by DaNeo Duran
Resigned to fate he started walking but Christine called after him. ‘Hang on Johnny.’
He looked to see the girls whispering. He waited.
‘Alright we’ll talk,’ she said.
* * *
Back in the café everyone took their places in the booth. Stu made to speak but Johnny cut in.
‘I’m sorry we lied. It served a purpose but it was at the expense of building your hopes up.’
‘We were suspicious anyway,’ Christine said. ‘Not that I’m any less annoyed.’
‘Understandable,’ Johnny managed but could help wondering if they’d suspected a scam why they’d turned up at all.
Christine said, ‘What gets me edgy is why you’re choosing us. You’ve heard us play; we’re not great. Either you’re even less talented than us – and if you’re too dumb to recognise that, then we’re not interested, or it’s about sex. If that’s the case you’re way off base, Mazz isn’t even—’
‘It’s not,’ Johnny said. ‘Well, other than to say the sexier a band, the better its chances. We want this band to succeed so yes, we want to be damned sexy. If you two were in the band we’d be well on the way. Plus me and Stu could use some female opinion to maximise our appeal.’
Christine looked bashful. ‘I understand a band could do worse than have sexy girls to help its image, not that I feel it with this stupid spot.’
‘Even Debbie Harry must get spots occasionally,’ Johnny said relaxing when Christine chuckled.
‘Neither of us is Blondie. But what about basic musicianship?
Stu said, ‘Me and Johnny, we’ve something real; a desire that’ll take us all the way. But our current bass player is distracted. He’s just not – right.’
‘Again, what makes you think me and Mazz are?’
‘A feeling,’ Johnny said. ‘We’ve been hunting musicians for ages. You two are the first that have excited us.’
‘Despite hearing us play? You must have seen miles better musicians out there.’
‘Firstly, Christine, don’t sell yourself short. You’re alright.’ Johnny turned to the younger girl. ‘Mazz, truthfully if you’re to join this band we’re going to have to work closely; really take things back to basics; build up slowly.’
She nodded. ‘I know I don’t always get the right notes.’
‘It’s more than that. Stu here is the best drummer I ever heard. He deserves a bass player who plants the right notes perfectly with his groove.’
She pursed her lips but returned his gaze with wide eyes, ‘Okay.’
‘Like an apprenticeship; learning a trade. It won’t happen overnight.’
‘You know she’s only fifteen,’ Christine said.
‘So you’ve another year of school,’ Johnny said still facing her.
Christine said, ‘She’s not old enough to play pubs.’
‘I was fifteen when I started gigging.’
‘Me too,’ Stu said.
Christine leant back in her seat. ‘Okay. I’m still peeved that you had us believe we’d be shooting videos.’
‘We will,’ Johnny said.
‘You don’t know that. I’m not convinced you can offer us more than we have with Wayward Wenches.’
‘We can play,’ Stu said. ‘Granted, Wayward Wenches wear corsets but you’re the only two who look good in them. I’m a properly decent drummer and Johnny can really sing.’
‘Our singer can sing.’
Waiting a beat Stu said, ‘If that’s your honest opinion then we’ve serious problems.’
For a second Christine looked shocked but then said, ‘Yeah alright, she’s rubbish but she might get better.’
‘Heard that before,’ Johnny said. ‘It’ll never happen. The Wenches come across as a toy band lacking commitment.’
Christine said nothing.
‘Mazz, if you join this band it’ll require commitment. Note by note you’ll improve until you’re a beautifully solid player; musically worthy of any band. And that goes for us all. With persistence and devotion we’ll get signed, recorded, video’d and wealthy.’
Nobody spoke for a moment. Christine sucked the last of her Coke through a straw. ‘So what’s next?’
The lads looked at one another. Johnny said, ‘We rehearse.’
‘When?’
‘Now.’
‘D’you see a keyboard?’
‘Rehearsal rooms have keyboards.’
‘Who’s paying?’
Johnny smiled. ‘You’re our guests.’
‘We should think about this.’
‘Think about waiting ages in a stuffy tube station, cramming yourselves onto a dirty train with stinking commuters?’
‘Or getting a cab. We’ve still got your fiver.’
‘The streets will be heaving by now. Anyway what’s to think about – whether me and Stu are nice guys?’
‘Something like that.’
‘What you really need to think about is whether we can work musically as a band. Then you’ll have plenty to discuss when you take the cab home.’
‘What d’you think Mazz?’ Christine asked. ‘You wanna rehearse?’
‘Yeah,’ she said immediately.
‘Let’s go,’ Stu said.
* * *
After readying the equipment Johnny led the way. But, after too many false starts, despair skulked in. Another jam session crumbled.
Stu’s grave expression suggested hopelessness and Mazz looked like she feared being blamed for the lack of progression.
But, seated behind the borrowed Rhodes, Christine appeared confidently resigned to the situation. At her suggestion, Johnny and Stu played through one of their own songs. Without bass Johnny rocked with the drums; it sounded great.
‘Not bad,’ Christine said but Johnny noted her expression betraying her truth. When they ran through it again, Christine added some keys and helped Mazz get started. Before the song finished Johnny detected Christine’s lips moving along.
‘Why didn’t you sing with Wayward Wenches?’ he asked.
‘It’s not possible with her making up noises as she goes along.’
Setting up a mic for her, he saw Christine looking worried.
‘If you don’t want to sing you can direct us,’ Johnny said.
A third attempt tightened the song further with Christine’s singing peeping through intermittently. Towards the last chorus and she requested a guitar solo.
Eager to impress Johnny upped his amp’s gain and tore into expeditious picking, winning satisfied looks from Stu. Though Mazz looked amazed, Christine looked thoroughly unconvinced. Spotting this Johnny stopped soloing ending the song.
‘Okay,’ Christine said dryly. ‘After decades of guitarists trying to outpace each other let’s do it again but give us a solo worth getting excited about.’
Johnny knew what she meant. When the solo came round on their next attempt he leant into the strings and closing his eyes let the guitar do the talking. Without seeking praise the solo breathed, building to its pinnacle where Johnny came back to the mic for the final chorus.
When they finished nobody spoke until Christine did. ‘Better.’
The session developed with Johnny and the Used Ones’ songs earning compliments but not Christine’s heart.
‘These songs we’re doing now … we know might differ from your tastes,’ Johnny said. ‘With your input we know future songs would sound different.’
Christine nodded not letting the lads know what she thought.
In the rehearsal’s fading minutes Johnny wondered what it would take to impress her. A thought surfaced. He started strumming chords.
‘I wrote this after arriving in London with nothing but the clothes I wore and the memory of my mother’s voice.’
Alone with his guitar he performed more to himself than anyone else. Reaching the chorus he sang, ‘How can we be so happy, when we have nothing at all?’
Though he didn’t look up he knew something had happened.
* * *
The four stood on the street afterwards. As Christine had earlier Mazz asked, ‘So what’s next?’
‘I’m starving,’ Christine said. ‘Are you hungry babe?’
Mazz nodded.
‘It’s nearly eight,’ Stu said.
‘We’ve missed our meal,’ Mazz said.
Stu picked up her bass. ‘Let’s grab something together.’
They headed to another café where over unhealthy chip butties Mazz asked Christine, ‘What d’you think?’
Shooting a silencing look Christine fished in her handbag for pen and Phoenix’s business card. ‘There’s a lot to consider. What’s you guys real number?’
She wrote the number on the card and returning it snapped her purse shut.
‘What’s to consider?’ Johnny asked.
‘A few things; amongst which I have a confession to make.’
‘You?’ Stu asked.
‘You should know I don’t own any keyboards.’
Stu looked like he didn’t know what to say.
Johnny ignored him. ‘How d’you get so good?’
‘I’m not. It’s like what you said about bass playing. I just get the basics right; keep things simple. There’s a piano at the home. I play around on that.’
‘How’ve you managed?’ Stu asked.
‘We rehearse in a youth club. They’ve got two keyboards. Then if we gig we make sure we’re on with a band that can lend us stuff.’
‘We’ll get you one,’ Johnny said.
‘What?’ Stu and Christine both asked.
‘We’ll think of something. We’ll hire stuff from rehearsal rooms. If this band’s right, it’ll get sorted. You sounded fine with the Rhodes. We’ll start there see what happens.’
‘If,’ Christine paused, ‘we join your band maybe we could rehearse at our youth group with their gear.’ She recovered Johnny’s fiver. ‘We should get going. Would’ve been nice to get a cab but we’ll manage by tube.’
‘Keep it,’ Johnny said. ‘Take the cab.’
* * *
Minutes later Johnny held the door of a Hackney carriage. When Mazz looked at him he hugged her and thanked her for coming. Neither he nor Stu tried hugging Christine.
‘Let us know,’ Johnny said when she slipped past joining Mazz.
‘Will do,’ she said leaving the lads to wonder if she’d call.
* * *
In the taxi Christine studied her nails pretending not to think about their afternoon.
‘What d’you think?’ Mazz asked.
‘Yeah, it was good,’ she said nonchalantly.
‘I liked them.’
‘I knew you’d say that. They lied to us don’t forget.’
‘That doesn’t make them liars Christine. I happen to think they’re honest people. If they hadn’t lied, we wouldn’t have given them the chance to be honest.’
Christine stopped looking at her nails. ‘Aren’t you disappointed what they promised wasn’t true?’
Mazz turned her up her button nose. ‘Sort of.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you that they’re just two lads wanting us to join their crappy band?’
‘It’s not crappy.’
‘I suppose.’ Christine put her arm round her. ‘You’ve got a good musical ear.’
‘I thought Johnny’s voice was fab. I’d listen to him all day.’
‘Oh God.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. Don’t be so … into them. We haven’t said yes yet.’
‘Well we should.’
‘I don’t know. What about school – there mightn’t be time?’
‘We’ll make time. They said they’d turn me into a good bass player, that’s a chance most orphans don’t get.’
‘Whatever you get, you’ve always got me.’
‘I know.’ Mazz wriggled from under her arm. ‘You fancy Johnny?’
‘Knock that right off young lady. I don’t fancy Johnny.’
‘I saw you looking at him. You couldn’t have either him or Stu if we joined. Maybe that’s why you’re reluctant.’
‘I don’t like your tone.’
‘Why? I’d have Stu after you’d finished with him.’
‘For God’s sake, if you must talk like that at least do it with someone your own age.’
‘Maybe I have.’
‘You haven’t and I don’t think we should join.’
Sunday 10th June 1984
Whilst Mazz showered, Christine stood by the motel room’s sink rinsing her old grey tracksuit following that day’s combat session. New Mexico’s heat would dry it during the torrid bus journey that lay ahead.
‘You still in there?’ Stu called through the bathroom door.
Christine hurried into cut-off jeans and fresh T-shirt.
‘Mazz won’t be long,’ she said stepping from the shower room.
Stu wolf-whistled as she passed.
She tugged at the cut-offs that had frayed shorter than ever. ‘Has Johnny talked to Dane?’
‘Yeah, but he’s on the phone to Linda again.’
‘Well I’ll see you in reception,’ she said heaving her bag outside. She didn’t want to show her vexation of Johnny phoning Linda again.
But, in the corridor she bumped into the man himself.
‘Johnny, how d’you get on?’ she asked ignoring him blatantly look her up and down. She felt flattered.
Reaching her he stopped, still looking anywhere but her face.
‘Johnny?’ she said.
‘Either those cut-offs get better with every wash or your legs are getting longer.’
‘At least your sense of humour’s coming back,’ she said straight faced.
‘Maybe, but I don’t feel great with everyone knowing what an idiot I’ve been.’
‘So, how did you get on with Dane?’
‘I don’t know babe.’ He smiled. ‘I hope he’s innocent.’
‘Even if it means there’s nobody else to blame?’
‘Other than me for being stupid, someone’s to blame, we just don’t know who it is.’
‘But d’you think it’s Dane?’
He stopped ogling her thighs and looked her in the eye. ‘Who knows, but thanks Christine, for making me see sense.’
‘Anytime,’ she said but broke away. ‘Stu’s next in the shower. See you in reception yeah?
Friday 29th August 1980
It had been touch and go but the lads felt Christine and Mazz had something about them and for that they couldn’t wait to give Marlon his marching orders. Even if the girls called with bad news, the very idea of continuing with him seemed laughable.
Striking before the iron had cooled Stu had called Marlon the moment they got back from rehearsal with the girls. He hopped Marlon would understand and perhaps be relieved; free to ditch the bass and join another band as a guitarist.
But, Stu underestimated Marlon’s reaction. Such an ego blow turned him crazy.
The phone slammed down. Stu felt he hadn’t heard the last. Sure enough minutes later Marlon stood at their door kicking its frame and threatening both him and Johnny with violence.
When neither lad reacted with the fear Marlon expected he eventually left cursing the band and its members.
‘Well, that’s that,’ Johnny said. ‘There’s no possible way he’ll ever be part of this band now.’
Stu agreed but two days later, they’d heard nothing from the girls and Marlon had created feelings so bad in the markets Geoff even visited the house to smooth things over.
Marlon had been describing them as treacherous and recommend they be sacked. Geoff seemed not to understand why they’d cut Marlon from the band until after listening to their side of the story told them he’d see them at work the next day as usual.
Having followed Johnny and the Used Ones’ progression Geoff said he thought they’d taken a major backwards step when they should be ploughing forwards. He believed they had stardom awaiting but his kind statement offered little comfort given
the girls’ lack of contact.
* * *
The next day the phone still hadn’t rung. Marlon ceased being angry; probably too busy laughing behind their backs. Johnny and Stu decided the chances of Christine calling had fallen to hopeless.
* * *
Over in West Ham Christine had gone to bed after meeting the lads with mixed ideas about Johnny and the Used Ones. She’d been furious with the lads. Stu had promised the world and lied.
Four years earlier she’d been living in the same Social Services house she still shared with Mazz and sixteen other girls. As a fifteen year old she fell for a boy her own age, who despite being careful, landed her pregnant.
The boy’s respectable family took over, moving so fast they didn’t waste a moment on her feelings. The father did the talking and the driving to hospital.
By the time she returned Christine had no baby, no lover and would have had no self-respect if she hadn’t exploded in rage. The father implied orphans had no rights to success and happiness and no business with his son and certainly none with his grandson or daughter.
Filled with desire to kick everything within reach she despised both father and his useless son who’d neither stopped the insults nor shared the blame.
The following day the rage vanished when Christine met a girl with a pair of big frightened eyes.
Mazz, then eleven, had been recently orphaned having lost both parents in a fatal car accident. Just the focus Christine needed, she took Mazz under her wing and never again did anything for herself without first considering Mazz.
Four years later Christine still harboured mistrust of boys and her own desires to achieve anything beyond the mediocre. She considered Stu and Johnny.
Even after they’d come clean they still promised the earth; they’d just have to work damn hard to get it.
That unbelievable promise had nevertheless touched her with rare and faint hope. Her mistrust of boys faltered. Perhaps if she knew Stu and Johnny, she could in time trust. Their passion for making it big here or America had unnerved her but that fear soon passed.
Given how upset Mazz had been when told they’d not be joining the band Christine had quickly backpedalled saying she’d think about it. Wanting more than mediocrity for Mazz, she wondered whether the band really could provide the route to better things. Giving Mazz a cooling off period she held off phoning the lads.
By Friday Mazz still bugged her so she decided to call them. She hoped they wouldn’t have changed their minds. But that evening she discovered to her horror: no Phoenix card. Thinking of the café she recalled writing the lads’ home telephone number on the card and specifically placing it in her purse.
She emptied both purse and handbag’s contents onto her bunk and sifted through diary, condoms and keys. No card.