by P G Loiselle
The rest of the band noticed us standing there and came over too.
“Yo, wassup, Zeek?” Dale said. “Isn’t that the girl you just tongued? What’s the matter? Can’t keep it in your pants?”
“It’s Ashley White, the limo driver who took us to Boston,” I repeated.
“Well, take her home with you,” Dale suggested. “It’s time to blow this clambake.”
“No, Dale. I’m staying, only for a little while, an hour, two at the most.”
“I understand you want to score, but don’t be stupid,” Dale said. “You can get all the putang you want on the road.”
“It’s not about that,” I said. “I only want to talk to her. That’s all.”
“But she works for Stone’s brother, doesn’t she,” Stevie said, interrupting. “It’s a trap.”
“She’s a driver for Christ’s sake, hired help,” I said. “She can’t be in cahoots with them. If she was anyone important, she wouldn’t be schlepping around no-name musicians from gig to gig.”
“I don’t trust it,” Stevie said, looking disgusted. “Quit thinking with your Uncle Dick.”
“Jeez, Luke,” Tommy said, urging me. “Play it safe, pal. Give her your frickin’ number and tell her you’ll be back in a couple weeks. We got to go. She’ll understand.”
“No, Tommy. Only an hour or two, I swear. I’ll drink one more beer, chat a bit and grab a taxi home.”
“Ok, an hour or two,” Mike interjected, taking my side. “But please, no longer than that. Tomorrow’s the first show of the tour, and we don’t want to screw it up.” He took out his wallet. “Have enough money for a taxi?”
I checked my pockets and pulled out a crumpled fifty.
“That should cover it,” Mike said. “Do me a favor. Call me when you get home…no matter what time it is. Promise?”
“I promise,” I said.
The tour with Aerosmith was by far the most significant event that had ever happened in my musical career, and I wasn’t about to blow it over a girl, no matter how special she was. My plan was simple: plant a seed for my return. I’d die a thousand deaths to be with Amy, but it’s about time I think about other women. Amy would never fall for me anyway, even if I became the biggest star on the planet. I’d always be little Luke, her best friend. So why not search elsewhere? And why not Ashley White, I thought? She’s beautiful and has a personality to match.
Apart from the technicians, roadies and other stagehands, like a mass of harried ants, tearing down the equipment, I was the only one in the performance area after the other guys left. The crowd had thinned out, yet there were still a good many hardcore partiers who’d remain until last call. Miss White hadn’t moved from her spot and appeared as if she was awaiting my presence. I didn’t want to seem too eager, so I lollygagged along towards her while she, on the other hand, made no effort to come closer to me. On the surface, it could have seemed like one of those typical girl meets boy games; however, there was no more reason to tease. We’d already crossed the line and sucked face while several hundred bystanders watched.
“You’re not very punctual, Mr. Moore.” That English accent was exactly as I remembered: sexy, intelligent and worldly.
“Didn’t know we had a date, Miss White. Or is it Misses?”
Her cheeks contracted as she pulled in some transparent liquid through her cocktail straw. “No sir,” she said, looking amused. “I’m not a taken woman. And please call me Ashley.”
“Ok, Ashley. And please stick to Luke. Mr. Moore sounds like a crabby old teacher’s name.” My eyes never strayed from hers.
“Alright, Luke,” she said, showing a hint of a smile. “Before we continue with the usual pleasantries, must I say that you were amazing up there.”
“Well, I’ve been playing guitar and singing since I was a teen, been in a band with Stevie, the guitarist, ever since. And…”
“I meant the kiss, Luke,” she said, cutting me off. “But the music was marvelous too.”
An amazing kisser? Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me, and I’ve had my share of make-out sessions.
“Kissing you felt so natural,” I said, “and intuitive.” Even though we were talking about something so intimate, I felt strangely relaxed.
“And the music,” she said. “I’ve attended several of your concerts, and I think your band is absolutely brilliant. I simply adore listening to you.”
My smile grew. “I love listening to you too,” I said. “So, you must have seen us last week at the battle then. Your boss manages Fast.Fun!.”
“Yes, I did happen to attend that event, but I no longer work for Mr. Souza. And I certainly don’t work for Fast.Fun!. My God, they’re such delinquents.”
“What do you think? Would we have won fair and square if Fango hadn’t sabotaged our set?”
“I have to admit, Fast.Fun! did play well. I’d seen them play much worse. I must say as well, Luke, they wouldn’t have had a shot. Four-n-Moore is far superior compared to that group.” She reached for my hand and clutched it between her thumb and four dainty fingers. “Enough about music. Let’s go find a quiet corner and get acquainted. Shall we?”
“We shall,” I said, almost taking on her accent like when we first met. This time, I didn’t feel like a goofball.
She led me to a table that was somewhat removed from the action; I accompanied her like we belonged together. I’d pretty much avoided girls for a while now, since I was obsessed with taking Four-n-Moore to the top, but this time I couldn’t help myself. All logic would demand that I leave for home immediately. My conscience demanded that I make a break for it, too, since the bus would be picking us up in the morning hours. It was that other little voice in my head that was winning out. I was hooked and not in control of my own good judgement. When we got to the table, some dorky waiter came by to take our order.
“What’re you having?” he asked. His voice was gruff, and he smirked like a wiseass. I didn’t know what his issue was, so I ignored it.
“Ashley, what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic. Do you have Hendricks gin?”
“We got whatever gin you want, honey,” he said, obviously placating her. He’d no doubt give her the cheap stuff.
“Alright then, I’ll take Hendricks with a slice of cucumber, please.”
“We ain’t got no cucumbah,” he answered in a thick Rhode Island accent.
“Ok. Hendricks it shall be, with premium tonic water and a squirt of lemon, please.”
“Coming right up. And for you, pal?”
I felt like telling that SOB I wasn’t his pal but didn’t want to start anything in front of Ashley. “I’ll have a Bud,” I said, regulating my disdain for his attitude.
“One Bud coming up. You also want a lemon…squirt?” he said, aggravating me even further.
“What’s your problem, mister?” I said to the guy.
“Ain’t got no problem. You?” He looked like he was waiting for any excuse to slam me, and I had no idea why.
“No, I don’t.” I lowered my eyes, forcing myself to back down.
“What an uncouth moron,” Ashley said as soon as he was gone.
I agreed. She had my left hand in her right one, massaging my palm, gently tugging from my life line to the first segment of my middle finger. If we only talked and held hands for the rest of my stay, it would have been worth it. Minutes later, Mr. Tough Guy returned with the drinks and slammed them on the table, spilling some of the G&T. He made no attempt to apologize or wipe it up.
“On the house,” he said. He barely looked at us and moved away.
Each of us grabbed our drinks and lifted them high in the air.
“Here’s to a wonderful evening,” I said and took a swig, full of joy and anticipation of what would happen next. That was the last part of the night I can remembe
r.
My consciousness flickered, moving me between alternative versions of reality, like in a dream, which can be so lucid that it leaves behind the question of what’s real. I must have lay there for hours, and crossing back was arduous, especially since I wasn’t sure I needed to cross back from whatever reality I was in. At some point, I pried open my crusty eyelids. I had no clue where I was or what was going on.
A dull sheen of sunlight fought its way through the dust covered glass of the aging windows; the mildewed stench of the drool-soaked couch cushions on which my face lay, penetrated deep into my nostrils. I had trouble getting beyond the nail-driving headache and gut-wrenching nausea I was experiencing and couldn’t even fathom what events could have brought me to that awful place and state of being. My thoughts were in such disarray, the fact that I was already supposed to be on a bus to NYC hadn’t occurred to me.
I heaved myself into an upright position and let my head drop into my welcoming hands. Waiting there like that wouldn’t have made it any better, and I could only think about getting home. I was stuck in some decrepit factory building. Still fully clothed yet barefoot, I searched around for my socks and shoes to no avail. Every movement pained me and not wanting to waste any more energy, I started looking for a way out.
The heavy iron door was locked; climbing out of the window wasn’t an option either since the room was on the upper floor, and there wasn’t even a fire escape. The only available option was an air shaft located on the far wall, beneath the ceiling. I’m not sure how I mustered up the strength or cunning to find a way up to the shaft, remove the cover, crawl to the opening leading to the outside, break through that second covering, and get down to the floor, but I somehow did it…still without shoes or socks.
I walked out of the building, looking like a hobo, and onto a street, trying to get my bearings. Fleet National Bank, the Hospital Trust building, and the State House were in plain view which indicated that I was still in Providence. There, I thought, Atwells Avenue. It was written on the sign across the street. And the factory building I was in…I’d been there with Stevie once to check out a gig in some dude’s practice space.
A taxi rolled by and it dawned on me…the fifty bucks, it was still in my pocket. I only needed to find an empty cab. I tried hailing a few as they cruised by, but nobody would stop. They were either occupied or the drivers must have taken one look at me and thought twice about picking up a scroungy looking, barefoot derelict.
I started walking up Atwells Avenue towards Federal Hill, the Italian section of Providence. A cabbie, parked on the street, was inside a market getting a cappuccino and some pastry. I waited for him to come out and approached him about a lift. At first, he refused because of my appearance. I offered him the whole fifty and he gave in. As I hopped in the back seat, I felt secure and closed my eyes all the way to Cumberland. We pulled into the driveway and Mike was sitting outside on my stairs. His face was sullen, and his hands cradled his chin. When I stepped out of the car door, he stayed put. I walked over and sat beside him wanting to talk but expecting no sympathy.
“They slipped you a Mickey,” he said after I told him what happened. “I’ve seen you blitzed lots of times. You always had some sort of control over yourself.”
“They drugged me alright. No hangover ever felt like this.”
“I shouldn’t have let you stay or at least stayed behind to keep an eye on you. Then none of this would have happened. Stevie was right. It was a trap and that Ashley White woman set you up.”
“He was right. I was an idiot to stay. They would have gotten us somehow though. I’m sure of it.” Still sitting, I erected my spine and grabbed onto my knees. “Did Ashley really set me up?” I asked as a rhetorical question. “She seemed so genuine, and real. The way she kissed me, it was more than physical. There was something deeper to it.”
“Don’t be a fool, Luke. Put two and two together. She’s one of them and served you to Stone on a golden platter.”
“Maybe you’re right. Whatever the case is, I’m not going near her again.”
I didn’t even say anything about missing the bus yet because I knew the news would be bad. We sat there a couple of minutes before Mike brought it up himself.
“It’s over, you know. The tour manager was so pissed off you went missing that he found another band to take our place. We tried stalling him, but there was nothing we could do or say to change his mind. The bus left hours ago, and they dumped all our gear on your lawn. I just finished putting your stuff in the garage and thought I’d wait to see if you’d show up.”
“I appreciate it, Mike. I really do. Maybe I could talk to the guy and explain the situation. Maybe he’ll understand and let us hop on for the rest of the tour?”
“I told you. It’s over. You’ll never change his mind. Besides, there is no us, no band. Everyone quit.”
“What do you mean quit?”
“Stevie was first to go. He said he can’t deal with the drama anymore and that he’s done with the band. Then Dale and Tommy said they were quitting too. Dale had better things to do than waste his time getting his hopes up for nothing; Tommy told us that Tina was pregnant, and he needed to get serious and make something of himself.”
“You’re kidding, right? Only last night, we agreed that being on stage together was better than anything else in the world.”
“It is. But how often are we on stage compared to off stage? We can’t sacrifice 99% of life for that 1% of heaven, Luke. We need to live 100% of the time.”
“Is that really what you think, Mike?”
“Well, life’s messed up right now. That’s all. Maybe if we take a break, things will get back to normal.”
“Normal?” I said getting worked up. “Normal is boring. What are you going to say on your death bed after living a boring life, working a nine to five job and making sure you save enough retirement money to buy yourself a trailer home in Florida with all the other old fogey snowbirds? I’m so glad my life was normal? No. You’ll be full of regret, thinking how it could have been, how it would have been, how it should have been. We five have something special, Mike, to gift to the world. It can’t be over.”
“Sorry, Mr. President,” Mike replied. “Nobody’s here to listen to your speeches anymore. Like I said, it’s over.” With that statement, he shut up and stared at the cars going by.
“And like I said, it can’t be over.”
On top of the world one minute and the next minute going over a cliff. This has been my existence for the past couple of months, and at that point, I was sure I had hit bottom. Right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Stevie pulled into the driveway. He was the last person I expected to see after he abandoned the group so abruptly and triggered a catastrophic chain reaction that threatened the end of Four-n-Moore. He marched over, and without even inquiring my wellbeing or the circumstances of my disappearance, he started in on me.
“Nice of you to show,” he said and turned his attention to Mike. “See my effects rack anywhere? I can’t find it.”
“Great to see you too, Stevie. Yeah, I finally escaped my holding cell. Thanks for asking.” I was trying to get him to engage with me, yet he wasn’t budging.
“Mike, the effects rack, seen it? I can’t find it.”
“Stevie,” I said. “You’re like a brother to me, but lately, you’re the biggest dick I know and love. Can’t you get your head out of your asshole for one second and talk to me.”
“What’s to talk about, Luke? That you’re a major screw-up? You’ve been leading us down a dead-end path for a while now; it was obvious how it’d eventually turn out. You, big boss man, no clue what’s going on around you, barking out orders, not caring about everyone else’s feelings, promising the world and when the time comes to deliver, you show us what a failure you really are.”
It was as if he drew back a bow and shot an arrow right through the mi
ddle of my heart. I was so taken aback, I forgot how to breathe. My tear laden eyes implored my best friend to show compassion. Instead, he maintained a bitter puss as he paced the lawn, unsure where to put himself.
As at the club, Mike came to my defense. “That’s going way too far, Stevie. Give him a break. You have no clue what he’s been through…”
“I don’t give a shit what he’s been through. Why’s it always about Luke? He’s not the center of the universe.”
Amy could be heard on Stevie’s walkie talkie. “Stevie, it’s me. You there? Quick, pick up.”
Stevie fumbled to remove the device from his pocket and with clumsy fingers, pushed the transmit button and spoke. “Amy, hi, I’m here. What is it?”
“There are cars circling the street below and men on foot. They’re looking for something, and I’m sure it’s me.”
Out of nowhere, another familiar voice came over the airwaves. “Amy Lynch…huh huh…or should I say Almeida? So good to hear your voice again. It’s been what? A couple of decades? Missed you all those years at catechism.” It was Herbert da Silva, that blowhard. Somehow, he hijacked the channel. “Since you wouldn’t come to us, we’ve decided to pay you a little visit. Could’ve been much easier, Amy. Too late now, isn’t it? Unless of course, we get what belongs to us plus expenses and interest. Like the big boss says, we’re businessmen. That’s all, simple businessmen. Ha-ha.”
“You lay a finger on her, you swine,” Stevie screamed, “I’ll rip out your guts with my bare hands.”
“This must be sweet, little Stevie,” Herbert said. “You know, it’s been highly amusing listening to you and your weak attempts to woo Miss Almeida. I should have recorded it all and sold it off to Hollywood. It’d make a great soap opera. I’m certainly going to miss it.”
“Don’t pay any attention to his wisecracks, Stevie,” Amy pleaded. “He’s just some slime-ball thug, trying get a rise out of you. If he comes anywhere near me, I’ll drop that fat piece of shit myself.”
