LB |
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Chapter 10 |
| About a week before the first show in Berkeley, Theresa and I were in Fry's grocery store. In the frozen food aisle
was a new display of Little Golden Books. You know the ones - everybody had them. If you had just one book when
you were a kid, I will guarantee you it was a Little Golden Book. This display had not been there before, never
in the eight years we'd been going there. It disappeared equally as fast - the following week it was gone. I walked
past... no! It wasn't! Couldn't be! I took a step back. Color Kittens! WOW! That was my favourite book ever
when I was little. That one, which was actually Theresa's, and Little Mommy, a Little Golden Book of mine. I nabbed
it, the only copy. My heart leapt. I had to get this. I flipped through it even though I didn't need to -- those
pictures have never left my head and... I wondered if Natalie could use a new book? They'd been on tour for a month
now. It was pretty flat (the book, not the tour). There's always room for one more book. K. and M. had met Peggy Sue when she was in New York. They'd gone to see the Pretenders and she'd been there on business, so they set up a meeting. K. was considering coming to California to see the band in Berkeley. Peggy Sue asked if he was coming out. He said he wouldn't have the money. I'd bought a couple extra tickets, just in case they did. M. backed out much earlier. Peggy Sue asked me if I was going to the show in Costa Mesa. Costa Mesa?! Did she know how far away that was? Don't be ridiculous (of course, I'd already just gone all the way across the country for one show). “I thought if you were going, I'd make the trip up there and finally meet you.” “Nah. We're only going as far as Fresno.” “OK.” She sounded disappointed. “I guess if you aren't going, I won't go.” In the same conversation, the Pretenders fan club came up. She asked me, Weren't you in the fan club?” “No. I sent an international money order for it, but I never got anything back.” She pushed it, Didn't you write and tell them you didn't get anything?” Kids don't do that. Adults do, but kids do not. “No.” Then you don't have the Chain Gang t-shirt? “No.” Boy, I was getting bummed, thinking about what I'd missed out on. The next week a big envelope arrived. She'd sent me the Chain Gang shirt - she had a few in her shop. I called to thank her. Did she want me to pay her for it? “Oh, no! I was glad to send it. You guys really help me out sometimes, know what I mean?” “Yeah, I do. Thank you.” James Honeyman-Scott had an appetite for life seldom seen in others. His rare, unique personality made losing him that much harder to take. Time does deaden most nerves, but there are some it never is able to touch. That horrible filtered air in enclosed compartments (trains and planes) makes me sick. I become really ill as it dries out my throat and all those germs pile into my system and attack me. Got home, fell ill. I progressively lost my voice, a blessing to those around me. Two days before the first show in Berkeley, my voice was completely gone. I couldn't make a sound. What if I got to see Chrissie again? I couldn't make a single little noise. Damn. It was disheartening, but I was still me and still determined, dammit! I ate bags of Vicks cough drops and kept my yap shut so as not to put any further strain on my vocal chords. Kristi called. Jennifer answered the phone. I was sitting in the kitchen, watching, helpless, as Jennifer told her no, I couldn't talk. Kristi thought I was snubbing her. "No, really, she can't talk. She's sick and lost her voice." I ran and got some paper. What does she need? "When are we going up there?" We worked out all the details as I wrote answers and Jennifer read them. Since Kristi lived in Santa Cruz, she'd stay at my house after the Berkeley shows, and we'd all drive to Fresno together the following morning. More Vicks, more concentrating, more rest. Damn. I was able to speak just a bit the following day. The night of August 30 was stomach-turning. I felt sick all night. I can speed up the healing process significantly, but it makes me fevered and nauseated. That, and I knew I'd get to see Hynde again. Got up the next day. Test, test -- YOW! -- oops -- shhhhhh! I could talk! Hot dog. Let's go! Got in line early. K. and M. told me over the phone about a girl they'd met in New York. After they'd talked to her for awhile about the band, the subject turned to collecting. They were going over bootlegs and she had one that K. had been trying to hunt down. I think it was Cynical Sensation. She had two copies, but didn't want to sell one to him. He was so mad, he ended it with, "That bitch wouldn't even sell the extra one to me." They didn't really like her much. She was too greedy for our group, but they exchanged addresses anyway. But they always referred to her as "That Bitch." And there she was. I listened to her talk to someone for awhile. It had to be her. She was pleasant, distant and formal. I'm not skilled at conversation. I never know what to say to anyone. If it's Pretenders, oh, I'll talk for hours. Anything else and I'm lost. I specifically avoid the subject of weather, just because I don't want someone to think I don't know what to say. I don't want to say anything dumb. Of course, I don't want to bring up anything personal, and to me everything is personal. When it comes to casual conversation, I think too much. If I can get someone else to talk, great, most likely they'll go on forever. I've got the easy job then, all I have to do is nothing... just keep my mouth shut, pretty much. Unfortunately, this will not work on Hynde. I've never tried it, but I know her well enough to know it won't work. She talks about herself more than she'd like to, for starters. I think she's even more weird about what is personal than I am. This bums me out as I will probably never have an actual conversation with her. My "don't say anything dumb" guard is up so high when I'm around her, I can't even see the top of it. What am I supposed to say? "I love the albums"? "I bought all your records"? Please. I would never mention the fact that I'm an obsessive collector. Even if she already knows, it's not anything she'd want to hear about, and I'd feel like an idiot. I don't know what we'd talk about in depth, if we ever got the chance, but it certainly wouldn't be all the Pretenders crap I have. I usually just wait for her or any of the band members to talk about whatever they want. You learn a lot more if you keep your mouth shut. So this girl is kinda free now and I say, "You must be B...," and she took it from there. I left the part out about how K. said she was a bitch. If I'd been the one who called her that, I wouldn't care if someone repeated it. So what. If you're gonna say it, say it. But I didn't think K. would appreciate it. Met B. Really wanted to see the guys again with Kristi. We got out of line, as we'd all done all day -- everyone knew their place. We were only going around the corner -- not even 20 feet away, as I remember it. We were over there talking. I sat on the ground and was putting Pretenders buttons (all of them that I had) on my army shirt. You attract more hard-core fans when you flash a neon sign -- they are more likely to come up to you, so it's a good way to contact more fans. Besides that, your brain does not function normally when you are a teenager. It really doesn't, as we will discover again later. A friend of mine (more a friend of Jennifer's), Craig, was this huge fan of Simple Minds. He'd loved them for years and this was like his dream come true. We called him over. A limo turned the corner on the street below us and came up the hill to where we were. It was the male Pretenders. We said our hellos and they went in. Hey -- ooooh -- where were they staying? Limo drivers are sworn to secrecy, but they're only human. Craig was a sly one and people would always tell him stuff, so we turned him loose on the driver and moved far enough away that we couldn't hear them. Craig waved his cigarette around a lot. I was thinking -- what is he doing -- is that a secret magic wand? In a way, I suppose it was. He gave the driver one. They stood there, both happily sucking down smoke. Mr. Driver went in when he was done. Craig came over and started laughing. "Did you find out?" we asked excitedly. The driver wouldn't tell at first, Craig said. When Craig lit a smoke, he noticed the driver squirming, so he started in on how good it was, how woooon-derful it felt... the poor driver was trying to quit and didn't have any cigarettes with him, he told Craig. So for one cigarette, he told us where they were staying! He was weak and we took advantage of him. It was cruel, but not nearly as bad as what we did next. Some girl heard us talking and came into our circle. "Hey, you guys know where the band is staying?" We all looked at each other -- uh-oh. I didn't want the band's hotel overflowing with fans. Shit, shit, shit. I denied it. "We were just wondering where they were staying." I'm a horrible liar, but I really didn't want to say. I didn't want 500 people banging on their doors all night. If it is "your" band, you're responsible for all the fuck-ups you or your friends create. So it was really up to me -- oh, incredibly bad liar -- to fix this. Great. "Yes you do know, come on. I swear I won't tell anyone." Yeah, right. She'd heard too much for me to convince her otherwise. And she was talking loud and drawing attention to the fact that we knew where the band was staying. There are always people who know which hotel the band is at. There will always be people who find out one way or another. It is unpreventable, but I didn't want to triple that number. "I really can't tell." "COME ON, I WON'T TELL ANYONE!" She had to shut up - NOW. And I had to be the one to do it. "OK, man, really, don't tell anyone." "I won't." "They're staying at the Fairmont in San Francisco, but DON'T TELL ANYONE!" She squealed with delight and ran off to tell the world. We heard the whispers of the hotel name and directions on how to get there throughout the rest of the day. I winced whenever I heard it. Maybe the driver lied to us? Hey, what if he did? We were just a bunch of dumb kids, he could have. I hadn't considered it until later. I tried to stay away from everyone, feeling guilty and not wanting to hear anymore of this information being passed around. We could hear the soundcheck. Martin sang "Thumbelina." Tracy, Martin's wife came out. She had their new (I've yet to see an old one) baby in a stroller. She said hi to me and I said hi back. Ended up telling her what I'd done, which she thought was funny. Her laughter made me feel better, as I knew I'd done the right thing, no matter how bad I felt about it. Talked to her for awhile. She was awfully nice. Kristi came over sometime during this. We were laughing at the "If found, return to Warner Bros. Records" sticker & address tag that was on the stroller. It was funny because it looked like it was for the baby, but I assume they meant the stroller. Martin came out and got back into the limo. Tracy too. Malcolm came out. He and Kristi were pals, kinda. She really liked Malcolm. Still does. They talked for a bit and he said he would put her on the guest list for "special seating." He wasn't sure where it was, but he said they were supposed to be really good seats. I guess it came up that she didn't have floor seats. None of us did. So he put her plus one down for special seating. She said I could have the other ticket. Man, we were set. We didn't bother getting back in line, smug now with our "special seating" from Malcolm. He got in the car and they left. Kristi and I were excited about "special seating" and from seeing the guys. Heard someone behind us. Robbie. He walked up and stopped. I started to laugh a bit, realizing what had happened. He looked around and asked "Where is everyone?" I was really laughing by then. "They left." He just stood there for awhile, not knowing what to do. He was not happy, and it didn't help that I was laughing at him. Finally he looked at us and asked, "Either of you have a car nearby?" "I do!" Kristi yelled, running to get it, and suddenly halfway down the hill. "Be right back!" For the first and only time in my life, I had a Pretender all to myself. And he couldn't go anywhere. And it was Robbie. Life is cruel. Since it was me, I didn't know what to say. But I didn't want to just stand there and be dumb. I tried a couple of subjects. Robbie was not nice. OK, so he wasn't in a good mood and didn't feel like talking (to me, anyhow). But you'd think he'd be a bit nicer to someone whose friend was giving him a ride back to the hotel. I never did like him. I never liked how he played -- those ungodly ten-minute guitar solos. What did Honeyman-Scott call them -- "widdly-woos"? Boring. But Chrissie liked him and that's what counted, I guess. Well, gee, this was fun. Silence doesn't make me uncomfortable unless it's demanding, like it was in San Francisco with Chrissie, so it was OK, I guess. I'm always the one in the waiting room reading and not squirming because of the earsplitting silence, it just doesn't bother me. I didn't say anything else. He stood there and waited. And waited. Some people saw him and came over. Started talking to him. He was pleasant with them. Robbie did not like me, which was fine and mutual. What sign is he? I think part of it was ass-trological. Where was Kristi? Sometime later she pulled up. Robbie got in the back and they were off. Well, at least we'd know for sure now where they were staying. When she returned she told me why it had taken her so long to get up here. She'd run to the car, just down the street, and started back when she got pulled over by the police, for having only one license plate. She'd given Chrissie a RD SPIDR plate and never replaced it. And never had a problem until the moment Robbie needed a ride. She told the officer it had just been stolen a few days before and, no, she hadn't reported it yet as she hadn't had time, but would do that very soon. He didn't know whether to believe her or not, so he asked a lot of questions, detaining her. She said she took Robbie to the hotel -- the one the driver had named. I cringed. I'd almost hoped that if everyone showed up at the Fairmont and there was no band, I could say the driver lied to us and not be lying myself. Robbie didn't talk to her and she looked in the mirror once to make sure he was still in the car. To his credit, he did something awfully amusing. She had these yellow cardboard sunglasses from Carl's Jr., a West Coast burger chain. The lens frames were shaped like two stars from their logo, the "lenses" flimsy little sheets of plastic. This was Carl's Jr.'s equivalent of the Burger King crown. When she looked up into the mirror, he was sitting there -- Robbie McIntosh, lead guitarist for the world-famous rock band The Pretenders -- wearing these silly cardboard star-shaped sunglasses. When it was close to show time, Kristi and I decided to sell our extra tickets, seeing as we had "special seating" and all. I had two tickets -- I'd bought a few extra and given them to friends, made sure I had one for K. because he was thinking about coming out for the show. He didn't make it. Tickets were $13.50 plus service charge. Don't know what the scalpers were asking for them, but they hung around like sharks trying to buy up anyone's extra tickets so they could hoard them and charge more. This couple needed one ticket. Kristi said, "Over here." They came over. How much? "I don't know." We're some scalpers, huh?. Kristi was trying to remember how much it had cost with the service charge. A scalper came up and started in -- I'll give you $30 for it. Right here, c'mon, whaddya say? What she said was "No." He kept up. Probably give her $30 and sell it for twice that. He kept up and we couldn't think or talk. He ended his rap with, "You are all going to jail." He walked off, as two police officers were walking towards us. This was in the days before they just said, "You can't sell tickets here, you have to go down the street." This was scalp a ticket, go to jail. Oh shit, I'm going to jail, go directly to jail, do not see The Pretenders, do not collect new tour shirts. Shit. And we weren't even scalping them. Damn! We all quickly and very quietly exchanged names so we could pose as friends, if need be. "What's going on here?" The guy from the couple said, "My friends Kristi and Lisa are selling me their extra ticket for the show...for the same price they paid for it... why?" Innocence -- good one. I nodded. The police eyed us and nodded back. "OK, enjoy the show." "Thanks," I chirped to make it sound totally legitimate. Sold the ticket. How trusting we were, assuming all would go well and nobody would screw up or forget. Then again, that only happens with me and Chrissie. I split off to get rid of one of my tickets. Thought it would be neat to keep the other one unused. Found a girl who needed one. "How much?" "I don't care." That was a weird answer, but I didn't care. "I think I have a twenty." She was digging in her purse. I didn't have a five, so I'd give her ten dollars for change. Then I opened my mouth to tell her to just go ahead and take it. "Oh, here!" She pulled at something in the bottom of her purse. It was a ten dollar bill. "Oh," she said, disappointed. "That's cool," said I. "Really?" "Yeah." That could go towards a shirt. Went with Kristi to get our special seating whatevers. We got gray complimentary tickets. The price says "0.00". The regular tickets were red. Neat! These were general admission, like the ones we'd just sold. We got cloth passes that said "Special Seating." Ooooh, how exciting! It was like a backstage pass. Wow. I was in awe. Absolutely stricken by this -- cloth passes! We put our passes on and went in. I stuck mine on my leather jacket (the glue has yet to come off). The Greek Theater is named that because, well, it's shaped like a Greek theater. The sides are steep -- they have lectures in there. There's a grass area, too. It's not bowl-shaped, more like a drinking glass. We looked around for "special seating," which was... where? Spotting a sign for it, we walked over. An area was roped off and had security around it. Kristi and I looked at the seats, looked at each other, looked at the stage, looked at each other again and said in unison, " NO WAY!" It was on the side, up pretty high, and almost in the back. Shit. Fuck this! They were like the worst possible seats! It was like a band "family and friends seen-the-show-every-night- and-tired-of-it-ho-hum" area. We ran (and I mean ran) to the other side searching for seats. Found two on the end of a row. Much better than those other seats. What a gyp. Believe me, it's much funnier now than it was then. And it's probably even funnier if you are not me. Oh well-- Hey! How did Craig get down there on the floor? He was in the fifth row or something. Man. Jennifer found us and was able to grab an empty seat behind us. She had just come from work, so she still had her office clothes on. Good show. Nothing really notable that I can recall. Afterwards Craig told us the first five rows were general admission. My dad's right about me -- I really outsmart myself sometimes. Oh well, there's always tomorrow... We piled into the cars -- me, Jennifer, Kristi, Craig and Theresa -- and headed for the band's hotel. You know, the Claremont, in Berkeley. Show of hands -- how many people went to the Fairmont in San Francisco instead? I am so sorry. Your brain really doesn't function properly when you're a teenager. I didn't see anything wrong with it at the time, but I would never, ever go to the band's hotel now. You'd about have to kill me and drag my cold dead body through the doors. Why? Because it's such a violation of privacy. Privacy (other people's) is way at the bottom of your "important stuff" list when you're young, but when you finally grow that brain -- WOW! It's up there at the top now, huh? (And if it's not, and you're still a nosy fuck, then it's time for a little self-evaluation.) I wasn't off to a really bad start, though, limiting myself to the lobby (except later in Fresno, when we were positive the band wasn't even there), so as not to bother anyone. Sometimes, no matter how hard you look, you only see part of the picture. When we got to the hotel, there were plenty of fans there. I'd say twenty perhaps. Saw Tracy and went over to have a chat. Some other fans -- no one I knew -- were talking to her as well. I'd brought my scrapbook, hoping to get Chrissie to sign it. Tracy looked through it. Would she sign it? Of course! My plan was to have all my Pretenders pals sign it -- then that light bulb went off to have the band sign it. And can you believe I forgot to make K. and M. write in it? Geez. Everyone was still raving about what Martin had written. I was talking to Tracy when Chrissie without eyeliner walked by. And just like that I turned and trailed her. She's magnetic. But I kept a big space between us, as she appeared to be going somewhere in a hurry. The downstairs was divided into two parts. When you first came in, there was a gift shop and a sandwich shop on the right and a large area (with nowhere to sit). But if you kept going when you went in, kept straight, you'd pass between two partitions that stuck out on each side dividing the entrance (sandwich/gift shops and the front desk/lobby and bar). I was in the lobby when she walked by. I stopped by the partition, since she seemed to be heading for the sandwich shop. Before she got to it, I turned back to the lobby. Who wants to be bothered when they're eating? Went over to Jennifer. "Where's Theresa?" "Don't know." I turned -- Theresa was just getting there. She'd taken a wrong turn and had to go around the block, then look for a place to park. She made a beeline for me. "Man," she said, lowering her voice, "when I was coming in, Chrissie was going into that sandwich shop with Jim" (Jim? I didn't see him. That's how it is with her, sometimes she's the only thing you see), "and all these people were following her in there (there were people in the entrance). She got really mad, threw everyone out and kicked the door prop out of the way and it slammed shut." Huh. Well, nobody should have followed her in there. When you need to eat, you need to eat. Jennifer and I saw Rupert Black. Jennifer wanted his autograph -- she thought he was cute. He was alone. We went over to him. I asked him to sign my scrapbook that everyone was now having fun with. "Oh," he said, "you don't want me to sign it -- I'm not really in the band." I thought that was so sad. I made him sign it. Theresa went to get a Coke. She was probably the only one who dared to go in the sandwich shop once Chrissie slammed the door. I was still eating Vicks. She came back with her Coke and said Chrissie was sitting in there looking through her purse yelling, "Where's my eyeliner?! WHERE'S MY EYELINER?!?!" and slamming stuff around. Pissed around in the lobby for awhile. When I looked around the corner, Chrissie was signing stuff. Jim must be made of vapor, because once again I did not see him. Chrissie had her back to me. Damn, I thought, how'd she eat that fast? She was about done signing stuff and was on the last pieces when I came in. I came up behind her. But I felt too close. I'm weird about my personal space and didn't want to invade hers, so I stepped back. Then I thought, oh God, she's gonna turn, take a step without looking and slam right into me. So I moved back more. Then I was too far back. I was looking at her legs, trying to figure out how big of a step she'd take, moving up, then back, gauging her step. Finally mapped it out and looked up. Everyone was looking at me because I kept moving up, then back, then up, little step back, one more, no, too much... I must've looked like a nut. I knew she'd turn and take a step without looking. We needed space for that. We also needed a comfortable distance between us so we weren't on top of each other. Oblivious to all this action taking place behind her and the looks I was getting, Chrissie turned and took a step without seeing what was there first. Which brought her to me, our personal space intact. Fuck all of you -- I knew what I was doing. Uh-oh, my turn now. Do I hafta ask? She smiled and took the scrapbook from me. Whew. Thanks, Hynde, for knowing what a dweeb I am and not saying anything about it. People were throwing questions at her. She sat down on the edge of a big planter by the wall and put her little plate down. Oh, that's how she ate so fast. She only ate half of her sandwich and left her crust. Answered a question while putting my book on her lap. Opened it, saw Martin had been there before her and taken up the whole front. Closed it, flipped it over, opened the back cover and wrote her name pretty damn big as well. Snapped it shut and held it out for me to retrieve. She didn't hold it out far, kept it pretty close to her so I walked over and got it, said thanks as someone yelled out another question. She just looked at me, smiling. I smiled back. I love her smile, and know what? It's even better when it's for me. Looked around and waited (but not too long). OK, you dummies, if no one else wants to I certainly will. I sat down next to her. Held out the book I'd bought for Natalie. "I had this book when I was little and I loved it. Found a copy of it today so I got it for Natalie." "Oh great!" she said, taking it. "She needs some new books -- she gets bored with the same ones after awhile." Which was what I figured... and on tour, how many can you bring? Still smiling, she turned to answer the question she was asked when I said "Thanks." I was wearing my '82 tour shirt, my army shirt on my lap now, as it was hot. On the back it says "US and Far East" with some flags, including Japanese and US. I was leaning forward and the guy standing next to me asked where they were going next. Now, this was like THE BIGGEST TOUR OF THE YEAR. Everyone knew they were going to Japan next. I thought it was a really stupid question and tsked at it. Chrissie gently but unmistakably reprimanded me with a glance. How does she do that? She was right -- I'd better behave properly. So his next question after her answer of "Japan" was, "Oh... have you ever been there before?" She looked at me. Behave my butt, we both laughed. She's better able to get a grip and gave a quick "Yeah." But she had to turn her head because I was still chuckling and couldn't stop. Don't get me started -- I'll laugh until I fall on the floor crying. Kristi approached and handed Chrissie a copy of the RD SPIDR picture. She looked at it. "Oh, I remember that!" Believe me, if Chrissie remembers something it is a rare treat (OK, that's mean -- I'm joking. Well, I'm half-joking anyhow. It's one of those things that, if I say it, it's OK -- if you say it, you're probably in trouble.) Kristi said, "I gave you the license plate, and she (pointing at me) gave you a black shirt with a telecaster on it." Chrissie looked at me, thinking... remembering? "Oh, yeah!" she said, giving me an affectionate smack on the arm with the back of her hand, then continued with a look of excitement over remembering something (good) long-forgotten, "Hey, I kept that." "Wow, really? Neat!" She seemed really delighted by this, but I don't know why. When Chrissie wasn't looking, I'd look at her sandwich. I could not figure out what was on it. I wasn't a vegetarian at the time, so I couldn't guess. Looked like multi-grain bread with an orange cheese that had parsley flakes in it. Yuck. Then again, I'm a vegetarian now and I still couldn't guess what it was. I only looked when her head was turned. Guess what I learned? Don't even try it, Chrissie always knows. Still eating Vicks, I started to unwrap one (not because I was hungry, my throat was still not healed) and she turned back to me. "You can have that, if you want it," she said, indicating her sandwich. My guess was it was gross and she didn't like it. I hadn't eaten all day and was starving. I thought it would be rude to ask what the hell was on it, since it wasn't identifiable. I didn't want her to think I was looking at it because I wanted it, I just couldn't figure out what it was. "No, but thank you anyhow." Craig came in. "Hi." "Hi," I said. Chrissie looked at me. "This is Craig Rose -- he's like the biggest Simple Minds fan in the world." "Yeah? Does he have Simple Minds ping-pong balls?" "Yeah, and Simple Minds promo only oven mitts." We all started laughing again. Craig scurried off to talk to Jim as he'd never met him before. Chrissie said something about Craig's eyeliner (no, it wasn't "Can I borrow it?" -- she'd found hers, apparently). I don't remember what, but I ended up saying something about how we always got insulted for how we looked and dressed. "Really? I thought San Francisco was supposed to be hip." "Oh, yeah, it is-- but we don't live in San Francisco, we live down in San Jose. Things are very different there, we're always getting into trouble for how we look. The only time we're safe is in San Francisco." She nodded. Being from the shadow of a big city, like we were, she knew what it was like. And everyone knows the story of her and Judy Nylon being chased by "rockers" and getting beaten up. My sister walked in. I love to hear her tell the story because she says, "Yeah, I walk in and there's Chrissie and Lisa holding court." Because we were sitting next to each other and everyone else was back at least ten feet, fanned out, from corner to corner covering half the room, asking questions. Someone mentioned the bar. "Ugh," I interrupted, "don't go in there -- the band is awful." I wasn't old enough to go in there, but I could hear them from the lobby. She said, "Yeah? What're they playing?" At the same moment I said, "Just The Way You Are," Chrissie suggested "Don't Go Changin'?" -- the same Billy Joel song. We started laughing again, losing everyone except my sister who knows every song on the planet. Then she leaned over to me and gave me a nudge with her elbow, making us both laugh harder. Chrissie called Jim over. I can still hear that sweetness in her voice, the happiness, "Jim? Jim darling... come here." Jim came in -- oh, so he wasn't a vapor after all. More questions. Someone asked where the baby was. Chrissie said, "Sleeping." Jim said, "She's out clubbing." We all laughed. I opened my mouth to say, "She's at a milk bar," thought that would be too bad of a pun and decided not to say it. "She's at a milk bar," Chrissie laughed. I looked at my sister -- she knew I was going to say that. My bad jokes and puns are well known. Damn, I will never pass over a bad line again -- Chrissie might get the credit for it. Jim asked if he could look at my scrapbook. "Sure!" I handed it to him. Chrissie and I were having fun and laughing. Jim was looking through the scrapbook, then he looked at Chrissie and she looked back. He held up the book, open to the page with their wedding picture. She got up and went over to look at the picture, then turned to me. "Where'd you get that?" I went to look at the picture too. "It was in Rolling Stone. Creem, too." She and Jim just looked at each other. "That PRICK!" she exclaimed. "He wasn't supposed to do that!" Jim closed the book and asked if he could borrow it overnight. I had some old stuff in there and it had taken a long time to put together. "Um..." Nervous now. "OK." What was I supposed to say? A couple of girls approached. One of them handed Chrissie a cassette tape. She took it. The girl who'd given it to her said, “This is a demo tape of me. I play guitar, write and sing.” A demo tape? Give her something to listen to - don't audition! Chrissie looked at me. Her expression made me bite my lip as I tried not to smile. I looked down. Sorry, Chrissie, I'm no help. She asked, “Why are you giving this to me?” “Because I think you're really good, and I want to be in a band with you.” Was this for real? I was going to laugh if this continued. Chrissie could see my face since, while turning away so this girl couldn't see me if I laughed, I'd turned it in her direction and was looking over my shoulder. I couldn't help it, I grinned. Chrissie looked back at me, which made me smile hard. I put my head down more. No, I really am of no help. Chrissie, herself trying not to laugh, said, “But I'm already in a band.” “I know, but I want to work with you.” She looked at me again. I was peeking up, watching her. It was easy to see now that I was laughing, even with my hand covering my mouth. Smiling with disbelief, her gaze returned to them. She shook her head. “But... but I'm in a band. I...” This was ridiculous and she didn't know what more to say. It's difficult explaining the obvious. What more can you say? So many people asked and said such mindless things to her - was it always like this? How intolerable. They eventually left and Chrissie looked at me, shaking her head. I was laughing openly now and she started in again too. Two more girls came up and started talking about the February 27th show. They'd been up in the front, they said. Chrissie looked interested, "Oh, really? How was it?" "Oh," groaned one, "hot." "And you couldn't breathe," the other clanged, "and we just about died of thirst..." I looked at Chrissie. Hey! Where'd that smile go? She looked at me. "I was in the front row, too. I thought it was wonderful. I had a great time." There was that smile again. I like that. I think I'll persuade her to keep it there. I'd moved away a bit to talk to Theresa. I looked down -- Jennifer didn't have any shoes on. They weren't in her hands, either. "Where are your SHOES?!" She was embarrassed. "I took them off at the show and someone stole them." "Oh no!" I said, laughing in disbelief, "not the new blue snakeskin pair!" They were brand new and extremely expensive, and she loved them. "Yeah." "Oh, man." Chrissie came over. "What size do you wear? I can give you a pair." Jennifer was shocked. "Oh no, it's OK, really." "You sure?" "Yeah, thanks." I took my boots off and handed them to Jennifer. We always had the same boots -- she had a pair identical to the ones I was wearing, except for the size. "Here. At least I have black socks on so no one will notice." She took my boots and went to put them on. They didn't exactly go with her work clothes, but they were better than nothing. I turned back to Chrissie. "Well, this was a lot of fun. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." "Good night," she said, smiling -- again. I turned, took one step and heard, "I'll tell you I DON'T LIKE YOU!" The voice behind me tore through everything in its path. It was loud. It was clear. It was the most ferocious, venomous, murderous, fierce sound I've ever heard in my life. It was Chrissie. There would be no mercy. I froze. I couldn't move if I had to. Couldn't breathe. What did I do? What could I have just done? I had a hundred thoughts at once. But, but, but... what did I do? She'd just been so happy. We'd just said "good night." I stood there awaiting my execution. Theresa and Jennifer were right in front of me, looking over my shoulder -- but I didn't notice them at first, I was blinded by that voice. I heard some sort of whimper. Very, very slowly I turned around. And found that she wasn't yelling at me. Theresa explained later, "Some girl was hangin' on Jim, had her arm around him." Then, "You should've seen your face -- you just stopped and went white. You looked so terrified I couldn't believe it." Yeah, I know. I've never been afraid like that. Not ever. Not when I was almost abducted from a playground when I was eight, not with a would-be child molester, not when I was almost killed by a train or pinned under a car. Never. I consider that to be my closest near-death experience (ha ha, but I do). I wanted to rip that girl's throat out for making Chrissie so mad. I moved for her but stopped. Well. Well, huh. OK. Uh -- well, OK. Apparently, Chrissie could handle it herself. I mean, she'd almost made me shit bricks so she certainly didn't need me for anything. We left. The strange part is, OK -- I'm a Leo. I exaggerate once in awhile (ahem). Well, some people say I do, anyhow. I fatten my stories so that they weigh heavy against other people's usually anorexic, bony tales. Really, with all of the things that have happened to me, I've never been as shaken as I was when she yelled. But as truly terrifying as that was, I'm not afraid of her. Why should I be? I've never tasted her venom. Theresa and Jennifer had been in the lobby for most of the time Chrissie generously allotted us. They'd missed most of the fun. |
