“Too bad for that guy,” said Jay.
“You think I’m crazy?” Seth said.
“So Uwe has a look-alike in Tahoe. What’s the big deal?” I said.
Seth angrily snapped the latches on his guitar case. “Well maybe I don’t like people’s faces that look like Uwe’s face, Danny. And fuck you, too, Jay.”
“Mellow out,” Jay said.
“Yeah, we’re just kidding,” I said. “Maybe it was Uwe. Who the hell knows?”
“I doubt it,” Seth said.
“Yeah,” said Jay. “Stranglehold’s long-gone down in L.A., kissing the Man’s heiny.”
Seth lit another cigarette. “Where’s the girls? I want to go back to the cabin. This gig is definitely over.”
Far off in another chamber, I heard Abbey Butler’s voice, affectionate and suggestive like it had been earlier in the evening before things got messy:
“Tonight … your night … tonight … your night ….”
Today had been very bad. Tomorrow, however, was looking better.
Chapter 8
Nightmares, Mushrooms, and Daytime Dreams
“The manager of the Lake Club is particular,” Zoe Cleopatra Hash said in a serious, coaxing voice. “He’s very concerned with stage presence.” She paced the floor of the cabin called Oz with determined swing-steps, her knees locked like a soldier. She had a pencil in one ear and was wearing her reading glasses.
Have you guys decided on three songs yet?” she continued. “Choice of music is equally important as the performance itself.”
The members of Bandit gathered around the cabin’s stone fireplace. Jay Wong poked at a red ember log, trying to renew the flame; he listened to Zoe passively. I was beside Jay on the hearth. Abbey sat in a beat-up rocking chair; the chair creaked as she rocked it. Seth sat Indian style on an oval rug in front of the fireplace; charcoal-black holes made from flying sparks dotted the oval rug around Seth. Seth’s earnest expression resembled Zoe’s.
Seth took a sip of tea and honey and said, “I’m still for the two originals that we spoke of before, ‘My National Anthem’ and ‘Evergreen Punk.
“Yeah,” said Jay, “we gotta show we’re inspired by Tahoe.”
Abbey started to sing:
You stupid log
I axed you with a mop better than peroxide
Could!
Shake it, so shake it.
Shake it, so shake it.
There’s a termite
In your gut and I tried to
Cut it!
Shake it, so shake it.
Shake it, so shake it.
Evergreen Punk—
Cellulose nothin’ except for your—
Hair!
Seth gestured for Abbey to be quiet. “We’ll also need a copy tune, something contemporary, good for dancing. That new song by the Go-Gos is cool. We play that one tight.” Seth’s gray eyes roamed from person to person. “We’ve got to show the manager that Bandit has uniqueness.”
“We could work a bass solo into the Go-Go tune,” Jay offered. “I’ll make the dude dig us. I’ll make him think we’re bitchin’.” He laughed and tugged on a thin chain; the fireplace screen shut with a slipping metal noise.
“Be serious,” Zoe told him.
Jay continued to be unserious and closed his eyes tightly, and furiously shook his head full of thick black hair, as if he were getting into some wild concert playing in his mind. After a while, his brown eyes blinked open, and he became motionless. “What’s everyone looking at me for? I’m just trying to psych myself up.”
“We’re trying to make a decision about something,” Abbey said.
“I thought we already had it figured out. The three tunes Seth’s talking about are cool with me.”
I gave a thumbs up, too. Abbey agreed with Seth.
She stood and said, “That was a good meeting. Thank you, Zoe. Wasn’t that a good meeting, you guys?”
“Very corporate,” I said.
Zoe hadn’t been able to line up any work for us other than our steady but demeaning engagement at the Hofbrau. Seth grumbled about it and tried to get us work himself, and had no better luck than Zoe. Getting gigs in Tahoe was a lot tougher than in San Luis Obispo.
We took our places and played the three songs over and over. No one wanted to fail.
It was one of those times where we were able to use anxiety as a tool, let it fill us, then channel it into a creative force, which spurred Bandit to play without error—perfectly in the groove.
* * *
I didn’t have much time to be nervous as I set up my drums onstage. I adjusted the spacing between the two cymbals on the hi-hat and snugged the wing nut; the ride and crash cymbals still weren’t positioned quite right; I hoped there would be time to tune the head on my snare; the big room made it sound flat. Trickles of sweat rolled down my forehead.
“You guys about ready?” asked Case Johnson, the manager of the Lake Club. “Jesus, I have appointments today. You people think you’re the only ones on my calendar?” He stood behind the bar eating green martini olives. He chewed them down snappily, as if they were kernels of popcorn. Before he tossed an olive into his mouth, he speared the stuffed pimiento with a toothpick and flicked it indignantly into the sink.
Case Johnson carried himself like an American tough-guy, his upper torso kept stiff, his butt tucked in. He wore a silk suit and men’s jewelry made out of gold nuggets.
He snatched up another green martini olive and said, “Why can’t they make these things without these goddamn red things? Jesus.” His eyes traveled around the stage and stopped on Seth, who was taping down some loose mike cords with duct tape. Seth had a pet peeve about loose cords onstage. Seth thought loose cords were unprofessional.
“What the hell are you doing up there?” Case Johnson yelled. “This is just an audition. What the hell are you doing? We’ll never get you people torn down in time for the Pronouns to get set up tonight. Jesus.”
But Seth wouldn’t stop taping for anyone, and—moving just a little quicker—he finished concealing the cords leading from the mike stands to the P.A. mixer. Case Johnson flung another pimiento into the sink behind the bar and strode out of the room.
Sly was on the stage with Seth, Jay, and me. “Is there anything I can do to help, gents?” she asked. Sly and Jay had been to the beach. Jay still had on his baggies and flip-flop sandals, and Sly was wearing a short, terrycloth jumpsuit over her bikini. Her tanned arms and legs shined from suntan oil. She looked sexy.
Jay replied, “Just take a seat, baby. The boys have it handled.” Jay cracked me up when he was with his woman. He acted like they were a couple playing house. Jay Wong was in love.
Sly crossed her tanned legs and adjusted herself so that her swimming suit top didn’t poke out. “Don’t worry about Case,” she said. “He’s just got a bloody temper.” She made a happy screwed-up face. “He’s bloody fond of himself, too.”
My drums were ready. I wondered where Abbey and Zoe were. I looked to the upper level, the promenade encased in chain-link fence. The girls weren’t sitting on one of the terraces. My eyes continued around the club’s interior, until they locked onto a gun-metal blue statue.
It was a one-dimensional man, cut from a flat sheet of metal; the figure was welded upright onto a pedestal, an empty 50-gallon oil drum. Spherical droplets of frozen metal remained from the blowtorch. The man’s edges were jagged and rough. Cut into the uppermost contour was a rectangular shape representing the head. Its only features were two eye holes, side-by-side and slightly staggered.
Now there are eyes, and then there are eyes. Witchy green eyes. Cat’s eyes. X-ray eyes. Doll’s eyes. Glass eyes that are mirrors. Eyes that are smart. Eyes that are sappy and stupid. The blowtorch man’s eyes were vacant holes, air and nothingness eyes. These eyes were a negative exposure of an old-fashioned gunslinger’s eyes. These eyes were spookily staring m
e down.
Abbey and Zoe entered through the back door to the private dock. Zoe peppered Abbey with words, “Oh my, my, my. That wasn’t very smart. Are you going to be okay? Are you sure?”
Abbey skipped over to the stage, leaving Zoe behind. “Hi, you guys. Hi Sly. Hi Danny.” Her voice sounded silly.
Zoe joined us and looked around for the manager. When she saw that Case Johnson wasn’t around, Zoe said to Seth, “Abbey took a Quaalude. She’s pretty high.”
Seth threw his skinny arms into the air. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “Shit, this is great. Just great.” He glared at Abbey.
Abbey looked like she was about to cry. She mumbled, “I’s needed something to relax. Tiz okay. Really, Seth.” She broke into laughs. “Hey, you gguuuyyyyys. So’s what? Huh? So’s what? Let’s go, go, go. I want to sing.”
Case Johnson reappeared. “Jesus, this isn’t some kind of ice cream social. Get up on the stage and let’s hear what you people got. Okay, already?” He fixed himself a highball.
Jay raised his eyebrows and said, “Here goes nothing.”
Seth and Zoe said nothing and refused to look at Abbey. Abbey looked at me and winked. I winked back, even though I, too, was very disappointed in her.
The sad thing of it was, she actually pulled herself together. She sang all of her parts okay—on key, without any slurring, and without mistakes. Technically, none of them made any mistakes at all.
But still, something was missing that day. The songs just didn’t sound as good as they had when we practiced them at the cabin.
Case Johnson told us airily that it was no dice. He dismissed us, eager to get us out of the club so that “the real thing,” the Pronouns, could set up for their show that night. No one said much as we packed up our equipment to go home. I wanted to get the hell out of there before “He,” “She,” “Us,” “Them,” and “It” showed up. Sly slipped away to change into her cocktail dress. “Maybe next time, gang,” she told us.
Abbey offered Seth a cigarette, and Seth said nastily, “Do you think this makes up for it?” He got down on his knees with the cigarette dangling from his lips and tore up his duct tape. Making sure his voice was loud enough so that Abbey could hear him, Seth muttered, “Stage presence. That means acting like a professional.”
Seeming quite sober, Abbey walked to the side of the stage and sat down on the floor in a heap. Soon, Zoe gave in and went to comfort her spiritual sister.
I found myself looking at the blowtorch man. I gazed into the two holes that represented his eyes and, once again, saw something where there was nothing. That friggin’ statue had given me a message: Case Johnson had looked into Bandit’s eyeholes searching for lines of flux of invisible juice—the creative spirit and unthrottled ambition that (in addition to good musicianship) gives a young band poise and presence onstage.
Case Johnson saw nothing in Bandit’s eyeholes, because something had happened that threw the band’s mood for a loop.
For the first time ever, I was really pissed off at Abbey.
* * *
Eddy said he just got out of bed when Abbey, Jay, Sly and I arrived at his place. He looked groggy and stoned from sleep, and his polo shirt was untucked and rumpled at the waistline of his trousers. Eddy’s skin seemed to be covered with a visible stickiness. He smelled strong like yeast.
Eddy squinted and tried to push down a tuft of reddish hair that had been ironed backwards, but as soon as his hand left it, the hair popped up again. Outside, it was noon and a crystal-clear summer day in Tahoe.
“Please, come in,” he said quietly. He examined Abbey and Sly in their short summer clothes. It was a little crude the way his eyes went between their legs. The girls didn’t notice what he was doing, but Jay and I did. Jay laughed.
“This is a super house,” Sly exclaimed. “You must be quite wealthy. You aren’t in the market for a concubine, are you?” Sly put her arm around Jay’s waist and squeezed it to let Jay know she was just flirting.
“It’s my parents’ house,” Eddy said. “However, you know what they say, dear girl. When the cat’s away the mouse will play.” Eddy was trying to act real suave.
“Such a nice gent you are,” Sly said. “We’ll all have to make ourselves right at home then.”
“Indeed,” said Eddy. “Please do.” I kind of felt like telling Eddy to shut up.
Eddy directed Jay and me to the wet bar and told us to help ourselves. He invited the girls on a tour of the lake house. When Eddy wasn’t looking, Sly indicated to Jay via a mocking expression that she thought Eddy was full of shit, but continued to humor Eddy to his face. “A tour?” Sly said to the host. “That’s a super idea.”
I motioned for Abbey to go with Eddy. “This house is really amazing. Have a look.” Abbey looked irritated. She was no cocktail waitress and wasn’t used to dealing with rich Don Juans like Edward. She was used to the role of queen rather than saucy wench.
“This way, ladies. Your honorable tour guide is waiting with bated breath,” Eddy said.
“God,” Abbey said, “you’re so sophisticated. I’m sssooo impressed.”
“Hey, what can I say?” Eddy said. “What can I say?” Excitedly, he led the girls up the spiral staircase.
The house tour gave Jay and me a chance to relax and slug down some of Eddy’s liquor. When Abbey returned, I wasn’t going to let her out of my sight for the rest of the day. It was time for her and me to have a little fun. After we blew it at the Lake Club audition, the spirit of Bandit sank low. Zoe quickly forgave Abbey. The two spiritual sisters stuck together like glue and acted bitchy and exclusive. Seth snarled at everyone. Jay and I maintained low profiles. Then, Zoe came through with a new gig at the Lone Star nightclub, a respectable place. We told Mickey and his Hofbrau to take a hike. The sonofabitch owed us $500.
Eddy returned with the girls. “Have you seen his boat?” Abbey asked me.
“It’s pretty nice, isn’t it,” I said.
“Eddy says later he’ll take us out on the lake,” she said. She put her lips to my ear. “That should be more exciting than his stupid little tour.”
Sly put her hand on Abbey’s shoulder. “Us girls are having a super time. Aren’t we, Abbey?”
“If you say so,” she said, “then I guess I am.” Her smile was incredibly fake.
Abbey was a funny bird. Onstage she was so dynamic and open, yet offstage she made it difficult for people to be her friend. She came off as being a stuck-up bitch. To me, it seemed, Abbey just didn’t trust people.
Eddy brought out a plastic zip-lock baggie filled with dried brown and black mushrooms. “Look at those puppies,” Jay said. “Thirty bucks, right? Man, I haven’t ‘shroomed in ages.” Talk of money was just a courtesy. Eddy always gave Bandit drugs for free. Jay opened the bag and took one of the mushrooms and held it to his nose.
“Here, check it out, man.” Jay handed the fungus umbrella to me. The stem and the head, with dark paper ribs underneath, were covered with a dry powder, though the mushroom was resilient and bendable.
“You eat these things?” I said. “They smell like dirt.”
Now that the drugs were on the table, we had a common denominator. The dope made everyone best friends. Sly held a mushroom under Abbey’s nose. Sly’s gesture was careful and feminine.
“Nice,” Abbey said. “I can’t wait.” Abbey looked at Sly and Sly looked at Abbey and the girls seemed to share a newfound secret.
Dope bent people. Even the prospect of doing dope bent people. Sly became Zoe. Eddy became one of us instead of a groupie dealer. Did Bandit bend us, too? In Abbey’s mind was I a substitute?
I ate four mushrooms. They looked and smelled and went down like vitamins.
M M M
12:30 P.M. It’s been over a half hour and I feel nothing and think that these ‘shrooms—as Jay and everyone else calls them—are dead firecrackers.
Still, I am nervous. I wonder if I am going to die.
We are all good friends now, and Eddy plays his stereo for us and I drum on the coffee table because I am nervous and don’t know what’s going to happen. I wonder if I will hallucinate. Or freak out. I remember all the movies I saw in the early seventies when I was in junior high school. There was a big drug scare in the schools then. We watched movies in our humanities classes about kids who thought they had snakes crawling all over them. The films tried to show all the colors and distortion that the kids saw. The films read like a comic strip. One kid in the filmcs got high and blew his head off with a twelve-gauge shotgun. He only wanted to kill the snakes that were crawling all over him.
I am confident the films were propaganda because alcohol, grass, cocaine, and uppers just seem to turn down reality and make you happy. If you take too much, you don’t get the snakes—you throw up. I feel smug. I figure mushrooms will be sort of the same.
The new drug begins to take effect. I tell Abbey it feels just like I’m getting drunk. She hugs me and tells me to wait. I wait. I notice that Eddy’s house is very tidy. I wonder if he or his sister cleans it. Thinking of Tish makes me nervous and also turns me on. I want to make it with Abbey. I think that while we’re on ‘shrooms she’ll finally let me. I am turned on and tingling.
1:10 P.M. I keep looking at my watch like this is an experiment. We leave in the Blue Max. It is warm outside. I take off my shirt and drink the sun. Abbey and I sit in the bow. She acts like she is sharing this thing with me. Like she knows what’s in my mind and I know what’s in her mind. I put my arms around her. I am still turned on, but not as much. I want her to take her top off and get a tan, but she said she is not wearing a bathing suit.
I touch her legs with my legs. The boat bounces with powerful lunges in the water. Eddy lets Jay drive. Dope bends. The high is different than my past experiences. The water is bluer but still water. The boat is bigger but still a boat. The mountain caps high above the lake are like a painting. The sky and the fact that it keeps going out into space seems more important than the mountains. But the sky is the sky and the mountains are the mountains.