The Dumbass Demon

by Gary Jonas

  Thomas looked me in the eyes. He looked Michael in the eyes. He couldn’t see Kevin, who had curled up to nap in the corner. “I like you guys,” he said.

  “We like you too,” I said.

  Michael nodded.

  More hesitation. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Don’t get on the plane.”

  “We can’t really drive, so flying is the only real option,” I said.

  “You don’t have the flu or a coin toss to save you, so don’t get on the plane.”

  I understood his reference of course. Waylon Jennings and Tommy Allsup had been playing with Buddy Holly, but on that fateful day in February 1959, Jennings gave up his seat to the Big Bopper, who had the flu, while Tommy Allsup lost his seat to Richie Valens in a coin toss. That plane crash was immortalized in the Don McLean song, “American Pie,” and known around the world as the day the music died.

  “We’re in Galveston,” I said, “so we can’t get frostbite either.”

  Thomas nodded because he knew I was referring to the other member of the Crickets, Carl Bunch, who was in the hospital with frostbite when the plane crashed.

  “Just giving you a heads up,” he said.

  Allsup had heads in the coin toss, so that could also have been a veiled reference. “I’ll make a note,” I said.

  By the time we left the studio, the sun was coming up.

  I glanced at Michael. “You might want to hurry.”

  But instead, he stood still for a moment, and held his arms out to greet the sunlight. It washed over him and he smiled.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “Apollo was true to his word.”

  “Apollo is an asshole,” Kevin said.

  “That may be true, little demon,” Michael said, “but he’s our asshole.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A weird thing happened the next day.

  I heard Apollo’s song on the radio.

  “Hey, that’s you,” Kevin said, pointing at the stereo.

  He was right. That was my guitar playing.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  Apollo started singing and it was strong, but when Helen’s voice joined in doing backup, and singing counterpoint, the song jumped in quality.

  Helen’s voice had a magical allure, but as a siren, that made sense. Still, for it to come through even on a recording astonished me. I had to pull into a parking lot while the song played. I couldn’t focus on driving.

  When the song ended, the spell broke, and I blinked twice.

  “Wow,” Kevin said. He might have said more, but if so, it didn’t register.

  The DJ said something, too, but I didn’t hear her. All I could think was that I wanted to hear the song again. It hadn’t been that way in the studio, but over the airwaves, it affected me deeply.

  “Demonland to Brett, come in, Brett,” Kevin said. He made a static sound then snapped his fingers.

  A commercial came on and I snapped out of it. I was off to get groceries. Just enough to get through a few days. We were flying out on Friday.

  “I think that’s going to be a smash hit,” Kevin said.

  “You may be right,” I said, and believed it.

  I pulled back onto the street and continued to the store, but when the commercials ended, the DJ said, “By overwhelming demand, we’re playing Apollo’s ‘Believe in Me, I’ll Believe in You’ again.”

  And the song repeated.

  At the next side street, I turned off Broadway and wheeled over to the curb beneath the shade of a row of palm trees in front of Victorian homes. Kevin and I were silent as we listened to the song again.

  When it ended, Kevin looked at me. “The engineer heightened the effect of the siren’s vocals.”

  “Thomas is talented,” I said.

  “There’s another song that came in with the Apollo tune. It just says it’s by Brett and Michael. I think I’ll play that now.”

  And next thing I knew, my song was playing on the radio.

  It didn’t have the same magic as the Apollo tune, but when it ended, the DJ said, “I love it! I love napping, too. Phone lines are lighting up, but before I get to those, I’m playing that Apollo song one more time.”

  I stared at Kevin. “If this is happening at radio stations across the country, this could get crazy.”

  “Apollo said around the world, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but just hearing the song here is more than I can wrap my head around.”

  “Get over yourself,” Kevin said. “Buy me some Milk Duds.”

  By Thursday, “Believe in Me, I’ll Believe in You” was the most requested song in the Houston area. “Napping My Life Away” was the second most requested song. Sorry, Taylor Swift. Sorry, Bruno Mars.

  Billboard updated their charts Thursday at noon, and Apollo was number one. My song was listed, but didn’t show an artist. It was pegged at number two.

  By Friday morning, Apollo also had the number one song on iTunes, and my little ditty was at number two. It also climbed the charts around the world.

  Sabrina announced that Apollo’s song was her all-time favorite, and she begged me to have him sign a copy of the vinyl single even though she didn’t have a record player. She played it on her iPod over and over again.

  And the weird thing was that I didn’t get tired of hearing it either.

  Magic.

  Michael picked me up at nine o’clock Friday morning. I hadn’t even tried to get rid of Kevin. He’d been nice to me since the song went into heavy rotation. Apollo’s song, of course. He said my song was a cure for insomnia, but I didn’t care.

  “Is Sabrina around?” Michael asked.

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  “She’s pissed at me,” Michael said.

  “Why? You’ve been giving her all you’ve got for the past few days. Morning, noon, and night you two are going at it.”

  “I won’t see her for a while. She wants to go on the tour, but Apollo said no.”

  “He makes up for his little dick by being a huge dick,” I said.

  “You’d know.”

  Kevin and I carried my suitcase and guitars to Michael’s car. We piled in and headed off to face destiny and a world tour as members of the most popular band in the entire world. It felt weird to even think that.

  When we arrived at Scholes International Airport, Apollo’s private jet sat on the tarmac in front of a large hangar. Michael parked next to Lakesha’s hearse.

  “What’s Lakesha doing here?” I asked.

  Michael shut off the car. “Same thing Sabrina’s doing,” he said.

  Sure enough, Sabrina stood behind a velvet roped-off area with a small crowd that included Lakesha, Teddy, Chuck, Chuck’s wife and kids, along with a bunch of media types from the Houston TV stations with video cameras and microphones. Apollo stood in front of them granting interviews. I hadn’t expected a press conference, but it shouldn’t have surprised me. After all, the one thing Apollo cared about almost as much as himself was having other people see him and worship him and praise him and love him so, of course, he’d allow them to bask in his greatness.

  Gods are vain bastards.

  As we walked toward the jet, a Bombardier BD-700, Sabrina spotted Michael. She turned and disappeared into the crowd. Teddy waved his hands over his head to get my attention. I walked over to him.

  “You lucky son of a bitch,” he said. “When Chuck called, I didn’t believe him, but here you are.”

  “I should have called you myself, Teddy. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s all good,” he said. He looked around. “I can’t get over the fact that you don’t even have to go through security.”

  “Private jet,” I said.

  “Yeah. Like a movie star. I’d love to go on a private jet.”

  “Get a bunch of folks to go in on a charter flight,” I said. “You might be able to fly to Dallas for around six grand each.”

  “Like I’d ever have six grand burning a hole in my pocket.”

&n
bsp; “Okay, Teddy. Sorry I didn’t call, dude, but I gotta get on board.”

  “Don’t forget us little people,” he said, gesturing to Chuck, who was holding his daughter up to see Apollo wave to the crowd.

  “You’re not little people,” I said. “You’re my friend.”

  And I walked away before he could tell me he wasn’t really my friend and only put up with me because the band got gigs. I considered that. I wondered how Teddy viewed me. Did he see me as a friend? I’d never asked him. I realized that I wanted him to be my friend. And toward that end, I should probably be a better friend to him. It had never occurred to me to call and tell him I was going on the tour. I figured Michael would spread the word. I was right, of course, but I should have called Teddy and Chuck directly. I didn’t like calling Chuck because his wife hated me, but that’s a terrible excuse.

  “This way, moron,” Kevin said, nudging me toward the lowered stair ramp leading into the plane.

  “I know where I’m going.”

  “You’d better hope no one blows up the plane.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Someone wants to get rid of Apollo. And planes have cost the world a bunch of musicians.”

  “True that,” I said, thinking of Buddy Holly, Otis Redding, Randy Rhoads, Jim Croce, Patsy Cline, members of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and others.

  “Good thing you’re not famous,” Kevin said.

  “You don’t have to be famous to die in a plane crash,” I said.

  “Good point.”

  “You going to tell me to stay off the plane, too?”

  “Nope. If you die, I’m free. Get on the plane.”

  Apollo vouched for me as I approached, and the pilot didn’t even ask for ID. Teddy would have been amazed. I was used to this because I’d flown with my father. I’d never flown commercial in the post 9/11 world, so what I knew about it was from the news or movies and TV shows. Reporters talking about long lines at security gates around the holidays. Before meeting Teddy and Chuck, I’d always wondered why people would stand in those lines. Just charter your own jet and have Dad pay for it. I mean, really. Now at least I recognized that not all dads can afford private planes.

  Apollo glared at me then looked at Kevin. I pretended not to notice, and Apollo was still dealing with a few reporters, so he didn’t stop us from boarding.

  The inside of the jet was luxurious, of course. Tan leather seats, a sofa on one side, a large table, and that was just in the first section.

  An attractive flight attendant motioned me to my seat. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Masters. You’ll be seated here. Can I bring you a glass of champagne?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  I sat down.

  Michael sat in the seat next to me.

  “Wow,” he said. “We have our own arm rests. I could get used to this.”

  “You’ve never flown before?” I asked.

  “Not like this,” he said.

  “But you have money.”

  “Only after I died,” he said. “When I was a regular guy, I never could have afforded this kind of luxury.”

  He ran his hands over the arm rests.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “You never asked.”

  Did he mean I never cared, or did he mean I’d never had a reason to ask? I couldn’t tell from his tone of voice. Before I could come up with a way to ask him, he leaned toward me.

  “And to think Thomas said not to get on the plane. I guess he knew I’d get spoiled.”

  “Right.”

  Kevin dived onto the sofa. He rolled around on it like a dog on a forbidden bed.

  “This is something else,” Michael said. “We have a huge hit, and we’re going to travel the world.”

  “Right.” I wasn’t really enjoying the airplay either of the songs was getting. It bothered me to be in second place behind Apollo’s tune. I’d rather not have a record on the air at all than to be number two. And that’s where my head was the last few days. Part of the time I wanted the song to not get noticed at all. Let it hover outside the top two hundred so I could just say nobody heard it. But to crack the top two without hitting number one was like a slap in the face.

  This was another reason I didn’t like trying anything. If you don’t try, you don’t succeed, but in my father’s eyes, if you’re not number one, you shouldn’t be playing. There was no other acceptable place to be.

  I had to be the best.

  Or nothing.

  I really preferred being nothing.

  But now I was number two. The only guy who sang about wanting a number two was Joe Jackson, and I didn’t swing that way.

  I played on the number one single, but Apollo got all the credit.

  Apollo got some of the credit for my song, too, as he’d told the press he just wanted something for the flip side of the limited edition single, which would be available for sale during the first show only.

  Kevin left the sofa and climbed up on the open overhead compartment. He hung upside down in front of me so we were face to face.

  “What’s on your mind, Brat?”

  “Fuck off,” I said.

  Apollo boarded the plane and instantly spotted Kevin. Apollo shook his head, walked over and slapped Kevin off the compartment. Kevin landed in my lap. Apollo grabbed him by the neck and lifted him.

  “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of the damn demon?”

  “You did,” I said.

  “And yet, the damn demon is on my plane. You want to explain how that could be?”

  “Pretty simple,” I said. “He climbed up the steps and came aboard like any other passenger, though to be fair, the flight attendant couldn’t see him. You saw him.”

  “I was busy. Why didn’t you get rid of the creature?”

  “Because I don’t know how.”

  “Magic flows through your veins, Brett. Will the thing away.”

  “You’re a god,” I said. “You do it.”

  Helen came down the aisle from the back of the plane. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I seem to have caused a disturbance,” Kevin said. “Dickless here doesn’t like me even though we have so much in common.”

  “Your lack of genitalia doesn’t matter to me,” Helen said.

  Apollo fumed. “Send this thing away, Brett.”

  The pilot came over the intercom. “We’re cleared for takeoff, so if everyone will take their seats, we’ll be on our way. Next stop, New York City.”

  “Chuck him out the door,” I said.

  “Gee thanks,” Kevin said.

  “Sir, if you’ll please be seated?” the flight attendant said.

  Apollo turned to her. “I’ll sit when I’m good and ready. Open the door.”

  The plane rumbled into motion.

  “We’re taxiing to the runway, sir,” the flight attendant said. “I can’t open the door right now. Everyone, please be seated.”

  Helen obeyed, and sat down in a seat behind me.

  Apollo shook Kevin at the flight attendant. To her it probably looked like he was shaking his fist. To me it looked like he was slapping a demon through her head.

  “I’ll do as I damn well please,” Apollo said.

  Michael grinned, and rose from his seat. He lowered his ubiquitous sunglasses and moved around to stare into Apollo’s eyes. “It’s time to sit down,” he said.

  “Nice try, vampire,” Apollo said. “I’m not that easy to hypnotize.”

  The flight attendant didn’t react to the word vampire, but she’d probably heard all kinds of things dealing with the one percent.

  I stood and turned toward Helen. “Get up, Helen. We’ll all stand for the takeoff. What do you say?”

  “I say you’re all children,” she said and remained seated.

  “Will everyone please sit down?” the flight attendant asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “I said please,” she said as if that would make a difference.

 
The pilot turned toward a runway and the motion nearly made us all fall over.

  “He’s about to tromp on it,” I said. “You ready?”

  The flight attendant looked like she was going to cry. Instead, she threw up her hands, turned, and went to her seat where she strapped in. “I warned them,” she said where I could barely hear her.

  The plane accelerated.

  I fell into my seat.

  Apollo fell into Michael’s seat and Michael fell into Apollo’s lap.

  Kevin flew over the seat and landed on Helen.

  “Nice,” Kevin said.

  “Get off me, demon!” Helen shouted.

  The flight attendant shook her head. “Druggies,” she said.

  Apollo pushed Michael off him. “Was it good for you, too?” Apollo asked.

  The plane shot into the air and soared out over the Gulf doing a lazy turn to the northeast and Kevin slid across the plane. He scrambled up into a seat and grinned. “This is fun,” he said.

  Apollo glared at me. “To be continued,” he said.

  “Next week,” I said. “Same bat time, same bat channel.”

  He sighed and went to his seat beside Helen.

  Kevin gave him a wave. “What’s up?”

  “My ire,” Apollo said.

  The flight attendant closed her eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to her. “It gets worse.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Kevin sat on the table across from the leather sofa. The jet engines whined in the background. Every now and then, we’d hit a bit of turbulence, but it was mostly smooth flying. I gazed out the window for a bit while we climbed into the sky. Blue water spread out beneath us. Ships powered through the Gulf looking like toys from a Battleship game.

  I held my thumb and forefinger in front of the window and smashed them together. “I’m crushing you,” I said as the boats disappeared behind my fingers.

  Michael leaned over. “What are you doing?”

  “Crushing boats.”

  “Stop it. You look like an idiot.”

  “I am an idiot, so there you go.”

  A few minutes later, the pilot came over the intercom. “We’ve reached our cruising altitude of thirty-six thousand feet. Feel free to move about the cabin.”