by P G Loiselle
“This Saturday ain’t going to work. It’s Tina’s father’s birthday. He’ll be fifty, and there’s a big surprise party for him. I can’t miss it.”
“Understandable,” I said. “Should the four of us meet?”
“That necessary?” Stevie asked. “You heard us tonight. It’d be overkill.” He looked around the room and all eyes were on him. He chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be ready. Let’s just chill and when the time comes, do what we do best, rock their socks off.”
The other guys nodded in agreement.
“You’re right,” I said. “I just don’t want… Well, we just can’t afford to blow this one. But you know what, we will rock their socks off. And the crowd, well, they’ll, they’ll get their rocks off.” Even before I said it, I realized how cheesy it would sound, but I did it anyway like a middle-age dork trying to make a funny.
“Nice one poet who didn’t know it,” Dale said. “Someone open the door. Luke lit off a stinker.”
Without any fanfare, I had packed up my gear after practice and hurried back to my place. I was excited, hoping that a last-minute solo excursion to see Amy would perfect the week and bring my psyche back into balance.
Once inside my house, I tiptoed straight out the back and glided like an evening shadow to the motorcycle. That baby started on the first kick, and before I knew it, I was already on the old Towpath with nothing behind me except my own tracks. I turned off the engine before getting to the mill yard and carefully walked the bike closer before stowing it away behind a junkpile. When I got to the building, I gave the signal and the ladder descended. I climbed up and stuck my upper body through the window only to see Stevie, lounging at the end of the couch looking rather jovial.
“You made it,” Amy said towering above my partway-in, horizontal torso. I tilted my head up at her and with her hair dangling in my face, she gave me a dry, tight-lipped puckering suck on my forehead.
The suddenness of it all shocked me. I didn’t want to be hanging out of the window for too long, so I heaved the rest of my body through the opening and attempted to stand up. Somehow, I lost my footing and tripped back down to the floor. Stevie sprung up off the couch and pulled me back up without appearing to exert any effort.
“You alright?” he asked and slapped both of my sleeves at shoulder level as if to pat out the dust.
“I’m alright,” I said and gave him a critical stare. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked him to come,” Amy said. “I thought we could use more brain power.”
“Was going tell you at practice,” Stevie said. “When it was over, you bolted out so fast, I didn’t have a chance.”
“I wanted to get here as soon as I could. How’d you get here so fast?”
“Came straight from practice. Parked the car behind Almacs supermarket and crossed the river over the trestle. A little scary walking on that thing in the dark, but it’s safe, you know, also from Stone. They wouldn’t like, follow me here or something.”
“Are you nuts?” I said, raising my pitch. “They’re tailing us, Stevie. Maybe not all of us all the time but some of us some of the time. They could have easily followed you and waited to see where you were going. Safe, you say? These guys are professionals, criminals.” I cupped the back of my head with both hands and gazed up towards the ceiling, my mouth half open in disbelief. After a few cycles of shallow breathing, I allowed my vision to fall back upon him “I warned you already about going that way. How many times you do it, Stevie?”
His eyes sank. “Like, every time.”
I let my hands fall to the sides and the rest of my body slumped as well. I dispelled a long burst of air and continued looking his way.
“Those other times were different,” he said, defending himself. “I snuck to the trestle on foot, first by the dump and then past the old race track. I’m positive nobody was behind me. I’m 99% positive I wasn’t followed tonight.”
“99% positive, huh? Well, I hope you’re not 1% wrong.”
“What are you frickin’ stupid?” Amy said. “You never said that’s how you come. Luke’s right. You could get us killed, and all of this, everything I worked for, would be for nothing.”
Deep inside, I savored the situation and especially Amy trouncing on Stevie. He was my best friend, but I thought he had to be brought back into line and not only by me. Scolding him wasn’t getting us anywhere with our plan though. I was about to smooth things over when Amy took charge.
“Ok, ok…let’s not cry over spilt milk,” she said. “Time to get to work. Just don’t ever, ever do something brainless like that again.” She paced from one end of the room to the other with her hands behind her back, alternating her sights between us. “I have a plan and it goes like this. You want to play in costume next week because you don’t want Stone and his loser son, Herbert, to crash the party and ruin your asses, right. What if you scrap that idea? Don’t play undercover and put out the rumor that I’ll be there, in the audience. And guess what? I will be. When Stone and Herbert and whoever else goes to grab me, we’ll have the cops grab them.”
“Who’s being stupid now?” Stevie said, pouncing all over her suggestion. “It’s no better than my bag of money in the woods idea you almost crucified me for.”
“Shut you trap, Curly,” she said, and gave him a nasty look. “What great plan do you have, dipstick?”
Even though I was vexed at my bandmate since entering that room, I interjected. “I agree with Stevie on this. Stone would never do the dirty work himself, so there’d be no chance to bag him like that anyway. Besides, the cops are on their side, probably not all of them, but who knows who’s friend or foe? Also, even if they did arrest someone, it’d be almost impossible to make it stick. With the lawyers they have, they’d beat any rap in a heartbeat. And the thought of using you as bait like that? Way too dangerous.”
“Yeah, way too dangerous,” Stevie said.
“Will you stop repeating me all the time?” I said. “It’s totally aggravating.”
“Me, repeating?”
“What a bunch of wussies.” Amy said, distracting us from a potential clash. “We’re not going to get them sitting here picking our cornholes. Stone needs to pay and pay big time. And Herbert, that twofaced, sorry sack of a boy-man needs to get what’s coming to him too. We need to lure those flagrant assholes out into the open and give them a good poke so they do something evil, illegal. The only way to do that is with me or the money.”
“Let’s use the money then,” I suggested without hesitation.
“No frickin’ way. Out of the question,” she said. “What kind of help is this shit I keep getting out of you. You even mucked up the spy mission with the Walkman. I would have expected much more, Luke.”
“I didn’t mess up anything. You know what a jerk Carney is. I’m bending over so far for you, I can almost kiss my own ass.”
“Well, you can kiss my ass too. If you won’t help, I’ll go it alone.”
“Jesus, Amy. Be reasonable for once. You promised me. We’re in this together. Last time, you almost got eaten by a pack of dogs.”
“Promises were made to be broken.”
The conversation went on like that for the next hour; as usual, we got nowhere. The discussion only wore us out, and we needed a break from each other. Although Amy agreed not to do anything rash by herself, even a fox would bite off its own tail when trapped and desperate. She made it clear that her plan, or one like it, would need to be revisited soon but agreed it wouldn’t happen the night of the battle. After some superfluous chitchat and a tepid goodbye, Stevie and I left, walking a small stretch together down the Towpath.
“Any plans for Saturday?” I asked him. “If we’re not practicing, maybe we can go out for some beers? Or play pool? Do something normal.”
“Got plans already.”
“Plans?” I asked, insinuating
that I wanted to hear details.
He stayed silent.
We walked further until we got to the trash heap where the motorcycle was and turned to face each other.
“See you next Tuesday then,” I said.
“I guess,” he said and, after a brief pause, turned towards the spot he would cross back over the Blackstone River.
I hopped on the Suzuki and raced home in a mindless state. It felt as if I was travelling in a tunnel of arched images. The droning of the engine was the ideal frequency to keep me progressing towards my destination without letting my fears and frustrations bog me down. Right now, I feel like I’m only along for the ride and that everyone else is steering. Then again, maybe I’m not along for any ride. Maybe I’m the one being left behind.
Sunday, August 2, 1987
This was the second weekend in a row that nobody from my tribe was there for me. On Fridays, we’d typically meet early for Happy Hour after work and carry on partying from there. This Friday, everyone I called was either not around or had other plans and my own ringer stayed quiet. Even my occasional chums, the ones who would casually drop me a line at the spur of the moment seemed to be in hibernation these days.
I decided to use the Friday evening to be a homebody and work on the set list for the big show. It had to be perfectly orchestrated, from the lead-up to our demasking, the unveiling of Four-n-Moore, and through to the musical crescendo needed to secure our victory in the battle. I made countless set lists over the years; this one was different. After having a rough idea of which tunes and what order, I played the whole show in my mind, note for note. If there wasn’t a seamless transition from a certain song into the next, if the energy didn’t feel right, if the grip of emotion on the listener might possibly wane, I rewound and started over. For me, this couldn’t be only a concert. It needed to be award winning cinema, a best-selling thriller, a ride of a lifetime, taking the audience on a mind-blowing journey and by the end, all questions would be answered. The ultimate performance that played out within me was finished shortly before 3:00 a.m.
I fell into an instant coma that took me all the way to late morning. I was figuratively on stage with the band, the whole night, and it didn’t stop in my sleep. Everywhere I looked, I saw people who cared about me: Stevie, Mike, Dale, Tommy, the audience, Amy on the sidelines. They seemed to be full of joy, experiencing the music and the pageantry, together, as both givers and receivers. There was no negativity, nobody trying to harm or take from another. There was only total harmony, and you might even call it love.
When I awoke, I tried to relish that feeling for as long as possible, but like a quick moving fog, Stone, Carney, Herbie, the unclear bond between Amy and Stevie along with all the drama of the past month had infiltrated my consciousness and had already started graying out my day. Instead of fighting it, I decided to harness that feeling and work through some lyrics to a song that has been developing inside me ever since my luck started going downhill.
“One-Way Town”
Along the pavement, kicking round got nowhere good to go
The line of people waiting there, but I’ve seen that show
Bar feels empty despite the crowded rooms of drink and style
Seen her many times before but never with that smile
Was hoping that a friend or two would finally come around
Rolling down a one-way street, in this one-way town
I’ve got a bet She hasn’t yet been dying to find out
Ducking through these shadows been making all the rounds
Lost and then I’m found again sitting, doing time
Looking for somebody’s dream because I don’t have one of mine
Fought my way to get here just to be turned down
Rolling down a one-way street, in this one-way town
Buds should be forever, and girls should look my way
Took just one glance and they were gone, and I was left alone
The trying is the hardest when chance is less than none
One more empty evening another night outdone
Packed up my hopes and left them I didn’t make a sound
Rolling down a one-way street, in this one-way town
Fate left me here to make it, but I should be west coast bound
Instead of rolling down this one-way street, in this one-way town
The song, including text, melody and acoustic guitar was complete by late afternoon, and I felt much better once it was all out in the open. In the process, I built up a ravenous hunger and could have devoured a T-Rex. A couple frosty beers and a grand platter of hot wings seemed like my best bet to round out the day. In addition to the wet and zesty sustenance, after a forty-five-hour abstinence from the public, some social interaction wouldn’t hurt either. Besides, I figured Don would be there and could listen to me whine for a bit. Whenever we get down to conversing, everything seems to be put back into its proper perspective. I tidied up and bee-lined down to The Corner.
I entered like a cowboy looking for a hit of whisky and meandered towards my favorite bar stool, greeting familiar patrons along the way. The vibe was so au contraire to that of last Saturday. Before I could even reach my space, there was a tall, chilled bottle of Budweiser waiting patiently for me along with a note on a coaster. “Bout time you shows up.” I didn’t see him, but Don was around. The odd thing was, the room was packed and all other seats at the bar were occupied except for the one I wanted to sit at.
I procured my bar side real estate, put the bottle top to my lips and tilted the glass bottom along with my entire head towards the ceiling. A river of the golden liquid slid down my pipe. When I levelled my sights, Don was in front of me, beaming, showing me virtually every tooth he had.
“Mister Luke,” he said.
“You call me Master Luke?”
“No, I says Mister Luke, but that be close enough.” His smile stretched even further. “Heard you was looking for me last Saturday. My nephew, Jesse, from down in Greensboro, he in town last week and I done shown him the good parts of this fine state. We was at the sea shore gobbling up those yummy clam cakes and chowder, the white kind. A good man, that Jesse is.” He stopped talking for a spell and looked at me, still happy-faced. “You plumb not show up yesterday evening, so I’s supposing you might be here today. Saved you a seat and all.”
“I noticed. Saw the beer at my spot looking so lonely.” I returned a genuine yet slight grin.
“So, how you doing, young man?” he asked.
“Lot’s happening right now.”
“Well, I reckon there always lots happening.”
“When you’re a poor struggling artist like me, that’s true.”
“And that little lady you be fancying? Any luck with her?”
“Amy? You need more than luck with her. She’s like an untamed mare. If you can break her in, you might have a chance. Right now, she’s running around like mad, not knowing what she’s running to, or from.”
“I know them sorts of gals.” Don contemplated hard before asking the next question. “And what about that Stevie? You done show me a picture last time. Those two, they was kissing.”
“Oh yeah, the picture. Kind of forgot about that one. Amy denied it was anything serious. Stevie didn’t even remember it, supposedly.” I raised up my beverage again and in three gulps, the contents were empty. I put the bottle back down onto the bar and like magic, there was a new one waiting for me.
“That Stevie, he a good feller. Your best friend, is he?”
“Yep, my best friend. Things could be better between us though. He’s preoccupied, maybe with Amy. Or it might be the question each of us asks themselves throughout life.” The carbonation bubbling up from my fresh beer stole my attention. The way those tiny sacks of air appear out of nowhere and after a short trip, free themselves back into the atmosphere. I gazed back up at Don. “What’s it all about? Life, I mean.”
“Ha,” he said, crowing. “No need for me to ask that question. I know what I sees, what I hears, what I feel. I know all these folks sitting here, and their stories. Most of my time, I be stuck behind these walls. Gotta pay them bills, you know. But I get it all in. I stroll here in the morning, thirty-five minutes. And I stroll back home at night, another thirty-five, conversing with the nature. Sun, rain, snow, darkness, it ain’t no matter how it is. And the people in here keeps me company. They like family. Yes sir, I knows what it’s all about.”
“If only it was so easy,” I said.
“What’s not easy? It all easy. And once you know that, your home, your family, it all around you, then you see how easy it all is.” He came closer, right in my face, closer than Carny’s was on the previous Monday, and became serious. “You still got problems with that big man, don’t you? That man that come round here, making trouble and all. He still making trouble, ain’t he?”
“Well, I have problems like everyone else. And if you ask me what my biggest problem is right now, I’d have to say him. My stupid boss is a close second.”
“Thought so. You got something he want, don’t you? Your boss want it too. Don’t he?”
“You could say that.”
“And they ain’t knowing where that something is, do they?”
“No, they don’t”
“Well, what you going to do about it?
“Certainly not give it to them. Why would I?
“Damn straight. Why would you? But you got a plan, don’t you?”
“Kind of a plan… Amy, Stevie, me.”
“You three, that’s good, that sticking together you all doing.”
“We’re trying to stick together. I don’t want to get into it, but it’s, it’s just hard. You know two’s a couple, three’s a wreck.”
“I figured such. But, if you sticking together, you three, you got a better shot at walloping that big man. And if you need my help giving that feller a good wallop, you come a knocking, anytime.”
