The Alchemy of Noise Read online

  “What’s up, boss?” Jasper wheezed. She wondered how he always managed to look like he’d just stepped off a hard road trip, even in dress attire.

  “What on earth are those two talking about?”

  “She’s gushing about what a great job he did. I also think she’s angling for a phone number.”

  “For reasons of work or play?”

  “Your guess. Chris is a big boy, he can handle her.”

  “Any word from Troy?” She was reluctant to ask. Several big events were coming up and she didn’t have time for wayward employees, particularly of the sound department kind.

  “Yeah, a couple hours ago. He was pretty messed up. Said his stuff was stolen out of his van this morning and after dealing with the police and everything, he just got fucked up and lost time.” Jasper, like Frank, felt some loyalty to Troy, who’d gotten him the job five years earlier. But, unlike Frank, Jasper was disinclined to minimize the problem. “Pissed me off that he acted like it was no big deal. I let him know my thoughts.”

  Sidonie could only imagine that conversation. “I’m sorry about his equipment, but what did he think would happen when he didn’t show up tonight?”

  “I don’t think much thinkin’ went on.”

  “So, what’s the plan? He comes in tomorrow and we pretend nothing happened?”

  “I don’t know, Sid.” Jasper shifted uncomfortably. There was nothing he liked less than answering for someone else, and he’d had to do that a lot lately for Troy. “He’s gonna have to replace everything. He’s got no insurance and money’s tight for him right now. He said if Frank wants to rent out some stuff, he’ll take care of getting it in here and set up, but that’s up to you guys.”

  Sidonie wasn’t feeling magnanimous. From her perspective, Troy’s sense of job entitlement was severely disproportionate to his value. Her eyes slid past Jasper; Susan was now waving goodbye in her direction—she waved back with a nod and smile, noticing Chris was back on stage rolling cords. “How’d he do tonight?” she asked Jasper.

  Jasper looked over. “Chris? Great. Knows his stuff. I wouldn’t have suggested him if he didn’t.”

  “I know, I just mean how do you like working with him?”

  “He’s awesome. A total pro and a great guy. Why?”

  Sidonie took another sip of her gimlet. An idea was gelling. “I don’t know . . . just wondered. Don’t let him leave before I have a chance to talk to him, okay?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Jasper jaunted back to the stage area just as Al approached from the other side of the bar.

  “Hey, good lookin’.”

  Sidonie felt a recurring wave of annoyance. She’d asked Al to stick to her name, which for him typically meant her last name, but tonight he was clearly feeling sassier than usual.

  “Crazy night.” He grinned.

  “Yep. A wild one.”

  He leaned in closer than she appreciated. “Listen, you remember Mike Demopoulos, right?” He motioned to the other end of the bar where one of the neighborhood cops who’d made The Church a watering hole raised a glass in her direction. She had a vague memory of meeting him at some point.

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Nothing major. He was just commenting on how cute you are, how capable you seem, you know, working the crowd like you do. I think he has a little crush on you.” Al winked with enough leer to convince Sidonie the conversation was over.

  She popped off her stool. “Thanks for the gimlet.” Before he could respond, she turned and walked toward her office, passing the kitchen just as Frank emerged with an overburdened plate of crab legs.

  “Hey, want some of these? I think I overdid it.”

  “I’ll say!” She laughed. “I’ll pass on the food, but I do want to talk to you about something.”

  “Come sit, tell me what’s on your mind.” Frank, good-looking late-fifties, always immaculate in business dress, pulled a couple of chairs up to a table in the darkened dining area and the two of them sat. Sidonie had to smile as he launched into dinner with enough verve to splatter melted butter down the front of his designer shirt. He grinned. “Never fails. It’s why I wear a bib at home!”

  Sidonie liked Frank. He was a fair boss and ran a classy operation. He was good to his wife and two college-age sons, treated the staff with respect, and never failed to acknowledge her role at the club as essential. His biggest flaw, beyond misguided loyalty and a tendency toward conservative thinking in both business and politics, was his sloppy eating habits, a deep contradiction to his impeccable grooming. She found the trait endearing.

  “We need to talk about Troy. You know what happened, right?”

  “Jasper gave me the rundown, including his drunken call of a couple of hours ago. Not thrilled, obviously.”

  “It’s beyond ‘not thrilled.’ He put us in real jeopardy with a very big client tonight. If Jasper hadn’t come through with his friend, I don’t know what we would’ve done. Apparently, he now plans to just walk in tomorrow like nothing happened, without his monitors and board, which he expects you to replace for the time being, and, I have to admit, I’m not feeling generous.”

  “Okay. What are you feeling?”

  “I want to talk to Jasper’s friend about stepping in.”

  Frank looked up. “Temporarily? Put Troy on suspension?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Let him go.”

  “Wow. That bad, huh?”

  “That bad. Tonight may be the worst, but it’s not the first infraction. By a long shot.”

  Frank went back to his crab, pondering her proposal.

  She continued the pitch: “I’m not sure Chris is available or would even be interested—Jasper tells me he’s got a successful freelance business going—but if you’re agreeable, I’ll at least run it by him. If he can’t do it, we’ll reconvene on other options. But I’d like to make an offer, even consider a bump on what Troy’s making. Really shift gears here. I can’t risk any more unpredictability, and there’s been too much of that lately. Now, I know you two go way back and—”

  “Sidonie, I’m not stupid.” Frank looked up from his plate to give her his full attention. “I know he’s been dropping the ball. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, as we have—”

  “For quite a while, actually.”

  “Yes, for quite a while, and maybe I haven’t been as on top of this as I should’ve been. But when you’re right, you’re right. Tonight was a major screwup. I’ll leave it to your good judgment. Talk to your guy over there and if he’s onboard, I’ll be the one to let Troy go, okay?” Frank went back to his plate.

  “Okay.” She gazed at him briefly, assessing his conviction. “Thanks, Frank.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nope.” She got up quickly. “Just thinking it through.”

  “Then get outta here. I’d like to be a slob in peace.”

  She smiled and headed out, surprised, really, at how easy that had been.

  FIVE

  CHRIS FOUND HIMSELF PAYING ATTENTION TO SIDONIE’S comings and goings throughout the night, and now sensed he was a focal point as she and Frank convened in the adjacent dining area. Despite the few unavoidable snafus, the event had gone about as well as could be expected under the circumstances, status confirmed by Susan’s gushing accolades, but he’d learned that clients could sometimes offer unexpected post-gig assessments. As he noticed Sidonie glance his way more than once, he started to get jumpy.

  “Hey, Jasper, was your boss cool with everything tonight?”

  Jasper looked up from behind the stack of speaker cabinets dwarfing him at the back of the stage. “Sure. She knows the problems weren’t on us. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  “She did say she wanted to talk to you before you left, so check it out with her.”

  As if on cue, Sidonie approached from the dining area. “Hey, Chris, can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure.” Climbing down from the stage, he walked with her to a bar bo
oth. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked politely.

  She smiled at his formality. “Thanks, I hit my one-drink limit about ten minutes ago.”

  As she slid into the booth, he sat across from her, surprised at how nervous he felt; her cool approach was somehow intimidating.

  “First, I want to say how much I appreciated the save tonight,” Sidonie began. “I’d have been happy just muddling through, but you made the switch almost seamless. I’m in your debt.”

  He felt a flush of relief. “I know there were a few bumps—”

  “Susan acknowledged those were all on her. She picked the bands and the speakers. You guys adjusted about as well as you could. Which actually got me to thinking about something I wanted to throw out to you. I just ran it by Frank and he’s open to it as well.”

  “Okay.” He held her gaze in anticipation, intrigued by the lead-in.

  “Would you be at all interested in stepping into the position fulltime? Beyond the stellar job you did tonight, Jasper vouches for you, which is a big deal to both Frank and me, and we’re definitely in need of change around here. I’d normally take longer to find the perfect person, but if tonight were an audition, I’d say you were the perfect person.” She suddenly noticed the intensity of his eye contact and it rattled her. Which was odd. She was rarely rattled.

  “Wow.” He sat back, nonplussed.

  She quickly filled the gap. “I know you have your own business, which Jasper says does really well, and I know the quirks of this place might not fit your work model. But I’m wondering if there’s a way you could balance both. Like, if we worked around your schedule until you could hire more guys for your private gigs. Or if, say, we trained our standby guy to sub in more regularly so you could step away when you absolutely had to. Or we could set up a flex schedule that—” She stopped, her face reddened. “I’m pushing too hard, aren’t I? Am I pushing too hard?”

  Chris laughed. “A little. But it’s nice to feel wanted.” Which was true. It was also true that the appealing way her cheeks flushed tripped his own flustered response. “Um, let me grab a quick beer, would you? Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks. Or maybe some water,” she said, relieved by the opportunity to regroup.

  Standing at the bar, he took the moment to consider her query. Strange turn of events, this night. What to make of it? Procuring a glass of water and another Sam Adams from Al, who again refused his money, Chris returned to the booth and her waiting anticipation.

  “Here’s the thing, Sidonie: it’s a great situation for the right person under the right circumstances. The problem for me is that I’m booked solid for the next few months. Beyond that, I honestly doubt you could beat what I’m pulling in on my own. From a business standpoint that’s a big component for me, and not something I can afford to jeopardize.”

  “Of course not. Though we’re certainly open to discussing whatever salary demands you might have.” Which was largely unfounded, particularly given Frank’s penchant for thrift, but she was compelled at this point. “Do you have a number in mind?”

  He laughed.

  “What? Am I doing it again? Steamrolling you?”

  “It’s just that I’ve got so much going on right now, with so many people depending on me, I can’t even think about what salary demand would make sense. I appreciate the offer, but, in all fairness to you, I don’t think I could rework my obligations to give you guys what’s needed around here. But thank you . . . and maybe another time?”

  “Absolutely. And I really do understand.” She gave him a wistful smile and slid out of the booth. “Thanks again for a great night, Chris, and if anything changes, do let me know—”

  “Hypothetically speaking, though, how quickly would you need me if it was something I could work out?” His about-face startled even himself, but it suddenly struck him that The Church was a prestige gig. It could raise the value of his brand, bring in a whole new stratum of client. Shouldn’t he at least consider it?

  Sidonie, as taken aback as he appeared to be, sat down without a pause and opened her tablet. “Well, let’s see . . . this weekend is easy, singer-songwriter stuff, a light acoustical roster throughout next week. The week after that is sporadic, spoken word one night, a couple of bands over the next weekend—Jasper could manage those with Andrew, our standby guy. But the following week we’ve got two big corporate events, and both Joss Stone and David Crosby coming in. I’d definitely need the full team by then.”

  He leaned back, juggling a mix of overwhelm and honest consideration. He once again opted for delay. “Okay, let me go over a few things before I give you a definitive answer. If we can work the money out, and I could ramp up to it rather than leap right in, it might be doable. Can I have the weekend to think about it?”

  His earnest expression, devoid of either Troy’s snark or Jasper’s perpetual beleaguerment, charmed her, inspiring an unexpected tug of feeling. Bad negotiation strategy, she thought; now she really wanted him for the job. “Absolutely. Shoot me a text when you’ve got a number in mind, I’ll run it by Frank, and we’ll take it from there.”

  He stood up. “Sounds good. And, thanks, Sidonie. I enjoyed working with you.” He took her hand. It was warm.

  “No, thank you! You quite literally saved my ass today.”

  He smiled and walked back to the stage area, actively pondering the aforementioned body part.

  Before she could slide out of the booth, Mike Demopoulos suddenly appeared at her side, drink in hand. “Good evening, Sidonie. Al tells me you’re a gimlet gal and I figured after such a long night you could probably use some libation.”

  Mike was a pleasant enough fellow, not completely unattractive— average height, a little paunchy; a face most women would characterize as cute—but at the moment Sidonie found him as annoying as Al, who stood grinning behind the bar.

  She looked at Mike with an inscrutable expression. “Mike, is it?”

  “Yeah, Mike. We met before, remember? Mind if I join you?” Oblivious, he plopped to the seat Chris had just vacated.

  Sidonie simultaneously stood up. “Actually, Mike, I’ve had all the libation I need and was just about to head home. But thanks. Good night!”

  As she walked off, Mike gave Al a shrug and headed back to the bar.

  SIX

  AFTER THE SOUND ALCHEMY VAN WAS LOADED, AND handshakes and goodbyes were exchanged, Chris caught the neon of a 24- hour market a couple of blocks north and decided to walk over for a few needed items. Armitage Avenue remained closing-time hectic. Looking for a more peaceful stroll, he pulled his jacket tight against the wind, and turned into an adjacent residential area.

  Walking at night was a kind of poetic meditation for him. A man whose head was filled with sound most of the time, Chris gravitated toward quietude whenever he could find it. He often took longer routes afoot, content to wander streets he didn’t know to get places he needed to be, fascinated, always, by what was noticed along the way.

  Curiosity had been a proclivity of his since childhood. His mother would chastise him for being a “nosy sort” when he’d stare too long at passing strangers, or listen too closely to bus stop conversations, but his inquisitiveness prevailed. The half sentence that floated by; chatter from an open window; a couple’s whispered embrace on a porch stoop. Even before he had the maturity to articulate or understand it, those brief intersections sparked a sense of existential connectedness. His mother told him it was safer to mind his own business. He found life too intriguing to ignore.

  As at this very moment. To his left, across a short expanse of late-winter lawn, behind a window warmed by amber lamplight, a middle-aged couple danced closely to the strains of something smooth and melodic. Chris slowed his pace, wondering who they were to each other and why they were dancing at two thirty in the morning, imagining their story to be something tender and provocative—

  Woot, woot! The strident bleat of a police siren jolted him from reverie as a patrol car crossed the lane and pulled s
harply to the curb. The uniformed officer on the passenger side—white, probably latetwenties—leaned out the opened window, training his flashlight on Chris’s face.

  “What are you doing there, buddy?”

  Chris felt a tick, the familiar tick. He took a breath. “Just heading to the store up on the corner.”

  “Oh, yeah? Up on Armitage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what are you doing on this street? Kind of an indirect route, isn’t it? And they don’t much appreciate strangers loitering around here.”

  “Not loitering. Just looking for a quieter walk.”

  The cop climbed out of the car, hand on his gun. “Where are you coming from?” His approach was tense, wary.

  “I worked at The Church tonight,” Chris remained still, responding in as neutral a tone as could be mustered. “Just wrapped it up and decided to grab a few things at the store.”

  “How about you show me some ID?”

  As Chris carefully extracted his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license, the officer behind the wheel, also white, though likely older, disembarked. Hand atop his gun, he positioned himself on Chris’s other side. No one spoke and the moment crackled with frisson. The first cop studied the license, scanned Chris’s face, then walked back to the car to run the information. Tick, tick. Chris took another slow breath.

  “So you work up at The Church?” the second officer asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I hear that’s a pretty nice place.” He was clearly running the “good cop” angle.

  “It is.”

  “What do you do over there?”

  “Ran their sound tonight.”

  “Huh. You don’t look like a sound guy,” he remarked.

  Tick, tick. “Really? What does a sound guy look like?”

  “I’m just saying I wouldn’t have expected that.”

  The first cop came back, nodded to his partner, affirmation of some kind, then handed the license back to Chris. “So why were you looking at that house? That sort of thing tends to make people nervous.”

  Chris turned back to the window; the couple, oblivious to the drama outside, was still dancing. “I noticed those people, that’s all. It caught my eye. It was just . . . I don’t know . . . poetic.”