Zip Gun Boogie (10 page)

11

I
spent the rest of the evening with the roadies. We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. Keith Pandora was in with his two playmates, and another woman who resembled an older, ravaged version of them whom I took to be their mother. She was a flower child gone to seed, with straight hair too black to be natural and too long for her age. She wore a vaguely bohemian outfit of dark patterned long-sleeved shirt, worn loose over a mini skirt and black tights, with high-heeled boots, lots of silver, and a crystal on a chain around her neck. I disliked her on sight.

On their way out, Pandora stopped over at our table and spoke to me. ‘I've been expecting a visit,' he said.

‘You're next on my list.'

‘When?'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘Sure. Come up at eleven and have breakfast.'

‘OK. I look forward to it,' I replied. I could see the woman clocking me through the short conversation. The two teeny boppers looked bored throughout, and drifted away towards the exit.

‘Aren't you going to introduce us, Keith?' asked the woman.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘Nick, this is Andrea Batiste. Andrea, Nick Sharman.'

‘Nice to meet you,' I said. Although it wasn't particularly.

‘And you,' she said, and smiled. She looked younger when she did.

‘Tomorrow then,' said Pandora, and they moved away. As they went Andrea Batiste looked over her shoulder at me.

When they were safely through the door, Seltza said, ‘Shit! I couldn't tell you what I could do to those two little honey bunnies.'

‘Man,' said Turdo, ‘I'd love to have the pair of them in the shower, soaping me up and jerking me off.'

‘Soapy tit wank,' said Chick, with a faraway look in his eyes.

‘You fuckers are disgusting,' I said.

‘Hey, Mr Straight, loosen up,' said Seltza. ‘They love it as much as that hairy fucker Pandora. Come on, man. Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind. That you haven't thought about it a bit. Everyone else round here has.'

To be honest I had, and that's what I didn't like. I'll admit that the thought of those two lithe young bodies all over me like a rash turned me on. Then I thought about Judith and I felt ashamed. ‘Sure,' I said, ‘I've thought about it. And then after I've thought about it, I've thought how it would be if it was
my
little girl in a couple of years. Know what I mean?'

The table fell silent. ‘Sure,' said Seltza after a moment, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Nothing personal, partner.' He pronounced it, ‘podner'. ‘Didn't mean to give you a hard time. Subject closed. I didn't know you had a kid of your own.'

‘How could you?' I said. ‘Forget it.'

So he did and we ordered another round of drinks.

‘So what about this band then?' I said. ‘What's the full SP?'

‘Come again,' said Seltza.

‘Starting price,' I explained. ‘A horse-racing term. I mean, what's the story from the beginning?'

‘Shit,' said Seltza. ‘How long you got?'

‘Long enough. Tell me.'

‘I'll tell you one thing,' said Chick, ‘this is the dyingest band in the world. Trash was real lucky.'

‘No, man,' said Turdo. ‘This ain't the dyingest band. The unluckiest, yeah, but the dyingest, no.'

‘Who then?' said Chick.

‘
T-Rex
,' said Turdo. ‘All them mothers dead.'

‘
Lynyrd Skynyrd
,' said Seltza. ‘Or
The Allman Brothers.
'

‘How about
The Bar-Kays
?' said Turdo.

Chick thought about it. ‘OK, maybe they ain't the dyingest band. But they're fucking close.'

‘Tell me about it,' I said.

‘Christ!' said Chick, and started ticking off on his fingers. ‘The first drummer they had took too much acid and freaked out. One guitarist joined The Moonies. Another ended up in a mental hospital.'

‘No, man, that was another drummer,' interrupted Seltza. ‘That crazy fucker Bobby Boyle, or whatever the hell his name was.'

‘Two drummers ended up on the funny farm,' said Chick. ‘But they let Boyle out again. I was talking to Roger the Dodger about it.'

‘Carry on,' I said.

‘Two of them died in a car crash. They were racing Corvettes to Las Vegas for the pink slips. Neither of the fuckers would give way. One keyboard player OD'd after a week. He couldn't stand the pressure. He was only eighteen. Never been away from home. Seven days on the road with
The Box
, and the cat's dropping 'ludes like there's no tomorrow. One morning he just never woke up. Then Jackie Mulligan, played bass, took angel dust with Pandora. They found the poor fucker face down in the parking lot. He was so crazy he'd stuck his head under the wheels of a Mack truck.'

‘Strictly speaking that wasn't an OD,' said Seltza. ‘The verdict was suicide.'

‘Same thing,' said Chick wisely. ‘Sapperstein crashed his plane, and Griff Fender got electrocuted on stage. This band's had more members than the fuckin' Boston Philharmonic.'

‘How many?' I asked.

‘God knows. Seventeen… eighteen.'

‘Maybe you're right, Chick,' said Turdo. ‘Maybe this is the dyingest band.'

We all cogitated on that remark for a while.

‘So listen,' said Seltza, changing the subject, ‘who's coming up to get shit-faced in my little corner of the world? I've got some outstanding grass.'

Turdo said he was going to call up his girl and see what she was doing, Chick said he'd be delighted, and I tagged along for the ride.

Seltza's room was just that – a room. But a decent double and pretty luxurious. He'd installed a stereo compact disc player and stuck on the first
Doors
album.

He adjusted the volume and pulled a tray with papers and a bag of grass in it out of one of the drawers of his bureau.

‘Trouble with CDs is there ain't room to roll a joint on the cover,' he said. ‘Give me a regular album anyday.'

‘It's the march of technology, man,' said Chick.

I was beginning to realise that Chick was something of a philosopher in his own, individual way.

Seltza made the joints American-style. All grass. One skin. No cardboard filter. Just a flat fold at the end. He rolled one, lit it, took a hit, passed it to Chick and started rolling another. ‘Help yourself to a drink, Nick,' he said. ‘The ice-box is full.'

I went over to the mini-bar and got a Grolsch. Chick asked for one too. Seltza went for a Bourbon on the rocks. I got the drinks and swapped them for the joint. I took a hit, and kept the smoke down for a long time before releasing it. The taste reminded me of other times. So did the music. I took the bottle and the spliff and sat on an easy chair by the window. The evening was warm, and the sky was growing dark and merging with the tops of the trees in the square across from the hotel. Between tracks on the album I could hear traffic and the sound of children going home. I drifted away as the dope took hold. My thoughts were like a kaleidoscope, jumping from one memory to another. So many people. So many gone. And not enough time or energy left to start again.

‘Don't bogart that joint, my man,' said Seltza.

I came back to reality with a start. ‘Sorry,' I said, took another hit and passed the joint to him. I looked at my watch. It was almost nine o'clock. Seltza went back to the bureau and brought out a bag of white powder big enough to choke a horse, and started cutting out long fat lines on the glass top. He took out a twenty and rolled it up into a tight tube. ‘Guys,' he said, ‘be my guests. Shorty laid this shit on me today. Best pink Peruvian.'

‘Are you sure?' I said. My voice sounded stoned and I had some trouble enunciating the words.

‘Yeah, man,' said Seltza. ‘I gave it the test. It's good pure shit. Take my word.' As if to show his faith in the product he scarfed up the first line. ‘Fuck!' he said after a moment. ‘Awesome. Do your nose some good.'

He passed the rolled-up bank note to me and I took up a line myself. It made me go cross-eyed, and I felt that old familiar shiver go down my spine. ‘Good gear,' I said, and Chick passed me a joint and dived into the Charlie. I drank more beer, sucked a mouthful of smoke and sat down again.

‘What the fuck are we going to do?' asked Chick as he rubbed his nose.

‘Want to boogie?' said Seltza.

‘Who's on?' Chick again.

‘
Cheap and Nasty
's at the Astoria.
Fields of Nephelim
at the Town & Country. There's a party for
The Nasties
after.'

‘The Astoria it is then,' said Chick. ‘That way we can get out of it for nixes after. You know the tour manager, don't you, Seltz?'

‘Sure,' said Seltza. ‘The cheap bastard owes me. You coming, Nick?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I've got things to do tomorrow. It sounds like you're going to make a night of it.'

‘Every fuckin' night,' said Seltza. ‘Another time then?'

‘Sure.'

‘There's a reception on tomorrow for
The Miracle.
They've got a new album out. Want to come?'

‘Where?'

‘Inn On The Park, I think. I've got an invitation somewhere. Everyone's going, including your friend Ninotchka.'

‘I'll be there,' I said.

‘I bet you will,' said Chick. ‘Be there or be square.' And he laughed a stoned laugh.

‘Listen,' I said, ‘I'll see you guys later. I'm going to wander about. See what's cooking.'

‘Have fun,' said Seltza.

‘That's what life's about,' said Chick. ‘Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

‘Or anyone,' said Seltza.

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘G'night. And thanks for the dope.'

‘Pleasure,' said Seltza. ‘The pharmacist is always in attendance.' And he laughed too,

I left the room and went up to my suite. I went in, put on the TV, made a weak vodka with tonic and stretched out in front of the box.

I sat there for an hour or more, watching anything. Seeing nothing. Just coasting on a high, topping it up from the vodka bottle and drifting like a dead leaf on a current of warm air. Then the phone rang.

I picked up the receiver and it was Ninotchka. ‘Where the hell are you?' she asked angrily.

‘Right here. Where else?' I replied.

‘I thought we had a date?'

‘I got involved.'

‘Fuck involved. Get up here now.'

‘Hey, slow down,' I said. ‘Not so fast. I've been working.' And I wondered why the hell I was justifying myself.

‘Here. Now,' she said, and put the phone down in my ear.

His Master's Voice. Son, this is the record biz, I thought. I got up, put on my jacket and took myself and a mild cocaine hangover to face the music.

Don let me in to her suite. Ninotchka was sitting on the sofa. She was wearing a short black skirt and a dark green Levis shirt. Her legs were bare. ‘Don, get lost,' she said.

‘You know what Mr Lomax said,' he protested.

‘Fuck Mr Lomax! Get the fuck out of here and stay out,' she hissed through clenched teeth. She looked and sounded strung out as hell.

‘What about…'

‘Just do it!' she shouted.

Don shook his head and left. ‘I'll be right here,' he said as he closed the door behind him.

I lit a cigarette. Coke does that to me, makes me into a three packs a day man. Ninotchka sat and gave me the old snake eye.

‘So where were you?' she said.

‘With the road crew, getting fucked up,' I said, honesty being the best policy.

‘Fine. You'd rather be with those creeps than me?'

‘No. I was just getting acquainted. I have a job to do. Time flew. You know how it goes when you're having fun.' I was beginning to feel a bit strung out myself.

‘Shit!' she said. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!'

I leant against the wall and smoked my cigarette.

‘Get me a drink,' she said. No ‘please', you'll notice.

‘What?' I said. Meaning what drink, not that I hadn't heard her.

‘Vodka and grapefruit. Have you eaten?'

‘Sure,' I said. ‘With the crew.'

‘Christ, are you in love with those guys? You been jerking each other off, or what? I haven't eaten a fucking thing all day.'

‘Call room service. Get them to kill the fatted calf,' I said.