Just Beyond the Curve (6 page)

“Mister Travis,” Adam said, sliding a packet of
papers over in front of him, “this is a recording contract. It will
authorize Jackson Recording to promote you, sign you to tours with
known names in the industry and book you in clubs and other venues
across the world. It is a standard industry contract, one that all
new names sign first and then if they become a
big name
a
new contract is negotiated. You’ll want to read over that and then
sign it.”

John began reading the pages, flipping them over
slowly, absorbing everything and missing nothing. Allen began to
think John was slow. He would have been surprised to know that John
was missing nothing contained in the agreement.

As he finished the last page and flipped the packet
over he looked over at Judy, then at Sandra, Allen, Toby and
finally Adam. “For all you want, you folks ain’t offerin’ much!” he
said grimly.

“It’s a
standard
contract, Mister Travis,”
Adam assured him.

“Maybe,” John replied. “I wouldn’t know about such
things. But I do know this; five percent ain’t gonna get it. I want
ten, or I walk. Plain and simple.”

Allen smiled, liking John Travis Jr. even better. He
also realized this young man was no dummy!

“We’re providing
everything
,” Sandra
exclaimed. She couldn’t believe this arrogant young fool was not
going to jump at the chance to get a recording contract. “Ten
percent is too much!”

“You provide everything except my voice, music and
presence, Miss Jackson. Without that you have nothing.”

“Point taken,” Allen agreed with a chuckle. “Rewrite
the contract, Adam. Give him fifteen percent on two albums and a
hundred grand against royalties. I feel John is a winner and I’m
willing to gamble on him.”

“That’s robbery, Uncle Allen!” Sandra said angrily.
“Besides, I don’t have a hundred grand!”

Allen smiled, not saying he knew down to the dollar
how much Sandra had in her bank accounts. “Adam,” he said, “write
John a check for the hundred grand. I’ll take him to the bank and
open him an account, then we’re going to have dinner and a drink.
When we get back he’ll sign the contract.
Then
, we can get
down to the business of making him rich and famous!”

Adam opened his briefcase and withdrew a large check
book. He wrote it out and slid it over to John. John looked at it
and grinned, then paled slightly. He showed it to Judy. She read it
and became teary eyed. She kissed John. He turned red, being
embarrassed at being kissed in front of these strangers.

“Sandy, start booking John in some clubs and book him
to some tour or other. We’ll be back shortly. Come on John,” he
said pushing back from the table and standing up. “You’re gonna be
a busy man from here on out.”

“I want Judy to come, too.” John said, as he pushed
back and stood up.

“By all means, John,” Allen agreed with a smile. “I
wouldn’t leave such a beautiful lady behind, either! No sirreee!
You like steak, Little Lady?” he asked in a fatherly tone, placing
his broad hand in the small of her back and following her from the
office.

*****

After dinner with Allen, John and Judy went back to
the studio and John signed the new contract with a smile. While
they had been at the bank he had arranged for Allen to pay off
Misty’s house before Brant’s Finance could foreclose on it. It was
John’s gift to her for her kindness, patience and firm hand to make
him make a move. At the studio he learned he had been booked in
three country western clubs in Austin and two in San Antonio. The
following week he was booked in Houston, Dallas and Ft. Worth.

He hadn’t had time so far to be nervous about
appearing on stage in front of a large group of people. Now, he
stood in the wings waiting to be introduced by the house band at
Sloan’s, a country western club in Austin. From where he stood he
could see out across the dimly lit club; couples were shooting pool
off to one side, the bar was packed with cowboys and girls,
hostesses were carrying trays of beers and mixed drinks to tables
and couples were dancing on the dance floor to the house band.

When the band finished their first set the lead
singer, who John knew as Rusty, stepped to the microphone and said,
his eyes moving across the roisterous club, “Folks, we have what we
hope will be a special treat for you tonight. All the way from
Wimberley, southwest of here, a young man by the name of John
Travis, Junior has come here for his debut performance. Won’t you
give him a big, warm, country, rock-solid, Austin welcome? Now,
Mister John Travis, Junior!”

John came out on stage. He looked out across the many
people who, for the most part, ignored him. Still, he became
nervous because very few acknowledged his presence on the stage. He
was disappointed at their lack of attention.

“Come on John,” Rusty said with a laugh. “They won’t
bite. Might throw a beer bottle at you, though,” he added,
laughing.

Several of the patrons laughed and acknowledged
John’s presence, mainly because of Rusty’s humorous comment.

“I’m real nervous,” John commented, loud enough to be
heard by many more of the patrons in the club. They stopped and
turned to see who this guy was up on the stage.

“I hear ya John!” a drunk patron called loudly from
the audience. “Just sang one fer us, son!”

John smiled nervously, then stepped closer to the
microphone. “These songs were written by my Daddy before he died in
nineteen eighty-five. I hope I make him proud and you happy.”

The crowd cheered, clapped, whistled excitedly and
yelled encouragement to John. He relaxed a little more, feeling
their friendliness.

“But, this one’s for my Momma,” he was nearly drowned
out by the cheering crowd. “I’m sure Daddy wrote it just for her.
But maybe for Mommas everywhere. They’re sure special, right?”

The crowd grew louder.

“Sang fer us John!” the good natured drunk yelled
again. “The night’s gettin’ old, son!”

John strummed the Martin acoustic and realized he
couldn’t hear it. He knew if he couldn’t hear it, the crowd
certainly couldn’t.

“Maybe I’d better go electric tonight?” he said
smiling wryly.

The crowd cheered good naturedly as Rusty carried the
Fender Stratocaster out to John.

“That’s right Johnny, ol’ Son, play ‘er loud,” the
drunk yelled, as Rusty plugged the Strat into an amplifier.

“Don’t worry John,” Rusty said with a smile. “It’s
happened to me more than once. You handled it well, though,” he
added encouragingly, slapping John on the back in a friendly
manner. “Do it for those you love the most. Forget everyone else.
They’re just listeners amusing themselves. Your loved ones are
watching
you.”

Rusty turned and walked off stage. John strummed a G
cord. It thundered over the noise of the crowd. “Now we’re
cookin’!” he yelled excitedly and drove straight into the intro to
the song.

The crowd cheered him on wildly as he made the Fender
Stratocaster stand up and sing. When he began to sing the crowd
slowly fell completely silent and turned to look up on stage at
him. They began to move closer to the stage and stare up in awe at
him. He sang with his eyes closed, putting his pain and misery,
love and anguish into the song to his momma.

Several of the women in the crowd began to cry at the
earnestness of John’s voice, when his own tears broke loose and
slid down his face. Even some of the young men were seen to wipe
their eyes on their long sleeves.

When the song finished and the last echoes of the
strings fell silent across the silent, stunned, spellbound club,
John opened his eyes and looked out across the silent assembly. He
felt his heart sink, knowing he had failed. “I didn’t mean to
embarrass you kind folks. I’m sorry for ruining your evening.
Please forgive me,” he said, then started to turn from the
microphone, feeling rejected. His eyes became misty, seeing Judy
crying in the wings beside Rusty.

Before he could take his first step away from the
microphone pandemonium erupted deafeningly throughout the large
nightclub. He froze in his tracks, looking out over the crowd, his
emotions nearing overload. He looked heavenward and offered a
prayer of thanks, to God, his father and his mother. Then he looked
across at Judy and mouthed the words, “I love you!”

She lowered her crying face into her hands and he
turned back to the microphone. As he did, the crowd fell silent
once again. “Sang fer us, John!” the drunk cowboy yelled
emotionally, all choked up over the song.

“You wanna hear another of my daddy’s songs?” John
asked, as curiously as he was doubtful.

Again bedlam broke out with cheering, yelling,
jumping, clapping and eagerness to hear him sing and play
again.

“I think I just lost my job,” Rusty told Judy
offstage, placing his arm around her shoulders. “That boy’s gonna
be famous!”

“Yes, he is,” Judy agreed, looking up Rusty’s chest
and nodding her head. “I love him so much!” she added.

“He’s a lucky man, Judy.”

“Thank you,” she replied, turning to watch John
perform on stage.

CHAPTER SIX

John slept alone in his bed as if it had been made up
over him. There was not a wrinkle in the blankets or sheets, as if
he hadn’t moved since getting into it at six o’clock in the
morning. He had come in from Ft. Worth that morning, took a shower,
got in bed and died to the world. He was beyond exhausted. He had
been going night after night for over two months. He had now been
asleep for over eighteen hours.

Judy, Misty and Billy entered the room one behind the
other, each carrying a tray. Judy’s tray held a full blown
breakfast, Misty’s held a pot of coffee and a cup, Billy’s was a
tray of jellies and jams and a stack of toast.

“Okay, Superstar,” Misty said importantly. “Up and at
it. We have better things to do than wait on you hand and foot. Not
that it’s a bad job mind you, but the pay is below minimum wage and
there are no fringe benefits!” She laughed with Judy when John
opened one eye and peered at them suspiciously.

“What time is it?” he asked, sleepily.

“Nearly six,” Judy replied, setting the bed tray
across his lap, as he slid up and leaned back against the
headboard. “Pay no attention to Mom. We have plenty of time. Relax
and enjoy your breakfast. Feast, oh Great One!” she finished,
bowing from the waist, her arms up over her head, swooping
horizontal as she worshiped her god; like an Egyptian slave to her
pharaoh.

“They’re playing your records all over the radio,”
Billy exclaimed excitedly. “Danny is so mad he could spit!”

“He’s just jealous,” Misty said seriously.

“Like I told ‘im, some got it and some don’t. And he
don’t!” He laughed.

“Allen called, said tell you you’re booked solid for
the next year. So get your travelin britches on,” Judy said,
pouring John a cup a coffee, then stirring in cream and sugar.

“He can forget it, then,” John said seriously. “I
ain’t goin without you! They can just forget it. I can make a
living around here, just fine!”

“Well, I can’t go on the road with you, John Travis,”
Judy said seriously. “We’re not married.”

“We can fix that,” John said looking up from his
plate. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Judy caught her breath and began to cry.

“Are you proposin’ to my only daughter, John Travis?”
Misty asked seriously.

“Long as she don’t reject me,” John said
thoughtfully. “If she does, then I take it back and we’ll just be
friends.”

“Do you love her?” Misty asked.

“More than anyone I can think of, right off,” he
responded.

“Yes John,” Judy cried, kissing him seriously. “I’ll
marry you.”

“Judy, you embarrass me in front of your Momma,” John
said, his face scarlet. “Them kindsa things’ supposed to be done in
private!”

“Momma, Billy! Leave!”

“Not ‘til you’re married proper!” Misty stated
seriously, crying into her hands.

“Now, that sounded final!” Billy declared
happily.

For the rest of the day Misty and Judy were busy
making wedding plans and calling people to invite. They learned
quickly that there were not that many people they could invite.
Finally they decided on a small service for just family and the few
music industry friends they had. They chose a local neighborhood
church and by the time their blood tests came back and the license
bought, they were standing in front of the alter and the preacher
who in short order pronounced them husband and wife.

By the time Judy had kissed all the available men the
young single girls were out front waiting on the bouquet to be
tossed; each hoping to be the lucky recipient.

When the double front doors of the small church burst
open shouts of joy rose up from all the gathered guests. John and
Judy came out, John looking cherry red with embarrassment while
Judy turned her back on the gaggle of excited young girls and
tossed her bouquet over her shoulder to them. The catcher screamed
and hopped with joyous excitement while the other girls eagerly
congratulated her, excited for her.

When this part of the ceremony was over, John and
Judy ran down the steps of the church hand in hand and to the
waiting baby blue stretch limousine provided by Jackson Records,
the label John was now recording under and making rich beyond
belief.

Unnoticed by almost everyone, Danny stood off to one
side. His expression was of demented loss and anger. He slowly
shredded his invitation, program and the pink carnation he had been
given at the door of the church by one of the music business
people. He stared after the retreating limousine as the shreds fell
to the ground and were strewn by the light breeze. His eyes held a
look of intense emptiness, sadness and longing. When the limo was
out of sight he turned and walked down the street, headed for home,
his bottle, pills and most of all, the .45 caliber pistol that had
been a gift from his father for his twenty-first birthday.