All The Young Punks Pt. 10

---- February 1979 ----

News of Joe taking Claire back was not welcome by all. Nate laughed, but not in a funny way. He felt she did Joe wrong and the kid was being a sap. He broke Joe's balls about stupidly having a girlfriend when he had so many opportunities with girls. Joe insisted Claire was not his girlfriend.

"What do you mean you don't have time for a girlfriend?" Nate's eyes widened. "You have four"

"I do not."

"Abby, Monica, Claire... and that chick from the beach." He searched for a name. "The girl at BU."

"Those are friends."

Nate laughed, "Sign me up for friends who suck my dick."

"You forgot that chick in Narragansett," Sal added.

"No. I didn't." Nate said. "She's the one at BU." He turned to Joe. "What's her name?"

"Kelly."

"Oh yeah." Nate nodded, "Kelly has a really nice ass. And you're right, Joe. You don't have time for a girlfriend. You have time for four!" He laughed again.

"They're not my girlfriends."

"Whatever, dude."

Sal and Johnny snickered at the bickering. "You two are like an old married couple," Johnny smiled. "My parents don't fight as much."

"Oh," Nate's eyes widened again, "and this new chick in Springfield." He paused, smiled, and flashed his hand with all digits stretched out. "Make that five."

Joe had booked the band in nearly twenty clubs over a nine-month run. Half were bars they played regularly, a few were seasonal, and some didn't pass the first gig test, one and done. When you play at a bar once a month you get to know the regulars. They partied with the locals at each venue, and girls hovered around the band. Being the frontman, and cute, with a stage personality, Joe got plenty of female attention.

Every time the band visited these towns, Joe hung out with the girls he knew. His bandmates made female acquaintances on the road, but they were less apt to repeat. Joe preferred spending more time with the young ladies he was already friends with rather than dealing with random chicks every gig.

Kelly was at the second and third Boston shows. She had a gaggle of BU girls in tow. After the show, Joe and the guys followed them to their Warren Towers dormitory, an eighteen-story debauched party scene at 2 AM. The whole band hooked up that night. They slept in and had breakfast for lunch the next day with Kelly's friends before driving back to RI.

"I like knowing that Kelly will be at The Brickyard," Joe told his mates. "Last time I thanked her for being my bodyguard. She keeps other girls away."

"Yeah, but now we're matched up with her friends." Nate said, "Maybe I don't want to..."

"Then don't." Joe cut him off. "Kelly is cool and I like that we don't have to do this stupid dance. Should I make a move? Will she fuck me? Where can we go? If she comes to the show I'm hanging out with her. It's easier that way."

"Unless she has a new beau," Sal noted, "like that chick in Newport."

"That's fine." Joe said, "I don't expect a girl to hold a reservation for me."

Nate laughed, spreading his legs wide. "Theroux, party-of-one."

---- ANGIE ----

During a Sunday open practice, Joe discussed his film project with Angie, the very cool RISD senior, and an admirer of his work. He wished he could touch her afro. It looked so soft. Claire watched from across the lounge area, then chose to join them.

"Angie suggested I shoot my own images," Joe said to Claire as she walked up. "So, I think we're gonna make our own films."

"You and them?" Claire gestured to his bandmates.

"Yeah," Joe made a face. "I'll get them to play along."

Nate called Joe from across the room, waving for him to come over. He excused himself. Angie turned to Claire.

"Joe is a creative soul. It starts with his music, but look at his show, he's also a performing artist," she smiled. "and now he's getting into film."

"And he's a writer," Claire added.

"I know," Angie smiled wide. "I'm impressed. I mean, that's a lot of output, and he's only eighteen. Young people like us need to swim in the same pool with other artists. My professors stress this all the time. He should surround himself with creatives to collaborate with. That's when ideas flow like a raging river."

"Yes, he's creative," Claire replied. "but he's kind of a lonely soul too. I know he appears so outgoing and confident on stage, but he's mostly a quiet guy. He's hard to figure out. There's something dark inside him."

Angie nodded and smiled in agreement. "Every good artist has that inner... you call it darkness, and that's fine, but it's more than that. It's some secret source of inspiration that can't be explained." She touched Claire's arm and gestured toward Joe twenty feet away. "Where does he come up with these ideas?" She leaned closer. "And look how cute he is." Angie smiled at Claire. "Those dimples kill me."

Claire faked a smile.

"I wish I could convince him to apply to art school," Angie took a sip of beer. "Joe would flourish in that environment."

Angie went on and on. Claire was only half listening, 'Art, art, creative people, artists, collaboration, art, art, inspiration, the process and performance.' She wasn't that interested in what Angie had to say. Maybe because It annoyed her that Angie spoke so glowingly of Joe.

When Claire got Joe alone after band practice, she planted a firm kiss on his lips. "What are you doing for Valentine's Day?"

"Nothing."

"Do you have a job?"

"No, we have no weeknight gig this week. I'm trying to give the guys a break here and there."

"Do you know we've never been on a real date?"

Joe shrugged.

"We met here and we always hang out here. I go to your shows and you've partied at school with my friends, but we've never gone out, just the two of us."

"Okay, is that what you want?"

"Yes, on Valentine's Day. Wednesday night."

"Okay."

----- SIBLING THERAPIST ----

Jackie barged into Joe's basement dungeon.

"Hey, how about you knock? What if I was jerking off?"

Her mouth fell open. "Oh my God, you're so gross!"

"I'm not joking! Knock next time. Jesus."

"What's wrong with you?" She stood over him. "Why are you so miserable?"

"Shut up. I'm not miserable."

Jackie put her hands on her hips, a trait she inherited from Mom. "You are. Since your birthday you've been off. I don't understand how someone with so much good happening can be such a downer."

"I'm not down. I'm just keeping to myself. I have a lot going on."

Joe's eldest little sister was too smart for her age. You couldn't get anything past her. It was so - fucking - annoying. He usually tried to ignore her inquisitions, but she never let up, always prying... just like Mom.

"It's gotta be girl trouble. It's always girls. Did you get dumped?"

"Heh," Joe smirked. "you know what's funny, getting dumped would actually solve my problem. Someone needs to dump my sorry ass."

"What does that mean?"

He watched his sister's brain, expressed through her big brown eyes and beautiful young face, process information. "Oh shit, how many girlfriends do you have?"

She always figured it out if given the slightest clue. Jackie would make a good detective. She observed, listened, and was logical... especially for a fourteen-year-old girl.

Joe decided he wanted to talk, so he patted the bed and she sat beside him. He told her the tale of the road gigs, girls in three cities, and two at home.

"You're not even including Sandy? She's been calling. Why haven't you returned her calls?"

"Maybe because I have too many girls in my life right now." The truth was, that Joe had recently been avoiding Sandy at school. "And..." he hesitated. "Every time she has a break up she calls me. She's upset, maybe crying, and she needs to talk. I'm tired of being her backup boy."

"That's what friends do, Joe. They listen when a friend needs it. She called twice last week and again yesterday."

"Yes, I know, because Sam Fiori dumped her and now she wants to talk to me because I always know what to say to make Sandy feel better."

"You could try to be normal and have one girlfriend. Dump these road girls. Stop being a pig."

"I promise you, sis, I never hit on girls. I'm just friendly with our fans, and they hit on me."

She sat quietly at the end of his bed, thinking for a long moment. "Just say no."

"It's not that simple. You don't understand." He couldn't decide how much to tell his little sister. He trusted Jackie, but it was risky to give up details. "This girl Monica at Holy Cross, oh my God. She's gorgeous and she loves... oh, never mind."

"Then ditch the others."

"Which one? Kelly is great. She was such a brainy girl in high school. Now she's living the college life in Boston, really happy, and she's fun to hang out with. We have not-being-Italian on Federal Hill in common, so we joke about this place."

"Start by getting rid of one of them," Jackie said tersely. "You must have a least favorite."

"No!" Joe's hands went up. "That's just it. I don't. This new chick Robin is way too cool. Besides, she might cast a spell on me." He made spooky fingers. "She's like a gypsy witch with this weird spiritual energy. She's very interesting."

"Do you think these girls are dumb? They know what you do. They're not expecting anything from you."

"I suppose. I mean, we don't talk about relationship stuff. They know the score."

"Then there's only one question," she paused for effect. "If you could have one girlfriend, which would it be?

Dr. Nichols was never this direct. She danced around Joe's insecurities, talking and listening. Jackie took them head-on. Joe's busybody sister expected him to ponder her query while she looked on, but he had an immediate and unequivocal reply. It set her back.

"Claire."

"Really?" Jackie pushed her hair away from her face to look Joe in the eyes. "Isn't she the one who runs off to camp every summer with her other boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"She dumped you once. I say to hell with her. And how do you know Sandy doesn't want to finally make it real between you?"

"Because she's never tried, even now, when she's between boyfriends."

"Maybe that's why she's calling."

"I doubt it."

"After all these years you're giving up on her?"

"I'm trying. But it's hard." Joe thought for a moment. "Do you know how hard it is when she tells me that she loves me, and I'm her oldest best friend, and I mean so much to her... and that's it? She has no interest other than crying on my shoulder."

Talking with Jackie helped clear Joe's head. Saying the words was something he learned from Dr. Nichols. Just like writing, saying your thoughts is helpful. There were times when Jackie's maturity and pragmatism surprised him. And Joe appreciated that she was less apt to report to Mom.

At that moment, he made a decision about his girl trouble. He was going to talk to Claire to see if he had a chance of having a genuine relationship, not just this hanging around and not fucking thing. For her, Joe would stop fooling around on the road. He was sure that's what he wanted.

----- I DIDN'T LAY A FINGER ON HIM ----

Robin, the last girl Joe met on the road, lived in Chicopee, MA. The band's first new gig of the new year was in a dank old factory venue on the Connecticut River in Springfield.

Joe figured this new venue would link nicely with Worcester, fifty miles to the east. He booked a Friday gig at Barney's, the band spent the night nearby and drove to Springfield the following day. They found a diner downtown, a motel near the turnpike, and Riverside Records, where Joe browsed through a treasure trove of tee shirts. Two of the staffers came to the gig that night.

The Foundry was a small fraction of a giant textile mill that was converted for live music. The moment Joe walked into the space he loved it. The band lived in a factory garage, their Boston venue was an old brick warehouse, and Joe felt the industrial aesthetic worked with punk rock. It wasn't as cavernous as The Brickyard, but it was bigger than any bars they played.

In the middle of their set, Joe noticed an older man pawing at two girls standing a few rows back in front of the stage. They were clearly agitated and moved away. He stalked them. One girl pushed him back. He moved closer, putting his hands on her. Joe saw her yell at him, shoving him again.

Joe stopped singing and let his guitar fall to his side. "Hey! Asshole!" He pointed. "Get your mitts off her. She's not interested... creep!"

Sal stopped playing, then Johnny and Nate. The creep looked up at Joe, "Fuck you! Mind your business, boy." He turned back to the girls.

Joe slipped his guitar strap over his head and dropped his Tele on the stage, too hard. He jumped off, the first few rows parted as he moved toward the molester. As Joe arrived, fists clenched, Sal came over the top with a swing that caught the man in the head. He staggered back. Sal's storming in hard nearly knocked Joe over, but the crush of people kept him on his feet. Sal punched again. Patrons scattered but it was difficult to escape. Beer was being spilled all over. Sal hit him a third time and the creep went down. Sal grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and dragged him, bloodied face, legs kicking, all the way to the club entrance. He glared at the bouncers.

"Get this asshole out of here, and don't let him back in!"

The crowd cheered as Sal and Joe returned to the stage. Joe strapped on his guitar and stepped up to the mic. "I'm sorry about that." He looked down at his guitar. "I might need to tune up. I kinda dropped my baby."

"It won't matter," Nate said. "We won't know the difference."

"Eat shit, Nate."

There was a buzz in the room as Joe plucked strings and turned tuners to get his Tele back in shape. It took a long minute, just Joe fiddling and tuning, nonchalant like there wasn't just a fistfight. Then he looked out at the crowd, leaning into the mic.

"Excuse me, bartender! Yeah, you. See this kid up front with his beer all over his Bowie shirt. Give him one on me." He looked down at the skinny townie kid. "Sorry about that man."

The townie smiled and clapped. "Can you buy me a shirt too?"

These were the moments Joe could never script, but he appeared to have an improvisational instinct that leads to accidental bits. He smiled at the guy. "As a matter of fact, I can."

Joe walked to the side of the stage where his duffle bag lay, a.k.a. his bag of tricks. His show props were in there with his composition book and personal items. He squatted, reached in, and pulled out a fist full of cotton. Joe smiled at the crowd and then at the kid.

"What's your name?"

"Gary."

"Well Gary, today is your lucky day. You can become the first dude to ever get one of my prized tee shirts. Women in all corners of New England cherish their..."

"Joe shirts," Sal said. "That's all it is, Joe's fucking shirt. It's not like they're magical or something."

"Oh no," Joe looked left to Sal. "You're mistaken Mister Naysayer. If you wear one of my shirts, you have scientifically proven sixty-nine percent improved chance of getting laid."

The expressions on the Springfieldites... or whatever you call them, told the band Joe had them in his trance. He sucked all the attention in a room toward him, like a black hole except he was a source of light. There were hundreds of smiles facing the band and scattered laughter.

"Why is it only sixty-nine percent?" Nate asked, "Seems a random number."

Joe was pleased his bandmates were rolling with this. "Well," he turned to Nate, "Gary has to bring something to the game, thirty-one percent." He turned to Gary holding up three shirts. "By decree, I will let the townfolk decide." He held the shirts up. "Which magical shirt should I bestow on Sir Gary the Beerless." He looked back at the bar. "Can we get that beer up here?"

The options were a light blue unicorn shirt, a black widow spider shirt, and a red tee with white block letters... BEWARE OF DOG. Joe had it made by Brad and Lisa.

The unicorn shirt won by a landslide, and Gary wore the girly shirt proudly, getting back pats.

"Now Gary, just a disclaimer. We have some fine print to cover. If this shirt gets you laid, I take sixty-nine percent credit. If this shirt gets you beaten up, that's on you."

Joe let them laugh a moment. "Now where were we?" He looked back at the band. Sal was ready. "Rebel Rebel."

Between sets, the two girls thanked Joe and Sal for stepping in. After the show, Robin and Lidia invited them back to their apartment in Chicopee, just up the road.

Sal looked at Johnny, holding the keys out. "You can take the van."

"Really," Nate said, "You're ditching us?

"Hey, you and Johnny get the motel room to yourself. Stop whining."

Robin drove the four of them in her ancient Ford Falcon to their place. When they entered, Joe inspected the lives of two twenty-something women. He was immediately fascinated by their eclectic decor, kind of gypsy, maybe hippie, definitely artsy. Lidia was Bulgarian and Robin was her younger Wiccan protege.

Joe and Sal spent the night and the sexy witches joined them, Johnny and Nate, for lunch at a truck stop off the Mass Turnpike. On the two-hour drive home, Nate gave his mates the cold shoulder, still annoyed he was abandoned.

"Awwww," Joe said with a sad face. "Is Natey butt hurt that he didn't have a date last night?"

"Fuck off, Joe. We're a band. We should stick together."

"Oh, please. You don't feel that way when you hook up... like in New Haven. We had to wait in the van for over an hour. At least you had a room to crash in."

"And you didn't cry like a baby Friday night," Sal added. "when Joe went to Monica's dorm."

Nate said nothing. He simply fumed.

"Hey, Sal," Johnny leaned between the van's front seats. "Why did you jump into that mess? Did you think Joe couldn't handle that old man?"

"No. I saw him grabbing at the girls. I was pissed off before Joe called him out. When he stopped the set, I was ready to go."

Joe glanced at Johnny with a smile, "And Robin and Lidia were very grateful for the rescue."

Sal grinned, "Damn right they were."

"So, Joe," Nate said from the back. "I guess this long stretch of no fighting that you're so proud of is over."

"No, it's still good. I didn't lay a finger on him. Thanks, Sal."

Sal nodded, "I'm sure you would have buried him."

"He let the townfolk decide," Johnny laughed, "by decree."

"I know," Sal smiled. "That was crazy good for just... on the spot. How they fuck do you come up with Sir Gary the Beerless?"

Joe shrugged. "It just happens."

"And it happens every time," Johnny added.

Shortly after that weekend, Joe began to feel a little icky about his road exploits. He spent the night with Monica, the following night with Robin, a week later with Kelly in her BU dorm, time with Abby, and now he was friends with Claire again, but not fucking. He was having fun, the girls were great, and he really liked them. On the surface he was fine. No one outside of Jackie knew what was in his head. Deep down he didn't feel right, and he couldn't really understand why.

----- BITE ME -----

Claire picked Joe up on Valentine's Day to take him on a date. She insisted she pay. He didn't argue. When they entered Camilles, a famous restaurant on The Hill frequented by mobsters and politicians, which are one and the same in Providence, he removed her coat and handed it to the coat-check girl. Joe had never seen Claire in a dress. She was mostly a jeans and blouse girl.

"I like your dress," he said as they followed the hostess to their table.

"Thank you."

"And your shoes."

Claire smiled.

After the waiter recited the specials, they sat with their menus. Joe glanced over his menu to look at her. She was beautiful, her auburn hair done nice, sparkly earrings, lip gloss, and that dress. He really liked her red dress and the way it hugged her body.