All The Young Punks Pt. 31

"Yeah, about that."

"Piss off. You're nineteen. How the fuck do you have... what, thirty songs?"

"I've been writing lyrics since I was fourteen. Some of it's rubbish, but I have some good stuff. As I said, they're in various stages of development. Some are only lyrics. Others have melodies and chords. I just haven't gotten around to showing you what I have."

"That settles it," Marty said. "We're going to record everything you have played live thus far. If the band knows it, we record it. After that, maybe we can polish some of those unfinished songs. You won't know what you have until you put it down and give it a listen."

Simon and Joe exchanged a glance. Marty had broken the stalemate. Joe surrendered. Marty turned to Simon. "How many songs have you written?"

"Eight."

Joe laughed, "You fucking Limey slacker!' He slapped his knee. "A lot of good that NYU music degree is doing you." He smirked, then said quietly. "Oh, that's right, it's only a minor degree."

"Piss off, Joe."

Marty snickered at their bickering. "What the hell is a Vomit Comet?"

"That's a song I wrote on a city bus back home," Joe said. "A drunk puked all over and jumped off at the next stop. I never did anything with it until after I rode the subway and suffered all the bad smells New Yorkers make."

"It's a song full of shit, piss, puke, and body odor." Simon smiled. "It's daft, but it's also clever."

*****

Joe contacted Sal and Nate in Providence to set up a date for them to return to the city for recording. Two days later, the band was together at Cohen Studio. Their first day recording in the studio did not go well. They were all rookies, even Simon. Marty showed them how they were micing their amps incorrectly and explained a few basics they did not know. He mic'd up Nate's drum kit, explaining himself as he did.

The band warmed up with some of their standard instrumentals, Hawaii Five-O and Pipeline, surf rock classics. Marty watched from the booth. When they began playing Joe's originals, they played okay, but Joe felt it was flat. Sal and Nate shrugged, thinking it was fine. Simon thought Joe was being a perfectionist.

"First day in a recording session and this tosser expects Abbey Road."

"He's right, Joe," Marty said. "That was fine, it takes a while to get the feel. Just keep playing and don't worry about how good you think it is."

They played straight through the eleven songs the band knew well, and a few they didn't. Then Joe whipped out Alpha Man, trying to get the song down, but the guys could not find the brooding tone Joe wanted."

"It's not a punk song," Joe said. "It's darker and slower, like heavy metal."

"Why?" Sal asked. "That's not what we do."

"Because that's what I wrote and that's what I hear in my head." He pointed at his temple. "Not everything up here is punk."

After another attempt, Joe decided he had enough and called it a day. He was more interested in hanging out with Tina and Lana than struggling in the studio. He had plans to make the girls dinner. Marty seemed encouraged by the work they did. After hearing playback on a few songs, Joe was less enthusiastic.

"Is that what we sound like?"

*****

While making one of Tina's favorites, Kraft Mac & Cheese with Italian sausage and pepperoncini... a dish invented by Joe in a pinch, he complained about his bad day at the office. Tina and Lana listened as he served them.

"Maybe you should just chill the fuck out and listen to your friends," Lana said. "Just play like you do on stage. It is what it is."

"It sounds like you're the only one with a problem," Tina added.

"Shit," Joe said under his breath. "Play like I do on stage."

"What?"

"The studio is too stiff. I need to loosen up like I'm on stage, and just have fun."

"That's all in your head," Lana said, taking her first forkful of cheesy elbows. "How many times have you played these songs? Just shut up and play."

*****

The following day, Joe walked in as if this were a gig, ready to go to work. He busted Simon's balls for being late. He was more at ease, just going with the flow on day two. It made for a better session. A tall older gentleman walked into the control room while the band tweaked their sound. Marty and the distinguished gentleman talked while the band went through their set of originals, again, all eleven, plus a few half baked songs. After they finished, Marty keyed his mic into the sound room.

"Hey Joe, can you do me a favor and play You're So Vain."

Joe looked at his bandmates and nodded. Sal led them into the song with his bass notes. As Joe belted out the lyrics in his bitter tone of contempt, the old man smiled and slapped Marty on the back. When that song ended, Marty leaned into his mic.

"How about Nancy Sinatra?"

The band played Boots. Again, their version of an old hit brought a smile to the old man.

--- ART BALL ---

Near the very end of her NYU semester, Tina had a request. She asked Joe to accompany her to an event at NYU. It was a fundraiser for a summer program for inner-city youth run by the Studio Arts department. He had been to a couple of minor cocktail party-type fundraisers with T. This was bigger.

"The last two summers I volunteered to work with kids in the Creative Youth Program. It's like a day camp for children K through middle school. We provide art supplies and instruct them. Sometimes it's like a babysitting job, but the kids are great."

"And what's this Art Ball?"

"CYP begins right after public schools break for the summer. This is our major fundraising event. We have a government grant but most money comes from alumni and faculty donations."

"And you need a date?"

"Yes. Unless you want me to dance with wealthy alumni men." She smiled.

"Dancing?"

"Yes. It's dinner and dancing and I have to give a speech."

"Really? You're a student. Why you?"

"I was named student chairwoman for the upcoming school year."

The Art Ball was an evening event, with suits and ties, dresses, and gowns. Joe didn't own a suit. He was planning to buy one but T insisted he borrow one of her dad's suits. She claimed they were near identical builds.

"I can buy myself a suit," he said. "It's not about the money. I can buy five."

"We don't have time for that. The ball is tomorrow. I'm too busy to shop with you."

"You think I can't buy a suit on my own?"

Tina paused, looked him in the eye, but didn't answer. She stood by the door with her keys in her hand. "Let's go."

"If we have time to drive to Brooklyn I think we have time to shop for a suit."

"I'm going home to get my gown. Mom hemmed it for me. I can't do both, drive to Brooklyn and go shopping with you."

Joe exhaled. "Wearing someone else's clothes is kinda creepy." He reached for his jacket and moved toward the door.

"No, it's not. It'll be fine."

As they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge en route to her childhood home, Joe was nervous. He had not met Tina's parents and this errand felt wrong to him. He would meet Mom and Dad and then awkwardly try on her father's clothes. Gross.

"Tell me about Marine Park," he said. "Was it a good place to grow up?

"Definitely. My dad grew up in Flatbush, playing on the street. He vowed to raise his family in a neighborhood with grass and trees. We live directly across the street from a park. There are basketball courts, baseball fields, and walking trails that go through a salt marsh all the way to Jamaica Bay."

"Is it a ritzy part of town?"

"No, but it's a nice area. The homes are modest, we have a small backyard, but any yard in Brooklyn is a luxury. The park was also ours."

Navigating through Flatbush on their way to Marine Park, Joe got to see the contrast between where John Costello was raised versus where he raised his family. In her neighborhood, neat little single-family homes, nearly all brick construction, lined the streets. All had driveways, some had garages. He didn't see many of those in Flatbush or Manhattan. She zig-zagged down a few streets pointing out things she thought he should see, including Lana's childhood home her parents had recently sold.

"This is us, Fillmore Street, and that's my park."

"You don't own it, dear."

She smiled. "In my heart I do."

They pulled into the driveway of a neat-as-a-pin brick house across from the park. It was a lovely home. There were no cars present.

"Mom's still at her shop. She has a wedding tomorrow. Dad's at the Met's game with Jack and my uncles."

"Oh, I was nervous," he said. "I thought maybe..."

"It just happened this way. I told Dad I needed to come by to borrow a jacket for an event. He said okay, but he'd be at the game."

Joe was suddenly disappointed and surprised that he was. As they walked through the Costello home, he took in everything; the furniture, decor, knick-knacks, and family photos.

"Oh my God, you had braces. You never told me that."

"I hate my middle school photos."

Because Mom was a florist, there were floral arrangements on the dining room table and in the kitchen. She kept a spotless home, not like Joe's family home, where bedlam ruled.

"I'm not comfortable in your parent's bedroom trying on your dad's clothes."

"Don't be silly. Here, try this on." She handed him a pressed shirt.

"No, seriously, this is creepy. I can buy a suit."

"Will you stop it? We don't have time. Just try this on."

Ten minutes later he was standing in front of a mirror fully decked out in her dad's clothing. The only thing he owned were the boxer briefs. He looked good but felt like crap.

"The pants are high waters," he protested, looking down at his feet. "Your Dad is clearly shorter than me."

"Not by much." She looked down. "They're fine."

That weekend was a one-two punch of disappointment. First, there was the trip to Marine Park where Joe thought he was about to meet the Costellos. The ride back to Manhattan was quiet as he contemplated how much longer he should wait until he forced the issue. They'd been dating for nearly ten months and not once did she mention Joe meeting her family. He never made an issue of it, but he wondered why.

Then came the Art Ball, the second blow to his ego.

His first and biggest gala impression was Tina in a lavender evening gown. His jaw hit the floor. She was stunning. Purple was definitely her color. Lana took a photo of them with Tina's Nikon. As Joe looked in the mirror, he felt like they were a different couple.

The event was held in a large function room decorated by the art department to resemble a grand ballroom. Joe was impressed by the set decoration. The moment she arrived, NYU people descended on Tina; classmates, faculty, wealthy alumni, and local business people. The supporters of the Creative Youth Program all wanted a piece of her.

At first, she attempted to introduce Joe to the colleagues and friends she mingled with, but the onslaught made it impossible. He stepped back and observed Tina handle her admirers. Some were older men she could have charmed the pants off. When the barrage ended, she took him by the arm.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Sheesh, Marilyn Monroe would be jealous of that attention. It wasn't this bad at the cocktail thing we did."

"That was before my appointment," she shrugged. "These are my people, the artsy weirdos of NYU. Some of them run the Manhattan art world. There's serious wealth in this room."

"And you're here to take some."

"I'm not taking anything. I'll smile, flatter the whales, maybe flirt, and they'll happily hand over fat checks they'll later claim on their taxes."

"Whales?"

"The wealthy."

"I've seen this act before."

"That cocktail party was nothing."

The dinner conversation was not fun but he learned things. At their table, Tina introduced Joe to the two wealthy couples and two art faculty singles. While Tina was busy schmoozing nearby, an older woman explained to him that Tina getting the student chair position was unusual.

"That post traditionally goes to a senior," she leaned closer, "but the senior class doesn't have a suitable candidate."

"How much work is it?"

"It's not so much work as it is..." she gestured toward Tina. "It's her personality and ability to mingle with the alumni. Tina is beautiful and delightful."

"And that opens checkbooks."

"Exactly."

When their dinner companions asked what he did. Joe told them he was in a band. They asked what kind of music. The words punk rock abruptly ended that conversation. Joe was entirely out of his element while Tina was in full control.

Joe had the uncomfortable realization that he was in love with someone he knew far less about than he thought, and she was indeed out of his league. To him, she was a cute, funny, quirky, sexy, passionate young woman. Sometimes she was overly sensitive and awkward, almost clumsy. Joe loved that side of her. On this night, he saw a version of Tina he was not fully aware of. He had only seen it in small doses.

He witnessed her charm in full display as she worked the crowd, making men and women smile, laugh, and hand over their money. From a distance, he watched her move gracefully from one

group to another. She tossed her hair back as she laughed. Joe also noticed other men watching her too. There was an elegance in Tina he hadn't fully appreciated. Joe knew her charm intimately, but her grace was a revelation.

Standing by the bar, making conversation with the lady bartender, Joe saw a familiar face smiling at him from twenty feet away. Gail Mortensen walked toward him. He immediately saw something in her that resembled Tina, the way she carried herself, as if she was being watched and enjoyed it. Gail was being watched, by Joe and a few men nearby.

She was slender with a blue strapless dress that showed her gentle curves, also like Tina. Her hair was up. Joe thought he'd like to see Gail with her brunette hair down. He imagined beautiful flowing hair.

Gail smiled as she approached, "Please forgive me for saying this, but did Tina dress you?"

"Is it that fucking obvious?"

"Only to the people who know you," she smiled with her hand out.

It took Joe a moment to realize what she wanted. He took her hand, leaned in, and kissed the ring. And he felt his dick getting hard like it did the first time he hung out with Mrs. Mortensen.

"It's lovely to see you, Joe. I was hoping you would be here. Do you have any idea how big Tina's new position is?"

"I've been told."

"Not enough. Can I buy you a drink?" She asked with a smile.

"It's an open bar."

"That's the joke."

"Sure, dirty martins again?"

"Yes, I like it dirty," she smiled with her eyes then turned to the bartender. "Two dirty martinis."

"So, I hear you and your band have been through some... changes. Are you okay?"

"And where do you hear this if not from Tina?"

"I don't reveal sources. I know things about people I care about and the people they care about. Do you know what I mean?"

"Sure. You care about Tina so you dig up information on me."

Gail laughed and stepped closer to Joe. "There's no digging." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. Her hand found his. "You're not that mysterious, hon. You're a performer."

Joe was not sure how to take that. Was it a passive-aggressive dig? He didn't think so because Gail clearly liked him. He didn't react. He was intrigued by not knowing what Gail was up to. She held his hand, for no reason, as they waited for drinks.

Gail looked into his eyes. "Did Tina tell you about our lunch?"

"She mentioned it."

"Not really then." Gail reached for her martini as it was being slowly pushed across the bar. Joe noticed her rings and bracelet. He then looked at her necklace. She had a long elegant neck, a gazelle.

Joe's martini followed. He held it up to Gail. "Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Mortensen."

Gail made a stern face. "If you ever call me that again, I'll kick you in the balls."

"Oh," Joe leaned back. "I thought that was your name."

"It is, for some people." She took his hand again and led Joe away from the bar. "Call me Gail. We're friends. I have a good feeling about you Joe. Tina loves you and I think you make a good team, a pair of creatives."

"I think she's a little more than that," Joe said, gesturing toward Tina across the room. "She's a star in this room."

Tina looked over and saw Joe with Gail. She made a kissy face at Joe. Gail saw it, looked up at Joe, and smiled. "You two are adorable, but you must lose this suit. Next time, put your foot down and wear your leather."

"Seriously?"

"Look around," Gail gestured to the patrons of the arts. "Not everyone has a jacket. Some arrived a bit frumpy if you ask me." She leaned closer to Joe. "Be yourself. The best people will admire that about you."

"Tina is gonna hate you for putting that in my head because that's already how I feel. I hated wearing a suit." Joe used her hand to pull Gail closer as they strolled amongst patrons. "Did you know this is her Dad's suit?"

Gail looked up at Joe, shaking her head.

"I could buy my own suit, but she insisted I borrow this... politician's suit."

Gail laughed, putting her hand over her mouth, and leaning against Joe. "You realize her father is a city councilman, yes?"

"Of course," Joe smiled. "If I hear the term Kennedy Democrat one more time I'm gonna scream."

"Oh, do you have a problem with Kennedy Democrats?"

"Not at all," Joe said firmly. "But can they stop reminding us? It's the same with the Christian conservatives, always with the camps and the labels; liberal, right-wing. It's all so tedious and none of them can run the country."

"Tina told me about your independent streak."

"Well, I don't join cults or parties. If someone asks me to join a club, I immediately know it's not for me."

"What if it's a good cause?"

"I can support a cause and not be in the club. When I'm in a room where everyone agrees, I get nervous. I like my world to be different from what I already think. How can you learn from people you always agree with?"

"So," Gail changed the subject. "In our little world, this student chairwoman position is very prestigious. If you look around this room there are at least two dozen alumni who held that post during their senior year at NYU. Tina is the first junior to be appointed. She may become the first two-year chairwoman. They won't unseat her if she has a great year..." Gail looked up at Joe. "And she will."

"Okay, so what? It's just your little world."

"Yes, but these people all went on to successful careers in the arts, some in business, and they're the cream of the crop."

"And Tina is the cream of the cream."

Gail squeezed his hand. "Now you're getting it."

Joe's short stroll around the ballroom with Gail, enjoying a martini, was the highlight of his night.

Tina was so busy and in such demand that they never had a moment to dance. Late in the evening, a wave of insecurity flowed through him as he stood alone at the bar watching her from afar. "I'm in over my head," he thought. ''What's she doing with a clown like me?' Simon had once said Joe was punching above his weight class. Nate joked that Tina outshined him. Now Joe was seeing it in living color.

After the ball, they walked across Washington Square Park on their way home. Tina was wound up, pleased with how the night went, and excited that they might break a fundraising record. Joe listened but his thoughts were elsewhere.

'Maybe she knows she's better than me. Maybe that's why she hasn't introduced me to her family. I'm just a dumb punk, a high school flunkie. What the fuck is she doing with me?'

It was a sobering weekend.