A Brand New Ending

A Brand New Ending

By FireWire

Story No. 5

A woman holding a suitcase, poised to walk out the front door of her apartment, hears her cell phone ring. She puts down the suitcase and looks at the phone.

It’s mother. Now what! If I had any sense, I would keep walking. She has just one thing on her mind. “Susan honey” she’ll say. “Listen to your mother. I know what I’m talking about. A pretty face will only get you so far these days. You should get falsies or a pushup.” Or else she will say, “So-and-so’s daughter, a real plain Jane, got implants—now her telephone doesn’t stop ringing.” Why does she keep harping on it! She knows I don’t have anything to push up.

When the moment of truth comes, it’s either “Wow! You really are flat.” or it’s “You look great, but aren’t you missing something?” If I got implants, it would be “Mmmm. What are those scars?” or “These feel funny.” or “You got balloons, right?”

The woman holds the phone until it stops ringing and puts it back in purse. She picks up the suitcase and starts to close the door. The phone rings again. This time she answers.

“Mother,” she says, “I’m walking out the door.”

“Oh good. I caught you in time. Would you deliver some cheesesteaks to Mrs. Blessing’s daughter, Jill, in New York?”

“I’m not going to New York City; I’m going to White Plains.”

“Mrs. Blessing says its right on the way.”

“It’s not. I bypass the city altogether.”

“I’m sure it isn’t too far out of the way. Mrs. Blessing is such a good friend. She said she will pay your gas both ways.”

“Why doesn’t Mrs. Blessing FedEx the cheesesteaks to her daughter?”

“She tried that, but Jill said they didn’t taste right. Mrs. Blessing has a food warmer which plugs into the car’s cigarette lighter to keep them warm.”

“Mom, you must be kidding. Nobody in their right mind would go to all the trouble and expense to send their daughter a cheesesteak.”

“Mrs. Blessing said she and Jill had an argument, and Jill isn’t talking to her. Jill loves South Philadelphia cheesesteaks, so Mrs. Blessing is hoping this will break the ice.”

“Mother. I’m not a cheesesteak delivery guy; I’m going to a wedding. Anyway, I have no idea of how to get around New York in a car. I always used the subway.”

“Mrs. Blessing said you could use her GPS.”

There are a few moments of silence.

“Please do this one favor for me honey. Mrs. Blessing does a lot of nice things for me. This is the least I can do for her. She has everything ready for you. She said it will only take a few minutes to put the cheesesteaks in the car, and the GPS is programmed.”

“All right. I’ll do it.”

The woman arrives in New York, becomes lost, and dead-ends on the edge of a river. Worried she will not be able to find her way out of the city, she looks around for help and sees a man sitting on a bench on the lawn of a modern high-rise.

The woman backs up to the curb in front of the man and rolls down her window. “Pardon me,” she says. “I’m from out of town. I’m trying to locate Avon Avenue.”

The man doesn’t look her way.

“Yoo-hoo.” “Sir.” “Yoo-hoo!”

No response.

She pushes down hard on the car horn. The man jerks to attention.

The woman sticks her head out of the window. “Hello. I’m trying to locate Avon Avenue. Can you help me?”

The man looks at her without moving.

“I from out of town,” she says. “ . . . I’m lost.”

The man walks to the car. “Aren’t you using your GPS?” he asks.

“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, this isn’t Avon Avenue.”

“I know. Is it close by? Could you please give me directions?”

“Yes and no. It’s about ten minutes northwest of here, but it’s complicated to get to. It’s easy to miss.”

After staring at the GPS for several moments, the woman looks at the man and says, “I’m on my way to a friend’s wedding in White Plains.” She points to the warmer in the back seat. “My mother talked me into delivering a bunch of cheesesteaks to one of her friend’s daughter. If I don’t find her soon, I’ll be late for the wedding. Would you have the time to ride with me over there? I’ll run in, deliver the cheesesteaks, run out, and bring you right back. It will only take a few minutes.”

The man looks at her as if she is a recent release from an institution.

She shrugs.

After a moment, the man says, “Might as well. Time is all I have left now.”

He walks around the back of the car and opens the front passenger door.

“Why don’t you drive?” she says. “It would simplify the process.”

The man nods and walks around the back of the car while the woman walks around the front.

When the car stops, the man asks, “Would you like me to carry the warmer in for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” the woman answers.

A blonde woman answers the doorbell.

“Jill?”

“Yes.”

“Jill, I’m Susan Westerfield. My mother, Ruth, is a friend of your mother. I’m on my way to a wedding in White Plains, and your mother asked me to drop off these cheesesteaks for you.”

“What a surprise,” Jill says. “Thank you so much. There are some places around here which claim to make Philadelphia cheesesteaks, but if they don’t come from South Philly they might as well come from China as far as taste goes. Please come in.”

After they enter the kitchen, Gavin puts the warmer on the counter. Susan says, “Jill, this is . . . ”

Extending his hand, smiling, making eye contact, the man says, “Gavin.”

Taking his hand, maintaining the eye contact, Jill says, “Thanks for bringing the warmer in Gavin. I’m sure it’s heavy. They really pack a cheesesteak in South Philly.”

Gavin releases Jill’s hand and looks at Susan. “I’ll wait in the car for you.”

When he leaves, Susan says, “Your mother sent these as a peace offering. I hope my trip won’t be in vain.”

“I assure you it won’t. By the way, your boyfriend is a very handsome man. And charming.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even know him. I was lost down by the river and asked him for directions. He said the directions were complicated, so I asked him to drive me here. As soon as I leave, I’ll drop him off and be on my way. He showed me the freeway on the way over.”

“For real?”

“Yes. We passed right over it.”

“I meant Gavin. Don’t you have any interest in him?”

“None.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“In that case.” Jill takes a piece of paper out of a kitchen drawer, writes on it, and gives it to Susan. “Please give this to him. It has my name and cell. Tell him I want get my hands on him – all over him. No kidding, tell him that.”

Opening the warmer, Jill takes out a wrapped cheesesteak. “Here. Take this for the trip. It’s still a ways to White Plains; you may get hungry. I can’t thank you enough.”

Susan gets in the car and holds up the cheesesteak. “She gave me one for the road.”

Gavin says, “Unbelievable as it may sound, I never heard of a Philadelphia cheesesteak until now. Probably because my trips to Philly were limited to evenings at the Entertainment Center.”

Arriving back at their starting point, Susan says, “Thanks for helping me. As a reward, I’ll give you the cheesesteak. After you eat it, you’ll be in the know.”

Gavin rubs his chin. “Why don’t we split it? We can go up to my place, sit out on the balcony, and watch the river while we eat.”

“I can’t,” Susan says. I have to be in White Plains no later than six for the rehearsal.”

“You have plenty of time. Hop on the freeway, and you’re almost there.”

“Well, OK.”

Gavin inserts a key into the elevator control panel by the label “Penthouse.” When the elevator stops, it opens to a foyer with one residence door.

Opening the door, Gavin gestures for Susan to enter first.

“Whoa!” Susan says. This place is huge. It looks like a concert hall.”

“I guess it does with only a piano in it. A few days ago, it was full of furniture. Now, all that’s left is my old piano and two lawn chairs. Tomorrow, I won’t even have that. But, considering we are now in the present, let’s go out on the balcony and enjoy our cheesesteak.”

“How do you like it?” Susan asks.

“It’s good. I like it.”

They finish the cheesesteak and sit in silence for a while watching the river.

“Where are you moving?” she asks.

“No idea. This is my first time going bankrupt and being thrown out on the street. I’m playing it by ear.”

“Bankrupt?”

“Right. Bankrupt. Fortunately, the judge let me swap my car for the piano, but a lot of good that did me. I don’t have any money to store it, so I’ll have to walk away from it in the morning. My mother gave it to me when I was 13 because I wanted to learn to play the piano. She even arranged for the church organist to give me lessons. And now I’ve violated the trust she had in me. She scrimped and went without so I would have this piano. Tomorrow her faith and hopes in me will be left in this room when I walk out.”

“What happened?”

“Blindsided by the real-estate meltdown. I was a promoter of musical events - rock, opera, Broadway musicals, off-Broadway musicals – you name it. I brought all the parties together and staged the events. I always had three or four events going at one time and brought in investors to supply the up-front money to pay for everything. If I did my job right, my investors and I made a lot of money. If I didn’t, my investors lost money.

“So some of your shows were flops?”

“No. Not at all. My investors were. They were up to their necks in real estate loans which turned bad all at once when the real estate market collapsed. They didn’t invest and I couldn’t meet the contracts I had signed.”

“Couldn’t you borrow from a bank?”

“No. My line of work is too speculative for a bank. Too speculative even for a bailout.”

“That’s terrible.”

“My thoughts exactly. Tomorrow is not going to be fun. No car, no roof over my head. I don’t know if I qualify for unemployment.”

“Oh. I forgot about Jill.” Susan hands Gavin the piece of paper with Jill’s name and cell. “She said to give you this. I’m sure she will help you until you can things together.”

He looks at the paper. “The last one left when she couldn’t charge a pair of shoes on my credit card. She said I was finished. She may have been right.” He puts the paper in his pocket. “Thanks.”

He walks to the edge of the balcony and looks towards the river for a few moments before turning back towards Susan. Leaning against the balcony rail, he asks, “What do you do?”

“I work part-time for the juvenile courts of Philadelphia and Camden County, N.J. as a counselor. I lead support groups for parents of juveniles who are arrested on alcohol and drug charges.”

“That’s different. How did you get into that line of work?”

“I read a newspaper article where a juvenile judge said parents had nowhere to turn for help when their children were arrested. I wrote the judge a letter and volunteered to set up a parent support group. He asked me to visit with him and discuss my offer. At the end of our meeting, he arranged a room in the courthouse in the evening for the group. He advertised the group by putting a sign at the juvenile arrest desk. It’s voluntary for parents and doesn’t cost them anything. Eventually he got city funds to pay me on a part-time basis.”

“How did your group make out?” he asks.

“It was an instant success because there were so many parents in need of help. But it’s strictly self-help. A group usually consists of 10 to 15 parents with one or two new parents each time and one or two that don’t come back because their need for support is over. The judge recommended we adapt the AA method of support, so every meeting we sit in a circle with each parent telling the group what caused them to seek support and sharing any solutions which might help other group members. Some parents new to the group can’t bring themselves to tell the terrible things their children had done to them, but once they hear other parents’ stories, they find they are not alone and share their experiences.”

“How often do you meet?”

“Monday through Friday. Each group meets once a week in the evening for about two hours. I’ve expanded it to five groups in different geographical areas by using church-furnished rooms.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Eight months.”

“I guess you don’t have a social life, or if you had one, you don’t have one now.”

“I’m satisfied with how my life is.”

He walks to his lounge chair and sits down. He leans forward. In a low voice, he says, “I like your T-shirt.”

From deep within the most primitive part of the brain, the amygdala fires. Traveling at 200 miles an hour, an emotion pounds her heart, blushes her face, slams into her consciousness, and takes control.

She pulls her T-shirt tight across her chest. “Take a Look! See! See Why I Don’t Wear a T‑Shirt! I had no idea I would meet you! No idea at all! I shouldn’t have come here. I made a big mistake.” She moves to get up.

Gavin holds up his hand. “Wait. Stop. Please. I was referring to the words on the back of the T-shirt. To ‘Philadelphia 2010 Open Choir Champions.’”

She pauses.

“My mother also sang in the choir,” he says. At home, on many evenings, I would play the piano, and she would sing hymns. I even wrote some hymns for her to sing. She was proud of me.”

Looking into her eyes, he stands silently for a few moments before asking, “I wonder, if, before you leave, you would be kind enough to sing one of those hymns while I accompany you on the piano. It’s absolutely crazy I know, but, if you would, my mind would be at ease when I walk out the door tomorrow. I would like to thank her one last time before I leave the piano behind . . . even if her sacrifices came to nothing in the end.”

He reaches into an envelope, takes out a hand-notated piece of sheet music, and offers it to her.

“Please,” he says.

She takes the sheet.

When Gavin is seated at the piano, he asks, “Can you read the music?”

“Yes. Your notations are well done.”

“Then shall we begin.”

Susan is almost finished the hymn when she becomes aware the piano is silent. She looks down and sees Gavin looking at her.

“Anything wrong?” she asks.

“You have the sweetest voice I have ever heard—and I’ve heard the best. But it’s also crystal clear and strong. Emotionally powerful. How do you do that? You’re not an angel in disguise are you?”

She laughs. “Hardly. It’s taken years of practice. I have a Bachelor of Music.”

“From a school in Philly?”

“From Juilliard.”

He stares at her without saying anything.

“Are you OK?” she asks.

“Just taken aback. Stunned, actually. The question is, of course, why don’t you sing professionally?”

“After graduation, I tried very hard to get work as a solo singer, but found the job market for high-end solo singers was zero—all my hopes and dreams would never be realized. Four years of college wasted. That’s when I wrote the judge. The only singing I do now is with the church choir which is a very talented group. We won the Philadelphia Open Choir Championship this year. The T-shirt was the prize. It’s actually a very prestigious prize. Do you have another hymn? I have time for one more before I go.”

“I do have another one.”

He goes to the porch and returns with another piece of sheet music and a remote. He hands her the sheet music.

“What’s this?” she says. “This isn’t the title of a hymn.

“It’s not gangsta rap if that’s what you mean. It’s intended to be a modern cupid’s arrow.”

“Oh.”

He reaches under the keyboard and flips a switch. “I added a synthesizer and some speakers to the piano. That’s why it’s long in the back. The accompaniment, which does not include the piano, is prerecorded. Let me know when you are ready.”

She reads the sheet. “Ready,” she says.

He presses the remote.

The beat penetrates her hips and moves to her shoulders. It lifts her feet to a stage where she shoots word after word straight into a thousand hearts.

The music stops. She points the sheet music towards him and shakes it. “Man! You can really write a song! That was exciting!”

He says, “I never imagined that was the way it had to be sung. Nobody would have imagined singing it the way you did. I shopped that song to everybody I knew. I sent it to a dozen singers, a dozen producers. All without success. I even gave it to one of the groups I booked. A new group I knew needed material. The lead looked it over and said, ‘Where did you get this crap?’” As Gavin speaks, he begins to cry.

Susan sits down on the bench beside him. She puts her arm around him and slowly rubs her hand up and down his side until the crying stops.

“You’ve let it all out,” she says. “You’ve reached emotional equilibrium—come to terms with your situation. Things will be better now.” She takes her arm from around him.

“I’ve screwed things up real bad,” he says. “I don’t know how I will get started again. My reputation has been shredded, and reputation is everything in my business.”

She puts her arm around him again and holds him tight. “It’s time to pick yourself up and get on with your life. No one can go back and change the past, but you can start now and make a brand new ending. I don’t care what the others said about your music. They are wrong. I know your music is good. I’ve experienced it. It penetrated deep inside me . . . and gave me hope.”

He says nothing.

“Listen—I believe in you,” she says. “Find a new way, and these things that upset you now will no longer matter.”

Another pause.

“You're right,” he says. “I have to make a brand new ending.”

She takes her arm from around him.

“If I took your piano and stored it for you until you were back on your feet, would that help?”

He looks at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you can find a way to ship the piano to me cash on delivery, I’ll store it in my mother’s garage until you are in a position to claim it.”

“You are an angel after all, but I can’t accept the offer. Shipping will cost a ton of money. I can’t ask you to spend money you don’t have.”

“I have a credit card,” she says. “If you never show up, I’ll have a great piano.”

He chuckles. “You’ve got a deal. Give me your mother’s address.”

They leave the apartment and go to her car. Susan gets in and takes the keys out of her purse.

Gavin reaches in his pocket, takes out the paper with Jill’s number on it, and hands it to Susan. “I won’t be needing this. I’ll find another way,” he says.

She takes the paper, smiles, and puts the key in the ignition.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For what you did for me this afternoon. I’ll never forget a minute of it. I saw heaven, and I want more.” He pauses. “Is there anything I can do for you besides making a brand new ending? Anything at all.”

She puts her hand on the ignition key, “That’s it.”

She pauses. Looking straight at him, she says, “That’s it . . . . for now.” and turns the key.

It’s Saturday morning. Susan sits at her kitchen table in Philadelphia deciding which payment to skip this month – car, credit card, or rent. The phone bill is out of the question since she has skipped it for two months. Another missed payment, and it will be disconnected. The phone rings.

It’s mother. She called yesterday. She needs a hobby other than trying to add a double D to my top or whining about the piano. It’s only been in the garage for little over a year. It’s not even in her way for crying out loud. I should have stayed with him. He wanted me to stay. Together, we could have made it. What a fool I was.

“Hello.”

“Susan, you have a letter from the Nine-Thirty Club.”

“Never heard of it. Toss it.”

“It feels like it’s got a ticket in it. Maybe it’s a free raffle ticket. That’s how people win big. When they least expect it. Then you could pay off all your debts.”

“That's nice, but I can't talk now. I’m on my way to choir practice. Call you later.”

That night Susan gets another call.

“Susan, this is Aunt Lois. Laura is driving me crazy. I know it’s late, but I can’t stand her anymore. Would you please, please, take her to some concert she absolutely has to go to.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. Right now. Can’t you hear her screaming?”

“Put her on the phone.”

“Laura, what is going on?”

“How fast can you get over here?”

“Where are we going?”

“The Nine-Thirty Club in South Philly. Step on it. I’ll give you the details on the way there. Bye.”

When Susan arrives, Laura is waiting in the driveway. She opens the car door and hands Susan a piece of paper.

“Here are the directions. I have the tickets. Let’s go. The show is almost over.”

“What kind of show?”

“Didn’t you read the tickets? Your mother said they were sent to you.”

“I told her to throw them away.”

“Oh my God! Are you crazy! The tickets are for Nuevo. He sells out a stadium before the tickets go on sale.”

“I never heard of him, and I certainly wouldn’t have ordered tickets. Somebody has made a mistake. But aren’t you a rock fan?”

“Nuevo is Latino for “new sound.” And he is the new rock. Four singles from his first album are hot rockets on all the charts. Wouldn’t it be cool if they all hit the top of all the charts all at the same time. Nobody’s ever done that.”

“How about Elvis or the Beatles?”

“I mean in my lifetime.”

“If he’s so popular, why is he playing in a small, city club?”

“I don’t know. Just go!”

Sitting in the dark car, Laura looks at the glowing tweet streaming across her cell.

“Big Biceps Tight White T He is BEAUTIFUL KANT STOP SCREAMING”

She looks up. “Can’t you go faster Susan?”

Susan and Laura work their way through the crowd in front of the Nine-Thirty Club. Two men are standing at the door. A “Sold Out” sign is in front of the door.

“Are we too late?” Laura asks.

The two doormen exchange glances. One of the doormen points to the sign and then winks at Susan. “Smile sweetheart. I’ll squeeze you in.”

“We have tickets,” Laura says handing them to the doorman.

He looks at the tickets. Turning to the other doorman, he says, “Tell Dinky the guests are here.”

The doorman holds the tickets up and looks at Susan. “Known him long?” he asks.

“Don’t know him at all.”

The doorman raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

After a pause, the doorman, staring at Susan, asks, “You a model?”

Ignoring the stare and looking away. “No.”

“Bet guys ask you that all the time, right?”

“Occasionally.”

A man comes out of the club. He looks at Susan and says to the doorman, “Now I understand why he’s here.”

The doorman nods. “Yep.”

The man says, “I’m Dinky. I’ll take you up front and stay with you so nobody gives you trouble.”

They walk across the foyer. Dinky opens a concert hall door, “Here we go. Stay close behind me. Best to hold on to the back of my belt.”

Susan says, “Dinky, we’ll just stand here in the back.”

“Are you sure? I mean you’re personal guests of the man himself. I’ll put you right on the stage if you want.”

“Let’s do it!” Laura says.

“Laura, the show is almost over. It’s too much of a hassle to go to the front.”

“I can barely see him,” Laura says.”

Dinky says to Laura, “Don’t forget. After the show, I’ll be taking you backstage.”

Susan says, “That will be great.”

After Dinky leaves, Laura says, “Won’t Nuevo be surprised. Two total strangers walking into his dressing room. And I’m not leaving until I get a picture—no—a video of him putting his arm around me.”

On stage, the show is coming to a close. Nuevo takes a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it. Holding the paper in his hand, he silently, intently, studies the crowd around him. His eyes look down at the sheet of paper. He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them.

Nuevo raises his hands and waits for the screaming to stop before saying into the microphone, “I have a new song.”

He waits for the screaming to subside.

“It’s called “A Bullet to the Heart.” Do I have a volunteer to come onstage and help me close out the show.”

More screaming and hand waving.

Nuevo puts his hand above his eyes to shade them from the stage lights, then says to the spotlight operator, “Sammy, cut the lights. Just the spots.”

“Aren’t you going to raise your hand?” Susan asks Laura.

“It won’t do any good. Rock stars always pick a groupie with big boobs from the front row. That’s why nobody back here is raising their hand.”

“I’ll raise mine for you,” Susan says. “You never know.”

“Whatever.”

Nuevo watches two wide spotlights slowly sweep the mass of upraised hands. He says to the spotlight operator, “Pan the back of the audience with a single, tight spot – real slow.”

He intently follows the spotlight across the shouting, bouncing crowd. “Stop! Back up!” He points his finger. “Stop! Hold it right there. Don’t move an inch.” He motions for space at the edge of the stage. “Watch it girls, I’m coming down.”

A path opens as Nuevo walks toward the spotlight. The shouting gives way to clap-clap-clap-clap – the surrounding crowd marking in unison each step he takes.

The clapping stops. The audience is silent. In the spotlight, Nuevo stands in front of Susan. He smiles. She smiles. He puts his hand against the side of her shoulder for a moment, then moves it slowly down the side of her arm and takes her hand.

“Ready for a brand new ending?”

She holds his hand tight. “I’m ready.”

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