Fountain & Fairfax

TRACK A

Istepped off the bus and walked a few yards down the street to the house. The day was humid, making me sweat through my Jamesmart work shirt. My body was tired, but my mind was spinning. I had just worked a double shift that totaled 16 hours of unloading trucks, stacking appliances, and building endcaps. All I wanted to do was just drop dead into a deep sleep.

My father’s pick-up was parked on the gravel drive. I walked across the sun burnt lawn to the one level house. Inside, my father sat on his chair in the living room, his back to me, and watched television.

I went to my bedroom and stripped off my wet and dusty clothes, then hopped into the shower. After I put on a pair of jeans and a Fear rock T, I went into the kitchen to make some dinner. I heated up a can of meat ravioli on the stove and then scooped it out into a cereal bowl.

As I sat at the kitchen table and ate, trying to calm my anxious heart, listening to the television in the next room, I started to sweat again. The house was in desperate need of some kind of circulation. Once I mentioned to my father about getting an air conditioning unit. He told me that if I couldn’t deal with a little Southern Carolina heat, that I should go out and buy it. I bit my tongue. What was the use?

What're you doing home? Dad asked, walking to the refrigerator. He took out a can of R.C., releasing the cold, misty air out of the fridge.

I have a gig tonight, I said through a mouthful of ravioli.

Dad smirked. He always looked happy when I mentioned my music, but not in a good way.

So you called out sick so you can play the guitar for a bunch of drunk red necks?

I sighed, trying to sooth my anger and failing terribly.

No, I said. I worked a day shift.

Mmm. Hmm. Dad sipped his soda. They don’t pay as much during a day shift as they do on a night shift.

I ate faster, scraping the fork across the bowl to get the meaty sauce.

No, Dad. They don’t.

Guess money isn’t important to you.

I turned to his mocking eyes, my hands tightening into fists.

He scratched his graying shaved hair and smirked.

Find any work today, Dad?

The smirk dropped. He squinted, matching my anger.

The room fell silent, prime for an explosion, a fight.

I felt the pounding in my head.

A horn blew outside.

Dad sipped his soda and said, Better hurry. Your faggy friend is waiting.

Then he left.

I rubbed my eyes and sighed hard. I placed the bowl and fork into the sink, slamming them down, taking some anger out. I then went to my room, picked up my guitar case, and left the house.

Greg Crowe sat behind the wheel of his dying Chevy, his arm resting on the rim of the open window. The latest Public Image Limited blasted out the speakers. I loaded the guitar into his littered back seat and then sat in the front. Greg checked his blue spiked hair in the rearview mirror.

You look like shit, Greg commented.

I feel like shit, I said. Had the worst day at work. The shipment was delayed yesterday, so we got two. The fucking cocksuckers had to have them all unloaded and logged in. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that came in. It was like they knew I was there and how I hated heavy boxes. My back is killing me and my head feels like it’s gonna bust wide open.

Greg stopped messing with his hair.

Shit. Don’t you think it’s time to get them checked out?

No, I said. It’s probably stress.

You gonna flake tonight?

I’m cool.

I’m pretty sure that rep from Sire is not interested in us because of Dave’s vocal style. The world already has a Jimmy Page, ya know.

Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s not interested in some Southern, backwoods nigger who can play the guitar, I said.

Fuck that, Greg said, frowning. That is exactly why he’s coming.

Oh, please.

I glanced at the window and saw my father staring out at us.

We better go, I said.

Greg saw my father too and put the car into gear.

Is he still a bastard?

Yeah, I said. Still a bastard.

The Albatross was a standard shit hole bar outside of St. Manning except that inside it catered to the punk crowd and not the shit-kicker, honky-tonk faction. If it weren’t for The Albatross, I would never have seen the Ramones or even the Circle Jerks perform. Sure, I could have been like everyone else and driven to Charleston or even take the bigger trip to New York to see those bands, but I was lazy. Plus, I hated crowds. I hated being in a car packed with more than two people for a long period of time.

Greg parked the car next to Gwen McGee’s van behind the bar. It belonged to her older brother who was a plumber. He let us rent it. The band greatly appreciated it, even though we had to unload tools and a few toilets to make room for the drums, amplifiers, pedals, and guitars.

Gwen, Dave Newman, and my girlfriend, Karla Farland, hung out at the back of the van and smoked. The girls sat at the open back doors, our equipment stacked behind them. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Karla, just seeing her made me feel better. (Although it didn’t make my headache go away.) She saw me right away, tossing her black bangs back and smiling. We had been together since senior year. I knew her for a few years before, but I had no idea she was into me. Karla had a rep for clinging to rich guys, even though there weren’t too many wealthy families in St. Manning. Actually, Dave Newman, our lead singer, was the wealthiest kid in town. His father owned a plastic manufacturing plant. When I started going out with Karla, Greg warned me that Karla used to go out with Dave. I told him it didn’t matter. Greg shrugged and said he just wanted me to know. I was more worried about how people would react having the first known interracial relationship in school. It didn’t turn out bad. We suffered the snide remarks and dirty looks. When we graduated and spent most of our time in the real world things got a bit tight. Shitkickers and red necks got enraged, but they never acted on it past the verbal abuse.

Carrying my guitar, I walked over and waved to the others. Karla hopped off the van and hugged me.

Mmmm, Karla said. Have I missed you.

With my free arm, I hugged her tall skinny body and kissed her thin, painted lips. I then looked at her beautiful, round face and couldn’t believe how lucky I was.

What? she asked, blushing.

Nothing, I said. Just glad you’re here.

Of course I’m here, Karla said. My man’s big night. You’re going to blow that rep away and he’s going to fall to his knees to sign you guys. I just know it.

We’ll see, baby. We’ll see.

Hey, asshole, Dave called out. He was helping Greg with an amp. Wanna be part of the band?

I sighed. The way he said asshole was completely different as if Greg or Gwen said it. Dave didn’t like me, which was fine. I didn’t like him. He was an okay singer when he wasn’t mimicking other well-known singers, but he had an attitude like he was the best in the world, that he would be famous for it. When Dave first joined the band, I really didn’t think he was into the music. I thought he was just rebelling against his father who wanted him to join the family business right after high school. But the rest of the band wanted him, thinking he would fit right in with the sound. They did ask me if I felt comfortable with the addition, since I had a related past with Dave. I was fine with it. I kept quiet and let majority rule.

I kissed Karla and then helped bring the rest of the equipment in.

The Albatross was one wide-open space. The sign by the door said it could only hold 200 people safely. I had seen more squeezed in. We brought the amps and the instruments to the stage. Denny Plumber, the owner, watched us from the bar. He had a few notebooks open in front of him and a pen in his hand, but he didn’t write anything down; he just watched us, studying.

Denny didn’t talk much. To get the gig, all we had to do was play our demo tape for Denny. When the tape ended he said Okay and told us how much of the door he would give us, which was more than we expected. We thought that that would be the end of our conversation, but then he asked if he could keep the demo tape. He wanted to pass it to a buddy of his who worked at Sire. This buddy was notorious for swiping almost every punk band from the seventies and placing them in the mainstream. At first, I was wary. All those bands, when making their major debuts, added a reggae sound to their music. I liked reggae but I didn’t think it fit our sound. Gwen, Greg, and especially Dave, told me to lighten up and not be a snob. Having a rep from Sire at the show was a big deal. I was encouraged not to fuck it up.

I kept my mouth shut and grew to like the idea. Karla seemed to like it more. If we got signed, I would have some money, be able to move out of my father’s house, and start a music career all at the age of nineteen. I even considered Karla’s suggestion of moving to New York. It was a nice dream that could be a big reality. But, in a small way, way in the back of my mind, it seemed too easy. The band had only been together for a year. We had a few live performances and a few demo tapes. This would have been our first experience trying for a label. Shouldn’t we have struggled more? Faced some rejection? Did I even deserve this? I was a good guitarist; I gave myself that even though everybody thought I was better, but was I ready for a major label?

When we finished the sound check that rattled my brain, we gathered at the bar to go over the play list. Denny gave us glasses of water to replenish the gallons of sweat we left on the stage.

Jesus, Denny, Greg said. You gonna have the air on tonight. Sweating my soul away up there.

Sorry, Denny said. I can’t get the repair guy out here until tomorrow. Summer time is his biggest season, plus the supermarkets got him by the balls. You know?

Nothing in this world works right anymore, Gwen said, drinking her iced water.

I sat at the end of the bar and massaged the ache in my head. Karla, next to me, rubbed my back.

You okay, sweetie? she asked.

Gwen, a drummer at heart before she became a bassist, tapped her fingers on the bar, pounding out a beat, pounding into my head.

Head is just about to bust, I said. Guess I’m just over-tired and the heat is getting to me.

Well, you better get that shit out of your head, man, Dave said, shooting daggers out of his eyes. I’m not going to let anyone fuck up my big chance.

Hey! Our chance, Gwen said, elbowing him.

Yeah, whatever, Dave said, raking his sweaty hand through his long, curly blond hair.

Karla opened her bag and gave me two aspirin.

Here you go, baby, she said. This should do ya.

I smiled and took the pills.

I’d rather you do me, I whispered.

Karla blushed and said, Just take the aspirin. It won't wear you out for tonight. I will.

I did, washing them down with the water.

All right, listen up, Dave said, taking a scrap of paper out. Here’s the play list.

Gee, did it change from the other night, Greg whined.

Yeah. Again. It’s different, Dave said.

Different? I asked, holding my head.

Yeah. I’ve been thinking about this, Dave said. We got to show this guy we’re mainstream, that we can be appealing to the world and not just the deadheads we play for.

I shook my head, feeling my brain move.

So we’re going to open with a few covers. ‘London Calling’, ‘Psycho Killer’, ‘Blitz...’

No. No. No, I said.

Dave, we’ve been rehearsing our shit for weeks, Gwen said.

And we’ll play them for the second half of the set, Dave said. Just trust me and don’t give me any shit about this.

We haven’t played these songs in over a month, Greg reminded us.

Greg, we know these songs like the back of our dicks.

Excuse me? Gwen asked.

You know what I mean, Dave said. We played shows where we threw out unexpected covers. Same thing. Not a big deal.

Yes, it is, I said. The guy is coming because of our demo tape. A tape that has all originals. If he came here and we start playing covers he’s gonna think we’re a bunch of poseurs and fuck off without talking to us.

You’re out of your mind, Dave said. But, if you want, we can vote.

"Gee, how nice of you to acknowledge that it isn’t your band," Greg said.

Dave gave Greg the bird.

We voted: 3 to 1 in favor of doing originals.

Dave called us a bunch of losers and left the bar.

God, that fucker pisses me off, I said. Swear, I’m gonna beat him one day.

Greg and Gwen smiled. Karla didn’t, she knew I was serious.

I kept rubbing my temples, failing at taking the pain away.

Baby, maybe you should lay down and take a nap, Karla said.

Yeah, man. Go ask Denny if you can borrow his couch, Gwen said. Many girls have said how comfortable it is.

Ha! Greg shouted.

Yeah, I said. Maybe I should.

Denny said it was cool that I slept on his couch before the show. Karla and I went to the back office. It smelled like cinnamon and cigarettes. I stretched out on the leather couch and looked at Karla. She kneeled down next to me.

Room for two, baby, I said.

Nah, I’ll distract you, she said. You just close your eyes and try to relax.

I nodded.

You’re going to be wonderful tonight, she said. I can feel it. You’re going to blow that Sire asshole away and get us the fuck out of this shitkicker town. Me and you are gonna live way above everyone.

Karla kissed me long and deep, making it difficult for me to let her go. When she broke off, she patted my erection and said, I promise. Later.

I hope so, I said, smiling.

I’ll wake you in an hour. ‘Kay?

Then she was gone.

I relaxed on the couch and cleared my head. I forgot about my father, my crappy job, Dave, and the Sire rep. As my erection went down, I fell asleep.

Islept deep. I didn’t dream; at least, none that I remembered. I heard the house music blasting outside the office door. The Albatross was open. I looked at my watch. I slept for an hour and half. The nap helped, my headache went down, but I still kind of felt a dull ache in the back of my skull.

I sat up and stretched out, gasping. I wondered where Karla was and why she didn’t wake me up. Maybe she was chatting away and drinking outside, it wouldn’t be the first time.

I walked out to the bar. The place was packed. Denny and one of his bartenders rushed around making drinks. As far as I knew, the Sire rep wasn’t around yet; I figured he would be the only one in a suit. Then again, I had no idea what to expect.

I found Greg at a table. He sat close to some older guy who wore a polo alligator shirt. I couldn’t see his pants and shoes under the table, but considering the type of guys Greg was into, I figured he was middle class and at least ten years older than him.

J., over here, Greg called out.

I sat across from them, yawning.

Have a good nappy? Greg asked.

Ha. Yeah, I said.

Good, Greg turned to the guy next to him and said, This is Russell.

Russell smiled and waved. I offered my hand, surprising him. 

He’s cool, Greg urged.

We shook hands.

How you doing, Russell? I asked.

I’m good, he said, relaxing. So you’re the guitarist tonight?

Yep, I said. You came out here to see us?

Well, not exactly.

He came to see me, Greg said.

Oh, I said. Even though I wasn’t surprised, I acted that way for Greg. Greg kept a lot of his boyfriends a secret. I had no idea why. He knew his sexuality didn’t bother me. You never mentioned Russell.

I never met him until thirty minutes ago, Greg said. Seems he’s been stalking me.

I was not. Russell laughed. He looked at me. I swear. I wasn’t.

I believe you, I said, smiling back.

I saw you guys play at The Rip-Ship and Weird, and even though I thought you were phenomenal, I actually fell in love with the cute drummer.

That’s me, Greg boasted.

I figured that, I said, then sipped Greg’s beer.

I decided that tonight would be a good night to say Hi to him, Russell said. I mean, distant infatuation of an artist is so unhealthy.

Absolutely, I said.

It was so cute, Greg said.

Russell blushed.

They looked at each other and smiled. I was happy for Greg. He had been pretty depressed since the married guy he was seeing in high school dumped him.

Oh, and guess what? Greg said. He’s a virgin.

Greg! Russell looked around.

Oh, relax. It’s cool.

It’s not J. I’m worried about.

Fuck ‘em, Greg said, his hand disappearing under the table.

Russell giggled.

Excuse me, Greg, I said. Have you seen Karla?

Greg, keeping his hand under the table and on Russell’s lap, looked at me, thinking.

Shit, you know, not since the doors opened. Last I saw she was talking to Gwen and Dave.

I stood.

Okay. Catch you later.

I left Greg and Russell and wandered around. I found Gwen talking to a bunch of girls I recognized from high school. They changed so much since they left for college, much more traditional. They made Gwen stick out like a sore thumb. I hung out with them, trying to be polite even though I was worried about Karla.

J., you okay? Gwen asked.

Yeah. Have you seen Karla around?

Gwen sputtered her lips and said, I just smoked with her fifteen minutes ago. She’s probably still outside. Girl’s a chimney.

Thanks, I said.

I walked outside. I felt so much better than I did in the club. The air was humid, but at least there was a breeze. I scanned the packed, dirt parking lot. Karla wasn’t around.

I walked to the van parked in the back. Through the muted music of the bar I heard a female grunting in pain from inside the van. I knew who it was and my first reaction was to throw the back doors open and help her. But then I remembered she usually made that noise with me, and she wasn’t in pain.

I stopped at the back doors of the van. It moved up and down a bit. The grunting was clearer. I knew Karla was in there fucking someone. I felt it in my stomach, my heart. Slowly, forcing myself, I peeked into the back. Her back was facing the window. She rode a guy, her upper half dressed in a T-shirt, blocking his face. Her thin, smooth white legs moved fast, flexing with determination. Karla then leaned back, one hand propped on the guy’s leg behind her, the other rubbing her pussy. I saw the guy’s face. Dave Newman. His hands reached up and slipped under her shirt to massage her breasts.

Blackness clouded my vision. Pain raged through my head. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. I sensed movement. When I regained my vision, I was sitting against the club, on the dirt, far from the van, my eyes leaking tears. I had no idea how long I sat there. Maybe an hour.

Gwen came around the front corner of The Albatross. By then, my eyes were dry and my head hurt even more.

J., there you are, man, Gwen said, pressing her knees on my back.

Keeping my head down, I said, What’s up?

What’s up is that we’re on in ten minutes, Gwen said. So you gotta get ready.

Gwen helped me up and continued to lean on me. She didn’t have good balance.

Shit, you drunk? I asked.

She laughed and said, No. God, no. You know I would never get drunk before a gig.  Can’t play shit when I’m drunk. No, no, no. I’m just a little high.

I forced a chuckle, trying not to look at the van.

Oh, but you can play high?

Shit, yeah, Gwen said. So you better get your ass in there. Have you seen Dave?

Um yeah, I said. In the van.

Okey dokey.

Gwen walked to the van, kicking up dirt.

I went into the bar and met Greg in the back room behind the stage. Fiddling with his sticks, he watched me strap on my guitar.

Jesus, what’s wrong with you now? Greg asked.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I said. Did you see the rep out there?

Yeah, Denny pointed him out.

Greg moved me to the door and pointed to the bar.

You see that blond haired guy who must be a billion years old and looks like he walked off the set of a Marilyn Chambers porn?

Yeah? That’s our man?

Yes, suh.

Did you meet him?

Hell, no. Denny said to just act natural, do what we do best, and if the man want to speak to us, he’ll speak to us.

Cool, I said.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, my fingers gliding over the oily sweat on my skin. The pain encased my brain. I never felt so bad in my life.

J., what’s wrong with you? Greg asked. You were just fine an hour ago.

I know. I know. I guess I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself.

Well, that could be a good thing, Greg said. But just remember when you get up there, just treat it like a normal show. Business as usual. It’s all about the music.

I know. I will.

I smiled at Greg, hoping to reassure him. But all I did was worry him more.

Dave, Gwen, and Karla came into the back room.

Now where the fuck were you? Greg asked Dave.

Fuck off.  You know I need to be alone before a show. Got my ceremonies.

Superstitious fucker, aren’t we, Greg said. Jerking off for an hour? Hope you didn’t ruin the van.

"I don’t think he got any in the van," Gwen said, slinging on her bass, pissed.

Gwen and I exchanged glances. She knew.

Fuck you both, okay, Dave said. I’m in a band with a bunch of childish brats.

Karla came up to me. Her cheeks were flushed, glowing; just like they always did after she came.

I couldn’t look at her.

Hey, baby, Karla said, hugging me. Sorry I didn’t wake you. I ran into Tara Appleseed outside. God, I hadn’t seen her in months.

I stared at the floor and said, "It’s okay. Gwen woke me. So how is Tara. She still at N.Y.U.?

Yeah. She said it’s wild. We gotta go up there. Said she’ll show us around. We’ll finally get to see B.G.C.B. and hang out at the village.

I nodded.

I looked around the room, avoiding all eyes, and inhaled deep, taking the humid, beer-stained air into my lungs. I was so not ready for the show, not ready for being alive. Every movement made my brain and eyes shiver. I felt weak.

Denny then popped into the back of the room and said, "Okay, I’ll announce ya.