Joe opened his session in a good mood, telling Dr. Nichols about the legendary graduation bash. She wanted to discuss the girl trouble mentioned in his last visit. He updated her on his love life. She listened passively as he described what happened on the road. It took a while because Joe enjoyed telling his beautiful, intelligent, and empathetic therapist about girls hitting on him, and… he shrugged, “What’s a guy to do?” He was hoping for a reaction.


    Over the years, almost seven, he occasionally got that reaction after discussing a fight he was in or some other questionable behavior he confessed to. Now it was all about girls. He mentioned his dinner with Sandy. Dr. Nichols was well acquainted with her. Then he updated her on Claire.


    “She’s great. We’re having fun. I shouldn’t be complaining but here I am wanting…” he struggled for the right word.


    “A commitment?” Dr. Nichols said.


    Joe winced. “That’s a strong word. I just think she feels the same way I do but she’s got this summer dude and… I guess that’s our deal.”


    “Are you jealous of the summer friend she has?”


    Joe thought for a moment. “No. Is that weird? She knew him long before me. I don’t feel jealous. I just want what I want.”


    She scribbled in her notebook, then looked up. “So you have a few casual girlfriends on the road and Claire who you’d prefer a real relationship with. And Sandy is still in orbit.”


    “Yeah. I guess that’s it. I should be happy. The girls are great. I just want more.” Joe looked down at his lap. “I want one thing but I’m doing the other.”


    Dr Nichols adjusted her bottom in her chair, looking down at her notes. “Do you know that this is one of your mother’s biggest fears?”


    “What?”


    The doctor exhaled, “These are her concerns, not mine, but after our last two sessions maybe her fears are not unreasonable.” She paused. “Your mother is worried that this band, being a musician, and that lifestyle will lead you to a life of promiscuity.”


    Joe smirked, “Of course she is. That’s Catholic Mother Superior talking.”


    “Do you feel you’re being promiscuous?” She recrossed her legs.


    Joe pretended he was thinking but he was just looking at her long, beautiful. nylon-covered legs. Those legs kept him in therapy. He rode the stinky bus through crosstown traffic just to see those legs. He exhaled. “I’m no angel,” he paused. “The thing is, I told you these stories because I’m having a hard time with this. I’m having fun but sometimes I feel…” Joe thought for a moment. “I don’t know what I feel. It’s just not good.”


    “Well, Joe. That’s an encouraging sign. You have enough conscience to understand that maybe this lifestyle is not for you. Sometimes we have to wander on the wrong path before we realize it’s not the path we wish to be on. You’re not a cold, cynical Lothario. You’re a young man learning his way.”


    “I’m on the road to ruin,” he said under his breath. “That’s what I tell Mom.”


    Nearing the end of the session, Dr. Nichols handed Joe a business card.


    “Who’s Marvin Weintraub?”


    “He’s a well-respected psychologist and a friend. I think he’d be good for you?”


    “Are you breaking up with me?”


    “You’re eighteen, Joe. I work with adolescents and teens. Look at it as being promoted to the big leagues.”


    “Fuck that. I’m not doing this.”


    “Why?”


    “You know everything about me and my problems. I trust you. I’m not starting over with a new therapist. Besides, when Marvin gets a load of the shitshow between my ears he’ll be singing, ‘Cha-Ching, hello new sailboat.”


    Dr Nichols stifled a laugh. “He is not unfamiliar with your situation and I would bring him up to speed. You wouldn’t be starting from scratch. I’d be passing the baton.”


    “Nope. If you and I are done,” Joe shrugged, “I guess I’m finished with therapy.”


    Dr Nichols sighed, “That’s your decision but I hope you reconsider.” She glanced at her notes, flipping pages. When she looked up at Joe, he was staring at her low-cut neckline and cleavage.


    “There’s something I want to say, Joe, and it could be extremely awkward.”


    “Oh?”


    “Yes. It’s about your mother. We’ve discussed her many times over the years. I know you don''t truly understand why she’s so hard on you... but no one else.”


    “Pfft. I know. She’s never crazy with the girls… or even Dad. It’s just me.”


    Dr. Nichols paused a moment. Joe took that time to admire her perfectly placed hair. Her brunette bob hairstyle had grown out. It tickled her shoulders. He loved the big looping curls she had to move away from her face from time to time.


    “This is not going to be easy but I think you have a right to know your mother’s reasons for being as difficult on you as she is.”


    “Besides her insane level and anxiety?”


    “Yes, and maybe an explanation of some of her fears.”


    “What is it this time?” Joe drummed his long fingers on the arm of his leather chair. “It’s always something irrational.”


    Dr. Nichols exhaled and put her hand to her brow, looking down at her notes. “I thought about telling you this some time ago. But, because it could have affected our working relationship, I held it to the very end.”


    “Way to build suspense, Doc.”


    “I’m sorry. I’m proud of you for putting in all the work over the years. You’re my oldest patient, in age and the number of years I’ve been seeing you. I know you’ve done the work and you deserve to know the truth.”


    “Okay,” Joe was beginning to feel concerned.


    “I don’t know how to say this so I’ll just come out with it. Forgive me if I embarrass you.”


    Joe sat perfectly still as the doctor searched her mind for the words.


    “Years ago your mother told me you had a physical characteristic that alarmed her. That, and the fact you’re pursuing a life in music has her convinced you’ll lead a life of promiscuity.”


    Joe slightly smirked because he knew what it was but he wasn’t going to say so. On one hand, he wanted to laugh but he was too stunned that his mother could even summon the nerve. More than anything, he wanted to hear Dr. Nichols explain it. Barbara Nichols stared at Joe, hoping he could figure it out and let her off the hook. He did not. Joe wanted her to say it.


    “In your mother’s opinion, you are well endowed.” She glanced briefly at his jeans, then back up.


    Joe had a chubby, not the first boner he had in Dr. Nichols'' office. It was pretty common for him to be aroused in these sessions. He knew she had noticed in the past and he assumed that she knew that he knew. It was a very awkward moment for the doctor. Joe smiled. He enjoyed the discomfort so he sat and relished it for several seconds, looking her in the eyes with a dumb smirk on his face. Then he spoke slowly and softly.


    “My Mom, the uptight Catholic, mother of five, who never swears… actually brought this up to you in conversation? It’s inconceivable. She’s a Puritan prude.”


    “Trust me, it was difficult for her to say it.”


    “Was this face-to-face or on the phone?”


    “Over the phone.”


    “Yeah," he nodded. "I suppose that’s easier." He paused a moment then smiled. "I don’t know how many dicks my Mom has seen to make that judgment but I’m guessing not many.”


    Dr. Nichols smirked. “You don’t need to see many to know a big one when you see it.”


    “Okay.” Joe leaned forward and whispered as if someone else was in the room. “This is messed up, right? Mothers don’t talk about their son’s dicks, right? My mother is really screwed n the head… right?”


    “That’s harsh, but yes, this is the only time a mother has discussed such a thing with me.”


    Dr. Nichols shifted uncomfortably. Her legs moved from her left to her right. Joe watched her legs. He enjoyed that she felt uneasy. It was deliciously amusing to him.


    “I only told you this so you might understand why she thinks the way she does. Her faith and morals clash with the lifestyle she sees you falling into. These last sessions suggest her fears may not be unwarranted.”


    “I call it the road to ruin. Whenever she goes on about my future I tell her I’m on the road to ruin. And just for the record, Doc. I’m not embarrassed.” He smiled. “Not as much as you are right now.”


    Dr. Nichols looked down at her notes in her lap. “Yes, well, it wasn’t easy for me to say but I thought it might be helpful for you to know this.”


    In the outer office, Joe put his jacket on and turned back to Dr. Nichols. “So this is it?”


    “I’m afraid so.”


    “Ya know, this is the first time being eighteen actually sucks.”


    Dr Nichols smiled, extending her hand. Joe took it, then used it to pull her close for a hug. She was taken by surprise. Joe smelled her hair and perfume. He half whispered. “Thank you, Dr. Nichols, for everything, but mostly for being a woman I can trust.” He leaned back, looked her in the eyes for a long moment, turned, and walked out.


    Joe felt a surge of emotions on Brooks Street. He had planned on stopping at Victory Records but he suddenly felt ill, not physically sick, but not well. He walked briskly past the shop and went straight to the bus stop.


    On the Ten Bus, he stared straight ahead, not seeing, not hearing, his senses dulled by the thoughts in his head. Joe said he wanted to quit therapy when he was sixteen, again at seventeen, more than a few times, but he always returned to Dr. Nichols. It was comforting to know she was there for him. On that bus ride that he’d taken countless times, he was feeling genuine loss. It hurt.


    Then his thoughts shifted to his mother talking to his therapist about his dick? What the fuck is that about? He got goosebumps. It was so damn creepy. He contemplated confronting her but couldn’t image what he’d say or if anything he could say would matter. It might be best to forget it happened… as if that was possible.


    —-- THE ROAD TO RUIN —-


    “How many times has Nate gotten stupid drunk since he joined the band?” Joe said, pointing at his drummer. “Too many to count. Are you concerned about his drinking?”


    Joe paced between the sofas in the garage. Sal had just mentioned the guys were concerned about Joe’s drinking, recalling an occasion when he got stumbling drunk after a gig and a couple of pass-outs at the garage. Joe wasn’t denying anything, he just couldn’t believe these guys had the balls to question his drinking. The band sat on the sofas while Pops watched from the kitchen. Joe paced between them.


    “How about you?” He stopped in front of Sal, looking down. “Remember when you puked in The Foundry parking lot? How about the time I had to drive us back from the beach, the guy with no fucking license, because you were all too fucked up.” He waved his finger at all three. “Does that shit worry you?”


    “He didn’t say we weren’t drinking,” Johnny said, “just that you’re drinking more than usual.”


    “Have I been drinking more?” Joe asked in a mocking tone. “Yes, I have. Have I fucked up a gig? No! Because I never get drunk during a show.” He shrugged his shoulders. “So, what’s the fucking problem then?


    “You don’t drink that much,” Sal said. “I never saw you really drunk until a couple of months ago… so it’s kinda obvious.”


    “Oh, I get it,” he raised his arms. “The regular drunks get a free pass. That’s just what they do. I get fucked up and it’s a problem for the drunks to see the straight guy hammered. You guys are the last fuckers who should be giving me shit about drinking.”


    It was Johnny’s idea to ask Joe if he was okay but Sal took the lead and now he was taking the brunt of Joe’s indignant wrath. Johnny felt bad, so he spoke up.


    “Look,” he said. “We’re only asking if you’re okay. No one is pointing fingers. There’s no need to get defensive.”


    Pop’s walked over and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Okay, kid. Don’t take your friends expressing concern as an insult. That’s what friends do. Now you know what they’re thinking. Let’s leave it at that.”


    “Do I have to watch myself around them now and be a good boy so they don’t worry…. while they get fucking plastered?”


    “Joe,” Pops looked him in the eyes. “Let it go.”


    Joe was offended and defensive because he couldn’t believe these guys had a problem with his drinking when getting hammered was standard procedure for Nate and Sal, but not so much for Johnny. If Sal didn’t have to drive, he drank hard, and Nate was easily the hardest drinker in the band. Nate knew this and sat this discussion out, just listening. Yeah, Joe had gotten more drunk in the last two months than he did the previous year, so what?


    Even in his defiance, Joe pondered his situation later that night, lying in bad. If these guys think he’s drinking too much… what the fuck? He never made an ass of himself, not that he remembered, and he was not a mean drunk. On the contrary, Joe was a happy drunk. He loved everyone in the room. That was the effect he was seeking, a happy buzz to make him forget the shitshow between his ears.


    He was not happy about this intervention. It was bullshit coming from these guys, but it did cause him to consider that he might actually be on the road to ruin. He remembered wise words spoken by Dr. Nichols, ''Sometimes we have to wander on the wrong path before we realize it’s not the path we wish to be on.''


    —-- SUMMER BREAK —--


    With Joe’s sisters out of school and Claire without a dorm, finding a place and privacy was a challenge. Joe sprung for a room at the Biltmore Hotel downtown, the best hotel in Providence. They checked in at 3 PM and planned to abuse that room right up to checkout time. Room service would make a few trips to room 717.


    “They have porn!” Claire laughed while looking through the list of amenities. “Do you like porn?”


    “The Biltmore has porn?” Joe walked over. “No way? This is a classy joint.” He looked over Claire’s shoulder at the hotel guide on the desk. “Holy shit, this is no better than no-tell-motel on Route 6.”


    “What’s that?”


    “A no-tell-motel? A place where no one asks questions,”


    “You never answered my question. Do you like porn?”


    “It’s alright,” Joe said while pushing his jeans off. “I can’t claim to have seen a lot. We snuck into the Columbus Theater a couple of times. That place is nasty. Your feet stick to the floor and it’s not because of spilled soda.”


    Claire made a face. “What did you think of the porn?”


    “It’s kinda dumb. I mean, the sex is cool, but the films themselves are shit.”


    “They’re not trying to win an Oscar.”


    “Maybe they should. Just make one serious film into a porno that’s worth watching. I want to care about the characters.”


    “You’re a strange guy.”


    “That’s all I care about in a story,” he said. ‘Make me care about the characters one way or the other. You must feel for them on some level. If they did that in a porn flick, the sex scenes would be better.”


    “What’s the second thing you need in a story, action, danger?”


    “That’s fine, but I think the protagonist has to be put through some shit. I want to see if he has the balls and brains to go through fire. It doesn’t have to be physically dangerous. It could be psychological.”


    “Do you have to like the protagonist?”


    “I think they should be conflicted, a decent guy with some bad traits. Maybe he makes mistakes that fuck him and he has to fight through it. A little action is good but I want good characters in moral dilemmas. It doesn’t have to be life or death.”


    “So you like suspense thrillers.”Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    “Yeah, and old-school detective stuff, like Sam Spade. I love Bogart.”


    “Why are we not in bed yet? Claire asked.


    “You’re the one playing twenty questions. I’m just answering.”


    Claire went to kiss him but Joe grabbed her first, turned her sideways, and forced her down to the bed. They were face-to-face. He held her down and pulled her dress up. “You wore this dress for me, didn’t you?” He smiled.


    “Yeah, I did. I know you like it.”


    “Yes I do, and I’ll get to taste you so much sooner.”


    Joe kissed her and then slipped under her dress. It was Joe’s favorite place to be. Over the months they’d been sleeping together he learned that if he got her off first there was a very good chance she’d get off a second time when they fucked. Claire loved that and Joe felt a sense of pride.


    They did a lot of fun stuff. She got hers, he got his and she had seconds. They lay on the bed afterward, looking at the ceiling, their breathing just getting back to normal.


    “I’m gonna miss this over the summer,” Joe said.


    Claire didn’t respond for a moment. She exhaled. “Okay. You’ve never said anything about our summer break, my camp job, and… you know.” She turned her head sideways to see him. “Are you okay with that? I have a hard time reading you, Joe. I need to know that you’re okay with taking a break.”


    Joe rolled to his side to look at Claire. “What’s there to say about it? That’s our deal. Am I complaining? Of course, we''re okay. Didn''t we just have some fun?”


    “Sex is one thing, and yes, we’re better than okay there.” She touched a finger to his chest. “I’m talking about inside here?”


    Joe took her hand on his chest. “I try to not complicate us with that?”


    “If I didn’t have this summer job…” Claire paused. “... well, and my trip to France, would you feel different?”


    “What’s the point of thinking like that? You’re going away. It is what it is.”


    “You never think about that?”


    “Of course, I have… at times.”


    “And?”


    “Nothing. You’re going away and we have a deal.”


    “I think about it,” She touched his face. “And I don’t think you could do it with your girls on the road.”


    “Do what?”


    Claire half-rolled her eyes. “Have just one girlfriend.”


    Joe exhaled, “Someday I will have just one.”


    “Could you just change your life with all these girls around you?”


    “I’m sure I will because that’s what I want.”


    There was a long silence. Joe was on his side facing her. Claire was still facing the ceiling, thinking.


    “You don’t believe me,” Joe said softly. “do you?”


    “Oh, I believe you,” she said. “You always say what you want and what you’re gonna do… and then you do it. So, I believe that you believe you can be that guy.”


    “But you don’t believe I can.”


    “I didn’t say that. I don’t know if you can but I trust that’s what you want.”


    “I do want that and I would make it work.”


    Claire rolled to face him. “I’m trying to keep this thing we have simple. I don’t want to be at camp this summer and then in France feeling like…” she struggled to find the words.


    Joe offered her some. “You’re not free to do what you want.”


    “Yes, exactly. And I honestly don’t think I would ever cheat but I don’t want to put myself in a position to worry about that.”


    “Claire, you don’t have to explain. I get it.”


    “That doesn’t mean I don’t think about what could be.”


    “Me too, and I let pragmatism win that debate.”


    They lay quietly for a moment, thinking. He found her words encouraging. Maybe down the road, after France, they would figure this out. Then Joe popped up and broke the silence.


    “Let’s get some food. Believe it or not this fancy joint has the best mushroom and Swiss cheeseburgers.”


    “Have you ordered room service here before?”


    “No, I’ve dined in the lobby restaurant a few times. My grandparents took me here for my birthday, twice. My Pepere loved this place. The Biltmore was his idea of classy for special occasions. I’ve come alone since, also twice.”


    “Is he gone?”


    “Yeah. He died when was thirteen. He was great. Pepere was funny, the best gardener, huge tomatoes, and he could fix anything mechanical or electrical. I miss him.”


    Claire reached over for the room service menu. She fluffed her pillow and sat against the headboard. Joe looked in from the side.


    “Fifteen dollars for a cheeseburger?” Claire looked at Joe. “That’s crazy.”


    “It’s the best fifteen-dollar burger in town and it comes on a buttery bun and steak fries.”


    “It’s probably the only fifteen-dollar burger in town.”


    “This night is on me. Don’t worry about the price. Let’s order martinis too.”


    “Okay then. I think I’ll get the twenty-one dollar mac & cheese.” Claire smirked. “It’s probably the best twenty-one dollar mac & cheese in town.”


    “I bet it is.”


    “You place the order,” she kissed him. “I’m taking advantage of that huge shower. You can join me if you’d like.” She looked back and smiled. “This is the best hotel room I’ve stayed in.”


    “You should see some of the motels we use on the road, not the best.”


    “No-tell-motels?” Claire disappeared into the bathroom.


    “With hourly rates.” Joe picked up the phone. “I think I will join you in there. I’ve been a dirty boy today.”


    “Yes, you have.”


    Joe phoned room service while Claire got a headstart washing the sex they just had away. Then he joined her for some wet, soapy fun. They dried off with big fluffy towels and put on soft Biltmore robes. When room service arrived, the older man smiled at them. “Are you enjoying your stay, young man?”


    “Yes, I am,” Joe signed the tab. “Can you send two more martinis? These will go down fast.”


    “Yessir. Enjoy.”


    Joe’s burger was better than he remembered and Claire moaned for her mac & cheese. “I didn’t know it could be this good. It’s so creamy. There’s something tangy in here.”


    “Let me taste.”


    Claire fed him a forkful. Joe chewed. “It’s mustard.”


    She nodded, “Yeah. I think you’re right.”


    “Plain yellow mustard,” he said. “Probably French’s. This establishment isn’t as classy as I thought.”


    After dinner, they sipped their second martinis and watched a bad porn film that made them laugh more than make them horny. Joe was loving this night. He felt like a real grown-up. As it got late, he wanted another drink.


    “Let’s get dressed,” he said. “go downstairs and have a nightcap. The bar here is cool. It takes forever for room service to deliver drinks.”


    “You don’t have to convince me,” Claire kissed him. “I like it.”


    Ten minutes later, they sat in the dark wood bar off the lobby. There were few patrons. A businessman sat at the far end of the bar having a very late dinner. A couple shared a booth with empty cocktail glasses.


    Joe and Claire sat quietly, watching the bartender make two martinis. “You can charge these to room 717,” Joe said.


    “Name on the room?”


    “Theroux.”


    “I’ve sent a few up there tonight.”


    “This is my last one,” Joe smiled. “I promise.”


    The bartender gently slid two very full martinis in front of them. His nametag said, Charles.


    “Ya see that,” Joe said. “That’s a martini. If I spit in there it would overflow.”


    The bartender chuckled.


    “Let me ask you,” Joe slowly pulled his drink closer. “Is a vodka martini legit?”


    “This again?” Claire rolled her eyes.


    The bartender looked at Claire. “If the young lady prefers vodka, who am I to judge?”


    “Charles, you’re the bartender,” Joe made eye contact. “The only judge that matters.”


    Charles smiled, “I drink gin. That’s all I’ll say.” He walked over to the businessman.


    Joe glanced at Claire, “Told ya.” He leaned forward to sip his cocktail without picking it up.


    Claire took a sip of her vodka martini. “I have this weird feeling that I should quit my summer job but I don’t know why.”


    “I’m sure it’s because you’ll miss me terribly.”


    “Yeah,” she shook her head. “That’s what it is. But what the hell would I do all summer? It’s too late to find another job. I need to save that money so I can work fewer hours during the school year. Money is always tight.”


    “That’s why you hang out in the garage. It’s not because of me. It’s the free pizza and beer… and Pops’ cooking. I know the truth. I’m just a meal ticket.”


    “Oh no, you found me out, I’ve been using you for pizza, beer, and hot sausage.” She reached under the bar and squeezed his junk.


    “Hey, now! Handle the package with care. It’s fragile.”


    “Sorry.”


    “Do you want to go to camp? Do you look forward to it?"


    “Yes. I do,” she sighed. “That’s why it’s weird. I have a lot of friends up there and it’s always fun. The kids are great. I like working with children. This is my fourth year and it’s probably my last. It’s not about camp.”


    “Then what is it?”


    “I don’t know. I just have this feeling I shouldn’t go.”


    “Well. I’ll be here when you get back. I have so much going on the summer it will probably fly by for me.”


    “I’m sure it’ll be torture beating back the beach bunnies and groupies.”


    “You have no idea. Punk chicks are crazy.”


    “Shut up.” She pushed his shoulder.


    After that third martini, they returned to 717 and crashed. They had room service breakfast and stayed in bed right up to check-out time. Two days later, Claire was off to New Hampshire and Joe was off to the beach for five gigs in six days.


    —-- WOODEN TENT —--


    Joe found a tiny two-room shack of a beach cottage on a salt marsh near Ninigret Pond on the Rhode Island coast; with a leaky roof, sparse furnishings, community baths, and a very long walk around the marsh to the ocean. That’s why it was affordable. Joe called it a wooden tent. It gave the guys a place to crash during the day which is a problem with hotel check-out times. The worst thing about being on the road is the idle hours of the day. Having a home base for a week was helpful. All the clubs were less than a half-hour drive.


    Before leaving for their run of beach gigs to open the summer season the band discussed Uncle Babe’s NYC offer but they were undecided so Joe booked more dates to fill out the July. Near the end of their week in the wooden tent, Nate pressed the issue. Joe was still undecided. Nate and Sal were NYC votes. Johnny wanted to use his new bathing suit and leaned toward the beach.


    “Look,” Nate made his case, pacing the room. “We’ve been here five days and played four gigs. I’m already sick of this shack. We’re in the middle of nowhere, no bars nearby. It’s just mud, grass, sand, and squawking endangered birds I’d like to murder. We’re coming back to this in three weeks for the same shows. I guarantee after two rounds of this crap, New York will sound damn good. And, when we get back, we still have a month of beach season right into September. It’s like having our cake and eating too.”


    Joe was on the floor sitting on his sleeping bag, back against the wall. He smiled up at Nate. “That is the most well-thought and articulated thing you’ve ever spoken in my presence.”


    Nate proudly smiled back.


    Johnny laughed, “What are you smiling for? That was a putdown.”


    “No, it wasn’t,” Joe said. “but I know what you mean. He doesn’t say many smart things.”


    “Fuck you guys.” Nate flipped them off.


    Johnny and Joe smirked at each other.


    “Look, I’ll be honest,” Joe said. “I like hanging out with Kelly at her beach house. Her friends are cool. I’m giving up a fun summer and lots of guaranteed cash but I’ll vote New York because it’s Greenwich Village and we’ll be back here in August like you said.”


    “So is that it?” Nate clapped once. “We have three yes and one bitch with a new bathing suit.” He glanced at Johnny.


    Johnny put his hand up. “I’m in. I’ll bring my new suit to New York.”


    “I’ll say it only one more time,” Joe said. “With five weeks away we''re leaving over ten thousand dollars on the table with no assurance we’ll make a buck there.”


    “We know, Joe,” Sal said. “Sometimes you gotta roll the dice. New York is…”


    “New York,” Nate said lowly.


    Joe canceled two weeks of gigs, eight in all, to clear the band’s schedule. He hadn’t told Claire about New York because at the time he was leaning toward a summer at the beach and the band was indecisive. NYC seemed unlikely. After that first beach week, the band made one run through their circuit of clubs, every city, and then back to the beach shack for the 4th of July holiday week. After that, they had one last date before driving into the unknown.


    —- PROMISES —-


    The news of Joe going to New York for a month caused a ruckus at home but Joe let it go in one ear and out the other. As Mom ran out of breath Dad told her to go lie down. He then took Joe aside and made one request.


    “If you call every few days everyone will get through this.”


    “Why, so she can berate me and tell me what a disappointment I am?”


    “No, to talk to your sisters. Let everyone know you’re okay and they’ll pass it on to us.”


    “Okay, that’s agreeable.” Joe looked at Jackie. “If Mom answers I''ll hang up. I’ll call right back, you answer.”


    Dad shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”


    “Yes, it is,” Jackie and Joe said in chorus.


    On his last night home before the band shoved off, Joe lay in his bed thinking about the unknown that lies ahead. Is this apartment in The Village a rat trap? Is this Hell’s Kitchen bar gig legit? Will his on-stage shenanigans play in New York? Will their gear be safe? There was a knock on his door.


    “Come in.”


    Jackie walked in. It was half dark, only a night light on. She sat on the side of his bed and leaned over to hug Joe. “This is it. I know it. You’re not coming back,” she said. “People don’t come back after they go to New York.”


    Joe wrapped his arms around her. “People go to New York on business every day, and then they go home.”


    “That’s where they go to make it and if they do they don’t leave. Your band is good. You’re gonna make it and you won’t come back.”


    Joe kissed the top of her hair. “ Jules asked me today if I was coming back. I told her five weeks. That’s the deal we have with Nate’s uncle. I’m not leaving home… not yet.”


    “I can feel it. You know how I am. When I sense something…”


    “Yes, I know about your ESP. It’s nonsense. You sense things and then you will them to happen.”


    “How do I do that?”


    “I don’t know. You just do. Don’t worry. I’m not staying in New York.”


    Her voice cracked. “I’m worried what life will be like without you here.”


    “Whoa, are you crying?”


    “Sorry.” Jackie pushed her face into his shoulder. “It’s gonna suck for five weeks,” she sobbed. “And if you don’t come back it will suck for the rest of my life.”


    He held her closer. “You sound like Mom, imagining the worst possible outcome and assuming that’s what will happen.”


    Joe lay quietly and let his sister have a moment. Jackie was no crybaby, quite the opposite, so she must be genuinely worried to carry on like this. She sniffed. “Please come back.” Then, she wiped her face with Joe’s shirt. “I trust you, Joe. If you promise to come back I know you will.”


    “I promise I’ll come home in five weeks.”


    “Okay,” she pushed herself up. “I’m sorry I got your shirt wet.”


    “I think there’s snot on my neck.”


    “Talk to Jeanie,” she said as she stood up and collected herself, looking down at him. “She’s worried too.”


    “I will.”


    “Good night. I love you, brother.”


    “I love you, sister.”


    The following afternoon, Joe sat on the front steps of the house with Jeanie at his side, waiting for the van. His backpack and duffel bag lay on the bottom step. His two guitars and amp sat on the porch. He had just made her the same assurances. He’ll be home in five weeks.


    “Do you trust me?” He asked.


    “Yes.”


    “Good.”


    Jeanie put her head on his arm. “Can you send me postcards from cool places you go in New York?”


    Joe pulled her closer as Sal drove up in the van. “I promise I will do that.”


    —- DON’T FORGET WHERE YOU COME FROM —-


    The final show they played in RI, a gig Joe could not cancel, was The Living Room’s fifth-anniversary double bill with Ruby Slippers. Joe sat at the bar with Nate. Sal and Johhny were talking to some chick they went to high school with.


    “I don’t appreciate the stickers on my front windows,” Randy said.


    “I didn’t put them there,” Joe replied flatly.


    “But you had them made and sent your army all over town. I saw a cop car with three of them. One on my front door is fine but six all over the place is dumb. Those things don’t come off. I tried. It makes a fucking mess so I’m leaving them.”


    “Perfect,” Joe smiled at Nate. “Just like we planned. There are three on Haven Brothers.”


    “The Civic Center doors are covered,” Nate smirked. “all around the building.”


    Randy pointed a finger. “Not everyone thinks this is funny.”


    “The people that matter do.”


    Issac walked up and gave Joe the half-hug. “This is gonna be the best night. My two favorite bands. “Hi, Nate.”


    Nate waved. Johnny and Sal walked up.


    “Hey, Issac,” Johnny said. “How’s it going?”


    “Good, Johnny. And you?”


    “Can’t complain.”


    Issac leaned against Joe. “I was upset that I couldn’t come to your graduation party. Angie said it was very impressive… her words were, ‘He never stops impressing me.”


    “Me?” Joe looked at his mates. “We pulled that off, not me.”


    “She likes you, Joe.”


    “I like her too.”


    “I mean like like.”


    “Are we in fucking sixth grade? What do you mean? She’s just graduated college.”


    “That’s what she said, that you’re too young for her.” Issac’s lips curled slightly. He smiled with eyes, the gossipy little bitch he is. “Angie said, if she fucked you she wouldn’t let you go, so she can’t.”


    Nate roared, “Get the fuck out of here.”


    Johnny slapped Joe on the back.


    “Okay, well,” Issac practically did a pirouette. “I just wanted to say hello. I’m gonna go watch the Slippers.”


    As Issac strolled away, Sal rolled his eyes. “The Slippers? How fucking gay is that?”


    “What’s your problem with Issac?” Johnny asked. “He’s a sweet guy.”


    Joe was only half in the conversation as he was thinking, ‘Angie wants to fuck me? Nice!’ Then he snapped out of it and offered a theory on Sal and gay men.


    He looked at Johnny. “We’re all secure in our sexuality, right? You, Nate, and I don’t feel threatened by a gay man. Sal’s not so sure of himself. He’s afraid if he catches gay cooties he might start sucking dick,” Joe smiled. “... and like it.”


    “Suck my fat balls, Joe. I’m sorry if they give me the creeps. I can’t help it.”


    “You’re fucking insecure. I did a lot of therapy,” Joe pointed at his head. “I know things.”


    Ruby Slippers played seventy-five minutes. The Punks played for two hours. The turnout was good but it was not a remarkable show. Joe wanted to debut a new stunt but decided against it. Most of their college following was on summer break. Local kids home from school replaced some of them, and of course, the hoodrats showed up to see the band off.


    Standing in the alley outside The Living Room at 1:05 AM, the van was loaded. Randy Hein and a few of the regulars saw the band off. Gary Santos and Ruby, the girl singer, had stayed through The Punk’s set.


    Randy shook Joe’s hand. “Don’t forget where you come from, kid.”


    “I won’t.”


    “That’s what they do after they go to New York.”


    “Who?”


    “Everyone. Half of my friends moved there. They’re New Yorkers now.”


    “I have three friends there,” Gary said. “They’re never coming back to Rhode Island.”


    “Well, we’re sons of Providence,” Joe said. “We’ll be back in five weeks. Thanks for the help loading us up,” Joe stopped before getting in the van. “And everything else too,” He smiled. “I have two chips, Randy. I’ll be back to collect. I promise.”