By the looks of it, I was headed the right way to be late to yet another gig. As usual, another set of mishaps had delayed my getting out the door, so here I was, sprinting down the slick roads of downtown Silverport with my saxophone case in hand, praying enough people tipped the band that my share would pay for a taxi ride home.

I guess the next logical question would be to ask why I was running late this time. Well, my best shirt's three-hour tumble in the drier turned out not to be enough, and when I pulled it out early—I couldn't skip the gig simply because I only had a damp shirt to wear, after all—I discovered a button had been torn off. Thankfully, since that had happened once before, I already knew how to sew that back on.

But anyway, that still delayed my leaving until I had only ten minutes to make a twenty-minute walk to Cozy's Cavern Tavern, the self-proclaimed "hottest spot in town." In reality, the hottest thing about the place was the overbearing stage lights. Even though the food always came out colder than hoped, I'd have to admit it was remarkably flavorful anyway.

When I reached the crooked door to Cozy's, I flicked my wrist up to check my watch. Even though I'd run almost the whole way, I was 15 minutes late. Granted, I had my failed attempt to find a shortcut to blame for that, since it turned out to be a dead-end, but still. With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes, straightened my collar, and steeled myself for the consequences of my being late for the third gig in a row. My fingers grasped the brass handle of the door, and I stepped through.

Immediately, the brilliant tones of a well-played trumpet hit my ears, backed up by piano, upright bass, and drums working together to provide an uptempo accompaniment for the player's virtuosity. I slunk past the bar counter and around the many tables of seated patrons on my way to the stage and listened to the trumpeter absolutely blaze through the tune at impossible speeds. His skill was enviable, and so was his unshakable confidence in every note that left the bell of that horn.

I stopped at an unlit corner of the stage and unzipped my case while gazing up at the trumpeter who led the band tonight. Nuri Justice was his name, but we all called him Pepper because of his post-gig meal choices. His dark skin exuded beads of sweat as he stood right underneath one of the merciless beams of the stage lights, and his silvery hair spoke to his many years of standing on the bandstand and providing dazzling music to entertain the people.

When Pepper completed his improvisation, he stepped back with eyes flicking over to me. A glint of disapproval washed over his face as he gazed into the dim corner where I stood, and I couldn't at all blame him. He'd fired his last few saxophonists for mere creative differences, so there was no way I'd last any longer just because I was a fresh face with bad luck.

At any rate, the rest of their tune ran its course, and after accepting around of applause from the audience, Pepper gestured for me to ascend the steps and join him on stage. My nervous fingers pressed and released the finger pads of my saxophone as I sucked in a deep breath and obliged. As if my face wasn't already flushed from the embarrassment of being late, the heat of the stage lights immediately began cooking me in my suit. I gave the pianist a nervous nod as I passed him. He gave a grim smile in return.

Finally, I stood beside Pepper and bowed when the audience below clapped once more. Then, laying his big hand on my shoulder, he turned to speak to the people.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome our saxophonist, Declan Otto, to the bandstand." Pepper waited for another brief round of applause to come and go before continuing. "We'll play an original of mine called 'Fight or Flight'."

Pepper turned to the drummer and snapped his fingers to indicate the tempo, yet another speedy tune with a tricky chord progression and four key changes in all. Drawing in a deep breath, I joined Pepper in playing the melody. If I hadn't already been nervous, this tune would have been enough to do so anyway. The melody's four parts were conveniently in four of the toughest keys on my horn. My fingers faltered many times, and while Pepper proceeded without difficulty, I barely limped through. When he began his improvisation, I stepped back and hung my head.

After Pepper had played for five choruses, he motioned for me to take a turn improvising. In comparison with his masterful weaving of notes around the challenging chord progression at a stellar tempo, my solo awkwardly floated atop the raging storm in an unflattering contrast. New ideas hardly popped into my head before the chords floated by and we were in a different key again. I only struggled through 2 choruses before Pepper took over once more. The audience applauded my efforts, and I bowed as a courtesy, but I knew my performance wasn't worthy of the gesture.

Pepper called for slower tempos on our other tunes, and I could actually feel proud of my playing over a more sentimental tune in the middle of the concert. But at the end of the night, when I found myself packing my saxophone away beside Pepper, I knew I was in for it.

"Rough night, isn't it?" Pepper remarked with a hoarse laugh. The smell of cigarette smoke floated on his breath.

I pursed my lips and nodded. "Yeah, not my best night. Sorry."

"We all have rough nights here and there; don't beat yourself up about it."

For a moment, my spirits lifted. He hadn't said anything about my lateness, and he seemed to understand my feeling off kilter. But then when I glanced over, the look in his eyes as he patted his trumpet down into its case spoke another story.

"But I do wanna know, why were you so late this time? We talked about this, Deck. You promised—"

"I know. I'm really sorry, just ... things got out of hand. I really wanted to do better this time, I swear. It's just—"

"Freelancers have to show up on time, Deck. You only get work if you have a good reputation, and tardiness really doesn't help that."

I sighed and zipped my case shut. "I'm really sorry. I promise I'll do better next time."

"Unfortunately, your next time won't be with me." Pepper said, and my heart dropped. "You're a good kid, and you have potential. It's just you're not the caliber of musician I need up there, and I can't keep carrying the first few tunes by myself because you can't be bothered to fix whatever it is that's keeping you from showing up on time. It's nothing personal, alright?"

With my head dipped, I nodded. "I understand. Well ... thanks for the opportunity. I've learned a lot, anyway."

"Listen, when I said you have potential, I meant it. You just need a little help getting on your feet. You know what I suggest?"

"What?"

"Look into joining the musicians' guild. Do better about showing up on time and ride on the organization's good reputation while you build your own. It's how most of us get noticed in the beginning."

I literally lifted my chin up and met Pepper's eyes with hopefulness. "I'll look into that; thank you."

"Of course." Pepper pointed up at the stage. "I wanna see you up there with your own band, on time."

He let out a good-humored laugh which I joined in on. After patting my shoulder one last time, Pepper headed out the door with his trumpet case in hand. I watched the door shut with thoughtful eyes, disappointed to lose this gig but excited at the prospect of having a new beginning. I ran my hand through my blond hair before heading to the door myself. I didn't plan on being late again.

* * * * * 

A/N: Alright, alright, there we have our first chapter, and our introduction to this book's male lead! I hope you enjoyed it, and if so, please do leave a vote and some comments; I much appreciate it. 😁 

(Not sure where to stick this, but even though I didn't include a cast list for this book like I usually do, I do have face claims for some key characters. The man pictured at the top of the chapter is Declan. 😏) 

Anyway, any thoughts on this initial chapter? Just lemme know how it struck you, please. 

And lastly, I'm gonna try to reignite an old practice of mine, that being a random question at the end of my chapters. So, what's an article of clothing you absolutely hate to see people wear? 

(Two things came to mind for me immediately, so not sure which counts. One is saggy pants. It looks sloppy and unhygienic, and I hate the fact some people are so willing to show me their underwear, or even worse, their behind. The only reason I don't settle for that is because it's not usually the pants' fault, but how they're being worn. So my second answer is crocs. Absolutely the worst shoe ever manufactured.) 

Alrighty, that's about it! I plan to continue weekly updates on this book, Friday mornings in Pacific Standard Time. At some point in the future, new chapters might start coming your way quicker, but I won't be making any guarantees on that. I'm also updating my Reformation Wars series simultaneously, so I do have a full plate. That said, God bless, and I hope you choose to stick along for the ride!