The
Doctor nodded his head, his lips curled in one of those awkward
smiles one might use when caught with one hand in a cookie jar.
A voice, familiar, heard just a few minutes past, called in from outside the door.
‘Sir…? It’s already 10 minutes past curtain, and the crowd…’
‘Alright!’ the bandleader replied in a growl, grabbing his trusty main Gibson from the stand. He tossed the strap over a shoulder and motioned to his band. ‘We ready, boys?’
‘Sure thing, boss.’
‘Say the word.’
‘Yeah, let’s get this place movin’ '
The band walked past a suitably chastened Doctor, still blushing, absently rubbing his jaw as he found himself alone in the dreary dressing room.
‘Well, I’d say that didn’t go quite as well as it could have,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘At least Amy and Rory weren’t here to see it…’
A voice, familiar, heard just a few minutes past, called in from outside the door.
‘Sir…? It’s already 10 minutes past curtain, and the crowd…’
‘Alright!’ the bandleader replied in a growl, grabbing his trusty main Gibson from the stand. He tossed the strap over a shoulder and motioned to his band. ‘We ready, boys?’
‘Sure thing, boss.’
‘Say the word.’
‘Yeah, let’s get this place movin’ '
The band walked past a suitably chastened Doctor, still blushing, absently rubbing his jaw as he found himself alone in the dreary dressing room.
‘Well, I’d say that didn’t go quite as well as it could have,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘At least Amy and Rory weren’t here to see it…’
~~~
Twenty
five hundred voices screamed in unison. Thousands of feet stomped on
the floor. Hands clapped with impressive intensity; surely the next
day they’d be stinging, still red. The audience called out, asking
for more.
No.
They
demanded more.
Minutes
passed, the crowd’s energy growing at a fever pitch. Soon it would
boil over, and then…
The
house lights dropped, the hall bathed in pitch blackness. A single
spotlight snapped on, pointed center stage, and out of the darkness
strode the man himself, his Gibson slung down to his waist. His
pompadour, which an hour previous had not a single strand out of
place, hung in tight ringlets that shone more from sweat than oil.
He smiled, the spotlight shining off his gleaming teeth. As he
strode to the mic, the crowd screamed louder, if such a thing was
possible.
One
hand reached out, grabbed the mic stand. He moved forward, opened
his mouth to speak, and as the audience began to quiet, he pulled
back, his smile widening.
As
expected, the crowd ate it up, and the screams came even louder.
He
waited, exulting in the adoration, before finally stepping with
authority to the mic.
‘New
York City,’ he said, his drawl silky smooth. ‘New York City,
y’all have been so good to us tonight. I know the boys back
there…’
He
motioned with his hand toward his backing band, who nodded in return.
‘…I
know they feel the same way. It’s getting’ late, and l know
y’all got important stuff to do tomorrow, but we wanna do just one
more for ya. That OK? Y’all want one more?’
The
audience screamed in one voice, affirming the response he already
expected.
‘Alright,’
he said, smiling as his hand unconsciously went to the guitar neck
and fretted the first chord. ‘I hope you’ll forgive us if we
can’t play more than this…let’s see if you know this one!’
A
familiar riff started, and deep within the audience, a man in
outdated professorial garb, completely standing out from an audience
of teenagers, nodded his head and smiled. He unconsciously mouthed
the words as Chuck Berry returned to the mic:
Well,
if you feelin' like it
Go get your lover, then reel and rock it.
Roll it over and move on up just
A trifle further and reel and rock with it,
Roll it over,
Roll Over Beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues.
Go get your lover, then reel and rock it.
Roll it over and move on up just
A trifle further and reel and rock with it,
Roll it over,
Roll Over Beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues.
The band started to play a turnaround, and the Doctor knew that Berry was about to solo. He opened his eyes and turned to the stage.
What
he saw came as a shock.
As
Berry started the opening notes of his solo, he suddenly dropped to a
crouch, almost mimicking the Doctor’s accidental moves from
earlier, but with far more grace than the Doctor could have ever
managed. Suddenly extending a leg out in front of him, Berry began
to strut across the stage, hopping in an exaggerated duck-like crawl.
He ripped out riff after lead line, each faster, louder, rawer than
the previous. The band struggled to keep up, the drummer pounding
his kit, the pianist’s fingers running up and down the ivories
almost faster than the eye could make out. Even from his seat (not
that he was in it, mind…from the first note of the night he was on
his feet just as everyone else in attendance was), the Doctor could
tell that his backing group was just as shocked by this turn of
events as the audience was. He stared, his mouth agape, as Berry
turned his way, almost preternaturally, and winked knowingly.
See,
boy, the wink seemed to
say. You think you can
play…but this is MY music, and ain’t no one can play like me!
Smiling
widely, the Doctor joined in the jumping and screaming, lost in the
moment.
I
was wrong, he thought
excitedly, his hearts beating in time with the breakneck pace the
band pushed out. This
went way better than expected…a shame Amy and Rory weren’t here
to see it…
written by
JULIE KAY
copyright 2013
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013
written by
JULIE KAY
copyright 2013
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013