“Yeah.”
Vic began playing some scales, a cup mute in his horn. He dropped the scales abruptly and began slaughtering “Carnival in Venice.” Behind him, in the silence of the room, the toilet tank played a Shep Fields accompaniment, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling. Frank listened to him, fidgeting, running his finger under his tight collar, hounding his watch:
Daaah-dah, daah-dah, daaah-da-da went Vic’s horn.
Urb-ulluh, urb-ulluh went the toilet tank.
Daaah-dah-dah, dah-dah, urb-ulluh, daah-dabbuluh, ulluh, daaa...
“Where the hell is that kid?” Frank exploded.
“He’ll be here soon,” Bud said. “Give him time.”
Vic took his horn from his lips. “We can rehearse without him,” he said.
“Yeah,” Frank said sourly.
“We did it before he came along,” Vic persisted.
“That was before we knew any better,” Frank said.
“What do you mean by that?” Vic asked.
“Well, what the hell does it sound like I mean?”
“It sounds like you’re saying, I don’t know what it sounds like, but I know I don’t like it.”
“Then shove it,” Frank said.
“Now, listen—”
“What the hell do you want me to do, hold your hand for you?”
“You can get off my back, that’s all,” Vic said. “Nobody asked you to stick your nose into this anyway.”
“I only commented on your suggestion. You said we could rehearse without him, and I don’t think we can.”
“Why not?” Vic asked.
“Look,” Tony said, trying to smile, “we’ll be kicked out of here if you guys make so much—”
“Why not?” Vic asked again.
“Why not?” Frank leaned forward over his drums. “You really want to know why not, Vic? You really want to know?”
“Leave him alone, Frank,” Bud said.
“No, he wants to know. He wants to know why we can’t rehearse without the kid. All right, I’ll tell him.”
“Come on, Frank,” Tony said. “Cut it out.”
“What’s the matter?” Frank said, his voice rising. “Can’t I tell him if he wants to know? A guy asks a question, he deserves an answer.”
“Let it go, Frank,” Tony said. “Why do you want to start—”
“I’ll tell you, Vic,” Frank said sweetly, “If you really want to know, why I’ll tell you, Vic.” He sucked in a deep breath. “It’s because you stink in spades, Vic. Not only—”
“Listen—”
“Not only,” Frank shouted, gaining momentum, “can’t you carry the first-trumpet sheet, I don’t think you could carry a two-ounce bag of marshmallows around the block, that’s what I think. Now do you know why we can’t start rehearsal without the kid? Do you—”
“Frank, for Christ’s sake—” Tony started.
“No, let him talk,” Vic said tightly.
“I’m finished talking. I said all I’ve got to say. You stink. Period. You play trumpet like a man with a stomach-ache.”
“You’re God Almighty, I suppose,” Vic said, plainly embarrassed, but still not losing his temper.
“No,” Frank answered, “but at least I can play my instrument. That’s more than you can do.”
“I was taking trumpet lessons before you even heard of the drums,” Vic said ineffectively.
“Then you didn’t learn a hell of a lot. You ought to change teachers.”
“Who the hell died and left you boss, anyway?” Vic asked, his voice a little louder, but the cliché still sounding weak on his lips.
“You don’t have to be boss to know a lousy trumpet player when you see one.”
Vic blinked his eyes for a moment, realizing he was on the losing end of the argument. He rose suddenly, yanking the mouthpiece from his horn. “Maybe you won’t have to see much more of me,” he said angrily.
“What? Are you threatening us?” Frank asked, smirking.
“No, I’m not threatening. I’m quitting. You can shove your band. There are plenty of other bands around.”
“None that’ll have you,” Frank said, still riding him, enjoying his offensive advantage now.
“What the hell do you care who’ll have me or not?” Vic said. He hesitated for a moment, as if he would keep the real cause of the argument hidden. But the real cause burned in his lungs and his throat, and it bubbled out of his mouth like molten lava. “You’ve got your little Golden Boy, haven’t you? What the hell do you care about me? He’s all that counts. Go kiss his ass a little. Go ahead.” He whirled and lifted his trumpet case from the floor beside his chair.
“Look,” Tony said, “there’s no need to quit, Vic. Frank was just—”
“Don’t try to kid me, boy,” Vic said heatedly. “Don’t shovel it at me, boy. You all feel the way he does. You think I’m going to hang around when you feel like that?”
“Vic, we don’t—”
“The hell you don’t! Listen, you think I’m cockeyed? You think I can’t see what’s been going on? First you give him all the hot rides, and then you give him all the sweet solos. What does that leave for me? Harmony? Well, look, don’t worry about me. Don’t worry your head about me. No, just worry about your Golden Boy, he’s the one to worry about. Why don’t you give him sheets for the whole damn trumpet section and let him play six trumpet parts at once? That ought to suit Frank fine. That ought to make you all happy. You should all wet your pants over that one.”
“Vic, we didn’t—”
“Agh, what the hell are you trying to tell me? I should have seen this right from the beginning. From the minute they made you leader.”
“Now wait a minute,” Tony said. “Let’s not start—”
“Who started this goddamn band, anyway? You? Did you buy the first three arrangements? Did you go shagging all over Brooklyn looking for musicians? What the hell did you do except come in when everybody was here already? What right do you have to be leader?”
“The boys chose me,” Tony said. “You know that.”
“Sure, because your name is Banner. So what kind of bull is that? What’s the matter with Vic Andrada on a stand? What’s the matter with that name? Is it any worse than Charlie Ventura... or Vido Musso? Or... or... What the hell difference does a name make?”
“The boys felt—”
“Yeah, the boys felt, the boys felt. Well, I know what the boys feel. The boys feel Andy is better than me, and so do you, so what the hell am I hanging around for? To give him harmony so he’ll sound better? What fun is there in that? I can play harmony with anybody. I don’t have to play it for a snotnosed kid.”
“Especially when he plays rings around you,” Frank said.