“Stank like Chitlinz hunh? Man, what is this? Hold up, hold up!”, Fingers exclaimed to himself as he began to tinker with the music on the piano. He decoded the first few bars before he smirked. Then he nodded his head in approval.
He continued to play the beginning of the song over and over again, and before you knew it the twins added a little Afro-Caribbean percussion flavor into the background. Bumbatta, jumped on top of things with a simple foundation beat that came straight out of septic tank and Fingers seemed to become hypnotized as the music began to course through his veins. Finally feeling comfortable with the first thirty-two beats, Fingers moved the train forward and the others had no choice but to follow him down the road. He was sight-reading so hard, his nose was touching the sheet music. I jumped in with the flugal horn so I could lead them to the promised land. Billy caught up to us at the break. He came in just in time to supply a hard five-finger slap bass solo. He waltzed into the groove as if he had been there before. Thumper was showing off like all great bass players did when they got the chance. We hit the bridge and I gave the signal for everybody to take it from the top. The groove got smoother and smoother with each turn around the bend. Then, like they always did, Randi and Randy stirred in some scat vocals on top of the already saucy foundation and took away all of the negative vibes that were fighting to enter my spirit.
An idea flashed into my head like a bolt of lightening. Terri’s face flashed across my mind. Raising my hands, I motioned with an exaggerated up and down motion and slowed the meter of the music to just above the speed of a ballad. “Wow!” I haven’t felt like this in a long time. The music truly has a hold of me. You know, kind of like it does when you feel a moving song in church. It was as if Terri had telepathically ordered me to hurry home like she did so many times before. I smiled as if she would be waiting at the door with nothing on but high heeled black patent leather pumps and a smile. Umm─vanilla scented candles burning around the tub, as Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do for Love”, softly echoed in the room. My song is a testimony. A testimony of how I feel. Oh, how bad I wanted it to be like it used to be. Oh, how much I wanted to run home, hold her in my arms, and sing her one of those bedtime songs I used to sing to her. The sad truth is, its not like that anymore.
So, I stayed put and did what an old player told me a long time ago, “You got to love who loves you.” Right then and there I was feeling less than loved by Terri, but I remembered my first lady. Music…met me when I was a young boy and she was a full-grown woman. She made it easier for me, a chubby youngster to be accepted by the cool kids in school way before he shed that baby fat and became a good athlete. She watched and helped me fall in love with another lady and yet never wavered in her loyalty. She would calm me when I was in a rage, would boost me when I felt low, would make me feel attractive even after I put on a few pounds, and even when the woman I confessed all of my earthly love for, took her love and ran away from me. When I am alone, fresh out of the shower lying across the bed naked to the world, she makes my hair stand on end. She enhances my mind, mood and creativity. My heart is counting out time to my other organs like Barry White to the Love Unlimited Orchestra. More than a series of notes, rest, sharps and flats, she was whole. My sweetest lady...Music.
Whatever!
Chapter 2
Things are looking better now, as the days rolled on by. The Chapman Sweet Band has been picking up steam by the minute. We are booked as the regular featured act at Bayside in downtown Miami. Three nights a week we gig there. I have been meeting some interesting people almost every night. People liked Fe’Fe’, the exotic dancer. She works over at a black strip club called the Watch Shop. She isn’t your run-of-the-mill stand up, bump and grind, and take off your clothes kind of dancer. I am told this lady’s act includes bottles, light bulbs, and a five-foot boa constrictor named “Right There”. She even featured an ass that claps louder than a crowd of people. Besides the props, I asked myself, “Why in the hell would anyone name a snake something like ‘Right There’?”
Fe’Fe’ came to our show week-after-week. She was one of our biggest local fans and the president of the exotic dancing chapter of The Chapman Sweet Band Fan Club. She always hung around to talk to us between our sets. In her world, she is a real live superstar. She even invited us down to see her act on more than one occasion and we would always have a good excuse not to check her out. You know all of the men in the band wanted to go see her do her thing, but it was hard to tell Randi she was not welcome to come with us. One night, Fe’Fe’ extended the invite directly to Randi and assured her the environment would be completely safe for her. She appealed to her, woman-to-woman and finally, Randi felt comfortable enough to venture to the wild side. So we checked out Fe’Fe’s show.
Randi became more reluctant the closer we got to the club, but we dragged her in anyway. Thumper was thinking this would be his big chance to get at Randi. Naked women dancing all over the place and hopefully a drunk Randy and a tipsy Randi. Finally he would be able to make his move. However, Randi and Randy were unusually close, even for twins. They were tight to the point where Thumper might be required to kiss Randy in order for him to get a clean shot at Randi, let alone attempt to get her out of that black patent leather catsuit. I’m not implying that Randy is gay. I am just saying that Randi and Randy are just that tight. Besides, neither of them knew that Fe’Fe’ had the hots for Randi.
When Fe’ took the stage, you could hear a rat piss on cotton in a distant corner. The only thing I saw were lights, her body, open mouths and money flying at the stage like bullets out from a machine gun. Coming down off of the stage, she made her way directly to our table and danced around for the remainder of Roger Troutman and Zapp’s, “Computer Love”. You could tell that she had danced to this song a time or two. Timing the song perfectly, she ended up right in front of Randi. Her mannerisms were completely feminine with a very narrow streak of masculinity right down the middle. Randy thought she was dancing for him. He grabbed her around her waist and tried to pull her body close to his. She showed him the hand and softly pushed him away. Fe’ then turned to Randi and gave her, her best private dance. Randi was truly puzzled as she looked back and forth between Fe’ and me. But the crowd of men began to go wild. They urged Fe’ to kiss Randi. Fe’ appeared game as panic overtook Randi.
"Be cool. She likes you. Let her do her thing and we’ll leave.” I whispered in Randi’s ear with my lips drawn tight.
Randi’s facial contortions signaled that she is very uncomfortable. “If she tries to kiss me, I’m going to monkey stomp her ass. Right here and right now.” If anybody could monkey stomp some ass, it would sho nuff be Randi, from Butt Naked, GA.
Fe’ worked her thang so hard, I broke out in a James Brown cold sweat. Randi was sporting a Botox induced expression on her face. As Fe’ worked her way up to center stage, she took a dramatic stance before she reached into a black glitter covered box. She pulled out a snake that was black, green and shades of brown ranging from dark chocolate to tan. It’s head appeared to be the size of the fist of a very large baby and at the thickest part of it’s body, it looked to be larger in circumference than the calf muscle of my leg. The snake looked to be every bit of 7 feet long. She softly rapped the snake around her right leg and moved to the music. The snake slithered up her leg like a phone man climbing up a telephone pole. She worked the crowd to a fever pitch, before reaching over and grabbing the brass pole to support her weight. Then─she raised her left leg as the snake slithered up towards her goodness as if her goodness was where he was supposed to be. From where I sat, his head was face to face with the master that all men love to serve. We couldn’t tell what was going on until she began moan, “Right there! Right there!” as the snake flicked his tongue at a rate that I am comfortable with saying, was faster than any man or woman she may have ever known. I thought the Donkey show I saw down in Tijuana was wild, but this show was crazier because I knew the person in the act. Fe’Fe’ took wild to another level. The men in the club went nuts, throwing tens, twenties, and hundreds. I could have sworn I saw some checks and credit cards too.
The intensity was so high, she required two of her fellow dancers to come on the stage and help her remove “Right