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As the drunken crowd applauded wildly and stomped their feet on the floor； I ran across the room； pushed aside the curtain to the hallway； and rushed blindly into the dressing room。 I supposed Lee Vernon meant well； but I was angered by his announcement。 Not only did I want to quit； I wanted to punch him in the nose。 In view of his stupid announcement； he would be damned well embarrassed when I played the same three songs forty minutes later。
There was an open bottle of bourbon on the dressing table。 I hit it a couple of times and smoked five cigarettes before my next appearance on the stand。 Tmy James； the bass player； came and got me。
〃You're on； Mansfield。〃 He jerked his thumb。 〃Dick's announced you already。〃
I returned to the stand and got out my guitar。 The room had twice as many patrons and the air was blue with smoke。 Vernon's announcement had created a morbid interest。 The bar crowd had pushed their way in and standees blocked the way to the service bar。 The moment I picked up my instrument and strummed a few triplets； there were shushing sounds from the tables and the room was silent。
Indifferently； expertly； I played through my three numbers without pause。 The applause was generous。 I put the guitar back in the case and made my exit to the dressing room。 When the door closed on the last James Boy I took a pull out of the open bottle of whiskey。 Lee Vernon entered the room。 His face was flushed and he was laughing。 He held out a hand for the bottle and； when I handed it to him； freshened the drink in his left hand。
Watching him sullenly； I took another drink out of the bottle。 Vernon let loose with a wild peal of happy laughter。
〃Those are the only three songs you know； aren't they？〃 he said。
I grinned and took another short drink。
〃That's wonderful； Frank；〃 he said sincerely。 〃Really wonderful！〃 He smiled broadly； showing his big white teeth。 〃Did you make them up yourself？〃
I nodded。
A frown creased Vernon's flushed face； and he placed his glass down carefully on the narrow ledge in front of the mirror。 He's going to fire me； I thought。 The moment I put the five…dollar bill in my pocket I'm going to knock his teeth out。
〃I think that's terrific； Frank。 I really do。 Any fool can take a few lessons and play ordinary songs on a guitar。 Hell； I can play a little bit myself； and if I sing while I'm playing； I can drown out the mistakes I make。 But youHe shook his head ically。 〃To deliberately master the damned guitar the way you have and pose your own songs…well； I can only admire you for it。〃 He picked up his glass and raised it。 〃To Frank Mansfield！ You've got a job at the Chez Vernon for as long as you want to keep it！〃
He drained his glass and opened the door。 His shoulder hit the side of the door as he left； and he staggered slightly as he walked down the hall。
I closed the door and sat down； facing the back of the chair。 If a man accepts life logically； the unexpected is actually the expected。 I should have known he wouldn't fire me。 A nightclub owner； by the fact that he is a nightclub owner； must necessarily accept things as they are。 Vernon had accepted the situation cheerfully； like a peacetime soldier who finds himself suddenly in a war。 There was nothing else he could do。
I had wanted to quit； but now I was unable to quit。 I was in an untenable position。 I had only one alternative。 Every time I played my twenty…minute stint； I would have to improvise something new。 If I couldn't do it； I would have to walk away and not even stop to collect the five dollars I had ing to me。 It was unfair to keep playing the same three songs over and over。
I took another drink； a short one this time。 I was beginning to feel the effects of the whiskey on top of the beers I had had earlier。 I made my decision。 When my turn came to play again I would improvise music and play something truly wonderful。 After Dick James announced me； I sat quietly in my chair； the guitar across my lap； a multicolored pick gripped loosely between my right thumb and forefinger。 The room was filled to capacity。 Under the weak； colored ceiling lights I could make out most of the faces nearest the stand。 There was a hint of nervous expectancy in the room。 Here is a freak； their silence said； a talented； deaf…and…dumb freak who plays music he cannot hear； who plays for applause he can only feel。 This was the atmosphere of the Chez Vernon； caused in part by Lee Vernon's earlier announcement； and by my last session on the stand when the listeners had heard a different kind of music。 Vernon sat at a table close to the platform； his face flushed with liquor； a knowing smile on his lips。 On his left was a young man with long blond hair； dressed in a red silk dinner jacket； white ruffled shirt； and plaid bow tie。 On Vernon's right； a tall pink drink before her； was a woman in a low…cut Kelly green evening gown。 She was in her early forties； but she was the type who could pass easily for thirty…nine for a few more years。
Her lips were wet and shiny； and her dark eyes were bright with excitement as I caught them with mine and held them。 She nodded politely； put long tapering fingers to her coal black hair。 The woman and the young man at Vernon's table stood out from the crowd。 Most of the patrons were wearing short…sleeved sport shirts。 Only the younger men with dates wore coats and ties。 Lee Vernon raised his glass and winked at me。
The microphone was less than a foot away from my guitar。 I tapped the pick on the box。 The sound； amplified by six speakers； sounded like knocking on a wooden door。 Scratching the wooden box of the Gibson produced a sound like the dry rasping of locusts。 The lccusts reminded me of the long summer evenings in Mansfield； Georgia； and I thought about the bright silvery moths circling the lamp on the corner； down the street from Grandma's house。
I played their sound； picking them up and flying and flickering with them about the streetlight； teasing them on the 〃E〃 string。
Down the block； swinging to and fro on a lacy； metal porch swing； the chains creaking； plaining； a woman laughed； the joyful； contented laughter of a well…bred southern woman； a mother perhaps； with two young children； a boy and a girl； and the little boy said something that amused her and she laughed and repeated what the child said to her husband sitting beside her。
I played that。
And I repeated the solid rumbling laugh of her husband； which plemented her own laughter； and then my fingers moved away from them； up the staff to pick out the solid swishing whispering smack of a lawn sprinkler and a man's tuneless humming a block away。 And there came a boy in knickers down the sidewalk； walking and then running； dancing with awkward feet to avoid stepping on a crack； which would surely break his mother's back！ He bent down and picked up a stick and scampered past a white picket fence； the stick bumping； rattling； drowning out a man's lecture to a teen…aged girl on the porch of that old white house two doors down from the corner； the house with the four white columns。
And I played these things； and
then the sounds of supper and the noises； the fine good clatte