Sing for Their Supper - 8

"You know," Jolie said when she, Sam, and Mace met early one morning about a month after they'd teamed up. "If we had someone else to make this a quartet, I bet we'd make even more money."

Sam grinned. "And I bet you know just who that should be."

"Yeah. Come on. I hope she's there. She's sort of older, but, wow."

Jolie took them to a small plaza along at the edge of the downtown area. Sam had been there before, sometimes to spange, sometimes to listen to people who took advantage of the two upright pianos set along one side. They were painted in bright colors, more for decoration than anything else. But while somewhat out of tune, they still drew people to them, to try their hand at playing a song—or songs.

"That's her," Jolie said, gesturing to a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. "She told me to call her Lady Roma. And, man, can she sing. Just listen."

Lady Roma was seated at one of the pianos with a small crowd around her. It was very obvious from her clothing—a long, colorful skirt and peasant blouse that had seen better days—that she was a street person, but no one seemed to mind when she began to sing.

"Whoa," Sam said softly.

"Yeah. No kidding," Mace agreed. "But would she want to hook up with us?"

"One way to find out. Let's join her." He crossed to the piano, taking his guitar from the battered case. As he started playing counterpoint to the song, Jolie began singing with Lady Roma, while Mace drummed his hands on the top of the piano in time to the music.

Lady Roma looked startled for a moment, then smiled at Jolie. When the song ended, she said, "I remember you, girl. You didn't say you could sing. You're pretty damned good."

"Thanks," Jolie replied. "Not as good as you, though."

"Nope." Lady Roma smiled. "No ego here. I know I'm good. I just…" She shrugged. "So, who are your friends?"

"This is Sam," Jolie told her. "And the drummer's Mace. He sings, too—better than he thinks. So does Sam."

"So let's hear you." Lady Roma patted the piano bench, beckoning for the guys to join her. Sam did. Mace hung back. "You, too, handsome," Lady Roma told him.

Mace turned red but sat on the very edge of the bench.

"Okay. Do you all know…?" Lady Roma shook her head. "No. Probably not."

"What?" Sam asked.

"You're too young to be into the blues."

"Like you aren't, too?" Jolie said.

"I'm thirty—and feel fifty," Lady Roma retorted.

"We do blues," Mace told her. "It… Well, it suits our mood a lot of times."

"Exactly. So… 'Stormy Monday'?"

Sam grinned. "That's the first song the three of us sang together. Let's do it."

They did, their voices blending in harmony. Even Mace sang, his bass adding depth to the song.

When they finished, there was loud applause from the crowd that had gathered around the piano and cries for more. Sam, being nobody's fool, got a can from his backpack, setting it on top of the piano. Then the four of them went through several songs until the crowd began to disperse—but not before people had put bills and change into the can as they left.

"Guess they had to get to work," Mace said.

"Yeah. It's that time," Sam replied. He turned to Lady Roma. "I don't suppose you'd like to join up with us, would you?"