"Spose so," Barry nodded.
Kids were already filling up the gym, making a lot of racket and horsing around. I saw lots of costumes, from superheroes to rock stars to ghosts and goblins and witches. The chaperones were lined up at the back, making sure everybody entered in a reasonably organized manner and manning the refreshment tables. I saw Tabby chattering animatedly with Betsy Monroe over in a corner. She looked up and caught my eye, giving me a wide smile and then went back to her conversation. I felt a little better after that, because Barry spotted a problem.
The committee organizing the dance hadn't even bothered to connect the sound system in the gym, leaving it all up to us.
"God damn it, they were supposed to do a fucking sound check yesterday," Barry growled, staring glumly at the disconnected wires on the stage at the front of the gym under the basketball hoops. "This is gonna delay things by another twenty god damn minutes at least."
We looked at each other and sighed almost simultaneously, and then Barry, who was our soundman, got busy plugging in wires. Stan started setting up his drums and Mike and I went to get the amplifiers, which the committee also didn't bother bringing in for us. I suppose technically they didn't have to, but Roger Davis, the dorky guy heading the committee, said he would when we asked him about it on Monday.
We wheeled in the amps on a couple of carts and Barry plugged them in. Then began the painstaking process of sound checking, complete with horrible feedback whines and squawks.
"Sorry folks, this was supposed to be done yesterday, but our illustrious organizers didn't do it," Barry said into the microphone, which screeched angrily. "Let's hear it for the wonderful job done by our event committee!"
There was a series of loud boos and whistles, and I noticed with a smile that the committee members looked like they wanted to hide under the refreshment table.
Finally we got everything set up reasonably well and Barry introduced the band, to reasonably loud applause. Mike, Stan and I did an enthusiastic drum roll and some happy chords, and then we launched into our first song of the night, "Red River Rock," a bouncy instrumental that was sure to get the crowd in a dancing mood.
Being the rhythm player I stood there and wiggled enthusiastically while I played, and Mike, seeming to get over his bad mood, banged on the back of his bass in time with Stan's drums. The crowd went crazy, and we played even louder and harder.
From there we moved on to "Raunchy," another dance tune, which we interjected with hoots and hollers at the chord changes. The crowd was eating it up. I saw Tabby twirling enthusiastically and wiggling her butt in my direction. It was very raunchy indeed, because she had a great deal of butt to wiggle.
The set continued and we progressed through our repertoire, from more instrumentals to Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry and of course some slow pop songs, like "Blue Velvet" and "Moon River."
We took a break after about ten songs and went down to collect some drinks. We were riding high on the exhilaration of the crowd and the music, laughing together and bumping shoulders. All of our girlfriends met us when we came off the stage and rewarded us for jobs well done.
"Damn, you guys are good," Tabby enthused, after letting me go. Her face was flushed and her curls disarrayed under her crown. Her eyes sparkled and danced. "I mean," she continued, "I've heard you in rehearsals and I've heard you play at home, but it's something else to hear it in public."
"I know," I gushed. "It's amazing. I never expected this kind of reaction."
"You looked good up there too," she said, giving me an exaggerated Brigitte Bardot wink. "I might have to change my mind about letting you ravage me later."
"Promises, promises," I retorted, chugging down the cup of punch she had handed me. I was parched. "Don't say that unless you mean it, tease."
"You just never know," she breathed into my ear, making shivers go down my spine. I also shot painfully erect at the seductive purr in her voice. Damn it.
"You're a mean little witch, you know it?" I said, gently tweaking one of her wings. "I'm going to get you back for this one of these days."
"Sure you are," she smiled. "Sure you are, Bobby. Now get back up there, it looks like they're ready."
The rest of the night was a booming success, and by the time we were ready to leave, me and the boys had offers to play a couple of different Christmas parties. We told them we'd have to get back to them; we weren't sure we wanted to become a full time band. Mostly we did it for fun, not to make any kind of serious money. It was something we'd have to discuss, with each other and our girlfriends.
We were so high after finishing the set that I felt like I could climb the school building. I wanted to bip and bop and snap my fingers. I wanted to take Tabby somewhere and just fuck the shit out of her. This was ten times better than rehearsal, this was the feeling of getting drunk on bourbon as opposed to plain, boring old beer. This was a feeling incomparable to anything I could think of.
Mr. and Mrs. Langston beamed at us from the back of the gym, but they were busy supervising the exodus so didn't come to see us just yet.
"You look positively over the moon," Tabby said to me, coming up on stage and watching us disassemble. "All four of you do."
All we could do was grin at her. It was true, we were over the moon and flying high. "Hard to explain the feeling," Barry said, just grinning away and twanging his guitar before putting it in its case.
We all loaded our instruments in our respective cars and fist pumped each other, congratulating ourselves on a successful night.
"Don't cut through the fucking trees on the way home," I reminded Barry, as he and Mike were re-strapping the bass to the roof.
"That's for damn sure," Barry said, shooting a look at Mike, who was looking pissed off again at the very thought. "See you guys Monday."
Tabby was busy with her girlfriends, so I hung around behind the gym waiting for her and keeping an eye out for trouble. I didn't really expect there to be any, but I had vowed to watch out for her. I was still pumped up from the music and I shifted back and forth. I needed to burn this damn energy or I'd be awake all night.
"Let's go," Tabby said, coming over and grabbing my hand. "I talked to Mom and Dad and they said we could go grab a burger or something. They could see you were really keyed up."
"I am," I agreed. "God, that was great."
She smiled at me and dropped the jocular tone. "You really were good, Bobby. I'm so proud of you."
I beamed. Tabby saying that she was proud of me was probably the best thing that had happened all night. It was a moment I never forgot either.
Chapter Seven
It was near the end of senior year when Tabby's parents died.
I sat with her and her aunt Kathy at the funeral home, watching her trying to keep it together and almost crying myself. It seemed life was always bound and determined to shit into my cornflakes.
The funeral director was a huge fat guy named Alfred Barnestead, the complete antithesis of the stereotypical mortician. The only thing typical about him was the black suit he was wearing. He was rosy cheeked and white haired, almost a Santa Claus instead of a dealer in the dead. All he was missing was the long beard.
Kathy Langston was busy signing papers and doing her best to maintain a stern business-like appearance. The fun-loving, partying, comic book and skin mag dispensing woman was long gone, leaving behind a tired looking mid-forties women who had just lost her favorite brother. It broke my heart a little to see the fun leak out of her like an old balloon.
Luckily, David and Barbara had made their own arrangements long ago and all that was needed was to sign the papers confirming things. The funeral costs were also prepaid, so that wasn't going to be a bother either.
"I believe that is all we need," Barnestead warbled. He had a reedy thin voice that sounded like Little Anthony from that doo-wop group, the Imperials. In spite of the situation, I wanted to laugh every time he spoke. It was so funny hearing that tiny voice from this huge ass guy.
&
nbsp; "The service will occur day after tomorrow at three P.M. with viewing tomorrow evening at six. The caskets have been pre-arranged by Mr. and Mrs. Langston and you need not be any further involved. Will there be any questions?"
"No," Kathy said, taking a deep breath and rising to her feet. "I believe that's all we need."
"Very good, and let me once again express my sympathies to you for your loss." The guy actually sounded like he meant it too.
"Thank you," we said, and filed out of his office quickly. None of us wanted to be there anymore than strictly necessary. I bet he was used to people hurrying out of his office like they had an appointment five minutes ago.
Tabby clung to my hand, still silent. Her face was pale - for her anyway - and her eyes were dull. She was walking like a robot, her normally bouncy walk a plod. Her curls hung limp and lifeless. I was really worried about her.
Of course, I wasn't much better. The Langstons had been like parents to me for over ten years, and their death had come as quite a horrible shock. But I wanted to be strong for Tabby, so I did my crying by myself.
"Are you kids hungry or something?" Kathy asked, once we were back in the station wagon.
"No," Tabby said lifelessly. "Let's just go home."
I nodded agreement and Tabby burrowed into me, like a little girl. On any other occasion, it would've been quite romantic, but now all we wanted to do was to comfort each other. I stroked her lifeless hair and tried not to cry, both for her and myself.
It was the night of the senior prom that it happened.
After that Halloween dance, both of us had gotten part-time jobs. We didn't like it since it meant more time apart, but we were doing it for our futures. Due to the Langstons' income Tabby couldn't get much financial aid, and I was just too damn lazy for all the paperwork. Bureaucracy was something I hated with a passion. Also, back in those days, you could still get a Harvard education for less than fifteen grand, so college wasn't completely out of my reach as long as I worked part time and didn't blow my money on beer and cigarettes and stupid shit like that.
So I got a job in town working for a hamburger stand and Tabby got a job in the library. My paper route I had given up a long time ago to a new kid, and I had about four hundred dollars saved from it (a lot of it went toward my guitar and amp a couple years ago.)
I worked four to nine Monday through Thursday, and so did Tabby, so that part worked out. By the time of the senior prom, I had worked there two years and I had a grand total of eleven hundred dollars in the bank.
I had set aside some money for the prom night, knowing Tabby would want to celebrate in style; a girl only gets one senior prom and I wanted hers to be as special as I possibly could make it. I didn't rent a limo, but I polished my new car and waxed it and detailed the interior till it was shiny as a new pin.
My eighteenth birthday present from the Langstons had been an only slightly used Mustang Cobra. They were hot items down at the Portland Meadows, but I wasn't interested in racing. I loved that dumb ass song by the Rip Chords though, and I sang it every time I got in the car. "Hey little Cobra don't you know you're gonna shut 'em down!"
Tabby bought her dress in March. I was not allowed to see it, just like the dress for her thirteenth birthday party.
As I had predicted, her eighteenth birthday party was spectacular. The Langstons had sprung for a keg and left twenty kids at the farm, making Tabby promise that nothing which would bring Bryson back to the house would occur. Barry and the boys played a raucous set and some stuff we just made up on the spot, and which none of us could remember in the morning, although Barry swore there was a tune in there that would make us millions and millions. "I swear it's true," he'd say, every time he would recap that party in future years. "There was a song we did that would've been bigger than "Satisfaction." I swear it."
The prom was being held on May seventeenth, 1966. Barry and I had been supplanted by a professional band, which was all to the good. None of the band members wanted to play; we wanted to be with our girls on this special night.
Mrs. Langston took pictures by the thousand, it seemed. "You two are so grown up," she sniffled, clicking away. "I remember when Tabby dragged you in here twelve years ago, looking all scared. Now look at you."
"He sure ain't the same little squirt he was back then," David nodded, posing for a father daughter shot.
Indeed I wasn't. I wasn't a hulk, but I had grown to six-two and one-ninety, pretty respectable. Tabby herself was no pixy anymore, standing at five-eight, pretty damn tall for a girl back then. It also meant we didn't look totally ridiculous standing together. Her heels put her right about at five-ten tonight.
She was wearing an elegant off-the-shoulder gown, light blue with small ruffles at the cuffs, bosom and waist. Nothing ridiculous, but she was definitely dolled up. Her hair had been wrestled into a teased do piled on top of her head, held together with bobby pins. She was wearing a little makeup, but only a little. A light floral scent misted around her, just enough to tease and tantalize, but not enough to choke on. I was very proud to have this girl on my arm for one of the pivotal events in our lives.
I had gone into town and, after picking up my tuxedo which I had been measured for way back in March so I would be first in line, I got a small corsage, and I had carefully pinned it to her dress, while Tabby gave me a smile bright enough to blind me.
"You'd better let us go if we're going to make dinner on time," I said to Mrs. Langston, who was still snapping pictures. "Don't worry, I paid for photos too, so you'll get to see us dancing."
"Oh thank you," she gushed. "I know you guys will be the best couple there. God, I'm just so proud."
Giving us hugs and telling us to try and be home by dawn, they sent us on our way.
There was a lot more leg exposed as Tabby got into the low-slung Mustang and I didn't even bother trying to hide my appreciation of it.
"Down boy," she smiled, carefully and deliberately lowering the hem of her dress. "You'll get your chance." And she stared deliberately at the front of my tux pants and licked her lips.
Over the years her voice had lowered until it was a husky, smoky blues-girl voice, and she was making full use of it now. I closed her door and quickly walked a little bowlegged around to the driver's side. Did she mean what I thought she meant?
"Where are we going for dinner, Bobby?" she asked in that smoky voice of hers.
I cleared my throat and started the rumbling engine. "We're going into Portland. There's a steakhouse called Anderson's that just opened up earlier this year. I've heard good things about it, so I made reservations."
"Oh good," she laughed. "I was expecting you to say we'd go to Suzie's Diner out on Grand Boulevard and think we were dining in high style."
"Hey, what do you think I am," I squawked indignantly, "some kind of country bumpkin with no culture and no class?"
She smiled again and patted my knee. "Well, if the shoe fits…"
"Aren't you the one who dragged me to the god damn farm in the first place, girly?" I asked.
"Yeah, blame a lil girl like me," she pouted, pretending to sulk.
"We could skip the damn prom and go find a symphony somewhere if you want real culture," I smirked.
"Don't you dare," she said, glaring at me.
I laughed. "Okay, okay. So you don't mind being stuck with an unclassy country bumpkin like me?"
She sighed in mock exasperation. "Well, if I must, I must." Then she smiled and held my right hand, making me feel warm all over the way it always did. "Tonight is going to be great, I just know it, Bobby."
"I think so too," I said, squeezing her hand and turning the pony loose to run on the highway. "Definitely!"
The steakhouse was excellent. It appeared we were the only prom couple to be there, because the place was pretty quiet. There were only about a dozen couples in the dining room, and one old guy sitting by himself. He looked up and smiled at us, and then went back to his newspaper and his coffee.
The
most surprising bit came at the end of the meal. Our waitress came up to us and said that the old guy was paying for us. He saved us about forty dollars, for which I was glad. He said we reminded him of he and his wife, the way we looked at each other and touched hands through the meal. He tipped his hat to us and headed out the door.
"Well that was odd," Tabby murmured, sucking thoughtfully on a mint.
"Nice of him though."
"He seems incredibly lonely," Tabby said, still softly. "I can't imagine what life must be like for him, seeing echoes everywhere."
"That's depressing," I said, thinking about it for a second. I heard that old song in my head. I memorized the note you sent, go all the places that we went. I seem to search the whole day through, for anything that's part of you. That would be one fucking sad life, indeed.
"Enough depressing stuff. We're here to have a good time. We'd better get rolling."
"Lead me to my chariot, peasant," Tabby said, standing up and looking haughty.
"Your chariot awaits, Madam," I said, bowing extravagantly and offering her my arm.
When we got out of the restaurant into the mild spring air, I saw the old guy leaning against a lamp pole smoking a cigarette. His hat was pulled low over his eyes so I couldn't get a good look at his face, but he had the look of a once athletic guy who had kind of wasted away. I thought it was a trick of the light, but he looked a little shimmery, like I was seeing him through a heat wave.
He nodded at me and kept watching as I escorted Tabby to the Mustang. Really weird.
"Well, this isn't up to my usual standards," Tabby sighed, eyeing the Mustang the way you might gaze upon a rag which has been used to clean up some dubious spill, "but since it's all we have, I suppose I can cope with it tonight."
The old guy laughed quietly from behind us. I ignored him and opened up the passenger door. "Ah, but just wait till you see how fast it goes, my lady."
"Hmph," she huffed. "Speed isn't everything."
I got in behind the wheel and revved the engine. I loved that sound, all them horses under the hood just itching to go. "It might not be everything, but it's sure fun anyway," I said. We pulled out of the parking lot in a spray of gravel. The last thing I saw was the old guy by the lamp pole, waving at us. And he still looked creepy.
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