Just a Guitarist in the Backup Band

It had been a long time since I had played a bar gig just for food, drink and tips, but this was just the medicine I needed. The food was great, the rum was local and top flight, and I left my share of the tips for the other three. Having that much fun was payment enough. When the bar closed, they took me to a party on the beach, and we played some more. When they dropped me off in the wee hours of the morning, they invited me to play the next day at a country club not far from my hotel. I took the gig. Business is business, right?

Gigi was sound asleep when I got back to the hotel. I curled up on the couch and dropped right off myself. She woke up early, and was pissed. Apparently I was expected to be waiting at the door when she came home, ready to sing her to sleep. She was furious I had bought a guitar, furious that I had gone to sit in with a local band, furious I wasn't home, furious I had embarrassed her and demanded explanations for all of the above. I thought her own words would say it best.

"We agreed to stay out of each other's business pursuits. This is business. I can bring a lot of cred to my rep with a little jamming today."

So much for that other cheek. Apparently it was just her business that mattered during our honeymoon. She informed me that she was spending the morning preparing for an afternoon negotiation, but that she expected me for dinner to celebrate with her new clients. I was to stay out of her way until she was ready for me. Oh goody.

I went back to the pawn shop. The country club gig was going to require an electric guitar, and the Martin's pick up just wouldn't do. There was a passable Les Paul, and the guy agreed to rent it to me for the day, so when the guys picked me up at 10:30, I was armed and dangerous. My new tan looked good in the white shirt and pants Gigi had bought me, and I liked the look of the requisite Panama hat that I sported. The country club was packed with blue haired money types, and the band launched into their repertoire of Carribean favorites. When the gig closed, I had just wiped down the neck and snapped the latches on my guitar case when a vision of bright and breezy wafted into position in the chair beside me.

"I like your sound."

I looked up into the blue eyed freckle faced vision of Keri Cole, the woman whose debut album had nearly swept the last Grammies. I couldn't resist a smile. Keri Cole liked my sound! I felt like a school kid who just heard the class beauty say she liked him. I needed a brilliant response. I needed to impress her.

"Ummmmmm..."

Oh no you don't, dammit! Mouth, you will not stammer and stall on me now. Open up and say something brilliant.

"Bet I like yours more!"

That's better.

"I'm flattered!"

Did she just flutter her eyes at me!? She did! Keri Cole just fluttered her eyes at me after telling me she liked my song! No shit! KERI COLE IS FLIRTING WITH MEEEEEEE!! I pulled the guitar back out of bed, and played a bit of one of her ballads. She had sung it straight on her album, but I put a bluesy little swing to it. She liked it. At least that's what I figured when she began to sway in her chair.

"Oooooo," she hummed along. We liked each other's sound, and it was clear they should go together. She hummed a little louder as we came to the head. Someone flipped the house sound system on and gave her a mic. Another miraculously appeared near my Martin's tone hole. The room hushed. We did the tune, but she let me play more than usual on the solo. We did another tune. And a third. Suddenly there was a piano, bass and drum playing along. The guys had unpacked too. We played with Keri for an hour with the entire party staying to listen. When we stopped, Keri slipped a card into my case.

"I'm committed to my next two albums with tours for each. But after that, you and I have to work together."

I agreed.

"I'm flying home to New York tomorrow. Call me when you get back."

Again, I didn't feel like going back to the hotel. After today, going home to a dinner with my wife and a bunch of money men throwing numbers around on what used to be my honeymoon was the least appealing thought in my mind. So the boys dropped me off at a little shack where the cook made the best jerk chicken this side of Jamaica and I continued my Bermuda honeymoon experience without my bride.

The food was definitely an experience. The conversation at the little bar turned to music and what I liked to play on the two guitars I toted in. Before you could count the sides of the Bermuda triangle I was climbing aboard a sunset cruise with a guy who was entertaining his new family before his daughter's wedding later that week. A cruise that began at 8:00 PM was still in party mode when they dropped me off at my hotel's pier at 3:00 AM. I took my spot on the couch again as Gina snored blissfully in the king sized bed. I had no trouble falling to sleep.

I woke the next day to see the bed empty and heard the sounds of the shower running. Gina's bags were neatly packed and standing by the door. I snagged a slice of melon from the room service cart which only had one breakfast setting, and stepped out on the balcony to nibble it away. The morning sun felt great. The sea was beautiful, with fishing boats already trawling their favorite banks for tonight's catch of the day. The shower stopped. A few minutes later Gina stepped out onto the balcony dressed to travel.

"You were supposed to come back for dinner," she said curtly.

I nodded.

"Listen Jimmy, in my field, you strike when you have the opportunity. I had the opportunity, and made the most of it. It was business. I'm sorry you got put out by my flirting, but in business you use all of your tools. A woman has tools her male competitors can't match. I don't have to sleep with them, just dangle myself like bait until they are hooked. Sometimes it takes time. But even that time is valuable, because it is time they can't spend with the competition. If you are going to get your nose out of joint every time you see me working a deal, we have a problem. Now pack your bags, we are going to Brazil."

I just raised an eyebrow.

"I was so nervous about the way I left you and the fact you didn't come back for dinner..."

"Business is business, and so was the dinner. I am under strict instructions not to interfere with or take part in anything having to do with your business. Besides, I had a gig, and tonight was negotiating some business of my own."

"The dinner was supposed to be fun and celebrate! You should have come! We drank, we danced..."

"You danced."

That stopped her. She knew I had seen the feeding frenzy around her at the pool bar, and she knew I was fully aware of how easily she dropped her guard as liquor and dancing striped away her inhibitions. Dancing was foreplay to Gina. She read me like a book.

"Jimmy, let me explain. I did flirt heavily. I'm sorry. I ignored you on our honeymoon. I'm sorry. I went a bit further than I should have. I'm sorry. But I didn't do anything we can't get over. Now you signed a prenup that said we wouldn't interfere with each other's careers, and that I could make decisions for us. This is an enormous deal, so it is my career, so I made a decision. Now drop it and let me make it up to you. Let's go to Brazil."

I had nothing to say. So I said nothing. I had no evidence of what "a little too far meant." I didn't need it. Somebody fucked her the last two nights. Odds were more than one somebody was in on the action. None of them were me. It was my honeymoon.

"Ok! So it was our honeymoon! Get over it! Go to Brazil with me, we'll start our honeymoon over when we get there. It will be great!"

"Tempting, but no. I'm due back in New York tomorrow. I'm in the studio all week, and am playing at Lincoln Center Friday and Saturday night."

"So what! Baby we can afford for you to drop those gigs. For that matter, you never have to play another gig in your life! Come to Brazil. They have a great music scene there too."

"Sure! Just a gold-digging journeyman musician playing out his string as a kept man. The tabloids had it right."

I thought she was going to break, but she didn't. After all, she was the big decision maker, the big bread winner, the capo de tutti capo. She couldn't show compassion for something that was my shortcoming.

"I see," I said. "My business is my business. My money is my money. My problem is my problem. Remind me why we got married? Because it seems we are not sharing much as a couple including our honeymoon."

I only strengthened her stubborn resolve. She commanded me to show some respect. Everything she was doing was for our family. She wanted to make a ton of money and then take time off to have our children. After all, she couldn't count on my earnings as a lowly free lance musician. That hurt, and I know my face showed it. I felt tears in the early stages of welling up, but I choked them back.

"Enjoy Brazil."

I walked past her, out the door, and caught the shuttle into town. When I returned for dinner, Gina was gone. I packed up, checked out, and caught a ride to the airport.

I had almost a week before I had any jobs, so I stayed home and wrote. I dug out old tunes I'd written in the past and worked to get demos of them recorded. I had forgotten how productive I had been when I was single, and didn't have to match my schedule to Gina's social calendar.

It was a full ten days before I heard from Gina. Her email bubbled with glee over landing the most lucrative contract in her company's history. I was exhausted from a particularly brutal day in the studio. The bass player they had hired was awful, and we were there pretty late that night. I was in a totally different frame of mine than the victorious financial warrior I had married. She had to remain for a couple days to begin preliminary negotiations on new project with the same company, and plans to stay with some friends that weekend. She was apparently very excited to come home the following Monday and begin planning a make up honeymoon.

"Congratulations Gina," I wrote back. "I'm very proud of you. No need to rush back though. I picked up a tour with Marsh Douglas. He's going on tour to Asia and Australia. We are planning to be home by Thanksgiving, but we wrap up the tour in Japan, where he is a giant, so no guarantees. We're cutting an album while we are in Tokyo too, so our dates could easily extend. Have fun with your friends in Brazil."

My email notification dinged right away. Evidently she was on line. Funny, she could have just called if she cared. We were supposedly married after all, and she could certainly afford it.

"No! Don't go! I miss you, and I haven't heard you sing since the week before we got married. I know I stepped out of bounds in Bermuda. Stay. Give me a chance to fix it."

I stared at my screen for, oh I don't know how long I stared at the screen. I looked at my cell phone, and thought the same thing about myself as I thought about her. I could just call. We could talk. Then I remembered, I was the lowly gold digging musician who couldn't afford unlimited calling with international coverage. If she couldn't call, why should I?

"Aw Gina, I have to go. Marsh is probably taking his last tour. He's getting up there you know, and we may not see a pianist with his kind of chops for decades. This is really big for me! Mainstream players usually don't get called for gigs with jazz giants like him. They usually call guys they play jazz with all the time. Sorry, I didn't make Brazil, but you went because it was important. This is the same for me."

Ding. At least I wouldn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Baby, I need you. It's been so long and we've been on thin ice ever since we got married. I'm afraid I have to insist you pass. I will be home Monday night and expect you to ride to the airport with Charles to pick me up. When I say I insist, I'm insisting according to the terms of the contract you signed before we got married. When we disagree, I get to decide. You gave me that right."

Welllllll Shit! I guess I should have read the contract more carefully.

"I'm not going to be bullied by you. You've gotten your way all along. However, we also agreed that we would not interfere with each other's business. This tour is my business. If you don't like it, skip the weekend with friends and come home to the man who married you but has barely seen you since. If you wanted to spend time with me, perhaps you could have honeymooned with me instead of the Brazilians."

"Are you inferring something about my behavior? Be very careful mister. You don't want to see me angry."

"I guess I was inferring in the interest of being polite. I will stop. Since that day when you were hanging out on the beach nearly naked with a group of Brazilian businessmen, I've seen very little of you. I certainly haven't felt married to you, because I haven't shared so much as a meal with you. Yet they've been drinking and dancing and who knows what else in my absence. You slapped my face for inferring that I suspected you fucked around on me, but you didn't slap the suspicion out of me. So there it is. Yes. I feel like I married the evil twin of the woman I loved so much.

Relax. You won't have to show me angry. I'll pack up my meager belongings and move out tonight. Take your time getting home, and enjoy the weekend with your new circle of "friends." I'm going on tour. I'll see you. Or not."

My cell buzzed moments after I hit send. I turned it off.

I packed all my stuff in my van. I didn't give up my downtown lease, because it was good to have a place in the city for nights when I played long shows. Gina paid the mortgage on her McMansion, so I still had the income to keep my pied a terre downtown. There wasn't all that much in Gina's house to pack, so I made it in a trip.

I kept an eye on the emails from Brazil, but I didn't answer them. By the weekend they had morphed from venom laden treatises delivered with sharpened fangs to appeals to reason. By Sunday night they were pleas to reconsider. I deleted the phone messages. I couldn't bear to hear her voice. Since we were flying out of Camden, I called for a car Sunday night and spent it in Jersey with both my laptop and the phone turned off.

Monday we flew out. It took 16 hours in the air to get to Seoul. Our schedule included a day's rest to adjust our bodies to the time difference. Jet lag is an extra forceful bitch when you lose a day to the international date line. Our first gig was Thursday night for a weekend stint in Korea. We played in an arena to 15,000 people. It was packed each night. We were sold out in Singapore the following Tuesday and Singapore Wednesday. Bangkok heard us play in the open air to a back drop historical ruins that were a grand temple complex centuries before. We packed houses in Mumbai, Delhi, Hong Kong, Shanghai before heading to Sydney and Auckland. When we came north and played our way through China, running a full week in Beijing before heading to Japan. We were booked into a large theatre in Tokyo where we played over a dozen shows a week for two weeks. There was so much demand to see Marsh, we extended stay our for at least another week while we recorded the album. The album was a breeze after such a rigorous tour.

When we closed our last gig, Marsh asked us a favor. We all were seated in the green room, toasting the tours wrap when he sprung it.

"Guys, I never had so much fun on a tour, and it's because you all are so good. I've got an offer, but I told the promoter I would only accept if all three of you agreed to come along. I know living on the road is rough, and we're already out longer than planned. We're already into the holidays for Pete's sake. So if we do this, it's for triple the pay you've been getting and I will bump your royalty rights on the album a point or two. Plus, your families will be flown to meet you for Christmas and can stay on the tour as long as you'd like. Our promoter is in Munich. He has lined us of for shows in Innsbruck, Vienna, Munich on Christmas Day, Cologne, Marseille, Paris, Amsterdam and finally London. It's a month and a half more, but that's it."

It sounds like a great deal, but living on the road is hard on people, and the bassist and drummer both had kids at home. Gina and I had barely spoken, well emailed, so I didn't feel quite so put out.

"Ok fellas," Marsh broke in again. "I didn't think it would be a tough call. I thought you'd either jump at it or shoot it down. But since you are wrestling with it, let me tell you one more thing. This is it for me now. My hands are less and less steady when I play. I have Parkinson's and it is getting worse. I don't think I have enough left in the tank to play well at all after London, and there's a chance I won't finish the tour. That's why it's a favor to me. This is it, and I want to finish my career behind a piano."

We went to Europe.

I finally heard from Gina on Christmas Day. We had just returned to our hotel in Munich when there came a knock on my door.

"Hi Gina."

She walked in as if she had been invited, shouldering me right off my position leaning on the door frame.

"You're looking good."

She laid her briefcase on the table, and looking very important opened the latches and pulled out a file.

"I was wondering when you would get around to this."

"Just sign the papers Jimmy."

"Why? Then I'll have to feel sad. You know, like all the other divorcees out there in heartbreak city."

"We aren't married anymore Jimmy. You avoided me with this tour, and I deserve better."

"I read the papers carefully."

"Just sign them Jimmy. Don't you trust me?"

I looked up from my review with my glasses down on my nose and gave her my best teacher look over the rims, even though I wasn't a teacher.

"No."

"Oh come on, was I really that bad?"

"Other than throwing a one woman hospitality suite on our honeymoon?"

"Ok, I said it before and I'll say it again. I'm sorry."

"I will forgive you on one condition. And then I'll sign."

"What condition?"

"Ten honest answers to ten questions that I probably already know the answers to."

"Why ask?"

"Because I want to hear you admit the truth."

"You'd never know if I lied."

"I'll know. Question number 1: Did you plan our honeymoon in Bermuda around including meeting with those guys."

She stopped for a second, as a smart executive should. However, the question couldn't be evaded.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The thought of bumping into someone you didn't know and discovering you could do business with them was way too coincidental. I listen, you know. You spend months working these things out before you meet reps from the other side. Second question, did you slip a Micky in my hurricane on the beach so you could sneak away and start the ball rolling on your deal."

Her mouth dropped open.

"You don't have to answer. That would be incriminating. Drugging someone without consent is a little illegal. I knew from the headache. Rum doesn't give me a hangover, sedatives do. Question 3. When I woke up early and caught you by the pool playing grab ass with those guys. You looked at me like I was a nobody. Were you actually at a loss for words and afraid I would break up your little game of tag?"

Again no verbal answer, but her face said volumes.

"Thank you for your honesty. Question 4: By that time had you already committed a sex act?"

He could see the wheels turning again. She was trying to think of a ways to define the things she did as something other than sex. "Put it this way, did any part of one of their bodies penetrate any part of your body, or at any point was there any exchange of bodily fluids between you and one of the individuals of the party you had planned to meet?"

"Yes."

"Question 5: Did you continue to have sexual relations with those men that night after dismissing me to our room."