Two - Oh Crap

Cabbagetown was okay for the most part with hardworking people doing the grind. Jimmy witnessed his parents grinding it out so he felt right at home.

He settled into the obscure little niche known as his life. Jimmy worked the late shift every night and took up residence in an attic bedroom the size of a prison cell. Sometimes, after hours, he was allowed to sit in the engineer's booth of the studio listening to dreamers trying to make it in the business.

Jimmy did not forget his drinking habit but it was strictly bourbon now, nothing sweet. He still thought of his father every day and now the guilt of treating his own mother like crap was feeding the habit like fanning a camp fire with an evergreen bow. Week nights were the worst with the only people walking through the door being the dreamers.

The record store picked up Friday and Saturday nights when the kids would hang out. He was like the local babysitter for the parents who were getting drunk. The store was like a reverse mullet, party in the front and all business in the back. Sometimes the business didn't appreciate the party in the front and the engineer would pop his head out the door and give Jimmy crap.

That was life for the most part separated by drinking and sleeping. Late one night, Shawn popped by to go through the records and the new cassette tapes. Shawn was the local boxing hero who captured silver in the 1984 LA Olympics. He was a light middleweight boxer Jimmy read about in the newspapers.

Jimmy never saw a fight on TV or went to one in person. But he could tell Shawn was a fighter with his quiet confident presence. He was rarely left alone after the Olympics, everyone wanting a piece of the Cabbagetown Kid right now like he was gonna melt away or something. He obliged for the most part but occasionally needed a break and one night Shawn slipped into the shop undetected.

Jimmy was in awe of boxer but tried to play it cool not leaving his stool behind the glass counter. "Anything you are looking for Shawn?"

The boxer rolled his eyes, "you know me, huh?" He was autographed out. Burnt out from telling people what he had planned. Why he still lived in his parent's unfinished basement.

"Only from the papers. Need a hand finding some good music?" Jimmy asked, trying not to be a pain in the ass to the young man who could flatten him with one punch. "I mean we just got some new albums in."

"I have a new stereo walkman I use when I am jogging." Shawn was not bragging, it was just a fact.

"I see ya running late at night sometimes. What do you like to workout to?" The small town kid asked the city kid now twenty-two.

"Workout is pretty heavy music but running is different. Something, I don't know." Shawn did know but didn't want to say soft.

"Tell me what you want and I will make you a mixed tape." Jimmy offered.

"No, that's not how I operate. Thanks." Shawn liked that the kid didn't ask about boxing. "You're not from Cabbagetown. I know everyone here." He looked at Jimmy's big mitts. "You fight?"

It was Jimmy's turn to roll his eyes. "Not lately."

"Good, keep it that way." Shawn advised.

"Yeah, I was told that the first day I fell off the bus." The small town kid introduced himself. "Jimmy, from nowhere you'd know."

Shawn thought that was amusing. "Wiseguy, eh?" He pulled a cassette from the rack. "I'll take this one." John Cougar Mellencamp, 'Uh-Huh'. "I heard it a lot in the States. He's pretty good."

"Not bad." Jimmy responded. "Anything else, lefty?"

"Lefty?" Shawn frowned.

"I read newspapers. Remember? You stunned Sugar Ray with it in a publicity thing out in Vancouver." Jimmy countered. "It was a left hook, wasn't it?"

Shawn smiled, "Sugar is all class, man." Then pulled cash from his jeans. "How much?"

"Nine-fifty." Jimmy showed Shawn a white bag. "Want a bag Shawn?"

"I'm good, Jimmy." Shawn nodded. "See ya."

"Yeah, see ya." Jimmy nodded. That would be the last time the two would meet.

Later that same night the door popped open. A man paused in his step. He was dressed in what Jimmy thought was a hilarious wide brim hat and a jacket with the collar pulled up. He checked his watch. "Lock up, Kid. It's nine o'clock." The man shut the door and lowered his collar. "Tonight, Kid, come on!"

Jimmy thought, 'who the hell just blew into Cabbagetown?'. The man was very eccentric, the type of person this small town kid had never met. "Yeah, it's nine. What's up with the disguise?" Jimmy quipped.

"Disguise?" The man looked up ripping off his thick framed mirrored aviator sunglasses unveiling the forty year old veteran folk-singer turned rocker. Jimmy was clueless to his existence.

"Is Mark in the back already?" The man spoke as if the kid knew everyone who walked past him.

"Someone is back there. He could be Mark. I mean he is a man." Jimmy's expression was priceless as the man made his way past the kid.

Then he spoke. "What's the matter kid? Ain't you never seen a corpse before?"

Turning completely around he added. "And bring that bottle of bourbon you have behind the counter."

Jimmy wondered how the man knew he had bourbon by the register. He locked the door, swept the floor and counted out the till. Then he pondered whether he should take the bottle back to the studio with the cash box.

The door opened and the man noticed the bottle. "The man of the hour. Hey kid, thanks." Jimmy handed the bottle to the man he never knew then put the cash box into the safe and locked it. He was never given the combination, just put the box in and lock the safe.

"Get over here Kid. You know Mark already, that's his brother, David. And thank you for the bottle! Good night." Robert thought the kid would happily leave.

"Yeah, right." Jimmy held his over sized hand out to retrieve his bourbon. "Never come between me and my bourbon."

"You don't understand, Kid. The second I walked through the door your life changed." Robert spoke with a certainty.

"Go on." Jimmy was interested in how some eccentric guy stealing his bourbon could possibly change his life.

The man wasn't expecting to have to explain his influence. And looked to the brothers and laughed. It wasn't funny to Jimmy who was about to grab his bottle and bolt, three men or not.

"Are you kidding me?" Mark looked at the eighteen year old in disbelief. "You really do not know who we are and you work out front?"

"Part time and only for a month. Should I know you?" Jimmy was dead serious. "Dreamers just like all the other pot smoking, pill popping wannabes that have walked through the door."

They were silenced by the teenager. There was actual shock felt by the three musicians whose jaws were locked in the open position. Humility set in quickly. They tried to speak but the trauma of a teenager not knowing who they were was palpable.

"Ahhhh...well. David...say something." Mark stammered. He wouldn't ask the jester to explain.

David could only shrug and followed that up with a shaking of his head. "Bloody hell, he is actually serious." The Scottish rocker could not believe it. "He stays lad. Fuck me, a genuine newbie! I'm keeping him!"

Jimmy backed up to the doorway but Mark kicked it shut. "What the fuck is going on here? Nobody is keeping me!"

"Come on, Kid. We are gonna have to show you who we are." The man tore his jacket off and began mumbling. "You think we were in the Montowesi Hotel. Nobody knew me then either!" Then he flipped his hat like a frisbee landing in the corner. "Well, get in here, Kid. You get a front row seat."

Jimmy was very wary of this caricature of a man exaggerating every movement as if he were a marionette with strings! He looked at the brothers who just nodded to the small town kid showing his true colors. "Get in there?" The two nodded again, this time in unison. "Okay." He had no clue what was happening.

"You!" Robert pointed to Jimmy. "Sit!" The man walked over and physically sat the kid down on a stool. "Don't move." He went to pick up a guitar but flew back into the kid's face. "I mean it." Then followed it up with a whispered voice. "Don't move!"

The doe eyed eighteen year old was in for a personal awakening by one of the most enigmatic men on earth. The man pulled a guitar strap over his head and a harmonica from his shirt pocket.

He began with the harmonica and the tune sounded vaguely familiar. Robert looked at the kid, tossed the harmonica and began to play his acoustic guitar. "Hey! Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me. I'm not sleepy and there is no place...."

Jimmy's eyes lit up. "I've got it! You're playing that dead guy's song!" He thought hard. "Bob Dylan!"

The man stopped playing and looked past Jimmy to the men in the booth. "You hear that boys? I'm that dead guy, Bob Dylan." He stood. "Get a load of this guy! Dead?"

Mark spoke into the mic in the booth. "Kid, that is Bob Dylan!"

Jimmy smiled, "Bob Dylan is dead, Dude." He looked to the booth. "A motorcycle accident, right?"

"You mean you sell LPs and cassettes and you do not know what Bob looks like?" Mark choked back laughter as if to say, 'you're an idiot'.

"Well, where have you been?" Jimmy honestly asked Robert.

Robert deadpanned. "Europe. David, bring the bottle and some glasses down here. It's gonna be a long night."

He could recognize sarcasm and put it all together. "So, you are thee Bob Dylan? Mr. Tambourine Man? You're the freakin Jester?!" Jimmy had an epiphany and stood as he pointed at the two other men in the studio. "Mark...David. The Knopfler brothers from Scotland?" Jimmy's mind had just been blown without a drop of bourbon.

"Fuck me! The kids a genius! David pour him a drink! We're gonna celebrate." Robert was sarcastic but Jimmy could not tell with all the eccentricities the man possessed.

David poured four full glasses from the bottle and Jimmy stared at his disappearing bourbon. The men started jamming as the Jester reworked his new song.

Later that night the brothers performed the Sultons of Swing. Jimmy thought he died and gone to rock heaven that night. It wasn't until the sun rose and his boss showed up as he slipped off the stool he was spinning on.

"Jimmy?" Trevor looked down at the kid who tried to focus on the person talking to him.

"Ah, I could be. Jester?" Jimmy was full blown wasted. He laughed like a seasoned drunkard. "Play a song for me?"

"You're fired!" Trevor was pissed.

Jimmy passed out right there. Robert looked at the kid laying on his stomach. Feeling responsible for the condition the kid was in, stood and asked Trevor to take a walk into the store front.

"You know, Trevor? He's a pretty good kid. He's been through a lot in the last few years. Why not cut him a little slack?" Robert was trying to take responsibility.

"He's still gone. He is on the floor passed out!" Trevor didn't want to hear any excuses.

"Okay, we are out of here. Sue me. I don't care but I am pulling my six weeks from you." Robert walked away from Trevor who just then realized the people who rent time from him would never add up to what a six week slot fully booked gives him.

"He stays but I want three weeks up front by tonight." He looked at the man who bargained to keep Jimmy around. "Deal?"

Robert stared back at the owner. "I'll see ya tonight."

"No, you won't. I'm going to Vancouver. Give the cheque to Jimmy. He can put it in the safe. My wife will take care of it." It was just business to Trevor. "Take him up to his room. He works to tonight."

What a way to make a first impression on rock and roll legends. He partied like a rock star until the sun came up. That put him in pretty rare company.