All The Young Punks Pt. 31

-- MAY 1980 --

Through the spring, Joe focused on getting his band reestablished in the clubs where they had made their bones. After Simon's debut I-95 road trip, from Portland to NYC, they did the I-90 Turnpike route from Boston into upstate New York. At the end of that run, Simon had played all the band's year-round clubs, as well as a few new bars.

That upstate route ended in Rochester where they played a club Sheila Abrams had hooked them up with. Back in NYC, Joe met her for a quickie breakfast to discuss business.

"That club in Rochester is very good. I like the industrial settings." Joe said as he spread cream cheese on a bagel. "It wasn't a great crowd but that's okay for a first gig. The Collegetown gig in Ithaca was better. It wasn't as big, but the kids were awesome. They thanked us for coming. One girl said, 'Nobody plays Ithaca."

"Good to know, but I need to know if the deal I proposed is workable or if we're in some kind of negotiation here."

"Negotiating what"

"My Compensation."

"Of course," he said, biting into his fresh bagel. "I think paying you our first night's door take is fair."

"It's easy to keep track of and I trust that you won't stiff me."

"How would I do that?"

"You said you made $540 in Ithaca and $700 in Rochester. You could fudge those numbers."

"I won't do that to you. If you find us good venues, you'll receive the first night's take."

"Good. I never charged you for those early referrals, and that's fine. But going forward I need to be compensated for my time."

"This is business. You don't have to explain... and you can trust me."

Sheila talked while fiddling with her lox. "How far west do you want to go? And what about going south? Do you want me fishing down the coast?"

Joe leaned over the table. "Speaking of fish; is it me, or does that salmon look a little pale?"

"I know!" Sheila raised her hand to get a nearby waitress' attention. "I'm not pleased with these lox." She pointed at Joe. "Even this young goy can see it."

Joe winced, "Shouldn't they be more salmony in color?"

The waitress nodded. "I'll fix this for you. I'm sorry."

"Where were we?" Sheila asked. "Oh, down the coast."

"Absolutely," Joe said. "The only thing I ask is that we move out gradually. Don't get me a gig in Toledo, three hundred miles from our nearest bar. I want many links in the chain. I did explain how I'm routing these trips using the interstates, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," she smiled. "It's cute how anal you are about these things. Details, details."

"I'm trying to get the most out of our time and the miles we drive. The road can be a drag, and I don't want the guys to have a mutiny over too many miles between shows."

Sheila saw the waitress coming and waited. The new salmon looked far better. She said nothing as she daintily tried to eat her lox and bagel. Joe watched her struggle, smiling when cream cheese landed on her pale green blouse.

"Fuck," she said as she dabbed it with a damp napkin.

"You just made it worse with water," he smirked.

"I know, but the water will dry."

"Are you clumsy?" Joe asked. "Because this is exactly the shit my girl does. She's always spilling and dropping. It's hilarious."

Sheila stared at Joe intensely, pointing with her knife. "I am not clumsy."

"That's what Tina says too, after she makes a mess of things."

Joe liked Sheila but he was having a difficult time figuring her out. She was friendly enough but seemed guarded at times. He knew nothing about her except she was divorced, had a daughter in high school, and had a career wearing many hats; a booker, an agent, and a manager, with clients on Broadway and in television. The Young Punks brought her back to the music game after years of working exclusively with actors, writers, and directors.

She was attractive-ish, dressed impeccably but not overly flashy, with big hair. She was undoubtedly a Jewish princess but could easily be confused as an Italian with her style, thick New York accent and mannerisms.

'I was just thinking," Joe said, "with summer coming up fast, we'll be playing a lot of beach bars, so maybe looking along the Jersey Shore and points south is a good idea."

"Okay. I got a tip on a place in Buffalo I'd like to get you into. It's your favorite, a big old factory a promoter is doing live music in. After that, I'll look down the coast."

Joe's mouth was full of his bagel. He had a cream cheese mustache. So Sheila continued. "How were these bars in Pennsylvania?"

After the I-90 run, Joe gave Tina a few days of tender loving care and then took the band on a two-night excursion to Scranton and Bethlehem to play bars Jada Jones had pitched him.

"They were good. We'll surely go back. Those were weeknight shows. I need to play a weekend gig before I give a bar the final verdict. The bar in Bethlehem is on the wrong side of the river. I'd like to be closer to Lehigh so more college kids come out. It was a townie bar."

Sheila smiled, "You are a detail-oriented young man. Sometimes you say things that surprise me. You put a lot of thought into this."

"I know what works, and college bars are the best bets for us."

"How many clubs have you played in?"

Joe scrunched his nose, thinking. "I'll only include venues we like. Right now we have twenty-eight. I'll be adding new college towns up north this fall. I've been wanting to get us up to Vermont and New Hampshire but this fucking band drama derailed my plans."

"Tommy told me all about your problems. He said you're a good egg and you care about your friends." Sheila wiped her lips with her napkin. "I'm not the most trusting person. It's not my best trait. I always think someone is out to fuck me. Why? Because I've been fucked a few times by friends I trusted." She put her hand on his. "I have a good feeling about you."

Joe nodded. "What's a goy?" He picked up the check and pulled out cash.

Sheila smiled, "It's what we call those outside the tribe."

A few doors down from the deli, standing on the corner waiting for a light to change, they were about to go their separate ways when Sheila stepped off the curb. A taxi trying to beat the light by taking a hard right turn nearly sideswiped her when she jumped the gun. The cab's tires splashed gutter water on her shoes and nylons.

"You fucking asshole!" she yelled, shaking a fist. "I'm in the goddamn crosswalk! I have the signal you fucking piece of shit!"

Joe laughed, which further annoyed her. "In my short time in this city, I have learned to walk a bit behind my Manhattan friends. You guys always step off too soon. One of these days I'm gonna witness Tina or Simon getting run over. I'm gonna hate it, but it won't be me under the bus."

Sheila scowled as she crossed the street. Joe went another way.

---- HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH ----

"You said something yesterday about calling Betty," Tina said as she got dressed on a Saturday morning.

"Yes, I want to take her out to lunch."

"Her number is by the phone."

Betty had phoned 3C when Joe was on the road. She and Tina talked for a while and T promised Joe would call back as soon as he returned. An hour later, they sat in their favorite diner in the West Village across from Betty who couldn't contain her happiness.

"It's so good to see you," she said. "This has been a rough year for me. I need a familiar face."

"What's wrong?" Joe asked.

"I don't fit in here. I have no real friends. My roommate is okay. I had a few friends when I first arrived but they all got boyfriends."

"Freshman year is tough on everyone," Tina said, "Especially if you're far from home."

The waitress came by took orders and poured Joe more coffee

"My classes are fine," Betty continued. "My grades are good. My social life... Well, I don't have one."

"We can fix that. The band is back together and we're playing Tommy Guns tonight. You should come out with us."

"You're all back together?"

"Not Johnny, he quit, but we have a new guy and he's great. You should come out tonight."

"I don't think, well, you know I'm not a bar person."

"Maybe that's why you don't have a social life, nerd."

Tina punched him. "Stop it."

"She knows I'm kidding... sort of."

Tina put her hand on Betty's. "My roommate and another friend will meet you at seven. We won't accept no for an answer."

"I don't feel comfortable tagging along and..."

"You're going!" Tina put her foot down. "What other plans do you have?" She made wide eyes.

Meek Betty was no match for a determined Tina. She didn't accept the invitation but also didn't offer more excuses. Betty whined about feeling lost in New York and how the city was too big for her. Then she talked about the only guy she dated at NYU, for three weeks, and how he turned out to be a creep.

"You're gonna meet a few duds before you meet the right guy," Tina said. "I know I did."

"She's still looking," Joe smirked. "I'm the latest reject she's keeping around until Prince Charming shows up."

"She found him," Betty said, then looked at Tina. "Do you have any idea what a good guy he is? Of course, you do."

The waitress delivered burgers and an order of fish & chips. The talk shifted to Joe telling her about the band, Simon, and The Minnow. Betty went on again about how hard her year had been.

"I've applied to URI."

"You're leaving NYU?" Joe asked. "You have a scholarship. You can't throw that away."

"I know. My parents are very upset with me. I'm not happy here. What am I supposed to do, suffer for four years?"

"Nothing against URI," Tina said. "but that's a few steps down from NYU."

"Hey," Joe pointed at Tina. You can't say that about the University of Rhode Island, but I can." He turned to Betty. "She's right, URI is in the sticks. I like it fine, but this is NYU."

They went quiet for a while, working on their lunches, until Tina pushed the issue again.

"Look, you have to get out of the dorm and off campus. We should hang out. I'll introduce you to people." She pointed a French Fry at Betty. "And that starts tonight."

Betty picked at the remnants of her cheeseburger. When she looked up, they were both staring at her. "Okay, I'll go, but I'm not a drinker. I can handle one or two, but I don't like getting drunk."

"There's no rule that says you must drink," Tina said. "Call me at six thirty and we'll coordinate - and wear that red leather jacket. Do you have heels?"

"One pair."

"Wear them, and nice fitting jeans if you have them. Not those baggy farmer jeans you have on."

Joe laughed audibly.

Betty turned pink. "Okay."

"Now," Tina changed the subject. "Tell me what Joe was like in high school. I want all the dirt."

"Alright," Joe said. "I need to take a big giant dump. You girls can talk about me behind my back."

While Joe was away, Tina peppered Betty with questions. She wanted to know specifically about girlfriends. There wasn't much Betty could say about that, but she had other stories. When Joe got back, Tina elbowed him.

"You never told me you were a mental case in high school, getting into fights."

"You hate violence, so I omitted that chapter of my life. I never started fights, but when a bully picked on me, I fought back."

"She says you started some fights."

"I didn't say that," Betty protested. "I said he beat up a few bullies when they picked on smaller kids, like my friend Bryan." She glanced at Joe. "I have so many stories, the election, Rock & Roll High School, the graduation party..."

"I need to hear all of them," Tina said. "Joe doesn't talk much about his school days."

Joe put his hand up. "No, not now. How about you girls talk about me some other time? Can we change the subject?"

Tine shrugged. "We can talk tonight. And for the record, he still fights. He got into a brawl last summer at his first gig here. I wasn't there, but I heard the whole band was involved."

Thirteen hours later, after a crazy fun show at Tommy's, Simon playing in front of all his Hell's Kitchen friends, Tina and Joe had to skip the midnight pie safari because Betty was hammered. Tina, Lana, and Joe stayed with her to get her safely back to her dorm. She was like Joe when tipsy, she loved everyone and insisted they know it. The brown bottle of truth serum had taken effect as they walked from Christopher Street Station to NYU.

Betty was hanging on to Joe. "You're the nicest people I've met in New York. This city sucks, but I love you guys."

"We're gonna fix that. You met some cool people tonight, right? And some of them are your classmates."

"Every time I make friends they get boyfriends and those ditches bitch me. That sucks." She belched.

Tina and Lana giggled.

"I'm your friend now," Tina said. "so you can forget about that."

"You're like the coolest ch... chick in school. How did this happen?"

Lana laughed. "Joe maybe had something to do with it?"

"Oh yeah, Joe." She looked up at him. "He's the best." Betty stumbled. Joe held her up. "Did you know he made me senior class president?"

Tina rolled her eyes. "Of course he did."

"I'm serious. He's the best. I mean, look at him..." She looked up again. "such a hunk."

Tina and Lana cracked up. Lana pushed Joe to make sure they made eye contact as she giggled over Betty's confession. She leaned in and whispered. "Betty has a crush on you, so cute."

"Okay," Joe said, as they approached her building. "Let's get you upstairs. Do you have a key?" Betty fished in her pocket and gave Joe her key.

Lana put her hand out. "Hand it over. You wait here. We'll handle this."

Tina elbowed Joe. "We wouldn't want Betty to get busted for having a hunk in her room."

They cracked up again as Lana opened the door and Tina helped Betty inside. They returned minutes later, still snickering at Joe's expense.

"I like her, Joe," Tina said. "I think we need to adopt Betty. Maybe we can change her opinion of my city."

"These should be the best years of her life," Lana said.

"We're gonna fix this. That's my mission." T gave Joe a peck on the cheek. "That's from Betty, she made me promise." She and Lana giggled, delighted with his embarrassment.

Lana leaned against him. "He's Betty's high school crush. I think she wants more than a kiss from Joe."

"What's this crap about you making her class president?" Tina asked.

"I don't know what she's talking about. She's fucking drunk."

---- ALPHA MAN ----

Marty was a mild-mannered man, mostly quiet, thoughtful, and soft-spoken, but he had this other side Joe was becoming acquainted with. He was impatient, eager to get Joe and the guys in his studio to record their original music, and getting a little hen-pecky about it. The band had been back together for nearly three months, and Marty wanted to get down to the business of recording. Sitting in his sound room, he pressed on.

"I've heard your songs, Joe," Marty said. "You're ready. I don't know what you're waiting for."

"I'm letting them percolate. Simon and I work on these things. Then we give Sal and Nate a chance to try some rhythm to find something that works. The thing is, what we start with is very different from what we're playing a month later. We take it on the road and things happen. The songs evolve. I don't want to record half-baked compositions."

"How do you know when they're fully baked?"

Joe shrugged. "You just know... but even then you might change something minor. This Alpha Man song I wrote, I first penned those lyrics in eleventh grade, more than two years ago. I was stuck forever, needing one more stanza of lyrics, and it finally came to me after the Russians invaded Afghanistan."

"Sometimes you have to shit or get off the pot," Marty said. "You don't have to release what we record. If you came in here and spent a few days recording the songs you feel are close, you'll have a reference point to work from. Once you listen to your music on playback, you'll be surprised at what you hear that maybe you don't notice playing live. Recording yourself and listening is a huge step in figuring out your sound."

Joe reached over and picked up his Butterscotch Tele off his guitar stand. He flipped on his amp and waited. He plucked a few strings, turned a tuner, and picked again. "Simon will be here soon. We'll see what he thinks."

He flipped the toggle on his Big Muff fuzz pedal and played dark, brooding power chords, something Black Sabbath might write, and angrily sang the missing verse to his song.

"Alpha Man, alpha man, the Soviets took Afghanistan

You'll fund the war to even the score

But your guns and bombs only kill the poor."

He banged away, singing a stanza about alpha jocks, and another on alpha politicians and finally religious leaders. When he finished, he looked up at Marty. "That's two years' work played in two minutes."

"But that's good," Marty smiled. "You have the angry punk tone and the lyrics are good. You should be recording these songs and then let them percolate. You might find some are closer than you think."

"Simon says my songs are too angry...." Joe paused. "Not angry, some are, but Simon thinks my songs are too serious."

Simon heard Joe say this as he walked into the room. "Damn right they are," he nodded hello to Marty. "For a runny-nosed kid, you're awfully cheesed off with the world." He turned to Marty. "Everything he writes is about greed, corruption, war, and injustice, and after a while, I want to slit my wrists. It's so bloody depressing." He set his guitar case down.

Joe made his village idiot voice, "Maybe we need another song about sex, drugs, and rock & roll. How about a headbanger about big titties and cute asses?" He turned earnest. "Anyone can write vacuous, inane lyrics about partying. I'm not against it, but I don't want to be in that band. Who are the best songwriters? What music makes you think? Protest music from the sixties, Bob Marley, and punk rock giving the middle finger to the fucked up system we suffer in."

Simon laughed and glanced at Marty, "Bob Dylan Junior wants to write meaningful, important songs."

"Fuck off, Simon. I just don't care to be a brainless twit writing foolish songs with moronic lyrics." He took a deep breath. "Look, you know I'm not above silliness. Look at the shit I do on stage. I'm a fucking clown, but that's not all I am. Someday that clown act is gonna get old and the only thing left behind will be the music I wrote and recorded. I don't want to be seen as the fool when it's all said and done."

"I like Vomit Comet," Simon smirked. "That's a fun song and the one about pocket protectors and shirts buttoned up to the neck...what's that called?"

"I don't have a title. It's just an idea I'm kicking around," he looked at Marty, imagining he was a nerdy kid. "I'm not making fun of nerds..." he paused. "Okay, maybe I am a little, but the song ends saying the nerds will be your boss, get rich, or become president. In the end, the smart kids win."

"Ya see?" Simon chuckled. "even when he writes a daft song, he has to slip a message in there."

"And those are the best songs!" Joe practically shouted.

"Take it easy," Marty said. "We're just talking." He looked at Simon. "I'm trying to convince him to record your originals so you can listen to your work and go forward from there. You're not making an album yet, but you might learn some things and find a path forward by understanding where you are today."

"Sounds brill to me," Simon said. "He's holding us back in his pursuit of perfection."

"How many songs do you have, Joe?" Marty asked.

Joe exhaled. A moment passed. "I don't even know. We had a handful we played here and there when Johnny was in the band. Simon and I have added more. We're over a dozen and I have at least twenty more in various stages of..."

"Pfft. Fucking bullocks!" Simon scoffed. "You have twenty more songs I've yet to hear?"