Chapter Seven
Wednesday, 9:22 p.m.
“You too?” Alva said as Grunt dropped his backpack with a thud on Alva’s workbench.
“Yeah, me too,” Grunt said. “It’s in there. Take it out. I don’t even wanna touch it.”
“I told you,” Corn said from where he sat on the couch watching Yo! MTV Raps with Barrow. “That shit ain’t a love machine, it’s a hate machine.”
“Like Nine Inch Nails,” Grunt said. He took a bite from the sandwich he held in one hand. “Things were going great with Kyna.”
“Until she turned on you and slapped your face, I bet,” Corn said.
“No, that’s not what happened,” Grunt said.
“So you never had the guts to use it the first place,” Barrow said without looking up from the TV.
“No, I used it. And then she wanted to kiss me.” Grunt took another bite of his sandwich.
“Word,” Corn said. “So what are you complaining about?”
“I felt bad because I wasn’t sure if those were her real feelings, or just the feelings the machine gave her. So I took her home.”
Corn leaned over the back of the couch and stared at Grunt. “You had a girl ready to make out with you, and you turned it down.”
“Yeah.”
“Man, Kyna ain’t ugly.”
Alva had his notebook out and was busy taking notes. “So for you, the machine itself worked fine, and the failure was due to an ethical dilemma.”
“Uh, yeah,” Grunt said. “I guess so.”
“Nah, don’t write that down,” Corn said, turning back to the TV. “Put down ‘subject is stone cold crazy.’”
“I think I understand where he’s coming from.” Alva put the pen down, closed his notebook, and pulled out the Love Machine. “It’s your turn, Barrow, if you want to take the chance.”
“Yeah, I’ll take it.” Barrow hopped up from the couch.
Alva had pulled out his tools and was making adjustments with tweezers and an oscilloscope probe. “I’ll have it ready for you in just a few minutes.”
“Good,” Barrow said. “I need this.”
“No, you don’t,” Corn said. “You just think you do.”
“No, I really need it,” Barrow said.
Corn shook his head. “Watch it man, it don’t turn out like you think.”
Thursday, May 9th, 7:04 p.m.
Alcie sat hunched in the corner booth at the Cupid Café, pushing a sugar packet around with a spoon. Tina spotted her and hurried over, taking the opposite seat.
A waitress stepped up to the table. “What can I get for y’all?”
“Diet Coke, please,” Tina said.
“Coffee for me,” Alcie said without raising her head. “Black.”
“Diet Coke and black coffee. I’ll be right back with that, ladies.”
“The plan is underway.” Tina leaned over the table. “I went to band practice with them today.”
Alcie put the spoon down and looked up eagerly. “You did? How’d it go?”
“Great. It’s a lot of fun actually. Singing and learning the songs and stuff. Corn wasn’t there, though.”
Alcie looked worried. “Do you think he’ll be there tomorrow?”
“Oh, totally,” Tina said. “They were all complaining about him not showing up, but they think he’ll be there. How’s it going on your end with that new girl?”
“Great. Monica’s perfect. So Corn likes the girls with the boom?” Alcie dropped the spoon to the table with a clank. “Well, now he’s getting the girl shaped like a broom.”
Tina forced herself to smile, but tapped her fingers on the table. “But what if Monica finds out what we’re up to? Or what if something happens? I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
“Tina, you are so sweet,” Alcie said. “But nobody’s going to get hurt. Monica’s got a skinny ass and she’s a charter member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Plus, she doesn’t know anybody here. This will be the biggest thrill of her entire year.”
“I just don’t know,” Tina said, folding and unfolding her hands.
“Do you want revenge on Corn or not?” Alcie asked.
“Well, I guess so—”
“Good.” Alcie patted Tina’s hand. “Hey, you know what? The worst that can happen is they actually do fall deeply in love. So listen, here’s how we do this. First, you said Barrow has the Love Machine now, right?”
“That’s what they were saying at band practice, anyway.”
“I’m sure he’ll have it with him, probably in his backpack. So at some point, you’ll distract him, and I’ll sneak it out.”
“Okay,” Tina said.
“Next. What’s the name of that song you told me about?”
“Whipped Cream. I suggested we do that as our last song and they all agreed.”
“Awesome. So you get Corn all worked up singing the song, and then we hit him with this girl. I’ll have her ready with make-up and hair, a low cut dress, and then we break out the Love Machine. It’ll be perfect. Corn will never know what happened until it’s too late.”
“I still don’t understand how we’re going to use the Love Machine on him without him noticing,” Tina said.
Alcie waved her hand. “Oh, he’s a boy. It’ll be easy. He won’t be able to take his eyes off her, and I’ll be up on stage dancing or something.”
“Right,” Tina said, not sounding too confident.
“Okay, ladies, here you are,” the waitress said, presenting their drinks.
“Absolutely perfect,” Alcie said, smiling as she took the steaming cup and saucer. “Alva will never suspect a thing.”
“Wait,” Tina said. “Alva or Corn?”
“I mean Corn,” Alcie said. “Definitely Corn.”
Thursday, 8:39 p.m.
Alva flipped through his notebook at his workbench, checking his notes on the Love Machine. Too bad about Grunt, but that wasn’t the machine’s fault. Everything seemed to be working perfectly.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the newspaper’s personals department, followed by the code for his ad. It’d run for the first time in that morning’s edition. Time to see if there were any responses yet.
“You have four messages. Press one to begin play and the pound key to advance to the next message.”
Four messages? Not bad. Alva pressed one.
“Hi, Mike here. I’m calling about the sophisticated lady. You sound perfect for me. Just my type. Let’s get together. We’ll walk on the beach and maybe end up at my beach house. Some classical music, wind up the evening in front of the fireplace. And then we’ll see what kind of music we can make from there. Interested? Call me at—”
Ugh. No way. Alva hit the pound key.
“Hi. My name’s Edward. It is so refreshing to find somebody in the area with some culture. I play the cello myself. I’m looking forward to speaking with someone who can talk at my level. I have a good feeling about you. Let me leave my—”
Too conceited. Alva hit the pound key.
“Hi there. I’m calling in response to the personals ad. Color me intrigued. But I’m gonna need to see a photo first. You can send it—”
Alva hit the pound key with extreme prejudice.
“Hi…. My name’s Frank. I saw your ad in the personals section and you sound like the kind of person I might like to know. I hope we can meet and you’ll feel the same way about me. Call me at 555-1212 and we’ll work something out. Hope to see you soon!”
Now this guy is more promising. Alva went to his shelves and dug through a pile of electronic gizmos. He pulled out something like a walkie-talkie and flipped it on.
“Hello? Hello?” He spoke into it, each time adjusting a dial on the side that raised the pitch of his voice until it was about the level of a woman’s. He dialed the number into the phone and spoke through the walkie-talkie into the receiver.
“Hi, is this Frank? ... This is Barbara, the woman from the personals ad…. Yeah, I think we h
ave a really bad connection…. Get together sometime? That sounds like a great idea…. But not this weekend? Okay…. Next Saturday? A concert at the university? Umm….”
Shit, Alva thought. Is Mom free that night? Why didn’t I check that before calling? Well, I’ll have to talk her out of it if she’s not.
“You know, that sounds lovely…. Let’s make it a date, and I’ll call you back if the time doesn’t work out…. No, I’m not trying to back out of it already, it’s just….”
Idiot! Confirm the time! Confirm the time!
“You know what, a week from Saturday sounds perfect…. Meet you there at eight o’clock?”
Wait? How am I going to use the Love Machine if we meet there? “Actually, why don’t you pick me up at seven-thirty? ... Oh, it’s nice for you to be concerned, but my teen-age son will be here…”
Why’d I say that? Frighten the guy off before he even meets her!
“Okay, seven-thirty it is…. I’m looking forward to it too.”
Alva hung up the phone and exhaled. Okay, that didn’t go terribly, all things considered. I just have to make sure Mom doesn’t go anywhere next Saturday, but is ready to go somewhere. And figure out a way to use the Love Machine on this guy right before he meets her. Alva shook his head. “Hey, what could go wrong?”
Chapter Eight
Friday, May 10th, 4:20 p.m.
Barrow let the final guitar chord of Every Rose Has Its Thorn fade and Grunt bashed the cymbal with extra force, sending it airborne from its stand. He leaned over to try to catch it and tripped over his drum stool, knocking the snare drum aside and sending the bass drum rolling across the stage as the cymbal hit the floor with a reverberating crash. Thirty dedicated Latin students stared up agog from their stackable plastic chairs.
“Okay, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” Tina said into the microphone with a giggle. “We’re going to take a short break, and then Alva and the Hip Monks will be back with another song.”
Tina put the microphone back in its holder and smiled at the audience, which had started laughing. A few people clapped politely. Tina jumped off the wooden stage and met Alcie behind the rows of chairs. The two made their way to a table at the far corner of the cafeteria, chatting in low tones.
“Hey y’all, sorry about this,” Grunt said, picking himself up. He examined the cymbal stand. “I think the extension clip flew off.”
“You just demolished your whole set and you think the extension clip is the problem?” Corn set his bass on its stand and strolled over to Alva’s keyboard station. “Man, this is bullshit.”
“Grunt’ll have it fixed soon,” Alva said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Alva tried not to smile but a corner of one lip lifted itself against his will. “What’s the problem then, Corn?”
“Everything, goddammit! Her singing, for one thing. Who the hell said she was in the band now?”
Barrow called over from where he sat tuning his guitar. “She showed up after school every day this week, for one thing.”
“Don’t you start in on it!” Corn said to him.
“Don’t you think she’s a great singer?” Alva asked Corn, twiddling a few knobs on his synthesizer.
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Corn said. “I will give you that one. The girl can sing. But why’d you have to give her that song? Every Rose is my song, man. You know that.”
Grunt had gotten on his knees and was adjusting the height of the cymbal stand. “Dude, you didn’t show up to a single practice. We didn’t even know if you’d be here today.”
“And another thing,” Corn went on. “Who the hell named the band after you? Alva and the Hip Monks? Are you kidding me?”
“Actually, we were wondering about that one too,” Barrow said.
“Hey, Monica asked me what the name of the band was, so I came up with something,” Alva said. “Maybe if you’d been there we could have talked about it earlier this week.”
“Don’t give me that shit! You don’t come to practice any more than me, and now because you show up two days in a row, you get to name the band after yourself?” Corn was getting worked up now. “Why not, I don’t know, Corn and the Chips?”
“Because that name is ridiculous,” Alva said.
“That’s what I’m saying! We didn’t even vote on it. If we’re gonna have a ridiculous name, could it at least be one we all picked? What the hell is a hip monk, anyway?”
“Hey, y’all,” Grunt said. “I’ve got some other problems over here. It’s gonna be a few minutes.”
Barrow picked up his backpack gently, careful not to disturb the precious cargo inside it, and walked out to the hallway. Alcie and Tina stood up from their table and went out another side door.
Alva ran a finger along the brim of his Tarheels cap. “Okay, I don’t care what the name is. We’ll change it. But let’s talk about it later, after the show, all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” Corn said. He jumped off the stage and sauntered in the direction of a knot of girls, muttering under his breath.
Alva took the opportunity to fiddle with a new synthesizer patch. His Yamaha SY77 could emulate tens of thousands of sounds. He had been working on a horn section but it sounded kind of fake. If he could tweak the sound, maybe he could use it in Whipped Cream. They’d saved it for their big finale, with extra-sexy vocals courtesy of Tina.
“Hey, Alva, how’s it going?”
Alva looked up from his synth. “Oh, hi Monica. How do you like the show so far?”
“I love it,” she said.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Alva turned a knob a few degrees.
Monica squeezed between two amps to get closer, leaning forward over a keyboard so he could get a look down her shirt. “Y’all have such a cool mix of music. And I didn’t know you played harmonica. What was the name of that song?”
“Oh, yeah. The Occidental Tourist.” Alva glanced up for a second but let his eyes drift back to the readout screen on the synth. “That’s one of our originals.”
Monica put a hand on Alva’s forearm. “Wow. It must take you a long time to write a song.”
He pulled his arm away. “Not really. We pretty much came up with that one in about five minutes.”
“Oh.” Monica’s face fell a little and she let her hand drop to her side. “Well, I’d like to hear more about it sometime. Maybe we could get coffee after the party.”
“I don’t know, Monica, I’m pretty busy nowadays.”
Monica’s face reddened and she sucked in her breath as if she had something to say, but before she could respond there was shouting and a thump outside the cafeteria door.
Chapter Nine
Friday, 4:28 p.m.
There was more shouting and another thump and a crash, as if somebody had been pushed into furniture. Mrs. Glish, the Latin teacher, put down the stack of papers she was grading in the corner and rushed into the hallway.
Monica took one last look at Alva and slipped out the side door as Mrs. Glish came back in with her arm around Barrow’s shoulders, holding a bloody tissue to his nose.
“Are you sure?” she was saying to Barrow.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I need to get back on stage. We have some more songs to play.”
“But I really think we should go find Eric,” Mrs. Glish said. “It’s not right he did this to you.”
“He didn’t.” People were looking over to see what was happening, and Barrow tried to find a way to defuse the situation. “We were just…arguing, and I took a step back and didn’t see the desk there.”
Mrs. Glish seemed doubtful. “Well, if you’re sure, Archibald. Here take this.” She handed him another tissue from her purse. “Be sure not to tilt your head back.”
“Yeah, thank you,” he said. He stepped up onto the stage and sat in a chair. The other band members gathered around him.
“Who did this to you?” Corn asked. “Grunt and me’ll go kick thei
r asses right now. And Alva will be there too, for moral support.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Alva said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Barrow said, waving them away with one arm while the other kept the tissue pressed to his nose. “I’m fine now.”
“Just tell me who it was,” Corn said. “Just give me a name.”
“It was Eric Cartwell,” Barrow said. “But leave him alone, okay? It’s not his fault.”
“What do you mean?” Grunt asked. “What could you possibly have done to Eric Cartwell? He’s on the basketball team. He probably doesn’t even know who you are.”
Barrow hesitated and bit his lower lip. His face looked as if he were on the edge of a diving board, debating whether to dive in. He decided to plunge. “If you must know, I tried to use the Love Machine on him.”
The group got real quiet. Barrow kept his head bowed while Corn, Grunt, and Alva glanced uncomfortably at each other.
Tina and Alcie came back in through the side door. Tina hopped up on stage. “Hey y’all, we about ready to start again?”
“We have a little problem,” Alva said. “Barrow’s nose is bleeding.”
“Oh my God! Are you all right?” Tina said.
“Yeah, great,” Barrow said.
“Was that what all that shouting was about?” Tina asked. “What happened?”
“No big deal,” Barrow said. “Let’s forget about it and get back to the show.”
Corn shook his head. “You know what? Let’s not forget it.”
“Forget what?” Tina asked.
“Forget all this. I’ve had enough. Of all y’all. Seriously.”
“What are you talking about?” Tina said.
“What are you talking about?” Corn mimicked in a high-pitched voice. He pointed at Tina. “Who do you think you are, coming in and taking over as singer?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t used the Love Machine on me in the first place!” Tina said.
Corn ignored her, giving Barrow a withering glance. “First she comes in and grabs my place as singer, and now I’m supposed to be in a band with a faggot, too?”
The Love Machine Page 4
