Nine Hundred Nights Page 10

  I was playing around with Cazzie, the barmaid who worked the weekends mostly and none of the guys knew about it. Our rendezvous were limited to late night hours on the weekends when I'd be finished with a gig and she'd be coming off of her shift at Ray's. For both of us it was a purely physical thing and she was straightforward about it. Let me further explain that Cazzie was F-I-N-E-FINE looking; she was African-American, had an hourglass figure and was really funny. Yet to me, the most striking thing about her was her scent; she smelled of cinnamon…for whatever bizarre reason, I find that very sexy and I started flirting with her the first day I got close enough to smell that scent. I don't know if it's her shampoo or what because women have a dazzling array of weaponry in their arsenals to alter the way they look, smell, feel and taste. It's why we are no match for them in the game of attraction…they're way ahead of us. They HAVE the technology. Whatever Cazzie was using, I hoped she had a fifty gallon drum of it at home.

  It was a weekday and by chance, Cazzie was working, so I wondered if anything would tip the guys off about us. Sean led us into Ray's and we looked around the bar for a large enough gap to accommodate our crowd; in keeping with our ritual we did this in a very noisy fashion. When we'd camped ourselves, Cazzie meandered over the center of the storm and took charge of the drink-banter, which is to say, when no one was making sense she said she'd just bring three pitchers of beer while we discussed it. After that first interaction, I was pretty sure no one would catch on about Cazzie and me. It was time to broach the subject of the evening.

  "Guys, Jimmy and I bumped into Ingy a couple of weeks ago." I said.

  Everyone asked about him at the same time and Jimmy ignored it all and simply explained how it had happened and what Ingy had said. Jimmy didn't say anything about taking Ingy back into the band, we both wanted to see what their reaction would be first.

  In most conversations, even when we were hanging out at a bar, Kenny was usually doodling on a napkin and distracted; which is to say, Kenny was rarely direct in expressing what he was feeling. This time however, he was the first to chime in.

  "Lenny's a better guitarist, but I miss Ingy."

  That brought quick agreement from the others.

  "I miss Ingy too." Tommy said quietly. He looked at me and said "Don't take this the wrong way, but when you and Ingy are together you can be really aggravating with that fuckin' joking when no one can tell if your serious…and the practical jokes…you guys still owe me a pair of pants by the way…it was aggravating but it was us. It doesn't feel as much like a family without him for some reason. That's all I have to say."

  Tommy hadn't forgotten about the pants and I had to smile. Ingy and I had once made up a concoction in a little bottle and then used an eye dropper to put a little stain on Tommy's white spandex stage pants; we did it in a way that unless the light hit it just right, you couldn't see anything…but when the light was right it looked like a little pee-stain. We thought it was pretty funny…Tommy not so much.

  Sean said "I agree, I miss him. However, his playing has to be up to it…has to stay up to it, or we're gonna have to do this all over again."

  "I tell ya, what he said to Nick and I and the way he said it, I don't think it's an issue." Jimmy said.

  "Has anyone asked him if he even WANTS to come back?" Kenny asked reasonably.

  "I say we get him here under false pretenses…" I offered "…make up some bullshit story and then put it to him with all of us in one place. If he says yes we can let Lenny know. If he declines we keep it to ourselves."

  Everyone agreed immediately.

  "It's still early, someone go call his house, see if he's home and if so get him to come out for a beer without telling him about all of us being here."

  "Now?" Kenny asked.

  "Why not?" I said "Get this thing settled."

  Sean spoke up "I think if I call him he won't suspect anything. My niece is going to Fordham in the fall and I'll bring that up too."

  An hour later, Ingy entered Ray's and immediately noticed us, his face betrayed a flash of uncertainty. He slowly made his way over to us and with a bit of hesitation, exchanged greetings with everyone. I thought that it would be merciful to distract him a little bit.

  "So…whaddya think?" I asked spreading my arms to the space around me.

  Instead of saying anything, he gave me a condescending smirk and shook his head slightly in disapproval. A bold opening shot.

  "What…." I asked "…no good?"

  "Hey, what I think doesn't matter. As long as you're happy." he said glibly, with the perfect snide tone that implied I was a real jerk-off.

  "Why shouldn't I be happy?" I asked in a menacing voice.

  Tommy interrupted "Christ, you said 'hello' five seconds ago and already you two have to start this shit again?"

  "I didn't start it." Ingy said "Ass-head did." nodding his head toward me in a very dismissive manner.

  "Hey, just who the hell do you think you are anyway?" I wasn't quite yelling, but my voice was raised enough for Ray to notice "You come into MY club, you snotty faced kid, and you're gonna tell ME what's wrong?"

  Ray looks at Sean, who shakes his head with a smile, which tells Ray that Nick and Ingy are just back to being irritations...that it's all a joke.

  "Club?" Ingy laughs "This shit heap couldn't even pass for a Turkish whorehouse!"

  Everyone laughs at that, including me unfortunately.

  "Point Ingy." I say magnanimously.

  Jimmy hands Ingy a beer, and as everyone is enjoying being around him, curiously no one is saying anything. I've never been one to waste an opening.

  "So Ingy?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Ya back in?"

  He looked at me and I could see that our deception DID work, he was truly confused for a moment.

  "What?"

  "You back in or not? Decide."

  He genuinely looked shocked; he opened his mouth and closed it again.

  "Ing?"

  "Ya sure?" he said so softly that I almost didn't hear him.

  "Most definitely."

  He looked up and his face was flushed "Yeah."

  "We got us a GUNSLINGER!" I said and the guys cracked up as everyone hugged Ingy.

  Cazzie was clearing an empty pitcher and Ingy leaned in toward her "Cazzie can ya bring us a round of shots, Sambuca...even one for dickless over there..." he gestured toward me.

  "He's not dickless, I can tell you that." Cazzie said with a sly smile, then smoothly turned and went to get the shots.

  It was more in her body language than what she said; they turned to me and immediately began to give me the business and ask every conceivable inappropriate question.

  Jimmy and I drove over to Lenny's the next day and had the conversation. As gentle as we handled it, Lenny really wasn't that upset. He thanked us and said he'd had a great time and a lot of respect for everyone and that we were still friends. Before we left he mentioned that he had a chance to do some studio work and that it would work out just as well. So our time with Lenny ended with good feelings and well wishes instead of the ugly 'creative differences' fight which urban legend would dictate. The only truly ugly part of the breakup was that I'd lent my Akira Takasaki 'Tusk of Jaguar' album to him, and never got it back…believe me 'Wild Boogie Run' is three minutes of bliss. Oh the emotional rollercoaster that is Rock and Roll.

  I hit the studio early to work on a song idea I had when Ingy comes through the door with his guitar case.

  "You're early."

  "But later than you apparently." Ingy says as he plugs into his amp and tunes up his guitar.

  "You've really been taking this seriously since you came back."

  "True. I didn't know what I had until I lost it." he says.

  "It must have sucked. I didn't mean to hurt you bro. Jimmy didn't either."

  "Naaa I understand man. I do." after a pause Ingy continues "It sucked though. Ya know, all my friends, so not being around you guys it felt like I was in exile…a
nd no amps hammering at my brain…too quiet. Know what I mean?"

  "I'll say yeah, but until something like that happens to someone, I don't think they really understand how it is."

  I continue to play with the hook I've been experimenting with. Ingy joins me with a counter-riff and it sounds good. We play for a minute and clearly it's coming along.

  "We need a break." Ingy says.

  "What'dya think about this?" I play the hook into a slow break.

  "That's good. What about this?" Ingy counters with a variation on the break I'd just played.

  "That's better." I admit.

  We share a look; we on to something, but just then Jimmy, Tommy and Kenny noisily come through the door.

  "To be continued." I say.

  Sean got a call about a cancellation at Legend the following Friday and took the date. It was fitting that the first gig we were playing with Ingy back in the saddle was where we'd started. By then we'd been through a few practices without Tommy singing and could tell Ingy was back in form. In fact, he sounded better than ever. When Stew came back to the dressing room to welcome Ingy back, he found Jimmy and Sean standing outside the door to the dressing room and they appeared to be upset. The two told him that the 'biggest fucking spider I've ever seen' had crawled out of a corner and that they weren't going back in until someone killed it. Stew took the bait and called them pussies and opened the door without concern, to kill the spider. His heart skipped a beat as he was ambushed by me and Ingy with two full cans of Silly String. It was just like old times.

  The place was crackling with its usual energy when the DJ's voice came over the PA system "Ladies and gentlemen…RAW DEAL!" I punched out the opening chords to Led Zeppelin's 'Communication Breakdown', Tommy vocals were right in the zone and someone in the audience threw her panties at Jimmy, which sailed through the air in a high arc and landed on his ride cymbal exactly as the song ended. We played all night with renewed sizzle due to Ingy's return. The second set outshined the first and somehow the lighting and sound were just that much better as well. With one closing song left we got ready to finish the night.

  Tommy shouted his thanks to the crowd and the bartenders, then announced the last song "Here's one of our own; this one's called...Quiet Exile".

  We leapt into our first original song, the one that Ingy and I had started to collaborate on in the practice studio. As we played it, more people are crowded up to the stage and it was easy to see that they liked what they heard. Ingy and I shared a smile as Tommy leaned over the edge of the stage and wove a complex and emotional melody, and when the song ended there was a gratifying response from the crowd; cheers, whistles, fists and devil-horns thrust into the air.

  Later, as we were breaking the equipment down, I emerged from backstage into the barroom in my street clothes and Sean waved me over to a corner near the sound board where he and Stew were standing.

  "Hey Stew." I say.

  "The song you guys closed with, that was an original?"

  "Yeah. Quiet Exile."

  "It was good. Play it again next time, you got a good reaction."

  "OK." I say.

  "OK Good. I gotta go. I gotta comb the rest of this shit out of my beard that you and Ingy sprayed me with." Stew says, poking me in the chest for emphasis he adds "Keep writing."

  Sean and I nod as Stew leaves.

  "Valerie DeSanto is trying to get you to notice her." Sean says, then pointing her out for me "Over there."

  Valerie is the younger sister of Jimmy's girlfriend April DeSanto. She has had the hots for me ever since I joined the band and she's definitely capable of driving me to distraction with her pretty face, big chest and curvy shape. The fly in the ointment is that she's young, just about to turn seventeen. She is standing at the bar with the rest of the band and their friends and is 'dressed to feature'…and she has a lot to feature.

  "Jesus Christ, it's like two little pigs wrestling under her T-shirt." I say in distress.

  "Forget it man, she's jailbait." Sean warns me.

  I take a step into Sean and begin to hump his leg "But she makes me so tingly down in my secret place."

  He laughs and pushes me away "Joke all you want dude, but no leg-humping."

  "That Jimmy's a rat bastard." I say with resentment

  "Jimmy?"

  "She's Jimmy's girlfriend's sister! He probably encouraged her to come just to watch me squirm...she has stamina too, you can tell. Look at her. Yeah, she does." I say, beginning to drool.

  "Absolutely zero doubt." Sean says "She'd hang right in there. Definitely not a quitter."

  I sigh in defeat "Well, let's go be social."

  We walk over to the bar and join the group and in less than two minutes, Valerie finds a reason to put her arm around me and then slides her hand into my back pocket. I'm trying to not get excited…to prevent the appearance of Mr. Chub, but her body warmth is making that difficult. I must look like I'm trying to balance a bowling ball on top of a toothpick…that kind of 'focused but helpless' look.

  BJ'S ROCK ON! is a small club in a small town about fifty miles north of NYC, yet tonight it's crowded with people. We're sweating under the lights as we reach the last break in the first set and the audience reaction sounds just like someone sunk a putt on the ninth green...just a tiny smattering of clapping. Tommy and I approach the drum riser and talk in hushed tones so as not to be overheard.

  "These people are legally dead." Tommy says.

  "I think we're gonna get lynched." I say.

  "Jimmy, it's your fault." Tommy says stabbing his finger at Jim.

  "It's not my turn tonight. It's Ingy's fault." Jim says.

  Ingy walks the few steps to the impromptu conference and Tommy greets him with "It's your fault Ing."

  Ingy looks at Jimmy immediately "Not your turn again?"

  I say "Well, let's finish the set." and the conference breaks up.

  Tommy unenthusiastically says to the crowd "We're gonna play one more and then take a short break...so stick around, have a drink and remember to tip your bartenders. Here's one by Def Leppard...so Let It Go!"

  The previously hostile and silent crowd erupts as the first chords begin the song. We all looked completely and totally in shock except for Tommy, he latches onto the change in mood and drives the crowd as if they'd been shouting all night. We finish the song and the set and retire to the tiny dressing room.

  Ingy is the first to speak "What the shit was that?" he asks rhetorically.

  Kenny imitates Rod Serling "You've entered another dimension, you're next stop...Def Leppard-ville."

  "That was fucking insane." Jimmy says as he towels off.

  "Hey at least we cracked em." Tommy is smiling.

  I'm not happy, I say to Tommy "Genius…we don't have a whole set of Def Leppard. Ingy how many Leppard songs do we have?"

  "Mmmmm Six if you include the instrumental."

  "Yeah well I can't believe I'm saying this but we'll lead off with 'Switch 625' then Tommy can come in at the beginning of 'Bringin' on the Heartbreak'.

  Sean has begun to write a playlist on a white card with a marker.

  Kenny has an idea "We should learn two sets of Leppard and come back here."

  "Yeah Kenny, we'll do that. Not." I say "They probably shot the movie 'Deliverance' in this town…these hicks were gonna Ned-Beatty up the ass. I'm not unclenching ma butt cheeks till we cross the friggin county line."

  Sean angles the card at me, it's sparse.

  "Shit. Add 'Let It Go' in the middle."

  "Play it again? Seriously?"

  "Got a better idea?"

  Sean begins to add the song to the list. The club manager, a pudgy guy in his late 30's, knocks on the door, opens it and sticks his head in.

  "You boys should play some more Def Leppard."

  We all start speaking at the same time, telling this yahoo that we're aware.

  As the club manager withdraws and closes the door I can't help yelling "Yeah, THANKS FOR TELLING US AHEAD OF
TIME! SERIOUSLY THANK YOU! Friggin master of the obvious."

  Track 11

  Battle of the Bands

  Do an inventory if you're a bar-band and what you find are large crowds seeking emotional release packed into a confined space, hot blinding lights pulsating in aggressive rhythms, and fast throbbing music played at ear-splitting levels and crafted to provoke animalistic responses. I guess someone decided that wasn't enough, so they added ALCOHOL to the mix. When you spend a lot of time among these elements you will see some bizarre and funny stuff and will occasionally be swept up in the current and taken for a ride.

  Here's something we've all heard of…a 'Battle of the Bands!' What could be more wholesome and fun? Let's take all of the ingredients we've mentioned and then season the soup with some competition. Ya taste the difference? It ups the ante doesn't it? Now we're cookin' with gas my friend and the evening goes from a pot of aggressive musical soup to a big steaming pile of fun. Sadly we didn't win the Battle of the Bands…and happily we didn't lose it either. Here's how it happened.

  We were invited to participate with four other bands in the battle at a club in Queens called Jake's Edge…before you ask, no, I have no idea who 'Jake' is, I met the owner, he was a 'Ted'. We show up and the place is small, as in really pretty small, especially for a Battle of the Bands. The first thing everyone realized was that there was no way that everyone's equipment was going to fit on the stage, and no way there was enough room in the club to get stuff on and off between acts quickly. The only thing to do was to agree on a set of amplifiers and drums that all the bands would use, so that the only thing carried on and off were people and guitars. The drummers went off together and in five minutes agreed on the kit they'd all play. The guitar players argued more than the drummers but eventually agreed on one Marshall stack and one HIWATT stack (mine) for the guitar players, and a Fender bass guitar amp for the bass players. The roadies assembled everything, the light and sound guys did their thing, and the owner was especially helpful standing at the door and making sure everyone paid before they changed into a two dimensional creature to squeeze into the place. Gratefully there was no argument among the bands about the dressing room space…there was no dressing room, so that was one thing that worked out well.