by DaNeo Duran
‘These people are great aren’t they?’ Stu said.
‘Maybe,’ he said realising he just wished the strangers would leave Linda alone so he could have two words with her.
‘We’ve not seen you in ages,’ the next guy said to Linda when they reached Santa Monica.
‘Probably since she started seeing her possessive jerk boyfriend,’ Trudie whispered in Johnny’s ear. He didn’t want to think about him.
‘Listen,’ the guy continued now lowering his voice, ‘I was just about to get outta here. There’s a barbeque on the beach; Labor Day and all that. Come along, folk down there will love to meet you guys.’
Everyone seemed agreeable if not hungry and soon in the evening’s twilight Johnny’s shoes filled with dry sand as he traipsed after the barefooted girls towards a beach bonfire. Accepting a burger and rejecting a beer, Johnny started relaxing for the first time as he and Stu checked out the female populous checking them out.
‘This is heaven,’ Stu said necking a Budweiser.
Grace and Mazz sat by the fire with guys playing guitars and singing. One of their group, a pretty girl, burst into Johnny’s attention.
‘Hey hansom, Mazz says you play guitar.’
Getting up she handed him an acoustic and no choice but to play it as she dragged Stu by the hand to the group.
Sitting feet from where Linda stood, Johnny corrected the guitar’s tuning and glanced up to see for the first time she had nobody talking to her.
Finally she faced his way her skin aglow by the fire’s light. Neither broke eye contact. When she smiled at him, his tired fed-up-ness lifted like exorcised demons. Even when the next person chivvied for her attention her smile lingered on him an extra second as he mirrored her.
Inspired he passed the guitar to a lad next to him whose hand had been resting on Mazz’s thigh and said, ‘Tell you what, give me a while and I’ll see if I can come up with something unique to tonight.’
Even though years younger than her, Linda sensed Johnny hadn’t been a kid for an unforgivably long time. But that didn’t stop him being above foolish. When she returned to the office earlier it’d occurred that she should be nothing more than some silly older woman to him. Her unexplainable reaction to him in the diner and in general shouldn’t and wouldn’t have affected him if she’d hidden her feelings instead of expressing them all over her face; possibly confusing him into thinking things that couldn’t be so. Of course now she realised she’d also been foolish. When she turned from Johnny her face fell and she knew she’d been grinning like an infant on holiday.
Ending another conversation she faced Johnny when he took a guitar. More unusual feelings swelled as she listened to him sing topically of being next to breaking waves and the nearby Santa Monica pier.
Though he had plenty of girls rapt his song’s next bit explained that despite those girls he only saw one particular woman’s beauty. Christine’s sly nod, along with the way he looked at her now, confirmed that he had, as she feared, gotten the wrong end of the stick. Nevertheless, impressed he could write a song that good, that quickly only affected her feelings for him further as she also became rapt.
* * *
Johnny, focusing on the other gathered Californians, sang another few songs until Stu interrupted him.
‘What’s up?’ Johnny responded.
‘Something’s going on with the grownups.’
Joining the group it seemed the man now rabbiting to Linda knew someone at the Anti-Club.
‘What’s the Anti-Club?’ Stu asked.
‘A venue,’ Christine said. ‘Some band’s dropped out so I said we’d play.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Why not?’
Johnny turned to face the waves letting everyone else argue points such as their not having any gear. Behind him Linda said she’d booked them an Anti-Club gig for a few days’ time anyway.
‘It must be twenty miles from here,’ he heard Linda say making him wonder as to LA’s enormity.
Eventually people ran out of the things to say.
‘What does Johnny think?’ Grace asked.
He itched to play. He hadn’t come to LA just to trawl pub to pub.
‘You wanna play don’t you Johnny?’ Mazz asked.
He turned round. ‘Of course.’
* * *
Feeling every inch of the twenty-plus mile journey Christine couldn’t believe when the two cabs pulled up outside what seemed to be a hut with a tin roof.
‘This is never it,’ she said to Trudie wondering if she’d been right to suggest they played.
‘Don’t be put off,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s done this place.’
‘That’s what you said about the Whisky, but I don’t see this holding a thousand.’
‘You’re here now,’ Linda offered though she’d voted against doing the gig.
When the team crowded into the packed sweatbox yet another man who knew Linda introduced himself and yet again Johnny saw her tense when he tried to hug her. All night he’d seen people greeting her the same way and her stiffen every time.
The man thanked her before disappearing only to reappear on the stage at the end of the room.
‘Good evening,’ he shouted and waited for the packed room’s response. ‘My apologies for the late start but we’ve had a band drop out tonight. Don’t worry we’ve found a replacement. They’ll be along shortly. In the meantime put your hands together for a band all the way from Seattle; give it up for Poriton Molly.’
From the back Johnny watched three guys assume guitar, bass and drums. They cracked into a dryer-than-newspaper rock riff before a scruffy wild-haired girl bounced into view then stood perfectly still other than to move her mouth enough to scream into the mic.
‘You fancy a top up?’ a voice spoke next to his ear.
‘Linda?’ he said turning almost amazed she decided to talk to him. He motioned his near-full lemonade but on her invitation followed her outside.
‘Not the venue you were expecting I bet,’ she said making small talk as they both faced into Melrose Avenue.
‘I can’t think of anywhere like it in England,’ he said trying to sound cool.
‘You’ve never gigged in a scout hut?’
‘No.’ He laughed and glanced her way.
‘You’re playing here again Thursday. It’ll be packed which I know doesn’t take much but it’s an important gig to have on your résumé. New York and other states will need to know you’ve played these places.’
She turned to face Johnny but looked away laughing.
Puzzled Johnny asked, ‘You okay?’
‘You’re a strange man Johnny. Show me your passport.’
With a questioning raised eyebrow he reached into his back pocket and watched as she flicked through it.
Chuckling she said, ‘You really are called Johnny Won?’
Smiling he snapped his passport back. ‘Who else would I be?’
She didn’t answer.
Johnny looked to find her deadpan treacle-brown eyes studied his face. ‘I don’t know what you’re looking at but I hope you like it.’
‘You’ve got a young face; not one crease, and yet, your eyes might have seen a century of life.’
It sounded like booze talk, not that he’d seen her drink much.
Losing himself in the moment he let words rising from his heart come. ‘You have a beautiful face and I can’t remember fancying anyone as much as you.’
‘Johnny.’
‘What?’ he said and looked away as she did.
‘Don’t.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t mean that. You’re young.’
‘I’m twenty-three; old enough to know who I fancy.’
Linda thought of all the time she’d spent looking at photos of him and understood the confusion.
When she looked back at him he asked, ‘What’s going on here?’
She started to say, nothing, but caught the look he gave her. Settling her thoughts sh
e said, ‘I don’t know. Something, but not that. I’ve got a boyfriend.’
‘I don’t care about that; on this occasion.’
‘I do,’ she said with the heat of the night. ‘So might you if you saw him.’
If she expected an apology or a mournful look she got neither.
He just held her gaze leaving her not knowing what to say.
In the next moment Grace dashed out and looked at Johnny. ‘You’re up.’
* * *
Inside Linda saw the shirtless band minus female singer, dripping in sweat whilst clearing away their equipment.
‘It’s like a boiler room in here,’ Richard said to her.
Over by the stage Linda watched Johnny talking to the compere. He waved Christine over. Shrugs, head shaking, laughing. Someone, presumably from the headline band, joined them. Nodding, handshakes. Things looked to be getting sorted.
Poriton Molly vacated and Johnny stepped onto the knee high stage. ‘Good evening.’
Out in the rabble a few people took notice. The rest didn’t.
Linda watched him step from the mic and roll his neck and shoulders. Back at the mic for a second try he said, ‘Good evening Anti-Club.’
This time plenty of voices fell away.
Not bad, Linda thought.
‘That’s more like it. Everybody having a good time tonight?’
‘Yeah,’ came a cheer.
‘Some of you. I asked is, everybody, having a good time?’
Realising that included her Linda shouted back along with everyone else.
This time Johnny said, ‘That’s fantastic.’
Someone appeared next to him and handed him a Gibson to climb into. The guitar sat beneath his chin.
‘That’s a little high,’ he said as much to the audience as the guy lengthened the strap.
Johnny took the mic from its stand. ‘Does anyone in the audience have a plectrum I might borrow?’
Someone held up a hand and Johnny leant into the audience to see. ‘That’s not a pick, it’s Bigfoot’s toenail. Are you a bass player?’
Two plectrums later Linda saw he’d found what he needed and Stu getting comfy behind the last band’s kit.
‘Okay, I’m Johnny Won. You can call me Mr Won until such time as we become friends. We’ve got a little time to do a few songs because one band didn’t see fit to turn up tonight. Unbelievable huh? Out of respect for you I’d be grateful if you’d welcome to the stage Mr Won.’
Johnny indicated behind him where Stu sat waving. ‘And, Miss Won and Miss Won.’ A few wolf whistles could be heard.
Looking stage right Linda saw Mazz looked flustered with a borrowed bass hanging round her knees and someone doing their best to hike up the strap.
‘This Miss Won,’ Johnny said pointing stage left, ‘doesn’t have an instrument tonight so she’ll just do some backing vocals. But if you come back here on Thursday you can see this lovely creature in full glory on the keys when we do our usual set.’
That got the odd cheer. Continuing Johnny said, ‘You can probably tell we’re from England.’
‘Bastards,’ someone shouted from the audience.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Johnny replied. ‘Anyway for months we’ve been keeping an eye on this city and dying to be here because as far as we can tell this city’s getting better and better.’
With the instrumented band ready to go Johnny said, ‘When we sing this song we mean every word of it.’
Behind and to the side Stu and Mazz joined in as Johnny attacked the Gibson’s strings.
Linda tensed. Johnny had talked enough; not that the crowd had minded but now the music had started, its unremarkable sound did nothing to relax her. Without keyboards The USed Wonz sounded as puerile as any of the other bands that came to play the Anti-Club. Around her some of the conversations Johnny had managed to stamp out reignited.
As if sensing her discomfort Grace said, ‘It’ll be alright.’
Johnny stopped playing, leaving bass and drums to provide the backing. Linda gave Grace a questioning look but she nodded to the stage where Johnny held his hands up.
Somehow the crowd noise petered away. Linda couldn’t understand it or why the audience would respond but they did and with that Johnny started singing.
Unlike the other bands and most small venues Johnny’s voice came through with clarity and despite his not driving it hard Linda could sense an honesty that embodied the essence of Rock ‘n’ Roll and in that moment the emotions she’d so far had about their performance U-turned.
Towards the end of the verse Johnny said, ‘I just know you’ll want to sing along.’
By the end of a chorus of, LA, just gets better and better and better, plenty of people had joined in.
‘Told you it’d be okay,’ Grace said to her.
Linda nodded. Even with borrowed instruments the band clearly had everything they needed. She’d booked their first tour’s gigs all over the States and felt relief knowing she’d not have to worry.
With only time for three songs Linda wondered how they could win the audience with such minimal effort. Christine especially did little more than wiggle her hips and add backing vocals. Mazz laid her groove to Stu’s drum parts and neither deviated.
During their last song Linda heard someone shout that Johnny hadn’t come all the way from England not to solo.
‘When we came to this country we expected everything to be big,’ Johnny said seeming not to rise to the challenge. ‘So far that’s pretty much been the case until we came here. But despite being little this club is awesome. You guys are awesome. Let me hear you Anti-Club.’
Linda followed the cheering giving him with the rest of the club what he’d asked for.
Johnny sang, We Are the Little Ones, making it as relevant to the virgin crowd as the other songs and uniting everyone until, whilst the other USed Wonz chanted the chorus Johnny crouched fumbling with the guitar’s effects pedals on the floor.
He stood up adopting the obligatory foot on the monitor stance.
From the back Linda watched him wrap his arms around the borrowed Gibson and for a second considered she’d like to be the guitar. As if reading her mind Johnny’s eyes looked over the audience to her. Not able to help it she beamed back.
When at last Johnny broke their connection a girl a few feet in front of her turned to face her and with a sneer looked her up and down before turning back.
Linda shook it off and refocusing on stage expected a rip-roaring solo but instead Johnny kept everyone waiting by playing sixteen bars of clever-sounding finger picked guitar. The Hollywood punters loved it. On the last bar he strummed a chord but with a flick of the wrist knocked the guitar onto the back pickup and ramped its volume up.
Having crossed the stage the guitar’s amp howled with feedback before he turned to the front, his fingers racing from the bottom to the top of the neck. Following more rapid picking he tore the plectrum down the strings to complete the solo.
The band sang one last chorus and ended the song and their mini set with thanks to the audience, the club and to the final band for lending their instruments.
* * *
At the back Grace boiled under the room’s tin roof but felt smug. If The USed Wonz could affect every American audience like that they’d be made.
Behind her she heard Linda congratulate Richard on his band. Grace’s heart bounced like a basketball. She’d discovered The USed Wonz. Not daring to turn round she glared forwards; not budging even when Richard’s hand rested on her shoulder.
Her uncle’s voice said, ‘All I did was put them in the studio. Without Grace’s ear and persistence I’d still be panicking over balance sheets.’
‘Trudie might have to get you a position in Vanquar’s A&R department,’ Linda said to her.
‘Not likely,’ Richard interrupted. ‘She’s too valuable to GMD.’
A man approached Richard and flashing a press badge introduced himself as a journalist from BAM, a biweek
ly rock magazine. With consent he later photographed the band. Linda agreed she’d get him on the Whisky’s guest list.
As a courtesy to the final band everyone stayed for the set before arranging cabs back.
Linda took her own cab to the office. After changing into the clothes she’d left home in she drove back to face Earl.
Friday 22nd June 1984
Since acquiring her Jupiter-8 synth Christine’s interest in sound design had taken off. Jack always assembled her keyboards before setting up Johnny’s guitar equipment and pedals.
On another stage before the soundcheck Christine pressed the keys of her Jupiter-8 whilst twisting filters. The generated square wave sounded hollow and lonely; tragically sad as she dive-bombed the pitch. The synth’s tortured sound made her think of Johnny.
She’d never know him pine for anyone but Linda. His obvious first impression of her had been vaguely comical. But, though his attraction for her remained evident throughout the band’s first US tour, Johnny had behaved as had the rest of the band feasting on fast love whenever the mood struck.
Christine hadn’t been swayed by Johnny’s initial interest in Linda believing it wouldn’t last. But now, and especially after London, she’d come to hate seeing him funnel so much energy towards Linda’s affections. He may have stopped flirting with her but Christine knew his game.
He wouldn’t let anyone forget that Linda had been their financial saviour and a tremendous agent working harder for them than anyone at either Vanquar or GMD.
Christine got on tremendously with Linda but despite this she wanted to shake Johnny out of his idiot attraction for her. So many times she’d suggested the woman had no romantic interest in him yet he wouldn’t listen. The more resolute Linda became on this point the more tragically besotted Johnny became. Christine didn’t know how to save him from wasting so much precious energy.
With the turn of another knob the synth’s despair worsened and Christine felt a stab in her own lonely heart.
‘Guys,’ Dane’s voice said sparing her own pain, ‘can I get everyone together a moment?’
She saved the Jupiter’s settings and turned from her bank of keyboards to join the others.
‘We’ve got a few minutes before people start arriving,’ he said looking at Christine more than anyone else.
‘I’ll be ready,’ she said but knew she already looked good. She’d generally been making more effort during the day. She wondered about wearing the cut-offs she’d made during the journey. They’d turned out so short she reckoned T-shirt sales would reach record highs if she focused on male T-shirt buyers.
