Accordion Joe

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Thank god for Reader's Digest. They were keeping Accordion Joe employed. Christmas parties, company outings, philanthropic events—you name it, and they always gave Joe the gig. Like this one here, at the Guest House on the RD grounds. A retirement party. Mix in the weddings he booked on the weekends, the occasional Sweet 16 party, and he made enough dough to pay the $85 rent for his one bedroom apartment in Pleasantville. But this Elvis cat was changing everything. Joe wanted to play rock n' roll now. He began to let the top of his hair grow out, started to wear the collar of his shirt above his jacket—no tie—and even bought a cool pair of suede shoes. Before Elvis, of course, there was Johnny Cash and Bill Haley and Jerry Lee and Chuck. But Elvis was the whole package—looks, voice, style, youth, charisma, music. Though Joe had some of that stuff too, the package was smaller. Elvis had the girls squealing, and that's what Accordion Joe wanted. He would get a little taste of it here and there, when he'd get off a nice run on the accordion, serenade a woman like this one here. Emily, her name tag said. He wondered briefly if she was with that turkey with the pencil behind his ear, but that didn't stop him from crooning Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade" to her, as drippily as he could. Her eyes were twinkling at him by the end, and he discreetly slipped her a business card when he was done. The good thing about rock n' roll: you didn't have to be discreet. He had given her one of the cards on which he had scribbled his next gig on the back. He was booked to play his first rock n' roll show in a joint down in Mt. Vernon, over on First Street, right near the 241st St. subway. Just him, a piano, and Slick Rick, his stand-up bass player. Hopefully this Emily dame would show, sans the pencil pusher.

(Part 2) Joe didn't have room in his small apartment for a piano—not to mention not having the money to buy one, either—so he'd go down the street to Mrs. Wagner's house. She had taught him piano when he was a little boy. His mother had known Mrs. Wagner from a quilt-making circle of which they were both members. So he got to visit his old tutor, plus he got a little taste of home again. It had been five years since his mother died, and Mrs. Wagner treated him like a son, always trying to feed him, and asking about his love life. As he walked to her house, he thought about rock n' roll, and how it was the future. How it was his future, too. Maybe this was what he had always been searching for. Maybe soon he could earn enough money to buy his own house, maybe he could even find someone to share that house with. She was waiting on the porch for him when he arrived. "There's my Joey," she said, opening the screen door for him. He kissed her hello, and when he stepped inside he was welcomed with the smell of something sweet baking in the oven. "Hmmm, what's that?" he asked. "Why, apple pie, of course. You go practice, and when you're done we'll have some tea and pie." Joe went over to the piano and moved the bench off to the side. He wanted to play standing up like Jerry Lee, he wanted to pound the keys and get the place rocking. Let his hair flip down all wild, too. He cracked his fingers, took a deep breath, then banged out a few rocking numbers, finishing off with Jerry Lee's new "Great Balls of Fire." The last loud notes were still reverberating, sweat was dripping off his forehead, the imaginary crowd going wild, women throwing their brassieres at him—when he heard clapping. He turned to see Mrs. Wagner looking at him proudly. "I have to say, I was a little skeptical about this rock n' roll notion, but that was great!" "Thanks," Joe mumbled, embarrassed, but also happy. "Come on," she said, "time for your reward." He followed her into the kitchen. Something about having tea and pie after a rock n' roll performance didn't seem right. But hell, he wasn't in the club yet. He'd save his drinking for after the real show. As he shoveled the warm pie into his mouth he thought of Emily, wondered if she would show Friday night.

(Part 3) Emily turned the card over in her hand, though she knew the name and address of the club by heart. Maybe she just liked looking at Joe's handwriting. "Accordion Joe" they called him. But surely he wouldn't be playing that same sappy music as usual. She had seen him at numerous RD functions, standing in the background, professional, talented, quiet. But she always did notice him. This was the first time that she was aware of that he noticed her. He even came up and serenaded her, gave her his card. Emily had a moment of panic: maybe he was just handing those cards out to everyone to get a crowd at his show; maybe she wasn't anything special. But he sang to her! Their eyes met! That had to mean something! Since it was such a nice summer day, the Wallaces had let everyone out of work early to enjoy the beautiful weather. So she was able to go home and change, eat dinner, fix her makeup, and still get here on time. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. "Come on," her friend Tabitha said, "or are you going to just stand here all day?" Emily laughed nervously. "Okay, I'm ready," Emily said, running a hand over her skirt to get rid of the wrinkles that weren't there. "Good," Tabitha said, "We're not going to meet Elvis, you know. Just some guy with an accordion." They walked into the club, which was about half full. A piano and stand-up bass sat on the small stage with a microphone set up near the piano. No accordion. This could be interesting, Emily thought. They sat down at a table up front and ordered drinks: a Singapore Sling for Tabitha, and a South Pacific Sour for Emily. At eight o'clock, the proprietor took the stage. A spotlight came on, and he said, "Thank you for coming out this evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight's performers are about to take the stage, here for the first time. Let's give a warm welcome to Anarchist Joe and Slick Rick." "Anarchist Joe?" Tabitha whispered. "Well...I guess he had to come up with something else, since there's no accordion," Emily said. "Uh huh," Tabitha said. Joe and Rick walked out, looking a bit sheepish, and went to their instruments. Joe had an open-collared shirt, suede shoes, and his hair was combed forward. "Wow, he looks cool," Emily whispered, "so much different than I'm used to." "Yeah, a real anarchist," Tabitha said. Joe mumbled a "Hello" into the microphone, then they launched into "Blue Suede Shoes." He hadn't even looked at them. Emily thought, Does he even know I'm here? She was just fooling herself, he wasn't interested. She ordered another drink.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Joe was sweating, and not just from the performance or stage lights. She was in the crowd. Emily. He saw her straight off, as soon as he walked out on stage. But he played it cool. Another girl was with her. But no pencil pusher. That was a good sign, right? She looked great, dressed in a grey shirt and white top, her hair down. He was nervous—about the performance (he needed it to be good so he'd be invited back), the song selection, his choice of clothes, and the fact that Emily was watching. After two songs he loosened up, though. He nodded to Slick Rick, who also looked more at ease. This rock n' roll was fun! During the third song—"Ain't That A Shame" by Fats Domino—he finally looked over at Emily, gave her a smile. She smiled and waved back. Joe felt giddy. He and Slick Rick ripped through a half dozen other numbers, all rockers. During what was to be the last song, some people Joe recognized from RD came in and sat with Emily and her friend. An Italian man with an open shirt, and a man and a woman, who were clearly a couple. He was older with pants a little too high; she was a tall drink of water with funky eyeglasses. The single man sat next to Emily and started chatting her up. Joe could tell he was a smooth taker—could talk the white off of rice probably—and Joe could practically smell his cologne from the stage. (Or maybe it was just the five dollar bill Joe stuck in his own tip jar as a hint.) The man stretched, then draped his arm over the back of Emily's chair. This couldn't be happening, this is not the way things were supposed to happen. The song ended and Slick Rick bowed, thinking the set was over. But Joe grabbed the microphone, went to the center of the stage solo. "For being such a good crowd, I'm gonna do an extra number for you tonight," he said. Suddenly he felt naked, standing there without his accordion to hide behind. But he forged ahead. He broke into Elvis's "Love Me Tender," acapelo. Emily was entranced, tears forming in her eyes. The Italian man, Lorenzo, knew he was trumped. When the song ended the jukebox came on, and the older couple and Lorenzo and Tabitha got up to dance. Joe moved in for the kill. "That was beautiful," Emily said. Joe blushed. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I wouldn't have missed it!" Emily said. Then, "But I gotta ask—Anarchist Joe?" Joe's blush got a shade darker. "I guess he thought I needed a more rock n' roll sounding name." Emily laughed. "Or maybe he thought you were a boxer," she said. Joe laughed. Slick Rick had packed up his bass, and now sat down at the table with Joe and Emily, handing Joe a cold beer while taking a sip of his own. "Cheers," Rick said. "Cheers!" Emily and Joe said in unison, Joe taking a long pull from his bottle and Emily finishing off her Pacific Sour. "Our next set is at 10. Will you stay?" Joe asked. "Joe, you've crooned to me twice now—" Emily began to say, but didn't finish. That's because Joe had leaned over and kissed her. After the kiss they were both a little embarrassed. Emily said, "So, where's your accordion?" "It's back at my apartment. Do you want to see it?" Emily said, "Of course."

Epilogue. Joe never did become a big rock star. He kept doing what he was doing, picking up more rock gigs along the way, mixing in some weddings and tutoring. When Mrs. Wagner passed away, she left Joe the house, where Joe and Emily still live. Their son Raymond did become a big rock star, however, during the height of the heavy metal hair band days with his band Anarchist Blitz. Joe kept working RD functions into his old age, mostly for nostalgic reasons, until they moved out of Pleasantville in 2010. Emily left the company to raise Raymond, then returned years later. She retired with full pension in 2000.