The Life of a Struggling Musician
It was another normal Friday night in the sprawling borough Manhattan, especially in one of the local bars, where a young woman in a grey suit with a pink bow tie and long black hair warmed up to play her set for the night.
She took a long look around the bar. All in all it wasn’t a bad looking place; definitely not the worst place she had performed at lately and it was one of the few bars in this part of city that had a stage for live performances. The room itself was rather large, with some paintings on the walls to help lighten the atmosphere, or at least at one time it did. The paintings were old and, like most everything in the bar, the colors had started to fade from most of them.
She then took a hard look at the bar itself, it needed some work. The counter was old and beat up from long years of use, and there was a slight smell of something stale in the air. The floor was old, worn, and beat up, it was made with hard wood that once shined with a lustrous glow, but now it had faded with age and was stained from many spilled beverages.
The young woman took one last look around and counted the number of customers. After a few seconds she counted eleven, her shoulders slumped. “Not near as many as I was hoping.” Octavia thought to herself as she reached up and adjusted the tuning of one of her strings.
Once she was sure that she was ready, she started into her set. She played through her first song and came to a soft meditative end. When the song came to an end she paused and waited. After a few seconds a few people in the bar clapped lethargically. She let out a heavy sigh.
“This is going to be a long night.” She thought to herself with a slump of her shoulders.
But being the professional she was, she continued to play through her set, which consisted of a wide array of songs from many different styles, while trying to stay away from the more classical music. She had long since learned that classical music didn’t go over well in places like this. What she found did work was a mixture of smooth jazz and easy listing. These may not have been her favorite styles, but she still found some joy in playing them.
Once she was done playing through her set she got up and gave a short bow, which was greeted by another round of lethargic applause. “Can one person clapping be called applause?” She thought as she picked up her prized cello and went back stage, which looked worse than the rest of place.
It was a small cramped space with barley enough room for handful of people. The room was sparsely furnished with two couches, which constricted the small room even more, and in one of the corners was a small desk with a half broken mirror above it. By far the worst part was the smell. The room had shag carpet, which had the adverse effect of trapping the smell of bands from the past that had sampled too much of the bars liquor or decided to get in a quick puff before their performance.
Octavia made a mental note to always breathe through her mouth while in this particular room. She made her way over to the couch opposite the door and opened her cello case and gingerly deposited the instrument into its proper place. Then she did the same with the bow and closed all four latches and locked the case with a small silver key, you can never be too careful.
Just as soon as she was finished she heard the door open, she quickly stood up and turned around to see the owner of the bar. He was about six foot two, and had broad shoulders. He was in his late fifties, which was made clear by the large patches of gray in his once brown hair and the deep set lines on his face. He was also a rather large man around the middle with a belly the extended several inches in front of him. He stood with his arms crossed in front of him looking down at the smaller girl in front of him wearing the same perpetual frown partially hidden by his bushy beard that reached down to his chest.
“Well here’s your pay for the night.” He said gruffly as he produced an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Octavia.
Octavia gently took the envelope and opened it; she quickly flipped through the small stack of one’s and the single five dollar bill finding that it only came to twenty dollars. Octavia frowned as she looked up at the bar owner, “I thought we agreed on forty dollars a night not twenty.”
“I said I would pay you forty if you’re playing doubled the number of customers, which it hasn’t.” He replied with shrug of his shoulders. “You’re lucky I paid you at all, you barley brought in anybody.” Which wasn’t exactly fair, Octavia’s playing did bring in a few extra customers on weekdays, but he’d never tell her that.
Octavia looked down and nodded her head. There really wasn’t anything she could do about it. The bar owner had refused to sign any kind of formal contract, so all she had to go off of was word of mouth when she agreed to play here. The owner nodded his head and left through the door closing it slowly behind him.
Octavia stuffed the envelope in her pocket and turned around to pick up her instrument case. She had gotten used to this kind of treatment in recent months. It was the same song and dance everywhere she went. She picked her cello case up with ease, after many years of carrying the heavy protective case she had grown used to its weight.
She turned walked out the small room and into the main room of the bar and made her way over to the counter and took her usual seat at the end closest to the door and hunched over the bar.
“What can I get yah?” The bartender asked while he wiped down the other end of the bar. He was a very kind person in his late thirties; he was clean shaven, fit man of about average height. He had a fatherly look about him, which fit well considering he had a pair of sons back at home.
“The usual is fine Eddie.” Octavia responded with a slight smile tugging at the edge of her lips.
“You got it, one brandy with three cubes of ice, on the house of course, for your lovely playing.” Edward said with a light chuckle while he prepared the beverage. Edward laughed at his own jokes often and even more at other peoples jokes, it paid to be friendly in Edward’s line of work. When it came to his job Edward was one of the best in Manhattan, not that he would brag about it.
Octavia finally smiled in earnest as she took a slow drink of the amber colored drink. “Thanks Eddie, so did I get any tips?”
“As a matter of fact you did.” Edward said as he reached into his apron and pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to her.
Octavia took the money and placed it in the same pocket as the envelope and smiled. “Thanks Eddie, you’re the best.” Octavia said before she took another swig of her drink
“Well that’s what they keep telling me.” Edward said with a smile. “So any luck getting some more gigs?”
Octavia sadly shook her head.
Edward nodded, “I hear the recent recession has been pretty tough on unsigned musicians.”
Octavia nodded in agreement as she downed the last of her drink. “Well I’m going to get going. Thank you very much
Eddie, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Octavia said as she got up and reached down to pick up her instrument.
“You be careful out there.” Edward said as he waved one last farewell.
Octavia nodded and pushed her way through the front door and out into the main streets of the city.
As soon as she was out on the sidewalk she changed her grip on her instrument from holding it by the handle at her side, to holding it with both hands in front of her, almost like a shield to protect her from the world around her.
Even thought it was late the streets were still filled with cars, and the sidewalks were strewn with people.
Once she had a firm grasp on her beloved cello she started walking briskly towards her apartment. It was about a fifteen minute walk at the brisk pace she was going. She made it to her apartment building with no major incidents, except for occasionally bumping into somebody and quickly apologizing.
She relaxed her tense grip on her instrument case and reached into her pocket and fumbled around trying to find her keys. Once she found them she quickly unlocked the door and went inside.
Once she was inside the apartment building she let out a pent up breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. She made her way down the main hall making sure not to make any noise knowing that most of the other residents were already asleep, or didn’t want to be disturbed.
She made it to the elevator and waited. It was a nice looking apartment building, not luxurious by any means, but it was clean and well kept.
Octavia looked up as she heard a slight ding and the doors to the elevator opened. She stepped inside and pressed the slightly faded number three and waited.
After a couple of seconds the doors closed and she felt the slight movement of the elevator rising. She taped her foot as she patiently waited for the elevator to stop on her floor, silently hoping that she wouldn’t run into anyone on the way.
The elevator made a ding and she looked up and smiled as the number on the display read three. The doors opened and she stepped out and turned down the right corridor and walked past the few doors till she came to hers. Room thirty two it read on a gold colored name plate with black lettering
She slid the key into the lock and turned the nob and walked into her apartment with a relieved smile.
It wasn’t very big but it was cozy, from the door to the window of the living room was about forty feet, with a kitchen and a few cooking necessities, a microwave, a sink, a refrigerator, and a table top range.
The walls were decorated with pictures of Octavia at different concerts and recitals over the years of her young life. Near the window was a nice looking couch and a small coffee table covered with books and neat stacks of sheet music. Across the room from the couch, was a small TV sitting on a short table with a small vase next to it, sadly sitting without any flowers in it.
Across from the kitchen was a small closet that was almost empty, and next to the couch was a door that led to Octavia’s bed room, a small ten by ten room with several more pictures placed on each wall.
Octavia walked over to the closet and stored her cello inside before closing the door. She walked across the room into the kitchen and looked around in the fridge to find something to eat. She frowned slightly as she saw how bare she had let the fridge get…again. Octavia sighed as she closed the door.
She walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a half empty box of cereal and a bowl. She poured some of the cereal into the bowl then put the box back. She paused looking down at the cereal and then shrugged before she grabbed a handful and popped it in her mouth.
Once that was done eating she put the bowl in the sink, and walked into her room and yawned. She pulled the money out of the envelope and dropped it into a jar on her night stand.
“I still need to make seventy dollars by Tuesday or I won’t even be able to pay my rent this month.” She thought as she frowned.
She let out another yawn and quickly got ready for bed and slipped under the sheets. She glanced over at her night stand and reached over retrieving an old picture of her and her parents at her first recital performing with them.
Her father stood on her right holding a conductor’s baton in one hand his other hand resting on his young daughters shoulder a very proud smile on his face. He was a tall, clean shaven man, with jet black hair and striking blue eyes. He was wearing a light gray suit with a pink tie.
On Octavia’s other side was her mother beaming with a matching smile, one of her hands resting on Octavia’s other shoulder, and in the other she held a violin and bow. She had a very kind face that had no blemishes or wrinkles. Her hair was the same color as her husbands, but her eyes were a dark pink. She was wearing a sports jacket that matched her husband and a matching skirt that went past her knees.
Octavia, was in the middle, and had a nervous smile on her face holding between her hands her large cello bow, wearing an almost identical outfit to what she was wearing earlier.
She looked down at the picture with a longing look in her eyes. She touched her right hand to her lips and then placed her fingers first to her fathers, then to her mother’s lips.
“Good night mom, good night dad. I…I love you, and…and I miss you.” She said out loud as tears started to flow down her face while she hugged the picture fiercely.
After a long while her tears stopped and she placed the picture back on the night stand next to the jar. She turned off the light and turned over to face out the window. She took a long deep breath before she laid her head down on her pillow and soon she drifted off into a deep sleep.