|
Stardust
By Trixie "Sparky, you can't do this to me. Not now." "I'm sorry, boss. Really. But I have to do it." Jason followed Chris out of the kitchen, looking about as penitent as a boy could look without overdoing it. Chris was really wishing he'd never gotten out of bed that morning. "You have two dead brothers. What's your momma gonna do if you go over there and get yourself killed?" "I'm not going to get myself killed." Jason sighed and sat down on a bar stool. "Chris, I can't sit around here playing the piano while... they believed in what they were doing. My mom understands. I have to go. Please understand." The thing of it was, Chris did understand. Hell, if he hadn't been called up in the first round of drafts in 1940, he'd probably have signed up voluntarily after Pearl Harbor. There were so many 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' in that thought that he pushed it away as quick as he could. "Alright, kid. You do what you gotta do." Ducking behind the bar, he grabbed two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring a couple of fingers in both glasses and passing one across the bar. "Try not to get yourself killed." Chris clinked his glass against Jason's and downed his own, wincing when the kid made a face at the burn of the alcohol. So damn young. "You're not leaving till Saturday, so I expect you behind that piano tonight. Get out of here and get your business done." "Sure, boss." He was gone as quick as he'd come, leaving the club quiet, with only the sounds of dishes being stacked in the kitchen. He poured himself another shot and dug around under the bar for some aspirin. The sound of cheerful whistling made him groan and give up his search. He looked up to find Joey Fatone, plate full of sandwiches in one hand, large glass of iced tea in the other, sitting down at the bar. Joey'd charmed the cook the first day he came into the Stardust and hadn't eaten anywhere else since. "Bess says to make you eat a sandwich," he said, plunking the plate down between them and biting into one of the sandwiches. "I'm thinking she's right and you need more than that." He nodded his head toward the glass of whiskey. "I'm thinking you both need to keep your big noses out of my eating habits." Chris took a sandwich anyway, knowing it wasn't worth the argument. Joey he could ignore, but the last thing he needed was to argue with the cook who'd taken one look at him when Dani hired her and decided he needed mothering. Never mind that he had a mother already. "We have to find a new piano player." "I heard." Joey took a big drink of his tea and then grinned at Chris. "Don't you worry, little man, the solution to your problem is right under your nose." "Lance?" Chris shook his head. "He's an adequate player, but he hates being out front." "No, no," Joey waved the thought away and leaned forward as if to tell Chris a secret. "That new busboy?" "Who? You mean the quiet one with the eyes?" "I don't know nothing about his eyes, but I know I caught him playing around on the piano the other day when he thought no one was around. He's good, Chris. Really good." "No kidding?" Joey just nodded and got up, disappearing. A few minutes later, he came out of the kitchen dragging the very confused looking new guy along with him. "Meet Joshua." The guy shifted on his feet and looked back and forth between them. "Is there a problem Mr. Kirkpatrick?" Chris laughed. "Holy hell, buddy, call me Chris. Joey tells me you can tickle the ivories." "Um, yes. I can play, but I'm really sorry about the other day. I won't..." Chris reached across the bar and grabbed his shoulder to stop the apology. "Hey, it's fine. You wanna play something for me?" "You mean now?" "It's a good time for me, how about you?" "Um. May I ask why?" "Because I need a new piano player and Joey tells me you might be my guy." "Oh, I don't think..." "Don't think, kid. Just go play for me." "Come on," Joey said, pushing him toward the stage in that oh so gentle, but insistent way Joey used to get anyone to do anything he wanted. Chris took another bite of sandwich and watched Joey whispering to him all the way to the piano. The guy was clearly shy and he carried himself in a way that was made to keep people from noticing him. Chris had only noticed him around because he had a weakness for pretty eyes. For that reason alone, Chris hadn't paid much attention to him since Dani hired him. Aside from the eyes and a fairly nice mouth, he didn't have much to recommend him-- just a skinny kid with a big nose. As soon as Joshua stopped talking to Joey and started playing some Ellington, Chris's entire opinion changed. He wasn't just good on the keys, he was excellent. He was also compelling to watch. His intense face lit up and his whole body seemed to vibrate with the music. When Joey picked up the song and started tapping out a rhythm on the piano lid, Joshua grinned so big his eyes disappeared in his face. "Shit," Chris muttered and came out from behind the bar. He jumped up on the stage, grabbed his coronet and jumped in where he could. By the time they finished, Joshua was laughing, Joey was grinning smugly, and Chris knew they had a new band member. Chris pushed his hair back off his forehead and grinned back at Joey. "Dani's going to kill me for stealing one of her busboys." "If your ex-wife hasn't already killed you for prior sins, I doubt this will do it. Especially when he helps bring in more customers." "You've got a point." Chris turned back to Joshua, who was watching them. "We already have a Josh in the band. You got a last name?" "Chasez." It didn't exactly trip off the tongue. "JC it is, then. Turn in your apron and show up tomorrow afternoon so you can get to know the band and start learning the arrangements. Your first show's gonna be the USO dance next Saturday." "But..." JC stood up, waving his hand around as if trying to pull words out of the air. "But what? You like Swing?" "Yes." "You wanna pick up people's dirty dishes or do you want to make music?" "Music." He looked sure of himself for the first time, apart from playing, and Chris found that incredibly endearing. Hell, he could understand it. Music was about the only thing Chris was sure of anymore. "It's just that this is my second job. I'm an orderly over at the base hospital." "Buddy, we don't pay that well yet. Most of the band has day jobs. We'll work it out, don't worry." JC worked out surprisingly well. He was shy as hell around the guys, but he learned the arrangements quick and when he played with the band, it was magic. Not only could he play from the arrangements with no problem, but he could improvise too. He could pick up a thread of melody and chase it down, improve on it, never losing track of the rest of the instruments. Any wariness the guys had when JC walked into the rehearsal was gone by the time they broke it up four hours later. Chris watched from across the stage as JC blushed under the attentions of Christina, their singer, until Joey rescued him by distracting her. When she was gone, JC went right back to the notes he was making on his arrangements, ignoring the usual noisy, raucous post-rehearsal talk going on around him. "He's pretty good," Lance said quietly, appearing right behind Chris's shoulder. Chris twitched in surprise and Lance squeezed his arm in apology for sneaking up on him. Chris hated when he did that. "Pretty good? Kid, he's fantastic." "Where's he from?" Lance asked, that spot between his eyebrows furrowing like it often did. "Do you know anything about him?" "I know he's damn good and he's saving our asses. What else do I need to know?" Chris turned around and looked at the kid. Lance just shrugged and continued watching JC. "I dunno. Just curious." "So ask him. Details are your job, remember?" Chris grinned at Lance when he dryly produced the usual comeback of "yes, you're just the mastermind." A year ago, the kid had shown up looking way too young to go anywhere near a bar and asked for a job. It turned out he played a mean upright bass, but even more importantly he worked magic on things like schedules and paperwork. He was also the best straight man Chris had ever had. "So, you were saying beers on the house, right, Kirkpatrick?" Nicky draped an arm over Chris's shoulders, tapping him in the chest with his drumsticks, still glued to his hands. Chris elbowed him in the gut and headed toward the bar, leaving Lance to talk to JC. "I said nothing of the sort. You stop messing up that combination in the second set, and I'll consider it, though." Nicky laughed and plopped himself down at the bar, next to Brian. Chris growled at them, only making them laugh harder. They all knew he was a damn push-over, and as much as he constantly complained about how much trouble he'd be in with Dani, they knew he'd keep them in food and drink as long as they kept playing for him. Luckily, divorce and the ability to pack the club, which had become fully hers when they signed the papers five months before, made Dani an even bigger push-over. Chris ducked under the bar and started helping Charlie pour drinks, laughing at Joey's attempts to convince Christina that he'd had a date with Ann Miller, when he was a contract player at Universal before the war. "It's true, Chrissy," he said, putting on his most earnest face. "Ask Kirkpatrick, he knows." "If you consider eating dinner at a table next to the table where Ann Miller was eating dinner, then yes, Joey had a date with her." Chris had to duck to avoid Joey's big meathook of a hand, just managing not to spill Lance's beer. Lance was already busy going over schedules and asking questions, while loading JC down with the paperwork that Chris was sure he invented on a daily basis, and barely acknowledged the mug Chris plopped down in front of him. "How come you're not GI?" Lance asked. JC sighed, like he'd been waiting for the question, looked down at his hands then back up at Lance. "I'm a conscientious objector." "You're kidding?" Lance asked, his body tensing up. Chris handed the tap over to Charlie and moved closer, ready to intervene. Lance came from a long military tradition, a legacy that had been cut short when Lance came up 4F, unfit for service because of a faulty valve in his heart. He'd left Mississippi to get away from his father's disappointment, but he hadn't quite left it behind. "No. I'm Mennonite. We believe..." "You believe we should just sit down and invite Hitler over for tea?" "Bass." Chris reached for his arm, but Lance shook him off. "Or do you just think it's somebody else's job to do the killing and dying so you can continue to have your religious freedom?" Lance was practically right in JC's face now, so Chris grabbed him and pulled him back. Everyone had turned to watch by then. "Stop it, kid. Right now." "No, Chris. It's alright." JC stood up straight and stepped closer. He looked Lance straight in the eyes and said softly. "I don't think I have to justify anything to you, but for the record, I don't believe any of those things. As Mennonites, we believe that violence is never a solution to conflict. We believe that we must love our enemies." Lance opened his mouth to say something, but JC shook his head and the steely look in his eyes stopped the kid. "I don't want anyone dying for me. I love America and I don't want Hitler or Hirohito anywhere near it. But if you think I'm not conflicted, if you think this decision is easy for me, then you're wrong. I work at the base hospital. I try to do what I can for the boys who come back. And I pray for the rest of them." He grabbed his jacket and stack of papers off the bar and turned to Chris. "I have a late shift tonight. I'll be here early tomorrow. You can let me know then if you still want me in the band." Before Chris could say anything, he turned and walked out, not looking back. Lance watched the door for several seconds after he was gone and then turned to Chris. "Shut up, kid. Sit down, have a drink. I'll be back." Chris had to practically run two blocks to catch up with JC. When he did, JC slowed, but didn't stop walking. Chris thought he looked incredibly sad. "We still want you," Chris said. "I could care less about your beliefs, as long as you keep playing piano like you do. Lance has a temper and a big mouth sometimes. You gotta give him some slack, the Army didn't want him because of a stupid heart thing. He'll get over it." JC stopped at a bus stop and sat down on the bench. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said..." he waved his hand around, "been like that." "The kid was out of line." Chris sighed and sat down beside JC. He pulled out a cigarette, offered one to JC, who shook his head. "Personally, I don't think anyone needs to be where I've been. Least of all, you." He lit his cigarette, taking a long drag. "Or Lance, for that matter." JC was quiet for a moment, watching the smoke from Chris's cigarette. "Is that how you..." he nodded toward Chris's hand, the one Chris had unconsciously tucked behind his leg, the one that was missing two and a half fingers. Chris nodded, flexing it, feeling the fingers that weren't there anymore. "I was lucky, could have been the right one." Chris stuck his cigarette in his mouth and mimed playing his horn with his right hand. He didn't mention the burn scars on his back or the headaches that he couldn't shake. JC's eyes grew sharper in the dark and he stared at Chris, his head cocked slightly, like he was trying to read inside Chris's skull, figure him out. It made Chris uncomfortable, so he stood up and tucked his left hand back in his pocket. It was after dark and still muggy as hell outside, but it was cooling off and the ocean breeze made him shiver. "I'm not a very good Mennonite," JC said suddenly, leaning back against the bench, looking tired and a little lost. "My grandfather definitely wouldn't think so. I love Jazz and I love God, and I'm afraid sometimes that I love them in that order." He shrugged and stood up as the bus came around a corner down the street. "I do the best I can." "We all do, pal." Chris tossed his cigarette in the street and turned to leave. "Just be on time tomorrow," he called as he walked away. Ultimately, JC settled into the group pretty well. Lance steered clear of him most of the time, but was perfectly civil when it came to music and band business. Joey, for some reason known only to the mystery that was his brain, had decided he liked JC and taken him under his wing. Some of the guys were uncomfortable with him, but everyone respected him when it came to the music. JC didn't seem to mind at all and quickly became so comfortable that he was offering up his own arrangements. He was quiet and walked around looking like he didn't think he should be there half the time, but when it came to an idea about the music, he was a force to be reckoned with. He was, to Chris, a fascinating puzzle. Weird and distant one moment and engaging the next. He sometimes showed up early for rehearsals and shows, and while he never drank alcohol, he could down gallons of coffee while sitting around and chatting with Chris about music. He quizzed Chris incessantly about the years he'd spent in LA doing studio work, and about the musicians Chris had worked with. He talked about how he'd discovered jazz on the radio and fallen in love, saving every cent he could to buy records every chance he got. How he'd never really fit in well with his family, his friends from home, and so he'd hitched a ride when his uncle was driving to Florida on business. He was smart and funny in a goofy, unintentional way, but always incredibly sweet. And God help Chris, he was pretty. The face that Chris had thought was fairly plain was beautiful when he was comfortable and engaged in something. Chris spent a lot of time just watching his lips, soft and full, and his hands, always in motion. It was, to say the least, dangerous as hell. Just before Christmas, the new class of airmen from the Jacksonville Air Naval Station got their orders. Chris and Dani threw open the doors of the Stardust and offered free drinks to all the GI's leaving the next day for England. The club was packed early with GI's and locals alike. Chris wasn't surprised when Justin Timberlake and his buddies showed up, but he was surprised at who they'd brought with them. Dani tracked him down as soon as they came in, and reminded him that this was "Florida, not LA." "Chris, you said all GI's welcome. I hope you meant it," Timberlake cut him off when Chris appeared at his table. "Cornell here is the best damn mechanic we have. He keeps my plane in the air. If he's not welcome, I ain't either." "Of course, kid." Chris knew it was a challenge, but he wasn't about to take it. He didn't care if this was Florida or LA or Mississippi, he wasn't about to kick out a black soldier, even if it got the place shut down. "But you keep things cool or I'll kick your ass out." Justin just grinned at him and crossed his fingers over his heart like a little kid. He wasn't much more than one, really. Tall and scrawny with a mess of blond curls and a big toothy grin, he was the kind of golden boy that all the girls wanted and all the boys wanted to be. By all accounts, he was a hell of a pilot, as well. If he wasn't also such a nice kid, Chris would hate him. But it was impossible not to love Justin Timberlake. "If that's settled, what can I get you boys?" "I've got it," Lance rumbled, appearing over Chris's shoulder again. "Sorry," he mumbled and turned to hand out shot glasses and a bottle of Dani's best whiskey. "The beer's coming in a bit." Chris scowled at him and then winked, causing Lance to scowl back. Lance had a bit of a thing for Lieutenant Timberlake, ever since he and his buddies started coming into the club. He followed him around like a puppy dog, but Justin seemed to not only tolerate him, but actually like him. Except for pointing out to Lance that Justin had a very pretty girlfriend back home, whose picture he whipped out at the slightest provocation, Chris stayed out of it. The kid had his own lessons to learn. "You are going to sing with us tonight, right?" Lance asked. "I might be persuaded." Chris laughed and walked away, because it really didn't take much persuading to get Timberlake on stage. It was a good night. A little bittersweet, knowing that Justin and half the other guys in the club were going into combat, but good nonetheless. Justin did get up and sing with the band and brought the house down with Caldonia and then slowed things down for White Cliffs of Dover. The kid had an amazing voice and the ability to hold the audience in the palm of his hand. Chris really couldn't blame Lance for loving him. When the club shut down and there were only a handful of people left, Justin declared they were all going to Andre's, a little jazz club on the other side of town. It didn't take much to convince JC to come along, instead of going home like he usually did. Andre's was a little hole in the wall, packed with people, mostly black, and full of cigarette smoke. It was a kingdom presided over by Andre's beautiful sister, who was known only as Queen, and musicians of every color and stripe got up on stage any given night. Queen invited them all in with a kiss on the cheek and squeezed them into a good table near the band, told them they couldn't leave until everyone was drunk and happy and sent a waiter over with a few bottles of champagne. JC seemed to love the place. He turned down the champagne, but he happily watched Chris toast and drink. He couldn't be convinced to get up when Chris and Justin went up on stage to jam, but he didn't stop grinning the entire night and he cornered Andre when he came off stage and talked to him for nearly an hour about a single chord progression. At least that's what it sounded like every time Chris tuned in from arguing with Christina about the winter baseball trades. At some point, Lance and Justin disappeared when Chris wasn't paying attention. In the early hours of the morning, JC walked Chris back to his little apartment over the Stardust, grabbing his elbow when Chris stumbled and talking non-stop about Andre's. When Chris stumbled again trying to get his key out and leaned up against the wall, JC was suddenly very close. It made Chris dizzy and he wished he hadn't had so much champagne, because the world was spinning and JC was kissing him. And suddenly, he was very, very sober. He pulled away, but JC hung on and whispered, "Please, Chris. You're like this, right? You like men." "Yeah," Chris said and wondered when it was he stopped faking it so well. Fuck, he was in trouble. "Okay. Okay, just," and JC kissed him again. Then he took Chris's key and opened the door, pushing them both inside. JC had the same look of determination on his face that he had the night he confronted Lance, and Chris briefly wondered if JC would be left looking just as lost afterwards. But JC was pulling off Chris's loose tie and unbuttoning his shirt, breathing against his neck, and there was no way Chris could pretend that he didn't want this. He tried to keep JC from pulling off his undershirt, but he was insistent and when it was off, he touched Chris's scars with light fingers and then moved away. "Lance told me," JC said, breathless, as he unbuttoned his own shirt, "he told me about how you pulled two guys out of the water, how you shouldn't have made it out of the water yourself." "Hey," Chris stopped JC's hands. "Lance is full of shit." "He's very proud of you," JC finished with a crooked smile and let his trousers slide off his narrow hips, then stepped forward again, kissing Chris before he could say anything else. It became clear pretty quick that JC had no idea what he was doing. He was awkward and had no idea what to do with his hands, so Chris took pity on him, grabbed his hand and took him to bed. Chris undressed JC, kissed him and spread out over him on the bed. He showed him what to do, where to touch, how to make it good, and JC in turn was exactly like he was playing the piano-- intense, enthusiastic, and joyful. Afterward, he lay on the bed, propped up on an elbow and stared at Chris. "I never did that before." "I know." Chris grabbed a cigarette and prayed to the God he wasn't sure he believed in to keep this from turning ugly. "You okay?" "Yeah." JC flopped back and stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he spoke, but his voice sounded so far away, Chris wasn't sure if he was talking to Chris or himself. "I just. I had to know, about this. You. You know?" "Uh huh," Chris said, stubbing out his cigarette and laying down. "Sure." JC turned and looked at him again, giving him a smile that could break a guy's heart, if he were willing to let it. He leaned over and kissed Chris, then curled up against him. Chris fell asleep as the sun was peeking in the window, his hand curved around JC's hipbone, the sweaty scent of him on everything, and hoped he wasn't going to have to find another piano player tomorrow. When Chris woke up alone two hours later, he wasn't at all surprised. Every trace of JC, except for his scent was gone. He'd even folded Chris's clothes and left them stacked neatly in a chair. He had a splitting headache and he couldn't stand the smell of himself, so he took a scalding hot shower, pulled on some semi-unwrinkled clothes and went down stairs to find coffee and aspirin. Two cups of coffee strong enough to strip paint, liberally laced with the hair of the dog, and a handful of aspirin, went a long way toward making Chris feel human again. Not exactly better, just human. He sat down at JC's piano and tried to imagine someone else playing it, even though JC himself had only been playing it a couple of months. He'd accepted this life a while ago. He'd tried it the other way. In a fit of optimism, or possibly desperation, he'd married Dani before going off to basic training. It didn't take long after he came home to figure out that it wasn't fair to either of them. Sunlight sliced into the dim club and, it felt like, into Chris's head. When the door closed, he saw Lance, still dressed in his suit from last night, looking a lot worse for the wear. "Hey, kid," he said, watching as Lance tossed his jacket and tie on a chair and came to sit down next to Chris at the piano, slumping into Chris's side. "Your Lieutenant leave?" "Yeah." Lance rubbed at his face. "It was all very polite and final." "I'm sorry." Chris wrapped an arm around him, wished he could make this part easier for the kid, at least. "Yeah." "The thing is, kid, there are men who like it a little now and then, and there are men like us. If Justin doesn't get himself killed over there, he'll come home to his Magnolia Queen and have a bunch of little golden babies and live his American dream. That ain't our life." Chris kissed the side of Lance's head, ruffled his hair and stood up, heading for the bar. "We got to make our own dreams." Lance got up and followed him, taking the cup of coffee offered him with a grateful sigh. "Also," Chris said, feeling he could at least share the pain, "we're probably going to have to find another new piano player." "Oh good Lord," Lance groaned and put his head down on the bar, then laughed. A few hours later, Chris had gotten Lance fed and cleaned up, then sent off to the USO office for some contracts and Dani had cornered him to make him sign some checks for God only knew what. Bess found him and sat him down in the kitchen, made him eat some of her fried chicken. He was trying to talk her out of some of her pineapple upside-down cake when he heard the unmistakable sound of Ellington. Grabbing his plate, Chris walked out to find JC sitting at his piano, fresh and pressed and playing Mood Indigo if Chris's memory served him right. "Hey," JC said, looking up briefly. "We should add this. I think it'd work in the second set." "Sure. Maybe," Chris said, walking over, setting his plate on the piano-lid. He really didn't know what to do with a guy who stuck around. "Want some chicken?" JC shook his head and continued to play, but he grinned, his eyes disappearing in his head and Chris really couldn't help grinning back. Written for Terri in the 2004 Don We Now Our Gay Apparel. December 2004. |