Hit Me With Your Best Shot
As the second set ended and the curtain slid shut, Lucy fairly leaped up from the drum throne and headed for the stage exit in front of Christie. Lois put her bass on its stand and switched off her amp before she turned to follow. Shamika put her guitar on its stand and moved to the drum set to break it down for the night. Connie turned off her amp and unplugged her pedals to save the batteries. Ramona gathered the set list sheets and chord charts from the various music stands around the stage. Except for Lucy’s abrupt exit, it looked like the normal end of a late-night set for the Mountaintops.
But it wasn’t normal. And they all knew it.
Lois stopped at the rear exit and turned to watch what happened next. The club’s featured singer glanced warily around the stage. Instead of immediately heading off to her dressing room, Christie lingered near Shamika. The tall black woman refused to look at Christie as she released the fittings on the high hat cymbals. “That was a good set, Sham,” offered Christie. “Don’t you think so?”
Shamika leaned down and released the kick drum chain. “It was just fine ‘till you started that lousy Jenna Jameson impression.”
Christie tapped the bigger woman’s shoulder with her fist. “Oh, come on! I was just performing for the audience! And they loved it!”
Shamika sat up and looked into Christie’s eyes. “Don’t try to be all nice and sweet and girly with me, specially not now. We both know you ain’t my friend. Everybody know you just out for yourself.”
Christie took a step back. “Well – okay, Shamika. I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Lois watched Shamika’s shoulders tighten, and as much as she might like to see the drummer get physical with someone for a change instead of ignoring a conflict, she couldn’t let that happen before Lucy had her say. She took Christie’s arm and pulled her towards the stage exit. “Come on, Christie, there are some people out here waiting to talk to you.”
Ramona and Connie followed close behind them, both wearing faces one might see at someone else’s execution. Behind them, Shamika put both her sticks and Lucy’s in the stick bag hanging on the floor tom. She was unscrewing Lucy’s small ride cymbal when Lois guided Christie through the stage door. Lois had no more stepped down from the stage when Lucy aimed an open-handed slap at Christie and missed only because Lois pulled Christie back at the last moment. Lois then jumped forward and grabbed her sister in a bear hug, then pulled the smaller woman away from her intended victim.
“You can’t beat it out of her, Punky! Now stop it!”
“Watch me!”
“No, Luce! Cut it out! Talk but don’t punch!”
Lucy was so mad she was blowing out spit as she hissed at Christie. “You are so stupid! You’re cheating us and you’re cheating yourself! You might as well just put a gun to your head now and save the booze and drugs for someone else! You deserve to die!”
Lois watched the impact of Lucy’s words on Christie as the singer paled and gasped. “Lucy! I – I’m sorry. I didn’t know – you – I thought – please!” It was a convincing performance, and Lois wondered if it was real or if it wasn’t just good acting on Christie’s part.
Lois finally released her sister, but Lucy wasn’t finished. “We’re the reason the club’s full every night! They aren’t coming to hear you! They’re coming to hear us! We’re not your pet backup band! We’re going to be playing in arenas and concert halls and winning awards when you’re singing drunk at dives and cheap bars and whorehouses where they don’t care how you sound! You’re a joke, Mom! You don’t – “
Everyone froze. Lucy’s outburst – and her addressing Christie as “Mom” – stunned them all into immobility. If any of them had known about Lucy’s identification of Christie with her mother, none of them had spoken aloud about it.
And their compassion and empathy showed in their faces. Even Shamika, the band’s designated observer from afar, seemed to feel Lucy’s pain.
The scene held for a moment, then Christie stepped forward and lifted her hand as if to touch the younger woman’s face. But Lucy saw the movement and darted around all of them and slammed into the dressing room she shared with Lois. A moment later, they all heard the click of the lock.
Ramona sighed. “Christie, I think you’d better go home. We’ll talk about this tomorrow before rehearsal. I want you to be here an hour early. Do you think you can do that?”
Christie bristled at Ramona’s tone. “Yes, I think I can do that! What kind of – “
She broke off whatever she’d been about to say as Lois put her fists on her hips and stepped forward. Christie took a deep breath and softly said, “I’m sorry. I know what kind of – whatever – you think I am.” Christie took a deep breath. “Will this be a meeting with the whole band or just with you?”
Ramona glanced at Lois, who nodded back microscopically. Ramona’s expression softened. “I think it should just be you, me, and Lois. Is that okay with you?”
Christie nodded to Ramona. “That’s fine. One-thirty, right?”
“That’s right. We’ll see you then.”
Christie looked at Connie, who crossed her arms and turned away. Then Christie caught Shamika’s eyes and voiced a silent entreaty of some kind, but Shamika was no more inclined to listen than was the guitarist. Shamika held Christie’s eyes and slowly shook her head back and forth in a ‘no’ gesture.
Christie sighed and dropped her gaze. “Fine. I’ll see you all tomorrow at rehearsal.”
No one spoke or moved as Christie trudged to her dressing room. When she came out a moment later, she was wearing a windbreaker over her stage clothes. She walked to the rear exit without looking at the other four women.
The closing of the outer door broke the spell. Connie glared at Ramona. “You are going to read her the riot act, aren’t you?”
Ramona’s mouth flattened. “I’m going to talk to her, Lois is going to talk to her, we’re going to listen to Christie, and if she agrees to behave herself from here on out we’ll probably stay. If not, either she goes or I call up the Styles Club and we head out to Gotham as soon as he’ll take us, if not before. There’s a limit to the amount of crap this band will take.”
Shamika asked, “Do we all get a vote on this?”
Lois rolled her eyes. “Of course you get a vote, Sham! Nobody’s forcing anybody to do anything.”
“Good.” Shamika took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said, “I vote we put Christie and Lucy in a mud wrestling pit in hot pink bikinis and sell tickets. Prob’ly make a fortune.”
The other three stared at her for a long moment, then Connie snorted a laugh. Ramona allowed herself a chuckle, and Lois hid her grin behind her hand. The tension was broken, at least for the four of them, which was what Shamika the peacemaker had apparently been trying for.
Lois waved her hands in front of her. “Save it for open mic night at the comedy club, Sham. Let’s all get some sleep, okay? We’re going to need it.”
“That’s for sure,” responded Shamika. “You got to stop yawning between songs, Lois, or the audience gonna think you having too much fun offstage.”
Lois grinned at her again. “I have to change before we leave. Are we all riding back to the hotel together?”
“I’m in,” said Connie. Shamika nodded her agreement.
“I think we’re all together,” said Ramona. “You’d better check on Lucy, though. She might want to be alone for a while.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Lois crossed to the dressing room in which Lucy had locked herself and knocked twice. “Lucy? Hey, you okay in there?”
There was no answer, so she knocked again. “Hey, Sis, I have to get changed.” Still no response. “And I really gotta pee! Let me in!”
After a long moment, the lock clicked and the door opened slightly. Lucy looked out and muttered, “Why don’t you go in Christie’s dressing room?”
“She locks her bathroom. I can’t go in there.”
“Her clothes are in there. Just pee in her shoes and use her underwear to mop up the overflow.”
After a moment, Lois smiled at her sister. “Can I please come in?”
Lucy hesitated, then pushed the door open. “Sure. Be sure to bring your psych textbooks so you can tell me all about my childhood trauma and my repressed resentment of my mother and how it’s eating away at me and poisoning my – my young adult life.”
Instead of walking past her sister, Lois reached out and embraced her. Lucy’s arms slowly folded around Lois’ back and her head sank into Lois’ shoulder. The sobs forced themselves past clenched lips and the tears battled past barricaded eyes.
Connie and Ramona traded a look, then Connie motioned to Shamika. The three of them gathered around their distressed friend and musical partner and they all hugged her, patted her shoulders, gently stroked her hair, and murmured their unending support to her.
*****
Shamika was an only child, and despite growing up around assorted cousins and aunts and uncles and so forth, she’d never bonded with anyone her own age like she’d bonded with Lucy. Even her tight friendship with Ramona and Connie didn’t compare with her feelings for Lucy Lane. Shamika had adopted the spunky young girl from their first meeting and had supported her in every way she could. She had, on two separate occasions, threatened insistent young men who didn’t understand the word ‘no’ with bodily harm if they refused to leave the jazz girl alone. When Shamika was around, no one outside the band was allowed to say anything negative to Lucy. At times, Shamika had even warned Lois to back off from smothering her sister. And Lucy was the one in the group who got along best with Shamika’s mother.
Shamika thought about her own mother, how her mom had always supported her and encouraged her, how they wrote letters back and forth as often as was practical, and how they spoke on the phone at least once a week. She didn’t know what Lucy’s pain felt like, but she did know that her friend was hurting, and she desperately wished she could help take the pain away.
And she decided that if she had any chance to help Lucy, she’d take it. Whatever it might be, whatever she might have to do.
*****
Lucy was drained. Between the high of playing onstage and the low of blowing up at Christie and the crying jag she’d gone on afterwards, she just wanted to get some sleep. The five of them had crowded into one of the club’s cars for the short trip back to their hotel, and Lucy was more than ready to hit the sheets and let sleep claim her.
Ramona, Connie, and Shamika headed upstairs to their room on the second floor. Lois put her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and guided her to the elevator. “Come on, Punky. We’ll be lazy tonight and take the elevator all the way to the third floor.”
Lucy’s head dropped against her sister’s shoulder. “Fine with me. I’m wiped out.”
But the message light was lit up on the phone, and Lucy pondered checking it while Lois went into the bathroom. It might actually be important, and if not, she’d relay it to whoever needed to hear it when they met for breakfast.
Lucy dialed the voicemail code and closed her eyes. A yawn forced her jaws to their limit as she sat through the electronic message prefix. Someone had called just after the last set had ended tonight. Probably a fan, or maybe a groupie. Or some crank who’d found their phone number somehow.
Then the message started. “Lucy? This – this is Christie. We need to talk.”
*****
Lois had changed into her sleeping clothes and had just put the toothbrush in her mouth when Lucy knocked on the door. “Lois? I have to go out for a little bit. I’ll be back soon.”
“Hawt? Whurmpgh?” She bent over and spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, then called out, “Lucy? Where are you going?” There was no answer. “Lucy!”
Lois opened the bathroom door and looked around in the small room. No Lucy, no place for her to hide, and one of the card keys was gone from the desk beside the television. She considered getting dressed to follow her sister, but Lucy had too much of a head start. Unless she tried to chase her sister down barefoot while wearing a flannel sweatshirt and boxers, Lois would never catch her.
She just had to hope that whatever Lucy had to do, it was as important as she seemed to think it was.
*****
Christie couldn’t stop pacing. She didn’t know if Lucy would call back or not, or if she’d just show up at the apartment, or if she’d completely ignore Christie’s call. She’d left both her address and phone number on the message, but there was no telling what Lucy might do.
And all of her speculation about Lucy’s possible reactions depended on whether or not the girl had even listened to the voice message. Maybe it was too late to fix things, maybe she’d messed up once too often and finally alienated the other girl, but she had to try. After all, this might be the very thing Lucy was hoping for too. It was the reason Christie had demanded that Lucy play for her solo.
Christie stalked to the refrigerator and opened it. She surveyed the meager assortment of beverages and snacks, and then her eyes found the open bottle of Johnny Walker Tennessee Whiskey. She reached out for it, almost as a reflex, then stopped herself.
No. The booze and the drugs were destroying her working relationship with the band. They were wrecking her ability to focus on the music. And she desperately wanted to succeed as a singer. No, there was no way she was going to make things worse. Not tonight.
She snatched a can of diet soda from the bottom shelf and shoved the door shut. As she opened the soda, she thought she heard an echoing click from the back door of the apartment. Maybe Lucy had come in the building that way. But why would she come up the fire escape?
“Hello?” She took a step into the living room. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing. Great, now she was jumping at shadows and imagined noises.
Just then the front door buzzer rang. She jerked in surprise and spilled soda on her top. She stopped to grab a napkin and the buzzer rang again.
Maybe that was Lucy. Maybe this would work after all.
She sprinted to the buzzer and pressed the call button. “Hello? Who’s there?”
“It’s Lucy. You wanted to talk to me.”
Christie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for coming, Lucy. Let me buzz you in. My apartment’s to the left of the top of the stairs, second floor.”
“Be right there.”
The intercom went dead and Christie pressed the button to open the front door of the building. She ran back to the kitchen and put the soda back in the refrigerator, then dabbed at her top to soak up as much as she could.
It was no use. And there wasn’t time to change. She hoped Lucy would look past her clothing to the opportunity available for her.
Christie opened the door as Lucy got to the landing. “Hey! Glad you made it. Come on in.”
Lucy stopped with one hand on the railing around the landing. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“I know it’s late – “
“No. It’s actually early in the morning. I should be asleep, and so should you. So tell me what’s so freakin’ important that you have to talk to me right now.”
“Lucy, please come in. There’s no sense in you standing out in the hallway.”
Lucy hesitated at the threshold of the door, then walked in. With her hands in her jacket pockets, she turned in the middle of the living room and faced Christie. “I’m here. Now please tell me whatever it is you so desperately need to tell me.”
Christie hesitated, then stepped forward slowly. “Look, Lucy, I know I haven’t been all that – cooperative at times. But I want to make a fresh start with you girls, and I think the best way to do that is to apologize to you for my behavior. I think you’re the one who’s most bothered by the way things have turned out, and I’d really like to make it up to you.”
Lucy nodded. “Good. Be at that meeting with Ramona and Lois and tell them the same thing. And try being straight and sober from now on.”
Christie nodded. “I intend to. Really. But there is something else I’d like for you to think about, something along a – a professional vein.”
Lucy shrugged. “So tell me already.”
“Okay.” Christie clasped her hands together and slowly paced beyond Lucy towards the baby grand piano across the room from her. “I know that the Mountaintops are good – you girls are all very good – and believe it or not, you’re one of the most talented. You play keyboard, guitar, drums, and you can sing, too. And you can arrange. I’ve seen your name on some of the charts.”
Lucy pivoted to face the other woman. “So? I still don’t know why I’m here.”
Christie put on her best smile, the one she reserved for the people she most wanted to manipulate. “You’re very good at what you do. But so are the other four girls in the band. All of you can sing. Ramona plays piano, Connie plays guitar, Shamika plays drums, and any of them but Shamika could front the group vocally. You’re not unnecessary, far from it, but if you couldn’t make it to a gig they could still play.”
“We’ve played without you, too. And we were solid.”
“I know. The Mountaintops don’t need me to be successful. I’m a singer. But I don’t play any instrument well enough to make it professionally. I need an accompanist, a musical partner. An equal partner, actually.”
Lucy’s brow drew down. “I’m still waiting to hear why you called me over.”
This was the moment. Christie’s next few words might determine the professional future for both of them. “Lucy, I want you to be that equal partner with me. I want you to work with me going forward from now on.”
The younger woman’s eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. “You – you what?”
“That was why I wanted you to play for me tonight! So we could both know how well we work together! You were marvelous! There was no way I could have sung that song as well as I did with Ramona on piano. I mean, she’s good, but you’re terrific!”
Lucy shook her head and blinked twice. “You mean that you – you were giving me a tryout? You were auditioning me? That was what all that was about?“
Christie rushed on before Lucy could stop her. “Look around you! All this is from Johnny, but you and I together could build something that would earn each of us thousands of dollars a month! With the contacts we both have and with your piano skills behind my voice, we could take the city by storm. And then we could go on tour! Do you know how much we could earn in Central City or Los Angeles? Not to mention Denver and Houston and Gotham City?”
Lucy’s mouth worked but no sound came out. Christie grabbed Lucy’s upper arms and waxed rhapsodic. “Just think! We’d have nothing but the best, play only the best places, go anywhere we wanted, maybe even Europe! There’s nothing we couldn’t do!”
Lucy stepped back out of Christie’s grasp and snarled, “Are you insane? You want me to leave my sister and my friends and play for you?”
“You wouldn’t be leaving them in the lurch! They could still go on without you as a quartet. And we could even do some shows together! You could still play with them sometimes and – “
“No!” Lucy shoved Christie back a step. “There’s no way I’m quitting the Mountaintops! Especially not to play for a drugged-out lush like you! And you’d better not let Johnny hear you talk like that! He’d kill you before he let you leave him!”
“Lucy! Please! Johnny would understand. He’d support me and help us get started. That guy in the audience tonight, the one I was singing to, he’s the man with the money Ramona was talking about! He could help us get into a good studio and – “
Lucy slapped Christie across the mouth. “Idiot! You stupid cow! You are just like my mother!”
“No, Lucy, no, I’m not – “
“You are! My dad died and she married a creep who put on a good front but who’s rotten inside! Johnny’s no better than my stepdad! He doesn’t love you! He only wants you for what’s between your legs! He’ll drop you like a broken doll as soon as you get to be more trouble than you’re worth!”
The blow to Christie’s mouth had hurt, but not as much as the blows Lucy landed with her words, especially since they didn’t have to wend their way through a haze of drugs and alcohol. She was shocked into silence as the younger woman blew out angry breaths through gritted teeth.
Christie tried to speak, to defend herself against the accusations, but nothing came out of her mouth. The slap seemed to jar her brain into gear again, and Christie looked at herself as honestly as she could.
Lucy was right. Johnny didn’t love her. She was just a convenience to him. And she was more a liability to the Mountaintops than an asset.
The truth burrowed itself past the receding liquor buzz and her own self-centeredness. It kicked over the smoky dream she’d built as a famous singer working with a talented pianist. The dream shattered against the reality of Johnny Taylor, Christie’s self-deception, and Lucy’s cruel but truthful assault against her.
She wasn’t going to make it big in the music business, at least not with Lucy as her accompanist. Not now. And probably not ever, no matter who played for her, not as she was now.
Lucy’s voice dropped a register. “Don’t ever say anything else to me about this, Christie! Not a word! If I went back to the motel and told Lois and Ramona what you just said to me they’d clobber you and flush the pieces down that fancy toilet in your dressing room!” She put her face inches from the older woman’s. “So if you have the slightest idea what’s good for you you’ll forget this conversation ever happened! You are the most – you – ugh!”
Lucy growled once more and stomped towards the front door. She yanked it open and left without looking back. The impact of the door slamming rattled the glassware vase on the wall shelf beside the doorway.
Christie stood there for a long moment before she realized that she was crying. She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand and went to the door to lock it. Instead, she picked up the vase and sighed.
She’d often thought about putting flowers in it, but it was beautiful by itself and she didn’t do well with the whole watering the flowers on a regular basis anyway. The vase was over a foot tall, made of solid glass, and was heavy enough to break her toes if she were to drop it on her foot while standing on a solid surface. Its density comforted her somehow, as if reminding her that the sum total of reality didn’t depend on her continued existence.
She lifted it and watched it catch the light, watched it scatter colors through the design on the side in a prismatic effect. It had been a present from Johnny, way back in the spring when she’d first moved into her apartment.
This apartment.
The one she’d had no voice in selecting or decorating.
The one where Johnny paid all the bills and gave her a grocery allowance and spending money almost every week.
The one where Johnny came over and had sex with her whenever he wanted to.
Lucy was right. She was no better than a high-dollar prostitute, a kept woman, a mere mistress. She’d sold herself to a gangster for a few trinkets and the false promise of a singing career.
But she could change. She could live differently. She could be better, do better. She could get out from under Johnny Taylor – literally as well as figuratively – and find work on her own. Surely there was a club in Metropolis that would hire her, even if it was down on the waterfront. And if there wasn’t, she’d go wherever she needed to go. She’d start at the bottom and work her way up. She had the time, she had the basic skills, and she had the determination to succeed. She’d take voice lessons, piano lessons, training in stage presence, anything to succeed!
As long as she did it standing up and not on her back.
She turned slowly, examining the vase still in her hands. She didn’t need such fancy things like this in her life. She could live simply. She could change her life around. And she could start by making peace with the other girls.
She nodded to herself. That was what she needed to do. And she could –
A hand snatched the vase from her before she knew there was another person in the room. Then the vase slammed into the side of her head just above her right ear before she could look at whoever it was.
She crumpled to her knees with her ears ringing and blood pouring from the wound on her scalp. With her head hanging limp, she looked down to see her blood splattering the deep pile carpet beside her knees. Have to clean that up before it stains, she thought incongruously.
Another blow struck her across her cheek and nose. She felt the crunch of her nose breaking and her head lifted slightly. She tried to look up and see who was hurting her, but her eyes refused to focus.
The vase chopped against the base of her skull and her head slammed forward to the floor. Her face scraped the carpet and she fell on her uninjured side.
She tried to push herself away from the floor, but she couldn’t move her hands. Her eyes were covered with blood and she couldn’t see anything. She tried to call out to whoever stood above her to stop hurting her, to stop hitting her, but her mouth wouldn’t work. She tried to take in a deep breath but she choked on the blood and mucus draining into her mouth.
She wondered briefly who could be so mad at her. And why were they mad? What had she done wrong? She only wanted to be loved. She only wanted –
The vase crashed against the side of her head once again, near the first wound, and the world faded around her. The low buzz she’d heard inside her head since the first blow also faded quickly. She didn’t feel the rest of the blows that rained down on her.
Christie Baldwin would never again feel Johnny Taylor’s rough hands pull her close to him. She would not become famous as a singer. She would not get her album deal. Nor would she ever sing with the Mountaintops again.
She bled out on her living room carpet, her skull crushed and her body lying in a puddle of her own blood.
