—-- JANUARY 1979 —--


    After the cancellation of the New Year''s party at the garage, Sal and Pops decided to push the festivities back one week, to Joe’s eighteenth birthday, January 7th. It would be a Sunday afternoon open band practice keg party with pizza. Joe was not in favor of a birthday party.


    “It’s a Sunday and school starts up Monday.”


    “It’s the perfect end to school break,” Sal replied.


    “I don’t want to make a big deal of my birthday.”


    “Oh fuck off,” Johnny said, “You’ve been counting down for months.”


    “That doesn’t mean I want a birthday party. I promised my Mom I’d do Sunday dinner with my sisters. They’re baking me a cake.”


    “What time is Sunday dinner?” Pops asked.


    “Sunday is early, like three o’clock. I can’t show up drunk from a kegger.”


    “We’ll do it after you have dinner with your sisters,” Sal grinned at Pops as they were on the same page.


    “It’s my birthday. I don’t need a party.”


    “Stop your whining,” Pops pointed at Joe. “It’s settled.”


    In the mid-late afternoon, a half dozen teens and twenty-somethings stood in a semicircle around a keg watching Sal pump and pour, pump and pour until the beer flowed clear of foam. When an eager kid stuck his plastic cup under the tap, Sal barked at him.


    “Back off! Do you really think you get the first beer after watching me do all the fucking work?”


    The kid slinked away, “Sorry Sal.”


    After he poured a full cup, drank half, then topped it off. Sal announced, “Tap is up!” He took the eager kid’s cup and filled it for him, and then a cute petite blonde, and then another chick with red hair. When he noticed the rest of the line was dudes, Sal walked away, “You dicks can pull your own.”


    Johnny arrived with a stack of pies from Angelo''s of Sicily, Sal’s uncle’s restaurant on The Hill. Johnny held the first batch of pies over his head walking through the early arrivals to Joe’s party, about two dozen. The townies outnumbered the college kids but that would shift as the night wore on. Students were back in town after school break. Sal got the word out.


    “Give me a chance to lay the pies out… damn animals.” Johnny moved through the kids to the kitchen table. He placed six pizza boxes down and put a hand up to hold off the horde. Sal was right behind him with three more boxes. Their guests watched as he and Johnny made three stacks of three pies and opened the top boxes.


    “Wait a second,” Sal held back another eager beaver. He pointed. “Grab me those paper plates.” The kid fetched them. Sal and Johnny took slices and got out of the way as bodies crowded the table, hands grabbing and pulling slices. Cheese slid off and a slice was dropped upside down during the thirty-second feeding frenzy.


    “Take it easy!” Sal said exasperated, “We got nine pies and more coming.”


    One of the cute girls Sal poured a beer for, the petite blonde, walked up alongside him and Johnny, balancing her beer on the paper plate holding her slice. “Where’s Joe? Is he gonna miss his own party?”


    “Nah,” Sal replied with a mouthful, “His sisters baked him a cake. He’ll be over after that. Who are you?”


    “I’m Abby. We met last week. I was here with Joe.”


    Sal nodded, not remembering.


    “I know his sister Jackie. She’s cool.”


    “She is,” Sal said, “smart girl.”


    “I guess.” Abby sipped her beer. “When will you guys start playing?”


    Sal rolled his eyes, “Maybe when the rest of the band gets here?”


    “Does Jackie ever hang out here with her brother?”


    Johnny and Sal laughed in unison, “No. Joe would never let his little sister hang here.”


    “Why not?”


    Sal bent forward, bringing his six-two down to Abby’s five-four. “Have you ever been to one of our parties?”


    “No. This is my first.” She smiled, “But I was here before, just hanging out with Joe after school.”


    “Jackie is what, fourteen?” Sal said, “We’re drinking and there’s weed over there and someone might show up with coke. Joe won’t let his sisters near this place.”


    “Does Joe do cocaine?”


    “Nope,” Johnny answered. “And he gets his panties in a twist if we do it?”


    “Do you?”


    Johnny and Sal both shrugged, “A little bit,” Johnny said as he folded a crust and filled his face. “When it’s around.”


    Every few minutes, the door that leads to the loading dock would open, allowing in a wave of frigid winter wind, as new partiers arrived by twos and fours.


    In the center of the garage, the two large sofas were fully occupied, as were the easy chairs and kitchen set. Some kids were seated on folding chairs. Winter coats were draped over the backs of furniture. Other punks sat on the concrete floor. A group of precious college girls brought a blanket to sit on.


    Nate banged through the steel-clad industrial door, startling nearby partiers. He did this often because Nate thought it was hilarious to scare people, especially girls. A cold January gust followed him in. He had to push against the wind to close the door. He waved at Sal and Johnny and went straight to the keg, and then to the pies, and finally to his bandmates. He looked the cute high school girl up and down and took a bite of pizza.


    “Where’s Joe?” He asked with a mouthful.


    “His sisters baked him a cake,” Johnny replied with a mouthful.


    “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Isn’t that cute?” Nate laughed. “Joey is so adorable.”


    Another girl walked up, a tall slender brunette Nate was eyeballing at the keg, “Where’s Joe?” she asked.


    “His sisters baked him a cake,” Sal said.


    “Awww,” she smiled. “That''s so cute.”


    “That’s what I said,” Nate laughed.


    “Are you guys gonna play tonight?”


    “Yeah,” Sal said with big eyes, “When Joe gets here!”


    Forty minutes into the party, the early crowd in the twenties had more than doubled and kids were still showing up. A carload of Brown University students appeared… friends of the band from their downtown shows. There were several Providence College girls. PC was only a mile and a half north of the garage. As usual, most of the students were from Rhode Island College. It was now sixty-forty split, college kids over townies. Half the locals were Joe''s high school friends.


    “Is Joe coming?” A cute PC girl asked.


    Nate sized her up, “Who’s asking?”


    “Me, Kelly.”


    “Nice to meet you, I’m Nate.”


    “Really? You don’t remember me? Asshole!” She turned and walked away.


    Sal and Johnny roared laughing. Sal shoved Nate. “You had your tongue down her throat and your hands in her pants a month ago.”


    “Fuck,” Nate said under his breath. “That bridge is burned.”


    “Hey,” a curvy brunette walked up. “Where’s Joe? I thought this was his party?”


    “His sisters baked him a cake!” Sal and Johnny''s half shouted in stereo.


    Nate put his hands up, “Listen, everyone!” He got the room’s attention. “Yes. This is Joe’s party but our sweet prince is running late because his little sisters baked him a birthday cake and he promised his mommy he’d give them some quality time. He’ll be along soon, right after he tucks the kiddies in and reads them a bedtime story.”


    Many of the kids laughed.


    “You think I’m kidding? Noooo. That’s what Joey does on nights we don’t have a gig. So you can all stop asking…” Nate stopped mid-statement.


    Joe was the opposite of Nate. He slipped in quietly. Nate didn’t see him until it was too late. Joe stood by the keg pouring his first legal beer as Nate mocked his life at home. When he saw Joe and stopped talking, Nate’s jaw fell open.


    “Fuck you, Nate!” Joe shouted across the garage. “You’re an asshole.”


    Many of the kids laughed.


    “That was priceless,” Sal smiled. “I was waiting for you to see him.”


    Nate leaned over and whispered, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”


    “What, and interrupt you making an ass of yourself?”


    When Nate saw Joe coming he walked the other way, not wanting to face him. Abby intercepted Joe, whispered in his ear, and kissed him on the cheek. Joe smiled and kept walking. He was stopped by the tall brunette, she wished him a happy birthday while hugging him. Kelly got him too. It took a while for the birthday boy to reach half his band.


    “What the fuck was that about?” He asked his mates.


    “Like nine people asked, ‘Where’s Joe?” Sal said in a falsetto voice. “Is Joe coming to his party?”


    Johnny laughed, “I see a birthday blowjob in your future, Joey. And you can take your pick of these lovely ladies.”


    Joe steeled his eyes and pointed his finger at Johnny, “Don’t call me that.”


    Sal nudged Johnny, “Only his sisters call him Joey. No one else is allowed.”


    “So,” Joe got down to business. “I booked us a gig in Storrs, Connecticut for Valentine''s week and I have a new bar in Wakefield we’re playing next Thursday.”


    “Where the fuck is Storrs?” Johnny asked.


    “That''s where UConn is,” Joe said, “It''s kinda in the sticks, off route 44. The venue is a huge converted barn. I heard it’s a great place.”


    “Here’s to college girls rolling in the hay?” Sal raised his cup.


    “So what’s up in Wakefield?” Johnny asked. “I thought we were playing that Route One Tavern joint.”


    “Fuck that guy!” Joe almost shouted. “He stiffed us two hundred bucks because I was seventeen. I called him today and canceled our gig. The Muse is a bigger club and it’s more of a URI crowd, not truckers and townies.”


    “What did he say?”


    “He tried to apologize. I told him to go fuck himself.”


    Sal laughed, “Are you gonna do that to every bar that busted you for having a shitty ID?”


    “No, only the two that stiffed us. We’re done in Woonsocket too. I’ll find other bars.”


    “Man, you really do hold a grudge,” Johnny said quietly.


    “It’s not a grudge, Johnny. It’s not even personal. It’s business. I won’t do business with any asshole who fucks us. Those guys took advantage of my situation and now I can’t trust them. If I can’t trust you,” Joe pointed a finger. “you can fuck right off.”


    “Take it easy, big guy,” Sal put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “We’re with you. We don’t need to work for scumbags. Besides, those gigs weren’t any good.”


    Joe had many reasons to be happy on his eighteenth birthday. It’s a major milestone for every teenager. He had one specific reason that was unique to him. He no longer had to conceal his age and negotiate with club owners who didn’t believe his ID was authentic… because it wasn’t. He’d been using it for eight months. It was illegal for a minor to perform at establishments that serve alcohol.


    Several club managers asked to see his ID. Some challenged his fake credentials. Joe had one card to play. “Shit, I guess you don’t have a band tonight.” He only had to use it a few times but that move led to a couple of sleazy characters screwing the band by lowering their rate. Joe loathed that negotiation. It would never happen again.


    Joe took a big sip of beer, emptied the cup, and walked back toward the keg. He was stopped by the petite blonde, Abby Bonner, his classmate. She followed him to the keg.


    “Can you fill me?” Abby said, leaning against him as he took the tap.


    Joe smiled, “I can do that.” He took her cup.


    “It’s nice to be eighteen, huh?”


    “You have no idea.” Joe handed Abby her beer. “I have to get ready. I’ll find you when we take a break.”


    “Okay,” she kissed his cheek.


    Joe turned and shouted, “Hey Nate, asshole, we’re up in ten minutes.”


    The kids cheered. The free beer and pizza were a draw but The Young Punks playing a free set at their garage was the attraction. Nate made his way toward his bandmates. When he got there he leaned toward Joe.


    “Take a peek over at the Cadillac. Looky who’s here”


    Joe looked over to see Claire with her college roommate and another chick… leaning against Pops’ ‘68 Eldorado. This was the first time she had shown up at the garage since Joe’s embarrassing night in her dorm room, seven months ago. Apparently, the cold shoulder he gave her on Halloween Night didn’t dissuade her from showing up for his birthday.


    By the time Joe strapped on his Telecaster and stepped up to the mic, the party had swelled to over eighty guests. A decent crowd for a Sunday afternoon jam party. They had drawn well over a hundred in the past, enough to attract the attention of the Providence Police. Pops had to have a chat with the officers to assure them everything was legal and supervised… even when it wasn’t entirely legal.


    “Alright,” Joe said, “Thanks for coming out in this freezing, garbage weather for the party… I didn’t want to have!” He punched those last words.


    His guests clapped and cheered.


    “Pops will be by in a little bit with more pies. When he gets here can some of you jamokes help the old man carry them in? He’s got a bum knee.”


    Joe strummed a few chords. Nate smacked his snare. Sal thumped bass notes. Johnny lit a cigarette. Joe looked back at his band and nodded.


    “We learned a new song for this party. It’s perfect for the occasion.”


    He slammed the opening chords to Alice Cooper’s, I’m Eighteen. Everyone knew the anthemic seventies teenage classic. Joe stepped up and belted the lyrics… kind of angrily. When he got to the second chorus, he steeled his eyes on Claire.


    “I’m eighteen! I get confused every day.


    Eighteen! I just don’t know what to say.


    Eighteen! I gotta get away.”


    While he was glaring her way, he became annoyed that her friends were leaning against Tony’s classic Caddie. When the last chord of I’m Eighteen faded, he pointed at them.


    “Hey, get the fuck off Pop’s car! The old man lets us use his place. The least you could do is have some damn respect!”


    They stepped away from the car, embarrassed, especially Claire. Sal looked over at them. Joe saw Tony standing in the kitchen having just delivered more pizza, glancing toward his cars.


    “Sorry Pops,” Joe said through the mic. “We try to keep an eye on your shit but some people…”


    Tony waved. “We’re good, kid.”


    The garage jam parties were relaxed, not work for the band. They’d play for forty minutes, take a break, do another forty, another break, back and forth for hours. Joe didn’t do any of his stage stunts and there were no singalongs. The guys wanted to try out some new songs they had just worked on over Joe’s holiday break, mingle, and enjoy the party as much as their guests.


    Thirty minutes into the opening set, Joe had something to say. He let his guitar slide to his hip and stood at the mic. “This past year has been incredible, life-changing, but I’m so fucking glad to be eighteen and can’t wait to get out of school. Thanks for supporting us, all of you.” He then shouted, “Especially you Pops!” He turned to Sal. “I think your old man could claim us as dependents on his taxes.”


    Some guests clapped, and others laughed. Pops appreciated the tax joke.


    When they took a break, Joe went to the keg and poured another beer. A gorgeous, tall girl walked up and held her cup out. “Hi. Joe. I’m Angie. I saw you guys at the Living Room on Halloween, and again last month.”


    He poured her beer. “Yeah, I remember your hair. It’s hard to miss.” Angie was black with a fabulous afro. Joe detected an accent. “Where are you from?”


    “Atlanta. I’m a senior at RISD. I’m studying film.”


    “Really? We should talk sometime. I have this idea for our show. It involves film. I’m just not sure I can pull it off.”


    Angie had a fabulous smile too. “That sounds like fun. Ya know, I came over to introduce myself and tell you that I admire what you do. You’re very creative and a great performer.”


    “Thanks. I think I should do more than just the music.”


    “Yes, I can see that. Your Halloween show hooked me. It was so much fun. I had no clue who you were and then you showed up late. Did you plan that?”


    “No,” Joe said. “I took my sisters trick or treating.”


    “That was real?” Angie smiled. “I thought that was part of the gag.”


    It got awkward as Joe didn’t know what to say next to a college senior not just out of his league, but not in the same universe as him. Angie was gorgeous.


    “Okay,” she smiled. “Thanks for the beer. We can talk about your film idea later.”


    Joe watched Angie walk away, admiring her ass. The whole time they talked Joe was being watched. Abby walked up behind him, brushing against him as she took his side. She held her cup out, “Can you fill me, again?”


    Joe smiled, “I would love to.” He took her cup, again.


    She looked up. “So, whatever happened to you and Peter Smith? He was in this band with you, right?”


    “That’s ancient history, Abby.”


    “I just wonder what happened.”


    “He didn’t like the direction we were taking the band. So he quit.” He handed her a full beer.


    “He told me doesn’t like punk rock.”


    “So, if you know what happened, why are you asking?”


    “I dunno. Just talking.”


    “He also didn’t like Sal,” Joe put his hand behind Abby’s back and led her away from the keg. “I had to choose between them and it was an easy decision.”


    Sal overheard the conversation. “Peter’s a little pussy,” he said as moved toward the keg.


    Joe found an open spot on the porn sofa. Abby sat, half on the arm, half on top of Joe. She could have been there months ago. It took that long for Abby to finally cash in on Joe’s invitation to the garage.


    She first did it after school, hoping they’d be alone. Pops and Sal were present that day so nothing happened. Now she was in the garage for her first jam party. Abby was feeling peer pressure and the eyes of onlookers.


    Joe felt a presence. He looked up. Claire stood in front of him, ignoring the high school girl in his lap.


    “Can we talk?” She asked.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    “Sure, I guess,” Joe said flatly. “About what?”


    She looked at Abby. “Alone. Can we talk alone?”


    Joe rolled his eyes, “I can’t think of anything we need to talk about… alone.”


    “Please. Don’t be a jerk about it.”


    Joe nudged Abby. “Can you hold my seat? I promise I’ll be back shortly… after I deal with this.”


    Abby looked at the college girl in front of her. Joe sensed her trepidation. He leaned in to whisper. “I promise I’ll be back.”


    Joe stood and followed Claire to the far end of the garage, behind Tony’s cars. They stood between the GTO and the Impala. Joe stared at Claire waiting for her to speak. It took a moment.


    “I know you hate me,” she said, “And I feel shitty about that. I want to be friends but you make it so hard.”


    Joe stared at her face, emotionless, without a word, his arms folded across his chest.


    “Can’t we get past what happened? I like you, Joe. You know that. You have to put yourself in my shoes. Would you date a girl two years younger than you?”


    “If I really liked her, yes.”


    “Okay, bad example,” Claire said, stepping closer to Joe. “It’s different for girls. There’s a divide between high school and college, and I…”


    “I’m well aware of the difference.”


    “You just don’t date high school boys when you’re in college.”


    “I’m still in high school so why the fuck are we talking?”


    “I didn’t say we can’t be friends.”


    “Look around, Claire. I have more friends than I can handle.”


    Claire continued to make her case but Joe wasn’t hearing every word. He was looking into her green eyes. He loved her intense eyes. She had a popular hairstyle of the seventies, the feathered look Farrah Faucet made famous, except Claire’s reddish-blonde-auburn hair stopped at her shoulders.


    Joe liked Claire, more than any girl he had hung out with but he had trouble getting past her dumping him. Claire stopped talking. Joe didn’t know what to say. He sensed her discomfort and he was okay with that.


    “You’re eighteen and that’s a big deal,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about what happened and I hate that you''re angry with me.”


    “I’m not angry with you.”


    “Oh c’mon. You ignored me in the alley behind the club and you were a dick about it… and you’re being dick right now.”


    “I’ve got nothing to say. I’m just a dumb high school kid.”


    “Please don’t do that.” Claire touched his arm and kept talking. Joe noted the low neckline of her pullover sweater and how her bra pushed her breasts upward, showing cleavage. It was too cold for that much skin to be showing. Knowing she was on a mission, he assumed she did that for him. Joe then realized she had stopped talking.


    “I don’t know,” he said in a barely audible voice, not actually answering any question because she hadn’t asked one and he wasn’t listening.


    “I’m trying, Joe. I want to be friends and I’d like to talk.”


    “We’re talking,” Joe said, as he glanced toward the party he was missing. “Look, I’m going back to Abby. She’s eighteen, like me. I don’t have to worry about her being embarrassed by my age.”


    He walked away leaving Claire standing alone, surprised he was not willing to give her a second chance. She liked Joe a lot and Claire truly felt awful about how it ended months ago. An hour later, when the band was done with their second set, she saw Joe making out with his friend Abby. Claire went home, back to her dormitory at RIC.


    Very late, after Abby and most of the guests had gone home. Joe told Angie, another RISD girl, and hoodrat Denny about the band’s recent projection TV fiasco in New Haven.


    “That night gave me this idea of using film in the show to project images on a screen behind us. It’s probably too much work. Maybe you artists know how to make that work.”


    “You need a projector,” Denny noted.


    “I have a Bell & Howell Super 8. It’s my Dad’s. The problem is, I don’t have the films and I’m not sure exactly what I want. I need to tie music and film together.”


    “I think that sounds interesting,” Angie said. “The Velvet Underground did stuff like that.”


    “Really?” Joe winced. “Fuck. I thought it was my idea.”


    “It was,” Angie smiled, “If you didn’t see them do it first.”


    After kicking Joe’s idea around for a few minutes, Angie said, “This kind of project takes time. Trust me. I’ve struggled with my art. If you want help we have the resources at school.”


    Denny snickered. “Joe’s not a big ‘help guy.” he made air quotes. “And he has to drag the band along for most of his schemes.” He leaned toward Angie. “The guys don’t add much outside the music.”


    “Like I said,” Angie made eye contact with Joe. “Let me know if you want help.”


    Joe wanted to jump on her offer but hesitated. She was a college senior. He had no chance. She was a passionate artist, fun, and beautiful. He liked her style, from her fabulous afro to her clothing. Joe was definitely attracted to these artsy chicks.


    .


    —-- PLEASE BE GENTLE —--


    Two days after the garage jam party, Joe sat on the gaudy porn sofa. Abby was close by his side. She kissed him sweetly. Her hand went low over his denim. Joe was hard. He wanted her to touch him but he had something to say first.


    “Hey, before you do anything, “ He shivered at her touch. “like that. I need to…” he paused to find the right words. “I’m gone every weekend, gigs on Friday and Saturday. Plus we squeeze in a local bar during the school week. I’m just not… around.”


    “What does that have to do with this?” She said with her hand on the bulge in his jeans.


    “I don’t have time for a girlfriend,” he said as Abby’s lips met his. “And I’m not looking for one.”


    “Oh.” Abby leaned back and smiled. “I didn’t say I wanted a boyfriend, did I?” She leaned in and kissed him again. Her fingers found his zipper. “I don’t recall saying anything about that.”


    “So you just want to…”


    Abby answered by pushing her tongue in Joe’s mouth while unbuckling his belt. One hand went behind his head, pulling him closer, while the other reached inside his pants. Joe’s hands found her perky tits.


    Sex in the garage was risky. It was a busy place with people coming and going at all hours. Sal was working at the liquor store and Tony was home with Mrs. Meats. Still, people showed up. Only a few had a key so Joe locked the door before they sat down. Thin Lizzy played on the stereo.


    Abby leaned back for a moment, pulled her shirt over her head, and then went back to kissing Joe passionately. He reached around to unclasp her bra. It fell between them. Abby pushed Joe’s jeans down, then his boxer briefs.


    Abigail Bonner was not as shy as Joe thought she was. Feeling his thickness in her hand, Abby looked down, stared at his rock-hard boner, and then looked back at him. Her mouth was slightly agape. “Oh my, Joe,” she whispered, “You’re… big.” She went back to kissing, rubbing his shaft, while he kicked his sneakers off and then his pants.


    Abby eased off on her kissing, more slow and sensual. She looked up into his eyes, “I’m kinda small, do you think…”


    “You’ll be fine. Do what you wish, the way you want. You’re in charge.”


    She smiled, “Okay, “ and kissed him. “Please be gentle.”


    —-- SUPERSTAR —--


    Joe walked down Atwells Avenue on a weekday after school. He had skipped the sixth period and took the Ten Bus through crosstown traffic to buy the new Joe Jackson album, Look Sharp. As he passed St. Johns Park, he noticed Miles Carter, star forward for CHS basketball, shooting alone. How could MC be here when surely there was a varsity practice a mile away at school? Joe’s curiosity got the best of him. He walked into the park and made a straight line to Miles. The big man saw him coming.


    “Hey, Joe. How’s it going, man?”


    “Good MC. What the fuck are you doing here?” Joe set his vinyl on a picnic table and removed his leather. “Isn’t there practice?” He rubbed his cold hands together. Joe paused to make eye contact with the taller black teen. He smirked. “After that last game, there should be.”


    “Awwww,” Miles leaned away from Joe. “That’s cold man. LaSalle is good. We played a great game. They just got us at the end.”


    “Because you missed two free throws and here you are, at the park, shooting alone.”


    “I got suspended from the team.”


    “They did it? I didn’t think Coach Perry had the balls.” Joe put his hands out, wanting the ball. “What was that tantrum about?” MC passed Joe the ball. “You have to keep your cool, MC.”


    Miles laughed loudly as Joe dribbled the ball, “Joe Theroux is telling me to keep my cool?” He placed his hands on his knees, bending over, fake laughing. Joe waited for Miles to look up before lofting a seventeen-foot rainbow… nothing but net.


    There was a moment of silence, except for the bounce of the stray basketball. MC nodded at Joe, “Alright. I remember this from CYO.” He retrieved it and tossed a chest-high pass at Joe cutting into the paint. He took the pass and made an easy layup… then grabbed the ball under the hoop and fired a pass back to Miles. He received, planted his feet squarely, and drained a twenty-two-footer from what would soon become the three-point line in the future NBA. The ball took a big bounce to the grass.


    Miles walked up to Joe, “You should be playing.”


    “I’m not big enough.”


    “That’s bullshit.” MC put his finger in Joe’s face. “Ricky Gallo is smaller and he’s not better than you.”


    “That kid hates me,” Joe laughed.


    “You made him look bad at St Marys. He was the golden boy and you stole his ball in the big game.” Miles smiled. “...twice.”


    “And that’s the pinnacle of my hoops career, The Holy Ghosts 46 St. Marys 44.”


    6’5” Miles looked down at Joe, who was still hoping to make six feet someday. “That’s the last time I let Gallo lose a game.”


    “Until last week.” Joe walked the steps to get the ball.


    “Yeah, and I let him fucking know about it.”


    “And now you’re suspended.”


    “Yeah.”


    Joe threw a pass from the grassy knoll to the free throw line. MC took the pass and lifted a fall-away jumper… doink, it rimmed out.”


    “How can you drop bombs from downtown but can’t hit that?” He passed the loose ball back to MC. He made the second free throw.


    Joe walked over to the picnic table. MC picked up his ball and followed dribbling. They sat across from each other, MC offered Joe water. He passed.


    “I gotta get home,” Joe said while gathering his leather and vinyl.


    “Hey, man. We appreciate what you did for the twins. You know that, right?”


    “Yeah, MC.” Joe nodded. “I know how it works around here”


    “You know we couldn’t put our hands on Russo, right?”


    “Yeah!” Joe said emphatically. “I just said I know how it works.”


    “If a black kid smacked down a wop on The Hill, all hell would break….”


    “Miles!” Joe interrupted. “You don’t have to explain. I know. The girls are good, right?”


    Miles nodded. “Yeah, they’re cool, man. Thanks.” He took a big swig of water. Joe waved and stepped away.


    “Hey, I would tell you to be cool, Theroux, but you already are.” He smiled, “Stay that way.”


    Joe walked home feeling good that Miles, a very talented and popular athlete, thought he was a good basketball player and was cool. He hadn’t played on a team since age twelve, Catholic Youth Organization, but it still felt good.


    —- GOSSIP GIRL —-


    Jackie walked down to the basement into the dungeon. His finished room was adjacent to the furnace and heating oil tank. The laundry was down there as well, along with a small workshop on the damp side of the basement where the sump pump was.


    Jackie knocked on his door. “It’s me.”


    “Come in.”


    She walked in to find Joe sitting on his bed, back against the wall, scribbling in a Mead composition notebook. Paul Revere and the Raiders played on the stereo, one of Dad’s old records. He looked up. “What’s up?”


    “Are you going out tonight?”


    “I am.”


    Jackie sat on the end of the bed. She pushed her long dark hair from her face. “I heard a rumor about you today.”


    “Oh really, which one this time? Is it that I escaped a mental hospital? Or that I dated both Washington twins?” Joe thought for a moment. “It’s the blood-drinking, isn’t it? I’m a Satan worshiper.”


    “No. What’s this about the Washington twins?”


    “Nothing. Whad’ya hear?”


    “That you and Abigail Bonner were making out at your birthday party.”


    “Well, at least one rumor is true.”


    “You know she’s a slut, right?”


    “Shut your face.” Joe shot his gossipy sister a cold glare. “Don’t talk about people like that. These kids are assholes, Everybody is talking shit behind backs. I hate fucking gossip.” He pointed a finger at Jackie, “Don’t be one of them.”


    “Well, she is kinda slutty. They call her Abby Boner.”


    “Because one guy ran his mouth. He was okay with Abby sucking his dick. She was fun. But then she dumped him and he was an asshole about it. That doesn’t make her a slut. It makes him a piece of shit.”


    Jackie stared at Joe, “So you’re having sex with her?”


    “It’s none of your damn business.” Joe put his notebook down and scooted near his sister. “I bet every girl you think is a tramp has one thing in common, douchebag boys talking about them. Some of it’s true but a lot is crap. Guys who never get laid like to talk as if they are.”


    “What if more than one guy says she had sex with him?”


    “So what? Once one jerk says a girl is easy, guys line up. Then they start talking about her whether she fucked them or not. Someday it might be you breaking up with a guy and him talking shit about you. It happens all the time.”


    “So what’s the rumor about you and the twins?”


    “It’s garbage I won’t even talk about.” Joe paused for a moment, looking at Jackie with concern. “Don’t be the one spreading rumors. If someone tells you trashy gossip, be the dead end.”


    “I can’t stop the rumors.”


    “But you don’t have to spread them. Abby is cool. I like her. The cool chicks and the popular girls always have other girls sniping at them. Abby thinks you’re cool, she said so, but don’t be too cool, or kids will try to tear you down.”


    “She said I was cool?”


    “Yeah, she did.”


    “What are they saying about you and the Washington twins?”


    “Jesus, Jackie. You can’t let shit go. Why don’t you ask the gossipy bitches at school? They’ll give you the dirt.”


    “Or you can just tell me.”


    “Do you know John Russo?”


    “Yeah, he’s a jerk.”


    “He’s a racist piece of shit too. He was picking on Nicole and Monique because he didn’t like black kids cutting through his neighborhood. They were just walking home from school. I guess this was going on for a while, but I didn’t know.”


    Joe moved back to where he was when his sister walked in, sitting against the wall.


    “One day I saw him get in the girls’ faces on Knight Street, yelling at them, and he knocked books out of Nicole’s hands.” Joe''s eyes locked on his sister. “Do you know how sometimes I can’t help myself?”


    Jackie nodded.


    “I ran across the street and punched him in the ear. He went down and I stomped on him. I told Russo if he ever picks on the twins again I’ll break his face. After that, I walked the sisters home until they said they felt safe. It was one week but the kids noticed and started talking. When Russo went after them again the twins told me. I slapped Russo’s face in front of his boys and warned him one more time.”


    “And now kids think you fooled around with the twins.”


    “Yes. Because we’re friends and I hung out with them for a while.”


    “Did you?”


    “Did I do what?


    “Fool around with the twins?”


    “Scram. Get out of my room. Either way, it’s not your business. The kids who talk shit are idiots.


    Don’t be an idiot.”


    Joe watched his sister leave, concerned Jackie was becoming a prude, like Mom. They went to church together and Mom was laying the groundwork for Jackie to become self-righteous and judgemental, which he loathed. He was trying to be the bad influence on her that would actually be good in the long run.


    —-- IT DIDN''T MATTER —--


    A few weeks after Joe’s birthday jam, he arrived at the garage on a weekday evening after getting his sisters settled in. He was surprised to see Claire and her roommate in the lounge area talking with Sal, Pops, and Denny. Sal smirked, watching Joe with a side eye, knowing he would be annoyed that Claire was present.


    Joe could avoid her if she showed up for a party, or attended one of their gigs, but this was too small a gathering for him to hide. He went straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer.


    “What the fuck?” He glared at Sal. “I buy a six-pack of Molson, have two beers, you drink the rest and replace it was this swill?” He twisted the cap off a bottle.


    “There’s nothing wrong with Budweiser?” Sal barked back. “That’s Pop’s beer.”


    “Sorry, Pops, but your taste buds must have burned out in the sixties.” Joe took a sip. “This shit is awful.”


    “Then don’t drink it,” Tony said.


    “Good idea.” Joe walked to the sink and dumped the rest.


    “What are you doin’? Sal protested. “Don’t waste it. I would have drank that.”


    “How about this,” Joe pointed the neck of the empty bottle at Sal, “If you drink my Molson, replace it with Molson. Pops owns a liquor store. It’s not like you''re paying for it.”


    While Joe was talking, Claire had gotten off the easy chair and walked his way. She arrived by his side as he finished bitching about bad beer. “How about I drive you over so you can get your beer?”


    Joe stared at her blankly, giving her nothing.


    “I’d like to talk,” she said, “and maybe you can listen this time.”


    Joe took a deep breath, then exhaled audibly. “Okay.” He looked at Sal. “Who’s working the store tonight?”


    “Dickie,” Pops answered.


    “I’m asking him for a freebie since your son drank the beer I paid for,” Joe said, then walked to the door with Claire on his heels.


    Joe got into Claire’s putrid, Mopar green 1972 Plymouth Duster and turned off the radio after she started the engine. He then cranked up the heater. It was a cold winter night in the mid-twenties. He shivered.


    “I hate fucking winter.”


    “I know,” Claire said as she pulled a U-turn to leave the lot, having to swerve to avoid a gargantuan pothole that swallowed cars. “I don''t know what to say that will help you forgive me, but I want to try one more time.”


    “I’m listening.”


    “Last spring when I stopped seeing you, I had already told you I had a summer job in New Hampshire. Do you remember?”


    “Yes. You have a summer boyfriend at camp.”


    “Right. And I had told you I’d be gone for eight weeks and we should just do whatever we wanted over the summer.” Claire stopped at a red light and looked over at Joe. “So I think you already knew we weren’t serious at that time, and we hadn’t yet… ya know.”


    “Yes, I know what we didn’t do. But we did some things and you didn’t stop seeing me because of summer camp. It was because of my age.”


    The light turned green.


    “I know, Joe, but we weren’t going steady or anything like that. I see how girls are around you at gigs. You can do whatever you want.”


    “What does that have to do with you dumping me because I’m in high school?”


    “I guess it doesn’t. I’m just pointing out that we were just casual and I didn’t break up with you. I was surprised you weren’t graduating, and you…”


    “And you stopped seeing me the moment you found out.”


    “And I was leaving for New Hampshire two weeks later, so it didn’t really matter.”


    “Fine. It didn’t matter to you. I get it.”


    Claire sighed, exasperated, as she pulled in front of Atwells Liquor Mart.


    “I’ll be right back,” Joe said as he got out of the car.


    Claire sat on Atwells Ave, waiting. She could see Joe inside, standing at the counter, trying to convince Dickie that Pops was okay with him taking a twelve-pack of Molson Golden Ale. When he returned, he put the box on the floor between his feet and closed the door. Claire pulled away from the curb and continued.


    “When we first met I thought you were a senior and would be graduating soon. I was okay with that. I assumed you were eighteen. You’re a mature guy for your age, you work hard, and your bandmates are all older, so I just figured…”


    “Wrong. You figured wrong and you never asked me. And then you acted like it was my fault you didn’t know.”


    “Can we get past that? I know how old you are now. And I know you’re graduating in June. And I want to be friends again. Is that possible?”


    Joe sat quietly as the Plymouth rolled down the west side of Federal Hill.


    “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry I never asked and I’m sorry if I hurt you. You’re right. It wasn’t your fault. It’s just how it happened. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m just asking. It’s up to you.”


    Joe remained quiet as they turned north on Eagle Street. As she pulled into the large industrial complex the factory garage was part of, Claire put her hand on Joe’s arm. “I’m trying my best. Can you at least try a little?”


    When she parked and cut the engine, Claire asked Joe to wait a moment, “I want to know, so I can stop obsessing over this and wondering if we can ever be the same.”


    Joe sighed. “I can try.”


    The whole time Claire was talking, Joe kinda knew he was going to let her off the hook, eventually. He just let her twist in the wind a little. He appreciated that she was trying, especially her apology, an act of contrition.


    “What about this girl Abby?” Claire asked.


    “What about her?”


    “Are you guys dating? It sure seemed that way.”


    “We hang out after school sometimes. She’s not my girlfriend.”


    “When did you see her last?”


    “At school, today.”


    “Does she think you might be her boyfriend?”


    “We’ve talked about it. I don’t think so.”


    “Have you… ya know?”


    “Are you trying to make us a steady thing?”


    “No. I’m just… wondering what’s going on with you and her.”


    “We hang out, get high, and fool around a little. Is that a problem? You live in a college dormitory. I don’t know what goes on there and I don’t want to know.”


    “So that’s how it’s gonna be? That’s how you want it?”


    “For now… I guess. We’ll see how it goes. You do have your summer friend.”


    Joe was not ready to forgive but he listened to Claire and that was enough for today. On the garage loading dock, just outside the steel-clad industrial door, the winter wind blew as Joe reached for the doorknob. Claire tugged on Joe’s leather. He turned to her. She pulled him in close. Claire kissed him gently on the lips.


    “I missed you, Joe. This whole time I thought a lot about what happened and how stupid it was.”


    She kissed him again, more passionately. Joe put one arm around her, the other holding a twelve-pack. She then put her head on his chest, just under his chin, and held him for a moment.


    “Okay, it’s freezing out here,” he said, “Let’s go.” Joe opened the door and let Claire in first.


    After he put the beer in the fridge he returned to the sofas with bottles, handed them out, and sat down. Claire then sat beside him, close, like she did months ago.


    Sal smiled, “Awwww, look at you two, back together again. It’s so cute.”


    “Piss off, Sal.”