My name is Colton Finley.
I walked briskly back and forth, prowling the side room where performers waited their turn. I was the final act. I waited alone.
I could not stop my hands from shaking, it was as if they had a life of their own and were in the midst of a mad sugar rush.
The painted black walls were covered with pictures of the legends who had played here in the past. Guys like Ricky Davis; the comedian turned actor, Greg Winters; and my personal favorite, jazz artist Charlie Donovan. Though it was before they became famous, just seeing their smiling faces made the swirling butterflies in my stomach experience a sudden growth spurt.
I was on in ten minutes. I went to the bathroom and popped some pills. The kinda stuff that’ll keep you at peak performance; help you conquer your natural need for sleep. I looked in the mirror. The makeup I had used to hide my eye bags did its job perfectly. I looked great. Like a star. I smiled, practicing for my picture. The one that would hang here in a few years.
Tonight was a special night. The aging manager of the club, Philly Woods, was gonna be in attendance. He usually just ran the finances and left the rest up to the stage manager, but tonight he was celebrating his thirtieth anniversary as club manager. To add to the pressure, my best friends were coming in from New Jersey to see my act. They had heard me sing back home, but they had never seen me in a serious club.
The Woodworth was all about nostalgia and respect. There was a violently enforced dress code, and a no tolerance policy for over drinkers. If you got wasted you were out barfing on the streets of Manhattan. And my friends were ignorant of both the classy attire and alcohol restraint. I warned them before extending my invitations.
I returned to the waiting room. Two minutes. I cringed. Time never went so slow. My eyes were glued to Charlie Donovan's photograph. Perfect smile, perfect looks, and a perfect voice; he was everything I longed to be.
“You’re on, Finley” said the stage manager, Joey Hart, urgently.
I suddenly needed to pee. But there was no time. I followed Joey to the stage. He motioned to the announcer.
“For our final performance, we have for you a treat ladies and gentlemen. The boy with the golden voice, please welcome Colton Finley”
I stepped out into the spotlight, heart beating so fast I thought we might not need our drummer. There was minor applause. I could hear my friends whistling. Idiots.
I looked down at my perfectly tailored suit complimented by my dashing bowtie. My silver pocket watch glinted off the light. I breathed.
You’re damn good, I thought to myself, you got this.
I spotted my friends, I smiled at them slightly. I waved to the crowd. This was it.
The band started playing my first choice. “All I need”, an oldie by Dean Wallace. I started singing, moving along the stage. I just loved this song, it rolled off my tongue with a unique thick warmth. My voice, deep and joyful. I felt good.
The crowd was feeling it too. Partners looked in each others eyes, smiling, absorbing the romantic moment. I finished the song with a chilling baritone hum. The crowd gave me a standing ovation, clapping excitedly. I bowed.
My next choice was a song about lost love by Charlie Donovan called “But She Didn’t Hear”. It was a sad song, and I sang it as such. I could see some people staring out into the distance as my melodic words made long forgotten memories float back to the surface.
As I hit the second verse, I saw one of my friends, Reggie Queen, walk up to the stage. Reggie was one of those guys who thought he had an amazing voice and no one had the heart to tell him that he had, at best, average vocals. What he did have, was guts. And here he was putting them on display.
He was almost on the stage when a security guard obstructed his path.
“It’s okay, I know this guy” Reggie said confidently. The guard did not budge.
“Hey Colton” he whispered, “Can you tell this guy to bug off?”
I couldn't believe he was gonna make me respond in middle of my big performance. I waited for the instrumental then quickly gave him a furious look. He understood and returned to his seat disappointed. I breathed.
“If you want that guy out of here drop the mic to your belly” Joey said on my earpiece. I didn't perform the signal.
I went through a couple more songs, and cracked a few jokes. It was obvious, I was a hit.
I was in middle of singing “I’d give more” by Lester Green when a stunning girl tried to pull the same schtick as Reggie. Once again, the guard did his job and blocked her path.
“I’m letting her through” Joey said in my ear.
I was excited and saddened all at once. This girl was an absolute bombshell. And she was fawning over me, not the other way around. It was a dream to have her on stage. But I saw the expression on Reggie’s face as the guard let her through. He felt betrayed.
“What's your name honey?” I asked as the band played.
“Sandy Wolf” she said gleefully.
“Can you sing?”
She shook her head yes. I moved the mic between us, smiled, and resumed singing. She joined a moment later, harmonizing with surprising skill. My deep baritone contrasted her lighter, sweeter voice making possibly the nicest sound I had ever heard.
The crowd was probably sure this was staged, but to the best of my knowledge it wasn't.
We reached the end of our magnificent duet. We wound down softly, tenderly. I smiled at her. She smiled at me.
“Oh my goodness, it's Charlie Donovan!!” someone shouted.
I smiled. “Nope just Colton Finley, but thank you very much” I said as the band played their finishing solo.
“No, it's actually Charlie Donovan! He’s here!”
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
My name is Charlie Donovan.
I sat, sulked in my car outside the club. My newest song “Before You Die” was playing on the radio. I sang along quietly, dolefully. I was drunk. I hadn’t shaven in a week - since my last show.
I thought about the old days. When I sang at The Woodworth every night, a packed house swaying with my voice. I remembered the wanting, the desire to be great that inhabited me then. It was like a raging disease. I dreamed of a star lit future, of platinum records and sold out crowds. Everything I did besides performing, I did in a daze. A blur. I couldn't tell you what I ate on the average day. It all revolved around my performance and my future.
The manager and I had a private rift.
In those early days, everyone who came to his club, came to see me; not the other talentless artists. I used my leverage to rightfully squeeze him for cash and privileges. He resented that.
But then he got lucky with a couple of hires. As soon as he was sure his new talents could draw a crowd he revoked my privileges and reduced my salary. With him in control, our relationship became one of verbal and sometimes physical abuse.
After every show he would take me aside and cuss for five straight minutes naming all the things I did “wrong”. On rare occasions he’d toss me around, shoving me, slapping me. He treated me like shit. Thankfully the gossip columnists never got wind of this juicy story, it would've damaged my sauve but nice guy image.
I touched the glock I had hidden in my pants. It was cold, dangerous.
My phone buzzed. An email from my manager.
It read:
Look Charlie, you know I consider you a friend. We’ve been working together a while now and we’ve had some good times and we’ve both made a lot of money. But I can't do it anymore. You don’t return my calls, I have your ex-wives calling me all the time shrieking about however it is you offended them that day, and I have you cancelling gigs without my knowledge. I love you Charlie, but I can't do it anymore. We’re done.
All the best!
David Monk
That greedy bastard. He softened his email with “friend” and “love" so he could snatch me back as soon as I straightened out.
I shut off the car, still sadly singing my song. I got out, dizzy and tired. The club sign was updated since I’d last been here. It was brighter, bolder than the old one.
I walked up to the door. The bouncers recognized me immediately. They moved aside.
This was it. I stepped through the door.
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
I work at The Woodworth.
"Really? Was he misbehaving?” I asked my wife, holding the phone against my ear.
“No, he wasn't feeling well” she said.
I chuckled. “You fell for that again? I’ll speak to him when I get home”
“Get off the damn phone” the manager said, “we need another man out there, the place is packed”
“Sorry babe, I gotta go”.
I enjoyed working at The Woodworth. They paid well enough and I got a free show every night. The people's favorite was this new kid Colton Finley. The club filled up whenever he came on.
He was a nice kid with a magical voice and soft but manly features. He was also an impeccable dresser.
I served some patrons, delivering mostly drinks, and some food. There was a particularly rowdy group of young men, heckling the performers. I hated that. You don't mess with a man's living. I went over and warned them that they would be bounced out on the street if they continued their disrupting behaviour. They shut up.
After the comedy act, I took a bathroom break.
I sat on the toilet in the employee bathroom crafting a way to scold my son George when someone entered. I could spot those shiny shoes on a foggy day in London. It was Finley.
He was on in nine minutes. Kid was cutting it close.
He finished up quickly and left the bathroom with time to spare.
I wanted to finish too, so I could get out in time to hear him sing. Kid was wonderful. And he’d better be tonight. The ageing manager Philly Woods was in attendance.
I cleaned myself up and went to wash my hands. Colton had left an open bottle of pills on the sill. I sighed, put the bottle in my pocket and went back out to serve some guests.
Colton was rolling. Song after song, he crushed the audience with his magnificent vocal command. He roamed the stage, owning it, confident. A little dance move here, a wink there, a perfect smile. He captured their attention and wasn't letting it go.
I had gone to get some drinks for a moment and when I returned I was treated the sound of pure heaven. A girl had joined Colton on stage and was singing along with him sweetly. I had never seen her before but their voices blended with angelic magnificence. I could see the people were as stunned as I was. Their mouths hung lamely, their eyes wide open. Some even laughed in disbelief. I certainly did. What a show.
I noticed a small commotion by the front door.
Then someone shouted “Oh my goodness, it's Charlie Donovan!”.
Charlie Donovan I thought, what the hell was he doing here.
Colton thought someone was paying him a compliment and responded. I couldn't quite make out what he said, I was focused on the club entrance.
Charlie Donovan? Here?
I moved closer. It was him. The legend. Except he didn't look too legendary at the moment. He looked broken and dejected.
I looked over at Philly. He wasn't looking in Charlie’s direction. His face was stiff. Cold.
“Where's Philly?" Charlie asked slurring his words.
The band went silent.
Someone lead Charlie to Philly’s table. Bad idea. If it was up to me I would've told Charlie he wasn't around. Before he sat down next to Philly, Charlie turned to Colton.
“Why are you stopping? You're doing great"
“Uh” The stunned singer responded, his voice suddenly weak and unconfident, Thanks”.
But the band didn't play. Nobody would pay them any attention with a drunk celebrity tripping through his old stomping grounds.
“See that Philly?” Charlie said his words dripping with bitter sarcasm, “a compliment, some positivity” he plopped down in a chair.
“What are you doing here?" Philly said, his voice hoarse.
“I came to see you"
“Why tonight?”
“I’ve got the same question”
Charlie wiped his forehead with a napkin he had snatched from the table. He leaned forward slightly.
“Did you ever feel bad?” he asked, a sudden shaky rage in his voice.
“Did I feel bad!?” Philly asked astonished and equally enraged. “You were a disgrace… you are a disgrace”
“I was your best performer!”
“And you took full advantage of that”
“I deserved that money!”
“You also deserved a private bathroom? Or cocaine?” Philly said frothing at the mouth “And what about cutting your act short for ‘personal reasons’? You have no cla…”
Charlie leaped up from his chair. “Don’t fucking lecture me!!” he shouted raising his voice to earsplitting levels.
Charlie’s face turned white. He suddenly lurched and vomited, projecting the nasty barf all over Philly.
Philly’s face looked a cruel combination of fury and surprise.
“Terry!!” he shouted “get him to the bathroom”
“Yes sir" I said.
I grabbed Charlie’s legs and hauled him to the customer bathroom.
He leaned over the toilet sweating grossly and threw up a hideous greenish liquid with small yellow tidbits. I winced at the sour smell. He somewhat missed the toilet bowl. His vomit splashed off the edge, sloshing on the tiled floor.
Charlie stood up and walked out without acknowledging me. I sighed. A sad sight indeed.
There was a mop in the bathroom closet. I got it and began cleaning up Charlie's mess. The old mop smelled almost as bad as the barf.
Muffled shrieks. I stopped cleaning. I heard a collective gasp. I opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked out.
Charlie, his back to me, was holding a gun to Philly's head. He had a fistful of Philly's hair in his other hand. People looked on fearfully. I let the door close.
He could pull the trigger any second now.
I dialed 911 and whispered the club name and address into the speaker. I hung up. I opened the door carefully, praying that the hinges were well oiled. They were. I crouched down and scrambled behind a nearby couch. Charlie didn't see me. But I could see him.
He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings. It was like he was alone with Philly. He hissed into Philly’s ear.
“What goes around comes around.” he said.
He slammed the gun down into Philly’s shoulder. Philly screamed obscenities. A guard managed to sneak behind Charlie. It wasn't exactly an incredible feat taking into account Charlie’s manic rage.
“Have you gone mad?” Philly said in obvious pain. “You are a superstar, why do you care about some old phogy?”
The guard inched forward, gun in hand.
Charlie cocked his gun.
The guard lifted his weapon.
“Charlie!! Look out”. It was Colton. Foolish boy.
Charlie whipped around, turning his human shield with him. The guard shot. Philly’s head jerked backward. The bullet hit him slightly above his brow. He died instantly.
“Noo!” Charlie shouted.
Colton ran in front of the bouncer and blocked his way.
“You can't kill him” he said pleadingly, “Not Charlie”.
“Move!!”
He didn't.
With Colton shielding him, Charlie dropped the dead body and emptied most of his magazine into Philly’s stagnant chest. Blood splashed on the surrounding tables and couches. People freaked and ran for the exit.
With Philly unrecognizable, Charlie dropped to the floor, his back up against a chair.
He turned the gun on himself.
“Kid.”
Colton turned, terrified.
“It’s not worth it” Charlie said somberly.
Then he shot himself in the throat.
He didn't die immediately. He sat, still, as he choked on his own blood, his eyes alert and teary. Colton cried as well, his idol destroyed.
I got out from behind the couch my heart weak, my legs hurt from crouching.
My phone rang. It was my school ditching son. Seeing his name flash across the screen unleashed my emotions. I loved him so much.
“Georgey!” I said choking up.
“I’m really not feeling well!” he said in a voice way too hoarse for reality.
I smiled widely, the tears dripped. “Sure buddy”. I’ll see you soon”, I hung up.
Charlie spotted me. It was creepy how only his eyes followed me as I walked for the exit. His brow furrowed, he was trying to place me. I walked past him, avoiding the widening puddle of blood. His eyes went still. He died.
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
It’s Colton again.
I walked calmly up the sleek black steps that lead up to the stage. I was smiling so wide my cheeks had gone stiff.
The crowd stood and cheered. All eyes were on me. The MC handed me the award and gave me a hug. He whispered something in my ear. I didn't hear so I responded with a safe and simple “thanks”.
I stepped up to the podium.
“I’d like to thank the Academy for this amazing honor. I’d like to thank my amazing wife Sandy without whom this would have never been possible”
In my head I screamed “Dont choke!”. But my eyes weren't interested. They watered as I continued.
“To my wonderful son. Though you are only three years old, your genuine excitement for your Daddy’s success is my rock and is what keeps me grounded no matter how fast I’m going. I love you Charlie. Thank you very much”.
I stepped down.
