“It’s so late, son, I was beginning to worry!” Marie-Laure’s concerned voice whispered quietly in the sinister corridor.
Clearly silhouetted by the early morning hour and the streetlight entering the family home, Ryan hung his head, knowing full well his mother wouldn’t have slept. Marie-Laure encased her young son in a hug and then gently pushed the door closed with a stuttering scrape followed by a quiet plunk, locking it from the inside with the key permanently situated in the interior lock.
“Did you have a good night, Ryan?” she tried to engage the teen and loosen his tongue, hoping he would invite her into his secretive world and give her some indication of where his heart had been and obviously still was.
“Yeah, it was cool,” Ryan whispered. “I spent most of the night with Alex listening to the Sticky Lizards and when he went home, I just wandered around the late night concerts until the last scheduled pyjama bus finished its route.”
Marie-Laure’s eyes sparkled with obscure relieved tears forming in the corners of her eyes. If her son was with Alex then he was in good hands and her frantic prayers had been answered. She could get some sleep now. “Go to bed, son. I love you!”
“I love you, too,” Ryan mumbled as he squeezed past his mother and silently headed to his room.
Finally climbing into bed exhausted and with a pang of remorse for his mother’s sleepless night, Ryan heard the door to his parents’ bedroom gently close down the hall and pulled the covers up to his nose, waiting for sleep. For the thousandth time, he replayed the chance meeting with the Maestro in his memory and the unlikely promise of jamming with the Sticky Lizards’ lead guitarist. As he contemplated the possibility of a voluntary cleaner being introduced to a top rock group and casually exchanging musical prowess, Ryan realised he’d been scammed... but why? What did this Maestro dude have to gain by making incredulous promises he couldn’t keep? Ryan rolled over to face the small bedside lamp and a disappointed sigh filled the room, convincing himself there was no possibility he would ever see the Maestro again or his preposterous promise.
With the Sticky Lizards resonating like an overactive earworm in his brain, Ryan reached for his iPod silently beckoning from the bedside table, pushed the repeat button and turned up the volume, waiting for Niccolo’s screeching Sfidare Dissenso to lull him into sleep. Just for a moment he hesitated before swiping the play button, remembering Alex’s strange explanation and whether God would allow him to pursue a musical career, defying his parents’ desire for him to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over the family farm. Ryan sighed heavily. The likelihood of attaining his fanciful dream was shrinking with every exasperated breath, and with a frustrated hand he struck the iPod, activating the Sticky Lizards’ explosive comfort and catapulting Niccolo’s screech directly into his receptive eardrums. Waving his hand around, Ryan found the lamp switch and doused the light then pulled the blankets up to his nose again, feeling like his life wasn’t his own and everyone was conspiring against him.
The sleeping house bumped and groaned in the quiet as the rising sun warmed its wooden frame and stretched bearers and joists against the fasteners holding the chalet together. Ryan’s exhausted dreams bumped and groaned too, stretching against the immovable bearers and joists holding his life firmly bolted in a path he had no desire to follow.
Within the shadowy darkness, a teen around his own age handed him a gift and then smiled broadly, his smooth voice titillating Ryan’s expectant mind, ‘I told you God had a purpose for you in music.’ Maestro unexpectedly backed out of Ryan’s dream and disappeared into the darkness just as a massive crowd erupted in rapturous acclaim. Their voices thundered throughout the intimidating amphitheatre and rattled the foundations with a deafening roar. An unanticipated spotlight blinked onto the stage and blinded Ryan for a moment until he realised where he was. In his hands a Stratocaster pressed like velvet into his skin, highly polished and deliberate in the curves of its wooden body with the neck just the right length for his reach. Staring in disbelief at the incredulous instrument for a few brief seconds, he quickly found his groove and adjusted the tone control to the position he liked the most, turned the volume knob to full and struck the strings. The machine responded with an instrumental voice so sweet it melted Ryan’s heart and drew a rapturous gasp from the crowd. Seconds later, the Sticky Lizards appeared out of the rolling stage fog and with Ryan’s lead, they burst into a rock and roll rendition he had never heard before. The crowd went wild with adoration, pulsing their arms above their heads and chanting, ‘Ryan... Ryan... Ryan!’
A sudden chorus of dividing curtains on speeding tracks followed by a blinding light interrupted his infatuated dream. Then as the warm afternoon sun leaked into his room and woke him, Ryan immediately recognised the deep voice of his father beckoning him back into the stark reality of family life.
“Ryan, wake up! It’s time we had a man-to-man talk.”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 47
Tension inside the Tauxe family home had burgeoned to a level Ryan had never experienced before. His mother was in tears, silently pleading with the patriarch to tread gently around their wayward teen, vehemently laying down the law to their son. With his head bowed low and his chin resting dejectedly on his chest under the force of the lecture, Ryan remained respectfully silent even as his father continued to berate his behaviour and the selfish lack of concern for his mother’s wellbeing.
Ryan suspected she hadn’t slept while he roamed the festival all night, but it was his first legitimate taste of freedom as an independent man and now the reins were being tightened again, feeling the familiar pressure to conform duty bound into the mould of a traditional nobody. After all, he was spending most of the night with Alex and not some clandestine rendezvous with antisocial cretins as his father was intimating. Sitting across the kitchen table from his parents and close to bursting, Ryan fought with all his might against a disrespectful explosive tirade and internalised the tension, remaining unresponsive and sullen, trying to deal with the reality of a life apart from the love of music.
As his father droned on, Ryan’s mind overloaded and blocked out the lecture, instead drifting back to the dream the previous night. With an imaginary pluck at melodic strings, he heard the crowd’s euphoric beckon, adoringly chanting his name before the fantasy evaporated with the chime of the kitchen clock. It was time to catch the bus to the festival and start work for the day, but Ryan knew the harangue had just been paused and the patriarch had more to say.
With an anxious knot pressing into her stomach, Marie-Laure silently watched the grim expression of her son as he pulled the scraping front door closed and slowly disappeared down the path to catch the bus. Nothing had been resolved and Ryan hadn’t offered anything except a few listless nods and an occasional shrug throughout the lecture, but his father still vehemently demanded a response. Now as her sullen son walked away, it seemed he was slowly drifting further from her too, leaving her to feel desperate and alone. Certain her son had finally shut them out completely, Marie-Laure felt helpless, frantically wanting to reach out and make it all okay again but she was convinced Ryan perceived her as part of the problem and her last hopes rested with Alex to guide Ryan with Papa God’s wisdom.
*~*~*~*
Ryan occupied the back seat of the lumbering Chailly to Gambetta bus, emotionally detached and highly depressed, watching the mountain slopes pass by his window in an unrecognisable blur. Moments later the bus squealed to a halt beside the Gambetta stop, but it was only the movement of other bus passengers that shook Ryan from his stupor long enough to recognise he had to alight, too.
Inadvertently glancing at his watch, Ryan panicked, realising he was running late and had to make a dash for the Auditorium Stravinski’s workroom behind the stage, collect the heavy vacuum backpack before endeavouring the laborious and time critical task of cleaning the complete fifth-floor entertainment area. As he weaved in and out of the busy Quai de Vernex, the crowded arena stal
led his progress.
Disguised by the scene and lost in the crowd, a pair of insignificant young eyes casually watched the agitated teen, measuring his progress with a calculating, steely stare.
Taking three steps at a time and panting heavily from the exertion, Ryan finally burst onto the fifth floor, drawing convicting stares from other staff members already diligently going about their chores. Keeping his head down and averting questioning eyes, he ran to the backstage passage and broke into the janitors’ room, but Alex’s equipment and his personal locker were empty.
Great! I don’t need another lecture! his guilty thoughts berated.
Throwing his substantial locker open, Ryan heaved the weighty vacuum cleaner backpack onto his shoulders, grabbed an enormous orange coiled extension lead and then with his free hand, swiped at the fabric ID necklace before kicking the locker door closed with his foot. Glancing up at the wall clock, a stab of nervous energy coursed through his body: he was five minutes late.
Loaded up like a mountain climber, Ryan hurried into the auditorium just in time to see Alex deep in an emotive conversation with one of the complex’s managers, his face red with concern and energetic hand gestures that left no doubt of their intentions. Momentarily, Alex’s concentration diverted and made eye contact with Ryan across the seats. The chance communication exchanged a dire expression but the spirited discussion went on as if Alex was locked in a battle of wills. Unexpectedly, the arguing bureaucrat flung up his hands in disgust and turned on his heels, flouncing away from Alex, but as he strode off the manager unleashed the final words leaving nothing to the imagination.
“He goes, or it’s both of you!”
Alex sighed loudly and then dolefully dropped his chin to his chest trying to come to terms with what had just happened. “Ryan!” Alex motioned from across the expansive venue.
Ryan’s heart sank, expecting the worst, then obediently made his way through the maze of seats. Standing in front of Alex and allowing the backpack to drop from his shoulders, Ryan waited for the words he knew were coming.
“I’m sorry, son, I have to let you go. You can work today’s shift and see the concerts tonight, but after that I’ll need your security ID.”
Ryan’s shoulders slumped in shock for the second time today and he tried hard to fight the frustrated tears flooding the corners of his eyes. Resigning himself to the situation, Ryan nodded and whispered emotionlessly, trying to keep the lid on his disappointment, “Yeah, I’ll work tonight. Thanks, Alex.”
Alex draped his arm over the distraught teen and whispered, “I love you and I know God loves you, Ryan. Sometimes He has to take desperate measures to gain our attention and correct the path of disobedience we choose.”
Pushing away from Alex’s embrace, a flash of frustrated hatred crossed the teen’s eyes and the tears evaporated in a flush of volcanic fury. “God doesn’t love me, Alex. He just wants to use my life as a punching bag!”
Alex hung his head, knowing he had done the same thing when his world fell apart, and the only one who could reach Ryan now was the Holy Spirit. In a voice so quiet, Alex whispered, “Not by might... not by power... but by my Spirit says the Lord.”
*~*~*~*
An uncoiled orange snake coursed across the mezzanine floor and tangled around rows of chairs. The electric lead was just long enough to reach from the only general power outlet attached to a distant wall, stretching precariously to the furthest point and powering the deafening backpack whirring violently upon Ryan’s shoulders. The exertion of vacuuming was somehow cathartic, wearing off frustrated emotional energy although he wasn’t concerned anymore by the roving gaze of the floor manager or the quality of the job. He thought about deliberately leaving sections dirty to spite the bureaucracy, but a stab of conscience kept him in check, diligently cleaning every inch with almost manic fervour. As Ryan attacked the job, tumbling thoughts rolled across his mind’s eye and it seemed his father had won and now his future would be devoid of anything remotely musical.
The machine suddenly lost power in a spiralling defeated tone, winding down like a battery powered toy on the last remnants of stored energy. Ryan sighed loudly, expecting to see the cord pulled from the wall. Glancing around behind him, following the cord to its source and searching for an offending tangle, Ryan was surprised to see the lead still firmly connected to the power outlet and the building lights illuminated... they hadn’t lost power. He reached for the machine’s on/off switch and to his dismay the switch was off. He was just about to flick it back on again when a voice startled him and he jumped.
“I thought you might like a Stratocaster. It seems an appropriate machine for someone of your talent.”
As if he’d been stung, Ryan swivelled violently to meet the voice’s owner. Instead, his lust-filled eyes focused on a highly polished electric guitar and the authenticating tags swinging from its neck.
“It’s new and no one has used it before. I hope that’s okay.”
Ryan stared wide eyed and disbelieving at the teen holding the new guitar.
“Something wrong, Ryan? Did I choose wrongly? I can get you another guitar if you prefer.”
Ryan recognised Maestro immediately and almost dropped to his knees in shock. Trembling from the bombshell, Ryan’s eyes scrutinised the auditorium surrounds in an effort to verify reality and wondering whether his mind was playing a cruel trick. Searching for a reassuring reference point, his spinning gaze eventually settled on the clock above the stage, noting the time. It was exactly when the Maestro said he would return.
“N... no, a Stratocaster is way cool!” Ryan’s eyes were moist and his hands shook as he took the expensive gift from the teen, contemplating whether God had in fact endorsed a future in rock and roll.
“I’m sorry you were fired,” the Maestro offered compassionately, “but there is a good side to the ills of today’s problems. The Sticky Lizards are coming to my sound studio for a jam tonight after their shows. I’ll pick you up at the front of the auditorium when you finish work and you can acquaint yourself with your new instrument before they arrive. What do you say?”
Ryan nodded without thinking, his eyes open wide and staring at the confident teen, overcome with awe at the things he was hearing. But one thing bothered his conscience. How did the Maestro know he was fired and if he knew that, why was he still offering the chance of a lifetime to someone who couldn’t hold down a simple cleaner position, a voluntary one at that?
Then came the confirming words Ryan had longed to hear, evaporating each and every objection anyone had ever raised and filling him with eager hope.
“See, I told you God had a career for you in music.”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 48
High above the Auditorium Stravinski’s stage, a lone impassive timekeeper scrutinised the musical work area, keeping watch with metronomic accuracy and measuring the frenetic activity below with the stoic drum beat of its rhythmic chronometric arms. The expressionless mechanical conductor gloried in its position, keeping order over the back stage labour force with uncanny accuracy and when its important arms pointed to a specific position on its round face, chaos erupted. Distraught employees ogled the clock’s telling pose with terrified expressions and scurried off to complete their tasks before the doors opened and expectant paying crowds surged in. No member of staff wanted to be the schedule’s stumbling block and singled out as the cause of delays to the overarching concert programme and face management’s discipline, therefore purposefully allowing the staunch, impassive clock face to remain both ruler and guide over their calculated lives.
Busily shuffling the vacuum head around seat frames and purging grime from every fragment of the polished cherrywood floor, Ryan continually glanced up at the bureaucratic timekeeper with disdain, keeping a watchful vigil but this time his expression was filled with indignity and not fear. No longer enamoured with the job and its impossible schedule, he willed the final shift to end and for the music life he coveted to
start; but as usual, the timepiece wouldn’t cooperate and the minutes dragged by in a constant monotonous drawl. Even after exchanging continuous threatening glares, the austere and unemotional round face kept up the ceaseless parade... tick ... tick ... tick! No matter how Ryan willed the sober accountant to misappropriate its calculating duty, it defiantly answered his unspoken manipulation with the same tedious and maddening... tick ... tick ... tick!
Coursing with euphoric fervour, Ryan tried to ignore the intense timekeeper and diligently floated through his chores, but his mind remained focused on the tiny sound control room where the Maestro had deposited the Stratocaster for safekeeping while Ryan completed his incumbent duties. The strange turn of events dogged the young man’s concentration. It always seemed when he made a major decision there appeared to be a war of opinions battling for prominence on the stage of his life. But this time he remained convinced and no amount of mental argument would shift the image of the sparkling brand new Stratocaster indelibly burnt into the youth’s memory and the Maestro’s comforting words. “See, I told you God had a career for you in music.”
An unimpressed image of his father’s face raced across Ryan’s mind and drew a moment of intense panic, but the Maestro’s appearance and his gift had convinced Ryan of his future path. Seemingly God Himself had confirmed it, and if his parents didn’t agree they needed to take their complaint to Him and not Ryan.
A trickle of sweat ran down Ryan’s forehead and pooled in the corner of his eye, stinging the sensitive tear duct and bringing a momentary halt to the exhaustive pace he’d set. Wiping the corner of his eye with his shirt collar, he caught a distant glance of Alex’s bearded frame busily swabbing down chairs. Secretly watching the older man with an admiring gaze, Alex’s story came floating back. However, he had a difficult time connecting the respectable man he now saw with the destructive drug addicted street kid who had unintentionally killed his pregnant girlfriend in a car crash, desperate to evade the law. Ryan could see clearly how Alex had made all the wrong choices and had paid for his folly dearly, but he’d convinced himself Alex’s situation was completely different and had absolutely nothing in common with any of Ryan’s current decisions.