Jobynas blues, p.14
Jobyna's Blues, page 14
“Well.” Clair turned to look at her two partners. “I’d better get back to it. See you after your set.”
“Yes. Great.”
Chapter Twenty-four
THE COACH HOUSE RESTAURANT was just off Washington Square in an authentic nineteenth-century carriage house. The building sat on the corner of a former estate, the land long since chopped up for apartment buildings facing the park. As she and Clair stepped in the front door, Jobie looked around the small dining room. A fireplace of rough-hewn stone covered one wall, and the other three walls were brick and wood-paneling, adorned with handsome oil paintings from the 1800s. There were red leather banquettes and brass chandeliers throwing off gentle light.
The owner met Clair and Jobie at the front door, embraced Clair, and shook Jobie’s hand. He led them to a secluded table near the fireplace, pulled out each of their chairs, and motioned for the waiter. Jobie let Clair choose a wine and took her lead ordering the restaurant’s signature black bean soup and cornbread sticks.
“I’m impressed,” Jobie said.
A small smile played around Clair’s mouth. “About?”
“After a show, I’m used to grabbing food standing up at a hole-in-the-wall. This is elegant and it seems to me we’re getting the royal treatment. You must come here often.”
“When I want to impress someone.”
The waiter brought two steaming bowls of soup with aromatic cornbread on the side. “This soup is fantastic, and the cornbread tastes like what my grandmother makes, which is high praise. Most of what I’ve tasted in the North is Yankee cornbread.”
“What’s Yankee cornbread?”
“It’s sweet. For some reason you Yankees think you’re supposed to put sugar in it.” Jobie shook her head in disbelief.
“I hear your accent now. I hadn’t heard it before you started critiquing our cornbread. Where are you from?”
“Just outside Chattanooga, Tennessee. What about you?”
“Believe it or not, I was born and raised right here in the Village. I went to the Little Red School House, just down the street.”
The waiter appeared again and refilled their wine glasses. The wine, the warmth from the fireplace, and a full stomach from the comfort food were working together to lull Jobie into a dreamy, relaxed state. She watched Clair tuck her silky, almost liquid-looking silvery hair behind her ear. Jobie wished she had her sketchbook. She began to mentally draw the outlines of Clair’s profile with its distinctive prominent nose.
“Are you staring at me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I was mentally sketching you.”
“You’re an artist as well as a singer?”
“Yes. Maybe you’ll sit for me sometime. I’ve thought about sketching you since we met that night in Newport. You have the most interesting face.”
“I would certainly do that if only as an excuse to see more of you. I was so excited when the boys told me we were going to open for you at the Wha? so I’d be sure to see you even though you hadn’t called.”
“I’ve been out of town, to South Africa.”
“South Africa. That must be quite a story.”
“It is. Do you remember I told you about someone I met in London?”
Clair nodded.
“She’s Deedee O’Gwinn, the British pop singer. Do you know her?”
“I know of her. Wasn’t she in the news recently? Didn’t she take a stand against apartheid in Cape Town?”
“I was with her in Cape Town. We got deported.”
Clair leaned back in her chair. “Wow. Now I’m the one who’s impressed.”
Jobie was happy that she had impressed Clair, but felt she needed to set her straight about Deedee’s intentions and her own involvement. “I was just along for the ride. I wasn’t performing. And Deedee would deny that she was making any kind of political statement. In fact, she has denied it in every interview afterward. She had a contract that said she would not appear in front of segregated audiences, and then when we got there, the police changed the rules. That rubbed her the wrong way.”
“Whatever her intentions, she shone a spotlight on conditions that need to change. Other entertainers are going to follow her example, no doubt, refusing to go along with the oppressive regime’s rules about segregated audiences. We’ve certainly never been willing to play there. And you were brave to even go there. You couldn’t have known what the government’s reception would be of you.”
“I didn’t. But Deedee was so sure it would all work out. She can be very persuasive.”
Jobie traced the edge of a rose embroidered in the white linen tablecloth. “I’m not very passionate about political causes, either.” She looked up at Clair. “Does that make you think less of me?”
Clair shook her head. “No, you’re young yet. That may change.” She paused as the waiter refilled both their wineglasses. “So, I guess things have moved along between you and Deedee, romantically I mean.” She looked into Jobie’s eyes. The flickering fire reflected in her gaze.
Jobie hesitated. “Yes, I think so. Living so far apart complicates matters. We’re separated by thirty-five hundred miles, and we’re both so busy. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, so I don’t have any way to know for sure how it’s supposed to go.”
“I’d hate to have to generalize about how relationships are supposed to go, but I’ve had some personal not-so-good experience with a long-distance affair.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“No.” Clair stared into the fire. Jobie waited for her to go on. “The distance between us was a problem. She was in Los Angeles, but more important was that we had different expectations about where we were going with the relationship. At a certain point, I was ready to be exclusive, and she wasn’t, so we called it off. It was amicable.”
Jobie pictured Deedee on the sofa in her apartment telling her that Kate wanted a commitment that she wasn’t willing to give. Jobie leaned toward Clair. “Doesn’t everyone want that kind of promise from someone they care about?”
“Everyone? Maybe not. I think it often depends on timing and circumstances and your shared values. The worst thing is to have unspoken expectations.”
“How did you get so smart about this?”
“Bitter experience and self-preservation, my dear. ‘Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’”
“Ugh. It sounds like so much work. What about romance and spontaneity and being swept away with the emotions of love?”
“All wonderful.” Clair raised her glass. “Somehow I’ve gotten on the wrong side of this conversation. I’m really a hopeless romantic, or maybe more accurately, a hopeful romantic. Here’s to romance, and let’s change the subject. How’s your music going?”
“My record label is after me right now to do a college tour. They say they can line up a dozen dates and that the exposure would sell lots of albums.”
“They’re right about that, but you sound reluctant.”
Jobie squirmed in her chair. “It’s just not my thing. I’ve seen you, Mel, and Don in front of big audiences. You relate so well to them.”
Clair nodded. “We do. I think it’s easier with three of us. Mel keeps track of the playlist. He has it taped to his guitar. Don tells the jokes. All I have to worry about is staying on key and remembering the lyrics.”
“So, do you think I should do the tour?”
“I just know that the college audiences are important for us, with popular music the way it is today.” Clair sipped her wine and glanced at Jobie. “I’ll admit, I had hoped to see more of you, and I’d feel conflicted about your being gone on tour for several weeks, now that we’re becoming acquainted. But it sounds like I’m losing out to Deedee anyway, before I even get started.”
I guess it does sound that way to her, though Deedee and I certainly haven’t had much time to talk about the future.
Clair put her hand on Jobie’s. “I’m sorry. The look on your face tells me that comment sounded out of left field.”
“No. I’m thinking about what you said about having unspoken expectations. Deedee and I have never had much time to talk about where we’re going.”
“Timing is everything. Trust yourself to know when. Anyway, about the college tour, which is where this conversation started, if I’m being objective, it sounds like a good idea.”
After dinner, Clair walked with Jobie the two short blocks to her apartment through the quiet late-night streets of Greenwich Village. They stopped in front of the steps. “Here we are. Will you come in?”
“Better not, I guess.”
Jobie sat on the bottom step, hoping to prolong the time with Clair. “Because of Deedee?”
Clair sat beside her. “I don’t feel that complicating things for you would be a good idea. Besides, I’ve sworn off drama as a way of life. Too exhausting. I do hope we can see each other again.”
“Of course. I promise not to spend the whole evening talking about another woman next time.”
Clair pulled Jobie to her feet, held her shoulders, and leaned in and kissed her chastely, as she had the first time on the terrace in Newport.
Jobie was disappointed that she wouldn’t get the opportunity to heat up Clair’s cool kiss. It felt like a challenge.
Clair chuckled, and Jobie wondered if her thoughts showed on her face. “Goodnight, Jobie.”
Jobie climbed the steps to her apartment and passed up turning on the light in the living room. She stood at the window in the dark watching Clair cross the street into the park. In the glow reflected from a streetlight, Clair turned and waved. She appeared confident Jobie would be watching from the window.
She went through her bedtime routine on autopilot. She shrugged into one of the ancient oversized tee shirts that she slept in and crawled between the covers with a book. She read the same paragraph three times before she gave up on being able to concentrate. She was running over in her head what Clair said about long-distance relationships and unspoken expectations.
If she and Deedee were to be together, would Jobie have to make the move to London? Would Deedee consider moving to New York? Did Deedee even feel the need to be closer together, or was she still satisfied with the early morning phone calls and infrequent meetings in person? And would she ever be willing to make a commitment to being exclusive? Jobie imagined the scores of women throwing themselves at Deedee. She remembered the woman in L’s flirting with Deedee, and Deedee’s response even though Jobie was right there. Then there was always Kate. She was as close to Deedee as anyone could be, and Deedee admitted she had a history with Kate. Jobie remembered the kiss that Deedee gave Kate from the limo.
She resolved to bring up the discussion about finding a way of being together with Deedee during their next early morning call and turned off the bedside lamp.
***
Deedee called earlier than usual the next morning. She sounded breathless with excitement. “I’m sorry for calling you so early. I’ve been sitting here tapping my foot and drumming my fingers, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Guess what.”
“I don’t have a clue.” Jobie fluffed up her pillow and leaned against the headboard.
“The BBC has offered me my own TV show. It will be on every week for an hour, and I get to choose my own music and guests, and they’ll hire Kate as the producer. They said I can do anything, the more eclectic the better. We’ll have a generous budget for costumes and sets and backup musicians and singers.”
Jobie couldn’t help feeling ambivalent. Of course, this was wonderful news for Deedee. It sounded as though the network was willing to give her a high level of artistic control, which was so important to Deedee. Having Kate with her made it even better. With one show, Deedee could reach a bigger audience than with a hundred concerts. It would be a built-in way to promote her records. But with a weekly TV show in London, there was no way Deedee could consider being with Jobie in New York. If the show was a hit, it might run for years.
“Jobie. Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. That’s wonderful news. You’re going to be a huge hit.”
“I’ll be hugely busy, that’s for sure. If we get the deal signed next week, we’ll start pre-production the week after.”
Deedee chattered on, talking about who she was thinking of for guests. She ticked off a wide-ranging list from Woody Allen to The Beatles to Cilla Black. “And of course, Martha and the Vandellas and Marvin Gaye and The Supremes. I could do a whole show on the Motown sound. I should be writing all this down so I can talk to Kate about it.” She stopped. “What am I thinking? I called and woke you before dawn, and I’m rattling on. I’m sorry. I miss you so much. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I had dinner last night at a wonderful restaurant. I wish you could have been with me.”
“Who was with you?”
“Clair Ruffin. She’s the girl singer with the Travelers.”
“Oh, I know who she is. She’s a knockout. Should I be jealous? Who invited who?”
“We sort of invited each other. I think. I met her at the Newport Folk Festival. We were both at the Café Wha? last night.”
“Did she make a pass at you?”
“No.” Jobie drew out the word. “In fact, we spent most of the time talking about you. She was impressed by your stand against apartheid in Cape Town.” Jobie tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and began to get dressed. “I have news, too. The label wants me to do a college tour, and I think I’ll do it.” As she spoke the words, she made up her mind to agree to the tour. “They’re thinking about a dozen schools, two shows a week.”
“You don’t sound that excited.”
Jobie sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her jeans. “I’m not. You know me. I’m happiest in coffee houses right here in the Village, but they expect the exposure to boost my album sales.”
Deedee was quiet on the other end of the line.
“Are you there?” said Jobie.
“Yes.” Deedee laughed. “Do you notice we keep having to ask each other that?”
“It’s hard. Just being on the phone. And I’m acutely aware that these international calls cost you a fortune.”
“Hearing your voice is worth every quid. If you’re on tour and I’m busy as hell with a TV show, we’re going to have an even harder time connecting. I don’t like the prospect of that. As I was dialing this morning, I imagined how great it would be if you came over to London. We had fun in Cape Town, even with the problems. I loved having you with me. You would be a big help now, with the TV show and all.”
Jobie was encouraged that Deedee was feeling a desire to be together, but did she really believe—as she sounded—that her career was more important than Jobie’s? This was another example of how being so far apart was frustrating. Jobie wished she were able to see Deedee’s body language. She wanted to hang up before she became angry. “I have to go.”
They chatted a bit longer. Jobie promised to write from the road as often as possible, since they both would likely be too busy for daily calls.
Jobie hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, searching her mind to find reasons to be excited about a college tour. She might have a chance to do some sketching, during down times, of the new places she’d be seeing. She would insist on one of the stops being close to Jasper so she could visit her grandparents. But a thought intruded and darkened her mood. She couldn’t see any time in the future when she and Deedee would be able to spend more time together.
Chapter Twenty-five
JOBIE FOLLOWED THE SIDEWALK that edged the quad area, past the chapel where she had played a concert the night before. She felt conspicuous, but not because she was older than the students who passed her on their way to classes or lounged on the grass under oak trees. She was only twenty-two, not much of an age difference. It was her clothes and looks that made her feel different. She wore her usual jeans, sandals, and peasant blouse. All the male students wore long-sleeved white dress shirts and ties, and the girls wore skirts.
Jobie had insisted that Sewanee, the name of the small Tennessee town where University of the South was located and the nickname of the school itself, would be the last stop on the tour her record company put together. It was only fifty miles from Jasper. She was looking forward to visiting her grandmother and grandfather after the two shows she was scheduled to play.
She spent the night in a charming cottage on campus. The school sat in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by 13,000 acres of woods, streams, and outcroppings of limestone boulders. The four-color glossy brochure beside her bed told the history of the school. It was a private liberal arts school, founded by conservative Episcopalians in 1858 just before the Civil War on the principle that they wanted a place of higher learning that was “free of Northern influences.” In other words, Jobie thought, they wanted to turn out graduates who believed in the rights of white citizens in the Southern states to own slaves.
She hadn’t been sure the students of this conservative school would accept her music. Many of her songs were freedom anthems and decidedly anti-war. She was pleasantly surprised. The record label and the promoters purposefully sited the concert in the chapel rather than the school’s field house. It was a smaller and more intimate venue. They felt certain that she could fill it. They were right. Last night’s show, the first one, was sold out and standing room only, and the crowd’s reception was enthusiastic. Maybe things were really changing, even in the traditional old South.
The morning after the show, she had breakfast in the communal dining room with the students and set out with her sketch pad under her arm. She was looking forward to trying to get the beauty of the wild surroundings down on paper. Off the sidewalk, she took a gravel path that led across a stream and into the woods. She wandered along the path for twenty minutes until she came to an area where the trees parted on her right to reveal a huge boulder that formed a perfect perch for looking out over the valley below. She carefully climbed up on the rock on all fours and settled down to draw.
