Page 3 of Conquest

Jesse hopped off, shaking his fingers through his hair, and fell into stride beside his brother as they walked away from the weathered brown brick building in the direction of their usual burger place up the street. “I read a review of Cabaret in the paper the other day. They were saying it’s the best production of it Chicago has ever seen. They spent two paragraphs gushing over you as the Emcee.”

“Of course. I’m only the best Emcee ever.”

A humorless snort rattled from Jesse’s nose. “Yeah, only because I spent every night with you for three weeks teaching your lame ass how to sing.”

Brandon pushed him on the shoulder, making him stumble. “Like I don’t spend hours teaching you new dance moves for your silly little rock performances.”

“A lot of good it’s done me,” Jesse mumbled.

He lifted his eyes to the Manhattan Building, one of the largest buildings in Chicago over a century ago, now dwarfed by skyscrapers and high-rise apartments. In this area with many of the structures dating back to the end of the 19th century, it was easy to feel the history of the city closing in around him. Normally he loved admiring the old architecture, each building had some sculpture or design that made it unique, but now he walked with his eyes focused on the sidewalk.

Brandon glanced at him, taking in his somber mien. “There’s more bothering you than just what happened with dad, isn’t there?”

“It’s a lot of things,” Jesse said softly.

He stopped outside a small burger joint and pulled open the door. Crossing the pale yellow linoleum floor, he slid into the red vinyl, duct tape patched seat of a booth near a window and pulled a menu out from behind the dented stainless steel napkin holder. He gazed around the greasy spoon decorated to local flavor with pictures of past and present players from the Chicago Bears. Helmets and jerseys from the Big Ten Conference teams, including the Purdue Boilermakers, hung on another wall. He always found it cool to see memorabilia from his favorite pro and college teams, and being on the South Side, it was nice to be in a restaurant that had more White Sox stuff displayed than the Cubs. He turned his attention to the grease stained print of the menu. A sugar packet flew over the top of it, hitting him on the forehead.

“Are you gonna talk or be a pouty little punk all night?” Brandon said.

Jesse lowered the menu and met eyes a shade lighter blue than his own. People always said they looked alike, and he guessed they had some resemblances, save for the fact Brandon had three inches on him and a thicker, medium build. They shared the same jet-black hair color, though Brandon wore his a bit longer than him these days.

Jesse took a breath to speak, but stopped when their waitress walked up. After mimicking Brandon’s order of a Pepsi and a bacon mushroom Swiss burger with an extra side of fries, he focused on answering Brandon. “Things have just been messed up lately. It seems like no matter what I do, I can’t get ahead with my music.”

“You still got Tweedledee and Tweedledum playing with you, right?”

Jesse chuckled at Brandon’s nicknames for his keyboardist and drummer, and leaned back as their waitress returned with their drinks. His laugh slowed, and he took a deep breath, his moment of good humor slipping away with the exhale. “Yeah, Mike’s drumming hasn’t gotten any better since he joined, and Ben can’t work the synth and his keyboard playing blows. I’m trying to teach him ‘Shattered’ but it’s too complex for him. What the hell am I supposed to do? Sing, perform, play keyboard, rhythm guitar, bass, and drums? If it wasn’t for Kenny, I’d be going insane.”

His voice rose with his frustration. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this and where am I? Twenty years old and I can see my future clear as freakin’ day. I’ll be the stock manager at the goddamn bookstore for the rest of my life. I turned down college for this, to live in a shit-hole apartment and play in shit-hole bars, losing more money than I’m making because I’ve got nothing but idiots dragging me down and holding me back. Third largest city in the damn country and I can’t find two people who know how to play their instruments.” He collapsed back in the booth, ending his rant when he saw their waitress coming with their food.

Brandon stared at him from the other side of the table. “Damn. You’re a lot more pissy than usual tonight.”

Jesse glared at him while Brandon drowned his burger in ketchup and squeezed a glob on the side of the plate for his fries. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Brandon shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “It’s too late to be piss-eyeing over college now. Some other book smart, no common sense dork has your seat in pre-law 101.”

Jesse flipped the top bun off his burger. “Thanks, jackass. That was real helpful.”

Brandon lowered his burger to his plate. “What do you want me to say? When you made the decision to keep going with your music, that was the only time I ever thought you might have just a smidge of common sense, but as always, you’ve decided to prove me wrong by acting like you are now.”

Jesse shook the ketchup bottle harder than it needed and flicked it open. “And how exactly am I acting?”

“Like a spoiled little prima donna who expected to have a record deal and a Ferrari after only a year and a half of trying to get noticed. Look at how it was for me my first year trying to be an actor and for the next couple years after that. I thought I was going to be a waiter at the Hard Rock for the rest of my life because it seemed the best I could get was doing community theatre. But I kept with it. I didn’t stop. Was it hard? Hell yeah it was hard, but if it wasn’t then it wouldn’t be a dream now would it?”

Jesse swirled a fry in ketchup, playing with it more than having any intention of eating it. “Yeah, but now look at you. You’re only going to be twenty-five this July and you’re the Emcee in Cabaret.”

Brandon’s face fell serious. “Thanks to your help with my voice.”

Jesse lifted his eyes to Brandon.

Brandon picked his burger up again. “You know what? Just forget it, you should quit. You gotta have stones if you’re going to pursue your dreams. I used to think you had ‘em with the way you can get up in front of people and sing, the stage charisma you’ve got. You’re a different person when you’ve got your music backing you. But now you can just give it up. With the grades you had and being valedictorian, I bet you could even get accepted into Purdue again, then you can work your way through school and get a nice, safe job. I really think that’s the way to go. It’s time for little Jesse Alexander to grow up and become a good boy.”

Jesse clenched his teeth, biting his anger back as much as he could. “How can you say that? My music is everything to me! Singing, playing, writing, it’s all I ever wanted to do! And I never said I was giving it up.” He lowered his eyes, his voice softened. “I just said things have been rough lately.”

Brandon folded his arms on the table. “Look, it’s normal to doubt yourself sometimes. In fact, it’s abnormal that you haven’t doubted yourself until now. But don’t take that self-doubt so far that it makes you fear what you love.”

Jesse nodded slowly. “Your delivery was actually pretty good there.”

“Why do I even try with you!” Brandon threw a fry and hit him on the chest.