to see if I would fit.
“Will it do?” Mrs. Edwards said, watching me.
“I don’t need much.”
She nodded. “Good. Because there isn’t much here, but we’ll see about getting you whatever else you need. Maybe a few more pillows and some towels. Make me a list. I’ll send Mary to the store.” She checked her watch. “Berry said he’d be ready in an hour. He’s got some ideas for a few of the songs. Something about horns and some harmonies.” She smiled. “You know Berry. He always has ideas. You’re going to be singing all night.”
No one complained about the schedule. Well, Money complained, but not about the work. He complained about me and picked on Esther and grumbled about gangsters and white people in general, but when we were in the studio, he shut his mouth and played his ass off, and I was grateful for that. Recording—especially with Esther—was my idea of heaven. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t need much. I needed a piano, I needed a song, and I desperately needed Esther too. With those three things, the days passed in a blur of lyrics and laying down tracks, arguing with Berry when he wanted to add too much, and agreeing with Esther when she said it was all just right. We wrote two more songs in the middle of the chaos, just waiting around for Berry’s engineers to do their thing, and Berry got to see just how good Esther was at writing songs.
“Girl can sing, but you’ve got yourself a writing partner, Lament. That was fun to watch.”
“They’re good together, aren’t they?” Alvin said, nodding proudly, and Money grunted.
It took us eight twelve-hour days to knock it out. We typically worked from eight at night until eight in the morning and slept during the day. We finished the morning of Christmas Eve a little after 7:00 a.m.
“I think that’s a wrap,” Berry said, clapping, and the whole crew clapped with him. “We’ll make a master today, and I’ll get it sent to Southern Plastics before the post office closes on Monday. Tomorrow’s Sunday—and Christmas—but be thinking about what you want on the sleeve. If you’re going to call this album ‘The Bomb Johnson’ you need something that goes with it. Something that makes that statement. You got a picture of him? Maybe put it on one side, and a picture of the five of you on the other, you and Esther in the middle.”
“What about the picture of your parents, Ess . . . the one Benny gave you?” Lee Otis asked softly. “Maybe we could take a picture like it . . . with the two of you.”
“You got it here?” Berry asked.
“Yes. At the house. In my things,” Esther said. I could tell she liked the idea. Her pulse was thrumming at her throat.
“Come back tonight for the party and bring the photograph. No presents. Just music and food and maybe some dancing and some drinks. We all get dressed up and fancy. It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re celebrating, not working, but George will be taking lots of pictures. Maybe we can squeeze in a little work.” He laughed. “Now go and get some rest.”
But Esther had other ideas.
“Do you think we could go to a department store, Benny?” Esther asked. “I have a little Christmas shopping to do.”
We freshened up and drove to the diner on Twelfth Street where we’d eaten almost every meal since arriving in town. The clientele was mostly working-class Negros and a sprinkling of blue-collar whites. Esther got a few looks, but when you look like Esther that’s to be expected. The rest of us didn’t draw a second glance.
We drove downtown to Hudson’s department store on Woodward Avenue, not far from the Fox Theatre where we would perform on Monday. Alvin pointed it out as we drove past. MOTORTOWN REVUE was written in big red letters on the marquee, with a list of artists below it. Along the bottom our names had been added. WITH SPECIAL GUEST: MINEFIELD.
In the white light of day, the big theater looked a little worn and tired, competing against the Christmas decorations that plastered the stores and businesses nearby. The effect was nonthreatening, even sleepy, and the worry that had been my constant companion took a temporary walk.
I’d been to Hudson’s department store before, but never at Christmastime. It was packed with shoppers and dripping with tinsel and holly on every floor. And there were so many floors. A children’s