Alligators in the Trees (6 page)

Priscilla exhaled deeply. “How can I answer that? I can only assume I have some deep-seated psychological disorder. I mean, who else but a crazy person would prefer working at Frank’s to actually making a living?” Never mind, I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s just say the customers keep me here,” she said facetiously, anxious to escape the spotlight.

The wry smile on Tobias’s face made her acutely self-conscious. She turned her back on him abruptly, intent on the nearest bus tray. She passed Philip’s table, pausing only long enough to inquire if he needed any change. Philip shook his head agreeably, as if her question was one of the nicest things anyone had ever asked him. Priscilla blinked then resumed her charge.

She had been so sidetracked by distractions the last few minutes, she had failed to notice the booth of hungry men who had seated themselves in her section. All five were glaring at her from a distance, their dispositions souring as their impatience grew.

She dropped the plates hastily and grabbed a pot of coffee, an act in itself that was a type of retaliation. “Good morning, gentlemen. I see you’ve had ample time to make your decisions, so what will it be?” she said, filling coffee cups all around. The men rattled off their orders, none willing to let her off the hook yet. She calmly took down their orders and set off to deal with their numerous requests.

Tobias watched this exchange and became inspired by what he witnessed. He flipped over his placemat and continued to watch Priscilla as she flitted around, dishing out abuse to Frank, and his mediocre cooking to her customers. She dealt with everyone quickly, despite her somewhat tardy start with the party of five, and it was hard to imagine someone who lacked Priscilla’s detachment doing her job as well.

Splash of coffee

Clank of change

Keep your fork

It’s not Le Grange

Arms full of plates

Pocket full of tickets

Corn beef hash and

Gravy for your biscuits…

He paused and watched her as she made her way from the cash register to a recently vacated table and back to the pick-up window to collect more hot plates.

Counting quarters, marking time

Scooping tips, stacking dimes

Lousy tips

Should be a crime

Here’s some advice

Don’t be a schmuck

If the check says five

Better leave a buck…

Girls like these

Aren’t hard to please

Skip the small talk

And forget the tease

Save the smiles

And the mild flirtation

They’re not working for

Adoration…

Just leave a big tip, baby

Just give till it hurts

Just empty your wallet, honey

I’ll be your favorite flirt

But show some appreciation

And I don’t mean with words…

Reach deep down in your pocket

Fifteen percent is absurd…

Counting quarters, stacking dimes

Counting quarters, stacking dimes

Lots of taking

Lots of giving

Oh, what the hell

It’s a living…

Tobias smiled to himself, the whole song now alive in his head. He heard the backup singers, the key, the intro, the repeating rhythm, the orchestration, the whole works. It was the first song he had summoned up in its entirety in probably a decade. Sure, it had an openly light-hearted tone, but it still had a core of cynicism.

More importantly, when they were finished with it, it would have the unmistakable sound of a top ten hit—not that that sort of thing had ever mattered to him before, but he supposed that’s what a comeback was all about. It was always the songs he personally liked the least that turned into their big money makers.

He was sure this one would make Brody happy. It was just the kind of ditty he liked to sink his teeth into: lyrics and a basic melody of benign fluff that he could spin with sophisticated guitar licks and fancy arrangements, transforming it from mindless verse to a piece of classic rock.

He glanced down at his watch: quarter to eleven. He never got around to booking some studio time with Brody, despite his promising breakthrough the previous day. No worries, though. Brody was sure to jump at the chance to work on fresh material.

Tobias fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and, as discretely as possible, called Brody’s mobile number.

“Brody,” his erstwhile partner announced after the third ring.

“It’s Tobias.”

“Yeah…?”

The freeze-out,
Tobias thought. His punishment for being a bad boy. “I’ve got a bona fide, honest-to-God, guaranteed Billboard climber. Thought you might like to hear it. Your studio or mine?” A rather lengthy pause ensued, in which Tobias wondered if Brody had hung up on him out of spite.

“I’m two minutes from mine,” Brody said at last.

“I’ll meet you there in five.”

He turned the phone back off, just in case his wife or girlfriend tried to track him down. He carefully folded his new lyrics and stowed them in the other pocket. He then located the wad of bills in his pants pocket and peeled off a ten for the check and another ten for a tip. Extravagant, yes, but he owed his waitress a lot more than that. He took one last look at Priscilla as she haggled with Frank over an order, then slipped out the front door.

By the time Priscilla turned around, both Philip and Tobias had vanished like a pair of ghosts. All that was left of either one of them were oversize gratuities. She lingered over Tobias Jordan’s table longer than was necessary to wipe it down and rearrange the salt and pepper shakers, replaying their brief conversations in her head. She had to admit that coming in such close contact with her girlhood idol was an unexpected perk of working for Frank.

She picked up the check with the ten-dollar bill on it, and after pocketing the other ten, took the check to the register to ring it up. His check had barely exceeded seven dollars, so she had almost another three bucks to add to her kitty. Not a bad take. Too bad all her customers weren’t so generous. It sure would make her job more bearable if they were.

She grabbed a clean rag and headed for Phil’s table. Breaking his custom, Phil had placed his daily tip not in the folded placemat, but under the water glass. The placemat was folded in half as usual, with the predictable inscription on the outside. Puzzled by his breach of protocol, Priscilla cautiously opened the placemat, leaving it on the table as she examined it.

What she found inside was a caricature easily identified as Philip, proposing various possible outings for the two of them. All around the centrally placed figure, he had sketched out his suggestions: the zoo, complete with monkeys swinging in trees; a movie theater; a pizza parlor; a walk in the park; and a visit to the Statue of Liberty. Across the top, he had written:

The purpose of this is
not
to ask you out on a date, but rather to extend an invitation to you to accompany me—strictly as a friend—to any venue depicted here, or any other place you might have in mind. And since I’m not asking you on a date, you are under no pressure to give me an answer. Just keep my offer—and my number—in the back of your mind, and should you ever have need of a little non-threatening company, give me a call. Yours sincerely, Philip

Priscilla closed the placemat and looked up to see if anyone had been watching her. She knew this turn of events had been inevitable, so why had it come as such an unwelcome surprise? She snatched the twenty from under the water glass and shoved it into her apron pocket. Well, she knew it would come to an end sooner or later, and she really had had an amazing run with Phil—thirty-three hundred bucks worth, to be exact. So why did she feel so let down?

Priscilla finished out her day in a daze. She didn’t know how the totally uncomplicated job of being a waitress in a coffee shop could become so confusing. Why, for example, did Philip—she didn’t even know his last name—suddenly materialize eight months ago, only to spoil her with outrageous gratuities and undeserved admiration? What made him think she’d have any interest in dating one of her patrons, or more to the point, what made him remotely interested in someone like her?

As if all that wasn’t perplexing enough, she now had the sneaking suspicion that something was up with Tobias Jordan, reclusive rock star extraordinaire. One day he looks as if he wants to rip her head off, the very next day he’s back, all smiles. It didn’t make sense.

Priscilla shivered all the way home, for the warm, beautiful spring-like weather had retreated, along with all semblance of sanity. Nothing made sense anymore, not even the stuff that was too banal to matter.

Tobias paced in front of Brody’s building for fifteen minutes before his partner showed up. He could have waited in the lobby, but he was too keyed up to just sit there. He should have known that Brody would dawdle, if for no other reason than to pay him back for failing to show up for several studio sessions. It was just like Brody to seek retribution rather than make the most of their opportunity. He always was the petty one.

Tobias was about ready to walk away from the whole idea of reviving their band when he spotted Brody’s lumbering frame on the opposite side of the street. During their hiatus, Brody had transformed his blubbery hulk into that of a muscle-bound fitness freak. And with the old physique went the sloppy, baggy clothes, the wire-rim glasses and the lank, greasy hair. If you didn’t know him, you’d never guess in a hundred years what his vocation was. Even Tobias hadn’t recognized him until he noticed Brody’s distinctive lurch.

But as Tobias decided to swallow his irritation at having to wait so long in favor of starting out on the right note, he realized Brody was not alone. Stepping double time to keep pace with him was a petite blonde in her early thirties. It galled him anew that Brody would bring his chippie along, especially since Tobias had been quite specific about the potential of the piece he had to offer.

“Hey, man—hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Brody said as he slowed to a halt in front of his apartment building.

“Only fifteen minutes,” Tobias replied coldly.

“This is Roberta. You don’t mind if she hangs out, do you?” Brody asked, oblivious to Tobias’s growing agitation.

“Actually—”

“I’ll be as quiet as a ghost,” Roberta said pleasantly, swishing playfully beneath her fur-trimmed coat. Tobias caught a glimpse of her silk slip of a dress and the knee-high suede boots, as she smiled admiringly up at her giant beau. With her long, straight locks and her rather colorful eye makeup, she was a flawless flashback to the late seventies groupies who had flocked around them like fame-seeking moths back in the band’s early days.

Tobias automatically downgraded Brody’s progress; apparently, all the changes had been to his exterior. At least Tobias had kept up with the times; these days no self-respecting rocker of any importance dated less notable girls than supermodels or actresses.

As if the question of Roberta’s presence had been settled, Brody ushered them past the concierge and into the elevator, where Tobias brooded over his mounting grievances. But once they entered Brody’s state-of-the-art studio, the inspiration that had caused Tobias to initiate this meeting began to flare again.

Good to her word, Roberta made herself invisible, blending in with the furniture and freeing Tobias’s mind from external static. In no time he had conjured up the tune that had come to him only an hour earlier—fresh, crisp, but still full of their characteristically moody sound. After Tobias had worked out the basic melody, Brody joined in on the bass, adding the driving pulse to Tobias’s bright organ chords.

Tobias listened as Brody played with an intro, then switched to the Kurzweil for added instrumentation. He set the drums to a steady background beat and added a little slide guitar to the end of each of Brody’s passages. Laughing, they started from the beginning, this time with Tobias singing the lyrics he had written. He could tell by the expression on Brody’s face that he got a kick out of them. His improvised riffs between stanzas proved it. If Brody was already enthusiastic at this stage, Tobias was certain it was going to be a winner.

They worked from noon till half past six without stopping except to wet their whistles. By the time they finished, both men were as tired as if they had just given ten back-to-back performances. They each slumped over their instruments, exhausted.

“I’m beginning to remember why we gave this up,” Tobias said as Brody handed him a beer from the mini fridge. “We’re not exactly kids anymore.”

Brody laughed and drank his beer in one long, noisy gulp. He waited for the inevitable belch before commenting. “You’re just a little out of practice, man. Me, I’m not even at my peak yet,” Brody said, flexing his new and improved biceps. Tobias decided the only thing worse than a slob was a reformed slob, for they never tired of bragging about their virtuous new selves. He winced as Brody patted his washboard stomach with one hand and gave Roberta a squeeze with the other.

“Man, I gotta tell you, I was beginning to have my doubts about you. But I must admit I was wrong. You haven’t lost your touch. This song’s still rough, but I think we can finesse it into something quite nice.”

Tobias took another drink of his beer, too tired to challenge Brody on the state of their latest effort. They had made remarkable progress, considering this tune didn’t even exist until a few hours ago. A couple more days of studio spit and polish and they’d have it down. And not to be petty, but Brody’s contribution had been minimal, as usual.

Tobias laughed bitterly at himself, for even though a decade had passed since Brody and he had called it quits, they had managed to pick up exactly where they had left off. Sure, the publicized version of the breakup cited their individual desires to pursue different avenues of their art, but in reality, the reason they disbanded was due to a growing resentment between the two men. Tobias had resented the fact that he contributed far more creatively than his partner, and Brody resented the insinuation that he was hanging on to Tobias’s coattails.

Plus, there were other factors that added to the over-all disharmony—lifestyle preferences, mostly. Before the split, Brody was becoming increasingly content to lock himself in the studio, growing fatter and more slovenly with each passing day, whereas Tobias was hell-bent on cramming the antics of seven playboys into one lifetime.

Brody felt alienated by Tobias’s divided attention; the bond of creating music had been all that supported Brody’s existence up to that point. After all, a career in music had been his life’s objective. It was he who had attended the Eastman School of Music for three years, gaining the musical background and ability to turn Tobias’s crudely executed numbers into rock masterpieces. Underneath everything, it still rankled him that Tobias had been given such extraordinary talents, without ever being enslaved by gnawing ambition.

Even though
Absent Among Us
was Brody’s lifeline, it was he who had initiated the breakup. He had used the tactic as a threat, a way to reel in Tobias and force him to see he was neglecting the very thing that had brought him the fame and money and all those babes in the first place.

Ironically, it was when his ploy backfired that Brody underwent the positive change that led to a more satisfying life. True, he didn’t have much in the way of a musical outlet anymore, aside from producing the odd garage band and the occasional studio work that came his way. Tobias, on the other hand, had been so cocky and sure of his abilities that he marched off into a solo career, only to fall flat on his face.

Granted, Tobias supplied ninety percent to Brody’s ten, but it was the ten percent that tied the works together. Brody liked to compare their collaboration to an automobile, with his contribution representing the tires. Sure, Tobias was the body, the chassis, the engine, the fancy upholstery and the horn, but without Brody’s tires, the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere.

It took only a few seconds for these separate revelations to pass through both men’s minds. But as they regarded each other, they simultaneously decided the promise of another crack at immortality was better than what either of them had going on now.

Cranking out a few more memorable songs did have limited rewards, but those seemed a lot more appealing than sinking into oblivion so early in their lives, especially after such stunning successes. Plus, Brody needed that sense of purpose.

Tobias, though he spent virtually all his time hidden in hats and glasses, missed the adoration and fame, but it was unlikely he’d ever admit that to himself or anyone else. So, both men had something to prove and something to gain. Having acknowledged this fact to themselves, they wordlessly agreed to rise above trivial conflicts and concentrate on recapturing their old magic.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Problem is, I’m not sure I’ve got anything in the fridge that’s edible,” Brody said as he hugged Roberta close to him.

“I think there’s a frozen pizza, and maybe some eggs,” she said.

“Well, that’s not going to cut it after a workout like this,” Brody said, removing his hand from around Roberta’s waist. “What do you say we go get a proper meal, Tob? I haven’t had anything but a power shake for breakfast. I know the way you eat—you’ve got to be ravenous by now. Want to go out and do it right, kind of a celebration for our first song? Why don’t you call Monique, see if she wants to join us,” Brody offered magnanimously. It was no secret he and Monique were hardly bosom buddies.

Tobias had used every bit of his concentration working up his new song, and had been completely oblivious to his corporal needs. He suddenly realized he too was in the need of food, but that need was secondary to his desire to be alone for a while. He consulted his watch as he considered his response.

“That sounds like a great idea, man, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Monique already has some sort of plans for this evening. In fact, I’m going to catch hell from her if I don’t get a move on,” he said, standing.

Brody was disappointed, but he tried not to show it. “Oh sure, man—we’ll do it some other time. I just want you to know this was awesome, man. I really mean it. It’s like we turned back the clock,” he said, suddenly feeling emotional.

Tobias held out his hand, which Brody took, shaking it vigorously. Then he pulled Tobias to him for a manly hug. Tobias endured the crushing without comment, wishing for the moment to pass as quickly as possible.

Tobias patted Brody roughly on the back to speed things up a bit. “All right, man. I’ll call you,” Tobias said, releasing himself from his partner’s embrace as gently as possible.

“Okay, man,” Brody said, visibly affected by their renewed closeness. Roberta moved in to provide a replacement for Tobias, one that Brody gratefully accepted.

Once outside, Tobias’s mood soared. As soon as the session was over, he started yearning for fresh air and time by himself. What had just transpired required time to digest. Without theatrics or mind-wrenching contortions, Tobias had managed to recapture control over the indefinable source of his talent. Somehow, he had broken through the invisible barrier that had prevented him from writing new music.

And yet, it had happened so effortlessly. Why had he not initiated a reunion before now? Why had he put Brody off for so long? Because he doubted himself. Until a few short hours ago, he had only a slim hope of rending anything even remotely promising from what remained of his soul. And now—now he had crossed the line, slipped back to the other side of the looking glass, done the impossible.

Tobias shivered. He broke out in a cold sweat as he realized what he had accomplished. He felt high, without the aid of drugs. He was so giddy, he laughed like a schoolgirl, generating suspicious looks from passersby. Somehow, he had broken the spell. This song was a bit of a lark, nothing serious and certainly not substantial enough to solidify a successful comeback. But writing it made him feel he was on the right track, with nothing but green lights ahead of him.

No doubt, it was far too early to feel smug. He had a good start, and more importantly, he could feel the change in himself. It was for real, but there were no guarantees it would last. He had to guard this valuable reconnection with his talent, guard it from all the elements that had caused him to lose it in the first place.

Tobias sighed. He already knew this was going to be unpleasant. The people and habits that had weakened his hold on his creative pulse were the very ones he craved the most. He
liked
hanging out with pretty young things, wasting time and money on their compulsive pursuits of fleeting satisfaction. He liked drinking, carousing, staying out late, philandering, spending extravagant sums on a whim. He even liked the stalemate his marriage to Monique had become, preferring it to the alternative, which was too ugly to think about.

His command of his virtuosity had been reinstated less than a day, and already it was making unreasonable demands of him. Yet, he knew he had no choice. Now that it was within reach, every fiber in his body yearned for his old way of life, the life of the post-beatnik poet swinging the world by the tail.

He walked toward Union Square for no particular reason. Once there, he kept walking, more aimlessly now, walking merely to keep moving, to keep his thoughts flowing. After about an hour, he was forced to entertain more practical thoughts, such as what to do about his voracious hunger and his growing fatigue.

He was loath to go home; nothing could stymie his momentum faster than an inopportune encounter with Monique. There was a good chance she’d be out, but then again, he didn’t want to take that risk. He couldn’t fathom spending time with Simone and her brothers, benign as they were.

Yet he couldn’t feel completely free knowing they could both be leaving an endless barrage of voicemails for him, impatiently trying to run him to ground. He ducked into the nearest phone booth and took the decisive step of deflecting their assaults. He avoided using his cell phone, as he didn’t really want to know how many voicemails he had. He called his house first, got a recording, and called Monique’s cell phone.

“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?” he asked, taking the offensive before his wife could get her wits about her.

“I’m downtown with Lila. We’ve just done a little shopping and we’re on our way to meet Per and Anatole at their hotel for a drink, then take it from there. Did you get my voicemails? I called you at least three times today,” she said snapping back into her usual mode.

“No, that’s why I called you. I lost my phone somewhere.”

“Oh shit. Better call to cancel service. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow, if I can find the time. Where are you?”

“Brody’s. We’ve had an unbelievable session today—”

“
Really
?” she asked icily.

“Really,” Tobias countered.

“Great—that’s awesome. Hey, why don’t you join us?” she asked with unaccustomed enthusiasm. “We’ll probably go to L’Etoile or Jasmine later on. It would be fun. It wouldn’t hurt to put in an appearance with the ol’ wifey every now and then,” she said, growing snide again. Tobias could tell she already had a few cocktails in her.

“Sorry, can’t. I just called to let you know Brody and I are making major headway—we’re really on fire right now, and we don’t want to break the flow. Don’t expect me any time soon. What’s your day like tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow is going to be a real bitch for me. I’ve got an ungodly early Pilates class, then appointments all day. Why do you ask?”

“Just wanted to let you know there’s a chance we might head up to Brody’s country place for some intensive brainstorming,” he lied.

“When will you be back?” Monique asked somewhat skeptically.

“Don’t know—don’t know for sure if we’re even going. I’ll let you know. Okay, got to get back to work. Love you,” he said.

“You too, babe. Call me,” she said rather urgently. Tobias hung up and dialed Simone’s apartment. She didn’t answer, so he left a message, a gentler rehash of the story he had just told Monique. He made it short and sweet, just long enough to establish an alibi for at least a couple of days. He exited the phone booth, feeling freer than he had in years. To secure his liberation, he discreetly tossed his cell phone in the first trashcan he came across, a step that lightened his load even more.