Nine Hundred Nights Read online

"Stain" I said again but then I couldn't hold it in and laughed.

  "SHUT - UP!" Tommy said pleadingly.

  With that, Sam 'got it' and forced a polite smile; she looked at Ingy and I as if we were a two-headed badger "You two are..."

  "Demented. That's the word you're looking for." Tommy interjected.

  Ingy's brother Colm came out into the backyard looking very 'graduated' in his nice clothes and we all congratulated him. In addition to the back yard we were in, Ingy's house also has a fair sized side-yard with a circular above ground pool.

  Kenny kept staring at the pool "Ing?"

  "Yeah."

  "You know your brother has to take a swim, right?"

  "He's not stupid, he's gonna stay as far away as he can. I'm tellin' ya he'll be lookin' for it."

  "That'll be his first reaction yeah…"

  I said "Jesus Kenny, you ARE Sollozzo in The Godfather."

  "…but you know he's going in, right?" Kenny finished.

  "It is inevitable." Ingy said articulately, then he looked at me and said "They did it to me…so it's only fair. But he IS gonna be looking for it."

  Kenny said to me "Nick. You're the only one who can get close enough. He won't suspect you; you're too new to know about it."

  "I think you missed your calling Kenny, you should have been in the mob." I said "I understand. I have the contract."

  Kenny smiled and imitated an old mafia boss, holding up his hands he said in a gravelly voice "Remove this stone from my shoe..."

  I spotted Colm talking to an older woman; she must have been an aunt or something. I walked over and grabbed him from behind by his collar and pants, picked him up over my head (he's as thin as Ingy), calmly carried him to the pool and threw him in.

  I expected cheering, excitement and shrieks from his parents, but I noticed it was kind of quiet…there was a definite lull in the conversation. I returned to the guys.

  Jimmy said "Dude!"

  Ingy added "We didn't mean right now! We meant late tonight when people are leaving."

  I sighed with indifference "THAT...would have been good information to have thirty seconds ago. Ah well, the kid needed a bath."

  Colm climbed out of the pool, soaking wet and was heading in my direction. I resigned to take whatever I had coming. Ingy assumed I was the target of Colm's revenge, but his wide grin turned into a look of horror as Colm ran past me and grabbed him in a head lock; Colm had correctly surmised that I'd been put up to it. As thin as Ingy is, he does outweigh his little brother by a few pounds, so it became clear that Colm was not going to be victorious in the confrontation. Not alone that is. I looked at Kenny who then looked at Jimmy. The three of us, along with Colm, picked up Ingy and gave him the deep six. This time everyone clapped.

  After dinner, Ingy's mom Elizabeth came out of the house with Ingy's six-string Ovation and twelve-string Guild acoustic guitars. It was clear that with two acoustic guitars and a singer we weren't going to do 'Fast as a Shark' by Accept or 'Iron Fist' by Motörhead, and honestly, I don't think Ingy's parents or their siblings would have gotten their 'freak' on to them either. What we needed were crowd pleasers, top 40, ya know...nothing too ballsy. We came up with 'Night Moves' by Bob Segar, 'Thank You' by Led Zeppelin, 'Old Man' by Neil Young and at Ingy's mom's insistence we were strong-armed into finishing with 'American Pie' by Don McLean as a sing-along...and by the middle of the song, every damn person there was singing at the top of their lungs.

  At one in the morning, the band along with Sean, Sam and Dave wound up naked in the swimming pool in the darkened side yard. Hope had left earlier with Faith, leaving one of us to drive Tommy home later. There was a quarter-keg of beer left that Sean and I had placed on a picnic table next to the pool so we could pump and refill without climbing out of the warm water. We all staked out a comfortable place against the circular wall of the pool, with the exception of Sam who sat in front of Sean. He could have had his gnome in her hovel, but if I had to bet, I'd say no. We talked quietly, careful not to wake Ingy's parents whose bedroom window was no more than a dozen feet from the pool. The conversation eventually came around to the subject of the band. Something had been brewing in my mind and I wanted to throw it out there.

  "I think we should write more original stuff."

  "I was thinking the same thing." Jimmy said.

  "People really like the one you and Ingy wrote." Kenny said "Write another one."

  "We should all write." I said.

  Kenny took a sip of his beer "I can't write songs. I can make up the bass parts, but beyond that, I just can't."

  "How do you know unless you try?"

  "I've tried, believe me, it doesn't feel natural to me." he said "Drawing and painting...and ya know, the bass, those are my things."

  "I'm comfortable creating the melody and the words when I can, but I'm with Kenny on the chords and stuff." Tommy said.

  "Jim?" I asked.

  "I have some ideas, maybe you and Ingy and I can work some things out."

  "How about we try to incorporate three more originals into our set?" I asked.

  "How long ya think that'd take us?" Jimmy asked.

  "Ingy and I have the beginnings of three now, tell me when and we'll meet at the studio and work out the main parts and bring Kenny and Tommy in to finish 'em off."

  "Monday night, meet you guys at seven at the studio?" Jimmy said.

  I looked at Ingy.

  "Done." Ingy said, then he took a sip of his beer and said with a barely concealed grin "By the way, you guys each owe me ten bucks for the food you ate. Cough it up."

  "I'll write you a check." I said "Is Dickwad one word, or two?"

  Track 14

  The Ecstasy and the Agony

  Two weeks after the conversation in the pool, Jimmy, Ingy and I had three new original songs ready for Kenny and Tommy to do their thing, they were: 'Rampage Sonata', 'Sister Diesel' and 'Fast n Hard'. The thing that struck me most about this time is how easy it was to work out different parts and pieces when Ingy, Jim and I worked together. When we were stuck, one of the three of us would soon come up with something that worked; the chemistry of the trio was right.

  First we called Kenny in to create the bass parts and it made a big difference in the power of the songs, we cut back some guitar parts when we heard what he came up with. It was interesting to watch the way Kenny came to his bass lines, he'd start out with something predictable and then at just the right places he'd simplify his part. He knew how to augment the intention of the passage and it always sounded more like it was supposed to sound when he was done. The man definitely had the soul of an artist.

  Tommy was the last to come in and we already had themes and titles for each of the songs. We played each several times while he sat with his feet up and listened and scribbled in a big notebook. When he finally stood up he had draft lyrics and melodies. The next time we got together he had finalized lyrics, phrasing and melodies for all three. It was a big job and it was clear Tommy didn't fool around; the stuff he came up with was really good and well thought out.

  On Tuesday night in the first week of August we played the three songs for Sean and Dave. When we finished there was a long silence; the two of them sat there looking at us with no expression that I could read.

  Finally I had to break the stalemate "You guys fall asleep?"

  "Well." Sean said.

  "Hey, they're a work in progress, if you don't like 'em say so." I said in a lighthearted tone.

  "I don't know about Dave, but I'm kinda shocked." Sean said.

  "Shocked? OK. Shocked bad or shocked good?" I asked.

  "Shocked great. I can't believe you guys wrote those songs."

  "They're un-freakin-believable. Really great." Dave said.

  Later in the evening Kenny went down to Ray's to grab some matches and after twenty minutes he still hadn't returned. I went to look for him in Ray's but there was no sign of him. I was about to turn and head back upstairs when I saw him come out onto the si
dewalk from an alley a few storefronts down from Ray's; he was carrying a large panel of some kind. He saw me and waved. I ran over to him and looked up the alley to see that he was removing them from a large dumpster behind a storefront that had been closed up from the first time I'd seen it. The 'panels' turned out to be artists canvas stretched over wooden frames, they were about six feet tall by four wide and each was painted a different solid color. I followed Kenny up the alley and helped him remove the last canvas from the dumpster.

  "Kenny what are we doing?"

  "I was smokin' a bone and saw these."

  "Yeah but why do you want 'em."

  "Dude, these are cool."

  "What are you going to do with them?" I asked.

  "Put 'em in the studio."

  "Where?" I asked.

  "These would look awesome on the walls!"

  He seemed so excited I thought it best to let him do his thing without interference from me; besides, a busy Kenny is a less dangerous Kenny.

  We carried the stack of canvases up to the studio and set them just inside of the door. No one even asked Kenny what they were for, instead the comments I heard were all variations on the theme 'Kenny is collecting junk again.'

  We had a practice scheduled for Thursday that for no reason, other than we were all feeling lazy, got put off until Friday. When Friday came it turned out to be a record-setting hot and muggy August night. I thought I was being clever stopping in at Ray's to buy some beer and soda for the practice but when I entered, I was the last to arrive. Everyone was at the bar having a drink already.

  "I've been waiting for you bastards upstairs for an hour!" I said, thinking 'why not break balls when the opportunity presents itself.'

  "Nice try." Sean said and they went right back into their conversation, which had to do with a hypothetical. As far as I could tell, the question on the table was 'How would human mating rituals change if MEN had the breasts to feed the young, instead of women.' I think that if you find that question intriguing it might be time for you to check into a clinic of some kind.

  It seemed that Kenny and Ingy felt that it would result in men being pursued by women more often, though they didn't attempt to quantify it. Sean and Tommy were of the opinion that it wouldn't change anything, men would still pursue and women would remain generally more passive. Jimmy was solidly in my camp; the camp of WHO THE HELL CARES?

  After I'd had my fill of the absurd, I felt compelled to get everyone off their asses and into the studio. Naturally everyone but Jimmy resented my leadership…it's a lonely job.

  We climbed the stairs, unlocked the door…something smelled different. A sharp smell. Sean flipped on the lights and we all moved into the studio quickly, sensing that something had changed. What I saw astounded me. There were huge paintings hanging on the walls around the studio. The one that stood out the most was mounted behind Jimmy's drum kit, a large painting of our band logo with a surreal Carlotta lying across the top of the letters that spelled out 'RAW DEAL'. Carlotta was so ripe, so dripping with sexuality that even though it was a painting, it was more erotic that a picture. The logo and Carlotta were of titanic proportions in the painting, surrounding the logo was a metropolis whose tallest skyscrapers were dwarfed by our band name. The detail of the metropolis was incredible and the sky was a red-shading-to-purple sunset. We stood there looking at it with our pie holes open, and it took quite a while to absorb it all.

  "What the hell." I said "This is unbelievable."

  Kenny said "I told ya those canvases were cool."

  "Kenny you did all this?" Jimmy said in awe.

  "All day yesterday and the day before…and last night, I didn't get out of here until noon today." Kenny said without a trace of ego.

  "Dude, this is…it's unreal." Jimmy said. "I can't believe it!

  "I gave 'em two coats of primer and they were good to go." Kenny said "It was easy since they were all painted a solid color."

  For the first time, I notice the other paintings he'd done. Around the studio, mounted to the walls, were full body portraits of each band member playing on a stage. Each portrait done in a different color palette. The faces looked like us, but more than that, they showed real emotion. I was simply amazed that Kenny was this talented.

  The portrait of Tommy was done in greys, black and white. It showed him, head back and bare-chested, singing some hard to hit note, his face showing maximum exertion. Jimmy's showed him looking up and suspended several feet above his head a drumstick in mid-toss, done in greens. The portrait of Ingy was done in reds and showed him with legs spread impossibly wide doing a windmill strum, his face showing total emotional release. Kenny's self-portrait was spot on, a wide stance, cigarette dangling from his lips and eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses, done in purples. My portrait, to be honest…it was a thing of beauty and really looked far better than I do in real life. It was done in a full range of blues; he had me playing my blue sunburst explorer-shaped guitar and the headstock of my guitar looks like it's coming out of the picture. If you follow the strings up the neck, deeper into the picture, you see my face with an enigmatic smile, looking right at you. It was a real masterpiece, and I immediately felt that I didn't deserve such a fine portrait. As I stood there, I was literally speechless.

  When I found the words, they disappointed me even as I said them "Kenny, you're…a great artist. This is what you were meant to do. I can't believe my eyes."

  "Thanks man." was all he said.

  Everyone stood around looking at the art for a full half hour, and even then we reluctantly strapped-in to practice. We didn't sound that good, everyone was distracted and still a bit in awe. Except Kenny who truly didn't see what the big deal was, his excitement was all about having found the canvases in the garbage."

  Ingy and I gave Kenny a ride home; he'd been at the studio for nearly three days and as usual, hadn't taken the trouble to call his parents and let them know he was still alive. Kenny's father is sitting on the front steps as we pull up. Kenny's parents had him very late in life and they were now in their early sixties. His father has grey hair is about five foot nine and doesn't strike me as the physical type. Kenny gets out of the car and his father gets up and walks to him to have a word. The windows are up so Ingy and I can't hear what they're saying but it turned ugly in less than a minute. Kenny yells "FUCK YOU!" about an inch from his father's face, and his dad, I think just as a reflex, lightly put his hands on Kenny's arms; it looked to me like he didn't want Kenny to take a swing at him. When he touched him though, Kenny went off with a new string of swearing, followed by his father returning with his own salvo. Kenny stormed off into the house and Ingy and I took it as our queue to drive off.

  The next day, Saturday, we had a gig at a place in Long Island City called 'The Corner'. I fell asleep in the afternoon watching a 'Hogan's Heros' marathon on TV. Everyone was out of the house and I was awakened by the phone ringing...I was just too comfortable. I let it ring. It rang. And rang. And rang. I was beaten, I got up and answered it.

  "You have ten seconds." I said, groggy and a bit resentful.

  "Meet me at my house right away!"

  It was Ingy. Something was up.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's Kenny. Get over here as fast as you can."

  "On my way."

  He sounded very serious, I grabbed my keys, tore out of the driveway and was at Ingy's in nineteen minutes...it's normally a thirty minute drive. That I didn't get a ticket or kill myself on the road was a stone cold miracle.

  The garage door was open and Ingy was sitting on a folding chair waiting for me.

  "OK. What's up?" I asked.

  "Kenny flipped out."

  "Whaddya' mean 'flipped out'?" I asked.

  "He tore up his room in the basement of his parents house, threw a chair through his window, kicked out that big sliding glass door to the yard...he shoved his old man so hard he fell and hit his head. His old man's OK but he called the cops."

  "Holy shit." was all
I could conjure up.

  "The cops took him, he's in Bergen Pines."

  "Bergen Pines? What's that, what's Bergen Pines…jail?"

  "It's like a mental health place. They took him for observation."

  I remembered the ugly scene outside of Kenny's house the night before, as well as the astounding artwork he'd created in the days beforehand. This was becoming a pretty emotional thing for me and I wanted to help somehow, to solve the problem...whatever the 'problem' was.

  "Ing, you know Kenny a lot longer than me, what's the deal here? Is it really something with his dad, or is it just Kenny?"

  "I don't know man, I really don't. His parents ya know, their not bad people or anything, but I think they've kinda had their fill and maybe resent him."

  "Was Kenny ever into PCP or acid or ya know, something like that?" I asked, looking for some explanation.

  "Yeah, he has smoked Angel Dust and he'd dropped acid too, but he doesn't now and he didn't do it a lot when he did. These days he's all about the band and his artwork. And smoking weed."

  "This is bad man. This feels bad. We gotta do something." I said, speaking more to myself than to Ingy.

  After a silence, Ingy says "This has been Kenny as long as I know him, and I've known him a long time. I don't think it's Angel Dust. He's a little crazy man, you KNOW that. There've been other times before you knew him when he's freaked out." Ingy took a breath and was looking me in the eyes "Nick man, I don't think you're gonna fix Kenny. If I were you, I wouldn't try it. Understand what I'm sayin'?"

  From anyone else I'd take this one way, but Ingy saying this to me prompts a different...a deeper examination. This is Ingy's way of telling me that he's one hundred and fifty percent sure that if I try to get involved, I'll end up failing and I'll regret it. Ingy's a smart guy and as much as he jokes around, he's not loose with his opinions...meaning he doesn't give advice unless he's asked. So for him to state it this way, it's as if he's pointing a flare gun at me and asking...'See it yet? Or ya need me to pull the trigger so you can see it better?' I saw it.