I looked at my watch after finishing my phone call with Mom. Oh my, I’ve been on the phone for over an hour. It was almost 8 PM and, frankly, my stomach was grumbling. I had a choice to make. Go out and have dinner for one at some pizza place nearby or order room service. After a full 2 seconds of thought, I decided to do further damage to Billy’s tour budget. I ordered the Palmer House Burger, french fries, and a mixed green salad. Even with the air conditioner turned on full blast, enough of that day’s 95-degree heat remained that I ordered a pitcher of iced tea as well.

I was in mid-bite on my juicy Palmer House burger when there was a knock on the door. Did Bailey forget her room key? I opened the door and saw Bobby, his fist in mid-air, about to rap on the door.

“Oh, it’s you. How was the pizza?” Bobby walked in and his eyes locked onto the feast on the trolley parked near the window.

“Not as good as that burger looks.”

“Sit down on the bed. You can watch TV while I finish my dinner.”

“What’s on?”

“There’s a movie based on an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, “Tender is the Night.” First time on TV. It only came out 4 years ago. Jason Robards and Jennifer Jones.”

Bobby spread himself across the bed, propping his head up with both pillows. “Never heard of it or them. Not a western, I presume.”

“No, silly. Didn’t you read “The Great Gatsby” in English class? That was Fitzgerald.”

“Maybe I did. Must have forgotten it, like immediately afterwards. Say, that’s a pretty huge burger. Sure you can eat all of that?” His eyes were pleading on behalf of his stomach.

“Didn’t you just eat? Your usual half a pizza?” I could never resist those pleading eyes. As far back as I could remember I was always sharing food with Bobby. He ate twice as much as I did. I cut my burger in half and wrapped a napkin around it, handing it to him.

“A lot of fries you got there too.” He picked a few fries off my plate and lay back on the bed.

“Bobby, sit up while you’re eating. You’ll get an upset stomach like that.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Want some of my salad?” He shook his head and started chomping on the burger.

After we finished eating, we sat side by side on the bed, watching the movie, sipping glasses of iced tea.
“Bobby? Do you think you could ever love someone so much that, like Jason Robards, you’d quit your job and just cater to their whims, traveling and spending all your money?”

“Well, up to a point, maybe. His wife’s looney though. If I’m a shrink, I’d avoid getting involved with a patient. Crazy is as crazy does.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?” There was an uneasy silence between us before Bobby turned to me.

“I’m the one who’s crazy.”

“Crazy, you? Why?”

“Because I don’t know why I feel this way about you.”

“We’re best friends. Practically since we were babies.” Bobby leaped off the bed and looked out the window, searching the well-lit streets of a Chicago evening in early summer.

“I realize what you want from me. I’m not a complete idiot. And…and I feel really close to you. More than best friends.”

“Like brothers?”

“Shuggie. This…this is just not possible. You can’t just wish yourself into being a girl. After this summer, you’ll go back home. And I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll go wherever you go, Bobby. People don’t have to know I wasn’t born a girl. Look at me. If you’d never met me before, would you think I was a guy? I don’t have to go back home. Our lives are our own. You can start your own band. I’ll be the girl singer! It’ll be great. Billy can help us get started.”

“Aren’t you scared people will find out? You can’t just assume no one will ever find out. For god’s sake, you told Jim Morrison!”

“He made me get high. I didn’t know what I was saying or doing. I’ll be more careful. No booze or pot for me. I swear.” I pledged with my right hand. Bobby grabbed it and kissed me full on the lips. We kissed for a long minute. And then Bobby just held me in his arms. I saw blurry cars crawl by on the streets below as tears rolled down my cheeks. “I love you, Bobby,” I murmured over and over again.

“Well, well, it looks like I’ve returned at an inopportune moment.”

Bobby and I separated in a split second and turned around to see Bailey in the doorway. I turned back to the window and hurriedly wiped my tears. Clearing my throat, I said, “Bailey! No, come in. Bobby and I were just looking out at the city lights. It’s really well-lit. I guess most big cities are—”

Bobby moved quickly toward the door, mumbling to Bailey, “I was just leaving. See you guys tomorrow morning. We get a continental breakfast, Billy said.”

“Good night, Bobby.” Turning to me, she asked, “Everything okay? You look like a raccoon. Come here, let’s give you a proper clean up.” I sat on the bed while Bailey wiped the smeared mascara from my face. “Did Bobby hurt you? I’ll kill him, the insensitive lug.”

“No, he…he kissed me and held me. It was wonderful.”

“Then I really am sorry I interrupted you two.”

“No, he was going to go in a few minutes anyway. It’s so complicated, Bailey. Maybe I am insane for wanting to be a girl.”

“It’s not insane to want to be what you actually are. Just enjoy the present moment, Shuggie. No one knows what the future holds. Like Honey said, it’s not in our hands. I believe in destiny, don’t you?”

“You’re a real friend, Bailey. A real friend.”

“A real friend would’ve just turned right around and left the two of you alone.” She laughed and dabbed at the runny mess on my cheeks.

After breakfast at the hotel on Monday morning, we boarded our bus and were driven south of The Loop to Chess Records’ studios at South Michigan Avenue. Chess Records was famous for its stable of rhythm & blues artists like Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Otis Rush, Little Walter, and many other legendary figures. The Rolling Stones had recorded an album there in 1964 on their first tour of the U.S. By midday, the cramped quarters of the small studio resembled a sauna. I walked around the hallways whenever I wasn’t involved in the recording. There were open windows with a slight breeze wafting in. Luckily, I had chosen to wear a t-shirt and a denim jacket and jeans. The best outfit short of a bathing suit. The guys would’ve enjoyed that.

Billy had changed our set-list due to Honey’s absence. There were more solo numbers for Hank. I had maybe half a dozen lead vocals, most of it hand-picked for me by Billy. Instead of a duo act like Hank and Honey Hutch was, I was more truthfully a featured performer of The Hank Hutch Band, which was just fine with me. Despite this, Billy did add a duet number for Hank and me: “It’s Got to Be a Miracle (This Thing Called Love).”

A major kerfuffle occurred in the afternoon close to the end of our day-long session. Hank had become more than a little annoyed at Billy’s choice of material to record. Where Hank wanted to sing his own compositions, Billy pushed him to record more mainstream songs with chart-making potential. The word that triggered Hank’s anger was “commercial.” Billy made a crack about Hank trying to be the black Bob Dylan that really set him off. They argued for 30 minutes, including loud phone calls to record company executives in New York AND Los Angeles. Finally, Hank was persuaded to record Billy’s selection, an old Bacharach-David tune that Richard Chamberlain (TV’s Dr. Kildare) had released in 1963. However, Hank added a soliloquy of sorts to explain his reluctance to sing it. Perhaps someone else someday will do a version that’ll be a hit. I wouldn’t bet on it. Here’s Hank’s unique take on “(They Long to Be) Close to You.”

As Bobby and I walked out into the late afternoon heat to board our bus back to the hotel, Hank called me aside. I waved Bobby onto the bus and stood on the curb as Hank walked up to me.

“Hey Sugar Pie. I need you to help me get to my folks’ house right now. Mama’s cooking up a feast tonight. You’re invited.”

“But I’m not dressed to be a dinner guest.”

“That’s alright. They ain’t gonna be dressed to be dinner hosts. It’s just a family dinner. I haven’t been home in over a year. Come on, you’re driving.” He took my arm and led me to a powder blue Ford Thunderbird convertible. “You got a license, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Get behind the wheel. We’ll get onto the I-90 West to Cleveland Street. Cabrini-Green. My folks live in one of the towers. Shouldn’t take us more than 15 minutes even with the traffic—”

“But why me? Didn’t you drive here in this car this morning?”

“Nah, Billy rented this car. We came here together this morning. My license’s been suspended.” He peered at me through his sunglasses. “I like to drive fast. One of my many bad habits.” He laughed. “Let’s hit the road!”

I considered myself a decent driver although I had only driven my dad’s car a dozen times since getting my license. What worried me was not navigating busy city streets but the fact that my license plainly declared I was male. I wasn’t going to give any cops a reason to pull me over.

Cabrini-Green was a public housing development comprised of 23 high-rise apartment towers in the North Side of Chicago. In decay and decline almost since the day they were built in the late 1950s, this city-within-a-city was notorious for crime, poverty and gang violence. Hank’s parents had moved there almost a decade ago and Hank was lucky enough to escape that high-rise ghetto within a year when he had turned 18. But his younger brother and sister had grown up in that bleak environment, made even bleaker by his father’s inability to get steady work in construction as the Teamsters dominated all the new development in the city. It was now all union work, and he was never going to be allowed to join the union.

We parked the car a block away from his parents’ apartment tower. I asked him if he was concerned about the car being vandalized or stolen. He smiled and said they knew him in the neighborhood. It was like having valet parking. He’d throw the boys a sawbuck or two to keep an eye on the car.

His parents lived on the 14th floor. When his mother opened the door to greet us, I could see that the apartment was smaller than what a normal two-bedroom flat was back east. It was a cluttered but homey space and the smell of food cooking in the small kitchen was piquant. His father stood up from his easy chair and smiled broadly. Hank hugged his mother.

“Mama, pops, this is Shuggie. She’s singing with the band now. Taking Honey’s place.”

They shook my hand. Hank’s mother gave me the once over and then spoke. “Well, good riddance to that girl. Don’t say nothing, Hank, but you know I never, ever liked Honey. She was using you.”

“Don’t speak poorly of the dead, Minnie.”

“Pops, she ain’t dead. She just ran off. Expect she might come to her senses in a while. She’ll be back. She’s done this before.”

“She’s dead to me, son. I hope she’s gone away for good. Now, come in and sit down. Tell me how the music business been treating you.”

Minnie took my arm and nudged me toward the kitchen. “Shuggie? Is that your given name or a pet name? Won’t you help me finish cooking supper for the men? Peel some potatoes, please.” She handed me a bowl of new potatoes.

“My mom just roasts these with the skin on. She says nobody has time to peel potatoes.”

“Well, that ain’t the way I do my potatoes. And Hank’s father never complained so peel away, dear. You’re so cute. How old are you, Shuggie?”

“17, ma’am.” She stopped to wipe her hands on a kitchen towel and stared at me for a minute.

“Child, you oughta be finishing school, not gallavantin’ around the country singing and dancing. Your mama and daddy let you do this? You know, Honey ran away from home when she was 17 just like you. I rue the day she met up with Hank. Ain’t nothing good come of that marriage. I thought I’d be a grandma by now, but Honey don’t want no family. No, she wants to be Diana Ross or Gladys Knight. With or without my son. Looks like it’s without.”

“My parents know and approve. My best friend plays saxophone in the band. He’s watching out for me.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“I guess so. I think he is.”

“You better make sure of that. A young girl alone in this world is a scary thing. At least my son’s taken an interest in you. He’s a good man.”

Pops said grace and we all dug in. This was my first taste of soul food or traditional Southern recipes. There were smothered pork chops, collard greens, roast new potatoes, and corn bread to sop up the gravy. A tall glass of sweet tea washed it all down. When Minnie told Hank and Pops that I had peeled the potatoes and placed them in the oven to roast, Pops grumbled that he didn’t think Honey ever set foot in the kitchen. Minnie was about to serve us a dessert of her special banana pudding when the phone rang. Pops answered it and called Hank over, handing the phone to him. A pained look came over Hank’s face as he listened. Slamming the phone down, Hank hesitated a moment and then picked it up again, dialing furiously. A minute later, he told his parents he’d back as soon as he could. I followed Hank as he rushed out of the apartment.

When we arrived at where the Thunderbird was parked, a group of teenage boys snapped to attention. One of them took a rag and wiped the windshield clean. Hank handed out some bills and we hopped into the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Take the next left and you’re on West Division Street. We’ve got a situation here. That was my sister. She’s at nursing school and she heard on the radio that all hell’s broke loose near Humboldt Park on West Division. The police was trying to stop kids from opening the fire hydrants when tempers flared, and it’s turned into a riot—”

“And you want us to drive right into that?”

“My brother’s in that area. He’s a hothead. I got to bring him home. The police will crack skulls sooner than look at us. Just give ‘em an excuse.”

“How do we find him in the middle of all that?”

“He hangs out at a pool hall on Division and Rockwell. Hopefully, he’s still inside. He’s a hothead but he’s not suicidal.” He turned on the radio, hoping to hear more news about the incident. What blared out instead was The Lovin’ Spoonful’s just released single, “Summer in the City.”

“Oh, shit! The cops are stopping cars. They’re looking at licenses.”

“So what? They’ll let you through. Now, if I were driving—”

“I can’t show them my license, Hank.”

“So it’s a Jersey license. It’s good in all 50 states—”

I hit the brakes and hid my face in my hands, my panic rising. “Hank, I’m not a girl! I’m a boy! Don’t you understand?”

“What? The fuck? You’re a guy?!!” He pulled his arm back and, for a second, I thought he was going to slug me. I recoiled in fear. “Tell me this is a joke. Billy’s in on this, right? He always wanted Honey out. He hates her. He planned this, didn’t he? Didn’t he?!!” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me until my hands fell to my side.

“No, Hank. It’s nothing to do with Billy. He didn’t know I was a guy at first. I got mixed up in all of this because of Bobby. I had no idea you guys would hire me to sing. I never even thought of it.”

“Okay, we’ll resolve this matter at a later date. Right now, we gotta find my brother. Get out of the car. We’ll walk it to Rockwell. Come on.” He pulled me out of the car, still shaking, and pushed me forward. As we approached Rockwell Street, we could see groups of cops chasing after young men breaking shop windows and looting. Some warning shots were fired into the air. It was mayhem.

The pool hall was across the street. Hank grabbed my arm. “On 3, run as fast as you can across the street. If we’re lucky, we won’t get shot.” I just nodded. Trembling, I kicked off my low heels, ready to sprint for my life. “3!” We ran. Halfway across the street, amidst scattering looters and agitators, a tear-gas can exploded, almost enveloping me in choking fumes. Hank’s arm reached out and pulled me onto the sidewalk in front of the pool hall. The place was dark and empty. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Hank! I’m over here.” The voice came from behind a dumpster in the driveway halfway down the block.

“Jesse? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. You better get behind this dumpster. There’s no way clear to walk out of this area. The police have been chasing people for an hour or more. They got guns out.” We ran over to the dumpster and hunkered down next to Jesse.

“Jesse, Shuggie.” We nodded at each other. The sound of bullets ripping the air and tear-gas cans impacting the street punctuated the night.

“How’d you know I was down here?”

“Linda called. Said she heard on the radio there was shit going down on the West Side. I know you hang out at the pool hall every night these days. Mama told me.”

“I got my draft letter last week. Supposed to show up for my physical on Friday. I’m never going to see my friends again, Hank. I won’t make it back. I know it.”

“Jesse, I know it looks like you’re shit outta luck but you gotta have faith. The Lord won’t let you die out there. Just like we’re getting the hell out of here tonight, if I can help it.”

Jesse turned to me. “Just who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“I’m with the band. Hank invited me to dinner with your parents tonight. His license is suspended so I had to drive.”

“Okay! So, where’s your car? Let’s make a run for it.”

“We can’t. We ditched the car a few blocks east of here.”

“Why’d you do that? I’ve seen cars go through. If the driver’s not black, they let ‘em pass.”

“It’s because—”

“Look, we just couldn’t get through. Okay? Right now, we’re better off just staying down, out of sight. Maybe things will settle down soon.”

We waited behind the dumpster for what must have been an hour. Waves of looters and agitators kept coming through and the police were combing the area all the way west to Humboldt Park. I was beginning to lose hope that we’d ever get out of this hellish trap when a dark Chevy Impala stopped some yards up the block and two men stepped out of the car. When one of them walked under a streetlamp, the light revealed his face. It was Bobby!

“Bobby!” I shouted. Reflexively, Jesse grabbed me and pushed me down out of sight, afraid I had given away our position to the police.

“Shuggie? Where are you?”

“Bobby! We’re over here. By the dumpster!” Billy emerged from the shadows and followed Bobby as he ran over to us.

“Let’s get in the car. Quick!” Billy shouted. As the three of us hurried to the Impala, Jesse and Hank stopped short, seeing a Chicago cop in riot gear, shouldering a rifle, standing by the hood of the car. A streetlamp’s light danced on the cop’s helmet and his rifle. Billy held up his hands.

“It’s okay. This officer is escorting us out of the danger zone. He understands you had nothing to do with the events tonight.” Hank and Jesse sighed in relief, and we all slid into the car. Bobby saluted the officer as Billy hit the accelerator. We left the mayhem behind as we headed back to Cabrini-Green.

Two hours later, Bobby, Hank and I were sitting in Billy’s hotel suite. Hank and Billy had barely exchanged two words all night, just suspicious glares. Bobby was explaining to me how they had managed to rescue us.

“I just happened to come back to the hotel from dinner when I bumped into Billy in the lobby. He picked up his messages at the front desk, one of which was, of course, from Hank, saying where you two had gone to find Jesse. The guy at the front desk said there was a riot on the West Side. Billy borrowed the guy’s Impala and he drove out there like Jackie Stewart in a Grand Prix race. It’s a good thing you guys stayed behind that dumpster. If you’d wandered off, we’d probably still be looking for you.”

Hank stood up and angrily confronted Billy. “Why you scamming me, Billy? Why didn’t you tell me Shuggie was a guy?”

“I wasn’t ‘scamming’ you. I had no idea about Shuggie until after YOU hired her. You scammed yourself, partner.”

“It’s just too convenient that Honey ran off and you had Shuggie here ready to replace her at the drop of a hat.”

“Well, Hank, let me ask you. Can Shuggie sing?”

“Yeah, of course. That’s why I hired her.”

“Have any complaints so far about how she’s performing on the tour?”

“No, yeah, the audience seems to really like her. But, Billy, she’s a he! When that dude Morrison claimed she was a guy, I thought he was just angry because she’d rejected his advances. Now, I find out he was right!”

“Hank, you, me, Bobby and the wardrobe girls are the only ones who know Shuggie’s a boy. We can do this. She’s very convincing. Goddamit, she walks, talks, and sings exactly like a girl. You can’t deny that.” Hank sat back down and knocked back the remainder of his scotch and soda.

“Do you want me to quit, guys? If it’ll stop you guys from fighting over me, I will. I don’t want to cause trouble.” I stood up and turned toward the door. “I could go back to New Jersey. I guess this was too good to be true anyway.”

“Hank? It’s up to you. Do you want Shuggie to leave?” Hank looked at the three of us, sighed, and took my hand.

“Forget it, Shuggie. Whether you’re a boy or a girl, it don’t matter to me. Just keep singing up a storm, okay? I’m a businessman too. And, so far, you’re very good for business. Stay?”

“Well, a girl can’t turn down an offer like that, can she?”