Nine Hundred Nights Page 6

  Ingy observes fatally "We're not gonna get it."

  Stew shakes his head, says a few words, the two shake hands and Stew walks away.

  Nick returns to Ingy and Jim looking somber, he takes a long pull on his beer and glumly orders three shots of vodka from the bartender.

  "We saw. No dice?...He didn't even want to listen to the tape?" Jimmy asks.

  "No Jim, he didn't want to listen to the tape." Nick says exasperated.

  "You did good man, don't be upset, there's a lot of other clubs." Ingy says in an encouraging tone.

  The bartender finishes pouring the shots. Nick slowly picks up a shot, he exhales deeply, his depression obvious while Ingy and Jimmy lift theirs.

  Ingy raises his glass a bit more "We'll get 'em next time." and prepares to down the shot.

  Nick grabs Ingy's hand "We have to be here and set up for a ten thirty set opening for Wild Prophet this Saturday. To our first gig!" he downs the shot and cackles loudly at his deception.

  Ingy screws his eyebrows down and wears a strange annoyed smile, disturbed at Nick's cruel deception "There's something wrong with you. Seriously. And you're not even aware of it, which is part of the problem."

  Jimmy suggests more boisterously "Let's take him outside and beat the shit out of him." and lands a hard punch on Nick's arm. "What was that whole thing with the tape then?"

  "He'd already agreed. So I told him I was glad that I didn't have to play him our shitty tape that we made with a boom box."

  Ingy and Jim wrestle playfully with Nick; Ingy grabs Nick in a headlock while Jim tries to get his arms behind his back.

  Several days later Nick's car arrives at Ingy's house in the early evening. Ingy's family is the typical close-knit Irish American household. His father is an engineer and likes the fact that Nick works for a major computer company and thinks it's only a matter of time before that rubs off on his son, so he'd give up all this long hair guitar nonsense. It has never occurred to him that Nick is in the band too; the mind can ignore almost anything to get what it wants.

  Nick kills the engine and the associated loud rumblings of RIOT, scouts a path around a bicycle lying on its side and then a jump rope closer to the house, arrives at the front door and rings the bell. After a few seconds the door opens revealing Ingy's younger sister Lizzy; she's eight years old and nearly a double for 'Scout Finch' from the movie 'To Kill A Mockingbird.' "

  "Hi Nick!" Lizzy says in an excited tone.

  "Hey THIN-LIZZY! What's shakin'?" Nick replies, as he picks her up, delivers a kiss on the cheek and returns her to the ground.

  "Mark's helping my dad."

  Nick steps into the living room while Lizzy closes the front door and sprints off down the hallway and back to her bedroom. Ingy's father is standing high on a ladder in the middle of the room, he's in his sixties has grey hair and is still in his work clothes; dress shirt and slacks, black socks and loafers. Ingy is standing on the floor beside him with an open toolbox at his feet. A ceiling fan is perched upon the top of the ladder and the two are talking when they look up and notice him.

  "Nick! How are ya Laddie?"

  "I'm fine Mr. E. Putting in one of those ceiling fans huh?"

  "Save a few pennies. They won't run the air conditioning so much in the summer."

  "Cool."

  "That's the idea!"

  While Mr. England concentrates on mending a wire, Nick smiles at his joke.

  "So how's work Lad?"

  "Good. Just pluggin' away, best I can."

  "That's a good attitude, consistency, Meech has that attitude. Did you ever meet Mark's friend Meech?"

  "Doesn't ring a bell." Nick says looking at Ingy, who is rolling his eyes.

  "He's at M.I.T. I'm sure you guys would hit it off."

  Ingy interjects "Dad, I gotta' get to practice."

  "Yeah yeah, hold your horses Ringo, we're almost done here. Gimme the screwdriver."

  Ingy hands him a screwdriver.

  "What am I gonna' do with this? Gimme the Phillips head." Mr. England says with the beginnings of annoyance.

  Ingy returns the slotted tip screwdriver and retrieves the Phillips head, handing it to his father "You didn't say what type."

  "Never mind, pay attention. Hold this steady for me a minute."

  Ingy holds the fixture as his father does something to it then steps up one more step on the ladder. He's near the top now and concentrates on not falling as he carefully takes the fan from Ingy, and balancing it in one hand. He reaches down with the other and realizes that he doesn't have the tool he was reaching for.

  "Hand me the thing."

  Ingy looks into the tool box and then back to his father in confusion "The pliers?"

  "Not the pliers! The thing!" he says irritably as he works to keep the fan and himself from falling off the ladder. He quickly gestures with his chin.

  "What thing? The cutters?" Ingy guesses.

  Ingy looks at Nick, searching for help and not knowing what his father wants in spite of the man's growing irritation, but it doesn't take much to set the man off.

  "No not the cutters! The thing. THE THING! THE THING! JESUS CHRIST, IF I HAVE TO COME DOWN THERE, YOU'RE GONNA' BE WEARING YOUR ASS FOR A HAT!" and Ingy receives a rap on the head from the heavy college ring on his father's free hand.

  "Ow! Fuck!"

  "Watch your mouth, lad."

  Exasperated, Mr. England carefully rests the fan on the top of the ladder and descends as he speaks "Alright ya know what? Go. Go bang your bongos and lemme do this myself for chrissakes. Go!" He exits the living room toward the kitchen.

  "Calm down, Jesus." Ingy says plaintively, squinting his frustration at Nick. He holds up a finger to Nick "Gimme a minute."

  "No problem."

  Ingy walks down the hallway and disappears into his bedroom, emerging a few seconds later in his leather motorcycle jacket and carrying his guitar case. As he passes Lizzy's room she calls out to him and he leaves his guitar in the hallway and enters her room.

  Lizzy is sitting on her bed and writing in a notebook "Are you coming to my dance recital tomorrow?"

  "Of course I'm coming."

  "Can I borrow one of your tapes?"

  "Since you asked first this time, yes, but don't tell dad."

  Ingy reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cassette that has a white label which reads in black magic marker "JOHN LEE HOOKER: BOOM BOOM & MORE..." and gives it to Lizzy. "There's more out there than Irish folk music Lizzy." Ingy gives Lizzy a peck on her head and leaves her room.

  Retrieving his guitar, Mark walks to the front door, opens it and he and Nick step out; he turns back with a raised voice "I'LL BE BACK LATER."

  From somewhere inside the house his father's voice calls back "NOT TOO LATE."

  "I WON'T."

  As the two avoid the jump rope, then the bicycle, and head for the curb, Nick asks "Who the hell is Meech?"

  "Neighbor down the street, Brian Meech. I used to hang out with him when I was like eleven." Ingy says unhappily.

  Nick responds earnestly "Ya know something Ing? I really think that Meech and I have the kind of attitude that your dad's looking for."

  "Yeah? Well I'll give you his phone number and maybe you two can blow each other."

  As they near the car Nick replies "I'm gonna tell your father you said that."

  "You're not gonna tell anybody anything. Shaddap and drive."

  They both laugh as they drive off.

  Ingy and Nick arrive at the practice studio and find Jimmy, Kenny, Tommy, Sean in addition to three unfamiliar faces, in loud conversation at the table.

  Sean says to the new arrivals "Guys this is Scott our soundman, Bobby who'll do our lighting. Nick you don't know Bill Kardos, a friend of ours, but he's gonna' help out and roadie."

  "I prefer to be referred to as a Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll technician." Says Bill as everyone shakes hands.

  "Scott, did ya take a look at our stuff...any problems?" Nick asks."
<
br />   "Nothing's ever a problem, your stuff is pretty standard."

  "Any problem making us sound like Rush or Judas Priest?"

  "I'll run a helium hose up to Tommy's mic for those really high notes." Scott says to everyone's approval and laughter. "You're going to have to get used to using monitors to hear yourselves; we'll have to keep the stage volume low to make it sound right. We'll have 3 monitors down front, and one next to Jimmy's floor tom."

  "Cool." Jimmy says.

  "I'll need your song list...tonight if you can, so I can work out the lights." Bobby says.

  "No problem." Sean assures him.

  "So...what are you guys called?" Scott asks reasonably.

  "We're almost there...but not quite." Nick replies.

  Scott says with a grin "Cutting it a little close don't ya think?"

  "Don't worry, we'll have it before the gig." Nick says.

  "I guess that's it then. Buy you guys a beer downstairs?" Sean motions toward the door.

  "Yeah. Studio right upstairs from a strip club. That's convenient." Bobby says.

  Scott turns back and waves "Alright you guys, we'll see you Saturday night at Legend at seven thirty."

  The band says their goodbyes to Sean, Scott and Bobby, as the three leave the studio.

  Nick retrieves an acoustic guitar from a case in the corner and sits on one of the folding chairs "I wrote an original, it means a lot to me and I want you guys to hear it."

  Before Nick can pluck a note, Jimmy says "Dude, we haven't played our first gig yet. You're writing originals?"

  "Don't tread on my creativity Jim!" Nick says in defiance.

  "Seriously..." Jim continues his objection.

  Tommy interrupts "Let him play the song Jim."

  "Thanks Tommy, I'd like to play my song...if that's OK with JIMMY KHRUSHCHEV over there!" Nick begins to finger pick a beautiful ballad, and just before the lyrics would come in he says tenderly "This one's called...Sellin' Aunt Helen."

  Jimmy lunges at Nick and grabs him in a headlock as Ingy takes the guitar from Nick's hands.

  As he wrestles Nick to the ground, Jimmy threatens "You better shut your trap about my Aunt Helen."

  Nick is laughing uncontrollably and has no strength to resist "But she has such sweet melons!"

  "Keep it up." Jimmy bears down harder.

  On Saturday evening Tommy pulls his white van up to the curb in front of Jimmy's house; Ingy is in the passenger seat and Kenny is seated on the floor of the van, leaning against the band's equipment.

  Kenny says "I'm catchin' a buzz offa' the paint fumes back here."

  Tommy honks the horn again "What the fuck could he be doing? Go knock on the door again."

  "I did that twice already. He knows we're out here." Ingy replies.

  "Jimmy'll be late to his own funeral. You could have like, a meeting of the Late People's Club, and Jim would be the last guy to show up." Tommy says in frustration "Fuck it. I'm gonna leave him."

  "The beat's gonna be a little weak without a drummer." Ingy sighs. He gets out, runs up the walkway and rings the doorbell again. Finally, Jimmy emerges and follows him to the van, he reaches for the front passenger door and Ingy taps Jim on the shoulder.

  "You dropped something."

  "Where?" Jimmy says looking down.

  "Right behind you in the grass."

  As Jimmy walks over and looks, Ingy gets in the front seat, closes the front door and locks it. Jimmy hears the door close and realizes Ingy's ploy.

  "You make us late and you want the front seat. You're riding bitch." Ingy indicates the back of the van with his thumb.

  "Blow me." Jim says annoyed.

  "I left my tweezers at home."

  The van leaves the curb, travels twenty feet and comes to a screeching halt. The side door opens and Jim springs out and runs into his house. A few seconds later he comes charging out with an equipment bag, he jumps back in the van, closes the door and it takes off again.

  The van tears away from the house and down the street, making a screeching right turn around the corner and out of sight; with the racket of the van and the boys gone, the street in front of Jim's house is quiet and peaceful, the serenity broken only by a lone cricket camping somewhere on the front lawn. The humidity in the air hangs like a blanket to suppress the sound from the traffic from the surrounding blocks.

  A barely perceptible hint of undifferentiated noise begins to grow rapidly in intensity until the peace is fairly shattered and gone; Tommy's van reappears, barreling to a screeching halt in front of the house. Jimmy jumps out, scrambles into his house, and fifteen seconds later returns with the stool for his drum set. The van takes off again.

  7:20 PM: Sean and Bill are sitting on the trunk of Sean's car in the empty parking lot of Legend; Nick's car pulls into the spot next to theirs.

  7:30 PM: Sean, Bill and Nick make small talk as they unload equipment and carry it into the club.

  7:50 PM: Sean, Bill and Nick lean against Nick's car still making small talk, but watching every vehicle that drives by.

  8:00 PM: "It's got to be Jimmy." Sean says.

  Nick replies "If Jimmy had been in charge of D Day...they'd be just about set to go. Maybe." He picks up a small stone at his feet and skins it across the asphalt "He's a great drummer, so how is it that a guy with great timing has no concept of time?" He looks at Sean and Bill "That's it, his new name is 'Jimmy Late'."

  Finally at 8:15 PM Tommy's van speeds into the parking lot and lurches to a halt a short distance from the waiting group. The sliding door to the van flies open and Jimmy springs out.

  "Don't start. There's no time." Jimmy says to Nick.

  Nick's staring instantly makes Jimmy uncomfortable.

  "Don't start man, we're in a rush."

  Nick says nothing, but continues to stare blankly at Jim.

  "Fuck this. Let's go." Jimmy storms off.

  After he's inside the club, Nick smiles.

  There are only a few people in the club this early, only four of them are customers, the others are employees. In twenty minutes the equipment is completely assembled and ready on the stage, the house lights are up and the band members, in their street clothes, are ready for the final sound check as Bobby-the-light-guy plays with the different colored PAR lights overhead.

  Scott, through the PA system, says "OK. Give me sixty seconds or so."

  The band plays one minute of a heavy metal version of the theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore show and the bar tenders laugh at the unusual choice of sound check.

  Scott through the PA system again "That was different. OK, you're done. The mic goes hot at ten thirty sharp."

  The band exits the stage through a doorway next to the drum riser. They gather in the small backstage ready room that also has a door that leads to a hallway that joins the main barroom.

  Kenny says "Let's go get some food."

  "No." Sean cuts him down immediately.

  Jimmy joins Kenny in his cause "Dude, I need food."

  "You're gonna get food. I'll go get it and bring it back here because you guys are not going farther than the parking lot. I'm not going through that twice in one evening; I have no nails left to chew on. What does everyone want?"

  The members all talk at once, seemingly undecided.

  Finally Nick says "You can decide Sean. Everyone OK with that?" and there are there are murmurs of agreement.

  Kenny says as an after thought "But...no 'Shacks'."

  Sean is puzzled "Hmm?"

  "No places that have 'Shack' in the name. No Pizza Shack, Sandwich Shack, Falaffel Shack..."

  "I get the idea Kenny."

  Ingy adds "And no 'Huts', no 'Villes', and no 'Towns'…"

  Kenny goes further "No 'Stops' and no 'Marts.' "

  Sean looks as though he's paying no attention to this nitpicking, but he surprises everyone "So no 'Shacks' no 'Huts' no 'Villes' no 'Towns' no 'Stops' and no 'Marts'?

  "Wow. Correct." Says Ingy, impressed.

  "What
about 'Citys'?" Sean asks.

  "Judgment call...up to you." Ingy says.

  "I shall return." Sean says and bolts out of the room.

  Kenny rubs his face and says "I gotta smoke a bone."

  "It's our first gig, we gotta be on top of it man."

  "My freakin' nerves Jim."

  "Mine too."

  Ingy offers "Let's grab a couple beers before we go on."

  Kenny peers out a crack in the door to the stage "It doesn't look like a great turnout tonight anyway."

  Nick says "It's early yet."

  Kenny says "Some Saturdays are slower than others; I have a sense about these things."

  The band leaves the ready room through the barroom door.

  At ten thirty the band stands ready on a darkened stage. The club is absolutely packed and the crowd is rowdy and loud. As the DJ begins to introduce the band there is a lull in noise from the crowd which adds to the tension the boys are already feeling.

  "Please welcome for their first appearance at Legend...RAW DEAL!"

  The drums begin to pound out the beginning of Iron Maiden's 'The Prisoner'.

  * * * * *

  I have to confess, that's just about all I remember…the introduction, Jimmy hammering out the beginning to 'The Prisoner' and then leaving the stage after the set was done.

  If you feel cheated reading this non-description of our first gig…well…imagine how I feel. After all that preparation it went by as if I were in a trance; I think it was that way to some extent for the guys too, worried as we were that we'd screw up the first time out in front of a crowd. The stage experience was completely new to all of us and like anything else in life it takes time to really be aware of what's going on around you.

  As we came off the stage and headed into the back room Sean handed me a towel.

  I buried my face into it "Now I know why Liza Minnelli is so fucked up…" I wiped my sweating face "…it really takes it out of ya."

  "Liza Minnelli?" Sean asked, looking at me strangely.