Digby's First Gig

The man-boy stood in front of his mother’s full length mirror. He had been shaving for about three years now, yet he preferred to lop off the nine hairs securely planted on his top lip. He wore black jeans cut to resemble Michael Jackson’s Thriller look, a white wife-beater shirt, black and white striped sweater, gold colored chains, and the pièces de ré·sis·tance, a black cabana hat. His goal was to change his usual nerdy appearance into that of a rocker. Digby’s dream was to become a rock star. A well paid rock star. However, until his bank account reached mega star status, he would be taking the bus to his first big-time gig. Well, it wasn’t exactly a paying gig, it was a battle of the bands competition. The band had to pay fifty dollars for the opportunity to play, but it was an actual gig with an audience. If they won, they would come home with their fifty dollars, plus some.

After carefully packing his prized 1958 Gibson Flying V guitar, which had belonged to his grandfather, into its case, Digby slipped his feet into a pair of Harley Davidson boots. He turned each foot from side to side, admiring the boots he bought last night, purchased with money earned from slaving over a hot grill at Kathy’s Kitchen. Frowning, he reached down to polish a smudge off the metal ring on the outside of his left boot, picked up the guitar case, and stepped outside into a brilliant summer afternoon.

As he sat on the bench beneath the blue and yellow bus-stop sign, Digby read, and reread the two business cards he held in his hand. June 20^th, 2:00 p.m. was written in the top right corner of the card from Kenneth D. Harmon, DDS. Digby was getting his teeth whitened. The second card was for Whitman Photography. Rick, the band’s agent wanted a group photo for promotional purposes, and according to Rick, teeth can never be too white.

Digby didn’t trust Rick. He seemed more like a used car salesman than a legitimate businessman, but at least he had a few gigs lined up, and that’s more than the band’s leader had accomplished in the two years they had been together. Agents of Entropy had talent, but talent wasn’t enough in the competitive world of rock stardom. They needed someone who knew the business end of things, and Rick seemed to know what he was doing. Digby wanted out of this city, and he wanted his mother out, too. He was an A student enrolled in the local community college. If he couldn’t make money through music, he would use his brain to get them out of this drug infested city. In the meantime, if he had to work with people like Rick to make money, he would.

A napkin blew across the street and came to rest in a clump of dried weeds. Digby looked around him. There was junk and trash everywhere in this neighborhood. Beneath the only tree on the block, there were two crumpled bags from fast food restaurants, various bits of paper, even a worn out shoe. The lot next to the bench was nothing more than a garbage dump. There were piles of empty beer cans and bottles, trash bags with their contents spilling out, and a rusty bucket filled with equally rusty screws. The aroma of rotting garbage and Chinese food from Ming’s, made Digby want to gag. No one in this neighborhood cared about their environment, or whether or not their lawn was tidy and well-maintained. They were either strung out on drugs or drunk. Unfortunately, this was the only place his mother could afford after his father died of a heroin overdose ten years ago.

The bench grumbled loudly, as someone sat down next to Digby. Wheezing garlic breath told him it was Ina Mae from downstairs. She was a large woman who rarely moved from her chair on the front porch. She kept her ear to the ground, and knew everything about everybody in the neighborhood. Most people didn’t like her, considering she was a little on the nosey side, but Digby got along with her just fine. He smiled and said hello.

“Hello there young man, where you headed with your guitar?” She asked between gulps of breath.

“I’m off to get my picture taken, and then we’re playing at Starlight Lanes down on Parker Avenue,” he answered.

“That crook finally found you a…what is it you call it? A gig?”

Digby laughed at the way ‘gig’ sounded when she said it, kind of like it was a curse word, or worse, “Yeah, a gig.”

“You get paid?”

“Well, not exactly. Well, if we win. It’s called a battle of the bands. A competition. If we’re voted the best, we get paid. Otherwise we’re just out fifty bucks. It’s worth a shot. Even if we don’t win, we get experience playing for an audience.”

Ina Mae dug into the massive black bag she carried, and pulled out a handkerchief. She blew her nose before continuing her line of questioning, “Where did you say this place is?”

“You know the bowling alley down on Parker Avenue, in the old K-Mart shopping center. Where are you off to in your Sunday dress?”

“Oh, I’m meeting my son downtown for a late lunch. You know he’s too good to be seen in this neighborhood.”

“You have a son?”

“Robert. He never visits. These days he’s too good to be seen in this neighborhood. He’s trying to get me to move to some condo down there. You know, that new urban development they're talking about on the news.”

“Why don’t you go? Get out of this place?”

After a few moments, Ina Mae sighed, “Oh, I’m too old and set in my ways. I wouldn’t know anyone down there. I’m happy Robert has made something of his life. I encouraged him to better himself, but now his life is there and mine is here. This is my home.”

The downtown bus screeched to a stop in front of them. Digby helped Ina Mae up and held her arm as she climbed the bus steps. At the top, she looked back, “Where did you say that gig was?”

Digby laughed and shook his head, “Starlight Lanes. You coming?”

Ina Mae smiled, “I just might.”

Digby stepped back as the doors closed, and sat down to wait for the cross town bus.

After the dentist and hours of posing, Digby and the three other members of Agents of Entropy stepped inside Starlight Lanes. They were early, but not the first to arrive. Large speakers were set up on each side of the stage. There were various musical instruments already set up, one of which was a Baby Grand piano. Digby played the piano too, but his was an old upright Preacher Evans gave him after the church bought a new one. It was a little off-key, but they couldn’t afford to hire a tuner, so he ignored the occasional sour note.

The boys went back stage. Digby asked a pink haired girl where the lineup was posted. She pointed toward the back wall. There were eleven bands before them. Agents were last on the list.

As show time approached, butterflies took up residence inside Digby’s stomach. His palms were sweaty and his hands shook. He wasn’t sure he would be able to sing without a quiver in his voice. He calmed down after listening to the first few bands. An all girl band sang off-key. A solo act forgot the words to the song. Three other acts performed songs from the dark ages. Digby gained confidence.

By the time Agents took the stage, the crowd was getting restless, boredom reflected in their faces. Digby decided to change songs. Originally, they planned to do a ballad, but this place needed to wake up. He signaled the others, and opted for an original up tempo song called, Dead of Night. From the first lick of the guitar riff Digby built specifically for this song, the crowd was on their feet.

The song ended in what seemed like mere seconds. Applause erupted, and the audience went wild. The announcer took the stage, calling the group back as they watched from backstage. They were the winners and recipient of a cool one hundred dollars each.

Digby was busy inspecting the crisp hundred dollar bill when someone pecked him on the shoulder.

“Are you Digby Cooper?” The man asked.

Noticing the expensive cut of the man’s suit, he answered, “Yes.”

“My name is Robert Wilson. Ina Mae’s son? I’m a producer at Twilight Records. We need to talk.”

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