Joe lay in bed, unable to sleep, his school day fast approaching, thinking of the times he had just spent with Claire over the past few weeks. She had opened his eyes. He was in his first mature sexual relationship. Joe never knew it could feel this good emotionally. He wondered if he was in love with her, which worried him. They fucked but he felt there were moments when they were making love, not just fucking. For him, it was more than physical. He wondered if Claire felt the same.
Everything they did was the best Joe knew; the sex, the conversations, and just hanging out. Claire was fun and passionate. This deal they had was fine for now. Joe wasn’t going to ruin the good times by trying to make their relationship more than it was, which was pretty great. He sensed that Claire felt the same as he did. She was jealous of other girls. That was a good sign, right?
After the school morning chaos with his sisters, Joe walked alone, lost in the same thoughts he had in bed, except this time he wanted to punch himself in the face for being a romantic sap. This constant struggle in his head was maddening. Of course, she’s just fucking him. Nothing had changed except for the fact they were finally sleeping together.
He turned east on Broadway thinking, ‘Don’t screw this up by being a sentimental fool.’ He heard a yelp behind him.
Joe turned to see the Washington Twins were closing in fast. Nicole and Monique were a pair of perky gymnasts a year behind Joe at CHS.
“How’s my favorite white boy?” Monique smiled with her eyes as they caught up to Joe who never stopped walking.
“I’m good,” he said, as he was suddenly sandwiched. “How are my favorite black sisters?”
“We’re fine,” Nicole said, bumping against his leather.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, you are.”
She shoved him, “Don’t flirt with me.”
Monique laughed at her sister, “Pfft, you love it.”
“Awww,” Joe frowned. “Are you gonna tell your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Hey, are you going to the prom?” Monique asked.
“I don’t do proms.”
“You should go,” Nicole said. “I think you’d have fun.
“Nope.”
“Ya know,” Monique looked up at him. “you’ve become so popular I bet you’d be Prom King.”
“Are you talking to Betty McDonald? Did she send you?”
The girls looked at each other. “We don’t know what you’re talking about but we heard some kids saying…”
“Saying bullshit. That’s all it is. I’m not going to the prom. Forget about that dumb talk.” He smiled down at them. “My only regret is I won’t see you in your gowns.”
Monique smiled. “I’ll give you a picture.”
“Me too,” Nicole said.
Joe smirked. “And I will cut your dates out of them.”
“Well,” Monique said, “I would love to see you in something other than this thing, like a tuxedo. I bet you’d be very handsome.”
While only juniors, the twins were dating seniors on the basketball team. They would be at the prom Joe was skipping. The girls pressed Joe for the last few blocks to school. They practically begged him to go. Still, he sensed this was not a request from them. They were agents of the Class President.
“Are you girls scheming with Betty? You can quit now. It’s not happening.”
The twins played dumb but Joe knew this Prom King joke was Betty’s and she was probably whipping votes to get him a crown he didn’t want. When he reached the stoop, he called Betty over.
“What’s up?” She asked.
“You can stop with this prom crap. I’m not going. The twins just worked on me for ten minutes telling me how much fun it would be and that I could probably be Prom King. I wonder where they got that dumb idea.”
Betty scrunched her nose, not denying it. “How about your band playing the prom? That’s not me talking, that’s Steven Conte and Marisa, and Judy.”
“Who’s Marisa?”
“Good & Plenty.”
“Oh, funny. I never knew her name.” Joe made a ‘duh’ face. “They already have a band.”
“It’s a disc jockey and a lot of kids are pissed off about it.” Betty leaned closer. “They’re petitioning the Prom Committee for a real band.”
Joe shook his head. “Good luck to them but it’s not my prom and not my problem. I’m not going under any circumstances. You’ll have to suffer through disco without me.”
“I’m not on the committee, Joe. I just know they’re going to ask you.”
“I have a gig at the University of Connecticut that night. You can save your friends some embarrassment by stopping this before they make fools of themselves. My band is not available and honestly, I doubt they would agree to do it… because I don’t want to.”
“Why are you so against the prom?”
Joe shrugged, “I don’t know. I’m just not interested in all that pomp and circumstance. It’s lame.”
“It’s an important night.”
“Not really,” he opened his book.
—-- NUMBSKULLS —--
Three days later, lying in Claire’s bed in the late afternoon, after a quickie because Donna had a lecture, she lightly scratched his chest with her nails, that attention was mixed with light kisses on his neck.
“I made the mistake of telling the guys I spent the night here,” Joe said. “I’m so dumb.”
“Are they giving you shit about it?”
“I never tell them anything about girls. I just don’t do that. I know they’d be dicks about it, especially Nate. He’s a ball buster. Joey and Caire sitting in a tree… K I S S I N G.”
“Did he really sing that?”
“Yeah, and Sal joined in.”
“Your friends are idiots and Nate’s not my favorite guy at the garage.”
“They can be.”
“Joe, you realize that you’re the leader of three numbskulls, right? You’re the guy who runs the carnival, sets the stage, does the show, and you run the business. They’re just tagging along for the ride and…”
“That’s not fair,” Joe cut her off. “Yes, they can be idiots but they’re not deadweight. We’re a band and we need every part of that band to function.”
“Some parts are more functional than others,” Claire said flatly. “That’s how most bands are, and sports teams, businesses… and even families.”
Joe didn’t entirely disagree with Claire but he didn’t like her tearing down the guys. She wasn’t overly harsh but it felt like she didn’t respect his band mates.
“Without Sal,” he said. “None of this is happening for me. Everything we’re doing, he’s the muscle. We live in his Dad’s place, use his van, eat his food, and Sal’s our driver.’
“I don’t dispute that but the creative and business vision is all yours. It’s your band, Joe.”
Joe didn’t respond. He didn’t want to discuss his band, who does what, or how much. He let it drop and so did Claire. He wanted to talk about other stuff. One of his favorite things about being with her was the talks they had in bed. They discussed many things, music and film, places they’d like to visit, food, everything… including sex.
Joe thought that was cool. He liked having sex and then talking about it afterward. He wondered if other people do that, discussing the stuff they just did to each other’s bodies. Claire was far more open and willing to talk about personal stuff than Joe could have imagined. She was not the goodie-two-shoes Nate had her pegged for.
“Are you okay?” Joe asked after noticing Claire was moving her jaw from side to side.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s with this?” He mimicked her mandible movements.
“If I tell you you’re only going to tease me and it might go to your head.”
“I promise I won’t tease you.”
“I enjoy giving head,” she reached down and touched him. “This is a lot to handle. I’m working down there, doing the best I can. It’s fun but it’s not easy.”
“You seem to be doing okay to me. I’m impressed by your eagerness and tenacity. Some girls just play around down there but you mean business.”
“That’s because I enjoy it. Those other girls do it because they feel they’re obligated to suck a little dick but they’re not really into it. They want a hard ride so they’ll do what they must to get what they want.”
“I may be just a dumb high school kid but I already know the difference between foreplay oral sex and honest-to-goodness blow job.”
“And I can’t tell the difference between a guy who loves going down on me and the pretenders. You hardly come up for air.”
“I like doing you as much as you like doing me.” He paused. “Ya know, I think oral sex is my favorite but we should keep doing everything and maybe try some new stuff… just to make sure.”
“For Science,” Claire snickered.
“Yes. You’re the master and I have the Johnson.”
She laughed, hugging him tighter. “I love talking to you.”
“Did you get my joke?”
“Yes, Joe. I get it.”
“I was just thinking that I love talking to you too. This is one of the best things about us.”
“You know what’s weird,” Claire lifted her head to look at Joe. “I can't say I've done this before, not a lot.”
“Your summer boy doesn’t chat you up after a fuck in the woods? What’s his name, Keith, Ken… or is it Kyle?”
Claire punched his chest. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“Is it Kris?”
“I’m comfortable with you. You’re easy to talk to. I feel I can say anything.”
“Because you can.”
“Oh shit,” Claire saw the clock. “Her class is out. She’ll be here any minute. We gotta get dressed.” She flung the sheets off.
Joe lay there, naked, legs wide open, dick hanging, “Maybe if Donna walked in on this she’d…”
Claire threw his levis at him. “Get dressed, now.”
—-- BOOTS AND SKATES —--
It was an unusual band practice. Because the guys played every Friday and Saturday night, Saturday was usually an off day between shows. Joe often stayed away from the garage. It was Mom’s day off so he’d make a show of being home with the sisters. Today they had to work on some new songs.
Months ago, Sandy had promised she’d attend a gig when she turned eighteen. Her birthday was coming and Joe wanted the band to learn two of her favorite songs. One was another track no one would expect a punk band to play, a super-popular hit. It fits perfectly into his setlist of oddities. Joe knew the lyrics. He played the original on the stereo twice. The band listened and then tried to perform it by ear, stumbling along the way. It was a long and tedious morning and it wasn’t going great. Joe played the recording a couple more times to get through rough patches. They were getting close, but Sal had enough.
“I’m done. I need a lunch break. Are you in?”
Johnny nodded. “Sure, I can eat. I’m sick of this.”
Nate was too. “Yeah, and I’m not doing this shit when we get back.”
“Whatever,” Joe said. “He was sick of them complaining more than the process.”
“Where are we going?” Johnny asked.
“The Olney. It’s right there.” He pointed south. “We can walk.” Sal put his bass down and looked at Joe. “Are you in?”
He didn’t answer. Joe fiddled with his Butterscotch Tele while the guys gathered by the door. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go out for lunch. He had a history at The Olney.
“Hey, are you coming?”
“I don’t think so. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Pizza again?” Sal shook his head. “C’mon, we can talk about your show.”
“If you do that,” Nate said. “I’ll stay here with the cold pizza.”
Joe inhaled deeply, held it briefly with his eyes closed, then exhaled slowly; a deep cleansing breath. It was a helpful tool he learned in therapy.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sal asked.
Joe opened his eyes, set his Tele down, and walked toward them. Johnny opened the door. The bright sun shined in, transforming the bandmates into silhouettes as they passed through the portal to the outside world. The Olney Diner was a hundred and fifty yards from the garage, at what was once the main gate to this hulking industrial complex. It served factory workers for a century before the Strand Textile Company moved south. Now, like the factory, the Olney was a shadow of its old self but still did good business. It was a greasy-spoon institution.
The four young men walked quietly with Joe bringing up the rear.
When Joe and his sister Janie were little, Dad would take them to the Olney Diner on Saturdays for breakfast or lunch, depending on if Dad slept in on his day off. Janie would beg him for coins to play the jukebox. Every visit she played the same few songs; Any Monkees song, Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head, and her first favorite song, Nancy Sinatra’s, These Boots Are Made For Walking.
Janie would put on a show, dancing, and singing along, much to the delight of the old-timers who frequented the diner. When she found a new favorite song, Brand New Key by Melanie, a huge hit in early ‘72, she played those two songs back to back for months, Dad called it Boots and Skates. The last time she did this was the morning of the accident that took her life, Janie’s last meal.
Neither Dad nor Joe had been to The Olney since.
Every day Joe went to the garage he had to walk past the old metal rail car style building. It conjured memories, over and over. He had contemplated going inside for a burger basket, to exorcize the demons and reclaim a place of his youth, but each time his boots just kept on walking.
Sal shouted back at Joe who was falling behind. “Hey, Jail-bait. Are you coming or not?”
He looked up. “Yeah, give me a minute,” thinking maybe it’ll be easier to do this with friends.
“Are you okay," asked Johnny. "You’re kinda pale.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
It was less than a two-minute walk, halfway around the garage, across the factory’s rough asphalt parking lot, and past The West End Tap, a stinky old man bar. The Olney shared a parking lot with The Tap and the lot was full.
When they entered the diner Joe’s heart sank. It was like a time capsule. He could see his sister standing between the counter and the row of booths, strutting back and forth, pointing at her snow boots, and singing.
‘These boots are made for walkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.’
Everyone loved Janie, the precocious performer. Diners would give her quarters to feed the jukebox. She soaked up their attention, a little diva… kinda like Joe is these days.
On this day, the booths were full. They had to stand by the door and wait. The motif was 1950s, with brown Formica counters and table tops, and metal stools with yellow Naugahyde cushions that matched the benches of the booths. It was exactly as it was when Dad first took Joe there in the mid-sixties. The same jukebox stood in the corner near the restrooms.
Room for four opened up at the end of the counter, where it turned ninety degrees. As they sat on stools Joe felt lightheaded and his appetite faded. A young waitress handed them menus. Joe could barely read the text. Luckily, he knew what he liked at The Olney.
“I’ll have three wieners and a vanilla milkshake,” he said. “And fries.”
“Cheeseburger basket.” Sal handed his menu to the girl. “And a Coke.”
“Same thing, rare on the burger,” Nate said.
Everyone looked at Johnny. He noticed. “What? I need a second.” It took many seconds. “I’ll do the meatloaf and mashed but can I have peas instead of corn?”
“Why is everything a special order with you?” Sal threw his arms up. “You always have to make changes and when they fuck it up you whine.”
“I can’t order what I want?”
“We don’t have peas.”
“Perfect.” Nate laughed. “Now he’ll want you to list all the veggies you do have.”
“No,” Johnny said. “I’ll do the corn.”
The old men at the counter and in booths were familiar, even if they weren’t all the same men as years ago; drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and bullshitting. The Celtics and Red Sox were always hot topics. It was as if no time had passed since Joe’s last visit nearly seven years ago. The waitress was new but the cook wasn’t.
Joe was strangely possessed. Without a word, he stood and walked over to the jukebox. A single quarter completed his journey back to happier times. He pressed K-7 and P-4. When Nancy Sinatra started singing, he felt a lump in his throat.
‘Why the fuck did I play this song?’ He thought. ‘Do I want to cry?’
When he returned to the counter, Sal noticed he still wasn’t quite right. “You don’t look good.”
Johnny nodded. “I told ya, you’re pale… like you just saw a ghost.”
“Heh, funny, that’s exactly what happened.” He paused for a moment. “The last time I was in here was the morning my sister died.”
Sal’s face sank. Johnny and Nate shared a glance.
“She played this song every time we came here, which was almost every Saturday; just me, her, and Dad. The little ones stayed home with Mom.”
“So that’s why we play Nancy Sinatra,” Nate said lowly.
“Yeah, and Brand New Key,” Joe said. “Those were Janie’s two favorite songs.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Johnny said.
“And listen to you guys break my balls? This is less painful.”
Nate laughed, just a little.
When the roller skates song started, the owner and short-order cook, Ricky Maldonado, looked up from his grill. Their eyes met. That’s when he recognized Joe. He came over, wiping his hands on his apron, and extended his hand.
“It’s been too many years kid.”
Joe shook his hand, fighting back emotions.
“Look at you,” Ricky smiled, “a strapping young man. I remember when…”
Sal put a hand up. Ricky understood, nodded, and went back to his grill.
Joe struggled through that lunch. He choked up a few times as vivid memories of his sister flooded his mind. One day, Ricky let her wait tables for laughs. The old men tipped her quarters. Another time she spilled her milkshake on Dad’s lap. It was chaos, Dad jumping around and old men laughing. Every breakfast she ordered the same thing, a single scrambled egg, one pancake, and bacon. Then Janie drowned them all in a lake of maple syrup. Joe managed to keep it together. When Sal complained again about playing the same song over and over all morning, it pulled Joe’s mind out of the memory hole.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Lunch was mostly quiet except for a little band talk. They ate quickly to get through the discomfort. Sal paid the tab. As they were leaving, Ricky called Joe back. “I’m glad you came in. It’s good to see you. Tell the old man I was asking for him.”
“Thanks, Ricky, I will. I forgot how good your gaggers were.”
Ricky smiled. “Thanks. I’m surprised you didn’t have pie. You kids always had pie.”
“Heh,” Joe smirked. “Maybe next time.”
Janie and Joe shared a piece of pie for dessert, even when Dad took them for breakfast. It was a sibling tradition they had to promise Dad they wouldn’t tell Mom about.
The guys returned to the garage, strapped in, and banged out that new song. Joe realized then that the only three songs they played that were originally done by women were Janie’s two favorites, and now Sandy’s. They were his two best friends at age eleven. One was taken from him and the other grew up before he did.
—- THE SUPERIORS —-
When Joe got home all he wanted to do was watch the Red Sox on TV and not think about his trip down memory lane. He sat quietly on the couch while his Mom and Jackie cleaned the house and the girls played in their room.
Jackie said something he didn’t hear and didn’t care. She stood there, staring, waiting for a reply. She felt he was ignoring her. “Jerk.” She walked away. Two minutes later she said something else. He was in a baseball trance watching the game with blinders on.
“Hey! Wake up!”
“What?” He finally snapped out of it. “I’m just watching the Sox. Can I do that?”
“What did I do? You don’t have to bite my head off.”
Joe exhaled. “Sorry. I’m just…”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I had a bad day.”
“At the garage? You had a bad day in Wonderland? I thought it was all sunshine and unicorns there.”
Joe sighed. “It wasn’t at the garage. I mean, I was there all morning. It happened… elsewhere.”
“What happened?”
Joe stared at his sister. He didn’t want to tell her because they’d both probably cry. Jackie stared back at Joe. Crying wasn’t on his agenda. He barely made it through lunch. Jackie maintained her gaze.
Avoiding Janie’s death was an art form in the house. No one mentioned it, ever. If someone slipped even a reference to Janie, the room fell silent. Then they’d seamlessly change the subject as if those words were never spoken. Several silent seconds passed. Joe wasn’t telling Jackie about The Olney.
“Well,” Jackie said, exasperated. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Great, that only makes me want to know more. Was it bad?”
Mom walked into the room at the worst possible moment. Her creepy motherly sixth sense knew something was happening between her children. Jackie and Joe looked at her, and her at them.
“What’s wrong?” Mom said. “I can feel there’s something wrong.”
“Joey’s not right,” Jackie said. “He said he had a bad day. Something happened. He won’t tell me what it is.”
“What the fuck, Jackie?
“Joseph, your tongue!”
“Why would you drag her into this?”
“Into what?” Mom asked, her hands on her hips, staring at Joe. “What happened?”
“I don’t care to discuss my shitty day, okay. I’m not hurt. I’m not in trouble. It was just a…”
“We’re not going to leave you alone until you tell us,” Jackie said, looking at Mom.
Mom nodded, “I have nowhere to go. My housework is done.” She sat in Dad’s chair, stared at Joe, and folded her hands on her lap. Jackie was her mirror image to Joe’s right.
“What is wrong with you two? Mother Superior and her little protege, Sister Superior. You're worse than the sadistic nuns.”
He was about to stand up and go downstairs to his room but he hesitated. Their unbroken stares got under his skin. They were always probing and poking for information and the self-righteous judgment was maddening. Jackie was becoming Alice before his eyes. In a matter of seconds, Joe was no longer hurting. He was pissed off.
‘Fuck it,’ he thought. ‘They’ll deserve whatever feelings they get.’
“I had lunch at The Olney Diner today.”
Their stares remained but their expressions changed. They sank from stern to, ‘oh, shit’, to sad… and finally regret that they pushed Joe to say it. The room fell silent. Joe stood up and walked out leaving his mother and sister to deal with the emotions he tried to spare them.
A half-hour later, there was a knock on Joe’s bedroom door. “It’s me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m coming in.”
“Don’t!”
Jackie opened the door and walked in. Joe glared at her. “I said I don’t want to talk.”
“Well, I do. You can just listen.” She sat on the end of his bed.
“Leave me alone.” He held a book up. “Can’t you see I’m trying to read?”
“I’m sorry. Mom is too. She’s very upset. Why did you go there?”
“I just told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know what that place means to you and Dad. I mean, I was never part of your little breakfast club but I know.”
“That’s because you and Jules always fought. You’d get bossy and she’d whine. Dad took Janie and me because we behaved.”
“Whatever. Did you go alone?”
“No, the band had lunch there. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Was it hard?”
“It was torture, like this, you fucking interrogating me.” He shook his head. “Yes, it was hard. I had a tidal wave of memories and it fucked me up.” He steeled his eyes. “So, drop it.”
Jackie stood and stepped closer. She leaned down and hugged her brother. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He watched her leave and went back to his book.
Joe couldn’t focus on his reading. He was agitated. He loved his sister Jackie. She was now the closest sibling to him, less than four years apart, and they had their special bond but not like him and Janie. He suspected she knew this, and it troubled her.
Jules was six years behind Joe. So far apart they didn’t have as much in common. He loved her for different reasons than he loved Jackie. Jules was the sister who needed Joe the most, She was always asking for help with something. Jeanie was eight years back. She was the curious sister, asking too many questions because she believed Joey knew everything. They were all so different even as they shared many traits; the way they looked up to him, how they were dependent on him, and how they wanted to know everything about their only brother.
Mom was pregnant with Jeanie when his sister died. She became so grief-stricken that she was hospitalized and almost lost the baby. She attended the wake and funeral, two long days in a wheelchair, and then went back to the hospital until she recovered. Two months later, Jeanie was born premature by six weeks but healthy.
Joe stayed in his room all day. Dad was out, working on Uncle Ray’s car. When he got home, Mom told him what happened. Joe heard the voices above him in the kitchen. When a knock hit Joe’s door, he knew who it was.
“Come in.”
“Hey, got a minute?”
“Yeah.”
Dad took Jackie’s place at the end of the bed. “Quite a day, huh?”
“Yeah, the guys asked me to lunch. I hesitated, didn’t want to go, and then I did.”
“When you started hanging around that garage I wondered if you’d ever go in there. It’s just up the street and you have to walk by it every day.”
“I know. I’ve thought about it many times… just couldn’t do it.”
“How did you manage it?”
“Barely. I was lightheaded and felt sick to my stomach. I just plowed through it. I played the songs. They’re still on the jukebox.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
Joe shrugged. “It just happened, like I was possessed. It was okay. I think the songs helped.”
Dad exhaled. “I haven’t been there.”
“I know, Dad. It hasn’t changed one bit. Ricky says hello. He asked about you.”
“I feel bad I haven’t stopped in. All those guys came to the wake.” Dad choked up. “They adored Janie. It was heartbreaking.”
“I was there. I remember. Paul was there today, and Sammy, and that guy with the crooked eyes.”
“Vinny.”
“That’s him. They recognized me after Ricky came over. They kept looking at me, whispering like old ladies.”
Dad laughed, wiping his eyes. “Nothing has changed. They’re the worst gossips.”
“Okay.” Dad placed his hand on Joe’s sock-covered foot. “I just wanted to check in.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m not coming up for dinner. I have no appetite.”
“Alright. I’ll tell Mom. She’ll understand. She’s upset with herself. Julie and Jeanie are in the dark but they know something is wrong today.”
“They’re too young to understand.”
“Yeah, Julie’s asking too many questions and then Jeanie joined in.”
“Then I’m definitely staying down here.”
Dad left quietly, stopping for a moment to look at his son before he closed the door.
—-- THE PUSHER MAN —--
As the band set up for a gig at The Living Room, Sal was visibly annoyed with a dude who was hanging around the stage, talking with Johnny. When Johnny went to the bar, Sal pushed the stranger away. “Keep that garbage away from my band.” He scowled at the young man who got the message and disappeared into the crowd.
Joe laughed. “No thanks would have been enough.”
“Fuck that guy. If we let them in, we’re screwed.” He pulled Joe aside, leaned in, and whispered. “We can’t let assholes like that around Johnny. You know the deal.”
“No, I don’t. What deal?”
Sal’s expression changed as he realized Joe didn’t know what he was talking about. “Johnny did rehab years ago, in high school. He was pretty fucked up.”
“From what?”
“He was dropping acid, taking uppers and downers.” Sal leaned closer. “He’s okay now but we can’t let those fuckers near him.”
Joe stood there, focused on Sal, stunned. He had no clue Johnny had a drug problem. He drank beer and smoked grass but never to excess. He saw him snort coke once. Sal’s face told Joe that he regretted telling him.
“Joe, he’s fine. We just can’t take a chance. He went through a really bad time, like four years ago. He’s clean now. I just don’t want pill pushers near him.”
Joe didn’t say a word. Sal stared at him a moment then went back to setting up his rig. Joe had a lot on his mind that evening and now Sal piled on the fact his lead guitarist had a serious problem - a few years ago. And it was a serious enough problem that he did rehab and Sal felt it necessary to push away the pusher man.
Joe didn’t know what to think of it so he tried not to think about it. He had other business to attend to, a minor predicament.
After the band began the show with their standard hard-three opening, they did a TV theme song. Sandy stood front and center, about five people deep, smiling with her friends while singing F Troop. Claire was stage left with a few people between her and the stage. She definitely saw Sandy. Joe witnessed her staring coldly her way.
Joe put songs into the set he knew Sandy would like, sixties stuff. His punked-up version of Paint It Black rocked. Then they played The Zombies’ She’s Not There, after which he addressed the crowd.
“I have a special song. It’s the favorite of a dear friend.” Joe smiled at Sandy and then turned to Claire with that same face.
When Sal opened with the bass riff and Joe whispered the first four words, Sandy’s face lit up. It was her favorite song. The one thing that worked in Joe’s favor was the fact Claire loved Carly Simon too. It turns out that You’re So Vain is a perfect song to be sung with bitterness, a tone of punk contempt. Joe committed to it, grabbing the mic for the chorus.
“You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?”
He punched those ‘Don’t yous’ hard and angry. Sandy had a wide smile for the entire song and she sang along with misty eyes. Claire had an expression of delight. Joe sensed the irony, both girls thought him playing this song was about them but one was mistaken.
After Carly, Joe whipped out the other Simon. Kodachrome was an easy song to turn hard. It has a perfect rhythm and tempo for punk. He watched Sandy dance happily to her other favorite song.
Standing in the alley behind The Living Room during set break; Sal, Johnny, and Nate passed a joint around with Denny. When Joe tried to join the smokers and tokers, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Sandy led Joe down the alley away from the crowd, around the corner, and pushed him against the brick building.
“Did your band learn those songs just for me?”
“Yeah, I asked them to try some new stuff. Kodachrome was easy but Sal hated playing Carly Simon. I had to prove I could make it punk rock.”
“It was incredible. This is going to sound crazy but your version seems more… I don’t know. I can’t say it's better than hers. Carly is telling him he’s a vain jackass but you sing it with bitterness and that works. It was so great.”
“Thank you but let’s not get carried away. We reinvent songs to suit our style, which is a little angry. We do this all the time.”
“You do this for girls all the time?”
“No, I picked the Simons for you.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.” She paused and looked deep into his eyes. “Thank you, Joe.”
Joe’s lifelong crush planted a kiss on him, the first since middle school, holding him against the wall. Joe didn’t resist.
“How many drinks have you had?” He asked
“A few, why?”
“You’re never this aggressive.”
“You never played songs for me. I never felt so…” Sandy scrunched her nose cutely.
“Special?” He said softly.
“Yes," she smiled. "You made me feel special."
“You’ve always been special. I’ve only told you a zillion times.”
“I know." Sandy pulled him closer. "I guess I needed you to sing it.” She kissed him again.
Joe lightly held her neck in his hands, making her kiss linger. “I thought you were going to cry.”
Sandy laughed, placing her head against Joe's chest. “I was holding it back. Singing along kept me from breaking.”
A high-pitched voice called from the corner. “There you are. We need to talk.” It was Gay Isaac and he was on fire... invading their moment. "Please tell me that's not your only Carly Simon song. That was fabulous!"
“I’m afraid it is. That’s her favorite song. Isaac, this is Sandy. Sandy, meet Isaac.”
“Pleased to meet you, girl.” He extended his hand. “Did he play that for you?”
Sandy nodded. She was taken aback by Isaac's in-your-face flamboyance. She shook his hand. He couldn’t hide his gayness if he wanted - and Isaac didn’t care to.
He winked at Joe. “She’s gorgeous.”
“I know," Joe smiled at Sandy.
"Joe," Isaac put his hand on Joe's arm. "That was so good. Carly could take a cue from you. Make that song angry girl."
Sandy laughed, "I just said the same thing. It was great."
Then Issac’s eyes got big. “Uh, oh.”
Joe turned to see Claire coming up behind him. Fortunately, his introducing Issac to Sandy had broken their embrace so it looked innocent enough. Claire wasted no time in planting her flag in Joe. She leaned against him, took his hand, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then looked Sandy square in the eyes.
“So, what do you think of this guy on stage?”
“He’s…” Sandy hesitated. “Joe’s doing what he’s always said he would do. He’s incredible and I’m happy for him.”
“He is.” Claire pulled him closer.
“I’m going back inside,” Sandy said. She touched Joe’s hand and walked away.
Isaac looked at Joe, then Claire, then back at Joe with a smirk, and then followed Sandy. He stood with Sandy for the entire second set, talking between songs, buying her drinks, and being himself - Joe’s biggest fan at The Living Room. The show ended at midnight. Sandy was lit up, partly due to several cocktails, and partly the energy of the performance. Joe wanted to invite her back to the garage. She’d never been there.
Isaac frowned at Joe with sad eyes as she hugged him goodbye with Claire watching from ten feet away. The moment she was away, Isaac glanced at Claire and pulled Joe aside. He wanted to gossip.
Isaac took Joe by the arm. "So, she's the girl you told me about, your old crush?"
“Yes, she’s the one.”
“What about Claire? I thought she was the one. She doesn’t look pleased.”
“Shut up, Isaac.”
"Are you and Sandy a thing now?"
"I don't know, man. I never know with her."
“Are you and Claire….?”
“We’re something,” Joe cut him off. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”
—-- TEEN ANGEL —--
The next day at school, Sandy was flirty and happy to see Joe. She talked up the band to her girlfriends. Joe saw an opportunity. Sandy seemed into him and was genuinely impressed by his performance the night before.
"What are you doing tonight? I’d like to take you out for your birthday.”
“I have plans with Katie.”
“You’re with Katie every day of your life. You can’t break plans for me?”
Sandy stared at Joe, then smiled, “What time?”
“I’ll come to your house at six.”
Joe was oddly nervous having dinner with a girl he’d been friends with since grade school. They were just friends. Still, he had butterflies, as if he were on his first date with an angel. Sandy’s mother always liked Joe. She embarrassed her daughter by making a big deal about them going on their first date. They walked to Andino’s on The Hill, a very intimate family-owned restaurant.
The waiter showed the young couple to a table against the window looking out on Atwells Avenue. They quietly glanced at the menus. Joe ordered an appetizer to share and soft drinks. Sandy wasn’t a big drinker and she got drunk the night before so Joe abstained. They looked at entrees making menu small talk.
When the calamari appetizer arrived they ordered their dinners. She ordered the manicotti. Joe went with linguine in clam sauce. As soon as the waiter was clear, Sandy wasted no time in getting to the point.
“What you said a while back about always being second,” she said quietly. “It really hurts to know you feel that way about us.”
“I’m sorry but that’s precisely how I feel and you can’t deny the facts.”
“I know and I understand why you see it that way but I don’t think you understand my feelings.”
“Let’s have it. I’m all ears.”
They clammed up when the waiter was nearby. After serving herself another portion, Sandy continued while Joe ate batter-fried squid rings with pepperoncini.
“When we were young you were quiet and kind of shy. You didn’t have any close friends, except me. I was there when you were bullied. I witnessed it and I felt bad. It was terrible.”
“Well, that version of me is dead and buried. I don’t miss him.”
“That’s where this is going, Joe. I liked you, always have. You were caring and sensitive. I loved that about you. You were always kind and considerate.”
“I know what happened to me, years of therapy teaches you a few things. After I lost my sister I became an emotional fucking mess? Can you blame me?”
“No. And I understand. I was there for you. It was hard seeing you in pain and I was too young to know what to do or say. It was awful, Joe. It hurt to see you like that."
“And then I snapped out of it.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t like the next version of you so much." She paused. "When you finally stood up to Nick Petrangelo and knocked him down, everyone was happy a bully got what he deserved but that day changed you.”
“Yeah, for the better. I wasn’t getting pushed around anymore.”
“I know, Joe, but then you bloodied Giovani’s nose and you beat up Carfaro. I didn’t recognize you anymore. You were still my best friend and I loved you but you scared me. You seemed to be ready to punch someone in the face if…”
“If they picked on me, or anyone else. I fought the bullies Sandy; the assholes, not weak kids.”
When salads arrived, they sat quietly as the waiter did his thing, serving and filling water glasses.
“I realize that. To me, it was all violence and you were always ready to fight. It only got worse in high school. I saw that beating you gave McGill in the cafeteria. It was bad.” She leaned in to whisper. “You really messed him up.”
Joe pointed his fork at her. “And you know he started it.”
“I know he did but that’s not the point. You didn’t even think to talk your way out, not one word, you went straight to punching his face.”
Joe picked through his salad, a little annoyed that Sandy couldn’t differentiate between his beating a bully and that bully picking on weaker kids. She ate her salad, taking a break from talking. He didn’t have any words at the moment. When entrees arrived, she went on.
“I love you, Joe. I always have. You’ve been one of my best friends for years but you turned dark and I had to step back. That’s why we’ve never been,” she paused again, “what you want us to be.”
Joe took a deep breath and exhaled. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You did what you had to do. I just think you went too far. For years the kids at school were saying you’re a mental case.”
“Guess what? I was and I still am. That’s why I needed therapy. That’s all changed.”
“It has. What you did for Betty was amazing. But I think it’s your band. That’s the change. Everyone was telling me you’re a different person on stage. I’m happy I finally got to meet that guy.” She touched his hand.
“I am too. That’s the real me and the future me.”
They sat quietly for a short time, working on their dinners. Sandy fidgeted uncomfortably. "I have a hard question to ask?"
"Okay," Joe looked up.
"Are you okay?"
"That's your hard question?"
"I was talking with your friends the other night and someone said you've been drinking too much and they're worried about you."
"One of my friends said that?"
"Not one of the guys."
"Not the band?"
Sandy shook her head, "No."
"Well, that person probably doesn't know what they're talking about."
"Did you have some drunken incidents?"
"Is getting drunk an incident?"
"They said you don't drink too much, not like that."
"Jesus. A guy can't get drunk once in a while?" Joe steeled his eyes. "There were no incidents. I got drunk after a couple of gigs. So what?"
"I'm sorry. I said it was hard to ask."
Joe decided to ask something that had lurked in his mind for years. “Since we're asking hard questions, why is it that you always run to me when things go bad with boyfriends? You call me every time. We hang out and talk and then you vanish when it passes.”
She didn’t immediately reply.
“That’s why I feel like I’m your rebound boy," Joe said flatly. "Did you ever wonder how that makes me feel?”
“Not until you said you feel our friendship is a one-way street. That made me feel awful. I didn’t realize I did that to you.” She touched his hand again. “I’m sorry, Joe.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. I take what I can get and I’m fine with that.”
“What about now?”
“You mean us?” Joe asked. “I told you it wouldn’t work. I don’t have a gilded carriage to escort Milady with. And I don't have time for a girlfriend."
Sandy smirked at his dig but didn’t respond. She always dated guys with cars.
“I heard you’re not going to the prom,” Joe said. “I guess Fiori is taking Kerry Contos.”
“No,” she said under her breath. “But if Betty McDonald had her way you and I would be king and queen.”
“Is she working both sides? What did you tell her?”
“That Joe Theroux wouldn’t be caught dead at the prom.”
“That’s pretty much what I said, that we’re friends but not like that.”
“Oh, please, Joe. If you asked me to the prom do you think I would say no?”
'Oh shit,' Joe thought. 'Was Sandy part of Betty's prom plot?' He stared at her for a long moment. “I honestly didn’t think…”
“Maybe you should have.”
Joe looked down at his near-empty plate, feeling bad and thinking that maybe he should have asked. He didn't have a driver's license, never mind a car for the prom.
“I’m sorry, Joe. It’s too late now. It’s in four days and I’m sure you have a job Friday night.”
“Yeah, UConn on Friday and Worcester on Saturday.” Joe squeezed her hand. "You still haven't answered my question."
Sandy sat quietly for a moment. "Because you are my best friend for being there when I call and listening. I didn't know it hurt you. You never said so." She sighed, "And you always say nice things that make me feel better."
"Like you deserve better than the idiots you date?"
"They're not idiots."
"Not at the beginning. Will you let me beat up Sam Fiore for you?" Joe smiled. "You don't have to watch." He punched his palm and bit his lower lip. "Just two good shots."
Sandy laughed, "No. Leave Sam alone."
"If he goes down, I get one kick. Deal?"
"No," she slapped his hand. "You say you don’t have time for a girlfriend but you’re with Claire.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s complicated.”
“Really?” Sandy made a ‘huh’ face. “Does she know that?”
“That’s her deal. I guess it's not so complicated."
“You must meet girls on the road.” She leaned closer. “I saw it at the club the other night. They like you.”
“You have no idea.” Joe sighed. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Sandy put her fingers in her ears. “Lalalalala,” she smiled. “I’m not listening.”
Joe laughed, getting her call-back joke. “Are you jealous?”
“No… well, maybe. I just don’t need to hear about your groupies.”
“Don’t call them that. It’s demeaning.”
“I would have a very hard time being your girl knowing what goes on at your shows. I saw it. They’re all around you.”
“It’s a problem... sometimes.”
Over dessert, the topic switched to Sandy attending Middlebury College in the fall. She was excited. Joe was happy to listen to her discuss her future and not their past. He knew that even if they did hook up and try to be a couple she was off to Vermont in the fall. It didn't matter. He had no chance.