THE GUITARIST: Nicholas Arrives in Charleston

         

          We arrived at the downtown studio around eleven o’clock.  Raymond pulled into a load-out space and brought my guitar out of the boot. 

The whitewashed brick building seemed quite aged, but holding up well, no more than two stories high.  We entered through a side door into a somewhat open space.  Most notable was a bar structure  backed by a broken mirror, a fairly large stage, and a creaky wooden floor that had to’ve been a century old and smelled ever-so-slightly of stale beer with an undertone of vomit.  Constructed of unfinished wood along one wall, seemed to be four rooms, each with a door, two of the four with sizeable windows.  A raggedy billiards table was shoved into a corner like a naughty schoolboy.

The sight of Billy Farmer rising to greet us brought a smile to my face.   

“Nicholas!” Billy said.  “I’m so glad you could come.  You’ve no idea how much help you’re going to be.  Come in, come in .” 

He led me to his office.  “Would you like a cuppa?  Or the sweet tea of South Carolina?  It’s awful stuff, but I’m sometimes expected to drink the vile concoction.  Or would you like something else altogether?”

“I wouldn’t mind some water, if you have it.”

“Smart choice.” 

Billy rang a number on his mobile.  “Penn, could you bring me a cuppa tea and Mr. Trent a bottle of water?”

Listening for a moment, he laughed into the phone.  “Yes, he’s here and yes, you’ll meet him if you bring us something to drink.”

I cocked my head with a curious grin.

“Penn,” Billy said.  “He’s one of the young men in the band who needs help.  He’s actually the guitar player who isn’t quite cutting it.  But he’s a good lad and it’s fun having the youngster around.  He helps us out here for studio time when he’s not working his regular job.  I have to thank you again for coming down to give them a hand.  Like I said on the phone, they need some focus.  Dougie and I have tried to get through to them but they’re not getting it.”

“Dougie Chappell?”

“Yeah, you know Dougie?”

“Who could forget him?  He’s a total bounder, but brilliant behind the soundboard.  We’ve done some running in the same circles, let’s say.”

We both laughed.

“Well, these boys,” Billy continued, “they’ve got incredible chemistry together and their vocal harmonies are nothing short of brilliant.  Like I said, Penn—he’s trying, but even he knows he doesn’t have it.  Technically, he’s not doing anything wrong.  He’s using the correct scales in the correct keys, however, they’re not cohesive.  He just doesn’t hear it.  With your guidance, I think he’ll be able to use the knowledge he has, and with your instruction and practice, incorporate more of the advanced skills he needs to have.”

Just then, the door opened following a brief knock.  “Here are your beverages, sir.”

“Penn,” Billy said, “come in.”

The boy handed me the water and nearly shook the teacup off the saucer handing it to Billy.  His face was flush with excitement as he stood next to Billy’s chair, fairly hanging onto the back of it.

“Penn, I’d like you to meet Nicholas Trent, an old friend of mine.  Nicholas, this is Penn Singleton.”

I stood to greet him and extended my hand.  He seemed reluctant to take it, as if it might give him an electrical shock, but once I smiled, he shook it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Penn finally said to me, still hanging on to Billy’s chair as if Billy was his father.  “I just feel so . . . inadequate.”

“Let me tell you summut.  I’ve known some people in my time, who’ve fancied themselves musicians when they should’ve stayed in the audience. What I know is that if Billy Farmer stands behind your talent, you’ve got some talent somewhere.  Stop doubting yourself and practice.  Learn what you can and put it into play.  You’ll get there.  Trust Billy.  Trust Dougie.”

Penn let loose the back of Billy’s chair.  “You know Dougie?”

I laughed.

“Speaking of Dougie,” Billy said, “let’s let him know you’re here.” 

We stood outside one of the makeshift studios until there was a substantial lull in the music when we let ourselves in.

 Dougie saw my reflection in the glass and smiled his roguish smile. “Nicholas Trent,” he said.  “I heard you were here.  Give us a second and we’ll take a break.”

Billy and I stood aside as Dougie finished the part of the song he was mixing.  He pulled the headphones down around his neck and gave me a hug.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

“Yeah, getting too old for all that.”

Billy laughed.  “Better watch what you say, youngster.”

Billy was a full ten years my senior and still wore his hair long and mostly loose.

Lunchtime arrived, and all of us were served a brilliant meal.  We sat at the bar, the broken mirror behind shattered our images like a kaleidoscope.  A stunningly beautiful black woman and a white man, grey/blond of hair and moustache, served the food and beverages, holding court and bantering with the diners.

The way the woman and Raymond made eyes at each other rather gave away that this was Mary, Raymond’s bride.  He introduced her, and also the man, whose name was Bryan.

“Nicholas,” Billy said, “Raymond told me you’re in love.”

I barely managed to keep from spitting sweet iced tea across the table and raised my head to Raymond’s arched eyebrow in my direction.  I managed to swallow the tea without choking and laughed out loud.

 “Yes.  Well, I may be in love, but I’m not so sure about Caitlin.”

“Raymond said she lives here in Charleston.  Are you going to see her while you’re here?”

“I dunno where she lives.”

“You don’t have her address?”

“I don’t.”

“Phone number?”

“Mobile.”

 “Have you Googled her?" Bryan asked.  "What does she do?  Do you know that?”

“That I do know.  She’s a florist in a supermarket.  And I haven’t Googled her because . . .” I shrugged and sighed.  “I just dunno how she feels about me.  I’ve gotten very mixed messages from her.”

“Wait a minute,” Penn said.  “What’s her name?”

“Caitlin Flynn.”

“I know her!” he said.  “She’s the floral director at Peninsula Traders downtown.  I work with her nearly every day.  She’s got skills," he said nodding.

“Really?”  I grinned at the thought of seeing her at work.

“I think I know her too,” Bryan said.  To Penn, he asked, “Doesn’t she do a lot of work in the local catering community?”

“Yeah,” Penn said.  “How did you meet Cait, Mr. Trent?”

"Nicholas, Penn.  Please.  We met in New York.  Stayed in the same hotel.  We saw each other in the hotel restaurant, each of us dining alone.  I’m fairly used to it by now, but I could tell she was miserable just watching her pick a table.”

“So you picked up your meal and joined her,” Bryan said to the laughter of the others.

“That would’ve right surprised her, wouldn’t it?  No, I’m afraid I wasn’t that cheeky.  Besides, she’d ordered a bottle of wine . . .”

“A girl after my own heart,”  Bryan’s remark elicited more laughter.

“I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be joined by someone else, was I?  But no one did.  We rather peeked at each other occasionally . . .” and with that I took a bite of potato.

“So how did you finally meet?” Bryan asked.

“It was Caitlin who approached me.  She’d had half that bottle of wine, you see.”

Everyone laughed again.

“She’d recognised me, told me she was a fan and just wanted me to know how much she enjoyed my music.  She was so concerned with bothering me, I practically had to force an autograph on her.  I asked her to join me and we finished her wine, then went for a walk.”

“Then went to bed,” Bryan said.

I laughed again.  To Bryan, I said, “I can already tell you’re trouble.”

Bryan rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny.

“No.  I know my reputation precedes me and honestly, this may have been the first time I’ve risen above it, but no.  She doesn’t need that kind of pressure just now.   I’m not even sure she’ll let me see her again, let alone get that far.”