by Mercy Brown
“Check this baby out—a Motorola 7500! Now that’s fancy shit, huh, Cole? You wish you had one, I know. Maybe I’ll get you one to use for work. Damn handy, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“Sure,” I said. But fuck if I need a way for Patrick to call me all day long to tell me about this broad he met at Bennigan’s or that singles cruise he’s planning to take this winter, now that he’s got some help around here and a big contract on the hook. No thanks.
I lean against the doorframe, watching Mom wash the dishes. She refuses to let me put a dishwasher in, insists she gets them cleaner by hand. My face and hair are all sweaty. My skin feels like I’ve been dipped in a vat of lard and all I want to do is shower and then face-plant into my bed until I have the joy of waking up at five a.m. and doing it all over again tomorrow and the next day and the next fucking day forever.
“Long day?” she asks when she notices me standing there.
I shrug. I’m sure my face is all the answer she needs.
“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” I say, eyeing the brand-new inhaler on the counter that she’s obviously keeping within arm’s reach.
“I can’t sit on my ass all day any more than you can,” she says. “I’m fine.”
Ah, some things never change. Not even after a trip to the ER. Then I notice the huge box on the floor in the kitchen that says Gateway on it.
“Where did the computer come from?” I ask.
“Patrick,” she says. “He’s going to teach me to use it so I can start doing the books for him. I can’t clean houses anymore and I have to work somewhere.” Then she turns and dries her hands off on a towel. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It smells good in here.”
“I made brisket.”
“Wow, somebody’s feeling better,” I say.
“It’s Claire’s last night home,” she says. “Thought we could have dinner together.”
“Sounds good.”
I start to walk down the hall to my room when she says, “Oh, by the way, your girlfriend called.”
Feels like my damn heart stops. I never planned to tell her about Sonia, but last night Patrick was here for dinner, leaning on me to take out some chick who’s the daughter of this strip mall developer up in Tenafly. So I said fuck no, I’ve got a girlfriend. And yeah, I was thinking about Sunny. Of course I was.
“You talked to Sonia?” My heart goes from stopped to racing. “Is she all right?”
“Sounded fine to me,” she says. “What’s this about a show on Saturday? Thought you said you quit.”
I grit my teeth. That’s why Sunny called? To hound me about Maxwell’s?
“I didn’t quit yet,” I say. “As soon as they’re off tour, I’ll tell them.”
Mom rinses a plate, looks out the window. I’m about to walk off down the hall when she asks, “So, are you playing it?”
“No,” I say. “Sonia can play it. She’s been filling in for me this week.”
“Sounded like it was important, though,” Mom says, and I laugh.
“Oh yeah, an extremely important rock show,” I say. “World peace is riding on it.”
She shrugs and turns back to the dishes. “Go on and get cleaned up,” she says. “Dinner’s on the table in half an hour.”
***
In my old room, I fall onto my bed and stop moving for the first time in over ten hours. I’m weary from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet, but nothing really feels as worn out as my heart. Can’t believe Sunny called here just to bug me one more time about Maxwell’s. Not to see how I am, or what’s been going on. Just to see if I was going to play that damn show.
I guess that says it all, doesn’t it?
Every day I wonder what might have been with that one. The time I spent with Sunny on the road, brief as it was, made me feel unstoppable. I actually thought we might hang in there after we got back and I did finally tell her the truth. I always expected she’d be mad, but I thought maybe we’d get past it. Wrong. Dead wrong. So then, why do I still think about us going from town to town, pushing that dream of the road until we finally do break?
Because I’m a fool, that’s why.
I force my feet back down to the ground. I think of Crown the Robin and how they struggle. Vincent drinks too much and Anton hasn’t been right in the head since his girlfriend broke up with him. Miles is convinced Maria has been cheating on him. Elliot is stressed out because Jeanie wants to have a baby and he’s twenty-eight and still trying to shake a handful of change in his pocket and pull out a mortgage payment. But they stay out on the road because they believe that big break is coming. One more town, one more mile, one more sold-out show, and maybe Matador or 4AD or spinART will show up and hand them a contract. We all hold on to hope like that—it’s why we’re out here. Or why they are.
But the sad truth is, that break, if it ever does come, doesn’t answer your prayers. It’s not your mortgage payment. It’s not college tuition for your future kids. It’s more time on the road hustling your set until you sell enough records to maybe make a down payment on a house. Maybe. And then staying on the road so you can make the mortgage payments for a house that you never see. For most bands who do make it, it’s still a fucking job, not a lottery ticket. But it’s the kind of job you love, you know?
So I was probably going to end up a plumber, regardless. Just wish it had been later. Like, much later.
And whatever I thought might happen between me and Sunny, I can’t imagine she’d ever say “I do” to a plumber. A girl like that has options. Even if Soft doesn’t turn out to be her main gig, she’ll probably end up in the city or LA or on the road with the likes of No Doubt or some other big band. What do I have to offer a girl like that?
I can’t help smiling when I remember being with Sunny at the lake in Tennessee. In the bathroom at Rafters. Under the unicorn in Tinglewood. So there’s at least one thing I know I gave her.
But I guess the best thing I can give her now is the freedom to go follow her dreams.
***
Now it’s Saturday and I don’t actually have to work, but we’ve got a row of new houses in Clifton that need fixtures installed, and what the hell else have I got to do today? I don’t want to sit home avoiding phone calls from Sonia about the show tonight. I’m not going to Maxwell’s because there’s no point. All that show will accomplish is giving me an ulcer, and I’m in the business of avoiding ulcers and any other problem I can avoid.
I’m all alone, my head under a sink as I try to knock a bolt loose, listening to Car Talk on the radio. Soft is probably back in Hub City by now, getting ready to head up to Hoboken for soundcheck. I imagine Sonia at Maxwell’s in a few hours, pacing like a caged tiger as she waits for me to walk through the door. She’s going to be so pissed when I don’t show up, but hey. She’s used to me pissing her off by now. The anger will probably just make her play better, anyway.
Focus on the job, McCormack. I hear Patrick in my head. Pay attention or you’ll fuck it up, and I’m not paying you if I have to clean up behind you.
“Here’s to the future,” I mutter as I finally wrench the bolt loose.
I hear the front door of the house creak open and quiet footsteps on the tile in the entryway. Nobody should be here—it’s a model house in a new development and it’s not ready for show yet. Probably some punk-ass teenagers here to vandalize or lift what they can. I wield my wrench like a billy club as I peer around the corner.
“Coco?” Claire stands in the foyer in a Bauhaus T-shirt, hoop earrings, and fifteen or twenty necklaces on like she’s about to go out for the evening. She’s been at college all of about fourteen hours and she’s already dyed her hair flaming red like Shirley Manson and chopped it off just below her chin, looks like with a chainsaw. Her eyes look like a raccoon’s and her lips are—is that purple? Brown? Black? Her nails are painted black. When she
sees me in my Butler Plumbing and Heating coveralls and knee pads and baseball cap, she gives me a smile. “Nice duds.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Is Mom okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I need you to help me move a futon down to my dorm room. Patrick told me you were here and he said he’s not paying you overtime, so you may as well help me and finish the job on Monday.”
“That was swell of him,” I say, rolling my eyes.
I pack up my tools, lock the house up, and follow Claire home to Lodi to change. She says to dress sharp because she’s taking me out to Stuff Yer Face after as payment.
“You’re paying me in stromboli?” I say. “Seriously?”
“I’m a little short on cash,” she says.
“Then I’ll buy.”
“Even better,” she says and grins.
We take her little Mazda pickup truck to get this futon from her roommate’s house in Jersey City. God, I hate her driving. She drives like she cut her teeth doing seventy-five miles per hour on the Garden State Parkway in rush hour—because she did. I made her when I taught her to drive, because if you want to drive in north Jersey and keep your life, you have to be able to survive the GSP rush hour gauntlet. As we cruise through Rutherford and weave our way through Secaucus, Claire chatters on about the kids in Demarest dorm and her schedule and whatever, I’m not exactly hanging on every word. It’s not until she misses the exit for Route 9 that I start to suspect what’s happening.
“Claire,” I say, dread filling my stomach. “Where, exactly, are we going?”
“Did you quit the band so you could put me through school?” She confronts me, and shit, I am not expecting that to come out of her mouth.
“Who the hell told you that?” I ask.
“Is it true?” she demands.
“I’m quitting because it’s time to grow up,” I say. “That’s all there is to it.”
“If growing up means giving up on your dreams, count me out,” she says.
“Your dream is to be a doctor, Claire,” I say. “You should be able to pay rent on a dream like that, no trouble.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Actually, that is the point. If you can’t eat and take care of the people you love, what good is any dream?”
It’s all I can do to keep myself from flipping out on her when we park right in front of Maxwell’s. She turns the car off and I sit there with my arms crossed like a defiant child, but what the fuck ever.
“Did Sonia put you up to this?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
“Joey?” I guess. She glances off to the side and doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for me. “Does he know I’m quitting?”
“He knows you’re stubborn,” she says.
“Who told you I’m quitting?” I say. “I’m not getting out of this truck until I get some answers.”
“Mom told me you quit,” she admits. “And I know she put pressure on you to help with my tuition, so I just put two and two together.”
“And came up with twelve,” I say.
“Don’t quit for me, Cole. Please,” she says. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “It’s nice you think I’m that generous and all, but I’m not quitting because of you. Patrick said he’ll get me in the union, and in five years, he’ll make me his partner. That’s why I’m quitting.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m a great liar,” I say. “Ask anybody. I just happen to be telling the truth.”
My stomach feels as hollow as it ever has. Sonia is so right about some shit, I have to admit. The worst thing I may have ever felt is my sister feeling like a jerk because of me and my stupid life.
“I never even got to see you play in a real club,” she says. “And I’ve been listening to your single all summer, too.”
“You have?”
“Of course I have, dummy,” she says. “Everybody’s been listening to it. It’s all over WRSU!” Then she starts singing, very, very badly:
Loud is how I love you!
Loud is how I know you’re there!
Stay loud so I don’t lose you!
“Okay, okay,” I say, cutting off the dying whale noises that she thinks pass for human singing. “Please, that’s enough. I’m glad you like the song.”
“Maybe I can take your place on the backing vocals if you’re not going to play. I’ll bet if I ask Joey—”
“Oh God, no,” I say. “Don’t do that, because knowing him, he’ll say yes. He can never say no to you.”
“So you’ll do it, then?” she says. “You’ll play the show?”
Well, fuck. When she looks at me like that, it’s pretty damned hard to say no. I can’t even look back at her and keep my resolve.
“Come on, Coco,” she says. “Just play this last show, so for one night I get to be the cool sister of the guy in the hot band.”
I glare at her.
“Please?”
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” I say.
“It’s my job to be a pain in your ass sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” I say, and she cracks a smile.
Chapter Twenty
Cole
Saturday, September 2, 1995
Maxwell’s, Hoboken, NJ
With Crown the Robin and Red Five
Soft Tour—Day 24
When Claire and I walk into Maxwell’s, I hear the opening of “Daylight” as Soft begins to soundcheck. My cabinet thunders throughout the club. Sonia must have tweaked the sustain on my Big Muff to get it to roar like that. The band room is empty except for Al, Maxwell’s soundman, and Soft up on stage. Claire and I stand off to the side so we can watch them a minute without being seen, and good God, Sonia is absolutely nailing it on bass. She’s rocking so hard up there I’m about to go all doe-eyed just watching her. It doesn’t help matters that she’s in that sexy black cowgirl dress I bought her in North Carolina, or that she’s dyed her hair bright blue, because fuck, that’s hot. How the hell can I stay mad when seeing her like that makes me feel like this?
This is exactly why I didn’t want to be here tonight.
Joey spots Claire and grins from ear to ear. In fact, the way she grins back at him confirms that he’s behind Claire’s little stunt tonight. I step out from behind the post and give him a nod. Emmy sees me and whoops from the mic and Travis grins at me from the stage. Damn, I’ve missed my people.
Sonia looks up then and I try to look cool and shit with my hands in my pockets. Her face goes pink, so I know I’ve made her nervous, too. Good. And no, I’m not sorry.
“McCormack,” Emmy says when the song ends. “You’re late. You’re lucky we don’t fire you.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Looks like my stunt double has managed just fine,” I say. “You sure you need me at all?”
“Don’t talk crazy,” Emmylou says. “Of course we need you.” She glances over at Sonia, who is unusually quiet as she watches me. “The manager hasn’t shut up about you all day. All week, actually.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
Sunny scowls at Emmy and then she really blushes, reminding me of the adorable, awkward eighteen-year-old kid she was when I felt that very first pang in my chest for her.
“You’re awesome on that thing,” I say, pointing at the bass. “Couldn’t rock ‘Daylight’ any better myself.”
“You really think so?” she says, surprised.
“Do you have ears?” I say. “You’re amazing.”
“All right, you two,” Emmy says. “We’ve got a soundcheck to finish. Cole, let’s go.”
Sunny keeps those icy blue eyes of hers locked on mine as I climb up on the stage. When she gives me back my bass, she lingers with her
hands on it for a second, and that moment between us sets a fire to my heart.
I’m surprised by how good it makes me feel to hold my guitar again. Feels like I can breathe deeper, stop thinking so damn much. I start thumping on it, worried my calluses might have gone soft this past week, but they’re okay. Joey jumps in with a beat and we lock right up for a few bars, and now I’m back. Back where I belong for the very last time.
“You’ve been missed,” Sunny says.
“Oh yeah?” She’s talking about me being up on stage, right? Not in her sleeping bag.
But the way she looks at me right now, I’m not so sure.
***
The Maxwell’s homecoming set we play is, without question, the best we’ve ever played. We’re ablaze in the old room tonight, channeling the spirit of Sonic Youth and New Order and Nirvana and every good band near and far that’s ever played here. Every song feels like a testament to our generation, not because our songs are that good, but because the good energy between us and the packed house is enough to feel all the way out to outer space.
Can’t see anything but faces from here to the very back wall. Many I know well, and a third of them are faces I’ve seen up here rocking this same stage. If this isn’t a who’s who of the Jersey indie rock scene tonight, don’t know what is. Aside from Crown the Robin, I see all of our regulars from Hub City—the Holy Hobbies, Red Five. (Yeah, what’s good, Hank? Dick.) Diseased, Millie and Bailey from Vagaboss, the guys from Buttcrack, and even Jim Testa himself. And if that wasn’t enough, Chimp Cringle and Crypt Whores are here all the way from Virginia. We had to beg to get them in because unbeknownst to us, the damn club sold out! Even Crown didn’t see that one coming, and they play Maxwell’s on the regular.
She doesn’t take any credit, but I know our homecoming crowd is massive because of all Sonia has done to promote us over the last month. Now I get it—I see how all those calls to radio stations she’s thrown on her calling card have paid off. Soft will be in good hands with Sunny around, and as much as it will kill me to see them chart and get signed without me, that’s what I want and I’m sure she’ll see to it. She’s the one who got me here tonight, after all. And yeah, Joey confessed that he called Claire and put her up to her little stunt, but he did that because Sunny pushed him to do it. “I knew you’d never miss Maxwell’s,” he’d said. Right. Sure.