Joe and Johnny sat on the porn sofa discussing songs Joe wanted to work on, originals he was trying to get into the band’s repertoire. A few hoodrats loitered nearby. Sal and Nate sat at the kitchen table. Angie’s camera was running, shooting the band for a film project she was doing on the Providence music scene. Behind her was Seth, her sound guy, holding a boom mic overhead. Joe smirked, ‘his arms must be tired.’
Angie had already filmed four local bands at The Living Room and Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel, including The Young Punks. This was her final day of shooting, capturing the band on their home turf. She focused on Joe and Johnny.
“You’re impatient. We can’t just flip a switch and do only original music,” Johnny said. “This will take time.”
Joe was too aware of the camera, trying to not look at Angie. “I know, but we need to keep moving in that direction. I can write lyrics and the guitar parts. I have the drums and bass in my head. I just need you on board to complete these songs.”
Johnny blew smoke from his cigarette. “I’m in, Joe. What’s the problem?”
Joe glanced over at the kitchen. “They have no enthusiasm for the work. It can be tedious and they get frustrated.”
“I can’t fix that.”
“No, but if you’re with me,” Joe said, distracted by the camera. “We can push them and get a couple of these songs knocked out. We have four originals now. We need to keep adding our music to the set.”
“You mean your music.”
“I wrote it,” Joe said, looking away from Angie. “but once you guys put your stamp on them it’s our music. I like how what I hear in my head is changed by Sal playing what he feels is best, or your leads… which I can’t write.”
“You can write a lead. It’s not that hard.”
“You know me. I’m all rhythm and riffs. I leave lead guitar to you because you respect what I do and build on it. If you push Sal he’ll listen to you. He resents it when I try to make stuff happen. It’s as if he hates taking direction from a high school kid.”
“He hates being told what to do,” Johnny said. “He’s always been stubborn like that, even when it’s the right thing to do. You have to make Sal think it was his idea.”
Angie panned over to Sal and Nate stuffing their faces at the table. Pops was in the kitchen cooking sausage, peppers, and onions. He looked over at the camera and put his hand up as if Angie was paparazzi. During a camera break Joe was grateful for, Angie sat on the sofa beside him to make a request. She had never sat this close before.
“So,” she winced. “Can you guys play a few songs? I wish we had more people here.”
“How many do you want?” Sal asked from the kitchen.
“Twenty.”
Sal looked to Joe with a shrug. “We could get that.”
“I’ll call Claire,” Joe said. “She can probably get some of her RIC friends over here.”
“I can scrape up a few more hoodrats,” Sal said.
Three phone calls were made from the garage. While they waited, Angie sat with Joe again.
“Can I interview you, right here?”
Joe exhaled uncomfortably. He pretended to be thinking as he took a moment to admire Angie. Her fine frizzy afro was always a turn-on for him. Every time she was close he wanted to touch it. It wasn’t a big radical seventies afro. It was just medium in… what’s the word, poof? Joe was really into this girl. Angie looked into his eyes with her big browns and waited for his answer.
He inhaled and exhaled again. “I don’t know about that.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, I’m so aware of that fucking camera that it’s kinda weirding me out.”
Angie laughed, “I thought you said you were interested in filmmaking.”
“Yes, on that side of the camera, making it, not being in it. That entire conversation felt stiff to me.”
“It was fine. I could tell you were uncomfortable but I guarantee being in my film will help you later on.”
“And how is that?”
“You’ll know what it’s like to be on that side of the camera and that’s a good thing for any filmmaker.”
When a sweet girl Joe was into got friendly and flirty, and then turns out to be super smart; that’s the sexiest girl in the world for him. He had no chance with Angie and that was probably for the better. The last thing he needed was another girl in his life.
“I don’t know where I read this,” he said. “but some filmmaker said the moment you turn on the camera you’ve changed the environment. You become a participant in what you’re shooting and that scene is no longer pure. I’m paraphrasing. I feel like the camera changes me. I feel so self-aware and that’s not me.”
“I saw it, Joe. It’s okay. You’ve never been on camera before.”
“Hey, my dad took some nice family movies. I’m a star in those.”
“I bet you are.”
“I’m not interested in talking and making this about me. I don’t feel right.”
“Joe’s a little chickenshit frog,” Pops shouted from the kitchen. “Frenchmen always surrender.”
Sal, Nate, and Johnny cracked up laughing, as did a few hoodrats but Angie and Seth didn’t get the joke. Sal filled them in.
“If you want to get Joe to do something you don’t ask him to do it. Tell him he can’t do it. He’s a chickenshit who’s afraid to sit in front of your camera and be interviewed.”
“He can’t do it!” Nate laughed at Joe.
“Oh,” Angie smiled and turned to Joe. “Chicken.” She made a bad clucking sound.
Joe was saved by the first arrivals bursting through the industrial door, Claire filled her Plymouth and another car followed. A chain reaction started when Joe phoned her at school. One of her RIC friends called a PC girl, and that girl phoned friends at Brown, who called RISD kids. Angie called her RISD girls. Sal rang the hoodrats.
In just over an hour, more than forty kids were hanging around with more on the way. Sal made a packy run, grabbing several cases of Carling Black Label and Narragansett. The Gansett brewery was just down Cranston Street. It was the local piss beer. Every city worth a damn has one.
“This is why I love this band,” Angie said to the camera Seth was now holding. “I asked for twenty and they got me fifty.” She snapped her fingers in front of the lens. “Just like that.”
The band got up and played. Angie filmed them and their closest friends, the kids who’d been in this garage many times, and all the hometown gigs. Most had been to The Underground. Angie had become the lead RISD fan, no doubt. Patty from Buffalo was the PC organizer. Twins from the Philly suburbs, Kurt and Candace were the Brown contacts. Of course, Claire was the RIC girl. Call them and you reach everyone. The band had tentacle-like roots in Providence.
As the band played, the steel door opened and closed adding people to the impromptu party. Angie moved through the room getting the band and the friends of the bands from all angles.
After five songs Joe took the mic to thank everyone.
“You guys are the best. Like Angie said,” he snapped his fingers. “Just like that showed up for us. Thank you. We’re gonna stop filming now,” He looked at the camera. “Okay?”
Angie nodded.
“We’ll play a little longer because you guys came out. We appreciate it.”
When the band wrapped it up after a dozen songs, Joe fiddled with his small pedal board, pulling power chords out and swapping out pedals. Angie walked up with Seth behind her.
“Thank you for letting me do this,” she said. Then she smiled. “I know you’re not camera shy because I just filmed you. Can we please talk on camera?”
“Can we talk about that another time? Joe said, noticing that Claire was giving them the side eye from the sofas. Joe saw her death stare a few times, especially when Angie’s camera focused on him.
“I have a deadline,” Angie made a sad face.
“When is that?”
“In ten days… and I have a lot of editing to do. I’m under the gun.”
Joe leaned closer and half whispered. “I don’t want to do it with everyone around. You should hang around. Get Johnny, Sal, and Nate to say something on camera. It can’t be just me you’re talking to. Take each of them aside and get something. Then you and I can sit down, but not today.”
“Okay,” Angie smiled. “I get it. That’s fair.” She turned to Seth. Let’s do that. We’ll see what we can get from the band.”
Joe motioned to Claire to come over while replacing his fuzz pedal. He looked up as she arrived.
“When the crowd thins let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“I have to drive my friends back and they don’t want to leave yet.”
“Shit.”
Claire smirked. “Don’t you want to hang around with your cute film director friend?” She made a mocking kissy face.
“If that’s what I wanted… that’s what I’d do. I just said I wanted to get out of here.”
Claire turned and walked several paces, “Hey, Donna. I’m driving back in a minute.” She walked back to Joe. “I’ll come back and get you, okay?”
“Just come to my house. I’ll walk home.”
Joe didn’t want to be in the room when Angie talked to the guys. After Claire left, he walked over to where Angie was speaking to Sal. When they took a quick break, Joe told a white lie, saying he had to go home to have dinner with his sisters. He hugged Angie and walked out leaving her with the band and lingering guests. As Joe walked home he thought, ‘I was never the star of Dad’s home movies. Janie was. Maybe that’s why he stopped.’
—-- RARE BIRDS —-
Joe, Sal, and Claire sat at the bar in The Living Room. Randy Hien was helping his bartender Mary keep up. They were there on a school night to check out Ruby Slippers, a new-ish local band that was generating a buzz in town. Joe had heard they put on a good show.
“So you’re here to check out the competition?” Randy said while pouring beers.
“You invited me,” Joe shrugged. “Are they competition? I don’t see it that way.”
“They’re punk and they’re good.”
“Pfft,” Sal scoffed. “This is not punk.”
“Nope,” Joe agreed. “It’s too soft and tinkly with the keyboards.”
“Punk, new wave,” Randy said as he slid a pint in front of Joe. “same difference.”
“Bullshit.” Joe sipped his beer. “And you should know better.”
“Look at these queers,” Sal gestured toward the stage. “What is this?”
Claire rolled her eyes, “Why is everything queer to you, or gay… if it’s not macho punk?”
“I’m not macho,” Joe said.
“I didn’t say you were.”
The band was good and they certainly had a stage presence. It was more glam rock than anything. The Ruby Slippers had a male and female singer. The dude singer wore more makeup than the girl, including glitter on his face. He also had an impressive hairdo, big and poofy. He wore tight leather pants and what appeared to be a woman’s blouse. He sashayed around the stage in what could be confused as a Freddie Mercury impersonation.
The female singer was also the keyboard player, less flamboyant aside from her non-stop dancing while playing keys. She wore a sparkly dress. They covered Blondie, Bowie, B-52s, New York Dolls, Mott The Hoople, and Queen… no punk. When they played ‘Love Is The Drug’ by Roxy Music, Joe was impressed. They nailed it. The lead guitarist was outstanding. His blow-dry hair, tight shiny pants, and sparkly shirt… not punk.
“With all due respect, Randy, this is not punk, not even close. You could make a case for a new wave, but look at these guys with the hair and spandex and pretty shirts my sister would love. It’s glam rock.
“Does it matter?” Randy asked.
“No, it doesn’t,” Joe said. “but don’t call them punk if they’re not. Like I said, you should know better. If these guys played some of our clubs they’d get run out.”
“The animals at Barney’s would eat them alive,” Sal smiled.
“That’s who I’m talking about,” Joe laughed. “Barney’s punks would hate these guys, but I like them.”
Randy looked up to see one of his regulars coming their way. “Issac likes them.”
“Like I said,” Sal looked directly at Claire. “Queers.”
Claire turned a shoulder to him, facing Joe, and rolled her eyes again.
“Issac is not a punk,” Joe said. “but he probably wants to fuck this lead singer. He’s very pretty.”
“Hi, Joe,” Issac gave Joe a one-arm hug. “What are you doing here?” He waved at Claire and ignored Sal. Isaac knew who his friends were.
“I just came to check these guys out.”
“They’re good,” Issac smiled. “I like them.”
“Can you carry on a conversation at this bar when we play here?”
“No, definitely not,” Issac said.
Claire laughed while shaking her head.
Joe looked at Randy. Randy shook his head. “Nope.”
“We’re not even shouting,” Joe said. “not really. These guys are good but they’re a little soft and precious.”
“Issac smiled wide, “Aren’t you catty, putting the new band in town down.”
“Oh, no. I’m not putting them down. They’re good. Randy says they’re punk. We disagree. They’re a little new wave and a lot of glam.”
Issac nodded. “That sounds right.”
Joe gave Randy an I-told-you-so glance. “When you think about it, we’re not straight-up punk either. We’ll play anything and make it sound punk but I’m just trying to give people a good time, and sometimes punk after punk after punk song can get tedious.”
“Bullshit,” Sal said. “We’re a punk band. We just play everything.”
“I agree with Joe,” Issac said. “I can take punk in small doses. Even though you make everything punk, it’s still The Stones and Nancy Sinatra and whoever. I think that’s why everyone likes you, not just the freaks. You have a wider appeal.”
“That’s by design. Not every crowd wants the Ramones and this is not a punk town. We try to be palatable for those who aren’t so into punk. We’ve walked into a few new bars and knew in one minute that these are not our people. In that case, I call an audible. Having those rockabilly and sixties songs in our repertoire saves us.”
Ruby Slippers ended their first set and stepped off stage. The two singers found a place at the bar because the club was not nearly full on a school night. The rest of the band stepped outside.
“How do you know they’re not your people?” Claire asked.
“Age is a huge tell. Every shitty gig we’ve had was a mismatch. The crowd is too old for punk. When in doubt, I check out the jukebox selection. That’s when I might call an audible.”
“What does that mean?” Issac asked.
“In football,” Joe said, “The quarterback surveys the defense at the line of scrimmage and changes the play at the last second.”
“And old people are a tough fucking defense,” Sal said, “Our shit ain’t gonna play there.”
“But we still try,” Joe added. “I just swap out some punk for more rock and surf music, and maybe we don’t play them so hard. We still do our weird songs, Those are almost universally liked. People dig Boots and Skates.”
“After a few of those crap gigs Joe made a rule,” Sal said. “If there’s not a college nearby we don’t take the job.”
“Except for beach bars,” Joe added.
Joe turned to look over the bar towards the stage and met the eyes of the lead singer. He smiled, slipped off his stool, and walked over to Joe. “Hey, you’re the guy from The Young Punks, right?”
Joe nodded and offered his hand. “I’m Joe.”
“I know, I saw you a couple of months ago.” He took Joe’s hand. “Gary Santos. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Randy said we should check you out.”
“Really?” Gary smiled at Randy. “That was nice of you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Joe said. “Randy says you're band is punk. I say your new wave and glam. What do you say?”
“We’re not punk.”
Joe smiled at Randy.
“Okay, they’re not punk,” Randy conceded. “Who cares? Since I have you both here. Let me tell you what I was thinking.”
Joe furrowed his brow, “You planned this?”
“Sort of. You two are rare birds. I don’t book many cover bands. I prefer acts with original music but you weirdos bring more to the stage than just covers, so I've made exceptions. I’d like to put you up together, a double bill during the week of our fifth anniversary celebration.”
“Who would be the headliner?” Joe asked.
Gary laughed. “That’s not a serious question. You pack this place.”
Randy nodded.
“Just asking,” Joe smiled as he took a sip of fresh beer.
“So, what do you think?” Randy asked.
“What date?” Joe asked.
“A night you’re already playing, that middle of July weeknight you took. I have Human Sexual Response, The Neighborhoods, and the Modern Lovers all coming in that week.”
“I guess that works,” Joe said looking at Gary. “Are you in?”
“I’ll talk to the band but I’m sure they’ll do this. We get a full house because you’re playing.”
“Maybe not,” Joe said. “He’s got a lot of good bands playing the same week.”
“Yes,” Randy agreed, “But you both have a loyal local following.”
—-- ROCK & ROLL HIGH SCHOOL —--
Since the class elections last fall, Joe had been lying low in school. He was having a better year academically but not honor roll level. He was fine with any passing grade. He was simply riding out the year, skipping fewer classes, doing enough work to get by, and not getting in trouble.
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During his first three years at Central, Joe had multiple visits to the principal’s office, a few for fighting, and others for his questioning authority in class. He was trying to get through his final year without incident but a challenge from a former student put an idea in his head that jeopardized his good senior-year citizenship.
At the April show in Boston, their sixth performance at the Brickyard, and the first truly great crowd at that cavernous club, Kelly asked Joe if he was planning a senior prank.
“Nah. I don’t do that kind of stuff.”
“Pfft,” Kelly scoffed, pointing at the stage, “That’s all you do up there, clowning around and pranking your adoring fans. You just had Sal fake a stroke or something. Did you see the alarm you created?” She leaned closer. “I heard a few people say you were an asshole for that stunt.”
Joe shrugged, “This is different. I don’t do pranks at school.”
“That’s because you can’t top my class or the year before us.”
“No. I just don’t care and I don’t have the time to plan some elaborate scheme to make teachers look stupid.”
Kelly smiled. “I guess you’re not as creative as I thought you were… or daring.”
Joe hated that comment. He knew Kelly was aware of one of his character flaws. Sal had told her last summer, ‘If you tell Joe he can’t do something he’ll kill himself trying to do it.’
If he had to concoct a prank and coordinate with classmates to pull it off, this challenge would go unanswered. Past senior pranks included painting the football goalposts pink, releasing a dozen bunnies in the school cafeteria and photographing teachers and administrators falling over themselves trying to wrangle them, and the one prank that got students in deep shit, lifting the principal’s car on blocks and removing his tires. Joe had one idea that required no help, a plan hatched long ago during his frequent visits to the principal’s office.
Early in his Freshman year, he was sitting in the office awaiting discipline after his first fight in high school. It was a brutal brawl in the school cafeteria witnessed by dozens of students. He overheard Mrs Janey, the school secretary, say she had to rewind the anthem tape. A Radio Shack cassette player sat on her desk, alongside the school PA microphone.
The school did the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. Joe spoke every word except two - under God. The Friday before a national holiday, Mrs Janey played the National Anthem or God Bless America in place of the pledge.
In a subsequent office visit, he witnessed Mrs Janey remove the tape from her desk drawer and place it near the cassette player. When she left the room, he looked at the tape. It was a common sixty-minute Memorex cassette with the national anthem on one side and Kate Smith on the other. He’d been holding this intel for more than three years, as well as other vital information.
On the Friday before Memorial Day, after attendance was taken, every student in the building was standing beside their desk, hands on hearts, facing the star-spangled banner. Kate Smith broke into God Bless America. The song went as expected until she got to the end of the first chorus. When she sang, ‘Home sweet home’, a drumbeat began. ‘
Joe watched his homeroom classmates' faces, first confused, sharing glances, and then smiling as that beat launched into a different anthem. When Joey Ramone began singing -
“Rock rock rock rock rock ‘n’ roll high school
I don’t care about history, rock rock rock ‘n’ roll high school
‘Cause that’s not where I want to be, rock rock rock ‘n’ roll high school
I just want to have some kicks, I just want to meet some chicks
Rock rock rock rock rock ‘n’ roll high school.”
- every classroom in Central High School erupted in laughter and dancing. Joe stood at his desk with a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face. Several classmates looked toward him, assuming he was the guerrilla who planted the bomb that blew up their school morning.
The best part of the prank was the intel he learned casing the school office. Mrs Janey always used the faculty ladies’ room after morning announcements while the pledge or anthem played. The purpose of having Kate Smith sing the first verse and the chorus was to give her time to cross the corridor and reach the toilet.
When the drums kicked in, Joe assumed her panties were at her ankles, because the song kept playing. By the time Vice Principal Reed realized she was not in her office to kill the Ramones, the school had over forty seconds of punk rock in every room, cafeteria, library, and gymnasium. Kids arriving late heard it outdoors. More than two thousand students enjoyed happy chaos. Reed ran from his office to intervene. He struggled to stop and pop the tape. Everyone heard him cursing over the classroom speakers, “Goddamnit! Son-of-a-bitch!” - then silence.
Mrs. Janey squawked at Reed, caught by the PA, “Joe Theroux was in here, after school yesterday, snooping around.”
Mr. Reed composed himself. “Joe Theroux, report to the office… immediately.”
Joe’s classmates clapped as he left the room. When he reached the office, Reed, Janey, and Miss Murray were waiting for him. He strutted with pride, took a seat, and didn't speak a word. Reed berated him for a minute. When he ran out of breath, the three of them stared at Joe, waiting for him to say something.
“It was a harmless joke,” he said. “Every student is smiling right now. No one got hurt.” He smiled. “And you don’t have to repaint the goalposts.”
“For this tomfoolery,” Mr. Reed said, “you get three hours with Mr. Cardoza. Don’t ever pull this crap again, Theroux.”
“I can’t do detention today. My band has a thing to do. I’ll see Jock Itch on Tuesday.”
"If you don't show up today,” Reed pointed. “You can make that a week."
“There’s only a week and a half of school left.”
Miss Murray snickered at his nickname for the muscular gym teacher who was the warden of detention, and dumber than a goalpost. Outside the office, Joe smiled at her.
“Can you believe I’m getting three days detention for… tomfoolery?”
She shook her head. “You couldn’t do it, could you? You avoided trouble all year but you couldn’t make it to the end.”
“Hey, this is a misdemeanor. A week of listening to Cardoze-off babble stupidly is not an appropriate sentence. No one got hurt and there’s no property damage.”
“You can serve only three days if you show up today.”
Joe sighed, “I know. But that’s gonna be tough.”
The following Tuesday, a group of senior jocks broke stink bombs all over the school, in more than a dozen classrooms, the cafeteria, the library, in corridors, near the front office, and even the locker room they use… because they’re idiots. The stench of rotten eggs lingered into the following day. Some kids used the foul smell as an excuse to go home sick. By comparison, Joe’s prank was small, but the entire school got to enjoy hearing Vice Principal Reed cuss over the PA, and no one suffered.
—- THE HOMESTRETCH —-
In the weeks leading up to graduation, Joe planned for the summer season and life after high school. Last summer they played gigs along the Rhode Island shore. Those were some of the best shows the band had. That’s how Joe envisioned the upcoming summer of ‘79.
Joe sat at the kitchen table in the garage late on a Saturday afternoon, the day after Rock & Roll High School, flipping through a guide to New England colleges he picked up at the Brown University bookstore. He was waiting for Claire to arrive.
Sal, Pops, Nate, and John Bucci Senior were waiting on the starting gun for the Preakness Stakes. Sal had recently bought a new RCA 19-inch Colortrak television. Johnny didn’t care about horse racing. He was reading nearby while Joe worked.
“I have June and most of July booked,” Joe said. “I have five dates set for the week after graduation, all the beach bars.”
“Five shows in one week?” Johnny looked up from his magazine. “That’s a lot.”
“We did that a few times last year.”
“Yeah, and it was hard.”
“It won’t be five shows every week. I’m just trying to get us re-established in the beach clubs. I have another five-show run set up around the Fourth of July.”
“What bars?” Sal asked.
“The same places, from Newport to Westerly.”
“Same old shit,” Johnny said. “I thought you were looking for new clubs.”
“I’m working on it. I’m looking for Connecticut beach bars so we can just keep driving west playing the coast.”
“I thought the focus was college towns?”
“It is,” he gestured to his college guide. “but we won’t need them until fall after the beaches close. That’s when we’ll expand our turf up north.”
“How far do we have to go?” Sal asked. “We’re putting a lot of miles on Pop’s van.”
“I don’t know, all of New England? We’re stashing cash for gear and maybe we’ll need a new ride someday.”
Sal walked over to the lounge area to watch the race. One year before, Pops and Johnny Bats won a nice little haul betting on Affirmed. They bet on each of the Triple Crown races. What Pops later regretted was not making the triple crown bet before the Derby. He bet race by race. This year, prior to The Derby, he and Johnny bet on Spectacular Bid to win the Triple Crown.
Spectacular Bid won the Kentucky Derby. The Preakness was the second race for the crown. They were glued to the television, beers in hand, watching the horses being walked and loaded into the starting gate.
When Claire arrived, she waved at the horse-racing spectators and walked over to Joe. First, she stood, observing. She eyeballed the two empty bottles in front of Joe and one in his hand. She then sat beside him.
“Day drinking, huh? After last night?”
Joe ignored the rhetorical questioning. Claire flipped the cover to see what he was reading. She furrowed her brow.
“Are you looking at colleges?”
“Yes.”
Her face bore a look of confusion, “It’s a little late for that. I thought you…” She looked at his notes and a map laid out on the table. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for college towns to find more gigs.”
“Oh, I get it. Of course. Silly me. I thought you were thinking of going to college.”
“Fuck no. There are so many small schools in New England and I don’t know where they are. I’m using this guide to map out possibilities. Joe gestured to the road map.”
“How does this lead to a gig?”
Joe exhaled. “I’ll call the numbers listed for these schools and maybe a helpful person will tell me where the students hang out in town. Then I can look up the bars. Sal and I are planning a road trip to New Hampshire and Vermont to check some out. If this works, we’ll have new gigs to play this fall.”
The gun went off and the race was underway. Sal and Nate leaned close to the TV. Pops was on the edge of his seat. John Senior stood behind the sofas.
“This is a lot of work,” Claire said. “and you have no idea if these places are any good.”
“How else can I do this? I saw this at the bookstore and had a Eureka moment. If I get five new venues from this book, it’s worth my time and expense.”
The 1979 Preakness had a small field of five and Spectacular bid went off at 1 to 9. So big a favorite you can’t make a buck unless you bet big. Pops didn’t care. He wanted glory as much as cash. From the start, it was a two-horse race as General Assembly and Spectacular Bid ran away from the field. Pops was now on his feet.
“How were you feeling this morning?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You passed out last night,” Claire pointed at the porn sofa. “Right there.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Feel asleep,” she chuckled. “After how many beers and shots?”
“So what? I woke up fine, had some of Pop’s ravioli for breakfast, and walked home to shower and hang with my sisters. Then I came back and went straight to work. What’s the problem?”
“Don’t get defensive. I was just wondering how you were feeling.”
After the second turn, the pack of three horses began closing in on the leaders. Pops was now hopping up and down, practically screaming. Joe smiled and nudged Claire. “Hey Pops! That’s as much exercise as I’ve ever seen you get.”
“Shut up, kid!” The pack caught the leaders on the backstretch. Going into the third turn it was anyone’s race. “C’mon, you fucking nag!” Pops shouted. “Get the lead out of your ass!”
Claire was glad Joe had changed the subject. “I heard a rumor that you’re planning a big graduation party.”
“Yup. We bought a PA system and were setting up for an outdoor show.” He smiled. “It’s gonna be epic.”
Sal and Nate leaped to their feet as the pack entered the final turn. They were jumping up and down, three men doing the pogo yelling at horses running three hundred and sixty miles away. John Senior put his hands on the back of the sofa, leaning into the race. Spectacular Bid made the final move around that turn and had the lead entering the homestretch. Pops was spitting as he shouted.
“Pops!” Joe yelled. “You’re gonna have a damn stroke!”
“Tell me about the party plans,” Claire said.
“Just a party like we always have, pizza and beer, but we’ll do it outdoors so we can have more guests.”
Down the homestretch, Spectacular Bid pulled away from the field, leaving them in the dust. Pops was losing his mind, arms flailing, with Sal and Nate along for the ride. John Senior remained cool. That’s when Joe realized Johnny got his chill demeanor from his old man. The Derby winner crossed the line eight lengths ahead, winning the second jewel in the crown. The four men went nuts. Joe enjoyed watching them far more than the race.
When the commotion died down, the betting men watched the ABC Sports replay and then joined Joe, Johnny, and Claire in the kitchen… all smiles.
“So, Pop’s,” Joe said. “At one to nine odds, how much did you win?” He smirked. “You must be rollin’.”
Pops ignored him.
“How much did you put down? Ten grand would win you what… eleven hundred? Did you go big?”
Pops ignored him.
Johnny Bats smiled at Joe, shaking his head… no. He put up two fingers.
“Twenty grand to win two grand?”
Bats nodded.
“Have you ever considered that you might have a gambling problem?”
“Only the ponies,” Johnny Bats said. “He loves going to the track. When they closed Narragansett Park last year he was crushed but it was a blessing.”
“Are you that bad at the ponies, Pops?”
“Shut up, kid! I just won two grand.”
—- COMFORTABLY NUMB —
Joe was having an amazing time with Claire. For three months she fucked him every chance they had and he was enjoying her attention. There were moments he felt as if he was in an altered state after sex. As great as that was, he was having a difficult time keeping his expectations under control and his heart in check. Their deal had not changed but he found it hard to believe her passion was not based on love.
This struggle, as well as his feelings about Sandy, and his conflicting thoughts about girls on the road, put Joe in a confused state of mind through the spring. On the surface, he seemed okay, hanging out with his road girls when he played in their towns and being Claire’s boy toy at home.
Joe was skilled at concealing his feelings. Years of therapy taught him to control or even cage his demons. But his mask didn’t change what lurked inside. For the first time, he resorted to self-medication. Claire was the one who told Sandy Joe was drinking too much. It wasn’t directly, Sandy was on the periphery of the conversation.
He was never a big drinker and rarely got drunk. That’s why his benders stood out. He’d have a few beers and maybe smoked a joint, but he insisted on maintaining control. He had a job to do at these clubs. He wasn’t going to blow it on booze. Also, he’d seen enough drunk people make fools themselves and never wanted to be that guy.
April and May were as close to a binge as Joe had ever been on. He drank every day, usually within his limits, and never drunk on stage, but once he went off the clock he didn’t care. There were a few stumbling drunk incidents in April and several more in May. Claire witnessed two of these overly inebriated moments but most of his benders happened on the road. Last night was just a nod-off with a warm beer in his hand at 2:45 AM night.
After one of his pass-outs at the garage, Joe woke on the sofa the next day hungover, popped open a beer for breakfast, then walked home. Mom got in close for her sniff test.
“You stink. What did you do all night, drink at that garage?”
Joe leaned even closer and breathed on his mother. “Just a few beers.”
She demanded answers. “What are you doing all night? Why didn’t you come home? I don’t like you staying out. I don’t know what you’re doing but I know it’s not good.”
“It’s not bad, either. I’m fine, and I’m eighteen, Mom. I don’t owe you an explanation. I fell asleep on the sofa. And now I’m home.”
Joe wasn’t drunk but that breakfast beer turned his hangover into a morning after re-buzz. She knew he wasn’t sober. Mom carried on, as she does, on and on, not letting it go. Joe glanced behind Mom to see Jeanie and Jules eavesdropping in the other room. He smiled and winked at them.
Mom’s eyes got wide. “Are you mocking me?”
“Mom! Stop! I’m okay and I’m home. So I stayed out. Who cares? I’m eighteen and it’ll all be over soon. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“I’ll always worry about you,” she said, her hands shaking from the emotions. “You make bad decisions. You don’t go to church anymore, you drink beer, and that band… I don’t know what you think that nonsense will amount to. I wish you wouldn’t hang out with those older boys. They’re trouble.”
“They’re not boys.”
“Exactly, but you are. There’s nothing good going on in that garage. You’re gonna get in trouble with those men.” She stared at him. “I will always worry because you give me reasons to.”
“Goodnight, good day, whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m going to bed.”
“Hey, Joey,” Jules said. “Are you taking us to the museum today? You promised.”
Joe looked at his sisters and saw the hope in their eyes. He then looked up at the kitchen clock. It was 7:40. “Wake me at ten. I’ll shower and we’ll catch the bus.”
After taking them to lunch at Haven Brothers, Joe escorted Jules and Jeanie to the RISD Museum of Art and Natural History. When he was a kid, his grandparents took him there twice. He loved it. He passed that down to his sisters and they loved it too. He was happy to see them excited about learning… even as he suffered through his lingering hangover.
—-- THE FINAL COUNTDOWN —-
During exam week, Joe was preoccupied with graduation party planning. He didn’t study for his exams. His grades were okay and he knew he’d pass his finals and graduate. These exams were a mere formality, a speed bump between him and his future.
When Joe’s sisters learned of the graduation party, Julie ran to Mom with the information. Joe was testing to see if Jules was getting past her spy and informant stage. He planted a falsehood. Mom confronted Joe.
“What’s this about you not attending your graduation ceremony? This is a big occasion for us too. You’re the first grandchild. We’re celebrating with Nana and Memere.”
Joe had prepared a reply, “That’s your problem. I promised you I would graduate. I didn’t say anything about walking. I’m done. I have no interest in the lame, bourgeois convocation.”
Mom stared at him not knowing if he was serious. “And what’s this about a big party you’re having that night?”
“Yeah, we’re expecting three hundred kids at this show. I can’t back out.”
“I asked that you make no plans on graduation night. Your grandmothers are more important than your punk friends.”
“And I didn’t say one way or the other.” he shrugged. “Sorry, I have other plans.”
Jackie looked up at Joe as she chopped veggies. Joe smiled at her. She knew he was just winding Mom up, and Mother sensed it too.
“You wouldn’t deny me this big night. I don’t believe you. You’re just doing what you do, tormenting me.”
“We have six kegs of beer, dozens of pizzas on order, and Pops is cooking. He’s filling the fridge and freezer with meatballs and sausage and all kinds of stuff. The party is on.”
“We made reservations at Andino's. It’s your favorite. Your grandmothers are coming here Friday, and you’ll be here.”
“But Pops is cooking Italian. Have Memere and Nana come to the garage and we can have dinner there.” Joe smirked at Jackie again. “They could even stay for the party.”
Jackie snickered. She knew the facts and enjoyed watching her big brother pull Mom’s strings.
“Your grandmothers are not going to that garage. They’d die a thousand deaths.”
“It’s a garage, Mom, not a strip club.”
“I don’t know what goes on there but I know it’s not good and it’s no place for your grandmothers, me… or your sisters.” Mom shifted her eyes to Jackie. “Don’t you get any ideas about going to this party.”
That was enough to break Jackie, “Mom, Joe’s party is on Saturday. He’s just messing with you. Everything is fine for Friday night.”
Mom stared at Joe. “Why would you make me worry like this?”
“I never said the party was Friday. You believe everything Jules tells you and when you start on me I just let you go.”
“I’m going to the show, Mom.” Jackie declared. “This is my big brother’s party. I’m not missing it.” Her hands went to her hips. “I’ve never seen his band!”
“You are not going to that garage.” Mom’s hands found her hips. It was a showdown. “That’s no place for a good girl.”
“That’s for sure,” Joe said under his breath.
Jackie punched him. “You’re not helping.” She turned to Mom. “I’m going to the party and you can’t stop me. I want to see his band.”
This is where Joe felt he was most useful to his oldest sister. Jackie was cool but she was a bit of a goody-two-shoes, with the church-going and the excellent grades and always being helpful around the house. Joe liked to encourage his sister’s rebellious side. Jackie had an independent streak and Joe felt she didn’t show it enough.
“We’ll see about that.” Mom barked back. “I’ll have a talk with your father about this. He’ll be home all day Saturday, and as of right now, you’re grounded.”
“Are you serious?” Jackie dropped the knife and walked away. “You can cook dinner. If I’m grounded, I’m on strike!” She turned to Joe. “Are you just gonna stand there with that stupid grin and let her do this?”
“Sorry, sis.” Joe held his hands up. “This is between you and the parental units. I’m eighteen and I can do what I want. It must suck so hard to be fourteen.”
“You’re a jerk.” Jackie stormed off, leaving Joe to finish cooking dinner.
When Jackie’s bedroom door slammed shut, Mom walked off, stewing quietly as she got ready for work. Joe put Shake and Bake pork chops in the oven and made a salad. The house was tense. Just before Mom left for work, Joe gathered the ladies and made a peace offering.
“Ma, Jackie is not grounded,” he said. “That’s just dumb. She didn’t do anything wrong. I think I can get Dad to take the girls to the party. They want to see my band play and I think Dad does too. He’ll keep an eye on them. I promise I’ll make no plans for Friday until after Memere and Nana go home.”
“Why do you torment me?”
“You do it to yourself, Ma. I just play along.” He hugged his mother while smiling at his sister.
After Mom left, Jackie helped Joe finish dinner. “Thank you for not being a total jerk.”
“Thank you for standing up for yourself and giving Ma a piece of your mind. You can’t let her bulldoze you with her drama. You must dig in when she’s unreasonable.”
“I don’t like fighting the way you do.”
“I don’t like fighting. I’m just not afraid to do it.”