Two straws(Kevin Hughes) “That’s a tight band.”

The other Music Agent smiled.

“What?”

The other Music Agent got an even bigger grin.

“It isn’t a band.”

“What?!”

Tapping the Cassette with one finger, the other Agent spoke in quiet awe:

“This, my friend, was all done, every single track: drums, guitar, piano, sax, violin, harmonica, and vocals…by one guy. Just one. "

“Holy Shit!”

Beaming with pride... the other Agent tapped the cassette again.

“So, are you interested in signing him?”

“Hell, yeah!”

That…was the beginning.

*****

She was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Just sitting in the Foyer of his home was a privilege few people, let alone Musicians, would ever have. He was damn near a recluse. She knew the stories. Who didn’t? His meteoric rise in the Industry, fueled by a dozen Platinum Albums (and an equal number of Grammies) was the stuff of Legend. As was his refusal to hire anyone not up to his standards.

It wasn’t arrogance, conceit, or artifice on his part, he simply was a Virtuoso on every instrument. The likelyhood of you being technically as good as he was- was infinitesimal, for you to have at least a good of “feel” as him…was a whole order of magnitude greater. He could pull emotions out of the air…literally, with a wind instrument. He could stroke any stringed instrument until it burst with emotion, and he knew how to pluck the very best notes out of any key on any kind of keyboard.

Then there was his voice. Six plus octaves. Six. With control in every single part of the entire Register. No flats or sharps in his voice…unless he wanted them there. With his voice alone, he could move you to tears, slide you down memory lane, or elicit emotions you tried to keep buried. No wonder so few people have their names on his Album Jackets, or on the back cover of his CD’s. And if your name was on the back of anything he created….well, your Career was set.

She held her little “sample” Cd in one hand. She was twisting it back and forth in little flip flops…it was the best recording she could afford to make. She had played her heart out. The Producer had to keep bringing her out of the trance she slipped into when playing. When the music poured out of her, she was unaware of her surroundings, how long she played, or anything else not related to making her music. She listened to her own music as she played…giving her instant feedback.

One Producer, having given up on trying to record her sound , told her:

“I can’t record a conversation that only you can hear!”

She wasn’t even aware she was doing that. When she told her friend Pamela ( a burgeoning sound engineer with her own unique talents) about the failed recording session, Pamela got angry.

“Of course the idiot couldn’t hear it. He doesn’t understand music! Come over to the studio. I will record you.”

“Pam, I can’t afford even an hour at your Place! It’s just a sample bit for my Audition!”

Pam gave her old friend a stare.

“Just…an Audition? With HIM?!”

They both laughed. The tension was broken.

So she looked down at the CD in her hand for the tenth time in as many minutes. Pam’s studio logo was prominent. She felt a brief burst of pride for her friend. Even HE would have to acknowledge Pam’s work. Genius often recognizes Genius. That thought made her smile.

The door opened off the foyer. It was HIM.

“Darla?”

“Yea..yes, yeah, yes Sir.”

His eyes twinkled.

“Darla, my name is Ben.

“I know…but…well…you aren’t just Ben.”

He laughed. His eyes twinkled with even more laughter. She liked those eyes. Warm. Friendly. Calm. Not at all like she was thinking he was. She thought he would be super intense, and demanding. Instead he was acting like they were old friend sharing a chocolate milkshake. She would love to share a milkshake with him…she shook her head. “Concentrate girl, this is your big chance.”

“Yes, I am. Just Ben. Did you bring a CD?”

“Yes. Right here.”

He looked at it for a second…his eyes went from twinkling to shrewd inspection. She was startled at the transformation. It was stunning. She had heard the old saying about moods shifting like a light switch being clicked on…this was the first time she ever really understood that saying. His eyes “flicked” and you could tell he was thinking.

“Oh, Pamela recorded you. That’s good. That girl knows her stuff.”

“Yeah, she’s my friend.”

This time his eyes were wide with surprise.

“You know her?!”

“Well, yeah, I mean we have been friends since daycare. We went to the same Montessori School. I mean she moved out to LA and became famous and all…but we still talk…a lot.”

She realized she was just babbling on…so she just let that sentence hang in the air between them.

“I’d like to meet her someday. I admire her work.”

“Oh, I can call her right now, if you like.”

He got a shy puppy dog look (Darla shook her head in wonder, how many “looks” does this guy have?)

“That would be nice.”

A quick text or two…and Pamela was on her way over.

“She will be here in about twenty minutes.”

“How long is the CD?”

Darla had completely forgotten about the CD…she blushed.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“What did you play for me?”

She looked at him…it was hard not to look at his eyes.

“Summertime. But really, I played it for me.”

“Oh, and would Artie Shaw like it?”

“Well, he plays the Clarinet, I play the Sax…so, yeah, I think he would.”

“Well then, let’s go hear the music. Shall we?”

He offered her his arm, like they were going out onto the dance floor in some fancy palace ball room. It made her giggle. When she put her hand on the crock of his arm, it felt…natural.

He walked her into a side room that had a big overstuffed love seat, two chairs, soft lighting and carpeting. One whole wall was covered with the best music system she had ever seen. Her eyes widened. That outfit would bring every nuance of sound and space from her recording…and the space between notes too.

He seated her on the big love seat, slid the CD into the slot, turned down the lights and sat next to her.

“Ready?”

She smiled up at him. Nodded …not trusting her voice.

He hit play.

The music stopped. She looked down at her hand. Surprised to find it was holding his…on her lap. His eyes were closed. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. She just enjoyed the view of a man overwhelmed with emotion. She didn’t speak. She didn’t dare.

The silence didn’t drag on…it flowed on. A soft embracing moment of shared music…and something else.

The doorbell rang.

It startled them both.

She handed him a tissue from her purse. He took it with yet another twinkle in his eye. This one she couldn’t read much more than the implied “Thank you” and a bit of awe in it.

“That must be Pamela. Stay here.”

He let go of her hand reluctantly. Patting it twice before he turned and headed back into the foyer.

Darla just sat and let the echoes of the music, the warmth of his touch, and the blistering cascade of emotion wash over her. She was grinning so hard it hurt her cheek muscles. He had liked her music!

She heard voices out in the hallway. They were coming closer and closer. The door swung open.

“Hey Darla! He just hired me to record a solo album.”

Darla’s face fell. She was so sure he was going to hire her. She was certain she would get credit on one of his albums…and get to learn from him. Instead…he was hiring Pamela.”

Pam saw the pain in her friends face. Quickly doused by years of Mid Western Politeness.

“NO Darla! He hired me to record just you! He will play back up on your album…if you give him credit on the back cover.”

Darla burst into tears. Pamela almost stumbled when Darla flung herself from the couch into her arms.

“But…but…but…wa…what?”

He smiled. A genuine open trusting smile.

“Well, you don’t need your music clouded up with anyone else’s interpretation. So I think we should all go get a chocolate milkshake and discuss what songs you want. I also think we should start….tomorrow. Pamela has agreed to clear her schedule…she will produce the album for you.”

Darla reached over and grabbed his hand. (Pamela took that in almost without thinking. A smile crossed her face.)

Darla spoke a clear sentence to them both.

“Yes, let’s get Milkshakes. One for you Pam, and one for Ben and I, two straws.”

Six months later….

“The Grammy for Best Album of the year goes to “Darla Sykes” for her debut Album: “Two Straws.”

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