“You guys are right,” Eddie said. “We can’t ask you to follow us to God knows where.”
“Maybe we’ve just come to a point in our relationships where we want different things,” Irene said.
“Sounds like you two have been talking about this for some time,” I said.
“We have,” Bette answered.
“You’re sure this is what you want,” Eddie said to Irene.
“Yes,” she said sadly.
Together, we all got up to leave. The girls walked the long aisle to the front door. Several people in adjacent booths seemed to notice the internal struggle we were all having.
“It’s on the table,” Eddie said to the cashier as we passed.
Bette and I shuffled to the driver’s side of her car as Eddie and Irene walked in a daze to the other side.
Bette unlocked the door and I opened it. We stood in silence for a time, each trying to find words to express our emotions for one another. Bette finally reached for my right hand and squeezed it hard. She then brought my hand to her mouth and kissed it.
“Look, Rusty, you’re a fabulous man and I’ve always thought the world of you. I want you and Eddie to be the biggest stars in the world, if that’s what you really want in your hearts. We’ll always be friends and I’ll always be your biggest supporter in whatever you want out of life. I just want something different.”
She looked deep in my eyes and smiled warmly. I smiled, too, understanding that this was the best for both of us.
“Okay, but, you should be the one chasing stardom, you’re so damned beautiful.”
She laughed and stood on her toes to kiss me on the cheek.
She slid into her bucket seat and closed the door.
I walked to my car where Eddie and I had left it earlier. I stared into the dark evening sky and felt cold and depressed. The Santa Ana wind blew harder. Eddie’s boot heels clicked as he approached.
He turned back to see Irene get into Bette’s car. It started and the two girls drove away from us for good.
We opened the doors without speaking and got in. Eddie was upset. He wrung out his hands in a nervous gesture.
After a moment he said, “That’s what we’re giving up for music. You sure you want to do this?”
I thought about everything I’d gone through with Joey and the Upsets. I saw Joey being driven away to New Jersey as Adele tried to comfort me. The record company’s interest letter flashed before my eyes.
“Obviously, Eddie, this is one of those times in life that hurts like hell. I don’t want to go through this.”
Eddie looked into the rear view mirror and saw Irene for the last time after a four-year relationship.
As I pulled the car out onto Atlantic Boulevard towards the freeway, I felt overwrought with panic. I breathed in and out deeply to settle myself down.
Eddie spoke softly.
“Don’t miss your on-ramp.”
I rubbed my eyes and then looked up to see the sign for the on-ramp.
Hollywood.
7
Hang on Sloopy
Eddie and I rented separate small apartments in Hollywood and set up shop in the heart of the music scene where dreams were made. We put together a great band and called it the Pacific Ocean, with a jet-fueled guitar player named Kent Henry and a bass player from our home town named Foxy Freddie Rivera. We became local stars working six nights a week at Gazzarri’s on the Strip night club. After the first year of success, we began to get frustrated by the lack of landing a proper record deal. It’s a bitch.
The months flew by. The band performed nightly and courted the record companies. Rejection letters came regularly. The band’s frustration of not landing a record deal began to wear on us. The paradox we were feeling was that the crowds loved us, but the record companies kept passing. No one could figure out the problem. One night at the club, Rick Marcelli, a manager we had picked up along the way, had some more bad news for us. He held in his hand the latest rejection form letter from one of the top labels in Hollywood. After leaving the letter with the band in our dressing room, he left for a recording session with another band he was helping produce.
“How long are we gonna be a cover band that does a great show?” I asked in frustration. “Eddie, we need to write our own songs.”
“Marcelli’s brought a few label reps in, but nothing so far,” Eddie said, trying to stay optimistic. “Something’s got to break soon. We’re knocking on every door in town. I know we’ve been here quite a while, but to change things now would defeat our whole purpose. Each time we’re up there—each song we do—builds one more step to where we’re going with this.”
“Time is passing,” I sighed. “Are we?”
“Hey, those are the guys from Genesis,” I said to “Foxy” Freddy our bass player. We were leaning against the back bar waiting for our next set. The weekend “hippy invasion” was in full swing on the famous Sunset Strip and the night was raging with dancing bodies. I cast my eyes over the medley of young and beautiful women sporting “Grace Slick” bangs as they mounted the rising dance floor and pretended that they were not being watched as they thrust every seductive part of themselves in all directions. Wrapped tight in tie-dye, breasts, hips, and lips heaved out for all to admire. It was a beggar’s banquet for all the musicians who knew intuitively that the only three things they needed for a full night of loving was a pad with a parachute stapled to the ceiling, a great opening line, and a never-ending prescription for penicillin.
“Okay, Rusty. I’ll play along. What’s a Genesis?” Freddy asked, bending his head close to me because of the loud music.
“The word on the Strip is,” I said, “that they’ve got some huge deal with one of the majors, Capital or Atlantic. Quite a buzz going around about them. I heard they’re looking for a new guitar player.”
I wasn’t paying much attention now. My thoughts were being bombarded by the dancing performance of a blonde girl named Sue. I’d spoken with her earlier that evening. She lived on the beach in Malibu. “Malibu” Sue and I had hit it off very nicely and just this moment I was basking in the full fantasy of her body movements and visualizing that tomorrow morning—hopefully—I might wake up to the gentle lullaby of waves breaking as they kissed the California shoreline.
Freddy laughed. “You doing your Warren Beatty number tonight, doctor?”
I flushed slightly. “God, I hope so.”
Later that evening, Eddie walked slowly to the parking lot by himself after I had left for Malibu. A few steps behind him walked Freddy, his head down, his pace that of a wounded soldier.
“This is totally messed up,” Freddy said, his words falling angrily, evaporating into the morning mist.
“You’re telling me,” Eddie said dejectedly. “I wish Johnson had been here to hear this one.”
The next evening in the Gazzarri’s dressing room, Eddie sat quietly in a chair looking toward the hallway. My step was brisk as I strolled down the hall and walked in. No one spoke.
“What?” I asked. “Who died?”
“Kent’s leaving the band,” Eddie said. “Gave us a one week notice last night after you split.”
I stood silently and let the words sink in.
“Let me guess,” I said ultra-sarcastically. “Genesis.”
“Correct-a-mundo,” Freddy said. He ran a dust cloth back and forth on his bass strings as if petting a cat to calm himself. “They’ve got a record deal at Mercury. Big time shit.”
“What in the hell! Mercury saw us!” I shouted.
At that moment, Kent walked in. Freddy and Eddie darted looks of enraged treason.
“Hey,” Kent said timidly, avoiding any eye contact. He quickly took his guitar from his case and left for the exit door.
“Kent,” I said. “Wow! A big offer from a signed band. Just what we all want.”
Kent turned to me, not knowing what to say. “Look, you guys, I’m sorry. They offered me a thousand a week and credit on their album and concert gig
s and all the shit we’ve been trying to get.”
“Kent, I’m glad for you man, really.” I offered my hand.
Kent took it. “Thanks, man. I thought you’d be real pissed off.”
“I was for a moment. It hurts and it’s gonna slow us down, having to break in someone new, but that’s just the name of this business. We’ll all play together again.”
Kent turned to the door and was the first one out toward the stage.
“We’re rock and roll animals,” Freddy joked, trying to break the tension as we all walked down the staircase for the first set. Kent took the stage first and the rest of us followed. The audience cheered as we took our positions. Only Bill Gazzarri and a few close friends could sense the tension in our performance.
Later that night, Bill Gazzarri walked Eddie and me to the parking lot after closing down.
“Listen to me. You two are the center of the band. Its core and drive. Don’t lose that. When these problems come along, you put it back together. You start again. You guys have all the talent in the world. Don’t let your talent waste away! Take off a while. Put together a new band and call me when it’s ready. You don’t have to audition. I know how you work. You have a steady job here with me.”
He hugged us, feeling our heartbreak. And his nurturing strengthened us.
“Thanks, Bill,” I said. “You’re one in a million.”
“We’ll be back soon, Bill. Very very soon,” Eddie said.
We drove home defeated that night, but at the same time we were strangely renewed with some overall inner hope we both seemed to sense.
8
Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear
As the weeks and months flew by, Joey and I continued to write. I looked forward to his letters, and loved keeping up with him, learning what he was up to in New Jersey.
He was playing guitar in a band called Chips and Company, which had taken him back into music in a positive way. And he was making real money at the Hit Factory, where he was honing his chops as an apprentice recording engineer. I loved that. Joey was developing skills we could all use when he came back to California and joined our band.
But Joey had also met a girl. Karen was in college, a business major who had also started a small mail-order business on the side, selling coins, stamps, and other collectables.
They had met on a cold winter day on Berg Street, when a car slowed in front of Joey’s and he was forced to hit the brakes harder than he would have like. His car slid and rear-ended the 1957 Dodge.
Joey later admitted that he had been watching Karen’s ass as she walked along the snow-laden sidewalk. He was a sucker for a girl’s ass. The motion and tightness of the rhythmic movement hypnotized him. Some of his new musician buddies were tit-men or leg-men. Joey loved asses. In fact, most of his friends said, “Hey, Joey! You’re an ass man!” He’d just laugh and agree.
Transfixed for a moment too long, he glanced back and screamed, “Damn it!” But it was too late.
When the cars collided, Karen lost her balance and fell into a small snowdrift that had gathered between the sidewalk and the parked cars.
Joey bent down, offered his hand, and their relationship was born.
I loved that story. Especially what came next. As Joey tried to engage the other driver, he slipped himself, landing in the snow right near Karen.
“Easy, big fella,” Karen chuckled as she tried to steady him with one arm. “You certainly know how to make an entrance, don’t ya?” she quipped.
Joey laughed an embarrassed laugh, then exchanged insurance information with the other driver. He then asked Karen out for coffee and she agreed. They found a small hot dog stand nearby and enjoyed the coffee, getting to know each other. He told her that he wanted to call her and she gave him her number. Like Joey, Karen was still living with her parents at the time, but none of that seemed to matter. He was smitten, and Karen was still laughing about the circumstances and how they had met.
I couldn’t help laughing myself. I didn’t know when Joey would finally make it back to California, but for now, he had found a bit of happiness, and that made me feel a lot better. And like me and Eddie, he was still focused on music, and still pointing toward a career in the business.
The dream was still alive on both coasts.
9
Get a Job
Eddie pushed a green plastic chair aside with his left foot and set the box of Pink’s world famous chili dogs down. The usually-crowded Pink’s Diner was sparse today, undoubtedly because of the pounding rain. The rain splattered heavily onto the parking lot just three feet from their primitive dining area. Umbrellas sprang open, protecting high-rise executives, the working class of Hollywood, and out-of-work musicians like Eddie and me.
Eddie laid the drinks and large box of fries on a worn-out table. The table looked like someone had placed it there during the Second World War. Hollywood had a few places like this, where the street life mixed with the upper crust.
It was crisis time, but neither Eddie nor I were inclined to waste time crying over yesterday’s problems. We got right to work. As we began eating, I pulled out a sheet of paper.
“I’ve made a tentative list of some players we could talk to about throwing in with us. Foxy Freddy doesn’t want to continue. He got a great offer with his dad’s business.”
“Really?” Eddie said. “God bless Freddy. I love that guy.”
“Okay. Here are our current choices.” I propped up the paper on the box of hot dogs. “Ronnie Henslee is a keyboard player I worked with briefly on some casuals a few years ago. He’s a pro. He’s acted in some TV Gunsmokes and did a small part in Bye Bye Birdie with me. You’ll remember him when you see him. He’s funnier than shit, and sings both lead and backup.
“The guitar player we should see is a guy named Toney Carr. ‘New York’ Toney, Ronnie calls him, ’cause he’s such a New Yorker, Young Rascals kind of guy. He picks great, sings his ass off, has a one-hundred-song list, and is ready to boogie. If all that isn’t enough, he’s a walking double for Bill Wyman.”
Eddie smiled. “Don’t we want to be the Rolling Stones, boy?”
I licked chili off my wrist. “Hey, if Mick and Keith can do it, so can Rusty and Eddie. They met in school like we did.”
We toasted with our root beers.
“Onward and upward,” Eddie toasted. “We gotta meet with these guys—now! How about we call them and set up a rehearsal?”
“Actually, I already spoke to Ronnie. He said if we drove back to Montebello, he has a rehearsal room we can use.”
“Johnson,” Eddie beamed proudly, “you’re on it, brother.”
We ate quietly for a time, glancing around the immediate area.
“Wouldn’t it be perfect if you could coax Zagarino back?” Eddie pondered. “The way you work with him. The way you and I work together. Now that’d be a band to write home about.”
“Let’s call him from your house after we eat. Man, that’d be a dream band,” I said. “My two best friends in the same band.”
“Have you heard from him lately?” Eddie asked, looking me directly in the eye with his penetrating gaze.
“Yeah. I forgot.” I laughed, running Joey’s story through my head. “He wrote me a letter last week. He’s working with a band called Chips and Company. He’s also working at a recording studio as a clean-up guy and they’re letting him turn the knobs as an apprentice engineer. He also crashed his car looking at some babe’s butt.”
“What?” Eddie laughed.
“It’s a long story. But he scored. Her name’s Karen.”
After lunch, we hurried back to Eddie’s place. I took off my coat and put it by the floor heater as Eddie closed the front door.
“Geez!” Eddie bellowed as he shook the rain off of his clothes. I went straight to his phone and dialed Joey’s number, my wet clothes dripping all over the carpet. Eddie threw me a towel as he walked from the bathroom.
“Hello,” Joey said.
I went into my
imitation D.J. voice. “Hey, freeway travelers! It’s Johnson and Olmos coming to you live with fifty thousand watts from Eddie’s pad in beautiful downtown BOSSSS ANGELES, where there are thirty sleazy mammas for every out-of-work musician. How the hell you doing, Jooezzzey?”
Joey laughed loudly. “I’m okay, brother. How you doing?”
“Listen, Zag, I’ll get right to the point. We lost the band at Gazzarri’s. Our guitar player split with some label group. But Gazzarri loves our act so much, he’s given us an open end deal. All we gotta do is rehearse the next band and we go in for as long as we want. No auditioning, no nothing. Any way we want it. You dig, jazzbo?”
“I dig. Sounds great, Rusty.”
The longing in his voice was obvious. It was sad to know someone so vibrant could fall into such a shell. It was as if I had set him up for the next words out of his mouth.
“I wish I could be there with you guys.”
I snapped my fingers and made the okay sign to Eddie.
“That’s the very reason we called. You can be here! We want you to come out and be the guitar player in this group. We make ninety dollars apiece per week, enough to pay rent and shit, and you can stay with me till you get your own place. We can get back to the business of hitting all the major labels and kick some serious butt. What d’ya think?”
Joey hesitated. “Hmmm…Man, that sounds great. Let me see. Well…I…ah—. Shit, Johnson, let me call you right back in five minutes. You’re at Eddie’s, right?”
“That’d be the place, hambone,” I teased.
“I’ll call you back in five minutes, okay?”
“Sure, okay.”
I hung up. Eddie looked at me with a startled look.
“What? Why’d you hang up? What’d he say?”
“Said he had to call us right back. I know what he’s doing. He’s calling that squeeze—Karen—you know the one with the butt he really loves. He’s in love with her and I’ll bet he’s asking her to come with him.”
“Sounds logical,” Eddie said while changing his wet shirt. “Here, change into this or you’ll catch cold,” Eddie said, like a big brother. He threw me an old Christmas sweater with three tiny brown reindeer on the chest.
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