Chapter 35 Chicago, 1928—Remy #2
“Tony and Bastien were telling me about last night, and how Marcelle dressed up like a gangster so she could play in a saloon,” Skye said. “I wish I’d been there.”
“Did they tell you about my awesome performance?” Clay asked.
“We didn’t get that far,” Marcelle said. “But I told Skye how you and Bastien forgot all about me, and I had to remind my brother that I had a part in the show.”
“How many times have I apologized for that?” Bastien asked.
Marcelle made a production out of counting on her fingers. A slow, agonizing tally. “None!” she declared, her fingers snapping into a final, damning point.
“I already apologized for my part in that.” Clay shot a look at Bastien.
“Sorry, sis.”
“I accept your apologies.” Then she gazed at Skye. “How was your show last night?”
“Brilliant,” Skye said. “Our duets impressed Capone. He tried to give us a wad of money, but Remy refused.”
“I doan want to be beholden to that asshole more than we already are.”
“Kaitlyn might help us manage Capone’s expectations,” Bastien said. “She’s used to working with gangsters.”
“Only with their entertainment contracts,” Kaitlyn said.
Skye crossed to the serving cart. “Looks like Remy refilled the decanter. Who wants a drink?”
“Give everybody one,” Remy suggested. “We need to make a toast.” Skye distributed drinks, and once everyone had a glass in their grip, a shared silence fell over the group.
Remy raised his hand, the whisky swirling like liquid gold in the low light.
“To new friends and old, and some of the most talented musicians I’ve ever performed with. ”
They all sipped, and then Remy took Skye’s hand and led her to the sofa while everyone found a place to sit. “Bastien, are you and Marcelle ready to perform tonight?”
“I’m ready,” Marcelle said.
“So am I,” Bastien said.
“What about you, Clay?” Marcelle asked.
“I’ll join Kaitlyn and Tony in the audience.”
“Archibald should be there, but in case he doesn’t show up, will you play piano?” Skye asked.
“I’ll play backup, but if there’s a chance he won’t show, I need to rehearse the duets.”
“If you’re going to rehearse, I’ll join you,” Marcelle said.
“Is it okay if Papa and I watch?” Kaitlyn asked.
“We should probably check into a hotel first,” Tony said.
“Hotel? Absolutely not,” Skye said. “You’ll stay here. I love having company, and I have plenty of room. There are two unoccupied bedrooms on the third floor. Tony and Bastien can share one room, and Kaitlyn can have the other.”
“Kaitlyn and I will share a room,” Bastien announced. “Unless it offends you, Skye.”
“I’m a woman who challenges traditional norms. I’m not offended by anyone’s sleeping preferences.” Skye grinned at Remy.
The message landed, and his body jolted instantly. Abstinence felt like its own small death. He should reconsider. He flicked his gaze toward Tony, checking for a hint of how he truly felt about the shared room, but Tony gave nothing away.
“That’s settled. Now let’s go make some music,” Skye said.
As they all left the living room, Kaitlyn laced her arm through Remy’s. “I can’t wait to hear you play. When I was little, I’d rush downstairs early in the morning to beat on your drums, imagining how they sounded when you played them.”
“Let’s go see if I can live up to your expectations.” Remy escorted Kaitlyn into the music room. “Why doan you sit over there?” He pointed to the chair Violet had moved into the room. “The music will get loud.”
“I don’t mind.” Kaitlyn sat in the chair and smiled at Bastien.
He kissed her. “Remy’s right. This will get loud.”
“Will you be happy to play with him again?”
Bastien stroked her face. “It’s been a couple of weeks since we jammed together, but it seems like a year or two. So much has happened.”
Remy picked up his sticks and played a quick riff. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Clay studied the setlist. “I know most of these. Let’s start at the top and see how far we can get.”
“I’ll start out standing, then sit next to you, and then the stagehands will help me sit on top of the piano,” Skye said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Sounds like you’re going for the Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga effect again? If Archibald went full Bradley, Remy must’ve been jealous.”
Skye stepped behind Remy, wrapped her arms around his shoulder, and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know, Remy. Were you?”
“Hell yeah, I was, but Archibald’s too old for you.” Remy popped off his drum throne, pulled Skye into his arms, and kissed her passionately.
Clay played a glissando and immediately transitioned into “Great Balls of Fire.” He mimicked Jerry Lee Lewis’s iconic driving boogie-woogie baseline and two-handed, percussive-style playing—lively and bluesy.
Remy jumped in with a steady rock-and-roll beat, featuring a snare drum backbeat to keep the tempo moving and the energy up.
Marcelle added an extra dimension with a blazing brass sound.
And Bastien’s saxophone added a richer, warmer, and more expressive melodic layer that cut through the mix.
Kaitlyn jumped to her feet. She and Skye stood there rooted to the spot, mouths agape, as the raw, energetic power of the song slammed into them, a sonic tidal wave of pure rock and roll.
The feel-good current surging through the air was irresistible.
And they moved in an involuntary response to the beat.
“Sing it, Clay,” Remy yelled.
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain / Too much love drives a man insane / You broke my will but what a thrill / Goodness gracious, great balls of fire…”
When the final crashing chord vibrated in the air, Kaitlyn and Skye surged into a frenzy of leaps, their voices shattering the air with piercing screams. “Play it again! Play it again!”
And they did, until Remy finally said, “No more rock and roll. We’ve got to rehearse the songs we’re playing tonight.”
“No, play it again,” Skye begged. “I almost know the words now.”
“After we rehearse our playlist,” Remy said.
For the next two hours, the band tore through their setlist. Remy was in his element with Bastien’s soulful saxophone and Marcelle’s searing trumpet.
But it was Skye—her vocals a warm, smooth whisky that burned all the way down—who bled soul into the music, a raw, elemental power that gave their sound its true magic.
Remy had to compel her, not just coax her, to go home with him.
This wasn’t about the band. It was about him, about the need thrumming beneath his skin.
He knew in his gut that love—that fragile, breakable thing—wouldn’t be enough to get her to yes.
A record deal wouldn’t seal the bargain.
New friends, a new home, the promise of travel—even that might not be enough to break the hold her life in Chicago had forged around her heart.
He wasn’t sure what it would take, but he’d find it or lose himself in the search.