CHAPTER 5 continued...

The Sweetwater was almost completely unrecognisable during the day. Like a woman, who wore too much make up on a night out, it looked oddly vacuous the morning after. Inside the chairs were all stacked on tables. A strong smell of bleach stung my nostrils, as I walked to the bar. Every noise echoed through the bar. I was surprised at how big the place was. It always felt so small at night, as people crammed into every nook and cranny they could find.

Justin stood at the bar wearing a pair of glasses and a pen behind his ear. He was looking down at a newspaper with a concentrated look on his face.

“Hey, Justin. How are you?”

He held up his hand as if to say: “Hold on, give me a moment.”

He muttered to himself quickly and then shouted. “Got it!”

“Got what?” I said.

“Sudoku kid. It’s going to be huge!”

“Great. Do you have my demo?” I felt a rush of adrenaline, as I asked for it.

“OK. Calm down, yes I have it.” Justin said clearly seeing the tension in my face.

He disappeared into the back, only to emerge moments later with a single CD case in his hand.

“Here you go. You did a good job on it. The vocals are solid and the songs are good too.”

“Really? Cheers. I really appreciate your help on it.”

Although I was happy that Justin liked it, I held back my excitement, as I knew Justin wasn’t the best at giving constructive feedback. He felt that every piece of art should be cherished, like a newborn baby child. I knew that I needed someone else’s opinion.

I had also arranged to meet one of my Auntie’s old University friends that afternoon. He was an ex-musician, who lived in San Francisco. Although I am not sure you can ever be an EX-musician, I think music is like being an alcoholic. Once a musician always a musician. I wanted to get his opinions on the demo, before I let anyone ‘important’ hear it. The thing about a song is that once someone has heard it, that’s it. The song would be forever ‘out there’ and could never be taken back. It assumed a life of its own. Even if you destroyed every recording of it, as long as one person in the world has heard it, it will live forever.

“Do you want me to put it on? We can listen to it using the stage amps and blast the place with it!” Justin said excitedly.

“I think, I would rather listen to it myself first thanks.”

“As you wish.”

“I gotta leg it anyway. I am meeting someone downtown in an hour.”

“OK. I will see you on Sunday then. Good Luck.”

I jogged back out onto the street and nervously reached into my bag. My trembling hand pulled out my CD player. I put the CD in and began to listen. The second the music started, blood rushed to my face. I knew no one else could hear it, but for some reason listening to myself sing was embarrassing whether anyone else could hear or not. Justin was right. The songs had come across well on the recording. He had managed to capture the sound I wanted. His recording style fit the mood of the songs perfectly. There were a couple of mistakes, but all in all, I was pretty happy with it.

I hopped back on the bus, as I skipped through the songs. The nervous feeling had slowly subsided, as I got used to listening to my own songs. I sat down at the back of the bus and watched the world go by, as I listened to the CD again and again. After five listens, we finally arrived at my destination in San Francisco.

I stepped off the bus and immediately felt overwhelmed. The contrast between Mill Valley and the San Francisco Financial District was incredible! The people around me were all walking, as if they had somewhere very important to be. Cell phones were glued to their ears. They spoke aggressively, no doubt to some poor assistant on the other end. Briefcases swung through the air, like axes ready to take you out at the knees if you weren’t watching. I looked up and down the street, but all I could see were tall buildings bearing down on me, taunting me.

“You couldn’t hack it son. We sucked you in and spat you out like a rag doll.” The buildings jeered at me.

I paused to regain my composure. I reminded myself, that quitting my job in London was the best decision I ever made.

I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and read the address again,
101 California Street was scrawled in my own barely legible handwriting. I looked around but couldn’t see the street number I wanted. I noticed a teenager coming towards me, who seemed to be the only person on the street not on a cell phone.

“Excuse me.” I said, as he approached. He didn’t even blink.

“Excuse me!” I said with more vigour, while waving my hand in his direction.

He looked at me puzzled and removed a set of white headphones from his ears.

“Yeah?” He grunted.

“Sorry to bother you, but do you know where 101 California Street is?”

Without breaking eye contact he lifted his left arm, pointed across the street, and then stepped around me and walked away.

Just across the street stood a majestic building, a monument of glass and marble. The address 101 California stood out proud from the entrance, in large bold letters. I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand and read it again, just in case I had got it wrong. But there it was clearly written: 101 California Street. I couldn’t figure out what an ex-musician was doing in a building like this, but this was the address my Aunty had given me, so I had to trust it. I waited for a break in traffic and bolted across the street. I walked up to the door, passed the security, and proceeded through the grand entrance. I stood in the vast foyer. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a desert, with no idea which way would lead me home. People were moving in all different directions around me. I spotted a reception desk to my right and tentatively walked towards it, while dodging the stampeding office workers. As I approached the receptionist, she looked at me and turned up the edges of her mouth in what I would usually describe as a smile. She had clearly learned the fine art of how to move her mouth into the position of a smile, without actually smiling.