Johnny Greer’s Blues - Part 9

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A half-moon poked through some scattered clouds above the dimly lit parking lot of BJ’s Hash House. The white and yellow building with its large and grimy windows sat in the middle of a small midtown parking lot. A couple of trees, not quite yet fully blooming stood sentry on the edge of the black asphalt lot. A shredded sheet of plastic was entangled in the branches of one of them, looking like a laconic ghost deciding if it was worth his time to haunt the diner.

Johnny and Honi sat in a booth upholstered in cracked and faded fake leather. Pieces of foam poked out through the many holes in the upholstery. The light inside the half full restaurant was too bright for the hour, and the whole single room echoed with the sounds of metal spatulas slapping and scrapping flat cook tops.

They both got an order of waffles with chicken hash and coffee. The hash was perfect; the coffee mediocre.

While they waited for their food, Honi told Johnny about her background - she had grown up in Memphis, and took to the drum in junior high school. Johnny told her about his journey from Alabama to the present.

“So, is Honi your real name?” Johnny asked.

“No.”

“Well what is it?”

“It’s Michelle. Boring, right?”

“Why did you go with Honi D, and not, you know, Honi B?” Johnny asked.

“Too obvious. Besides, my last name is Davis, so there you go.”

After a time, Honi looked at Johnny. “Ok, we got all that getting to know you small talk out of the way. Let me get straight to it. If your mind is wandering in a certain direction, I just want you to know that free love train has left the station. You missed out on that ticket by a couple of years.”

Johnny nearly choked on his lukewarm coffee.

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Yes you were. I don’t blame you, but if you were hoping for dessert, it isn’t on the menu tonight.”

“What if I took you out some time,” Johnny said, somehow emboldened by Honi’s blunt and preemptive rejection.

“Maybe. Someday. But here’s the thing, Mr. Johnny Greer. I make it a point not to date musicians who are about to make it.”

“You talking about me?”

“Yeah. What we laid down today is going to get you started. I have no doubt.”

Johnny smiled.

“But, that means you are about to be a rockstar. I like you. You seem like a good guy,” Honi said. “But becoming a rock star comes with a lot of temptations. And I don’t want to mess with all that.”

“That’s not me…” Johnny began to say.

“Yes it is. You just don’t know it. Men - hell people - can only resist temptation up to a point. It’s how we’re wired. Particularly when you get tempted with what you never had before. And I’m not talking about the girls you were with back home. I’m talking these women that are going to throw themselves at you once you make yourself a name.”

Johnny laughed.

“It’s true,” Honi said. “When the universe, or God or the Devil, throws you something that you never dreamed possible, you won’t be able to say no. And, look, I’m not going to be the one that said you should.”

That caught Johnny off guard, and he stared down at the atomic age pattern on the table.

“So, here’s the deal. Go out and sew your wild oats. Sew the ever loving hell out of them. And, if you still want to ask little old me out a year after your first record comes out, we’ll see what’s what. But only if you’re done playing Johnny Appleseed.”

Johnny smiled. “That sound fair,” he said.

After they ate, Honi refused to let Johnny pay, but did let him walk her to her car.

“I enjoyed working with you, Johnny.”

“Um, yeah, me too,” Johnny said, a hint of regret seeping into his voice.

“Hey, between you and me, I hope I hear from you in a year, farmer John.” She gave him a hug and got in her car.

Johnny slowly walked to his car looking up at the sky. He knew Honi was right about temptation. He felt he had already given into it, and far deeper than Honi had expected.

For the next few days, Johnny split his time noodling on his guitar and working at the Silver Palace. Pete told him he really didn’t need to bother working off the rest of the debt, but Johnny owed him. “Son, if a record deal comes through, your first royalty check will knock out what little you owe me.”

“Yeah, but a deal’s a deal, Pete,” Johnny said. “And I intend to keep my word.”

Early the following week, Bones called Johnny at his apartment and told him he had the master ready if Johnny wanted to swing by the studio to give it a listen. Johnny was there later that day. Bones gave Johnny some studio headphones and let him listen as he played the mix on the reel-to-reel in the control room.

What Johnny heard blew him away. He and the electric were front and center in the mix, and he knew it was good. But Honi’s drums and Goose’s bass cranked up the quality of the songs to a degree Johnny hadn’t expected. The old blues songs took on a new rock life. There was power and urgency; anger and electricity. The tracks left Johnny speechless.

“So, what do you think?” Bones asked.

“I think you’re a genius, Bones. That mix is incredible.”

“I’m damn good, Johnny. And it is a great mix, if I do say so myself,” Bones laughed. “But, that mix didn’t create your talent. You gave me something incredible. I just helped let it shine.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Bones said. “Now, like I told you, Mr. Gold owns that master tape. I’m going to get him to it immediately. But here…”

Bones handed Johnny a reel and a cassette. “I know you probably don’t have a reel-to-reel lying around your apartment, but I think you should have a copy. The cassette is so you can actually listen to something. But, don’t make copies, and don’t let anyone borrow it. At least not until a record gets released. If the wrong person gets it, it can sink a deal. You got me?”

“Yes. Yes. Thank you Bones. What happens now?”

“That’s up to Mr. Gold. But if I had my guess, I’d suspect you’ll be hearing from him real soon.”

Johnny nodded. He was afraid that was probably true.

Part Ten will follow in the next installment.

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