LB |
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Chapter 16 |
| My show was to be on February 28, 1987. Three years to the day after I'd seen them in San Francisco on that second
night of the sold-out shows at the Civic. Taunia and I decided to meet live and in person. I was going to go to Akron for a week, during which time the band was supposed to play the Richfield Coliseum. But first, I had to see them in Oakland. Chrissie said that people who liked the Pretenders music before would just have to trust her... trust that she knew what she was doing. OK. I do trust her. I have since I first laid eyes on her. She could tell me anything and I'd believe it. "All dogs on Mars are blue. I go there a lot." "Really?" "Yep." "Wow... cool!" All right, that'd be a joke. But I do trust her. I always have. I always will, unless she changes it. So Theresa and I were going up to Oakland early. Kristi would meet us there. Malcolm too had appeared on only one of the album's tracks (the same one as Martin). But now he was back in the band because... well, when asked, Chrissie said it was nobody's business. Kristi got her ticket six minutes after they went on sale. She got last row on the floor. Theresa and I stopped for pizza on the way up. Then somewhere between San Jose and Oakland, she had to pull off and use a phone booth to call in sick at work. She never should have done this in front of me as I made her laugh the whole time she was trying to explain how miserable she felt. "No...<hehehe> I just don't feel good. Probably <hehe> tomorrow. Yeah..." My excuse had been simple -- my Uncle Bob had died. He had! So what if it was years earlier. We finally got to Oakland. We waited at the back of the building as usual. It was winter and we were right on the Bay. And it was windy. And the sunlight was blocked by the building. Brrr... So we waited. And waited. And waited. And our skin turned blue. That's not an exaggeration. Not this time. B. was there with a friend. We'd had the luck of seeing them first, which allowed us to avoid them for as long as we could, diving behind cars whenever they looked our way. I even crawled under trucks to get out of sight. Alas... it was unavoidable. B. saw me and waved. Damn! She came over. "You're Lisa, right?" She hadn't seen me since the summer of '84. "Yeah. That's me." I hate my name. Fucking hate it. Someone can be standing next to me saying, "Lisa. Lisa. LISA!" and I hear them, but it doesn't register that they mean me. It's like The Name has nothing to do with me. Everyone usually calls me something else -- anything. The strange thing is, no two people ever usually call me the same thing. Most people I know give me a nickname -- something that they remember me by. My father and my sister never really called me by The Name nor did any relative other than my mother. One uncle called me any of those redhead names -- Carrots, Carrot Top (aren't those green??), PUMPKIN HEAD, Red. I use my initials now. It avoids The Name thing. If anyone refers to me by The Name, it's because they don't know me. Yet. So anyway. B. asked, "Where are your seats?" Which, were it anyone else, I'd have told them. But this -- something told me not to tell. "Oh, they're in there somewhere." I laughed. She nodded. More small talk, which I'm terrible at. All that chitchat crap. I couldn't care less. Escaped from B. and waited by the back entrance. She and said friend came over later to wait. Kristi, Theresa and I were on one side of the entrance. The other two were on the other side, where there was a space in the barrier for people to go in and out. Why would you, like, block the door? I mean, that's why we were at the far end of the barrier. The road crew had been going in and out of the building, there was no reason to be in their way. Besides, when the band arrived, they might not want to talk to anyone. I always offer the option of letting someone just go by -- these guys are busy and sometimes they're just grouchy from traveling or something. Maybe they don't want to be bothered at that moment. That's cool, catch you later. We were freezing to death! I crushed a Coke can and Theresa and I played soccer with it. We had invisible goal lines -- once you'd kicked it "far enough" past the other person, it was a goal. After awhile Theresa gave up. I had to keep moving. I was kicking this stupid can around, jumping in front of it to stop it, kicking it back... Heard something. Looked up. A beat-to-shit red Volvo approached. I returned to my activity. Theresa said, "Lisa... Lisa? LEEEEEZU!" I looked up. She barely moved her head, but her eyes moved towards the car, which had pulled up alongside me and in front of them. Chrissie was in the back of the car, kind of laughing at me. When I looked, she smiled and waved. Here she was, coming through this enormous empty parking lot, and I was kicking this stupid Coke can around the entire time. Just for once, can I be doing something that's not dumb? Or can I just be sort of hanging out, looking cool? I waved back, amazed at my flawless abilities in the field in imbecility. It's the only thing I'm good at. I excel at it. It's the art form that I've mastered. She opened her door. Asked the guys who'd dropped her off if they wanted to come in and eat. Nah, they were going to take off. Fools. She got out and came up to me. "Hi! How've you been?" Not "How are you?" Not "are", present tense. It was "How have you been?" -- like, for the past two-and-a-half years. Did she remember me? Seemed like it, but how many people does she meet? Everyone wants to meet Chrissie. So why would she remember me? I don't know. I don't even know if she did remember me, but she seemed to. So - "Hi! How've you been?" "Great. How've you been?" Blah, blah, blah. We didn't talk long. I couldn't think of anything to say, as usual, but she wasn't in a hurry. She stood there with me. She always stands there with me. Got another autograph on paper - yellow this time (the paper, not the autograph). Kristi asked CH if she could tell Malcolm that she, Kristi, was out here? "Oh yeah, sure." We said bye (me and CH). She turned and headed to the little space where people could go in and out. B. and friend were there, crowding the opening. Hynde is paper thin and slid through anyhow. They said, "Hi, Chrissie..." She barely looked at them. "Hi girls." It was a very flat statement. I don't think she even looked at them. B. had gone to loads of shows. She'd ask for tickets when she didn't have them. There is no way in hell I'd ask the band for anything, including tickets. I'd stand outside the venue and cry over missing the show rather than ask them to let me in. Buy them from someone who has extras -- someone always has extra tickets. (Well, maybe I can't say that... I've been to Eugene, Oregon where no one will part with a ticket. If something's actually happening there, come hell or high water, all the locals are going to attend!) I know people now who tell me "Oh, you should ask the band for tickets because you do so much for them and they owe you and it's nothing to them and blah blah blah...". Well, it's something to me. I don't ask anyone for anything. And they don't owe us. If I won't ask now, I certainly wouldn't have asked then. What the hell is with that? "Hey, I want to go to your show -- let me in for free." Like buying the record means you should get to go to shows for free for the rest of your life. If they give us tickets, that's excellent, but I'm not asking. Malcolm didn't show up. It was getting late. We knew Chrissie was usually the last one to arrive for the soundcheck, and decided the guys must have gone in the front entrance. Either that or they'd gone in much earlier in the day when we'd been pissing around hiding under a truck or something. Kristi wrote a note and gave it to the security guy, asking him if he could give it to Malcolm. When he came back and told her he'd given it to the dressing room security. Within three minutes, Malcolm came out, surprised to see Kristi. Hadn't Chrissie told him that she was out here? Nope. What a dingbat! He talked to her for about 15 minutes. She asked him about Martin. She said, "Can I ask you what happened with Martin? Or is that too private?" He said Martin wasn't playing well. I was in my own little world... Did Chrissie really remember me from two-and-a-half years before? Was there a space in her head for me? Which memory brain cells of hers are mine? I'm probably right next to an old learning experience: "It's hot... don't touch... Ouch! Hot! Bad!... there's what's-her-name..." When Theresa and I had scaled the mountainous slope to get to our seats, I looked around the venue. We had such a lovely view of the entire coliseum. "Look" I said, pointing. "Look in the front row, center on the left..." It was B. and friend. Life's not fair. Sometimes it's not worth a pile of pee. I really wanted to not like the show. I couldn't see anything. The stage was incredibly far away. Afterwards I said, "I didn't need binoculars, I needed a telescope. I really wanted them to suck, just so I could go, See? Told you..." But they sounded good. Still don't know where Robbie was going with those solos. It wasn't the band though, it was Chrissie. I just didn't realize it at the time. It wasn't the band that was great. It was her. And there was no drummer to look at. I could hardly see the guys who were standing, let alone a tiny figure in the back with a drum kit heaped up around him. Blair was too short to be seen. I love watching Martin. I can't always look at Chrissie and Martin is usually doing the funniest stuff back there. He's just about got his own show going on. They sounded good, but it wasn't the same and it didn't feel good. Security had been tight. It would've been a challenge just to get on the lower levels, let alone down to the floor, then up to the front. Truthfully? If Martin had been there, I'd have been swinging across the rafters to the other side, behind the stage, and climbed down from there. I'd have done something to Get Close myself. But I wasn't interested. I spent most of show staring at my feet and the crud that was stuck to the floor under them. We went to the backstage area to wait for Chrissie. I stood there for a minute then said, "Let's go. I don't want to be here." I was unhappy about the show, but something also told me to vamoose. We looped around for 10 minutes trying to find, then get to, the Denny's where we were to meet Kristi. We finally made it. I always have the weirdest things happen to me at Denny's. This time, my water, which I usually drink, had this enormous chunk of lettuce in it. I can't imagine a waitress, or even passing motorists, not seeing it We sat around talking about the show. B. came in a little bit later, looking tense. "Did you see Chrissie after the show?" I shook my head, "No. We didn't wait." "She was in such a bad mood. She was really mad. She yelled at everyone." She left. I whispered to Theresa, "Probably because she had to see B. again. I'd be mad too if I had to see her every night." I was glad we hadn't stayed. We giggled over our luck in avoiding the Hynde wrath, getting lost on the way to Denny's, and the decorative lettuce sculpture that was delivered in my water glass. I felt bad though. I felt like I'd let Hynde down, in a way. Whether she knew it or not, she's always made me feel better. I never seem to get the chance to return the favour. Went home with my new load of tour merchandise. I now had over 35 different Pretenders shirts (some being the same design, but on a different coloured shirt). I'd bought all the stuff they'd had available. A program, a button, a poster, and tons of shirts. |
