Note By Note

My thanks to Randi for inviting me to play with the big kids. My thanks to you if you continue reading. All errors are mine, some may even be intentional. This story is relatively short, so set yourself a comfortable reading font, and enjoy.

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I lit a cigarette, wedged it into the ashtray, and watched the tendril of smoke rise straight up. It wavered a little, then wavered more before becoming a chaotic swirling cloud. Gazing at the expanding cloud I took a deep breath and as I exhaled I retraced the living smoke back to its source.

At my age, that's as close to smoking a cigarette as I get. Suppose it's more a meditation than a medication. Down to one drink a day too, save that until I'm home. No need to list all the parts that don't work, won't work, or just seen better days.

I did my smoke meditation again and lifted my hands to the keyboard. My fingers pressed down on the keys and I began some simple warm ups. Scales followed until an old standard 'April in Paris' found its way out my fingers. I played as Gershwin intended, then gave it a Count Basie swing, and finished with a gently percussive Thelonious Monk rendition. Old habits people, old habits.

I been working on a new song, or more correctly a new songs been working on me. Notes and chords were acting like kids at a junior high dance, they want to get together, but just can't quite make the connection.

I'd been at for a few of hours when I heard someone opening the studio door - that was not supposed to happen on a Sunday.

"He's right here, honey. C'mon in, come on."

Shit. Fucking Irving was trying to drop another singer on me. Shit, shit, shit. Irving's my manager and he has been on me to sing some duets, "Oh man, it's a thing right now, easy money, easy money." Yeah, easy money for Irving, seventh level of misery for me.I don't sing. I can sing, but I don't do it as part of my music. Nope, that is just not happening.

"Hey, Jimmy, hey good to see ya man, good to see you." Irv was laying it on thick, as if we hadn't seen one another in a long time. Hell, we'd been playing cards at his place until two this very morning. "Got someone I'd like you to meet."

As much as I wanted to do otherwise, the lessons in gentlemanly conduct that were drilled into me as a young man by Ms Ketchum came to the fore. I stood slowly, one hand on the piano, the other slowly moving the bench back, and walked carefully around it.

Irving Thaler Jr was smiling, he looked like he'd just come from the golf course, which upon second thought was a very likely occurrence. Beside him, maybe half a step behind him was a young woman; beautiful, tall, willowy. Irv was gently moving her forward. "Jimmy, Jimmy, I'd like to introduce Ms Sophia Miranda. Ms Miranda, this is James 'Kid' Rollins."

In a manner that Ms Ketchum would have critiqued as 'not completely hopeless' I smiled, extended my hand, and when she took it, I said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms Miranda."

"The pleasure is mine Mr Rollins, an honor...really." She held and shook my hand and kept holding and shaking my hand until I gently pulled it back. "Oh...oh...I'm so sorry."

"It's just that I've heard so much about you, your music, well...um...everything really. My nana played your music all the time. She talked about your composition and way you would take a simple melody and...and, oh there I go, I'm so sorry." Ms Miranda produced an expression that was undeniably charming, with just a hint of something hauntingly familiar. "I must sound like a stalker or some kind of crazy person."

"No, not at all, it's rather encouraging actually, especially from someone so young. Now if your grandma was here ..."

"Great Grandma really, but from when I was little I always called her aunt-wan, like Antoine. That was the name of her last husband. Besides being 'nana' she was Wanda Antoine. Lord, I'm babbling again, but when she was younger, you would have known her as Wanda Harrison. Oh, you do remember her."

=-=-=-=

In the late 50's I was doing a lot of session work, I was "the Fixer" or "Jimmy the Kid." For someone my age, and pretty much for anyone in my profession, I was making good money. The downside is that being "the Fixer" meant trying to pull someone else's tune out of the fire, or give it musical CPR. A busy time, a profitable time, but not a lot of my time. My great talent and my great burden was I could play any style and I could mimic any artist. "We need a Oscar-like fill here" or "can you massage this into a Nat kinda thing, or a McCoy thing" basically I could be and was paid quite well to be anyone but me.

But you've got to pay the bills and I liked feeling secure. Then there was the fact that I got to meet a lot of musicians, great musicians. And if the studio work ended early enough I'd head out and check out the action at the clubs. Sometimes, I'd get an invite to sit in, or even substitute for a night or two if a player was ill. This didn't happen often, but when it did it was fun. It's like this, an hour or two in front of a paying audience is not the same and in no way comparable to sitting in an otherwise empty studio, talking through a window to a couple of guys in a darken room where the conversation between us is more along the lines of "can we do that last part again? The levels were a little inconsistent."

As regards Wanda I'd been working (I was "the Fixer" in this case) with Lester Johns on a portion of a soundtrack for a movie and the score for a crucial scene just wasn't working. We'd approached the problem from several different ways and had little success. It was less shitty, but just that. Lester said he'd asked a friend to drop by and lend an ear. I was shocked when Jerome Harrison walked through the security door. Jerome was a giant of the bass, one of the premier players. He'd played with most of the greats but had a decades long gig with Giles. Giles (no one ever used his last name, but you know who I'm talking about) had just put out a new album (for the really young readers out there a quick history lesson, before streaming was MP3, then CD, then cassette/8 track/4 track, and finally long playing 33-1/3 vinyl albums or 'LP's. Not gonna even bother telling you about 78's!) A new album also meant that Giles was going out on extended tour in the not too distant future.

There are touring musicians who look at studio/session musicians as 'less than.' Add in my youth, and my 'fixer' rep and there were times (mercifully few) when I was on the receiving end of either 'what the fuck do you know' or 'don't fuck with my music asshole' and sometimes both. Jerome was the exact opposite, he was incredibly gracious and included me in every discussion, and actually listened to what I heard and suggested.

Rather than jump straight into the problem, Jerome suggested we play a few of the completed scenes - which we did. Then we played the problem piece as we currently had it charted. Suddenly the solution just jumped up and solved itself. Lester looked at Jerome, they looked at me - we nailed it. Lester decided to call it a night and cut me loose. Jerome said he was off to do a gig and asked if I wanted to come along. I had nothing else going so off we went.

The taxi dropped us off at a well known club, the marquee said "Tonite Only" but there was no mention of a band. We walked around to the service door, knocked and waited. Jerome had a grin that wouldn't stop. I finally had to ask, "Okay, what's going on?"

The grin grew as he shook his head, "Don't know what you mean kid."

Right. Then the door opened and we were waved in. I stepped inside and stopped. Giles was leaning against the far wall smoking a cigarette. He acknowledged Jerome with as subtle a nod as I had ever seen. I was simply looked at, that was it, just one long look. Giles peeled off the wall and walked into a dressing room, Jerome started to follow, stopped, and turned to me, "Just go down that hall and through the door, you'll see a small table off to the left, near the piano. It'll probably have a young woman at it, sit anyway, she's my youngest...good luck."

I knew enough not to go where I wasn't invited, so I sought out the table with Jerome's daughter sitting at it. Where it became clear I was similarly uninvited, for there sat a gorgeous young woman, stylishly dress for a night on the town who looked at me in my tattered jeans, Chuck Taylors, simple black t-shirt, and a scruffy three day growth of facial hair and said, "This is a jazz club, the dive bar is a couple blocks that way."

Ouch.

Ms. Ketchum's endless lessons bubbled up from deep storage. "We haven't been properly introduced, my name is James Rollins, I've been working with Lester Johns on a movie soundtrack and earlier today your father joined us in the studio. With his help we solved a challenging musical problem and ended wrapping early. He invited me here and quite specifically described this table and the fact that I would know it was the correct table because a stunningly beautiful woman would be saving me a seat. I am here to claim my seat...Miss?

"Wanda."

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Wanda." I extended my hand. She looked at my hand, then up at me. The part of me the drove poor Ms Ketchum to distraction came into play, "It's okay, I washed it, even used soap."

That got a shake of her head, a smile so brilliant that it must have spent a lifetime drafting unknowing men into eager servitude, and finally a very brief handshake. "I'm sure this is a moment I'll never forget."

I took that as an invitation to sit whether it was intended or not.

"So you're a studio rat?" She aimed a dismissing glance at me.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's much worse than that, much worse..."

"Oh, you're a record company executive, and here you are slumming. So to avoid getting your ass kicked you came up with this amazing disguise of dressing like a bum. How original of you."

I couldn't help but laugh, I liked this girl. "Okay, it's not quite that bad. I'm a musician, a piano player to be honest."

"Well, that certainly explains your need to shop at thrift stores."

"Exactly, that's why your dad said that you would take me by the hand and teach me how to dress for success; shoes, socks, suits, ties, the works...and while he didn't mention underwear by name I'm sure you can help me out of mine." I even batted my eyes at her.

A huge belly laugh erupted from her small frame, causing many parts to shake in a most delightful manner. "You're crazy you know, you are one crazy dude...help you OUT of yours. Has that line ever worked?"

"Well, there's always a first time. Since I'm clearly in need of a minder, would you be interested?"

"What's it pay?"

"My attention."

The waitress came over before Wanda could respond. "Hey good to see you Jimmy. My, my but you can sure pick 'em, ya'll came on a good night to, you want a beer?"

"Yes, thank you Cindy, this is..."

"I'd like a vodka martini, and..."

"A martini? Let's see your ID sugar, we don't want Jimmy in any trouble being caught with an underage..."

"Here." Wanda thrust her her ID into Cindy's hand, who hardly glanced at it before giving it back.

"Anything else kids?" Which was not a question at all because she had turned and was gone before either of us said a word.

"I thought she would never leave." I smiled, Wanda had yet to close her mouth, her ID still held aloft. I took it from her hand and looked closely at it.

"Give me that." She snatched the card back and stuffed it in her wallet.

"It didn't look fake to me." I gave her my best commiserating smile. I took her hand and turned it palm up. "Hands are my business."

"You read palms?" She was smiling again, but a sneer was clearly implied. "Stop that."

I was gently stroking down her forearm, across her wrist and open palm coming to a soft pause on her fingertips. Then I repeated it. "Oh, it's perfectly natural, it's part of the reading process. I'm beginning to get a very good feel for you."

"I'll bet you are." Interestingly she did not pull her hand from mine.

"Amateurs just jump in and start looking at this line or that line." I traced her life line and her love line when I said that. Once again she asked me to stop, and once again I continued. "The truth is, well it's not a love line like a timeline, it has more to do with the depth of your passion. Your ability to jump off the edge, your openness to letting someone fall into you."

"You mean, fall in love with me..."

"Here your drinks kids, and tone down the touchy feelly stuff, I've overheard three different women talking about abducting you Jimmy. Watch yourself now."

Wanda pulled her hand from mine and blushed, "You are much worse than..." She took a serious sip - near gulp - of her martini, using both hands to hold the glass.

I sipped my beer. "Do you want to know what the really bad part is...I hesitate to tell you."

Wanda was sipping very slowly again, or maybe she was just using the glass protectively. She didn't answer, nor did she shake or nod her head.

"I read soles Wanda." Her eyes opened big and she finished her martini in a last gulp. "I can't do it here, of course. It has be someplace quiet, where you can lie back undisturbed and relax, a chaise works well, or a mattress, naturally."

"Wait, you read souls? Are you some kind of minister?"

"No Wanda, not Souls but soles - s-o-l-e-s, I read the soles of your feet. Although, truth be told it does involve a certain amount of laying on of hands."

She lifted her glass for another sip, evidently forgetting she drained it just a moment ago. She set the glass down and looked around for a waitress. I didn't speak until the growing silence had her lifting her gaze.

"Needless to say, it's crucial that you be as unencumbered as possible; no rings, watches, bracelets or necklaces. Absolutely no piercings. Nothing in your hair, no shoes, socks or stockings, of course. No clothing that constricts of binds."

"You practically have me naked." There was a delightful mix of curiosity, outrage, and desire in her voice.

"You're absolutely correct, and I couldn't agree more. Having you naked would be the ideal."

Recognition dawned, "You're such an asshole."

"Don't you want to hear about how as I read soles? How I lift your feet, place your legs on pillows or something equally supportive - your comfort and relaxation are essential and sight read my way right to the source, I mean this is straight out of the bible...the kingdom of heaven is at hand, it is within."

"Oh, don't you dare let my mama or my nana hear you talking to me like that...you, you blasphemer."

False outrage if ever I've heard it, because as plain as the nose on your face, her nipples presented a completely different answer.

"Oh don't you worry, I'll just tell them 'I know you're both God-fearing and all, and I promise to keep to a Biblical relationship with sweet, sweet Wanda - I refer specifically to Paul's encouragement to 'pray without ceasing.' Well it is my intention to visit such divine pleasures upon Wanda that she will go hoarse shouting out praises - oh God, oh God, oh..."

"You are the most despicable..."

Wanda didn't finish as the house lights went down and the band came out. They just jumped into Giles first big hit, 'Here's why.' The back story is that Giles father, a very successful businessman, was distressed that his son was intent upon a career in music. "You could be anything son, why be a musician?" 'Here's why' was Giles answer. 'Free Lunch" followed, and I just basked in the band's effortless creativity. The third song, 'Sunset', started off fine but it soon became apparent that their piano player was ever so slightly off, and stayed off. By the bridge both Giles and Jerome were looking his way, with Jerome glancing in my direction occasionally. Guess he wanted to see if anyone else was noticing. By the time the song ended the pianist, Scott Jefferson, was hanging his head and shaking it side to side.

The band took a break to deal with the situation and Jerome told the audience they'd be right back. Wanda used the break to run off to the restroom. I turned to watch her go, while I finished my beer. I turned back to set the glass down, and there was Giles' smiling face inches from mine. "Scotty's not able to continue and Jerome says you got the goods to cover for him. Think you can sit in, or you just want to unwind and drink your beer?"

Not only did I think I could sit in, I wanted to sit in. We finished the set with Giles just playing things pretty much straight up. We took a break during which Jerome smiled and said I did well. Giles only comment was, 'Coulda been a lot worse.'

Jerome ran down the set list to come, and hinted things might 'free up a little,' and out we went. The second set was a revelation if in your mind a revelation is all about having the shit scared out of you, Giles and the other three musicians (besides Jerome on bass, Charlie Winters was on drums and Mike Hampton played tenor sax) put me to the test. Giles would start to play the next song on the list and everything was fine we'd be rolling along, then suddenly with maybe a grunt from Giles or a trill from the drummer, the rhythm would fracture, the melody invert or something else completely unexpected would happen and then they'd toss the whole thing to me. At one point while I was playing they just up and left the stage for 15 minutes - 15 minutes!

The intended 60 minute set, expanded to just over two hours. When we finally left the stage Giles invited me to join them for some dinner and decompression. I walked into the dressing room area and there was Scotty; eating, drinking, smoking a cigarette. What the...this guy was supposed to have gone to the hospital but clearly here he was. He smiled a big grin at me, "Nice audition kid. Interested in the job?"

I looked at Scotty, then Jerome who motioned with his head toward Giles who actually smiled, "Scotty finally got his legal problems with the label straightened out. They want him back in the studio Monday. Meanwhile, the quintet has a two week gig here and then we're heading out on tour. We knew you had the talent, that you could walk into a problem and fix it. But we didn't know if you could step out on stage and fly - you got you wings tonight kid. So..."

I was with Giles for three years, through the quintet, the quartet, and the septet. The septet disbanded when Giles went into rehab - again. Three of the musicians split off to do other projects. That left me on piano, Charlie on drums, and Jerome on bass. We retreated to Jerome's house to try and figure things out. Which mostly consisted of Jerome saying he was likely done with touring, but would help where he could. He had in mind some serious family time. He did recommend a bassist, Bill Carson.

So we were a trio. We played some gigs, but nothing amazing was happening. I was getting a ton of session requests, and I said thanks but no thanks to most of those. I had a trunkful of songs I'd been working on, and I had to give them my time. Then Lester Johns called me for a 'fix.' For Lester, I couldn't say no.

I don't know if people saw me me as gullible, stubborn, or just prankable. When I walked into the studio, Charlie the drummer was behind his kit, Bill the bassist was standing by his instrument. Lester was there, no trumpet to be seen. The one visible trumpet in the room was in the hands of a young kid, Adam Crawley. And next to him was a sax player, George Fernandes. There were music stands filled with charts in front of Adam and George.

Lester smiled, "I picked 10 of your best songs, the ones that have real promise. The studio is yours until 8 pm, then it becomes your dime."

And he walked out the door laughing.

I paid for 8 pm to 2 am. The next morning I called Irving (Senior) about The Kid Rollins Band. It turned out we had a very special sound.