Purgatory Blues (2013), page 24
“Not great, I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet right now”. Mason sighed, seeming genuinely upset.
“What happened?”
“There was a guy that used to come here, he was a bit of a regular, not like you but we all knew him, he’s probably only been around for the last five months or so”, Mason paused to top up Andy’s shot before continuing, “anyway, about a month back he comes in and he gives me a long story about how he didn’t get paid and he’s in a really big jam with bills and stuff like that, so he begs me to give him a loan and he says he’ll get it back to me in two weeks with interest. It’s been a month now and I can’t get hold of the fucker”.
“What’s his name and how much?” Andy asked with the confidence of a bounty hunter.
Mason smiled, “Philip Ross, I loaned him two grand, he said he’d give me back twenty-five hundred”.
“That’ll make it three grand today”, Andy said, “any idea where this joker lives?”
“I’ve been over to his place, there’s no one there and I can’t get him on the phone, the landlord says he hasn’t been there in weeks”.
“Heavy, so what’re we going to do?” Andy asked.
“I’ve heard that him and his friends hang out down at the Charleston, that’s a bit of a rough joint though, I don’t want to go down there without some backup”.
“That’s that blues club down the road isn’t it? How rough can it be?”
“Three bouncers, one entrance”, Mason countered, “they’re not that good but I don’t like being so outnumbered if something happens. I’m too pretty for that”, he joked.
Andy drank the shot that Mason had poured, “well, we’ll just go down there and ask real nice. I’m ready when you are”.
“Groovy brother”, Mason said with a fist bump, “let me wrap up things in the back and I’ll be out in fifteen”.
Andy used the time to put down another beer and another two shots. Usually he’d never do cocaine at Outlaws, but since it was so quiet Andy decided to chance it. He went in to the men’s room and sniffed a chunk straight out of the folded piece of paper. It was a little more than he’d normally have in one go, but he enjoyed it, he felt battle ready.
He walked out in time to see Mason leaving the manager’s office. It was time to go. They left Outlaws and climbed in to Mason’s old blue Honda. He put on some “Opeth” and they began the drive. It was a short trip. Just down the road and one block over. They were there in three minutes.
“Let me do the talking”, said Andy as they exited the car.
The Charleston was one of the oldest buildings in the city and it more than looked the part. The crumbling facade had been patched over so many times that Andy couldn’t even count all the different layers of paint. He remembered when it used to be a biker bar, then it was a metal bar, then it had been out of use for five years and finally in the last three years it had become a blues bar.
It was a members only club. The blues royalty in the city used it for improv sessions and as their go-to hangout spot. The way it worked was that you had to know someone who was already on the inside in order to gain membership.
As Mason had said, there were three tough looking gentleman planted firmly at the entrance to the Charleston. They were dressed in the traditional bouncer fashion, plain black suits. Anyone without an invitation definitely wasn’t going to get inside unscathed.
Andy walked toward the three men hoping that they’d assume he was a member and part ways to let him through…it didn’t work.
“Your card sir?” The bouncer in the middle asked, politely but firmly.
“I forgot it at home, look I’m in a bit of a hurry, could you just let me through, you know me”, Andy tried his luck, sounding very convincing with his casual demeanor.
The bouncer smiled, “I don’t know you, no card, no entry”, he said, shaking his head.
“You can’t blame me for trying right?” Andy said with a smile, attempting to be friendly with the man, “here’s the thing, we’re looking for a guy named Philip Ross, we heard that he hangs out here sometimes, we just need to talk to him for a couple of minutes, think you could do us a solid and hook us up?”
“There’s no Philip Ross in here”, the bouncer said, shaking his head again.
“Then you won’t mind if we take a quick look to make sure”, Andy said and began climbing the first of the three steps to the door. The bouncer lightly put his hand on Andy’s chest, denying him passage. Andy halted, “take your hand off me”, he said to the bouncer calmly.
“Come on Andy”, Mason said, taking hold of his shoulder, “we tried, he’s probably not even in there”.
Andy let out an audible sigh and turned around, “okay”, he said to Mason.
As Andy descended the first step the bouncer lightly pushed him and said, “Yeah, get out of here”.
Andy stopped in his tracks, turned to Mason and smiled. “Oh fuck”, Mason said under his breath and rolled his eyes.
Surprisingly, the bouncer didn’t see that first punch coming when Andy swung round. It was an amateur strike and he’d telegraphed it enough that even someone without training could’ve blocked it. It hit home though and sent the middle bouncer stumbling backwards toward the closed door behind him. The other two leapt forward but Andy dodged them and left them for Mason. As the middle bouncer got his feet under him Andy steadied himself like a sprinter waiting for the gunshot…then bolted forward like a racehorse out of the gate. He had enough momentum with him to spear the bouncer squarely with all his strength.
They both went crashing through the door, landing in a twisted wreckage of wood and flesh. A moment later Mason was picking a stunned Andy out of the mess. The bouncer had been knocked out and the other two were unconscious outside, courtesy of Mason.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here”, Mason said to Andy with urgency.
Andy looked up and had to shake the dizziness away before he saw a bar with a scattering of people around it and a stage with musicians behind their instruments. They all looked to be in their fifties and over. Most of them had their hands up in surrender. Andy smiled to himself. The thought dawned on him that they probably thought he and Mason were robbing the place.
“Just take what you want and go, we won’t give you any trouble”, the bartender said, as if on cue.
“Put your hands down”, Andy said to everybody, “we’re looking for Philip Ross”.
“Andy?” An old man holding a red Stratocaster said as he stood up from his seat.
“Jules?” Andy answered, squinting to see the old man in the distance of the dark room.
“What the hell are you doing? This is my place, Philip is my son, what do you want with him?” Jules asked angrily as he walked towards them.
“Fuck me”, Andy said, holding his head in shock, “I’m so sorry about this Jules, I didn’t know. Mason Bracht this is Julian Ross, Jules was my guitar teacher back in college”.
“Don’t guitar teacher back in college me!” Julian sounded like a parent disciplining their child, “what the hell is going on here?”
“Philip owes my friend here three grand”, Andy said, playing the mediator.
“Well he’ll take two and be happy about it because you’re paying for that door”, Julian replied.
“Two is fine sir”, Mason agreed sheepishly.
“Joe”, Julian called out to the bartender, “go see if those guys you hired are okay, then tell them that they’re fired”. “You two”, he said to Andy and Mason, “sit down and have a drink, I’ll get your money”.
Julian walked past the stage and disappeared into another room. The bartender put two beers on the counter and then walked away to inspect the incapacitated bodies at the entrance.
“That wasn’t so bad right?” Andy asked Mason with a smile as they sat down at the bar.
“You’re like a goddamn bull in a china shop, I can’t take you anywhere!” Mason whispered.
Andy drank down his beer like a man who’d found his first sip of water in the desert. Mason on the other hand didn’t bother to touch his.
“You gonna have that?” Andy asked Mason once he’d finished his own beverage.
“Enjoy”, Mason said and pushed the beer to Andy with a smile, “you earned it”.
It wasn’t long before Julian returned, he was counting a wad of cash as he came up to Andy and Mason, “two grand”, he said and handed the folded notes to Mason.
“Thank you sir”, Mason replied.
“You got somewhere to be?” Julian asked Andy.
“Nope”, he answered.
“Good”, Julian replied and then turned to the bartender. “Joe, take Mr. Maureau here to the back, he’ll help you to break down some of those pallets so you can fix the door for tonight”.
Andy laughed. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later”, he told Mason.
“You know, I bet if you just knocked the guy out and tried the handle on the door, it would’ve opened”, Mason said to Andy in a confidential tone.
“Details, details”, Andy said and clapped Mason on the back.
Mason left through the broken front entrance while Andy accompanied Joe to the back of the property. The doors were chained and padlocked. It would’ve been nearly impossible to break in from that side of the Charleston.
Using nothing but a claw hammer and brute strength, Joe and Andy disassembled two wooden pallets. They brought the lumber back with them to the front of the premises and using nails and the aforementioned hammer, sealed the entrance to the Charleston shut. The only way to get in would be with a chainsaw. The entire job took an hour and a half. By the time they were done all the other patrons had left through the back and only Joe, Julian and Andy remained.
The three of them sat down at the bar for a beer, but before Julian could open one for Joe, he politely declined.
“I think I’m just going to go on home Jules, it’s late”, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow”.
“Suit yourself”, Julian replied from behind the counter, not bothering to make eye contact.
Andy took the offered beer and guzzled it down in under a minute.
“Easy there son, the drink’s not going anywhere”, Julian said to Andy and passed him another one.
“I need to stay hydrated”, Andy said with a devilish smile, “you know, I don’t think I’ve ever met your son Philip. Where is he and why is his daddy paying his bills?” Andy added judgmentally.
An awkward silence followed, Julian looked at Andy like he’d pried into affairs that were none of his business. Andy was about to apologize for the remark when Julian spoke the words, “he’s dead”, before turning away to pour himself a whiskey.
Andy said nothing for several seconds and then forced out the obligatory, “I’m sorry”.
“Why?” Julian chuckled humorlessly, “you didn’t kill him”. He lit what looked to be an ordinary cigarette but it had the pungent odor of marijuana.
“Well, that’s sad”, Andy said, hoping Julian would find the statement more appropriate.
“That’s life!” Julian countered.
“You know, those aren’t good for you”, Andy remarked, only to change the subject.
“I’m seventy years old, I can do what I want, I’ve earned it”, Julian replied with a little smile, “I recall running in to that lovely girl you used to date at the village music store a few months back. I understand you’ve suffered a loss yourself not too long ago, my condolences”.
Andy felt like Julian was repaying him for asking about his son. “Thanks for bringing that up”, he said.
“Here”, Julian said, putting a glass of whiskey in front of Andy and offering him the joint. Andy took them both. “How’ve you been getting on?” Julian asked.
“Oh, about how you’d expect when your whole life falls apart and there’s no reason to keep going”, said Andy, poorly attempting to make light of the matter.
“It’s been a while though, hasn’t it?” Julian asked, surprised at Andy’s answer. “Thought a resilient young man like you would’ve bounced back by now”.
“Easier said than done”, Andy said, raising his glass to Julian.
“Maybe what you need is some perspective”, Julian said, “it’s been three weeks now. My son took to drugs and it killed him. From all accounts it seems like he knew he was going to expire when he did because he’d borrowed money from just about everyone he knew. I’ve been left with the clean up”. Julian sounded like he was recounting a story he’d heard from someone else and it wasn’t as personal as it really was. “I’ve turned away a fair number of people for being stupid enough to loan him money. I tell them it was his debt, not mine”.
“I see”, Andy said, filling the silence.
“You know”, Julian went on in a more somber tone, “it’s the hardest thing in the world to watch your only child throw away his life like that, he was only twenty-seven years old. I don’t know why he did it, he never told me what he was going through and I respected his privacy too much to ask. He was old enough to make his own choices in life. I’d like to think that maybe he had a reason and he’s in a better place. It’s too hard to think that he was just a foolish young man and I didn’t do enough to save him”. He took a large swallow of his whiskey and went on, “I’ve made my peace with it and I’m getting on with my life”.
“It’s not really the same thing Jules”, Andy said, hoping not to offend him, “…if you’re trying to give me perspective I mean”.
“I also lost my wife of thirty years to breast cancer five years ago”, Julian added sternly, “I made it through that too”.
Andy took a long drag from the joint and handed it back to Julian. He didn’t know if Julian was just venting or there was a point to the story. He didn’t say anything but Julian caught the look on Andy’s face and went on.
“My point is this”, he said, “I’m an old man now, my son is gone and my name died with him. The woman I loved my whole life is gone, but I never once stopped and said to myself ‘there’s no reason to keep going’”.
Andy nodded, he found it admirable, but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling that Julian had been able to at least experience those things for years before he’d lost them. In Andy’s case, he felt that he hadn’t even been given the chance. That life was snatched away from him before he’d even tasted it.
“Life can seem like a long time when you live in regret and misery, but it can go by in a flash when you make the most of it. Am I sad that my wife is gone? Of course I am, but I don’t think about the last few months of our time together in the hospital when I remember her, I think about the good times that I was fortunate enough to experience for thirty whole years. Am I sad that my son is gone? More than you can know, but I also know that I gave him everything I could as a parent and ultimately it was his life to live”. Julian stopped for a moment and took a drag of the joint.
He coughed a little on the thick smoke and used a bit of whiskey to right himself before he went on. “Life is a very precious thing son. You’ve got all of yours still ahead of you. Use it wisely. You can live in regret or you can accept the things that happen, embrace them and move forward. Sometimes there’re no reasons, no ‘why’. Things just happen. You have to take the good with the bad and keep going. Bottom line, there’s never a good enough reason to stop trying”.
“I’ve been trying Jules”, Andy said, yet couldn’t help thinking that it was a lie. “it’s just hard, you know?”
“Then try harder son, that’s the only thing I can tell you. Something comes along that you can’t deal with…own the moment…make it yours and take charge. Do what needs doing. Life doesn’t give you points for effort or good intentions, only results”. Julian handed the joint back to Andy, “I’ve got my students, my friends, my bar and my music. I’ve dedicated my life to this craft. As long as there’s breath in my lungs, there’re things that need doing and I’m going to see that they get done”.
For the first time in the last year, Andy finally felt like someone had made real sense and had given him advice that could make some sort of a difference to his life. Many people before Julian had spoken similar words, but they only held weight coming from him…someone who’d experienced real loss. He knew that Julian was right, he was being weak and selfish and he simply wasn’t trying hard enough. He might’ve started digging the hole that he was in because of losing Elsa, but it had turned into something else entirely. The situation he was in now was of his making. He knew that he hadn’t tried hard enough and this was the result. He took a long drag and handed the joint back to Julian, “I guess the student hasn’t become the master just yet”, Andy said with a smile.
“Speaking of”, Julian said after stubbing out the joint, “let’s see if you remember anything that I taught you. Grab that guitar over there and take a seat”, he added, referring to the red Stratocaster. Andy eagerly complied. It was Julian’s favorite guitar. He’d had it for more than thirty years.
Julian sat down behind a fretless standing bass and started a slow groove on the blues scale in the key of C. Andy soloed over it, improvising melodies and little passages in between, sometimes with a mild overdrive, sometimes clean. After feeling each other out they began bouncing back and forth, trading lead and rhythm between them. They worked seamlessly together. It didn’t take more than a nod or a gesture to communicate. Every now and then both instruments came together in an amazing flourish and they’d look at each other and smile. They were having a conversation and the strings were doing the talking.
This was the only kind of therapy that would work for either of them. Emotion poured out in every note. This was the blues, they didn’t pick at the notes…they coaxed them out. They allowed the notes to speak what neither of them could say with words. They both told their stories through the music and Andy released everything that had been building up in him for the whole year. He felt the weight being lifted off of him with every riff he dished out.
The good thing about playing with Julian was that every time Andy diverted to his gloomy, minor-moded excursions, which he tended to do, Julian was there to bring him back to a more positive major scale. It was like a disciplined argument forcing hope in to Andy’s mentality. They played for two hours but when they finally stopped it felt like it had been only one.
