"You stink," Jon said, trying not to laugh.
Pete raised his head and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, asshole," he replied. "Let's go take a shower. We both stink."
"Sounds like a plan," Jon agreed.
They showered quickly, and Jon had barely pulled on a pair of sweat pants when there was a knock at the front door. Raising an eyebrow, Jon looked at Pete, wondering if they were supposed to be expecting guests, but Pete looked as mystified as Jon felt.
"Peter," a voice came through the door, "are you home?"
"It's mum," Pete said, tugging on a t-shirt quickly. "Get dressed!"
"I am, I am!" Jon rolled his eyes as Pete dashed from the bedroom. Picking up a grey Iggy Pop t-shirt that had seen better days, Jon tugged it on with a pair of sweat pants and then sauntered out of the bedroom and into the open plan kitchen-living room.
Pete was sitting on the kitchen counter, grinning from ear to ear at his parents who were taking him to task for not having called them when he got home, and for having no real food in the fridge or the cupboards. Jon leaned against the wall, watching them fondly.
"Ah, Jon, there you are!" Mrs. Chen turned from the fridge and smiled as she saw him. She moved to him, smiling, arms outstretched for a hug.
Jon hugged her back, laughing as she ruffled his hair. "Hey, Mrs. Chen. Mr. Chen. How are you both?"
"Jon." Mr. Chen nodded in greeting. "Peter's mother was worrying that he'd been eaten by a dingo on the way home from Port Pirie, so she made me drive over here after we'd been to our cousin's market garden up in Virginia." Jon looked over at Pete and they shared a fond look as Mr. Chen spoke. "My back hurts from so much driving and my ears hurt from all her panicking. And here we are with fresh fruit and vegetables and our son is still alive, and so are you, and my wife hasn't stopped talking. So, I am well."
Jon laughed. "Normal day in the Chen family, then?" he teased.
"Hush, child," Mrs. Chen said, shaking a finger at him. "And say thank you; I bought you some fried rice and some beef in black bean sauce."
Jon quietly whooped and hugged her again. "You? Are the most awesome mum ever."
"So you keep telling me," Mrs. Chen said. "Just keep making Peter happy, and we will be happy too."
"Mum," Pete complained, blushing.
"He is so easy to embarrass," Mrs. Chen said, and Jon started laughing.
"He really is, yeah."
"Oh my God, you guys!" Pete buried his face in his hands. Jon could see that Pete was red to the tips of his ears.
Laughing, Jon turned back to Pete's parents. "We've got a few weeks of no gigs, so if you need an extra dish and bottle washer, I'm your guy," he said.
"Thank you, Jon," Mrs. Chen said. "That is very kind of you to offer. We may take you up on your offer on the Thursdays and Fridays. They are our busiest nights. Saturdays and Sundays, Laura-Lin and her husband help out."
Laura-Lin was Pete's younger sister, and her husband was Greek. Between the extended Chen family—cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews and many more besides—and the extended Greek family of Laura-Lin's in-laws, family gatherings were loud, boisterous, happy, and fun. It never failed to amaze Jon when he attended one of these gatherings to see how happy everyone was. The Popodopolous family was warm and welcoming of their in-laws and Jon, just as much as the Chen family was.
Coming from a small, conservative family of a long line of lawyers, Jon couldn't imagine the sort of raucous good cheer that went on at the Chen and Popodopolous gatherings taking place within his own family. His parents hadn't spoken to him in years anyway, Jon thought sadly. Not since they had learned that not only was he gay, he was in a gay relationship with a Chinese man, and, most shockingly in Jon's father's thinking, that Jon had no desire to attend university and follow in the family footsteps of being a lawyer. Or a doctor, or all else failing, an architect.
"Hey," Pete said suddenly, his brown eyes intense. "You thinking about your dad again, Jon?"
"Is it that obvious?" Jon asked with a weak smile.
"Only because I know you." Pete frowned. "I wish I could do something."
"You are, believe me." Jon walked over to Pete and hugged him. "You really are. So are your mum and dad. And your enormous, loud family." He pulled back from the embrace and leaned up, pressing a kiss to Pete's forehead.
Pete chuckled. "Okay, good."
Mrs. Chen, however, was frowning deeply, talking to her husband in rapid Mandarin. Mr. Chen was nodding, and having reached an agreement, she turned to the two young men in the kitchen. "Boys, come to the house for lunch on Sunday. We insist. Jon, you are part of our family, you know."
Jon gave her a shy smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Chen. Mr. Chen. You guys are so good to me."
"You are a good boy, Jon," Mr. Chen said warmly.
Pete cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So what food did you bring us?"
Jon was relieved that the subject of conversation had moved on from families and things that involved emotions. He stared at the sheer amount of food in the fridge as Mr. Chen opened the door, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's as he took in the fruit, vegetables, juices, milk, and Tupperware containers that were neatly stacked on the shelves, filled with food from the Chens' restaurant. There were a few bottles of soft drink, and Jon was amazed to see four six packs of beer cans.
"I had no idea our fridge could hold so much!" Jon blurted. And then, remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you so much, you guys. This is brilliant!"
"We do not want you to starve. And this is better for you to eat than those greasy fried chips you like so much," Mrs. Chen said.
Jon began to laugh. "But the chicken salt is tasty!"
"Good midnight munchies food," Pete said.
"I do not want to know." Mrs. Chen shook her head. "We will go now, and see you on Thursday evening. Take care of yourselves, boys. We are glad you are home safe and sound." She bustled over to Pete and Jon, hugged and kissed them both. Mr. Chen lightly clapped their shoulders in farewell, and then then were gone, the front door closing with a loud click.
"Wow," Jon said, peering once more into the fridge. "We're going to get so fat."
"We'll work it off in bed," Pete said.
"Yeah, that's a workout I can get behind," Jon agreed. "You know, your fam is pretty awesome. Though I'm glad they don't get all emotional. Too much emotion freaks me out."
"Yeah, I like 'em," Pete agreed. He laughed softly. "Jon, you freak out if someone says 'I love you' on telly. It's okay. We all know you're not into emotions."
"Well, good." Jon rummaged in the fridge to hide how awkward he felt. "We've got enough food here for a year."
"Mum doesn't want us to starve." Pete reached around Jon and grabbed a beer. "Or go thirsty."
"Maybe we should take some of this with us to practice next," Jon mused. "I don't want it all to go off."
"Yeah, we can do that," Pete said agreeably. "Get a beer and let's go watch telly."
Jon did as he was told.
*~*~*
The time passed quickly. Jon was finishing up with the last of the dishes in the Chens' restaurant before closing time when Laura-Lin's husband Phil joined him.
"G'day, Jon," Phil said, grabbing a dishcloth and reaching over to grab a wet plate.
"Hey. Thanks," Jon added.
"No worries. I wanted to talk to you, actually."
"Oh yeah? What about?" Jon shot Phil a curious look.
"I heard about your tour to Port Pirie," Phil said "Sounds like it was a fucking blast of fun."
"Yeah, just like a visit to the dentist," Jon said. He scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on the base of the pot he was washing.
"So I heard. I was thinking, why don't you guys do a weekend tour of Melbourne? My family and the Chens have friends and relatives over there, you could do well."
Jon paused in the act of washing a large saucepan. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, why not? Go over to Melbourne, play a few gigs—you know th
ere's a good punk scene there—make some connections, sell some of your tapes, come home again. It'd be a good time and a good tour." Phil placed the now dry plate on the shelf and reached for another one.
Jon mulled the idea of doing some gigs in Melbourne over as he resumed washing the saucepan. "It could work," he agreed. "I'd have to talk to the guys, though."
"Of course," Phil said. "I just figured I'd suggest it to you. One of my cousins is into that sort of music; he spends every weekend at gigs. He lives in Essendon, so he could probably put you all up for a few days. I think his girlfriend works for one of those free street newspapers—she could probably help out with finding you some gigs."
Jon nodded slowly. It appealed to him and he liked the suggestion that there would be people interstate that would enjoy Capsicum Head's music. "That sounds pretty brilliant, actually. Can I get your cousin's phone number? I'll have a chat to him and see what he reckons about it."
"No worries, mate. I'll jot it down for you when this plate's dry."
"Cheers, Phil. This could be a really good thing for us. We need to do something to get over the bad tour blues. We could write a song about it, but I reckon Danny'd pitch a shit fit just remembering his trip up there." The more he thought about, the more excited Jon felt. He would have to organize hiring a trailer for the gear, working out how much money they would need for gas, factor in money for food along the way, and make sure a mixer and a P.A. system were included in the band rooms of whichever pubs and clubs they played in. If there wasn't a P.A. or a mixer in-house, he'd have to account for paying for those too, and arrange a mixer if they needed to.
"I heard about that too," Phil admitted. "I figured if you guys did a weekend in Melbourne, you could drive up, take your car and Danny's car, and then he'd be part of the whole thing, not just stuck in a plane. Or a train, if he'd rather."
"Know what you mean, yeah." Jon finished scrubbing the saucepan and rinsed it off. "That's a great idea. Thanks, man."
"Welcome. I'll get you George's phone number." Putting down the plate, Phil clapped Jon on the shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.
Two days later at band practice, Jon put Phil's suggestion to the rest of Capsicum Head. He hadn't called George yet, wanting to see what his band mates thought of the idea before he started organizing a tour.
"Melbourne, huh?" Greg leaned against his amp stack, resting an arm on his guitar. "That could be pretty ace."
"Who'd go with us?" Danny asked.
"Well, Phil suggested that you and me do the driving," Jon said, and Danny nodded, rolling himself a joint as Jon continued. "So we could probably fit the gear in trailers, and if we take Ellie, Sheena, and Angie too, we should be right."
"Sheena might be able to help out," Adam mused. "Didn't you say she knew a lot of the fanzine writers over there, Greg?"
"Yeah," Greg said. Sheena was his girlfriend, twenty-five, with long blonde hair and huge thing for the Ramones. She had piercings in her ears, nose, and eyebrow, and the back of her trademark black leather jacket had a carefully painted copy of The Ramones' first album cover on it. As a fanzine writer, she gave unconditional support to the local punk scene. Her day job was that of a sign writer; she and Greg worked together.
"Yeah, she knows a few 'zine people there." Greg considered it. "Where would we stay?"
"Phil said we could crash at George's—that's his cousin—in Essendon." Jon said.
"Sounds good to me," Greg said.
"Yeah, same," Danny agreed. "Couldn't be any worse than Pirie was. At least the audience in Melbourne will be of legal age."
Jon snorted a laugh at that. "True. I didn't think of that."
"I'm in," Adam said. "Ellie will want to photograph it all."
"Cool. So, we're all in, and I'll give George a call tonight." Jon was pleased. "That was easy."
"Hey, Melbourne could be good for us," Danny said. "And if nothing else it'll be a good weekend away. So let's practice so we don't suck."
Greg played several chords. "What song shall we start with, then?"
*~*~*
Organizing a tour to Melbourne for Capsicum Head turned out to be a much easier business than Jon had dared to hope. George proved to be a good contact and organized gigs for the band at three of the more popular punk and alternative music pubs in Melbourne. He had been quite cheerful as he'd reported to Jon what they were getting paid for each show—two hundred dollars, plus whatever money they took over the door, and each pub gave a dozen beers as a drinks rider. George assured Jon that he'd book good bands to support Capsicum Head, and offered to let the band stay at his house, although he warned they'd be sleeping on the floor and sofa.
That hadn't worried Jon; he was just happy to hear that the shows were booked and the tour was organized. Scheduled for the Easter long weekend, Jon decided that they could hire trailers on the Thursday and leave Adelaide in the late afternoon, getting to Melbourne on Friday morning. Ellie and Sheena made up posters advertising the gigs and mailed them to George, who distributed them at Melbourne's record shops and the pubs where the gigs were to be held.
Pleased with how the plans had been achieved so far, Jon rang around to hire two trailers, and once he'd sorted that out, he was quite proud of himself. He reported to the rest of the band and everyone was in good spirits, excited about the shows and looking forward to a trip away. George assured Jon that each pub had a mixer on the staff, so that part of the gigs was taken care of and was a load off Jon's mind.
Leaving Adelaide on a cool autumn afternoon, Jon felt an excitement that had been absent for the band's earlier tour to Port Pirie. This time, he'd organized much of the tour himself, and he was confident that George had done a good job on behalf of the band. As he drove his old Holden sedan out of the city and towards the town of Murray Bridge, Danny's battered Holden behind him, Jon was looking forward to a weekend of loud, noisy music, beer, and fun.
In the seat beside him was Pete, sorting through various cassette tapes and chatting animatedly with Greg, Sheena, and Angie, who all rode in the back. The road was clear, and Jon took the turn onto the freeway and started to accelerate with a sense of excitement filling him.
After driving for fifteen minutes on the freeway, Jon looked in the rearview mirror and felt his good mood evaporate at what he saw.
"What the fucking fuck?" he burst out.
Pete blinked. "Jon?"
"Danny isn't behind us," Jon said. "We'll have to turn around."
"On the freeway?!" Greg demanded. "Are you nuts?"
"Well, what do you suggest I do?" Jon retorted. "I'll take the next exit and get back onto the freeway."
"Look, there's a layover shoulder ahead," Sheena pointed out. "Why don't you pull over into that and see if he doesn't catch us up before we turn around? We could turn around only to have him pass us, and then we'd be stuck in a bloody eternal circle as we tried to catch up with each other!"
Jon frowned. "Okay," he said, grudgingly acknowledging that she was probably right. He pulled over into the layover shoulder and parked, getting out of his car to peer up the road. After a moment Pete joined him, slipping a hand into Jon's and gently squeezing.
"It'll be okay," Pete said. "They probably just got caught behind a truck or something."
"Maybe," Jon said, but he didn't feel nearly as sure as Pete sounded.
The minutes ticked slowly by and finally, after what seemed like a week, Danny's car came limping slowly along. Steam was billowing from beneath the hood, and as Danny pulled into the layover shoulder behind Jon's own car, Jon could see that Danny looked very worried.
"What the fuck happened?" Jon demanded as Danny got out of the car.
"I don't fucking know!" Danny shot back. "I need to get the hood open!"
The amount of steam that gushed out of the engine bay once the hood was up was remarkable. Jon fanned a hand in front of his face as he and Danny waited for the air to clear so they could see what was wrong. The others milled around, looking on with anxious
expressions on their faces as Greg and Adam joined Danny and Jon to look into the engine bay.
It turned out that a hose had a hole in it. Danny checked the water and oil as Jon stood by, growing increasingly worried and resisting the urge to pace. "We could gaffa tape it up, I suppose," Jon said a little dubiously. He wasn't sure that would work.
"Yeah, that could keep it from steaming out again until we get to Murray Bridge," Greg said.
Adam snorted. "It's the night before Good Friday. You really think a mechanic is going to be open, today of all days, to sell us a new hose?"
"Fuck." Jon smacked his forehead with his palm. "I didn't think about that."
"Let's just gaffa tape up the bastard," Danny said. "And get to Murray Bridge, see what happens then."
"Okay," Jon sighed. "I'll get the gaffa tape."
Hose taped up, everyone got back in their respective cars and back onto the freeway. An hour later, they took the Murray Bridge exit and ended up on the main street of the country town. As Adam had predicted, most of the shops were closed, and the streets were deserted. From a church in the distance came the sound of a bell ringing. The peal of a bell was loud, sounding like a portent of doom, and Jon despaired. The trip to Melbourne seemed to be doomed before it had even begun.
Pete rested a hand on Jon's knee as they drove slowly down the street. "Relax," Pete murmured, and Jon huffed. Pete gave Jon's knee a reassuring squeeze, and Greg suddenly shouted.
"There's a gas station that's open!"
Jon wasted no time in driving into it, followed by Danny's car. Greg leapt out of the car before Jon had put it into park, hurrying up to the store where a grey haired man wearing oil-smeared, blue overalls stood, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth. Putting the car in park, Jon got out and leaned against it, watching as the man walked towards them with Greg in tow.
"G'day," the man said as he passed them.
"Hi," Jon responded, watching as the man went to Danny's car and lifted up the hood.
Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 21