A Frayed Knot

"That's so cool. I always wanted to go there. There and New York."

"Both places are definitely cool. But expensive. Especially San Francisco, unless you live in a tiny apartment in a shitty neighborhood. Even our expensive one wasn't all that big. But it was expensive enough that I couldn't afford it."

"So she left you and left you holding the bag."

"I guess she did."

"Sounds like a royal bitch."

"Becky."

"You still love her."

"Yeah."

"She's not here," she grinned.

"No she's not," Joe laughed. A first. Laughing about separation.

"She's an idiot Joe. But I'm glad she is."

"She's actually quite brilliant."

"Doesn't make her any less an idiot. Leaving you like that. Leaving you."

"Thanks."

"Definitely an idiot. San Francisco lovers. She's...like gay?"

"Bisexual. It's why we met."

"You met her because she likes women?"

"Yeah. It's a familiar conversation. I mean why I ended up with Lana."

"Not expected?"

"No. She's a college girl. I'm not."

"You're not a college girl? Obviously."

"You know what I mean."

"You never went to college. You seem really smart."

"Thanks. I've always been a writer. Poetry pretty much exclusively. But school and me never really jibed. I don't know if it was the early morning hours, the memorization, the papers I was supposed to write that fit some design and had to make sense or at least be focused, or the absurdity of my parents laying out money so I could study something I'd never make a dime at. But writing made me interested in books. And books made me interested in printing. Even if printing rarely involves printing books, and definitely not the printing I do."

"You're a printer?"

"Yeah. Flexo. It's like rubber stamps, but mounted on cylinders. Big ones where I work."

She giggled. "Mounted."

"You have a one track mind, Becky."

"I do around you. And I did notice how big you are."

"I confess you provoke similar thoughts bouncing around."

"Like I said I noticed. Bouncing," she giggled. And bounced.

"Yep. Not the shy type, are you?"

"What's the point? But really, I tend to have little control over what I say. Things tend to just pop out. My friends call me hare brained. Like the way a hare bounces around all over the place, you know?"

"I get the picture," he chuckled.

"But really only when I'm really interested is it like it is with you. One track and all. I think you're really cute."

"And you define cute."

"Thanks I guess."

"You wish you weren't cute?"

"It's hard to be taken seriously."

"You want to be taken seriously?"

"Who doesn't?"

"No. I understand. It's just you have this fun vibe."

"I can be pretty playful. But sometimes..."

"I understand."

"So seriously..." she started and they laughed. "You were telling me how you met your wife when you shouldn't have."

"Right. So I quit college after I figured out how much I sucked at it and hated it. It only took a semester. I enrolled in these like craft courses. Creating paper. Using an old time letter press. Binding. Artisan stuff. Pretty impractical to make a career out of. Like studying poetry, you know. So I decided to enroll at Dunwoody. You know it?"

"Sure. Technical school."

"Exactly. They taught flexo, so that's what I learned. I actually started working before I ended my schooling, which was pretty exhausting. It's where I am now. Anagram. They make most of the helium balloons you see at the store."

"Sure. That's kind of cool."

"It is gratifying seeing my product. Anyway, I did everything but run the press. Assistant to the pressman. Plate mounting," he shared the giggle. "The supervisor was this asshole who definitely didn't like me. And besides, I wanted to get out of the great Upper Midwest."

"I can relate."

"Yeah. I've always loved San Francisco. The Bay area, because Berkeley was always a favorite stop. Telegraph Hill and these really amazing bookstores and record stores. My sister lives in Reno, which isn't all that far away from San Francisco, so whenever I visited, I'd spend a few days in the Bay area. Got to know it, you know? So my dad fronted me some money. Since it wasn't for school, we took it as a loan. I got as good a car as I could afford and headed west. Stayed at my sisters while perusing for an apartment in the Oakland area. Went and checked them out. The apartments and their environs. Found one. Looked for work."

"Not before?"

"I did look before, but waited to apply. I wanted to establish that I wasn't some drifter or something. My experience at your favorite job, plate mounting, got me in. This time the supervisor actually liked me, so I moved up to running a press fairly quickly. It also helped that I preferred the night shift.

"Anyway, there was this tough lesbian who ran one of the other presses, the only woman there basically, and we got to be friends. We'd go out for breakfast after work. One morning she invited me to have dinner and go clubbing."

"Like a date?"

Joe laughed. "Like this is a date."

"What do you mean?"

"You were invited because of me. Mike probably talked to Dave who talked to Liz."

"But we were there first."

"I told Mike I'd probably call. He knew I would, since I would be feeling especially lonely when my parents left."

"Your parents left?"

"Yeah. I helped them pack. They left after buying me lunch. Actually went to Reno."

"Your sister."

"Yeah. Anyway, last time we chatted I told him the plan and he invited me over and I told him I'd think about it. If I hadn't come over...well, you'd have smoked some great weed, and..."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too."

"Okay, it was a blind date, except I heard you're an awesome singer and...I like singers."

"Okay."

"I've been known to be a groupie. But I haven't done that in ages. I guess I grew up."

"Probably a good idea. I think it's demeaning to be used like that."

"It was my choice, but I know what you mean. You ever have groupies?"

"I was never much of a rock star," Joe chuckled. "But yeah. Just one. Problem was, I had a girlfriend at the time."

"Oops."

"Yeah. We didn't last much longer. But another one came into my life soon enough. I'm definitely a serial monogamist. Or was before my wife. But the groupie thing...I guess I like getting to know any woman I'm intimate with."

"I can see that."

"You?"

She shook her head and changed the subject, or returned to the subject before. "So this sort of blind date...?"

"Definitely sort of," Joe chuckled. "It was more an extrication. It seems Lana was attempting to poach my friend's girlfriend from her."

"That should have told you something," Becky pointed out.

"I suppose, but she didn't play those games that I know of once our relationship took off. Thing is, for some reason, I'm not the jealous type. We did try the threesome thing a couple times..."

"Any man's fantasy."

"But I guess not mine. It lacked..."

"Intimacy."

"Exactly. Lana enjoyed it more than I did, which she couldn't understand, even when I tried to explain it. I think if somehow we both found someone we could love, it might have worked. But these were like one night stands, you know? So I let her have her thing."

"Really? Other girls?"

"Boys too, but always when another girl was there."

"Didn't you worry...?"

"That she'd go with them? She always came back to me, still friends and lovers. Friskier sometimes, because, I liked to think, she realized it was better with me. With someone she loved."

"Until she didn't."

"Yeah. Those two...they were friends, which was the difference I think. More friends with her. I thought they were a bit pompous actually."

"Maybe she got pompous too."

"Yeah. The other difference is that they're both more on the gay side of the spectrum. They'd share boys and girls, or would separate. You know, same sex in each bed. I thought Lana would go with threesomes where the man would have been a lot more interested."

"Like you were?"

"True," he frowned.

"Sorry."

"No, you're right. But..."

"But what?"

"I don't want to say this to you at this moment, because it's probably counterproductive to what seems to be both our desires."

"You think she'll come to her senses."

"Yeah."

"And you'd return to her."

"I would."

"You're pretty fucking honest."

"It's important to me. Deceit creates barriers that I don't think ever go away."

"I'm pretty fucking honest too."

"I get that," he laughed.

"This is my take on it."

"Go ahead."

"First, fuck her. She doesn't deserve you. Second, maybe I can convince you otherwise. Third, I want to enjoy you while I can."

"So I didn't fuck it up?"

"Nope. So sweet Lana was attempting to poach your dyke friend's girlfriend."

"And I actually couldn't blame her," Joe continued. "She was this gorgeous blonde lipstick lesbian. Totally in love with my friend. What happened was, Lana was in one of those girl/boy relationships which basically fell apart in the bar/restaurant in front of my friend and her girlfriend. This was a few days before. My friend, who's one of those tough with a heart of gold types, ends up consoling her, and they get to be friends, only to notice Lana encroaching on her territory so to speak. Not that she was worried. Irritated more. Her girlfriend actually liked Lana. Both bright women. College women."

"So the dyke had an unconventional mate too."

"On purpose. She perused Berkeley for a girlfriend, figuring they'd be intelligent and more out, you know? She was like me, smart. More streetwise than book smart, but she could converse quite well with the longhairs. Probably why we got along. But yeah, that's how she scored her gorgeous mate.

"Anyway, so we meet at this Berkeley restaurant. And that's where our banter began."

"Banter?"

"Kind of a contest of wits. She'd fling subtle insults and I'd fling right back. It was a game, and both of us enjoyed it."

"A mating dance."

"Exactly. We were attracted to each other physically. The mental attraction needed playing out."

"You said it began then."

"Yeah. It continued for most of our relationship. But the night we finally consummated it..."

"You mean you didn't jump her bones immediately?"

"No. I played the long game. Well, not that long actually. Second date we were pretty much at it like lust crazed animals. But after the lust finally got sated, we found pillow talk to be quite sweet and intimate."

"So the bantering would be like a prelude to sex."

"Teasing, yes."

"Is that what you like? Because I'm probably not all that good at it."

Joe laughed. "But you are teasing, just differently."

"How so?"

"Delayed gratification? You could have just hopped in my car. Instead here we are walking."

"I suppose," she laughed.

"I'm really enjoying your decision."

"Me too."

"Getting to know you. Speaking of which, you haven't told me anything. What do you do for a living?"

"The answers right here," she grinned. They had ambled around, but at that moment, they walked in front of a nearly block wide record store. "Come on," she led him to the door.

"Cheapo?" he chuckled.

"You know it?"

"Of course."

"Then you might know my boss." She led him to some stairs. A couple of people waved at her from behind the counter before she got there.

Downstairs, an older, tall, thickset man with long dark hair was standing in an aisle looking to be doing some inventory. "Jim!" Joe smiled.

"Hey Joe," Jim chuckled. "I see you've met my worker bee."

"So you know each other," Becky smirked.

"I helped organize that crappy little store Al stuck him with. I see you've graduated from a second floor black hole to a huge basement. What was that? Ten years ago?"

"Probably," Jim shrugged. "I've never been good with time. Just moving from store to store."

"You know you love it."

"It has its moments. At least Al is letting me sell the good shit."

"You were at that old store."

"Then he hid it away for a while. Lost a bunch when the place he stashed it flooded."

"He trusts you with it."

"That and we do need to fill this huge space with something. Though I had to talk him out of just dumping a bunch of his overstock here. You were studying printing weren't you?"

"Yeah. I operate a press now. Worked in the San Francisco Bay area for a while. Came back a few months and I'm working at the place I worked when I quit Cheapo."

"Doing well then?"

"Can't complain," Joe shrugged.

"What's the point?" Jim smirked and they laughed.

"Hey," said Becky, standing in front of the 45s bin. "What was the name of your band?"

"Kant with a K."

"Like the philosopher?"

"Mike wanted to call us Kunt with a K, but Dave and I talked him out of it. We were into the Ramones' first album, with every song some negative thing, and Kant with a K came out of that."

"So not really the philosopher."

Joe shrugged. "I was reading him then."

"When? In high school?"

Joe shrugged again. "You won't find us in there. We made up a homemade tape and duped it, but that was about it."

"That's right," Jim nodded. "You were in a band."

"Just got out of my first rehearsal with them in ten years." Joe told him.

"How'd it go?"

"Good. Both Mike and Dave stayed musicians. Mike's been in a few bands as drummer. Dave's always been into fusion, really more funky R&B like the Headhunters, and has been in the same band for years."

"You've been playing too," Becky corrected him.

"I wasn't completely rusty," Joe shrugged.

A guy came in hauling a box of records, which Jim guided him to set down on the long counter.

Joe went to Becky who had moved to the bin with the newest used lps bought and priced. "I can get you an employee discount," she said. "Used for just cost basically."

"I haven't got a turntable," Joe said. "Just a cheap component system with a tape player and a CD player."

"But vinyl's so much better!" she proclaimed, pulling out Mink DeVille's first album. "Oh cool. Jim played me this Max's Kansas City compilation. His songs were really cool."

"That's a great album," Joe agreed.

She took it behind the counter. As usual, Jim was playing some obscure but great sixties album. The Moving Sidewalks this time, Billy Gibbon's first recordings before ZZ Top.

"Could I?" she asked Jim.

"Sure," Jim smiled, before returning to gazing at the condition of an album.

She carefully but swiftly replaced it with hers. Willy DeVille's distinctive swaggering croon came out of the speakers.

"Could I see that record?" asked a man who looked to be Joe's age asked. Thick with shoulder length, straight, uncombed brunette hair, he stood in front of one of the three cheap turntables used to sample records, a fairly large stack of albums beside the turntable. When Jim nodded to Becky, she handed the Moving Sidewalks to the man, who was nearby her. "Is it for sale?" was his next question.

"Yeah," Jim replied, losing his smile. Jim always had a notoriously large stash of records. Bringing one out to play was a risk. It instantly made the record available. Against policy not to. And just plain rude. Joe figured Jim hoped the fifty dollar price tag would be enough to discourage the record nerd.

Becky hopped up to Joe. "You know Jim has some turntables. I got mine from him."

"I'll talk to him."

"Cool. Vinyl does sound better."

"I know. It's like recreating the brain, trying to make digital sound like analog."

"There's always a warmth missing."

"The true depth of the sound."

She smiled and nodded. Adorably. "So what do you like?"

"My taste's eclectic."

"I think Jim wants me to broaden mine. So far he's trained me to grade records. He doesn't trust me buying unless he thinks its records I'd know. You know, more recent things, and if they're punk or alternative or rap. I'm always doing the used inventory so I can know what we got a lot of."

"It must be harder to buy records," Joe said. "A lot more history."

"I know."

"So why did Al put you here?"

"Because I like it here. I used to break Jim. I always volunteered. I think Jim was skeptical. This little girl hefting all those records when I'm putting them away. But I'm stronger than I look, and I think that impressed him. And how curious I was. And I just like the feel of records. The larger format of the sleeves. There's a beauty in them that those little plastic squares never can have. And the sound. All the clacking upstairs. Constant noisy plastic clacking. Kind of ugly and irritating. It's so much calmer here."

"And a lot less busy."

"That too," she giggled. "But I keep busy and I learn. I convinced Jim I was serious. Otherwise Al probably wouldn't have let me. Having Jim on my side."

"And you're a lot better looking than I ever was," Joe smirked.

"Jim's a perfect gentleman!" she muttered defensively.

"Sorry."

"So anything you want?" she shifted quickly.

"Not so far."

"Oh," she pouted.

"Let me look at the collectables and the new vinyl."

"I probably can't get you the best discount on those."

"The regular priced used records get picked over. And they're a lot more common. My taste is eclectic, but it also tends towards the obscure. The kind of stuff guys like that would jump on," Joe gestured to the record nerd. "And Jim isn't someone who would let things slip by."

"I guess that makes sense."

The first thing that surprised Joe was the divider cards with band names that would be so rare as to not be needed in the regular used area. Hawkwind. Motorhead. Amon Duul II. Roxy Music. Eno. Faust. Neu. What surprised him more was there were albums in the sections. "Holy shit!" he kept saying, pulling out favorites and some recommended as favorites. All priced collectable high. Bands would suggest other bands. Roxy Music's first album brought him to Eno. Hawkwind with Lemmy brought him to Motorhead. And so forth.

When he moved from rock to jazz, other favorites appeared. A favorite Sun Ra. A Sam Rivers he'd heard years ago and hadn't seen since then. The Circle Paris album when Chick Corea was avant garde. A favorite electric Miles. Coltrane jamming with just a drummer. His stack kept getting bigger.

Jim swung by at some point. "Someone with my tastes must have sold his collection," Joe said.

"The Krautrock for sure," Jim said. "The jazz was mostly one."

"Both recent?"

"Yeah."

"Metal Box?"

"Haven't seen it in a while. The guy just sold Second Edition."

"Not the same."

"You want to see what else he sold?"

"Sure. Thanks. You got a turntable for sale?"

"I can hook you up."

"Cool."

Joe knew to keep the stacks as they were, shifted for a reason. He pulled out the Damned and the Stranglers. Debuts. He thought about the Sex Pistols, but decided not. But LAMF by the Heartbreakers went into his pile. And Johnny Thunders solo album, So Alone. And the Pogues Rum, Sodomy and the Lash.

"This is insane," Joe muttered.

Jim laughed.

"Okay. Enough. I'll be destitute if I keep looking."

"Holy shit," said Becky.

"Don't worry about it," Jim smiled, ringing things up.

"In other words, fuck Al," Joe grinned.

"I'm going a dollar over cost," Jim murmured. "I can't fuck the hand that feeds me completely."

"Understood. Thanks."

"I got a fairly decent turntable for a little over a hundred."

"On the side?"

"No. Al pays for them. I put it out there. Suggest it."

"Ring me up, Jim," Joe cringed, pulling his wallet out and plopping his one Visa card down on the counter.

Jim chuckled.

"Can you hold onto my stuff? My car's a few blocks away."

"Not a problem."

"Oh, and put the Mink Deville album on my bill as well."

"I wanted it," Becka pouted.

.

"It's why I'm buying it," Joe smiled.

"Thanks!"

Considering what he bought, Joe was happy about the cost.

"Do you want to check out the CDs?" Joe asked.