《All The Young Punks - Sons Of Providence》


 Ch.01 - The Edge Of Seventeen

    ¡ª-- MARCH 1978 ¡ª--


    Dr. Barbara Nichols leaned forward, adjusting her skirt, then leaned back in her chair. She crossed her legs. Joe sat passively on the couch across from her, watching and waiting. She glanced at her notes on her lap, and then at Joe. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about this fight you had a few months ago. Have you had any trouble with those boys since?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The doctor stared at Joe, waiting for more information. None was offered. ¡°Is that all you have to say?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think my saying there¡¯s no problem is enough? If there was still trouble I¡¯d have more to say.¡±


    ¡°Have you had any fights since?¡±


    ¡°No. I have two strikes against me. If I get into another¡­ scuffle, I¡¯ll be expelled.¡±


    ¡°That was more than a scuffle.¡±


    Joe shrugged.


    The doctor waited again. Over years of treating Joe she had become accustomed to his short answers and long silences, and she knew pushing him to talk more often had the opposite effect.


    ¡°Is there anything troubling you these days?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sick of people making a fuss about the fights. I¡¯ve had a few scrapes. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m constantly brawling.¡±


    ¡°I recall you once telling me you¡¯d been in ten fights, and you¡¯ve had another since.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s over eight years, and I have never started a fight.¡±


    ¡°You were bullied.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you know that because we¡¯ve talked about it too many times. There¡¯s no reason to discuss it further. No one bullies me anymore.¡±


    ¡°And you believe that¡¯s because you have a reputation as a tough kid.¡±


    ¡°No, I have a reputation for not taking shit from bullies. It took me years to learn that fighting back is the only way to end it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true. You could always go to the principal.¡±


    Joe laughed, ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how it was in the fifties when you were a kid in bobby socks.¡± He paused for a reaction. The doctor gave him nothing. ¡°But that¡¯s not how it works at my school. Mr. Reed calls the jerk into his office for a lecture and then that kid will come after you for ratting him out.¡±


    ¡°Did that happen to you?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Joe said, exasperated. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this before. I¡¯ve answered all these questions. If you can¡¯t remember the discussions we¡¯ve had and I have to keep telling you the same stories¡­ I have to wonder if these sessions are worth my time.¡±


    The Doctor scribbled in her notepad. Joe continued.


    ¡°Yes, I got my ass beaten a couple of times for reporting a bully. Ya know¡­ when I say I¡¯ve been in ten fights, that includes me getting beaten up.¡± Joe steeled his eyes. ¡°The problem with teachers is they never have a clue what happened¡­ and they don¡¯t bother to ask. They see two students fighting and assume both are troublemakers.¡±


    ¡°I sense your anger, Joe. That anger is one reason you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not angry. I¡¯m annoyed that we have the same talks over and over and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s helping me.¡±


    ¡°Your mother told me you don¡¯t want to come here anymore.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you that myself, and why. Having to repeat myself is frustrating and makes me question if you¡¯re listening.¡±


    ¡°I am listening, Joe. Sometimes it helps when you retell stories. I can then determine if your perception has changed. For example, when you first came here it was for the trauma you experienced over your sister¡¯s death. You could barely speak of it six years ago, you¡¯d break down in tears. Now you can discuss it like a young man. From your retelling of that terrible day, I witnessed healing and growth on your part.¡±


    Joe didn¡¯t respond. He stared at Dr. Nichols. She shifted her position again. He admired her long shapely legs. Joe had been thinking for some time that he should end his therapy. One reason he kept coming was Dr. Nichols herself. He guessed she was a little older than his Mom, but she seemed younger, maybe because she didn¡¯t give birth to five children. She was attractive, well-dressed, and had full and fabulous brunette hair. Those long legs stretching out from her skirts and dresses were worth the stinky ride on the Ten Bus across town. Joe especially enjoyed it when he made her smile because she was hard to crack.


    The problem was, as the years passed talking to Dr. Nichols was becoming more like talking to his mother. When he was younger and needed therapy, she was thoughtful, and caring while handling a sixth grader. She listened and these visits were good for his soul. Now she was like Mom, pecking at the same questions, expressing the same concerns, and it didn¡¯t feel like he was being heard.


    ¡°If I¡¯ve grown and matured and you believe those wounds have healed, maybe I¡¯m done here.¡±


    ¡°They never fully heal, Joe, and you have other issues.¡±


    ¡°I just told you I¡¯m no longer bullied and I¡¯m not fighting. What else do you have?¡±


    ¡°Joe, your last fight was months ago, not years. You have a propensity to seek out bullies and take matters into your own hands. That¡¯s a cycle of violence you must end. You claim you never start fights, but if you go after a boy for picking on a classmate, that¡¯s not your business. You are picking a fight with that boy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see it that way, and neither do the kids who are being preyed on.¡±


    ¡°You do realize this is all tied to your sister¡¯s death, correct?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what my Mom tells you¡­ because I was such a good boy before Janie died.¡±


    ¡°Yes, trauma has deep effects on people, especially children. I agree with her that your sister¡¯s death changed you. The fighting started not long after she passed.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because I realized nothing really matters.¡±


    ¡°How does fighting solve that?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t, but getting my ass kicked wasn¡¯t working, so I started fighting back.¡±


    ¡°Because you were angry.¡±


    Joe stared blankly.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t work either, Joe.¡±


    ¡°It totally worked. No one fucks with me anymore. That¡¯s all I want, to be left alone.¡±


    Dr. Nichols gave Joe a disapproving glare for his language. ¡°And that¡¯s the other thing that worries your mother, that you¡¯ve withdrawn.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true. I just don¡¯t want to talk about the same crap every day and listen to her tell me how worried she is about me, or how much I''ve disappointed her. She never stops. Ya know, if anyone in my family needs therapy, it¡¯s her. She¡¯s like Chicken Little, the sky is always falling.¡±


    ¡°Yes, your mother suffers from anxiety.¡±


    ¡°Yes, among other things, and she¡¯s always dumping her problems onto me and my sisters. If you want to help me, treat my Mom.¡±


    ¡°What about your father?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°Does he annoy you as your mother does?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Dad is the sane parent until Mom makes him so crazy and he has to deal with whatever she¡¯s prattling on about.¡±


    ¡°Do your siblings feel the same frustration as you?¡±


    ¡°Jackie does. We talked about it. She¡¯s a goodie-two-shoes¡­ and she does a better job of hiding her feelings. I can only take so much.¡±


    ¡°Do you argue with your mother often?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not usually an argument. I never yell at her. She rags and nags until I¡¯ve had enough and I shut her down¡­ with a joke or some comment that makes fun of what she¡¯s carrying on about. She¡¯ll get huffy and walk away, disappointed in me¡­ again.¡±


    ¡°Does that make you feel good?¡±


    ¡°No, it just makes the nagging stop.¡±


    Dr. Nichols scanned her notes, then flipped back a few pages. She looked up at Joe. ¡°Are you still journaling, writing down your thoughts to process them?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but not as much. I write other stuff.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Ideas I have for my band, and song lyrics. I do a lot of doodling.¡±


    ¡°Writing can be therapeutic as long as what you write is positive.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I like it.¡± Joe met her eyes. ¡°In six years, it¡¯s the best advice you¡¯ve given me, thank you.¡±


    Dr., Nichols tried to hide her smile, but Joe saw her slightly blush. She closed her notebook. ¡°Okay, we¡¯re almost done for today. As always, I¡¯d like to end on an up note. Tell me what¡¯s good in your life, something that makes you happy.¡±


    Joe stared at her. She adjusted her legs again. He watched her, pretending he was pondering her question. She moved her hair out of her face. Joe wanted to tell her he loved her curly bob hairstyle, especially the big curls she had to keep pushing aside.


    ¡°And don¡¯t say your sisters,¡± she smiled. ¡°I know all about them.¡±


    ¡°My band. That¡¯s what I look forward to.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know about your band and how much you love music. Is there anything else?¡±


    ¡°No. Why would there be? That¡¯s what makes me happy. You¡¯re always saying I must focus on the positive, that¡¯s what music is. It¡¯s all positive¡­ even when it¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°A song about injustice may not sound positive and hopeful, but challenging injustice in art is itself positive.¡±


    Dr. Nichols exhaled. ¡°You have a way of thinking that intrigues me, Joseph.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t call me that. Only my mother calls me Joseph.¡± Joe found her eyes again. ¡°You don¡¯t want to sound like my Mom. That would be bad for business.¡±


    He made her smile again, and that¡¯s what these sessions were all about. Joe had a six-year relationship with an empathetic, educated, emotionally intelligent, attractive woman¡­ roughly his mother''s age. Dr. Nichols wanted to close with what¡¯s positive in Joe¡¯s life, and there were two things, his sisters and his band.


    ¡°When I learn a new song or even a simple guitar riff I feel like I¡¯ve accomplished something. I don¡¯t get that with anything else. I have a focus and determination with music that I don¡¯t have anywhere else.


    ¡°Not even in school.¡±


    ¡°Especially not in school. Music is the best therapy, no offense intended.¡±


    She smiled, ¡°None taken.¡±


    Joe exhaled. ¡°Sometimes I think you talk to my Mom too much and you see things her way.¡± Joe adjusted his butt on the chair and looked at Dr. Nichols. ¡°I get that she has rights, but what about my right to privacy? I don¡¯t think I want her knowing what we talk about.¡±


    ¡°Yes, this is another point we come back to over and over.¡± Dr Nichols smirked while scribbling in her notebook. ¡°I thought you were sick of talking about the same things.¡±


    ¡®Touche¡¯, Joe thought with a smile Dr. Nichols noticed. He liked that she did that. The doctor could play the game.


    ¡°Okay, so let¡¯s talk about your band. It¡¯s not all positive. Your good friends quit the band. I guess that worked itself out?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s better than working out. It¡¯s great. We have new guys who are better.¡± Joe paused, ¡°Pete was never my best friend.¡±


    ¡®Joe,¡± Dr Nichols looked over her glasses. ¡°He was your first bandmate. I remember how excited you were when he came to your garage to play.¡±


    ¡°That seems so long ago but it¡¯s not. My life has changed so much. I¡¯ve told you this before. It¡¯s how we end every session.¡±


    ¡°And this is why. You leave thinking about what¡¯s good in your life and I worry less about you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your job to worry about me. That¡¯s my Mom¡¯s job and she¡¯s working overtime.¡±


    Dr. Nichols smiled again. Joe was on a roll. ¡°Well, Joe. After all these years you¡¯ll have to forgive me for being invested.¡±


    Near the end of the session, Dr. Nichols handed Joe a card with his next appointment written on it. He looked at the date, four weeks away. He was done with therapy. There was a time when talking to her was extremely helpful, but that was years ago. This work was no longer yielding the same benefits. Joe felt he owed Dr. Nichols courtesy of telling her face to face, rather than pulling a no-show next month.


    He exhaled audibly. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m coming back.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve said this before, a few times, and then you always come back.¡±


    ¡°Yes, because you convinced me to come once a month rather than weekly,¡± he shrugged. ¡°That was a fair compromise.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s never good to end these treatments abruptly. A gradual weaning is better. You say you''re done but then you have a day when you realize these sessions are useful in some way. Who else in your life can you talk to like this?¡±


    Joe shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t talk a lot.¡±


    ¡°But you do with me. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t believe you¡¯re quitting.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, this time it¡¯s for real. You have been very helpful, Dr. Nichols. I appreciate what you¡¯ve done for me. I just don¡¯t feel I need this anymore. As I¡¯ve gotten older I think I can manage my issues.¡±


    Dr. Nichols chuckled with a smile.


    ¡°Why is that funny?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re seventeen, Joe. I find it amusing when a teenager tells me they¡¯re all grown up. I hear it often.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Dr. Nichols.¡±


    ¡°You have my card. I¡¯ll hold that appointment. You can call any time.¡±


    Another reason Joe continued visiting Dr. Nichols was the fact her office was on the East Side of Providence, near Brown University and only two blocks from his favorite record store. He enjoyed hanging out on College Hill and talking with the staff and patrons in the shops, mostly Brown and RISD students. He often slipped into the Brown Bookstore to read stuff he couldn¡¯t afford to buy. If it weren¡¯t for the bookstores, Victory Records, and Dr. Nichols¡¯ legs, he would have quit therapy long ago.


    ¨C¨C¡ª OUR HOUSE ¡ª----


    Joe¡¯s feet had barely crossed the threshold of the house when his sister Jeannie called out. ¡°Mom, Joey¡¯s home!¡±


    Eight-year-old Jeanette was seated at the kitchen table doing homework. Her sandy-colored hair was in pigtails Joe helped her with before school that day. He kissed the top of her head. Sister Jackie was at the counter chopping the pointy ends off green beans. She looked up at her big brother, ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    Seconds later, Mom stormed into the kitchen in her nurse uniform. ¡°You¡¯re late!¡±


    Joe didn¡¯t react. He reached into the refrigerator for a drink, pulled the foil top off a glass milk jug, and took a long sip.


    ¡°Don¡¯t drink from the bottle!¡± Mom barked, reaching for the milk. Joe turned away, blocking her move with his shoulder, and took a second drink. Mom glared at him as he placed the bottle back in the fridge.


    ¡°I¡¯m not late if you¡¯re still home.¡± He smiled with a milk mustache, then wiped it with his hand.


    ¡°Where were you? You promised to help Julie with her science project. I¡¯m guessing you were doing nothing useful at that damn garage.¡±


    ¡°Ma,¡± Joe smirked at her. ¡°Watch your language¡­ or you¡¯ll get the soap.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a smart ass.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s two strikes, potty mouth.¡± Joe winked at thirteen-year-old Jacqueline. She smiled at him, amused at his mocking mother.


    ¡°Where have you been, goofing off with Sal?¡±


    ¡°No! I had an appointment with Dr. Nichols. I got out of school early and did my talky thing.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°I did, Mom. You don¡¯t listen because you¡¯re always talking.¡± Joe looked at Jackie.


    ¡°He told us last week,¡± Jackie nodded. ¡°And he mentioned it yesterday.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± She pointed at an obvious vinyl purchase.


    ¡°It¡¯s the new Talking Heads record.¡±


    ¡°So you had time to waste at the record shop?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I did,¡± Joe smirked. ¡°I¡¯m staying in tonight. I¡¯ll work with Jules after dinner.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Mom pointed north. ¡°Go see her. She¡¯s in her room making a mess of things¡­ and whining.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s always whining,¡± Joe laughed. ¡°Let me know when she¡¯s not. That¡¯ll be news.¡±


    Again, Jackie smiled at her brother.


    Jeanie got up and hugged her brother. ¡°Can you help me with my math?¡±


    ¡°Sure, let me check on Jules first.¡± He walked over to Jackie. ¡°Are you good? You got this?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but can you pull the gizzards out of the bird and rinse it? I hate the slimy guts. The oven is almost up to temp.¡±


    Joe washed his hands at the kitchen sink, pulled the innards from the bird cavity, rinsed it, and placed it in a large, oven-worn, Corningware baking dish that was older than he was. He painted the bird with olive oil.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t cut so much of the tips off those beans,¡± he lightly elbowed Jackie. ¡°They¡¯re expensive.¡± He leaned closer. ¡°You don¡¯t want canned vegetables again¡­ do you?¡±


    Jackie stuck a gag-inducing finger in her mouth and looked at Joe, ¡°I cried every time she made green beans, or spinach¡­ or anything green.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t want to go back to the canned ages so make good use of the fresh stuff.¡±


    Jackie smiled a third time, looking up at him. ¡°The canned ages?¡±


    He shrugged. After sprinkling salt, pepper, and rosemary inside and out, he opened the oven and slid the bird in.


    He washed his hands again. ¡°Let me go check on Jules.¡±


    Joe walked in on ten-year-old Juliette coloring a styrofoam ball with markers. ¡°How¡¯s it going?" he asked, then kissed the top of her head.


    ¡°I suck at this,¡± she said. ¡°Look at Jupiter. It¡¯s so stupid.¡±


    ¡°Good thing no one¡¯s ever been to Jupiter. They won¡¯t know the difference.¡±


    ¡°Can you do Earth? Everyone knows what that looks like.¡±


    ¡°Sure. After dinner. I¡¯m gonna help Jeanie with her math first.¡±


    Mom walked in, ¡°My ride''s here.¡± She kissed Joe, kissed Julie, ¡°Be good.¡± She turned to Joe, ¡°Help her.¡±


    Joe raised his hands, exasperated. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m in here?¡±


    This was Joe¡¯s life through his teens. He was seventeen, the oldest, and was expected to help around the house. Every day he¡¯d come straight home from school to do his chores and help with his sisters. Through his formative years, this daily routine made it difficult for Joe to have a social life outside of school. Things were much easier now that Jackie was old enough to help with the cooking. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    When the sisters were younger, Joe would meet Jeanie and Jules at their elementary school and walk them home. Mom would then go over the dinner plan. He¡¯d help her prepare and then Joe would cook the meal after she ran off to her second-shift nursing job at Rhode Island Hospital. Dad rolled in from his machine shop gig around 5:45, as dinner was being served. Joe, Dad, and the girls dined every night. If Dad worked late a plate would be waiting in the oven. In those days Jackie did the dishes while Joe helped with baths and then got the little ones ready for bed. The days of telling bedtime stories were mostly over but he still read to Jeanie when she asked.


    Once Jackie became old enough to help in the kitchen prepping dinner Joe¡¯s responsibilities relaxed a bit. He still came home to help but she usually had dinner prep under control. That change happened around the time Joe started his band with three other high school kids, about a year ago.


    From age twelve Joe was given a weekly allowance. With few friends and no social life to speak of he didn¡¯t have many activities to spend money on. On Saturday he¡¯d take the bus to the East Side and hang out at Victory Records. He¡¯d flip through racks of vinyl and talk to the staff about music. Some days he¡¯d walk to Wickenden Street Books to browse and talk to the old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kraus, holocaust survivors happy to be in America.


    Music, reading, writing, drawing, baseball, and basketball were his interests. He collected baseball cards and comic books as a kid but records pushed them out as his number one obsession. He accumulated albums but he saved most of his allowance for what he wanted more than anything.


    On his fourteenth birthday, two weeks after Christmas, he opened cards with cash from his grandparents. Joe finally had enough to purchase a bone-white 1966 Fender Telecaster from a pawn shop in South Providence. Dad then drove him to Ray Mullins Music in Pawtucket to buy a used 40-watt Fender Champion amplifier. Dad kicked in a few bucks for a book and chord charts. From that day on Joe¡¯s free time was spent in his basement bedroom studying and learning guitar, listening to his records, and trying to play the songs he loved.


    Joe¡¯s record collection and guitar were his life for his first two years of high school. Every evening he retreated to his basement bedroom. At school, he was a punk loner who didn¡¯t talk much and was usually reading a paperback. Joe was a voracious reader but his novels served another purpose. They were a shield making him less approachable. Most classmates knew him only for the times he defended himself, or others. He had friends at school, some stoners and rockers, but not close friends.


    By sixteen, Joe had an impressive growth spurt and could play decent rhythm guitar. Once he had a little freedom, because Jackie was taking on more chores, he decided to start a garage band. Mom still wanted him close to home so Joe and three other low-talent high school boys practiced in Dad¡¯s two-car detached garage behind their tenement house on Federal Hill. They were never very good but it was fun and playing with other kids pushed Joe to the next level. Collaboration is a big step.


    After dinner, Joe helped Julie with her science project while Dad watched the CBS Evening News. Dad was a Cronkite guy. Joe sensed his sister was slacking and letting him do the heavy lifting. He sat on the floor in the bedroom. Jeanie lay on the bed watching the drama with a smirk.


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing the project for you.¡± Joe interrupted Julie¡¯s whining. ¡°I¡¯m showing you how to do it. I can¡¯t do all the work.¡± He paused. ¡°Okay¡­ maybe some of the stuff you can¡¯t do.¡±


    ¡°You do art,¡± Julie whined, ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I¡¯m not good at this stuff.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not art, it¡¯s science. But you chose a science topic that requires art when you don¡¯t do art. That was a dumb idea. You should have written an essay. You¡¯re good at that. You chose art and now you want me to earn you an A.¡±


    He stared at his sister waiting for a reply. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he said. ¡°helping you, but you have to do the work. Paint Mars. It¡¯s one color.¡± Joe elbowed her. ¡°Can you handle it?¡±


    Julie nodded, sadly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me those eyes. You¡¯ve been doing that your whole life.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because it works,¡± Jeanie spoke up. ¡°She always gets her way with you.¡±


    Joe lightly pushed the baby of the family. ¡°Pfft, you all do.¡± He looked back at his middle sister, ¡°Jules, you do know what color Mars is, right?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be mean.¡± She pouted. ¡°It¡¯s red.¡±


    ¡°Then get painting red.¡± He pointed, ¡°That size ball.¡±


    Joe loved his sisters dearly but there were moments of resentment when his home duties prevented him from pursuing other interests. He wanted to try out for his high school basketball team but that would never work, practice was after school. One of his few friends, Sandy, recruited him for the drama club. Joe had a crush on Sandy since grade school. Freshman year, when she insisted he try out for a school play he wanted to do it, just to spend more time with Sandy. Afternoon rehearsals made that impossible. He sadly declined.


    Now that Joe had more freedom and fewer demands on his time he was on a mission. His band was his social life. Dad¡¯s garage became the hangout a few days a week after school and every Saturday morning, for ten months. Now, a year into his project, Joe¡¯s high school garage band seemed so long ago, but it wasn¡¯t. His band lineup had changed dramatically in a short time.


    After helping his sisters with schoolwork, he sat with Dad in the living room. The evening news had just ended. Dad looked over his newspaper at his only son.


    He sighed, ¡°Your mother is upset about you hanging around with these older guys.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me. I hear about it all the time.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re just playing your music over there but she¡¯s worried that Sal is a bad influence.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s older. He works at his dad¡¯s liquor store. We¡¯re not blind. I know you drink beer.¡±


    ¡°Not a lot.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t drink at all. You¡¯re not eighteen.¡±


    ¡°I will be, just not soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Look. I told your mother I¡¯d speak to you, so I did. Just do me a favor and don¡¯t torment her. Don¡¯t come home smelling like beer. Stay out of trouble. I know you¡¯ve paid a price for being the oldest. I¡¯m trying to cut you some slack.¡±


    ¡°I know, Dad. I appreciate it.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t share your mother¡¯s concern about Sal.¡±


    ¡°Sal¡¯s a good guy. Don¡¯t let anyone tell you differently. So he works at a liquor store. Who cares?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the beer that concerns me.¡±


    Joe knew that Dad¡¯s talk was more about keeping his promise to Mom than setting him straight. Mom was a drama queen, always on him about not attending church, slipping grades, his obsession with his band, and now¡­ his older friends. Dad was always the more low-key, reasonable parent, except for Joe¡¯s seventeenth birthday, a few months back when the old man evicted the band out of his garage because he suspected they were smoking pot.


    Dad spoke from behind the newsprint. ¡°I never told your mother about the pot smoking.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t smoking that day. I told you one of our guests lit a joint. I never touched it.¡±


    The newspaper dropped. Dad peered over the top. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve tried it by now.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but It¡¯s not my thing, Dad. Weed makes me jittery.¡±


    Dad¡¯s eyes remained on Joe, not believing his son but not making an issue of it.


    Joe stood up. ¡°I¡¯m going downstairs. I¡¯ll tell Mom we talked.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Dad went back to hiding behind his Providence Journal. ¡°And don¡¯t play your music too loud.


    ¡°I never do.¡±


    ¡°Pfft.¡±


    ¡°Hey Joey,¡± Jeanie peeked from around a corner. She was clearly eavesdropping. This house was full of spies and informants. ¡°Will you read to me?¡±


    ¡°You can read to yourself. You learn more that way.¡±


    ¡°But I can¡¯t do the voices like you do.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but I pick the story.¡±


    Jeanie smiled, ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll get ready.¡±


    ¨C¨C¡ª FIRST CRUSH ¡ª----


    On a school morning, Joe sat on the stoop of Central High School¡¯s side entrance where the faculty and administrators entered the building. Most students wouldn¡¯t be caught dead there, except the nerds. The smart kids were known to butt-smooch their favorite teachers as they arrived but also, it was safer. The jocks wouldn¡¯t harass them at the faculty entrance.


    Joe wasn¡¯t in the nerd squad. He was mostly a loner. He usually read before school and the smart kids were quiet. He sat there because no one bothered him. The nerds were intimidated by him and the kids who thought they were cool avoided the teachers¡¯ parking lot and entrance.


    ¡°Hey, Joe.¡± a voice called out. He looked up from his book to see his first crush, Sandy, walking his way. Her blonde hair blew back like a bad teen movie. Joe¡¯s heart sighed. Books were clutched against her chest. ¡°What¡¯s happening with your band? I heard Pete and Robby quit.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Joe played it cool on the outside as he melted inside.


    Sandy stood four feet in front of him looking down waiting for an explanation. None came. ¡°Are you gonna tell me what happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you already know. Pete¡¯s a whiny bitch who runs his mouth.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like Sal.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like anything we''re doing so he quit. That¡¯s not my fault.¡±


    ¡°And Robby went with him.¡± She leaned closer to see what Joe was reading. ¡°I heard they¡¯re starting a new band already.¡±


    ¡°Good for them.¡±


    Joe had a crush on Sandra Ruggerio since third grade. They lived one block apart and hung out through eighth grade, then she became a popular girl and made popular friends. Everyone loved Sandy. She was smart, kind, sweet, and beautiful. They were still good friends but didn¡¯t hang out so much anymore. She was busy with drama, the school chorus, and across town taking a class at Rhode Island School of Design. Joe moved on from that crush but not really. Sandy was an artsy hippie chick and dressed the part. She loved Carly Simon, Carol King, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Joe joked that she had the C¡¯s covered and should listen to another letter.


    She stared at Joe. ¡°Is that all you have to say?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to say.¡±


    ¡°I heard you lost your bass player first because you punched him in the face.¡±


    ¡°Because the moron stood on my amp jumped off and knocked it over. Then he got pissed off at me because I lost my cool over it¡­ so I shut his mouth for him.¡±


    ¡°Why do you fight?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t pick fights.¡±


    ¡°But you fight all the time.¡±


    ¡°I do not.¡±


    Sandy nodded with her nose scrunched, ¡°Yeah, you do.¡±


    Joe stood up, face to face with his former best friend. She was a few inches shorter. Her blonde hair blew in the wind across her face. ¡°I smacked down a few bullies, that¡¯s all. They had it coming.¡± He narrowed his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t start fights.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she shrugged. ¡°What are you reading?¡±


    ¡°1984.¡±


    Sandy laughed, ¡°Again? How many times have you read that?¡±


    ¡°A few. It¡¯s my favorite book. I like Animal Farm too.¡±


    ¡°And Brave New World.¡± She smiled. ¡°Orwell and Huxley. You like creepy old authors with demented ideas.¡±


    The morning bell sounded. The nerds scurried off around the corner of the building to the main student entrance. Sandy and Joe strolled slowly. There was a time when Joe was a little hurt that Sandy found more popular friends. She dated older boys. One of her boyfriends was a jerk. When Joe¡¯s parents gifted him his black leather jacket for Christmas of his freshman year Mom bought it big so he could grow into it. Sandy¡¯s boyfriend, Todd, made fun of him.


    ¡°Hey, Theroux, is that your dad¡¯s jacket?¡±


    Joe ignored him and kept walking. Two days later, Todd made another smart-ass comment. Joe stopped, glared at him, glanced at Sandy, and walked away. A third comment, the very next day, drew laughs from the popular kids.


    ¡°Hey, Theroux. You need to wear a sweater under that thing to fill it out.¡±


    Joe walked up to Todd, who was a year older and a little taller, and without warning, jabbed him in the nose. It was one short punch that brought tears to Todd¡¯s eyes. He stumbled back holding his face.


    ¡°What the fuck, man?¡±


    ¡°Joe!¡± Sandy yelled at him. ¡°He¡¯s joking.¡±


    ¡°No! He¡¯s being an asshole!¡± He pointed at her. ¡°Tell your boyfriend to shut his face or I¡¯ll do it for him.¡±


    Joe walked away. Todd never taunted him again and Joe grew into his black leather jacket. More than two years later, he had a reputation for fighting. He didn¡¯t think it was fair. Some kids were afraid of him. Which was okay because they left him alone. His bad reputation had pros and cons.


    As they entered school Sandy looked up at him. ¡°I worry about you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Are you gonna stay in school?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Will you graduate next spring?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than a year away. How do I know? I think so.¡±


    She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. ¡°Stay out of trouble.¡±


    ¡°I always do.¡±


    Sandy laughed. ¡°No, you don¡¯t. I gotta run.¡±


    ¡ª---- THE TEN BUS ¨C¡ª--


    RIPTA bus number ten ran east to west through the city, from Blackstone Blvd on the posh East Side to downtown Kennedy Plaza, over Federal Hill, and on to Manton Heights in the West End, the projects. Joe had been riding number ten since he started therapy. Mom and Dad accompanied him for a few months. At twelve he started riding the bus solo. It was an unexpected taste of freedom on College Hill. As a teen, he started using the Ten Bus to go downtown, to concerts or just to hang around.


    Joe¡¯s neighborhood, Federal Hill, was the most Italian neighborhood in a city run mostly by Italians. Mayor Buddy Cianci was Italian, as was the majority of the city council, the chief of police, two-thirds of cops, the fire department, public works, and recreation. You had to be connected to get a city job, and being connected meant you had to be Italian or be closely associated with the Italians in charge. Sometimes you become associated by handing over an envelope stuffed with cash.


    The city of Providence, but especially The Hill, was infamous for sketchy business and corruption. It was the home turf of The Patriarca Crime family. Raymond L.S. Patriarca operated his syndicate out of The Coin-o-Matic Vending Machine Company on Atwells Avenue, a few blocks from Joe¡¯s home. He owned every cigarette machine in Rhode Island and beyond, as well as candy, pinball, and jukeboxes.


    The Hill was infamous for good reason. There were mob hits on Atwells Ave, people getting beaten by large Italian men for reasons of business, and envelopes changing hands. Joe did not like the bad Italians. They were the fathers and uncles of the bullies at Central High School.


    The good Italians of Federal Hill were famous for their mile-and-a-quarter avenue stretching west from downtown with two dozen restaurants, pizzerias, as well as delis and bakeries. St. Joseph¡¯s Day and Columbus Day had parades and feasts, every bar and restaurant on The Hill was packed. The streets were blocked to traffic for the big Italian festival every march March and October. Joe adored the good Italians.


    ¡ª- QUEEN & THIN LIZZY ¡ª


    Weeks before Sandy grilled Joe about Pete and Robby quitting the band, Joe skipped school on a Monday and took the Ten Bus downtown to the Civic Center. Queen tickets went on sale at 10:00. He was in line at 7:15. A smart group up front was handing out numbered index cards. A young lady gave Joe a card. He looked at it, number 58.


    ¡°We have 120 cards,¡± another college kid told him. ¡°If we stick together no one is crashing this line.¡±


    ¡°This is a great idea.¡± Joe nodded. ¡°I was here for the Aerosmith melee.¡±


    ¡°Did you jump into the brawl?¡±


    ¡°Fuck no,¡± Joe laughed. ¡°I¡¯m not fighting for fucking Aerosmith tickets.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Will you fight for Queen tickets?¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Joe nodded, ¡°because Thin Lizzy is opening for them.¡±


    ¡°Okay, man.¡± He slapped Joe on the back. ¡°Hold the line.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Joe!¡± A voice from behind called out.


    Joe looked through the crowd to see Pete Smith, his guitarist. Joe turned to the college kids. ¡°Give him a number.¡± Joe took another card and walked over to Pete, handing him the number 60.


    ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t coming,¡± Joe said. ¡°I¡¯m getting you a ticket.¡±


    ¡°Now we can get more. What¡¯s this?¡± Pete held up his card.


    ¡°After Aerosmith, these kids came up with a plan.¡± Joe then explained the self-governing crowd security plan of one hundred twenty Queen fans.


    ¡°Why a hundred and twenty?¡±


    Joe shrugged, ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how many index cards come in a pack.¡±


    They stood in line with a cute girl with blue hair who had the number 59. The scent of weed moved through the crowd. Joe stood there quietly just people-watching. These were his people, music fans his age and above. Peter elbowed him.


    ¡°Hey, man. We gotta talk about Sal. He¡¯s making me crazy with the criticism.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at it as criticism,¡± Joe said. ¡°He makes suggestions. He¡¯s pitching ideas and they¡¯re not bad.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to play loud and obnoxious like The Ramones. They¡¯re clowns. That¡¯s not what we do.¡±


    Joe raised a finger, ¡°Don¡¯t shit on the Ramones.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, you have all the records,¡± Pete said in a snotty tone. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is we do our thing then Sal joins and wants to change everything. We have to put our foot down.¡±


    Joe was grateful when girl number 59 interrupted, looking up at Joe. ¡°I like your leather.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Joe smiled. ¡°Me too.¡±


    ¡°I like how it¡¯s not the cliche biker jacket with all the zippers.¡±


    ¡°The Ramones can pull that off but I¡¯m not that bold.¡± Joe looked down and pulled his breast pocket zipper. ¡°Just two pocket zippers and the big one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a clean look,¡± she looked him up and down. ¡°And it¡¯s good on you because you¡¯re lean.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Joe smiled again, wondering if she was hitting on him. ¡°I like your hair. It takes some serious O¡¯s to dye it blue.¡±


    Girl 59 furrowed her brow. ¡°O¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Ovaries. You don¡¯t have balls.¡±


    She smiled and chuckled, covering her face with her hand. Joe smiled proudly. She was cute.


    ¡°I¡¯m Amanda.¡± She offered her hand. ¡°I go to RISD.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Joe.¡± He accepted her hand. Joe knew not to mention his school affiliation so he changed the subject. ¡±This is Pete.¡±


    ¡°Hi, Pete.¡±


    Joe leaned in closer. ¡°Can you believe these tickets are fifteen bucks?¡± He made a face. ¡°My first show here was Kiss, it was six bucks, then Bowie was eight, and Aerosmith was ten, Alice Cooper was twelve.¡±


    ¡°And Frampton was twelve,¡± Pete added.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe said, ¡°It¡¯s getting crazy.¡±


    She looked up. ¡°You saw Bowie?¡±


    Joe nodded, ¡°He was amazing.¡±


    ¡°I was back home on school break when he came.¡±


    ¡°Where is that?¡±


    ¡°New York City


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t suck.¡±


    ¡°It does if Bowie¡¯s playing here and when he played Madison Square Garden I was here.¡±


    ¡°That does suck. So where in New York?¡±


    She made a face, ¡°Queens.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Ramones turf.¡±


    ¡°I saw them at CBGB.¡±


    Joe pushed her lightly, ¡°Get the fuck out, really? I¡¯d kill to see them there.¡±


    She made another face, ¡°They were cool but that place is a shithole. The bathrooms are disgusting. I just can¡¯t.¡±


    Joe nodded towards Pete. ¡°He hates the Ramones.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate them,¡± Pete said defensively. ¡°I just don¡¯t like them.¡±


    ¡°He just said they were clowns.¡±


    ¡°So where do you go to school?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Central High,¡± Pete answered too quickly.


    Joe wanted to punch him in the ear as he watched cute blue-haired Amanda¡¯s face turn from friendly to surprised, to disinterested.


    ¡°You¡¯re in high school? How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Seventeen,¡± Pete said.


    ¡°Oh. I never would have guessed.¡±


    She very slowly turned her shoulder sideways trying not to be obvious but it was. Joe glared at Pete who had no clue how uncool he was. Pete took the opportunity to continue his protest of Sal.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling ya, Joe. We have to tell Sal we¡¯re not a punk band and we don¡¯t want to play the shit he wants. We already have a style.¡±


    Blue-haired Amanda looked back at them, ¡°You¡¯re in a band?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Joe answered too quickly.


    She made a ¡®huh¡¯ facial expression.


    ¡°And we have a shitty bass player who¡¯s a maniac,¡± Pete added.


    Amanda turned away.


    Joe turned to Pete, ¡°You are without a fucking clue.¡±


    ¡°Ya know,¡± Pete pointed at Joe. ¡°You¡¯re always going on about the good Italians and the bad Italians. Sal isn¡¯t one of the good ones. You said it yourself, he¡¯s a fucking meathead.¡±


    ¡°I mean that in a good way,¡± Joe snapped back. ¡°...sort of.¡±


    No one is pleased to see Providence cops but when four mounted patrol officers appeared, horseshoes clomping loudly on the concrete Civic Center Plaza, Joe was relieved. The impressive horses got everyone¡¯s attention and the likelihood of line crashing diminished. Also, Pete stopped complaining.


    Joe was almost regretting standing with his friend. Had Pete gone on about Sal for the next hour Joe figured he¡¯d have to trade number 58 for 98 just to get away. Joe had befriended Pete at school two years ago for one reason, Pete played guitar. He also had a best friend who played drums. He liked him okay but he could be a dick at times. For many months Joe focused solely on two things, Pete played guitar, and their shared love for The Kinks and The Rolling Stones. He let Pete¡¯s dickish whining slide.


    A few weeks after the Queen tickets were purchased the differences of opinion in the band would blow up and Joe would have to pick a side.

 Ch.02 - The Replacements

    ¡ª- 1978 ¡ª-


    Back in November of ¡®77, when Joe kicked bass player Hector Delgado out of the band, he did it in a moment of anger without a thought or a plan. He knew another guy but it was a long shot. Sal Mancuso was nearly three years older than Joe. Sal wasn¡¯t just older than Joe and his high school bandmates¡­he was cooler. Sal was a 6¡¯2¡± leather-clad urban Italian American straight from central casting with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a narrow waist. The joke in the hood was that Sal started shaving in third grade. He had thick black hair slicked back, sideburns, and DIY tattoos.


    Joe always liked Sal but they were only acquaintances. He sensed he and Sal had something in common. They were misunderstood. Nobody fucked with Sal. He had a reputation since junior high school for beating down those who wronged him but he was no bully. Sal had a heart of gold. He just didn¡¯t take shit from anyone. Everyone on Federal Hill knew Salvatore Mancuso.


    Joe knew Sal played bass but never expected he would join his stupid high school garage band. After school, he simply walked into the Atwells Liquor Mart and rolled the dice. Sal was behind the counter looking at Penthouse Magazine. Joe placed a bottle of Coke and a small bag of Lay¡¯s potato chips on the counter.


    Sal looked up from his magazine. ¡°Hey, Joe. Is that it, no beer?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t serve me.¡±


    Sal smirked, ¡°Damn right I won¡¯t. Only Dickie serves you.¡±


    Joe handed him two dollars. ¡°Hey, are you still playing?¡±


    ¡°On and off.¡±


    ¡°I have a garage band, we¡¯re not great, but we jam and fuck around. We lost our bass player. If you¡¯re looking for someone to play with, give me a call.¡±


    The cash register draw rang when Sal opened it. ¡°Where do you play?¡±


    ¡°My dad¡¯s garage.¡±


    ¡°What do you play?¡±


    ¡°I have an old Telecaster.¡±


    ¡°No, dummy. What music?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sixties rock, stuff we can handle. We do some Stones, and The Animals, and a lot of Kinks songs. I¡¯m a Ray Davies guy. He¡¯s better than Lennon.¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Sal scoffed as he handed Joe his change. ¡°You¡¯re the only person who believes that.¡±


    ¡°Nah. I think Ray Davies is with me.¡±


    Sal laughed. ¡°Yeah. I suppose you¡¯re right. How long have you guys been playing?¡±


    ¡°Eight months.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t suck?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Joe smirked. ¡°We definitely suck.¡±


    Sal also liked Joe. He knew him from the hood. He had younger cousins Joe¡¯s age and Joe knew Sal¡¯s thuggish cousins too well. When Sal attended the wake of Joe¡¯s little sister six years ago, Joe was moved. Everyone on Federal Hill went to Janie¡¯s wake but that wasn¡¯t the point. He didn¡¯t expect teenage tough guy Sal Mancuso to show up.


    Sal returned to his stool and opened his magazine. ¡°You splattered Frankie¡¯s nose. I saw it. It¡¯s destroyed. You realize he¡¯s disfigured for life, right?¡±


    Joe stepped back. ¡°Hey man, he and Gino came at me, two-on-one. Was I supposed to lay down and take a beating?¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Sal smiled. ¡°I get it. My cousins are fucking hoodlums. I see the adult correctional facility in Gino¡¯s future.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t take Nostradamus to see that.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Sal was a good guy but he wasn¡¯t the brightest star in the sky. He was street-smart and wise in his own way. Book smarts were not in his repertoire.


    ¡°Never mind.¡± Joe stepped toward the door. ¡°So, you should call me if you wanna jam.¡±


    ¡°Ya know,¡± Sal said while lighting a cigarette. ¡°I got nothin'' else going on. When are you playing?¡±


    ¡°Saturday at ten. The earliest my dad will allow.¡±


    ¡°Okay. That gives me a couple of days to tune up. I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    At 9:55 Saturday, Peter Smith watched in astonishment as Sal unpacked his black Fender bass. Pete leaned in and whispered to Joe. ¡°How in hell did you get Sal Mancuso?¡±


    ¡°I know him¡­ enough to ask.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not that good, Joe. He¡¯s not gonna stick around for our shit.¡±


    ¡°Hey, stop being a downer. Just play. Whatever happens¡­ happens.¡±


    The reality was; that the band was trying out for Sal more than Sal was trying out for the band. It was awkward at first but they eventually found a grove. Sal played loudly. Pete played soft guitar. The teens had to turn it up two notches to cut through his thumping bass. They made it through eight songs with fits and starts before Sal gave his verdict.


    ¡°Ya know,¡± he said, pulling his Marlboros out of his pocket. ¡°I got nothin¡¯ else going on. I could do this for a while. We¡¯ll see how it goes.¡±


    Joe wasn¡¯t entirely sure Pete was on board with Sal joining. Pete thought Sal was playing too loud. Joe agreed but he liked how Sal played and Joe believed Sal¡¯s loud was better than Pete¡¯s soft. After a few sessions, once he knew their set of fourteen songs, Sal began making suggestions. They added a few new songs. Pete didn¡¯t like Sal¡¯s ideas.


    Six weeks later, on Joe¡¯s seventeenth birthday, they were playing in the garage with a dozen friends hanging out, mostly Sal¡¯s older friends. It was the band¡¯s first jam party.


    It was an unseasonably warm winter day. The two-car garage was crowded. Joe opened the overhead doors. The music was loud. There was beer provided by the Liquor Mart as well as weed and complaining neighbors. Dad came out to deal with the disturbance and caught a whiff. That was the end of Joe¡¯s band playing in his father¡¯s garage. The old man at least had the decency to not embarrass his son. He quietly informed Joe of the eviction after most of their friends had left.


    As the band packed up their gear, Sal was unfazed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯ll talk to Pops. I¡¯m sure we can use his place. It¡¯s a helluva lot bigger than this.¡±


    ¡°The factory?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°Yeah. He has his cars stored there and his buddies play cards once or twice a week but most of the time it¡¯s empty. It¡¯ll be great.¡±


    Pete was not aware of this place. Joe explained. ¡°Sal¡¯s dad owns a huge garage down the hill off Eagle Street in the mill complex.¡±


    ¡°What does he do there?¡± Pete asked.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Sal replied. ¡°He bought it years ago to work on his cars. He fixed it up and installed a kitchen so he could cook for his crew. They play poker and cribbage and hide from the wives.¡±


    ¡°And you think he¡¯ll let us play there?¡± Pete asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal said as he picked up his amp and guitar case. ¡°Pops is cool. He may even like the company.¡±


    Joe laughed, ¡°But not the music.¡±


    Sal shrugged. ¡°Let me talk to him. I¡¯ll let you know.¡±


    Less than a week later, the band had a practice area set up across the massive factory garage from Tony Mancuso¡¯s collection of cars and his professional-grade kitchen. As days passed, Joe was excited about the band¡¯s new hangout. He had more space between him and his life at home and he was making new friends as Sal had people coming and going. Not everyone was happy with the new arrangement.


    Shortly after they moved into Pops¡¯ 140-year-old garage shit happened. Pete never really liked Sal and he liked his ideas even less. Robby, their drummer, and Pete¡¯s best friend, was less negative but seemed to agree with Pete. Joe found himself working as the middleman but he was siding with Sal more often as his ideas made sense to Joe. That angered Pete. They had been playing for months before Sal joined. He resented Joe for not having his back.


    The band played mostly sixties garage rock, some surf rock songs, and random seventies stuff. Sal felt they needed to punch these songs up and play harder. Pete was against it. For weeks, there was this tug of war between what the band had been playing and the direction Sal and Joe wanted to go. It only got worse after they moved into the new space.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how The Kinks play the song,¡± Pete protested after a hard and loud version of ¡®All Day And All Of The Night.¡¯


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal blew smoke from his waning cigarette. ¡°That¡¯s the point. We make the song our own. Who says we have to play it like them?¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Pete,¡± Joe said. ¡°Have you heard Van Halen¡¯s You Really Got Me? It¡¯s fucking great.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not Van Halen.¡±


    ¡°And we''re not The Kinks either,¡± Sal pointed his cigarette butt at Pete.


    At school, away from Sal, Pete had been complaining to Joe that Sal was using the fact he provided their new hangout as leverage. When Joe suggested they add some punk rock to the mix, like The Ramones and The Clash, Pete didn¡¯t like that either. Sal loved it. The band was divided.


    It all came to a head during a particularly rough session after Sal rode Pete for tickling his guitar strings rather than playing power chords with balls. When Sal stepped out onto the loading dock to have a smoke, Pete unplugged his guitar and amp.


    Joe looked on as Pete appeared to be done for the day. ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m done with this shit.¡±


    ¡°The band?¡±


    Pete looked up. ¡°This is bullshit. You started this band why don¡¯t you lead it?¡±


    ¡°Last summer you wanted everyone equal. Now you want me in charge?¡±


    ¡°Sal¡¯s taken over. He pushes everyone around. He thinks he¡¯s the boss.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not pushing anything. Sal has good ideas. I like the punk edge.¡±


    ¡°You brought him in and now he walks all over you. You¡¯re afraid to say no to him. You¡¯re a pussy, Joe.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you Pete. Why would I fight a plan I like? Sal¡¯s made us a better band. All you do is whine. You have some balls calling me a pussy¡­ you fucking crybaby.¡±


    Pete slammed his guitar case shut. ¡°Good luck with your piece of shit punk band.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so you really are quitting? Why don¡¯t you be a man and tell Sal what you think?¡± Joe pointed. ¡°He¡¯s right outside that door.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I fucking quit!¡± Pete stared at Robby sitting behind his drum kit. There was a tense moment. He wondered if his best friend was quitting with him. Wide-eyed Robby didn¡¯t say a word.


    ¡°All you do is complain,¡± Joe added. ¡°You bring nothing. You¡¯re a fucking drag. If you¡¯re done shut the fuck up and get the fuck out.¡±


    Pete stormed out pushing the heavy-duty steel factory door, struggling with his amp and guitar on the loading dock where Sal was finishing his smoke. Sal blocked his path leading to an awkward dance as the seventeen-year-old tried to get past the much larger and intimidating man. Then Joe and Sal watched as Pete put his shitty guitar in his shitty car, slammed the door, and drove off trying to leave rubber, but failing... because Pete drove a piece of shit AMC Gremlin. Then he hit a giant pothole filled with last night¡¯s rain going too fast and the undercarriage of the car banged hard on the broken asphalt. It nearly stopped the car.


    ¡°Ohhhh!¡± Sal shouted. ¡°That¡¯s gonna cost ya!¡± He laughed. ¡°Hey, I know a guy!¡±


    ¡°How could he not see that?¡± Joe laughed. ¡°It¡¯s a goddamn lake.¡±


    Sal didn¡¯t care about Pete quitting. ¡°Fuck him,¡± he took the last drag and tossed his cigarette off the dock. ¡°He¡¯s not that good and I¡¯m sick of his complaining. You are too. Look, I know you¡¯re pals. Are you okay with this?¡±


    Joe shrugged, ¡°We¡¯re kinda friends at school. We went to a few concerts at the Civic Center. I just don¡¯t have another guy who¡­¡±


    ¡°I know a guy. He¡¯s way better. Pete''s a baby. He''s so not cool.¡±


    ¡°Who do you know?¡±


    ¡°Johnny.¡±


    Joe¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Johnny Bucci?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s looking for something to do.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s at URI. I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s busy.¡±


    Sal leaned in. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone but he¡¯s bombing at URI and wants to drop out.¡±


    ¡°His dad will murder him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Senior will be more pissed off if Junior burns another year of tuition partying instead of studying. Some people aren¡¯t cut out for college, like us.¡± Sal put his hand on Joe¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Are we gonna need a new drummer too? Robby and Pete are pretty tight.¡±


    Robby assured Sal and Joe he was staying. That proved to be just him not having the balls to quit on the spot. Days later, Joe walked into the garage to find the drum set gone. Pops was in the kitchen making himself lunch.


    ¡°Hey Pops,¡± Joe called over. ¡°Were you here when Robby packed up?¡±


    Pops didn¡¯t look up. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Did he say anything?¡±


    ¡°Not much. He just said, ¡¯Tell Joe I¡¯m done.¡±


    ¡°Fuck. Does Sal know?¡±


    ¡°Yup. He told me to tell you it¡¯s not a problem. He knows a guy. And Johnny''s back from school¡­ for good.¡±


    ¡°What a fucking mess.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± Pops said as he sat at the kitchen table. ¡°Sit down. I made some nice Venda ravioli and meat gravy. C¡¯mon, eat.¡±


    Joe joined Tony for a plate of pasta and sauce. In the few weeks they¡¯d been playing at the garage Joe had become fond of Pops. Sal was correct. The old man liked having the kids around, even when they were banging on their instruments too loudly for his taste. As they sat down, Sal showed up.


    ¡°Just in time,¡± he smiled wide, clapping his hands once, happy to see food on the table.


    ¡°So, Pops,¡± Joe said while serving himself. ¡°What¡¯s the deal with this place? Sal said it was a horse stable back in the day¡­¡± Joe smirked. ¡°when you were a young punk.¡±


    Sal laughed


    ¡°Very funny, kid.¡± Pops spread meat sauce over his ravioli. ¡°It was a stable before the Civil War. They made Union uniforms right here,¡± Tony pointed north across the parking lot. ¡°The Strand Textile Company used horses and wagons to move goods. When trucks took over, around World War One, they converted it to a garage for their new fleet.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡± Joe took a bite of pasta. ¡°I like local history.¡±


    ¡°Pops is full of it,¡± Sal chuckled. ¡°He knows all the boring details of Providence.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not boring Sal,¡± Joe pointed at him. ¡°Not if you think of history as a story.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t never remember the dates and the years. I just forget,¡± Sal stuffed a ravioli in his mouth.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to remember the dates, just the people and places¡­ the stories.¡±


    Joe shared a glance with Pops. The old man shook his head, knowing this kid Joe understood what he had realized years ago. His son was a meathead.


    ¡°This place was pretty run down when I bought it in seventy-one,¡± Tony said. ¡°The company fell on hard times and stopped maintaining it. I had to put on a new roof and replace those windows.¡± He pointed. ¡°As well as the bay doors. The electrical and plumbing was ancient, long out of code.¡±


    Sal sprinkled parmesan on his bowl of pasta. ¡°Pops spent more money on repairs and upgrades than he paid for the place.¡±


    Joe looked around while eating. He loved this place. The building had an extra wide garage door at the front loading dock as well as two bay doors on the side where Tony moved his cars in and out. Pops was a loyal GM man. At the opposite end of the factory garage, away from the dock and the kitchen, were four of his babies; a Blue and White ¡®55 Chevy Bel Air, a black ¡®61 Chevy Impala, a light blue ¡®65 Pontiac GTO, and his favorite, a red ¡®68 Cadillac Eldorado. That Eldorado was also Joe¡¯s favorite. Tony still drove his ¡®68 often but his everyday ride was a ¡®75 Coupe Deville.


    ¡°I put in the kitchen and fixed up the bathrooms and showers. This place doesn¡¯t look like much but it has good bones.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you kept the lockers,¡± Sal said. ¡°Those are handy.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Joe agreed. ¡°I like having a place where I can leave my stuff. You did a good job, Pops. This place is great.¡¯


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Tony was a businessman, and like his son, everyone on Federal Hill knew Tony ¡®Meats¡¯ Mancuso. Some locals thought Tony was in the mob. Joe¡¯s Dad assured him that Tony was not a made man. At worst, he was mob-adjacent. If you were Italian and lived on The Hill you probably knew a few of the boys. If you owned a business you eventually had to deal with the Patriarca Family.


    -¡ª- THIS YEAR¡¯S MODEL ¡ª--


    Joe sat on the Ten Bus at Kennedy Plaza waiting for a bus driver shift change. His sister Jeanie was at his side. Occasionally, on Saturdays, he¡¯d take her or Jules on his East Side record shop adventure. He only took one sister at a time to avoid them bickering. It was more enjoyable one on one.


    Jeanie was a bundle of energy, excited to be hanging out with her big brother. They had just hopped off the bus and ran across the plaza to grab a bag of French fries from a food truck parked in front of Providence City Hall. As the bus left the plaza, an older man seated across from them smiled at Jeanie, her hand inside the grease-stained brown paper bag.


    ¡°Is that Haven Brothers?¡± He asked.


    Jeanie nodded, ¡°They¡¯re the best fries.¡± She shoved dark potato sticks in her face.


    ¡°I like how they overcook them,¡± the man said.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Jeanie held the bag out. ¡°Would you like some?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s sweet but no thank you. Is this your brother?¡±


    ¡°Yes, this is Joey.¡±


    Joe nodded. The man smiled.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to the record store,¡± she said.


    ¡°Very nice.¡±


    The old man seemed harmless enough but his staring at his sister was getting creepy as city blocks passed behind them. Joe was very protective of his sisters, almost overly so, especially since Janie¡¯s death. Joe had a few greasy fries but not many. The last time Jeanie pigged out on Haven Brother¡¯s fries she had a tummy ache that made her day with Joe less fun. He warned her before they bought this bag but Jeanie couldn¡¯t help herself. She devoured the fries.


    Walking on Thayer Street on the East Side, Jeanie tugged on Joe¡¯s leather. He looked down.


    ¡°Can I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°You just did.¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Do you smoke pot? Mom thinks you smoke pot.¡±


    ¡°Mom thinks a lot of things that aren¡¯t true.¡±


    ¡°I heard you talking to Dad about it.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a spy for Mom. Is that how she found out?¡±


    ¡°So you do smoke pot?¡±


    ¡°No, but some of my friends do.¡±


    ¡°You told Dad you tried it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I did. I don¡¯t think I like it.¡±


    ¡°Good. You shouldn¡¯t take drugs.¡±


    ¡°Okay, you little narc.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a narc?¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± Joe said as he opened the door to Victory Records. ¡°...but don¡¯t be one.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Jeanie!¡± The clerk at the front desk smiled. ¡°How¡¯s the belly feeling today?¡±


    ¡°She just scarfed another bag of Haven Brothers,¡± Joe shrugged, ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°What are you looking for today?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting the new Blondie,¡± Jeanie said excitedly. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    The clerk pointed. ¡°In The Punk Pit.¡± Diane was a record shop veteran, keeping her weekend shift even after graduating college. She knew Joe when he was a pimple-faced thirteen-year-old hanging on the words of college kids as they talked music.


    Joe watched Jeanie run off to the back of the store. He stopped at the front desk.


    ¡°How¡¯s that band working out, Joey?¡± Diane knew that name annoyed him. She heard the sisters call him Joey and thought it was cute.


    ¡°It¡¯s fucked at the moment. My guitar and drums quit on me but we have a new guitarist coming soon and we''re looking for a drummer.¡±


    ¡°That sucks but it¡¯s part of the business. My boyfriend has gone through four drummers in three years and three guitarists. There¡¯s always a new guy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the only one left. Everyone will be new, whenever they get here. I better go check on the brat.¡±


    Thirty minutes later, Jeanie placed her Blondie record on the counter, Joe added Elvis Costello¡¯s new release, This Year¡¯s Model, and Warren Zevon¡¯s Excitable Boy.¡±


    ¡°These are both great records,¡± she smiled at Joe.


    ¡°I was looking at Van Halen. Those guys are gonna be huge. Maybe next time.¡±


    ¡°I know what you like, Joey. These are good picks.¡±


    ¡°What about mine?¡± Jeanie asked.


    ¡°I have it at home.¡± Diane smiled. ¡°It¡¯s great.¡± She turned to look at the wall of pins and stickers behind the counter and removed a pin. ¡°Here, I¡¯ll give you this Blondie pin to wear to school so all the kids will know you¡¯re cool.¡±


    Jeanie¡¯s smile made the entire day worthwhile. She turned to Joe. ¡°Can you put this on my jacket?¡±


    Joe handed Diane cash, ¡°Thank you,¡± then leaned down to poke the pin into Jeanie¡¯s denim jean jacket.


    Walking back to the bus stop, Joe had a favor to ask of Jeanie. ¡°Can you do me a favor?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a spy for Mom.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you are. You and Jules tell her everything you see and hear.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t, not everything¡­ but Julie does.¡±


    ¡°Mom¡¯s always on my back. Don¡¯t give her fuel for her bonfire of the anxieties.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, just don¡¯t be Mom¡¯s spy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡ª-- JOHNNY COOL ¡ª--


    Four days after learning he needed a new drummer, Joe arrived to find Johnny Bucci tuning up his guitar with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Sal mostly smoked outdoors out of respect for his dad. Johnny didn¡¯t get the memo.


    ¡°Hey, kid.¡± Johnny smiled. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in ages.¡±


    Joe walked over and shook Johnny¡¯s hand. ¡°How did your dad take the news?¡±


    ¡°What, me leaving school?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°He saw it coming so it wasn¡¯t so bad.¡± Johnny took a drag and removed his cigarette from his mouth. ¡°This band better work out or I¡¯ll have to get a real job.¡± He smiled, pointing his cigarette hand at the kid. ¡°So don¡¯t let me down.¡±


    Joe walked over to his Tele, strapped it on, and plugged it in. When his amp hummed, he struck a few power chords. This was the true start of Joe¡¯s guitar lessons. He had spent two years playing alone at home, learning in a vacuum of vinyl, and most of the next year playing with high school kids barely better than himself. Sal was two levels above them. Johnny was a level above Sal.


    When Joe broke into some random rhythm, not an actual song, just chords he used to warm up, Johnny played lead notes over him, in perfect tune and synchronicity. Joe smiled and kept playing. Johnny followed him.


    ¡®Oh yeah,¡¯ Joe thought to himself as he continued. ¡®This is gonna work just fine.¡¯


    When Joe stopped, Johnny smiled. ¡°Okay, you can play. Sal said you were okay.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not great but I get by. When we learn new songs you¡¯ll see my¡­ flaws.¡±


    ¡°I have one rule,¡± Johnny said, pulling a new cigarette from the pack. ¡°I will not play Kiss.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I saw them at the Civic Center two years ago but that¡¯s not what I want to play.¡±


    Johnny was the son of Tony¡¯s best friend, John Bucci Senior, a.k.a. Johnny Bats. It seemed every Italian man on The Hill had a nickname that made it sound like they were in the mafia. Some were, most weren¡¯t, many were posers. While Joe was certain Pops was not in the mob, he was not so sure about John Senior. He got his nickname in the 1950s after tuning up hoodlums with a baseball bat and it wasn¡¯t the only time. The joke was that Johnny Bats bats a thousand. Joe didn¡¯t ask questions.


    Because Sal and Johnny¡¯s dads were best friends they grew up together since diapers. They were best friends of sorts but it was a tested friendship with fights and lapses. Joe¡¯s band brought Sal and Johnny back together after a long cold spell. When Johnny moved down to Kingston to attend URI, he stayed near the coast most of the year and made new friends.


    Just like his skills on guitar, Johnny was a level of cool above Sal. He was a little taller and a lot leaner. Johnny had semi-wavy black hair almost to his shoulders and a wry smile. He didn¡¯t say much but it seemed Johnny had constant unexpressed thoughts. He often laughed to himself, especially at Sal¡¯s bullshit. Joe immediately took a liking to him.


    It took another week for Sal to locate the drummer he knew. In the meantime, Joe, Johnny, and Sal jammed without percussion until Nate showed up carrying his bass drum and barking at his new bandmates.


    ¡°Can someone give me a fucking hand?¡±


    Joe looked across the garage, not budging, strumming light chords. Sal put his bass down to help. Nate placed his drum down and stared at Joe and Johnny.


    ¡°Well? Can I get a hand?¡±


    ¡°You picked drums, man,¡± Johnny said while blowing smoke. ¡°Your gear is your problem.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Joe nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll never ask you to carry my heavy-ass amp.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s how it is?¡± Nate turned away. ¡°Fuck you both.¡±


    Joe put his Tele down and made one trip, carrying two cymbal stands and a drum stool inside. Sal introduced him to Nate. Nate just nodded, focused on setting up his drums, still agitated. He worked fast, talked fast, and seemed a little twitchy. Immediately, Joe saw the contrast between Nate and Johnny. Nate was gonna be a lot to handle. After he was set up he explained recent events.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I was incommunicado but I was at the ACI waiting for a hearing.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck did you do?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°I beat the fuck out of my lead singer.¡±


    ¡°He was in a punk band in Cranston,¡± Sal interrupted.


    ¡°I can tell the fucking story.¡± Nate glared at Sal. ¡°The motherfucker banged my girlfriend and stole three grams of coke. What the fuck was I supposed to do?¡±


    Joe nodded as if he empathized.


    ¡°I was more pissed about the coke. He can have that bitch.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s out because they dropped the charges,¡± Sal added.


    Nate glared at him again. ¡°The douchebag scored the coke for us. I told him if I go down for the beating I gave him I¡¯ll have to tell the cops where I get my stuff. So he came to his senses.¡±


    That was Nate¡¯s story and they never spoke of it again. He sat behind his kit. Joe started the power chords for ¡®I Wanna Be Sedated¡¯ and the band was whole again. Nate was a banger, too hard at times. That made the strings have to crank their amps even louder. Joe liked it but it was probably too loud. Two days later, Pops raised an angry objection.


    ¡°Hey, guys!¡± He shouted from across the garage as he carried in groceries. ¡°Hey, turn it down!¡±


    Joe was playing a shoegazing rhythm during one of Johnny¡¯s leads. Johnny was focused on his work. Nate had his head down, banging away. Sal looked at the wooden beams near the ceiling thumping his bass. Their punk version of ¡®Satisfaction¡¯ was deafening, the sound bouncing around the hard industrial space. Pops became very annoyed. Sal eventually saw the old man waving his arms after putting his groceries on the red fifties kitchen table.


    Sal stopped playing, Joe looked up, he stopped, and the other guys caught on.


    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± Pops yelled at them, ¡°That¡¯s a bit deafening, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The band nodded in unison.


    ¡°Sorry, Pops,¡± Sal said. ¡°Do you need a hand?¡±


    ¡°No, I need some quiet. Your mother is up my ass at home and you young punks are making my headache worse.¡±


    Sal turned to the guys, ¡°Let¡¯s take a break.¡±


    The band joined Tony in the kitchen, taking chairs at the six-seat table, as Pops filled the fridge with meats, cheese, and produce. He was preparing to cook something.


    ¡°Why are you so goddamn loud?¡± He asked, looking at Joe. ¡°You didn¡¯t play like this before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly Sal and Nate,¡± Joe said with confidence. ¡°And Johnny¡¯s amp is a beast.¡±


    ¡°And you bought those pedals to give your sissy Fender amp some balls,¡± Johnny answered.


    ¡°I had to buy The Rat for the boost¡­ so I could hear myself.¡±


    Joe had a Telecaster and a clean Fender amp. Sal joked that his rig sounded like Buddy Holly. So Joe cranked up his 40-watt Champion to the point of it breaking up and getting dirty. Johnny played a red Gibson SG through a Marshall Plexi amp. He didn¡¯t need pedals. As Joe said, that amp was a beast. Joe had to buy a distortion pedal to meet Johnny¡¯s level. The Pro Co Rat was the hot new thing in dirty guitar tech. He also bought a compression pedal that works well with his single-coil pickups. Johnny had hot humbuckers. Guitar gear is like an arms race. Pick your weapons.


    It felt like everything had changed in Joe¡¯s life. A few months ago he was in a high school band playing in his dad¡¯s backyard garage, now he was a seventeen-year-old with three guys over twenty spending half his free time in this factory garage a half mile from home. It seemed to happen so fast. He and Pete were plinking away playing Kinks, and Stones and now Pete was gone and they were bashing The Ramones, The Police, and The Clash¡­ really fucking loud.


    .


    ¡ª- SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER ¡ª--


    It was the most popular film of Joe¡¯s Junior year, especially with the Italian disco queens in high school. Out of nowhere three dance clubs had opened, one on Federal Hill and two downtown. Joe read an opinion piece in Rolling Stone expressing concern that disco would kill local live music scenes as disco DJs were far cheaper than paying bands.


    Joe despised disco, The BeeGees, and the guys in his neighborhood who transformed into low-rent Tony Maneros. Suddenly, silk shirts were left unbuttoned, hair was blown back, and the shoes became platforms. This stuff already existed in major cities and there were disco cliques in his school but once Saturday Night Fever hit theaters it exploded. Joe hated everything about it. He sat in the garage kitchen. Sal was eating lunch Pops had just made, penne and gravy.


    ¡°Some chick at school said disco is just another kind of rock & roll,¡± Joe said in disbelief. ¡°Can you believe that shit?¡±


    ¡°Do you like Motown?¡± Pops asked.


    ¡°Yeah, I do. My dad has some old R&B records. I love Motown.¡±


    ¡°People said the same thing about Motown fifteen years ago. It wasn¡¯t rock & roll. It was for colored people.¡±


    ¡°It kinda is,¡± Sal said, ¡°isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Pops scoffed. ¡°Music doesn¡¯t know race. I listen to jazz. That was for black people too.¡± He turned to Joe. ¡°Have some pasta. This gravy is my wife¡¯s recipe, basil and garlic.¡±


    ¡°Check this out,¡± Sal said, holding up his fork with a big roasted garlic clove on it. ¡°Soooo, good.¡±


    Joe took a plate from Pops and served himself. ¡°You¡¯re gonna make me fat, Pops.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Tony replied. ¡°You could use some meat on those skinny French bones.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not buying this music doesn¡¯t know race line,¡± Sal said. ¡°How about the blues?¡±


    ¡°Well, it knows ethnicity,¡± Joe said, ¡°Because you wops are loving Tony and Connie. Every weekend this neighborhood is overrun by disco queens.¡± Joe looked at Sal and smiled. ¡°Now that I think of it, you¡¯d make a good Tony Manero if you lost your sideburns.¡±


    Sal raised his middle finger, ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡±


    ¡°No, seriously. If you swap out that greasy stuff you put in your hair for a blow dryer and slap on a silk shirt, you could be stayin¡¯ alive at Club Danza. It¡¯s right around the corner from the liquor store.¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± Sal''s hands flew up. ¡°I worked late Saturday night. You should see the disco pansies coming in for Tequila Sunrise and Peach Brandy. Those queers don¡¯t drink beer.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon Sal,¡± Joe smirked. ¡°You popped into Club Danza after your shift for a little Saturday night fever, didn¡¯t you?¡± He raised his butt off the chair. ¡°...Tony Manero.¡±


    Sal lunged at him, grabbing air where Joe once was because the kid was too fast. Sal glared at him. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. You know I hate that disco shit as much as you do.¡±


    ¡°But the women,¡± Pops added.


    ¡°That¡¯s what sucks about it,¡± Joe said as he sat down. ¡°The girls are moving over to disco.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Sal said. ¡°When we polish our set we¡¯ll have a party here. There are plenty of rock chicks around.¡±


    That got Joe¡¯s attention. ¡°When are we doing this?¡±


    ¡°When we have enough songs to fill a couple of hours. I¡¯ll get a keg and we¡¯ll throw a jam party for the hoodrats.¡±


    ¡°You know who owns that Club Danza, don¡¯t you?¡± Pops asked.


    Sal shrugged.


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Joe said, ¡°he¡¯s Italian.¡±


    ¡°Rocco Pastore.¡±


    ¡°Of course, the mob runs that shit,¡± Sal said half under his breath. ¡°Who else can get the permits to open a place so fast? It was a run-down pool hall one week and sparkling new disco the next.¡±


    Pops laughed. ¡°They don¡¯t pull permits. The Patriarca boys do what they want in this town.¡±


    Joe was curious about Tony¡¯s connections but he didn¡¯t know how to ask without offending the old man. Since they were on the subject he decided to ask. A recent news story gave him a way in.


    ¡°Hey Pops. Do you believe this guy who¡¯s saying Patriarca was involved in the plot to kill Fidel Castro?¡±


    Pops laughed, ¡°No. Raymond¡¯s turf is New England and the feds are always up his ass. I doubt he¡¯s doing hits in Cuba.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Sal asked. ¡°He had that guy whacked in San Francisco not long ago.¡±


    ¡°That was personal,¡± Pops said. ¡°Joe Barboza flipped and put the boss away for five years. Patriarca won¡¯t whack you unless it¡¯s personal.¡±


    ¡°Not even for money?¡± Joe asked.


    Pops shrugged. ¡°If one of the New York families needed a hit done, Ray would do it. Ya know it¡¯s not like the movies where guys get rubbed out for looking at you cross-eyed. A hit is the last resort.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the Wild West,¡± Sal mumbled with a mouthful, barely audible.


    Pops pointed his fork at Joe, ¡°So, you like local history? You¡¯re a Sox and Celtics fan, so you like Boston too, right?¡±


    Joe nodded rather than talk with his face full of penne.


    ¡°Rhode Island has been in a war with Boston on and off for decades, long before I was born. The Irish run Boston, in politics and the rackets. The Italians are second¡­ up there in the North End. They used to be the top wops in New England until Patriarca ascended and the throne moved to Providence. Here, it¡¯s flipped, the Mics are second after Patriarca and Cianci.¡±


    Joe took a sip of beer. ¡°My Dad told me Patriarca was the pick of the New York families to run New England.¡±


    ¡°It was not their decision. Patriarca was the strongest family at the time. The guys in Boston were getting beat down by the Mics. That¡¯s why they lost the five families'' confidence and New York backed Providence.¡±


    ¡°And everything east of the Connecticut River is New England turf,¡± Joe added.


    ¡°So you do know some things,¡± Pops smiled. ¡°For a canuck.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an insult, Pops. I¡¯m a proud Quebecer.¡±


    ¡°Joe got picked on a lot as a kid because he wasn¡¯t Italian,¡± Sal noted.


    ¡°Not anymore,¡± Joe smiled.


    ¡°Is that still happening?¡± Pops asked. ¡°Are kids still getting beat up because they¡¯re not Italian?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Joe said, ¡°but not me.¡±


    ¡°Pops,¡± Sal met his dad¡¯s eyes. ¡°It was Joe who broke Frankie¡¯s nose.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± The old man turned to Joe.


    Joe nodded.


    ¡°Okay. If my brother-in-law Dominic ever shows up here don¡¯t mention that. Those medical bills killed him. He might take it out on your ass.¡±


    ¡°Is he one of the boys?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°No, but he wanted to be. Dominic is just a piece of shit like my nephews. Those apples didn¡¯t fall far.¡±


    ¡°My Mom¡¯s family is thick with thugs,¡± Sal noted, then smiled. ¡°And Pops¡¯ side is all sweet.¡±


    ¡°And my wife is the meanest thug of them all,¡± Pops said lowly.


    Joe didn¡¯t get any closer to learning if Pop¡¯s had any connections. After so many years doing business on The Hill, he had to have some friends in the family. Tony Meats started as a butcher in the fifties, before diversifying into retail liquor, restaurants, and other real estate holdings. Tony had many tenants.


    Tony conducted his business in the shadow of the family and its many associates. He likely passed an occasional fat envelope to keep in good standing with the boss. Joe didn¡¯t know for sure but that¡¯s how business was done on The Hill and it was safe to assume Pops had to pay someone at some point. The truth was, Tony and Sal secretly loathed the mob and the notoriety they brought to their neighborhood and the good Italians in town.


    These local facts are not pertinent to Joe Theroux¡¯s story but they paint a picture of where he grew up and explain his love and loathing relationship with Italian Americans. He knew the worst of them as well as the best.


    ¡ª BAD INFLUENCE ¡ª


    Back at home, Joe kept his family up to date with his band developments, the new guys who replaced his high school friends. Mom did not approve of him hanging out with twenty-year-old men, especially that Mancuso boy. She hectored Joe while Jackie peeled potatoes.


    ¡°He¡¯s a troublemaker,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not,¡± Joe said. ¡°Sal looks scary but he¡¯s cool.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re spending too much time in that garage. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on there but I know I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    Joe met Jackie¡¯s eyes in the kitchen. ¡°We do Bible readings on Tuesday nights. You should come over with your rosary and pray with us.¡±


    Jackie stifled her laugh, barely.


    Mom''s eyes narrowed, ¡°Don¡¯t mock me.¡± She pulled a folded paper from her pocket and waved it at him. ¡°I found this in your room. You said you hadn¡¯t gotten it yet.¡±


    Joe scrunched his nose. ¡°Fuck,¡± he said under his breath.


    ¡°I called your father at work. He¡¯ll see this report card tonight and he won¡¯t be happy.¡±


    Joe stared at her without a word. He knew he was cooked.


    ¡°You¡¯re at the garage every day. Are you even going to school?¡±


    ¡°Take it easy, Ma. It¡¯s not that bad a report card.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you keep it from us?¡± She waved it again.¡±That Sal is a bad influence and I¡¯m not going to have you getting in trouble because of him.¡±


    ¡°He does a good job of getting in trouble by himself,¡± Jackie smirked at Joe.


    Mom turned to Jackie, ¡°This doesn¡¯t concern you.¡± She put the report card back in her pocket. ¡°You stay home. Your father would like a few words with you.¡±


    Mom left to get ready for work. Joe joined Jackie at the counter, filled a pot with water, and placed it on the stove. They said nothing for a moment.


    Jackie leaned closer. ¡°She told Dad over the phone that you should be grounded. She wants him to forbid you from hanging out at the garage.¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Joe wiped his hands. ¡°Do you have dinner handled?


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You can set one less place. I won¡¯t be home.¡± Joe kissed her forehead, grabbed his leather, and walked to the door.


    ¡°Joey! Mom is gonna freak out.¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± He smiled. ¡°Enjoy.¡±


    Jackie flipped off the door as it closed behind Joe. ¡°Thanks a lot, jerk.¡±

 Ch.03 - Wayward Son

    At 10:15 PM, Joe opened the door to the kitchen and stepped in. All he saw was his dad¡¯s open hand inches from his head.


    ¡°Owwww, what the fu¡­?¡±


    ¡°What the hell is this?" Dad barked. "An F and a D on this lousy report card.¡± He waved it in Joe¡¯s face. ¡°What are you doing in school¡­ nothing? Are you even going to school? Who are you ditching with? Are you at that goddamn garage all day?"


    ¡°Dad, one question at a time,¡± He slipped past his father and went to the fridge. Dad followed him. ¡°That report says I¡¯m not very bright. I can¡¯t answer so many questions at once.¡± Joe ducked in anticipation of a second blow. Another open hand landed on the side of his head. It wasn¡¯t hard, just an attention-getting whack.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a wise ass. Are you ditching school?¡±


    ¡°No, I go to school.¡± Joe reached for the bottle of milk.


    ¡°Are you skipping classes?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but only the D and the F.¡± He removed the foil cap. ¡° go to classes I like. I also got two A¡¯s, one B, and a couple of C¡¯s.¡± Joe took a big chug of milk.


    Dad pushed the bottle causing milk to dribble down his son¡¯s face. ¡°Don¡¯t drink from the bottle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you drink from the bottle. Where do you think I learned this bad behavior?¡±


    Dad took the bottle and the cap, sealed it, and put it back in the fridge while Joe assessed Bill¡¯s level of anger.


    The old man pointed. ¡°Sit down!¡±


    Joe slid his butt onto a worn maple kitchen chair, the gimp with one short leg. It wobbled annoyingly. Dad sat across from him his hands on the table where Joe could see them. His baby sister Jeanie peeked in from the living room. He winked at her. She smiled.


    In these occasional father-son exchanges at home, Dad never hurt Joe and the son sort of enjoyed watching his dad struggle to play the role of enforcer. It wasn¡¯t in Bill Theroux¡¯s nature. He was the low-key parent. When Dad got serious Joe tried to make him laugh. Nothing was better than seeing Dad break when he was trying to be the man of the house. It made him angrier, which was hilarious to his only son.


    ¡°Look, son, you may not like all your classes but you need them to graduate. I know a diploma means nothing to you but to Mom and me and the rest of the world, it matters. You don¡¯t want to ¡­.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Joe interrupted. ¡°I know. I don¡¯t want to work in a factory for the rest of my life, slaving for the man in a thankless job with no way out.¡± He knew Dad¡¯s speech forward and backward.


    Dad lowered his voice. ¡°We¡¯ve had these talks so many times you know what I¡¯m gonna say. That, and this report card, says you¡¯re not listening.¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m not listening how can I recite your sweatshop speech like I wrote it myself? I hear you, Dad. We just don¡¯t agree on high school. I love history, science is cool, and English is great when we¡¯re doing literature. Bookkeeping and economics? Boring as fuck.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t curse in this house!¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Why did you enroll in the business program if it bores you? You passed all your classes in vocational.¡±


    ¡°I quit vocational because teachers think you¡¯re a moron if you¡¯re in a shop program. I hate their condescending bullshit if you ask a question or don¡¯t understand a lesson the first time through.¡±


    Joe left him a chance to say something. Bill had nothing.


    ¡°Plus a lot of girls are in business,¡± Joe added. ¡°They¡¯re the only reason I go to those shitty classes three days a week.¡±


    Dad glared at him. Joe could see the old man¡¯s armor was coming down. The son exhausted his father at times. Bill was a good guy, a hard-working blue-collar man who took care of his family. He and Joe didn¡¯t have the same plans for the future. Not that Joe had plans. He had ideas, and a head cluttered with schemes and dreams.


    ¡°I promised you I¡¯d graduate with my class, no repeating a year, and no summer school. I¡¯m on track for that even with that F on my report. For the record, that D is a passing grade. I aimed for 70 and I nailed it.¡± Joe pumped his fist. Dad banged his palm on the table.


    ¡°Stop! Can you imagine what grades you¡¯d get if you went to class and applied yourself?¡± He leaned in with the low disappointed tone that always followed his anger. Dad never changed his playbook. ¡°You were an honor student through Freshman year. You slipped a little last year. Now you just don¡¯t give a damn about your future. I don¡¯t understand what happened to you.¡±


    Joe sat for a moment¡­ calculating. He couldn¡¯t tell Dad that beer, pot, punk rock, and girls had ruined his only son. That would¡¯ve put a major clamp on his band practice and party schedule. Joe never skipped those classes.


    Dad continued, ¡°And look at this! Your Social Studies teacher added a note that you¡¯re disruptive in class and the typing teacher says you¡¯re not a serious student.¡±


    ¡°My Social Studies teacher is boring. All she does is read from the textbook and give assignments. I try to have discussions in class and she isn¡¯t equipped for that. What did my economics teacher note?"


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because Mr. McBride has a sense of humor. He encourages discussion and I amuse him with my questions.¡±


    ¡°How could you get a D in typing? It can¡¯t be that hard.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s tedious. When will I ever need to type? I did just enough work to get by. Mrs. Boucher likes me. I think that¡¯s why she passed me with the D. It was touch and go there for a while.¡±


    Another palm slam, this one half-hearted, barely made a sound. The game was almost over.


    ¡°Why is everything a wisecrack with you, Joe? Do you think there¡¯s a future in being funny?¡±


    ¡°Making girls laugh in class is fun, especially the ones who think I¡¯m a loser. They try not to laugh but I eventually get them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about a future making out with girls! You have to be more serious about your grades. It¡¯s not a damn joke.¡± Dad looked down at the report card. ¡°How do you get an F in bookkeeping and a B in math?¡±


    ¡°I missed a couple of quizzes and didn¡¯t make them up.¡± Joe shrugged. ¡°It dropped my average.¡±


    ¡°You skipped class on a test day?¡±


    ¡°Dad, we don¡¯t have the same idea of what the future is for me. I don¡¯t even know what that is but I don¡¯t believe what they¡¯re teaching in high school is the key. I don¡¯t want to spend my life in a factory. Trust that I¡¯ll keep my promise, graduate, and then I¡¯ll figure out what¡¯s next.¡±


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re not banking on this band saving you from a real job. I¡¯ve heard you guys. Even good bands don¡¯t make it, and you¡¯re not good.¡±


    Joe ignored the old man¡¯s dig, paused for a moment, leaned in, and repeated a promise he¡¯d made a few times in the past. ¡°I will finish high school with a diploma, I promise.¡± He smirked at his 39-year-old Dad. For a teenager that was old.


    Dad¡¯s elbows were now on the kitchen table, his head in his hands staring at the worn wood finish. This was the outcome of these father-son matches since Joe turned fifteen. Dad had won every bout up to age thirteen. He was still winning most battles but Joe had honed his skills in defeat and he knew all of Dad¡¯s moves. He could withstand the smacks and beat back the old man¡¯s words with his own.


    Dad spoke quietly. ¡°You know we love you,¡¯¡± he paused, ¡°and we appreciate what you do for your sisters.¡±


    ¡°I love you too, Dad.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a good son and we just want the best for you. Finishing school is a big step in getting what¡¯s best.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll finish the job, it just won¡¯t be straight A''s.¡±


    ¡°Your mother wants me to ground you. I won¡¯t do that because I know you¡¯ve sacrificed being the oldest. I¡¯m trying to be fair.¡± Dad got up and put his hand gently on his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I slapped you.¡±


    He wandered off to the losing locker room trying to figure out what went wrong with his game plan. Was it the offense or defense that failed? Nothing actually went wrong. He said his words and Joe offered his side. In the end, Joe repeated his promise to finish high school. That seemed like a decent outcome for Dad.


    A funny thing about Dad¡¯s education speech, not once did it include college. Higher education was never a consideration. Mom and Dad didn¡¯t attend college. She did nursing school and Dad attended a trade school. None of Joe¡¯s aunts or uncles went to college. Joe once told his guidance counselor, the fetching Miss Murray, that college was something other people did. They were working class and he accepted it. He wasn¡¯t putting his family down. That¡¯s simply the way it was.


    ¡ª¡ª- FAITH NO MORE ¡ª¡ª-


    Mom got home at 11:50 p.m. from her hospital shift. Most nights, Joe stayed up for her. They¡¯d talk as he helped her make school lunches and packed his sisters'' Barbie and Wonder Woman lunch boxes, and then he¡¯d go to bed. He was expecting her to rip him for going out against her wishes and skipping dinner. She was surprisingly calm. Joe explained that Dad had already scolded him and he repeated his promise to her. Mom had something else on her mind.


    ¡°When was the last time you went to mass¡­ Christmas?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Christmas and Easter, that¡¯s my schedule.¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯s a sin. You must honor the sabbath.¡±


    Joe shrugged, not interested in having this talk¡­ again. He stared blankly at his mother as she laid her Catholic guilt trip on him while making baloney and cheese sandwiches. Just like Dad, she never changed her playbook. She went on and on, over and over, again and again.


    He had done everything his parents asked of him regarding the Catholic Church. He went to catechism once a week since first grade. He made his First Communion and attended mass with his family every Sunday up until high school. That¡¯s when he began to waver. Joe wasn¡¯t buying what the church was selling but that wasn¡¯t his only problem with church.


    Joe¡¯s sister Janie was his best friend in the world. She was only nineteen months younger than him. When she died tragically and horribly on a summer day in 1972, it changed Joe forever. He was a mess. Eventually, his parents sought professional help from a child psychologist, Dr. Barbara Nichols.


    Mom always said he was the sweetest boy, so well-behaved, always happy, and an honor student. After Janie¡¯s accident, Joe turned to the dark side. He withdrew. For nearly two years he was a walking ghost haunted by his sister¡¯s death. Dr. Nichols was very good with Joe. He trusted and confided in her but she was no miracle worker. The first time he emerged from his shadow of grief he lashed out violently, punching out a bully in the school corridor. He began questioning everything and everyone, his parents, his teachers, but especially his faith.


    How could a loving god take his beautiful sister away from him? They grew up together. Janie adored her big brother and he loved her dearly. She was the funniest, sweetest girl he knew¡­ then she died, horrifically. Why was God punishing him? He was just a kid.


    When his father¡¯s mother, Joe¡¯s Memere, said it was part of God¡¯s plan, he thought, ¡®Screw God and his cruel plan.¡¯


    Joe became that kid the nuns smacked with a ruler for questioning dogma and doctrine. At home, he rarely spoke of his loss of faith. His parents heard of it from the nuns. He was always in trouble at catechism.


    By age twelve, Sister Mary Agnus had enough of Joe. He asked a simple question, seeking a logical answer, but she was not equipped to handle his query.


    ¡°In geography, I learned that South America is thousands of miles away from the holy land, like ten thousand miles. You just said Noah collected two of every insect. In science, Mr. Jameson said there are ten thousand species of beetles in the Amazon. How did Noah go ten thousand miles and collect twenty thousand bugs?¡±


    ¡°He had the arc,¡± Mary Agnes said.


    ¡°No. He collected the animals before the rain.¡± Joe said argumentatively. ¡°The arc was built on dry land.¡±


    ¡°You must have faith. This was God¡¯s work. He can do anything.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t he build the arc himself?¡±


    ¡°Joseph Theroux.¡± She glared at him, stepping between classroom desks, closer to Joe. All young Catholic eyes were on him. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    ¡°And how could he tell the male beetles from the females?¡±


    Out came the ruler. Joe pulled his hands back and folded his arms. His hands went into his armpits. It was the perfect defense against the nun ruler. It does however leave your head vulnerable. He took two whacks on the noggin. Two days later there was a dreadfully painful parent-nun conference. Mom was angry but she was mostly embarrassed. Sister Mary Agnes had a way of making people feel small, like sinners. Mom took the blame for Joe¡¯s behavior and she hated it.


    For years after Janie¡¯s death, he went through the motions, Sunday mass, and catechism. In freshman year he started skipping here and there and then more and more. At sixteen, after he made his Holy Confirmation, he stopped attending mass. Mom and Dad pecked at him at first. He explained that he had made his holy sacraments for them, not himself. He was now old enough to make up his mind. Mom never gave up. She was always on him about his godlessness. Tonight¡¯s lecture was just the latest.


    ¡°Mom, it¡¯s not a sin in my heart. I won¡¯t lie. I don¡¯t cheat or steal. I love you, Dad, and the girls. I believe in the Golden Rule. I don¡¯t need a church to teach me right from wrong, so I¡¯m not going anymore. Guilting me won¡¯t change my mind.¡±


    She rambled on for another minute repeating the same lines she always used, ¡°Your faith will guide you. You¡¯ll need it someday¡­ and God will be there for you.¡±


    ¡°Like he was there for Janie?¡±


    Mom sighed and put her hand on his, ¡°You can¡¯t be angry about that forever.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, just watch me.¡±


    The mother knew her son. Joe bringing up his sister was him ending the talk. He would not be moved. She had one last thing to say. ¡°Do your father a favor. When Memere visits on Easter Sunday, come to church with us. It would kill her to know you¡¯ve gone astray.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I attend Christmas and Easter mass? Memere is always with us. Dad asked me that favor long ago. I promise Super Catholic Memere will never know.¡±


    Alice Theroux kissed her son on the cheek, ¡°I pray that someday you¡¯ll come back. Life is hard, Joseph. You¡¯ll need your faith someday.¡±


    ¡°Not today.¡±


    ¡ª THE F CHORD ¡ª


    In the middle of a song, Joe hit a bad chord, struggled to get back in rhythm, stepped away from the mic, and finally, quit playing altogether.


    ¡°I fuck up that F chord every time. I can¡¯t make a smooth transition from G to F.¡±


    Johnny took a drag off his cigarette. ¡°We get it, you fucked up but never stop playing, man.¡± He stepped closer to Joe pointing with the fingers his cigarette was nestled between. ¡°You have to learn how to plow through those mistakes. You know this. We talk about it all the time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard when I can¡¯t get back on the tracks,¡± Joe said in a less agitated tone. ¡°I tried to catch up but I was lost.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to play catch up. Think of the next best place to join back in; at the beginning of a new bar, the chorus, whatever it is, and jump back in.¡±


    Sal offered his two cents. ¡°We didn¡¯t hear your fuck up. I¡¯m doing my thing, focusing on my job.¡± He pointed at Johnny and Nate. ¡°We don¡¯t hear your little mistakes, only the big ones¡­ like fucking quitting in the middle of a song!¡±


    ¡°And your volume is set lower for that reason, not just because I¡¯m lead guitar,¡± Johnny added. We keep it lower to manage the situation.¡±


    ¡°You mean the fact I can¡¯t play for shit¡­ that situation?¡± Joe said, stating the obvious.


    ¡°No. You play fine.¡± Johnny corrected him. ¡°You¡¯re still learning. You know all your parts on every song. You just need to keep working. You¡¯ll be even better in two weeks.¡±


    ¡°The fuck ups come when I¡¯m playing and singing,¡± Joe confessed. ¡°I have a hard time doing both.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Johnny took another drag and blew the smoke. ¡°That¡¯s because you must have one part committed to muscle memory. If you know the words and melody without flaw you can sing it without even thinking. Then you focus on the guitar parts.¡±


    ¡°Get the singing down first,¡± Nate added. ¡°None of us can do that.¡±


    ¡°And you can skip playing any parts you struggle with.¡± Johnny leaned in close. ¡°You¡¯ll be great when it all clicks. Until then, fake it til¡¯ you make it; and never stop in the middle of the song.¡±


    ¡°So my guitar really does become a prop.¡±


    ¡°Hey man, that was your joke about yourself,¡± Sal laughed. ¡°We can¡¯t help that it¡¯s funny.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a prop if you¡¯re playing it,¡± Johnny added, ¡°And you¡¯re playing ninety percent of what we need. The rest will come.¡±


    Johnny stubbed out his cigarette and lit another while stepping back to his mic. Joe gathered himself and strummed a few chords, D, G, and that fucking F chord. It didn¡¯t ring out. It was a bit muted but close enough.


    The song they were playing was not difficult, but that F chord always tripped Joe up. He stepped up to the mic. ¡°Okay, ready. One and a two and a three and a four.¡± Johnny¡¯s guitar led the band back to the number they¡¯d been rehearsing all morning.


    As Joe began singing he glanced at Johnny, the coolest guy in the band. Joe had grown to like and trust Johnny. Playing with a superior guitarist was exactly what he needed. Without saying so, Johnny took him under his wing. He became his guitar mentor and he taught Sal a few things too. Johnny didn¡¯t say much but he knew what to say and when to say it. The band¡¯s best musician showed nothing but patience and a willingness to guide Joe. Johnny was kind and thoughtful, unusually so for a cool guy.


    The band got through the song almost without error. Joe fucked up his F chord a couple of times, played through it, and recovered. At the end of the song, he skipped it once because he wanted to belt out the final lyrics.


    ¡°See what you did there at the end,¡± Johnny pointed a finger at Joe. ¡°You reached up for the mic to emphasize your singing. No one would ever know you were taking a break on guitar. That¡¯s what I mean by fake it ¡®til you make it.¡±


    ¡°That was a good take,¡± Nate said. ¡°Can we play something else now? I¡¯m a fucking sick of that song.¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    After a rough start, when Joe was not sure about Nate, he came around to liking him. He just wasn¡¯t sure he could trust him. Nate was the oldest band member, almost twenty-two. He came to Providence from New York City as a kid, after mom and dad divorced. Mom was from Rhode Island so she returned home for family support. Nate hated the move. Starting over at age eleven was tough so his granddad bought him a drum set to keep him out of trouble. At age fifteen he joined a band with thirteen-year-old Sal. That began an on and off again friendship that revolved around music. They were in two high school bands together. Back then, Johnny played in better bands but sometimes jammed with Sal and Nate.


    Nate was as average a guy as you could imagine. 5 ''9 " medium frame, not particularly handsome but not ugly. He had reddish blonde hair, shaggy, wavy, and curly. He graduated high school, joined the Navy, and was out after two years. Johnny washed out at URI. Sal went to work for his old man. Now they were in a band Joe started.


    As they continued to practice, playing a few songs close to perfect, Sal¡¯s dad walked into the back of the factory garage with shopping bags. It seemed that every time Pops showed up he was carrying groceries, booze, or both.


    ¡°Hey, the boys are coming over for poker tonight,¡± he shouted across the garage. ¡°There¡¯ll be none of this noise.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Sal said, ¡°We¡¯re almost done for the day.¡±


    Tony went to work in his impressive kitchen with commercial-grade appliances, butcher block countertops, and the old dining set from the 1950s with red Naugahyde cushions. The kitchen was Tony¡¯s home away from home because his wife was in charge of the house and did the cooking there.


    The young men were permitted to use their corner of the garage opposite the kitchen for band practice, but once Tony arrived they had to, ¡°Turn that shit down.¡± The old man didn¡¯t appreciate punk rock, garage rock, ¡°Or whatever the fuck you call that noise.¡±


    The band lowered the volume a little and finished the song they were in the middle of when Tony arrived, then Sal called it quits.


    ¡°Hey Pops,¡± Sal called out across the large room, ¡°Are you cooking?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the guys are coming over.¡± Tony pulled pots from an overhead rack. ¡°I just told you. That crap you play is making you deaf.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, I¡¯m starving.¡± Sal smiled at the guys. ¡°You hungry?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Joe said, ¡°But I have to go home. I promised Mom I¡¯d have Sunday dinner with my sisters, and I have fucking homework to do.¡±


    Nate laughed in a mocking voice, taunting Joe. ¡°Little Joey has homework.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off, Nate.¡± Joe glared at him.


    ¡°Do you have to read bedtime stories too?¡±


    Joe ignored the last dig as he packed his Tele and unplugged his amp. ¡°I have to take my gear home to practice.¡± He looked at Sal. ¡°Can you give me a lift?¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sal didn¡¯t want to but he agreed to help Joe. Hauling a tube amp and guitar a half mile was not fun. ¡°Hey Pops. I¡¯m taking the van. Be right back.¡±


    It was odd that Joe, the youngest by three years, was the de facto leader of the band. Sal had a lot of input and reset the course of the band when he joined but Joe was the frontman and selected most of the songs they played. He had ideas for the band, a stage show the older guys were not yet sold on.


    On the drive to Joe¡¯s house, Sal had something to discuss. ¡°How many songs do we have now?¡±


    ¡°We have twenty-three we know pretty well, and a few we¡¯re working on.¡±


    ¡°Can we stretch that into three hours?¡±


    ¡°That would be a big stretch. I think we need at least thirty. I can make it three hours with the other ideas I have.¡±


    ¡°You mean those stunts you¡¯re going on about?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Sal glanced over as he pulled in front of Joe¡¯s house. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that idea.¡±


    Joe got out of the van opened the sliding door and grabbed his guitar case and amp. He looked over at Sal in the front seat. ¡°Look Sal, when you joined this band you came in with all these ideas to punk-up our songs. I gave it a chance and it¡¯s working for me. You have to give me a chance with my ideas.¡±


    ¡°Sing-a-longs don¡¯t sound punk to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make a deal with you. If you find us a gig and let me try this shit out, we can discuss it afterward and decide if it works. I don¡¯t want to be a band that just stands there and plays through a set like a million other cover bands do. We have to be different.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you keep saying that.¡± Sal rolled his eyes. ¡°You want to entertain.¡±


    ¡°I want to set us apart from all the other bands playing around town. If you¡¯re on board Johnny will go with it too.¡±


    ¡°Nate won¡¯t. He thinks it¡¯s stupid.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m aware Nate hates my ideas. All I need is for you and Johnny to give me a chance. You focus on getting us a gig and leave the show to me.¡±


    ¡°First we have to do that jam party to play through the whole set. Maybe you can try your stunts at the garage.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m saving it for our first gig. It¡¯ll be better that way. No one will see it coming.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª HOODRATS ¡ª---


    As the weeks passed, Joe was feeling more confident, except for his occasional F chord. He was getting better at faking it, grabbing the mic when he lost his place to focus on his singing, and selling it. He even did that when he was playing well just to make it seem like his thing, bouncing between rhythm guitar and lead singer. Johnny smiled, appreciating the kid¡¯s improvisation.


    One of the best things about Joe¡¯s new friends and their factory garage hangout was the crowd they drew, especially on weekends. There was a steady stream of kids in and out of the garage, singles, in pairs, and carloads. They¡¯d hang around, drink beer, maybe get stoned, and listen to band practice.


    Joe let the word out when they had an ¡®open practice¡¯ so classmates he liked could pop in and see what he was talking about in school every day, his punk rock band. A handful of high school kids showed up, then a few more as word spread, but it was mostly Sal¡¯s friends hanging out in the garage¡­ the hoodrats.


    They were largely twenty-something townies from Federal Hill and neighborhoods beyond. Several were college students at nearby Rhode Island College, Many were not college material. It was a rough crowd and they loved hanging out with the band.


    Joe and Sal had picked up a large couch and two easy chairs at the Goodwill Thrift store. They also found a gaudy red sofa on the side of the road, left out for trash. It was in good shape, so they snagged it. It was so ornate and tacky Joe christened it the porn sofa because it belonged in a brothel. The lounge area was in the middle of the garage, between the kitchen table and the band¡¯s practice setup.


    Best of all were the girls. There were so many young women around the garage it was hard for Joe to keep track of their names. One in particular had Joe¡¯s attention. Claire was a freshman at RIC. She was from Cumberland, a town north of Providence on the Massachusetts state line.


    A few weeks back she showed up with a carload of girls for one of the band¡¯s open practices. Joe couldn¡¯t help but notice she was locked in on him, unbroken eye contact. He had to look away so he could focus on his guitar and lyrics. During a break, he grabbed a beer and sat on the porn sofa. Within seconds, Claire was at his side.


    ¡°Hi. I¡¯m Claire.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡± Joe nodded.


    She stared at him for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to tell me your name.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Joe.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Then why did I have to tell you?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s the polite thing to do.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Joe nodded. ¡°You¡¯re one of those rule followers, etiquette and stuff.¡±


    Claire scrunched her nose, not sure how to respond. After a moment, she changed the subject. ¡°You guys are good. I like how you play every song harder than it should be.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. That¡¯s our thing.¡±


    ¡°You have a good voice too.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    She stared again. ¡°You don¡¯t say much, do you?¡±


    Sal was watching from the other sofa, ¡°Be careful what you wish for. Once he gets to know you he won¡¯t shut the fuck up.¡±


    Whenever Claire appeared at the garage she made a point of talking to Joe, usually finding a seat by his side. They started discussing music and their favorite bands. When Joe learned she was a basketball fan they had two things to talk about. Reading was a third shared interest.


    ¡°What are the last three books you¡¯ve read,¡± she asked.


    ¡°As a school assignment or just on my own?¡±


    ¡°Books you chose.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m currently reading Naked Lunch. It¡¯s not an easy read. Before that was 1984 and Brave New World. I¡¯ve read those two a few times each.¡±


    ¡°Three times?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Why? You know how they end.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the writing and the tone. Those books have a vibe I can¡¯t explain.¡±


    ¡°Creepy,¡± she said. ¡°Surreal.¡±


    ¡°Dark.¡±


    ¡°Yes. They are dark. What else do you read?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna think this is weird. Do you know Foxe''s Book of Martyrs?¡±


    ¡°You read that?¡±


    ¡°Not all of it. It¡¯s a slog. I¡¯m just fascinated by the horrible things men do in the name of religion. That book documents all the horrors; beheadings, burnings at the stake, the drawing and quartering. It¡¯s astounding how cruel good Christians can be.¡±


    Claire leaned back. ¡°That is some dark shit. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I like the macabre¡±


    Claire laughed. ¡°I can see that. What do you think of serial killers, like Son of Sam or Manson?¡±


    Joe smiled, ¡°Fascinating.¡±


    There was a good reason Joe was reserved when they first met. Claire was two years older than Joe and way out of his league. He knew college girls wanted nothing to do with a seventeen-year-old. He kept his cool, not getting over his skis, but he liked her. He wouldn¡¯t dare make a move on a college girl. He could only imagine a humiliating rejection.


    On another Sunday afternoon in early April, the band worked their set while a group of kids looked on. It was their first major jam party in the garage with beer and pizza provided by Tony. Sal got the word out to the hoodrats. Joe invited the kids he liked at school. Over the course of the day, more than sixty friends of the band passed through.


    The kitchen table and the lounge were full, including Claire and her college roommate, Donna. Claire smiled at Joe as she and Donna danced to a surf rock tune, Apache. Joe watched them, digging Claire¡¯s moves. She had a very nice bottom.


    As the band ended a song, Sal had an announcement. He stepped up to Joe¡¯s mic. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for a place to play for weeks. It¡¯s been frustrating. No one will give us a shot, but I finally booked our first gig.¡±


    ¡°Is it at Lupo Heartbreak Hotel?¡± A kid shouted from across the room.


    ¡°No,¡± Sal said, annoyed. ¡°They have big bands there.¡±


    ¡°The Living Room?¡± Another girl asked.


    ¡°No. We¡¯re not ready for places like that.¡±


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    ¡°The Underground.¡±


    A few kids laughed but most remained silent. Sal became more annoyed. ¡°What the fuck do you want from me? We¡¯re not getting a gig downtown, not yet. We have to start somewhere.¡±


    ¡°The Underground is a shithole,¡± Nate said.


    ¡°Do they even have live music?¡± Claire asked.


    ¡°They just started last month,¡± Sal said, ¡°And they need bands. Vic said he¡¯d give us a shot.¡±


    ¡°Vic is a scumbag,¡± Johnny noted. ¡°You trust him?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a free gig,¡± Sal said lowly.


    ¡°Woohoo!¡± Joe cheered. ¡°You got us a non-paying gig at the shitiest dive bar in town.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, Joe.¡± Sal stepped towards him.


    Joe ran away laughing with most of the kids. ¡°At least we know we''re getting fucked going in.¡±


    ¡°If we do well at the door,¡± Sal added. ¡°Vic said he¡¯ll pay us.¡±


    Sensing Sal was feeling bruised by the under-reaction and negative comments, Joe walked over, put his hand on his shoulder, and looked toward the hoodrats. ¡°Ya know what? If all of you show up and drag a few friends along we¡¯ll prove to Vic we can draw a crowd.¡± He turned to Sal. ¡°When is this big gig?¡±


    ¡°In two weeks, April 19th. It¡¯s a Friday.¡±


    ¡°If we do well there,¡± Joe smiled, ¡°maybe we¡¯ll get a shot downtown.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking,¡± Sal said, glaring at Nate and Johnny, the naysayers.


    ¡°We have two weeks to work on this set and my special songs,¡± Joe smiled.


    ¡°Oh, fuck,¡± Nate blurted out. ¡°Are you still on that bullshit?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and Sal is with me¡­ right Sal?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Sal nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll give you one shot¡­ right Johnny?¡±


    Johnny looked at Joe, ¡°Just one. If it doesn¡¯t work¡­¡± he made a throat-cutting gesture.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯ll work,¡± Joe said as he walked toward the lounge area. ¡°I guarantee it.¡±


    Joe went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Seconds after he took a seat on the other sofa, Claire was right there by his side. ¡°What are these special songs you¡¯re talking about?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say. It¡¯s top secret.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± She pushed Joe¡¯s hair out of his face with a finger. ¡°You won¡¯t tell me?¡±


    ¡°You have to come to our show to find out.¡±


    ¡°You know I work Friday and Saturday nights. It¡¯s hard to get time off on weekends.¡±


    ¡°Sucks to be you,¡± Joe smirked. ¡°You¡¯re gonna miss our debut.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even have a band name yet?¡±


    ¡°Ya, Joe,¡± Sal jumped in. ¡°What¡¯s the name of this band? It¡¯s your band, right? We don¡¯t even have a name.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m working on it.¡±


    --- ACI ---


    After dinner, Joe sat with Dad in the living room. Cronkite was on the television and the newspaper was up, blocking Dad¡¯s face. He peeked to see who came in.


    ¡°Are the girls good?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe said. ¡°Jeanie¡¯s doing homework. Jules is reading. I¡¯ll be going out soon.¡±


    ¡°To the garage?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We¡¯re practicing every day now. We have a gig.¡±


    ¡°Really? It¡¯s about time.¡±


    ¡°Sal¡¯s been working his ass off trying to find us a place to play. He finally scored.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°The Underground.¡±


    Dad lowered his newspaper. ¡°Jesus Christ, Joe. That place is a shit hole. You cannot tell your mother you¡¯re going anywhere near that joint.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re playing there next Friday. We¡¯ll play our set and get out.¡±


    Dad shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about this. Understand? You did not tell me.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    The Underground was so infamous even Joe¡¯s Mom, a woman who rarely drank and never went into bars, knew what went on there¡­. and she did not approve. When Johnny said Vic the bar manager was a scumbag, he was not wrong. Vic was the nephew of the bar owner and a near-do-well who did time at the Adult Correctional Institute, i.e., Rhode Island State Prison. Vic had sold drugs to an undercover cop. A few years at the ACI didn¡¯t teach him a lesson. He was a known drug dealer and used his position at the West End dive bar to move pot, pills, and coke, among other things.


    In addition to being the corner drugstore, prostitutes were known to work the bar and it was a frequent stop for Providence Police as fisticuffs between the low-life regulars sometimes escalated into brawls. There were two stabbings Joe knew of. This was not an ideal place for a first gig.


    In the days leading up to the show, Sal closed the garage to the hoodrats so the band could work on their set as well as Joe¡¯s special songs. Band practice went private. It was not going as well as Joe had hoped.


    ¡°This is dumb,¡± Nate bitched after they completed a song that was less than ninety seconds in length. ¡°Do you really think they¡¯re going to sing along to this crap?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do,¡± Joe said, ¡°Because everyone grew up with his song and they know the words.¡±


    Johnny laughed, ¡°I know the words but I¡¯m not singing it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not for you.¡±


    Joe didn¡¯t waste any time worrying about Nate¡¯s complaining or Johnny¡¯s snickering at his ideas. Sal kept his mouth shut and worked on Joe¡¯s ¡®dumb songs¡¯ that Nate was actively trying to kill. He launched into his guitar part on another short song and waited for the guys to join in. They reluctantly followed his lead.


    Joe spread the word around school that his punk band had a gig at The Underground. Most kids only knew of the joint by reputation. Some knew of it because Vic was known to serve underage drinkers. Most kids were not brave enough to enter that dark, subterranean world, but those who did never had to worry about being carded. The drinking age was eighteen in 1978. It was not uncommon to see high school kids in bars trying to get served. Sandy was not among them, she was a good girl.


    ¡°Are you seriously playing The Underground?¡± she asked while walking between classes with Joe. Kids moved like salmon in a stream. Others stood at lockers, talking. ¡°That place is nasty. My brother said it¡¯s all drugs and sex.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going there to play, not that other stuff. Will you come to the show?¡±


    ¡°No, Joe. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m not going there. Only creeps drink there. My Dad would disown me.¡±


    ¡°Your brother Scotty is a creep?¡±


    ¡°Very funny.¡±


    ¡°I promise to protect you.¡±


    Sandy stopped walking and looked at Joe. ¡°I know you would, and I appreciate you saying that, but I¡¯m not going anywhere I need protection.¡±


    Joe was disappointed but not surprised. Even college kids had expressed reservations about going to the show. Joe and Sal convinced them with simple logic, ¡°We will outnumber The Underground riff-raff. There¡¯s safety in numbers.¡±


    -¡ª- MONOTONE ¡ª--


    Joe was annoyed that Mrs. Monaghan had commented on his report card that he was disruptive in class. He wasn¡¯t a class clown, he just preferred an open class where discussing the topic at hand was welcome. He might crack a joke during the discussion but he wasn¡¯t trying to be disruptive¡­ until she wrote that comment.


    Boring Mrs. Monotone, a name Joe tagged her with at the start of the school year, was his least favorite teacher. She was old and cranky and sometimes mean. He suspected she hated her job. What really annoyed him was the fact she made his favorite class boring. He loved Social Studies; history, civics, and geography. Monotone ruined it. While she droned on about the rights granted in our founding documents, Joe raised his hand.


    Mrs. Mono peered over her old lady eyeglasses. ¡°Yes, Mister Theroux.¡± Her annoyance was obvious in her tone.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you find the term freedom of religion to be ironic?¡±


    Mrs. Mono sighed, ¡°How so?


    ¡°Maybe ironic is the wrong word,¡± Joe replied. ¡°It¡¯s an oxymoron. Religion is the antithesis of freedom. The church tells you what to do, what not to do when to do it, and when not to do it. Religion violates our First Amendment. If you even speak against the church it¡¯s considered heresy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the Dark Ages, Joe, and it¡¯s not freedom in religion. It¡¯s freedom of religion.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not the Dark Ages but the Catholic Church would like it to be. They¡¯d prefer to keep us in the dark.¡±


    Joe knew she was like his Mom, a Super Catholic. His church comment was a dagger.


    ¡°This is about our Constitutional rights, not a class on religion.¡±


    ¡°I get that but the founding fathers refer to God and religion quite often in their documents and speeches¡­ politicians still lean on that crutch. So, religion is an important factor in our history, whether we like it or not.¡±


    Mrs. Monotone stared at Joe. He knew she was displeased because she was incapable of concealing it. Her face was an open door to her cold, humorless soul.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get back to the text.¡±


    ¡°Why? You¡¯ve read that same book your entire career, like a hundred years. I think we learn by exchanging ideas.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re just being disruptive.¡±


    Her using the D-word was Joe¡¯s opening to challenge her. ¡°Yes, I know you feel that way because you put that on my report card. I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s disruptive for students to discuss the subject of the class. It makes the class more interesting.¡± Joe glanced around the room. Many eyes were on him. ¡°Does anyone agree with me?¡±


    Some kids nodded. A couple raised their hands meekly. There were murmurs.


    ¡°Mister Theroux. Now you¡¯re being disruptive and disrespectful of my teaching. If you can¡¯t quiet yourself, I¡¯ll send you to the office.¡±


    ¡°You should retire.¡± Joe shook his head. ¡°The profession has passed you by.¡±


    There were gasps and laughs around the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± She pointed toward the door. ¡°Go to the principal''s office. Now!¡±


    ¡°Sweet,¡± Joe said as he stood up. ¡°You¡¯re doing me a favor. There¡¯s nothing worse than a teacher who makes your favorite subject¡­ boring.¡±


    Some kids laughed. There were more gasps. All eyes followed him out the door. Joe did not report to the principal¡¯s office. The bell rang as soon as he hit the corridor, so he went to his Science class.


    In Science, a girl he was fond of approached him before class began. Abby was a cute, petite blonde who was always sweet to Joe. She was a smart girl, but a little shy. Joe kind of liked Abby but she always had a boyfriend.


    ¡°I totally agree with you about Mrs. Monotone. I hate her class. She¡¯s awful.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she makes me hate history. All she knows are the words in the book.¡±


    ¡°Hey. I heard your band is playing at The Underground next week. Gina Lombardo lives around the corner. She said the cops were there last night, like five cruisers, and they arrested a bunch of people. She thinks it was a drug bust. Her dad says the cops want to shut that place down.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Joe said half under his breath.


    ¡°Sorry for the bad news. I hope you get to play. I heard your band is good.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re okay.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could go to your show. My Dad would ground me for life if he caught me at that place.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where our garage is?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°You can come by and see us there.¡±


    ¡°Are you inviting me?¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s welcome. Sunday afternoon is the best time. We have open practice in the afternoon.¡±


    ¡°You have a party every Sunday?


    ¡°It¡¯s not a party. People just hang out. You might know a few, like Dean Coyle and Cindy Furtado.¡±


    Abby smiled. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°I have to find out what happened at the bar. If Vic got arrested our gig is probably off.¡±


    Joe could not focus on school for the remainder of the day. He needed to know if his band¡¯s debut was still on. He skipped his last class to look into it.

 Ch.04 - Going Underground

    Joe raced home after school to check the newspaper. There was nothing in the Providence Journal regarding the bust at The Underground, likely because it happened too late at night to make the print deadline. Joe then went to the garage to see if Sal had heard anything.


    ¡°I heard the cops were crawling all over the place. They used the paddy wagon to haul hookers away.¡±


    ¡°What about Vic?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°We should go over there to see what¡¯s up. If they¡¯re open for business we should be okay, right?¡±


    Sal nodded. ¡°Good thinking. ¡°


    Twelve minutes later, Joe and Sal walked into the bar. It was open, but barely. There were three old-timers at the bar. They asked the bartender for Vic.


    ¡°He¡¯s at the police station for questioning,¡± she said.


    ¡°Did he get busted?¡±


    ¡°No. They cuffed him and made a big scene but he wasn¡¯t arrested. They were here for the girls.¡±


    Sal looked at Joe, and then back to the bartender. ¡°That¡¯s it?


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a drug bust?¡±


    ¡°There are no drugs here,¡± she said without emotion.


    Sal laughed. She didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°One of the girls was out back with a john and he got rolled,¡± she said. ¡°He reported it so the cops cleared out every woman in the place, even the old lady customers.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s Vic being questioned,¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°Because they accused him of being a pimp. He¡¯s not, and he¡¯s trying to clear that up. Do you want something to drink, or not?¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re just checking in to see if Vic was okay.¡±


    ¡°How sweet of you.¡±


    The following day in school, Joe was called to the vice principal¡¯s office during morning announcements. He walked into Mr. Reed¡¯s office dreading detention. He had too much to do after school for that shit.


    ¡°Joe, I understand Mrs. Monaghan sent you to the office yesterday but you never showed up.¡±


    ¡°She did it right before the bell went off. I had to decide if I should come here and be late for Science, or go to my next class. I like Science.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not your decision. She told me what you said. You were out of line.¡±


    Mr Reed gave Joe a speech about being disrespectful to teachers and disruptive in class. He went on a little too long. Joe was now late for Economics.


    ¡°She thinks any student asking a question is disruptive,¡± Joe said. ¡°All she wants to do is read from the textbook. Her idea of teaching is the Monaghan monotone monologue.¡±


    Mr. Reed smirked a stifled smile. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Joe.¡±


    ¡°I stand by my opinion that the profession has passed her by.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡±


    ¡°So you agree with me?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡±


    Mr Reed rambled on a little more. When he stopped talking, Joe made a move to get up, hoping he dodged detention.


    ¡°Sit down. I¡¯m not done with you.¡±


    Joe flopped back into the chair.


    ¡°I heard what happened between you and John Russo.¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be obtuse, Joe. I saw his face. You left a mark.¡±


    ¡°That was three weeks ago.¡± Joe paused. ¡°Do you know why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fully aware of your problem with Russo. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t come after you. I understand the situation but I¡¯m warning you for the last time. You have two strikes. One more fight and you¡¯re expelled. We can¡¯t have this talk again.¡±


    Joe nodded, ¡°Okay. Is that it?¡±


    ¡°You have another year, Joe. Can you go a full year without fighting?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll see. Can I go to class now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m giving you one hour of detention and you¡¯ll serve it today.¡±


    There was no point in protesting. Joe figured Reed was giving him a break and didn¡¯t want to press the issue and have him reconsider. Besides, he had other things on his mind. Over three years he had several run-ins with Mr. Reed but he didn¡¯t think he was a hard ass like many kids did.


    -¡ª- PUNCH THE CLOCK ¡ª--


    On the day of the show, Joe had a hard time staying focused at school. He skipped his last class and walked to the garage. Nate had broken down his drum kit the night before. Sal¡¯s gear was ready. They were waiting for Pops to drop off the van.


    ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± Sal noted.


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m a little nervous. My mind is going a hundred miles an hour. I feel like I''m forgetting something.¡±


    ¡°How about a name for the band?¡±


    ¡°Not that.¡±


    ¡°We know the set, even your dumb songs. We¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Joe was more than a little nervous. He was feeling genuine anxiety that made his stomach turn. He knew Sal was correct, the band was ready for this but Joe expected something to go wrong. This was a big night for him. His bandmates doubted his game plan. He needed this gig to go off without a hitch.


    When Johnny and Nate arrived, Pops was in the kitchen. He handed Sal the keys to his work van. ¡°You better lock her up. That¡¯s a bad area.¡±


    ¡°Pops, it¡¯s less than a mile away,¡± Sal laughed. ¡°It¡¯s our neighborhood.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Pops gave him a dismissive wave. ¡°Olneyville is trash.¡±


    Joe pointed south. ¡°Olneyville is right there. It¡¯s a short walk.¡±


    Tony grumbled something about druggies and whores and walked away. Sal ran out to pick up a pizza. When he returned, the guys ate their first slice as they began loading the van. Then they sat in the garage to finish their pies. Pops emerged from his office.


    ¡°Is everything good?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal said. ¡°We¡¯re packed and ready to roll.¡±


    ¡°Why is the garage door open?¡±


    ¡°So we can see the van. Our gear is in there.¡±


    ¡°And Olneyville is right there!¡± Joe added, pointing south.


    ¡°You young punks have no clue what goes on in this city.¡±


    ¡°Sure we do,¡± Joe said, ¡°You Italians have been running the show for so long that we now live in a mafia state.¡±


    Pops pointed at Joe. ¡°Don¡¯t include me with those Italians. I run a legitimate business.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon Pops,¡± Sal said. ¡°You know all the boys and they know you. You can¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t play ball with,¡± Sal made air quotes, ¡°those Italians.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s why I resent them. No matter how clean you try to be they''re gonna find a way to get to you. Let me give you some advice. Don¡¯t ever accept a favor from them. If you do they¡¯ll own you. You will never even the score. They keep coming back.¡±


    ¡°How did they get you?¡± Joe asked while grabbing another slice.


    ¡°Nineteen sixty-four,¡± Pops said under his breath. ¡°My store was broken into four times. They stole all the meat in my cooler and my Hobart meat slicers. I put in an alarm system after the first break-in. They defeated it. After the fourth break-in, I went to the boss.¡±


    ¡°Patriarca?¡± Joe asked


    ¡°Yeah. I reached him through a friend.¡±


    ¡°My Dad?¡± Johnny asked, knowing John Senior had connections.


    ¡°Yeah. He knew some guys. So the boss put the word out that my butcher shop was protected and I¡­¡±


    ¡°Started paying,¡± Sal said.


    ¡°Yes. I did. And the break-ins stopped. Years later I learned Patriarca¡¯s boys were the thieves. I refused to do business with them so they created a problem only they could solve. They learned how to defeat my alarm from the guy who installed it for me. They have their dirty hooks in everyone.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s how this city is run,¡± Joe added. ¡°It¡¯s just another racket.¡±


    ¡°What does this have to do with Olneyville?¡± Nate asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Johnny said with a mouthful of crust.


    ¡°Look,¡± Pops said. ¡°The mob is trash. They¡¯re not my friends but they keep the neighborhood clean. There are no drug dealers on The Hill and don¡¯t see any street walkers on Atwells Ave. They keep that business away from us¡­ in the West End and South Providence, in the projects.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in the West End,¡± Joe noted.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the border,¡± Sal corrected him.


    ¡°Close enough.¡±


    As the guys wrapped up their pre-show meal, Nate poked fun at Joe¡¯s plans. ¡°Tony, what do you think of Joe¡¯s silly songs?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re no worse than the other crap you play.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, man. You can¡¯t be serious. They¡¯re ridiculous.¡±


    Joe ignored him. When no one went along with his ball breaking, Nate changed the subject. Still poking at Joe. ¡°What about your girlfriend¡­will she be there?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a girlfriend.¡±


    ¡°Claire. She seems like your girl, except for the fact she¡¯s not fucking you.¡±


    Sal laughed with a mouthful of crust. ¡°No college girl is going bang a high school jailbait.¡±


    ¡°Jailbait!¡± Nated roared. ¡°There¡¯s your band name.¡±


    ¡°Give the kid a break, will ya.¡± Johnny glared at Nate.


    Nate scowled at Johnny. ¡°Yessir. We wouldn¡¯t want to hurt Joey¡¯s feelings on his big night.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Joe pushed Nate¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Sorry, Joey,¡± Nate smirked. ¡°So what is the name of this band of yours?¡±


    Joe ignored him again. As they cleared the table, he went over instructions regarding his plans for the show. The guys listened, offering no input or dumb comments. Joe knew they expected his ideas to bomb. It was entirely up to him to make it work. If not, Nate would lead the mutiny against his sideshow.


    ¡ª THE NASTIEST DIVE BAR IN TOWN ¡ª


    The Underground was a dark and dank basement-level bar below a neighborhood market also owned by Vic¡¯s uncle. The band enlisted their most trusted hoodrat, Denny, to help them set up, but also to keep an eye on things. No gear could be left unattended, not for a moment. Denny was pushing thirty and had served an apprenticeship as an electrician. He was a very handy friend.


    The only patrons in the bar were the sketchy regulars, fewer than twenty, and a handful of hoodrats who¡¯d arrived early. The regulars gave the band the side eye as they hauled amps and drums down the stairs, across the room to the small stage. Sal insisted one of them stay with the van at all times.


    Sal gestured toward the riff-raff. ¡°It looks like our kind of crowd.¡±


    ¡°You mean assholes?¡± Joe said low.


    ¡°No, punks and rockers.¡±


    ¡°There are no punks here. I hate this bar.¡±


    ¡°Joe, what the fuck are you gonna call the band?¡±


    Joe pretended to not hear him.


    The bar was a long and narrow-ish room, six steps below street level, with small windows near the low ceiling that barely let light in, because they hadn¡¯t been cleaned since the sixties. The main space was a little over thirty feet wide. They placed their gear on the riser in the very back of the room, a stage that was only eighteen inches above the floor.


    Johnny looked overhead. ¡°Hey, where did these Klieg lights come from? They weren¡¯t here before.¡±


    ¡°I forgot to tell ya," said Sal. "Vic said he had a strip of cans from back when they had music here. He had them put back up.¡±


    ¡°I did the work,¡± Denny said, as he set down Nate¡¯s bass drum. ¡°They¡¯re safe but hot.¡±


    The strip of six lights was twenty inches above Johnny¡¯s head over the front edge of the stage. Joe reached up and touched them. ¡°Fuck, they¡¯re hot.¡±


    Johnny laughed, ¡°Dummy.¡±


    Denny shook his head. ¡°I just told you that.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna cook up here with those beating down on us,¡± Johnny noted.


    ¡°We need the light," said Nate. "You can¡¯t see your hand in front of your face in this fucking dungeon.¡±


    From the stage, the bar was to the left. Behind the bar was a side room with pool tables. Green billiards lamps provided an Irish glow on that side of the bar. A small group of townies were shooting pool. Most people would be standing directly in front of the stage where tables and chairs had been cleared out to fit more patrons. They¡¯d be standing all the way to the far wall near the front entrance, sixty feet away. As the band set up, more hoodrats filed in.


    Sal was optimistic. ¡°If everyone we expect shows up this place is gonna be packed.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the capacity here?¡± asked Nate.


    ¡°The Fire Marshall says 165,¡± Joe answered.


    ¡°How the fuck do you know that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s posted above the front door in every bar or restaurant. I wanted to know how much Vic is pulling in with a two-dollar cover charge. All of our friends will be here and we won¡¯t earn a fucking dime.¡±


    ¡°Vic will squeeze in one-eighty," said Sal, "and if he does, we¡¯ll get paid.¡±


    Nate looked up from his half-assembled drum kit. ¡°You really think we can draw one-eighty?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Joe said. ¡°I¡¯m just not convinced he¡¯ll pay us.¡±


    When your name is Vic ¡®The Trick¡¯ Petrillo, you may not be the most trustworthy guy in town. His uncle Guido was connected to Tony Meats and his wiseguys. He gave Vic the job of running the joint after he got out of prison hoping his nephew would go straight. He did not.


    Vic was in his late thirties, Joe¡¯s Dad¡¯s age. He had long but thinning hair, slicked back, and a pockmarked face. His reputation as a sleazeball was deserved. Imagine actor James Woods¡­ only more sketchy and slimey. Jimmy Woods, by the way, grew up in Warwick, just south of Providence. He was a young up-and-comer in Hollywood with ten film credits at the time.


    Sal vouched for Vic. No one knew why. As he walked over from the bar area, Vic patted a waitress on her ass. ¡°So, Sal says you can give me three hours.¡± He looked at Joe. ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe replied. ¡°Ninety minutes, a set break, and then ninety more. We¡¯ll play past midnight.¡±


    ¡°Good. The later the better.¡± Vic nodded at the other guys. ¡°If you need anything to take the edge off, let me know.¡±


    ¡°Maybe a beer,¡± Sal said, ¡°nothing else.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Johnny said. He turned to Vic. ¡°What have you got?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting high, Johnny.¡± Sal glared at him. ¡°We don¡¯t need an episode.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, Sal,¡± Johnny flipped him off. ¡°I¡¯m clean.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s keep it that way,¡± Sal said, not looking up from his amp.


    Joe didn¡¯t know what that exchange was about but he knew Vic dealt drugs, ran book from his backroom office, and fucked his waitresses. Whatever vice you had, Vic could hook you up. Sal insisted he was a good guy. Joe wasn¡¯t so sure. When Pops first heard they were playing The Underground he had one word of advice. ¡°Keep it strictly business, music business.¡±


    Vic watched the band set up, eyeballing their gear. That was enough to make Joe uncomfortable. The crowd had filled the front stage area and lines were forming at the bar. As the number of kids from Joe¡¯s high school grew, it was apparent Vic wasn¡¯t carding anyone because it was doubtful they all had fake IDs. The ages ran from sixteen to fifty, with some rough-looking older townies at the bar, men and women. Joe figured some were the class of ¡®49¡­ if they even got that far.


    Joe moved closer to Vic, making eye contact. ¡°We¡¯re gonna pack this place tonight.¡±


    Vic smiled, ¡°Good to know.¡±


    Joe leered at him. ¡°I get that we¡¯re doing a free gig for exposure but that doesn¡¯t mean we don¡¯t know we¡¯re getting fucked.¡±


    Vic leaned back. ¡°Whoa, what¡¯s with the hostility?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s annoyed we¡¯re not getting paid," answered Sal.


    ¡°No!¡± Joe snapped. ¡°I¡¯m annoyed he¡¯s gonna rake in close to four bills on our labor, plus the bar.¡±


    Sal shot Joe a look as if telling him to shut up. Joe wasn¡¯t having it. He never liked the idea of a free gig. In his opinion, the band should always get the door.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be begging us to come back after you see how many show up tonight.¡±


    ¡°Jesus," said Vic. "He¡¯s a cocky brat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m confident our friends will support us and I don¡¯t like my band getting screwed.¡±


    As Vic turned to get back to the bar he saw what Joe was seeing from the stage. The bar was more than three-quarters full and people were still flowing in.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get a beer before we go on,¡± Joe said, stalling for time.


    Sal nodded: ¡°What are you gonna call the band, Joe?¡±


    They walked not far to the bar, having to push through as people were crowding in, from the back of the room to the stage. They got greetings and ¡°good luck¡± from friends as they moved through the punks.


    ¡°What are you gonna call the band Joe?¡±


    ¡±It¡¯ll come to me. I don¡¯t have to say it right away.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gotta sound punk.¡±


    ¡°Oh shit!¡± Joe slapped his forehead. ¡°We¡¯re a punk band.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Thanks for the tip.¡±


    Johnny was already at the bar. He overheard them and leaned in. ¡°Be positive, Joe. I bet whatever you say at that moment will be good. I can feel it. ¡±


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    ¡°Thanks for the encouragement, Johnny.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna nail it tonight, kid.¡± He pointed his long, bony guitarist finger at the Joe. ¡°You¡¯re good at this.¡±


    Other than his setlist, Joe gave the band only one pre-show instruction. ¡°When I yell ¡®punk rock¡¯, we go hard on that first song.¡±


    He felt someone behind him, close. A pair of hands reached around and covered his eyes. They were feminine hands. She smelled nice. He knew the scent.


    ¡°Carla? Sandy? Lisa?¡±


    ¡°Oh, aren¡¯t you funny?¡± Claire uncovered his eyes and pushed him from behind.


    ¡°Claire, of course.¡± He smiled. ¡°I knew it was you. You were my next guess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m skipping work to be here tonight. It better be worth it, and you better be happy to see me.¡±


    ¡°Of course I am.¡± Joe leaned against her. ¡°I¡¯d be disappointed if you didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    She gave Joe a peck on the cheek. Sal noticed and gave Joe a smirk.


    ¡°We¡¯re about to go up. Wish me luck.¡±


    Claire smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t fuck this up.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for that.¡±


    As they walked back to their moment of truth, Joe noticed there was still a line of people out the door paying cover, and the place was already crowded. The back wallflowers were mostly high school kids he knew. A few waved. He tried to do a low-key punk wave. It was awkward. ¡®Punks shouldn¡¯t wave,¡¯ he thought. ¡®From now on it¡¯ll be side eye contact with a barely perceptible head nod.¡¯


    Sal pulled Joe to the side of the stage and leaned close. ¡°Hey,¡± he said lowly. ¡°If you see Vic hanging around Johnny, let me know.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want him buying drugs.¡±


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡±


    ¡°Not if he doesn¡¯t get high.¡±


    Johnny was strapped in first. Nate hadn¡¯t left his stool since he set up, making adjustments. Joe and Sal stepped on stage, placing their beers down and strapping in. Joe plugged his beat-up old Telecaster and flipped on his amp, fingers crossed. Johnny and Sal were fiddling with notes and chords getting warm. Nate popped a few light beats on his snare. Joe¡¯s amp hummed. He turned his volume way up and stomped on his Rat distortion pedal. With his back to the crowd, he let loose one loud raking A chord, followed by A triads.


    The crowd responded. He lowered the volume to where Johnny said it should be, between six and seven, to hide any imperfect play. When he turned to the standing mass it appeared to exceed P.F.D. recommendations. ¡®Fuck,¡¯ he thought. ¡®I know nearly everyone here.¡¯ The moment he had imagined for years had finally arrived. In that second, he made a decision.


    ¡°Hey! Hoodrats! Thanks for coming out to The Underground for our very first gig.¡±


    They hooted and cheered.


    ¡°Especially our friends. We love you guys.¡±


    Joe glanced at Sal and Johnny and nodded. They were ready. He looked back at Nate. He was set to go.


    ¡°We¡¯re The Young Punks. We make everything¡­ PUNK ROCK!¡±


    Nate started the pounding drum thunder intro to the theme song for the television show ¡®Hawaii Five-O¡¯ transforming the room from just a shitty bar to a nightclub. Johnny, Sal, and Joe slammed the chords and notes that were horns on the original. ¡®Five-O¡¯ was one of the stunt songs Joe had convinced them to try. They jammed the two-minute instrumental, a nice warm-up number, and when they got to the cymbal crashing crescendo finale, they went straight into the next song, The Ramones'' ¡®Cretin Hop¡¯.


    When Joe stepped up to the mic the words just came out. He wasn¡¯t thinking of lyrics or chords as he had when practicing in the garage. After so many months it was becoming automatic, like someone else was in his body and he was watching from another place. Joe scanned faces, dozens of teens and young adults looking up at him, smiling, dancing in place because they were jammed in tight. The band zipped through the first four songs, all hard, uptempo tracks, before taking a breath.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He let the noise fade. ¡°So, we play punk rock, but what we really do is take any song we like and turn it into punk. It doesn¡¯t matter what the original was, we make it punk. Like this one.¡±


    They broke into a hard version of ¡®Brand New Key¡¯ by Melanie. It was his sister Janie¡¯s favorite song and not at all punk. That¡¯s when Joe set the hook in the crowd. The ¡®What the fuck?¡¯ look on faces was beautiful. They had never played this in the garage, so everyone was surprised.


    When they hit the chorus, the crowd sang along.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got a brand new pair of rollerskates


    You got a brand-new key.


    I think that we should get together


    And try them on you see.


    I¡¯ve been lookin¡¯ around awhile


    You got something for me.


    Well, I¡¯ve got a brand new pair of rollerskates,


    You got a brand new key.¡±


    Claire held her hands to her cheeks, laughing. Everyone knew the chorus. Joe sang in a gravelly voice, like Tom Waits, the extreme opposite of sweet Melanie. It was an easy song to punk up, a fun song, and they rocked it. The first singalong was a crowd-pleaser.


    ¡°We¡¯re here to have a good time,¡± Joe said. ¡°If you know the lyrics feel free to join me.¡± He banged a power chord. ¡°Sing it loud and sing it proud.¡±


    Joe looked back at Nate as if saying ¡®I told you so¡¯ with his eyes. After that number the rest of the show was easy. The pressure was off. The crowd liked their punk Stones, punk Kinks, and punk Zombies. Most everyone knew the songs, so singing with Joe was easy. That was a major factor in his set selection. From the very beginning, Joe said, ¡°Let the punks sing,¡± as his bandmates cast doubt on his ideas.


    Months ago, when Sal got them on the punking up of old rock songs, Joe soon realized he could make any song punk rock. He dove into his dad¡¯s collection of old records to find The Crickets'' ¡®I Fought The Law¡¯, Johnny Cash¡¯s ¡®Cocaine Blues¡¯, and Elvis¡¯ ¡®Burning Love¡¯. The band punked them all up, playing them harder and faster.


    Some songs have chord structures perfect for punking. Buddy Holly¡¯s ¡®Peggy Sue¡¯ and a few Paul Revere & The Raiders songs were easy to adapt by simply thrashing the chords. When Joe first suggested these old songs, Sal and Nate protested, but once they made them hard, the guys acquiesced. These songs were fun to play.


    Joe felt they should mix in these oldies to appeal to a wider audience. The class of ¡®49 appeared to be digging the show. He threw them a bone with another oldie, Nancy Sinatra¡¯s ¡®These Boots Are Made For Walking.¡¯ While singing, Joe eyed the faces of his friends, smiles and laughter were all around the room. He knew he scored a hit. Every time they completed a song Nate or Sal had previous doubts about, Joe shot them a glance with a smile as the friends of the band enthusiastically vindicated his choices.


    In the middle of the first set, Joe gambled with what Nate thought was the dumbest idea he¡¯d ever heard in his life.


    ¡°All right, everyone knows the words to this song. I expect you all to join in.¡± He pointed to the oldest patron seated at the bar, easily sixty. ¡±That means you old man!¡±


    He paused for a moment.


    ¡°Yabba dabba dooooooooo!


    Flintstones, meet the Flintstones


    They''re the modern Stone Age family¡­¡±


    Initial looks of confusion gradually changed to delight and punks singing along as they realized it was the Flintstones theme song. It went exactly as Joe had hoped. After a run through the forty-five-second theme song, Johnny played a ripping lead, and then they went through the lyrics again so the slower people who didn¡¯t catch on the first time could sing the full song.


    When that song ended in cymbal crashing and guitar thrashing, the crowd went fucking wild. Joe took a bow, turned to his bandmates, and took another bow. When the kids finally quieted. He pointed with his thumb at his bandmates behind him.


    ¡°These jamokes thought my idea of playing a television theme song was the dumbest fucking idea they ever heard. So, do me a big favor. On three, everyone let them know if you approve. One, two, three.¡±


    The punks went crazy. Joe stood tall and proud, looking at familiar faces and strangers, cheering, clapping, and screaming. There was no denying his idea had worked. Claire blew Joe a kiss. He smiled and winked.


    As the band continued, Joe was in the jamzone, simply doing what he¡¯d been doing in the garage. He even did the stage moves at the garage, because they had space. This was not his first performance.


    The band was amped up, adrenaline pumping, and Joe realized he was moving too quickly through the first set. After Flintstones, he paused after each song, letting the crowd make noise, then waiting for them to quiet.


    He had fussed over what to do between songs, and how to pace the band. He didn¡¯t want to rush through the set but he also didn¡¯t want to say the same old shit before and after every song, ¡®thank you,¡¯ and then introduce the next one. He thought about it lying in bed for weeks, envisioning his rock & roll fantasy.


    Knowing all the hoodrats, he decided to bust people¡¯s balls. He told a couple of short band origin stories, like how he started with classmates, ¡°¡®And now I have these sketchy greaseballs.¡± This gave the band breaks and stretched the set. He had thirty-two covers and a handful of stunt songs to play. Every song was under five minutes, some were barely three, and he had to make it last until midnight.


    Joe was drenched in sweat and the night was still young. ¡°These lights are cooking me! I need sunglasses up here.¡± An older guy stage-side reached into his pocket and handed his sunglasses to Joe. He laughed and put them on for a couple of songs. Little things like that made people smile.


    Late in the first set, waving his arms like a bird in the universal gesture of silence, Joe quieted the crowd. He had an idea not even the band knew about, except for the next song on his setlist and Joe instructing them to¡­ ¡°Just go with it.¡±


    He spoke loudly, like a carnival barker. ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen!¡± He paused. ¡°May I present to you, ¡° he paused. ¡°The very first, completely original, and one of a kind,¡± another pause. ¡°Punk Chick Dance Off!¡±


    The guys instinctively hit notes, chords, drums, and cymbals, punctuating his words. Joe then spoke in a quick-paced game show announcer¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Step right up, ladies. I need two lovely female volunteers willing to risk reputation and humiliation dancing on this very stage. You¡¯ll wiggle it, move it, and shake your moneymaker. Give us your best moves and our punk rock audience will choose a punk chick dance queen!¡±


    The band punctuated him again. Joe scanned the audience.


    Hands went up as he took his time looking over the volunteers. He asked one girl to spin around and then selected her. He took his time, pretending it was a hard decision, then chose the second contestant. After helping the girls on stage he motioned to the crowd to give them a round of applause. Joe knew both girls, vaguely.


    ¡°We have our contestants. In this corner, from Pawtucket, the lovely, Charlene!¡±


    The crowd cheered.


    ¡°In this corner, from Rhode Island College, gorgeous Allison!¡±


    More cheers. The girls blushed.


    ¡°Okay ladies, please come together, bump gloves. The rules are simple. When the music starts you dance your cute little asses off. Shake it, don¡¯t break it. No head butting and no hitting below the belt. You must dance the entire song. Any questions?¡±


    They both said no.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    They nodded.


    Joe stepped back. The band played the theme song to ¡®Batman¡¯, easy to dance to and easier to sing along to. The girls shook it on stage to the delight of the crowd. When it was over, the punks voted by applause. Allison won. Joe raised her hand like a boxer in the ring. Once again, Joe measured his success by the smiles of the faces looking up at him. The band bought Allison a cocktail and a tradition was born. The Punk Chick Dance Off became a Young Punks stunt at every gig they did from that day forward.


    When Joe had the crowd singing along, he felt like Svengali seducing a hundred and sixty-five Trilbys. He had total control of the room. It was empowering. Sal was all over the stage in a heavy foot-stomping style. When Joe wasn¡¯t signing, he was bouncing around doing his old air guitar moves. Johnny was playing himself, too cool, with little flash, standing to Joe¡¯s right. Nate was the punk engine, pounding the beat, keeping them glued together because they needed it. It got messy at times, playing on the edge, so pumped with adrenaline that they almost crashed a couple of songs. Nate¡¯s beat kept the train on the tracks.


    Joe barely said a word through their twenty-minute set break. He soaked up the compliments and back-patting as he made his way to the bar. Nate walked up alongside him and Johnny. He slapped Joe¡¯s back. ¡°I never doubted you for a second.¡±


    Sal shoved Nate from behind. ¡°Fuck off!¡±


    ¡°No, really. I was just testing you.¡± Nate smiled, ¡°Trial by fire.¡±


    Joe remained quiet. Claire corned him, excited. ¡°Who the hell is that guy on stage?¡±


    He shrugged. She rambled for a minute about how impressed she was. Joe loved it. He didn¡¯t need drugs to get high. Attention would become his addiction. He had more tricks for the second set, including another TV theme song shortly after set break¡­ F-Troop.


    ¡°Where Indian fights are colorful sights and nobody takes a lickin¡¯


    When pale face and redskin both turn chicken.¡±


    Close to two hundred full-throated fans were blasting the words to a song they heard a thousand times growing up. Joe picked syndicated TV shows that were on in the afternoon and early evening. There were only four local TV stations. Everyone watched the same shows. The singalongs were exhilarating. Everyone smiled and laughed while going along with Joe¡¯s stunts.


    Late in the night, with only a handful of songs left, Joe quieted the crowd.


    ¡°It¡¯s so fucking hot up here. Look at my shirt. It¡¯s drenched.¡±


    ¡°Take it off!¡± a girl yelled.


    ¡°Take it all off!¡± yelled another.


    Joe slipped his guitar strap off, removed his Creem Magazine tee shirt, and threw it out there. They went nuts. That¡¯s how easy these people were to please.


    The final singalong was the last song. The most fun he saw that night was people singing at the top of their lungs to marching, anthemic, punk rock chords. Their banging version of The Talking Heads'' ¡®Psycho Killer¡¯ was one of Joe¡¯s favorites.


    As they closed the night and started packing gear, friends and new fans interrupted them to tell the guys how much fun they had. Vic came over as they were about to carry their gear out.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the fuck that was but they loved it. You guys did great.¡±


    Joe glared at him. ¡°And we packed the fucking joint.¡±


    ¡°Damn right we did,¡± said Sal.


    ¡°Yeah, I didn¡¯t expect that.¡± Vic handed Sal an envelope. ¡°Here¡¯s half the door, a hundred ninety bucks.¡± he looked up. ¡°I had to pay Denny to put these cans up, and replace some bulbs.¡±


    ¡°How much did that cost him, Denny?¡± Joe asked, staring at Vic.


    ¡°Not a hundred and ninety bucks.¡±


    ¡°I had to clean this place up to have it right for you guys.¡±


    Joe looked around, ¡°You cleaned? Please, show me where.¡±


    ¡°The bathrooms. I had to buy more drink glasses and bar supplies.¡±


    ¡°So we have to pay your business expenses?¡±


    Vic put his palms out, ¡°Look, if you guys want to play next weekend you get the whole door. Just keep them drinking past midnight, and I¡¯m good.¡±


    Sal looked at Joe. There was a moment. Joe gave a barely perceptible nod.


    Sal smiled wide. ¡°Thanks, Vic. We appreciate this. What night do you want?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t care. You decide.¡±


    ¡°Saturday,¡± Joe said flatly.


    ¡°I already have a band scheduled,¡± Vic smirked. ¡°But I¡¯m gonna bump them to Friday for you.¡±


    ¡ª-- THE AFTERGLOW ¡ª--


    Claire showed up at the garage after the gig. She continued to ramble on about the show and the band but especially Joe. He was sucking up her adoration like a dry, needy sponge. She made him blush a few times. Punks don¡¯t blush, so he had to wipe that stupid smile off his face.


    After a long run of remembering things she liked about the show, Claire sighed. ¡°I just can¡¯t believe how great you guys were on your first night. I kind of expected some nerves, or maybe you¡¯d mess up or could have technical issues.¡±


    Joe gave her a stern look. ¡°So what you¡¯re saying is you had low expectations.¡±


    ¡°I did not say that.¡±


    ¡°You just said you can¡¯t believe how great we were, how everything went perfectly. That implies you didn¡¯t believe in us. You expected problems.¡±


    Claire was apologetic. ¡°Holy shit. I¡¯m sorry. That is not what I meant. I mean, I¡¯ve seen you guys jam a few times. I knew you were good but no one expects a perfect first gig.¡±


    Joe sat on the couch where they had met weeks ago, looking at her, expressionless. He let her sweat it out waiting for his next words, thinking she offended him. There was concern in her eyes.


    ¡°Joe, I¡¯m sorry. Say something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just thinking of a way to twist your words again to keep fucking with you.¡±


    She pushed him away. ¡°What an ass. I¡¯m trying to compliment you and you want to make me feel bad? That¡¯s a dick move.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just teasing you, take it easy¡­ and thank you.¡±


    Sal shouted from across the garage. ¡°Hey Joe, when did you come up with the band name?¡±


    ¡°Pops gave it to us. How many times has he said, ¡®You young punks¡¯, since we moved in here? It was in the back of my mind and popped up when I needed it.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡±


    He turned back to Claire. ¡°During the set break, you asked me something I found pretty funny.¡±


    Claire recalled. ¡°Who the hell was that guy on stage?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I didn¡¯t answer because it sounds dumb but this is the truth. That guy up there is what I¡¯ve always wanted to be from the day I saw The Stones on television. That¡¯s my future.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not dumb.¡± She smiled. ¡°It¡¯s sort of poetic.¡± She hugged him. ¡°Everyone was great. Nate was crazy back there smashing his drums.¡±


    Joe laughed. ¡°That almost went wrong. Nate always plays hard but he was so jacked up he was an animal. He broke three sticks and only had five. Had he broken one more¡­¡±


    ¡°That would have been awful¡­.¡±


    ¡°And hilarious. You have to think of the good side. Hey, Nate!¡± Joe shouted across the garage.


    ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s up.¡±


    ¡°Do you still have those broken sticks from tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re in the van.¡±


    ¡°Save them for me. I might need them.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°Now leave us alone.¡±


    Nate was making kissy face with a new friend, Debbie. Joe turned back to Claire. She scooted closer to him.


    ¡°When I asked that question, what I meant was, you¡¯re kind of a quiet guy.¡± She touched his hair. ¡°Here with the band you direct the jams and joke with the guys but with everyone else, you¡¯re pretty mellow. That guy on stage was confident with the jokes and the stunts. I didn¡¯t see that coming.¡±


    ¡°I told you, sitting right here two weeks ago. I want us to be a great show, more than music, entertainment.¡±


    ¡°It sounded great but you didn¡¯t tell me what that meant.¡±


    ¡°Was I supposed to spoil the surprise for you?¡±


    ¡°Hey, Joe,¡± Johnny called out. ¡°Did you have any other ideas for band names?¡±


    ¡°A couple.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Nothing good, but Federal Hill was a contender.¡±


    ¡°That would have been great!¡± Sal said with enthusiasm.


    ¡°Nah,¡± Joe said. ¡°I like the name Pops gave us.¡±


    Claire poked him. ¡°Where did the dance contest come from?¡±


    Joe pointed to his temple. ¡±I have notebooks full of ideas for the show. I saw The Tubes a while back. They have girls on stage in costumes, dancing, and a sex-filled show. They were actually banned in some countries. I can¡¯t hire dancing girls but I can ask for volunteers.¡±


    Claire smiled, gazing into Joe¡¯s eyes as he spoke.


    ¡°What girls are going to raise their hands?¡± He paused. ¡°The extroverts. They might be drunk and could make it better.¡±


    ¡°What other ideas do you have written down?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t reveal my works in progress. I have lots of ideas and lyrics, original songs we haven¡¯t yet unveiled. Now the trick will be changing it up to keep it fresh. There¡¯s a business plan in here too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Joe smiled. ¡°I was happy to see you tonight. It meant a lot. I would have felt shitty if you missed it.¡±


    ¡°Me too. I hope I have a job on Sunday. Everyone knows I was trying to trade nights, so not showing up will be obviously hooky.¡±


    Claire made a move, pretending to adjust herself, scooting even closer. With her hand close to his ear, she pulled on a shaggy curl and leaned in.


    ¡°Do you need a haircut or are you growing it out?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Haven¡¯t thought about it. It¡¯s wavy when it gets long but when it grows below my ears it starts to curl. I look stupid with long hair. Like Bozo the Clown.¡±


    ¡°So you cut it when it curls?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, before it flips up like Bozo.¡±


    ¡°This length looks good. I like your curls.¡±


    She was twirling a curl in her fingers. Joe could have made it easy and kissed her but he enjoyed the game. He couldn¡¯t wait to see her next move but Sal broke the mood from the kitchen.


    ¡°Jesus Christ! Are you gonna do something or does she have to do all the damn work?¡±


    Claire blushed. ¡°I think he¡¯s playing hard to get.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I haven¡¯t run away but I don¡¯t want creepy Sal gawking at us.¡±


    She leaned in and kissed Joe, just a light peck, then another, a real kiss.


    ¡°It¡¯s about fucking time," said Sal. "This scene was getting tedious.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like a sappy romantic comedy," shouted Nate from across the garage.


    Joe flipped them off. ¡°You¡¯ve got porn under your mattress. You don¡¯t need to watch us to jack off.¡±


    That kiss made their sort-of-a-thing into definitely a thing, or so Joe thought. He still wasn''t fully confident he knew what this was.


    The following night, Joe took Claire to see Queen and Thin Lizzy at the Providence Civic Center. He gave Sal a ticket. Pete Smith and Robby were in the same row. It was so fucking weird but great. Joe loved the awkwardness. It was delicious¡­ because he won.


    ¡ª- OVERNIGHT SENSATION ¡ª-


    Joe didn¡¯t know how many kids from school were at that show but from what he gathered it was at least sixty. For once, there was a positive buzz at Central High School with his name attached to it. Classmates he barely knew walked up to him to say they loved his band.


    ¡°Dude, you¡¯re like Sybil,¡± one boy said. ¡°It''s like you have a split personality. That was fucking weird, man.¡±


    Even kids who didn¡¯t attend told Joe they heard about his show and asked when they were playing again.


    ¡°This Saturday. Be there.¡±


    ¡°What if I¡¯m not eighteen,¡± a girl asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. What¡¯s the worst thing they can do, not let you in? As far as I know, they let everyone in on Friday night.¡±


    The following morning, Joe sat on his usual perch by the faculty entrance. One of the nerdy kids walked over. Joe looked up to see Betty McDonald staring at him, a mousy redhead with lots of freckles and eyeglasses too big for her narrow face.


    ¡°I heard you have a band.¡±


    ¡°Yup, for more than a year.¡±


    ¡°And you just had your first show.¡±


    Joe noticed her nerdy friends watching from thirty feet away. ¡°Yes. You should come out and see us. We¡¯re playing Saturday night.¡±


    Betty laughed, covering her mouth. ¡°Me, at a bar? No, but thanks.¡± She looked down at the Mead Composition notebook in Joe¡¯s lap. ¡°What are you writing?¡±


    ¡°Band stuff.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always alone, reading or writing. Is it all music?¡±


    ¡°I keep a journal and I draw, but yeah, it¡¯s mostly band ideas and lyrics.¡±


    ¡°You write songs?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but we haven¡¯t played any yet. I¡¯m still working on them.¡±


    Joe had been sitting on this stoop for nearly two full school years. Rarely did any of the smart kids speak to him aside from an occasional, ¡®Good morning.¡¯ Betty was sort of the nerd queen. Like Joe, she was a junior. Unlike Joe, she was a high honors student and liked by everyone. She ran for class president but lost to a popular jock¡­ three years in a row.


    ¡°I heard you plan to drop out and pursue music.¡±


    ¡°What moron told you that?¡±


    Betty shrugged. ¡°Some kids were talking.¡±


    ¡°Stupid kids. I¡¯m not dropping out.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Betty smiled. ¡°I hope your music works out for you but you should still finish school.¡±


    Joe made wide eyes, ¡°Okay Mom, thanks for the talk.¡±


    Betty smiled, ¡°I¡¯m just sayin¡¯.¡±


    The morning bell rang, saving Joe from further awkwardness. Betty walked off with her nerd crew.


    Over the course of a few days, Joe slowly realized his band had changed his image at school. While he appreciated that his peers liked his band he wasn¡¯t sure he liked this rise in popularity. One perk of Joe¡¯s bad reputation was the fact kids steered clear of him. He preferred it that way. This might be a problem. He thought he might have to slap someone to put his world back on its axis.

 Ch.05 - Taking Care Of Business

    ¡ª- 1978 ¡ª-


    After The Young Punks'' second show at The Underground, Vic made them his Saturday night band at The Underground for as long as they wished. Each week they easily surpassed the fire marshal''s limit of 165. The college kids they knew from RIC invited students from Providence College. They became regulars along with the hoodrats and Joe¡¯s classmates. Each week Joe added new stunts to his bag of tricks.


    Claire missed the second and third shows because of her hostess job at Twin Oaks Restaurant. She was annoyed that she wasn''t seeing the evolving show. She popped by the garage every Sunday and heard all about it from the kids hanging out. Joe was really into her, but things were moving very slowly. On the fourth weekend, she called in sick again, determined to not miss out.


    Between sets that night, a man approached Sal at the bar. They talked for a few minutes, he handed Sal a card and left. Sal came back to the stage with a smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s the asshole from the Met Cafe. He wouldn¡¯t give me the time of day when I tried to get us in there. He wants us for a midweek date at his place."


    ¡°What did you tell him?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°I¡¯d get back to him.¡±


    The Met Cafe was another dive bar, a small stand-alone building directly under the deck of the elevated Interstate 195 which cut through downtown connecting to I-95. It was an eerie, dark industrial setting on the gritty edge of downtown, a poorly lit area, like a scene from a film noir.


    On a Wednesday night, The Young Punks debuted their show at their second club. They weren¡¯t playing downtown, but it was close. It was a good gig for a weeknight, maybe a hundred and fifty paying partiers, including students from Rhode Island School of Design and Brown University.


    A few dozen friends of the band showed up but the best thing about that show was most of the crowd had never seen them before. Everything was new to them. Joe enjoyed seeing the smiles on college kids'' faces, delighted with his on-stage shenanigans. They went crazy for the TV themes and dance contests. It was a fabulous night, another boost to his confidence, which was already pretty high. The club manager asked them to come back next week.


    Claire was able to make that show. She and Joe were having a great time. She pulled him aside before the show with some breaking news. ¡°I got fired. My boss found out my boyfriend has a band and that¡¯s why I missed work last week.¡±


    ¡°That sucks. I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said. ¡°School is out in a few weeks and I have my summer job. I was done anyway.¡±


    What struck Joe was her using the term ¡®boyfriend.¡¯ They hadn¡¯t been undressed yet. It was only making out and heavy petting¡­ but he was hoping. Claire¡¯s other news was better.


    ¡°I and a few classmates asked the Student Union to hire you before the semester ends. I gave them your business card.¡±


    The Rathskeller at the Student Union was a campus bar and club where Joe and Sal had seen John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band play months ago. It was a cool hangout for students only¡­ with guests permitted.


    By the time they played the Student Union, the band had ten shows under their belt. Joe had tweaked and fine-tuned his schtick. On that night in The Rat, they introduced a new stunt, the Great Beer Race. Joe selected a guy and a girl from the crowd. They cleared a path from the stage to the bar. Four beers for the band were poured. The contestants ran from the stage to the bar, grabbed the beers, and returned as fast as they could. The frat boy won the race by a wide margin. As he was high-fiving his frat bros, celebrating his victory, Joe called a time-out.


    ¡°Hold on, not so fast pal. I failed to inform you¡­ there''s a penalty for spillage.¡±


    Joe held the two beers the frat boy delivered at eye level. Sal held up the girl¡¯s pint glasses for all to see. They pretended to be carefully inspecting the contents, but it was obvious.


    ¡°The winner, by disqualification for abuse of alcohol, Melinda!¡±


    The guys booed, and the girls cheered, it was a good bit. The crowd was digging Joe¡¯s antics. The Rat show was great. They made a lot of new fans. On that night Joe realized playing new venues was the most fun because their show was fresh.


    Afterward, Claire and Joe hung out in her dorm. Joe figured this was the night. She said he was her boyfriend. They finally had privacy, but it all blew up in his face.


    Lying on her bed, kissing, Claire asked Joe when his graduation was. He leaned back. His heart sank. At that moment Joe realized he was a dead man walking.


    ¡°Next June.¡±


    Claire pushed him away and sat up. ¡°Next year?¡± Her mouth was agape. ¡°You¡¯re only a junior?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Did I say I was a senior?¡±


    ¡°No. I just¡­ ¡° she stammered. ¡°I just assumed. How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Seventeen.¡±


    ¡°What the hell, Joe? I thought you were eighteen and graduating in a few weeks. Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°It never came up. You just assumed.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She stood up and looked down at Joe on her bed. ¡°The other guys are so much older than you. How the hell did I¡­ ¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but you made all the first moves.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s my fault?¡± She said, walking towards her window.


    ¡°No, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve done anything wrong.¡±


    Claire let out a long exhale and stood silently, staring out at the campus after midnight. Joe didn¡¯t wait for the rejection he knew was coming. He stood up, grabbed his leather, and stood by the door.


    Claire turned to him. ¡°I¡¯m nineteen. I can¡¯t date a seventeen-year-old high school junior.¡± Then she struggled to get her words out. ¡°I don¡¯t what to say. I just can¡¯t.¡± She stared at Joe for a few seconds.


    Joe said nothing. He waited a moment, opened the door, and left. He walked more than two miles back to the garage, feeling sorry for himself. When he told the guys what happened, Nate burst into laughter. Sal found it amusing but held back. Johnny sat quietly, feeling bad for Joe.


    ¡°Ya know,¡± Johnny said, ¡°Fuck her. If she shows up here expecting to hang out, I¡¯ll show her the door.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nate said. ¡°Claire¡¯s hot. You don¡¯t give hot chicks the boot.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be an asshole!¡± Sal barked at Nate. ¡°Can¡¯t you see he¡¯s hurting?¡±


    Nate bowed his head¡­ corrected. Joe sat quietly for a minute. The guys didn¡¯t know what to say. Finally, Joe spun his misfortune.


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± he said. ¡°She told me weeks ago she has a summer job in New Hampshire and she¡¯ll be gone for two months. She¡¯s a camp counselor. I guess she has a boyfriend up there and she wanted me to know. This was going nowhere anyway.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, Joe,¡± Johnny said. ¡°You have girls all over you these days¡­ in case you haven¡¯t noticed.¡±


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t,¡± Nate laughed. ¡°Because he¡¯s been too wrapped up in goody-two-shoes Claire.¡±


    ¡°Can you guys do me a favor?¡± Joe asked. ¡°If she comes around, please don¡¯t fuck her. That would hurt.¡±


    His bandmates all nodded and muttered under their breath, and Claire¡¯s name was not mentioned again.


    -¡ª-- PSYCHOTHERAPY --¡ª-


    Joe took the Ten Bus through crosstown traffic to College Hill. It was not his best ride. A drunk man had thrown up in the back of the bus, and then got off, leaving commuters to suffer. Joe held his nose, laughing to himself. He began writing a song in his head about the stinky bus¡­. Vomit Comet. He imagined trashing Clash chords with a jaunty rhythm.


    As he walked into the reception area of the medical office, Dr. Nichols was talking to another patient, a young girl. He stepped back into the hallway. Over the years, he learned that Dr. Nichols preferred to not have her clients mingle. When the girl¡¯s parents arrived to pick her up, Joe walked in.


    ¡°Hello, Joe,¡± she smiled. ¡°I was glad to hear from you, it¡¯s been a few months. I hope whatever¡¯s troubling you isn¡¯t serious, but it¡¯s good to see you.¡± She looked him up and down. ¡°Did you have another growth spurt?¡±


    Joe shrugged and looked down at his feet. ¡°My jeans aren¡¯t high waters. The last time I had to buy new clothes.¡±


    ¡°You look¡­ a little taller.¡± She waved her hand to her office. ¡°Please, come in.¡±


    After some small talk, she went to the usual questions.


    ¡°How are you and Mom doing?¡±


    ¡°The same old shit.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s school?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, just school.¡±


    ¡°Have you had any fights?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    It sometimes annoyed Joe when the first fifteen minutes of each session was wasted on reviewing the same issues he¡¯d been talking about for years. Dr. Nichols pulled out her notepad and pen. Joe liked her skirt, maybe a little short for a woman his Mom¡¯s age, but she had the legs for it. She took a deep breath and shifted herself in her chair.


    ¡°Is there a particular reason you¡¯ve come in to see me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if this is something we should even be talking about.¡±


    ¡°We can talk about anything you want. That¡¯s the point of therapy.¡±


    ¡°Even girls.¡±


    ¡°Is that what''s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She smirked. ¡°You and every other seventeen-year-old in America.¡±


    Joe took a deep breath and exhaled. ¡°My band is doing great. Our friends love us and there are a lot of girls around, college girls.¡± Joe told her the story of Claire, all of it, and how it made him feel rejected, and the other times college girls have snubbed him.


    ¡°It happens a lot. Once, standing in line for concert tickets, I had this cool conversation with a cute girl. She was flirting with me. It was obvious¡­ until she found out I was in high school. Then she gave me the cold shoulder. It happened a few times at the record shop around the corner.¡± He pointed south.


    ¡°I will say this, Claire is correct. It¡¯s different for girls, to a point. When I was thirty I dated a man who was twenty-seven. At that age, a couple of years is not an issue but at nineteen two years is a big difference, especially when she¡¯s an adult in college and you¡¯re a minor in high school. I understand how you feel, and I sympathize with you, but she¡¯s not being unreasonable.¡±


    ¡°I understand that,¡± Joe said, ¡°But when they¡¯re clearly into me, flirting and touching, and we¡¯re having a good time, and then they turn on dime¡­ that¡¯s cold. It¡¯s humiliating.¡± He lowered his voice. ¡°And it hurts.¡±


    ¡°Ya know,¡± She said with kindness in her eyes, ¡°You¡¯ve grown into a good-looking young man. These girls are attracted to you, but they think you¡¯re older. Maybe because you¡¯re in this band with the older boys. I think you should be honest up front, to avoid these harsh letdowns.¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°If college girls are flirting with you I¡¯m sure high school girls are too?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, a little, but they don¡¯t have the confidence older girls have, so it¡¯s hard to say for sure and I don¡¯t want to assume and embarrass myself. Also, those conversations are kind of boring¡­ well, compared to the college girls.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re young, Joe. These things get worked out over time. Every teenager goes through this. Look at it this way. If girls like you, that¡¯s half the battle. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°It sucks. I can¡¯t wait to turn eighteen and graduate.¡±


    The doctor looked at her watch, then scribbled something in her notebook. ¡°We¡¯re about done.¡± She looked at Joe. ¡°So, let¡¯s end this as usual. What¡¯s making you happy these days?¡±


    ¡°My band has played fourteen gigs, and we get paid.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great. Where do you play?¡±


    ¡°Around town, at a few bars.¡±


    ¡°Ummm, you¡¯re not old enough to be in bars.¡±


    Joe put his finger to his lips, ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone, doctor-patient confidentiality.¡±


    ¡°I definitely won¡¯t tell your Mom.¡±


    ¡°She knows.¡±


    ¡°How does she feel about it?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see,¡± Joe flipped a finger out for each word, ¡°Worried, disapproving, disappointed, suspicious. Ya know, the usual stuff.¡±


    ¡°What do your sisters think?¡±


    ¡°They think I''m the coolest older brother in the world.¡±


    Dr. Nichols smiled. ¡°I¡¯m not going to make another appointment for you. I think you know I¡¯m here for you. You can call any time.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Doc.¡± As they stood, Joe was close, looking down at her. Barbara Nichols looked up. He could smell her perfume.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯ve grown another inch.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I have,¡± Joe said, then thought to himself, ¡®And a lot more in my pants.¡¯


    ¡ª HOT FUN IN THE SUMMERTIME ¡ª


    Joe didn¡¯t wallow for too long. He had work to do, and a business plan to expand the band¡¯s turf outside the city of Providence. It started with him making phone calls to nightclubs around Rhode Island and nearby Massachusetts looking for work. Summer was coming fast and he wanted to take full advantage of his school break. He told the guys they could play four or five gigs per week if he could find the clubs. When the cold calls failed, Sal offered to drive him to clubs to meet with owners and bar managers. They started in downtown Providence at The Living Room.


    There were two clubs downtown that stood above the rest, Lupo¡¯s Heartbreak Hotel and The Living Room. Both were on Westminster Street across the river from College Hill. Brown and RISD students descended on downtown every weekend to party. These were the best gigs in the city. Lupos was by far the bigger club, but it was mostly rock and blues. The smaller Living Room was punk and new wave. It was a clear choice.


    Meeting with Randy Hien, the owner of the club, Joe and Sal were disappointed to hear he was largely booked for the summer, and with the college kids all heading home or to the beach, he didn¡¯t need a new band. A light bulb went off in Joe¡¯s head.


    As he and Sal climbed back in the work van, Joe smiled. ¡°How about we drive down to Narragansett and check out the Bon Vue Inn? Johnny says that place is great. All the URI kids go there.¡±


    Sal nodded, ¡°There¡¯s a bar in Westerly too, The Knickerbocker. We may as well hit both.¡±


    ¡°I think playing at the beach this summer would be pretty cool.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Sal smiled wide as he drove off. ¡°That¡¯s where the girls are.¡±


    The one-hundred-fifty mile round trip to Narragansett and Westerly did not yield a job, but both bar managers seemed interested and said they¡¯d get back to Joe. Undaunted, Joe and Sal pressed on, hitting every decent bar they knew to have live music and a few indecent joints. With less than two weeks remaining in the school year, Joe was determined to get new summer gigs.


    In early July, three weeks after the school year ended. Joe was flipping through vinyl records at Sound Waves, a music store in Wakefield, Rhode Island, a few minutes from Scarborough Beach. A brunette girl walked up behind him.


    ¡°Joe, what are you doing here?¡±


    Joe turned to see a girl he barely knew from high school. ¡°Hey, Kelly. What are you doing here?¡±


    She poked his shoulder. ¡°I asked first.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re playing The Bon Vue tonight?¡±


    Kelly shoved him lightly, ¡°Get the hell out of here.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me?¡±


    ¡°No, of course I do. I didn¡¯t know you guys played down here.¡±


    ¡°This is our first weekend. We played The Ocean Mist in Matunuck last night. Tonight is The Bon Zoo.¡±


    Kelly laughed, ¡°That place is crazy. Now I have to change my plans. I can¡¯t miss this. Your band is so much fun.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the world on the street.¡± Joe noticed Nate was gawking at him from across the store. He smiled at him and glanced back at Kelly. ¡°So what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°My family has a beach house in East Matunuck. It¡¯s my last summer before college.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°BU. I can¡¯t wait but I¡¯m also a little nervous.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± Joe smiled. ¡°You have a big brain.¡±


    Kelly blushed, ¡°Thanks. It¡¯s not the brain I worry about. It¡¯s the city of Boston, and being away from home. I¡¯m excited and anxious at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Pfft, Boston is just up the road. You can come home anytime.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what my dad says.¡±


    Joe and Kelly talked for a few minutes. She promised to see him at his gig. Joe selected a Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers record. As they were leaving, Nate elbowed him.


    ¡°Who was that hot chick?¡±


    ¡°Kelly Marsh. She just graduated.¡± Joe met Nate¡¯s eyes. ¡°She and I didn¡¯t speak for three years at Central. She was a year ahead, an honor student, and a popular girl. I didn¡¯t think she knew me.¡±


    ¡°Look at you, scoring with hot popular chicks.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t score anything. I guess she saw one of our shows. She¡¯s said she¡¯ll be at The Bon Vue tonight.¡±


    ¡°Sweet. Maybe you will score.¡± Nate slapped him on the back. ¡°You could use a lucky break.¡±


    ¡°And she¡¯s bringing some friends.¡±


    The band had been doing gigs for nearly three months. Nate was now a true believer. He lightened up on Joe because he saw with his own eyes that the kid had something special going on. He never apologized. That wasn¡¯t in Nate¡¯s DNA. He simply respected Joe, but he still broke his balls.


    That weekend was the beginning of a new band routine for the summer of ¡®78. They played beach bars every Friday and Saturday night and returned to the city for a couple of midweek gigs. Vic didn¡¯t like that The Underground was now relegated to Wednesday nights.


    Joe assured him it was only temporary. ¡°Look, it¡¯s only for the summer. The Bon Vue holds around three hundred and they charge a three-dollar cover. We can¡¯t pass that up.¡±


    ¡°I can raise my cover,¡± Vic said.


    ¡°But you can¡¯t squeeze another hundred people in here. This is the smallest venue we have.¡±


    ¡°Wednesdays are a crappy night.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, man. We¡¯re getting a lot of inquiries. That¡¯s what I can offer you.¡±


    By the end of July, through sheer hustle and word of mouth, they had collected five clubs along the Rhode Island shore, from Newport to Westerly, as well as a couple of new suburban bars not far from the city. They had ten clubs in all.


    Every Friday morning they drove to the beach, spent the day in the sand and surf, grabbed a bite, did their gig at night, stayed overnight nearby, and repeated that action on Saturday. Joe cracked up laughing at Sal, standing on Misquamicut Beach talking to three girls who knew the band, wearing his leather jacket with a dozen zippers and buckles, in his Speedo bathing suit.


    He walked up, shaking his head. A brunette with an impressive chest waved, ¡°Hi, Joe.¡±


    Joe waved back, checking out the teeny bikini she was busting out of. He poked Sal, ¡°What the fuck is this punk beach fashion?¡±


    Sal shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to leave my leather in the van, and I was sick of carrying it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how we knew who he was,¡± the redhead said with a smile. ¡°Who else would wear leather to the beach?¡±


    ¡°A meathead,¡± Joe laughed. ¡°That¡¯s who.¡± Joe looked down at Sal¡¯s too-small bathing suit. ¡°Are you smuggling grapes down there?¡±


    The girls laughed. Sal did not.


    After their show that evening at The Knickerbocker, they did shots with the girls and hung out on the beach. Monica, the chesty brunette, was a student at Holy Cross in Worcester, MA and she was sweet on Joe. Monica was a bit handsy. This was the band¡¯s life through July and August. Sunday became their day off. The Young Punks had a successful summer, but not everyone was excited for Joe and his band.


    -¡ª- COLD HARD CASH ¡ª¡ª


    Joe arrived home late on a Sunday morning after a weekend of working and partying, tired, and in need of sleep. The guys had been up all night hanging out with Kelly and friends at her family''s beach house after their third Bon Vue date. He needed rest.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The family had just gotten back from church. His sisters were all dolled up in their Sunday best, staring at Joe, who was a mess. He needed a shower. Mom needed to talk.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this, Joseph. You¡¯re never home. You spend all your time at that damn garage or playing in dirty bars. That¡¯s no life for a teenager.¡±


    ¡°Mom, the band is doing great. We¡¯re good and I¡¯m making serious money¡­ for a teenager.¡±


    ¡°You never see your sisters.¡±


    ¡°Joe glanced at the girls. A little help here, please?¡±


    ¡°Mom,¡± Jackie said. ¡±He¡¯s home plenty.¡±


    ¡°I eat dinner and sleep here at least four nights a week.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true Mom,¡± Julie joined in. ¡°You¡¯re not being fair.¡±


    ¡°The band is my job,¡± Joe added. ¡°I plan on making this work.¡±


    ¡°So this is it? You think you''re gonna be a rock star? That¡¯s ridiculous. What are the odds?¡±


    ¡°Alice!¡± Dad said sharply, but that¡¯s all he offered.


    ¡°I have no delusions about being a rock star,¡± Joe said quietly, ¡°but if I can earn my living doing something I love¡­ I¡¯m ten steps ahead of most people.¡± Joe glanced at Dad because that was the old man¡¯s line.


    ¡°Ten steps ahead of us working stiffs,¡± Dad added.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean, Dad.¡±


    ¡°I know, but it¡¯s the truth.¡±


    Mom carried on for another minute and a half, just being a drama queen, expressing worry for her son. During her ramble, each sister hugged Joe and walked off. They were as sick of hearing her as he was. Joe loved his Mom but she was a bit too much at times.


    He never had to worry about the girls. His sisters adored him and they were happy he was doing what he had been talking about for more than three years, playing in a band¡­ for real money. They were proud of him and never mentioned that they missed him when he was away. The girls knew Joe had sacrificed for years, and now was his time.


    The new school year was coming soon and Joe felt dread at the thought of going back. He put it out of his mind and focused on taking care of business. They did their beach bar weekends and city clubs during the week right up to the start of school.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Joe got the attention of his bandmates in the garage. ¡°Labor Day weekend is our last hurrah. I have five consecutive gigs booked, Wednesday through Sunday, all the beach clubs.¡±


    ¡°Five nights away from home?¡± Sal laughed. ¡°Your Mom will have a stroke.¡±


    "She might, then I come home for school and we settle back to weekends only.¡±


    ¡°I could use the break,¡± Johnny said with a smirk. ¡°Your whip is scarring my back.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Am I working you too hard?¡±


    ¡°No, but we could use the break.¡±


    ¡°Next week is the final push. We¡¯re gonna cash in and then we can take it easy.¡±


    That five-night run was bedlam, every club was packed with people partying on the last week of summer break. The band made a pile of money, cash that had gotten a little burdensome. When Joe returned home on Monday, the Labor Day holiday. His family sat at the kitchen table, Jackie and Jeanie were playing cards with Dad and Jackie¡¯s best friend, Wendy Walsh.


    Mom did her thing, complaining that Joe was away all week. He said nothing, opened a duffle bag, and emptied the contents on the table.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Jackie covered her mouth. ¡°How much money is that?¡±


    Mom barked. ¡°Watch your language!¡±


    ¡°Holy shit," Dad said in a low voice. "How much money is that?¡±


    Joe stood proud. ¡°That¡¯s twelve thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars, in mostly small bills. There¡¯s four grand in hundreds, three thousand in twenties, and a shit ton of fives, tens, and singles.


    Jackie''s eyes were bugged. ¡°Is that yours?¡±


    ¡°No, this is the band¡¯s money. From the end of school to Labor Day, twelve weeks, we grossed just short of twenty-four thousand dollars. We each take sixty bucks per show. After paying band expenses, gas, meals, and hotel nights, this is the balance.¡±


    Jackie shouted to the other room. ¡°Julie, come see this!¡±


    Mom was worried, of course. ¡°You should not be walking around with that money Joseph.¡±


    ¡°We haven''t had a chance to get to the bank. It was stashed in the garage. Don¡¯t worry, I have three bodyguards, and two of them are tough sons of bitches.¡±


    ¡°Joseph. Your language.¡±


    ¡°How much do you get paid a night?¡± asked Dad.


    Julie walked in. ¡°Holy crap. Whose money is that?¡±


    ¡°Juliette Anne Theroux!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Mom."


    Joe smiled at Jules, ¡°It¡¯s my band¡¯s money.¡±


    Dad asked again, ¡°So, how much per night?¡±


    ¡°It depends on how big the club is and the cover change. Our lowest-paying gigs are around $400 on a good night. Our best is the Bon Vue. We had a few $800 nights there. We did at least four shows a week all summer.¡±


    ¡°And you get good crowds?¡±


    ¡°We pack them in everywhere we go. It¡¯s crazy.¡±


    Dad inhaled and then exhaled big. Mom had a look of concern. That summer, Joe hadn¡¯t said much about the band to his parents, just an occasional update, or when Mom complained. He told them they were doing great, that¡¯s it. Mom and Dad heard about Joe¡¯s exploits from word of mouth around town. After seeing the band at The Underground, a few young guys at Dad¡¯s machine shop told him, ¡°Your kid¡¯s band is really fucking good.¡±


    There were young nurses at the hospital telling his Mom - his prudish, hardcore Catholic angst-ridden mother - that they thought her son was cute and his band was fun. They had approached Joe at The Met Cafe to tell him they worked with his mom. One of those nurses was a bit drinky and handsy, flirting with Joe. He thought she was going to take him home. She was disappointed to meet his friend Kelly, who read the situation and swooped in to save him from being molested by an older woman.


    Mom and Dad knew the band was good but when that cash hit the table and spread out with a pile remaining in the center, they saw firsthand just how good they were.


    Joe suspected Dad was thinking, ¡®Oh shit, now he¡¯s never gonna get a real job.¡¯ Mom had visions of Joe and Lucifer rocking hard in Hell, his soul burning for eternity. His sisters saw cold, hard, cash.


    Jeanie put her hands in the pile and tossed a grand into the air. She did it with pure joy. Jackie and Jules grabbed fistfuls of dollars. Everyone was laughing. Wendy tossed a handful high in the air. Even Mom smiled because everyone was happy, plus Joe was home in time for school.


    Then Mom extinguished the fun because Jeanie and Wendy had made a big mess to pick up. Joe had something important to tell them.


    ¡°Mom, forget the mess. It¡¯s nothing.¡± He turned to his sisters. ¡°Girls, pick up the money. Don¡¯t take any. I¡¯ll be checking pockets later, and training bras if necessary.¡±


    Dad cracked up. Mom did not.


    ¡°Joseph, is that what you learn playing punk rock in filthy bars?¡±


    ¡°No Mom, the nightclubs are filled with full-sized bras. Some belong to flirty nurses from Rhode Island Hospital.¡±


    Joe looked over at Dad with a smirk. Dad enjoyed that remark but stifled his laugh knowing his wife didn¡¯t. The expression Alice Theroux had, staring at her son, face brought a smile to Joe¡¯s face. For once, Mom was speechless. He had their attention.


    ¡°Please listen, and please take me seriously.¡±


    Jackie wanted to hear it. Jules and Jeannie kept picking up bills and piling cash on the table, a picture-perfect image to punctuate what he was about to say.


    ¡°This is my future. I know you don¡¯t respect what I do but I¡¯m working very hard doing it. That should be the most important thing, right Dad? You told me when I was a boy, ¡®It doesn''t matter what you do as long as you work hard and do it well.¡±


    Dad nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m working my ass off and I¡¯m really good at this band business. We started playing less than five months ago and we¡¯re making good money.¡±


    He dropped a fat envelope on the table. ¡°This is my cut.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s all this then?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°Band money. We¡¯re saving for the future. Right now we¡¯re using Tony¡¯s van. That can¡¯t last forever. We¡¯ll need a new ride someday. We¡¯d like to buy a PA system and new mics. I need another guitar. We have plans.¡±


    ¡°This is too much for me to take,¡± Mom said lowly, cupping her face.


    ¡°We put on a good show and people pay cash to see it. You may not like my music but this pile of cash speaks for itself. My band is good.¡±


    Joe stopped talking. He knew Dad was convinced because he saw the logic, the math, and the ¡®do what you¡¯re good at¡¯ angle. Mom operated on emotion and superstition. Just as she was about to say something, Joe ended the discussion.


    ¡°Mom, this is my future! I will graduate high school as I¡¯ve promised. When that¡¯s done, I¡¯m chasing this, doing what I love and earning a living doing it.¡±


    The girls were now stacking piles of ones, fives, tens, twenties, and hundreds. Dad sat silent, knowing he had no words to make a case that Joe should do differently. Mom walked away.


    Joe took his baby sister¡¯s arm. ¡°I know the count. If it''s all there, I¡¯ll give you each twenty bucks and take you to the record shop after school on Friday. There¡¯s no point in stealing five bucks, Jeanie.¡±


    Julie pushed Jeannie. ¡°I told you he saw you.¡±


    Joe was done talking. ¡°I have to get some rest. The first day of school is tomorrow. Woohoo! God help me get through one more year.¡±


    Before bed that night Joe told the girls band stories, tales of minstrels bringing cheer to the townspeople and the jester who made the carnival happen. It was creative if nothing else. Mom listened in from her bible reading chair just outside the girl¡¯s bedroom door.


    She was a tough nut to crack... but so was Joe.


    ¡ª BACK TO SCHOOL ¡ª


    Joe cooked eggs for himself and his sisters on the first day of school. Jules popped the bread in the toaster. Mom walked into the kitchen in her bathrobe.


    ¡°Are you going to walk your sister to school?¡± she asked Joe.


    ¡°Does she need me to?¡±


    ¡°It would be a nice thing to do on her first day of high school.¡±


    Jackie walked in as Mom spoke. ¡°What would be nice?¡±


    ¡°For your brother to walk you to school.¡±


    Joe looked at Jackie. ¡°Do you need me to hold your hand on your first day at the big house?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jackie poked him. ¡°But it would be nice to walk with you.¡±


    ¡°Wendy would like it too,¡± Jules said with a smirk.


    ¡°Great,¡± Joe said. ¡°Just what I need, giggling teeny boppers at seven in the morning.¡±


    Joe plated eggs. Jules buttered the toast. Jackie poured orange juice for herself and her sisters and coffee for Joe and Mom. She shouted across the house. ¡°Jeanie! Breakfast is ready.¡±


    As they sat at the kitchen table Mom pressed again for Joe chaperoning his sister on her first walk to Central High School. Joe had not been in the same school as Jackie since elementary school when she was in second grade. Now she was an incoming freshman and Joe a senior. She was excited to start at the big house, as many called CHS.


    ¡°Jeanie!¡± Jackie shouted. ¡°Breakfast!¡±


    ¡°Jesus.¡± Joe winced. ¡°You don¡¯t have to scream.¡±


    ¡°Joseph, your language.¡± Mom glared at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± Jeanie said, walking into the room.


    ¡°All this time and you¡¯re not even dressed?¡± Joe laughed. ¡°You¡¯re such a space cadet.¡±


    Joe¡¯s sisters were similar in many ways but they had unique personalities. Jackie, nearly 14, was the responsible, pragmatic eldest girl. She was a help around the house and generally obedient. Julie was the bookworm, a dramatic whiner, and Mom¡¯s spy and informant. Joe had two nicknames for her, Jules and the Mata Hari, a joke she didn¡¯t understand. Jeanie was a free spirit, brave and daring, creative, and had a natural talent for singing and dancing. Joe¡¯s pet name for her was Peanut but also Space Cadet because she was flakey and forgetful.


    Like Joe, Jackie had very dark chestnut brown hair. It looked black in low light. Julie¡¯s hair was more auburn brown. Jeanie¡¯s was a dark shade of blonde. Jackie was tall and slender, Julie was average, and Jeanie was a waif.


    Jules smiled at Jeanie, ¡°Joe¡¯s going to walk Jackie and Wendy to school.¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± Jeanie looked at Joe. ¡°I hope Wendy doesn¡¯t faint.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Joe said from behind his cup of coffee.


    Twenty minutes later, Joe walked out with Jackie just as her best friend Wendy walked into the driveway. They had been best friends since third grade, inseparable except for when they had fights. Wendy¡¯s crush on Joe started long before puberty. She got a little giggly around him, which annoyed Joe.


    At the end of their street, Wendy looked up at him. ¡°Do you have any advice for us?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hang out by the teacher¡¯s entrance unless you want everyone to think you¡¯re a nerd. Stay away from Mr. Grady the gym teacher. If he puts a finger on you let me know.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Wendy asked.


    ¡°Because he gets too friendly with girls and touches them.¡±


    ¡°Ewwwww,¡± the girls said in stereo.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe said. ¡°Fucking ewww. He¡¯s a creepy old man.¡±


    As they turned east on Broadway, Joe had something else to say. ¡°If any boys give you crap, especially bullies, you let me know.¡±


    Jackie bumped against her brother, her way of saying thanks.


    ¡°My sister says you get into a lot of fights,¡± Wendy said.


    ¡°Your sister is a gossip girl.¡±


    ¡°Is it true?¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s bullshit.¡±


    Joe was fed up with kids making a big issue of a few fights he¡¯d been in over the years. He was trying to put that all behind him but everyone else kept bringing it up. In his mind, it was just part of growing up not-Italian on Federal Hill.


    When they arrived at the school, Joe said, ¡°My work is done. Have a great day and don¡¯t be nerds, you¡¯ll get picked on.¡± He walked around the corner of the massive school toward the faculty entrance where to his astonishment, the nerds were gone, replaced by a group of underclassmen. They weren¡¯t necessarily cool kids, but they were trying to be.


    ¡°Where did the smart kids go?¡± he asked.


    A tall doofus in black leather answered, ¡°They took off.¡±


    ¡°To where?¡±


    ¡°I dunno.¡±


    Something smelled fishy to Joe. The smart kids always hung out near the faculty entrance. It was safer for them. He leered suspiciously at the group of six kids. He sort of knew the cute girl with blue hair. She had been to a couple of gigs, but he forgot her name. Then he realized another boy had been to The Underground a few times, and Joe did the math.


    He walked up to the tall doofus. ¡°Did you run them off?¡±


    ¡°No. We didn¡¯t.¡± He said unconvincingly, with fear in his eyes.


    ¡°Not really,¡± the blue-haired girl said.


    ¡°Sort of,¡± a girl with pink hair added.


    Joe put his finger in the doofus¡¯ face. ¡°This is their spot. You¡¯re gonna go find them and tell them to come back. Got it?¡±


    The kid didn¡¯t answer. He nodded and walked off.


    ¡°They¡¯re just around the corner,¡± said Pink Hair. ¡°We didn¡¯t run them off. Steven said some dumb things and they left.¡±


    ¡°He was mean,¡± the blue-haired girl admitted.


    When the smart kids, more than a dozen, came around the corner, walking behind Steven the doofus, they saw Joe and understood what was happening. Joe didn¡¯t say another word. He walked over to the stoop and sat. He then opened his book.


    That was only the first strange thing that happened on the first day of Joe¡¯s senior year. In the homeroom period, three classmates wanted to talk about his band. These kids never spoke to Joe, not in three years. During the first period, a cheerleader practically fell over herself flirting. A cheerleader and Joe? That¡¯s like cats and dogs. All day long kids he barely knew, and some he didn¡¯t know at all, greeted him with ¡°Hi Joe¡± or they wanted to talk about music.


    By the end of the day, Joe was thinking he might have to punch someone in the nose, in front of the crowded cafeteria, just to reclaim his bad reputation and scare them off. He had two strikes against him, so that plan was nixed. Joe didn¡¯t like the label of fighter, but he enjoyed the fact that annoying classmates avoided him¡­ for most of high school. This popularity thing was definitely not going to work.


    On the second day of school, Betty McDonald, the mousey, bespectacled, red-haired senior who was the unofficial queen of the nerds, approached Joe on the faculty stoop. He looked up from his book.


    ¡°Thank you for what you did yesterday,¡± she said, clutching her books to her chest.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you did. You told Steven Conte to give us back our spot.¡±


    Joe shrugged. He looked to his left to see Jackie and Wendy approaching. He didn¡¯t walk them to school on day two.


    ¡°I thought you said only nerds hang out here,¡± Jackie said in a mocking tone.


    Joe motioned with his head to the pocket protector crew twenty-five feet away. ¡°And there they are.¡±


    ¡°Are you a nerd too?¡± she smirked at her brother.


    ¡°Betty. This is my sister Jackie. She¡¯s a freshman, and one of your tribe.¡±


    ¡°Hi.¡± Betty smiled. ¡°What do you mean¡­ my tribe?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a smart girl. She and Wendy are in the accelerated curriculum program.¡±


    Betty turned to Jackie. ¡°Your brother isn¡¯t a nerd. He watches over us.¡±


    Jackie furrowed her brow. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I do not,¡± Joe protested.


    Betty made a duh face at Joe. ¡°Do you think we don¡¯t know why you sit here every morning? It started in Sophomore year right after Jimmy got beat up, and then Thomas. You keep the mean kids away.¡± She turned to Jackie. ¡°They¡¯re afraid of Joe.¡± She turned back to Joe. ¡°They don¡¯t know he¡¯s a nice guy.¡±


    Joe didn¡¯t say a word. He was a little embarrassed and irked.


    ¡°Scarecrow Joe,¡± we call him. Betty smiled at him.


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Joe scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard that.¡±


    ¡°Because no one is brave enough to say it to your face.¡±


    ¡°The next person that does might regret it.¡±


    ¡°Scarecrow Joe,¡± Jackie laughed. ¡°I can say it all day and night. Whaddya gonna do, beat me up?¡±


    Joe stood up just as the bell sounded. ¡°I can find another place to sit this year.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Betty said. ¡°This is your spot, and ours is over there. We never bother you, do we?¡±


    ¡°Not until today.¡± Joe walked away, and Betty followed, as did Jackie and Wendy.


    ¡°You realize Steven Conte wanted to hang out with you, right? That¡¯s why those kids were here yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Well. I knocked that dumb idea out of his head.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Betty smiled. ¡°You did.¡± She turned back to Jackie. ¡°The strange thing about your brother is, he¡¯s one of us. He only plays dumb because he thinks it¡¯s not cool to be smart.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the only strange thing,¡± Jackie said.


    ¡°Yeah, well, my sister is such a brainiac she skipped a grade.¡± Joe looked at Betty. ¡°She¡¯s only thirteen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fourteen in November.¡±


    ¡°Still thirteen.¡±


    Joe was concerned about his sister starting high school so young. He was glad he¡¯d be around for her freshman year. No one was going to mess with his sister. Next year, she¡¯d be on her own.


    ¡ª BUSINESS CARDS ¡ª


    Pops had done the band many favors, starting with giving them a home. They used his van, he cooked for them, and he allowed the guys to have friends over any time his crew of Italian wise guys were not hanging around. One favor he had done right after their first gig didn¡¯t pay off until school restarted in September.


    Tony called in a favor. He had his buddy Gianni at Columbus Printing make a simple business card for the band. All it said was The Young Punks - Providence, RI with the garage¡¯s phone number. Joe and Sal handed these cards out all summer, especially to college kids at the beach. They told everyone, ¡°If you can get us a gig near your school, we¡¯ll make the drive and check the place out.¡±


    In mid-September, they got a call from a local club. Sal returned the call. When Joe showed up at the garage later that day, Sal was excited.


    ¡°You won¡¯t believe who called this morning.¡±


    Joe shrugged, ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Take a guess.¡±


    ¡°Joe Strummer.¡±


    Sal scowled at him, ¡°I¡¯m serious, this is big.¡±


    ¡°Johnny Rotten?¡±


    ¡°Fuck off. Randy Hien.¡±


    Joe smiled wide. ¡°The Living Room?¡±


    Ninety minutes later, they sat with Randy at his bar nursing beers. Since their last visit, at the start of summer, Randy had heard some things. Joe and Sal told him the story of their wild beach season.


    "Let me tell ya, a few times this summer we had good bands playing here and we had shit turnout. I was baffled. They should have been good nights. Then my bartender tells me about this band her friends are seeing at the Met Cafe.¡±


    Sal smiled. ¡°We¡¯ve drawn some good crowds there.¡±


    ¡°I know, and it¡¯s costing me. I heard you kids put on a show, do some crazy shit, and I wanted to check you out. Let¡¯s see if you play with our college crowd.¡±


    Joe scoffed: ¡°Are you kidding? They¡¯re our biggest fans! Who do you think comes to The Met to see us? Your customers. We played for college kids at the beach all summer.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you booked for a weeknight, like real soon.¡±


    Joe didn''t like it. ¡°Midweek, like a tryout gig? No, we¡¯re way past doing auditions.¡±


    Randy looked at Sal. ¡°Is this kid for real?¡±


    Sal shrugged. ¡°Joe doesn¡¯t trust club owners.¡±


    ¡°Not true. They have to earn my trust.¡± He looked Randy in the eyes. ¡°We¡¯ve been fucked a few times.¡±


    ¡°Shit," said Randy. "I feel like I¡¯m being interviewed.¡±


    Joe leaned in, ¡°No disrespect intended. You just said we were costing you money playing at The Met. I don¡¯t think we need to do a midweek tryout.¡±


    ¡°You want me to just give you a prime weekend spot, having never seen you?¡±


    Joe steeled his gaze. ¡°Either that or we can play The Met. I¡¯ll book that shit every weekend.¡±


    Sal put his hand on Joe¡¯s shoulder. He thought the kid was going too far. They wanted to play this club and Joe was being a dick. Randy stared back at Joe, half smiling, a bit bemused. Joe leaned back on his bar stool. It felt like a scene from a mobster film. Randy had tipped his hand. Joe stood his ground. The Young Punks were now a commodity and he felt he had the upper hand.


    Sal looked at Joe. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with starting on a weeknight?¡±


    Joe stared at Sal for a moment then turned to Randy. ¡°We really want to play here Mr. Hien. This is the best gig in the city but I want our first night downtown to be bigger than your club half-empty on a Tuesday. The college kids are here on weekends. That¡¯s our crowd.¡±


    Randy flipped through a black leather book. ¡°I don¡¯t have a Friday open until October,¡± he looked at Joe. ¡°The thirteenth.¡±


    Joe smiled at Sal: ¡°We¡¯ll take it. It¡¯s gonna be a big night. You won¡¯t regret it.¡±


    Joe left the bar satisfied for landing a weekend gig at the best punk venue in the entire state. Even Sal had to admit he played his cards perfectly.


    Before the band played The Living Room, the second call came in, this one from Worcester, MA. Some guy named Barney left a message with Pops. Joe returned the call, spoke with the bar owner, and couldn¡¯t wait to tell the guys.


    ¡°Hey, do you remember that crazy chick at The Knickerbocker?¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡± Sal asked.


    ¡°The long-haired brunette with the nice rack, Monica.¡±


    ¡°She was all over you,¡± Johnny recalled.


    ¡°Yes, she was.¡± Joe smiled. ¡°Well, she goes to Holy Cross and she passed our card on to this guy Barney. He owns an Irish Pub in Worcester. He wants us to come up there for a gig.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than an hour''s drive,¡± Sal noted. ¡°An Irish pub?¡±


    ¡°So what? It¡¯s a job. We need to expand our turf.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Johnny said, ¡°but an Irish pub?¡± He made a face.


    ¡°Barney says punks hang out there. They took over his place and they want bands. We have to at least give this place a chance.¡±


    The guys grumbled.

 Ch.06 - Whip It

    Joe sat on the faculty stoop before school. Betty McDonald walked by with her friend Bryan. She waved at Joe. He nodded. Kids around the school teased Bryan by calling him Brain. The dumb kids thought that was funny.


    ¡°Hey, Betty,¡± Joe called out. ¡°Are you going to run for class president again?¡±


    She stopped and turned, then walked back a few steps. ¡°I think so. I mean, I¡¯ve run three straight years. I may as well lose one more time.¡±


    ¡°I admire that you never quit. Manfredi kicks your ass every year, but you still fight.¡±


    Betty shrugged. ¡°Well, he has lots of friends: the whole disco clique, the baseball team, and the track team. Most kids don¡¯t vote, so he wins.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s got the jock vote, and you have them." Joe nodded toward the bookish huddle twenty feet away. Then he imagined for a moment how cool it would be for Betty to end the reign of Mike Manfredi: golden boy, baseball star, and class president¡­ three years running.


    ¡°If we could get the kids who don¡¯t usually vote to fill out a ballot, how many would you need?¡±


    ¡°Less than half the class participates," she said. "I lost by almost a hundred votes last year. It was worse the year before."


    ¡°Okay, at least sixty kids from school come to my gigs, mostly seniors. That''s a start, right?¡±


    Betty chuckled, ¡°Do you want to be my campaign manager?¡±


    ¡°Is that a thing in high school?¡±


    Betty shrugged. ¡°It could be.¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want a job, but I can whip votes for you, like they do in Congress.¡±


    ¡°You would do that?¡±


    ¡°Fuck yeah. You deserve a chance. Manfredi is a cocky shit. Imagine how big it would be to upset him after three years of that dick being class president?¡±


    Betty flashed a big smile. ¡°It would be awesome.¡±


    Joe smiled back. ¡°Let me talk to some kids, but let¡¯s keep this quiet for now. When¡¯s the election?¡±


    ¡°The first Friday in October, the sixth.¡±


    ¡°Okay, almost three weeks, plenty of time. We¡¯ll talk later.¡±


    The first bell went off as Betty walked off with a bounce in her step.


    Mike Manfredi wasn¡¯t a bad kid. He was a popular boy with a flashy smile and made-for-television face who annoyed people. He was a smooth talker, good with the ladies, and a bit arrogant for Joe¡¯s taste. Joe also knew that Mike made fun of Betty every year when she announced her challenge for office. He was condescending towards her and her bookish friends.


    Joe wasn¡¯t digging this newfound popularity in school but there wasn¡¯t anything he could do about it, so he decided to use it to his advantage. In the first week, he covertly canvassed the non-jock school factions: the stoners, the rockers, the hippies, and the punks. He had friends or acquaintances in each clique. These groups had overlap, most were invisible students. None played sports or got involved with extracurricular activities. They showed up, went to class, and ran out like the building was on fire when the final bell rang.


    Joe recruited people he knew best in each faction with the same speech. ¡°Betty is a trooper. She never quit trying, even when she knew she had no chance of winning. She¡¯s the ultimate underdog; a quiet girl, a nerd, and most kids don¡¯t know her. She¡¯s not popular outside the ACP classes. She deserves this, and wouldn¡¯t it be great to slap that smug ¡®I¡¯m better than you.¡¯ smile off Manfredi¡¯s face?¡±


    That last line was effective. Mike was an annoying snob. The idea of elevating the lowest among them over him appealed to everyone. Joe closed his pitch with, ¡°Keep this on the down low. We don¡¯t want Manfredi to know until it¡¯s too late.¡±


    When Joe got to his old crush¡¯s clique, Sandy thought it was hilarious he had gotten involved in class politics. She got her hippy friends on board. Dean Coyle, a talkative stoner with a big brain, kept his crew in line. John Tedesco, the tallest kid in school not playing basketball, handled the rockers. Steven Conte was desperate to redeem himself. He handled the punks with the pink-haired girl who had recently added a white streak. Because she always wore black, Joe nicknamed her Good & Plenty.


    He recruited the Washington twins. They weren¡¯t in his class but they dated seniors on the basketball team. Joe knew the basketball players didn¡¯t vote, but he had their respect after defending the twins from John Russo. With the help of Nicole and Monique, he hoped to pull some of the black kids into the movement.


    As Joe whipped the votes, he couldn¡¯t help but channel a nerd band he loved at the time. If any punk band personified awkward brainy youth, it was DEVO. Joe¡¯s band played two of their songs, but they didn''t cover their biggest hit.


    ¡®Whip It¡¯ was an ear-worm for the election run-up. He couldn''t get it out of his head. He walked the corridors singing it under his breath. When he talked to his election operatives about whipping the vote he left them with the parting words, ¡°Whip it, whip it good.¡±


    In the second week, Bryan Murphy and Lori Stanton, two of Betty¡¯s smart clique pals, threw their hats in the ring for student council. Their candidacies were added to the campaign. Joe was whipping votes for them too.


    They did their best to keep the scheme as quiet as possible, but whipping over a hundred votes generated some buzz. Joe didn¡¯t want Manfredi¡¯s crew to know how big an effort was afoot. There was a rally scheduled for Wednesday, two days before the class election. All office candidates would make a stump speech in the auditorium. Joe intended to turn that event upside down.


    A week before the election, on a Friday night, The Young Punks played The Underground. As usual, there was a big CHS contingent on hand. That¡¯s where Joe made the first overt push. About halfway through the first set, he gathered the crowd¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Listen. A lot of my classmates are here. I¡¯ve talked to some of you about the election next Friday. If I haven¡¯t, listen up. You all know Mike Manfredi.¡±


    There were scattered boos.


    ¡°I know, he¡¯s kind of an entitled dick. His dad is on city council, ran for mayor once, and probably will again. Mike has been class president three straight years.¡± He held three fingers out. ¡°Politics is the family business. We¡¯d like to end that run.¡±


    Claps and cheers came from the back of the room where Conte and Good & Plenty hung with their punk crew.


    ¡°Betty Martin runs every year and loses badly, but she never quits! That¡¯s why I support her. She¡¯s a good kid, smart and hard-working. I think she¡¯s earned a chance to be class president.¡±


    Joe was happy to hear more applause.


    ¡°I know for sure that no one in this room votes in school elections. But next Friday you¡¯ll do it for Betty¡­ or for me. I really don¡¯t care. Imagine how cool it will be to rock the school by upsetting Manfredi and keeping him from winning four straight years.¡±


    That drew more applause and cheers, even some college kids were on board.


    ¡°Tell your friends. We¡¯re pushing to get Betty, Brian Murphy and Lori Stanton elected. Next Wednesday there¡¯s a rally after lunch in the auditorium. That¡¯s when Disco Boy is gonna find out we¡¯re coming for him.¡±


    ¡ª- THE PUNKS JUST TOOK OVER ¡ª-


    Saturday night was The Young Punks'' debut at Barney¡¯s Irish Pub in Worcester, their first show out of state. Sal was still pissy about driving more than an hour to an Irish pub he¡¯d never heard of. On the ride up, Joe was sick of Sal¡¯s bitching.


    ¡°Look, we handed out these cards for a reason, and we told people if they get us a gig near their school, we¡¯ll come check them out and do a show.¡±


    ¡°An Irish pub doesn¡¯t sound like a good fit.¡±


    ¡°Monica gave our card to the daughter of the owner. She runs the bar at night. It¡¯s a younger crowd after the day drinkers go home. That¡¯s what Barney told me. He said the punks started showing up, just a handful, and a month later he had two dozen. They have a weekend house band, and it¡¯s punk rock.¡±


    ¡°Then what do they need us for?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t Sal. It¡¯s just a fucking gig. If this place sucks we get paid and we don¡¯t come back. It won¡¯t be our first dud.¡±


    Nate snickered from the back of the van. ¡°That sports bar in Warwick was rubbish.¡±


    ¡°We still got paid.¡±


    When the band arrived at 5:45, they were in a residential neighborhood. The bar was once a house, the large backyard paved over. More than three hours before the show they found a dozen men sitting in a dark, run-down pub. Barney came out from behind the bar with his hand extended.


    ¡°Are you Joe?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and you must be Barney.¡± Joe shook his hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± he smiled. ¡°Trish is excited to have a new band playing. I guess she¡¯s sick of the same old.¡±


    Barney was a keg of a man, short and stout with a big round head barely covered by what remained of his sandy hair. His neck was as wide as his head. When the guys entered behind Joe, the expression on Sal¡¯s face was unmistakable.


    Barney looked up at him, ¡°Don¡¯t worry. These drunks will be gone before dark when this place gets handed off to my daughter. She¡¯ll be here soon, and the freak show will be right behind her.¡± He pointed. ¡°The stage is back there. If you need anything, just holler.¡±


    Trish arrived as the band was setting up. She was a younger, female version of Barney, stout and thick, with kind eyes, except she had a shock of red hair that was all over the place.


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you made it.¡± She took Joe¡¯s hand. ¡°Monica will be very excited to see you. She¡¯s been telling everyone about your band. I¡¯m expecting a good crowd.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna finish setting up and then step out for a quick bite. Are there any good diners nearby?¡±


    ¡°About a half mile up the road is the Euclid Grille. It¡¯s very good.¡±


    ¡°Can you watch our gear?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    The band stepped out for a bite to eat that turned out to be not so quick, because Joe saw a record shop. They spent a half hour in Valentine Vinyl & Tape. They talked with the proprietor, Jimmy Valentine, a middle-aged Englishman with an extensive inventory of punk, especially UK bands. Joe invited him to the show. Sal had to push him out of the store. When they returned to the pub, Joe was mugged by his biggest fan.


    ¡°Oh, my God! I¡¯m so happy to see you,¡± Monica practically screamed as her arms went around Joe¡¯s neck. She kissed him. The band shared glances. ¡°I told everyone about your show,¡± she smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t make me look bad.¡±


    ¡°Barney wasn¡¯t kidding,¡± Joe said, looking at the crowd that had taken over the bar. ¡°This is a legit punk crew.¡±


    Monica made wide eyes, ¡°Oh yeah. We have some characters. The thing is, they¡¯re all really cool people. Let me introduce you.¡±


    Monica dragged Joe around the room introducing him to punks with shaved heads, Mohawks, tattoos, face piercings, and all manner of punk fashion. It was all leather and denim, not a silk shirt in the room. The band had actual punk fans back home, but this was next level. These kids were committed. In the billiards room, Joe met the leader of the house band.


    ¡°Sticks is the drummer and singer,¡± Monica said.


    ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± Joe shook his hand. Sticks just nodded. He didn¡¯t seem as friendly as the others.


    ¡°They¡¯re a trio,¡± Monica said. ¡°That¡¯s Rudy the bass player and Tek, the guitarist.¡±


    Joe nodded at the punks across the pool table. They returned nods. Sticks was tall and skinny with a tight haircut and lots of tattoos. Joe didn¡¯t like the skinhead vibe he was feeling.


    The band¡¯s first show in Massachusetts started okay but some of the hard punks were not won over so easily. Like all their gigs, Joe enjoyed the delighted expressions on punks'' faces as they played unusual songs but he also could not escape the faces who weren''t getting on his carnival ride. The first singalong took them by surprise. It was not the best crowd performance, except for Monica, who was singing loud and proudly eight feet in front of Joe. Her titties bounced as she danced. During a break between songs, Joe tried to break the ice with the tough crowd.


    ¡°Hey, this is what we do.¡± He pointed with both arms extended. ¡°We make you part of the show. I need some commitment.¡± He paused a moment, ¡°Like you have for these fucking costumes.¡±


    He got a laugh so he pressed on. ¡°It¡¯s impressive. Really. This place is a punk rock freak show.¡± He gestured to a guy up front with a short mohawk, neck tattoos, and face piercings. ¡°How do you find a job? Can you even get through a metal detector?¡±


    He got more laughs, so he did crowd work between songs, cracking jokes about the hard punk fashion. He felt the crowd coming his way. Late in the first set, when Joe went into the carnival barker routine for the dance contest, Monica was up front, jumping, big tits bouncing, raising her hand before he asked for volunteers.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°I feel obligated to pick Monica since she got us this gig. She¡¯s a defending champion from one of our Rhode Island beach gigs this summer. Who would like to challenge her?¡±


    Joe helped Monica on stage as he scanned the crowd for hands. Several contenders stood out. Joe picked the cute redhead. As Joe helped her onstage, Monica ripped Joe''s mic from his hand and talked trash.


    ¡°You¡¯re going down, bitches!¡± She pointed at the crowd. ¡°Not one of you can take the crown from me.¡±


    The crowd laughed and booed. Joe had to wrestle the mic back as she played the heel, taunting the women up front. Joe looked back at his bandmates with wide eyes. Monica was taking this shit seriously.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Joe took the mic. ¡°Listen, you punks did a real shitty job on the first singalong.¡± He pointed like he was the boss. ¡°You¡¯re gonna sing to this dance song. Since we¡¯re in Massachusetts. I picked a simple song. I hope you Massholes can handle it.¡±


    The crowd booed him. Monica grabbed the mic, and they both held it. ¡°I¡¯m from New York, and he¡¯s right, you guys are Masshole pussies.¡±


    They booed Monica. She loved it.


    Susan, the cute red-headed girl, a casual punk chick; was wondering why she raised her hand and what she had gotten herself into. Monica hammed it up. Joe had to pull the mic away from her. He looked over at the bar, Trish was laughing, delighted. That snapshot made Joe very happy.


    Joe stood between the contestants, using his hands to keep them apart. ¡°Okay ladies, when the music starts, give us your best moves, shake your butt, wiggle those titties, show the punks what you got.¡± He paused. ¡°No biting, no head butts, and no blows below the belt. Are you ready?¡±


    The band played Batman, the girls started dancing. Joe looked at the punks. ¡°Can you handle this song?¡± Then he led them. ¡°Batman!¡±


    Monica danced like a stripper, flashing her fine round bottom at the crowd, pulling her pants down just a little.


    ¡°Batman!¡±


    She turned and pushed her ample breasts together making kissy lips at the punks.


    ¡°Batman!¡±


    Susan was dancing fine, but she was being outclassed. The Masspunks were singing loudly.


    Batman!


    Monica was hot, voluptuous, and naughty. Susan had no chance.


    ¡°Batman! Batman! Batman!:


    The vocal vote was closer than Joe thought it would be. Some cheered for both. When Joe raised Monica¡¯s hand as punk dance queen, he instructed the bartender to give her a drink on the band.


    ¡°No,¡± she pushed him. ¡°I want your Tweety Bird shirt.¡±


    Joe thought for a moment, ¡°Okay, hang on.¡± He stepped away from her and then looked across the room. ¡°I¡¯ll make a deal with you. You can have it¡­ if you can take it off my back.¡±


    The punks erupted. Monica nodded, ¡°Okay, bitch, it¡¯s on!¡±


    Monica lunged at him. Joe sidestepped her. She turned and got a hold of his purple Tweety Bird shirt and began tugging hard. Joe twisted away from her. The cotton stretched. She had a good grip on it, trying to pull it over Joe¡¯s head. He held his arms tight against his body, hands under his pits¡­ the nun-ruler defense. She couldn¡¯t get his arms out but she pulled the back of the shirt over his head. Sal and Nate were laughing maniacally. The punks cheered her on. Joe then did a spinning reverse move to put her in a headlock. Monica stomped on his foot, not hard, but Joe pretended it hurt and fell backward, to the stage floor. Monica jumped on top, slapped him, and pulled his shirt over his head again. He slowly let his shirt slip away, and then then let it go. Monica ripped it away from him and held the shirt over her head, victorious. As they stood and faced the crowd, Joe shirtless, he saw the faces of the hard punks had turned to wide smiles. The dance contest and tee-shirt wrestling had won them over.


    Sticks approached Joe during the set break with a very different vibe. ¡°That was fucking crazy, man. Monica is a natural wrestling heel. She trash-talks sports all the time.¡±


    ¡°Fucking Yankee fans,¡± Joe said. ¡°With a big mouth. The worst.¡±


    Sticks laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t they all have big mouths?¡±


    Joe nodded. ¡°Yeah, we do too, we just never win enough to be that obnoxious.¡± He gestured to Monica, who was now a celebrity. ¡°I think she just reinvented my dance contest gag. I¡¯m gonna have to buy more tee shirts and make that wrestling bit part of the show.¡±


    On the ride home, at 2:45 AM, Sal was no longer complaining about how far the drive was. He was sold on Barneys and the Worcester punks. Joe sat quietly in the passenger seat of the van with a satisfied smile. He didn¡¯t have to say a word.


    ¡ª-- ELECTION WEEK ¡ª---


    The following Monday, Joe spoke with Betty and Bryan before school. She was excited.


    ¡°Two Basketball players and a cheerleader asked me if I think I have a chance.¡±


    ¡°I hope you told them, ¡®Yes, if they vote,¡± Joe said.


    ¡°I did. I said we need their help. Even the stoners are asking about the election.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Great.¡±


    She was feeling confident but she was also nervous. ¡°I¡¯m worried about the attention. If Mike finds out about this he¡¯ll get the word out to all his friends. They¡¯ll turn out for him.¡±


    ¡°But they already do, don¡¯t they?" Joe said. "How many more kids can he get?¡±


    ¡°The football team," answered Bryan. "They don¡¯t vote. If he gets them, we¡¯re cooked.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not one of their guys. The football players don¡¯t care about Mike.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all jocks, Joe,¡± Betty said. ¡°They stick together.¡±


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t. What about the basketball team? Jocks aren¡¯t a monolith. They have cliques too.¡±


    Betty paced back and forth. ¡°Do you know any football players?¡±


    ¡°Look," Joe met Betty''s eyes. "you need to focus and nail that speech. Leave the votes to me. Did you look at the notes I gave you? Pretty good, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but that¡¯s not my style. I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°Mousy. Is that the word? You¡¯ll have to push that timid shit down and speak up. The scrappy underdog angle will get more kids to vote for you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Defiance isn¡¯t something I¡­¡±


    ¡°Just once!¡± Joe held a finger up. ¡°Just once you have to stand up and say you¡¯re sick of the same old crap.¡±


    Betty stared at Joe for a moment. Bryan smiled. He was all in.


    ¡°Okay," she said in her mousy voice. "I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± he said calmly, taking Betty''s hand. ¡°When I¡¯m on stage I feed off the energy of the crowd. There are going to be a lot of people at the rally cheering you on. I promise you. We will be there. When we boo Manfredi and cheer for you, you¡¯re gonna feel it in your chest. Channel that energy, and speak the fuck up!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never felt this anxious about a vote.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you never had a chance. You ran knowing you were gonna lose. There was nothing at stake. After this rally, everyone will know you¡¯re in this fight.¡±


    ¡°Manfredi will have a full day to get his people¡­¡±


    ¡°Calm down, Betty. It¡¯ll be too late. Your speech at the rally will win people over. Everyone loves a long shot.¡±


    ¡°Especially jocks,¡± said Bryan.


    Joe pointed at him. ¡°Exactly!¡±


    It was a challenge keeping the plot secret. With so many on board, they expected it would leak. Late on Monday, Joe heard Manfredi had caught wind of the scheme. Rumor had it, he laughed and said something like, ¡°Right, as if a bunch of stoners and punks are going to show up for a loser nerd.¡±


    Joe suspected his overconfidence would work to their advantage. By the time he realized he had a serious challenger¡­ it would be too late.


    ¡ª- SICK OF YOUR CRAP ¡ª-


    Ten feet inside the school auditorium, Vice Principal Reed stopped Joe. They hadn¡¯t spoken since spring, back when he told Joe he knew he had bitch-slapped John Russo and reminded him he had two strikes against him.


    ¡°What the hell is going on, Theroux? There¡¯s never been this many students at this thing, and certainly not this motley crew.¡± He gestured toward the stoners and punks standing against the back wall. ¡°And why is half the basketball team here?¡±


    Joe shrugged. ¡°It looks like Betty might have a shot this year.¡±


    ¡°Really?" Mr. Reed smiled. "Okay. As you were.¡±


    Joe arrived as the student council candidates were giving their two-minute speeches. It was dreadfully boring. They presented in monotone alphabetical order, twelve candidates for seven seats. Then the class treasurer and vice presidential candidates spoke. Everyone received polite applause and a few cheers. You could tell where their friends sat in the auditorium. The Whipper''s voices gave Bryan and Lori vocal support but saved the best for last.


    Each student ended their speech and then dutifully announced the candidate following them in the program. Joe had told their group to remain polite until the incumbent walked up. The auditorium was three-quarters full, but it didn¡¯t sound so until Mike Manfredi¡¯s name was announced.


    His large contingent of Italian disco queens and dudes screamed. His jock buddies cheered and whistled. The Whippers timed their voices so that when the Manfredi applause died down, a cascade of boos rained down from the back of the room. They weren¡¯t overly obnoxious, but jock heads turned as his people looked back to see who was jeering their man.


    Miss Murray, Joe¡¯s cute guidance counselor, caught his eye in the wings, twenty-five feet away. She mouthed, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Joe shrugged as the booing faded. He loved that Miss Murphy was present. She will appreciate this political stunt.


    Mike stepped up to the lectern as the boos faded. They watched his confidence shrink a little as he was wholly not accustomed to being jeered. As he spoke, he was looking beyond his supporters, at the punks and rockers and basketball team and the nerds. They slipped in chortles and a couple of boos, but not enough to cause faculty to step in. Normally smooth-as-silk Mike stumbled three times - once badly. Laughs punctuated his gaffes. He was rattled. When he finished, Betty¡¯s supporters remained silent as his people applauded, then they booed as he walked off, forgetting to announce Betty McDonald; or was it an intentional slight?


    When Mr. Reed tried to get his attention, Mike walked faster, ignoring him. Mr. Reed stepped up to the mic and announced Betty. The Whippers went wild, clapping, cheering, whistling and hooting. They kept it up until Mr. Reed, annoyed, moved Betty aside and leaned into the mic.


    ¡°Hey, quiet down back there!¡±


    They got louder, making the vice principal more agitated.


    ¡°Show some respect! Don¡¯t make me clear you out of here.¡±


    Betty¡¯s speech was fine. She quietly made her points. In closing, she punched the four lines Joe had written. Her voice was timid, but she took a big swing and hit those notes as hard as she could. Her supporters responded loudly for each line in a coordinated chorus.


    ¡°I¡¯m running again, for the fourth straight year, because I¡¯m not a quitter!¡±


    The chorus sounded out. ¡°Betty won¡¯t quit! Betty won¡¯t quit! Betty won¡¯t quit!¡±


    ¡°I was mocked last year.¡± She pointed at the crowd. ¡°You made fun of me. Well, I¡¯m sick of your crap!¡±


    The chorus laughed while chanting. ¡°Sick of your crap! Sick of your crap! Sick of your crap!¡±


    ¡°I know I¡¯m a long shot. None of you think I can win. I¡¯m a big underdog.¡±


    The chorus pumped their fists. ¡°Under-dog! Under-dog! Under-dog!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in it to win it, and if you vote for me on Friday; we can do it!¡±


    The chorus went wild re-chanting the lines. ¡°Betty won¡¯t quit! Under-dog! Sick of your crap! We can do it."


    Betty walked off to rowdy chants, applause, and cheers. Manfredi supporters stood in shock. Mr Reed smiled, shaking his head, as the Whippers carried on long after she disappeared behind the curtain. The rally rocking scheme worked to perfection. As they filed out of the auditorium Sandy pulled Joe aside.


    ¡°That was incredible. I mean, I didn¡¯t imagine it going so well.¡±


    ¡°Everyone played their part. Did you see how shaken Manfredi was?¡±


    ¡°I kind of felt bad for him," she scrunched her cute nose. "almost.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to be a fly on the wall when he meets his boys later.¡±


    Word spread around the school that Betty and the nerds had punks, hippies, stoners, basketball players, and even some cheerleaders behind her. Apparently, Mike¡¯s ladies¡¯ man image was dubious. He had burned a few popular girls.


    The notion that Betty might upset three-time class president Mike Manfredi had taken hold of the school. Kyle Bartlett, another nerdy kid who worked on the school newspaper, asked Joe why he was suddenly involved in school politics. Joe played dumb.


    ¡°Involved? I have only one vote and I¡¯m using it for Betty. She never quits and I like that. She deserves a chance to serve our class.¡±


    At the rally, the Whippers were careful to not show their true numbers. They had fewer than fifty students attend, not half of what Manfredi had. It was enough to make noise and serve notice, but not reveal their cards. Joe sensed Betty had enough support to win, provided his people showed up on Friday.


    The day before the election, the school was abuzz with news of the rally. Kyle ran a headline in the four-page student newspaper, ¡®Manfredi Faces Serious Challenge¡¯. Less than one-third of the class of ¡®79 was in that auditorium, but every student heard the noise they made. There were whispers that many were going to vote for the first time. By the end of that school day, Joe was feeling very good about Betty¡¯s chances.


    Before school, on the morning of the election, Betty approached him on the faculty stoop.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep at all last night.¡±


    Joe snapped his fingers. ¡°Do-doot-do-do-do.¡±


    Betty was confused. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a song by Bobby Lewis... Tossin¡¯ & Turnin¡¯... no?¡±


    She had no clue.


    ¡°Never mind.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried. He¡¯s got his friends¡­¡±


    ¡°If you lose," Joe cut her off. "what happens next?¡±


    Betty paused, thinking, looking at Joe, pondering his question. ¡°Nothing, I guess. I mean¡­ I just lose again.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it. But I guarantee it¡¯ll be close this time. Hasn¡¯t this been fun? You didn¡¯t quit.¡±


    ¡°But to go this far, and ..."


    "No matter what happens I''ll be right here with you. Nothing will change.¡±


    Thanks, Joe, you¡¯re a good guy.¡±


    Joe ended on a positive note. ¡°You¡¯re gonna win this thing. I know Disco Boy is worried. He was running his mouth yesterday. He¡¯s cocky. I don¡¯t think he realizes how organized we are. We¡¯ve whipped it good.¡±


    Joe was giddy when he arrived at the library to vote. There was a line snaking between bookshelves, out the double doors, and into the corridor. At least half of the kids were invisible students: the disaffected, disconnected, and uninvolved in school activities. Joe felt first-time voters were there for the underdog. When a group of football players standing in a huddle looked Joe¡¯s way and gave him a silent nod, he knew they had this thing in the bag.


    Joe stopped by later in the day. The lines were not as long but there was still a wait. Miss Murray saw Joe peeking inside the library and walked out to see him.


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re behind this turnout¡­ using your clout.¡±


    ¡°What clout?¡± Joe smiled, happy to have Miss Murphy¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be obtuse. Your little band. I¡¯ve heard about it.¡±


    ¡°Obtuse? I¡¯ll have to look that up later,¡± he smirked. ¡°Mr. Reed once called me that.¡±


    ¡°Last year, two hundred and forty kids voted, far less than half the class. It¡¯ll be over four hundred today. I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    ¡°Betty¡¯s a good kid. It¡¯s all about her. You saw her speech. She rocked it.¡±


    Miss Murray shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re a clown. I know you orchestrated that rally. It was obvious you led the chants.¡±


    Joe played it cool, not saying a word, just looking at her moist, glistening lips.


    Miss Murray leaned closer. "I heard that Manfredi kids are voting for Betty."


    Joe smiled, "Are you choosing sides?"


    She smiled back. "Yes. Betty earned this.¡± The bell rang. ¡°Get to class, Joe. You¡¯re late.¡±


    Joe stared at her full red head of hair. He liked Miss Murray. She was cool. She had tried to convince him to apply for college. Joe went to her office to talk twice in his junior year, just so he could look into her beautiful green eyes for a while. Joe looked back as he walked away.


    ¡°Betty is the best, and by the way, my band is not so little.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard some things. Kids are talking. Good for you. Now get to class.¡±


    The polls closed after the lunch period. The votes would be counted during the final period. At the end of the day, just before the closing bell, the school secretary would announce the results school-wide during end-of-day announcements.


    Joe wished he was with Betty but she was in honor-level accelerated classes and he was not. Joe fidgeted in Mr Brennan¡¯s social studies class, where he had previously learned about The House whip in civics. Mr. B, a retired US Marine and combat veteran in Vietnam, discussed the school elections for a few minutes before the announcements. He said was impressed and pleased that so many kids had gotten involved. He shot Joe a look, his stern Marine face slightly softer than usual.


    The secretary named the seven students who won council seats, including Brian and Lori. Joe was not at all surprised because they were running in a large field. Joe had gamed the council vote. The ballot instructions said pick up to five council candidates. They had a block of votes behind the Whippers but the block only voted for their two candidates, denying all other candidates those numbers. They were a lock to win.


    Next, the secretary named the treasurer and vice president. When she got to the final race, she paused. Joe and every other interested Central High School Knight was on the edge of his seat.


    ¡°For the senior class president, the final tally was, two hundred seventy-one to one hundred eighty-six, and the winner is¡­ Betty McDonald.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even close.


    Joe leaped to his feet. ¡°Yes! She did it.¡± He pumped his fist and gave high fives to celebrating classmates who were as happy as him. Even Mr. Brennan cracked a smile and clapped, just three times.


    When the final bell rang, Joe rushed into the corridor where students were laughing and yelling. He had never seen anything like it. He couldn¡¯t even remember a past school election. Racing down three flights of stairs, his feet barely touched one in three steps. He bumped into a few friends. Stoner Dean said it was the best day of high school¡­ ever. Joe¡¯s old guitarist, Pete Smith, gave him a high five.


    Joe extended an olive branch. ¡°You should come out and see the band sometime.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it," Pete said. "But I didn¡¯t know if ¡­¡±


    ¡°Fuck it, come to a show. We¡¯re good.¡±


    ¡°I heard,¡± he nodded. ¡°Alright, I''ll try to get out.¡±


    Joe ran off to find Betty, but she was nowhere in sight. Around every corner, he encountered people who joined the nerd underdog revolution. They patted backs, gave high fives, and laughed about how the invisible students had won an election. Joe sat on the stoop outside the faculty entrance hoping Betty would come by. She didn¡¯t.


    Jackie strolled up on him. It was time to go home. She smiled. ¡°So, you did it.¡±


    ¡°Pretty cool, huh?"


    ¡°Yeah, it is. Let¡¯s go get Jules and Jeanie. We¡¯re running late. I saw some senior nerds crying.¡±


    ¡°Watch yourself, that¡¯s your tribe.¡±


    ¡°I am not a nerd! Why are you such a jerk?¡±


    ¡°You get straight A¡¯s. You skipped a grade because your brain is so fucking huge. You¡¯re a nerd, deal with it.¡±


    She punched Joe¡¯s arm pretty hard for an almost fourteen-year-old bookish girl.


    .


    ******


    Joe had to wait until Monday to congratulate the new class president. She was waiting for him at the stoop before school. As he walked up she started sniffing and shaking.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna cry, are you? You fucking won!¡±


    He put his arms out. She walked into them. Joe wrapped his nerd friend in a punk embrace.


    ¡°I know. I can¡¯t believe it.¡± She sobbed. ¡°I looked for you Friday after school. Where were you?¡±


    ¡°I was looking for you too. I was right here. We just didn¡¯t connect. I was bummed I didn¡¯t see you.¡±


    ¡°Me too but I was so happy. Everyone was. It was crazy. My parents are so proud of me.¡±


    ¡°They should be. Hey," Joe stepped back. "You¡¯re getting snot on my leather. Did you see Manfredi?¡± Joe definitely had a streak of snot on his shoulder.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± She wiped her face. ¡°I heard he¡¯s wicked pissed off.¡±


    ¡°Fuck ¡®em. He¡¯ll learn more from this loss than he did from his three wins. He doesn¡¯t know it yet but we did him a favor. Never underestimate an underdog.¡±


    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it,¡± Betty said, gathering herself.


    ¡°Remember the promise you made me. If you win you¡¯ll come to one of my shows.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s gonna be hard, my parents are¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Joe wagged his finger. ¡°You¡¯re not welching on that promise.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t go to a bar alone.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be alone. I¡¯ll have Conte and Good & Plenty hang with you.¡±


    ¡°But my parents. It¡¯ll be really hard.¡±


    ¡°Getting you a hundred and fifty more votes than you had last year was hard, but we did it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Joe.¡± She hugged him again.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, President McDonald.¡±


    ¡ª FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH ¡ª


    A week after the class elections, the band played their first downtown gig at The Living Room. Joe was eager to debut the new tee shirt wrestling bit. The friends of the band had not yet seen it. After a Rhode Island School of Design girl defeated a Brown student, Joe informed the tall brunette that she had won a special prize.


    ¡°What did I win?¡±


    ¡°If you can remove this shirt from my back, you can keep it.¡±


    She stared at him, ¡°Really?¡± Then she turned to the audience. They cheered her on.


    Joe put his guitar on a stand and backed away. He was hopeful she¡¯d play along. There was no guarantee a dance-off winner would go for his sweaty Star Wars shirt. Joe stood with feet planted firmly while she pondered.


    ¡°Well, Darlene,¡± he said in a taunting tone. ¡°Are you going for it?¡±


    ¡°Take the shirt!¡± Someone shouted.


    ¡°Kick his ass!¡±


    ¡°Take his shirt!¡±


    Darlene rushed Joe. He sidestepped her like a bullfighter but she got a passing grip on his sleeve and the match was on. He didn¡¯t struggle as hard as he did with Monica. There was no falling to the floor or headlocks. But Darlene did grab a handful of Joe¡¯s hair, pulling hard, while yanking and twisting his shirt. After a thirty-second struggle, he let it go. Darlene held it above her head, triumphantly. She was so proud it made Joe laugh. Joe saw red-bearded Randy Hien at the bar with a huge smile, clapping and cheering with his patrons.


    During set break, a young man walked up and started chatting with Joe about his sideshow. He had a nervous, excited tone. ¡°I saw you at the Met Cafe a couple of months ago after my students told me about your band. You''re really good on stage. You¡¯re a natural.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Your students?¡± Joe thought he didn¡¯t look old enough to be a teacher.


    ¡°I¡¯m Issac,¡± he offered his hand. ¡°I stayed behind at RISD to take a job there. Grad school is next, someday.¡±


    Sal and Johnny watched the conversation from afar, passing a joint with a few downtown regulars. Issac rambled on, a fast talker, with many compliments for the band but especially Joe. When it was time to get back to work Sal pulled Joe aside.


    ¡°You know that¡¯s Gay Issac, right?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that was his name, but yeah, I know he¡¯s gay. It¡¯s pretty obvious.¡±


    Sal gestured to a girl they were smoking with, ¡°She says Gay Issac has a crush on you.¡± He smirked. ¡°Did he hit on ya?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. He was just friendly.¡±


    ¡°Well, if he does.¡± Sal punched his hand.


    ¡°Fuck off, Sal. If he hits on me I¡¯ll just tell him I¡¯m not into that. And why do you call him Gay Issac?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. That¡¯s what his friends call him.¡±


    Joe had played dozens of gigs. It had not become routine, not at all, but he was well practiced and confident in his bits and his ability to entertain. Each night offered opportunities for improvisation. The Living Room debut was fantastic. The Brown and RISD kids loved the singalongs¡­ but it was just another great show, like so many others. Joe¡¯s confidence level was a ten on a scale of ten.


    ¡ª-- HONESTY ¡ª--


    Two days after the Living Room show, Joe was browsing vinyl at Victory Records on the East Side. He noticed two girls eyeballing him from the adjacent aisle. He kept flipping through albums and then felt a presence.


    ¡°Excuse me," a blonde girl said. "Are you a young punk?¡±


    Joe looked at her, then down at his leather, and back at her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see; leather, torn jeans, messy hair. Yup, I¡¯m a punk.¡± He smiled. ¡°Nice detective work.¡±


    She rolled her eyes: ¡°No, I mean the band, The Young Punks. You play at the Met Cafe.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know." He shrugged. ¡°Maybe that talented, handsome young man is my doppelganger.¡±


    The brunette cutely scrunched her nose. ¡°I think he¡¯s kidding. You¡¯re Joe, the lead singer. We¡¯ve seen you twice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m just messing with ya, like we do on stage.¡± He smiled again.


    ¡°I knew it was you.¡± The blonde lightly poked him. ¡°We love you guys. Your band is so much fun.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the word on the street.¡±


    ¡°What do you do besides the band?¡± the brunette asked.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Do you go to school around here?¡±.


    ¡°Yeah. Central High School.¡±


    The blonde made a face. ¡°Bullshit.¡±


    ¡°Nope, I¡¯m seventeen.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s screwing with us, again,¡± said the brunette.


    ¡°I can show my school ID¡­ I don¡¯t even have a real driver¡¯s license.¡±


    They looked at each other, bemused.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it," said the brunette. "You don¡¯t seem ¡­¡±


    ¡°The other guys in the band are in their twenties. I¡¯m the baby.¡±


    Joe told them the story of how he started the band at sixteen, and how Sal, Johnny, and Nate were replacements for the high school players he had lost along the way.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re a high school kid.¡±


    ¡°The next time you come to see us, stand up front and I¡¯ll pick you for the dance contest. You versus you.¡± He pointed at them with authority.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kick her ass,¡± the blonde laughed.


    ¡°Bullshit.¡± the brunette replied.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s only one way to settle this and we have a new twist in the dance-off.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡¯ the blonde asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve upgraded the prize. That¡¯s all I can say.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡±


    ¡°We just played The Living Room Friday night. You can catch us there too.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding?¡± They looked at each other. ¡°How did we miss that?¡±


    Joe shrugged.


    ¡°We¡¯ll definitely see you there,¡± The blonde smiled. ¡°It was nice meeting you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the brunette said, ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯re seventeen.¡±


    ¡°Not for long,¡± Joe said as he went back to browsing.


    ¡°See ya.¡± They walked off. ¡°Bye, Joe.¡±


    Joe took Dr. Nichols¡¯ advice. He was upfront and honest about his age. It¡¯s not like he was going to pick up a college girl in the afternoon at a record shop and get laid. Besides, there were two of them. How would that even work? He figured there was no reason to lie by omission. He actually felt good about it as he rode The Ten Bus back home. He smiled, looking at his new Richard Hell, Blank Generation LP, smiling about the last words he heard the girls say as they left.


    ¡°He¡¯s really cute.¡±


    ¡°I know! I¡¯d like to be his babysitter.¡±


    They giggled.

 Ch.07 - Love That Dirty Water

    ¡ª-- MORTICIA VS BATMAN ¡ª--


    For their second show at The Living Room, Joe agreed to play a weeknight¡­ because Randy offered him Halloween. He said the college kids come in costume and it¡¯s a wild scene. Joe was happy to get the gig but he had a scheduling dilemma. Joe took his sisters trick-or-treating every year. He accepted Randy¡¯s offer and began scheming how he could pull off double duty, trick-or-treating and playing the show.


    The band was set up for the nine o¡¯clock start. The Room was packed, a little over two hundred revelers, most in costume. Behind the bar, Randy looked at his wristwatch and motioned to Sal on stage. Sal shrugged, it was 8:52 and Joe was nowhere to be seen.


    At nine, Sal stepped up to the mic. ¡°Did one of you ladies kidnap our cute lead singer? Joey is missing in action.¡±


    Some in the crowd moaned.


    ¡°We know where he is,¡± Nate said. ¡°Joey has little sisters and every year he takes them out on Halloween for trick-or-treating.¡±


    There was a collective, ¡°Awwwww.¡±


    Sal smiled back at Nate. ¡°I know, he¡¯s such a good boy. We promise he¡¯ll be here soon. Joey is very dependable.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why he couldn¡¯t disappoint his sisters,¡± Nate added.


    At 9:09, Joe walked in the back door from the alley. A small cheer came from the people in that corner of the club. He made his way through the crowd to the stage. He slipped a mask on and climbed onstage. He didn¡¯t say a word, just strapped on his Tele, turned his amp on, and waited for the hum making eye contact with each of his mates. Then he stepped up to the mic and went to work wearing a very cheesy Batman costume.


    It was another night and another gig. By now, Joe knew his set and schtick like a pro. He wore a cheap department store caped crusader costume, boys size XL. It hugged his torso like a wet suit. The cape was too small. The molded plastic mask barely fit. One elastic held it on. It was a ridiculous get-up and that was the point.


    He did his sideshow stunts and a little crowd work, which was easy, making fun of bad costumes, like his own, and complimenting hot girls with the best costumes. Several songs in he noticed a familiar face stage left, ten people deep. Claire was made up like a cat, with whiskers and ears. His heart sank for a moment. He loathed that feeling, pushing his emotions aside.


    Midway into the set, Joe quieted the crowd. ¡°Ghouls and witches, spooks and monsters, you¡¯re about to witness Young Punks history. We have a new song. I hereby declare this composition our first official Halloween song.¡± The bass and drums gave the song away instantly.


    ¡°They¡¯re creepy and they¡¯re kooky, mysterious, and spooky


    They¡¯re all together ooky, the Addams Family.¡±


    Joe watched faces light up then and sing along, even if they didn¡¯t quite know the words. He caught a glimpse of Claire, smiling and singing. When the singing ended and the crowd cheered, Joe noticed Morticia Addams to his left, He smiled at her. Two songs later, Joe selected Mortica to dance against a sexy nurse. They danced to Batman, Joe running around like a crime fighter, kicking, punching, karate chopping, and shouting, ¡°BAM, POW, WHACK.¡±


    Morticia won easily.


    The Morticia vs Batman tee-shirt battle was dancing rather than wrestling. Gina, a RISD girl with naturally perfectly straight jet-black Morticia hair, dressed in a long beautiful black gown that clung to her tall slender body. She was smokin¡¯ hot.


    Joe stood back and admired her spooky elegance. ¡°I cannot mess up this black-haired beauty with big dark eyes.¡±


    A few in the crowd answered back, ¡°With points of her own sittin¡¯ way up high.¡±


    More voices replied, ¡°Way up firm and high.¡±


    Joe danced with Morticia, hand in hand, close, while the band played a beat and chords that resembled Night Moves, and the crowd sang along. He then presented Gina with his tee shirt and cape. Joe kept his mask.


    During set break, Joe went to the back alley where the smokers and tokers hung out. While talking to Issac, the RISD dude he met at their first downtown show, he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Claire standing there, smiling. She was so beautiful it made Joe more annoyed to see her. Her cat costume was minimalist. He liked it.


    ¡°Hi, Joe. It¡¯s nice that you took your sister¡¯s out for candy.¡±


    Joe felt his sinking heart again and he hated himself for it. He was so over this girl and wanted nothing to do with her. He stared emotionless. Her smile disappeared.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I just wanted to say hello. Can we talk?¡±


    He stared coldly, wanting to be nice to Claire, but struggling. She must be punished for what she did to him. ¡°I¡¯m still seventeen and in high school. What¡¯s there to talk about?¡± Then he turned to Issac. ¡°I¡¯ll catch you later.¡± and walked away without looking at Claire. Issac leaned closer to her and whispered. ¡°He¡¯s in high school?¡± He looked up at Claire. ¡°¡­and he¡¯s only seventeen?¡±


    Claire sighed, ¡°Yeah, but don¡¯t tell anyone. He¡¯ll be eighteen in a couple of months.¡±


    In the middle of the second set, while doing a chord-raking version of Peggy Sue, Nate split a drumstick, his third of the night, he continued with one hand. When Joe heard the drums turn to shit he looked back. Nate shrugged. Joe stopped playing.


    ¡°Are you fucking serious?¡± He threw his hands up.


    Nate shrugged again. ¡°Sorry dude.¡±


    Sal and Johnny stopped playing. The crowd groaned. The murmurs of costumed punks were the only sound in the room.


    ¡°What the fuck Nate? This is a big night and you fucked it up!¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, Joe.¡±


    Joe turned to the crowd. ¡°You see this. Our idiot drummer ran out of drumsticks because he plays like a deranged gorilla and he¡¯s too fucking cheap to buy enough sticks.¡±


    Some of the crowd laughed but Joe¡¯s tone was angry, many did not sense any humor.


    Sal stepped in. ¡°Joe, take it easy. What do we have left, half a set? We¡¯re fine.¡±


    Nate stood up and pointed his lonely drumstick at Joe: ¡°Hey, watch what you say next motherfucker, or I¡¯ll kick your ass.¡±


    Joe looked out over the room. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose anyone in this club would have a drumstick our moron drummer could borrow, or a wooden spoon, anything?¡±


    Joe scanned faces, people looked around, shaking heads¡­ no. The discomfort was palpable.


    He turned back to Nate. ¡°You¡¯re such a fucking idiot.¡±


    Nate started coming out from behind his kit. ¡°Do you wanna take this out back, you little shit?¡±


    Eyes were wide, mouths agape, as the crowd watched the band unravel. As Nate passed Sal, on his way to Joe, Sal put his arm out, stopping Nate. ¡°Hang on a second!¡±


    Sal began unzipping his fly: ¡°Let me see what I¡¯m packing. This might be long enough.¡±


    ¡°It might be skinny enough too.¡± Joe pointed at his crotch.


    The crowd laughed and then went bug-eyed as Sal reached into his jeans and began to pull it out. There was anticipation in the air, then laughter when Sal whipped out a drumstick. He waved it at the crowd, took a deep bow, and presented it to Nate.


    ¡°You dumb fuckers!¡± Joe pointed at the people. ¡°I thought you were the best and brightest.¡± He made a whiny voice. ¡°Gullible Ivy League twats!¡±


    Nate flew into the pounding drum intro for Hawaii Five-0. As they jammed the instrumental, Joe met Claire¡¯s green eyes from fifteen feet away. He felt shitty for being a dick to her but he wasn¡¯t interested in being her pal. Feelings would get in the way.


    Claire was with him after his very first gig when he thought of the ¡®broken stick¡¯ gag. It took six months to make it happen. He wrote a script, they practiced, and then they performed Joe¡¯s skit perfectly on Halloween Night.


    After the gig, Randy handed Joe a business card.


    The Brickyard - Boston, MA - Rick Davis - Proprietor.


    Randy explained that he and his fellow club owner friend shared information on new acts. Randy went on to say he had an offer from Rick, to have The Young Punks play a weeknight with two other bands.


    ¡°We don¡¯t do that shit,¡± Joe explained. ¡°I¡¯m not splitting the door. It¡¯s not worth the trip to Boston.¡±


    Randy shook his head, ¡°You¡¯re a piece of work. His place is a warehouse off Atlantic Ave. It¡¯s huge. He gets over 800 on a weekend. Look at the back of the card.¡±


    On the back of Rick Davis¡¯ business card, he had scribbled a date and a flat rate of $500 for a seventy-five-minute set.


    ¡°Shit, that¡¯s not even half a night¡¯s work,¡± Joe said with a nod.


    ¡°He puts three new bands up every Thursday but not everyone gets a second date. Think of it as a battle of the bands. If you win he¡¯ll give you weekend work and a higher rate.¡±


    Joe informed his mates on the way back to the garage of the offer. They were all in favor. Playing Boston was a big deal, the next level.


    ¡ª-- JAMIE LEE CURTIS IS SO HOT ¡ª--


    Four days after the Halloween gig, Joe walked into the garage late on a Saturday morning to find Sal thumping on his bass. He stopped playing as the kid approached.


    ¡°Hey, check out this bass line I wrote. I think it would work with that stalker song you wrote.¡± Sal launched into a slow and ominous bass beat. Joe nodded as Sal played several bars, a change, and back to the top. When he stopped, he waited for Joe¡¯s verdict.


    ¡°That would definitely go with what I¡¯m thinking,¡± Joe said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s work on it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡¯m taking my sister to see this Halloween movie. It¡¯s supposed to be great.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sal winced, hopefully, like a big child. ¡°Can I come?¡±


    Joe thought for a moment, ¡°Sure¡­ if you drive. It¡¯ll save me a bus ride. I¡¯m just here to pick up some things. Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°Give a minute to piss.¡±


    Ten minutes later, Jeannie was gazing out the front window of the Theroux house, wiping tears, upset that she couldn¡¯t go to the matinee with Joe. Recently turned eleven-year-old Julie sat in the front seat of the van while Joe sat in the back. As they drove crosstown, she kept glancing over at big, scary Sal with his slicked-back hair, sideburns, unshaved stubble, and DIY tattoos on his forearm. Sal returned her glance.


    ¡°Why are you staring at me?¡±


    Julie shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Joe said while pulling a milk crate from the back of the van and placing it between the seats, just behind the engine compartment. He sat on the plastic crate. ¡°My Mom is always going on about you being no good, a bad influence, and my sisters believe every word that comes from Mom¡¯s mouth. So, Jules is sizing you up.¡±


    ¡°Your mother talks trash about me?¡± Sal looked at Julie. ¡°What did I ever do to her?¡±


    Julie shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Sal.¡± Joe placed his hand on the big man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°No one cares what Mom thinks. She¡¯s a drama queen.¡±


    As they pulled up to the Hope Cinema on the East Side, Joe saw the line of moviegoers on the sidewalk. The line wrapped around the corner into the parking lot.


    ¡°Holy fuck! Look at this. Are we gonna get in?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t use the F-word,¡± Julie scolded her big brother.


    ¡°Oh, are you gonna tell Mom?¡±


    Sal looked at his junior passenger, ¡°Are you a tattle tale?¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Joe nodded, looking his sister in the eye. ¡°She is.¡±


    Sal glared at her. ¡°Don¡¯t be a rat. Nobody likes rats¡­ especially on Federal Hill.¡±


    Joe almost laughed at the fear in Julie¡¯s eyes as they exited the van. He glanced at his middle sister and took her hand for the walk inside. ¡°I told ya, Jules. Don¡¯t be a rat¡­ not on The Hill.¡±


    Sal had to show his ID to prove Julie was accompanied by an adult. That was another reason, besides the ride, that Joe was okay with Sal tagging along. His fake ID was not great. It didn¡¯t fool everyone. After getting three tickets, two popcorn, Milk Duds, and three sodas, Joe elbowed his sister.


    ¡°Go use the little girls¡¯ room.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to go.¡±


    ¡°Just go. You always have to pee in the middle of a movie and then you expect me to tell you what you missed.¡± He pointed. ¡°Go now.¡±


    She rolled her eyes, ¡°Okay.¡±


    As she walked off, Joe looked at Sal. ¡°She¡¯s definitely the rat in the house, Jeanie is too, but Jules is Mom¡¯s master spy and informant. And she¡¯s a major whiner.¡±


    ¡°Is she gonna be okay in here? I heard this movie is scary as fuck.¡±


    ¡°The funny thing about Jules is, she¡¯s a big baby and a whiner, but she loves horror. When she was like five she¡¯d watch the Creature Double Feature with me every Saturday. That was our thing for years. Jackie saw Halloween last week with her friend Wendy¡¯s parents. After she told Jules how scary it was, she started begging me to take her.¡±


    After the movie, walking through the lobby, Sal held his arm out. ¡°Look at this. She left marks with her nails.¡±


    Joe pulled back his sleeve, ¡°She drew blood.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Julie said, ¡°It was really scary!¡±


    Sal laughed, ¡°So that¡¯s what that yelp was about. I thought Joey was afraid of Michael Myers.¡±


    ¡°He was scary,¡± Joe admitted.


    ¡°And Jamie Lee Curtis is so hot,¡± Sal smiled. ¡°I would have been trying to stab her with something¡­ less dangerous.¡±


    Julie looked up, ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± Joe said.


    Joe asked Sal to drop them off on Atwells Ave so he could stop at the market. They would walk home from there. Carrying a bag of groceries Mom had requested, Joe leaned against his sister.


    ¡°Am I a good brother?¡±


    ¡°The best,¡± she said, looking up with a smile.


    ¡°Then why do you spy and rat on me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Please, Jules, don¡¯t lie too. That¡¯s insulting.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°When was the last time you did something fun with Mom?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Who takes you out for pizza and to the bookstores?¡±


    ¡°You do.¡±


    ¡°And who takes you for Italian Ice?¡±


    ¡°You do.¡±


    ¡°Who takes you to the movies?¡±


    ¡°You do.¡±


    ¡°Just think about that before you rat me out. If I¡¯m so good to you, and you love me, why would you want to make Mom bitch at me?¡±


    Jules walked quietly without an answer.


    ¡°Can you do me a favor? If I¡¯m a good brother, don¡¯t rat me out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡ª-- THE WISE GUYS ¡ª--


    Joe walked into the garage on a weeknight to find Pops and his crew of fifty-something Italian men sitting at the kitchen table playing cards. A cloud of cigar smoke hovered over their game.


    ¡°Hey, has Sal been here?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s taking a beauty nap,¡± Johnny Bats said, gesturing toward the office cubes in the middle of the garage.


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna take a lot more than a nap,¡± Joe quipped. A couple of old guys snickered.


    On the long wall of the garage, smack in the middle, were two office cubes from the days when a fleet of trucks was run from there. Tony had a desk in one cube and Sal threw a mattress in the other. Joe walked over, peeked in the window, and slammed his palm against it.


    Sal awoke abruptly. ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    ¡°Wake up. We have a problem.¡±


    Joe walked back to the kitchen and watched the men playing cards. He knew John Bucci Senior and one other guy, Pete the Cheat, a well-known bookmaker and sketchy character. Another man was familiar. His nose suggested he had a losing boxing career when he was young.


    ¡°Joe,¡± Pops pointed at his guys. ¡°This is Pete, that¡¯s Gerry, my brother-in-law Dominic, and that handsome man is Vito.¡±


    Joe realized he knew Dominic, the father of Sal¡¯s two asshole cousins he had a serious fight with more than a year ago. The men all nodded. Joe hoped Dominic Piazza didn¡¯t know who he was.


    ¡°So you¡¯re the wannabe rock star we¡¯ve been hearing about,¡± Vito said. The wise guys chuckled.


    Joe didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°I hope this band works out, kid.¡± Johnny Bats said. ¡°If not, I have to find my kid a job and he ain¡¯t good for much.¡±


    ¡°He can definitely play guitar,¡± Joe said. ¡°Johnny¡¯s good for that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his only skill.¡± Bats laughed, ¡°Well, that and fucking up.¡±


    ¡°What do you guys play?¡± Pete asked as he shuffled cards.


    ¡°Weird shit,¡± Pops answered. ¡°And they play it stupid loud.¡±


    ¡°We play The Stones and The Kinks, some punk and surf rock. We play all kinds of stuff.¡±


    ¡°Weird stuff,¡± Pops said lowly.


    ¡°What do you mean weird?¡± Dominic asked, flicking cigar ash into a metal pie tray.


    ¡°They play The Flintstones, Batman, and Hawaii Five-O.¡±


    Sal emerged from the cube. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°The cops are at The Underground again, right now. My dad saw five cruisers, including the K-9 unit, and unmarked cars.¡±


    ¡°How is that our problem?¡±


    ¡°We have a gig there this weekend.¡±


    Vito picked up the cards dealt to him. ¡°Vic¡¯s going down,¡± he said. ¡°His drugstore is history and he¡¯s going up the river.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Joe asked. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I have cop friends.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Pops said, ¡°Dirty cops.¡± He threw chips on the table. ¡°Two bucks.¡±


    ¡°His uncle did him in,¡± Vito said. ¡°He told the kid too many times to stop dealing drugs, and Vic ignored him. Last week some junkie overdosed in the bathroom and Uncle Guido decided enough was enough.¡±


    Joe raised his arms. ¡°He ratted out his nephew?¡±


    ¡°Guido has cop friends too. When he heard the junkie died at the hospital, he called a friend downtown hoping he could help him clear the joint out without busting his nephew. The problem was, that narco detectives were already working the case, getting ready to move in. I guess tonight¡¯s the night.¡±


    ¡°It was just a matter of time,¡± Gerry said. ¡°Everyone knows the kid deals.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s the kicker,¡± Vito added. ¡°They¡¯ve been surveilling the bar, waiting for him to take a shipment. They want a big bust. The chief will be on channel ten tonight, especially if they bagged his supplier and a large quantity of whatever he¡¯s moving.¡±


    ¡°Lots of coke,¡± Sal said, ¡°and pills, pot, whatever you need.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°He¡¯s a repeat offender,¡± Gerry noted. ¡°Vic¡¯s going away for a long stretch.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Joe sighed. ¡°I guess we have Saturday night off.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need The Underground,¡± Sal said. ¡°We have The Met and the Living Room in the city, and an occasional Rathskeller gig.¡±


    ¡°The Met Cafe is history too,¡± Dominic said. He threw his cards in. ¡°I fold.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re condemning that old shack. The city did an inspection last week and cited them with a truckload of violations. The place is falling down. They¡¯ll be in court next week.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Joe looked at Sal. ¡°Just like that,¡± he snapped his fingers. ¡°we¡¯re losing two clubs.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re both shitholes,¡± Sal said, ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°And the city is looking at a major project on Westminster Street,¡± Dominic said. ¡°a new Federal Building. I don¡¯t think Lupo¡¯s and the Living Room are long for this world.¡±


    Joe threw his arms up, ¡°How do you guys know all this shit?¡±


    Sal laughed. ¡°Because they¡¯re worse than a bunch of old hens with the gossip. They know everyone¡¯s business.¡±


    Joe walked over to the lounge area and took a seat, Sal joined him. Joe leaned close and whispered. ¡°Your Uncle Dominic looks just like Gino.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the other way around. Dom came first, his loser son second.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell him who I am.¡±


    ¡°He already knows.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Frankie told him I played in a band with you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Pops and I talked with him. He¡¯s not gonna trouble you.¡±


    ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°Pops said that you were a good kid and I told him his boys started the fight.¡± Sal glanced back at the wise guys and then back to Joe. ¡°Dominic is a thug but he honors the street code. Yeah, he¡¯s pissed off about Frankie¡¯s face and the hospital bills but he knows they jumped you. He told me he would have done the same, busted their faces.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s your pal, okay? Don¡¯t piss off Uncle Dom.¡±


    Joe opened Rolling Stone magazine, occasionally glancing over at the wise guys. After reading a review of the new record from The Police, Outlandos d¡¯Amour, he got up to get a beer. Standing by the fridge, watching poker from afar, he met Dominic¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Hey kid,¡± Dom said, ¡°See this face.¡± He pointed at Vito. ¡°That¡¯s what my kid is gonna look like when he gets old.¡±


    ¡°Except it took me thirty fights to get this face,¡± Vito said, as he looked at Joe. ¡°You did Frankie with one punch.¡±


    Joe was tongue-tied. He didn¡¯t want to piss off Uncle Dom but he had to say something. The men stared at him through the haze of cigar smoke.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t one punch,¡± Joe finally said. ¡°I was tangled up with Gino and Frankie jumped on me. When I stood up to shake him off, I popped his nose with the back of my head. In seconds, blood was everywhere. I still had Gino to contend with. He saw his brother¡¯s face and lost his mind.¡± Joe paused. ¡°Never lose your cool in a fight. He came at me like a windmill and left himself wide open, so I landed a few overhand rights. He went down. When I turned, Frankie was screaming, coming at me. I took one swing, square on his broken nose, and that was the end of it.¡±


    Six men stared at Joe. Dominic shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not the story I heard.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the truth. The whole fight was¡­ maybe forty seconds? They jumped me. What the fuck was I supposed to do?¡±


    Vito smiled at Joe, ¡°Here I am, thinking you had hands of cement breaking his face with one punch. Headbutts are dirty.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a headbutt,¡± Joe said, ¡°not intentional.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it got the job done.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Joe said, ¡°I don¡¯t feel good about it. Every time I see Frankie at school I feel bad. He shouldn¡¯t have jumped me.¡±


    Dominic threw his cards in, ¡°I¡¯m out. I¡¯m getting shit for cards.¡± He looked up at Joe and shrugged with his wide Italian face. He didn¡¯t say another word. Dominic honored the code.


    After the game, when the men left, Joe sat with Sal and Pops. Sal pressed him to tell Pops the whole story, but Joe didn¡¯t want to discuss it further. So Sal filled his dad in.


    ¡°The way I heard it was Gino and Frankie were waiting for Joe just off school property, first thing in the morning. They were running their mouths telling everyone they were going fuck up Joe Theroux. A crowd gathered.¡± He turned to Joe. ¡°How many were there?¡±


    ¡°I have no clue. I had tunnel vision. I saw them waiting for me from across Cranston Street. They came running at me and I met them in the middle of the road.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think of running?¡± Pops asked.


    ¡°I did that when I was a kid. They always get you in the end. It¡¯s best to deal with it.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Sal said, ¡°dozens of kids saw that fight. Joe was bloodied too. What happened with the blood-licking thing?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fucking stupid,¡± Joe rolled his eyes. ¡°My right knuckles got smashed on the pavement and their faces. My hand was covered in blood, some was mine and some was Frankie¡¯s. I licked my knuckles to see how bad the cuts were.¡±


    Sal laughed and leaned into his dad, ¡°Kids started saying Joe drank blood and he worships Satan.¡±


    ¡°That''s because kids are fucking stupid,¡± Joe shook his head. ¡°I walked home, pretty banged up, but not as bad as the Piazza boys.¡±


    ¡ª-- COMBAT ZONE ¡ª-


    A week before Thanksgiving, the band arrived in Boston for the triple header gig. Joe had 75 minutes to work with so he designed a compact version of the sideshow. Randy was not wrong. The warehouse was more than twice the size of their biggest venue.


    The Brickyard was not far from Boston Harbor and close to the Combat Zone, the squalid red light district. They met Rick Davis at the bar where he informed them they¡¯d be going up second, 10:00 to 11:15. The first band was already setting up. The Young Punks sat at the bar with Rick to watch The Sparks.


    Joe spied the door as townies and college kids from all over paid the cover and lined up at the bar. It wasn¡¯t difficult to detect the Bostonians from the out of staters. Once they opened their mouth, you knew. Also, Boston townies are a special breed of their own¡­ knuckleheads. A day in the bleachers at Fenway Park will give you the full picture.


    Joe leaned into Sal. ¡°I¡¯m getting a frat-jock vibe, too many groups of dudes with their caps on backward.¡±


    ¡°How many colleges are in Boston?¡± Sal asked.


    ¡°A hundred. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°No, Seriously.¡±


    ¡°There are dozens of schools in and around the city.¡± Joe made a waving circular motion with his hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many.¡±


    ¡°Okay, don¡¯t snap at me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, man.¡± Joe looked at Sal earnestly. ¡°I¡¯m not feeling it.¡± He wagged a finger at the crowd. ¡°These are not our people.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯y worry about it.¡± Sal slapped his back. ¡°You¡¯ll win them over.¡±


    The club was one-third full when the Sparks opened their set at 8:30. They were good musicians, a power pop quintet with a keyboard player. They played New Wave but no hard stuff. The crowd seemed to like them,


    Joe ordered a beer from Rick Davis. ¡°So, how many do you expect on a Thursday?¡±


    Rick put the pint glass on the bar. ¡°Maybe 400. We¡¯ve topped that several times.¡±


    Joe looked at Sal, ¡°That would be the biggest crowd we¡¯ve played for.¡±


    Rick nodded, ¡°And that¡¯s only half full.¡±


    Sal looked at Rick. ¡°We¡¯re gonna blow these guys off the stage.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Rick said. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe nodded. ¡°These guys are good but they lack¡­ personality. They¡¯re just playing well and not¡­¡±


    ¡°Entertaining.¡± Sal finished Joe¡¯s sentence.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rick said. ¡°Randy said you guys are weirdos.¡±


    Patrons were still paying the cover charge when The Sparks wrapped up their 75 minutes. As they packed up, the bands crossed paths, The Punks taking the stage and The Sparks taking their vacated bar stools.


    Joe nudged Sal as they set up. ¡°Those guys are gonna hate us.¡±


    Sal grinned. ¡°I hope so.¡±


    Joe opened with MC5 ¡®Kick Out The Jams¡¯ and then The Clash and Ramones. The crowd was a sea of college shirts and hats, BU, BC, Tufts, Northeastern, Harvard, MIT, Emmanuel, and Suffolk. Joe made eyes with a cute girl from Berklee. He did crowd work, cracking jokes about big brains and trust fund babies. After a couple of garage rock hits; Joe went to the tricks.


    ¡°Just sit right back and you¡¯ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.


    It started in this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship.¡±


    The band joined in.


    ¡°The mate was a mighty sailor man the skipper brave and sure. Five passengers set sail that day on a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour.¡±


    As the college kids realized they were playing the Gilligan¡¯s Island theme, their faces lit up.


    ¡°Sing-a-long you scurvy wenches!¡±


    They played through the song twice. Joe had learned it takes a moment for the crowd to get into it. They always sang better on the second pass. Joe now had their full attention so he took advantage of it by going straight to the dance contest.


    He did his carnival barker opening and selected two lovely contestants. A BU chick from Florida won over a local girl from Emmanuel. When the victorious blonde asked what she had won; Sal stepped in.


    ¡°Well Kimberly, you can have Joe¡¯s sweaty Mickey Mouse shirt¡­ if you¡¯re woman enough to take it off his back.¡±


    The band broke into a surf classic, ¡®Pipeline¡¯. Joe ran around the stage to evade capture, then into the crowd, weaving between patrons, and then back on stage with a tall blonde girl chasing him. In front of Nate¡¯s drum kit, Joe let her get ahold of him.


    ¡°Slap my face,¡± he whispered.


    She paused, confused, then got it. Whack! She slapped Joe¡¯s face. The crowd gasped. They struggled for the usual thirty seconds before Joe gave it up.


    When Joe stood tall, holding her hand high, ¡°Your dance-off-tee-shirt-wrestling queen, Kimberly!¡± ¡­ he saw Rick Davis¡¯ smile; big, wide, and toothy, as he worked the bar.


    About half of those sweatshirts emblazoned with institutions of high learning were sported by frat boys and jocks. One dickhead threw a half-full can of beer hitting Nate¡¯s kit. There were two scuffles in the crowd, started by dumb bros. The space lacked the energy of their other clubs because it was huge, half empty, and it wasn¡¯t a punk crowd.


    Late in their set, trying to salvage the night, Joe saw a gorgeous brunette wearing a Blondie shirt. He pointed her out. ¡°Hey, can you sing Blondie?


    She nodded.


    ¡°Do you know Rip Her To Shreds?¡±


    She nodded, ¡°Yes. I love that song.¡±


    Joe smiled and extended his hand ¡°Would you like to be my Blondie?¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    Joe looked over the crowd. ¡°You want Blondie, right?¡±


    They cheered, especially the girls. Joe reached his hand down, offering her a lift. She was blushing like a schoolgirl because she was one. She hesitated, looking at her friends egging her on, then reached up. Standing beside Joe, her hands over her face, Joe calmed her down.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Tracy.¡±


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°Long Island.¡±


    ¡°Where do you go to school?¡±


    ¡°Brandies.¡±


    ¡°Oh, look at your big brains.¡± Joe stared obviously at her nice round tits.


    She laughed. Joe held the mic out. She took it, sharing it with Joe, her hand on his, blushing so cutely, Tracy pushed her chestnut hair away from her eyes.


    ¡°Do you sing this song in your car?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    ¡°In the shower?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she covered her mouth.


    ¡°While you''re lathering your beautiful wet body and feeling all over¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, my God.¡± She shoved him.


    Joe looked at the crowd, ¡°What? Too creepy?¡± He got a good laugh.


    The band broke into Rip Her To Shreds, replacing the poppy keyboard line with guitar, and Tracy did her thing. She had a decent voice and she knew the lyrics. Joe wore a huge smile standing close by her side, playing guitar, singing the backup parts, and hamming it up. Tracy went with it. She ran her fingers through his hair, over his leather, and rubbed against him. The crowd was into it.


    When the show ended, Joe felt they did okay despite the challenges of a tough crowd. They definitely upstaged The Sparks but Joe¡¯s Boston debut was a mild disappointment. When they returned to the bar after packing up, the first band was gone.


    ¡°Where did they go?¡± He smiled at Rick. ¡°Don¡¯t they want to see the next band?¡±


    ¡°They saw enough,¡± Rick smirked. ¡°Randy was not wrong, you guys are weird but in a good way. Where do you come up with this shit?¡±


    Joe pointed to his temple, ¡°Right here.¡±


    ¡°Do you want to do a Sunday night next month? It¡¯s two bands, you¡¯ll be second, I need a hundred minutes, eight-hundred bucks.¡±


    ¡°I know we¡¯re available because we never play on the Lord¡¯s Day. We¡¯ll take it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna drag some of our people up here,¡± Sal said, ¡°to remove this frat boy stink.¡±


    They hung around for the final act but the club was emptying as the last band set up. Joe felt bad for them. They had to follow his show with a third of the crowd gone. After a few songs, Nate elbowed Joe.


    ¡°We should go to a tittie bar.¡± He pointed south. ¡°The Combat Zone is right there.¡±


    ¡°And leave all our gear in the van?¡± Joe pointed. ¡°Southie is right there, too? You¡¯re asking to get ripped off.¡±


    Nate turned to Sal. ¡°The kid¡¯s never been to a tittie bar. We have to break his cherry.¡±


    ¡°Not here,¡± Sal said. ¡°Not tonight. Joe¡¯s right, it¡¯s not safe to leave our gear parked here. We¡¯ll do it some other time.¡±


    ¡ª-- YOU''RE MY BEST FRIEND ¡ª-


    When the holiday season kicked in, Joe was planning extra shows for the two weeks he was off school. He got a call from a bar in New Haven, Connecticut, the Bulldog Saloon. The manager said she was holding The Young Punks'' business card given to her by friends who demanded she call. Joe was happy to get a night before the Christmas break when Yale kids would still be in town.


    Sandy walked up to Joe in the school cafeteria. He was sitting alone but some kids were two seats away, underclassmen punks.


    ¡°I heard you played Boston.¡±


    ¡°We did.¡± Joe gestured to the chair across from him.


    ¡°How did that go?¡± Sandy put her lunch tray down, looked over at her usual table of popular kids, and sat with Joe.


    ¡°Good, but not great.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really? Why?¡±


    ¡°The place is huge and it was half empty, which makes it echoey. You need bodies to absorb the sound, to change the natural reverb.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± Sandy smiled while opening a can of Coke. ¡°You really do overthink. You always have.¡±


    ¡°And the crowd was too many dudes, the kind I don¡¯t mix with?¡±


    ¡°Jocks?¡±


    ¡°And frat boys.¡± Joe ate a bite of school meatloaf, not the worst lunch the CHS cafeteria ladies dished out. ¡°You know I like sports, baseball, and hoops, but the dudes can be¡­¡±


    ¡°Joe, you don¡¯t have to explain your jock itch to me.¡± Sandy smiled.


    Joe¡¯s mouth opened, ¡°Did you just make that up?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, jocks irritate you, jock itch.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a great line,¡± Joe smiled. ¡°I¡¯m stealing that for my show.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sandy smiled proudly.


    ¡°Hell ya, I always poke fun at the crowd. I can use that one.¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± Sandy smirked while cutting her meatloaf. ¡°Ya know, I¡¯m proud of you for working so hard and doing what you always said you would do. It¡¯s really amazing, Joe. And you¡¯re not even out of high school.¡±


    It was Joe¡¯s turn to smile proudly. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said softly, then he raised his voice with attitude, ¡°Then why the hell haven¡¯t you seen us play?¡± He made a WTF face. ¡°Seriously. What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°You know why?¡±


    ¡°The Underground is history. We play downtown. The Living Room is not a dive¡­ well, it¡¯s not a nasty dive.¡± He scrunched his nose. ¡°It¡¯s just a little divey.¡± He took a bit of mashed potatoes. ¡°It¡¯s mostly college kids, no scum¡­ none that I know of.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Sandy let out a big sigh.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s not true anymore but I like to think you¡¯re my best friend. It sucks that we don¡¯t hang out like we did as kids. You were there for so much. When I got bullied you were sweet and supportive. You were there for me when Janie died.¡± Joe looked into Sandy¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯re my first kiss.¡±


    ¡°I know, Joe. I miss you too.¡± She placed her hand on his.


    ¡°Why do you date assholes,¡± he asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she said defensively. ¡°And we''re not having this talk again.¡±


    ¡°We only have it when a guy you claim isn¡¯t an asshole hurts you. That¡¯s when we have this talk.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not do this, please? I do miss you. I think about you and I worry a lot.¡±


    ¡°Mom and Jackie have that covered. I don¡¯t need any more worriers.¡±


    ¡°You mean a lot to me, Joe,¡± Sandy said softly. ¡°I¡¯ll come see your band after I turn eighteen. I promise.¡±


    Joe nodded, ¡°Okay, that¡¯s fair. It¡¯s only a few months off. That¡¯s good.¡± Joe squeezed her hand. ¡°You¡¯re gonna love us. We¡¯re fucking great.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that¡­ from soooo many people. It¡¯s kinda getting weird how popular you¡¯ve become.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about it. It¡¯s not fucking good.¡±


    There was a time when Joe and Sandy had lunch nearly every day their schedules allowed it. This was the first time in high school they sat together in the cafeteria. People noticed.


    ¡°Let me tell you what I¡¯m thinking,¡± Joe said while sipping milk. ¡°Every time we play a new club we find two things nearby, a good diner and a record shop. I like to get into town early, not be in a big rush, and grab a bite. I¡¯m making friends with the record shop staff. Some have come to our gigs.¡±


    He picked up peas with his mashed potatoes. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that maybe these record shops and clubs might become something bigger.¡±


    ¡°Become what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, like a circuit. Right now I have more than a dozen clubs and eight record shops. I¡¯m building something, but I don¡¯t know what it is yet.¡±


    ¡°I think they call it a network,¡± Sandy said.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Joe nodded, ¡°But it¡¯s really relationships. We¡¯re making friends everywhere we go. Someday, that¡¯s gonna be useful.¡±


    She smiled, ¡°You always have big dreams and a plan.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just winging it,¡± Joe said. ¡°It seems like it¡¯s just happening.¡±


    ¡°Just like you planned it, Joe. You said you were gonna learn guitar, and you did it. Then you said you¡¯d start a band. And now you¡¯re saying when everyone else goes off to college your band will be your job. It¡¯s happening, Joe¡­ just as you planned.¡±


    Joe shrugged, ¡°Maybe. It still feels like it¡¯s¡­ just happening, and so fast.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m proud of you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but that will mean a lot more when you come to see me play.¡±


    ¡°I will, Joe. I promise.¡±


    ¡ª-- PROM KING AND QUEEN ¡ª--


    ¡°Hey, Joe.¡± a voice called out from behind. He turned to see Betty McDonald, class president coming his way, weaving through the crowded corridor.


    ¡°What¡¯s up Pres?¡±


    ¡°Are you going to the prom?¡±


    Joe laughed heartily. It was half real, half fake, to make clear his feelings on the prom.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no,¡± Betty said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t do proms,¡± and said, ¡°and besides, that¡¯s five months away. A little early, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°No, the prom committee is meeting. They¡¯re looking at bands and planning.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, you¡¯re not asking me to get my band to play at the prom, are you? That¡¯s a firm no, just so you know.¡±


    ¡°No. That¡¯s not what I asked you. I just asked if you were going.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a definite no.¡±


    ¡°Ya know, if you went I could probably get you elected Prom King. I have clout with the Prom committee.¡±


    ¡°Me, Prom King?¡± Joe shook his head. That¡¯s not happening. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t have a queen.¡±


    ¡°Sandra Ruggerio?¡±


    ¡°What about Sam? She has a boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think they¡¯ll last that long? He¡¯s in love with Kerry Contos but she¡¯s seeing Joe Bianchi.¡±


    ¡°Are you the new class gossip?¡±


    ¡°No, I just hear things and Sandy is not Sam¡¯s girl.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going steady!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s not that into her.¡± Betty pulled Joe aside, against the lockers. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is, you could ask Sandy to the prom. Everyone knows you guys are¡­¡±


    ¡°Are what? Friends. So what. She¡¯s not interested in me and I don¡¯t do proms.¡±


    ¡°I just heard her saying she¡¯s going to your show downtown.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, so. And now that you mention it, you still haven¡¯t followed through on your end of the bargain from two months ago.¡±


    Betty ignored that point. ¡°You should ask Sandy. You guys are a thing and I¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Joe cut her off. ¡°That¡¯s not happening and we¡¯re not a thing.¡±


    ¡°Joe,¡± Betty pulled him closer and whispered. ¡°Do you know how many kids overheard your conversation with her in the cafeteria?¡¯


    ¡°What? You think that¡­ what are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You guys talked during lunch and you said she was your first kiss. That¡¯s pretty big news right now. Imagine, Joe and Sandy at the prom together. I think you¡¯d be Prom King and Queen.¡±


    Joe leaned down closer, ¡°Maybe you gossip peddlers should M.Y.O.B. That kiss was years ago. We¡¯re friends, no more.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I think she¡¯s carrying a huge torch for you.¡±


    The bell rang, saving Joe from further discussion of his personal life and the stupid prom.


    ¡°I gotta run,¡± Betty walked off. ¡°Think about it, Prom King.¡±


    The only thing about that conversation that stuck with Joe was the part about Sam Fiore not being that into Sandy and him liking this other chick, Kerry Contos. ¡®Are you kidding?¡¯ he thought. ¡®Sam likes Kerry over Sandy? Fiore is an idiot.¡¯


    He knew Sandy was going to get hurt, real soon. It¡¯s coming, because Sandy always gets hurt. Then she runs to Joe and he hears all about it.

 Ch.08 - Moving Pictures

    ¡ª- TRUST ¡ª-


    Joe sat in his Science class, his assignment complete, scribbling on his brown paper textbook cover. Abigail Bonner stretched to see what he was drawing. He noticed and looked over.


    ¡°Why do you cover your book covers with drawings?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Why do you cover your books with floral gift wrap?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. It looks nice?¡±


    ¡°I guess I see a blank piece of paper as my canvas. I¡¯ve been doing this since...¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Abby smiled. ¡°I remember in eighth grade when Mrs. Tedesco confiscated your book because you drew a cartoon of her. She was so mad.¡±


    ¡°And when she brought me to the principal¡¯s office with my book, he laughed, and she was really mad.¡±


    Abby put her hand out. ¡°Can I see that?¡±


    Joe glanced ahead to see if the teacher was looking then handed Abby his Science book. She looked at his scribbling and drawings. Turned the book over and checked the other side.


    ¡°Are these people you know?¡± She pointed at cartoon characters with Mohawks and face piercings.¡±


    ¡°We play in a bar in Worcester with some serious punks. They look like something like that.¡±


    She handed his book back. ¡°You¡¯re a good artist.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± he smiled. ¡°How come you¡¯ve never come to the garage to see my band? I invited you months ago.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± she shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not a punk. I don¡¯t think I would fit in.¡±


    ¡°Most of the kids who show up aren¡¯t punks. They just like the music. You should come by sometime.¡±


    Abby smiled. ¡°Maybe I will.¡±


    Joe always liked Abby. She was a nice girl, smart, and always nice to him. She was a little shy but not so much that she didn¡¯t have friends or boyfriends. Abby was very cute, blonde, petite, and popular with boys.


    When Joe was reprimanded for drawing cartoons of teachers with dialogue and thought bubbles, the middle school principal sent a note home informing Mom that all his books must be covered new. Joe didn¡¯t care. It was just a fresh canvas to him. Mom told Dr. Nichols of his latest brush with the law.


    Dr. Nichols had suggested he use notebooks for his musings, especially to write his thoughts to process his feelings. Mom immediately bought Joe a stack of Mead Composition notebooks and a writer was born.


    He started keeping a journal. That led to short poems and then stories. Those journal pages captured his thoughts. Dr Nichols was correct. The simple act of writing his feelings was therapeutic because he had to think and articulate to himself his thoughts and emotions. Over time he filled those notebooks and had to buy more.


    There were lists and updated lists of his favorite things: bands, songs, singers, films, books, foods, and drinks. His love of history and geography gave Joe a natural wanderlust. He wanted to see the world. He had a list of places he wanted to travel to. Eventually, those pages were filled with ideas for his band, songs he wanted to cover, lyrics to his future songs, and ideas for his sideshow.


    These notebooks piled up in his bedroom as he accumulated thoughts, emotions, and ideas written several times a week. His journals were very tempting to prying eyes.


    When he was sixteen, he caught Mom red-handed, in his room, sitting on his bed, reading his most recent entries. She looked up at him. Joe¡¯s eyes were ablaze. She immediately realized she had made a mistake but tried to spin her way out of it.


    ¡°What is this?¡± She held the notebook out. ¡°Why are you writing about Dr. Nichols?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s none of your business! What are you doing in my room? How many times have you¡­¡± Joe seethed, searching for his words. ¡°... violated my privacy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your mother and I have a right to¡­¡±


    ¡°You have no right to be in here reading my journal!¡±


    ¡°This is full of filth!¡±


    Joe stepped closer, grabbed his notebook, and pointed at the door. ¡°Get the hell out of my room!¡±


    Mom stood and adjusted her blouse, ¡°Don¡¯t use that language with me.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Joe steeled his eyes, glaring intensely down at his mother, ¡°Get the fuck out of my room.¡±


    She sidestepped around him. ¡°You¡¯re father will hear about this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck¡­ fuck, fuck, fuck!¡± Joe slammed the door behind her. ¡°I¡¯m getting a lock!¡±


    Mom immediately called Dad at work. Bill hated it when his wife did that, especially when it was over family drama. She expected him to come home and discipline his children for their behavior while Alice was the on-duty parent. He resented it. Her demands often resulted in him not taking her side. This was one of those cases.


    That evening, after Joe explained his point of view, how angry he was, and that he would never trust his mother again; Dad tried to talk him down.


    ¡°I understand how you feel and I tend to agree with you. She never should have read your journal. That doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s acceptable for you to yell and cuss at her. Did you really say fuck¡­ four times?¡±


    ¡°It may have been five,¡± Joe said, ¡°I don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t trust her. She uses the girls to spy on me and now she¡¯s going in my room and snooping in my personal stuff.¡±


    ¡°I will speak with her. That will never happen again.¡±


    ¡°Damn right, it won¡¯t, because I¡¯m getting a lock for my room.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not necessary. I will handle this.¡± Dad put his hand on his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do you trust me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Let me talk to her. I¡¯ll make it clear that she was wrong.¡±


    Joe didn¡¯t speak to his mother for several days after that incident. When he finally did, he was curt, not hiding his contempt. His cold shoulder cast a cloud over the house. It took weeks for their relationship to normalize but that wound never truly healed.


    Joe had trust issues with adults, not just strangers; his mother, the nuns, and some teachers. Aside from his father, Dr. Nichols was the only adult in his life Joe truly trusted. She was a rare exception, an adult Joe would let his guard down for. Not long after the incident with Mom, Dr. Nichols joked that she had him figured out.


    ¡°You¡¯re a young man living inside your head,¡± she said, with her long legs crossed, just two feet from Joe¡¯s knees.


    ¡°Well. Bravo.¡± Joe smiled and clapped. ¡°That¡¯s a brilliant analysis. I hope it didn¡¯t take you all these years to get here. I¡¯ve known it all along.¡±


    Barbara Nichols was acquainted with Joe¡¯s teenage brat sense of humor. ¡°We¡¯ll, I sensed it many years ago and I can¡¯t say it¡¯s changed much.¡±


    ¡°Someday, Doc.¡± Joe steeled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll come out. When I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s your writing? Are you doing it every day?¡±


    ¡°No, maybe five days a week. The thing is, one of those days could be a marathon. I was up past midnight twice last week, just opening the spigot to my brain on paper.¡±


    ¡°Good. I hope it¡¯s positive writing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s honest writing,¡± Joe met her eyes. ¡°and I¡¯m not the most positive kid on the block.¡±


    ¡°How are you and Mom, since the¡­¡±


    ¡°Violation? Not great.¡± Joe stared at her. ¡°Ya know. I sometimes want to tell you things but I filter myself knowing you speak to her, pretty regular.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not very often.¡± Dr Nichols leaned forward. Joe admired the two open buttons at the top of her blouse and her lightly freckled neck. ¡°I am obligated to speak to guardians. Many of my patients don¡¯t have loving parents. Some are in foster care. I must share what I know but I don¡¯t have to be specific.¡± She found Joe¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll make a deal with you. If you¡¯d like to share something and keep it from your mother just say so beforehand and I will honor that.¡±


    Joe accepted her offer by saying, ¡°I was furious that day and I don¡¯t think I will ever trust her again. I wanted to put a lock on my room but she won that case with Dad. I¡¯m over it as best I can be but I¡¯m keeping her on notice by wearing this suit of coldness. It¡¯s better that way.¡±


    ¡°She knows you¡¯re angry.¡± Dr Nichols smiled, ¡°Using teenage rage as a tool to control a parent was not invented by you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m training my sisters. Jackie will be a problem someday, I hope.¡±


    ¡°Do you think they snoop in your room?¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Joe rolled his eyes. ¡°More than Mom but they don¡¯t look in the books. They promised me they wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°And you trust them?¡±


    ¡°Yes, to a point. They are Mom¡¯s spies so I never really know.¡±


    A year and a half after that violation, Joe still didn¡¯t trust Mom.


    ¡ª-- BAD ATTITUDE ¡ª--


    When the dance-off tee shirt prize became a thing, Joe was constantly on the hunt for tee shirts. Every town had a record shop and most sold rock tees. He went to Goodwill and Saint Vinny DePaul to pick up second-hand shirts cheaply. He didn¡¯t care what was on it as long as it fit. This resulted in him wearing some unusual attire for a teenage punk; like his purple Tweety Bird shirt Monica ripped off his back, giving birth to the wrestling gag. He stepped on stage with a pink Barbie shirt. The kids in The Living Room laughed at him. An hour later, a girl from Pawtucket removed her cotton blouse on stage to change into her new Barbie shirt after pulling it off Joe¡¯s back.


    At age seventeen, his tee shirts became a demonstrative way to express himself, on and off stage. He found a shop near RISD run by art students where a very cool couple made custom tees. Joe made two new friends, Brad and Lisa. The first shirt he had made was black with simple white block lettering.


    I DON''T CARE


    Not long after that, he had another shirt with the same design reading LEAVE ME ALONE.


    Classmates asked where he got his shirts.


    ¡°I had them made on the East Side.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because I can¡¯t find shirts that say what I feel at K-mart.¡±


    His third shirt was the opposite, white with black letters that read, LALALALA I¡¯M NOT LISTENING. His teachers didn¡¯t like that one.


    The day he had that shirt made, he joked with Brad and Lisa in their tiny shop. He said, ¡°We could start a company, Bad Attitude Tees, and put all my shitty thoughts on them.¡±


    Brad laughed, ¡°Yeah, so what¡¯s the deal with that¡­ your bad attitude?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a depressive. I¡¯ve been going to therapy for years,¡± he pointed west, ¡°right around the corner on Brooks Street.¡± He touched his finger to his temple. ¡°I¡¯m pretty fucked up.¡±


    Lisa¡¯s jaw fell open a little. Brad just stared at him. It was the first time in his life that he told anyone that he was depressed and in treatment. He did it in such a casual matter-of-fact tone it took the young couple by surprise. Joe sensed their discomfort.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. The therapy is working and these shirts are part of it now.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that? Lisa asked.


    ¡°My doctor said writing my thoughts would be helpful, so I did that, and she was spot on. It¡¯s amazing. The thing is, no one will ever read my journal. There¡¯s some dark shit in there. The shirts are my way of giving everyone a peek inside and telling them how I feel without being a whiney, depressed baby.¡±


    Lisa turned to her fiance. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard anyone talk about their¡­.¡± She paused, looking at Joe.


    ¡°Mental illness?¡± Joe said what she could not. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s taken years for me to admit it to myself. Now I¡¯m ready to ¡­ I don¡¯t know, embrace it?¡±


    ¡°How old are you?¡± Brad asked.


    ¡°Seventeen.¡±


    Joe then told them about his band and the dance-off tee-shirt prize and the three of them made a deal. Brad handed Joe a tee shirt.


    ¡°We get these for a couple of bucks,¡± Brad said. ¡°They¡¯re a little light on thread count but they¡¯re okay. If all you¡¯re doing is lettering these are great. I don¡¯t screen print on them. I can give you a good price.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Joe nodded. ¡°It will save me some running around. I lose a few shirts a week and it¡¯s only gonna get worse when I get out of school.¡±


    ¡°What do you want on them?¡±


    Joe thought for a moment. ¡°Give me two that say¡­ ¡®you can¡¯t have this shirt.¡¯ And two that say, ¡®I took Joe¡¯s shirt.¡¯ I¡¯m gonna have to think about this. Just those for now.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Lisa smiled. ¡°These are messages to the girls. I get it.¡± She scrunched her nose. ¡°How about¡­ you can¡¯t take this shirt, bitch?¡±


    Joe laughed, ¡°That¡¯s a good one. Add bitch to the first one. You can¡¯t have this shirt, bitch. I know exactly where I¡¯m losing that shirt. And Give me one that says, Monica sucks.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± Lisa laughed. ¡°That¡¯s specific.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe nodded. ¡°But she will love it.¡±


    His tee shirts were part of his uniform, black leather, Levis, Converse All Stars, or black work boots. His wide black leather belts had buckles he found at a swap meet. One was a silver star. The other was a peace sign.


    He was plain and understated except for his tee shirts. Whenever he saw unusual shirts for sale, he¡¯d grab them, especially shirts most guys wouldn¡¯t be caught dead wearing. Joe knew a girl would soon own that shirt. His girly shirts added to the silliness of his bit.


    When he showed up at school in a Wonder Woman shirt, a jock broke his balls in gym class.


    Joe fired back, ¡°Not one of you pussies has the balls to wear a shirt like this.¡±


    Mr Cardozo, the phys-Ed teacher, laughed, ¡°He¡¯s right. It takes nuts to sport that shit.¡±


    For a punk loner who wanted to be left alone, he seemed to seeking attention with messages of defiance or just plain weirdness. Joe couldn¡¯t explain why he did it except to say, ¡°I like how it makes people uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°Why do you want to make people uncomfortable?¡± Sandy asked when he showed up at school with a new shirt¡­ I GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS PLACE, with lowercase fine print¡­ if it''s the last thing I ever do.


    ¡°I don¡¯t, but it happens and I find it amusing. It¡¯s really up to you. It¡¯s just a shirt.¡±


    Mom didn¡¯t like his shirts. ¡°People will think you have a bad attitude.¡±


    Joe made a face, ¡°Yeah, because I do.¡±


    ¡°Why do you want people to know that?¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡±Because that¡¯s what people with bad attitudes do.¡±


    ¡°Why the attitude, Joseph?¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°Because¡­ life sucks, then you die.¡± He smiled. ¡°I think I¡¯ll make that my next shirt.¡±


    Joe never gave away his bad attitude shirts. Those were his thoughts to wear.


    ¡ª--- HOME MOVIES ¡ª---


    The band¡¯s first gig at The Bulldog Saloon got off to a rough start. It started with Sal being irritable because the gig was more than two hours from home. The band walked into a sporty bar, with several televisions around a large horseshoe-shaped bar. The regulars had the New York Knicks playing on some screens, and the Rangers on others. Joe hadn¡¯t considered that New Haven was New York sports turf.


    The bartender pointed to a sunken room off the main bar area. The band carried gear into the room. Four tables of patrons were watching the hockey game on a projection TV. The pull-down screen was above the stage. When the Rangers fans saw the band, there was a collective groan.


    ¡°Fuck you, assholes!¡± Sal barked at them.


    Joe sensed trouble. ¡°Hey, man,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, we have to set up.¡±


    ¡°This is bullshit,¡± one guy said. He had a big mustard stain on his Rangers jersey.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to complain to the manager. She hired us.¡±


    ¡°Just leave the game on for as long as you can.¡± a hockey girl said.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Joe laughed, ¡°You¡¯ll be watching the game on my face.¡±


    Sal was already on the riser blocking the screen, clearly annoyed at the stupidity of this stage. The hockey players skated over his leather. Johnny joined him and the patrons got pissy.


    ¡°Fuck this shit.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re paying customers!¡±


    When a dude got up and stepped toward the stage, Sal jumped down and got right in his face. That guy was big but not as big as Sal.


    ¡°You got a problem?¡± Sal stood one foot away.


    There was an audible exhale. The dude weighed his options. Then he took a slow step backward and sat down.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal said loudly. ¡°I didn¡¯t think so. You loud-mouthed fucking pussy.¡±


    Joe pulled Sal aside, ¡°Hey, I get that you¡¯re in a shitty mood. The traffic sucked.¡± He gestured to to big screen. ¡°This is stupid. Just relax and don¡¯t start a fight.¡±


    ¡°This is gonna be another one-and-done gig,¡± Sal said. ¡°I can feel it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. We¡¯ve had them before. I see it as a challenge.¡±


    No one bothered to turn the game off as the band set up in the half-dark room. The game was projected onto their faces and asses. The band grabbed beers at the bar. People were steadily coming in, groups of three and four, and larger. The sunken room was filling with patrons not interested in hockey. There were several Yale sweatshirts, as well as letterman jackets. A crew from UNH had a table and a couple of Quinnipiac kids sat by the stage. There were townies in the bar but it was largely a college bar. Yale is home to the Bulldogs.


    When the band took the stage the game was in the third period. Joe stepped up to the mic as their amps warmed up. He tapped it. Sal and Johnny were fiddling, warming up on low volume.


    ¡°Sorry for fucking up your game,¡± Joe said. ¡°The Rangers suck anyway. We¡¯re probably sparing you some pain.¡±


    The crowd booed. Joe then unzipped his leather. The crowd booed at his shirt.


    ¡°Leave the shitty Ranger game on,¡± Joe said. ¡°This is kind of funny. We¡¯ve done some fucked up gigs and this is up there.¡±


    He got a few laughs, which was good. Joe raked the A chord. ¡°We¡¯re The Young Punks, and we make everything¡­ punk rock!¡±


    Joe stayed with his set list except for pushing his stunts back. When the game was over, the projection was turned off and the crowd got a better look at the band¡¯s faces. That¡¯s when Joe started the sideshow. Two Yale sorority sisters battled for the dance queen crown and Joe¡¯s tee shirt. He removed his guitar.


    ¡°Your prize is¡­ this Brown University shirt but you must take it off my back to claim it.¡±


    The wrestling went as usual, except for Christine from Akron punching Joe in the balls. He went to a knee. Men in the crowd groaned. The dance queen ripped the shirt over his head and smacked him with it. Joe was ball-stunned but it wasn¡¯t bad. He played it up, asking Johnny for help getting to his feet, then fake limping to his guitar, slumped forward.


    Christine stopped celebrating and walked to him. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± The room was silent aside from murmurs. She reached out and hugged him.


    ¡°I think a kiss would make me feel better,¡± he said.


    She kissed his cheek.


    ¡°Not there,¡± Joe pointed at his crotch. ¡°That¡¯s where you hurt me!¡±


    The room roared. Christine shoved Joe, smiled at the crowd, and walked off victorious. That¡¯s how Joe won crowds over. It¡¯s the show, for sure, but the improvisation surprised even him. Funny shit always happened on or near his stage.


    When the band packed up and the van was ready, Nate was missing in action. Sal went back into the bar to find him and came out empty-handed. ¡°That asshole took off with some chick.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°Out the back door.¡±


    The band waited and waited. Johnny fell asleep. Sal seethed behind the wheel.


    ¡°Ya know,¡± Joe said. ¡°This turned out to be an okay gig. Yeah, Nate¡¯s an ass for making us wait while he gets his dick sucked.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Who cares?¡±


    On the long drive home, thinking of the projection TV shook loose memories of Joe¡¯s dad filming birthday parties and family vacations when they were kids. He wondered why he stopped. After some miles, he believed he remembered when Dad¡¯s family movie collection ended.


    On a cold and rainy day when he had nothing to do, he found Dad¡¯s old projector in the basement along with a box of home movies he shot years ago. Joe hung his bed sheet up in his room and set up the projector. It took a while because he didn¡¯t know what he was doing. When the first images appeared on the sheet, he felt a grapefruit-sized lump in his throat.


    Joe sat in silence watching himself, Jackie, Jules as a toddler, and Janie. Her last birthday fell on this camping trip. Joe remembered this vacation in vivid color. He wished there was sound. Janie threw pine cones at Dad while he worked building a fire. Dad got angry. As the emotions inside him stirred, Joe''s eyes got misty.


    Julie tripped and fell. She cried as Mom soothed her. Janie handed Jules her favorite blanket and hugged her. Joe recalled how Janie always took care of their little sisters.


    There was a knock on his door.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± He wiped his teary eyes. The door opened.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡° Jackie asked. Then she saw Janie running around the campsite. ¡°Oh my God. Why would you watch that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I was thinking about how much Dad loved home movies. I realized he stopped filming us when Janie died.¡±


    Jackie sat beside Joe on the bed watching a silent film of the family sitting at the picnic table singing Happy Birthday to Janie. ¡°Oh, I remember this,¡± she said. ¡°Her birthday cake was awful.¡±


    Joe laughed. ¡°Yeah, it was. Mom wanted to bake it at home but Dad had this dumb idea of baking a cake on the fire. It was runny. It barely held the candles.¡±


    ¡°Look at Janie,¡± Jackie said. ¡°She doesn¡¯t care. She¡¯s just happy.¡±


    ¡°She was always happy,¡± Joe said lowly.


    Jackie felt her emotions watching her younger self and Janie feeding crappy campfire birthday cake to squirrels. ¡°The squirrels didn¡¯t hate the cake.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because they didn¡¯t have good cake as a reference.¡±


    ¡°I remember it tasted like smoke,¡± Jackie laughed. ¡°And it was only half cooked.¡±


    Joe loaded another movie, Christmas 1971. It was Janie¡¯s last Christmas. A few minutes in he had enough. ¡°This is hard to watch.¡± He flipped the light on. Jackie had tears in her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. I just miss her.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± Joe said. ¡°More than anyone.¡±


    As Joe broke down his setup, he felt good that he didn¡¯t go to pieces. There was a time when those images would have broken him.


    Two days later was the start of the sixteen-day Christmas break. The band played their second gig in Boston to a lighter crowd because the students were home for the holiday. The kids who were there were home from college afar. It was largely a townie crowd with far more punks than the first show at The Brickyard. The few punks who saw the first show had spread the good word. Also, two carloads of hoodrats followed the band up, including Denny. The second show was better than the first but the place was still half-empty and echoey.


    -¡ª-- JOE¡¯S DUNGEON ¡ª---


    Joe was in his room, reading, when Jackie yelled down from the kitchen, ¡°Joey! Phone!¡±


    He slipped on his jeans and walked up from the basement. The phone was waiting on the countertop, the cord stretched across the kitchen. On her way to the fridge, Jeanie ducked under it as Joe lifted the cord.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Joe?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°This is Randy Hien.¡±


    ¡°Really? How¡¯d you get my number?¡±


    ¡°I called the garage and Sal¡¯s dad gave it to me. I think that was his dad.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s Pops. What¡¯s the emergency?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what it is, kid. I know this is a crazy long shot but are you available on New Year''s Eve?¡± Randy then answered his own question. ¡°Of course, you¡¯re booked. Every good band works on New Year''s Eve.¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t book anything for New Year. We¡¯re having a party at the garage. I have some new material to roll out.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? I¡¯m in a jam, man. My band for that night just pulled out. One of their guys slid his car off the road during that snowstorm last week. He¡¯s okay but he can¡¯t play. Joe, I¡¯ll raise the cover and make it worth your time.¡±


    Joe stood quietly. They had just played five shows in seven days over his break and had another tomorrow night. He was looking forward to a night off from gigging and just playing for fun. He had been working on original songs and wanted to debut them.


    Jeanie stood nearby, drinking milk, spying. Then she squeezed past Joe and went downstairs.


    Joe exhaled audibly. ¡°I wanted the night off but let me talk to the guys. I¡¯ll call you tomorrow. It¡¯s not like you have another band lined up waiting for my answer.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. Look, Joe. You¡¯ll be well compensated for this favor and I will never forget it. You¡¯ll have a chip to play someday. Chips are good in this business.¡±


    ¡°School¡¯s out. It won¡¯t be a big night with our people but I¡¯ll talk to the guys tonight and call you tomorrow.¡±


    Jules pushed through Joe with a basket of laundry. He tugged on her hair as she passed. She counterattacked by stepping on his bare toes with her heel, hard. He hopped as she walked down to the basement.


    ¡°Listen,¡± Randy pressed on. ¡°If you take the gig, I¡¯ll advertise on WBRU. We¡¯ll get people here even with school on recess.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Joe.¡±


    Joe hung up and smiled, thinking of how awesome it felt to have a club owner begging him to play for them¡­ on a big night. Joe knew about chips. It was a street honor system with the Italians. Men liked to do favors, collect chips, and when they needed something big¡­ cash them in. Randy was correct. Chips were good to have.


    As Joe returned to his dungeon lair, he found Jules and Jeanie sitting on his bed, reading. He walked in, looking over their shoulders. They had the latest Rolling Stone magazine open. Jeanie had two of Joe¡¯s records under her arm.


    ¡°Can you guys at least ask if you can come in here? He pushed Jules over from her legs folded position. ¡°It¡¯s one thing that you snoop down here when I¡¯m not home but now you just do it right under my nose?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not snooping,¡± Jeanie said. ¡°I¡¯m borrowing records and she¡¯s reading.¡±


    ¡°You snoop all the time. Don¡¯t even deny it. I set traps to know someone¡¯s been in here.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Jeanie asked.


    ¡°He puts tape on the door frame,¡± Jules said. ¡°If it¡¯s broken, he knows. He just doesn¡¯t know who.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a confession.¡± He grabbed the magazine. ¡°Get out of my room.¡±


    ¡°What are those films?¡± Julie pointed at the home movies trying to change the subject.


    ¡°Not your business. You girls need to respect my room, and my rules.¡±


    ¡°Jackie comes in here more than anyone,¡± Jeanie ratted out the biggest sister. ¡°She¡¯s always trying on your tee shirts to see what she can steal.¡±


    ¡°Now that she has big boobs she can wear your shirts,¡± Julie smiled.


    ¡°They¡¯re not that big,¡± Joe smirked. ¡°I know she borrows shirts and in trade, she throws my laundry in when she¡¯s doing hers. It¡¯s called the barter system. What do I get from you for loaning you my records and books?¡±


    ¡°Love.¡± Jeanie made puppy dog eyes, her one big dark blonde curl covered her left eye.


    ¡°Pfft. How many of my records are in your room right now?¡±


    ¡°A few.¡±


    ¡°A stack this high,¡± Julie held her hand a foot above the bed, ratting on Jeanie.


    ¡°We need a system.¡± Joe snatched the records from Jeanie¡¯s hands. ¡°Bring all my records back, now, and you can take five at a time, never more.¡±


    He turned to Julie. ¡°And how many of my books do you have in that room?¡±


    ¡°A few,¡± she flipped a finger for each one, ¡°To Kill A Mockingbird, The Outsiders, and Animal Farm.¡±


    ¡°Okay, three is okay but that includes magazines too.¡± He pointed at the open door. ¡°Scram. Both of you.¡±


    Joe flopped back onto his bed and glanced at the clock, it was 8:05. The girls would be up late, no school, so he could leave anytime to tell Sal of the emergency gig being offered by Randy Hien. Jeanie returned with an armful of vinyl, Joe flipped through to see what his sister was listening to; Queen, The Cars, DEVO, The Ramones, and The Rolling Stones Made In The Shade.


    ¡°Did you like this?¡± He held up The Stones¡¯ record.


    ¡°I love Wild Horses and Brown Sugar.¡±


    ¡°What about Tumbling Dice?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±


    ¡°You can take five new ones,¡± He handed her The Kinks and The Clash records he had seized a few minutes ago.


    Joe leaned back, watching her flip through his racks of vinyl. He didn¡¯t mind her borrowing his records because he knew it was an investment. None of his sisters would ever be disco queens. If he had any say in the matter they would be proper rock chicks¡­ and he did have say.


    *****


    Later that evening at the garage, Joe ran the New Year''s Eve gig by the guys. They were not in favor. Johnny was flat against it. Sal was leaning against it and Nate was indifferent.


    ¡°We just played a bunch and you have five shows booked for next week,¡± Johnny whined. ¡°I was looking forward to a weekend off.¡±


    ¡°Randy¡¯s desperate. He said he¡¯d advertise on college radio and pay a premium.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need the money,¡± Sal said.


    ¡°He said we¡¯d earn a chip.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Sal laughed, ¡°Is Randy in the Jew mob?¡±


    ¡°No, he just wants us to know how important this is to him. He¡¯s in a tight spot.¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s so desperate,¡± Sal smiled, ¡°Maybe we could earn two chips.¡±


    ¡°What the hell can he give us that we need a chip for?¡± Johnny asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet,¡± Joe said, ¡°But it might be a good thing to have in our hometown.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal said, ¡°I can do it if you guys agree. I¡¯ll do whatever you decide.¡±


    Nate nodded, ¡°Same here.¡±


    ¡°Can you pick a fucking side!¡± Joe barked at Nate. ¡°You¡¯re always on the damn fence.¡±


    ¡°So I guess that means you¡¯re a yes,¡± Johnny said, half asking.


    Joe nodded. ¡°Randy is a good guy and The Living Room is the best club we have in Rhode Island. I think we should bail him out. I promise you guys a whole weekend off, soon, in a few weeks. I haven¡¯t booked anything for the end of January.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m a yes,¡± Sal said. ¡°Fuck it. I like it when people owe me.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± Nate said.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Johnny bowed his head.


    The New Year''s gig was fine, not the best show The Young Punks had at The Living Room, but a decent crowd of townies and many kids home from college for the holiday who didn¡¯t know Joe¡¯s schtick. About half the crowd was new and became fans at the final show of 1978. The guys drank on the house that night and Randy agreed that he would grant the band two chips.


    Sitting at the bar late, well after midnight, Joe watched Randy handling receipts and bar tips. He had a feeling of satisfaction. Helping a friend was good for his soul. Earning chips was just a bonus.

 Ch.09 - Im Eighteen

    ¡ª-- JANUARY 1979 ¡ª--


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


    ¡°It¡¯s a Sunday and school starts up Monday.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the perfect end to school break,¡± Sal replied.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to make a big deal of my birthday.¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck off,¡± Johnny said, ¡°You¡¯ve been counting down for months.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I want a birthday party. I promised my Mom I¡¯d do Sunday dinner with my sisters. They¡¯re baking me a cake.¡±


    ¡°What time is Sunday dinner?¡± Pops asked.


    ¡°Sunday is early, like three o¡¯clock. I can¡¯t show up drunk from a kegger.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll do it after you have dinner with your sisters,¡± Sal grinned at Pops as they were on the same page.


    ¡°It¡¯s my birthday. I don¡¯t need a party.¡±


    ¡°Stop your whining,¡± Pops pointed at Joe. ¡°It¡¯s settled.¡±


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


    ¡°Back off! Do you really think you get the first beer after watching me do all the fucking work?¡±


    The kid slinked away, ¡°Sorry Sal.¡±


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


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


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


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


    ¡°Take it easy!¡± Sal said exasperated, ¡°We got nine pies and more coming.¡±


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


    ¡°Nah,¡± Sal replied with a mouthful, ¡°His sisters baked him a cake. He¡¯ll be over after that. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Abby. We met last week. I was here with Joe.¡±


    Sal nodded, not remembering.


    ¡°I know his sister Jackie. She¡¯s cool.¡±


    ¡°She is,¡± Sal said, ¡°smart girl.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡± Abby sipped her beer. ¡°When will you guys start playing?¡±


    Sal rolled his eyes, ¡°Maybe when the rest of the band gets here?¡±


    ¡°Does Jackie ever hang out here with her brother?¡±


    Johnny and Sal laughed in unison, ¡°No. Joe would never let his little sister hang here.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Sal bent forward, bringing his six-two down to Abby¡¯s five-four. ¡°Have you ever been to one of our parties?¡±


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


    ¡°Jackie is what, fourteen?¡± Sal said, ¡°We¡¯re drinking and there¡¯s weed over there and someone might show up with coke. Joe won¡¯t let his sisters near this place.¡±


    ¡°Does Joe do cocaine?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Johnny answered. ¡°And he gets his panties in a twist if we do it?¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    Johnny and Sal both shrugged, ¡°A little bit,¡± Johnny said as he folded a crust and filled his face. ¡°When it¡¯s around.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°Where¡¯s Joe?¡± He asked with a mouthful.


    ¡°His sisters baked him a cake,¡± Johnny replied with a mouthful.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. I forgot. Isn¡¯t that cute?¡± Nate laughed. ¡°Joey is so adorable.¡±


    Another girl walked up, a tall slender brunette Nate was eyeballing at the keg, ¡°Where¡¯s Joe?¡± she asked.


    ¡°His sisters baked him a cake,¡± Sal said.


    ¡°Awww,¡± she smiled. ¡°That''s so cute.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said,¡± Nate laughed.


    ¡°Are you guys gonna play tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sal said with big eyes, ¡°When Joe gets here!¡±


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


    ¡°Is Joe coming?¡± A cute PC girl asked.


    Nate sized her up, ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡±


    ¡°Me, Kelly.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, I¡¯m Nate.¡±


    ¡°Really? You don¡¯t remember me? Asshole!¡± She turned and walked away.


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


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Nate said under his breath. ¡°That bridge is burned.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± a curvy brunette walked up. ¡°Where¡¯s Joe? I thought this was his party?¡±


    ¡°His sisters baked him a cake!¡± Sal and Johnny''s half shouted in stereo.


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


    Many of the kids laughed.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m kidding? Noooo. That¡¯s what Joey does on nights we don¡¯t have a gig. So you can all stop asking¡­¡± Nate stopped mid-statement.


    Joe was the opposite of Nate. He slipped in quietly. Nate didn¡¯t see him until it was too late. Joe stood by the keg pouring his first legal beer as Nate mocked his life at home. When he saw Joe and stopped talking, Nate¡¯s jaw fell open.


    ¡°Fuck you, Nate!¡± Joe shouted across the garage. ¡°You¡¯re an asshole.¡±


    Many of the kids laughed.


    ¡°That was priceless,¡± Sal smiled. ¡°I was waiting for you to see him.¡±


    Nate leaned over and whispered, ¡°Why the fuck didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°What, and interrupt you making an ass of yourself?¡±


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


    ¡°What the fuck was that about?¡± He asked his mates.


    ¡°Like nine people asked, ¡®Where¡¯s Joe?¡± Sal said in a falsetto voice. ¡°Is Joe coming to his party?¡±


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


    Joe steeled his eyes and pointed his finger at Johnny, ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    Sal nudged Johnny, ¡°Only his sisters call him Joey. No one else is allowed.¡±


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


    ¡°Where the fuck is Storrs?¡± Johnny asked.


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


    ¡°Here¡¯s to college girls rolling in the hay?¡± Sal raised his cup.


    ¡°So what¡¯s up in Wakefield?¡± Johnny asked. ¡°I thought we were playing that Route One Tavern joint.¡±


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


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He tried to apologize. I told him to go fuck himself.¡±


    Sal laughed, ¡°Are you gonna do that to every bar that busted you for having a shitty ID?¡±


    ¡°No, only the two that stiffed us. We¡¯re done in Woonsocket too. I¡¯ll find other bars.¡±


    ¡°Man, you really do hold a grudge,¡± Johnny said quietly.


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


    ¡°Take it easy, big guy,¡± Sal put a hand on Joe¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re with you. We don¡¯t need to work for scumbags. Besides, those gigs weren¡¯t any good.¡±


    Joe had many reasons to be happy on his eighteenth birthday. It¡¯s a major milestone for every teenager. He had one specific reason that was unique to him. He no longer had to conceal his age and negotiate with club owners who didn¡¯t believe his ID was authentic¡­ because it wasn¡¯t. He¡¯d been using it for eight months. It was illegal for a minor to perform at establishments that serve alcohol.


    Several club managers asked to see his ID. Some challenged his fake credentials. Joe had one card to play. ¡°Shit, I guess you don¡¯t have a band tonight.¡± He only had to use it a few times but that move led to a couple of sleazy characters screwing the band by lowering their rate. Joe loathed that negotiation. It would never happen again.


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


    ¡°Can you fill me?¡± Abby said, leaning against him as he took the tap.


    Joe smiled, ¡°I can do that.¡± He took her cup.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to be eighteen, huh?¡±


    ¡°You have no idea.¡± Joe handed Abby her beer. ¡°I have to get ready. I¡¯ll find you when we take a break.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she kissed his cheek.


    Joe turned and shouted, ¡°Hey Nate, asshole, we¡¯re up in ten minutes.¡±


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


    ¡°Take a peek over at the Cadillac. Looky who¡¯s here¡±


    Joe looked over to see Claire with her college roommate and another chick¡­ leaning against Pops¡¯ ¡®68 Eldorado. This was the first time she had shown up at the garage since Joe¡¯s embarrassing night in her dorm room, seven months ago. Apparently, the cold shoulder he gave her on Halloween Night didn¡¯t dissuade her from showing up for his birthday.


    By the time Joe strapped on his Telecaster and stepped up to the mic, the party had swelled to over eighty guests. A decent crowd for a Sunday afternoon jam party. They had drawn well over a hundred in the past, enough to attract the attention of the Providence Police. Pops had to have a chat with the officers to assure them everything was legal and supervised¡­ even when it wasn¡¯t entirely legal.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Joe said, ¡°Thanks for coming out in this freezing, garbage weather for the party¡­ I didn¡¯t want to have!¡± He punched those last words.


    His guests clapped and cheered.


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


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


    ¡°We learned a new song for this party. It¡¯s perfect for the occasion.¡±


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


    ¡°I¡¯m eighteen! I get confused every day.


    Eighteen! I just don¡¯t know what to say.


    Eighteen! I gotta get away.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°Sorry Pops,¡± Joe said through the mic. ¡°We try to keep an eye on your shit but some people¡­¡±


    Tony waved. ¡°We¡¯re good, kid.¡±


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


    Thirty minutes into the opening set, Joe had something to say. He let his guitar slide to his hip and stood at the mic. ¡°This past year has been incredible, life-changing, but I¡¯m so fucking glad to be eighteen and can¡¯t wait to get out of school. Thanks for supporting us, all of you.¡± He then shouted, ¡°Especially you Pops!¡± He turned to Sal. ¡°I think your old man could claim us as dependents on his taxes.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°Atlanta. I¡¯m a senior at RISD. I¡¯m studying film.¡±


    ¡°Really? We should talk sometime. I have this idea for our show. It involves film. I¡¯m just not sure I can pull it off.¡±


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


    ¡°Thanks. I think I should do more than just the music.¡±


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


    ¡°No,¡± Joe said. ¡°I took my sisters trick or treating.¡±


    ¡°That was real?¡± Angie smiled. ¡°I thought that was part of the gag.¡±


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


    ¡°Okay,¡± she smiled. ¡°Thanks for the beer. We can talk about your film idea later.¡±


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


    Joe smiled, ¡°I would love to.¡± He took her cup, again.


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


    ¡°That¡¯s ancient history, Abby.¡±


    ¡°I just wonder what happened.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t like the direction we were taking the band. So he quit.¡± He handed her a full beer.


    ¡°He told me doesn¡¯t like punk rock.¡±


    ¡°So, if you know what happened, why are you asking?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. Just talking.¡±


    ¡°He also didn¡¯t like Sal,¡± Joe put his hand behind Abby¡¯s back and led her away from the keg. ¡°I had to choose between them and it was an easy decision.¡±


    Sal overheard the conversation. ¡°Peter¡¯s a little pussy,¡± he said as moved toward the keg.


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


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


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


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


    ¡°Sure, I guess,¡± Joe said flatly. ¡°About what?¡±


    She looked at Abby. ¡°Alone. Can we talk alone?¡±


    Joe rolled his eyes, ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything we need to talk about¡­ alone.¡±


    ¡°Please. Don¡¯t be a jerk about it.¡±


    Joe nudged Abby. ¡°Can you hold my seat? I promise I¡¯ll be back shortly¡­ after I deal with this.¡±


    Abby looked at the college girl in front of her. Joe sensed her trepidation. He leaned in to whisper. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be back.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°Can¡¯t we get past what happened? I like you, Joe. You know that. You have to put yourself in my shoes. Would you date a girl two years younger than you?¡±


    ¡°If I really liked her, yes.¡±


    ¡°Okay, bad example,¡± Claire said, stepping closer to Joe. ¡°It¡¯s different for girls. There¡¯s a divide between high school and college, and I¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the difference.¡±


    ¡°You just don¡¯t date high school boys when you¡¯re in college.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still in high school so why the fuck are we talking?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say we can¡¯t be friends.¡±


    ¡°Look around, Claire. I have more friends than I can handle.¡±


    Claire continued to make her case but Joe wasn¡¯t hearing every word. He was looking into her green eyes. He loved her intense eyes. She had a popular hairstyle of the seventies, the feathered look Farrah Faucet made famous, except Claire¡¯s reddish-blonde-auburn hair stopped at her shoulders.


    Joe liked Claire, more than any girl he had hung out with but he had trouble getting past her dumping him. Claire stopped talking. Joe didn¡¯t know what to say. He sensed her discomfort and he was okay with that.


    ¡°You¡¯re eighteen and that¡¯s a big deal,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about what happened and I hate that you''re angry with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not angry with you.¡±


    ¡°Oh c¡¯mon. You ignored me in the alley behind the club and you were a dick about it¡­ and you¡¯re being dick right now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to say. I¡¯m just a dumb high school kid.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t do that.¡± Claire touched his arm and kept talking. Joe noted the low neckline of her pullover sweater and how her bra pushed her breasts upward, showing cleavage. It was too cold for that much skin to be showing. Knowing she was on a mission, he assumed she did that for him. Joe then realized she had stopped talking.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said in a barely audible voice, not actually answering any question because she hadn¡¯t asked one and he wasn¡¯t listening.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying, Joe. I want to be friends and I¡¯d like to talk.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re talking,¡± Joe said, as he glanced toward the party he was missing. ¡°Look, I¡¯m going back to Abby. She¡¯s eighteen, like me. I don¡¯t have to worry about her being embarrassed by my age.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°You need a projector,¡± Denny noted.


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


    ¡°I think that sounds interesting,¡± Angie said. ¡°The Velvet Underground did stuff like that.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Joe winced. ¡°Fuck. I thought it was my idea.¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Angie smiled, ¡°If you didn¡¯t see them do it first.¡±


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


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


    ¡°Like I said,¡± Angie made eye contact with Joe. ¡°Let me know if you want help.¡±


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


    .


    ¡ª-- PLEASE BE GENTLE ¡ª--


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


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


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


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for a girlfriend,¡± he said as Abby¡¯s lips met his. ¡°And I¡¯m not looking for one.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Abby leaned back and smiled. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I wanted a boyfriend, did I?¡± She leaned in and kissed him again. Her fingers found his zipper. ¡°I don¡¯t recall saying anything about that.¡±


    ¡°So you just want to¡­¡±


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


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


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


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


    Abby eased off on her kissing, more slow and sensual. She looked up into his eyes, ¡°I¡¯m kinda small, do you think¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. Do what you wish, the way you want. You¡¯re in charge.¡±


    She smiled, ¡°Okay, ¡° and kissed him. ¡°Please be gentle.¡±


    ¡ª-- SUPERSTAR ¡ª--


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


    ¡°Hey, Joe. How¡¯s it going, man?¡±


    ¡°Good MC. What the fuck are you doing here?¡± Joe set his vinyl on a picnic table and removed his leather. ¡°Isn¡¯t there practice?¡± He rubbed his cold hands together. Joe paused to make eye contact with the taller black teen. He smirked. ¡°After that last game, there should be.¡±


    ¡°Awwww,¡± Miles leaned away from Joe. ¡°That¡¯s cold man. LaSalle is good. We played a great game. They just got us at the end.¡±


    ¡°Because you missed two free throws and here you are, at the park, shooting alone.¡±


    ¡°I got suspended from the team.¡±


    ¡°They did it? I didn¡¯t think Coach Perry had the balls.¡± Joe put his hands out, wanting the ball. ¡°What was that tantrum about?¡± MC passed Joe the ball. ¡°You have to keep your cool, MC.¡±


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


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


    Miles walked up to Joe, ¡°You should be playing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not big enough.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s bullshit.¡± MC put his finger in Joe¡¯s face. ¡°Ricky Gallo is smaller and he¡¯s not better than you.¡±


    ¡°That kid hates me,¡± Joe laughed.


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


    ¡°And that¡¯s the pinnacle of my hoops career, The Holy Ghosts 46 St. Marys 44.¡±


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


    ¡°Until last week.¡± Joe walked the steps to get the ball.


    ¡°Yeah, and I let him fucking know about it.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re suspended.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


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


    ¡°How can you drop bombs from downtown but can¡¯t hit that?¡± He passed the loose ball back to MC. He made the second free throw.


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


    ¡°I gotta get home,¡± Joe said while gathering his leather and vinyl.


    ¡°Hey, man. We appreciate what you did for the twins. You know that, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, MC.¡± Joe nodded. ¡°I know how it works around here¡±


    ¡°You know we couldn¡¯t put our hands on Russo, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Joe said emphatically. ¡°I just said I know how it works.¡±


    ¡°If a black kid smacked down a wop on The Hill, all hell would break¡­.¡±


    ¡°Miles!¡± Joe interrupted. ¡°You don¡¯t have to explain. I know. The girls are good, right?¡±


    Miles nodded. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re cool, man. Thanks.¡± He took a big swig of water. Joe waved and stepped away.


    ¡°Hey, I would tell you to be cool, Theroux, but you already are.¡± He smiled, ¡°Stay that way.¡±


    Joe walked home feeling good that Miles, a very talented and popular athlete, thought he was a good basketball player and was cool. He hadn¡¯t played on a team since age twelve, Catholic Youth Organization, but it still felt good.


    ¡ª- GOSSIP GIRL ¡ª-


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


    Jackie knocked on his door. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Come in.¡±


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


    ¡°Are you going out tonight?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


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


    ¡°Oh really, which one this time? Is it that I escaped a mental hospital? Or that I dated both Washington twins?¡± Joe thought for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s the blood-drinking, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯m a Satan worshiper.¡±


    ¡°No. What¡¯s this about the Washington twins?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Whad¡¯ya hear?¡±


    ¡°That you and Abigail Bonner were making out at your birthday party.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least one rumor is true.¡±


    ¡°You know she¡¯s a slut, right?¡±


    ¡°Shut your face.¡± Joe shot his gossipy sister a cold glare. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about people like that. These kids are assholes, Everybody is talking shit behind backs. I hate fucking gossip.¡± He pointed a finger at Jackie, ¡°Don¡¯t be one of them.¡±


    ¡°Well, she is kinda slutty. They call her Abby Boner.¡±


    ¡°Because one guy ran his mouth. He was okay with Abby sucking his dick. She was fun. But then she dumped him and he was an asshole about it. That doesn¡¯t make her a slut. It makes him a piece of shit.¡±


    Jackie stared at Joe, ¡°So you¡¯re having sex with her?¡±


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


    ¡°What if more than one guy says she had sex with him?¡±


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


    ¡°So what¡¯s the rumor about you and the twins?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s garbage I won¡¯t even talk about.¡± Joe paused for a moment, looking at Jackie with concern. ¡°Don¡¯t be the one spreading rumors. If someone tells you trashy gossip, be the dead end.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop the rumors.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have to spread them. Abby is cool. I like her. The cool chicks and the popular girls always have other girls sniping at them. Abby thinks you¡¯re cool, she said so, but don¡¯t be too cool, or kids will try to tear you down.¡±


    ¡°She said I was cool?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she did.¡±


    ¡°What are they saying about you and the Washington twins?¡±


    ¡°Jesus, Jackie. You can¡¯t let shit go. Why don¡¯t you ask the gossipy bitches at school? They¡¯ll give you the dirt.¡±


    ¡°Or you can just tell me.¡±


    ¡°Do you know John Russo?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s a jerk.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a racist piece of shit too. He was picking on Nicole and Monique because he didn¡¯t like black kids cutting through his neighborhood. They were just walking home from school. I guess this was going on for a while, but I didn¡¯t know.¡±


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


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


    Jackie nodded.


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


    ¡°And now kids think you fooled around with the twins.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Because we¡¯re friends and I hung out with them for a while.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    ¡°Did I do what?


    ¡°Fool around with the twins?¡±


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


    Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡±


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


    ¡ª-- IT DIDN''T MATTER ¡ª--


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


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


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


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with Budweiser?¡± Sal barked back. ¡°That¡¯s Pop¡¯s beer.¡±


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


    ¡°Then don¡¯t drink it,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Good idea.¡± Joe walked to the sink and dumped the rest.


    ¡°What are you doin¡¯? Sal protested. ¡°Don¡¯t waste it. I would have drank that.¡±


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


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


    Joe stared at her blankly, giving her nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to talk,¡± she said, ¡°and maybe you can listen this time.¡±


    Joe took a deep breath, then exhaled audibly. ¡°Okay.¡± He looked at Sal. ¡°Who¡¯s working the store tonight?¡±


    ¡°Dickie,¡± Pops answered.


    ¡°I¡¯m asking him for a freebie since your son drank the beer I paid for,¡± Joe said, then walked to the door with Claire on his heels.


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


    ¡°I hate fucking winter.¡±


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


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


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


    ¡°Yes. You have a summer boyfriend at camp.¡±


    ¡°Right. And I had told you I¡¯d be gone for eight weeks and we should just do whatever we wanted over the summer.¡± Claire stopped at a red light and looked over at Joe. ¡°So I think you already knew we weren¡¯t serious at that time, and we hadn¡¯t yet¡­ ya know.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know what we didn¡¯t do. But we did some things and you didn¡¯t stop seeing me because of summer camp. It was because of my age.¡±


    The light turned green.


    ¡°I know, Joe, but we weren¡¯t going steady or anything like that. I see how girls are around you at gigs. You can do whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°What does that have to do with you dumping me because I¡¯m in high school?¡±


    ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t. I¡¯m just pointing out that we were just casual and I didn¡¯t break up with you. I was surprised you weren¡¯t graduating, and you¡­¡±


    ¡°And you stopped seeing me the moment you found out.¡±


    ¡°And I was leaving for New Hampshire two weeks later, so it didn¡¯t really matter.¡±


    ¡°Fine. It didn¡¯t matter to you. I get it.¡±


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


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± Joe said as he got out of the car.


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


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


    ¡°Wrong. You figured wrong and you never asked me. And then you acted like it was my fault you didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Can we get past that? I know how old you are now. And I know you¡¯re graduating in June. And I want to be friends again. Is that possible?¡±


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


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Joe. I¡¯m sorry I never asked and I¡¯m sorry if I hurt you. You¡¯re right. It wasn¡¯t your fault. It¡¯s just how it happened. I¡¯m sorry. Please forgive me. I¡¯m just asking. It¡¯s up to you.¡±


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


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


    Joe sighed. ¡°I can try.¡±


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


    ¡°What about this girl Abby?¡± Claire asked.


    ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°Are you guys dating? It sure seemed that way.¡±


    ¡°We hang out after school sometimes. She¡¯s not my girlfriend.¡±


    ¡°When did you see her last?¡±


    ¡°At school, today.¡±


    ¡°Does she think you might be her boyfriend?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve talked about it. I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Have you¡­ ya know?¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to make us a steady thing?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m just¡­ wondering what¡¯s going on with you and her.¡±


    ¡°We hang out, get high, and fool around a little. Is that a problem? You live in a college dormitory. I don¡¯t know what goes on there and I don¡¯t want to know.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s how it¡¯s gonna be? That¡¯s how you want it?¡±


    ¡°For now¡­ I guess. We¡¯ll see how it goes. You do have your summer friend.¡±


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


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


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


    ¡°Okay, it¡¯s freezing out here,¡± he said, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Joe opened the door and let Claire in first.


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


    Sal smiled, ¡°Awwww, look at you two, back together again. It¡¯s so cute.¡±


    ¡°Piss off, Sal.¡±

 Ch.10 - Girl Trouble

    ¡ª-- FEBRUARY 1979 ¡ª--


    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.¡±


    ¡ª-- ANGIE ¡ª--


    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.¡±


    ¡ª--- SIBLING THERAPIST ¡ª--


    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.


    ¡ª--- I DIDN¡¯T LAY A FINGER ON HIM ¡ª--


    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.


    ¡ª--- BITE ME ¡ª---


    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.


    ¡ª--- IT FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME ¡ª--


    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.¡±


    -¡ª- THE JEALOUSY GENE ¡ª-


    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!¡±


    ¡ª-- MANIC MONDAY ¡ª--


    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.


    -¡ª- I¡¯M GETTING A LOCK TOMORROW ¡ª--


    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.¡±