Painted Black

by Greg Kihn

  Brian shouted. “Don’t you ever dare talk to her like that, you fuckin’ bitch!”

  Blood began to seep out of Anita’s nose. People in the immediate circle stared at Brian, shocked at what they’d witnessed. Perhaps more shocking was the fact that Brian did it in public, in complete view of everyone, without hesitation. As the blood dripped down her face and onto her dress, several waiters rushed forward with white linen napkins to staunch the flow.

  Anita pressed the napkins against her nose and tried to act as if nothing had happened. Jimi chivalrously offered her one of his lace handkerchiefs. She pushed Jimi’s hand away.

  Clovis and Erlene looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. Brian was clearly out of control.

  Bobby watched it all like a movie. The sight of Anita’s blood made him nauseous. It was bright red and alive and seemed to move on its own. He found he couldn’t look at it while he was tripping. He turned to Clovis and grabbed his arm.

  “I gotta get out of here!” Bobby gushed. “The walls are closing in and Anita’s blood is moving.”

  Erlene looked around the room.

  “He’s right. Let’s go.”

  “We don’t have a car,” Bobby said.

  “We’ll walk through the park,” Erlene replied.

  Bobby nodded. The park would be quiet and soothing after the throbbing intensity of The Scotch of Saint James.

  “The park. Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “What about Brian?”

  Clovis shrugged. “He probably won’t notice we’re gone.”

  “Wait a second,” Erlene said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She walked over to Brian, unsnapping the front of her pink cowboy blouse as she went. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and Brian had been ogling her nipples all night. She tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, she pulled open her blouse and exposed her breathtaking breasts to him. They were stripper’s breasts, meant to be flaunted and admired. Brian’s eyes went to her nipples and locked on.

  “Men pay good money to see these!”

  Her magnificent breasts displayed, she smiled.

  “Now that I got your attention …”

  She punched him in the gut with her left fist, hitting him hard just below his ribs. He exhaled sharply and doubled over in pain.

  “That’s for hitting Anita, even if she is a witchy little bitch.”

  While Brian was hunched over, she landed a straight, hard right jab that made contact with his chin, knocking him sideways. Brian teetered on his high-heeled boots for a moment then fell back onto his ass, landing hard on the dance floor. He looked confused.

  “And that’s for dosing us at dinner, asshole!”

  She stepped over Brian and walked away.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said cheerfully.

  Clovis just shook his head.

  “Damn! What a woman! And she’s all mine, pardner, all mine!”

  They walked through the park. It was wondrous place on acid. The trees moved. The forest spoke to them. The grass was soft and thick beneath their feet. Clovis took off his shoes and ran through the moist lawn. Then he took off his pants.

  Erlene giggled and ran after him. When she caught him, they stripped their clothes off and made love behind some bushes.

  Bobby wandered through the trees listening to the forest whisper to him. The acid peaked at some time around three in the morning. The effect was overwhelming. Bobby hung on to his sanity like a drunk hugging the floor as the room spun around him.

  He lay on his back, watching the stars until the sun came up. At some point, he too had shed his clothes, but unlike Clovis, he had managed to put them back on again when he got cold. Except he’d lost his socks, shoes, and underwear, and his shirt was buttoned wrong. His knees and feet were muddy, and there were leaves in his hair.

  Clovis appeared next to him with a handful of wild blackberries he had picked.

  “Try one. They are the best blackberries you’ll ever eat.”

  Bobby put one in his mouth and chewed. The sweet berry burst with flavor like an explosion. It completely rejuvenated him and hydrated his parched mouth. Bobby sat on the lawn eating berries with Clovis, grinning like a maniac.

  “Where’s Erlene?”

  “She went to find out where we are.”

  “Maybe she’d be better off finding out who we are.”

  Clovis laughed. “Oh, I know who I am. I’m Clovis Hicks and I play the guitar. Sometimes I play the fool. Who are you?”

  Bobby thought for a moment. Who was he?

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “When you finally figure out who you are and what you’re doing, you can turn the corner on this thing.”

  “On what thing? Why is everything so strange?”

  Clovis put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder.

  “You’re Dust Bin Bob, aka Bobby Dingle from Liverpool. You took a drug called LSD at Brian Jones’s house and you’re on a trip.”

  “I am?” Bobby blinked. He couldn’t stop smiling.

  “That’s about the gist of it, pardner.”

  “Am I always going to be like this?” Bobby said.

  Clovis’s voice was reassuring.

  “Nah, it’s already starting to wear off. You’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

  “Thank God.”

  Erlene returned. She looked surprisingly clean and fresh.

  “I found a gas station and washed up in the restroom.”

  Clovis looked at Bobby. Bobby translated.

  “She means she found a petrol pump and washed up in the loo.”

  Erlene held up a greasy white bag of food.

  “I found an all-night fish and chips shop and I had some money in my pocket, so I bought you guys some breakfast.”

  She handed the food to Clovis and Bobby, and they ate ravenously.

  Erlene looked around. The sun was up now.

  “We’re gonna have to walk home. We better get started.”

  “Home? Oh my God! Cricket! I promised I’d be home.”

  The unlikely trio trudged through early morning traffic. Bobby and Clovis were barefoot. After a few minutes, Bobby developed several large blisters on the bottom of his feet and walking became difficult. He wound up hobbling through the streets of London.

  It took most of the day to find their way back to Bobby’s apartment. He opened the front door and shouted Cricket’s name even though he knew she was gone. His clothes were disheveled and filthy, his feet were black with dirt. He had a wild look in his eye, and his hair looked like he’d slept on the ground.

  There was a note tacked to the inside of the door. Bobby snatched it and read.

  I hope you’re all right and nothing bad happened to you, so I can kill you later. How could you? You promised you’d be home to say good-bye.

  —C

  PS Here’s a dime. Call me when you grow up!

  A shiny American dime was taped to the paper. Bobby looked down at his dirty clothes and black feet like he was discovering them for the first time. He rubbed the shiny new dime between his fingers and felt bleak. It would cost a lot more than a dime to call her now. He looked at the clock and saw that Cricket and Winston wouldn’t arrive in Baltimore for several more hours. He couldn’t call and explain yet.

  Chapter Four

  Sweet Schadenfreude

  Bobby didn’t remember going into his apartment. He didn’t remember taking a shower and lying down on the bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember anything.

  But when the phone next to his bed rang, it all came screaming back like the sooty shockwave of some terrible memory. He looked at the ringing phone, and for some reason he began to cry. It sounded so sad and mournful. He couldn’t make his hand reach out and pick it up. He realized he was s
till tripping.

  “Who is it?” he shouted at the ringing phone. “Who’s inside of you?”

  The absurdity of the statement made Bobby laugh. Who’s inside of you? Indeed, who was inside that black plastic box? What did they want? Bobby doubted he could carry on much of a conversation anyway, so maybe it was a good thing to just shout at it. As if in response, the phone stopped ringing. He watched it cautiously, afraid it would come alive and bite him.

  What if it was Cricket?

  Could he talk to her in his present condition? No problem, he thought, I’ll just tell her the truth. It’s a crazy story, but Clovis and Erlene will back me up.

  Then he thought, No, maybe I shouldn’t tell her. She’d only get mad at me. I broke a promise. Bobby realized with a jolt that for the first time in his life, he was contemplating lying to his wife.

  He watched the phone.

  Cricket would understand, wouldn’t she? Bobby wasn’t too sure anymore. Once upon a time, she would have. But now, it seemed unlikely.

  The phone didn’t move. It stopped ringing. The silence was deafening.

  Guilt, perhaps fueled by the residual effect of the psychedelics, ate away at Bobby’s mind. The overall effect left him feeling drained.

  The phone suddenly rang again and made Bobby jump. It sounded as loud as a fire alarm. Bobby snatched it up, expecting to hear Cricket’s accusing voice. His face felt sore from smiling for the last twelve hours while tripping. His upper cheeks must have been locked in a rictus grin for hours because now they hurt. Also, his mouth and throat were as dry as cotton.

  “Cricket?” he rasped.

  It was Brian Jones’s voice. “What? Buddy Holly and the Crickets? No, I want to talk to Dust Bin Bob!”

  Bobby was confused.

  “Who?”

  “It’s Brian! Brian Jones! You were at my house last night.”

  Brian! The asshole! Was he calling to apologize? It was all his fault.

  Bobby’s voice was hoarse and throaty.

  “What is it?”

  A tsunami of emotions unexpectedly swelled up in front of Bobby. Suddenly, he couldn’t control himself and he began to tremble. He thought he might cry again. Bobby hoped his tremors weren’t audible on the telephone. He took a deep breath.

  Fighting back his own spontaneous tears, he suddenly realized that the sobbing he heard was coming from Brian.

  “It’s Anita! She’s gone!”

  Bobby looked at the phone as if it were alive in his hands, twisting like a snake.

  “I can’t help you. I’ve got my own problems.”

  “What do you mean?” Brian couldn’t conceive of anyone else’s problems being more important that his.

  “My woman is gone, too,” Bobby said shaking. “She left after you made me break my promise. Remember? You and Anita laughed at me? Well, now she’s gone back to America, thanks to you.”

  “Sorry, don’t remember a thing.”

  “Well, because of you my wife has left me and taken my son.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Then you beat up Anita at The Scotch of Saint James. Do you remember that?”

  “Oh God!” Brian gasped. “That was it! I didn’t see her after that.”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t remember a thing?”

  “Nothing. Was I a complete bugger?”

  Bobby sat up.

  “Yes! Yes you were! You really fucked up.”

  He must not even remember being punched out by Erlene, Bobby thought. Score one for Clovis, it could have cost him his job at Olympic.

  “Sorry. But will you come over and help me find Anita?”

  Bobby laughed.

  “You gotta be kidding me. Can you go to America and help me get Cricket back?”

  “Yes!” Brian shouted. “For God’s sake, help me get Anita back. I’ll do anything!”

  “You beat her up in a packed nightclub, Brian. You bloodied her nose in front of all her friends. I would think she’d be halfway back to Munich by now.”

  “No!” Brian sounded like a petulant child. “Look, if I take you to America and help you patch up with Cricket, will you help me get Anita back?”

  Bobby sighed. Brian Jones was a piece of work. He sincerely believed that being a rock star and a member of the Rolling Stones gave him license for anything.

  “What can I do?” Bobby sighed.

  “You helped the Beatles. I know. John told me the whole story. You saved their lives. You have the magic. Now I need you to save mine.”

  Bobby still felt mildly psychedelic. It was hard to separate fantasy from reality. Was this conversation really happening? Was it a dream?

  “Are you there?” Brian asked after a long pause.

  “Huh? I can’t talk now. Let me wake up a little,” Bobby croaked.

  “Take your time. Have some tea.”

  Bobby couldn’t think straight yet. His mind was still scrambled from the LSD. He compared his earlier peaceful trip with John to the chaotic trip with Brian and his friends. With John, it had all been quiet contemplation and peace. Just the two of them.

  With Brian, it was a roller coaster ride. He loved to surround himself with people. Faces came and went looming out of the shadows. The background conversation at The Scotch of Saint James became white noise. It all swirled out of control and all Bobby could do was watch and listen. The gravitational field generated by Brian’s own personality guided the chaos, pulling along his dinner quests just for the fun of it.

  He realized the extraordinary differences between John and Brian. Maybe that’s why they’re such good friends, Bobby thought. Opposites attract.

  Music propelled both men through life but with very different engines. John was all about creating new songs, new opportunities, new vistas. He was a dedicated revolutionary. He exploded with creative energy, which extended from writing to artwork to music. To John, it was all about the next song, the next challenge.

  Brian, on the other hand, felt that every great song had already been written and that the musician’s role in life is to reinterpret the music through his own eyes. Brian strove to make old songs sound new. For the first three albums, the Stones followed that same path. It was all about the blues then. What could be more perfect than the blues? Three chords were all you ever needed.

  “Bo Diddley” came back to him. In his mind, he replayed every second of that song. The maracas sizzled, the guitars throbbed, the vocal echoed. Bobby couldn’t get it out of his head. He made a mental note to purchase Bo’s Greatest Hits as soon as possible.

  Bobby realized that he had been dosed by two of the greatest musicians of his generation. Instead of feeling special, he felt nauseous. He made the same promise to himself that he’d made after his first trip with John: Never, never again.

  Bobby looked at the clock on the wall and realized he hadn’t called Cricket.

  Oh my God, I missed my window of opportunity! They’re already there. How many hours ahead are they? Or is it behind? She’s gonna hate me!

  His mouth was as dry as the Sahara and he could hardly talk, but he was determined. He dialed the number with shaky hands. The aftereffect of the LSD made him clumsy.

  The transatlantic telephone connection was horrible. There seemed to be a half second delay, and at times the static overwhelmed the signal.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “Bobby? Is that you?”

  “Cricket? Honey?”

  “Don’t ‘honey’ me! It’s three o’clock in the morning here. You probably woke up Winston. I guess you didn’t think about that.”

  “Honey, look, I’m sorry. I can explain—”

  Cricket cut him off.

  “I don’t want to hear it! Call back at a decent hour if you want to discuss it!”

  She hung up.

  Bobby
tried to call back but got a busy tone. She’d obviously taken the receiver off the cradle.

  It’s off the hook, he thought. I’ve been taken off the hook.

  Guilt swept over Bobby like a sheen of perspiration.

  He had to go to Baltimore. He had to be with Cricket. Even though he still felt woozy from the purple haze, he reached for the telephone to call the airlines. He made up his mind that he would make arrangements to travel to Baltimore as soon as possible.

  But unbeknownst to Bobby, all the airline companies were on strike. In fact, the entire country seemed to be hobbled by a general strike. Bobby wasn’t sure why, but the airline workers, baggage handlers, food handlers, ticketing agents, and maintenance workers were all out. It would be impossible to leave the country for at least the length of the work stoppage.

  “Shit!” shouted Bobby at the telephone.

  There was nothing he could do. He considered calling Cricket back and telling her, but that would only make matters worse. He’d tell her on the next call. Maybe the strike would be over by then.

  Bobby wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  “Are you crazy?” Clovis Hicks asked Bobby.

  He was standing in the doorway of Bobby’s apartment.

  “After the shit that guy pulled? You wanna help him?”

  Bobby nodded.

  Clovis said, “So, let me get this straight. You totally fucked up with Cricket and when you tried to call her and explain, she hung up on you?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Aw, man, you are in for the shits. She ain’t coming back anytime soon, I can tell you that. You’re gonna have to go over there and beg her to come back. You made a promise to your woman and you broke it? There’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  “I was avoiding all fluids all night long, but he got me with the ice cream.”

  “Who’da thunk it? He’s a devious little motherfucker, I’ll give him that.”

  “He was actually proud that he’d managed to dose us.”

  “Yeah, these fuckin’ rock stars! Ain’t they a bunch?”

  “Maybe Erlene could call Cricket and explain my side of the story.”