AT 29 (46 page)

The prospect of starting anew filled him with anticipation. He was confident about his new album; full of tunes he was anxious for the public to hear.
Peg
was a good signature song. He wanted the world to hear it. It would not be apparent to any who did not know her, but he hoped to captivate his listeners with the deep emotion his reconciliation with Peggy summoned. If they did not respond it didn't matter. He was reborn again as himself, honest and almost happy in his skin for the first time in years.

His legs were wobbly and his mind lethargic as the cab driver helped him load his luggage into the trunk. On the drive into the city he debated whether to go straight to the hotel or to the club where he was booked for the next five nights. It was rainy and cool over the foggy Perth skyline. He leaned forward and told the driver to take a run down Aberdeen Street, past Mullygrubbers, before continuing to the hotel.

As requested, the driver made his way slowly down the lane. The mid-morning traffic was light and so was the sky in the distance, showing a hint of the sun that would soon burn away the clouds and rain. After a few blocks, the big sign identifying Mullygrubbers came into view. Just beneath was the lineup board, announcing the performers headlining for the week. To his shock, JIMMY BUTTON was emblazoned in huge red letters. Smaller letters, just below his old name, read Tickets On Sale 11:00 AM. He turned to look out the taxi's back window, realizing that a line of people waited to buy tickets, waited for Jimmy Button. As the taxi accelerated, he slumped in his seat, cursing Miles McCabe.

“We had a deal!” McCabe heard impatience in the voice on the other end.

“It's the only way I could seal the booking.”

“That's not our agreement!”

“It's just for the first few performances.”

“How do you expect to make the switch after that?”

“One step at a time. I have something in the works.”

“Like what?”

“Just go along with me for a couple of days.”

“People are lining up to buy tickets for Jimmy Button. That's not me anymore!”

“You are until
Button's Back and Blue
gets off the ground. I'm going to make that happen, but only if you hit a home run this week. Let's assume the record sells in Perth. The album cover says Buckman. When you move on I'll put everything I have into that name. By the time you come back to the states, you'll be Buckman and we'll hit the circuit hard. Button will fade.”

“So you want me to be Button for now?”

“I want you to sing your heart out so nobody cares.”

After hanging up, Miles jumped from his chair and began to pace. “Lining up to buy tickets.” Is that what he said? He made a mental note to get another thousand records pressed. He was getting excited. For an instant the fleeting image of Cindy's smile flashed through his mind. He wanted to tell her. Too bad she was in Canada. He was in the mood to celebrate and she was the one he wanted to celebrate with.

After sleeping for twelve hours, taking a run and eating a good meal, Jimmy was ready to rehearse. Four session players were waiting for him inside Mullygrubbers. They were already familiar with his songs, having received an advance copy of the new album a week before. In short order, it was apparent that they were pros, easily navigating the chords as Jimmy worked his way through the vocals. In the morning, they did two runs with barely a glitch. Drums, rhythm, keyboard and bass easily fell in behind the Gibson.

Mullygrubbers stage was elevated four feet above the audience pit with rows of theater seats stretching to the rear. The acoustics were excellent and the lighting cast a bright glow across the stage, but as in most carefully designed performance settings, caused no distracting glare. Overall, Jimmy was pleased. The team did another run in the afternoon then broke until show time at eight.

Unwilling to confine himself to his hotel and on-edge ahead of his first performance, he wandered the streets. He tried to be a tourist, reading plaques and signs wherever he went, but his mind raced. He fretted about the tour and his new album, mindful of the people waiting to buy tickets in the rain. It was always like this before a performance. That is, except when he was working on his second bottle of the day. This time he was sober and he wanted to be good. He wanted Perth to like his music. It's the only thing that mattered.

His mouth watered as he passed a pub on Murray Street. It was five p.m., happy hour. People streamed from buildings all around. He yearned for a single malt to calm his nerves. Even after all this time, the desire was strong. It dispirited him as he fought off the temptation to follow some office workers into the trendy bar. He pressed onward, eventually reaching his hotel where he took a quick shower and rushed back to Mullygrubbers.

People began to wander into the concert hall just after seven. He peered through the side curtains, curious to see the kind of audience he would face an hour later. Most of the early arrivers were in their twenties, some a bit older, but mostly a young crowd. It
dawned on him that they would be familiar with his repertoire, which caused some concern. As good as the session band had been during the day's rehearsals, he never put them through his standards, not even
Lulu
or
Choral Guns
, tunes he suddenly realized the audience would expect to hear. They came to see Jimmy Button. In panic, he scrambled backstage to the dressing room where his backups waited.

“You guys know my other material?” he asked, holding his breath.

The oldest of the four, somewhere in his forties, answered with a smile, “Sure do, mate. We were just sitting here wondering which ones you were planning to do.”

Jimmy exhaled in relief, hustling over to grab the Gibson. “Sorry, it must be the jet lag. I've been so focused on the new album that I never thought about the other set.”

“No worries. Just run us through the ones you want.”

They huddled together as Jimmy wrote the names of ten of his better-known songs on a piece of paper. Then they did a few chords from each to be sure everyone knew the key. Gradually, he relaxed. The backup band's easygoing nature, together with the quality of their skills, put him at ease. He marveled at their professionalism, completely calm and prepared. “We'll do the older material first. I guess I'll have to be Jimmy Button for that set. The new album will be the second set. For that I want to use my real name, Buckman.”

The group nodded. “Whatever you say, mate.”

There were few unfilled seats when Jimmy came out. The four hundred people, who stomped and clapped as he took his position, displayed all the enthusiasm he needed. His heart thundered in his chest as he slipped a Washburn EA across his chest and struck the electric chords of the first song. His fingers flew over the strings automatically and the backup band slipped in behind. A broad smile took hold of Jimmy's lips as he moved closer to the microphone. He felt good, where he wanted to be.

He continued with the instrumentation for thirty seconds, not because the song was written that way, but because he wanted to drink in the crowd's anticipation. He searched the faces in the first few rows, seeking the smiles and attention that would stoke the passion that had been missing for too long. For an instant, he almost wanted to stay Jimmy Button for these people who didn't seem to know or care that he blew it back home. He meant to give them their money's worth, everything he had. His voice burst forth strong and pure, certainly better than the past two years. His body moved with the rhythm. Everything clicked just as he hoped. He flew through the best opening of his life on a cloud of joy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he swore never to betray his music again.

By the seventh song, long after the customary introductions, the house was on its feet. Jimmy moved across the stage, sometimes shunting back to the keyboards, other times lining up between the guitars, his own instrument thrown over his shoulder, mike in hand, crooning at high pitch.

The backups played competently at his side, moving their bodies to the music, but never drawing attention away from the star. Although he missed Sonny on lead, the absence of his friend didn't detract. Sound filled the building, even spilling an echoing drumbeat out onto the sidewalk where groups of teens milled about. The set ended with
Choral Guns
then
Lulu
in succession. The audience sang along, swaying to the beat as the last note sounded and the curtains closed. It was the finest set Jimmy had performed since the last time he had taken a stage sober.

Mullygrubbers buzzed with chatter and laughter as the energized crowd waited thirty minutes for the second set to begin. Back in the dressing room, the band sipped beer and water as the players congratulated each other. Jimmy sat next to his drummer, Travis, a tall blond youth of twenty who rivaled Benson at his best. He put his arm around the kid's shoulder as he told him what he wanted.

“Soft back beat for the second set, like we practiced.”

“Cymbals?”

“Brushes only. We won't be rockin' the house. Different tone altogether.”

“They might want more.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Okay, mate.”

“I'm happy to be here with you in Perth tonight.”
Jimmy opened the second set sitting on a stool at center stage with the band farther back. He held the Gibson in his arms, unplugged. “I've put out a new album under my real name, Buckman. The album is called Button's Back and Blue.” Polite applause came from the audience, which had returned to its seats. “The songs are a departure from what you may expect, certainly different from the Jimmy Button Band, but I want you to know that I consider them to be the real me and that's why I'm using Buckman for the first time.”

A shout went up, “We like Button!”

Jimmy didn't skip a beat. “You've shown that tonight. It's an honor to be on this stage. I've never had a better reception and I want to thank-you.” More applause. “I wrote all, but one of the songs you are about to hear a long time ago. They were never released until now, but I've always loved them. One song was written recently when I reunited with an old friend. It's called
Peg
. I'd like to sing it for you now.”

To say that the second set was received well is an understatement.
Peg
captivated the Australian audience like no other song that Jimmy had ever performed. Its soft melody enchanted the young women, some of whom wiped tears from their eyes as they looked up at the American singer. The males, who had been so caught up in the booming sound of the first set, clapping and waving their arms to the fast paced tempos, now found themselves shifting uncertainly in their seats, ears unexpectedly riveted to the sweet vocals of the new Jimmy. A higher level was reached. One that no one, not even the voice behind the music, expected.

He slid into the second and third songs barely aware of the applause. He was one with his music, completely under its spell, living within its vibrations and unwilling to escape from its grasp. Silent adoration filled Mullygrubbers. This was not a local garage band thunderously shaking every corner. It was not a half naked front man prancing back and forth, alternating outrageous gestures with ear splitting screams. It was not a form that Mullygrubbers was accustomed to and it was not the Jimmy Button whose name was emblazoned on the billboard outside. Through all twelve songs he remained in control. He acknowledged the verbal accolades that sprang from the audience, but his deeper attention was focused within to the strings of his beloved Gibson and the warm embrace of his once forgotten tunes. Even in the recording studio, when he became reacquainted with his old music, delighted by it and eager to see its release, he never envisioned a moment, this moment, when others would join him in the enthralling originality it delivered to the ear. Even he, the practiced professional, found himself caught up in the
thrill of his new sound, the old sound Daisy Overton hid beneath a mask of amplifiers. He was Buckman once more and forever.

At the close, exhausted and glistening with sweat, he set the Gibson aside and nodded to a standing ovation. The curtain slowly closed as he turned back to see the backup musicians, still poised with their instruments, smiling back at him. The applause did not die. Shouts came through the curtain demanding MORE! And, followed by
PEG!
The young drummer rose and pointed at Jimmy with his brushes.

“Do another, mate!” he shouted, above the noise as the curtains began to open once again.

At the side, a man in his fifties, long the manager of Mullygrubbers, hustled through the corridor to his office. He picked up the phone and dialed Double J, Perth's number one radio station at 1540 on the dial. He reached the station manager on the second ring. They talked briefly then he hung up and dialed another number, this time to Seven Media, the parent company of the Seven Television Network and its popular current affairs production, Today Tonight. This call went slightly longer, but when he placed the telephone back on the receiver he patted the desk satisfied. His last call traversed the Pacific Ocean and the North American continent to Blossom Records. Miles McCabe listened on the other end, smiling with satisfaction that his plan, so dependent upon the music of the company's once and hopeful star, was coming together.

“Here it is folks! The new single from Jim Buckman called Peg. You all know him, he used to be Jimmy Button, but he's changed his name and created a new sound. You're hearing it first right here on Double J, Perth's number one station at 1540 on your radio dial. And, don't forget to tune in for the whole album, Button's Back and Blue, broadcast live on Double J tomorrow night from Mullygrubbers!”

Jimmy couldn't sleep. The time zone difference, combined with his excitement, conspired to keep him awake even as he thrashed in bed. He fiddled with the television dial, turned the radio on and off and finally got up to look out the window at the city. He went over the concert in his mind, trying to remember each song, but it was all a blur. The backup band invited him to join them in celebration after the show. But in the throes of his exhilaration, he only sought to be by himself, to think about his performance and get some sleep. He picked up the telephone and dialed the fifteen digits that would reach Vermont.