London Harmony: Water Gypsy (2 page)

An hour later my devices were charged. I checked the time then bundled up to brave the elements again. Time for work. I had secured a temp position as a maid at a private music conservatoire in the core. It was only for a month while they searched for a permanent cleaning crew, but it paid a little better than the sixty pounds a week I was allotted on the Dole. This would cock up my finances for a week or two after the job was done, before I qualified for payout again. I'd be able to put at least another hundred pounds or so away for my new place.

I grabbed the little bag of rubbish sitting outside of Mrs. Thatcher's door as I passed by. It just wouldn't do having the sweet lady traverse that board to shore to dispose of it with this snow. I was happy to help out when I could. I hustled back down to the shore then out to the road and found a rubbish bin to dump the trash. A block later I waited a minute and hopped a bus heading to Westminster, scanned my Oyster Card and took a seat by one of the heating vents, next to a sleeping bloke. Then I pulled out my tablet to work on my music as we rode.

Before long, I was disembarking, I hit a cart for a breakfast Reuben and a coffee. Then ate as I ran. It wouldn't do for me to be late. My friend Paya had pulled a lot of strings to get me this temp job. I rounded the corner of the old, regal looking two story brick building the school was located in.

You could see slight differences of the coloration of the bricks where damage from the Blitz was patched up after the Big War. The fluted columns on the second-floor balcony looked like something from a Shakespearean play to me. I always expected to see Juliet Capulet come walking out onto one in a flourish of emotion and grace.

I tapped on the back door and it swung open. Paya was there with a cart full of cleaning supplies. “Well, don't just stand there Tabs. It's cold out there. Let's get to work before the headmistress has our heads.”

I giggled, she always said that. I have yet to meet this elusive headmistress and her executioner's ax. The way my caramel skinned friend speaks of her, they still haven't found the bodies of the last two cleaning crews who didn't perform to her expectations.

Oooo... that's brill, I can see it now. A movie about murder and intrigue. Workers are tasked to clean an old abandoned schoolhouse, in the morning all that is found of them are scraps of their uniforms and a little blood. The inspectors are sent to investigate and...

I blinked, Paya was snapping her fingers in front of me. She giggled. “Come back down for a landing Tabs, your head was in the clouds again.”

I grinned and crinkled my nose at her. “Sorry, no it's ok, I'm right now. Was just thinking.”

She smiled and pushed the rolling mop bucket to me. “You're always thinking about intrigues or music.” She paused as we moved down the hall to the first room to start tidying. “Speaking of, you on tonight?”

I blushed. “Yes, Ronnie said he could squeeze me in at the Kent rave.” I was always on the prowl for someplace I could express myself through my music. Unfortunately without a band to back me, none of the regular venues would look at me, I create all my backing tracks in Garage Band on my tablet. So I sort of slink around in the underground music scene and pick up sets where I can at the illegal raves and parties that float around London.

Tonight was a big one, organized by Ronnie Marx, a legend here. The man could put together epic raves at the drop of the proverbial hat. I loved moshing to the talent he could pull together in one venue. I actually preferred these types of artists, there is usually more grit, more feeling, more emotion stuffed into the music they create. They do it for the love of music, not to impress crowds of screaming teenagers. I only love music with emotion. My dream is to one day to share mine with like-minded people.

The Kent is an old abandoned butchery in Bromley. One of the floating locales in the random rotation to keep the bloody bobbies guessing. Ronnie is letting me sing one or two of my songs tonight, he's a good egg.

Paya grinned. “Brill! I'll be there with Harry then. We'll pick you up.” I smiled back and went to work mopping. At one, we stopped for lunch. I went into a storage room adjacent to one of the classrooms to listen like I've done since I got this job. The instructor was an amazing woman with a grasp of vocal mechanics that was mind blowing.

Just by listening in the past week I have been able to adjust my own singing to be able to sustain notes longer. I can transition from one register to another without the strain or slight warble I have had in the past.

Today she was demonstrating breath control for longer trill transitions to wide or slow vibrato. I tried it out a few times when the students tried, so I wouldn't be heard eavesdropping like this. I was happy with the result and took a bite of the half of the breakfast Reuben I had saved for lunch.

I was singing along to the refrain of a practice ballad with the class when the door swung open. I squinted at the light that poured into the storage room and a woman was silhouetted there. I squinted to focus as I stood quickly while she hissed out, “What do you think you are doing?”

I smoothed my uniform skirt as my eyes acclimated to the light and I could focus on her. I don't know if it was my shock, my embarrassment at being caught, or the woman herself. She was, I don't know how to describe it, but she was like a walk among the daisies in a field glittering with sunlight reflected through the droplets of dew on the grass. My heart skipped a beat and I stuttered out, “I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry Miss, I just like to listen while at lunch. I... I can't afford lessons and the instructor is right brill.”
Bugger all. This was going to get me sacked, wasn't it?

Her emerald eyes just looked me up and down as she took in my appearance. There was zero emotion on her pale complexion which was only marred by the lightest sprinkling of freckles. Her shoulder length chocolate brown hair was held tightly to her scalp by a wide, white, fabric hairband. She was wearing a white, knee-length dress that any debutante would fawn over.

I felt worse about upsetting this woman than about the prospect of losing my job. I started to hustle out to get back to work even though it was still my tea time. She blocked the way, still standing in the doorway with a hand holding either side of the door jamb as I saw a million thoughts flash through her eyes.

I fidgeted, feeling trapped, and I lowered my eyes and started wringing my hands. Then she spoke again in a controlled, syrupy, contralto tone. I could tell she had musical training just from the pure tones. “Sing it again. That refrain.”

I looked up at her, what was she on about? I looked at my feet to her eyes a couple times. She was unmoving, unblinking, if it weren't for her chest heaving slightly as she breathed, I would have thought she were carved from stone. Her green eyes boring into me, seeing more than I wanted her to.

I shrugged and then sang to this woman who was scaring the bloody hell out of me. Her head cocked almost imperceptibly as she listened. When I was done, I shrugged and stood there fidgeting. She finally blinked, and in a smooth motion, she released the door frame and turned away to start walking down the hall. She called back, “Expand your upper diaphragm more at the crescendo for more control next time.”

I stepped out to watch her just walk away, her hips almost mesmerizing as they swayed. I just mumbled, “Miss?”

She says before she turned into an office I had cleaned earlier, “And yes, mum is brilliant.”

I stood there blinking for a few seconds. Was I in trouble or not? I exhaled then went back to work. Doubling my effort at making sure everything was spotless. The image of that intimidating, gorgeous creature, burned into my mind. I'd make sure to give her no pause in the future.

I was biting my lower lip thinking of those eyes when Paya showed up. “You're lost in your own world again. What's up lady?” I shrugged and smiled at my own little adventure. I do so love a good intrigue.

And that pretty much sums up a day in my life, not stellar but it is what I have. I'll secure better employment once I have my own flat again. It's my nights that I live for! I checked the time on my mobile, I'd get home just in time for power up. I was excited about tonight. It was rare that someone could squeeze me in like this and I was over the moon.

I arrived back at the mooring spot just to be met with open waterway. I sighed and started walking downstream. This was always a problem with what amounted to a floating gypsy caravan. When the locals got sick of the 'eyesore', they petition the borough council who tries to get us to leave. But being public land and being on the water, they actually legally can't get us to move without the Greater London council getting involved. Even then it is a drawn out process.

Once the pressure ratchets up too much, then Captain McCray just floats us downstream a bit to another portion of public land and then they have to start the process all over again. It could take up to a year or more for the court process to get us to leave one particular neighborhood. This will make the third move since I started living on the Persephone, we float every couple months downstream to find a new mooring location.

That was one of the first things Captain McCray would pound into any new tenants. If the barges aren't where you left them when you went ashore travel downstream until you find them again.

I trudged through the snow that had turned into a slurry of wet slush during the day. A few blocks downstream nestled in an outcropping of trees at the bank, I came upon the flotilla. I grinned at the sight of the Captain, who was driving one of the two steel poles into the riverbed to lash the barges to. He swore like a sailor as he drove it down a centimeter at a time with his fence post driver.

I reached out and was just able to grab the ridge of the boat deck that is slightly raised from the actual deck of the boat and hopped on board. Then I walked over to the stern and handed the mooring line to the Captain when he finished and threw the driver down onto the deck. He absently took the line from me then tied us off.

He stopped beside me as he walked past, looking straight ahead and not at me and then the man actually grinned before he hopped over to the Tennessee. I raised my voice to comically say to his back, “You're welcome,”

I shook my head and said, “Men!” I heard the bloke chuckle as he checked the lines lashing the barges together. Then I walked back over and heaved with all my might and got the plank across to land so the other Persephone tenants could get aboard easily.

I heard a whimper and I stepped over and tapped at Mrs. Thatcher's door. She opened it and I smiled at the silver-haired, underweight woman, in a pink flannel nightgown. She always looked so frail and brittle to me, but she always had a smile on her face.

I said, “I dropped the gangplank. Sounds like Terminator needs to do his thing. I can take him for you.”

She grinned and reached out and cupped my cheek with a cold hand. “Bless you Tabitha. He's been waiting for us to get parked again.”

I grinned as I bent and scooped up the long haired chihuahua who was about to explode from excitement at seeing me. I chuckled. “Moored, Mrs. Thatcher. Moored.”

She handed me a plastic baggie and waved me off with a dismissive gesture and that wry smile that all elderly women share. “Tish tosh, whatever dear. I don't need to know all those silly boat terms.”

I grinned in spite of myself and turned back and went down to the shore with the little dog who was very picky which of the trees he was going to claim as his. Once he finished that and then did his other business, I gathered it up into the little baggie and sealed it. I scooped him up and went back up onto the Persephone and dropped the baggie into the tiny bin by Mrs. Thatcher's door. I opened her door and scooted the little troublemaker in and shut the door behind me.

I heard Mrs. T call out as I entered my own cabin, “Thank you so much Tabitha, you are an angel,” I started to wind down from my day at work, obsessing over my meeting with that green-eyed woman in the storage room. I'm still not quite sure what had happened there. She was bloody intimidating.

Then I heard the straining of a motor and the lights started flickering. Yes, power! I plugged in my devices then huddled near the stove pipe to warm up a bit. I worked on my music and opened the little styrofoam cooler stuffed in the opposite corner. I pulled out some bread and peanut butter and made dinner. I grabbed one of the apples and sighed as I sliced pieces onto the sandwich then ate the rest. I'd have to make a run to the grocery soon, I was almost out of everything.

It was dark when the generator stopped. I sighed. I really couldn't wait until I had the lolly to get a proper flat. I lit a kerosene lamp and went back to my music. I stopped to practice using my upper diaphragm like the mystery woman had suggested in the exercise and found that after a few attempts, it did help and gave me even more control. I smiled happily to myself.

Before long I was pulling some decent clubbing gear out of my suitcases to get dressed. I did most of my change under my quilt to fend off the chill air. I went with black jeans, black boots, and a black jumper topped with a sea-foam green blouse that Paya just adores on me. My mobile rang as I was touching up my heavy eye makeup I liked to wear when I sang.

I grinned at the screen then answered. “Hiya Paya.” I heard her groan at my familiar rhyming greeting, which only made me smile bigger.

She said, “So I'm standing here on the Thames, wondering just how you managed to engage a bloody cloaking device on a group of barges. Harry and I are here, you, not so much.”

I giggled at my longtime friend. I've known her since primary school. She even offered me a place to stay with her and her three roommates in a tiny little flat. I wasn't going to take advantage of our friendship and sponge like a freeloader. Besides, four women in a small flat was crowded enough.

I said, “Just down the way a bit, behind a little stand of trees.”

She comically said, “Roger that Tabs, on or way.” I smiled as I rang off, grabbed my bag, and put my mobile and tablet in it and zipped it up, threw my coat on and once again stepped out onto the main deck. I chuckled to myself and said under my breath as the cooling air bit at my nose, “Once more unto the breach.”

I made my way to the road as Harry's new silver pickup truck came trundling down the way. Paya smiled as she scooted over beside him to give me room to slide in on the bench seat in the cab. I just grinned and bumped shoulders playfully with her in greeting then almost dove on the heater outlet. The warm air a caress on my face and hands. They chuckled.

Then I turned to look at the couple. “Hi!”

Harry shook his head as he drove. “Honestly Tabs, I don't know why you insist on living on that bloody floating deathtrap when Paya has offered to...” He trailed off at the chastising look and cocked eyebrow on Paya's face. He turned his full attention back to the road. “Fine, staying out of it.”

Paya patted his shoulder. “There's a good boy.” Then gave pity to the man and kissed his cheek.

I offered, “Thanks for your concern Harry, but honestly, it's just a temporary situation. I'll have enough lolly saved soon to let a flat.”

Paya sat up straight. “Oh, that reminds me.” She dug into her purse and pulled out some envelopes, one with an official crest on it. She said, “Some post arrived for you.” She tapped the top one excitedly. I grinned, it was my Dole notification. This would be the last payment for a while since I was temping now. They would have deposited it into my account today. I'd be able to keep most of this one. That will push me to five hundred and fifty, putting me over the quarter way there mark.

I looked at the other envelopes. Bill, bill, something from mum! I grinned at it then stuffed them all into my bag to look over later. Paya lets me use her address as my mailing address since I don't really have an address anymore, and everyone requires one, from the government programs to potential employers, and, of course, the bill collectors.

She looked at me then locked eyes with me. She looked determined.
Oh shite, here it comes.
“What did you have for supper?”

I shrugged. “I ate, woman. Jesus, you're worse than my mum.”

She still glared at me expectantly. I sighed. “A peanut butter and apple sandwich and some water.”

She turned to Harry. “The golden arches please.” She refused to look at me as she looked out to the road while she chastised, “You need to eat better than that tonight, you need your energy if you are going on stage woman.” I opened my mouth but snapped it shut when she added, “Be a good girl and just say 'yes Paya.'”

I chuckled and bumped our shoulders again. “Yes Paya.”

She looked far too pleased with herself after that. We picked up some burgers and drinks on the way to Bromley. Is it wrong that I found them sinfully delicious?

The temps had dropped to zero again and the roads were icing up but Harry's truck had no problems. We parked a couple blocks from the Kent. You never park at an illegal rave or all the vehicles can pull unwanted attention.

As we walked, I could feel the bass whumping up through the ground and up into me before we could actually hear it. By the time we reached the Kent, Paya and I were almost dancing to the back alley door as we picked out the music.

My bestie loved music almost as much as I did. Harry was trying to be all cool, but I caught him bobbing slightly as he walked. I laughed and playfully shoulder slammed him closer to Paya, who almost danced around him. He finally broke out in a smile and rolled his eyes at us.

We go to the door and Harry pounded on it with a fist. Someone pounded back. Harry bent and shoved the playbill invitation under the door and it opened. Skeeze was there. He was a slim punk rocker with at least thirty facial piercings who manned the door at every Ronnie Marx gathering.

I gave him a little wave and the geeky guy waved back. Harry did one of those greetings guys do, with grasping shakes where the guys pull together and slap each other's backs. “Skeeze.” “Harry.” Then skeeze bowed slightly to us. “Ladies.” Then he added, “Hey Tabs, I hear you're on tonight. Grats lady.”

I just grinned and shrugged, doing a terrible job of hiding my excitement. Paya grabbed Harry and my hands and dragged us down the hall to the huge room where the almost deafening music was coming from. As we emerged into the main area, I grinned as we bobbed and swayed to the beat. As usual Ronnie had the place packed!

Harry yelled, “I'll get us some drinks!” Paya and I just started dancing and head banging to the animalistic metal number blasting over the PA system at the empty stage. We downed the beers Harry returned with and then thrashed with the next number by the same band.

The music stopped near the end of the song, leaving a deafening silence, like the whole world suddenly came crashing down on us and snapped into clear focus. A tall, handsome bloke hopped onto the stage, he had bad boy looks, and the dark scruffy whiskers of a man who hadn't shaved for a couple days added to his rakish appearance.

Ronnie Marx spoke into the headset mic over his left ear. “Hey, hey my fellow Londoners!” Everyone cheered, hooted and hollered. He strutted the makeshift stage. “I've arranged for some mad beats here tonight!” More cheers followed. Paya was comically rolling a fist in the air barking like a big dog.
It was shameless really...
oh, would you look at that, I was doing the same.
I chuckled at my inner thoughts and antics.

Then he said, “But first...” Another bloke hopped up on stage. I couldn't really make him out, he was in a baggy black hoodie, with the hood pulled down over his eyes. Ronnie's voice rose, “...we have in the house tonight, straight from New York. The legendary Scratch!”

The crowd went insane, I brought my fingers to my lips and whistled shrilly. Bloody hell! I thought Scratch was just an urban legend! This was the DJ who put so many performers in the underground music scene in New York on the map. Having him put your music in one of his mixes was the equivalent of getting a bloody J-Card here in London. But if he is real, did that mean J-Cards were too?

The past few months, everywhere I went to sing or listen to music, the performers were always searching through their things after they sang. When I inquired, they'd always say they were looking to see if someone had slipped a J-Card into their stuff. They didn't really believe that June friggin' Harris-West was actually stalking the underground scene, handing out those cards as invitations to be signed to her record label, London Harmony, did they?

That label was hot, like supernova hot, with artists like Velvet Fire, Terri Blue, and that brill J8. It was an invitation only studio and everyone was clamoring to be signed by them.

I was knocked out of my thoughts when the hooded man raised a hand into the air as he stood before the mixing console. The place went silent, then he slapped his hand down like he was pressing a missile launch button and a slamming beat rolled across the crowd. We cheered and started dancing. I've heard mixes from dozens of DJs, but I have to tell you, what this guy did and how he tied different artists and styles together was seamless. The man was bloody brill. The mashup was off the rails.

When his set was over, he stepped to the front of the stage, pocketing his mp3 player. Then he wordlessly hopped down from the rickety platform and made his way through the cheering crowd to the back of the room where he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back wall.

Ronnie was back and a three person band was gearing up on the stage. “Let's hear it for Scratch! Thank you man, for giving us a taste of your mad skills!” We cheered again and the bloke just inclined his head. Then Ronnie said, “Now here they are to share their Celtic Punk melodies, Wounded Salamander!”