Straight Life - Art Pepper [207]
We were going to play Caesar's Palace in Vegas. They got me a ticket that was paid for by the band and another for Christine that came out of an advance. They gave me another advance so I could rent a room in a motel. We got on the plane and there we were-one day riding around in our little car drinking gallons of Red Mountain and the next on a plane on our way to Las Vegas. We went to the motel and checked in, and there's a swimming pool, and the room's air-conditioned, and Christine's all excited. We've got two hours before the rehearsal. Christine says, "Isn't this wonderful! I knew you'd make it! Now these motherfuckers'll really hear somebody play!" I said, "I'm not so sure." She said, "Fuck 'em. You'll blow their minds. You're the greatest player in the world!" I said, "Did you see a liquor store on the way here?" She said, "Oh, man' you can't have a drink now, can you?" I said, "Well, I've gotta have a drink." She said, "I noticed one about a block away."
We walked to this liquor store. It was burning hot outside. You could see the heat rising off the street. I bought a fifth of brandy, we walked back to the room, I poured out a couple of big drinks, and Christine said, "Here's to success."
The rehearsal was at Caesar's Palace, a beautiful place with a huge fountain. I walked in with another guy from the band. I looked around. I didn't even know Don Menza. The guy who was with me pointed him out. I walked over to him-a redhaired genius with no weaknesses, completely out of my league. He said, "Hi. There it is in the bag over there." I had my mouthpiece in my pocket, a Meyer mouthpiece. I'd saved it, fortunately, because with your own mouthpiece you have half the battle won. I took the horn out, put the reed on the mouthpiece, the mouthpiece on the horn, fastened the neck strap, and I was saying to myself, "Oh God, please play right." I tried it, and it played very, very good, and my fingers felt good on it. I looked up, and Buddy Rich had come in. He had somebody else who was going to play for him; he was just going to watch the rehearsal. Buddy's a little guy about fifty years old, one of the greatest drummers that ever lived, a monster on the drums, and a real arrogant little guy. Everybody's scared of him. I sat down. Don Menza was rehearsing the band. He called out a number. I looked at the music and it looked like Japanese. I told myself, "Am I kidding? I've spent five years with Stan Kenton. I've played the studios. I've been with all kinds of groups and done all kinds of things. Why can't I calm down?" The tune was beat off, and we started.
I guess it was just starting to play, getting into that familiar setting with the sound happening all around me. I began to lose my fear. I read through the thing without any mistakes, and I sounded good. Don gave me a little nod and a little smile. The guy playing third alto, Carlisle Owens, the only black cat in the band, he smiled at me, and the baritone player really liked me, I could tell.
Christine was sitting in the back, and she was really thrilled. She'd never been in such proximity to all this greatness. We played another tune and another, and I was afraid to look at Buddy, but I finally glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at me, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Finally the end came, and Buddy walked up. He said, "How are you doing, Art? Did