Chapter 24 Not Long Ago #2
“I am so glad to be able to call you by your actual name again,” Bobbie said. “I never could get the hang of calling you ‘P. D. Smith.’ It never fit you. Too dull.”
“Listen, I have—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping until the afternoon like the rest of the rock stars?”
She forced a laugh. “No, I’m up early. Hey, I have a question for you. Did my parents ever contact you after the emancipation hearing?”
“No,” Bobbie said. “I haven’t heard from them since they gave us guardianship. Why do you ask?”
“Because they made a contribution to the benefit.”
“Oh, my.”
“I haven’t heard from them since I was fifteen, and they do this.” She took a screenshot of the message and texted it. “What does this mean?”
Bobbie was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Are they trying to fuck with me, now that I’m back in the news? Get in my head?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do they think fifty dollars is going to make up for all the shit they put me through?”
“I don’t know, hon.”
“Why would they do this?” Paloma asked, feeling sick to her stomach.
“I don’t know, and neither will you unless you contact them.”
“That’s a hard pass,” she said, anger burning the back of her throat.
“Then you can frame this however you want to. You can believe they’re effing with you since they were so abusive in your past. You can ignore them and pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Too late for that,” Paloma said with a bitter laugh.
“Or you can see this as a sincere attempt to make things right, even if it’s too little, too late. No matter what you believe, or do, it’s your choice.”
Paloma took in a deep breath, and her eyes settled on her beloved Stratocaster, always at the ready in its well-worn case.
That guitar had helped her spin her hurt and longing into a career and a calling.
As much as her parents had clung to their church and their God to quell their fears and make up for their faults, she doubted they’d ever experienced the bliss Paloma had whenever she played and sang.
She scanned the room, looking at Sabine’s flowers, the T-shirt she’d picked up for Kaden to wear to the show, and Jace’s neatly packed overnight bag.
She was surrounded by forgiveness, none of it deserved, all of it freely given, and had broken out of the cage of her own mistakes.
What was the point of carrying her parents’ burden any further?
“I forgive them,” she said quietly. “I forgive them and wish them well.”
“Good for you,” Bobbie said soothingly. “You made your own way in spite of them, and by now you’ve earned the right to your own happiness. I mean, look at everything that brings you joy right now. Your music. Your son. Fantastic neighbors. Jace.”
Paloma smiled mid-sniffle. “That’s absolutely true.”
“Jace is making you happy, right?”
“So far, so good. And I’m trying to do the same for her.”
“Glad to hear it. Keep it up, hon.”
—
“Okay, that’s our cue,” Kaden said as the announcer called out Paloma’s name and the audience reacted with a roar. He adjusted the silver cowboy hat on the chain his father had given to him, squeezed his mother’s hand, then followed Mary onto the Artemis stage.
From the wings, Paloma watched Kaden get into position at the drum kit, wearing his black “Save the Artemis” T-shirt with the arms cut off.
Mary walked into place as the cheering swelled, with her raven hair brushing her shoulders and the ropes of heavy silver chain around her neck.
Paloma checked her own outfit—a studded leather vest over a cherry-red velvet tee, her black jeans tucked into oxblood Doc Martens—and made her entrance.
The crowd was on its feet, screaming and applauding, creating a wave of sound that crested and crashed to the stage over and over.
Paloma acknowledged the audience before taking her Strat from a stage tech and strumming a few notes to ensure it was turned on, even though she couldn’t hear anything through the monitors over the cheering.
She came to the microphone standing down center and called out, “Hello, Detroit! I missed you!”
The volume exploded again, and Paloma scanned the floor.
She’d asked that the house lights be up when she came on so she could see who was in the audience.
Off to the sides were many of the musicians who had gone on earlier in the evening, reveling in the sound of the city they’d created together.
Throughout the crowd were people she recognized from different points in her career—venue owners, bartenders, the director of her first music video, even some dedicated fans she’d gotten to know after years of their coming early to be in the front row and staying late for autographs—all beaming.
The rest were old and young, hip and ordinary, tattooed and straitlaced, everyone alight with joy.
And squinting at the spot next to Louis in the back, she could see the glint of Jace’s glasses in the lights. Paloma knew they were home.
She checked in with Mary, who was ready to go, and Kaden, who tipped his sticks to her in a salute. Back at the mic, she screamed with delight, “Okay, kids, let’s play!”
The opening chords of “Why Don’t You?” rang out across the hall, and from that moment until the final chorus, Paloma was at one with the audience.
Many of them knew the lyrics better than she did after her long hiatus, and they chanted over her vocal like they were pledging allegiance to her and her music.
The same happened when she played “Wreckage” from Cutie Pie, and she was having so much fun, she almost didn’t want to stop.
Seeing the red LED clock at the back of the house, however, she knew she had only so much time to wrap up the set with the song everyone had been waiting for.
As the applause relented, she changed out her Stratocaster for an acoustic then rested her hand on the mic and leaned in.
“Thank you for that warm welcome, and thank you for being here to help the Artemis keep its doors open, not just for musicians like me, but for fans like you.” She shaded her eyes and looked over the audience.
“How many of you are here for the first time?” A sizable number responded.
“Fantastic! And how many of you saw me play here when I was just coming up?” Grinning as the noise rose another couple of notches, she said, “All right, all right. I’ll bet that you new folks and you long-term fans may have a favorite song of mine in common. ”
Unbidden, the crowd began chanting, “HEART FIRE! HEART FIRE! HEART FIRE!”
“I thought so,” Paloma said, nodding. “Before we get into it, let me introduce these fine people on stage with me. On bass, please give it up for the marvelous, the mighty Mary Piotrowski!”
Mary stepped forward and bowed her head as the applause rose.
“And, on drums, a genius way beyond his gene pool, please welcome my son, Kaden Greene!”
Kaden stood, grinning with pride as he soaked up the love and support of the sold-out crowd at his first gig at the Artemis.
Paloma turned back to the mic. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve played my biggest hit in front of a live audience, so I want to make this extra special by having a few more friends join in.
” As she spoke, many of the musicians in the audience came on stage, grabbing their instruments and drumsticks.
“Please welcome the Arsenal of Detroit Rock and Roll, everyone!” The crowd went bananas.
Once everyone was settled in their places, Paloma readied her guitar and told the rapt crowd, “You are going to be witnessing history, folks, with the cameras rolling, too, so put your phones away so you don’t miss a thing. Here we go: one, two, three, four.”
Paloma began the first verse solo, with the mic and her acoustic guitar being all that stood between her and the audience:
I thought love was a judgment.
Since I was unworthy then no one would love me at all.
In the cold, my heart kept on beating,
Banging loud in my chest as I climbed up and over the wall.
She came to the first chorus, and Mary and Kaden began to play, restrained and solemn:
I thought that love would never be mine, I would never deserve it.
Desire was a sin, and joy was a hell of a joke.
Then you pulled me out of the dark. All at once, my life had some meaning.
We’re on fire. We’re desire, kissed with smoke.
The rest of the musicians on stage joined in, fueling the intensity of the second verse:
I learned love was destruction:
All my hopes ripped to shreds and my dreams left to die on the floor.
I had no one and nothing.
I would stagger along, praying someone would just end the war.
The singers on stage joined the vocal, ahhing in three-part harmony as Paloma crooned the second chorus:
I thought that love would never be mine, I could never survive it.
It would start off with roses and end with a kick to the throat.
Then you brought me into the light. All at once, my life had new meaning.
We’re on fire. We’re desire, kissed with smoke.
She turned to the group to lead an instrumental verse, moving to the middle of the stage, glorying in the wall of sound she and her friends were creating together.
When she arrived at the front once more, the circle connecting musicians to audience, from the proscenium arch to the exit doors, was almost complete.
All Paloma needed was to see Jace standing in the back: the clasp that held the chain together.
And there she was, standing just inside the ring of light at the edge of the crowd, holding up her hands in the shape of a heart.
The musicians brought the volume down as Paloma began the final verse:
You said, “Love can be freedom.”
We could be—you with me, us together—a part of the world.
You, with your laugh and devotion,
Are the warmth that I need, ’cause you see, you’re my heart fire girl.
The final chorus started, and as the audience sang along with her, the song vibrated every atom in the room:
I thought that love would never be mine, I could never believe it.
I longed for a voice to call out, but then none ever spoke.
Then you took me into your arms. All at once, my life had real meaning.
We’re on fire. We’re desire, kissed with smoke.
The musicians repeated the first three lines of the chorus before Paloma brought the song to a close, just her and her acoustic:
We’re on fire. We’re desire, kissed with smoke.
Back in the day, whether playing a college cafeteria or a three-night run at the Paradise in Boston, there had always been a cadre of folks who would hear the opening notes of a Paloma Doralle song and immediately outscream the rest of the audience.
After the shows, Paloma and Jace would spin stories about why those people overreacted the way they did.
Maybe that was their favorite song of Paloma’s, or maybe their favorite song ever.
Maybe they felt cool for recognizing the tune when others were hearing it for the first time.
For all Jace and Paloma knew, that could have been the exact moment when the mushrooms kicked in.
Whatever the reason, Paloma could never quite believe that her music could mean so much to complete strangers.
This time, Paloma understood. The tune she’d strung together after pacing in her garage studio for two frigid days in 2001 harmonized with the experiences of everyone in the room and thousands of others around the world.
The lyrics she’d written to memorialize and repair her relationship with Jace defined their perseverance, their longing, their hope.
“Heart Fire” wasn’t really her song anymore. It was everyone’s.
The applause went on for what seemed like forever. As the other musicians moved to the rear of the stage, Paloma extended her hands to her bandmates to join her for a bow. When she looked at Mary, she saw she was crying. When she looked at Kaden, he brought her in for a gangly hug.
She only wished she could bring Jace up with her, to show her off to the world, but she knew that would be the last thing she’d want. Paloma had her job to do that night; Jace had hers.
At last, Paloma came back to the center microphone.
“Folks, thank you so much for coming out tonight to save the Artemis Club. I don’t have enough time to tell you how this place changed my life.
I’m sure it changed a lot of yours, too.
And that’s all thanks to one woman: our host, our champion, the Greek goddess herself: Sabine Galanis! ”
Over hoots and whistles, Sabine emerged from the right side of the audience, her silver top hat catching the light as she moved through the crowd, beaming and waving like a beauty queen in her black bead-encrusted evening gown and satin opera gloves.
She turned to Paloma and blew her a kiss, then retreated into the dark.
With the finale coming up, even more musicians joined the folks already on stage, including Tony and Kevin from the Cherry Mill, who had been thrilled to be included.
As they assembled, Paloma told the room, “Well, folks, the big clock on the wall says that we’re going to have to wrap things up.
” Over boos and whistles, she continued.
“The regulars who come here often know that when you hear a certain song play over the PA, the concert is about to start. Tonight, I figured it was the perfect way to end a perfect evening in the Motor City.” She looked around to make sure everyone was ready to go, and with a “One, two, three, four!” the horns struck up the intro to “Detroit Dancing Days” by Melodee and the Makers.
The all-star ensemble rollicked through the Motown classic, but with it running less than three minutes and the audience still going strong, Paloma kept the groove going by throwing out names of towns all over Michigan then tossing in the names of bands when she ran out of cities.
This evolved into a call-and-response with the audience:
Dancing days at…The Artemis!
Dancing days at…THE ARTEMIS!
After a few more rounds, Paloma spun and lifted her Strat over her head, signaling the group to find their place in the final chord and play out with horns blaring and drums rolling until she brought her guitar back down, slicing the air and bringing the benefit to a close.