After a 2 mile walk in the rain I was relieved to see my car. It wasn't pretty, fairly dinged up but I knew it was warm inside. I hopped in and couldn't help but laugh at my bad mood. I was so angry it was unbelievable. But I was warm and didn't care. I looked on the seat next to me- A stack of flyers for that nights show sat soaking. The soft top had a leak. I didn't have a trumpet.
I had spent the day calling every horn player I knew. Most were out of town or playing that night themselves.
' Hey you got a spare horn I could use man? I'll owe ya one, real big I'll owe ya one! ' Id plead
' Look man im puttin it to good use! I keep my eyes on the things I care about. Close. Get your shit together man! '
Bastards.
I sat in my shorts and undershirt the whole day- Dialing. Mary was at work, and after leaving on such a sour note I wondered if she was coming back. I had started to wonder this more and more often.
At about 3 PM I began to panic. No leads what so ever. This was my portion of our household's income at stake here, and I didn't have the tools for the job. I had called everyone I knew-Nothing, and decided to hit the streets. I leapt to my feet and threw on the first rags I could find; A pair of Cheap wool slacks that fit too loose, A wine stained sweater (white making the wine look as some gapping wound) and a cap- Never lose your cap. I suppose, never lose your trumpet aswell. But first and foremost- Never lose your cap.
Grab the keys-
Swing open the door-
A glance left-
A glance right-
Then the realization.
My car is still at the fucking club.
'Fuck me...' I went and grabbed a bigger coat.
Now I sat in the car looking at the soaking loaf of wasted flyers (20 cents- drain-o) and wondering what the hell I was going to do about the show. It was in 3 hours and at this point I was going to have to start choreographing a dance or learning to sing a song- We needed the check. As If things between Mary and I weren't desperate enough, coming home empty handed was surely going to send it all to hell. I laughed again, nervous. The rain started in again with more force than ever. I had landed just in time. I heard a screech of tires and a big white van barreled wildly into the lot- right in front of my car. I was blocked in.
'Oh great those fuckin' gangsters are gonna have their way with me!' I thought. I might have said it out loud. ' Yes.'
The back doors swung open and I was shocked to see 4 large blacks jumping out. Relieved again. I laugh.
They were scrambling to unload their gear. A band. 'Well Goddamn, I bet they got a trumpet.' I stepped out into a rain that seemed to disappear, deflected by my newfound hope.
'Hey boys need a hand with all that?' I offered with a wave. They were surprised to hear me shouting only feet away from them. The rain was coming down hard enough that seeing inside the car was an impossibility.
'Yeah man! thanks!' The fattest one said. Their green suits were turning black with wetness.
I was handed two drum cases and I mainlined for the back door. The same door I was shoved out of, with a gun in my hand. It was a different door now- It was a safety from the storm. It might have meant a trumpet, but I wasn't sure yet. I had tried to get a look into the van- to see if i could make one out. No dice.
I made it into the ballroom and set the cases down by the side of the stage. I took a second to shake off my dripping limbs.
'Ey you! you left somethin' here last night!' An old phlegmy voice called from across the hall. I looked up and saw a tough old bastard in an apron waddling toward me with a few trays under his arm. He was short- Maybe 5 foot 2, but he was clearly made of stone.
' Whats that?' I inquired- it hit me later than it should have but before he could reply I gasped. ' No fuckin' way you've got my trumpet don't you!?'
'Yeah, found it in the back room, Surprised those hooligans haven't sold the thing by now. They steal glasses, they steal silverware, they steal the damn tablecloths.' The man motioned toward the other side of the stage with his head. ' It's over there.'
I started off for it, sweating bullets. That was too close. The Little man made an awful guttural sound and stomped his foot. I turned and he was looking up at me without expression. I reached into my pocket and handed him the 3 dollars I had on me. He laughed at it and walked away. Fuck em'. I went after the trumpet. I picket it up and its weight was just what my hand- my arm- craved to feel.
The Black men had finished bringing in their gear and were all crowded by the door passing around a cigarette. They waved me over.
'Here pal, thanks for the help.' the shortest one said. He was the leader I could tell. Brimming with charisma. He handed me the cigarette.
The drive home was perfect. I smiled the whole way.
I was excited to see Mary. I could cheer her up. I knew it.
I had the trumpet.
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