Coast, a group who was hoping to sign a recording contract with a hungry record distributor that very evening.
The man whom the four women had come to meet walked into the dining room less than five minutes after the band members had been seated, before they had eaten all of the wings. Ramona Wilcox, the group’s keyboardist and business manager, stood and held out a chair for the short chubby man. “Thanks for meeting with us after business hours, Mr. Townsend. We know how busy you are.”
“No problem. You ladies are even more attractive in person than in your group picture.” He helped Ramona back to her chair before seating himself, earning a few courtesy points from the women at the table.
“We still appreciate the effort you’re putting forth.”
“Hey, if I want to build up my record label, I have to hustle for artists just like the artists have to hustle for gigs.”
All four of the young women around the table smiled and nodded. “Ain’t that the truth,” answered the tall black drummer. “And all that hustlin’ gettin’ old. Havin’ a real label supportin’ us gonna help a whole lot.”
The blond guitarist waved for the waitress before turning to face the man. “Shamika’s right, Mr. Townsend. The Mountaintops have always worked steadily and we’ve always made enough money to live on without starving, but it would be nice to have a professionally recorded disc or three to sell at our shows. It would be nice to get some national exposure, too.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Connie.” Townsend smiled and revealed his perfectly capped teeth. “I understand that you ladies have a booking starting on Friday.”
“That’s right,” answered Ramona. “Two weeks in Denver’s finest dance club. It’s unusual for us to have two days off before a gig, but we can use the down time for rest and equipment maintenance.”
“Good for you. Listen, before we get down to dollars and cents, I’d like to talk to you about some suggestions I have for the group.”
Ramona, Connie, and Shamika all frowned in surprise, but Jennifer Bates, the band’s red-headed bass player, opened her eyes even wider. “Ooh, Mr. Townsend, we’d love to hear your suggestions! We wanna be as successful as we can be.”
Townsend clapped his palms together once and rubbed them as if warming them up. “Excellent!” The waitress arrived and he turned to order a drink.
Connie Vandross, the group’s lead guitarist, leaned towards Ramona and muttered, “I don’t like this talk of suggestions. It makes me nervous.”
Ramona didn’t look at her as she lifted her glass of tea to hide her mouth. “We’ll listen, Connie, but if we don’t like his ideas, we won’t use them.”
Just then the lights over the tables dimmed and the club’s MC took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a treat for you tonight! Direct from Metropolis by way of Nashville and Muscle Shoals, may I introduce to you: The Fast Lanes!”
Scattered applause bounced around the room as Ramona appraised the trio approaching the microphones with a practiced eye. Standing in the middle with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, a very young man began strumming a ‘C’ chord in a straight four-beats-to-the-bar rhythm. The two women flanking the man tapped their feet in time and smiled. The darker-haired one thumped lightly on muted bass strings with her thumb, and the other woman skillfully plucked out a nimble intro to Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya” on her acoustic guitar. The young man – more a boy, really – began singing the first verse, but he was obviously nervous. He looked like he’d almost rather be anywhere else but where he was.
Townsend followed Ramona’s line of sight and shook his head. “They won’t make it unless they get rid of that boy. Those two gals are pretty good, and they look good on stage, but that kid is holding them back.” The waitress arrived with his drink and he took a sip. “Ahh! That’s a good martini.”
Ramona listened to the guitar player on the stage and decided she knew what she was doing. Jennifer distracted her when she leaned over and put her hand on Townsend’s arm. “Mr. Townsend, you mentioned something about some changes? What were they?”
“Right. Well, the way I see it is like this. The music business today is built around individuals, not bands, and the people who get airplay for their videos and their singles are the ones who are individual artists. Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson, not the Jacksons or the Jackson Five. Bruce Springsteen, not just the E Street Band. Gladys Knight and the Pips. Diana Ross and the Supremes, even though they’re not together any more. Acts like that.”
Connie crossed her arms and leaned back. “So what’s your suggestion?”
“Glad you asked. Look, all four of you ladies are attractive as individuals, and any of you could front a group with your looks, not to mention your talents. So my suggestion is to move one of the four of you up front and rename the group to, say, Connie Vandross and the Mountaintops. Not only would you score some automatic name recognition, putting Connie out front would make your first videos more popular. And the more you pop up on video rotation, the more albums you sell and the more gigs you get. Better ones, too, and they’ll pay you more money, give you more perks.”
Ramona shook her head. “Mr. Townsend, I don’t think you understand what we’re all about. We’re pretty much like four Musketeers, all for one and one for all. We want to succeed, but we want to do it together. And we want to do it on an equal basis.”
“Having one of you out front doesn’t mean you won’t succeed together. It’s an image thing more than it is a change in the group.”
“Putting any one of us out front and putting her name first makes the rest of us a backup band. We’re not a backup band, Mr. Townsend, we’re a quartet. Ideally, we’d like to be almost as successful as the Beatles and we – “
“Almost as successful?”
Ramona’s eyebrow twitched in momentary amusement. “Those guys had no privacy at all. Everybody knew John, Paul, George, and Ringo as individuals, but they also identified them as the Beatles. We want people to know Ramona, Jennifer, Connie, and Shamika as the Mountaintops, not as individuals. Besides, as equals we can support each other better, and our identity won’t be tied to just one face.”
Townsend nodded and played with his glass. “Your loyalty to the group concept does you credit, Ramona, but you’re not facing the hard realities of today’s market. It takes more than talent and determination. It takes the right marketing.”
“We’re not a product, we’re a band. We make music. We don’t wash dishes or sell cars. What you’re proposing isn’t – “
“No!” Jennifer burst out. “Ramona, it’s a great idea! Just because one of us would be out front most of the time doesn’t mean we change the way the money is split up. And it doesn’t mean that the rest of us wouldn’t get to sing as much. He’s not talking about changing the band as much as he’s talking about packaging and presenting us to sell albums and generate bookings! And isn’t that why we’re all together?”
Connie fixed Jennifer with a fierce glare. “That sounds just fine, Jen, but I’m still not going to do it.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not?”
“Because the other two bands I’ve been in that had a shot at something significant fell apart because somebody got too self-important, and it was always the one whose name was listed ahead of the rest of the group. I refuse to be responsible for damaging the terrific vibe we’ve got going here.”
“All right,” Townsend said soothingly. “We can put someone else out front. What about Jennifer? I think ‘Jennifer Bates and the Mountaintops’ has a very nice ring to it.”
Connie leaned forward with purpose. “The answer’s still no. If we put her out front and build some recognition using her name, none of the rest of us can front the band in a video or an album cover. Nobody would buy Ramona singing lead for Jennifer and the Mountaintops because she wouldn’t be Jennifer. We wouldn’t be able to put Shamika in front on an album cover, either, for the same reason. And I’m not willing to wreck this band for anyone’s ego.”
Ramona leaned back in her chair. This discussion wasn’t going the way she’d thought it would. It was getting too emotional and too personal. She lifted one finger to get everyone to pause, then looked up at the stage again. “Let’s take a minute to listen to the competition, ladies.”
The trio had finished their first tune and the shorter guitarist had put down her instrument and sat down at the piano. Ramona recognized at once that the young woman on the stage was not only a good guitarist and good backup singer, she was a whiz on the keyboard, too. Ramona had to remind herself not to be jealous of the younger woman’s age or her obvious skills.
The group slipped smoothly into the B. J. Thomas hit “Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song,” and the young man seemed to be settling down. His strumming was smoother and his voice was stronger. The taller woman singing harmony had a good voice and a sure but gentle touch on the bass. But the young man didn’t seem to fit with the others. They seemed to be carrying him, despite his being the lead vocalist and apparent front person.
Ramona decided that Townsend knew something about the business and seemed to be a good judge of talent. Maybe the man had a point, both about the group on stage and about the Mountaintops, but she wasn’t ready to make such a drastic change in the way they’d been playing for the last three years.
Ramona felt a tap on her elbow. “Mona, we need to talk about this,” growled Shamika. “I don’t wanna front the band and I don’t wanna get pushed into the background. I just wanna play drums and sing backup.”
“I know, Sham. Look, Mr. Townsend, we’re glad you’re taking an interest in our presentation, but we’re a group, not a quartet of soloists. We’re not going to change what’s been working for us.”
Townsend frowned for the first time. “You have to work within the limits of the business, ladies. The Bangles were known only fairly well until that ‘Walk Like An Egyptian’ video made them hot properties. After that, they were stars.”
“Yeah,” said Connie, “and then they imploded. Jealousy and a manager who was working for the money and determined to make Susannah Hoff a huge star ripped them apart and destroyed a really good band.”
“But we won’t let that happen to us!” cried Jennifer. “Come on, girls! We have a shot at some real money here, some real recognition! We can make it to the big time!” She turned to Shamika. “Come on, Sham! You can buy Mrs. Jones a new car! Or even a house!”
Shamika’s response was quiet but edged with resentment. “My momma don’t need me to buy her nothin’. She like her house just fine and she ain’t starvin’.”
The other people at the table, including Townsend, sensed Shamika’s anger and sat silently. Ramona gently touched Shamika on the forearm. She knew that the other woman was beginning to lose track of her temper when she lapsed deeper into Southern-speak. Shamika was difficult to rile, but if she ever did lose control, it would take a concerted effort for her to regain it. She was big enough and strong enough to do some real damage before she did, and that wouldn’t do her or the band any good at all, so Ramona pressed on Shamika’s arm until the bigger woman relaxed and sat back in her chair.
The band on the stage shifted songs again, and this time the bass player took the lead vocal on Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.” Her voice was more suited to jazz or rock than old-time country, thought Ramona, but she did a serviceable job on the song and captured the feeling if not the sound of the original. Ramona looked around the club and nodded at the Western motif on the walls. The song not only fit the club, but the audience seemed to be enjoying it.
Townsend sighed loudly. “Look here, ladies, I want to work with the four of you, but you need to work with me too. I have quite a bit of experience in booking acts in dozens of clubs between the Rockies and the Mississippi River, and I’m telling you that you need to have a single face for people to focus on. I know what I’m talking about.” He turned to his only ally. “If you were to put Jennifer out front, it might be the best compromise. After all, Cream’s front man was Jack Bruce, their bassist.”
Connie and Ramona both shook their heads. “Jennifer has the looks,” Connie said, “and she has the vocal chops to front a band. No question that she could do the job, and if we were putting a group together around her it could work very well. But that’s not the point. Like Ramona said, we are a band, not a collection of soloists. And as long as you’re talking about individuals being or not being the face of a band, remember Credence Clearwater Revival? The casual fan with three or four CCR albums couldn’t tell Stu Cook or Doug Clifford from either of the Fogarty brothers. And I bet you can’t name the three singers in Three Dog Night, or where the band’s name came from. Those guys practically owned the top forty for years.”
Townsend waved his hand as if batting her words away. “Different era, different audience. People want visual stimulation now, not just great sound. If they didn’t, Thomas Dolby would never have been on the charts at all.” He smiled again, this time with more of a bite. “Danny Hutton, Cory Wells, and Chuck Negron were the singers in Three Dog Night. The band name comes from an Australian slang term for a very cold night on the Outback, so cold you’d need three dogs around you to keep you from freezing to death.”
Ramona nodded. “You know your music history, I’ll give you that. But the answer is the same. We’re a group. Sign us as a group.”
Townsend sighed again as the Fast Lanes shifted into “Leavin’ On A Jet Plane,” which Ramona thought was a bit incongruous for the venue. “Ladies, I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. And I’m sorry that you won’t take my advice on this matter. I really believe that it would be the most profitable course of action for you.”
He made as if to stand, but Jennifer grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “No! Please don’t leave! Tell them! Tell them what you told me!”
Three sets of eyebrows rose in unison. Shamika slapped the table and glowered at the band’s bassist. “Why was you talking to Townsend without us?”
Townsend lifted his hands. “Ladies, please! Jennifer anticipated your objections and called me two days ago to discuss this very issue. I will tell you what I told her. I’m ready to sign the band to a deal on the condition that I take over management of the group. If that’s not an option, then perhaps we – “
A crash near the stage interrupted them. Ramona looked up and saw the three musicians on stage stop playing and back away from their microphones. The taller woman with the bass looked angry, almost ready to fight. The shorter woman shifted her guitar behind her and said something to the bass player that Ramona couldn’t hear.
But the boy appeared completely terrified. Ramona looked down and spotted a man sporting cowboy regalia who seemed to be quite drunk. He was waving a chair around in one hand and shouting incoherently, and as he wove towards the stage his boots crunched broken glass. The waitress he’d knocked down and whose tray he’d bumped to the floor scrambled to get out of his way.
The dark-haired woman stood her ground and leaned into her microphone. “Security! Cleanup on aisle two!” The drunk with the chair stopped and looked around as the club patrons around him laughed nervously. He shouted something about disgracing country music with the song they’d been playing, then he dropped the chair and spun awkwardly towards the stage.
Just as he grabbed the front of the stage and slipped on the broken glass, two large men got to him and hauled him away. The bassist leaned into the microphone and said, “Sorry about that, folks. Didn’t know the gentleman felt so strongly about aviation.”
The audience laughed with her. “We’re going to take a two-minute break to get all situated again, then we’ll pick up where we left off. You folks enjoy yourselves ‘till we get back, okay?”
She unplugged her bass and followed the other two, who had already escaped backstage. Townsend turned back to the four women at his table. “That bunch is history. The manager of this club doesn’t tolerate acts who don’t perform. If I know anything about Doug Watson, they’re already fired.”
Connie rapped the table with her knuckles. “You were saying something about another option.”
“Yes, of course. The other option is to sign at least one or two of you to solo contracts. I’m sure I can find steady work for – “
Connie’s harsh voice broke in. “No.”
Townsend raised his hands. “I know that it sounds like this would break up the band, but it wouldn’t mean that the four of you couldn’t – “
This time Shamika said, “No.”
Townsend blinked and turned his head. “Ramona, you have to admit that this is – “
“No.” Ramona frowned and leaned forward. “I don’t have to admit anything. The Mountaintops are a group. You either sign the whole group or none of us.”
Jennifer looked stricken. “Ramona! Please! Mr. Townsend is – “
“Mr. Townsend is trying to make money with us and from us,” blurted Connie. “And I don’t blame him for it one bit. That’s what he’s in business to do. But there are other ways to do it than breaking up a good band.” She turned to face the man. “Mr. Townsend, I respect your position. I really do. I also respect the fact that you’re making these suggestions now and not later, when we’re contractually bound to you. It tells me that you’re as honest as a person can be in this business. And I understand why you’d make this offer to us, I really do. I hope you’re successful and you make a lot of money representing all the artists on your roster. But I’m with Ramona on this. You sign this group as a group or you sign none of us.”
“You got that right,” added Shamika.
The three of them turned to face Jennifer, who dropped her gaze and put her hands in her lap. Shamika, who sat closest to her, reached out and gently held Jennifer by the upper arm. “Jen? You be with us on this, right?”
The silence held for a long moment. Then Jennifer lifted tear-filled eyes to the other three women at the table. “Don’t you understand? I’ve been waiting for a break like this for more than fifteen years! I’ve worked for it! I’ve gone hungry for it, traveled across the country for it, played in crappy dives and let ugly, stupid men ogle me and pinch my butt for it! I’m six years older than any of the rest of you and I don’t know how much time I’ve got left in this business! I’m not letting this chance go by! I – I just can’t!”
Shamika dropped both her hand and her jaw. Connie paled and pushed away from the table. Ramona ground her teeth together and managed to ask, “How long have you been planning this?”
“Please, Ramona, I never wanted – “
“How long!” she barked.
Jennifer dropped her gaze again. “Since – since we made this appointment two weeks ago. I wasn’t sure you’d go along with the changes Albert wanted to make, and – “
“Albert?” echoed Connie. “Since when is it ‘Albert’ instead of ‘Mr. Townsend,’ Jen?”
Townsend pushed back from the table and stood. “I can see that I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble, ladies. I wish all of you the best. I really mean that, too, because you’re all excellent musicians, and I have no doubt that you will eventually succeed. I only regret that it won’t happen with my label.” He looked at Jennifer and extended his arm. “Are you coming, my dear? My office is only a few blocks away. We can get you signed up and start planning your new career immediately.”
Ramona lifted her hand. “Wait just a minute. Jennifer is under contract to the band, just like the rest of us. We’re all equal shareholders of the group, but we’re also employees of the group. She has a contractual obligation to play a two-week engagement starting Friday and we’re not letting her out of it.”
Townsend shook his head. “My legal staff can contact your legal representatives about this if you really want to do it that way, Ramona, and we can eventually work it out together. But I’ve already looked at the agreements you have with the Mountaintops’ corporation, and any employment is defined as ‘at will,’ which means that a majority of the members can fire any other member at any time. It also means that any member can leave the group at any time with a two-week notice. Lacking that notice, the member who leaves must forfeit his or her ownership of the corporation, which she’s willing to do. The only thing left is Jennifer’s twenty-five percent share of the band name, which she’s willing to surrender, and her portion of the copyrights for the songs she co-wrote with one or more of you, which she wants to keep. You can either accept the check I’ll have ready for you tomorrow in my office at ten to resolve the whole matter, or you can take legal action to force her to stay with you.”
Townsend lifted his hands to either side, then dropped them. “I’m sorry this has turned out this way. I really am. You can sue Jennifer – or me – if you really want to, but it would mean tying up your time and your assets in a court battle that no one would win. And I hate to say this, but I’ve got deeper pockets than you do and you would run out of money before I would. I’m truly sorry we couldn’t do business together.” He turned to Jennifer again and extended his arm.
Jennifer slowly stood and looked at each of the other women in turn without speaking. Then she nodded to Townsend and put her hand in his elbow.
The last sight Ramona had of Jennifer Bates was the back of her hennaed head as she walked out the door of the club.
*****
Connie was livid. She’d followed Ramona and Shamika into the ladies’ lounge of the club, but she’d refused to sit down with them on the couch in the front room. She took three steps in front of the couch, punched her palm with her other hand, then turned and repeated the pattern. As she paced, she enumerated the various ways she planned to make Jennifer deeply regret the actions she’d taken.
“Connie,” pleaded Ramona, “this isn’t helping! We have to figure out what we’re going to do come Friday. We still have to play a two-week gig and we don’t have a bass player.”
“Oh, the answer’s easy,” snarled Connie. “You know how proud Jennifer is of her tiny little shapely rear end? We’ll just threaten to shoot her in the butt – both cheeks – unless she comes back. And when she does, we’ll shove her in a box and only let her out to play.”
“Don’t think that’d work,” offered Shamika. “You know how much a port-a-potty would cost to put in a crate?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a coffin with a lockable lid,” Connie growled back.
Shamika guffawed. “Jennifer the red-headed vampire queen! Hey, you know, I bet we could sell that. Make a real hot video, too. Maybe even a movie.”
“Ladies, please,” pleaded Ramona. “We have to come up with some idea as to what to do now. If we break this contract, we might as well quit the business.”
“Oh, sure,” barked Connie, “you can go back to grad school and finish your MBA and Sham can go back to being a CPA and I can go back to teaching little kids how to play ‘Red River Valley’ in between studio gigs! Well, I’m not ready to quit! So let’s figure something out!”
Before either Shamika or Connie could respond, the front door slammed open and the two young women from the trio stalked into the lounge. The shorter one all but shouted, “– can’t make him stay! If he wants to run home to Mommy he – “
She broke off as she realized that there were already others in the room. “Sorry,” said the taller one. “We didn’t mean to butt in. Got some – some boy trouble.”
Ramona crossed her arms. “You have our sincere sympathies. You guys never did come back on stage.”
The shorter woman’s face darkened. “No, we didn’t. Tim decided – in the middle of the freaking gig, no less! – that the life of a traveling musician wasn’t for him. He called his mother to buy him a plane ticket home. In an ironic twist worthy of Alanis Morissette, he really is leaving on a jet plane.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “And we got fired.”
Connie’s eyes widened. “So that means you’re out of work?”
The taller stranger put her hands on her hips. “Unless ‘got fired’ means ‘held over and paid a bonus’ in your universe, yeah, we’re out of work. On top of no longer being the trio he hired, the manager didn’t like our choice of material.”
Ramona asked, “Why did you do the jet plane song, anyway? It’s not what I would have picked for this venue.”
“Me neither. But Tim insisted. He said that John Denver songs were popular everywhere.”
Shamika chuckled. “I guess what you don’t know can hurt you, huh?”
As the taller stranger frowned at Shamika and the shorter one grinned, Connie turned to Ramona and twitched her head at the two newcomers. Ramona frowned, uncomprehending, so Connie faked a sneeze, covered her mouth with one hand, and blurted out, “Newbassplayer!”
The newcomers looked at each other as if wondering what asylum they’d invaded. The taller one gestured with her hands out and said, “Look, we’re sorry we interrupted – whatever it was we interrupted. We’ll be on our way now and you – “
Shamika laughed. “Y’all don’t get all weirded out, okay? Connie just tryin’ to tell us to ask you about playin’ with us.”
The two women’s frowns turned into jaw-dropping amazement. “What? Play with you?”
“Yeah. They some four-dollar word for stuff happenin’ that turn out good when it don’t look like it will at the time.”
The taller stranger narrowed her eyes. “Serendipity?” she offered.
“Yeah! That’s it. Anyway, since you got no job and we got no bass player, what do you say?”
Ramona turned to her. “Sham, aren’t you jumping the gun here? We don’t know if she even wants to play with us. And you don’t know if Connie and I want her to play with us.”
Shamika laughed again and waved her arm at the two newcomers. “You was just saying about how hard it gonna be finding a new bass player on short notice. And one come walkin’ in the bathroom at just the right time! That gotta be seren – ser – “
“Serendipity,” supplied Ramona.
“Yeah! And it’s a drop-dead cinch we don’t want to hire no horny guy tryin’ to look down our shirts or catch us changin’ clothes for the next two weeks.” She stood and offered her hand to the dark-haired newcomer. “I’m Shamika Jones. The classy blond there is Connie Vandross – no relation to Luther – and the cautious one with the pretty brown hair is Ramona Wilcox. How about you?”
The dark-haired woman kept her hands at her sides. “If you hire me, you hire both of us. We’re a package deal.”
Ramona shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. We’re in the market for a bass player, not a merger with a busted band.”
The dark-haired beauty’s eyes snapped. “We aren’t busted! We still have our equipment and some contacts. If we need to, we can find work as a duet. You don’t want us, we won’t starve.”
Ramona sighed. “It’s not that we don’t want both of you, it’s just that we’re used to working as a quartet, not a quintet. Putting a fifth person in the group changes the dynamic.”
The dark-haired woman frowned and crossed her arms. “It goes both ways. We all get together, it changes our dynamic too. Maybe we don’t want to be part of something so large and unwieldy.”
Ramona’s eyes narrowed and her fists found her hips. “Oh, really? How’s that trio gig working out for you? Or don’t you want the work?”
“Hey, hang on here!” Connie called out. “We just left solo contracts and guaranteed studio work on the table out there because of loyalty to each other and to the group. These ladies are doing exactly the same thing we did, Ramona. I think we should give them a shot.”
“I don’t know –“
“Look,” said the shorter stranger, “if you don’t like what we do, no harm done. If we don’t fit with your style, we don’t fit, no problem. But you’re right, we could use the work, and you apparently need one other person. Putting me in the mix just makes the whole band that much more flexible. If you were out there when we started our set, you know what the two of us can do.” She stopped and tilted her head to one side. “Say, what’s this job for, anyway?”
“Two weeks at Marlowe’s,” answered Connie, “starting Friday night. How fast do you pick up new arrangements?”
The taller one finally smiled. “My sister and I are quick studies. You girls play originals or covers or a mix?”
“For this gig, it’s covers with one or two originals a night. You two play just country or do you branch out?”
The shorter one answered, “We can play acoustic or electric, rock, blues, jazz – I’m really good at the jazz stuff and she can play almost anything – and I can play classical piano if you have a need for it. And if your drummer gets sick, I can fill in.”
“You got a deep-seated need to play lead guitar?” asked Connie.
“Not unless you have a similar deep-seated need for me to play lead. I don’t mind playing whatever it takes for the band to succeed.”
Shamika put her hand out again. “Sounds good to me! Pleased to meet you ladies.”
The taller one finally took Shamika’s hand in hers. “And we’re glad to meet you. My name’s Lois Lane and this is my sister Lucy.”
Ramona shook her head and chuckled ruefully. “Okay, okay. Let’s see if we can make some beautiful music together. At least for the duration.”
Lois released Shamika’s hand and took Ramona’s. “Hey, if not, at least we get to eat regularly for two weeks.”
Shamika took Lucy’s hand and looked the smaller woman up and down. “Look like you could use regular eatin’, girl. Might fill you out a bit.”
Lucy cocked one eyebrow and retorted, “I still have the Styrofoam packing that came with my pedalboard. If you want it, woman, I’ll loan it to you so you can stuff it under your shirt. Might fill you out a bit.”
Shamika froze in place for a long moment, then a smile crawled across her face. “Jazz girl, I think you and me gonna get along just fine.”
The other three relaxed. Connie turned and winked at Ramona. “This is gonna be fun!”
“Great,” sighed Ramona. “As if I don’t have enough fun in my life as it is.”
