It felt exhilarating to play my guitar again. My Martin 00-18 sounded sweeter with age. My fingers danced on the neck. It felt like old times.
I was playing tunes with the fellow I'd heard while walking through the neighborhood. I met him again while walking and talked music for a while. His name was Prescott but he used Scott. He lived alone. I told him that I'd sat on the bench and listened to him bringing back long forgotten memories. He asked me to jam with him and so I got my guitar.
We went through about a dozen "singer-songwriter" tunes until he got to "Sally" by Davy Harper. I played the part I'd done on the original with a big smile on my face. Unfortunately, after that song, my left hand stiffened up and playing the guitar became a painful chore so I set my guitar down.
"I recognize you now. You played for years with Davy, didn't you?"
"Guilty as charged. Yes, I played with him when he first came up, then I played with him again at coffee houses in the eighties and nineties and then I played with him a few times on his "Big Chocolate" tour. He was a great guy and like a big brother to me. I miss him."
"I saw you two at the Talkhouse once. And also, I saw you a few times on television. I loved his music."
"Yeah, me too. He had a way of singing and writing that while seeming general was, in fact, deeply personal to the listener. It was his gift.
"Did you tour with him?"
"Yes, I was with Amy and him on his last tour. Those were exciting times. It only lasted a month and then he had that damned heart attack. But he went down the way he wanted, playing, singing, entertaining and loving his woman and his kids."
"Tell me, what was that famous coach, "Big Chocolate," like? I read so much about it in Rolling Stone."
"The first one was very cool but the last one that Elon Musk delivered was over the top. It was a rolling mansion. That sucker had five slide-outs! Man, those were good times. Listen, I'm gonna pack up now and take care of my hand. Let's do this again."
"Yeah. Next time, we'll play the Harper catalogue."
"Maybe. We'll see. Nice playing with you, Scott."
As I walked back to my house, I felt both the thrill of playing Davy's music again and the sadness of missing him. However, my hand felt worst and once inside the house, I put it under hot water. I sat down in my lounger to recoop.
Amy and Elaine were out somewhere so I went up to my cave to look at my painting. I'd been working on it for days but still hadn't found the spark. I decided to give it another try. I had a thought in my head that I wanted to express. I took a new canvas, somewhat larger than the last, and laid out my paints. Immediately, I was in the zone, painting freely. As I danced around the canvas, it took shape. Now, it filled with color. My erotic shape filled the canvas in large and small figures. Then suddenly I was out of the zone and apart from my connection. Still, it looked great and I was very satisfied. I got very weary and sat down in my lounger to collect myself. I felt quite collected when I awoke.
Amy and Elaine were home. "Hon, are you up there?"
"Yes. I'll be right down." I took the not-yet-dried canvas down the steps. "I have something for you."
"Yeah, well, we have something for you and we go first." She handed me a shopping bag. Inside was a beautiful tooled leather belt with a sterling silver western buckle, tip and slides. It was beautiful and just my style.
"It's beautiful. How did you know I needed a new belt?"
"Well, the one wear everyday you've probably worn for more years than you can remember. It's worn and looking seedy. Do you really like it?"
"I love it."
"I remember when you bought the old belt at Leatherology. God, that was so many years ago. You needed a new belt," reminded Elaine.
I did indeed. This is fabulous."
"Now whatcha got for us?"
I was standing only a couple of feet from them as I turned the canvas around. They made no sound and looked a bit confused. "Step back a bit," I said. They stepped back and still looked puzzled. "Further back," I said. Now they were about fifteen feet away."
"Oh, my God," said Elaine, "I see it. It looks an overgrown garden of penises and vaginas!"
"That's it! I'll call it "A Garden of Earthly Delights!"
"It's going over my bed," said Elaine. "I love it!"
"I don't know, Ray. It's not doing anything for me. I don't see it," said Sam.
"Try stepping back further," I suggested.
"No. Still nothing. It does not work for me. You can have it, Elaine."
I didn't mind that Sam didn't care for it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That's why it's called "Art", I really didn't mind. Elaine loved it and that was satisfying.
"So, this girl wants to dip her chooch into the tub. Anybody else?"
"Okay, Elaine. This boy wants to dip his oo-koo-ka-chooch, too."
Sam got some drinks. I got a few joints. Elaine, well, she was in the tub waiting for us already semi-comatose. Sam and I slipped in quietly and just let the hot water unwind us.
Elaine opened her eyes and saw us. "I needed this. I really did."
"It feels so-o-o good," said Sam.
"You know, I was just thinking about Jane. She's flying in tomorrow." Elaine was lost in thought for a moment. "Anyway, I was thinking of the stories she could tell about living in Sag Harbor. She can tell us a shitload about Gabby. They were thick as thieves. She can probably tell stories about you, Ray."
I was listening. I said, "All secondhand. I never even met Jane, or remember ever hearing of her."
"She says she met you once at the Talkhouse."
I shrugged. "Could be. I've met a lot of people." I shrugged again. I started to sing "Small Town Talk", a song by Bobby Charles.
Sam rolled to her side and hugged me. "You have such a nice voice. Sing more," she urged. I sang the rest of the song.
Sam was smiling. "Pertinent, I'd say. Your voice is so cool. The way you can tell a story..."
