All The Young Punks Pt. 18

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When I wrote PUNKS, which takes place in the nineties, I did two flashback chapters to Joe's youth. I later regretted that decision.

I've reached that flashback point in ATYP and had to decide if I should write a new version of that moment. I chose to do a light rewrite of the first nineteen-seventy-nine chapter.

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---- AUGUST 1979 ----

Joe was awakened by a conversation in an adjacent room. He looked at his travel clock - 9:50 AM. He had gone to bed at 5:55 after an out-all-nighter with Simon. To his left, Sal snored loudly on a dirty twin mattress. Joe sat up, listening to the conversation in the next room. One voice was Uncle Babe. The other was a young woman with a sweet, angelic voice.

To Joe's right, Nate slept with his hand down his pants. In the corner, curled up in the fetal position, was Johnny. Joe's piss-hard-on screamed that he needed to hit the bathroom - now! He slipped his jeans on thinking he could check out whose sweet voice was singing to him.

He cracked the bedroom door open to see the backside of the angel. She had long, wavy purple hair and a cute little ass. Joe crept out of the room. Babe shot him a dirty look. The girl noticed and turned to see who Babe was scowling at. Barefoot Joe smiled and slipped into the bathroom.

"My nephew's band needed a place to crash for a few weeks," Babe explained. "I told him they could use that room. They'll be gone before you need the place. Got it?"

As they continued talking, Joe peed in a bathroom with no door. The sound of piss loudly hitting toilet water distracted Babe, he stopped talking, then finished his thought.

"I'll get their stink out of that room, paint, and fix the window to the fire escape before the fifteenth. Got it?"

She explained her situation to him while Joe kept pissing. "No hurry. I won't be moving in right away. I'll bring my things in gradually. The big move is on the 25th."

Joe was still pissing hard.

"Great," said Babe. "That gives me plenty of time to finish up."

The girl glanced toward the bathroom behind her.

Joe was still pissing, distracting, and annoying the building super. "The place will be ready long before the 25th."

When Joe zipped up, flushed, and emerged, her back was toward him. He side-stepped to get a better view. Babe gave him a wicked stink eye, lingering contempt. She glanced at Joe. He smiled too big. She smiled, turned away, and kept talking.

"My roommate's in Europe. Lana won't be back until Labor Day weekend, just before her first class. Let me look this lease over with my dad. If it's all good, I'll meet you back here on the fifteenth to sign."

She glanced at Joe again. He was admiring her. She looked away, fumbled with her papers, then looked at him again. Joe stood there rudely eavesdropping because he wanted to keep looking at this girl. He wanted to hear her young voice. Babe kept talking. Blah, blah, blah - got it? Blah, blah, blah - got it?

She glanced at Joe again. "Do I know you?" she interrupted Babe. "I swear I've seen you before."

"I don't know, maybe you've seen our band play. Have you been to Tommy's?"

"Never heard of it.

"It's a club on 50th in Hell's Kitchen"

"Never been, maybe I saw your band someplace else?"

"We played Gravesend a few days ago."

"I'm from Brooklyn, I know it well, but haven't been there in months. Where else do you play?"

"The Belmont Cafe near Fordham."

"No, but I feel it wasn't long ago."

"Well, we're from Rhode Island, those are the only New York gigs we've done."

"Do you play in Boston?"

"Only at The Brickyard."

"Oh my God. That's where I saw you, back in April. I was visiting my cousin at BU and she insisted I see this band she loves. The Young Punks, is that your band?"

"That's us. Did you like the show?"

"Are you kidding me?" She flashed her big toothy smile. "Gilligan's Island? The Flintstones? It was hilarious. That show was the most fun I've had in a club in a long time. My cousin has seen you like... nine times."

She kept talking about her cousin, how much she loved The Punks, and how great the show was. Joe listened, smiling, while Babe grew more annoyed than he was a minute ago.

"I love punk," she said, "but you guys are different - not too serious. The dance contests were so much fun. It's bizarre meeting you like this. What are the chances?"

"It's fate," Joe said. "I think we're meant to be."

She gasped, and half laughed. "Are you seriously using that line?"

"It's not a line."

As they talked, the rest of the band slowly emerged from the bedroom. The creeps in his band gave Joe's future girlfriend the up-and-down looks, checking out her perfect face but spending more time below the neck. Being a little protective; Joe moved to his left to obstruct their view.

"That April show was the first time we sold out The Brickyard. We always do well there, but it's a huge room. It was a crush front stage. We rocked it that night."

"Yes you did," she smiled, "and I was in that crush."

Babe gave the kids an "Ah-hum" grunt to get her back to business.

The girl blushed and went back to talking business with Uncle Babe while the guys took turns pissing loudly. One by one, they pissed for all to hear. She giggled at times. Sal, Nate, and Johnny went outside the apartment to discuss food options in the hallway. Joe stayed with her, smitten. He loved everything about her.

Babe showed her some of the work he'd done in the nearly completed kitchen. Joe watched but didn't hear a word he said. She was distracted by Joe standing there. She smiled at him and then turned to Babe.

"Ya know, these guys can stay longer since I'm not moving in right away. I mean, If they want." She looked back at Joe.

That got everyone's attention. The band peaked inside the doorway like the Three Stooges: tall, medium, and short. Babe did not like her idea.

"Look, I can't let yous guys stay in that room. Got it? I need to clean your stink out of there and paint."

Nate stepped in. "We'll sleep in the living room, it's finished, and we don't stink much."

Babe wasn't convinced, shaking his head. "No."

Joe chimed in. "If she's paid rent and invites us after the fifteenth, what's the problem?"

The girl smiled, "It's just a week."

Babe looked at the floor, grunted something incoherent, and caved in, "Okay, I guess, but you bums are out before she moves in. Got it?"

Joe was doing cartwheels inside, considering the legitimacy of love at first sight. She was magnificent. Everything about her was a ten. Her purple hair - a ten, eyes - a ten, her big smile - a ten, and all that below-the-neck stuff - a flawless ten. Even the East German judge gave her a ten.

"That's cool Uncle Babe, thanks." Nate half hugged his uncle, awkwardly. No one else made that play. Babe had some nerve calling the band stinky.

Joe smiled at the girl, "You're a sweetheart for helping us. Having another week here is awesome. We can do more shows. Thank you."

She extended her hand with a smile, "I'm Tina. I'm an art major at NYU. Glad to help a fellow artist."

"I'm Joe, and I think I'm a fan of yours. I'm glad we met."

As Joe slipped into the bedroom to put on his sneakers while Babe and Tina finished their business, then walked into the hallway to high-fives from his bandmates. As he stood near the doorway, she asked, "Hey Joe, where did you say you're playing?"

"Twice a week at Tommy's in Hell's Kitchen, West 50th Street, near 9th. We're there tonight and Friday."

"Awww." She frowned. "I can't go tonight, but let me call a friend about Friday."

"I hope you can make it. I look forward to seeing you." He smiled too big again. "Just for the record, I like your hair color, it's gorgeous."

"I like it too." She blushed. "Thanks."

"Hey Babe, give her the number to the place so she can call us," Nate suggested.

She smiled, "It's my apartment. I lived here last semester. I know the number." She turned to Joe. "I'll be seeing you soon, punk." - trying to sound tough, but failing.

Four punks stood on the sidewalk outside the building on Jones Street. Joe felt he had to place a flag in the ground and stake his claim.

"That girl is mine. I saw her first, and I'm thinking she's feeling it for Joe."

"Did you just speak in the third person? Fucking idiot," said Nate.

"That girl is mine, you jamokes need to respect that. I'm not kidding."

"Not if she picks me," Johnny added with his cool smile. Joe missed that smile. It had been MIA for three weeks - on heroin.

---- BACK UP PLAN ----

For the next three days, Joe drove his band crazy with his non-stop talking about Tina: how beautiful she was, her fabulous purple hair, how friendly she was, and her kind generosity in offering them a longer stay in Manhattan.

"She's perfect. Her voice is music to my ears. Can you believe my luck? She's seen us play before. Tina's already a fan."

When they stopped listening, he pestered his best friend in New York, Simon. They sat at the end of the bar at Tommy's, mid-day, the day drinking punks across the way.

"Wait 'til you meet this chick, Si. You're gonna be pissed that you didn't see her first. She's gorgeous."

"There are plenty of magnificent birds in Manhattan, my friend. She's not one in a million."

"But she is," Joe insisted. "I've never felt so right about someone in my life."

"Yeah, I get it, until you find her warts. They're all perfect at the beginning."

"When you meet her tomorrow night, you'll see for yourself." he paused. "If she doesn't show up, I'll slash my wrists on stage."

"Well," Simon snickered, "that'll be a closer Iggy Pop won't top."

Joe raised his hand, "Hey, Tommy! Set everyone up on my tab." Five punks cheered half-heartedly. Simon slapped Joe on the back.

"When are you gonna pay that tab?" Tommy asked.

"When you pay me for the next job."

"Great, all fives and singles."

"It's legal tender. If you don't accept US currency, the debt is considered paid."

"Is that true?" Simon asked.

"I read it somewhere," Joe shrugged. "It must be true."

Tommy popped open bottles for punks and poured drafts for Joe and Si. Joe leaned in as Tommy delivered their pints. "Why do these guys drink from a bottle when you have beer on tap? It's fucking stupid."

"It's cheaper," Tommy asked. He smiled, "They're not rolling naked in cash like you."

"I'm not rolling. This summer has cost me. We could have made a lot more money at the beach, and it's not even close."

Simon waved his arm, "And then you wouldn't have made these fine acquaintances in this posh establishment."

"Si, there are no girls in bikinis here. Like I said, it's not even close."

Simon and Joe sipped fresh pints. Joe looked at his best British bloke. "And Johnny wouldn't be fucked up on smack."

A long silence followed. Joe wanted to take the conversation to a place Simon was not comfortable with. He tried once, but Si shut him down.

"Look, you need to think about what I said. I'm not asking you to get on stage. I'm asking you to learn our songs. That's all. I honestly believe Johnny is going to fuck off on us. It's coming, and I don't want that to be the end of The Young Punks. I need a backup plan."

"I've thought about it since you last asked," Si stared at his pint in front of him. "I can do that, but I will not cross Sal."

"Look," Joe said, "If I tried to bump off Johnny for you, Sal would beat my ass. And I would never do that to Johnny. I love that guy. He was the best of us before this trip. You never got to know the Johnny I know."

"You said that before."

"Because it's true. I would only ask you to step up if Johnny fucks off on us, leaving me with gigs and no lead guitar." Joe turned to meet Simon's eyes. "At that point, Sal's denial should be dead."

Days later, Joe gave Simon a list of forty songs, just the first list. Simon McManus was a multi-instrumental, conservatory-trained musician with a degree in music from NYU. He could read music. Not one of The Young Punks could read sheet music. Simon learning their set was like having Einstein doing grade school math.

The odd thing was, that Joe had never seen or heard him play guitar. He simply trusted what Simon told him.

---- WAITING ON A FRIEND ----

Friday night at Tommy Guns was a great gig. The crowd was bigger, and louder, partying for the weekend. Joe made certain the guys knew this night was special.

He grabbed Johnny by the collar. "Don't fuck this up. I need you to be good."

At that moment, Joe felt like shit. He looked up to Johnny, his mentor on guitar and the coolest guy in the band, now he was just sad. It hurt Joe to feel resentment towards Johnny. He had to stuff those feelings down and get to work.

As the band set up, Joe gazed over the crowd looking for purple hair. It was packed front to back, standing room as always. He was certain she'd seek him out if she made the show. He walked to the bar for a beer, looking at every face in the crowd.

A middle-aged man at the bar approached Joe and introduced himself. He wasted no time with small talk. "I was here last week. Your band is very good. I run a small studio just up the street in Chelsea. I'd like you to come for a visit. We can talk." He handed Joe his business card. "If you're interested in recording, I can help."

Joe was distracted, half talking to the guy and half looking off into the crowd in search of his girl. The man sensed he wasn't getting Joe's full attention.

"Sure. I'll come by for a visit," Joe said. "I'll call you."

They stood in an awkward silence.

"It was nice meeting you," Joe finally said. He pointed at the stage. "I have to get up and do my job."

"I hope to hear from you."

As he walked towards the stage, he glanced at the card - Marty Cohen.

The band opened the set hard with The Damned and The Sex Pistols. The punk crowd was in good form. Joe was not 100%. He was distracted. He fidgeted between songs, scanning the crowd. Four songs in, he saw purple hair and a denim jacket pushing through the crowd. His heart saw her first. They made eye contact and exchanged smiles, then Joe experienced a mini-panic attack.

"What the fuck?" he thought, as he noticed she was leading a guy by the hand through the crowd. "Seriously? What the fuck?"

Tina's eyes locked into Joe from twelve feet away and never broke the gaze. Joe liked her eye makeup, and purple eyeliner in the Nefratiti style. Her boy pal was into Joe too. They barely looked at Sal or Johnny. After a song of near full eye contact, Joe felt he was being visually stalked by two people, and one was a dude. It was hot and kind of weird at the same time.

In a flash of memory, it struck him. Joe remembered her from Boston. The eyeliner and her denim jacket with band patches were the clues: Ramones, The Police, Talking Heads, and The Kinks - Joe's favorite sixties band. Her hair was shorter and brunette back then, and her eye makeup was darker. That night in Boston, she eye-stalked him all night. He remembered the jacket and the eyes.

Between sets, Joe pulled the couple aside and slipped them to the back alley so her boyfriend could have a smoke. Henri was French, an NYU student who lived on the Upper East Side with his U.N. diplomat parents. Most importantly, he was gay and Tina was not, nor did she have a boyfriend. That news made Joe's night. Henri went back inside leaving them alone.

Joe nudged Tina. "Thanks for bringing a guy and making me think you had a boyfriend. That sucked."

"Awww. Sorry. He's my gay boyfriend from art school."

"He seems cool."

"Henri loves your band. He saw you here two weeks ago."

"Cool." Joe shuffled his feet, like a schoolboy with a crush. He half blurted out, "Are you in favor or against walking the streets in the wee hours in search of coffee and pie?"

Tina looked at him funny, "Who talks like that?"

"A songwriter?" He shrugged sheepishly. "We go out for pie and coffee after shows."

"I love pie and coffee." she sighed

"You're the girl of my dreams."

Joe had a smile tattooed on his face. He was captivated. She was different. What he felt was not his casual play-it-safe self. He wanted to know everything about her. They went back inside so Joe could fulfill his workplace obligations.

As Joe opened the door for Tina, she leaned against him. "This place is wild, small and so packed tight. It's really loud. I love it."

Joe smiled. "Don't tell the fire marshall. This show is totally illegal."

She sang along loudly with her big smile on every singalong. Joe picked Tina for the dance contest but she lost. The other chick was more of a naughty stripper than a dancer. Tina was smooth, sultry, and sexy. He liked it. The crowd voted for the trashy dancer.

When he offered the winner her prize, the T-shirt off his back if she could take it, he put up less resistance. He wanted to wrestle Tina, but the crowd denied him. Disappointed, he phoned in the rest of the bit.

Shirtless Joe took a bow. "You can see Chastity at the Boom Boom Room on 42nd Street in about three hours."

The crowd laughed and cheered. Joe felt he owned this club now, every gig was better than the last. Tommy's people loved the punk rock carnival. Joe ended with Gilligan's Island and a new closing song, White Punks On Dope. It was a good ending.

Joe leaned into Tina at the bar. "We have one beer, one shot, and we hit the streets." He turned to the punks. "Who's up for pie tonight?"

"Why do you always say pie?" Simon asked. "You're the only twat who eats pie. We get breakfast."

Joe poked Simon's leather as if he was picking a fight. "I'm going out for pie and I'm inviting you. What you wankers get is not my concern." Joe turned to Tina. "This is my favorite person in ..." Joe hesitated. "Oh shit, Simon. You just got demoted." He smiled at Tina. "This is my second favorite person in New York."

"Simon, this is Tina." Joe looked over the bar. "Alright, who's dining tonight?"

Hands went up. Joe counted heads. "Simon, Johnny, Zip, Sunny, Monk, Clyde, Judy, Tina, and Henri." Joe raised his pint glass. "Nine brave souls shall venture into the dark steamy night."

Tina tugged on his leather. "Are you a weirdo? Who talks like that?"

"I might be."

"He's definitely a weirdo," Simon added.

---- SIX PIES ----

Joe carried his leather as they walked from 50th to 59th Street - nine sets of footsteps and nine voices. Joe talked to and listened to one. He knew next to nothing about this woman yet he wanted to know everything. Tina walked between Henri and Joe, Simon to his left. A gaggle of five punks, including Johnny, behind them. He was surprised Johnny tagged along.

Tina leaned on Joe. "This is kind of cool, a big group at 1:45 just walking and talking."

"It gets way better, pie and talking, and then more walking - maybe breakfast at dawn."

They occupied the street when possible, sidestepping cars as they honked their horns.

"I've never done anything like this," she said. "I'm a home by 1:00 girl."

"I'm a home by 7 AM guy." - which made her laugh.

The nine sat in three booths, one across from the other two. They were the 2:05 AM rush for The Parkside Grille, five breakfasts, six slices of pie, and lots of coffee.

"Simon, six pies. I'm not the only twat."

"But you ordered three slices."

"But not six."

The punk party got a little loud, with lots of storytelling, and laughing. Joe had lemon meringue and peach with vanilla ice cream, Tina had cherry pie and Henri had a slice of Joe didn't care. He was a nice guy with a pleasant French accent. He loved New York and punk.

"Your band is unique," he said, "something new. I like you very much."

"Maybe we're something old, like Vaudeville"

"Excellent. That is good, very good." Henri had a nice smile too.