Dojo's on St. Mark's Place offered a cheap breakfast and after finishing his bacon and eggs Sean met Caroline for a double-bill of THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and THE OPENING OF MISTY BEETHOVEN at the St. Mark’s Theater. The latter movie screened first. A few ragged men sat in the front rows to take advantage of the cheap shelter from the cold. Caroline and he moved to the back of the theater. They weren’t alone, but he couldn’t see Caroline’s hands in the dark, as they unzipped his Levis.
”Not here.” There was a word for Caroline, which Sean had heard it from Tammi on the way down to New York. Only her wealth saved her from any judgment.
”And why not?” She wasn’t listening to him and whispered, “Don’t you want to fuck me the same as the girl in the movie.”
”Not right now.” When he was a young boy, Sean had fantasized about rescuing a princess only to be rejected, because she was royalty and he was nothing.
”I know why. You’re thinking about Tammi.” Charles’ sister laughed under her breath. “Men are so stupid. She doesn’t want you any longer.”
”Because she wants your brother.” Sex wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more and more was not Caroline was willing to give him.
”I don’t know who she wants, all I know is that she doesn’t want you and I do.”
“I have to go.” Tonight was the gig at CBGBs
”Not yet.”
Her words mocked him, although not as much as his surrender.
Two hours later they walked out of the theater. She kissed him on the lips.
“I’ll see you at the show.”
Caroline flagged a cab and rode away without a backward glance.
Sean walked down to Chinatown in the grim afternoon light. He climbed the stairs to the loft. He was the first one there and turned off the space heaters to warm the penthouse, then sat on his amp, thumbing the bass. He played the entire set, singing the words, as if the lyrics could conjure up a magic spell to resurrect his romance with Tammi.
Unfortunately the age of magic had died with the burning of witches over three hundred years ago. A little before sunset the other members of GTH arrived, exhilarated by the upcoming gig. Johnny handed them a list of songs. "This is the set for tonight. Five songs.”
“Nothing more. Nothing less.” Tammi adjusted the height of the mike. She didn’t look at Sean.
“We’ll run though it a couple of times.” Johnny tuned his guitar and checked Sean.
The bass player was suffering from extreme self-pity and Tammi was miserable with Sean’s liaison with Caroline. Charles was fooling himself, if he imagined Tammi would one day be his, then again he had the money to finance this deception. Johnny opted to remain the bandleader rather than act as Cupid for their love triangle, which was a dangerous role in any circumstance, since a loser or winner inevitably hates you for helping the other person.
“Everyone ready?”
Frankie lashed on his snare.
"Going to Hell tonight."
"One-two-three-go." Tammi shouted and the band launched into LOVE-NO-LOVE's bars with a ragged enthusiasm. At the end of the intro bar, the redhead screamed into the mike, "Been around this world too long. Gonna to say my good-byes."
The song was crude, powerful, stupid, and the band was easily seduced by its power. Sean shed his listless sorrow and Tammi abandoned her disappointment. The music bonded them spiritually and hopefully tonight’s audience succumbed to the song’s simplicity. The band hit the final note of closing song MAYBE TOMORROW and they collectively stopped like a car hitting a brick wall. Tammi dropped the mike, saying, "I'm ready as I'll ever be."
"I’ve been ready for a year." Johnny unslung his guitar. He needed each band members to play for GTH tonight. No love problems. No drugs. No star trips. At least while they were on stage. “Listen tonight, we’ll be nervous. It’s a natural reaction, but we’re going to hell and taking the sinners with us tonight.”
"GTH." Frankie rose from his drum kit.
“Let’s hit it from the top.
Sean and Charles took their time saying, "Ready, set, go."
They were rivals for one heart and Sean glanced at Tammi hundreds of times, hoping for her to decipher thousands of regrets babbling through his mind. The teenager offered no forgiveness and the reflected tension between the two shattered the redhead's voice tendency toward teenybopperdom and the band fed off her swelling intensity with insatiable appetites.
Johnny's guitar sparkled each set leading Frankie to tighten up on the drums and Charles's baroque organ blanketed the bottom with Sean's backing vocals compensating for his occasional flubs on bass. Bobby Vacca’s singing the chorus of MAYBE TOMORROW wasn't for show.
The driver liked them and not merely as a band. GTH respected nothing about the straight world. Johnny was clever, Tammi was cute, Sean was solid, Frankie was relatively harmless, and his employer was metamorphorsizing into a new person, as the quintet thrashed through Bobby’s favorite song LOVE-NO-LOVE.
They were better than good, although no promoter would dare booking GTH as an opening act for Genesis and Top Forty DJs would have to be paid hard cash to stick their songs onto the play list between Cheap Trick and Styx, however the band deserved this shot at fame.
Reaching the end of the song, Johnny put down his guitar. His body was exhausted and he needed some rest. The band looked at him and he said, “No more practice. We’re ready for tonight.”
”We are?” Sean leaned his bass against the amp. They had five songs. The Ramones had twenty.
”It’s a short set.” Johnny had timed the length. “Less than eighteen minutes and if they want an encore, we give them LOUIE LOUIE. Sean, Frankie, and Charles know the chords and I’ll write down the words for Tammi.”
”Are you okay?” Tammi was concerned about Johnny. He had never stopped after such a short time.
”I’m fine. A few hours sleep and I’ll be golden.” A day or two would have been better. He looked out the windows at the fading day. “I’m going back to the hotel. We should meet back here around 9 to pack the van. We’re slotted for midnight. We should be at CBs at 10:30, so if our friends come, they'll stay. I warned them that the only excuse for a no-show was jail or the morgue." Getting another gig depended on drawing a crowd.
"The Dollhouse is closing at 11 and the girls are coming with their dates." Tammi announced, winding the wire around the mike. Charles hadn’t seen many of his old friends after his accident. "My sister is handling my guests."
"I only know a few people from CBGBs," Sean offered weakly, packing his bass. A glance from Booby advised Sean to leave the two alone and the driver dissembled the equipment nearest the door. Johnny approached the bass player and asked, "Are you okay?”
“I guess so.” The quivering harpoon in his heart urged him to confront the two people on the roof, but he had decided to leave New York after tonight’s show. Where didn’t matter. GTH could go to the stars without him.
”You can’t get Tammi out of your head, can’t you.”
”No.” The ache in his heart was real.
”Funny, how things much you care about someone when they don’t care about you.” Johnny breathed shallow drafts. His chest hurt less that way.
”As if you ever have cared about anyone.”
”I care about people. I care about you or else I would have ripped you off that first night for every penny in your pockets and I care about Tammi and Charles and especially Frankie. No one has to care about anyone, but if you don't care about anyone, then you can never care about yourself.” Johnny waved away Sean. “Things will work out with Tammi.”
”How do you know?” Sean zipped up his jacket.
”A gypsy taught me how to see the future.”
”It’s a nice dream.” Sean visualized attacking Charles. It was a particular ugly image and breathed deeply ten times and said, "I’ll stay out of her way.”
“That’s very noble.”
“Noble has nothing to do with it.”
“Either way, I appreciate it and so will Tammi. Stay cool, I have to speak with Frankie.” Johnny walked over to his young friend.
"I told the 'boys' from the Strip that CBGBs was a new piano bar loaded with rich old queens." Frankie’s eyes were glazed from another visit to the Sunshine Bodega on Avenue C. midnight. Frankie, you got that?”
”Sure, what’s not to get? "
”The drummer stashed his sticks, wondering if Johnny had a $20 for him, then realized it was a bad time to ask for cash.
”Tammi, you want to join me for a shopping trip to St. Mark’s Place?” Charles limped across the penthouse to the elevator.
”If that means Trash n Vaudeville, count me in.” She had been eying a white plastic mini-skirt for the last week.
”Frankie, what about new boots? Call them an early Christmas present.” Charles would have preferred a one-on-one situation with Tammi, but the drummer ‘s boots were a disgrace.
”Thanks.” Frankie perked up, figuring that he could boost enough clothing in the basement store to score two dime bags.
”What about you, Sean?” Charles asked from the elevator, surrounded by Tammi, his driver, and Frankie. Johnny was sitting on his amp.
”I’m good.” Tammi was his only desire and she wasn’t for sale anywhere outside the Dollhouse. He tugged on his leather jacket and walked over to the frail guitarist.
”See you back here at 8.” Tammi blew a kiss, as the elevator doors closed on them.
”Johnny, are you really okay?” Sean felt the guitarist’s forehead. There was no fever.
”Fine, I just need a little sleep and here is as good as anywhere else.” Johnny laid down on a stack of cardboard boxes.
”Are you sure?” Sean pointed the space heater in his direction. He hesitated from broaching a forbidden subject with the blonde guitarist.
”You think I haven’t slept in worst places?” Johnny lay his head on an old towel. “Plenty worse that this.”
”Yeah.”
”You want some soup from Wo-Hop when I come back?” Sean was glad that
‘That’s be nice.” Johnny was resting his eyes.
Sean left the penthouse and walked down the stairs. The street was dusted by snow. A couple of Canucks were selling Christmas trees from the sidewalk to motorists off the Manhattan bridge. The pine smell reminded him that his promise to come home for the holidays. Christmas was less than a week away. He had to buy his mother a present, but any purchases could wait until after tomorrow night and he began singing to himself, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."
Believing a lie was easy this time of year, especially those he told himself.
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