Nine Hundred Nights Read online

  "You still don't get my humor." I scolded him.

  "That's 'cause there's nothing to get."

  "That's what your girlfriend said." I shot back.

  "No, what my girlfriend said was 'Owwww it's too big.'"

  "No, that's what your mother said last time she made a midnight visit to your room in her sexy housecoat."

  That prompted a reaction all right…there were murmurs of disgust…"That's just wrong." and "Whoa, too far." an so forth. I heard Ingy's voice "I just threw up a little."

  Track 7

  Our Mascot Carlotta

  I went with Ingy to have a bunch of beers at Ray's Lounge. Ray's has a rectangular stage for the girls and around it on three sides was the bar. A new dancer takes the stage every half hour and the customers smile at the dancers and hand them dollar bills, sometimes tucking the bills into the hip string of their thong, sometimes trying to cop a feel…Ray would only intervene if the feel was particularly egregious. Ray's doesn't have a patronage that one would call 'lively'; the atmosphere is more subdued and the jukebox contains a mix of Sinatra slash Rat-Pack and new rock…and somehow it works. The place was zoned such that the girls could strip to a G-string but couldn't go completely naked. Of course once in a while they'd give a guy a peek at the holy land if he'd been generous with the tips.

  All of this changed when we started to frequent the place. The most obvious change was that the girls would try to flirt with us, both the dancers and the bartenders; of course none of us needed encouragement in the first place so when the band was there the activity picked up noticeably...as did the pussy flashing. Ray himself would come over and chat, happy at the influx of energy…or perhaps a groupie of sorts, who knew? Ray knew a lot of jokes and he did tricks…with cigarettes, beer bottles, shot glasses, etcetera. He was a pisser to hang out with and we all liked him. I think the fact that we paid our rent on time was even a bigger reason he liked us so much.

  Ingy was telling me stories about Jimmy as we each waded into our sixth or seventh Budweiser.

  "I swear to god I'm not lyin'." Ingy said, trying not to laugh at his own story "Another time we were at the Mets game and we're in the bleachers right? So Jimmy went to get food and he's coming back to our row and you know how steep the bleachers are...so Jimmy's about fifty feet away carrying a huge tray of food. I mean he's got like two hot dogs covered in mustard, cheesy nachos, a large beer...the cardboard tray is sagging under the weight. It's gotta be four pounds of food. So he's comin' up and all of a sudden he trips and starts to fall forward, and you could see him like...'realize' what's gonna' happen. There's this guy, like a Wall Street guy, in a black suit sitting in the aisle seat. Jimmy plants the tray right in the guy's chest. Seriously, he looked like he was wearing a cheese and mustard suit and the beer is completely in the guy's lap, and Jimmy's leaning into it to keep himself upright! Like he's copping a feel! He's pushing the tray with all that shit into the guy's nice suit to hold himself up!"

  I'm laughing my ass off and manage to ask "So what happened."

  "Jimmy finally gets his feet under him and says "Sorry." and just walks away. He comes back to his seat and he had a little smile when he said it to the guy too; I can't believe the guy didn't take a swing at him. When he sat down, we were like 'Jim, you covered that guy.' and all Jimmy said was 'It was an accident! Frig I'm still hungry.' Classic Jimmy." Ingy shakes his head.

  Kenny and Tommy show up and I wave them over.

  "You girls want something to drink?" I ask.

  Tommy gestures toward the exit "Just came in for matches. Wanna smoke a bone?"

  "No but I'll stretch my legs." I say.

  Ingy smiles "It's OK, I'll smoke for him."

  We get up and wave our goodnights. It's mild for a summer night and the four of us threw the bullshit around as we walked up to 'the alley', a place that Tommy liked to go to smoke weed when we were near the studio but weren't indoors.

  "Where's Jimmy tonight?" Tommy asks.

  "Vaccinating April." Ingy says.

  "Ahhhh. April DeSanto." I say "Go Jimmy."

  "He's less cranky when he's had a chance to ravish April." Ingy observes.

  "I'm sure whatever he does to shame that sweet and might I say...big breasted young woman, is still against the law in twenty seven states." I say "And there is a girl who'll never drown."

  "How'd it go with Venice?" Ingy asks.

  "Sweet. She's fun." I say.

  "Details?" Ingy asks.

  "Mmmmmm no."

  "No details?"

  "Nope."

  "That sucks." Ingy protests.

  "Considering the size of your penis, learn to live with disappointment."

  "Wow...the hate is flowing!" Ingy says.

  "Sorry man…" I apologize "…it just kind of came to me."

  Venice lived in Oradell so I had taken her to the Red Dragon in Paramus, it's a Chinese place that has fun atmosphere and great decor. Then we played mini-golf while we chatted about ourselves and our families. I let her win...OK she beat me fair and square, but this cold's been doggin' me... Anyway with the right girl, that kind conversation can be the best kind. She was easy to talk to and could be pretty funny when she wanted to be. I kissed her goodnight but I didn't try anything. I'm not sure why, but when I get the urge I go completely on autopilot, which is to say completely on instinct.

  "Sean's working the phones. Talkin' up our Legend gig to get us more jobs." Tommy comments.

  "Sean's the man." Kenny says.

  "Well, he's YOUR man." I say under my breath.

  "What's that mean?"

  "It's just...Sean's been…'noticing' you when bend over to put your bass away in the case."

  Kenny breaks up "What would Sean want with my tired old ass!"

  I try to sound as convincing as I can "Hey, don't diminish yourself Kenny... your long blond hair, your fresh smile..."

  Ingy and Tommy burst out in laughter.

  Arriving at 'the alley', Kenny, Tommy and Ingy light up and quickly smoke a joint. One thing about these guys to note, they get high faster than anyone I've ever seen. Tommy lit the joint and it was done in about half a minute. Exiting the alley a local police cruiser is parked in front of 'Parade', another strip club. Kenny walks over, unzips his fly and urinates on the rear tire.

  This does not surprise me. I've known Kenny for only a short time but I've already witnessed a few manifestations of his…let's be charitable and call it his 'casual disregard for authority'. The previous week we were in a major fast food chain that sells hamburgers…I won't say which, but their mascot wears size 19 shoes. Kenny gets a cold hamburger, brings it back and I guess the person at the register was having a bad day and wasn't nice about it. When we left, Kenny stopped at the pay phone right outside the place and called in a bomb threat. I swear to God it sounded real to me the way he did it. As we reach the corner, I look back and everyone's outside, all the cooks and everyone.

  So Kenny's peeing on the cop car and Ingy, nearly yelling, says "Kenny, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

  As if on queue two policemen emerge from the club and see Kenny zipping up, along with the puddle of urine under their cruiser.

  "What the fuck DO you think you're doing?" the cop said in a gravelly voice, all the more menacing for its coolness.

  Ingy yells "CHEESE IT!" and all four of us bolt as if shot from a cannon and in seconds we're in full sprint back in the direction from which we came.

  I'm running beside Ingy, and having trouble because I'm trying to stifle a laugh and focus on running; I say to him out of breath "Cheese it?"

  We scramble with amazing speed and by the time the cops are in their car and in pursuit, we're all off of the main street. Twenty minutes later, sitting at the table in the darkened practice studio, Tommy, Ingy and I turn toward the door as Kenny finally enters.

  "I'm glad Sean wasn't here to see that." I say "That would have ended your chances with him. Hey...you listenin' there Pissy McStream."

&nbs
p; Tommy is rubbing his ankle "I think I twisted my friggin' ankle."

  Ingy says "Kenny! You broke our singer!"

  Kenny shows a level of indifference most men are not even capable of.

  "Seriously, you're a bad seed." Ingy continues "You have unresolved issues with authority."

  "Yeah but I'm in a band, I'm supposed to." Kenny says as he peeks out a scratch in the paint on the window, to see a little slice of the deserted street below."

  "Well that's true of course…" I say "…but I think what Ingy is trying to say, is that when you eventually get sent to jail...and I think we all agree it's a 'WHEN' not an 'IF'...the penal system will provide you with ample opportunity to earn cigarettes by workin' that moneymaker you have there Squirty von Urine. Ya know, for the LARGER inmates."

  "I'm hungry." Tommy yawns.

  "Let's go to the diner." Kenny says as he steps away from the window "It looks clear down there."

  We pile into Tommy's van and drive the fifteen minutes to the Athens Diner; like most diners in the tri-state area, the Athens is open twenty-four seven, for like three hundred and sixty four days of the year. We shuffle in and plop ourselves down in a booth near the window.

  Kenny is preparing to light a cigarette but I manage to get his attention first "Hey! Abraham Leakin', before you light that, do you know Nosmo?"

  "Huh?"

  "Nosmo." I say flatly.

  "I've heard the name Cosmo."

  "Nosmo King. Ring a bell?"

  Kenny, with unlit cigarette dangling from his lips "Dude. What the hell are you yammering about?"

  "They have his name plastered all over the place. See?" I point to the placard above the little juke box in their booth, it reads 'No Smoking'.

  "Clever." Kenny says and lights the match but I lean over and blow it out.

  "I've had enough excitement for the night, wait till we're out of here." Kenny begins to object but I cut him off "Plus I don't like to smell smoke when I eat. Wait."

  Kenny takes a pen out of his pocket, turns the paper placemat over to the blank back side, and begins to doodle "Jesus what a nag. Ingy, front me ten so I can eat."

  Ingy asks "What do you mean 'front'? The word you're searching for is 'lend'."

  "C'mon man...front me a ten spot."

  "I'm not comfortable with the word 'front'."

  Tommy interjects "Yeah but you know what he means."

  "Yeah, but he uses the word 'front' so he can feel better about himself. Get a fuckin' job you lazy bastard."

  "I have a job. I'm in a band." Kenny says without looking up, focusing on whatever he's drawing.

  I agree "He's got you there."

  "C'mon Ing, I'm hungry. Front me a ten."

  "Can't hear ya."

  Just then, Kenny holds up the paper placemat, it's a drawing of a voluptuous woman with long full brown rock n' roll hair in a G-string and heels lying across the top of the letters spelling out 'RAW DEAL', her back is toward the viewer as she looks seductively over her shoulder. It's a very striking picture, doubly so since Kenny sketched it so quickly.

  Kenny says "What do ya think...for our logo? She's like our mascot…Carlotta."

  Tommy asks "Why Carlotta?"

  I say "Anything that looks THAT fine has GOT to be named Carlotta."

  Kenny nods.

  The waitress arrives "You boys ready?"

  Ingy glances at the picture then smirks at Kenny, conceding the amazing artwork for the band "Go ahead."

  Kenny says "I'll have 2 eggs over, hash browns, sausage and a couple slices of bacon and white toast. Ummm and a short stack."

  Ingy asks wide eyed "Is that all?"

  But in spite of Ingy's sarcasm Kenny's not done "Hmmm is the orange juice fresh squeezed?"

  "No."

  "Then I'll have a chocolate milk."

  "What size hun?"

  "Large." Kenny says as if it's obvious.

  Ingy, now realizing that Kenny would indeed have eaten the entire ten dollars, feels the need to confirm his decision to feed this particular beast; he says with noticeable hostility "Let me see that drawing again."

  I hold it up and arch my eyebrows in approval "Carlotta." tilting my head to the side.

  Ingy reluctantly acquiesces "OK. Feed him."

  "And for you?" she asks Ingy.

  "I'll have the 'Wagon Master' and a coffee."

  "Same." Tommy says.

  "Me too." I say.

  The waitress leaves and Ingy picks up Kenny's drawing and stares at it "You eat like a small village Kenny."

  "He's the one told me I can't smoke." Kenny nods toward me.

  Ingy elbows me "Front me twenty."

  I scowl "Lemme see that drawing."

  Sean came through and lined up two gigs for us after our debut at Legend. The first was at a club called 'Tracers', it was smaller than Legend but a little more upscale. Tracers was situated in a big strip mall in a well-to-do part of New Jersey, most of the people who lived in the town commuted to their day jobs in NYC. The bar room itself had nice tables and flooring, the bar was long and had this insanely-great looking lighting that came from underneath the bottles arrayed in glass nooks and on shelves. I'd been at Ingy's house earlier in the day; we were installing an on-board preamp inside his guitar, and so he drove with me to the gig. As Ingy and I made our way to the dressing room in Tracers, we were a bit wide-eyed at the comparatively plush surroundings, and the dressing room was no disappointment. Twice as large as the one at Legend, it was well lit and against the far wall was a large oval-shaped metal tub…and in that tub was ice…and in that ice was beer…bottles and bottles of ice cold beer. We looked at each other and Ingy was the first to voice it.

  "It's a trap."

  "Obviously." I agreed "Maybe they want to harvest our organs?"

  "Maybe. Let's approach slowly."

  We snagged a beer each and sat on the padded bench that ran along the rear wall as we unpacked our guitars and my tuner and went through the ritual.

  Sean came into the dressing room carrying a huge duffle bag "Hey."

  "Hey Sean-tastic. This place doesn't suck." Ingy said gesturing toward the beer.

  "Free beer huh?"

  "Yes my friend, beer in its natural habitat, the way beer was meant to roam. Free!"

  "Let's hope the place is as good as it looks." Sean remarked.

  "Meaning?" Ingy asked.

  I decided to voice something that had hit me the minute I walked into the club "Have you ever been in here before Sean?"

  "Before asking for the job…nope." Sean said.

  "I'm with ya'…let's hope there's a crowd and that it appreciates our style of head-banging mayhem." I said.

  "Exactly." Sean agreed.

  As show time approached, I would peek through the door onto the stage occasionally and saw that the place was filling up. The people were dressed in nicer heavy metal clothes, more expensive. Their jewelry was shinier and there were more of them holding cocktails instead of beer bottles, but they made the same racket as the Legend crowd. That was encouraging. By the time we were to begin, the place was packed. We needn't have worried, these people might be some relatively upper crust, but they needed their entertainment all the same. We assembled ourselves on the stage, nearly tripping over each other in the dark and then heard the DJ's voice "Tracers welcomes…RAW DEAL!"

  The opening song was 'Let It Go' off an album by Def Leppard that had just hit the stores. It begins with a mean sounding guitar riff and I stood well back, right in front of my amp and away from the crowd, so I could let my guitar feedback as it does on the record. I hit the switch and started cranking that riff out, tilted my body to get the feedback just right and launched into the song. While it sounded great my reverie was immediately interrupted…a hot looking girlie with medium length blonde hair appeared right in front of me, pressed against the stage. It took me a moment to look up and notice that she also had a face, if you catch my drift. I couldn't tell you what cup size she wore because she was
obviously not wearing a bra and it's a good thing I was now a 'professional' entertainer, because that's all that stopped me from dropping my guitar and burying my face in her chest. She was definitely a few years older than me and I found that hot; and to be honest, with a face and body like that, I'd justify anything about her as making her 'hot'. Her friggin spleen was hot, her fingertips were hot…I didn't care, she was smokin'.

  By the time we'd played a few songs, Tommy had a couple of girls vying for his attention in front of him at center stage. As I flirted pretty hard with the bountiful girl in front of me, he came over and put his arm around my neck and started to sing to her. She responded too. Singers, I friggin' hate 'em. He kept wandering over to me and each time he did, my girl (I started to think of her that way) would be smiling right back at him. I decided to nip her 'wandering eye' in the bud, and ignored her for the last few songs in the set, playing to a few of the other people pressed against the stage. We finished our first set and fell into the dressing room, sweating and still feeling the adrenalin, when I realized I'd left my change of cloths in my car. I grabbed my keys and quickly walked along the walls of the bar where it was less crowded, to get out to my car. I grabbed the bag, locked the car and saw the kitchen door open on the side of the club and headed for it. I got as far as the open door to the kitchen when I heard "You're in a hurry."

  I turned to see the voluptuous woman who was vexing me through the set.

  "Where's the fire?" she said playfully.

  I made it clear to her that she'd missed her chance. There was no way that I was just going to pretend that everything was OK when she'd 'cheated' on me with Tommy like a cheap whore, I may not be the most moral man in the world, but I do have my pride. I said "Sorry, too little, too late." and walked away…

  At least that's the way it would have gone if my Thrill Drill didn't have a LOT of say over what I actually did in my day to day life. What really happened was that I caved immediately and banged her on a low palette of Heineken boxes in a little pantry off of the cramped kitchen. She hopped on top of me and rode me like a mechanical bull, so I had to use some of the clothes in my bag to cushion the impact of her affections on my abused frame. Luckily, no broken bones. Really, I was in disbelief. This fine lookin' femalé (say it like it rhymes with tamalé), who's name I didn't know, had just schooled me in 'how to pound a guitarist into a fine powder'. Rock and Roll!