by P. J. Post
I pull her along, past the long antique bar and over to the far side of the stage. There are a lot of skinheads here tonight and the room is thick with tension as the first band antagonizes the crowd. They call themselves The Red and the Black, and play a unique brand of ultra-heavy surf punk. Everyone on the dance floor is moshing, stomping and pogoing. The stage lights are flashing, the beer is flowing and the energy is intense. I’ve seen these guys a few times and they always piss everyone off, tossing beers, insulting and spitting on the crowd. They’re an extreme skinhead band, and unlike Scrotum, I don’t think these guys are posing — they really are this fucked up.
They’re bigger assholes than Larry ever thought about being, spewing pure hatred from the stage.
But their fans have come out tonight and the room has an ugly vibe to it. I’ve never seen it this tense before.
Tonya looks up at me with concern. “This is bad.”
“Yeah, let’s find Jimmy and get out of here.”
I pull her along the far wall and toward the storage room that leads to the back alley. The pit grows and I see arms swinging as fights begin to break out. By the time we get to back room, the whole front of the stage has devolved into a melee as the skinheads square off against the other punks.
No one here is a chickenshit and no one gives or expects quarter. The whole dance floor begins to bounce to a different rhythm than what the band is laying down — the rhythm of violence.
The singer looks like it’s Christmas morning, eyes burning with glee for the wholesale anarchy unfolding before him. He looks bat-shit nuts.
We walk through a small storage room and out the back door. The Kamikaze’s Green Room is the fenced in alley between the bar and the warehouse behind it. All of the other bands are hanging out here, drinking and smoking under the service and parking lot lights.
As soon as we step into the alley, people start greeting us. We know most of them.
I look around and spot Jimmy down toward the end of the building. He’s average height and weight, wearing the typical British punk uniform of red plaid trousers and a ripped t-shirt. He has flaming, unnaturally red spiked hair.
“Hey Jimmy,” I say.
“Connor, dude, what’s happening?” he says. “Tonya.”
“Not much, not much,” I say.
“Hi,” Tonya says.
I glance back over my shoulder. “It’s getting crazy in there. It feels like a riot. And Fritz isn’t helping any.”
Jimmy’s smoking a cigarette and just grins. “The singer for Red and Black? Yeah, he’s a douche. How bad is it?”
And then people rush out the back door and start gesturing wildly and talking fast to the other bands in the alley.
He laughs. “Looks like we might not play tonight.” He puts his hand up to his ear as though listening to a far off sound. “The siren call of our most devoted fans is coming.”
“I can’t hear them,” I say and then I do, the faint sound of police sirens.
Shit.
“How’s your schedule this weekend?” I ask, getting to the point while there’s still time.
Jimmy casually puffs on his smoke, unconcerned. “Busy. We have gigs up in Tulsa. Why?”
“Kevin split on us,” I say.
“I heard about that. He always was flakey.”
Tonya laughs. “That’s an understatement.”
Jimmy glances down and then grins. “I wondered how long it was going to take for you two to hook up,” Jimmy says motioning with his cigarette.
Tonya glances at me with confusion.
I don’t get it and then realize I’m still holding Tonya’s hand. She realizes it at the same time and pulls away.
“No, just friends,” she says.
It sucks to hear her say it out loud, even if it is our agreed upon status, I don’t think either of us believes it for a second.
“Oh, well, then, Tonya, want to ditch this loser and spend the night with me? I’m in a band,” Jimmy says grinning as he takes her hand and kisses the back of it.
“I will so kill you before the police get here,” I say through a grin.
“What?” he asks. “I’ve had a crush on Tonya for, god — ever since she walked out here. She’s the most beautiful girl here tonight.”
Tonya’s blushing.
“She’s the only girl out here,” I say.
“That changes nothing,” he says confidently.
“Thanks for the insult, Connor,” she says, frowning, “but I don’t need anyone killing anyone for me. Thanks just the same.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I mumble.
Jimmy laughs. “Keep saying stupid shit like that and she won’t be holding your hand much longer, even if you are just friends.” He says this last part with air quotes.
I’m not sure what we are, but I plan on figuring it out before the evening’s over.
Jimmy continues, “Anyway, sorry, dude. I’d love to, jamming with you guys is always a blast, but I’m booked. But you know what? I heard Scrotum broke up. Maybe Greg is available.”
“Those guys are a bunch of assholes,” I say, dismissively.
The sirens are much closer now.
“Beggars can’t be choosy, dude.” And then turns back to Tonya. “Last chance. How about sticking around after the ambulances leave? We can get to know each other better over some pancakes and coffee.”
“You make it sound so sweet, like a date?” she asks.
“Yeah, so much like a date that I’d say it actually is a date,” he responds.
“Really?” I ask, glaring at Jimmy.
He just spreads his hands as if to say: if you’re not going for it, what do you expect?
Tonya giggles. “See how it’s done, Connor. Are you taking notes?”
An unfamiliar feeling is creeping along my shoulders and spreading out to my fists. I’m not finding Jimmy terribly entertaining anymore. I know he’s joking, well, I think he’s joking, but it’s still not sitting well with me.
I glance at Tonya and she is looking at the ground, acting shy and then I feel her hand slip back into mine.
“I knew it, you fuckers,” Jimmy says, laughing.
The butterflies swarm through me again. It’s official — this is now a date.
And then we see red and blue lights flashing from the parking lot, washing the alley with dancing shadows.
“I guess that’s that,” Tonya says.
“What’s the plan? I ask Jimmy.
“Our gear is inside. I’m just going to hang out here until the cops get winded. Then we’ll pick up our shit and go from there.” Jimmy is about as smooth as they come.
We hear shouts from the parking lot and soon kids are running. I can only imagine the cluster-fuck going on inside.
We should have brought some beer with us.
“What do you say, back inside, through the fence or wait it out here with Jimmy?” I ask Tonya.
She walks to the fence that encloses the parking lot end of the alley and looks for her van. “We’re not blocked in, but…” She turns back to Jimmy and takes his beer from him and downs it. “Seems a shame to let this ruin our date. I vote for beer.” She grins.
“I don’t think that’s an option, I think they’re going to shut us down tonight,” I say, worried.
“Ye of little faith,” Jimmy says, dropping his cigarette. He pulls out a joint and lights it. “Smoke it or lose it, you know?”
“With the cops right there?” I ask, pointing to the parking lot. Worrying about Tonya is turning me into a wimp.
“Relax. I think they’re busy.” Tonya laughs and pats my shoulder.
Tonya and me don’t get high very often, but tonight seems like as good a time as any. We move away from the parking lot, laughing as we pass the joint around. It’s amusing to think about the cops cracking heads inside, while we’re out here getting a nice toasty buzz on. They’ll be out here soon enough, but it’s going to take them some time to fight through the crowd.
The night is warm and humid. The beer is still cool and the parking lot has turned into a circus, cops dragging and pushing screaming swearing kids into police cars and paddy-wagons.
Soon enough, the cops come into the alley and talk to the musicians standing near the door. The cops shout some and the musicians nod some and then the cops go back inside.
Jimmy motions to one of his friends. “What’s up?”
“They told us to hang out here until they clear the bar, and then we can go get our gear,” a lanky long-hair guy says.
“You know, if we can talk them into staying open, we could still have a hell of jam tonight,” I say.
Jimmy’s eyes turn evil. “Whoa, dude — right on.”
“Now that’s a plan,” Tonya says and hugs me.
She feels hot to the touch.
I hug her back. “This is going to be fun.”
Jimmy disappears to talk to the other bands to see who’s in.
“So all a dude needs to get you to go out with him is the promise of pancakes?” I ask Tonya. Her eyes are totally glazed over and red. I’m sure mine look the same.
“Maybe. It depends on who’s making them,” she says with that odd little smirk of hers.
“That ain’t right,” I say.
“Poor baby,” she jokes and pinches my cheek.
And then we walk to the end of the alley. I pull her in front of me and wrap my arms around her waist, like everything is cool as shit.
She takes my hands and holds my arms, warm skin on skin.
The smell of her perfume and shampoo slices through the morass of aromas and works like a charm on my heart. I feel her lean back into me, relaxed. I squeeze her hands and she squeezes back.
We just watch the craziness that the parking lot has become in silence.
It’s been a while since I was at a show the cops shut down. I’m just glad we weren’t playing. But cops are unpredictable, and we’re just as likely to get arrested back here before the night is over as we are to jamming and playing to an empty bar.
But all my thoughts are focused on making pancakes for Tonya.
§§§§§
We go back in and the place is a wreck, but the manager agrees to keep the bar open and the power on so we spend the next three hours drinking and jamming. All the musicians take turns playing each other’s songs and covers tunes. A few dudes even make a run to Jack in the Box and bring back sacks of burgers for everyone.
It’s a great party, no hassles, just fun without regard for tomorrow.
The manager let the bar staff go home, so Tonya is the only girl and the center of attention. She seems happy with the spotlight, but she makes it clear from the beginning that she’s with me. I’ve never felt better in my whole miserable life.
God I love this girl.
We end up dancing a lot, jamming and drinking too much. But I slow down as the night progresses and once I start to sober up, we say goodnight and take off. Jimmy waves from the stage, still cranking out the jams like the night will never end.
And I’m right there with him — I don’t want it to end either, but for a different reason.
Tonya’s sitting sideways in her seat in the van staring and grinning at me as we drive home. Her eyes are still glazed with euphoria.
“You were going to strip in the kitchen today, weren’t you?” she asks out of no where.
I laugh. “No, I was just playing around.”
“What if I didn’t say anything? Would you have stopped?”
I’m not sure if I would have or not, but instead say, “Yeah, of course. We’re not that good of friends.”
“How do you know we’re not?” she asks seriously. “We were pretty good together tonight.”
“I meant, this afternoon we weren’t. On the other hand, tonight…”
She giggles and leans back, staring out the window. The wind is tossing her hair around her face and she looks as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her. How can someone turn me on this much just by looking at me?
We pull into the Garage parking lot late and stumble in laughing.
She stops by the stairs again, like she did earlier today.
But it’s different now. All of my nerves and anxieties slipped away when she took my hand out in that alley. We are not just friends anymore, if we ever were.
She looks up at me, her eyes expectant.
All of the tension that’s been building up over trying to understand what she’s feeling for me or where we stand is focused now, and I’m done playing and waiting. I want her and I want her right the fuck now.
I reach down and take her hands in mine, lacing our fingers together and then pull her arms up over her head and pin her hands to the wall. I lean down into her face. The smell of alcohol combines with her perfume and shampoo and it’s inviting as hell.
She tilts her head back and parts her lips slightly. Her eyes are intense and her breathing quickens.
I lean down, planning to gently kiss her, to let my lips linger on hers. She’s not even blinking. As I get closer, she raises her chin to meet me and then our passion overcomes any notion of a chaste first kiss.
As our lips touch, my kiss pushes her head back against the wall, and she squeezes my hands like she’s hanging on for her life. Her taste is as unforgettable as her honeysuckle perfume.
Our tongues press against one another, intertwining without hesitation. She pulls her hands from above her head and wraps them around my neck, holding me close. We kiss deeper, surrendering to the passion that’s been building for so long, and her velvet lips, her tongue and the rhythm of her body consume my reality.
We breathe heavily through our kiss, refusing to break the bond as she presses herself against me.
We’re definitely not just fucking friends anymore.
In time, I release her, laying my forehead against hers and look into her eyes. The emotion I see is deep. Her lips half-parted, she looks longingly up at me, like we’ve been separated for ages.
I can’t help but grin and the spell is broken. She laughs and smiles before lowering her arms to my waist and hugging me, pressing her cheek against my chest.
She pushes me back and then leads me up the stairs. She lets go of my hand and walks over to the bed, laying down as she stares at me. I just look at her for a moment, the curve of her hips, the way her hair falls across her face and those fucking eyes that just tug at my soul with a yearning I’ve never felt before.
Even though we’re both still buzzed, I know this isn’t an invitation to make love to her. Her eyes have a satisfied half-lidded shine to them, like the night could not have been any better. And that makes me happier than anything else I can think of.
I’ve waited two years just to kiss her, so I try to ignore how aroused I am and how much I want to make love to her. We have plenty of time.
I walk over and sit down next to her, resting one hand on the curve of her hip. She pulls me back and I lay down beside her.
We just look at each other, saying nothing and then she laces her fingers into mine. I pull her hand behind her back and slide close to her as I push my other arm under her cheek.
She lays her head down on my arm and it feels so warm. She’s so close.
I lay my head on the pillow and she releases my hand and slides her arm around my waist. We hold each other, our thoughts private, but our emotions are open now — easy to understand.
“Will you do something with me tomorrow?” I ask.
“Something that’s not another date?” she giggles.
“No, not a date. Tomorrow’s the day — it’s a special day,” I say seriously.
The giggles fade. “What?”
“It’s the day I go to the cemetery to see my mom. Will you go with me?”
Her arms tighten around me and I feel her nod her head. “Yes,” she says softly.
Maybe she understands what this means to me. I’ve never shared this with anyone before.
She pushes my hair away and nestles her head into the space between my neck and shoulder. I feel her breathing slow and become regular as she falls asleep, but I stay awake for a long time watching her, feeling her breast rise and fall with every breath. I want this feeling to last forever. But all too soon, my eyes grow heavy and the last thing I remember is peace.
§§§§§
I wake to feel her back against me, my arms around her, but her breathing isn’t steady like it was when she fell asleep. I wonder how long she’s been awake because it’s still dark out.
My hand is on her stomach, under her shirt. Her hair is in my face and her ass pressed against my hips. Our legs are tangle together.
I don’t move, enjoying waking up with her every bit as much as falling asleep together.
Her body is tense, and she’s shivering like she’s anxious.
I begin to pull my hand off her stomach, but she takes it and holds it in place, her hand pressing against mine. And then ever so gently, tentatively, almost imperceptibly she pushes my hand down her stomach — just a hint of pressure.
I’m not sure I’m awake enough and assume I imagined it. I begin to pull away, but she presses my hand against her stomach and pushes down again, this time more deliberately.
I don’t know what to think. I’m still not sober and waking up has left me disoriented. But she feels so good — her skin so smooth and this feels so right. I’m so tuned into her right now — so aroused that I let her guide my hand down.
My fingers barely touch her skin as they trace lines down her stomach. I nuzzle my face into her hair, seeking the back of her neck. Her face is lying against my other arm and I raise my hand to find hers waiting. Our hands clasp together and fall to the comforter.
She keeps her hand over mine as I stop just short of her jeans. I find her neck and kiss her softly as I extend my pinky under the top of her jeans.
Her breathing quickens.
Slowly my fingers toy with the button of her jeans as I think about whether or not to snap them open. I begin to slide my hand down her hip and she tightens her grip.
