Janus Falling

By Robert Peters

Janus Falling is a story of ambition and greed in a rapidly changing music industry. Colleen Bahar is in a bad place. She has been chewed up and spit out by the male dominated music business. Her early success as a singer has unfortunately run its course and she has become yesterday’s news in a tomorrow world. Now Colleen is viewed as an a

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Dec 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781647530846

Book preview

Janus Falling

Copyright © 2020 by Robert Peters. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

1603 Capitol Ave., Suite 310 Cheyenne, Wyoming USA 82001

1-888-980-6523 | [e-mail]

URLink Print and Media is committed to excellence in the publishing industry.

Book design copyright © 2020 by URLink Print and Media. All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019919294

ISBN 978-1-64753-083-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64753-085-3 (Hardback)

ISBN 978-1-64753-084-6 (Digital)

30.07.20

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Past As Present

Chapter 2: The Audition

Chapter 3: Stepping Stones

Chapter 4: Stuck in the Station

Chapter 5: The Departure

Chapter 6: Catching the Dream

Chapter 7: When Angels Fly

Chapter 8: The Other Side of the Rainbow

Chapter 9: The Fall from Grace

Chapter 10: Transitions

Chapter 11: The Last Act

Chapter 12: The End Starts at the Beginning

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WMpSC7nK3os/Rn33pPMCTRI/AAAAAAAAAcE/nZiYkY1O2Xo/s320/janus_two-faced_romangod.jpg

PRELUDE

In ancient Rome, Janus was the god of transitions and new beginnings. Janus was depicted as having two heads - one looking wistfully back to the past, and one looking optimistically forward to the future.

CHAPTER 1

Past As Present

I always enjoyed coming to Tappy’s. It used to be one of the best kept secrets in Los Angeles, a city known for flaunting its secrets. Tappy’s was an outlier, something out of the ordinary. Even its location was remote, requiring a voyage to the panoramic hills on the affluent West Side. The trip to Tappy’s was always filled with anticipation. On any given night, you knew something unexpectedly special could happen. The enticement of the unforeseen is what captured a diverse clientele. Tappy’s was a place where the famous, the infamous, the distinguished, and the negligible could all gather together. It was like a private club in those days, a place where you could have a good time and leave no memories behind. Once you entered, there was a feeling of protection from the outside world. You could have a few drinks, enjoy a clandestine get-together, conduct a business deal, or just hang out. The jazz would be flowing every night, and it was the glue that brought the whole scene together. The best musicians in Los Angeles would show up and form impromptu ensembles that would play two or three sets each. They were some of the best improvisational players in town. And the guy everybody wanted to play with was Bennie Murphy. Bennie owned the trumpet. He set the pace, and he understood the importance of give and take with these musicians. It didn’t take long for Bennie to form his own band. He was a headliner for a while, but times change. The older crowd is inevitably forced into migration by a younger fold. The owners covet the young because they spend more and they are easier to please. Give them a booth with a few bottles of vodka, provide a strong bass beat, and their consumption knows no limits. That’s their enticement; but it’s a deadly allure. Ultimately, they care more about the scene than the music, and even the next new thing gets old after a while. Youth has no loyalty, no refinement. So they move on, and the clubs are left struggling to catch up.

Tappy’s was no exception. I had heard some big investors came in and redesigned the place. It was closed for several years for the renovation, and then they needed something unique to jumpstart the business. It was a reach, but they brought back Bennie. At first he played during the week, late at night. On the money making nights he would be pushed back into the smaller clubs downtown. But Bennie still had the magic, and he quickly worked his way back to the weekends. He was the headliner once again, and Tappy’s was back on the list of hallowed destinations.

Bennie’s success was also the root of his worst problem. Musicians were drawn to him. They wanted to learn his style and copy his riffs. And once they learned, they were eager to flee the nest. Each of these musicians wanted to be the featured player, not a backup. Sadly, Bennie’s worst trait was to nurture talent. It was his fatal flaw. He knew his weakness but he couldn’t help himself, so he accepted the consequences. I should know, it’s how I got my start.

I was one of a thousand voices in town before I met Bennie. I had an average voice, but Bennie taught me tempo, timing, and vocalization. With a good band, I could sound just right. But there’s no money in jazz, and I was always in it for the money. Bennie was a means to an end. I was one of his weaknesses, and he was easy prey. We stayed together, on and off the stage, for over a year. Once I developed a name, I had to move on. You need to capitalize on your opportunities in this business. I went mainstream and cut three albums. I had a good local following, but my second album sold less than my first. And when the third album sold less than the second, I became part of music history. But I was determined to work my way back to the top. It had taken me months to put my plan together, and Bennie was on the critical path. Not Bennie per se, but he had this new guitarist that was the talk of the town. That’s who I wanted to see. He could be the final piece to make things happen.

Tappy’s was perched on the top of a hill with an expansive view of downtown Los Angeles in the distance. There was a large circular driveway curving up from the street below with ground lighting every twenty feet or so on each side. The lighting fixtures along the driveway were in the shape of inverted tulips; they rose up about two feet off the ground and then curved downward. The light bulbs weren’t visible so you could only see the secondary lighting reflected off the ground. It was a new feature and very tastefully designed. Wherever there was a tree, a hidden light pointed upward to illuminate the limbs. It was bright enough to feel welcoming without being too conspicuous. As we drove up the roadway, the skyline of the downtown area became more noticeable in the distance. Looking at the lights shining below, the memories started to drift back. There were many nights when I came up this driveway feeling like it was my own.

When we finally reached the top, I could see a flurry of activity around the main entrance. There were seven or eight cars cued up and valets running back and forth trying to handle the overflow.

Pull up on the left, Jack directed. Jack was my manager and he was particularly adept at handling situations like this. They’ll let us in, he said reassuringly.

The limo driver did as he was instructed. He pulled up in the exit lane and stopped parallel to the walkway leading to the front door. He got out and walked to my side of the car to open the door. I took his hand as I stepped out of the car, showing a good bit of leg in the process. In the past, this would have sent the cameras flashing, but tonight there was a noticeable lack of interest. Before I could take a step, Jack was by my side. That’s what manager’s get paid to do, and Jack was a good manager. He was passing out tips freely, making sure we made a big entrance.

There was a tall muscular guy in a dark suit at the door, queueing everyone waiting to get in. The line was impressively long. Limiting the access added to the air of exclusivity. Jack walked up to the guy and said something to him. I could see the guy bend down and turn his head to hear Jack, and then he looked over in my direction. He nodded and Jack motioned for me to come in. As I walked toward the entrance, I could smell the scent of jasmine in the air. The vines were in full bloom this time of the year and they radiated a sweet smell that heightened the sense of anticipation.

Once I entered the building, there was a noticeable perception of the new replacing the old. The walls along the entrance hallway were impressively decorated with blue hues trimmed with dark mahogany. The hallway ended at the maître-d stand, which had the same dark woodwork. The bar area was just beyond on the right. It was a traditional wooden bar with a brass footrest running the entire length. The wood was shiny, giving it an upscale look. This was where the overflow crowd was mingling three or four deep. The bar was directly opposite the stage, so everyone gathering there could get a good view of the performance.

On the left of the entryway was the seating area. There was a second bar running along the wall, perpendicular to the stage. This bar was smaller, without any chairs. It served as a station for the waitresses to fill their drink orders. There must have been six or seven of them walking back and forth between the bar and the tables covering the main floor. They were carrying small round trays with either filled drinks or empty glasses, depending on which direction they were heading.

Good evening Ms. Bahar, a voice said. How do you like the place?

Someone remembered. It was Jerome, the manager of the club. It suddenly felt more familiar, like I belonged here.

Jerome, I said, leaning forward to give him a hug. You’ve worked wonders. I hardly recognize the place. It’s much more elegant now.

We have a table all set up for you, he continued, obviously pleased with the comment. The place was filled, so I assumed Jack had arranged the seating beforehand. Shall I tell Bennie you’re here?

Thanks, Jerome, that won’t be necessary. We just came to hear a few sets.

Right this way, he replied, leading us into the main area. Marcie, take Ms. Bahar to table fourteen.

The receptionist nodded and led us to a table three rows back from center stage. It was the only empty table in the room. Bennie was already playing. As soon as a waitress came by, Jack ordered two drinks. When the drinks came, I let mine sit there. I wanted to take a small sip, but I had to stay ready.

Jack left the table to go backstage, and I felt isolated in this crowd without him. I scanned the room quickly to get a feel for the audience. I tried not to be too obvious. After all, I was the one who was there to be seen. There were a number of younger, stylishly-dressed couples who were tired of the hip scene and were looking for something fresh. They were discovering jazz, as if it were some new thing. Then there were the middle-aged couples who looked like they belonged here. Some were well-dressed and clearly coming here because they wanted to hear the music. The others were an eclectic mix, jeans with a white shirt and jacket, jeans with colored shirts and no jackets, and the European look with black slacks and dark shirts accessorized with leather jackets. It was a good mix and that was why everyone felt comfortable coming here. There was an anonymity of styles.

I watched Bennie’s group with more than a casual interest. I had been playing in bands for the last 15 years, and I understood the dynamics. It’s a man’s world, and they don’t let you forget it. When I was young and vulnerable, these guys were always coming on to me. I wasn’t sure who could help my career, so I was more open to their advances. Over time, I learned to discriminate … for my own protection. The drummers were the most physical and they were more in the moment. They were good lovers, but they had no staying power, nothing to distinguish them. The bass players were loyal, but they lacked ambition and drive. That made them poor partners. Together the drummer and bass player formed the percussion unit, and they kept the beat going. They had to be tight for the rest of the band to hold it together. Otherwise, the playing would get sloppy. The guitarists always stood out. Unfortunately, they were the worst lovers. They spent too much time with their instruments and not enough time with their women. That wasn’t true for the lead singers. They were the best lovers. They were in love with themselves, and they always felt a compulsion to perform. They were the most self-absorbed and the least reliable. All but Bennie; he was reliable. But then he wasn’t a lead singer. He was the leader of the ensemble. He needed a singer. That was why I was here.

I could see Bennie’s eyes drift in my direction from time to time. He knew the moment I walked into the room. When he finally dropped his trumpet down to his chest to let the other musicians take their turn with the lead, he looked right at me and gave me that nice big smile of his. The band was good, as good as I had heard. You don’t hear bands this tight very often. Carl was still on drums. He had been with Bennie forever. Drummers are loyal like that. They don’t have as many options. Jessie Mandel was on piano and organ. He was primarily a studio musician and very particular who he played with on stage. It was a testament to Bennie to have Jessie playing these club dates. There was a thin Black guy on bass. I didn’t know him. And then there was Jared on guitar. Jared was the reason I was here. Flashy guitar work was the industry hot spot right now. You could have a voice, a song, but you needed that guitar to break through.

Jared was solid. You could see Bennie’s influence. He was understated, more blues riffs than jazz riffs, and that’s what made his playing so unique. Rumor had it that he had been playing in a rock band and fell into a bad way. I don’t know how he met Bennie, or how Bennie turned him around, but here he was … the new invention. Bennie had the guitar, and he had the spotlight.

The more I heard him play, the more I could see the potential. He had a hard time holding back. He was like a young colt learning the discipline of racing around the track. I could see he was wasting his time in a jazz group. He had a talent that could take him farther. He could highlight a more mainstream band and be the focus. He was what I needed.

They played through the set. When it came time for a short break, Bennie placed his trumpet in a stand and walked off the stage. A moment later, Jack had Bennie in tow and was leading him over to our table. As Bennie passed through the audience, everyone stood up to shake his hand or pat him on the back. He was in his glory.

Colleen, he said when he reached my table, it’s good to see you! He took hold of my hands and kissed me on each cheek. You look great.

How’s my favorite band leader? I replied, squeezing his hands gently.

Things are good, things are good, he said, nodding his head. The movement was accentuated by the wide brimmed hat he was wearing. Bennie’s hair was thinning and it was rare to see him without some type of hat. The hair on the sides of his head flowed down to his shoulders, presenting a somewhat deceptive effect. He had the stage appearance down pat.

Have a seat, I said, motioning to an empty chair at our table.

I can only stay a minute, he replied, pulling the chair out from under the table. It’s like old times seeing you here. He smiled, and then came the moment I was waiting for. Hey, why don’t you join us for a rendition of ‘Only You’?

Thanks Bennie, that’s sweet but I couldn’t.

Don’t be silly, of course you can. It hasn’t been that long. The fans would love it. They always had a special place in their hearts for you here. He paused to see my reaction. Just one song, he continued.

I nodded in consent.

My voice will still be warming up. I don’t want to embarrass myself.

There’s nothing you can do to embarrass yourself, he replied reassuringly.

Tell you what, can we do ‘Right Around the Corner’ too? It will give me a chance to work into a groove.

You’ve got it, he said smiling. I’ve got to get back now. I’ll call you up during the next set.

Bennie walked back toward the stage. I knew him well enough to know he needed a cigarette break. I looked over at Jack, he had done his job.

Nice, Jack said, leaning over.

I took my jacket off and threw it over the back of my chair. I had to get ready. One of my assets was having the body to back up the voice. After the break, the band came back and played three songs. Bennie had a great sense of timing. He wanted to warm up the audience before bringing me on stage.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a rare treat for you tonight. Many years ago, Carl and I, and our group at the time, were struggling to find our voice. And as we were struggling to find our way, a voice came to us. We met a singer that put us on the map. And ladies and gentlemen, that voice is with us here tonight.

He paused for effect.

I’d like to recognize and thank … Colleen Bahar, he said, extending his hand toward our table. Bennie was always very gracious. It was one of his many admirable characteristics.

There was a mild applause, almost pathetic.

I’d like to invite Colleen to join us on stage for a special rendition of some of our old favorites. What do you say Colleen?

Of course I had to shake my head and give the obligatory declining wave with my hand. Bennie was a true professional. He didn’t let up. After what seemed like the right amount of time, I finally acquiesced and slowly walked up to the stage.

What do you say Colleen, should we give them ‘Only You’?

I only hope I can remember the words, I replied into the microphone, testing the sound and the feedback. Fat chance I would forget the words, I had been practicing these songs for the past three weeks.

I was anxious. I wanted this to go well. I kept telling myself to stay with Bennie, the others didn’t matter. When the music started, I was surprised to find how easy it was to fit in. That’s the sign of a good band. They were following my lead. Every time there was a break in the lyrics, one of them would step up to fill the void. There was a natural flow, nothing too intrusive, more of an accompaniment. It reminded me of the old days.

I wound up doing both songs. When I finished, the applause was louder. Jack gave a standing ovation and his gesture affected other members of the audience. I wasn’t sure if the applause was for the old standard songs or my performance. Not that it mattered, the result was the same.

When I walked back to the table, my drink was still sitting there. I took two quick sips. A middle-aged man sitting at the next table leaned over toward me.

Nice song. Loved the vocals.

The words were reassuring. It would have been more sincere if I didn’t catch him looking down at my chest. I turned back toward Jack and finished the drink. Bennie was still in the middle of his set and it was a good time to leave. We could avoid a lot of audience contact if we left early. I made my statement, now it was best to go. You never want to overstay your welcome. I would let Jack take the next step. We had accomplished everything we could. It was a good night.

Several days later, Jack set up a lunch meeting with Bennie at Scrambles on the West Side. Scrambles is a popular restaurant with musicians because they serve breakfast all day and parking is readily available. Parking is always a problem in Los Angeles, especially during the day. Jack and I arrived early, and we sat at a table with a direct view of the doorway. We chose a spot near the back, where we could have some privacy. The restaurant had a rectangular shape. There was a long wooden counter running down one side of the room with stools placed along its length. The stools provided a welcoming spot for people dining alone. The rest of the room was filled with small tables. Most of the tables were square, seating four people. The shape of the tables allowed the restaurant to maneuver them into any number of configurations, depending on the need at the time. The front of the restaurant had two large window panes that allowed the midday sun to flood the room with natural lighting.

I noticed Bennie as soon as he walked into the restaurant. He spotted me right away and gave me a warm smile. When he came closer and recognized Jack sitting across from me, his smile faded.

I didn’t expect it to be a threesome, he said, looking at me.

I thought it would be a good idea for Jack to be here, in case there were any business issues, I replied.

You still flying solo? Jack asked, trying to break into the conversation.

Yea, still flying solo, Bennie replied, continuing to look at me.

You need a manager, Jack said.

Bennie turned toward Jack.

I have a gig four nights a week, and calls for the other three. Why do I need to pay someone ten percent for what I already have?

You need to think bigger, Jack said, recording, larger venues, touring, merchandise.

I’ll give you that, Jack. You’re always thinking. But I’m an L. A. kind of guy, he said, looking at me and smiling.

It was an inside joke. Bennie was an Italian kid from upstate New York who came to Los Angeles years ago and settled in like so many others in the music industry. He always said it was the warm weather, but it was more than that with Bennie. He was West Coast casual but East Coast sincere. That was a nice combination in a man.

I’ve been working with Vera again, I said. Vera had been my voice coach. I was lying about working with her, but I wanted to impress Bennie, make him think I was serious about making a change in direction.

That’s good, Bennie