On The Road in Minnesota- Part III

 ...and finally,           

            Back at the hotel, I wondered if either of them could read music. It turned out they could, and very well at that, which was the first pleasant surprise of the trip. Our rehearsal was great, though I’d never heard my charts played with quite that instrumentation. Both young men were consummate musicians, and when we discovered we could  improvise together, my hopes began to rise for the possibility of a really good show. Awesome.

            Well, it was opening night, there was no blizzard, the musicians were good and it was Saturday, so maybe I’d actually have an audience. My first show was at 9pm, and I went over to the club around 8:30 to see what was what. The stripper was plugging away with her dog, and the bar was full, but so far nobody was in the club except a very bored cocktail waitress. Frankie and Ray showed up just after I did, and while they were tuning up, I noticed a door in the wall between the two venues. It was right in front of the stage where I’d be singing.

            “What’s that for?” I asked the waitress.

            “To get to the bar.”

            I thought about it.

            “You mean, while the show is on?”

            She looked at me like I had two heads.

            “Yeah, if they want drinks,” she explained carefully.

            I wondered how that would work. Every time the door opened, the music from the juke box, and of course the stripper and her dog, would be revealed to the audience in my show. Not good. Not good at all. That was, of course, assuming anybody actually showed up. Frankie came over to me.

            “It’s almost nine,” he said. “We can start.”

            “Frankie, there’s nobody here.”

            He laughed. “Don’t worry. There will be.”

            We started our set and almost immediately a couple entered and the waitress sat them at one of the two front tables. She took their order and proceeded to the door by the stage and opened it. Suddenly I was singing with Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton, except that unfortunately we weren’t singing the same song. The waitress took her time closing the door. I went on with my number. I was almost finished when she came through with the drinks. Kenny and Dolly had already finished and Loretta Lynn had taken their place. The door closed, but not before I noticed a few heads at the bar turn toward my sound. Two more couples came in and were seated, so I now had an audience of six. I can work with that. I was indulging in the afore mentioned snappy patter when the waitress again opened the door to go get drinks. Vaughn Monroe singing “Ghost Riders In The Sky” filled the room. The stripper was astride her dog.  The audience giggled nervously. I smiled.

            “It’s okay. I’m used to it. I have a dog of my own.”

            Not, perhaps in the best taste, but it got a laugh. A big one. It happened just as the door was closing, so the patrons at the bar heard it and I guess it caught their attention. Before the next song was over, somebody had propped the door open and turned off the juke box and spotlight, leaving the stripper in the dark with her dog, taking a much-needed break. Frankie and Ray started jamming a rendition of “Ghost Riders”, and I got everybody to sing the only phrase in that song that everybody knows: “Ghost riders in the sky.” They loved it! For the rest of the show those two boys and I improvised, encouraging audience participation whenever we could and keeping the music light and up-tempo, and we were a hit! All the seats in the club were soon taken, and the bar was full, too, and most stayed for the second show. When it was over and I was back at the Hotel Cigarette, I decided it might not be such a bad week after all. Exhausted, I fell into bed, (did I mention the iron bedstead? Very Dickensonian.) and dreamed of Vaughn Monroe.

            The rest of the week was pretty much the same. I became a favorite with the regulars, and the stripper took to bringing a paperback to read while she was on the break I provided, so everyone was happy. On my last night, which was New Year’s Eve, they threw me a going away party.

            “You were really great,” said the sad-eyed bartender. “I hope you come back.”

            “Thanks! I had a very nice time,” I told him. “Your son is very talented. It was a real pleasure working with him and Ray.”

            “Best accordion player between here and Milwaukie,” he reminded me, and this time I agreed.

            New Year’s Day dawned gray and snowy. Having had a minimum of sleep and lots to drink, I climbed on the bus ready to snore through the trip to the airport.

            Not to be. There, in the front seat, was the stripper and her huge dog. I could tell she was waiting for me to sit nearby so we could chat all the way to Minneapolis, and since she was the only other person on the bus besides the driver, I decided it would be rude to do anything else. I sat across the aisle from her and prepared to listen to her life story. It turned out to be pretty interesting, especially the part about the stuffed dog, but that’s for another time. When I finally got home to my apartment, I decided it hadn’t been such a bad gig after all.