Road Rash

by Mark Huntley Parsons

  “And the rest of us don’t?”

  She sighed. “Like I said, I really don’t want to get into this. I’ve got enough to deal with right now.” She got up to go, then sat back down. “I’m sorry. Look, if it matters, I think your playing’s fine. Okay?” She stood. “I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Not exactly what I was looking for, if you know what I mean …

  I got a refill on my coke and just sat there, lost in thought.

  “Hey, man, you did a real good job up there tonight.”

  “Huh?” I glanced over at the guy a couple of stools down the bar. He looked like some old hippie. Receding hairline, graying hair, ponytail. There seemed to be a few of those types around here. I nodded at him. “Thanks.”

  He moved over to the empty stool next to me. “No, I mean it,” he said. “You were really good.”

  Great. Some old guy wanted to yak at me. Probably drunk, too. “Hey, thanks,” I said again, then kinda turned away, hoping he’d go bug someone else.

  Instead, he got up and went behind the bar. The staff didn’t say a word. “Hey, Scotty,” he called out. “You mind if I play something for the youngster here?”

  “No problem, Gare. Go for it.”

  He pulled down the background music playing over the bar system and dug a CD out of the stack next to the register. How the West Was Won. I’d heard of it but had never actually heard it—it was some long-lost Zeppelin live stuff that was found and remastered.

  He turned to me. “Listen to this. Especially Bonzo.” Then he pressed play and cranked it up. There was no mistaking the voice of Robert Plant wailing the opening lines of “Black Dog.” No one else sounded like that.

  Hey hey mama said the way you move,

  Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove …

  Then that famous off-kilter guitar part came in, with the band pumping behind it. The impressive thing was, the tune had extra beats added and removed throughout, but John Bonham totally ruled that song, playing this syncopated stuff with reckless abandon. It was powerful, it was live—not some studio wizardry—and it was absolutely fearless.

  When it was over, the guy pulled the CD and put the house music back on, then he walked over until he was standing behind the bar, directly in front of me, with his hands resting on the counter. His forearms were really ripped for a skinny old guy—like a long-haired version of Popeye.

  “Did you get it?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but I’d certainly gotten something from it, so I nodded.

  “I thought you would. That was at the Forum, in L.A. Seventy-three. I was there. Man, there was nothing like Bonzo in his heyday. Hammer of the gods and all that crap, right?” He paused and looked at me, and suddenly he didn’t seem like such a drunk anymore. “You remind me of him. Not all the technique, but you’ll learn that with time. But you got the important part … the part you can’t fake.” He leaned forward and tapped the side of my head. “The intent, man. Any fool can hit hard. It’s about laying back and listening, then grabbing the wheel and driving that bus when you need to.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “So keep your ears open. Keep listening. And keep on it.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Wow. I looked at Scotty and shook my head in disbelief. “That old hippie dude seems to know something.”

  “Uh, yeah, I’d say he knows a little.”

  “Is he a drummer, or something?”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yeah, you might say. That ‘old hippie dude’ happens to be Gary Koenig, from Blacklight.”

  “Huh?” I swear to God, my eyes must have bugged clean out of my head. “Hairy Gary? That’s him? No way!” Heck, we’d kept a couple of their songs in our set list, left over from that classic-rock thing in Bozeman. They were two of my favorites.

  “Yup, he’s a semi-local. Got a nice place up by the lake, where he spends his downtime between tours.” He chuckled. “He ain’t quite as hairy anymore, but he’s still all Gary, believe me.”

  But I wasn’t sure I did believe him. I went to the front of the club, looking for him. Nada. I was headed back to the bar when I heard an outrageously loud roar from out front. I turned and ran back to look out the front window. He was pulling away from the curb on a totally tricked-out chopper with a dark purple custom paint job on the tank and flames shooting out the pipes. I got there just in time to catch a glimpse of the license plate: BL XPRSS.

  32

  “You! Me! Dancing!”

  “… and we’ll get right back to today’s locals-only edition of the Lunch Box Special after this from our sponsors.” Then a commercial for the Trans-King transmission shop in Los Robles came on. It actually made me a little homesick, if you can believe that.

  Danny walked in. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?”

  “I would think it’s obvious,” Amber replied. “We’re listening to the radio.”

  He sat down next to her and snagged half of her sandwich, taking a big bite. “Thanks, babe,” he said through a mouthful of turkey on sourdough. “I wasn’t sure what that noise was.” I swear, those two were made for each other. Well, plus the fact that no one else would put up with them.…

  We were hanging in the club, having lunch. I’d asked Scotty if he’d let me hook up my laptop to the stereo system in the bar, and I was streaming the Wild 107 broadcast through it. Glenn and I had been kind of keeping it on the down-low, since that song had caused more grief per beat than any tune in recent history. But first Jamie showed up, and then Amber, and when they asked what we were listening to, well, what were we supposed to say …?

  The commercials ended. “Hey, everybody, Candy here with your Lunch Box Special coming at you from Wild 107. And like I promised, today we have something extra–special in store. We’re going to do a replay of the new Best in the Rockin’ West CD in its entirety, in case you missed its debut last night. First up is a band I don’t really know much about, to be honest. Here’s everything I’ve got on them: they’re called Killer Jones, they’re from Los Robles, and they’re currently on the road out of state. But they’ll be back in the area at the end of summer, which has got me all hot and bothered because I’m really looking forward to seeing them, and so will you after you hear this cut. They picked the right name, because their song ‘Every Day’ is killer.…”

  “Here it is, here it is!” Jamie said. She was sitting next to Glenn and she grabbed his arm, all excited. I swear, I think she was more amped than we were.

  And then that familiar guitar riff started.… In reality, the actual sound quality coming over the speakers probably wasn’t all that hot—the audio streaming live over the internet wasn’t exactly master quality. And of course I’d heard the song a bunch of times already.

  But you know what? None of that mattered. They were playing it on the freakin’ radio, and I gotta tell ya—it was absolute magic.

  We just sat there listening, and it took me until halfway through the song to realize I had such a big-ass grin on my face that my cheeks hurt. Glenn looked pretty stoked, too. For that matter, so did Danny and the girls, especially Jamie.

  The song ended and Candy came back on. “Whew! That was ‘Every Day,’ by Killer Jones, off the upcoming Best in the Rockin’ West CD. That was smokin’—can’t wait to hear more from those guys. Now we’ve got a cut from Messenger Bag, who home-base out of San Luis Beach …”

  I turned it down. The other guys were still jazzed, just talking and congratulating us and stuff. And then I noticed Brad, standing near the back of the club. I don’t know how long he’d been there … all I really saw was his back as he walked out.

  In theory the gig that night should have been the most stressed-out show for me yet, after the whole deal between me and Brad, to say nothing of Glenn and Brad.

  And yeah, it started out that way. Brad and Jamie didn’t even show up for preflight. As I took my seat behind the drums, I didn’t know what to expect. But once e
veryone was in place and good to go, they looked at me, I counted off the first song on the set list, and away we went.

  The good part for me was that I played with a little confidence, and I honestly enjoyed myself up there for the first time all week. My stress over the whole timing issue was gone. Not that I didn’t care about keeping things on the money, but I finally learned it’s not one of those things you can improve by overthinking it.

  The first set went pretty well, at least from a musical standpoint. Brad didn’t say a lot to me, or anyone else. But I just drove forward, hoping he’d come around sooner rather than later.

  So I was actually feeling pretty good as I came offstage for the first break. The place was filled to capacity with the Friday night crowd, mostly people on vacation, and the entire room had that happy-to-be-here vibe. We’d put on our set-break music, and “Brighter Than Sunshine,” by Aqualung, started playing from the sound system as I walked up to the crowded bar to get a coke.

  Someone behind me put a hand on my waist. “Care to dance?” a girl’s voice said softly in my ear.

  I turned to reply and stopped cold.

  She was freakin’ gorgeous.

  I could have asked her a bunch of questions. And I probably should have. But I didn’t. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  We went out on the dance floor and slow-danced without speaking, and it felt so natural. It wasn’t weird at all, which was extremely weird, if that makes any sense. Her head was buried in my neck and she had that whole soft-and-warm thing going on. God, she smelled great, too. It wasn’t even fair.

  The song swelled around us and then dropped way down, almost a cappella.…

  Love will remain a mystery

  But give me your hand and you will see

  Your heart is keeping time with me …

  It was like a dream to be standing there, holding her, as the music played. You know how it feels when you’re chilled to the bone and then you take a hot shower? It was like I’d been standing outside all winter, without even a coat to keep me warm, and now I was finally inside, just letting the warm water rain down on me. It felt so damn nice I didn’t ever want to turn it off.

  As the song faded, another slow tune came up. Which was strange, because we never had two slow ones in a row during break, but the last thing I was going to do was complain. She was giving me the look, but it was a totally unnecessary use of eye shadow—I would have danced like that with her all night. The song was “You Ain’t Alone,” by Alabama Shakes. Whoa …

  Are you scared to tell somebody how you feel about somebody?

  Are you scared what somebody’s gonna think?

  “Hi,” I finally said, speaking quietly into her ear.

  “Hi.”

  “How are you?”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out real slow and hugged me tighter. “A lot better now,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said. “I love”—I tilted her head back so I could see her—“your earrings.”

  She smiled. “Really?” She reached up and fingered them. “My boyfriend gave them to me.”

  “Is that so? Hmm, he’s got good taste.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. So what brings you way out here?”

  “I’ve just turned sixteen, and I’ve never been properly …” She stopped and looked up at me, and I made the fatal mistake of looking back. I swear, we just stared at each other without moving for God knows how long. She swallowed. “Been properly, um … shown around Yellowstone.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Really? I think I could help you out, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not one bit. I’m in serious need of … some help.” She put her hand on my face. “And I’ve got to say, I’m loving your whiskers.”

  We were still staring at each other. It was like we were two magnets—I couldn’t look away, and my face kept getting closer and closer to hers. “You know,” I said, “I have about a million questions for you.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “Here’s the first one.” Our lips were only a few inches apart. And closing. “What does this taste like …?”

  We didn’t talk much after that. A couple more songs played during the break, both slow, but they went by in a blur. And then suddenly the music stopped and it was time for the next set.

  “I hate to tell you this,” I said as we stood there in the silence, still kind of holding each other, “but I have to get up there and play now.…”

  She smiled. “It’s okay. We’ll talk during your next break.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “See you soon.”

  As I got back up onstage, Jamie and Amber accosted me.

  “So, young man!” Jamie said. “Exactly who was that you were swapping spit with in front of God and everybody?” She had her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the floor. “Do you even know her name? Hmm …?”

  “You got some splainin’ to do, sonny,” Amber added. “After all, not just anyone is fit for our baby brother. Whoever that shameless hussy is, you kids need to go get yourselves a room.”

  “Or maybe a fire hose …,” Danny offered.

  Glenn walked over and joined in. “So that would be your former bass player’s sister,” he said. I nodded.

  The girls perked up at that. “Do you know her?” Jamie asked.

  “Nope,” Glenn said. “But I know Zach, which means that pretty much has to be her.”

  He turned to me. “So is the drought over, or is this just a passing rain cloud?”

  I shook my head. “You’re asking an awful lot of me at the moment, considering.” Then I looked at them real confused, like I’d never seen them before. “Hey! Do I know you guys? What’s your name? Hell, what’s my name?”

  They all laughed. “If nothing else,” Glenn said, “it says a lot that she’s here. This isn’t exactly a stroll down to the corner store.”

  “Yeah, you’re not kidding. So, who was playing DJ during the break?” I figured it was some combination of Danny and/or Amber.

  Jamie put her hand up, looking sheepish. “Guilty.” Suddenly she looked across the stage and said, “Hey, we’ve got to get playing.”

  I glanced over. Brad was standing at his mic, looking over at us and tapping his watch.

  “He can wait ten seconds.” I gave her a hug and said quietly, “Thanks, Cupid—that was perfect. I knew you were a sucker for romance.”

  33

  “Sorry”

  “So, how’d you get here?”

  We were at a table back near the dining area having cokes during the second break, and even though we were just sitting and talking instead of all that other, uh … stuff, it was still wonderful having her there.

  “I flew here with Ginger. And Sarah.”

  “Whoa. So you got your sister to come with you?”

  “Yeah, thank God, because there’s no way my parents would’ve let me come alone. It took some serious plea bargaining to get to this arrangement, even with Sarah as my chaperone.”

  “So where are they now?”

  She looked around. “They’re here somewhere. Sarah came in with me to make sure the place was okay, then she and Ginger went next door to grab a bite.”

  “They can come and hang, if they want. As long as they stay back here away from the bar when we’re playing, it’ll be okay. The owners are totally cool.”

  “Okay, I’ll call them as soon as your break’s over.”

  I nodded, then I paused for a second. It seemed like a stupid question, but I needed some answers. “I’m really glad you’re here.” I laughed. “God, that’s the understatement of the century. But the last thing I heard from you was that you didn’t want to see me again. So … why are you here?”

  “To apologize. Zach, I am so sorry I didn’t listen to you. When I heard all that stuff, it just seemed so believable.…”

  “Well, that was partly because I didn’t tell you the truth myself. Did you get my message apologizing about that?”
/>   “Yes. That’s what made me go talk to Alicia, and—”

  “Wait a minute. You talked to my monkey-girl sister?”

  “She’s actually really nice, and smart, too. And without her I wouldn’t be here right now, so don’t go making fun of her.”

  “I wasn’t. I love her. Usually. Sometimes. But I don’t understand how—”

  “Let me back up to where I got sidetracked.” She took a big breath. “So … When I heard the stuff that Kevin had been spreading around, it seemed to make sense. At least, I thought it did. And it took me a while to figure this out, but the reason I took it so hard is because you had become really important to me. And that’s my understatement of the year. So here’s the outline version: There’s this guy, and I’m totally crazy about him, and then I find out he’s not what I thought he was, and I’m devastated. And he insists I’m wrong, but I’ve got a dozen other people saying the opposite and he’s already lied about it once. I need to know for sure, so I go digging, and that eventually leads me to his sister. She fills in some important missing details and I realize I was an idiot for doubting him. Then I tell my parents that what I want for my sixteenth birthday more than anything is to take a trip to Yellowstone. They quickly figure out that I’m not going there to see Old Faithful, but they know this guy a little, and even though they’re not thrilled that I want to go a thousand miles to see some rock drummer on tour, I bust out all my negotiating skills and”—she threw up her hands like, Ta-da!—“here I am!”

  “Yup, no doubt about it—here you am. Wow … that’s quite a story. So, you came all this way just to tell me you’re sorry for misjudging me?”

  She put down her drink, came around the table, and climbed in my lap. Talk about déjà vu …

  “Mr. Ryan,” she said in her professor voice, “I am here to offer my most sincere apologies for ever doubting the righteousness of your intentions.” She dropped the act and whispered in my ear, “And to do this …”