Ache (8 page)

They sober up long enough to accept the skinny and then nod, both of them are drunk and dumb as a fucking stick.

“Tell you what, let me buy you a couple of pitchers to make it up to you?”

Asshole number two’s drunken grin returns as I guide them over to the bar.  I make good on my promise and leave as they begin drinking from the pitchers
.  Beer’s streaming down asshole number two’s face, everything forgotten.

The other guy though, I made him a goddamn believer and he’s still sweating.

I grin as I head back to the Green Room to check on Tonya, but I see her standing by the door with her arms folder across her chest.  She’s staring at me with gratitude and something else, a smirk maybe?

No harm, no foul, but it was close — closer for me than for them.

Our band is called Ache and we’re on stage, waiting.  The lights are down and
Ant Music
is playing.  Cigarette smoke drifts through the light cast by the stairwell fluorescents and bar pendants.  The Exit lights glow at the far end of the room.  The other bands are forgotten.  Everyone in the crowd is standing, sweating and facing the stage, also waiting.  I recognize many of them, they’re like a fucked up family that loves and needs us, and hates us for it.  The room is packed, hot and restless.  The air is electric and the crowd has become a living thing — like a viper waiting to strike.

The mosh pit hungers for the sacrifice of blood and the tribe is eager to give it.

I kneel on the side of the stage, holding my ’59 Explorer guitar.  It’s beat to shit, but plays like a dream.  Tonya is standing in front of the microphone and focusing somewhere out over the crowd.  It’s too dark to see Todd, but I know he’s stoked.  Kevin showed up just in time, he’s sitting on his throne, softly tapping his kick-drum to the beat of Adam Ant.

The energy is building.

I see a half-full beer cup fly towards me.  I don’t move.  It hits me on the shoulder and splashes everywhere.  I grin.

This has become a ritual.

I can feel my heart pounding in my temples, I’m trembling now.

Tonya kneels down, grasping the mic stand with both hands and lowers her head as though praying to the crowd.

Kevin starts to hit the kick harder.

I’m nodding my head in time now.  I roll on the volume of my guitar and hear my Marshall amplifier begin to hum behind me. 

Adam’s on the last chorus now.

The viper is pulling back, poised.

Tonya slides out of her robe and tosses it back towards the drums.  She’s wearing tight jeans, unlaced boots, a football jersey half-shirt and fingerless mittens.  I think she’s being ironic, considering her lyrics.  I’ve never seen her dress quite like this, especially not in public or on stage.  It’s overtly sexual and it looks good on her, I guess change
can
be a good thing.  But I’m still a little worried about her just the same; she didn’t come by those baggy clothes and gloves by accident. 

She glances over at me.  She’s hot and I think she knows it, but I can tell she’s still tense.  I flash her a reassuring smile, but I’m not sure she can see me in the darkness.  I can see her though; her face is silhouetted against the glow of an exit sign.

It occurs to me that it looks like a halo as the music dies and silence settles over the room.  She turns back and I can see her grip the stand, leaning into the mic.

She’s pumped too.

Dust motes drift through the smoky air and the only sound is the buzz of my amp.

Calm.

My rage is cranked up to ten.

The stage lights come on as we explode into the fastest, hardest cover of
Green Acres
ever played.  The crowd strikes, over a hundred full beer cups fly into the air drenching everyone as the pit instantly erupts into a swirling churning battle for survival — knees and arms flying.

I jump to the front of the stage, channeling my emotions through the strings.  I can’t stop grinning.

Tonya is jumping around like never before, screaming the lyrics along with the crowd.

I love this place.  This is going to be a great night even if Shauna doesn’t show.

The songs come fast and the energy in the room is amazing.  Security is non-existent, so I guard the edge of the stage and kick the fans trying to climb up back into the pit and Todd follows my lead. 

When we launch into the bass heavy
Cramps
, a song dedicated to Tonya’s hatred of men, I set my guitar down on its stand and run to the edge of the stage and without even slowing, launch myself over the pit.  My hair flies and the crowd screams as they catch me with shoulders, arms and punches.  I feel hands and heads on my back, ass and legs, holding me up and pushing me along the top of the crowd like flotsam on a wave.  I trust them in some unhealthy and dysfunctional way, even though the concrete floor is one slip away from breaking my face. 

When my feet hit the ground, I’m in the middle of the pit and a forearm catches me in the face almost immediately.  I move with the crowd and taste blood.  I see Larry shoving his way through the chaos, staring back at me.  It was a cheap shot and for now, doesn’t matter.  It’s the law of the pit.  But I know we’re going to have an accounting one day soon.

Shoulders, fists, hips and bodies slam into one another, pushing each other around in a vaguely circular pattern.  When in the pit, you go downstream.  I feel the sweat, smell the beer and taste the violence — it’s anarchy, and it’s wonderful.

I shove and jump and stomp my way through the milieu, the thump of Todd’s bass line drives me onward, flesh against flesh, pain against pain — devoid of memory, guilt, worry, a past or future — the pit is ever-present, a threatening and demandingly immediate
Now
.

I realize the song is nearing its end and work my way to the edge.  I slide out of the pit panting; my shirt is soaked through with sweat and beer.  I don’t want to leave.  I’ve never been more at peace than in the pit.  I miss the comfort of the known.

It’s the only place I ever feel like I truly belong, except for the band, that is.

I jump-crawl back up onto the stage and see Tonya and Todd, both grinning and shaking their heads at me.  I’m the only crazy one in the band.  I wipe the blood away from my nose and grab my guitar, holding it up by the neck, I start pumping it in the air as the crowd shouts for more.

I drop the strap around my shoulder, roll on the volume, and we’re off again into the next song.  I’ve given approval.  Fans start jumping up on the stage and by ones and twos and then threes and fours, they start diving off into the pit.  The set is half over.

We keep up the pace, cranking through our set, dodging fans and the expanding chaos as we progress with harder and faster songs — when I notice this blonde in a mini-skirt is hanging out in a safe zone off to my side of the stage.  She’s dancing, like a normal person and staring at me. 

She’s wearing a black and red striped mini-skirt, red heels, those lacey ankle socks with black nylons and a blousy, white pirate-shirt.  She has long permed hair and it’s big, with crispy bangs.  She has Revlon eyes and tire-shine glossy red lips.

And I know who this hot chick is.  Under all that fashion, the dancing girl is Shauna.  I grin at her and wave in between chord changes and she waves back and smiles.  She’s a great dancer.

The night just got way better.

For the rest of the show, I do my best to avoid fans and elbows and kick the stage-divers as necessary, trying to remember the crowd and not play just for Shauna, because in some weird way, it feels like we are the only two people in the vast hall.

We launch into the last song, which begins slow and then builds into a full on assault of the senses as the crowd goes nuts and begins climbing up on the stage in mass, pogoing and stomping around with us.  This is another ritual reserved for the few Halls that let us play again and The Underground.  I lose Tonya in the frenzy as the stage devolves into total chaos.  We race up to the last chorus, pounding away on our instruments while Tonya’s screaming out the lyrics and then, suddenly, it’s over.

We finish and a powerful silence hits the room, no less powerful than our opening chords — it’s the awareness and acceptance of the catharsis.  It’s like everyone just came.  And then the shouts and cheers of the crowd return.

And just like that, trembling with the rush of adrenaline, the stage lights go out, the house music goes up and we’re done.  The crowd reluctantly leaps off the stage.

I’m pumped, but we don’t have time to celebrate, we have to get off the stage so The Freaks can set up.  The set was fucking unbelievable, but all I can think about is Shauna.  I put my guitar down and get to unplugging cords.  I’m on my knees unplugging my effects boxes when I see these red high heels, lacey socks and black nylons standing next to me.

I look up.

Shit, this is good.

I stop what I’m doing and take my index finger and place it on the toe of her shoe and wait for her to move, but she doesn’t.  I slowly draw a line up the shoe, over her sock and then around and up the back of her leg as I stand up.  She never flinches.  I brush past her hem, across her hip and slide my hand across her ass and then around her waist.  We are very close now.  I can feel her breathing against me.  I see the sweat on her face from dancing.  I smell her perfume.  She’s intoxicating.

I look down into her eyes.  She has a drink that isn’t beer.  She purses those red lips, wrapping them around her straw and looks up at me as she takes a sip.

Jesus Christ on a stick.

“You ok?” she asks with concern.

My nose is still bleeding some and I wipe it clean.  “I think I’ll live.”

“Need any help?” she asks.

“No, I got this, but thanks.”

“You sure?”  She bends down to my guitar cables.

The stage is clear of the crowd now and Todd is grinning at me.

I reach down and take the cables from her and pull her back up by her hand.

“You could get me a beer,” I say, pulling a beer coupon from my back pocket and handing it to her.

“Ick, it’s wet,” she says.

“You talking about the ticket, the beer or something else I should know about?”

She blushes slightly.  “What kind of beer do you want, smartbutt?” She smiles and takes another sip.

“Tap, whatever is fine.”

“You said you want to tap something?” she asks.

“Yeah, something blond,” I respond matter-of-factly, looking into he eyes.

Her eyes widen slightly and then she grins as she returns her attention to her straw, taking a sip while she looks back up at me and twists from side to side like she is reminding me she has a goddamn secret.  Do girls go to some special school to learn this shit or is it instinct?

She holds my hand and pulls me over to the side of the stage and I help her down like a proper gentleman, but I’m not thinking anything gentlemanly at the moment.

I watch her walk through the crowd and across the dance floor, her skirt swishing back and forth.  She turns back and I can see her smiling under the bar lights.

“So, that’s her?” Tonya asks disapprovingly.

“Yeah.”

“She’s not from around these parts is she?” Tonya asks.

“What was your first clue?” I ask.

“The wrinkle-free clothes.  You going to sleep with her?” Tonya asks.

“Only if I can,” I say through a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t be a pig.”

“I’m joking,” I say defensively.

“No you’re not,” she responds without mirth.  “Be careful, okay?  I’m not sure about this one.”

“She’s friends with Carla and Carla’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, but you’re not trying to date Carla, this is different.”

“Todd, dude?”

Todd laughs.  “Don’t look at me.  You were right though, she is hot.  Maybe you can get a pity-fuck?”

“Kiss my ass,” I say.

“It’s what I’m here for; encouragement, dude.  But you are going to do her right?” Todd asks.

“Do her?  Like painting a fence?  No, man.  I really like her, I don’t want to mess this up.  I think I need to go slow.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Tonya says.

“Don’t go too slow.  Remember what Carla said, she’s dating around.  There’s always someone else waiting in the wings,” Todd says.

“You’re a dick,” I say.

“I’m for real, dude.”

Tonya glances at up at me.  “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

I lay my forehead against hers.  “I’m always hurting.”

An odd expression passes over her eyes and then she nods and lets it go.

I turn to Todd.  “Watch my stuff, okay?”

Todd grins.  “Yeah, but get your ass back here for load out, or we’re keeping your share of the cash.”

“No problem, thanks,” I say and then turn back to Tonya.  “You were amazing tonight.”

She offers up a shy smile.  “Thanks.”

“I like the new look,” I say.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird though.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” she asks, tilting her head.

“You look hot, but I miss the flannel shirts and baggy chinos,” I say.

She looks down for a second and then away with a slight frown.

“No, don’t get me wrong, you look great, maybe sexy even.  I just never thought about you, um, you know?”  I’ve never been at a loss for words around Tonya, but I suddenly feel awkward talking about how she looks.

“No, I don’t know.  Never mind.”  She looks down again and then she’s a little colder when she looks back up.  “Your new
girlfriend
reminds me of Debbie, don’t let her near my van,” she says flatly.