Unwed 💍

Chapter Twenty: Be Bop a Lula

August, 1952

Sweltering heat consumed the small recording studio, forcing sweat to gather in beads on Wes's temples and trickle down his neck. His fingers were going numb, the tips raw, as they worked the strings of his guitar. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd sung the song, his growling stomach suggesting hours had gone by since he'd last had a meal.

"There it is! You got it!" boomed Judd as they finished, clapping his hands together. He strolled over, slapping Wes on the back. "Well now, you didn't think this was gonna be easy did you?"

Wes set his guitar down, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "You think it's ready to go on a record?"

"Oh yeah," said Judd, beaming. "This baby is going all the way. It's gonna sell out, you'll see. It's darn near perfect."

"Great," said Hank. "'Cause... we're broke. My mother said she won't loan me another dollar."

"Show business isn't for the faint of heart." Judd chuckled as he helped them pack up their equipment. "You gotta make sure you're in it because it's what you love."

"Oh, we're sure," said Gene, his cheeks flushed from the heat. He leaned his bass against the wall. "I just want to prove to my father that I made the right decision when I turned down his offer to run the bank. Give him some good news, you know what I mean?"

Wes had been thinking the same thing. It'd been two months since they'd gotten back to Los Angeles from the island. Judd had moved the three of them into an apartment across the street from the studio. It wasn't much, but it beat staying vicariously in cheap motels. Unfortunately, things had moved slowly since then. They'd played a few decent gigs, but none that brought a decent amount of money in. Most of their time was spent in the sweltering studio and in long, aching practices.

Judd had produced The Beverly Brothers, whose records had played on every home's turntable a few years ago, and still held top spots on the radio. The band was playing the hippest joints in the United States, they'd even been on the Ed Sullivan show. Wes didn't understand why they couldn't at least open for them.

"Hold onto your horses," Judd said, reading his mind. "You'll have your time. I want to make sure you're ready."

Wes put his guitar into its case. He turned to look Judd in the eyes, a bit of frustration working at his nerves. "Oh, I'm ready. I've never been more ready."

The old man's kind eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "Alright, alright. I'll get this song done up right, and we'll see what happens next."

***

"He's holding us back," mumbled Gene, kicking a rock across the street as they headed back towards their apartment. "It's been two months since we've gotten back, and we haven't done a single decent gig."

"You heard what he said," said Hank. "He wants to make sure we're ready. Look at all the groups that Judd's produced. He knows what he's doing."

They skidded out of the way as a bus came barrelling down on them to their left. Wes hoisted his guitar up on his back, unbuttoning his shirt to get some breeze.

"Most of the groups he's produced are playing the kinda music my father would go for," he said. "I'm starting to wonder if Judd is really the guy to get us where we need to go. Look at those cats over at RCA studios. Now, they know what they're doing. They're churning out the hits one after another."

Although it was the truth, Wes felt a tinge of guilt as he spoke the words. He was fond of the old man. Judd had been like a surrogate father to all of them during the last couple of months. But, he was also disappointed. He'd envisioned doors swinging open for them, but it seemed like they were still stuck in the same place.