Victory RUN: Collected Victory RUN 1, 2, 3

by Devon Hartford

  Johnny B. Hippie is changing the Gibson’s strings and works with the same easy patience he always exudes. Johnny is never in a hurry.

  “Hey, Johnny,” I smile. “Is Big Momma here?”

  “Not yet,” Johnny says casually. “She went to the farmer’s market to buy fruits and vegetables.”

  I walk behind the counter and slide the bottom panel on one of the glass cases aside, stash my purse inside, and slide it shut.

  Ready for work.

  I work here part time. The pay isn’t great, but it beats working at a coffee shop or waiting tables, and I’m closer to the music business. I cherish the homey, family atmosphere. It’s low stress.

  “How was your show last night?” Johnny asks.

  My stomach swims with eels. I really don’t want to get into it. I force a smile, “Good.”

  “Just good?” he chuckles. “You played at the world famous Cobra Lounge and it was just good? Man, when Karen and I played there in the sixties we thought we’d arrived.”

  I’ve heard demo records of their music from back then, like actual vinyl records. Karen and Johnny sounded amazing together. I’m surprised they didn’t become more famous.

  Johnny shakes his head while he tightens the tuning peg for the B string with a plastic string winder crank. “When are you gonna slow down and smell the flowers?”

  “I tried. They stank,” I grin.

  He chuckles and looks up from the guitar, “You guys have a bad show?”

  “You could say that.” May as well tell him. “Scott kicked me out of the band,” I sigh.

  “What? You’re kidding.”

  I shake my head.

  He frowns, “That’s a drag.”

  I nod.

  Johnny’s palpable sympathy gives me some perspective, like it’s all a big joke that I can share with friends. It’s almost funny, when I think about it.

  I say, “Scott kicked me out right after the show. Show was awesome, by the way.” An image of Kellan watching me from the audience playing dorky air guitar at my feet springs into memory. “Yeah, the show was all kinds of awesome. Afterward, not so much,” I smirk.

  Big Momma pushes aside the beads leading to the back room, which has a door to the parking lot behind the shop. Canvas bags exploding with greens hang from her arms. She chuckles, “I knew Scott wasn’t worth a piss in a windstorm.”

  There is nothing big about Karen Boone except her heart and her personality, and maybe her boobs. She’s a small, slender, curvaceous woman with dark olive skin and long curly dark gray hair she refuses to color. At my grandmother’s age, Karen is still beautiful and exotic. She’s Middle Eastern, but she’s not entirely sure what kind. I like to think she’s some kind of old world hippie Gypsy.

  She walks up to Johnny and smiles, “I got Swiss Chard like you asked.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he leans down and kisses her affectionately on the mouth. He’s at least a foot and a half taller than her.

  Karen lingers in the kiss for a long time, her hooded eyes gazing up into Johnny’s. He grins from ear to ear like a lovestruck teenager. She withdraws from him reluctantly and says, “I’ll finish the rest of that later,” meaning the kiss.

  Johnny blushes. He’s sixty something and he’s blushing.

  I can’t believe those two have been together for decades. They give me hope that love is eternal.

  If you find the right person.

  Karen unloads the bag of groceries into a full sized refrigerator in the back corner behind the counters. She hums melodically the entire time. She has an amazing voice. On the old records, she sounds like a cross between Janis Joplin and Ann Wilson from Heart. Total badass ballsy babe stuff, but with a very feminine quality.

  Johnny starts to hum, harmonizing with her.

  I recognize the melody. It’s one of their old tunes, Always Be.

  When the last of the groceries are put away, Karen glides toward Johnny, her long skirt flowing behind her. They’re now singing together in perfect union, their voices filling the quiet guitar shop with warmth and love:

  “To the stars above

  and the earth below

  The angels sing

  Forever free”

  I’m overwhelmed with emotion listening to them. The way they sing together melts my heart. I yearn to sing

  (singsingsing)

  as freely as they do. But I can’t. I can’t even sing alone in the shower. Because…

  (don’t sing)

  Because…

  (never ever sing)

  The memory strains inside my brain, trying to knock down the walls of mental cement I built around it. I refuse to crumble.

  (Stop!!!)

  I’ll never sing.

  And that’s that.

  Normally, I’m never jealous of people who sing, especially with hard rock. I’m more than happy to focus on the guitar playing. That’s why I was content

  (singsingsingsingsingsing)

  being on stage with Skin Trade and having Scott handle all the vocals. I had my guitar in my hands. My guitar sang for me.

  (never ever ever sing)

  I grit my teeth.

  My Fender.

  My baby.

  My voice.

  It’s gone.

  Forever.

  I inhale sharply, about to sob, but trap the sudden emotion in my chest. I’ve become an expert at trapping my emotions. I always hold them inside until I have my guitar in my hands.

  Then it all comes out.

  Like thunder.

  I shake my head imperceptibly, my lips tight with anger. I can’t believe my guitar is gone.

  (sing)

  I need to stab something.

  (Stop!!!)

  Johnny and Karen are still singing. They draw closer together as they harmonize the last lines of the song, Johnny pulling Karen into his arms. She rests her hands softly on his chest and gazes into his eyes as they sing:

  “In your eyes

  I find my peace

  You and me

  Will always be

  Forever

  Forever free”

  My chest softens and the pain in my heart eases. Johnny and Karen weave real magic when they sing together. It’s intoxicating and irresistible. A piece of what they share has permeated my skin and blossomed in my heart. For a moment, the hole in my heart left by Scott and my stolen

  (singsingsing)

  guitar is filled by the love flowing out of Johnny and Karen.

  Although the beauty of their song is undeniable, I’ve never entirely understood the lyrics. Does it mean they’ll always be together, or always free? Maybe it means they are together forever and free at the same time? Is that even possible? I don’t know, but Johnny and Karen sure make it seem like the connection they share is the greatest thing ever.

  Karen rests her cheek against Johnny’s chest and he kisses the top of her head gently, lovingly.

  I’m ready to start blubbering. They are so happy together I can’t stand it. In a voice near tears, I laugh, “I hate you guys.”

  Johnny is blushing again. He grins at me.

  “My goddess,” Karen says, waving her hands in her face. “I need to sit for a moment.” She’s clearly overcome by her own emotions.

  Entranced, I mutter, “I’ll never understand why you guys weren’t more famous.”

  Karen smiles warmly at me, “We never cared about any of that.”

  “We only care about each other,” Johnny smiles. “Since the day we met, we’ve had everything we needed. We have each other.” He pulls Karen back into his arms and kisses her softly on the lips.

  More than ever, I envy what these two have. I thought maybe I had found it with Scott, but that turned out to be a lie. After our first year, I knew Scott and I didn’t have what Johnny and Karen have. But at least we had our band. I shake my head. His band. Skin Trade was never ours.

  That much is now obvious.

  “So,” Karen asks after taking a moment to collec
t herself and smooth her colorful skirt, “what happened with Scott?”

  “Scott’s a used up douche,” I sniff.

  “I could’ve told you that,” Karen smirks. “What did he do?”

  I chuckle and shake my head, “He signed a record deal behind my back. Without me. Rex and Bobby decided to go with Scott. Which left me out of the band.”

  “What a drag,” Johnny shakes his head, “So much for loyalty. Another reason me and the old lady never worried too much about the fame or the money. Both will mess with a person’s mind in the worst way.”

  “I know, right?” I muse.

  Karen walks up and hugs me, “You’re better off without Scott. That cat’s energy was all wrong for you.”

  I laugh, “You could’ve told me sooner!”

  Karen holds me at arms length, lifts her delicate brows, and smiles, “It wasn’t my place to order your heart around. I’m not a prophet.”

  Johnny encourages, “Everything in its time, Sunshine.” He rests a loving hand on my shoulder, “When one door closes, another always opens.”

  I frown, “Too bad Scott’s door slammed in my face. I think it broke my ego’s nose.” I rub my nose like it hurts.

  Karen laughs at my comment.

  Johnny grins, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.” Johnny says stuff like this all the time.

  I say sarcastically, “Where do you get all your Yoda bullshit?”

  Unfazed, Johnny smiles, “From Joseph Campbell. That cat knew a thing or two about love. He was also a big influence on George Lucas and the old Star Wars movies. That was before your time, but Lucas put a lot of Campbell’s ideas into those movies.”

  I grin, “So that was Yoda bullshit?”

  Johnny laughs, “Don’t you know, Victory? It’s all bullshit. And that’s George Carlin, not Yoda.”

  “Who?”

  Karen laughs, “Look him up. George Carlin will teach you all about bullshit.”

  I giggle, “What’s to know about bullshit? It’s cow poop.”

  Karen tsk tsk tsks, “So young.”

  Despite how much the memory of last night’s disaster still stings, I always feel better after talking to Johnny and Karen. They’re like my adopted L.A. parents.

  Once everyone is settled in, Johnny goes back to work re-stringing the Gibson. I neaten things up behind the counter, not that there’s much to do. I end up back watching Johnny work on the guitar. It’s such a beautiful instrument.

  Karen leans against the counter on both arms, standing between Johnny and me. Her fingernails tick-tick-tick on the glass. She sighs and looks morose. Something is on her mind.

  I ask, “Something wrong?”

  She sighs again heavily. “Victory, we need to talk.”

  Worry seizes me, like I messed up somehow and she’s going to lecture me. I glance over at Johnny.

  He sets down the new A string he was about to put on the red Gibson and gives me a heavy look.

  “What?” I say nervously, glancing between them.

  Karen is obviously uncomfortable. This isn’t like her. She says sadly, “There’s no easy way to say this, Victory. Johnny and I have been talking.”

  Why does this suddenly feel like a break up? Are they going to fire me? Please, no. I can’t lose all my L.A. friends inside of twelve hours. I feel my bottom lip quivering. Please, I plead in my mind, don’t do this, please don’t.

  Karen continues, “Business has been very slow at the shop for several months. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  I nod hopefully, as if merely knowing there’s a problem will somehow turn this ship around before it hits an iceberg.

  Karen says, “What you don’t know is that our landlord has decided not to renew our lease. But even if he did, I don’t know that we could afford it.”

  My eyes goggle. “You guys are gonna move the shop someplace cheaper, right?”

  Karen shakes her head, her eyes dark and mournful, “Johnny and I aren’t kids anymore. We don’t want to go through the hassle of searching for someplace affordable.” She looks at me, her face sad, “Victory, Johnny and I have decided to close the shop.”

  “You can’t do that!” I plead. “You guys have been here forever!”

  “Thirty four years,” Johnny nods heavily.

  Karen sighs, “We can’t compete with the corporate guitar chains anymore. And the online?” She rolls her eyes and waves her hands dismissively, “Forget about the online.”

  “Not our bag, baby,” Johnny jokes half-heartedly.

  “Johnny and I are ready to retire, honey.”

  “But I love it here,” I sniffle. “I love you guys. This place is like home to me…” After last night, it’s the only home I have left in L.A.

  Karen places her palms gently on my cheeks, “You’re such a sweet girl, Victory.” Her eyes are wet.

  “When are you guys going to close?”

  “Not for a couple months,” Johnny says.

  Phew. At least I still have a job that long. Maybe I can change their minds? Bring a bunch of new business into the shop?

  Karen takes a deep breath before saying, “In the mean time, because business has been so slow, we need to ask if we can cut back your hours?”

  I’m touched that she’s “asking.”

  I get it.

  I’ve been over to Johnny and Karen’s apartment for dinner several times. It’s a small one bedroom place in a building four blocks from here. It’s warm and inviting, but it’s obvious that they don’t have a lot of money. I know they share a car and usually walk to work. I bet they’ve kept the store open the last few years out of love more than anything else.

  I nod my head solemnly, “I understand.”

  “We can still use you on the weekends,” Johnny says optimistically.

  Two days a week?

  I don’t make that much as it is. But cutting my wages by more than half? I’m screwed. I barely made ends meet living with Scott in that craphole. I’m gonna have to get roommates. I hope they don’t mind living with a musician. Or I could always move into the YWCA. Because nobody ever steals things from people who live at the YWCA. And I hear the management loves having a musician practicing electric guitar at all hours.

  Maybe I need to get chummy with some of the rehearsal spaces in town? I bet I could crash in one of the rooms at night and shower at the beach like I planned.

  Man, I hate being homeless.

  Sigh.

  I’ll figure it out.

  Somehow.

  Suggestions, anybody?

  Chapter 30

  VICTORY

  The front door jingles. A young guy with long rocker hair wearing a Wild Child shirt leans inside, “Hey, you guys mind if I hang a flier on the door?”

  “What’s it for?” Johnny asks.

  “Guitar Central is hosting L.A. Gunslingers next month. First prize is $5,000.”

  I forgot all about it. Guitar Central hosts the contest every year. It’s a Battle Of The Bands style thing with a focus on guitar based rock. They’ve been doing it for years. I totally need to enter. I could use the prize money. Too bad I don’t have a band. Fucking Scott.

  “Right on, man,” Johnny says, “go ahead and hang it up.”

  The rocker guy tapes the flier on the inside of the door. “Thanks, bro,” he says before walking out.

  Johnny says to me, “You should sign up for that.”

  “I kind of need a band,” I remind him.

  “No you don’t. Just get up and play guitar. They’ll love you,” he smiles

  “Thanks, Johnny. The only problem is I don’t have a guitar.”

  “What about your Fender?”

  My gut clenches at the mention. I don’t want to make more problems for Johnny.

  He frowns, “Something happen to your Fender?” He’s probably reading the misery on my face like it’s a giant flashing sign.

  I nod, “Someone broke into my car and heisted it.”

/>   “What? Someone took it?” He looks like I told him someone kidnapped my kid. “Your old man gave you that guitar, right?”

  I nod.

  “Man, that’s heavy.” he shakes his head. “It makes me sad that some people get that desperate.” He sighs, “What’re you gonna do for a guitar? You can’t get ready for the Gunslingers contest without a guitar.”

  I know where this is going. “I can’t…” My eyes are already hot.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Johnny insists. “Which one do you want?” He motions toward the wall of expensive vintage guitars with his chin.

  “Oh, I couldn’t…”

  He shakes his head. “Can’t nothing. You’re taking a guitar. I don’t want to hear any argument.” He’s serious.

  “Ahh…can I just borrow one? I’ll pick one out later, at the end of my shift?”

  He nods, “Fine. But you’re not walking out of here without a guitar.”

  My eyes are damp, but I hold back the tears. Johnny’s generosity makes me giddy with joy and appreciation. It also freaks me out because the cheapest guitar in the shop costs $3,500. Borrowing a guitar that expensive makes me nervous.

  I’ll have to make some calls to see if I can borrow a cheaper guitar from someone else. But it’s nice knowing I have access to one of Johnny and Karen’s if it comes down to that.

  $3,500.

  It makes me nervous just thinking about it.

  So I won’t.

  The rest of the morning passes slowly.

  Few serious customers come into the store. Karen wasn’t kidding about how bad business has been.

  On a Saturday, we always have lots of walk ins because the shop is on Sunset, which draws plenty of tourists. But few of them are in the market for pricey vintage guitars. I totally get it. I could never afford any of the guitars hanging from the walls of our store.

  I don’t want to think about guitars right now. Because, yay, I need to find a place to live.

  The shop has an old computer that barely works. I scour Craigslist for something affordable. Sadly, everything cheap looks suspicious. I love the ads that say, “Free rent. Female roommate for mutually beneficial living arrangement. Please send recent photos of yourself.”