LB |
|
Chapter 11 |
| We got there early the next day. Special seating my ass -- I was going to be in the front row. Talked to B. more
that day. She told me about how she'd tell her father she needed money for books for school and spend it on Pretenders
stuff. When he found out she was spending the money he gave her for bills on Pretenders stuff, he had all the bills
sent to his house to be paid by him. She was down to a gas credit card and grocery money. She spent the money on
Pretenders stuff and bought groceries with her credit card at the then-new gas stations with mini-markets. She
was proud of what she did. I thought it was awful. I would never have lied to my parents about what I was spending
their money on. If you're lucky enough to be born to a couple of people who've got skads of it to waste, more power
to you. My family didn't have money, and even if you do, you still shouldn't take it for granted. Not that I'm
so self-righteous, hell, I'm an asshole and I'll be the first to admit it (and a parade of people will follow holding
up banners displaying their agreement, I'm sure). It's not like I've always been able to keep my head above the
water in the pool of morality. But I don't boast about my misdeeds. I am not vainly proud of them. So I was appalled,
big deal. Nervous about my scrapbook, I decided I had to retrieve it. Now. Jennifer, Theresa and I left Craig in line and went to the hotel. Saw Tracy out walking the baby. Hung out of the car waving. "Hello!" she called back, "How are you?" "Good!" And you?" "Good, too!" she laughed as we sped by. Went into the lobby. Jennifer looked at me as I sat down, "What are you doing?" "Huh? I'm waiting for Jim, I guess." "You're just going to sit there?" "Well, yeah, I mean, I'm not gonna go bug them or anything." "But what if he doesn't just happen to walk by?!" She was yelling now. I said, "Someone will come by soon enough." She cursed me and sat down. I was still eating Vicks. "Don't yell at me," I sniffled, pouting, unwrapping a cough drop, "I'm sick." "Fuck you." She wasn't having any of it. I wasn't really sick, just mainly messed up my throat. About ten minutes later, Chrissie and Jim came around the corner. "Oh -- you want your scrapbook?" Chrissie asked. I nodded. Chrissie handed Jim the key and he went back for it. She walked through the lobby and disappeared. I wasn't watching her, so I didn't know where she went. Jim returned. "It's a really good book -- a lot of work, eh?" "Nah, not for the Pretenders." He grinned and left us. We sat there for a few minutes. I didn't know where they were headed, but I thought they might like plenty of time to get there without us on their tail. My friends had a bad habit of jumping on my back -- they'd jump on me and scream, "Give me a piggyback ride!" Jennifer did this as we left the lobby and stepped into the front entrance. "Yee-haw! Giddy-up!" I howled and with her on my back spun around in circles at blinding speed all the way to the door. Theresa walked calmly, ignoring this outburst. When we got to the car, Theresa said, "Chrissie and Jim were in there." "No they weren't, they left." Smartass. "Yes they were, they both turned around to watch you guys -- they were in the sandwich shop." Oh shit. Oh well. Got back in line at the Greek Theater. Waited there all day, just about. We all took turns leaving to eat lunch. We held B.'s place, and she held ours. Craig, Jennifer and I went to grab a slice of pizza somewhere. We were standing on a corner debating which direction to go. I was leaning on a pole in front of me, the hot metal burning my left collarbone. Jennifer squinted, looking up the street. "Is that Chrissie?" I leaned forward, sliding around the pole. "No, that's not Chrissie -- she's too fat." She was pretty close and coming towards us. Jennifer had better get new contacts soon. Now first, what were the chances this woman would even hear me to begin with -- who'd be listening to what we were saying? Second, what were the chances she'd know who this "Chrissie" was? Third -- I didn't even mean she was fat. She wasn't at all. Hell, I probably had her by twenty, thirty pounds. I meant she was bigger than Chrissie (who isn't?). They did have the same haircut. It was just hot, so I'd used the fewest possible words, not wanting to exert my mouth or my mind. Boy, did she know exactly who and what I meant! I got a scalding look! I smiled back. Lady, you are not the first person I have insulted, intentionally or not. And I am most certainly not afraid of your most wicked glare. Glare away. When someone's that angry with me, if we aren't in a heated argument, I always smile. They either feel bad for getting mad at me, or they become even more furious. So stew in it -- you're the one suffering, not me. Either way, you've been punished. (Note: Inspired comment by Taunia -- She referred to this smile as "that infuriating grin.") A line formed opposite us, at another gate I hadn't even noticed. We hurled insults at each other, each side being a "team" and determined to get to those precious front row seats first. The security guy on our side told us five minutes before the gates were to open that he'd open our gate twenty seconds before he was supposed to, since we'd all been there all day. Twenty seconds early, we bolted through the gates, the people in the other line screaming at us. Hey, it was summer and we were there ALL DAY. That was all we needed. We tore down to the front and dove on the seats, taking up as many as we could -- we'd divide them later. B. and her friend made it. Then some others and the five of us took the rest of the seats. We kept the seats on the inside of the row and let others have the end seats. Somehow we came out with one extra seat. The girls who took the extra seats left to get -- shirts? Cokes? Whatever. Theresa and Jennifer left to get the same (whatever) and I was holding everyone's places by sitting near the end of the row. This guy walked by. Nice looking. Nice butt. He came back, looking around. "Uh, I guess all these seats are taken, huh?" "Just one?" "Yeah." "As a matter of fact, the one on the end is empty." "Really?! Oh my god, you're kidding." "Nah -- go ahead." He was delighted. I think that's the happiest I've ever made a guy feel. Except for... uh... well, never mind. Saw Jim just offstage and he smiled and waved. I waved back. Simple Minds were really good that night. Maybe it was just because I was in the front row and it felt better. Doesn't matter -- I thought they were pretty amazing. Then then THEN -- it was the Pretenders' turn. Not to attempt to take credit for anything, but the band does seem to have a lot more fun when the audience is screaming wildly. Don't listen to what Hynde might say about hard-core fans, she's just mouthing off. She loves us, appreciates the enthusiasm (as long as you're not annoying). She knows precisely how it feels to go see your favourite band. It's so exciting to see them play, and means so awfully much to meet them, even if it is just business as usual to the band -- another smudge on a blur of memory. Chrissie waved to us. "One, two, three, four." Martin started "Time the Avenger". Whenever there was an extended break between songs, we'd yell, "Tattooed Love Boys!" because tonight we were close enough to be heard. Chrissie told us her hometown had been ruined, "But Akron will rise again," she promised. I'd never been to Akron, only through it, but I hadn't seen much from the train -- it had been very dark. And if you'd have told me that in three years, one month and fifteen days, I'd be moving there, I'd have died of laughter. The band goofed around a lot that night. It was a fantastic evening for everyone. Martin was aiming drumsticks at us. I always wanted to count to see how many he threw out each night, but if you blink, you've missed -- what? -- two?... four?... twelve? Damn, he's quick. They changed the set list a bit, did "Birds of Paradise" instead of "I Go to Sleep," "Kid" instead of "Stop Your Sobbing," and put "Sobbing" where "Brass in Pocket" would've been, had they done it -- which is fine by me, not hearing "Brass" once in awhile. Robbie, that dog, took out that beautiful soaring guitar bit Honeyman-Scott came up with on "Birds of Paradise" and plunked out his own version. Still we yelled "Tattooed Love Boys!!!" C'mon guys, c'mon Chrissie, it's cruel to make us beg. They did "Thumbelina" and "Room Full of Mirrors." Had I heard "Room Full of Mirrors" in Massachusetts? Hmm... probably, but like I said, I don't remember the show. And last night we'd been over on the side and up -- but tonight, we were in the front row and I was amazed. Know how "Mystery Achievement" is always a great performance? "Room Full of Mirrors" became that -- the guaranteed great performance. Do you perhaps need the front row to feel it? Or do I? Wow. That song tore right through me. Robbie did an immaculate job -- the lights exploding into bursts of colour, prismatic bombs -- trying to keep up with Martin, as if you could. Was that one guitar, or four? Or a hundred? Chrissie's voice pouring out of speakers that hurled it high into the sky, louder, louder, louder... Chrissie on the floor now, face down, "He-ey! He-ey! He-ey! He-ey!" They finished up cleanly. A psychedelic trip without the acid. Wow. I needed a cigarette now. Amazing. "Tattooed Love Boys!" we again shouted as they came back out. Gee, should I really be asking for anything more? They could've left after that last song and I wouldn't have complained. That was price of admission plus. Anything else was a bonus. Buy one song, get twenty free. Martin grabbed Chrissie's guitar, put it on and imitated her walking across the stage. Chrissie sat behind the drum kit, waiting for him to finish. When he did, he turned to check the damage. Chrissie coolly gave him the finger. Malcolm (I think) said, "The Chrissie Hynde Experience." Martin returned the guitar and took his place. Robbie played part of "Apache" and Theresa and I grooved to it. We'd loved that song when we were little... it was one of the records Theresa had that we'd played all the time. Chrissie went right into "Stop Your Sobbing." Then, "2000 miles is very far through the snow..." It was September 1st in California and we were sweltering. "Tattooed Love Boys!" Chrissie came over, teasing us, "What?" "Tattooed Love Boys!" "WHAT?" "Tattooed Love Boys -- puh-leeeze!" "OK, OK!" She walked off, shaking her head and laughing -- yeah, we were nuts, all right. Robbie had a few technical difficulties -- then, finally, "Ready, girls? We're gonna do a song now that we haven't done for a long time. It's called 'Tattooed Love Boys.'" Hynde, always cool, always generous. What could've been better? Right... nothing. She must have told the guys between encores that they were going to do it -- there was no hesitation. Jennifer asked for and of course received Chrissie's set list. She gave it to me. Outside, when we left, bootleggers were selling Pretenders shirts -- pink shirts, bright pink -- but they were pretty cool for bootlegs (and for being pink). Best part was, they were only five dollars. Kristi and I each got one. Went to the hotel -- I think I floated over there. Saw Tracy, apologized for being rude and walking off the night before. Wandered around chatting with various people. Spotted a group of folks standing around in a familiar pattern, went over. Craig was there. I said hi to Chrissie. "Hiya." Handed Chrissie the National Enquirer I'd picked up for her. "Here, thought you might get bored on the flight to Japan. I was gonna get Esquire, but they were out of 'em. Thought you might like this instead." She took it. Looked at the cover. I remember one headline was "Pet Pig Saves Boy." Looked at me, who was not smiling but serious. Was this a joke? I don't think she knew what to think. Finally (a bit insulted, maybe), she said, "I'm glad my fans know I'm an intellectual." I laughed then. I leaned over, "It's a joke." "Oh," she replied, looking down at the stupid thing. So she laughed, too. All these people were standing around Chrissie and Jim, looking at them but not speaking. Why was everyone standing there not doing or saying anything? I looked at Chrissie. She looked -- I don't know -- apprehensive? And she was a bit dressed up. A look at Jim told me he was too. And there had been a car parked in front of the doors... Oh! Still no one moved or spoke, just looked at them. I'd feel weird, too. Shit, what are they, from another planet or something? "Well," I said to Chrissie, "I see you guys are trying to get outta here, so I guess we should let you go, huh?" She nodded, "Yep." "Hey -- see you tomorrow. Good night." "Night." We walked through the middle of the circle to make everyone move. Did Chrissie and Jim use that path? Did everyone walk off? I don't know, I went over to say hi to someone else. We left a minute later. Chrissie and Jim were getting into the car with a couple of other people. She waved, "See ya." "Tomorrow," I reminded her. All too soon, probably. But she didn't cringe or anything. |
