Redemption

Part One:

Danny Rhodes was onstage singing his heart out:

"Show me your love, won't you let me know,

Baby, I'm yours if you want to fall ... into my arms ... "

The screams of hundreds of girls pressing towards the stage drown out his voice and Danny smiles. He loved his fans but they often made it difficult to perform. Sometimes it was tempting to babble incoherently just to see if anyone would notice. But he threw a quick glance into the wings backstage and saw his father standing there.

"Squeeze me tight, won't you baby, please,

I'd give you my all for eternity, if you would fall ... into my arms."

Danny held up his hands in a sign of triumph as the song ended. That finished the encore and the waves of adoration swept over him. He took a bow and the flowers rained down at his feet. Dozens and dozens of daisies began to pile up around his shoes. The smile never left his face although Danny wished he'd never recorded that song 'Daisy Girl.'

But like a good little trooper he bent down and picked up one flower, holding it to his nose and yet not smelling it. He had wanted the song to be Rosie Girl, but his father said that made it sound like a jerk off song. What the fuck? His father was so lame.

The old theatre space resonated as Danny bowed again and again, blowing kisses to the audience. He was dressed in a loose white shirt and black hip hugger jeans. His long blond hair was plastered to his head, the sweat pouring down his face. It was always hot under the lights and his shirt was soaked clean through. Danny placed the microphone back on the stand and bowed again.

The girls knew it was over and they didn't want him to go. The chanting began in the front row: "Danny ... Danny." He wanted to touch them, to repay that adoration. Danny got down on one knee and held out his arm.

The security guards lining the front of the stage were holding the girls back and Danny reached past that human barricade to touch a few hands. The girls went ballistic and one of them lunged, grabbing the cuff of his shirt. A ripping sound and the cuff tore off, taking with it the gold cuff link.

The shirts were hand made, expensive, but he didn't care. He could afford to buy thousands of shirts if he wanted. Danny stood up and backed away to take a final bow. He waved and strode off the stage right past his father. The torn shirt would become an issue ... Danny could see it in the man's eyes.

A hand came down on his shoulder guiding him back to the dressing room. Danny's father slammed the door and then before Danny could put up a hand in defense he was slapped across the face.

"I told you ... never get that close," his father yelled.

"It's only a stupid shirt," Danny said, feeling the slight burn on his cheek.

"You don't listen to me," his father threw back.

"Maybe if you had something intelligent to say I would," Danny replied.

The hand was raised again just as there was a knock on the door. His father turned away and opened the door to reveal a well dressed man with a fat envelope in his hand.

"Mr. Rhodes, here's the box office portion. I'll have the concession's take in about forty-five minutes if you care to wait."

"Thanks, Barney, that's good work. I'll be out in a minute to help you with the sales."

Rhodes shut the door and went to the closet where he pulled out his briefcase. The envelope went inside unopened and the latches were snapped shut. Then he turned back to the boy.

"Clean yourself up and get rid of that torn shirt. You better start listening to me, mister. One of those little bitches is going to hurt you someday, they can't be trusted. I'll see you out front." He grabbed his coat and the briefcase before making his exit.

Danny sat down with a sigh. Finally ... he was alone. All those girls would be leaving the hall by now, stopping in the lobby to scoop up the overpriced T-shirts emblazoned with the picture of their favorite rock star. He wasn't a singer anymore ... he was an image ... something to be marketed.

The whole business disgusted him, and not just because his father was a money-hungry asshole and thought of his fans as 'little bitches.' The guy would be an asshole even without this whole financial business. No wonder Danny's mother had left the marriage. The only question he ever had was why ... why didn't she take him along?

Perhaps she didn't know what to do with a boy who was fast approaching the teenage years, but he could have told her how it would be. Even at twelve Danny knew he was going to become famous, it was written in the stars. But she didn't believe in such things, it wasn't God's Way.

His mother was a Christian and a member of a strict Bible believing sect in Tacoma, Washington, their hometown. They called themselves God's Way, how egotistical can you get? His father had been a member of that church until his fall from grace. All Danny knew about it was that she left, taking his little brother and sister, but leaving him behind.

Robert Rhodes, asshole and father. Danny could think of nothing else as he washed up and pulled on a warm shirt. He slid into his coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. It was cold outside and he had to protect his throat. That was something he had learned from his mother when he was little.

Danny had started singing at age six in the church choir. The Reverend Michaels had seen the little boy sitting out in the congregation singing along with the adult choir during Sunday services. It surprised the good preacher when he realized Danny knew all the words to the songs without looking at the psalm book.

Mrs. Rhodes brought Danny to the church one Sunday and found the Reverend waiting; he wanted to hear Danny sing. Those who came early filed in quietly at the sight of Danny standing by the piano. The chords of 'Abiding Grace' drifted out over the congregation and Reverend Michaels handed Danny a microphone. The boy listened to the music and in a high clear voice burst into song as everyone froze in amazement.

The church had no children's choir, but by the following Sunday the adult voices rose in support of their tiny soloist. Danny's career had begun and he stuck to church music until he reached the sixth grade. That was when he met Martha Trent.

The Trent family was new to the area and was out 'church shopping' as she explained to Danny's mother. They were welcomed into the church hall after the service where Martha came face to face with Danny. She commended him for his singing and received a polite thank you, but Danny thought nothing of it.

The Trent's, in their infinite wisdom, did not join their church, but Danny was to see Martha again. He was at the Lakewood Mall with his family just before Christmas and there in the center courtyard was a group of singers. Danny asked and was given permission to stop and watch as his parents went about their shopping.

He had been sitting on the bench for about ten minutes when Martha sat down beside him. Danny was so involved in the music he didn't recognize her until she spoke.

"Aren't they wonderful?" She asked, and Danny nodded in reply. "They're mine, I discovered them right here in Tacoma."

"How did you discover them?" Danny asked, not really sure what that meant.

"I'm their agent," Martha said. "That's what I do for a living."

Danny had never considered that singers might need an agent, but he was twelve and knew there were a lot of things he didn't understand.

"Are you still singing?" Martha asked, and Danny nodded in return. They sat quietly until Danny's parents returned and then Martha spoke quietly to Danny's mother for a while until the singers finished their set.

"I have to go," Martha said. "Danny, it was good to see you again."

His parents must have had one of those moments of revelation after Martha left because they both turned to him with questions in their eyes.

"Danny ... how would you like to sing professionally?" His mother asked. "Martha would like to represent you."

Danny nodded. "I guess ... what would I have to do?"

What he did was begin to take vocal lessons every Saturday morning from Mitchell Coglin with the Tacoma Opera. Danny's voice was still in that high sweet register, a boy soprano, at least for the moment. Mitchell's advice was to keep up the training until his voice changed and then they would see what nature intended.

Danny's mother had accepted that her son would sing classical music in his lessons, but then she thought much of it was composed for the Catholics and that served God. She didn't begin to have her doubts until Danny came home and said that Mitchell wanted him to sing a part in Amahl and the Night Visitors, an opera that would soon begin production.

"You cannot do that," Danny's mother said. "I can agree to the voice lessons, but not to some part in opera. They have half-naked women in those things."

Danny was just about to turn thirteen and he invited Mitchell to his small birthday dinner. When his mother stated her objections to Danny singing in an opera Mitchell laughed, and then made his explanations.

"But my dear Mrs. Rhodes, the part of Amahl is always sung by a boy and your son has the perfect voice for the part. Did you know that the story is about the birth of the Christ Child and the Magi who came bearing gifts? It's been performed in churches all across the land, and the Tacoma Opera will make it their Christmas gift to the community."

The rehearsals began in September, and Danny had never worked so hard in all his life. But the reviews after opening night spoke about the magnificent voice and talent of the new young singer. It was just what Martha had been waiting to see.

"He needs to record," Martha insisted.

"His voice is changing," Mitchell said.

"Then work him through the changes and teach him to use his new voice. The boy is absolutely fearless in front of an audience. He needs to keep singing. Mark my words, Mitchell. He'll become a star in just a few short years."

"I don't know if his voice is meant for opera," Mitchell said. "Perhaps we need to find him some different music."

"Why don't we ask him what he'd like to sing?" Martha suggested.

"The parents may object, especially the mother."

"You leave her to me. Nothing is going to keep that boy from performing."

Danny's voice settled into the range of a sweet high tenor by age fourteen, and he began to learn what his mother called 'silly pop music.' No matter what songs Danny wanted to learn, his mother was right there reviewing the score with her opinions about the lyrics. It was bound to cause a conflict, and eventually it did.

Danny's father had sat by as the boy's career advanced, but he had allowed his wife to make the decisions. Although she was deeply involved in the church, Mr. Rhodes had quietly run his tax accounting business and was presumed to be a faithful husband. One of the tenants of their particular Christian sect was a wife's faithful obedience to her husband, something that did not always work out between members of the congregation.

Danny's father heard a song on the radio one afternoon on the way home from work. It had a lovely melody and interesting lyrics, perhaps something Danny might like. When the tune ended the announcer said the song was by Elton John, a British pop star. The name was familiar. Mr. Rhodes wasn't sure who the man might be, but Danny might know.

Dinner was always promptly at six, it was a family tradition. There had been a few nights of disruption when Danny was performing in that opera, but things had settled down since then. Robert Rhodes might not be as religious as his wife, but he held a strong attachment to these family moments and wished to pass the tradition on to his children.

"Danny, I heard a song today you might like," Robert said as he carved the chicken into portions.

"What song is that, Dad?"

"Something about feeling love tonight. The singer is named Elton John."

Danny's mother dropped her fork and everyone looked her way. "You must be joking. That man is a notorious homosexual."

"Oh? I didn't know that, but the song was lovely," Robert said.

"My son will not listen to that shameful music. I will not allow him to learn music written by a God-forsaken queer man. What are you thinking?"

"Now dear, I understand your objections ... " Robert began to say.

"Then just stay out of his musical career. He will never sing such nonsense. In fact, I'm thinking about stopping his piano lessons."

"Mom! What have I done?" Danny asked.

Robert put down the knife and glared at his wife. "You're upsetting the boy for no good reason. His voice is a gift from God and I say he will continue to use it."

The argument continued after the children were in bed, and ended with Danny's parents not speaking to one another for weeks. Danny felt guilty for causing the damage, but there was nothing he could do. Instead he sat in his room wearing the headphones attached to his electronic piano and played for hours.

"Can you feel the love tonight ... " Danny sang quietly. But no, he couldn't feel a thing.

His parents split, the marriage falling apart a few months later and Danny moved into a small apartment with his father. Martha continued to manage his singing, and he rode the bus downtown for his lessons with Mitchell. That part of his life didn't change, but everything else did.

The divorce allowed the members of the God's Way church to expel his father, and by default Danny was kicked out too. He was enrolled in Lakewood High and for the first time in his life Danny was in a public school.

Gone were the Bible lessons that had attended every grade administered by the God's Way Church School. If anything, it was like a breath of fresh air and at fifteen Danny began to learn what the rest of the world knew.

He went for his usual lesson on a Saturday morning and discovered that Martha was there with another man. Mitchell introduced Peter Devonshire with a smile.

"Peter would like to hear you sing," Mitchell said, and Danny didn't think anything of it. "Let's try that Elton John song you've learned."

By now Danny could play his own accompaniment on the piano and he took a seat on the bench in the practice room. The soft tones of the piano were absorbed by the acoustic tiles on the wall and yet Danny's voice filled the room. He focused on the music and quickly forgot there were others listening. It wasn't until the final chords that Danny looked up at the smiles.

"You have a wonderful voice," Devonshire said. "Do you sight read music?"

"I suppose I can," Danny replied.

"Then let me play you something, and perhaps you can try to sing it."

Martha knew the boy would, he had never shied away from a challenge. Devonshire handed Danny a piece of sheet music and sat himself at the keyboard. 'Into my Arms' read the title across the top, and Devonshire began to play.

The song had a lush melody that allowed Danny to emphasize the best qualities of his voice. The lyrics were fairly simple and he caught on to the cadence very quickly. Devonshire smiled as Danny began to put his own phrasing into the song, holding the notes a little longer than the piano's chords. It was obvious that he liked the song.

The song ended and Devonshire seemed pleased. "I think you owned that one," He said.

"Great song, who wrote it?" Danny asked.

"I did."

It was the beginning of their collaboration. One that was to push Danny into the recording industry and take him right to the top. Peter had dozens of songs written, and Danny recorded four of them along with music from other artists. That first album was simply titled 'Danny Rhodes' and it took only three months to go platinum.

Danny ran a comb through his hair and then looked up at the mirror, turning his head side to side. The slap from his father had only stung, it didn't leave any marks ... they never did. He looked around the dressing room before walking out in the hallway. The only good thing about this concert was that it ended his hometown series, tomorrow they would be moving.

Flying back and forth to Los Angeles for meetings with the record company, recording sessions in their vast studio complex and publicity appearances with the media had worn Danny down. It was time to leave Tacoma behind ... he was in the big time now.

Danny passed by the front of the stage, watching the technical crew dismantling the lights and packing up the band's instruments. It would be weeks before he had to perform again, but that time would be taken up by rehearsals with a new band of musicians.

His father had picked out the new living arrangements, a penthouse condo in a fashionable part of town. There were alarms and security doors to protect Danny from his adoring fans. He hated the thought ... it would feel like a prison.

Things had not gone well the past two years. His father had sold his shares in the business to concentrate on Danny's career. That meant he controlled everything in Danny's life, and with the mind of an accountant the boy became less of a son and more of an asset.

He was now seventeen, and in ten months he would reach the legal age of adulthood. He would do anything to get out from under his father's oppression, and perhaps he would when the time came. But that was still a long way off, and until then ...

Danny reached the top of the aisle and peeked through the lobby doors. Barney was there packing up the cartons of shirts and CD's. The man was one of his father's minions, a pleasant enough guy, but without an original thought in his head. Barney would be left behind when they moved to Los Angeles. There would now be a whole new crew of handlers.

They had been on the road for the past six months. Concert tours across the mid-west and southern states, the hotbed of Danny's fan base. It was all in the demographics the recording company had told them, they had to go where the fans would pay to see him. Given the opportunity Danny would have performed for free, but that wasn't about to happen any time soon.

He had started off as the opening act for Tina Briggs, the twenty-something singing sensation from Detroit. Now there was a performer his mother would hate. All boobs and tight fitting pants, the girl was hanging out all over the place. But she had the voice and the reputation, Danny felt lucky to be on her tour.

Tina's band learned to play three of Danny's songs, and her backup singers joined in to give the new kid a boost. He thought all that was great until he heard his father complain that what their manager wanted was another piece of the money pie. But Danny didn't object at all. They were performing to make him look good and ought to be paid for it.

That argument with his father brought forth the first slap. Like most boys Danny had felt the belt when he was younger, but that was for misbehavior. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' was the God's Way of thinking. This was something different.

There was only one moment on that tour when Danny saw red and would have pushed his father off a cliff if the opportunity presented itself. Tina had three girls backing her up, and one of them was Marie, a slender wisp of a girl with a huge voice and large brown eyes.

Danny tried to get along with everyone; it was how he learned things. He asked questions about performance issues, cities on the tour and the influence of music in today's youth scene. These were things he was expected to know as a popular singer, things a wily reporter might ask him.

He didn't expect Marie to back him into a dark corner and kiss him. It was only a moment in time, but it couldn't be anything else with his father prowling in the wings backstage. That was in Tallahassee, or was it Memphis? Whatever, it changed the way the other girls treated Danny.

He had always been the wide-eyed innocent, and that was part of his fan appeal. It probably had a lot to do with Marie's fascination as well. That first kiss would have lead to other things when opportunity presented itself. Even Tina became aware of what was going on. But it was inevitable that his father would find out.

Without a word from his father, they boarded a plane back to Tacoma. Danny was stunned when he discovered that his father had pulled him from the tour. The fight they had in the first-class section of the plane was only words, and Danny swore to himself that if his father touched him again he would fight back.

Nothing had happened with Marie, but to his father she was one of the 'little bitches.' Danny was fortunate to be in demand and Martha managed to hook him up with another tour, something a little more adult. Ms. Betty Kline liked to feature young talent in her show as the opening act, but she also liked smaller venues. Danny would not sing his rock songs on her tour, but that was just fine with him.

He would open his set with 'Daisy Girl,' something Danny had written himself. The other four songs would be of the quiet romantic variety that Peter had written. That tour became the basis for Danny's second album, 'From My Heart to Yours.' It went platinum in six weeks.

Every young girl in America was in love with Danny and the reviewers called him 'astounding.' The move to Los Angeles was inevitable and the final concert in Tacoma was to say good-bye to his fans there. Martha was sad to see him go since now the record label would take over his management. That was something Danny's father had arranged, and she wasn't sure it was going to work out in the boy's favor.

But Danny was shown around Los Angeles by the record company representatives and got a general sense of well-being that they would direct his career. To his surprise, and his father's delight, Danny was booked into a week-long appearance in Las Vegas. The crowd there was decidedly adult, and yet his love songs were well received. Danny understood that the record company was trying to figure out his market share.

Everywhere Danny went his entourage was followed by car loads of young female fans, it became oppressive. Public appearances were well guarded and any social events were well chaperoned. Danny began to feel like a cloistered monk. He certainly couldn't consider dating anyone. He had no friends other than public ones, and he had no family except for his father. The performing seemed to lose its luster and became a chore, and then there was the record company.

Danny's father told him he had to produce another album. Not needed to, but had to, it was in his contract. But his father had severed the relationship with Peter because he thought the man was gay ... it was the most irrational thing his father had ever done to Danny's career.

Now he was expected to come up with the music for a new album, and his father wanted him to write most of it. The only thing behind that was greed. If Danny owned the music they would accrue all the royalties, it was all about the money.

Pressure like that seemed to turn Danny's mind to mush. Despite hours at the piano he had nothing ... not a clue. The arguments with his father didn't help, except that Danny began to realize his father was scared of the record company. Perhaps he could use that to advantage, at least he would try.

Being on stage in front of an audience was Danny's only chance to try out new music, and so he convinced his father to book him into small venues in the Los Angeles and San Diego area. The effect of sitting at a piano with only a few hundred people close by would allow Danny the feedback he so desperately needed for the new music.

The Palace was an old downtown Los Angeles movie theater that had been converted into a music club when the decline of films first began. People now went to the mall multi-plex to see Hollywood's latest offering and large theaters like The Palace languished. Seven hundred seats had been removed and replaced with tables and chairs. It was a quiet place to hear good music.

Danny and eight musicians met in the afternoons and worked out the musical arrangements he would need for the performances. Eight guys were hardly an orchestra, but they were more than a band. Professionals all, they soon had a tight sound that pleased Danny and the shows they booked soon sold out.

The lobby of The Palace was a large affair done up in the art deco style that had been so popular when it was first built. Danny stood alone on the empty expanse of carpeting after rehearsal and looked at the life-sized cardboard image of himself the record company had provided. Tonight he would get to try out the new music, but he didn't have much hope for success.

"Pretty impressive ... looks just like you," A voice said.

Danny turned to see a young man standing by the Men's room door, mop in hand.

"I feel about as two dimensional as that piece of cardboard at the moment," Danny said.

"Well, that's honest," The guy replied. "Don't worry, you'll have a good show. People come expecting that and I think you're professional enough to give them what they need."

"Who are you?" Danny asked.

"Michael. I'm the janitor."

Danny smiled at the situation. He had just been rated a pro by the janitor.

Michael shrugged. "I've seen lots of performers. Only the best ones worry about giving the audience a good show. I expect that's what you're thinking."

Danny nodded. "I am ... I always do."

"Thought so," Michael said. "I think we all try to do our best, most times it works out the way we want. I have to get back to work. See you later."

Michael rolled his mop bucket into the Men's room and the door shut behind him. Danny stood quietly for a moment looking at that door. He might be filled with doubt about his performance this evening but at least he had one vote of confidence.

Danny's world was so far removed from someone like a janitor, and yet ... Michael had seemed intelligent. The guy didn't seem much older, perhaps twenty or so. But he had shoulder length brown hair and big brown eyes. How did someone like that get to be a janitor? Danny shook off the thoughts and walked backstage to his dressing room.

His father would bring soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner since that was all Danny ever ate before a show. He hated the waiting around and the dressing room here didn't have a piano. There was one out on the stage, but he just didn't feel like walking back out there. Instead he lay on the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

A bump on the wall out in the hallway was followed by a quiet knock on the dressing room door.

"Come in," Danny yelled, already knowing who it would be.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were resting," Michael said. "I'll come back ... "

"No ... that's okay, come in," Danny said. "I assume you have some work to do."

"I just mopped the hallway and wanted to tell you to be careful if you need to use it," Michael said.

Danny sat up and motioned Michael into the room. "You see a lot of performers come through here?"

"I have ... been here almost two years. This is a pretty good job for a guy like me."

"I've been in LA for about three weeks, I haven't seen much of anything," Danny said.

Michael smiled. "I can tell. People here call it Los Angeles, only outsiders say LA."

"I'll have to remember that. What kind of music do you like?"

"All kinds I guess, most of what I've heard is jazz," Michael said. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped down the windowsill, looking at the cloth to see if it picked up anything.

"I haven't been exposed to much of that," Danny admitted.

"I can tell," Michael said. "At least you don't sing that hip-hop stuff. Your music has a quieter influence, more of a pop sound. I hear that too, I just don't seek it out when I listen to music."

Michael looked around the room as if he needed to do something else in the custodial line. But the room was clean, Danny had noticed that when he first walked in. Michael was the first ordinary person had had spoken with in quite some time and he didn't want it to end.

"Can you sit for a while?" Danny asked.

"Suppose I shouldn't, I don't want to bother you before the show."

"I need the distraction," Danny said.

Michael nodded, and sat in the chair before the dressing room mirror. He kneaded the rag in his hands ... not a nervous gesture, just something to do.

"I don't think I could be a singer," Michael said.

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'd enjoy it much. All those fans chasing you around, I don't know how you find time to breathe."

Danny smiled. "It isn't easy. I have people who tell me when to take a breath. They tell me just about everything."

"Not good," Michael said. "That sounds like jail."

"You've been in jail?" Danny said, and then realized it wasn't any of his business.

Michael shrugged. "I have ... just a part of life. I won't bore you with the whole story, but I just did some dumb things and got caught."

"Is ... is that why you're a janitor? You seem too smart for a job like this."

"It's all I could get with a record. People don't think about things like that when they're younger. Everything you do affects your life, if not today then definitely tomorrow."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry into your business," Danny said.

"That's okay, you don't mean any harm. I stole a car when I was fourteen, my father's car. He pressed charges so they locked me up as a juvenile." Michael laughed. "Not a place I imagine you would understand much about. Let's just say that if I ever needed a place to learn bad habits that was it."

"I hear places like that are filled with drugs and ... worse," Danny said.

"Worse ... that's very true. But I managed the time and got out, turned sixteen and got busted again. That second time was no picnic. I did some real jail time. I guess I've got a temper, at least that's what the judge told me."

"My father would kill me if I got in trouble like that," Danny said.

"Parents are like that, even when they're the cause of it all. What would your mother say?"

"Nothing, they're divorced," Danny said.

"Mine's dead," Michael said. "At least she doesn't have to see what my father has become. I ought to go; your people will be here soon." Then he smiled. "We'll have time to talk again. Guess we'll both be here all week long."

"Thanks," Danny said.

"You need some friends," Michael said. "All this running around isn't good for a person. It might feed the ego but it doesn't do anything for the emotional center inside."

"Are you a religious person?" Danny asked.

"Nope, I'm an atheist. Never had much time for God, but I've read a bunch of stuff about him. What about you?"

"My parents belonged to a Christian sect called God's Way. But I pretty much figured they didn't know what they were talking about."

"Bible believers take things too literally and don't really get the message," Michael said. "I read it once, good historical novel far as I'm concerned. But don't get me started on any of that, we don't have the time."

"Michael is the only Archangel referred to by name in the Bible," Danny said.

"I know, Revelations. Guess you read it too. But I'm no angel. I wouldn't like that any more than being a singer," Michael said. He got up and walked to the door before turning around. "Give them a nice show tonight. It will do you a lot of good. Peace." And then he was gone.

What a complex individual, Danny thought. Michael had been completely honest about his past, at least it seemed that way. His initial assessment of the guy's intelligence had been correct. Michael was a thoughtful person and he might make a good friend.

Danny couldn't imagine what his father would say about having a friendship with the janitor. But then he really didn't care what his father thought, this would be his decision. Come on eighteen, Danny thought. The sooner he was considered an adult the better. Then it wouldn't matter what his father thought, that relationship would be history.

Those brief moments with Michael colored his entire evening with the audience. The Palace was just intimate enough to feel like he was playing to every person out there in the semi-darkness beyond the lights. Perhaps Michael was watching from the back, Danny sure hoped he was.

The club atmosphere allowed Danny to talk between numbers, and after he played two of his popular songs to open the show he did just that.

"Thank you," Danny said as the applause died down. He shielded his eyes with a hand and gazed out at the people seated at the tables. "I actually came here tonight to play you some new music. The band and I," and here Danny gestured to the men seated on stage behind him. "The band and I have spent some weeks in rehearsal arranging these next few songs. It's always difficult from the artist's viewpoint to know what an audience will like. But I put my best effort into writing them and I hope you like what you hear."

He segued into a rippling piano introduction and then paused. "Many of you probably have kids at home, perhaps with a babysitter. This is a song for the kids."

Danny returned to the piano intro and the four string players joined in:

"You see the night, the quiet night, all around you.

The sun's in bed and so are you, until tomorrow ... "

Danny had written this song for his little brother and sister. It had been almost two years since he had seen them. He couldn't forgive either of his parents for separating the family, they were both to blame. But he had the memories of those quiet nights when his parents had gone to a church meeting and it had been his responsibility to put the younger kids to bed.

His sister, Molly, had always wanted a song, and she usually got her way. Travis was in fourth grade, embroiled in the childish struggle with approaching adolescence. But on the nights when he sang his little brother reverted to childhood and lay on the floor beside Molly's bed.

"The stars that shine so bright, in the darkness of the night,

Give you hope for tomorrow ... your tomorrows ... "

Danny had never written a bedtime song before. He had always just sung some of the church music. His siblings were used to those songs and it generally put them right to sleep. Danny remembered picking Travis up and carrying him across the hall to his tiny bedroom. Sometimes the boy would awaken and give him a hug.

But as he looked out at the adults sitting in the front row he could see some of them nodding along with the music. It gave him hope that some of them would understand and perhaps, yes, perhaps they would sing this song to their children.

Everything he sang that night was well received. Danny knew he would have to pay attention throughout the week and make his own judgment on which songs were best. At some point someone from the recording company would slip into the theater and watch, evaluate and report back what he had seen.

His stupid father had given those jerks the right of refusal. The music on his next album would be their choice, not his, and that made Danny's blood boil. Their name was on the album but he was the one who had to please the fans and encourage new ones. Danny knew he was just another commodity, and he hated it.

The show ended to a lot of applause and several girls approached the front of the stage with their parents. To hell with his father, this wasn't a rock concert. Danny sat himself down on the lip of the stage and signed autographs while talking to the kids and their parents.

Perhaps it was something Michael had said, but Danny found this personal contact appealing. This wasn't about ego. It was about being real to these people. But after twenty minutes his father came to get him and Danny reluctantly said good-bye.

"You're getting pretty brave, aren't you ... do you even listen to what I say?"

"This is different, Dad. There were six girls and their parents. These people spend money to see me and buy the music. Now they have a good memory, and that's all it takes to sell music."

"So you're an expert on sales now," His father said.

"Don't start," Danny said. "I know what the fans want. They invest in me every time they spend a dollar. So you tell me, are we making enough to keep you happy?"

"Don't get wise with me, mister."

Danny turned on his heel and waded through the musicians backstage. Once he reached the dressing room he managed to slam the door. His father was right behind him, blowing through the door and slamming it once again. Danny stood there and awaited the slap.

"Go on, hit me again ... I know you want to," Danny said.

"You've become an ungrateful little brat. I'm cancelling the rest of the week's performances," His father said.

"That's stupid, is this supposed to be some kind of punishment? Well then I won't sing for anyone, not even your buddies at the record company."

"You'll do what I tell you ... "

"Or what? You can't make me sing," Danny said.

The blow rocked Danny back on his heels. This time it was a punch not a slap. His father hit him again and Danny crumpled to the floor. He waited for another hit, but instead he heard a familiar voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Michael said.

"Who the hell are you?" Danny's father said.

Danny looked up and saw Michael holding his father's arm. Michael didn't even look like that required any effort, and Danny was surprised. He didn't realize how strong the young man was until his father tried to lash out at Michael.

Michael seized a wrist, and then the arm, hoisting Danny's father off the ground and tossing him like a doll onto the couch.

"Enough of this nonsense," Michael said, but to no avail.

Danny's father sprang off the couch and threw himself at Michael. The young man sidestepped the charge and brought a hand down on the side of Robert's head. Danny watched his father crumble and fall to the floor unconscious. Michael didn't even look like he was breathing hard.

"I'm sorry, he just wouldn't listen," Michael said.

Danny got to his feet, holding a hand to his jaw where he had been hit. "He doesn't listen to anyone ... what did you do to him?"

Michael shrugged. "He'll have a mild concussion, I just knocked him out."

"He'll have you arrested," Danny said.

"Possibly. He tried to hit me first. Perhaps he won't want all the publicity his attack on you would engender. Depends upon what you might tell the cops."

"I've had it with him," Danny said.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "And what do you intend to do?"

"I'm leaving. He plans on cancelling the shows. If I leave he'll have a whole lot of explaining to do to my record company and I hope they sue his pants off. In fact, I'm leaving right now. Will you drive me back to the condo so I can get my things?"

They both looked down on the unconscious man. "He'll be out for a while. I suppose I can do that."

Danny grabbed his coat and hat and turned for the door. He paused and reached down, lifting his father's briefcase into his arms.

"I'm ready," Danny said.

"I doubt it," Michael replied.

The car was an older model Honda. The interior was immaculate and the engine seemed to run just fine. There was a set of rosary beads hanging from the rear view mirror and Danny gave Michael a glance.

"What?" Michael asked.

"The beads ... I thought you were an atheist?"

"Those were my mother's. One of the few things I have left ... " And then his voice trailed off into silence.

"I'm sorry I said anything," Danny said.

"My parents had a hard time. Now my father is an alcoholic ... he's killing himself."

Michael started the car and Danny gave him directions back to the condo. This had to be fast and that urgency seemed to push Michael into driving quickly. Danny began to think of what he wanted to pack, and then he remembered the briefcase.

He reached in the back seat and pulled it forward into his lap. 2-4-6, he could barely see the numbers in the darkness. The combination freed the latch and the briefcase popped open. Danny was sure what he would find, he just didn't expect it to be quite so much. The envelope in his hand held eight thousand dollars.

"That's a lot of money," Michael said.

"There's a lot more where that came from," Danny replied. "I'll need money to ... to ... I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Can't you go home to your mother?"

"I doubt it, that's the first place he'll look. I need time to think."

"Let's get your stuff first," Michael said. "You can stay with me until you decide."

"That's damn nice of you. Oh, you can't go back to your job, can you?"

"I doubt it," Michael said. "I'll find something to do, always have."

Danny let them in the basement door of the condo and was relieved that no one was in the hallways. Of course not, it was almost midnight. They took the freight elevator upwards into the building and got out at the penthouse level.

The living room was dark but Danny turned on a few lights. "Whoa, look at the view from up here," Michael said, approaching the sliding glass doors.

"Yeah, it's nice," Danny said.

"You got a balcony and everything ... someplace to lie out in the sun."

Danny laughed. "Just don't say that to my father, he's afraid of heights."

Danny grabbed a suitcase out of the closet and emptied the dresser in his bedroom. He grabbed things from the bathroom and tossed them in with the clothes as Michael stood quietly looking around and watching the whole process.

"I'm almost done," Danny said, and then he looked up in the mirror over the dresser. "Damn, I'm going to get a black eye."

"Your father hit you pretty hard, you have red marks on your face too," Michael said.

"Good," Danny said. He rummaged in the suitcase and pulled out a small digital camera. "Take some photos of my face."

"Smart ... very smart," Michael said, and the flash went off several times.

Danny tossed the camera back in the suitcase and rummaged in his desk. Several flash drives and his laptop went in the case. That ought to do it, he thought.

"What about your electronic piano?" Michael asked.

"It's kind of heavy," Danny said. "But that would be nice."

"We'll put it in the back seat."

They did but it barely fit. Danny buckled in and Michael drove out of the parking lot. They were already down the street when a police car roared past them, lights flashing as it headed for the condo.

"I guess my father did call the cops," Danny said.

"I think he'll be sorry he did that," Michael said. "Don't worry, the theater paid me under the table, they don't have my address. We'll just disappear for a while."

They took the 10 out of town heading east. Danny had no idea where they were going, and perhaps that was a good thing, he didn't have any expectations. But soon they were seeing signs for Monterey Park and Michael confirmed that's where they were headed.

"Do you like Chinese food?' Michael asked.

"Yeah, pretty much, unless it gets too exotic."

"In my neighborhood we're the only white faces on the block. The area is Asian, and we get along with most of them. You might stand out like a sore thumb there, but I doubt most of them will recognize you."

Danny hadn't considered that, his face would be well known. If his father had gone to the police they would have hundreds of photos to look at. They took the off ramp onto Garfield and passed a hospital. Danny began to look at the streets around them.

This whole thing had been impulsive, and perhaps terribly foolish. He didn't know Michael very well, and what he did know should have made him cautious. Danny didn't know anyone who had been to jail, at least until now. His life had been so guarded ... protected, and he had never been off on his own before.

The few faces on the street this late were not threatening, just different. Some of the signs on businesses were in English with Chinese characters underneath. Michael made several turns and they ended up in a quiet neighborhood with ordinary looking houses, apartments and storefront shops.

"The house is big enough, you can have your own room," Michael said. "My grandparents left it to Pops so all I have to pay are the taxes and utilities. He still works occasionally, but not very much. I can't seem to get a dime out of him for anything."

"I'll be glad to pay for room and board," Danny said. "I just don't know how long I'll have to stay here."

Michael nodded. "There is that ... we'll figure it out."

The house was quite nice and reminded Danny of the neighborhood he'd grown up in. Except here the man next door would be Asian. They had Chinese people in Tacoma, just not this many. Michael pulled in a driveway and drove in behind the house.

"Let's leave your stuff here for the moment. Let me see what my father is up to."

They mounted the concrete steps which were illuminated by a small light fixture on the wall, and Michael opened the back door. Danny followed Michael into the dimly lit kitchen, noticing everything seemed well kept. There was a table and four chairs, two of them occupied by a couple of men. Michael stopped short and put his hands on his hips.

"Go home, Clarence, it's late. You're not welcome when I'm here."

Of the two, the elderly black man rose to his feet and snatched a bottle of whiskey off the table.

"When you gonna get that boy to leave you alone, Neil? Seems all he does is fuss and holler."

"I'll shut up when you stop bringing liquor into this house," Michael said. "You know my father isn't supposed to be drinking that crap and Dr. Long is gonna be mad at you."

"No damn ching-chong Chinaman is tellin me what to do," Clarence said.

"Out, Clarence, go home," Michael said.

Clarence muttered under his breath and pushed his way past Danny, staggering a bit as he went out the door. Michael turned to his father and let out a sigh. Danny thought the man looked old, too old to be Michael's father. He had dark hair streaked with gray that stuck out at all angles from his head and a few days' growth of beard on his face.

"Pops, this is Danny. He'll be staying with us for a while."

Michael's father didn't even look up and Danny could tell the man was drunk.

"Nice to meet you, Mr ... " Danny started to say, and then realized he didn't know Michael's last name.

"Keene, our last name is Keene," Michael said. "But don't even bother being polite when he's like this. It's late, let me go put him down for the night and then we can bring in your stuff."

Michael helped his father up from the table and the man moved slowly off through the kitchen door into the house. Yes, it was late, but Danny was still wound up from the performance and the confrontation with his father. He was beginning to have second thoughts about what he had done.

They would be looking for him. 'They' being everyone from his father to the police and even the recording company. Valuable commodities didn't just disappear, there would be consequences. Danny had to take his mind off all that nonsense, and so he looked around the kitchen.

Michael said this had been his grandparent's house and Danny could believe that. Everything was spotlessly clean, just like his mother's kitchen. But the appliances were old and so was the furniture. He could only guess that Michael kept it this way. An unusual trait for a young man.

The kitchen door swung open and Michael nodded. "Sorry about that. Clarence is just a bad influence on my Pops, but every night I'm out working I know my father calls him over."

"You mentioned a doctor, is your father all right?" Danny asked.

"No, his liver is going bad from the drinking. He's been at it since Mom died."

"How old is your father?" Danny asked.

"Forty-six I think, but he looks ten years older." Michael sighed and then began to smile. "We better get you unloaded while it's dark. The neighbors can be a bit nosey. You'll probably have to hide out for a few days."

"I don't know if I did the right thing," Danny said.

"The right thing for whom? I don't know the background on your father, but he acted pretty irrational. I couldn't let him keep beating on you like that so I guess the best thing was to knock him out."

"Yeah ... you did that so fast, where did you learn that?" Danny asked.

"It was pretty easy to learn in this neighborhood," Michael replied. "There are several martial arts schools up the road. But I grew up around Tommy Chong and his friends. They're the ones who taught me to fight."

"Wow, kung-fu, like in the movies."

Michael shook his head. "No, that's play acting. Real fighting is deadly. I could have killed your father if I wasn't careful. Around here the old Chinese ways are taken seriously. Tommy didn't listen to what people told him and he's dead."

Michael led Danny back out to the driveway and they began to empty the car. They carried the keyboard through the kitchen and into the living room.

"I'm going to give you the front bedroom down here, that way we won't have to lug this thing up the stairs." There was a doorway off the front hall that opened into a small addition on the house. "This was Gran's sewing room, but we fixed it up after she died. This is probably the quietest room in the house. That door opens into the downstairs bathroom which we only use occasionally so it's mostly yours."

The room was lit by two wall sconces, and there was no ceiling fixture at all. The twin sized bed, a rocking chair and a bureau with four drawers lined the walls. There was plenty of room for the keyboard which had its own fold down legs. Danny felt grateful knowing he could sleep comfortably in here.

"Thank you," Danny said. "This looks just fine. I want you to tell me how much I should contribute ... "

Michael shook his head. "Later, I haven't even thought about it. It's almost two in the morning; we both need to sleep so I'll say good night. You can unpack later ... yeah." He held out a hand to shake and Danny took it.

"I ... "

"Not now," Michael said. "You're tired and we have a lot to talk about."

Danny watched the door close and felt the nervous energy drain from his body. Emotionally, physically, he was exhausted. He pulled off his shoes and sat on the bed to test how soft it was. It felt like heaven so he lay back and the world went away.

He awoke to the morning light streaming through the windows. For a moment he was disoriented and then remembered what had happened. Danny crawled out of bed and realized he had slept in his clothes which made him feel uncomfortable. He needed to wash, but perhaps a shower would be better. And then he spied the briefcase.

There was a knock on the door sometime later and Michael opened it a crack to see if Danny was awake. Danny was sitting on the bed with the contents of the briefcase spread out on the bedcovers. He looked up at Michael and motioned him on into the room.

"That lousy bastard ... look at all this," Danny said.

Michael looked down at the papers Danny held. "What have you got?"

"Spreadsheets, my father's accounting ledger ... proof that he's been stealing my money."

"How would you know that?" Michael asked.

"Simple, the bank accounts are in both our names, except for these. He's been transferring money to his own accounts. I have receipts for the shows and the concessions which gives me the gross income. But if you look at the net deposits after expenses there are thousands of dollars missing. He was drawing cashier's checks on our account and moving the money to his own, that's called stealing."

"I imagine he was paying himself a salary, isn't that what you have here?"

"No, that's in the column here ... and here. Plus, look at these deposits from the recording company, that never went into our account at all," Danny said.

"That's a lot of money ... do you really make that much? This all looks pretty complicated to me, "Michael said.

Danny smiled. "I've been studying the business end since I first started. Back then Dad was eager to show me how it works. He ran an accounting business and I think he was sure this musical career would be short lived so he thought I could learn accounting and join the firm.

"Well he was wrong and he's greedy. I'm going to need a lawyer to confirm all this and then I'm going to the cops," Danny said.

"Whoa, you'd have your own father arrested?"

"Michael, look at this. He's taken hundreds of thousands that belong to me. He's greedy and you know he's irrational. What he's done is criminal."

"Can you do that? I mean you stole this information, you stole the briefcase."

Danny laughed. "This is all irrelevant, the banks will have a copy of all this and a lawyer can subpoena every bit of it legally. I didn't realize how scared my father is, but this just proves it."

"Scared of what? Getting caught?"

"He's afraid when I turn eighteen I'll dump him on the side of the road ... and I will."

Michael shook his head. "That's sad ... really sad. All this gives you exactly what you want, the control over your own life. And now that you have it you want to toss him out on the street, I think that's sad."

"I'm tired of his attitude. You saw what goes on, he slaps me around and it's only getting worse," Danny said.

"But you now have the power to stop all that."

Danny didn't understand. How could Michael be on that bastard's side after what had happened last night? Throwing a punch at his son was criminal, stealing this money was criminal ... what was Michael thinking?

"You should talk to my father about this," Michael said.

"How ... I don't get it, how can he help me?" Danny asked.

"When he's not drinking, or thinking about my mother's death, he's pretty smart. In fact, he'll probably point you to one of his old lawyer buddies."

"He knows lawyers?" Danny asked. "What did your father do before ... before the drinking?"

"He was a cop ... a detective," Michael said. "He went to pieces after my mother's death, but I think his state of mind changed long before that. All the drama and bullshit I created as a kid certainly didn't help matters. It's a thankless job being a cop. I think he saw too many things to have a normal life. But they forced him into early retirement and that didn't help either."

Michael walked back over to the door and paused. "Go shower, I'll make us some breakfast. Pops ought to be up and around by then. If he's in the right mood you guys can talk."

Danny slowly put everything back in the briefcase after Michael left. A cop ... that was a shock. Retired or not, Danny didn't know what to think. Would the man turn him in? But had he done anything wrong beside run away from a beating? He had to trust Michael's judgment, and he had so far.


On to Chapter Eighteen

Back to Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page


Exit Hollywood is © 2010 by Chris James.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer