The Coffee Shop Musician

Ashton Reid sat silently at a one-person table in It's a Grind. The room had been dimmed, and several people were scattered about the coffee shop. She stared at the clock, which hung above the sign that read, Tonight: Live music by Ashton Reid! in colorful lettering.

She was impatiently waiting for six o'clock to roll around, and it was but a minute until then. Suddenly, she heart a soft chiming flow through the room. She sighed, slowly stood up, and grabbed the guitar case that was laid next to her. She glanced back to see a waiter snatch her coffee cup. Ashton grimaced.

"I wasn't finished with that," she muttered, but the waiter paid her no mind, and disappeared behind the counter. Wonderful, Ashton thought, That's just terrific. Her irritation-meter had risen a notch higher.

Ashton, at nineteen, had very little planned for her future. She lived alone in a cramped, untidy apartment. She had little money, most of which came from her job at Barnes&Noble, and her music gig every Friday night.

She sluggishly climbed onto the small, wooden stage, set her case on the ground, flipped open the latches, and gently lifted her guitar from it. She scanned the crowd.The usual, she thought. Some ancient women, a few men who wore crisp suits, and ol' Mr. Jones. There was a new face, though. The man was tall, wore a midnight blue suit, and had a bad comb-over. His lips were pursed; he seemed to be anticipating something.

Ashton quickly shook all thoughts away, cleared her mind, and situated herself on the little wooden stool in front of the microphone.

"Hey guys," she began, "I do see a new face tonight, so, uh, welcome. I'm Ashton (obviously), and this is a little something I wrote." She smiled shyly, cleared her throat, and began.

The music flowed through her, fully surrounded her, and completely consumed her. Her eyes were shut, and her firm strums radiated emotion: sad, sweet, melodic. When the last note in her voice rang out, it was like waking up from a wonderful, beautiful dream. Another song followed that one, and, before she knew it, she had played four, maybe five, songs, and was very thirsty.

"Alright, guys, I'm going to take five," she sighed. Ashton set her guitar down, and stepped off the stage. On her way to order another coffee, much to her surprise, the man in blue stopped her.

"Hi, Ashton. My name is Jerry Wilson. How are you?" Ashton just stared at him. The man's smile faltered, but only slightly. He handed her a mug of steaming coffee. "Would you sit and talk with me? I swear, it'll only take about five minutes." He seemed genuine, and she had nothing to lose; so, she sat.

"You're very good," Jerry said, indicating her guitar on stage. He paused, "Good enough for a deal."

"Ha! As if I'm ever going to get one. I barely have enough to pay rent, much less go to a recording studio," Ashton scoffed.

"Yes, well, what if I told you I could help you? If you're willing to come to a studio sometime, I could, um... 'hook you up'. The catch is, is that, to make it big, you have to be dedicated; you would have to quit your job here, and any other jobs you might have."

Ashton was now very skeptic, and red flags were now flaring in her mind. "How will I pay for my apartment?" she asked cautiously.

"We'll find a way. Anyway, here's my card, so, if you need to call to ask anything, or set up an appointment, my phone number is on that card. As of now, I think I've used up your five minutes," Jerry nodded, stood, and immediately strode out of It's a Grind. As Ashton gawked at the card he had laid on the table, she realized she was still on the clock. Still shocked, she picked it up, and stuffed it in her pocket. She was thinking about how random, how unexpected the offer was.

I'll call him tomorrow, Ashton though, and we'll go from there. For now, I have a job to do. She made her way to the stage, thinking, Maybe it's a scam, and maybe it's solid.

I guess we'll see.