Page 158 of The Other Side of Green

The three of us ran Blue’s Bar in Boston and Blues Too in New Orleans together. Thousands of miles separated us, but our business ethos was simple and concise. Bring music to everyone. So that’s what we did. Grams would have been damn proud of us. Of course, she’d also be telling us to go to church, but you know, she couldn’t have everything.

Tonight our third bar opened and we were doing something we’d never done before; linking the different venues for a live performance. All our regulars, all the waifs and strays who just loved music, all the kids that found their way to us looking for a way to play, to shine. It helped that we’d got so much news coverage; being the infamous Collins kid was still paying off. An extra two fingers up at the Collins family. Fuck you fuckers.

They’d disappeared into the night never to be seen again. A British family had taken over the scholarship for Berklee—open auditions and everything fair and square.

But also, Evan had stopped hiding under a bushel—Jeez, I really was turning into Grams—and people now played at our bars hoping to get a record deal. Not everyone did, life didn’t work that way did it?

“Hi.”

Luca and I both turned to a man stood in the doorway, violin case in hand.

“Buddy, we are only open in the evenings.” Luca smiled and turned back around, but I stared closer at the man, squinting.

“Mr. Jackson?”

Luca flicked a gaze but then shrugged and wandered off.

The man hesitated. “You remember me?”

“Sure, it was you who suggested I play violin. Thanks to you Grams bought my first violin.” Only violin really. The Christmas before I’d got a new one, but it had never felt right in my hands.

The man smiled. His hair a graying buzz cut, skin smooth milk chocolate. “I’ve heard you play. It’s beautiful.”

“How did you know back then?” I gestured him in. I had a to-do list as long as my arm, but it felt right to dig into the past a little.

He shook his own violin case in answer.

“Cool, you have an inbuilt string sensor.”

Mr. Jackson laughed. “Lyra, can I talk to you for a moment?”

I beckoned him over to the bar. “Can I offer you a coffee? It’s the best coffee in town I assure you.”

He chuckled, a hearty laugh that sounded warm like pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. “I’m sure it is. But I came here with something to say. Would you mind if I did?”

“Sure.”

He looked at me, and I waited until he shook his head. “I tell you what. Do you fancy playing? With me?”

I looked at the bar. “I’ve got a lot to do, we are opening a new bar in New York tonight.”

“You’ve done so well for yourself. Is it true you turned down a record deal?”

I shrugged. It was the question I hated.

“I didn’t know how to be at one with singing and the violin. Sure, there are songs that could do both, but eventually I’d have had to choose, and I just couldn’t do that.”

“So you run the bar instead?”

“I own the bar, with my brother.”

He chuckled again, the sound bringing back flashes of music lessons in a tatty old room. “Owned the bar, that’s what I meant.”

“Sorry, Mr. Jackson, what can I help you with? It’s lovely to see you again, but today is a big day, I need to get on.”

He unclipped his case. “One song and then I will leave you alone.”

I rolled my eyes. I swear on my life, I’d get to the gates of heaven and St Paul, or was it Peter, who sat in the pearly gates would say, “Play for us, Lyra, just one song and then I’ll let you in.”