—-- FEBRUARY 1979 —--


    News of Joe taking Claire back was not welcome by all. Nate laughed, but not in a funny way. He felt she had done Joe wrong and the kid was being a sap. He broke Joe’s balls about stupidly having a girlfriend when he had so many opportunities with girls. Joe insisted Claire was not his girlfriend.


    “What do you mean you don’t have time for a girlfriend?” Nate’s eyes widened. “You have four”


    “I do not.”


    “Abby, Monica, Claire… and that chick from the beach.” He searched for a name. “The girl at BU.”


    “Those are friends.”


    Nate laughed, “Sign me up for friends who suck my dick.”


    “You forgot that chick in Narragansett,” Sal added.


    “No. I didn’t.” Nate said. “She’s the one at BU.” He turned to Joe. “What’s her name?”


    “Kelly.”


    “Oh yeah.” Nate nodded, “Kelly has a really nice ass. And you’re right, Joe. You don’t have time for a girlfriend. You have time for four!” He laughed again.


    “They’re not my girlfriends.”


    “Whatever, dude.”


    Sal and Johnny snickered at the bickering. “You two are like an old married couple,” Johnny smiled. “My parents don’t fight as much.”


    “Oh,” Nate’s eyes widened again, “and this new chick in Springfield.” He paused, smiled, and flashed his hand with all digits stretched out. “Make that five.”


    Joe had booked the band in nearly twenty clubs over a nine-month run. Half were bars they played regularly, a few were seasonal, and some didn’t pass the first gig test, one and done. When you play at a bar once a month you get to know the regulars. They partied with the locals at each venue and girls hovered around the band. Being the frontman, and cute, with a stage personality, Joe got plenty of female attention.


    Every time the band visited these towns Joe hung out with the girls he knew. His bandmates made female acquaintances on the road but they were less apt to repeat. Joe preferred spending more time with the young ladies he was already friends with rather than dealing with random chicks every gig.


    Kelly Marsh was at the second and third Boston shows. She had a gaggle of BU girls in tow. After the show, Joe and the guys followed them to their Warren Towers dormitory, an eighteen-story debauched party scene at 2 AM. The whole band hooked up that night. They slept in and had breakfast for lunch the next day with Kelly’s friends before driving back to RI.


    “I like knowing that Kelly will be at The Brickyard,” Joe told his mates. “Last time I thanked her for being my bodyguard. She keeps other girls away.”


    “Yeah, but now we’re matched up with her friends.” Nate said, “Maybe I don’t want to…”


    “Then don’t.” Joe cut him off. “Kelly is cool and I like that we don’t have to do this stupid dance. Should I make a move? Will she fuck me? Where can we go? If she comes to the show I’m hanging out with her. It’s easier that way.”


    “Unless she has a new beau,” Sal noted, “like that chick in Newport.”


    “That’s fine.” Joe said, “I don’t expect a girl to hold a reservation for me.”


    Nate laughed, spreading his legs wide. “Theroux, party-of-one.”


    —-- ANGIE —--


    During a Sunday open practice, Joe discussed his film project with Angie, the very cool RISD senior, and an admirer of his work. He wished he could touch her afro. It looked so soft. Claire watched from across the lounge area, then chose to join them.


    “Angie suggested I shoot my own images,” Joe said to Claire as she walked up. “So, I think we’re gonna make our own films.”


    “You and them?” Claire gestured to his bandmates.


    “Yeah,” Joe made a face. “I’ll get them to play along.”


    Nate called Joe from across the room, waving for him to come over. He excused himself. Angie turned to Claire.


    “Joe is a creative soul. It starts with his music but look at his show. He’s also a performing artist,” she smiled. “and now he’s getting into film.”


    “And he’s a writer,” Claire added.


    “I know,” Angie smiled wide. “I’m impressed. I mean, that’s a lot of output, and he’s only eighteen. Young people like us need to swim in the same pool with other artists. My professors stress this all the time. He should surround himself with creatives to collaborate with. That’s when ideas flow like a raging river.”


    “Yes, he’s creative,” Claire replied. “but he’s kind of a lonely soul too. I know he appears so outgoing and confident on stage but he’s mostly a quiet guy. He’s hard to figure out. There’s something dark inside him.”


    Angie nodded and smiled in agreement. “Every good artist has that inner… you call it darkness, and that’s fine, but it’s more than that. It’s some secret source of inspiration that can’t be explained.” She touched Claire’s arm and gestured toward Joe twenty feet away. “Where does he come up with these ideas?” She leaned closer. “And look how cute he is.” Angie smiled at Claire. “Those dimples kill me.”


    Claire faked a smile.


    “I wish I could convince him to apply to art school,” Angie took a sip of beer. “Joe would flourish in that environment.”


    Angie went on and on. Claire was only half listening, ‘Art, art, creative people, artists, collaboration, art, art, inspiration, the process and performance.’ She wasn’t that interested in what Angie had to say. Maybe because It annoyed her that Angie spoke so glowingly of Joe and she was gorgeous.


    When Claire got Joe alone after band practice, she planted a firm kiss on his lips. “What are you doing for Valentine''s Day?”


    “Nothing.”


    “Do you have a job?”


    “No, we have no weeknight gig this week. I’m trying to give the guys a break here and there.”


    “Do you know we’ve never been on a real date?”


    Joe shrugged.


    “We met here and we always hang out here. I go to your shows and you’ve partied at school with my friends, but we''ve never gone out, just the two of us.”


    “Okay, is that what you want?”


    “Yes, on Valentine’s Day. Wednesday night.”


    “Okay.”


    —--- SIBLING THERAPIST —--


    Jackie barged into Joe’s basement dungeon.


    “Hey, how about you knock? What if I was jerking off?”


    Her mouth fell open. “Oh my God, you’re so gross!”


    “I’m not joking! Knock next time. Jesus.”


    “What’s wrong with you?” She stood over him. “Why are you so miserable?”


    “Shut up. I’m not miserable.”


    Jackie put her hands on her hips, a trait she inherited from Mom. “You are. Since your birthday you’ve been off. I don’t understand how someone with so much good happening can be such a downer.”


    “I’m not down. I’m just keeping to myself. I have a lot going on.”


    Joe’s eldest little sister was too smart for her age. You couldn’t get anything past her. It was so - fucking - annoying. He usually tried to ignore her inquisitions but she never let up, always prying… just like Mom.


    “It’s gotta be girl trouble. It’s always girls. Did you get dumped?”


    “Heh,” Joe smirked. “you know what’s funny, getting dumped would actually solve my problem. Someone needs to dump my sorry ass.”


    “What does that mean?”


    He watched his sister’s brain, expressed through her big brown eyes and beautiful young face, process information. “Oh shit, how many girlfriends do you have?”


    She always figured it out if given the slightest clue. Jackie would make a good detective. She observed, listened, and was logical… especially for a fourteen-year-old girl.


    Joe decided he wanted to talk, so he patted the bed and she sat beside him. He told her the tale of the road gigs, girls in three cities, and two at home.


    “You’re not even including Sandy? She’s been calling. Why haven’t you returned her calls?”


    “Maybe because I have too many girls in my life right now.” The truth was, that Joe had recently been avoiding Sandy at school. “And…” he hesitated. “Every time she has a break up she calls me. She’s upset, maybe crying, and she needs to talk. I’m tired of being her backup boy.”


    “That’s what friends do, Joe. They listen when a friend needs it. She called twice last week and again yesterday.”


    “Yes, I know, because Sam Fiori dumped her and now she wants to talk to me because I always know what to say to make Sandy feel better.”


    “You could try to be normal and have one girlfriend. Dump these road girls. Stop being a pig.”


    “I promise you, sis, I never hit on girls. I’m just friendly with our fans and they hit on me.”


    She sat quietly at the end of his bed, thinking for a long moment. “Just say no.”


    “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.” He couldn’t decide how much to tell his little sister. He trusted Jackie, but it was risky to give up details. “This girl Monica at Holy Cross, oh, my God. She’s gorgeous and she loves… oh, never mind.”


    “Then ditch the others.”


    “Which one? Kelly is great. She was such a brainy girl in high school. Now she’s living the college life in Boston, really happy, and she’s fun to hang out with. We have not-being-Italian on Federal Hill in common, so we joke about this place.”


    “Start by getting rid of one of them,” Jackie said tersely. “You must have a least favorite.”


    “No!” Joe’s hands went up. “That’s just it. I don’t. This new chick Robin is way too cool. Besides, she might cast a spell on me.” He made spooky fingers. “She’s like a gypsy witch with this weird spiritual energy. She’s very interesting.”


    “Do you think these girls are dumb? They know what you do. They’re not expecting anything from you.”


    “I suppose. I mean, we don’t talk about relationship stuff. They know the score.”


    “Then there’s only one question," she paused for effect. "If you could have one girlfriend, which would it be?


    Dr. Nichols was never this direct. She danced around Joe’s insecurities, talking and listening. Jackie took them head-on. Joe’s busybody sister expected him to ponder her query while she looked on but he had an immediate and unequivocal reply. It set her back.


    “Claire.”


    “Really?” Jackie pushed her hair away from her face to look Joe in the eyes. “Isn’t she the one who runs off to camp every summer with her other boyfriend?”


    “Yeah.”


    “She dumped you once. I say to hell with her. And how do you know Sandy doesn’t want to finally make it real between you?”


    “Because she’s never tried, even now, when she’s between boyfriends.”


    “Maybe that’s why she’s calling.”


    “I doubt it.”


    “After all these years you’re giving up on her?”


    “I’m trying but it’s hard.” Joe thought for a moment. “Do you know how hard it is when she tells me that she loves me and I’m her oldest best friend and I mean so much to her… and that’s it? She has no interest other than crying on my shoulder.”


    Talking with Jackie helped clear Joe’s head. Saying the words was something he learned from Dr. Nichols. Just like writing, speaking your thoughts is helpful. There were times when Jackie’s maturity and pragmatism surprised him. And Joe appreciated that she was less apt to report to Mom.


    At that moment, he made a decision about his girl trouble. He was going to talk to Claire to see if he had a chance of having a genuine relationship, not just this hanging around and not fucking thing. For her, Joe would stop fooling around on the road. He was sure that’s what he wanted.


    —--- I DIDN’T LAY A FINGER ON HIM —--


    Robin, the last girl Joe met on the road, lived in Chicopee, MA. The band’s first new gig of the new year was in a dank old factory venue on the Connecticut River in Springfield.


    Joe figured this new venue would link nicely with Worcester, fifty miles to the east. He booked a Friday gig at Barney’s, the band spent the night nearby while Joe stayed with Monica. They drove to Springfield the following day. As they do in every town, they found a diner downtown, a motel near the turnpike, and Riverside Records, where Joe browsed through a treasure trove of tee shirts. Two of the staffers came to the gig that night.


    The Foundry was a small fraction of a giant textile mill that was converted for live music. The moment Joe walked into the space he loved it. The band lived in a factory garage, their Boston venue was an old brick warehouse, and Joe felt the industrial aesthetic worked with punk rock. It wasn’t as cavernous as The Brickyard but it was bigger than any bars they played.


    In the middle of their set, Joe noticed an older man pawing at two girls standing a few rows back in front of the stage. They were visibly agitated and moved away. He stalked them. One girl pushed him back. He moved closer, putting his hands on her. Joe saw her yell at him, shoving him again.


    Joe stopped singing and let his guitar fall to his side. “Hey! Asshole!” He pointed. “Get your mitts off her. She’s not interested… creep!”


    Sal stopped playing, then Johnny and Nate. The creep looked up at Joe, “Fuck you! Mind your business, boy.” He turned back to the girls.


    Joe slipped his guitar strap over his head and dropped his Tele on the stage, too hard. He jumped off, the first few rows parted as he moved toward the molester. As Joe arrived, fists clenched, Sal came over the top with a swing that caught the man in the head. He staggered back. Sal’s storming in hard nearly knocked Joe over but the crush of people kept him on his feet. Sal punched again. Patrons scattered but it was difficult to escape. Beer was being spilled all over. Sal hit him a third time and the creep went down. Sal grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and dragged him, bloodied face, legs kicking, all the way to the club entrance.


    He glared at the bouncers. “Get this asshole out of here, and don’t let him back in!”


    The crowd cheered as Sal and Joe returned to the stage. Joe strapped on his guitar and stepped up to the mic. “I’m sorry about that.” He looked down at his guitar. “I might need to tune up. I kinda dropped my baby.”


    “It won’t matter,” Nate said. “We won’t know the difference.”


    “Eat shit, Nate.”


    There was a buzz in the room as Joe plucked strings and turned tuners to get his Tele back in shape. It took a long minute, just Joe fiddling and tuning, nonchalant like there wasn’t just a fistfight. Then he looked out at the crowd, leaning into the mic.


    “Excuse me, bartender! Yeah, you. See this kid up front with his beer all over his Bowie shirt. Give him one on me.” He looked down at the skinny townie kid. “Sorry about that man.”


    The townie smiled and clapped. “Can you buy me a shirt too?”


    These were the moments Joe could never script but he appeared to have an improvisational instinct that leads to accidental bits. He smiled at the guy. “As a matter of fact, I can.”


    Joe walked to the side of the stage where his duffle bag lay, a.k.a. his bag of tricks. His show props were in there with his composition book and personal items. He squatted, reached in, and pulled out a fist full of cotton. Joe smiled at the crowd and then at the kid.


    “What’s your name?”


    “Gary.”


    “Well Gary, today is your lucky day. You can become the first dude to ever get one of my prized tee shirts. Women in all corners of New England cherish their...”


    “Joe shirts,” Sal said. “That’s all it is, Joe’s fucking shirt. It’s not like they''re magical or something.”


    “Oh no,” Joe looked left to Sal. “You’re mistaken Mister Naysayer. If you wear one of my shirts, you have scientifically proven sixty-nine percent improved chance of getting laid.”


    The expressions on the Springfieldites… or whatever you call them, told the band Joe had them in his trance. He sucked all the attention in a room toward him, like a black hole except he was a source of light. There were hundreds of smiles facing the band and scattered laughter.


    “Why is it only sixty-nine percent?” Nate asked, “Seems a random number.”


    Joe was pleased his bandmates were rolling with this. “Well,” he turned to Nate, “Gary has to bring something to the game, thirty-one percent.” He turned to Gary holding up three shirts. “By decree, I will let the townfolk decide.” He held the shirts up. “Which magical shirt should I bestow on Sir Gary the Beerless.” He looked back at the bar. “Can we get that beer up here?”


    The options were a light blue unicorn shirt, a black widow spider shirt, and a red tee with white block letters… BEWARE OF GOD. Joe had it made by Brad and Lisa.


    The unicorn shirt won by a landslide, and Gary wore the girly shirt proudly, getting back pats.


    “Now Gary, just a disclaimer. We have some fine print to cover. If this shirt gets you laid, I take sixty-nine percent credit. If this shirt gets you beaten up, that’s on you.”


    Joe let them laugh a moment. “Now where were we?” He looked back at the band. Sal was ready. “From the top.”


    Between sets, the two girls thanked Joe and Sal for stepping in. After the show, Robin and Lidia invited them back to their apartment in Chicopee, just up the road.


    Sal looked at Johnny, holding the keys out. “You can take the van.”


    “Really,” Nate said, “You’re ditching us?


    “Hey, you and Johnny get the motel room to yourself. Stop whining.”


    Robin drove the four of them in her ancient Ford Falcon to their place. When they entered, Joe inspected the lives of two twenty-something women. He was immediately fascinated by their eclectic decor, kind of gypsy, maybe hippie, definitely artsy. Lidia was Bulgarian and Robin was her younger Wiccan protege.


    Joe and Sal spent the night and the sexy witches joined them, Johnny and Nate, for lunch at a truck stop off the Mass Turnpike. On the two-hour drive home, Nate gave his mates the cold shoulder, still annoyed he was abandoned.


    “Awwww,” Joe said with a sad face. “Is Natey butt hurt that he didn’t have a date last night?”


    “Fuck off, Joe. We’re a band. We should stick together.”


    “Oh, please. You don’t feel that way when you hook up… like in New Haven. We had to wait in the van for over an hour. At least you had a room to crash in.”


    “And you didn’t cry like a baby Friday night,” Sal added. “when Joe went to Monica’s dorm.”


    Nate said nothing. He simply fumed.


    “Hey, Sal,” Johnny leaned between the van’s front seats. “Why did you jump into that mess? Did you think Joe couldn’t handle that old man?”


    “No. I saw him grabbing at the girls. I was pissed off before Joe called him out. When he stopped the set, I was ready to go.”


    Joe glanced at Johnny with a smile, “And Robin and Lidia were very grateful for the rescue.”


    Sal grinned, “Damn right they were.”


    “So, Joe,” Nate said from the back. “I guess this long stretch of no fighting that you’re so proud of is over.”


    “No, it’s still good. I didn’t lay a finger on him. Thanks, Sal.”


    Sal nodded, “I’m sure you would have buried him.”


    “He let the townfolk decide,” Johnny laughed, “by decree.”


    “I know,” Sal smiled. “That was crazy good for just… on the spot. How they fuck do you come up with Sir Gary the Beerless?”


    Joe shrugged. “It just happens.”


    “And it happens every time,” Johnny added.


    Shortly after that weekend, Joe began to feel a little icky about his road exploits. He spent the night with Monica, the following night with Robin, a week later with Kelly in her BU dorm, time with Abby, and now he was friends with Claire again, but not fucking. He was having fun, the girls were great, and he really liked them. On the surface he was fine. No one outside of Jackie knew what was in his head. Deep down he didn’t feel right and he couldn’t understand why.


    —--- BITE ME —---


    Claire picked Joe up on Valentine’s Day to take him on a date. She insisted she pay. He didn’t argue. When they entered Camilles, a famous restaurant on The Hill frequented by mobsters and politicians, which are one and the same in Providence, he removed her coat and handed it to the coat-check girl. Joe had never seen Claire in a dress. She was mostly a jeans and blouse girl.


    “I like your dress,” he said as they followed the hostess to their table.


    “Thank you.”


    “And your shoes.”


    Claire smiled.


    After the waiter recited the specials they sat with their menus. Joe glanced over his menu to look at her. She was beautiful, her auburn hair done nice, sparkly earrings, lip gloss, and that dress. He loved her red dress and the way it hugged her body.


    It was the first time he would order booze in a respectable restaurant; so he thought he’d be cool and have a martini, his first. Claire smiled and ordered the same, also her first. Joe got gin, she went for vodka.


    “That’s not really a martini,” he said. “It’s got to be gin.”


    “Whatever, I don’t like gin, and how do you know? You’ve never had one.”


    “I read about it in Playboy. You’d never see Heff drinking a bastard vodka martini.”


    Claire laughed. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me you get Playboy for the articles.”


    He smiled. “Of course. It’s great writing. What else is there?”


    “You’re so full of crap.”


    They scanned the menu, made up their minds, and when martinis arrived they were ready to order. Joe got the veal, she went for the fish special.


    “Look how sexy a martini is,” he said.


    She held up her drink. “Sexy is right, it’s the glass.”


    “Oh, and James Bond, he’s not a fucking vodka guy either.”


    “Whatever,” Claire rolled her eyes. “I have something for you.” She reached into her clutch. “Give me your hand.”


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Joe put his hand out. She placed several candy hearts in his palm. He looked at one and then another, and a third. “They all say bite me.”


    Claire smiled, “I know. It’s the funniest one, so I picked them all out for you.”


    “Okay.” He popped two in his mouth. When he took his next sip of gin he made a face. “These do not pair well with gin.”


    Joe was nervous, cracking dumb jokes to ease his mind. He wanted to talk about serious stuff, relationship stuff. Joe’s realization that he wanted to be with one girl rather than play the field weighed on him. It had nothing to do with the other girls. He simply wanted more than just flings. Joe wanted a real girlfriend and Claire was the one.


    Being with her was the right place to be, comfortable and familiar. She made it clear she wanted to see more of him but he wasn’t sure what that meant. She was surely jealous of other girls around him. Joe saw that as a good sign. He wanted to discuss it, to see where she stood on being exclusive. That could lead to an uncomfortable Valentine’s meal if she said, ‘no.’ He decided to wait for dessert.


    “So, you said this place is mobster-owned?” she asked.


    “Shhhh,” he furrowed his brow. “Do you wanna get us whacked?”


    Claire leaned in to whisper. “What’s the deal here?”


    “See that large booth in the corner? That’s the boss’ table. Whenever Raymond Patrairca comes in, he sits there. They won’t seat anyone in that booth on the odd chance he’ll come in.”


    “That’s ridiculous.”


    “Take it up with the boss. He owns this town.”


    They sipped their martinis and made small talk. When dinner came they ordered two more cocktails. The conversation shifted comfortably to how the entrees were fantastic. As they got down to the last bites and the bottom of their second martini, she had something to say.


    “Thank you for forgiving me. I was having a very hard time over what happened between us. Do you remember when I told you about camp last year… I wanted to take a break because I know a guy there?”


    Joe looked up from his plate. “Yes." Then he thought, ‘Why is she bringing that up? This can’t be good.’


    “Kevin and we were fine, we did what we do, but I didn’t have a great summer.”


    “Because of me?”


    “Because of me and what I did to you. I won’t bring it up again but I just wanted to thank you for getting over that and letting me back into your life.”


    She seemed vulnerable in this moment. Joe figured this was his best chance to pop the question but he couldn’t summon the courage. There was a long silence as they finished their drinks.


    “Hey, I have some news," Claire said. "Remember when I told you I might study abroad? Well, I’m accepted. I’ll be in France for six weeks this fall. I’m so excited.”


    “Cool. You’ll finally get to use three years of high school French.”


    Claire smiled. “I know. I’ve dusted off my books. It’s gonna be a busy year. I’ll be at camp for eight weeks this summer, start my junior year in September, and then off to Paris in October.”


    Joe was suddenly thankful he didn’t mention what was on his mind, “So, it’s the same as last year. We’ll take a break this summer?”


    “That’s our deal, right?”


    “Yup,” he nodded. “just making sure we’re on the same page.” Joe stared at his empty cocktail glass. There was another long silence. He had nothing to say.


    Claire talked about Paris and how excited she was to be going abroad for the first time. Joe half listened, feeling sorry for himself and what a fool he was believing she might want to be his girl.


    “Hey, I know it’s a school night but do you want to hang out in my dorm?”


    Joe wasn’t feeling great at the moment but he had a two-martini buzz that impaired his judgment. He began thinking with the other head. “Sure.”


    Claire asked for the check. There would be no dessert.


    —--- IT FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME —--


    Joe removed his leather, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto Claire’s too-small dormitory bed. She hung her coat in a closet and walked over. If Joe had any doubt about his chances that night, they were erased when Claire unzipped her dress and let it fall, revealing her silky red bra and panties. She kneeled on the bed, over him, and put a gentle kiss on his lips.


    Joe ran his fingers along her side, feeling her soft skin, kissing her while his fingers roamed. Claire lowered herself, at his side but also on top of him as the bed was narrow. She began unbuttoning his shirt.


    “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in a button-up shirt,” she said.


    “This is the shirt I made my Holy Confirmation in. It’s the least cool shirt I own.”


    “Then why did you wear it?”


    “Because it’s the only proper shirt I own.”


    Claire laughed, his buttons undone, her fingernails caressing his chest and stomach. She slid them under his denim waistline and leather belt. He was already hard, his swollen head pushing under his boxer-brief waistline. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped him. Her hand found his head, cupping his knob in her fingers, tickling and teasing. Her lips brushed against his.


    Joe made no move to remove her bra or play in her panties. The soft and sensual attention Claire was giving him made him forget his duties. He was only eighteen, occasionally clueless. Claire didn’t mind, she had her own agenda.


    Ninety minutes later, after several choreographed positions leading to rapture, Claire was still half on top of Joe, all hot and sweaty.


    “I like this guy,” she said while fondling Joe’s deflated dick.


    “He likes you too.”


    “You have a nice dick,” she kissed him. “But I knew that already.”


    “How.”


    Claire rolled her eyes, “I swear you purposely placed it so girls can see it.”


    “That’s bullshit. How do I place it? It goes where it goes.”


    “It just hangs down your thigh, all by itself?”


    “Yup. It’s lazy like that, just hanging around.”


    Claire laughed., then paused…. “Your friend Abby talks.”


    “To whom?”


    “She said something to the girls at the garage and… word got around.”


    “Great.”


    “They could be saying worse things about you. Are you still hanging out with her?”


    “Not much. She has a new boyfriend, some older guy with more time for her.”


    “You can do better than her. She’s kind of a ditzy girl.”


    “No, she isn’t. She’s an honor student, straight A’s.”


    “That’s not what I mean. She’s immature and giggly, and a little awkward.”


    “You just described half the girls in my school.”


    “You once told me good conversations are a turn-on for you. You like smart girls. Abby doesn''t seem that interesting to me.”


    “Look at you, all catty, cutting down poor little Abby.” Joe made a ‘meow’ sound, with claws.


    “Shut up.” she lightly slapped his tummy. “I’m just stating the obvious.”


    It didn’t take much for Claire to persuade Joe to skip school the next day. They fucked again in the morning, went shopping and had a bite at a diner, and fucked in the afternoon. As it was getting close to Joe having to go home, Claire lay on top of him, her nose against his, still breathing heavily after riding him hard to the finish line.


    She laughed, “I’m so stupid. I should have fucked you a year ago. I would have gotten over your age real quick.”


    Claire drove Joe home, dropping him in front of his house. The moment he walked into the kitchen, all hell broke loose.


    “Mom, Joey’s home!” Jeanie yelled.


    “Sssh.” he held his finger to his lips “Don’t be a rat.”


    Mom came in hot. “Where have you been? I know it wasn’t school, because I called. You didn''t come home last night and you skipped school today. Where have you been?” Mom leaned in close to get a whiff of Joe. He grabbed her.


    “Do you want to dance?” Joe used his young strength to move Mom, turning her 180 degrees and then hugging her from behind. She wiggled in resistance. “Stop. This is no joke.”


    Jackie walked in, shot Joe one cold-as-ice stare, and went to the fridge to start dinner. She went about her business not saying a word while Mom went on and on about how worried she was, how she called the school and spoke to Miss Murray. Mom was in a mini-panic. Joe remained calm.


    He let her talk offering no explanation or rebuttal to Mom carrying on about how inconsiderate he was not calling home leaving her to worry. She scolded him for skipping a full day of school. He simply waited for Alice Marie Theroux to run out of steam. It took a while.


    “Well,” she said, hands on her hips. “What do you have to say for yourself?”


    He smirked. “What’s for dinner?”


    Jackie guffawed, laughing so hard it made Mom more angry. “Oh,” she turned to her oldest daughter, “You think this is funny?”


    “Just stop it, Mom!” Jackie stomped her foot down “Just stop! Joe didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just living his life.” She paused, her expression softening, her voice less dramatic. “He doesn’t owe you an explanation. You''re not his boss. You’re his mother. And he’s eighteen,”


    Joe was taken aback by Jackie putting her foot down… literally. Mom huffed. There was a showdown of eyes. Mom stared at Jackie, then Joe, feeling outnumbered, her hands slipped off her hips. She turned slowly and retreated to get ready for her hospital shift.


    Joe walked to Jackie. “Thanks, sis. I needed that.”


    He tried to hug her but she pushed him away. “Do you have any idea how crazy this house has been?” Her eyes were on fire. “At two o’clock in the morning, she wanted Dad to drive to the garage to see if you were there. He refused and they fought… at two o''clock in the morning! We were all awake. It was so stupid and stressful.”


    Jackie steeled her fourteen-year-old eyes. “Where were you during all of this?’


    “What’s for dinner?”


    Jackie slammed a bag of frozen peas she was holding against Joe’s chest. “I don’t know. But I know you’re cooking it!” She stormed out of the kitchen leaving Joe holding the bag of peas.


    At this moment Joe had two conflicting thoughts; the first was to leave the house and the drama behind, go to the garage, order a pizza with Sal, have a few beers, smoke a joint, and forget about this Theroux family drama. The other was to quietly cook dinner for his sisters.


    The first thing he did was throw the peas back in the freezer. Then he rifled through the pantry to see what supplies he had. There was a box of penne and some jarred sauce. In the fridge, he found bell pepper and some sketchy mushrooms. There was a huge yellow onion and garlic cloves left over from last week’s Sunday dinner.


    Joe went to work.


    Jeanie walked up behind him as he sliced garlic super thin. She hugged him, burying her face in his back, her arms around his torso. Joe stopped slicing and turned to her. Jeanie looked up at her brother.


    “Please make up with Mom. I hate it when you fight.”


    Joe wrapped his arms around her head and pulled Jeanie close.


    “I’ll try.”


    -—- THE JEALOUSY GENE —-


    On a sunny Saturday, Claire drove Joe to Ray Mullins’ Music in Pawtucket. Joe decided it was time to buy another guitar, a backup so he could have his pawn shop Tele fixed up. When Claire offered to drive him, she had no clue what she was in for. Nearly two hours later, after playing nine guitars, Joe opted for a 1969 butterscotch blonde Telecaster with a tremolo arm. Claire was surprised.


    “But you already have a Tele.”


    “I know. This is my guitar.” He held the Tele out to her. “Look at this thing. It’s had a life before me. I don’t know who owned it, or what they played.” He looked down at the worn butterscotch finish. “I do know they played it a lot for it to be this worn. I’ll give her a new life.”


    Joe raked an A chord, not too loud, but enough to make people look over. He then played like a bassist, just the E and A strings, a low thumping beat.


    “Hey, Charlie!” He yelled. “I’m taking the butterscotch.”


    “I knew you would. Jerry owes me lunch.”


    “Are you serious?”


    Jerry walked up, “Yeah, I had you taking an SG.”


    “I know!” Joe’s eyes widened. “They’re so lightweight… but they growl. I can’t get an SG because that’s what Johnny plays. I love the hollow body Gretsch too but I like the Tele best.”


    Old Charlie rang Joe up. “I knew you’d rescue another orphan.” He removed the price tag from the headstock.


    Joe smiled. “I feel like the guitar is picking me.”


    Charlie laughed. “Is the guitar paying cash as always?”


    “Yes.” Joe produced a fat envelope, far more than he needed for his new guitar. He pulled bills out and handed them over.


    “Okay,” Charlie stared at Joe’s envelope. “Are you in the mob?”


    “Nope. I’m a professional musician. I get paid in cash.”


    Charlie looked up at the kid young enough to be his grandson. “Good for you, kid. If you can make a living playing your music…” He nodded. “It will be a good life.”


    Joe smirked while taking his guitar. “That’s the plan.”


    Driving back to The Hill, Claire announced she was hungry and demanded food. She was the kind of person who gets code-red hungry. If she doesn''t eat soon, bad shit happens. Joe had learned this after gigs looking for breakfast at 2 AM. Claire was cranky until fed. They stopped in DePasquale Square, near Joe’s house, and grabbed a slice. They sat outdoors on an unseasonably warm day, with two slices and two Cokes. A voice from behind interrupted their lunch.


    “Hey, Joe. What’s going on?” A female voice said in an awkward tone. Claire looked over her shoulder to see Sandy hovering… except she didn’t know who this young girl was.


    Joe didn’t hesitate. “Claire, this is Sandy.” He waved his hand between them. “Sandy, Claire.”


    What more could he do? Make the introduction, sit back, and see what happens. That was his play.


    “Hi,” Sandy waved at Claire, then turned to Joe. “I heard you were seeing a college girl.”


    Claire laughed and raised her hand. “That would be me.”


    “I know,” Sandy glared at her, then turned to Joe. “I left messages with Jackie.”


    “I know,” Joe said. “She passed them along.”


    “And you didn’t call back?”


    “I’ve been really busy and I’m always out late.”


    “If he even goes home,” Claire smirked at Joe.


    “Is that why you’re avoiding me at school?”


    Joe didn’t deny it because it was true and he knew Sandy saw him walk the other way… at least twice. He said nothing. Claire looked at Sandy, expressionless, but clearly not a friendly face. Sandy stared at Joe, not sure how to handle this uncomfortable social situation she got herself into. She suddenly wished she had not approached them. Joe could see her embarrassment.


    “We can talk Monday at school,” he said, offering her a way out.


    “But will you?”


    “Yes, I promise.”


    Sandy stood frozen, refusing to look Claire in the eyes, then turned and walked off without a word.


    “That was weird,” Claire said. “So, that’s Sandy?”


    “Yup.”


    “Your first kiss?”


    “Yup.” Joe took a sip of coke, feeling terrible for Sandy as she walked hurriedly away.


    “She seems awkward.”


    “She’s not but this thing we just had was definitely that. It takes two to make it awkward… or even three.”


    “She was kind of a bitch to me.”


    “Oh,” Joe smirked. “She was and that’s funny because she’s not like that. Sandy is the sweetest girl. She never says a bad thing about anyone.”


    “That’s not the vibe I got.”


    Joe leaned in, “My friend just embarrassed herself. That’s what happened.” He met Claire’s eyes. “I don’t feel good about that. Yeah, she was bitchy but I’ve given her reasons to be.”


    “Oh, I get it, the not calling and avoiding. You’re doing that?”


    “Yeah.”


    “So you’re not such a good guy after all.”


    “Yeah, well, you’ve been awfully catty these days. This,” he motioned to the table and to where Sandy went. “is not the first. You hate Angie. You crapped all over Abby. You’re not the sweet girl from the sticks… aw shucks. You have the jealousy gene.”


    “I do not.”


    “You soooo do.” Joe laughed. “You even have special facial expressions for it.”


    “I do not.”


    “Oh, can you see your face when Angie agitates you?” Just now, with Sandy, you gave her the stone-cold staredown. I’ve seen it a few times lately.”


    Claire nodded. “Okay, I’m not going to dignify this with a debate.”


    “Whoa.” Joe leaned back. “The captain of the Cumberland High School Debate team is speechless on a weighty matter?”


    “C’mon,” Claire said. “I’m taking you home. I’ve had enough of you today.” She glared are him. “And Cumberland is not the sticks!”


    —-- MANIC MONDAY —--


    Joe didn’t seek out Sandy because he knew she would find him. He barely read one page of his paperback when she came in hot.


    “What’s wrong with you? What did I do to you? I saw you run away from me three times.”


    “I did not run.”


    “You saw me and turned around. I saw it, Joe.”


    “I didn’t run,” he smiled. “I skedaddled.”


    She slapped his arm.


    “I scampered off, scurried away.”


    “Shut up, Joe. Don’t be a jerk.”


    Twenty-three nerd eyes were on the mini-drama unfolding at the faculty entrance. It was twenty-three because Sherman Kline had a severe allergic reaction to one of the many things he was allergic to. It infected his eye and he was under a patch. The kids at school were taunting him all week, “Yar, ya scallywag!”


    Joe''s eyes met with Betty’s smile, a taunting grin from the nerd girl amused that Sandy was scolding him.


    “Well,” Sandy stood there, one hand on one hip, her books in the other arm. “What did I do to you?”


    Joe gestured toward twenty-three eyes. “You don’t want to discuss this here.”


    “Then when? You won’t return my calls. You run away from me. I’m here, talk.”


    “No, not here.”


    “Joe, I don’t care about them. Tell me what I did to make you not want to see me?”


    “Okay, you asked for it.” Joe closed his book and looked up, focused on Sandy’s eyes. “I’m tired of being just the guy you call when your boyfriend treats you like shit or if he dumps you. I don’t hear from you when you’re happy it’s only when you’re sad or angry and you need a shoulder to cry on. Our friendship has become a one-way street.”


    Sandy stood stunned. She hoped the nerds didn’t hear that shit. Joe didn’t say it loud but he had a loud voice when he was inspired to speak. She said nothing, looking into Joe’s unblinking eyes.


    “That’s really all of it,” Joe said. He kept his tone low but his eyes were on ten. “I’m your backup boy. You wanna know what kills me? “ Joe’s glare went to eleven on the dial. “I’m the guy who would never mistreat you the way those assholes do. I’d even protect you, unlike Todd fucking Tucci or Sam Fiore.


    “I’m sorry, Joe,” she said softly, feeling very self-conscious about the scene she was in with Joe. It was her second mortifying moment in just a few days. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”


    “Maybe that’s because when we talk it’s always about your feelings.”


    Sandy was struggling to keep her composure. “I don’t know what to say.”


    Joe stood up because he didn’t have the words handy to reverse the crap he just unloaded on his friend, not that he wanted to, so he chose to hug Sandy so she knew he doesn’t hate her. He’s just hurt… or something. Sandy leaned her head against his chest and his leather arms went around her.


    “You’re having a really bad week,” Joe whispered in her hair. “I’m sorry if I made it worse. I promise we can talk and I won’t… skedaddle anymore.”


    “I’m sorry I made you say that. It hurt to hear it.”


    Joe laughed, “I warned you.” enjoying the scent of Sandy. “The nerds are gonna sing like canaries all fucking day.”


    Sandy exhaled, “Oh, my God. What have I done?” She leaned back and looked up at Joe. “Can you just threaten them to make them shut up?”


    “No, I won’t threaten them, not even for you.” Joe smiled. “This is what you get for making me your backup boy.”


    Sandy punched him, “And now that it’s out you’re gonna be a jerk about it?”


    “No,” Joe said softly. “I don’t joke about the shit that hurts me.”


    That quiet jab at the end was punctuated by the bell. Joe took Sandy’s hand and walked to the side entrance. She had nothing more to say.


    -—- I’M GETTING A LOCK TOMORROW —--


    Joe had become a frequent visitor at RIC’s dormitory parties. Everyone got to know him through Claire but one person didn’t like Joe so much, her roommate Donna. She thought Joe was an ass at times, not nice to Claire, and she knew he had other girlfriends… because people at the garage talked. Mostly, Donna’s problem was she was sick of leaving her room so Cliare could fuck Joe. She was done with sleeping over in friends'' rooms to give them privacy.


    Joe completely understood. “My Mom has some nursing seminar this week. When my sisters are in school…”


    “Are you inviting me to your house?”


    “Yes.”


    “So I get to see where the sweet prince lives?” Claire smirked, using Nate’s nickname for Joe.


    “Yes, you do.”


    “What day?”


    “Pick a day, pick two. I’ll skip the whole day.”


    “I can’t skip class for two days,” Claire said. “but I can do one,” She pondered. “or most of a day.”


    Two days later when Claire walked down the basement stairs it was so dark she could barely see four feet ahead of her. “Oh great,” she said. “I’m about to get axe murdered, aren’t I?”


    “Shut up. We don’t tell you before we do it. You’re gonna ruin the fun for me.” Joe reached up and pulled the chain on a lightbulb.


    “Okay,” she squinted. “let my eyes adjust before you stab me.” Claire looked around, “You sleep in the laundry room?”


    Joe led her by the hand, eight paces to his door, opened it, and flipped on the light. He let her walk in ahead of him.


    “Wow, you do have a lot of records, and books, and… Jesus Christ Joe. This place is a fire hazard with all these stacks of magazines and notebooks.” She turned to him. “I hope you don’t smoke in here. Don’t smoke in here.”


    “I don’t.”


    Claire did what Joe did in her dorm on his first visit, long ago… the night she dumped him. She inspected his life, looking at things on shelves, posters, photos, and books. She browsed books while Joe put a record on his turntable.


    “I love Steely Dan,” she said. “I’m surprised a punk like you likes them.”


    “I guarantee I have records you’d never expect any teenager to have.” Joe grabbed her and used his strength to spin Claire to face him.


    “Like what? What records would surprise me?”


    “We’re not here to look at my fucking record collection.” Joe kissed Claire with purpose, not forcefully, but he made clear he meant business. She wrapped her arms around him, her tongue deep in his mouth. Joe pulled back, pushed her down on his bed, and pounced.


    “Take me, my sweet prince,” Claire laughed. “Take me.”


    Joe didn’t fall asleep afterward but he was in that semi-conscious afterglow of a satisfying romp with Claire. She was resting, her head on his chest, smiling. The record player needed attention so Joe slipped from under her. As he stood, he heard a thump upstairs.


    “Fuck, did you hear that?”


    “Joey, are you home?”


    “Fuck, it’s my sister. Get dressed.”


    “Should you answer her?” Claire said while scrambling to find her panties and bra.


    “If I do, she’s definitely coming down.” He heard her steps through the kitchen above and to the back stairs.


    “Joey?” She shouted and kept coming.


    “Fuck. I left the laundry light on. She’s coming down.”


    “I can’t find my panties.”


    “Just put your jeans on, “ Joe said, hopping while pulling his Levis up. “She’s not gonna strip search you.”


    When the door opened, Joe was standing shoeless, pulling his shirt over his head. Claire was leaning back on the bed, buttoning her jeans, also shoeless but she had her top on. Jackie’s eyes bugged out like a Loonie Toons cartoon. Her mouth hung open. Joe pulled his shirt down his chest and stared at her.


    “How many times have I told you to knock?” He said calmly. “Don’t barge in here. How many times have I said that?”


    Jackie stood speechless and then her brain kicked in. “Oh, you’re gonna make me the bad guy here? Oh no, I’m not the one….”


    “Not the one…what?” Joe cut her off.


    Jackie searched for the right words. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m sorry. She turned and walked out.”


    “This is Claire… by the way!” he shouted. “Claire, that was my nosey sister… Jackie!” he laughed.


    “She’s right,” Claire said, “You made her feel like she was wrong when we were the ones…”


    “Doing what?” Joe interrupted. “She didn’t see anything. Yes, she knows we fucked but so what? This is my house too, and my room.”


    Ten minutes later, Joe properly introduced Jackie to Claire in the kitchen. Jackie was embarrassed but also annoyed that Joe had put this on her. Still, she apologized again.


    “Don’t worry about it, sis,” he repeated what he said downstairs. “You didn’t see anything. You only know what we did. So what? That’s my room and my business.”


    “I know.”


    “I’m not mad at you and you shouldn’t be mad at me. It just happened. Why are you home from school?”


    “There was a fire in the cafeteria kitchen, they dismissed us.”


    “A fire? Is it bad?”


    “No, just a lot of smoke and the firefighters drowned it. The caf is flooded.”


    Joe looked at Claire, “No school tomorrow.”


    “My school didn’t burn down.”


    Claire sat with Joe and Jackie talking for a while. When Claire said she was hungry and needed to eat, Joe invited his sister out for lunch.


    “No, you guys go. But thanks.”


    As Joe and Claire put on jackets to leave, he turned to Jackie. “I’m getting a lock tomorrow.”


    “Mom will flip.”


    “Let her flip.”