Ache (7 page)

And then Dan looks closer at Tonya.  “Beth?” he asks, “Is that you?”

Now I realize that Tonya has been shying away from the cops.

“What in the hell are you doing here?  Does your father know where you are?” the cop continues.

Tonya turns, holding up a hand to silence him, and quickly walks over and whispers something as she guides him outside.

The other cop rests his hands on his belt and nods at Debbie and Christy and then towards the door again, they take the suggestion and leave.

I see them grab their clothes baskets on the way out, but my attention is on Tonya and the animated conversation she is having with the cop.  After a few minutes, Dan-o nods to his partner, who points his finger at Todd and me as a warning and leaves.

They get back in their cruiser, kill the flashers and drive away.

Tonya doesn’t come back in and I know she’s disappointed in me.  She stands out there in the dark parking lot with her arms folded across her chest.  The light from the Laundromat spills out through the glass and makes her seem far away.  The whole thing makes me feel uncomfortable and ashamed.

I glance in the washers, our clothes are beyond ruined.

Todd and I just look at each other again, what can we say?

I think about everything that happened and strangely, the first thing I think about is how Tonya looked earlier, she really is petite and not even a little bit heavy.  She looks more like an athlete, a curvy one, but still.  She said she was one, so that makes sense.  I also realize her skin is really pale, as in she has no tan — at all.  Her skin looks like ivory.  I can’t help thinking how sexy she looked standing there in her white lacey bra and those gray sweatpants with the top rolled over.

But the most confusing thing was seeing those big brown eyes alive with rage and how volatile she was.  She’s always fairly positive, not exactly hopeful, but kind.  I didn’t know she was capable of this level of violent anger, and then I remember her suicide attempt.

Tonya has more secrets than I thought and I don’t understand any of it, not the thing with the cops, not who her dad is or why that should matter, not why she got so aggressive with Debbie, and not why she hates Laundromats so much.  I know this all means something, and I know it’s major.  I’m not connecting the dots and it’s pissing me off.

“What a cluster-fuck.  You think she’s going to talk about what just happened?” Todd asks quietly.

“Nope.”

“Who’s Beth?” Todd asks.

“I have no idea.”

Depending on the day, we spend a lot of time in secondhand shops, because, like good little conforming punks, we profess to despise commercialism and the lingering death sentence of suburban existence, but really; it’s just because we’re poor.  The best one is downtown and given last night’s dramatics, Tonya decided this morning that I needed more clothes, so this is where we end up.  Sometimes it’s best not to argue.

The shop has a wide glass storefront, decades-old, elementary school cafeteria flooring and rows and rows of
postmortem clothes spread out under humming fluorescent lights.  It’s dreadfully perfect.

As usual, Tonya drags me along for a few moments and then disappears to shop by herself.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say.

Todd ignores me and pulls out one horrendous shirt after another, this must be the seventies section.

“More polyester, dude,” I encourage.

“You can’t wear that Sabbath shirt everyday,” Todd says.

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t,” a new voice says from down the rack.

We turn to look.

She’s a punk too, black hair with bangs, too much makeup, Doc Martins, a peasant skirt and a Black Flag t-shirt.  She’s pretty.  She has Todd’s full attention.

“I know you,” she says, pointing at me as her eyes narrow, “you’re that guy from the bank.”

She sounds accusatory.

“The bank?”

“Shauna’s stalker,” she says.

“Her stalker?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’d swear that was you, at least I would in a police line-up,” she says through a grin.

It clicks.  “Oh right, yeah, not anymore,” I say. 

“That’s no fun,” she says.

I look around, this is totally weird.  The world is entirely too small sometimes.  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m all kinds of fun,” Todd says, leering.

She reaches over and squeezes his nose and laughs.  I laugh too.  Todd doesn’t.

“I’m Carla, Shauna’s friend,” she says as she leans casually against the rack of leisure suits.

“So what brings you to this delightful establishment, the ambiance or the two drink minimum?” I ask.

She has a sly grin that appears completely untrustworthy, like she’s up to something, kind of like an evil version of Shauna.  She ignores my question.

“So what gives with Shauna?” she asks.

“What do you mean what gives?  She has a boyfriend.”

Carla laughs again.  “She’s still using that one, huh?”

“Can I get an extra side-order of ambiguity here, please?” I ask.

“I’m just messing with you.  Shauna hasn’t had a real boyfriend for a while now; she dates sometimes, but I think she’s on a sabbatical or hiatus as far as relationships go.”  She pauses and then motions me forward with her finger.  “I got a secret.”

An acquaintance of an acquaintance is all the invitation Todd needs to get chummy, and he lays his chin on her shoulder, the nose tweak forgotten.  “I like secrets.”

Carla scratches Todd on the head like he’s a puppy.  “I bet you do and I have a few, but this one’s for studly here.”

“Studly,” Todd echoes, laughing.

“I’m in a shitty mood,” I remind them.

“Oh, poor baby,” Carla taunts.

“Look, Shauna lying to me isn’t much better than her having a boyfriend, now is it?” I ask.

“Who’s this?” Tonya says as she walks up.

Carla gives Tonya the once over and sticks out her hand.  “Hi, I’m Carla and I really dig your band.”

Tonya grins and blushes
as she takes Carla’s hand.  “Thanks, I guess?”

“Okay,” Carla says, “two secrets.  I’ve seen you guys a few times, you’re brutal.  I’m a fan.  I was just funning with the kiddies here.”  She points to Todd and me.

Okay, that explains how she knows me, but it’s still a little creepy.

“That one is not to be trusted,” Tonya says, nodding toward Todd.

“So not true,” he says.

“I bet I can handle him,” Carla responds.

Todd grins, “You can handle…”

“Don’t even,” Carla says.

“What?  I was just going to say…”

“You’re a total goober,” Tonya says.  “We all know what you were going to say.”

I just shake my head.  Todd’s never dull.

“I was going to say we got a show at The Underground tonight, that’s all,” he finally says.

“I know big boy, that’s the other secret.  No promises Connor, but I think Shauna is going, if I can get her there that is.”

I’m still not getting it.  “So?”

“Did you hit your head?  She said you were smart.  She’s coming to see
you
.  She’s shy.”

I raise one hand to my cap.  Now I feel supremely stupid and I’m sure I’m grinning like a moron.

Todd laughs at me, not with me — important distinction.  I can’t read Tonya’s expression.

“She likes me?” I ask.

“Put on the brakes there lover-boy, let’s just say she’s curious for now,” Carla says.

I’ll take
curious
; it beats the hell out of where I was yesterday afternoon.

“I was trying to find her some fun stuff to wear, this is the best shop in town,” Carla says, then she puts one arm over Todd’s shoulder and points at Tonya, swirling her finger around from her boots to her oversized pants and baggy flannel.  “We need to do something about this.”

“We?  About what?” Tonya asks.

“Yeah, time to stop hiding and get some style, you can totally pull it off,” Carla says.

“I’m not hiding,” Tonya says as she looks away.

“Don’t make me pull out my psych degree, but yeah, you are.”

“I like college girls,” Todd says.

“I like college girls too,” Carla says with an evil grin.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?  You just haven’t met the right guy.  Ever think about trying out what you’re missing?” Todd asks.

“Oh sweetie, not with you,” she says smiling.

“Never hurts to ask,” he says.

“Yeah, I think it does,” Carla responds with a knowing smile and pats his cheek.

“Men are pigs, ignore him,” Tonya says, “except this one.”  She hugs me.

“I hope not, be a shame to have to kill him,” Carla says, winking at me.

I’m a happy camper at the moment.  “Carla, are you always this forward when you meet people?”

She cocks her head slightly and stares up at the stained ceiling panels as though deep in thought.  “Yep, pretty much.  But, you can ask Tonya more about it tomorrow morning,” she answers through that sly grin.

Tonya blushes.  “Whatever,” she says and turns away, but Carla catches up with her and hugs her.  Carla is too infectiously charming to be upset with for long.  I’ve never met anyone like her.  She’s like a long lost friend already.  It’s weird.  But I can’t say I trust her exactly.

“So the mission is clothes for Shauna and Connor?” Carla asks.

“No,” I say, “the mission is always the same here, more clothes for Tonya, but I’m curious about what you have in mind for Shauna.”

Carla glares at me.  “Buzz off, that ruins the romance.  Do you read the last page of mysteries first?”  She starts to turn away and then looks back and raises that accusatory eyebrow.  “Do you read at all?”  Then she turns her full attention to Tonya.  “Shopping?”

“Okay, guilty, help me or get lost,” Tonya says.  Tonya is the only girl I ever met who has a pouty walk.

“I read,” I mumble.

“Sure you do, kiddo,” Todd says patting me on the shoulder as he pushes past.

Carla catches up
with Tonya.  “Oh, I can help; I told you we needed to do something, didn’t I?”

Todd and I follow along and spend the rest of the afternoon laughing and joking and getting to know Carla — and shopping for Tonya, of course.

I’m trying not to obsess about tonight, the show or Shauna and think about the second hand store instead.  I snatch up a pair of fades blue jeans, a few plain white undershirts and a 1950’s gray and white bowling shirt that has the name
Alex
embroidered over the pocket.

Score.

Hard alcohol in bars is technically illegal in Oklahoma, which means you can get it most anywhere, but you have to be twenty-one.  Beer, on the other hand, isn’t and the drinking age is eighteen.  The survey says, “Drunk eighteen year-olds like live music with their beer.”  So there are a lot of beer bars around town with live music.  But my favorite is the Underground.

It’s a basement dive in downtown Oklahoma City.  It’s a great place to play.  One: because it has a loading dock in the alley that runs down to the lower floor so you can load equipment right in behind the stage. Two: because it has a real parking lot and three: it’s punk through and through — no bullshit.

We play lots of shows in bars and halls around town and Tulsa, but the Underground is the only one that lets us do what we do and let’s our fans do what they came for.  It’s also the only place that the police have never shut down on us.  Not yet, anyway.

The bar is dark and neon with day-glow splatter paint against black walls.  Even though it’s only been open for a little over a year, the walls are already covered in graffiti, band flyers and offensive bumper stickers.  It’s a long room with the bar along one long side and the stage along the other.  The dance floor, or pit as most of us think of it, is in between.  It used to be a Go-Go bar and the cages for the dancers are still there on both sides of the stage.  At the far end, behind the entrance, are the toilets and the ubiquitous pool tables.

Another reason I like this place is because it has a real Green Room, sort of.  It’s not one of those backstage rooms with deli platters, champagne and vases with blue M&M’s, but it is a place we can get ready for the show away from our fans.  That is, we can get hammered in private. 

I walk back in around nine with another pitcher of beer and cups, trying not to think about Shauna and just focus on the show.

The Green Room has a slightly unpleasant odor, like something died, but not before puking and pissing everywhere.  It always smells like this.  They should think about pulling out the green shag carpet, it’s much worse than the Laundromat’s floor.  The room isn’t that big either and it’s crowded — three bands, buddies and girlfriends fill the four threadbare couches; anyone who got here late is standing.  The battered and stained, wooden end tables are covered with beer cups, pitchers of beer and ashtrays.  Everyone is drinking and smoking.

The air is thick under the dim fluorescent light.

The headliners are The Freaks.  I never met them before.  They’re sitting at one end of the room on the couches, passing a joint around.  I know it’s them because they’re the only ones I don’t know.  They look like hippies.

Larry, he calls himself Mick now, is the lead singer for Scrotum, the opening band.  They’re skinhead posers, shaved bald, wearing plain white shirts over baggy jeans, and unfortunately, I do know them.  Larry’s banging his head against the paneling and screaming ‘fuck’ over and over in a fake English accent.  He’s managed to open a cut in his forehead and he’s bleeding down his face.  The other guys in his band are ignoring him.  He’s an asshole.  Not because he’s trying to use pain as a motivator, but because it’s not real.  I know him and he’s a fake — it’s all for show.

The music is loud, spitting out of a broken P.A. cabinet near the door.  I set the pitcher down on it and start pouring beers for Todd and Tonya.  We look at each other, down them and pour more.

Tonya has pulled her hair into pigtails and is wearing an oversized gray bath-robe; she said she had a surprise for us.  I’m guessing this is Carla’s work.  Todd is wearing jeans and a New York Dolls shirt.  I’ve got on my bloody chucks, ripped black 501’s and one of my white undershirts from the second hand shop.  We dressed up special.

“What’s Larry’s problem tonight?” I ask while I light a cigarette.  His antics are worse than usual.

Todd scowls across the room.  “Nothing, just his typical prickish self.”

“Hey dickless,” I shout over to Larry, “Your mom still giving head out back for nickels and giving change?”  He’s just too easy to wind up.

Larry turns to me pointing and scr
eaming.  “Your turn’s coming, motherfucker!”

I laugh at him, his fake accent sounds ridiculous. 

And then he jumps over and gets in my face, like he’s trying to intimidate me. He’s tilting his head left and right while he stares at me with wide eyes.

Todd puts one arm in front of Tonya and pushes her back toward the door as he stands between her and Larry.  I can tell she’s surprised by how fast Larry moved, she’s never met him.  But Todd knows him just like I do and he knows the drill, sometimes shit happens fast and it’s best to not be too close.  The worst thing about fights in small rooms is getting rolled underneath.

I’m jacked up tonight, more than usual.  It occurs to me that Tonya’s never seen me fight, she’s seen me be crazy as fuck, but not anything quite like this, and now I’m wishing I hadn’t pushed it like I did.

But even so, I don’t flinch.

I just stare right back at Larry and continue grinning.  He doesn’t care much for me either and I get that, but if he wants to go right the fuck here, then I’m stoked and ready.

I take a drink of my beer without breaking eye contact.  It’s like some fucking primeval testosterone staring contest.  The thing Larry doesn’t know is that I don’t give a shit who wins the fight, just as long as I’m it in.

“I’m going to fuck you up, fag,” he spits at me.

I take a drag off my cigarette and then lean in close and whisper, “You want to go — right here, right now?”  I blow smoke into his face.

He tries not to blink against the smoke and then leans back and howls like a demented wolf, before jumping back into the room, pogoing and screaming obscenities again.

That’s what I thought.

He’s trying to get pumped and I get that, but Jesus Christ — do it on your own time.

“You just make friends everywhere you go, huh?” Tonya asks as she joins me again.  She’s giving me that odd look she has when she doesn’t know how to categorize something, except this one is tinged with worry.

A taller guy in a tied-dyed shirt and cargo shorts drifts over through the crowd offering a joint.  “Dude, it’s Hawaiian,” he says through a glassy eyed smile.

Tonya and Todd shake their heads.

“I’m good man, dulls my rage,” I say.

“Maybe you need dulling,” he says looking back at Larry.

“Nah, I’m good, I’m always pumped come show time.  Those guys are a decent band; even Larry there gets it done on stage, I can’t take that from them.  I just wished I never met them back here, because they’re a bunch of — assholes,” I shout the last word at them.

“Fuck you, Connor,” the bass player for Scrotum shouts across the room.  Larry is still jumping up and down and glaring at me with his pretend psychotic look.

I grin and he turns away.

“Starting up kind of early tonight aren’t you?” Todd asks with unusual concern.

“Not yet, just warming up.  This is going to be a good show; I can feel it, like some fucking shamanistic vision.” I ignore the look and finish off my beer.  I wasn’t totally honest with Chad, it’s not just at show time, the rage is always there, but I’m dropping the chains tonight.

And that’s a good thing, a desirable thing — an unavoidable thing.

“Chad,” the stoner says and sticks out his hand.

“Connor,” I say, “this is Todd, bass, and this is our totally bitchin’ singer.  It’s your turn to get more beer
, by the way.”

Todd shakes hands and Tonya nods, mumbling under her breath to me, “Don’t get killed before Showtime, okay?”  And then she heads back to the bar.

I look around.  “Where’s Kevin?”

Kevin is our drummer, he’s an animal, but he’s also a non-stop partier, so we’re never sure if he is going to make it.

Todd shrugs.

“So, what’s your vibe, dude?” Chad asks.

“Vibe?” I ask.

Todd puts his arm around Chad.  “You do know this is a punk bar, right?”

“Oh yeah, dude.  We’re from L.A., gnarly scene out there, new sounds.  We’re totally plugged in, funk, rap, heavy shit.  I never heard of you guys before, so I guessed you’re local.  So dude, what’s your — vibe?” Chad asks again.

Chad’s got this calm, Zen personality, but I can tell there’s something crawling around under his skin.  He’s just learned how to control it better than most.

Todd grins and hugs Chad tighter.

“Chad, it’s all pretty loud, fast and fucked up.  Our fans are special, head-cases; it gets dangerous, like it’s supposed to.  If we puss out, they get unpredictable, like rabid dogs,” I say.

He takes another drag off the blunt and holds it in as he narrows his eyes and nods real slow.  He lets the smoke out as he speaks.  “Dude, I’m down.  Dangerous is good.”

I’m a little afraid of Chad now, whatever that thing under his skin is, I just saw it in his eyes.  They suddenly remind me of a serial killer’s eyes, not like the Larry show, but like the real thing — like he’s not all there.  It gets me stoked about their set and I grin at him.

Something just past between us, I don’t know what it is, but it’s fucking cool.

He gives Todd the peace sign and then leans over and head butts me softly.  I’m pretty sure he just gave me a huge compliment.  He starts head banging to
London Calling
as he makes his way back to the other end of the room.

Larry glares at him, but moves out of his way.

The bar’s been open for about an hour and Scrotum should be going on soon, which will improve the air in here.

“Where’s the beer?” Todd asks.

“I’ll check,” I say and head back to the bar.

The Green Room is off to one side of the stage across from the toilets.  I walk out to see two guys giving Tonya a hard time.  She’s trying to get by them, holding the pitcher of beer.

This is so not cool.

And then one of them grabs her arm.

I take a deep breath, trying to remain in control — I’m on a razor’s edge.  The night is already unpredictable, without expectations or consequences and right now, I’m seeing red.

Not all that long ago, I would have resolved the situation by nailing them in the back of the head with a nice heavy chair or mic stand, but I’ve gained a measure of control recently.  In spite
of my encounter with Larry tonight, I’ve been trying to put the days of vandalism and picking fights behind me — for the most part, anyway.  It’s a small
measure
of control.

Baby steps.

I walk up on an angle between Tonya and the two assholes.  I meet her eyes and glance at the pitcher of beer.  She gets it and steps back, holding the pitcher out.  As I near them, I pretend to stumble and knock the pitcher out of her hand, drenching asshole number one, who lets go of her arm.  He’s trying to work the New Wave fashion thing, and I grab him by his skinny tie as I fall to my knees, dragging him down with me.

As I begin to stand and help him up, I look into his eyes from inches away.  “I will fucking kill you, in the goddamn ground dead, if you ever touch her again.
”

And by God, right now, in this moment — some part of me, deep inside, means every word of it.

His eyes get really wide; the whites are showing around the irises.

I absently wonder if my eyes look like Chad’s right now.

“We cool?” I ask.

He nods very slowly, like he’s afraid the slightest sudden move might set me off.  And he’s probably right to think that.

We stand back up, and I’m aware that there are two of them and they are both bigger than me, so it’s time for diplomacy.  I’m jacked, but I also want to play the show and getting into a fight is going to get my ass thrown out into the parking lot.

I probably should have thought about that earlier.

Probably.

“Dudes, so sorry.  Let me make it up to you,” I say.

Tonya has disappeared, forgotten by the two pricks, but I doubt she’s gone far.

I slip my arms around each of them and hug their necks like we are old friends.  “Come on guys, it’s going to be a great show.”

“Motherfucker,” asshole number two shouts as he starts to jerk away, but I have leverage and tighten my arm and pull him back in.  I’m using asshole number one as an anchor.  He doesn’t move at all.  He’s still staring at me with nervous eyes.

Asshole number two is surprised.  I don’t look nearly as strong as I am.

“Relax, man.  You look like first timers,” I continue, “so be careful, this place can get rough, if you’re not careful.”  I look back to asshole number one.  “Right?”

He just nods.

“Besides, you don’t want to fuck with him, do you?”  I ask as I extend one arm over his shoulder and point to Ringo standing over by the stairs.  Ringo is the head bouncer and is built like a pro football player, a pissed off pro football player that was released from prison as recently as this morning and is looking for an excuse to kill someone — anyone and preferably soon.  “Or do you?”