Punk and Zen

by JD Glass

  Dee Dee threw me a surprise party two nights before we left. I had gone in on my next work night and told her directly—and requested the time off. I still needed a job when I got back, didn’t I?

  “Ah, Nina,” she’d smiled and hugged me, “I always knew you were too big for this place.” That had been almost exactly what Fran had said to me, and I froze just as I was returning Dee Dee’s hug. She noticed.

  “Nina, what’s the matter?” Dee Dee asked as I stepped back. She reached to touch my face, but I pulled my head away, uncomfortable. I didn’t want anyone to touch me.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

  “No…I am.” I shook my head regretfully, ashamed of my behavior—I was being an ass to a friend. I was just completely out of sorts lately.

  Dee Dee pursed her lips as she studied me. “Francesca?”

  I glanced up into her eyes and nodded in mute acquiescence, trying to grin, but failing miserably.

  At that moment, the door opened and Samantha walked in. When she saw me sitting with Dee Dee, she smiled and nodded, then found her own corner. This time, I smiled for real—I couldn’t help that.

  It was strange—she had a lot of errands to run during the day, which she vaguely told me about, just that they were work and family legal matters, and while she hadn’t stayed over again (because we both agreed that the situation with Fran was bad enough, so she stayed at Fran’s apartment like she’d originally planned), she made sure to see me every day—either after rehearsals, which were now in Manhattan in the Music Building on East Fifty-first on Tin Pan Alley, or she’d stop by the bar and say hello.

  “Oh, I see why…” Dee Dee said, looking from me to her and back again.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I told her, “in fact it’s…”

  I don’t know why I did it, but I told her the whole damn thing.

  By the time I got to the end, Dee Dee had tears in her eyes. I didn’t understand—it seemed to me more like stupidity on my part than tragedy.

  I should have never walked Fran home that night, I thought bitterly, but stopped myself right there, because I knew myself better than that. Given the opportunity, I wouldn’t have missed the chance to love my lion.

  Whatever had impelled Fran to her actions had come from somewhere, and I knew it wasn’t me—not really, anyway. I truly felt bad for her, that something or someone had hurt her so badly that even though she said she knew me, she really didn’t. I didn’t realize I’d said the first part out loud.

  “Nina, liebe, you don’t really feel that way, do you?” Dee Dee asked me with warmth. This time when she touched my face, I let her.

  “No, no, I don’t,” I told her sadly, “it’s just…I’m so damned confused, I don’t even know what to do.”

  Dee Dee sighed. “Have you considered staying, ABC Page 196then?”

  I had, I honestly had. But this tour was the opportunity of a lifetime; I mean, even I knew that this sort of thing might never come again. And I had to consider the band, too. I couldn’t let them down now, could I? Hell, no.

  “I thought about it,” I admitted, staring down at the glossy shine of the bar, “but it’s not just me involved.” I looked up into Dee Dee’s clear-sighted face. “It’s Jer’s and Stephie’s dreams, too.”

  Dee Dee bit her lower lip and nodded. She took one of her ever-present bar rags out of her waistband and polished a microspot on the bar. I was starting to suspect that it was just something she did whenever she needed a moment to think. I started to grin, but quickly stopped; I didn’t want her to think I was making fun of “her thing,” if that’s what it was.

  “There are always other factors involved,” she said finally, still scrubbing. She sighed and looked up at me. “It’s very hard sometimes, Nina, to do what’s right for you, for everyone, especially when your heart screams something different.”

  I nodded, unable to get words past the lump in my throat. Dee Dee had hit the spot, though, because in those rare moments in between rehearsals and work, I was tearing, breaking apart. I didn’t want to go and I couldn’t wait to leave.

  Dee Dee patted my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth and support in her touch before she walked away, leaving me to my thoughts for a few minutes before I had to get back to work.

  Samantha came over and stood next to my chair. “Hey there,” she said softly, her mouth quirked into a little smile.

  “Hey, yourself.” I smiled at her through the weight in my chest. Fuck it. None of this was her fault anyway. I followed my inclinations and hugged her.

  “How was rehearsal today?” she asked, hugging me in return. Her body next to me provided a sense of solidity I’d been needing.

  “Fine, great, actually,” I answered, speaking into her shoulder. “Paulie-Boy really knows his shit.” And it was true. We were done with the songs themselves; we were now working out the set order and the stage show, such as it was. “How’s all of your stuff going?”

  “Fine, just fine,” Samantha said. She held me tightly a moment, then let go, taking my hand instead.

  “Nina…she’s home,” she said quietly, her eyes searching mine for a response.

  Oh. Ouch. Fuck! I couldn’t believe how much that hurt to know, that she was home and hadn’t called me. I gasped and caught my breath, then twisted my head around and finally focused on the ceiling so that the stinging in my eyes ABC wouldn’t succumb to gravity and become tears. I’d already cried enough for one lifetime—maybe more. I wondered if anyone was counting—besides me, I mean. Hadn’t I read somewhere that God counts women’s tears? Maybe for tonight the universe could be satisfied with what it already had.

  I wasn’t ashamed of them anymore, well, at least not as much as I had been; I just had to work very publicly—and I didn’t want to cry while in front of people, whether they were friends or strangers.

  “When?” I finally got out, a part of me horrified to hear the wrench in my voice.

  “Last night. Late last night,” she amended, “too late to call.”

  That just pissed me off and don’t ask why, but I laughed. I pulled my hand free of Samantha’s. “Darlin’,” I smiled, but there was absolutely no joy in it, “I’m up all night. That’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

  Samantha had the good grace to look embarrassed and stared off at the floor before she looked at me again. “Come back there with me tonight. When she sees you, talks with you…” She trailed off as she read my face.

  I shook my head. “No. She told me she’d call me when she was ready. I’m trying to respect that.”

  I looked around the bar. The evening had just begun, but it was already starting to get crowded. Soon, you’d have to yell to be heard across the background noise. Since Jen was working the door tonight, I’d be waitressing, and despite my personal problems, I had a job to do.

  “I’ve got to get back to work, Sam, I’m sorry,” I excused myself and stepped away, hardly able to see through the watery haze that held me.

  “Nina, call her, just talk with her!” Samantha exhorted.

  I took a step back. “I already have,” I admitted, “and she wouldn’t answer. Besides,” I added, “I told her she was the pride of my heart—what else does she need to know?”

  I walked away from Samantha’s stunned expression, and this time, instead of hiding from the crowd, I hid within it.

  I did send her flowers—Francesca, that is. I sent her tiger lilies and a card that said, “Please, love, call me.” She didn’t, and the continued silence hurt me so horribly I walked around feeling like I’d lost a body part somewhere in the vicinity of my chest.

  I focused as much as I could on the things I had to do.

  Two days later, the bar was set up for a private party ABC that Dee Dee had asked the band to play at—and for the first time, there was a charge at the door. Graham and Paulie-Boy thought it would be a great way for us to test our act.

  I wore the same clothes I’d worn for the last gig, and when we walke
d in, Stephie, Jerkster, Paulie-Boy, and me, I was thoroughly startled. Dee Dee waited by the door with Jen and started clapping as we came through it. The whole bar joined them.

  “Nina, look!” Jerkster exclaimed and pointed.

  Stephie and I both followed his finger, and I was so touched by what we saw it brought tears to my eyes.

  “Congratulations, Adam’s Rib,” the banner said. “Next time, we’ll toast you at the Grammys!”

  I threw my arms around Dee Dee and kissed her cheek. “You’re crazy,” I told her with a huge smile, “and I absolutely love you for it!”

  “How could I not, Nina, how could I not?” Dee Dee asked, then hugged me with such enthusiasm she lifted me off the floor and half spun me—right into Jen, who caught me up.

  We stared at each other a moment, uncomfortable. I mean, we had that whole tough-dykes thing going—we didn’t touch, you know? She’d slap my shoulder and I’d slap hers in return, buddies in arms; there’s no touching with buddies (that kind of buddies, anyway). But what the fuck, right? I smiled and gave her a big hug, which took her half a second to return. She put me down and patted my shoulder roughly, her fingertips gripping slightly.

  “You done good, kid, real good.” She grinned.

  “But there’s more, Nina, look!” Dee Dee grabbed my shoulders and twirled me right around. Not only had she cleared a spot for the band to play, but she’d moved the back bar and transformed it into a DJ booth.

  I stared at her, amazed. “But Dee Dee, what about the cabaret license?” I didn’t want her to get fined just for throwing me a party.

  Dee Dee grinned conspiratorially. “That’s why tonight’s a private party, liebchen,” she said. “You can do whatever you want with a private club. Well, almost. So? What are you waiting for? Go—do your thing!”

  I walked through the crowd, stunned. It had been a little while, but when I got back there, holy shit! Dee Dee must have called the Red Spot, because my crates with the discs I loved best were there.

  I grinned to myself, because I knew exactly what to play, and my fingers rapidly found it.

  I turned the system on, a “pop” running through the bins, making people jump as they craned around to see what was going on. Grabbing the headphones off the table, I slung them around my neck (they fit flawlessly), then set track one, backed up track two. This was oh so good to go, and I was feeling totally at home and perfectly fine—we were gonna have some fun tonight, for sure!

  I set my fades, slid the ’phones over my ears, and clicked the mike.

  “Dee Dee?” I called across the crowd, “this is for you—Kraftwerk: ‘Trans-Europe Express’!”

  Dee Dee covered her mouth with her hands, and I waved her over. “Come on, Dee Dee, dance with me?” I cajoled. She shook her head no, but her eyes were too sparkling for me to ignore. I had the next song cued to go, so what the hell, right?

  I walked out from behind the setup and went straight to Dee Dee, gently took her hands away from her face, and dragged her out to the dance floor. “You can’t turn the DJ down, Dee Dee, nobody does,” I wheedled with a grin.

  Dee Dee gave me a sideways glance. “Since it’s a tradition…” She grinned finally.

  “It certainly is.”

  Jen backed me up and agreed, and next thing you know, the place was jumping. I thanked Dee Dee for the dance with another hug, gave Jen a quick hip bump, and went back to play with the tunes until it was time for us to perform. Graham walked in and smiled at us as we set up.

  Samantha arrived halfway through the performance and gave me a thumbs-up, then found herself a corner to watch from. She made herself inconspicuous, but stayed near the front.

  I smiled at her, then went back to the chorus I was playing. When I glanced up again, she was talking with Graham, who handed her something. Probably his number, I grinned to myself.

  When I’d introduced them in the studio, Samantha had told me they’d met before—and that London was smaller than I thought, certainly smaller than New York. Graham had laughed and allowed that was true, but…I don’t know exactly what it was I saw in Graham’s eyes when he looked at her, but it was something, something I couldn’t figure out. It didn’t matter right now, anyway, because there was music to be played and performed, and I was part of it.

  Toward the end of the night, we were just about to play our last song, when Jerkster nudged Stephie and pointed. Stephie glanced, then leaned over to me quickly. “Look out,” she muttered to in my ear, then pointed as subtly as she could, “you’re between the bitch and the barbed wire.”

  I peered over to where she’d indicated. Fran had come in, unnoticed in the crowd, and stood on the opposite end of the floor.

  “C’mon, dude,” I said just as quietly to her ear, “neither one of them is a bitch.”

  Stephie snorted. “Not from where I stand.”

  I shook my head. I’d told Stephie and Jerkster what had happened between Fran and me. It had been pretty obvious that I was miserable, and while I didn’t appreciate the reference, I knew Stephie had my back, and I did appreciate that—and she was entitled to her opinion.

  Fran raised her beer to me in salute with an ironic smile, while my hands froze on my guitar and my gut started to heave. I watched as Samantha strode over and jammed something into her hand as she spoke in her ear. Fran stared at it a moment, then gave it right back. If I hadn’t been so stuck in my brain, I would have wondered what that was all about.

  Suddenly, Paulie-Boy clicked his drumsticks behind me, which snapped me back. I was onstage, I had a job to do.

  We rocketed into the song, and I let go and dove into the sound—I jumped, I danced, Jerkster and I even did a little back-to-back shimmy, and by the way? You don’t see anyone do those front to front because no one wants to get electrocuted. Touch another plugged-in instrument while you’ve got your hands on your strings, and you’re toast. Literally. Complete with new hairdo, compliments of the local utility company.

  Three encores later, we were beat, and Dee Dee came up to grab the microphone.

  “And now…it’s time for the raffle!”

  “Raffle?” I mouthed at Stephie. She shrugged with a studied casualness, which I dismissed. The night had been full of many surprises. Probably Dee Dee had a great bottle of champagne or a basket or something along those lines.

  “It’s you,” Jerkster said in an undertone as he unplugged and wrapped the patch cord from his bass next to me.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked in the same undertone. I glanced back at Dee Dee, who held an ice bucket full of those little red tickets.

  “Dude, look at me.” He grinned. He had three rows of tickets strung around his neck—I’d thought he was wearing a scarf.

  “You tried to buy me?” I asked him, incredulous.

  “No, I tried to win you.” He grinned again. “Hey, I was gonna share you with Steph,” he added, and Stephie looked over and nodded, waving her wrist. She wore a couple of rows wrapped around it.

  I shook my head at them. “I’m not kissing either one of you,” I said, quirking my mouth to the side.

  I walked up to Dee Dee where she played with the crowd, picking up tickets from the bucket and dropping them back in. “What are you doing?” I stage-whispered. “You can’t raffle me!”

  “Maybe this one?” Dee Dee asked the crowd, picking a ticket out. “Oh no, it’s fallen!” she joked and dropped it back in.

  “Hush, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stage-whispered back out of the corner of her mouth. “It’s the Return-to-New-York fund—they all want you to come back!”

  This wasn’t making any sense.

  “What?”

  “The money’s for you!” she told me, her eyes and gestures still fixed on the audience. Paulie-Boy began a drum roll.

  I looked over and rolled my eyes at him. Thanks, buddy, I thought, thanks a lot. I mouthed it to him and he smirked back at me.

  “I don’t want it—you keep it!” I told he
r.

  “I’ll hold it for you. Trust me, you’ll need it!” she threw me a quick grin, then went back to the audience, who were stomping in time with Paulie-Boy. “It’s showtime!”

  Paulie-Boy really got into it and gave a drum roll so loud I wanted to rub my ears, making the silence that followed seem just as loud as we all waited to hear the results.

  Everyone gathered as closely as they could to the makeshift stage, while Graham, Fran, and Samantha huddled together over the one ticket Samantha held.

  Stephie and Jerkster unstrung their ticket garlands and went through them together as Dee Dee read out the numbers. I’d never noticed she had such a flair for the dramatic before, I thought as I waited with a dry mouth.

  A muffled buzz went through the room as everyone checked their numbers, and Stephie and Jerkster were throwing the rejected ones at Paulie-Boy.

  Finally, Samantha stood there with a strange look on her face, holding a little ticket in her hand.

  Graham pushed her forward.

  “Well, you won her fair and square,” Fran said, and quickly took a drink of her beer.

  I stepped down from the stage, took the little red stub from her hand, and handed it back to Dee Dee. “Well,” I said as I stood before the three of them, “if this is the thing you guys have been playing hot potato with all night, then Graham won.” I smiled at them, a stage smile.

  I dramatically put my arm around his neck and got a very good look at his face as he bent me over backward. When his lips met mine, our kiss confirmed what my eyes had seen, and something I had suspected for a while—he was a she.

  It was a very sweet and somewhat chaste kiss, and the room applauded when he stood me back up.

  “Now you know.” Graham smiled at me with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Now I know.” I smiled back. “Does the band?”