Carlos was irritated. Traffic was bad and he was running late. He was driving up from Los Angeles. In reality, being hundreds of miles away, there was nothing he could really do about it. To be truthful he already felt like a target of stupidity as far as the Seattle night club was concerned. He had hoped to seal a deal with his favorite singer there. She wanted more money than Carlos wanted to pay and in reality, he didn’t think her voice fit the bill. He knew what he wanted, but getting the right entertainers was always a problem.
He was worried and fretting until he got almost into Portland. Stopping over in Portland would let him relax a bit and maybe, just maybe, if any of the music gods in heaven were in his favor, perhaps he could put two and two together and make a miracle. He pulled over into a rest stop. He turned on the radio and found a couple of good stations and searched until he found an actual disk jockey. “I thought disk jockeys were all dead these days.” he said to himself and then his eyes got heavier and heavier until he was fast asleep with the radio playing and everything.
An hour later, Carlos woke up refreshed. He was relaxed, calm, and if not already in heaven, he was on the road up. Not only was he feeling rested, he was humming a happy tune. As the current song ended on the radio he relaxed and said, “Wow! That was wonderful, just wonderful. I wish I had Kitty Kallen back from the grave with me to sing “Little Things Mean a Lot.”
The voice on the radio created a head snap for Carlos as he looked directly at the radio and listened to a local DJ comment: “You just heard our blue-eyed Portland wonder Wanda Jackson. This is her last performance here tonight for quite a while. Soon she’ll be on the road and performing in Atlanta and other places across America. Join us this evening.” Carlos sat straight up and said, “Performing where tonight? Where, where, where, where, where?”
He punched one radio button after another to zero effect. “Screwed again.” Heading into downtown Portland, he decided to take the main roads instead of the freeway. After twenty minutes or so he stopped at a local tavern for a beer and a crying towel.
Carlos sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. He took a long swig and then simply said, “Where could I find Wanda Jackson?” The bartender looked at him and said, “Oh, she’ll be on in about ten minutes.” Carlos closed his wide-open mouth and said, “What do you know about Wanda?” The bartender laughed and said, “Wanda is my cousin. She plays the guitar and sings. My favorite songs she sings are “The Wonder of You” and “Kiss me Simple.”
Carlos, looked around and said, “I thought she was on radio, tonight, on the radio. If she is performing why aren’t more people here to listen to her?” The bartender said, “You must have heard the replay. By ten this evening we’ll be full.” Carlos, breathing hard, said “When is she heading to Atlanta?” The bartender laughed and said, “We have folks in Atlanta. She’s pretty much just going to say hello. I think she’s actually driving in a month or two.”
“Two more questions and I’ll shut up. Do you think she might welcome a short gig in Seattle?” asked Carlos. The bartender simply said, “Do ducks waddle?” Carlos said, “Here’s the second question . . . is she good looking?” The bartender just laughed and said, “We would fill the bar today even if she couldn’t sing. She has a ton of hair, blue eyes, a lovely smile, plays a mean guitar and loves people.”
By the way, I’m her lucky agent now.
