A Taste of Candor

Chapter 1

By the looks of it, I was headed the right way to be late to yet another gig. As usual, another set of mishaps had delayed my getting out the door, so here I was, sprinting down the slick roads of downtown Silverport with my saxophone case in hand, praying enough people tipped the band that my share would pay for a taxi ride home.

I guess the next logical question would be to ask why I was running late this time. Well, my best shirt's three-hour tumble in the drier turned out not to be enough, and when I pulled it out early—I couldn't skip the gig simply because I only had a damp shirt to wear, after all—I discovered a button had been torn off. Thankfully, since that had happened once before, I already knew how to sew that back on.

But anyway, that still delayed my leaving until I had only ten minutes to make a twenty-minute walk to Cozy's Cavern Tavern, the self-proclaimed "hottest spot in town." In reality, the hottest thing about the place was the overbearing stage lights. Even though the food always came out colder than hoped, I'd have to admit it was remarkably flavorful anyway.

When I reached the crooked door to Cozy's, I flicked my wrist up to check my watch. Even though I'd run almost the whole way, I was 15 minutes late. Granted, I had my failed attempt to find a shortcut to blame for that, since it turned out to be a dead-end, but still. With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes, straightened my collar, and steeled myself for the consequences of my being late for the third gig in a row. My fingers grasped the brass handle of the door, and I stepped through.

Immediately, the brilliant tones of a well-played trumpet hit my ears, backed up by piano, upright bass, and drums working together to provide an uptempo accompaniment for the player's virtuosity. I slunk past the bar counter and around the many tables of seated patrons on my way to the stage and listened to the trumpeter absolutely blaze through the tune at impossible speeds. His skill was enviable, and so was his unshakable confidence in every note that left the bell of that horn.

I stopped at an unlit corner of the stage and unzipped my case while gazing up at the trumpeter who led the band tonight. Nuri Justice was his name, but we all called him Pepper because of his post-gig meal choices. His dark skin exuded beads of sweat as he stood right underneath one of the merciless beams of the stage lights, and his silvery hair spoke to his many years of standing on the bandstand and providing dazzling music to entertain the people.

When Pepper completed his improvisation, he stepped back with eyes flicking over to me. A glint of disapproval washed over his face as he gazed into the dim corner where I stood, and I couldn't at all blame him. He'd fired his last few saxophonists for mere creative differences, so there was no way I'd last any longer just because I was a fresh face with bad luck.

At any rate, the rest of their tune ran its course, and after accepting around of applause from the audience, Pepper gestured for me to ascend the steps and join him on stage. My nervous fingers pressed and released the finger pads of my saxophone as I sucked in a deep breath and obliged. As if my face wasn't already flushed from the embarrassment of being late, the heat of the stage lights immediately began cooking me in my suit. I gave the pianist a nervous nod as I passed him. He gave a grim smile in return.

Finally, I stood beside Pepper and bowed when the audience below clapped once more. Then, laying his big hand on my shoulder, he turned to speak to the people.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome our saxophonist, Declan Otto, to the bandstand." Pepper waited for another brief round of applause to come and go before continuing. "We'll play an original of mine called 'Fight or Flight'."

Pepper turned to the drummer and snapped his fingers to indicate the tempo, yet another speedy tune with a tricky chord progression and four key changes in all. Drawing in a deep breath, I joined Pepper in playing the melody. If I hadn't already been nervous, this tune would have been enough to do so anyway. The melody's four parts were conveniently in four of the toughest keys on my horn. My fingers faltered many times, and while Pepper proceeded without difficulty, I barely limped through. When he began his improvisation, I stepped back and hung my head.