Salvation in the Sargasso Sea

In loving memory of Sharon

*

~ A Flaming Rose ~

He heard it hit the floor, the tiny set screw that slipped from his fingers. It ricocheted off his shirt and jeans on its bumpy course, but gave no hint as to its final resting place. Jon cursed to himself, slowly backing away from his workbench, hoping against all odds the screw would be right at his feet. It was not his lucky day. A timely buzz from his cell phone postponed the mandatory search and rescue mission.

"Hey Andy. What's up?"

A din of choppy, garbled voices crackled from the earpiece. Andy's voice was barely audible.

"Is that you, Jon? I can hardly hear you."

"Go outside," Jon shouted, instinctively plugging his other ear with his finger. As he left his workshop, Andy's excited voice became clearer.

"That's better. Where the hell are you?" Jon asked.

"Dude, you've gotta come down to the VFW."

"The VFW? I don't know, I really don't feel like drinking tonight."

"But there's a band playing here: The Desert Rose Band. Get down here and check 'em out, come on."

"The Desert Rose Band?" Jon wracked his brain. That name was so familiar. "You mean Chris Hillman's band? Didn't they spin off from The Flying Burrito Brothers?"

"I don't know, maybe, they're still setting up. This place is filling up fast, you better come down soon. You've been hiding in your workshop way too much, it's time to get out. There's tons of women here tonight."

"Tons? That sounds kind of scary. OK, I'll come down in a little while. I have to finish putting this amp back together first."

Jon closed his phone and returned to his workshop, muttering to himself. Once Andy had something in his head, there was no denying him; he would just be insufferable. Maybe he was right, though. He had been hiding in his house since losing his job and this was a perfect excuse to get out. He had learned to trust his best friend, the man who stood up with him when he married Lisa.

It took only a few minutes of crawling around to locate the missing screw. With a surer grip, he finished putting the control knobs on the vintage Fender amplifier. Tomorrow, he would deliver it to the local guitar shop that had contracted his repair service.

The lot at the VFW was full, more than usual for a Friday night. After parking his truck around the corner, he grabbed his jean jacket, and whistled the melody to 'Start All Over Again' as he strolled through the door.

Jon froze when he gazed over the stage and the dance floor. There was a band playing, but it wasn't Chris Hillman's. The lead singer was female and wailing out 'Zombie' by the Cranberries. The bass player was also female. So was the crowd: all conspicuously female. The poster on the wall behind the stage announced The Flaming Rose Band.

"Uh, oh," Jon said under his breath. "What the hell have I gotten myself into now?"

"Jon!" Andy shouted from the bar and waved. "Over here!"

"That's not the Desert Rose Band," Jon said as he sat down at the bar. "What's wrong with your head?"

"Sorry, man. I saw the rose on their poster and that's all I could think of."

"Did you work today?" Jon asked, raising his hand to hail the bartender.

"Yeah, I got six hours in. It's getting really slow on line two, they're gonna shut it down soon. Damned Chinese bastards."

"It's not their fault. A lot of companies are outsourcing operations to Asia these days. Hell, I lost my job, too. We just have to adapt."

"That's easy for you to say. They gave you that big incentive package to retire early. You're living on easy street."

"Fine, I'll buy the beer tonight," Jon laughed. "So where are these tons of women you told me about?"

"Didn't you check out the dance floor? So many women, so little time."

"Look again. Not even Tom Selleck could score out there tonight."

"Whoa!" Andy patted his arm and pointed towards the stage. "Check out the drummer. She has tits!"

"Most women do." Jon shook his head and paid Phil for his scotch whiskey.

"No, I mean check her out, really. She's a dude."

Jon looked over towards the stage. The drummer was wearing a T-shirt and sporting a pompadour, definitely projecting a butch persona. Her arms were both muscular and tattooed. He marveled at her ability; she was a really good drummer. To her right, the guitar player was slumped over her Les Paul, banging her head and pounding out alt-metal power chords. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, her dark wavy hair flew in time with her playing. He noticed her right breast bouncing on top of the guitar.

"She's not a dude." Jon took a long drink and ordered a beer chaser.

"That's the meanest looking dyke I've ever seen."

Jon didn't respond to Andy's provocation. The band had just started playing Led Zeppelin's 'Heartbreaker'. Fascinated by the guitarist, he watched her stand up straight and play the classic Jimmy Page riff. Her angular jaw and brooding expression completed the visual package.

"The guitar player looks mean, too," Andy shouted into his ear.

"Shut up, man. I'm trying to listen to them."

Andy scowled and turned away, cursing under his breath. Jon ignored him and watched her walk up to the edge of the stage. With a sneer on her lip and her eyes closed, she nailed the guitar solo with the same raw energy that Page was known for. Her expression was simultaneously pained and joyful: an orgasm face.

"Wow! These guys are good. Sorry I cut you off," Jon said.

"They're OK, I guess. I've heard better." Andy shrugged his shoulders and finished his beer.

The band finished their first set and took a break. Jon watched the musicians move into the crowd and sit with their respective fans. The guitarist sat down next to a woman in a long black dress. The woman put her arm around her shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear. The guitarist was listening to her friend talk, but shaking her head no.

"Hold my chair, Andy. I've got to see a man about a horse."

Jon emerged from the restroom and wandered over to the stage to check out the gear. The guitar appeared to be a '59 Sunburst with the original PAF pickups. The amplifier was a Mesa Boogie Express, a model he was not familiar with. There were a couple of distortion pedals in her setup, but he couldn't investigate further without invading their space. When he turned to go back to the bar, their eyes met. She looked at him curiously, not angrily. Jon smiled and nodded in deference.

"They have pretty simple gear," Jon said as he sat back down. "Nothing fancy, just a lot of talent."

"You've always been such a gear-head." Andy rose and retraced his steps to the restroom.

Jon ordered another round and watched her get up from the table. Her friend turned away to talk with someone else. He didn't notice her approach until she was standing next to him.

"You like my guitar?" she asked.

"Guitar and amp, both," Jon said, turning to face her. "Those old Gibsons are great. You play it really well."

"Thank you. Do you play guitar, too?"

"A little, but not like that. I'm into guitar amps, though. I build and repair vintage tube amps. I've never heard a Booger sound that good, you've got a great tone. I'm Jon, by the way."

She giggled, laughed, and then snorted, covering her mouth in apparent embarrassment. Jon struggled to resolve the incongruity of her soft girlish voice with the masculine exterior. Studying her face, he guessed she was maybe forty years old. Faint lines strayed from the corners of her dark eyes, mostly hidden by her beige complexion. The shape of her jaw was an illusion brought about with artfully applied makeup.

"I'm sorry, I hate it when I do that. I've never heard anyone refer to a Boogie that way before. It's an Express model, a lot different sound than the Dual Rectifiers. It's also a lot lighter to lug around." She extended her hand and said, "Marla."

"Hey Marla, it's alright. Yeah, I hear you." He shook her hand and looked over her shoulder at the table where her friends were sitting. The woman in the black dress was glaring back at him; the unmistakable look of a scorned woman.

"I have some Fender amps that weigh seventy-five pounds," he continued. "They're a bear to move around."

"I like the Fenders, but they're too heavy," she said, sitting down on Andy's barstool. "I'm just not that strong."

"Can I buy you a drink?" Jon tentatively asked.

"Sure. I'll have what you're having." Marla put her elbows on the bar like she was settling in for a bender.

"I'm drinking Dewar's. I don't know any women who like scotch."

"I prefer Glenlivet with my cigars."

"Glenlivet? Cigars? That's too expensive for me, I'm on a budget," he said, handing Phil a twenty dollar bill with his left hand.

"You're not married? Or do you just not wear a wedding ring?" she asked, sipping the scotch without flinching.

"Technically, no. Not anymore." He turned his left hand over looking at his bare ring finger. Both his and Lisa's wedding rings were stored in his dresser drawer. He hoped she wouldn't ask for more details.

"So technically, you're single and buying me a drink. Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Um, no, not really. I mean, uh, I thought I would, you know, be polite, since you sat down, and buy you a drink. That's all."

"Easy," she said, patting his hand. "Relax, I'm not going to bite you. I suppose I'm the one who's hitting on you. Actually, I'm rather enjoying the attention. I could get used to this."

"Really? I thought you were with the Subaru crowd."

"You think I'm a lesbian?" Marla's spine stiffened as she turned towards him and waited for his response.

Jon closed his eyes and cursed himself for using a derogatory stereotype.

"I don't know, I can't tell by looking." He tried to sidestep the question, but she wasn't letting him off the hook.

"She thinks you are," he continued, nodding his head towards her table. "I think you're probably not completely straight."

"You mean Janice?" Marla asked, following his gesture. Janice abruptly turned away when she looked over at her. "I guess it couldn't be more obvious, could it? Thanks for the drink, Jon."

Jon felt her hand on his back. The look in her eyes conveyed a message that he hadn't received in quite a while. With a smile, she picked up her scotch and sauntered back to sit with Janice. His eyes followed her as she glided across the dance floor.

"Damn, you work fast," Andy said, returning to his seat.

"I'm not working tonight, just saying hello and acknowledging real talent."

"That's not what I saw. That chick was digging you, man."

"You're dreaming, Andy."

The musicians took the stage for their second set and were retuning their instruments. Jon watched Marla warming up and wondered if the sparks he felt were imagined. Lisa had departed a long time ago, and he wondered if he was ready to move on. He wondered if this course of action was even feasible.

"I'm not dreaming. That dyke has her eyes on you. You better watch out."

"I don't think she's a dyke," Jon said gruffly. "Don't be such a dickhead."

"Don't get mad at me, Jon. Damn it, I'm trying to do you a favor here. You're hiding in your workshop again, just like before. You hardly ever get out, man. I really don't care if you hook up with her or not, it's your choice. I just want you out here again. Remember what it was like after Lisa died? I didn't see you for a whole damned year. You worry me sometimes."

"I don't want to talk about Lisa right now," Jon said, bowing his head.

"It's time to let her go, man. She wouldn't have wanted you to suffer like this. Come on, let's go sit over there."

Andy patted his back and they moved to an empty table back by the mixing console. The sound man acknowledged their presence with a nod. After making a few final adjustments, he came over to join them.

"Hey Andy," Frank said. "Who's this outlander?"

"Very funny," Jon said. "Just remember who fixed that board you're running."

"Where did you find this dyke band?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, have you worked with them before?" Jon added.

"They've been around for a year or two," Frank said. "This is one of the better acts we book here. They have a big following."

"So, what can you tell me about them?" Jon asked.

"Fuck, I don't know. They play rock and roll? And they're women?" Frank shrugged. "You probably know more than I do. You spent all that time with the guitarist, what did she tell you?"

"Only that she likes expensive scotch and cigars."

"Dude, you are in so much trouble," Andy said, shaking his head. "She bats from both sides of the plate, I just know it."

"It'll be like one of those pornos, man. You'll be there banging her and the other woman, a regular menagerie," Frank said. Both he and Andy fell back into their chairs, laughing hysterically.

"You guys are sick," Jon said, laughing with them. "It's called a ménage à trois, you morons. It's you guys who belong in the zoo."

Frank returned to his console while Andy went to answer his phone. Jon was left by himself to watch the band play and their fans sing and dance. He remembered how he and Lisa used to go out dancing. She could really dance and tried to get him out on the floor with her. He had tried to keep up with her, but he just couldn't move that way. It didn't matter to her, though, she just wanted him near. The old familiar pain stabbed him in the gut.

"Hey hon, you want another drink?" The waitress interrupted his daydream.

"No thanks, Cheryl, just a glass of water." Jon smiled up at her.

The band ended their second set with another Zeppelin song, 'Rock and Roll'. Marla nailed another blazing guitar solo, leaving the fans screaming for more. As the band put down their instruments, Jon and Andy got ready to leave. Marla marched directly over to their table.

"Wait a minute, I've got a question for you. Hi, sorry to interrupt," she said, acknowledging Andy's presence.

"What's up?" Jon asked.

"You said you repair guitar amps. I've got an old Supro I bought on eBay, but it doesn't work too well. Can you take a look at it?"

"An old Supro? Those are great amps. I'd love to take a look at it. Here, give me a call." He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.

"Jon Albright's Amplifier Repair? That's original."

"It's the best I could come up with."

"I'll give you a call next week." She smiled and gave him a lingering gaze before waving goodnight.

"See? I told you," Andy said as they walked into the night air. "She's got something on her mind."

"Yowza," Jon exhaled. "Maybe you're right."

*

~ Tempo Rubato ~

The muffled strains of Dave Brubeck's 'Take Five' emanated from Jon's shirt pocket. Still three blocks from the grocery store, he decided to take the call, even though he didn't have a hands-free accessory for his cell phone.

"This is Jon."

"Jon? This is Marla, from last Friday, at the VFW. You gave me your business card."

"Marla! Hi. Are you going to loan me your Supro?"

"Do you have time to look at it today? I know it's kind of short notice, but I'm leaving tomorrow for a gig."

"Sure, I can look at it this afternoon. I can't promise I can fix it right away, though."

"That's OK, I was just going to drop it off."

"Great. Why don't you stop by after lunch. You have my address?"

"It's on your card. I'll see you later."

Jon closed his phone and pulled into the parking lot. He felt excited and nervous, like he was a kid again.

"Get a grip, Jon," he said to himself.

Shopping didn't take long; his list was short and the store was empty on a Thursday morning. As he put his groceries away, he wondered where Marla was gigging and why the rush to bring him the amp. His doorbell rang at one-thirty.

"Hey Marla. Come in, please. Let me carry that amp for you."

"Thank you. It's a '64 Thunderbolt, with a lot of miles on it."

She followed him into the foyer of his large house, a house too big for one person. Dressed casually, she presented a decidedly more feminine appearance than her Jimmy Page persona. He set the amp down and whistled.

"Look at this! The covering and grill cloth are in good shape. And the chassis is not rusted. This amp may have a lot of miles, but it's been well cared for. You bought this on eBay?" Jon was giddy with excitement.

"Yeah, it cost me some dough, but I've always liked their sound. It worked OK for a while, but then it crapped out. It's kind of a bummer, I'd like to gig with this amp someday."

"No problem. This amp will sing again, I guarantee it. Let's take it down to the workshop. Oh, I'm sorry Marla, do you have time?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I've got nothing going on this afternoon. Let's see Santa's workshop."

Jon carried the amp down the stairs to the finished basement and into his large workshop. He set it up on his workbench and immediately plugged it in to warm up the old vacuum tubes. Marla walked quickly behind him.

"I've completely forgotten my manners. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea? Maybe a beer, or wine?"

"A beer sounds good," she said, looking around the workshop. There were storage cabinets, part bins, and electronic equipment everywhere. The workbench was as clean as an operating table with rows of precisely organized tools on a pegboard wall.

"Hope you like Hale's, it's all I have right now. Do you want a glass?"

"No, the bottle is fine. Jesus, Jon! This looks like some kind of NASA laboratory. Are you a rocket scientist or something?"

"Uh, kind of, I guess. I used to work as an engineer at JPL in Pasadena, but we got tired of the L.A. area and eventually moved back here. I was working for HP, then I got laid off six months ago."

"We?"

Jon hesitated, staring down at his boots. There was no avoiding this question.

"Lisa and I. She died three years ago this past May. It was a car accident. We'd been married eight years," he spoke haltingly, almost whispering.

"I'm so sorry, Jon. I had no idea," she said, giving him a compassionate hug.

"Some days are hard, but it's getting better. My friend, Andy, introduced us. He was with me last Friday night. He warned me about moving to L.A., said that Lisa and I wouldn't like it. He's right almost all the time."

"Andy is someone you trust?"

"Yeah, mostly. He can be crude sometimes, but he has good instincts."

"Trusted friends are important. You're lucky to have him," she said, rubbing his arm. "So, are you looking for another job?"

"No, I'm semi-retired now. I've got a big package and medical benefits."

"A big package?" Marla snickered.

"Oops, I meant severance pay." His face blushed at the faux pas.

Jon turned the Supro off standby and a loud annoying hum filled the workshop. He turned the amp off and whistled again.

"Well, the rectifier is toast. Probably needs a whole set of tubes and maybe a cap job. The fuse is intact, so the transformers are OK. That's good news."

"Huh? Does that mean you can fix it?" she asked.

"Yeah, no problem. Let me work up an estimate for you. If you have time to wait, you can check out my instrument collection in the music room." Jon pointed to a door at the other end of the workshop.

~~~~~

Marla walked into his music room, a thirty foot long spaced filled with electric guitars, amplifiers, acoustic instruments, and a lone saxophone. The walls were lined with photos of friends and family. She walked around the room examining the collection and picked up a vintage Telecaster; it was perfectly tuned.

"You want to play it?" Jon asked. She hadn't heard him come in and jumped when he spoke.

"No, that's OK. You have so many instruments. Do you play all of them?"

"Not well, but a little. I could use some lessons. Maybe in exchange for repairing the Supro?"

She looked at him to see if he was serious.

"Maybe. It will have to wait a while, though. We're leaving on a two week tour tomorrow night."