(Read: ~10 minutes)
Connie Nelson frequently found herself in the right place at the right time. One day, while checking maintenance work at her apartment building, she saw the elderly owner of the strip mall across the street in the parking lot and waved to him. He waved back and motioned for her to come over to chat. The man told Connie his health issues worried the wife. He quipped she really wanted him to die down in Florida, his wife called it retiring. Either way, he needed to sell stuff to buy stuff. His wife wanted a condo with a boat garage.
“We don’t even own a boat,” the man grumbled. “I always loved your song and I’ve watched your success since then. Figured you might be interested in buying this old strip mall for a fair price.”
Connie agreed without hesitation, successfully arranging the financing in a few days. Once she took control, she talked the owner of the crappy dive bar into going away and took the place over herself. She renovated the space and added a stage for live performances, reopening under a new name, Mulligan’s, a colloquialism for getting a chance to try something over again. Before long, students, faculty and neighborhood locals flocked to the place for drink specials, fried food and come-as-you-are openness.
Connie worked long hours during the day running her businesses, but hung out at Mulligan’s in the evening, satisfied with hanging out with customers drinking from plastic cups and listening to live music.
Rosa, now eighteen and a senior in high school, worked at the reading room after classes. Madame Rouge had lovingly given her an endearing nickname several years before. The origin came from the admiration Maria Constantina del Vecchio and her husband shared for Puccini’s opera La bohème, which the couple frequently performed in the sewing shop in front of customers and friends. Madame Rouge described listening to her parents sing about the young seamstress Mimì, and her friends, living a bohemian lifestyle, creative, freethinking and uninhibited, in Paris during the 1830s. A way of life Lise Tréhot and Auguste Pierre Renoir adopted again thirty years later while a new art movement assaulted the city’s traditional sensibilities.
At first, only Madam Rouge used the pet name for Rosa, but within weeks, the people visiting the young protégé began to use the nickname inside and outside the shop. By her senior year in high school, Rosa was called La Bohème by everyone except her mother and teachers. Before long, dozens of people came to see her on a regular basis, seeking help with their problems, questions and desires. The for-profit status of the reading room gave the young psychic a taste for money early on in her career.
The city of Charlottesville deserves credit for nurturing her popularity. A decent college town lets people be weird. A college town could finally be the place you fit in, conversely, college towns are great if you’re weird and want to stand out. Strange sells. The city lived up to the requirements, rejecting dogma and accepting difference, shouting Down with Tyrants!
Connie took notice of the excitement around La Bohème, watching a line form in a matter of minutes outside the reading room on Christmas Eve. She asked the guy at the end of the line why he was standing there. “I just need to see La Bohème tonight,” he answered. Everyone else in line nodded. Seeing the line at the reading room gave Connie an idea to turn around a failing idea, she tried hosting an open mic night for several weeks, but failed to attract aspiring musicians, which is good because there was no audience. A few days later, after Christmas, she stopped La Bohème on the sidewalk in front of the strip mall and asked her to host the event in a few days. Rosa remembered Connie’s kindness when she and her mother first moved into her apartment building and she agreed to host the open mic to return the favor, while pointing out she had no experience as emcee. Connie had faith and spread the word anyway.
The first night La Bohème hosted, in late December before New Year’s Eve, brought sloppy weather; sleet fell, stinging your cheeks then melting down your chin. But folks were motivated to see La Bohème and came together inside Mulligan’s despite the weather. The rookie emcee looked more nervous than the acts signing up to perform.
Of course, the moment Connie gave La Bohème the mic, she proved a natural on stage, basking in the stage lights, eyes glowing, smile beaming. The crowd instantly loved her and she responded. No matter if the music stunk, everyone enjoyed being around her.
Towards the end of the evening, the final performer on the list flopped big time. Drunks in the crowd started heckling the singer, who froze in the middle of their song, lost and alone. Without hesitating, La Bohème jumped up on stage, put her arm around the shaken act and whispered in their ear. La Bohème backed away and the singer started the song over again, nailing the second attempt and earning a round of applause at the end. As the triumphant performer gathered their stuff and walked off stage, La Bohème reminded the crowd how the acts all chased their dreams. “Anyone can get up on stage and try,” she said.
“I’ll take the challenge,” a voice boomed from the bar’s entrance. Everyone turned and looked, including La Bohème.
A young man with a guitar slung across his back stood next to the front door. Thick, black eyeliner darkened his gaze while his mouth popped with purple lipstick. He wore a faded mariachi coat with gold embroidery down the sleeves, acid washed jeans with holes in the knees and a pair of cowboy boots. His confidence belied the fact he bought the used guitar a couple weeks before and could only play two songs. He came several hours late after needing extra time to talk himself into singing in public for the first time.
“Hola, amigo. Did you forget the rest of your band?” La Bohème joked.
“Nope, all alone,” he answered.
“Better get up here if you want to play,” she commanded. “We’re waiting.”
The man complied and swaggered towards the stage with a sly smile on his face, absorbing the attention of all the eyes focused on him.
“There’s no more hiding tonight,” La Bohème added, checking him out while he stood next to her. “I hope you sound as sweet as you look.”
“Don’t you know already?” he snapped back with a smile.
La Bohème let out an infectious laugh and rolled her head back playfully. “We’ve got a witty one here folks. So, what’s your name, hombre?”
“Jason Clementine; call me Clem.”
“Alright, Clem, tell us about yourself.”
“I’m a recent college dropout and future star,” he answered, completely straight-faced, soliciting laughter from the crowd.
“No doubt,” La Bohème added with a smile. “Give him credit, at least he’s confident,” she called out to the crowd, then turned to the mysterious troubadour.
“Be you, Clem.”
When he finally started, everyone in the audience, including La Bohème, quickly realized Clem’s talent. In only two cover songs, he flashed his own attractive energy rivaling the attractive power of La Bohème. While performing, he focused solely on her; she sat still for the first time all night during his performance, enthralled by the crooning Adonis on stage. When you’re typically a center of gravity, the first time you feel pulled towards another body feels odd, two celestial entities caught in a mix of time and place struggling to find harmony under the influence of another orbit.
Believers say the universe intended for Clem to sing, though he doubted himself. According to legend, everyone inside Mulligan’s felt the forces between Clem and La Bohème. The beer sloshed around their guts with the push and pull between two stars. By most accounts, the attraction developed into a loving and tumultuous relationship. Two suns can’t come together except in a dance of attraction and rejection, just avoiding destruction. Despite their youth, the pair instantly recognized certain truths in each other. La Bohème saw the talent and the turmoil inside Clem. In her, he saw a magnetism he could never overcome.
Stepping down from the stage after nailing his performance, instead of addressing La Bohème, Clem confronted the drunks who’d heckled the floundering singer earlier. “La Bohème is too pleasant to threaten the team of idiots you’ve got sitting here, but I’m not,” he threatened the group of men seated around a table stacked with empty beer pitchers. “Heckle me and I’ll break your face with this guitar.”
The group of men laughed and the largest one stood up to face the wiry Clem. Sensing trouble, Connie swooped in and whisked her new talent towards her space at the bar in order to talk about next steps. She told him she loved his style and the way he sounded, too. Her praise came with a job offer to work at Wahooz on the spot. Plus, after only hearing him sing two songs, she gave him a chance to play a regular set one night a week at Mulligan’s if he managed to pull a band together.
After a few weeks begging and then rehearsing with a couple local musicians willing to take a chance on him, Clem’s band started headlining Monday nights at the bar. Without consultation, Connie named the band Clem and Them in ads she ran in a couple local papers. Whether the group cared for the name or not, it stuck. Rather quickly, Clem’s natural talent began to emerge when he started writing his own songs. With a prolific output, he added a couple of original songs each week to the band’s repertoire. To stimulate interest, the band allowed fans to share recordings of live shows at Mulligan’s among a growing fan base. People in nearby cities sang along to the band’s songs without ever having seen a live show. The band enjoyed success in a regular slot on Monday nights.
Wednesday night open mic with La Bohème remained the most popular night of the week. The rest of the time, Connie booked any band willing to show up, a smooth jazz combo, an all-girl goth punk outfit, a Grateful Dead cover band all played Mulligan’s.
No one drew a crowd like La Bohème. She radiated on stage, displaying the magnetism of Lise Tréhot, the subject of several dozen paintings by Renoir. One can’t help but think about the six years Lise spent opening herself to his piercing gaze, providing the rest of the world a voyeur’s view to their intimacy, baring her soul in oil on canvas.
Channeling the model’s strength, La Bohème handled the spotlight like a pro from day one, even if she ultimately struggled to accept the impact of scrutiny. Despite having an awe inspiring stage presence, she always wound up in the crowd mingling. Sometimes, she never stood on stage at all and hosted the whole night while working the room. Instant, cold readings always provided a laugh or shock for both volunteers and the audience.
“You just got a job. The boss is a dick and you already want to quit.”
“You bought a car. You settled for white when you wanted blue.”
“You just got dumped and came here tonight to get laid. You’ve already picked out several candidates.”
La Bohème never apologized for getting readings wrong. “I chose the wrong perspective,” is how she explained the erroneous predictions formed from a mosaic of what she saw, heard and experienced, in different times and places, a sensation similar to memories we all experience about our own lives.
Her correct assessments far outnumbered her mistakes and people kept coming to see her. Mulligan’s filled up hours before open mic began and Connie sold lots of wings, burgers and fries and plenty of cheap, cold beer. A swelling audience encouraged a growing list of performers to take the stage. With La Bohème the emcee, dozens of performers signed up every open mic night, hoping for approval from her and the crowd. La Bohème always supported the acts by noting what she admired about their performance, and she stuck around until everyone got their chance. No one heckled or booed again.
Connie loved open mic night with La Bohème and the regular night from Clem, but she really wanted to get both back on stage together. The reunion came unexpectedly when an old LA hair band canceled a gig on short notice. Undaunted, Connie seized the opportunity to pitch an old-fashioned vaudeville show, part circus, part talent contest, to La Bohème and Clem. Connie promised to find acts if the pair hosted together. La Bohème thought the show sounded fun. Clem hated banality and only agreed to participate when Connie offered him a raise at the record store in return.
Connie really hustled to pull a show together in time and scraped the barrel to create her lineup of performers. She realized people wanted to see La Bohème and Clem rather than the silly acts. The two hosts and the audience’s reaction to their charisma and chemistry made the show. Anybody who came to Mulligan’s expecting a washed up glam band from L.A. wound up seeing a string of goofs and oddities Connie wrangled at the last minute by calling in favors from fellow weirdos while La Bohème and Clem watched and commented. The audience loved the small scale spectacle.
A clown named Dusty Lantern made boobs and dicks out of balloons. A ventriloquist act with a plastic skull named Death told dirty jokes. A lady led her dog through agility tricks with balls, sticks and hoops. Musical acts included a one-man band with an assortment of self-invented instruments and a tuba virtuoso from the university who played a five-minute solo. But, the fruit-themed Dewberrys stole the show, dressed in colorful outfits, singing original children’s songs, including the titles We Don’t Hit and Pattycake Hand Jive. The band consisted of lead singer and tambourinist Wildberry, joined by her bandmates, keytar player Mulberry, with Huckleberry on the bass. Their catchy interactive song called Inside/Outside Voices won over the audience with Wildberry directing the crowd to whisper or scream according to her enthusiastic encouragement.
Most of the night, Clem sat on stage in an old recliner he carried in from a curb near the bar. Of course, La Bohème spent her time with the crowd, laughing along with everyone else while the strangeness played out, doing bits, while Clem chimed in with a joke or observation, and Connie kept the show running behind the scenes.
Afterwards, the neighborhood felt different according to long-time residents. Naysayers quickly blamed gentrification driven by the university’s rapid growth. Others attributed the revival of energy and interest to an eighteen-year-old La Bohème. Connie pushed to do a follow up to the first show, except the next time she wanted to put on an expansive show. In order to herald the emergence of La Bohème, she wanted to surpass the parking lot parties back in Madame Rouge’s hey-days. She came up with the idea for a day-long vaudeville festival with a main stage under a big top tent in the parking lot of the strip mall and of course La Bohème and Clem hosting the curated parade of strange and weird acts surrounded by food trucks, beer gardens and craft vendors.
Arlo Gust 