CHAPTER FIVE
I’m in the back, on what might once upon a time have been a loading dock, when Danny approaches me.
Danny’s like a Muppet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him unhappy, even when asshole performers have taken advantage of his kind, enthusiastic nature to rip him off. Danny’s a great guy, but a shitty businessman. The Overlook succeeds despite Danny, largely because the best and most regular performers step in and crowdsource its management. The club is a bit like Wikipedia. Nobody’s really in charge of Wikipedia; the nerds who hang out to watch the pages agree to do what’s best, and it all kind of works out. That’s how we are here, and Danny is just another ward.
“Hey Gavin you ready?” The question comes out as one big run-on. Danny’s a study in contrasts. He has an old face and a mop of long, younger man’s hair. Without the hair, you’d expect a guy with a face like Danny’s to run something like an old-time drug store where you can order milkshakes at the counter. You’d expect him to say darn and shucks and golly. But that’s probably just his enthusiasm — the way it lights his eyes makes him seem naive. He really isn’t. Danny’s got cred, and I’m sure he saw his share of unsavory stuff during Rusty Evidence’s fifteen minutes of fame, but none of it stuck.
Danny has the wide eyes of someone who thinks Hollywood is made of pixie dust and that any small club’s dusty spotlight could be the place where a creative soul’s dreams can finally come true. It’s probably why he’s so generous with the Overlook’s spotlight. Except for the big-ticket weekend nights, Danny will let just about anyone who can carry a tune onstage at least once. You never know; any night might be the one some buried gem of a singer’s hopes and dreams finally take root.
“It’s barely seven, Danny.”
“Yeah yeah. You seen Freddy? He was looking for you earlier.”
“Tell him I’m not here yet.”
“You don’t like Freddy?”
“I love Freddy like a brother. He just won’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t leave you alone either.”
“Yes, but you cut my paycheck.”
“Are you smiling? Why are you smiling?”
The change of topic takes me off guard. I actually touch my lips. There’s no way I was grinning; I’m sure I was just smiling widely if at all. It strikes me as wrong that a mild smile is reason for someone to comment. Don’t most people smile? Don’t I? Of course I do.
“Careful with that,” Danny says, slapping me lightly on the back. “People come to see you sad and brooding.”
I laugh, but Danny’s face changes. His pale features and eyebrows are almost blond enough to disappear, but his face is so lined that wrinkles make up for any topology he’d otherwise lose. I’m reminded of my grandfather with a highly inappropriate haircut that my real grandfather would have a definite problem with.
The wrinkles, right now, go from exuberant and razzing to concerned.
“Oh hey I’m sorry,” he says, again without a pause. “I don’t think sometimes.”
“It’s fine.” I force the smile to widen, and to my surprise the change comes easily.
“I know how hard it is to create sometimes. Stuff like what happened, it can be a good catalyst. But you don’t want it, either.”
“Danny … ”
“I know that’s your appeal, but it shouldn’t define you. But hey.” What should be a pause becomes a hard stop as Danny again changes direction with his goldfish’s attention span. “Have you tried to turn it around? There really should be some great art inside you.”
“Danny, no.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But even the songs you have already, if you’d be willing to play them … ”
“I’ve got my whole set,” I say, trying not to be defensive.
“Right, right. But with the lyrics. The originals. I know talent, Gavin, and when I first heard you … ”
“You heard all of us. You heard Firecracker.”
“Then just you, afterward. And you today. I hear you every night, practically. I’m just saying, as soon as you’re ready, I think we can do some amazing things. Or you can.”
“Sure, Danny.”
He stands, clearly uncomfortable. “Okay. Well, then.”
“Tell Freddy I’m in here if you want.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll give you some time.”
“I don’t need any time. Seriously.”
Danny still doesn’t look like he knows what to do. He’s like this. He speaks from his heart then spends a lot of time backtracking when he imagines he’s said the wrong thing. Interestingly, he seldom does. Danny’s instincts — for people as well as music — are outstanding. It’s his self-confidence that sometimes needs work.
“Gavin?”
I look up. Danny’s at the door. I can tell he’s thinking of saying something he might regret. If the pattern holds, it’ll be something Danny will doubt afterward, though it’s truly what needs to be said.
“She wouldn’t want this for you,” Danny says.
Then he’s gone, and the cloud I’ve been managing to hold at a distance for most of the night begins to drift toward me.