Chapter Text
The bustling streets of the French Quarter filled Kaleb’s hearing aids. He looked around, searching for the perfect busking spot. Can’t be in the way of foot traffic, and cannot be too close to St. Louis Cathedral. Learned that lesson the hard way..
He and his friends picked a shaded spot on the sidewalk, setting up swiftly as having done this many times before. He set his case down, opening it with a satisfying click. Inside lay a tenor saxophone, his pride and joy. He quickly pushed the neck into the body of the sax, then slid in the mouthpiece. He checked the reed and the ligature.
“Perfect.” He muttered under his breath as he stood up straight, pulling the neck strap over his head. He blew into the mouthpiece, pressing the keys down to hear each note the microphones in his ear picked up.
He looked over his shoulder at his best friend, T-Boy, who was still unpacking his euphonium. He glanced over his other shoulder, his friend Johnathan setting up his 5-gallon bucket drum kit. It was easy to travel with.
Kaleb glanced around the square, shaking off his nerves. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which was “floof” than curls due to the humidity. Blue eyes scanned the crowd. Once the other two men were set up, he blew the first four descending notes of Hit the Road Jack. E - C - D -A… E - C - D - A… repeatedly while Johnathan kept a steady tempo, his ginger hair bouncing lightly with each tap of the makeshift drum.
Kaleb bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, feeling the groove of the song before making his sax “sing”,
Hit the road, Jack!
And don’t you come back
no more, no more, no more,
No more!
Hit the road, Jack!
And don’t you no mooore…
The sound of his instrument filled the air, pedestrians halted their walks to listen, tapping their feet along to the tempo. Kaleb smiled, glanced over at T-Boy who also nodded along to the beat, his locs swinging slightly with each tilt of his head as he played his euphonium.
A man with slicked back hair pulled out a five dollar bill, and tossed it into Kaleb’s open sax case. He nodded appreciatively as the man walked away. Other people in the crowd did the same as Kaleb’s sax sang louder.
Then, another, unexpected, instrument joined in. A trombone. It took over the lyrics of the song.
Now, baby, listen, baby
Don’t you treat me this way!
Girl, I’ll be back on my feet someday.
Kaleb took over again,
Don’t care if you do!
Cause it’s understood,
You ain’t got no money,
You just ain’t no good!
Kaleb watched the tall and thin trombonist next to him, his thin fingers resting on the slide perfectly, each transition between positions perfectly timed. His black curls seemed to danced with the music, olive-toned skin covered with a thin sheet of sweat from the Louisiana sun. His white button-down shirt ruffled slightly in the breeze.
The song came to a conclusion, the crowd clapping politely at their busking performance. Kaleb looked over at the trombonist. “You were spectacular!” He chuckled, reached out for a handshake which the man happily accepted.
“You too. Simply marvelous!” The man replied, his voice laced with an Italian accent. Kaleb tilted his head slightly at the sudden accent.
“You ain’t around here, huh? That accent ain’t common around here.” He inquired. The Italian studied him. Brown “floofy” hair, boyish face, shorter in stature maybe 5’11. He was well built, heavy set, a small pudge visible under the shirt. Comfortably soft.
“No, I am not. My name is Matteo Rossi, and I’m from Milan, Italy.” The man replied with a charming smile.
“Milan? Well, nice to meet you, Milan.” Kaleb smiled, “I’m Kaleb Boudreaux, and these two are my close friends.”
T-Boy stepped forward with a welcoming smile, “I’m Tyrell, but most people call me T-Boy.” He said proudly. He was tall, around 6’0 and had defined arm muscles from lifting heavy instruments, his skin a deep brown that had a sun-kissed glow. His thick locs hung right above his collarbone, moving rhythmically with each movement. His eyes were a deep obsidian with a handsome glint.
“And I’m Johnathan, or Johnny.” He also stepped up, ginger hair slicked back. His skin was pale, cheeks flushed from the sun. He was shorter, but compact, standing around 5’7.
“Well, it is nice to meet you three. You come-a busking often?” Matteo asked, putting a hand to Kaleb’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah, often. When we’re all free from band rehearsals, we come out.” Kaleb chuckled.
“Band-a rehearsals? Where do you go to college?” Matteo questioned, tilting his head slightly, eyes scanning Kaleb’s younger face.
“We all go to Loyola, you?”
“Ah, I go to Loyola, too! Dr. Pierre is the director, no?” Matteo exclaimed with a grin.
“Yes, yes! Dr. Pierre and his famous mustache!” Kaleb chuckled, lips pulling into my happy smile. “Say, you hungry, Milan? There’s a nice po’boy shops a couple blocks over.”
“Ah, I see no reason to decline!” Matteo happily accepted.