The Vinyl Princess

by Yvonne Prinz

  “Hi, it’s Allie.”

  “Hey, hi, are you okay? You sound like you have a cold.”

  “No.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Bob’s is closing.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “What? No way, really?”

  “Really.” I inhale in quakes.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  He pauses. “Uh, you want me to come over?”

  “Could you?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I just got out of the shower. I’ll dry off and come over.”

  “Thanks.” I hang up the phone and watch a small black spider crawl up my wall. He’s rushing along as though something extremely important on the ceiling requires his immediate attention. I get up and walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I’m badly in need of a haircut, my eyeliner is smeared and my nose is bright red. I wipe my face with a tissue and click off the light.

  Zach arrives, out of breath, fifteen minutes later. His hair is still wet from the shower and it lacks vertical clearance. The damp clumps of hair sticking to his head make his face look softer somehow. He follows me up the stairs to my bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and he sits down next to me. He puts his arm around my shoulders and I remember the day after the robbery when he squeezed my shoulder and it made me feel better. It’s not working today. My eyes well up with tears again. Zach hands me his white handkerchief. I hesitate.

  “Take it,” he says. “It’s clean.”

  I blow my nose as ladylike as possible. His hankie smells like soap.

  “How do you feel?” he asks me.

  “I feel like my favorite uncle just died. No, I feel like my favorite person just died.”

  He pats my shoulder like a big brother.

  Somehow, we end up lying side by side on my narrow bed, not talking, listening to Billie Holiday sing mournfully on the stereo, our hands turned out toward each other, fingertips barely touching. I’m exhausted.

  The sun drops out of the sky and darkness slowly makes its way across my bedroom and I drift off to sleep.

  When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember why I’ve been sleeping in my clothes on my bed. The day’s events come back to me and my heart does a nosedive. The house is quiet except for the continuous sound of the needle hitting the end of the record. A dog barks somewhere in the neighborhood. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I look over at Zach. He’s snoring softly. He’s taken his glasses off and they’re sitting on the little table next to my bed. Without his glasses, his dark eyebrows become the focus of his face. I prop myself up on my elbow and trace one of them with my finger. He jerks awake.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Did I fall asleep? Was I snoring?”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  He feels for his glasses and puts them on slightly askew. He focuses on my face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Better.”

  “Wow, you look so beautiful when you’re sad.”

  “Do not.”

  “I suppose it would be completely inappropriate if I kissed you right now.”

  “Yes, completely.”

  He leans in and presses his lips against mine. It’s a soft kiss, not one of those long, lingering, romantic kisses and certainly not one of those adolescent kisses where you suddenly have someone’s tongue in your mouth followed by hands everywhere, groping awkwardly. I think that this kiss is a kiss with a future.

  My mom arrives home and is curious to know what I’m doing in my darkened bedroom with a guy. She seems relieved when we emerge fully dressed and she gets a look at Zach, who doesn’t exactly look like a rapist, skulking out next to me in his rumpled clothes, trying to tame his hair, which has dried into a full-on fright wig.

  I say good-bye to Zach at my front door and he says he’ll call later. I tell him he better, or else. I fill my mom in on the demise of Bob’s and start to cry all over again. I haven’t forgotten that tomorrow is registration for high school and I’ll be arriving with pink, swollen eyes, looking like I spent the summer sobbing in my bedroom. It’s bad enough that I have to go at all. School seems pointless to me now.

  My mom tries to console me about Bob’s but the truth is, she never really understood why I wanted to spend my days in a dusty little store that smells like mildew, and I’m sure that she’s secretly pleased about the whole thing. Plus, she appears to be completely in love with Ravi. It’s taking up all her brain space. They’ve spent almost every moment together since their first date. They do everything but work on Ravi’s book. They’re like irresponsible teenagers. At the rate they’re going, that book will never get published and my mother might well be responsible for Ravi missing out on a Nobel Prize. Fortunately, Ravi’s back teaching school in a couple of days and my mom might blow the dust off her dissertation and actually get some work done. I’m really happy that my mom ended up figuring out that the person for her was sitting two feet away from her. I’m even happier that she doesn’t have to go back to the internet, but the other night I got up to go to the bathroom and bumped into Ravi in the hallway in his underwear. He was horrified and I’m still traumatized. My mom acted like it was nothing when I told her the next morning. She actually laughed.

  Zach calls me later that night just like he promised. My heart jumps a little at the sound of his voice, surprising me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yes. Stop asking me that. It is what it is. Bob’s is done. It’s all over and I just have to deal.”

  “Right, okay, so we’re in recovery mode now?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why is it called Bob and Bob Records when there’s only one Bob?”

  “Back when Bob decided to open the store, he was going through a phase. He thought that the only music worth listening to was Bob Dylan and Bob Marley and while he was in some sort of drug-induced state he decided that he was going to open a record store that only sold Dylan and Marley and he’d call it Bob and Bob’s. Well, naturally when he came to his senses, he realized what a stupid idea that was but he still liked the name a lot, so he went with it.”

  “So Bob is actually neither of the Bobs?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Interesting. Hey, but what about the blog?” he asks.

  “Are you kidding me? The Vinyl Princess lives on.”

  “Good. The Vinyl Princess rocks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool . . . and the zine too, right?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Well, if you ever need a writer . . .”

  “Seriously? You’d write for me?”

  “Hell, yes, in a heartbeat. I love that stuff.”

  “I may take you up on that; it’s kind of getting away from me.” I remember that the latest hot-pink issue of my fanzine is still sitting in a box next to my bed.

  “Hey, when do you go back to school?” he asks.

  “I’m not going. I’ve decided to run wild, start my own pirate ship or something.”

  “Really?”

  “I wish. I register tomorrow. School starts in a week. Oh, God, then I have to think about a new job.” I sigh heavily.

  “I start school tomorrow,” he offers, and I realize I should have asked.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Nah. I’ve got my new Star Wars lunch box jammed with peanut-butter sandwiches. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Everything is different now, just when I wanted everything to stay the same.”

  “No, you didn’t. You just think you did because it felt safe.”

  I guess he might be right about that. Bob & Bob’s was my safe place to hide from the world. All my best friends lived there but I guess I always knew better than to think that I could do this forever. You can’t hide from the world in a record store. And the blog, and everyone out there who reads it? They’re my new family. I have “
people” now. I have a responsibility to them. The blog must go on.

  Zach and I stay on the phone for an hour and before we hang up we make plans to see each other the next day. I have no idea how I came to be excited about the prospect of spending time with someone like Zach. These are the things in life that you have no control over. One minute you’re annoyed as hell at someone; the next minute you’re thinking romantic thoughts about them. Life can be funny that way.

  Chapter 24

  After registration, the precursor to another year of hell, I arrive at Bob’s in time to watch Laz and Bob tape giant yellow-and-red banners to the inside of the store windows announcing, EVERYTHING MUST GO. When they’ve finished, the outside of the store looks like a furniture clearance center; all the cool stuff in the windows is covered up by the banners. Bob & Bob’s personality is about to be liquidated.

  Bob has cherry-picked the bins and taken out most of the collectibles for the cheap-suit guy to auction off on eBay. The boxes sit at the front of the store, ready and waiting. What’s left has to be marked down. Bob and I, armed with price guns loaded with red sale stickers, go through the bins, one by one, reducing everything to rock-bottom prices. I apologize to my friends as I go, whispering to them that they’re worth more, that this isn’t their fault. Some of them I rescue, spending my last paycheck on them. Bob ran a big ad in three different papers and twenty-three years’ worth of customers start to trickle back in to scoop up a piece of Bob’s before it disappears forever. Some of them I don’t recognize; some I do. I want to ask every one of them the same question: “Where in the hell have you been?”

  The mood changes from hour to hour. What starts out dismal quickly turns into a happy reunion as musicians, collectors and assorted music lovers from all over the Bay Area arrive to pay homage, show some solidarity, offer condolences, glance at the casket and take home some great deals. Bob holds court through it all. He almost seems to have been reinstated as the Mayor of Telegraph Avenue, shaking hands, hugging old customers, wiping away a tear, kissing babies, petting dogs and talking about the good old days. A few newspaper reporters arrive to interview Bob. He’s only too happy to relate the story of the end of the record store as we know it. Later that afternoon, a van from the local TV station pulls up and Bob stands in front of the store in a Marley T-shirt and sunglasses and tells the perky blonde holding the microphone who’s probably never even laid eyes on an LP that music has gone the way of food. People want it fast and cheap and they don’t care what it tastes like or where it comes from.

  I arrive home exhausted. I’m grimy and I need a shower. I can’t imagine eight more weeks of this, but starting next week, I’ll be back to part-time till the end of Bob’s. On the dining room table there’s a note from my mom, held down with a used coffee mug. There’s a trace of lipstick on the rim. Hers, a new shade of pink. It’s the least she can do for someone who reinvented himself.

  Allie,

  I’m at Lake Anza with Ravi. Estelle’s coming for dinner.

  Be home soon.

  Estelle, as a rule, does not come for dinner. My mom must be debuting Ravi in his new starring role as her boyfriend. Estelle will be thrilled. She adores Ravi. Even with the crumbs in his beard she was crazy about him. I go upstairs and put Zach’s mix on loud while I undress. I walk past Suki’s room. The door is wide-open. I stand in the doorway looking in. The room is completely empty except for a bright red fire extinguisher sitting in the middle of the floor. Next to that, Pierre is sleeping curled up on a little oval cat bed that I’ve never seen before. He opens one eye and regards me for a second and then he shuts it again. Is it possible that all we needed to do to win him over was buy him a cat bed?

  After I get out of the shower, I turn down the music and I dial Zach’s number, which I’ve now memorized. He picks up on the ninth ring when I’ve almost given up.

  “Hey, what are you doing? It rang forever.” I hear music playing in the background . . . it’s Whiskeytown.

  “Sorry. I put my phone in the kitchen cupboard by accident while I was cleaning and then I couldn’t find it.”

  “Oh. How was school?”

  “Not bad . . . well, actually, I sort of hated it. Plus, I got lost twice and I was late arriving to a seminar. My classes are miles apart. I think I may have crossed a state line. It’s an endurance test just to get there. Oh, and the students are a bunch of Philistines, and one of my professors has horrible body odor. He smells like fried onions but more acrid.”

  “Ewww.”

  “Don’t worry about it, though; things wouldn’t be any different at NYU. How was Bob’s?”

  “Unbelievable. Sort of like a Woodstock reunion but sadder.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, Wavy Gravy’s coming at the end of the week and Bob’s on the six-o’clock news.” I look at the clock next to my bed. “In fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t have a TV.”

  “That’s okay. It would only depress you. Hey, do you want to come over for dinner?”

  “Um, okay. I could get into a home-cooked meal.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There will definitely be food but it definitely won’t be home-cooked.”

  “This isn’t the official ‘meet the parents’ dinner invitation, is it?”

  “No. It’s the official ‘meet my mother, her new boyfriend and my weird grandmother’ dinner. But they don’t know I’m inviting you, so just try to blend in. Come over in half an hour, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and don’t use the word grandmother around my grandmother. She hates that.”

  “Got it.”

  I hear the front door open and my mom’s voice, then Ravi’s. I get dressed and go downstairs. My mom and Ravi are in the kitchen, looking like they just got back from Saint-Tropez. My mom is wearing a cotton sundress and sandals and her cheeks and shoulders are a bit pink. Ravi’s wearing cargo shorts and a tank top. He looks like a J.Crew model.

  “Hi, honey. Did you get my note?”

  “Yeah. Hi, Ravi.”

  “Hello, Miss Allie.” He still can’t quite look me in the eye after the underwear incident the other night.

  “Ravi, it’s been a while. You practically live here. I think we can drop the ‘Miss.’ What do you think?”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right.”

  My mom looks away. I know it’s killing her not to somehow tie this into an underwear joke.

  “Mom, Zach’s coming to dinner too, okay?”

  “The guy from the other night?” She grins. “Sure.”

  I wish she would stop acting like Zach is such a nerd that he couldn’t possibly be anything to worry about. I realize that going from M to Zach is rather a large leap in the complete opposite direction, but I’m sure that Zach has a dangerous, unpredictable side that I have yet to discover. Maybe one day I’ll walk in on him listening to Throbbing Gristle or something crazy like that.

  My mom and Ravi get to work emptying a grocery bag onto the counter. Ravi wants to know all about the demise of Bob’s and I fill him in while my mom rinses lettuce in the sink for a salad.

  “Is that all we’re having?” I ask her.

  As if in answer to my question, Estelle pushes open the front door with her foot. Her arms are loaded down with bags. Estelle’s not much of a cook either but her takeout skills are masterful.

  “I’ve got chicken; I need help!” she calls out.

  Ravi rushes to help her, taking the bags. She gets a good look at him. “My God, Ravi, you look fabulous. Did you get an extreme makeover?”

  “Estelle, cut it out,” scolds my mom.

  “What’d I do?” She shrugs. “C’mere, Allie.” She bear-hugs me and kisses my cheek loudly. “Can you fix me up with a glass of wine, sweetie? It’s in one of the bags.”

  I root around and find the wine opener and glasses while Estelle pulls Ravi over to the sofa and engages him in conversation, making it abundantly clear that she approves of this union. I open th
e wine and pour two glasses, setting them down in front of her and Ravi. She’s already deep into it with him: something about agrarian cultures versus nomadic cultures, specifically Mongolian nomads with regard to environmental sustainability.

  I shove the crap to one side of the dining table and set five places. My mom puts the food out in the containers it came in. There’s no pretending here; we all know who she is. Zach arrives and I introduce him to Estelle, who smells New Yorker on him. She abandons Ravi and commences interrogating Zach about his “people.” New Yorkers have this thing where they can move across the country and stay there for twenty years but they still consider their New York address home. Turns out that Estelle and Zach lived a short fourteen blocks away from each other in Manhattan and further questioning reveals that Zach’s mom and Estelle belonged to the same Y, and if that’s not enough, they both swam in the pool at the Y on Wednesday mornings during free swim. It’s entirely possible that they passed each other in the water. They’re practically sisters. I’m not involved in this conversation so I put on some music, a nice mix of world, specifically Césaria Évora, Ry Cooder’s A Meeting by the River and some easy jazz.

  When we sit down to eat, everyone is too engrossed in conversation to notice Zach lining up his silverware at right angles and finishing one type of food entirely before moving on to the next. He also wipes his hands on his napkin incessantly, as though he’s trying to remove an imaginary stain.

  Ravi asks me if I’ll be looking for a new job now that Bob’s is closing.

  “Bob’s is closing?” asks Estelle, the way you would ask if rain is expected that day.

  “Yes,” I say. “Forever.” I try to sound dramatic.

  Estelle, never without an opinion, gives us her take on the whole thing.

  “You know,” she says, picking a piece of chicken out of her teeth, “I used to save everything: ticket stubs, greeting cards, birth announcements, invitations, corsages, playbills, and then, one day, after three marriages, I’m moving into a new condo clear across the country and I say to myself, ‘Estelle, what is all this stuff? It’s an old pile of paper and dried flowers. It means nothing. The memories are all up here.’” She points to her forehead. “These record stores, they’ve gone the way of the dodo bird. No one wants to carry those big LPs around anymore. The world has moved on. Out with the old, in with the new. You should get rid of all those records and get yourself a nice iPod, honey. You can put all your music on it. They’re fantastic.” She sits back and wipes her hands on a napkin, her point made. Zach looks across the table at me and rolls his eyes.