by Mercy Brown
I haven’t seen him since last night. We drove back to Maryland to pay for Steady Beth’s alternator and get the beat brothers, and when we finally got home again I asked him if he wanted to stay over and he said no. Can you believe that shit? No? Well, here’s a taste of Travis for you, then.
“So, um, do you want to stay over?” I asked him. We were half asleep on my couch watching Seinfeld.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, even as I was curled up against him and he had his arm draped around my shoulders, playing with a strand of my hair.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think I can sleep over and keep my dick out of you, that’s why.”
Romantic, I know. It sort of was, actually. I guess you had to be there.
“So?” I said.
“So?” he said. “Last time we did it, you flaked out in under six hours.”
“It was closer to eight hours.”
“Emmy.”
Frustrating, right?
Today he worked and I didn’t talk to him all day. Know what I did? I sat in my room listening to Soft rehearsal tapes and played my guitar. I sketched out plans for a summer tour proposal to bring up at our next rehearsal. I made a list of potential contacts in major music hubs from here to Seattle. I went through the Musician’s Guide to Touring and Travis’s copy of Book Your Own Fuckin’ Life (the premiere guide to the punk rock underground, from Maximum Rocknroll). I made a list of where to send demos and expanded the list of label reps we should send to. This is how I spend almost all of my free time, which is why I never have free time.
Then I went to the diner with Millie and I didn’t tell her what Sonia and Jeff and George and Molly and all of the Rutgers women’s rugby team already know—that even if I have no idea what I’m doing here, Travis and I are pretty much a thing now. And when Millie brought Travis up and asked me if I knew what his deal was, why he seems so disinterested in her, I just shrugged and said, “I don’t know, he’s just like that.” And when she asked me to find out if she has any kind of hope of getting anywhere with him, I didn’t say, “No, back the fuck off, he’s mine,” either.
“He’s just goofy about girls,” I said.
“Is he possibly gay?” she asked.
“Only for Henry Rollins.”
I didn’t show her my ass, either, and besides, most of that Sharpie tattoo is gone as much as I attempted to preserve it. Eventually you just have to wash your ass.
When Travis sees me in the crowd tonight he smiles, but his smile shifts to a slight grimace when he’s intercepted by Millie, who drags him over to the bar. She puts her hand on his arm, leans in closer to talk in his ear and I want to drag him away from her, drag him home like a cavewoman, strip him bare and ride him until the Renaissance comes. Millie whispers something in his ear. He’s watching me as I’m watching him and who the hell knows what she’s talking about now. He laughs though, so I guess it’s something funny, though I’m not real amused here.
Millie leaves him and comes sauntering her way through the crowd over to me with a fresh drink and I have no idea, none, what’s on her mind. She hands me the cocktail and drapes her arm around my neck and plants a big, sloppy strawberry kiss on my jaw.
“I really do think he’s gay,” she says. “And not just for Henry Rollins.”
There’s nothing I can say to this with a straight face.
It’s really fucking loud down here, so even though Joey is standing right next to me, he can’t hear a word Millie says. Instead, he just ogles us as she hangs all over me and he is dying, dead and dying as he tries not to laugh. I look over to the bar where Cole and Travis are also looking our way. Cole gives me the biggest, dumbest exaggerated eyebrow waggle I’ve ever seen, and Travis, with that knowing smile, better not be getting any ideas about getting us both in the van tonight after the show.
“Why are they staring at us?” Millie says.
“Because they’re pigs,” I say.
A big, drunk grin spreads across Millie’s face and she turns to look over her shoulder at Cole and Travis. Then she looks back at me with a smirk and I know what she’s thinking as she licks her lips like that but quite honestly, I’m just not that drunk. Unfortunately, Millie is and before I can manage to duck and avoid it, she plants a big, openmouthed kiss right on my lips, right there in the middle of the club, and oh fuck, spinART’s in the house, too. Great.
I can’t bear to look around me. I don’t want to see just how much attention we’ve drawn. But when Billy Broadband cries, “Whoa, Millie! Let me run to the car and get the camera, girl,” and I hear cries for an encore and Circle Time is still in the middle of their set, I can imagine the size of the spectacle Millie has just made of us. I know I’m turning red, for sure, and I think Joey just dropped his drink and Cole fell off his barstool and I can’t see Travis right now, but if his boner isn’t a mile long, then I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed in him.
Thankfully, all the dudes who take pictures of bands are near the front of the stage and don’t get us on film. Because that’s all I need right now.
Millie pulls her face back and laughs and I am sure I’ve turned a deep crimson, because, Jesus effing Christ, this isn’t the shore, folks. We’re not working at Frank’s Chicken House here. We are performing artists in this town, and I, for one, like to be taken seriously for what I do—and that’s sing and play guitar. I’m not here to dance on a pole, with all due respect to the exotic dancing community—they do their thing, I do mine, and mine is not to earn a living giving drunk guys hard-ons. Come on, now.
Anyway, I can’t even stay mad at Millie. She’s also too damned adorable when she’s drunk.
Travis extricates himself from some conversation at the bar and weaves his way through the crowd over to where we are. The look on his face is tough to read because there’s no questioning that he’s completely amused. But he’s coming to rescue me, that becomes obvious when he plants himself right between Millie and me and bends down to my ear to say, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. Now Millie gives me a long, lingering kiss on the cheek before she heads back over to the bar and Travis’s eyes flash with the fantasy of something he’s definitely not getting tonight. Not for all the vodka in the bar.
“That was not my idea,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “I thought you were going to wring her neck.”
“Well, she’s not that bad of a kisser,” I say.
He tries not to react. He glances past me, over to where Millie is sitting at the bar, and then back down at me. He narrows his eyes.
“You’re going to be in trouble if you keep that up.”
“I think you’re going to be in trouble if I keep it up.”
“Jesus, Emmylou,” he says, shaking his head. He laughs and then turns his attention towards the stage. “How’s Julia holding up?”
“She’s managing,” I say, nodding in her direction. She’s playing fine, not her best set ever, but who can expect that under the circumstances? It’s still good enough that the spinART rep is bobbing his head to the music and not checking his watch.
It’s near the end of Circle Time’s set when we all notice Julia is not okay. They’re playing a crowd favorite, “You and Me,” one of the oldest songs in their set, and tears stream down her face and now nothing is funny. Nothing is cute.
“Oh shit,” Joey says. “Poor Julia.”
It’s just so fucking sad, and now we’re all standing here unable to take our eyes off of her, unable to breathe as they careen through the song, pretty terribly. Matt is oblivious, that fucking dick. Dan can’t see because her back is to him, and she turns to face the bass cabinet to try to hide it. Julia misses a major change, she doesn’t make it to the bridge but hops to the chorus, and the song sounds really fucked up. And oh shit, she’s losing it up there, really losing it. Dan tries to catch her
attention and get her back on top of the riff, but she’s not even paying attention anymore. The song falls all the way apart when she just stops playing altogether, puts the bass in the stand, and Dan stops playing and jams his sticks into the stick bag.
But Matt, determined to get a record deal with spinART, keeps going all by himself, like anyone gives a shit now. Like anyone in the crowd even wants to hear his lying ass. He finishes the song with the rest of us looking at him incredulous, like what a dick, seriously. When he’s done, Julia steps up to her mic and announces she quits, that’s the end of Circle Time. She thanks the rest of us for all of our support, but she can’t do it.
Nobody claps. Nobody knows what the hell to do. Matt is appalled. He quick jumps on the mic and says that’s not true, Circle Time is not disbanding, they’re just having personnel issues. Really, Matt? Jesus. And now spinART guy is not entertained, nor amused.
“This is exactly why I will never be in a band with a couple,” Joey says. “It’s so not worth the drama.”
Travis keeps his eyes on Julia as she makes her way through the crowd in a mess of tears and broken dreams. He doesn’t respond to Joey’s comment at all. But my heart freezes and shatters inside of me.
“What’s wrong?” Joey asks.
“Just . . . poor Julia,” I say, shaking my head.
“Shit, I know,” he says, wrapping his arm around me. “Let’s go see if she wants to hit the diner with us. She looks like she really needs a plate of chili fries.”
***
In Jersey, diners are where you go for fries and coffee after the bars close when you’re not done hanging out at three a.m., and on a night like this, nobody is done hanging out. Tonight, we go to the Edison Diner. It’s me, Travis, Joey, Cole, Julia and Dan, and Millie and Bailey, and then in the lobby as we’re waiting for them to put a few tables together for us, we run into Billy, Ron, and Darah Jordan, who isn’t a musician but some marketing major who is fucking Ron. This week.
You might be surprised at how crowded the Edison Diner is at three a.m. on Friday night/Saturday morning. But probably not if you’ve ever been there at that time. Half of the folks from the Court are here, which makes Julia want to hide under the table, but aside from a few pathetic looks and sideways glances, she gets several pats on the back and a few hugs. We are finally sitting, and this feels pretty much like being in a Rutgers dining hall at school except everybody here is in a band or was just out watching a band, if not Circle Time and Buttcrack at the Court, then they were at the hardcore show at the Melody. We run into the Holy Hobbies, the male pop masters of New Brunswick. They’re stopping for pancakes on their way home from playing a gig in the city.
“Dude.” Joey is leaning forward in his chair. His arm is on the back of Julia’s chair as he talks to her. “Next time I see Matt? I’m going to Taekwondo his ass. You have my word.”
“Sure, if I don’t do it myself first,” Julia says. “Maybe you can show me some moves.”
“Trap can,” Joey says. “He did competitive martial arts all through high school.”
“You did?” I say. There’s something I don’t know about Travis? Travis shakes his head at Joey.
“Taekwondo is for self-defense,” he says. “Not vendettas. For that you just want a good old-fashioned fist to the mouth.”
“I can handle that,” Joey says.
“It’s all right,” Julia says. “I’ve already done that.”
“You have? That’s so badass.” Joey is wide-eyed with admiration, and I can’t believe I never saw it before now, but Joey is into Julia. I must have been too wrapped up in my own shit to notice this last weekend at Carolier Lanes. Oh shit, what if they start dating and then he leaves Soft to start a band with Julia? I’m such an asshole, I actually have this thought. I can’t even lie about it.
“So is that really it for Circle Time?” I ask Julia. “Can’t you just replace Matt? Maybe spinART would be interested in you guys without him.”
“Matt wrote most of the songs,” she admits. “And you can’t replace singers.”
“Tell that to AC/DC,” Billy says.
“This is Matt we’re talking about here,” Julia says. “He’ll never leave without a fight. If anything, he’ll replace me.”
“And me,” Dan says. “Because I’m not playing with that asshole.”
“Well, let me say a few words, then,” Billy says, standing up, holding his Diet Pepsi aloft. “A rock eulogy, if you will.”
We all stop chatting and pay attention. This is serious business now.
“Some good bands come to an end before their time, and so it is with Circle Time. We’ll all remember ‘Bunny Farts’ as one of the best tributes to the grease trucks this town has ever heard.”
“Hear, hear,” we all say.
“So, what’s next, Julia?” Billy says. “Will you take a break or start a new project right away?”
“I don’t know, but one thing is for sure,” Julia says. “I’ll never be in a band with a boyfriend again. Never, ever, ever.”
“Me either,” Joey says. “I’ll never be in a band with a girlfriend, or a couple.”
“It’s too much of a headfuck,” Ron says. “That’s why I have all guys in my band, no offense, ladies.”
“None taken,” I say, and suddenly I’ve got no appetite for my french onion soup.
Travis is quiet next to me, doodling with his Sharpie on his jeans and I will never be able to look at a Sharpie the same way again. I don’t know why Cole is looking at me like this, but I don’t like it. I make a face at him, he gives me the “what?” face, so I decide not to read into it. Except it’s too late and I already have.
“It’s true, though,” Billy pipes up, and this guy isn’t even in a band. “Whenever there’s a couple in a band, it’s an invitation to drama. It just never seems to work. Outside of Sonic Youth, anyway.”
I say nothing, but feel everything about this conversation. This situation. This great loss of one of my favorite bands wrought by stupid romantic fuckery. But I say nothing at all about it. I’m just nodding my head in agreement as Travis also says nothing and keeps his eyes expressionless as he draws Hopey from Love and Rockets on his knee.
***
Travis and I sit in my driveway listening to the last rehearsal tape we made. As I listen, part of me is crumbling. It sounds so good to me, and I know that this close friendship we share with Cole and Joey is why it sounds so good when we play, just like playing music reinforces this bond we have. When we’re plugged in and rocking, it’s like we can all feel what the others are feeling. When Cole lays down a bass line, we all just fall onto it like a mattress and bounce while Joey’s kick drum pushes the whole sound forward, into the onslaught of Travis and me on guitar, and when I put my voice over that it’s like I’m trying to put into words things that matter to all of us—it’s not just about me. I guess that’s what good music does, it pulls you together when you’re otherwise falling apart. You can pull four different musicians into a room and ask them to play, and it will be “music” and some will sound good, but some will become more than four people playing. They’ll become a real band. You know, Radiohead.
We’re definitely not Radiohead. Not by a long shot. But we’re a real band. We sound like one, we play like one, we dream like one. Together.
I remember first meeting Julia and Matt. It was two years ago, when they played on the sidewalk in front of Cafe News. They were so good then, and so in love. They were talking about moving in together, and they did that summer, too. They toured all over the Northeast. Now they’re going to have to find a way to pull their entire lives apart, get separate apartments, divide up the gear, and start over, and I can’t imagine the kind of hell that must be.
I feel sick now.
“What’s wrong?” Travis asks, although I know he knows exactly what’s wrong. He just doesn’t want to say it.
“Did you tell Cole about us?” I ask, thinking of how Cole looked across the table in our direction when the subject of couples in bands came up tonight.
“Tell him what about us?”
“Did you tell him we hooked up?”
“No,” he says. “Why? Did he say something?”
“No,” I say. “But I think he suspects something.”
“I should talk to him anyway,” Travis says. “It’s probably time we let the brothers know.”
“No,” I say. “Because we can’t do this. Joey will quit.”
Travis flinches like I just hit him. Maybe he didn’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I didn’t even know I was thinking that, but now I am thinking it, and I’m saying it, too.
“No he won’t,” Travis finally says. “He’s just saying that. It’s hypothetical.”
I let out a big, heavy sigh.
“They’re right, you know,” I say. “Couples in bands are an inevitable disaster. Imagine what Julia and Matt are going through right now. They’ve been trying to break that band for five years.”
“Well, we’re not them,” he says. “Matt’s a fucking dick, for starters.”
I feel sick. My stomach has worked its way into my throat. My heart is racing like I’m staring down a demon from hell and it wants to eat my soul for a snack. My mind reels and races through all my worst fears. Very large spiders, abandoned houses, extreme heights. Running out of gas on the Turnpike at five a.m. Something happening to Mom. And scariest of all, Travis quitting Stars on the Floor.
“Travis, look,” I say. “I know we have feelings for each other, but that’s just because we spend so much time together. We really have to be levelheaded about this, think it through.”
“Levelheaded?” he says. “Is that what you think you’re being right now?”
“Yes,” I insist. “We can’t just throw everything away because we’ve got this adolescent love fantasy going on here.”
And now he looks like I just punched him in the chest. And I feel like I just punched him in the chest.