The High Notes: A Novel(17)

She ordered a glass of wine and sipped it as two men with long hair checked the sound equipment onstage and then disappeared again. Ten minutes later, three men came out, including the two who did the sound check, and a pretty girl in jeans and cowboy boots, a pink blouse and her hair in pigtails. She caught the men’s attention immediately. One of the men was tall with a long blond ponytail. The girl introduced herself and the band. She said they were from Nashville and had come all the way to Jackson Hole to play for them. People lowered their voices as the music started, but they went on talking.

Iris listened raptly to what they played. The man with the ponytail sang some duets with the girl, named Annie. They were good, and people seemed to enjoy them. Eventually they paid closer attention, and stayed in their seats to listen. Annie sang a number of ballads. She had a sweet, true voice. The singer with the ponytail had a better voice, and then they moved into livelier country music again. They played a long set, and then got off the stage and said they’d be back in twenty minutes and disappeared. Iris had really enjoyed them. They weren’t earth-shattering, but they were good. An opening act, but not strong enough to be a feature yet, she thought, analyzing their performance with a practiced ear. But they were young, and if they stayed together, they’d get there. She was curious about what they’d play for their second set, and decided to stay to hear them.

The restaurant and bar were even more crowded than when she had come in. People liked to congregate there late, and listen to the music. It was a warm, friendly place to hang out. A small table for one person freed up during their break. It was closer to the stage, and Iris took her glass of wine and sat down so she could see them better. There was a joyful abandon to the way they performed, their lack of polish was appealing. They were having fun together with the music. They hadn’t been spoiled yet by grueling tours and concerts in bad places. Their love for the music was contagious, and they encouraged people to clap and stomp and sing along if they knew the songs, when they came back for their second set.

Having had enough to drink by then, people did as they were invited to, and at one point the whole room was singing, “We will. We will rock you!” an old Queen song. The room was vibrating with music and excitement, and Iris joined in and her voice soared above the others for a minute. She instantly caught herself and toned it down. The boy with the ponytail was staring at her with a questioning look. He had heard her, and on the next set, he beckoned her to come up, and she shook her head. He kept signaling her to join them and she knew the song they were playing, and had sung it hundreds of times herself. It was an old Elvis song she’d sung since she was a kid. He finally stepped off the stage, came over, and held out a hand, and she took it and followed him back to the stage, and he pulled her up with a broad grin, and bent to the mic. “We have a talented audience here tonight. This young lady here is going to join us. What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked her, and she felt like it was her first time onstage, as she blushed and told him her first name. The audience was so close and personal, it really did feel like Harry’s. She’d had more distance from her audiences for the past nine years, and more room to move around on the stage, and she had set the pace and tempo. Now they did. But they were easy to follow, and the girl in pigtails and the pink blouse, Annie, smiled broadly at her.

She slipped right into the song with them, careful not to unleash her voice to the fullest or she’d drown them out. There was an art to being a backup singer and singing with a group. She wasn’t the lead singer here, or the star, and didn’t want to be, but as they sailed into the end of the song, there was a place for the kind of singing she was best at, and Annie couldn’t get there. Iris went straight up to the high notes she was known for, and everyone in the room was electrified and listened to her hold them and then float back to earth with ease as she joined the others for the finale. The singer with the ponytail stared at her when the song was over.

“Where’d you learn to sing like that, woman? You sounded like an angel fallen straight from Heaven. I’ll bet you can kill a gospel song like nobody’s business.” She fumbled with her answers to him, thanked them, and was about to get off the stage, when Annie grabbed her hand and with big innocent blue eyes asked her to stay for the rest of the set. Iris hesitated, she didn’t want to intrude on them, horn in, or steal their thunder, but all four of them asked her to finish the set with them, and she sang right along as backup, knew all their songs and only hit the high notes a few times. The applause was thunderous when they finished. Annie hugged Iris, and the ponytail guy was grinning.

“Man, you can sing, Iris. You need a job? We need you. Shit pay but free eats, they treat us pretty good here.” He had a heavy Tennessee accent, and he had picked up on the remnants of Iris’s Texas drawl, which came out more when she talked to other Southerners. He was the leader of the band, and the lead male singer, and played guitar. “My name is Boy, Boy Brady,” he introduced himself, as they headed to an empty table near the kitchen for dinner. One of the waitresses brought it to them quickly, and bantered with them. The members of the band were friendly and likable, and they drew a big crowd for the owner, Moe, who looked a little like Harry, Iris thought when she met him.

“Boy’s my real name, by the way, not a stage name. My mama was fifteen when she had me and left me at the state adoption agency in Memphis. She never signed the relinquishment papers or named me, so I was state-raised in foster homes, but no one could ever adopt me. She showed up once in a while to check in. She moved away when I was fifteen, and I never saw her again. I got emancipated when I was sixteen, so I guess she figured I didn’t need her anymore. But Boy is on my birth certificate, so I left it there. It’s good enough for me.” It sounded like he had had the same drifter’s life that Iris had, except that she had one parent and he had none. But she might as well have been state-raised too. They had that in common. “Where’d you grow up? Is that Texas I hear?” He grinned at her as he dug into the meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gusto. Annie was holding hands with the drummer, and Iris could see they were a couple. Annie was twenty-one years old, and had a sweet, pure voice. Boy was the strongest singer in the group, and was twenty-nine.