Page 13 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“Let’s go grab a drink at the bar,” Joe says. Leo nods and puts away his saxophone.

We all walk over and grab the attention of the bartender, who hooks us all up with a round of beer.

“To a great night,” I say as we clink glasses.

“So, Corvin scheduled us for a festival next weekend at the lake,” Joe says.

“Cool, man. Just put it on my calendar,” Leo says.

I zone out as Joe starts talking about a few other upcoming shows Corvin got for us, and I look at a band currently playing on the stage. I met them when I worked for Lincoln. I shake my head subtly. It’s like I can’t escape him. It’s been almost eighteen months, and I still think of him at least once a day. I try to focus back on Joe. Joe Brown, Leo Mitchell, and Hank Jones are my friends, my family. I slept on Hank and Mimi’s guest bed for three months while I got myself sorted out. I managed to get a job as a waitress, and then the band offered me a singing position. Hank still sings too, and we have another woman, Andrea, who does backup for us when she can. She’s got her son tonight though, so it’s just us four. Magnolia Tear is a local New Orleans jazz band. Leo, Joe, and Hank are all around seventy years old now. They used to tour full-time, but now they play a handful of festivals and otherwise they just park it here in their hometown. They don’t need me in their band, and I guess that’s what has made this even more special, because I’m truly wanted. They listen to me. We collaborate. I’m a part of something for the first time in my life, and it feels amazing.

Plus, I’ve lost a ton of weight, which considering the mantra of food and drink in these parts, is pretty impressive. I like to think that Mimi made me do it. She’s diabetic and finally listened to her doctor last year. “Get in shape or die,” he said, well, he basically said. His tough love was what she needed. She dragged my butt to the gym, got us a personal trainer, threw out all the junk food in the pantry, and off we went. She’s a great workout buddy. I don’t know what I’d do without her. For a girl whose mom split when she was a kid, and a dad who worked crazy hours at a factory, she’s the most parent I’ve ever had.

“Earth to Lark,” Joe says, waving a hand in front of me. “You in for a set next week. Same time, same place?”

I pull out my phone. “Yep, let me just text my boss and let her know I can’t work that night,” I say.

“Good. Well, folks, I better get home before Sharon sends out a search party,” he says and puts on his hat.

“I should go too,” I say.

Hank gives me a fatherly look. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Sure, Dad,” I groan. He gives me a stern look, and I giggle and give him a peck on the cheek.

“Night, Leo,” I say as I turn to hug the hulking man. He’s a huge guy, and I can’t even wrap my arms around him.

“Night, pumpkin,” he says and kisses my cheek.

I walk arm in arm with Hank down the street to the parking lot, where we both parked our cars.

“So, what’s eatin’ you tonight?” he asks.

I shrug. “Just contemplating life, I suppose.”

We reach my car, and he gives me a hard look. “Listen, Lark, you know you’re more than welcome to stay with the band as long as you like, but don’t let a bunch of old fuddy duddies hold you back. Our time came, and it’s going, we’re on the downhill part of the ride now. You though, you’re just getting your wings, gal. So, you let us know when you’re ready to stretch ’em, and we will gladly help you,” he says, patting my cheek.

I blush. “Thanks, Hank,” I say softly. “I appreciate it, but I really am happy here right now. I get to sing, and I have my own space, my own car, friends…” I trail off.

“Boyfriend?” Hank asks with a raised eyebrow.

I shake my head.

“Why not, sugar? You’re easy on the eyes, you got a voice to die for, you’re smart as heck, you’re an amazing catch. Any guy would be lucky to have you!”

I shrug. I don’t want just any guy, I think to myself.

“Well, you just think about what I said, OK?” he says as he pulls me in for one of his famous Hank hugs.

“Thanks,” I mumble against his chest.

“Now get on home, and text me when you get there.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, sir.”

My car is old, and Joe helped me fix it up, but it runs and gets me from point A to point B. My apartment is really just a studio on the top floor of an old house near Tulane. The neighborhood is mostly college students and some older folks, but it’s home, and it’s mine.

I crawl into my bed, set my alarm for the morning, and fall fast asleep.

---