Playing by Ear (Country Roads #1) - Chapter 5

My first week of public school had been somewhat of a mixed bag so far. I’d gotten a job that seemed like it’d be okay, free music lessons and it looked like I might manage to make some friends. On the other hand, I had also managed to make enemies, including a teacher, and I was starting to realize how out of my depth I was in school. I’d never considered myself uneducated and I always thought my mom had done a good job homeschooling me. While I still think she did her best, it was now clear I wasn’t as prepared as I needed to be.

By the time I got to English, I was completely frustrated. The classes moved fast, and just as I started to glimpse something I should know, they moved on to a new subject, making me feel like I was falling further and further behind. I was thinking about how I would get my shit together in the class to avoid flunking it when Rhonda sat in the seat next to me.

We didn’t have assigned seats, but people had been sitting in the same chairs two days in a row, so I assumed everyone sat at the same place every time. I saw the guy who’d been next to me the day before in the seat Rhonda had been in, which suggested she’d orchestrated the move. The thought made me sit up.

“Hey,” I said as nonchalantly as I could.

“Hey.”

I opened my binder and got ready for class, trying to act like it was no big deal she’d moved next to me. I knew better than to ask. One of the things I’d picked up from the people I’d hung around with at the clubs was no girl wanted to deal with a guy who needed constant reassurance. I’d watched many guys strike out hard with one of the rocker chicks by not being confident enough.

Inside my head, however, I was a swirl of thoughts. What did her sitting next to me, mean? Did she move because she wanted to talk to me, or did the guy who’d been sitting next to me want to sit over there?

“I hear you were talking to my sister about me,” she said, looking at her textbook and not me,

“Your sister’s Jordan, right?”

She gave me a side-eye with a raised eyebrow, calling my disinterested bluff.

“I was talking with her friend Hanna at lunch the other day, and I was telling them about my classes. I may have mentioned I was partnered up with a cute girl in my English class.”

I saw her lip twitch in a slight smile.

“If you want, you could come sit with us at lunch.”

“Sounds good,” I said, keeping my eyes on my own work, trying to play it cool.

The bell rang, and the teacher started going over today’s assignment, putting a stop to any other conversation. We caught each other several times while doing our assigned worksheets giving each other side-eyed glances. At some point, our trying to catch the other one looking became a game until we were almost called out for not paying attention. I managed to BS an answer to the question I hadn’t been paying attention to but decided it would probably be a good idea to start paying a little attention before we actually got in trouble.

“This is your first year at Carr?” she said as we walked out of class together.

I fell in step with her, letting her lead us to the cafeteria and towards her table.

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you go last year?”

“Your sister didn’t tell you?”

She gave me a glance that said ‘don’t be stupid’ and said, “She didn’t actually tell me anything, just teased me. We don’t really get along.”

“Why? She seemed ok to me?”

“She’s fine, I guess. She just thinks I’m shallow and I think she’s kind of a thug.”

“You don’t seem shallow to me,” I offered.

“We’ve only had the one conversation. You don’t actually know me.”

“I mean, my first impression of you was that you weren’t shallow but you’re right, I don’t know much about you.”

I started to walk towards the food line and stopped when Rhonda didn’t go with me.

“I always bring my lunch,” she said. “I can’t stand the food they make.”

“Yeah, the food does kinda suck, but my mom works pretty late most nights.”

I tried to keep my statement vague without telling an actual lie. I didn’t think I could actually hide my family’s financial situation, but saying ‘we’re poor and have to rely on the free lunch program’ isn’t something a guy wants to say out loud, especially when he’s interested in a girl.

“Sure. We’re right over here,” she said, pointing at a table that already had three other girls at it. “I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks,” I said, giving her a smile and heading to the line.

After I grabbed the free sack lunch, I realized I hadn’t thought through my deception enough. Kids who bought their lunch got lunch trays with hot food on it. The sack lunch was a brown, rectangular symbol of poverty that Rhonda couldn’t help but miss.

I tried to act nonchalant as I went to her table, keeping the sack lunch low and trying to keep it from being too obvious.

“This is Charlie, he’s in my English class. Charlie, this is Sophie, Camille, Victoria, Jodi, and Abigail.”

While I wasn’t much into fashion, it wasn’t hard to miss that each of these girls was stylish, or at least what I recognized as stylish, which meant they were dressed like people in popular culture. I also noticed that, unlike Hanna’s table, Rhonda only sat with girls.

I sat my lunch down and started pulling out its contents, which seemed to stop the group cold. Rhonda had the least reaction, her eyebrows going up slightly. Camille had the biggest reaction.

“That’s your lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that, like, the poor kid’s lunch?”

“Are you, like, poor?”

“Me personally? Sure. I don’t have a job or anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, but does it matter how much money I have? Are you, like, shallow?”

“Whatever,” Camille said.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before one of the other girls decided to change the subject.

“So what’s your deal?” Jodi, a blond with way too much makeup, said.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t ever remember seeing you around. Are you new?”

“Yep, this is my first year here.”

“He used to travel with his rock star dad,” Rhonda offered.

Apparently, she did talk to her sister, since this wasn’t something I’d mentioned to Rhonda yet.

“Really?” Jodi asked, her cautious tone becoming interested.

“Yeah. I mean, he wasn’t a rock star, although he was in a group that got some kind of record contract before I was born. The last few years, though, he just played gigs under his own name.”

“What was it like?” Abigail said.

If she’d worn dark makeup, she’d have been the poster child of a Goth with her black hair and dark eyes. The combination of pale skin, dark hair, and bright clothing made for an odd combination.

“Growing up in clubs was ok. I got to hang out backstage with a lot of musicians, which was cool.”

“He was homeschooled his whole life until now.”

“Really?” Camille said. “That’s weird.”

I was starting to get a serious dislike of Camille. Thankfully, the others seemed more interested in me being able to get into clubs and bars as a kid.

“Don’t be a bitch, Camille,” Jodi said. “Did you ever meet anyone famous?”

“No, but I didn’t always get to go backstage, so I missed a lot of the acts.”

They spent the rest of the lunch period hammering me with questions about clubs, how I learned to play guitar, and more than one question trying to figure out if anyone at the clubs ever let me drink. While there was a lot I didn’t like about the way I grew up, having it as a distraction for Rhonda’s friends was a definite plus.

When everyone packed up and started heading their different directions, Rhonda stopped me, putting a hand lightly on my forearm.

“I think they liked you.”

“Chicks dig musicians.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes and said, “You didn’t just call us chicks.”

“Ladies like musicians?” I revised.

“Much better, and yes, we do. You’re going to have to play for me sometime.”

“I’d love to.”

She gave me a warm smiled and squeezed my arm, rubbing her thumb in a circle several times on the bottom of my forearm. She only made the motion for a few seconds, but it was a clear sign she was doing more than just making contact. My dealings with women being only as a kid hanging out and not practical to my current situation in any way, I decided to just accept the gesture as a sign things were going in the right direction.

She released my arm after a second, said goodbye, and took off in the other direction from my next class. I did the same, walking along obliviously, reliving the scene when Hanna came out of nowhere and hip-checked me.

“Tell me that was you making your move?”

“We just ate lunch.”

“Don’t chicken out. She’s clearly into you.”

“I just want to get to know her. Jordan got in my head about the whole shallow thing. I wanted to get to know her a little bit first.”

“Well, don’t wait too long or you’ll get friend-zoned. I told Jordan to drop some hints about you being a badass guitar player to her sister. If I’m gonna be your wing-woman, you gotta do your part.”

“I wondered why her sister would have told her about my dad and the clubs growing up. Thanks for that. Rhonda brought it up just as the whole twenty questions thing was about to start.”

“See, best wing-woman ever. Now go do your part,” she said, bumped me again, and went off to class.

I watched her go for a second before going off in my own direction. It was weird how fast she changed her opinion of me, or at least her attitude towards me. Her sudden switch gave me a little whiplash, but I could live with it since her change was in the right direction. Either way, I was thankful she’d decided to become my friend, although I wasn’t sold on her “being my wing-man” bit.

My lack of knowledge of the inner workings of the female mind seemed to now extend beyond the signals Rhonda was or was not putting out.

The next day things went somewhat better, with nothing beyond snide comments from Coach Bryant and no run-ins with Aaron in the halls. I was still struggling with the classwork, but I also got to sit with Rhonda again. There had been some kind of commotion with a guy that Jodi had been dating, who had moved away and decided to try the long-distance thing. I was lost for pretty much the entire conversation since they were talking very fast, and I knew almost none of the people they referenced. Once they dropped into man-hating as a way to console their heartbroken friend, I decided it was best to remain silent and not draw attention to myself.

That was apparently a good call since, as she left, Rhonda stopped to squeeze my arm again and give me a smile that seemed meant specifically for me. The contact was again brief, but I was still inclined to assume these were all good signs.

While everything had gone good so far, I was starting to get nervous as I walked out to meet Hanna at her car. Today was the first day of work at the Blue Ridge. Hanna had mentioned on the ride to school that she preferred to go there right after class, do any homework she had, and then get her prep-work out of the way. While she didn’t really give me the option of not going straight there with her, I also wasn’t going to mess up her schedule any more than I already had.

I wasn’t a stranger to physical labor since once I started getting older dad had put me to work helping him unload, set up, and then tear down at the end of the night. This was different though since it wasn’t like my dad could fire me if I sucked.

Willie was on the porch like last time, leaned back against the wall. He reached out, and Hanna slapped his hand as she went by. I followed suit, except Willie’s hand closed around mine as I slapped his outstretched palm, forcing me to stop.

“You gonna find some time to sit with me today? I’d like to see what else you got.”

“Depends on Chef, I guess; but if he lets me go before it’s too late, then sure.”

“I talked to Chef, already. He promised me I’d get some time with ya.”

“Ohh, that’s great then. Thanks, Willie. I appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Son, you got a talent, it just needs a little polishin’.”

“Well, I should get inside. I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

“Give em’ hell,” Willie said, letting go of my hand.

Chef was waiting by the door when I pushed my way inside, and for a second, I thought maybe I’d already managed to screw up by stopping to talk to Willie.

“Sit down at one of the booths. I expect anyone in school to finish their homework before they start their shift. After that, fill out this paperwork and bring it back to me, and I’ll get you started.”

I took the pages he handed to me and was about to thank him again for the job when he turned and walked back to the kitchen. I noticed that Hanna was at one of the booths by the front door again, doing her homework.

Several other people about our age were also scattered, apparently working on homework as well. The bar, with a few people drinking, the half set-up stage, the tables lined for customers, and students doing homework; all made for a strange sight. A bar slash restaurant slash library was a strange combination, but apparently that’s what this was.

I found an empty booth and pulled out my homework. My history homework was fairly easy, although I had to make sure to double and triple-check everything. The assignment I’d turned in the day before had answers marked wrong because of minor misspellings. I’d caught a glimpse of someone else’s work and noticed they didn’t get marked off for similar problems.

My complaints wouldn’t have gotten anywhere, and I didn’t want to bother Mom with it since she was always wiped out when she got home from work. For now, the best option seemed to just make sure I’d caught all the little mistakes and hope he didn’t find new ways to get at me.

The one homework I kept putting off was math, which I was still really struggling with. The only day I’d actually gotten a good grade on my homework was the day I’d had one of Hanna’s friends help me at lunch. Unlike at Hanna’s table, where several people were always working on something and freely asked each other for help, no one at Rhonda’s table ever pulled out any work or even discussed school work. They only seemed to want to talk about who was dating who or wearing what.

That more or less left me alone to figure out my math, which so far wasn’t working out.

I’d just about finished up everything else, but my math, including the paperwork Chef, had handed me; when I saw Hanna and the few others who were working, start to pack up. I did the same and headed to the Kitchen, putting my backpack with Hanna’s next to a very cluttered desk at the far end of the kitchen.

“Did you finish all your homework?” Chef asked when I handed him the filled out paperwork.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Good. Today I’m going to put you with Vincent. All the prep for dinner is done, so you’re just going to help out and learn the basics. Just listen to him and learn. Hanna normally works lunch and dinner on Saturdays, so tomorrow, you’ll get to learn prep and start training.”

That was the second time he’d mentioned training, but I still didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant since he never seemed to pause or even slow down.

“Vincent, you have the new guy.”

“Yes, Chef,” an Asian guy significantly shorter than me said.

With that, Chef was done with me. He seemed to be constantly moving, talking to this person or that, making corrections. I was honestly impressed with his energy, which seemed inexhaustible.

I learned a couple of things on my first shift. The first was, I seemed to like everyone there. Over the next four hours, I had a chance to interact with a lot of the staff as I was assigned various tasks, working with the dishwasher, the bartender, and the servers. Across the board, everyone seemed to be positive, upbeat, and genuinely friendly.

That struck me as odd. I’d been in a lot of clubs and bars over the years, most of that sitting in the areas for employees since it wouldn’t do to have a kid wandering around. My overwhelming impression of the industry was it was staffed with overly melancholy workers who were paid too little and were worked too hard. Everyone constantly complained about everything, from the customers to their bosses.

This went double for Vincent, who actually seemed to prefer being called Vinny by everyone who wasn’t Chef. He was in his early twenties and went to college in Ashville. His parents apparently immigrated over with Chef, and he’d been working in the Blue Ridge since he was a kid, way before it was actually legal for him to work there.

The second thing I learned was that even though the atmosphere was pleasant, working in it was hard work. The kitchen was hot, and everything moved crazy-fast. The boot on my foot was enough of a hassle that Vinney just put me in one spot and moved around me, instead of me constantly getting out of his way.

The restaurant was packed, which surprised me. The town wasn’t particularly large, and there were several other restaurants around, so I didn’t think it would be able to fill all the tables. From just after six until around ten, every single table had someone at it, with a line of people waiting on the wrap around porch to be called. I asked Vinney about it and he said besides people from town and those traveling through, they got a lot of people driving up from Ashville on the weekends.

Seeing the food going out, I couldn’t blame them. The food all looked and smelled fabulous. Chef’s standards were exacting, and several times he pulled something out of the window for not being quite right. He didn’t shout or curse as you’d see from the guys on TV. Instead, he’d set it on the back table, tell them what was wrong, and say ‘again.’

By the end of the night, I’d been allowed to actually plate a half dozen of the sides going out, although half of those Vinny stopped and corrected before Chef saw it. I’d seen bar kitchens before, even those who billed themselves as some variation of ‘Bar & Grill,’ so my initial impression had been that this wouldn’t be so hard. By the end of my shift, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I’d actually be able to make the cut once I was expected to carry my own weight.

Halfway through my shift, the constant, low din of conversation from the crowded dining room was overpowered when Willie started playing. He had four other guys up on stage with him and they played mostly blues and R&B, although they worked in a few classic rock numbers as well.

I’d spent a lot of time around musicians over the years, especially in settings just like this. Willie put all of them, including my own father, to shame. His voice had a gravelly quality that was perfect for blues, and a woman who did most of the actual singing had a voice that could only be described as silky. Willie himself was a beast on the guitar. The little bit he’d played on my first visit to the Blue Ridge hadn’t been him actually playing. For a man who, I guessed, was in his late sixties or early seventies, his fingers flew across the strings with a sense of rhythm and timing that was impeccable.

At one point, I was so wrapped up that Vinny had to tap me on the back of the head to get me to focus on what I was supposed to be doing.

After four hours, Chef told Diego to take over and pulled me away from Vinny.

“How’d was your first day?”

“Hard,” I said, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

“The first day is usually a shock. I watched you, though; you picked up everything Vincent told you pretty fast. Hell, he rarely lets anyone plate on their first day. Don’t worry, I won’t throw you into the deep end by yourself until you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

“Good job, today. Willie should be finishing up this set in a minute. He asked that I send you out to him.”

“He’s on the stage, though.”

“He’s almost done with this set. The kitchen doesn’t close for another two hours, but the dinner rush is just about over and the bar doesn’t really pick up until eleven. He normally takes a break around now and lets one of his guys take over until the bar crowd picks up.”

“I was listening to him play. He’s freaking amazing.”

“You should have heard him back in the day. Anyways, he says you have something, go spend some time with him. I’ll let Hanna know to come find you when she’s headed home.”

“Thanks, Chef.”

He slapped me on the shoulder and headed towards his crowded desk. I went out to the dining room and found Chef was right. The restaurant was still busy, but the line was gone, and the crowd was starting to thin out. Half the tables looked to have finished eating and were now just listening to Willie.

“Alright, folks,” Willie said from the stage when he finished the song he was playing. “I gotta go rest my bones, but Dwight here’s gonna play for a bit.”

Dwight must have been the guy playing the piano since he started playing as Willie stepped off his stage carrying his guitar and one that had been in a holder next to it. The woman also stayed on stage, moving in front of the microphone that Willie had been using a few moments before.

As she started to sing a more modern-sounding R& B song, Willie walked towards the front exit, jutting his chin that direction to tell me I should follow him.

Even though the porch was empty when we got outside, Willie didn’t sit in the spot I’d seen him before, propped up next to the door, but instead made his way down the length of one side and around the corner. Handing me the extra guitar, he sat on the edge of a chair and pointed one across from him for me to sit at.

“First, I need to get a feelin’ of what you know and don’t know. You can play, no doubt, but the difference between somebody who learns how to play songs on the guitar and a musician is knowin’ why they’re playin’ something, not just playin’ it.”

“My dad always said a real musician plays from their heart.”

“No doubt. Once you know what you’re doin’, heart’s what gives your music soul. First, though, you gotta’ know what you’re doin’. All heart and no brains ain’t no way to play. Now, show me the cords you know and then play through a few scales. If you don’t know everything, that’s okay. I just want to know where we gotta’ start.”

I’m not sure if Dad had ever learned beyond the base cords. I’d watch him learn songs by listening and then working on teaching himself to copy the sounds. Thankfully, I was able to use my being an eager kid to get musicians backstage to teach me stuff when Dad was busy. I knew there were still gaps in my knowledge, but I was pretty sure I knew more than Dad by this point.

That could be the teenager in me talking, though.

I played through all the major and minor cords I knew along with several dominant cords I’d been taught shortly before Dad got locked up and we stopped traveling around. I still practiced them every day, but I knew there were more than the four I currently knew.

“Not bad,” he said when I finished. “You’re further ahead than most young players I’ve worked with, and they’re five or ten years older. I’m gonna give you some exercises to work through, and add to em’ every time you’re here. I want you to practice this at home, too. Finding time to practice every day is important. Our goal is for you to hear the music, and feel what comes next. If you’ve practiced this all enough, you won’t need to think about doin’ this cord or that progression; you’ll just feel it, inside, ya know.”

“Yeah,” I said.

I actually didn’t. I always spent way too much time thinking about what my hands were doing and slowly practicing up a song until I built up the muscle memory to play it at the right tempo. The idea of being able to have that muscle memory not for one song, but for everything seemed farfetched.

I also had no intention of telling Willie that. I’d heard him play, and if he said that was what I needed to do, then that’s what we would do.

He spent the next hour not only showing me new things I didn’t know but explaining to me why things were done in certain ways. More than that, he had me play small melodies over and over, working through set progressions.

He also gave me a series of exercises to work on my rhythm and sense of timing. I found the exercises a lot easier to grasp. I’d always had an easier time understanding when to play something, over what notes to play.

The hour flew by and it felt like we’d just starting working when Dwight came out to tell Willie it was about time to start the next set.