Joe and Simon sat on the stoop of the Jones Street apartment building watching a U-Haul rental truck double park directly in front of them. Tina pulled up behind the truck in her blue 1972 Chevy Nova. When Joe and Simon approached the back of the vehicle the middle-aged driver glared at them suspiciously. Tina made introductions.
“Dad, these are my friends, Joe and Simon. You won’t have to break your back this year.”
John Costello shook hands and offered a single, “Nice to meet you.” He opened the back of the rental. The younger men grabbed items from the box truck and made their way upstairs. Joe could feel the eyes of a father measuring them. They didn’t talk much.
Joe sang while walking up the stoop.
“We’re movin’ on up.
To the east side.
To that great big apartment in the sky.”
Mr. C furrowed his brow at his daughter as he walked in behind Joe.
Three flights of stairs above, the band’s possessions were concealed behind the locked door of Lana’s freshly painted bedroom. Tina had asked that they keep the fact the band was staying there from her dad. She directed traffic, telling the men where she wanted her things placed.
“These two boxes are heavy,” Joe said. “What’s in here?”
Tina looked at the label on the box. “Pictures.”
Simon placed two boxes down. “These are heavy.” He looked at the label. “Framed photos.”
The younger men cracked jokes as they moved up and down three flights of stairs. John Costello overheard their banter but did not engage them.
“This must be how a pack mule feels,” Joe quipped while standing behind the truck.
Simon handed him another box. “Be careful, this one is heavy, It must be her hundred pairs of shoes.”
“It’s probably more pictures. I think T’s opening an art gallery,” Joe said. “And I’ve never seen so many fucking clothes… and I have three sisters.”
Mr. C. heard Joe’s comment. “This is only half. My house is her other closet.” He looked at Joe. “Where are you from? Your accent isn’t New York.” Tina arrived just as Dad asked the question. Mr C glanced at Simon. “I know where you’re from.”
Joe glanced at T and then her dad. “I live in Providence.”
“Rhode Island,” he said. “That sounds right. Good Italian food.”
Joe looked at T, smiled, and nodded. “Told ya.” He turned to Dad. “I’ve been telling her that my town has the best Italian in New England.”
“It’s true,” Dad said, ”The old joke is; for the best Italian food in Boston drive an hour south to Providence.”
Joe nodded. “I literally said that to her last week.” He looked at T. “Ya see?”
“What are you doing in the city?”
Tina’s eyes widened. She hadn’t prepared Joe for a paternal interrogation.
“I’m visiting this bloke,” he gestured with his thumb at Simon.
“And you?” he asked Simon.
“I graduated from NYU and decided to remain in the States,” said Simon. “I live nearby.”
He looked back at Joe, “And what do you do?”
“I’m studying astrophysics at MIT.”
John Costello looked Joe up and down. “No, you’re not.”
Joe laughed hard. “No. I’m a musician.” He smiled. “Good catch.”
Tina’s dad laughed, which eased the tension. Thankfully, he didn’t play twenty questions on the first date like his daughter. Mr. C. let the young men do the heavy lifting. After several trips up three flights of narrow stairs, including a sofa, easy chair, queen-size mattress and box spring, a bedroom dresser, and chest of drawers… Joe and Simon were gassed, hot, and sweaty.
“Don’t call me when you move out,” Joe winked at Tina as he went downstairs for the final time.
Taking the last item from the truck, Joe looked at Simon. “An air conditioner. Sweet.”
“We bloody need it,” Simon exhaled.
Mr. C. couldn’t hang around to help unpack. Once everything was in the apartment or stacked outside her door, he was ready to roll.
“So, I guess you’re all set, baby. I have to get that van out of double parking. If you need anything, give us a call.”
Tina gave her dad a hug: “Thanks Daddy, I will.”
He eyeballed the punks as he was leaving, not sure what to make of the dudes in his daughter’s apartment. “Thanks for the help guys.” Simon and Joe nodded in reply. As Dad moved into the hallway where boxes sat, Joe said, “Thanks, Daddy.”
Mr. C turned and looked at Joe. Tina punched his arm very hard for a girl. Dad shook his head and walked out. The tension in the air lifted the moment Mr. C left the building.
“Quick thinking,” T said as she closed the door behind him. “Thanks for not choking under pressure.” Her hands went to her hips. “But then you had to be the clown at the end.”
Simon liked her scolding tone on Joe and piled on. “He just couldn’t play it straight,” he said. “It’s not what he does. Bloody astrophysics? MIT? What the fuck was that?”
“Yeah,” Tina said, hands still on hips. “What the fuck was that?”
“I wanted to see how much bullshit I could slip past your old man.” He smirked. “For future reference. Do you know what he was thinking the whole time he was here?” Joe paused, T and Si waited…. “Which one of these shitheads is banging my daughter?”
Tina didn’t like his joke as much as Simon. She punched him again. “So far,” she replied, glaring at Joe. “Neither of you.”
Joe reached into the fridge and pulled out two beers. He handed one to Simon. “Let’s get that AC in the window and crank her up.”
“Have you ever hooked up an air conditioner before?” Tina asked.
“Nope,” Joe shrugged. “It’s not astrophysics. What could go wrong?”
Simon sipped his beer. “You could drop it out the third-floor window.”
Joe turned to Tina. “Do you have renters insurance?”
It was not so difficult that two musicians couldn’t figure it out. Within ten minutes the room had a blast of cold air. Simon declined an invitation to stay for dinner knowing this was a special night. He whispered to Joe as he left.
“You have fun shagging that bird. She’s the bee’s knees.”
Joe furrowed his brow. “Is that a good thing?”
Tina and Joe unpacked. The first thing he did was set up her stereo and put on his new Stiff Little Fingers record. Joe had bought more than a dozen records since he arrived but hadn’t played a single one.
Unloading boxes of framed photos, mostly black and white, Joe examined Tina’s art for the first time. They were candid images of New Yorkers: an old couple on a park bench, children in a playground, families and young couples, people of all ages. There was also architecture, building facades, the Manhattan skyline, and tight shots of exterior architectural features: gargoyles, angels, and geometric designs. It seems Tina appreciates art deco. Joe took a moment to absorb each shot.
Tina observed him looking at her work as she unpacked a box of shoes. “So, what do you think?”
He was moved but didn’t want to appear sappy. “These are yours? You took all these pictures?”
“Yes, I told you, the city and the people are my subjects.”
Joe exhaled. “I really like this one of the elderly couple by the bridge. Her eyes are haunting. It’s like she’s looking right through me. The way he’s admiring her, you can feel the love of a lifetime. She’s like, what - maybe seventy-five? I can see she was a beautiful young woman because she’s still elegant.”
Tina smiled. “Those are good observations. You saw all that in ten seconds?”
“It’s a great photo, very moving. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“I’m so relieved you’re not a shitty artist,” Joe smirked. “I was genuinely worried about that.”
“Jerk.” Tina pushed him away and went back to her unpacking.
The final chore of a busy afternoon was putting sheets, blankets, and too many pillows on her big fluffy bed. After sleeping fully clothed for six weeks, Joe was looking forward to messing up those sheets - or at least hoping to.
“So," Tina said, "what’s for dinner tonight?”
“Ricotta meatballs and spaghetti with a Caprese salad. I bought wine and breadsticks too.”
“That sounds good.” She smirked. “Unless you’re a shitty cook. I’m genuinely worried about that.”
While she did the finishing touches in her room, Joe got started on homemade meatballs. He heard the shower turn on while making a big mess of her kitchen. When she finished showering, Tina joined him with wet hair, barefoot, in a tee shirt and cotton pajama bottoms.
Joe pointed a wooden spoon at her. “Hey, where did you get that shirt?”
She blushed. “I stole it, took it home, and washed it.”
“So that is my shirt?”
“Yeah. So what? How many times have I watched girls ripping shirts off your back on stage? I wanted one for myself.”
“You must earn that by winning a dance contest. Green Eggs and Ham is a hard shirt to come by.”
“I like Dr. Seuss, so I took it.” She changed the subject.
“So, what’s going on in your notebooks?”
Joe looked over. “You didn’t read my Mead did you?”
Tina exhaled. “No, but I flipped it open to a page and saw a map you drew, and then a sketch. It felt like I was violating your privacy, so I closed it.”
“And that was the right thing to do.” He went back to his cooking.
“You’re always writing in there, and then you read your own writing. What’s up with that?”
“That’s probably songwriting. I’m reading my lyrics with the music in my head.”
“So you write songs in there?”
“Of course. And I keep a journal. I do a lot of drawing, like that map. My notebooks are my way of getting the tangled thoughts I have out of my head. I make sense of them on paper.”
Tina scrunched her nose. “Okay.” and changed the subject again. “What’s the deal with ricotta meatballs?”
“I already told you. The cheese makes them light and fluffy. These are half pork, and half beef, with finely chopped onion, peppers, and mushrooms, sauteed. My balls have the texture of a cake.”
With the meatballs in the oven, Joe started on the salad. She watched him slice tomatoes and handmade mozzarella from a nearby deli. He added fresh basil and red onion and put the plate in the fridge.
Joe pulled his balls out of her oven and showed her how big they were. “Look how meaty they are. I hate small hard meatballs. My balls are big and soft.”
Tina smirked at his dumb innuendo.
“The sauce is on low,” he handed her the wooden spoon. “Can you stir it? I’m taking a quick shower while the water comes to a boil. I’ll cook the pasta when I get back.”
“I can handle it.” Tina kissed his cheek.
“Let me do it,” Joe said sternly. “I’m cooking.”
“I’m Italian, ya know. I can cook pasta.”
“I’m not letting the first dinner I cook for you be ruined by overcooked pasta.”
“I’m offended.”
“Tough.”
When Joe returned, she had already cooked the pasta and was dumping it into a colander to drain.
“What are you doing? I hope you didn’t overcook that.”
“I told you I can cook pasta. I did it al dente.”
Joe wasn’t convinced but what could he do? He pulled a strand and tasted it. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll open the wine.”
Tina and Joe sat for the first home-cooked meal he had since leaving Rhode Island several weeks ago. He ate well in New York, but dining out and eating on the run had gotten old. It was nice to cook and relax at home.
A few bites in, Tina stopped eating and looked at Joe. “I get it. These are tender and fluffy. My dad needs to add ricotta. His meatballs are dense. The salad is nice too. I’m impressed, Joe.”
“Thanks. I’ll cook other dishes for you. I’m not a one-trick pony. I have other talents.”
“I bet you do.”
“And you can cook pasta. I’m impressed.”
Tina ignored his dig. She was impressed. From the day they met, their first date, and every day in between… Joe did and said all the right things.
“And you’re right,” she smiled. “Your balls are big and soft.”
Joe dined with a boner. This was the big night and he had never anticipated sex this much in his life. He wasn’t nervous. He just wanted to get on with it. In Joe’s mind, he ripped her clothes off and fucked her right there.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
She smiled with her eyes while sipping wine looking at a young man who captivated her but she was also a little scared. He’s a musician. What is she getting into?
While cleaning the kitchen after the meal, Joe pulled her close and kissed her. “Miss Costello, I hope this is the first of a million meals I prepare for you.”
“I’ll sign up for that.” She kissed him back. “You helped me move in and you cooked. I think you deserve some extra special attention.”
“Let’s see if you can earn that shirt, T.”
She smiled. “I also have other talents.”
“Tell me more.”
—-- WORTH THE WAIT —--
Tina slipped away while Joe finished the dishes. He later found her with a silky robe over his Dr. Suess T-shirt, sitting on the edge of her fluffy bed. She grabbed Joe by his sweatpants and pulled him close. T looked up. “I’ve been going a little crazy these last two weeks. It’s been hard sleeping with you and not doing anything.”
“You’re telling me?” Joe said. “I’m losing my mind.”
“I wanted to wait,” she said, “but I didn’t want to wait.”
“I’m glad we ditched the murder mattress. Your bed looks nice and warm.”
“It is,” she smiled. “I’m glad you ditched your band, cuz I’m not waiting anymore.”
This is where I deleted 1465 words to keep my story in the non-erotic genre. These are the moments I question my decision to slash previously written scenes to keep the chapters clean. Is this what I want to write?
There’s a simple workaround for this one chapter. If you''re interested, PUNKS Ch. 6 is the erotic version. It’s not great, but it’s Joe and Tina’s first time. They learn a lot about each other. Sex becomes a transcendent connection for them.
After sequestering themselves for 1465 words of fun over many hours, Joe lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Daylight peeked through the window shade turning shadows into color. Purple and pink. They were no doubt Tina’s favorites. Everything in her room was purple or pink, or purple and pink, with white and gray accents on her many soft items. Everything was soft and warm, especially her.
Joe smiled, ‘This is her purple and pink love dungeon,’ he thought as she stirred beside him. He was pretty sure he passed the biggest test of a new relationship. Everything fit very nicely.
“Hey baby,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “How long have you been awake?” Then reached down to meet Mr. Morningwood.
“Maybe a half hour,” he said. “But he was awake before me.”.
She kissed him. “We can’t let this go to waste.’
After another sweaty session of riding Joe hard, her purple hair swaying in his face. Tina squeaked and squealed as waves surged through her body. She fell into a steamy embrace on top of him. T was surely a squeaker. Even when moaning her voice was sweet. After a minute, she popped up.
“I’m hungry. Let’s get dressed and go out.” She rolled off him and slapped his tummy. “Let’s go. After breakfast, I’m taking you to do one of my favorite things.”
“What’s that?”
“Park-hopping. What parks have you been to?”
“Washington Square is right here, so I’ve been there a lot. Christopher. And parts of Central Park. You took me to Bryant with Johnny.”
“Okay, there are many you haven’t been to.”
“Do you want to shower?” Joe asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Nope. I need a clean-up in Aisle T,” she smiled, “but I like the scent of sex on us right now. I’m gonna wear it all day.”
After breakfast, she checked three parks off Joe’s list as well as a chunk of Central Park he had not seen, they had a sidewalk slice for lunch and went back to 3C to fuck again… and then finally took a shower together.
When Nate and Sal returned, Joe was standing in the kitchen in his boxer briefs. The guys looked at him. He glanced at them. Not a word was spoken. He walked back to Tina’s bedroom with two drinks. With his bandmates milling about the apartment, Tina and Joe remained in her room, quietly fooling around all Sunday evening. They emerged only to use the bathroom, get a drink, or make quick snacks.
Half-dressed in the kitchen, they giggled. Sal and Nate stared at them with full knowledge of what was happening behind closed doors. Joe had only one thing to say to Sal. “She’s definitely not prissy.”
—-- WHAT THE FUCK? —--
Monday morning, they sat at the kitchen table reading the New York Times, spreading butter in the nooks and crannies of Thomas’ English Muffins, and drinking coffee. Joe spoke quietly.
“I peeked in. Nate and Sal are snoring, Johnny’s not in.”
“Do you think he’s downstairs?”
“I’m guessing he is, but I don’t know for sure.” He exhaled. “We have three shows before we drive back home. I have to keep him busy on those days, then we need to get him back to Providence.”
“You keep saying that, but then you don’t leave.”
“You keep making me offers I can’t refuse.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“I’m not pointing fingers. I can leave at any time. It’s not like you tied me up.”
“Not yet,” Tina smiled while drinking coffee. “I’m gonna hate it when you leave. It’s really gonna suck.”
“I know.” Joe leaned closer. “I feel shitty about staying longer. I’m happy to be with you, but the right thing to do would have been to get him home. I think about that a lot.”
Joe and Tina had barely spoken to Sal or Nate during their fuck-fest. When the guys emerged from the bedroom on Monday, they each took a turn in the bathroom.
“What happened Saturday night?” asked Sal.”I thought you were coming to Tommy’s”
“We decided to stay in.” Joe made wide eyes, assuming Sal would understand why.
“Jada was upset you weren’t there.”
Joe made wider eyes hoping Sal would shut his stupid mouth.
Tina looked up from the newspaper. “Who’s Jada?
“She’s the lead singer of The Studs," Nate answered. "Our bands are friendly.”
Thanks to Nate, Joe didn’t have to rely on clueless Sal thinking on his feet.
“You told her we’d be going home," Sal said, "so she was surprised to see us.”
Joe glared at Sal, thinking, ‘What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?’
“We told her about Tina inviting us to stay longer," Nate added. "You missed a great show, but I’m guessing you had fun here.” He winked at them.
Nate pushed Sal towards the door, ”We’re going out for food.” Joe appreciated that Nate was trying to prevent Sal from doing more damage with his mouth. Tina looked at Joe over the newspaper. Six seconds after the door closed behind them, she set the paper down.
“Why would this Jada chick be upset you weren’t at the bar? Are you and her an item?”
Joe looked at her without a word, chewing a buttery muffin. ‘Oh fuck, here we go. Thanks Sal.’
Tina stared back, waiting for an answer. Joe went with honesty because Dr. Nichols said it’s always the best path.
“We were,” Joe said. “when I first arrived. I haven’t seen her in weeks, since before I met you.”
“But she expected you to be there Saturday night?”
“No, because I told her we’d be going home.” He took a sip of coffee and remained calm. “I guess when she saw Sal and Nate she was surprised and asked for me.”
“Sal said she was upset.”
“I had planned on going to Tommy’s with you, remember, because I’m with you. We decided to stay in… because that’s what I wanted.” He sipped coffee again. “Jada and I had a fling, but I’m with you. This is where I want to be.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend in New York. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she’s not my girlfriend. We fooled around, that’s it.”
She scrunched her nose. “I guess we should get this out of the way. Did you sleep with any other girls in town?”
Joe was in conflict avoidance mode, a trick he learned in therapy. If you see conflict coming, breathe normally, keep your tone calm, and don’t respond harshly to anything they might say. Dr. Nichols told him, ‘You can only control half of the argument. Keep the temperature cool.’ He was acting carefree eating Thomas’ and drinking coffee.
“Nope, just her… and you,” Joe smirked.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“Because it doesn’t concern you, and it wasn’t a big deal. It’s irrelevant.”
Tina stared at him. Joe wiped the butter off his fingers and set his napkin down. He was the picture of cool and spoke with that tone.
“Listen to me, T. You have a past, with boyfriends who have nothing to do with me. You lived your whole life right up to the day we met. I have my own history with girls. My past is the path I traveled to reach you. This is what I want. You and me.”
Tina picked up the newspaper. Her eyes were on his. “Okay. I’m sorry,” she said softly and went back to her New York Times. A crisis was averted. Joe watched her as she flipped pages, sensing these weren''t her final words on Jada Jones.
“What nights do you have shows?” she asked.
“Tomorrow in Brooklyn, Thursday at The Belmont, and Friday night at Tommy’s”
“And you leave Sunday?”
“Yes, Uncle Babe made it clear, he needs to fix that fire escape and clean that room before Lana gets here, got it?”
Tina smirked. “I’ll help you babysit Johnny, but it’s gonna cost ya, got it?”
“What’s your fee?”
“After the show Friday night, I get you to myself, no pie safari with the punks. You’re mine alone until you leave.”
“That’ll be like…” Joe thought for a second. “thirty-six hours.”
Tina smiled, “Thirty sex hours, got it?” She took a sip of coffee. “Lana is gonna love you. I know it. It’ll take a day or two. Lana is tough on men… suspicious at first. She’ll test you, to see if you’re for real. She’ll see you are, and she’ll love you.”
“I won’t be here.”
“When she meets you she’ll love you.”
“I hope so because I plan on spending a lot of time here.”
“Good.”
—-- THE FINALE —-
When Joe realized the band would be extending their stay after T moved in, he contacted Eddie Bags in Brooklyn to get a second gig at Gravesend. He was booked on weekends but Eddie offered Joe a weeknight. He took it. He booked another date in The Bronx and the final show at Tommy Guns. He also got a lead on a club in Queens, but that would have to wait. They were in the finale of their summer in the city.
On that Monday off, when he didn’t need to focus so much on Johnny’s whereabouts, Joe dragged Tina to Manny’s Music on W. 48th Street, a hub of music in the city. He was on a mission.
“Last month I saw this candy apple red 1964 Jaguar at Manny’s. I wanted it so bad, but I balked, and now I regret it.”
“What’s a jaguar?”
A guitar,” he answered as if she should know. “a Fender guitar.”
“Don’t you already have two Fenders?”
Joe held the door open. “Yes, and I want one more.” Tina walked into the store.
Nearly two hours later, they left Manny’s with an old guitar in a brand new case. Tina pulled Joe aside. She had a bone to pick with him.
“How can someone walk into a store knowing exactly what they want, and then take so much time dicking around to buy it?” She looked him in these eyes. “That was crazy. I’m starving!”
“Okay, we can eat now.”
“Why did that take so long?”
“I like music stores,” Joe said quietly. “I like talking to the experts. I like trying different guitars.”
“But you went there specifically for this guitar.” She pointed at his case. “This guitar.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had other plans.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him east. “Let’s get lunch. I’m so hungry I’m getting cranky.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” Joe laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Joe debuted his Jaguar during a two-hour set at Gravesend the following night. Another band opened with an hour-long set. Joe was grateful they didn’t have a long set because Johnny was impersonating a tree on a windy day, swaying in the breeze of heroin. When he was stoned, and down, he played a less technical guitar, fewer notes on the leads, taking breaks on rhythm. He was just hanging on, trying to survive the set. He got sloppy near the end. Like the first show in Brooklyn, Joe compensated by doing more himself, on guitar and antics. He was relieved when the last note faded. Before leaving, Eddie Bags called Joe to the bar and poured him a pint on the house.
“What’s the deal with your guitarist?” He slid the pint in front of Joe. “What’s his name?”
“Johnny.”
“Is he shitfaced?”
Joe had only a moment to decide if he trusted Eddie with the truth. “I wish it was booze.”
“Fuck,” Eddie said under his breath. “Is it H?”
Joe nodded, “Yeah. We’re gonna get him home this weekend. He was in rehab years ago. I’m going to make it clear to everyone, we won’t play another gig until he’s clean. I won’t watch a friend slowly kill himself.”
“Good. That’s the right way to handle this.”
“Eddie, you have not yet seen The Young Punks. He’s playing at sixty percent. We haven’t had a good set in the past month.”
“Maybe you should have gone home already.”
“I know.”
While the band was moving gear from the van to the apartment, something they did every night after a show with a few exceptions, Johnny slipped off to 1B. Joe cornered Sal at the top of the front stoop.
“When we get him home we have to call Johnny Bats. We need to get him back in rehab.”
“Whoa,” Sal put his hands up. “You want to rat Johnny out to his old man? What the fuck is your problem?”
“He’s an addict, Sal. They don’t get better on their own. He needs help.”
“Will you chill the fuck out? He’s fucked up, I agree, but he’s done the job and when we get home he won’t have a heroin dealer downstairs.”
“You think he’s not gonna look for it? He’s a junkie, Sal. They always find a fix.”
Sal jammed a hard finger into Joe’s chest. “Johnny’s not a junkie! And you’re not telling John Senior a fucking word about this. Know your place, Joe. You’re not the boss.”
“I’m the one trying to keep him away from that apartment. Tina and I spent the entire day with him today, and…”
“And he still found a way to slip away and get stoned.”
“He’s never slipped you, Sal, because you don’t pull your weight. I’m the fucking babysitter, and I’m sick of it. I’m done.” His hands went up. “Johnny is all yours for the rest of the week. Whatever happens is on you!”
“And what the fuck are you gonna do, Joe… if something happens?”
“I started this band… “ Joe leaned his weight against Sal’s finger. “And I can end it. You can go back to reading Penthouse at the liquor store.”
Sal didn’t reply, Joe stepped back. “I won’t be in a band with a fucking junkie! I’m my own boss, Sal. You don’t make decisions for me. I won’t watch Johnny kill himself.” He walked inside leaving Sal on the stoop.
—-- JUNKIE CESSPOOL —--
Sal didn’t drop the ball, because he never tried to carry it. Johnny was MIA for two days. On Thursday, late in the afternoon, Joe didn’t know if Johnny would make the show in The Bronx. He and Sal hadn’t spoken a syllable since the stoop. Joe hated being the guy doing the work, but he had to know if Johnny could play. He knocked on the door of apartment 1B. There was no answer. He then banged rudely and repeatedly.
“Hey! Where’s Johnny? I need to talk to him.” He banged again.
The door behind him flew open, apartment 1C. A large, angry man filled the doorway.
“What''s your problem, asshole? I work the third shift. I’m trying to sleep.”
“I’m sorry, man. My friend is in there with those druggies. I need to get him out.”
“You don’t have to pound and scream.”
“Sorry. Hey, do you know if they’re dealing drugs?”
“It’s not my business, but yeah, they have a lot of visitors. They could be.”
“Let me bang one more time since you’re awake, then I’m done.”
He slammed his door and Joe started banging again. “Open up, I have to talk to Johnny!”
He put his ear close to the door, hearing shuffling and hushed voices. He knocked again, but not loudly. The door slowly opened.
“Johnny’s sleeping," the druggie dude said.
“Well, I need to wake him up.” Joe pushed hard. “Let me in.” He moved aggressively, forcing the door open, walking through the junkie and his awful body odor.
“What the fuck, man! You can’t just barge in here.”
Joe stopped six five paces inside, frozen, his eyes scanning the disgusting junkie apartment. There was trash everywhere, bottles, cans, dirty dishes, food scraps, and there was a pungent burnt stench. Johnny was passed out on a sofa. A sickly gray cat walked near Joe. Its fur was matted.
‘That explains the urine smell.’ he thought as he took a few more steps, leaned forward, and shook Johnny.
“Johnny, let’s go. We have a gig tonight.”
The woman druggie appeared in a bedroom door, barely clothed. Joe shook Johnny again and slapped his face. He stirred.
“C’mon Johnny, get up, we have a show tonight.”
He mumbled and pushed Joe’s hand away. In his periphery, Joe saw the druggie dude move toward the kitchen. When he looked up the dude was standing beside the table. There was a handgun on the table. He smiled as if challenging Joe. Beside the handgun, there were several syringes, a pipe, and many small bags of dope. ‘Definitely dealers,’ Joe thought. He looked down at Johnny who couldn’t even open his eyes. ‘Even if I wake him. He’s useless.’ Joe moved slowly towards the door, his eyes locked on the drug dealer, and then he slipped out without closing the door behind him. When the dude came out to shut it, Joe was standing on the stairwell looking down at him.
“If you keep getting him high, I’m calling the cops. Everyone knows what you’re dealing. If you keep Johnny out of there, we leave this weekend, quietly… you fucking scumbag. And take better care of your cat.”
Joe walked upstairs, dialed The Belmont, and canceled that evening’s show. Simon was ready-ish but unavailable, and Joe was not interested in playing as a trio. He also wanted to send a message to Sal. Johnny just cost them a gig. When he and Nate arrived to load gear into the van, Joe was lying in wait.
“C’mon, let’s load up,” Sal said as he walked into the bedroom. He stopped and looked back at Joe.
Joe didn’t say a word. He sat on Tina’s sofa, reading Creem magazine. Sal turned away and started moving gear. Nate carried his bass drum and a tom to the hallway. Joe waited for Sal to leave with his amp and reach the stairwell.
“I canceled the job! Johnny’s out cold in 1B. I tried to wake him. The druggie has a gun, and a lot of dope.”
Sal returned and stared at Joe. Nate came up behind him. They didn’t say a word and neither did Joe. The guys put the gear back in the bedroom and then returned.
“You went inside 1B?” Sal asked.
“Yeah, because you didn’t give enough fucks to keep Johnny out of there. I had to do your job. He’s a useless, strung out…” Joe looked up to meet Sal’s eyes and punched the word… “junkie!”
Nate’s expression was ‘Oh, fuck.’ suspecting this could blow up, right here, in Tina’s living room. Joe returned to his magazine. Sal said nothing. He stepped into the bathroom for a piss. When he came out, he looked at Nate.
“You hungry?”
—- THE FINAL GIG —-
At some time in the middle of the night, Johnny found his way back to Tina’s apartment. Joe didn’t hear him. He heard Sal and Nate talking earlier, then dozed off. On Friday at noon, Sal and Nate were gone, off to see the Chelsea chicks. Johnny was sick, pale, sweaty, and run down. Joe and Tina watched him stumble into the bathroom and heard him gag, and then puke. When he came out, he left.
Joe walked out to the hallway and looked down the stairwell. Johnny was knocking on the door of apartment 1B… and knocking, and knocking. Tina walked up behind Joe.
“Ssshh,” he held his finger to his lips, “I’m waiting for someone to open a door.”
Johnny started banging, “Hey Doug! C’mon man. Open up.” He banged again.
There was no answer. Johnny banged again.
“The question is,” Joe said, “Which door, 1B, or….”
“What the fuck is your problem, asshole! I work the third shift, asshole! I need to sleep. Get the fuck out of here you goddamn junkie!”
“... or 1C,” Joe smiled.
“I’m trying to,” Johnny knocked again, “Hey Doug, open…”
“If you don’t get the fuck out of here I’m gonna…”
“Alright, alright,” Johnny put his hands up. “I’m leaving.”
Joe and Tina slipped back into the apartment. Johnny took off, but returned an hour later, looking better but not good. Joe was reading The Times at the table. Tina stood across from him, folding laundry.
“We have a show tonight,” Joe said, without looking up. “Our last gig. We go home Sunday.”
“What day is today?” Johnny asked.
“Friday.”
“Where are we playing?”
“Tommy’s.” Joe looked at him. “Do you recall me trying to wake you yesterday?”
“No. Where?”
“In that junkie cesspool 1B.”
“You went in there?”
Joe nodded. “I canceled our show in the Bronx because of you.”
Johnny said nothing. His eyes were half dead.
Joe took a moment. He stared at Johnny knowing he had to be honest, to let Johnny know exactly how he felt. Tina looked on, knowing Joe was struggling with this.
Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “If you don’t play tonight and I have to cancel on Tommy, a friend who’s been nothing but generous to us, I will never get on stage with you again. It’s over, Johnny, you’ll have to get a real job… because you let yourself down.”
“I’ll play. I just need some rest.” Johnny walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
Tina put her arms around Joe’s head and kissed his hair. “I guess Dougie the druggie listened to you.”
“If he let Johnny in, I was gonna walk over to the Sixth Precinct and drop a dime on them.”
“Doesn’t that mean make a phone call?” Tina sat at the table.
“Yeah, I suppose. I’ll walk and save a dime.”
“Are you serious about the band? You’d end it all, just like that?”
“Yeah, I would.” He took her hand. “I can’t do this, T. I can’t watch Johnny like this. It’s killing me. You never met the real Johnny.” Joe pointed at the bedroom. “That’s not him. He’s the coolest guy and a good dude. He was…” Joe paused, feeling emotions. “Sometimes it felt like he was my big brother.”
“What would you do if this ended?”
“I’d move to New York and start over. If you’ll have me.”
Tina squeezed his hand, “I would like that. You and Simon could…”
“Exactly. I have a backup plan.”