“What equipment do we need?” I asked, a bit confused. “I thought Archy was going to get John’s equipment.”
“If we are going to help out Archy, then I would like to have a guitar so I’m not just a vocalist for you.”
If Kristen had meant to surprise me, she didn’t. I was used to her impulsive ideas and knew better than to talk her out of them when they were basically harmless. Besides, I had heard her play before, even if she didn’t know it.
Lynette, however, was surprised. “You’re volunteering to help Archy out as well?”
“Jim has been aching to get me to play with him,” Kristen explained. “I know he’s lining up a demo at Puppy Dawg’s and he’s asked me to participate. I also know that last year in the jazz band isn’t going to be enough for him. I have a feeling that he wants to play the piano, so that leaves me with the guitar. I don’t play as many instruments as well as Jim does.”
I nodded to Lynette. “Just piano tonight,” I corrected. “I was thinking of saving up some money to purchase an electric guitar for Kris for Christmas.”
Kristen was surprised by that. “You were? That’s sweet! I have a couple in my room in the main house, actually.”
I was quite surprised at this revelation. “Why didn’t you bring them into the studio?”
“That’s your studio,” Kristen said, softly.
Stunned by Kristen’s answer, I simply glared at her.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” my Goddess asked, seeing my reaction.
“Kristen, you keep on going on as if a marriage between us is a given,” I said with a sigh. “You’ve just said as much to Sam and Archy. Music is important to me, and you know it. You are important to me as well, and you know that. Having you with me is much better than me just playing by myself.”
Kristen nodded, and turned into a grocery story parking lot. “I’m sorry, Jim.”
I saw in Kristen’s eyes that she truly meant it. I smiled.
I decided to change the subject. “Lynette? Do you play any instrument? Do you sing?”
Lynette shook her head. “I only sing in the shower, and only when I’m alone. Definitely not before an audience, Oogie!”
I considered Lynette’s voice. It was a bit higher than Kristen’s when she talked, and I thought she might be a good singer if she had some training. For now, however, I, decided to take her at her word.
Turning back to my Goddess, I said, “I know you’re great on the piano. How good are you on guitar?”
“That’s right, you’ve never heard me play,” Kristen said, avoiding an answer.
“Lead guitar, right?” I asked. Kristen was going to finally open up to me about her playing, and I didn’t want her to be upset that I had heard her entertaining our friends.
“Mom taught me bass first, then I learned chords, and I can play lead if necessary. I play acoustic and I taught Will how to play electric. He plays lead. When Will practiced lead, I played rhythm or bass with him.”
“That’s right,” Lynette realized. “Your mom used to be a performer.”
Kristen nodded, and she motioned toward the end of the shopping center, where there was a music store.
The three of us left the car and entered the store.
Once inside, Kristen asked the clerk at the register if she could see the manager, handing the clerk one of her business cards.
After a minute or two, the manager arrived. “Miss Swift?”
“Yes. My companions are Jim Crittenhouse and Lynette Robbins. I need to have some music equipment for a one-night gig. I’d prefer to lease everything, but if you cannot manage that, I’d be willing to purchase them as well.”
“When is the gig?”
“Tonight at seven.”
The manager laughed. “I’m not sure that I could arrange a lease in that short a period of time. What kind of equipment?”
Kristen turned around and looked over the equipment that was on display. Her eyes locked onto an Yamaha keyboard that I had noticed the moment I entered the shop. She looked at me, and she knew instantly that we were on the same wavelength. Her attention went to a few guitars, and she picked out two electric ones and an acoustic one. Finally, she picked out an amplifier.
“These,” Kristen said, “plus cables to connect everything. We’re from out of town and didn’t bring our own stuff.”
“That’s close to four and a half thousand dollars of equipment!”
Kristen shrugged and pulled out her American Express card. “Run this card through.”
The manager looked at the charge card, and then itemized a bill for the equipment that she picked out. The total was a little over $4,400.
“Could you add delivery to the Marriott by five?”
“A hundred dollars?” the manager asked.
“More like fifty. You know a guy with a pickup or a van, and it’s only a couple of miles.”
I grinned. Kristen was on her own turf, even in a music store.
The manager added the fifty dollar delivery charge, and then said, “Do you mind if I call my bank and verify the card? It’s a large purchase.”
Kristen shrugged.
The manager left with the card, and Kristen busied herself by strumming the acoustic guitar. She stopped and re-tuned it, and then started playing a few chords and smiled at me. Again she stopped, and then started to pick a song I immediately recognized as Vincent by Don MacLean. She was indeed talented.
Kristen stopped playing when the manager returned. “I’m sorry, Miss Swift, your credit is perfect. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
Kristen noticed the man’s name on his tag. “I’m not insulted, Mr. Helmut. Would you be able to have these at the Marriott on time?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Thank you,” Kristen said sweetly. “We’re playing at the Marriott tonight, if you’d like to be entertained. This gentleman here is the great Oogie Woogie and you’ll be hearing about him in the future.”
I felt slightly embarrassed by Kristen’s announcement, but I just smiled at the manager.
“Is your other companion in the group as well?” the manager asked, intrigued.
Before Kristen could answer, Lynette said, “I’m his official groupie.”
Kristen and I both laughed at Lynette’s remark.
“Just the two of you?”
“We have a drummer and a very talented trumpet player who are students at Purdue,” I answered.
“What style of music? Light jazz?”
“That’s what they normally play,” I said, nodding. “We’re from out of town, replacing their sick piano player. We can play their repertoires, and I promised them that we’d expand their range for tonight only.”
The manager was surprised. “You came from Illinois to replace a sick performer?”
“Archy’s a good friend, but we didn’t come here specifically for that, but we’re always willing to help out a friend.”
The manager shook my hand. “You sound like a fine young man. You seem young for college.”
Kristen laughed. “He’s not in college, although he’s already got college credits back home.”
“I’m entering eleventh grade,” I added.
The manager’s eyes opened wide. “Really? Now I’m impressed. I’ll be at the Marriott tonight.”
We bade our farewells.
Dear Reader,
This story is intended to be fiction and the situation with the university possibly violating NCAA rules in letter or even spirit is simply a plot device to advance the story.
No disrespect to the students, faculty, or alumni of Purdue University is intended.
Sincerely,