All The Young Punks Pt. 33

---- I'm dropping quick back-to-back chapters because this is where I feel the story gets procedural, business-building. I'm plowing through that. Stan is one of my favorite supporting characters. ----

It seemed that Stan Greenbaum wasn't fully on board with Joe's plan to start their own record label. He did the work, looking into the steps required to achieve that goal, but he had another plan. After the band completed three more days of live recording, locking down fifteen original songs and three of the band's most popular covers, Nate and Sal went back to Providence. The band was preparing for another tour, from Maine to Philadelphia, where a new venue awaited them. Stan pitched his idea to Joe in Marty's office.

"I have a meeting with RCA. If you could just set aside your bias and take this meeting with me, we might land you a deal."

"My bias is based in fact," Joe said. "Those fuckers will try to screw my band." He steeled his eyes. "I will not give up publishing rights to my music, and that's what record labels want."

"I explained to my guy that you have an issue with the big studious, a mistrust. He said everything is negotiable. I'd like to take this meeting before you get back on the road."

"Except everything is not negotiable. I'm keeping the rights to my music. Everything I've read about this fucked up system tells me they won't do business unless they own the master recordings. I will never give them that."

"I humored you by looking into starting a label. Can you at least do the same for me and take this meeting?"

Joe thought for a moment. He didn't like the word 'humored'. Maybe Stan wasn't taking his idea seriously. He glanced at Marty, then back to Stan. "Okay. I'll attend your meeting. What did you find out about starting a label?"

"It's not difficult," Stan said. "It's actually pretty straightforward." He looked at Marty who then slid some papers to Joe. "I called a lawyer friend. Irving spent forty years in the business. He gave me everything I needed. Completing these state forms is the first step."

Joe flipped through a few pages of documents, none completed. "How long will it take from sending in these forms to having a company?"

"It's all paperwork and filing. It could be a month. There are fees to incorporate in the state of New York, it's called a franchise tax, but it's not too much."

"I say we fill these out and get the ball rolling."

"So you are serious." Stan said. "What about the meeting with RCA?"

"We work on parallel tracks," Joe said, handing the documents back to Marty. "Then we decide what direction we take when we reach the fork in the road."

They spent the rest of that meeting completing the forms. Joe did more listening than talking as the older men with experience in business discussed the idea of owning a new company.

"What's the address of our company?" Marty asked.

"This place," Joe made a 'duh' expression. "Seventh Avenue, Chelsea."

When they completed the documents, Joe looked up at Marty. "What's the deal with airplay, any luck?"

"Nothing."

"I'm telling you, Marty... college radio."

---- DUMB PUNK ----

Throughout the last road trip, Joe had something nagging in the back of his mind. It was a troubling issue that was growing into a bigger concern after he returned to the city. He sat in the living room of 3C, watching an old Bogart film he loved, The Big Sleep. He had been mostly quiet since arriving two days before. Tina noticed and sensed something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You've been very quiet."

Joe looked into the kitchen, Lana was making herself a snack. This wasn't the time or place to discuss his problem. "I'm fine." He remained focused on the film.

"You don't seem fine. You've barely spoken."

"Sometimes you tell me I talk too much," he said, finally looking up. "Especially when I'm talking about band business. Other times you say I'm too quiet. That's just how I am."

Tina stared at him.

"Is there a certain number of words per day I should speak that you're comfortable with? If there is, let me know."

"Joe," her hands found her hips. "Why the attitude? What the hell is going on?"

He looked to his right. Lana looked back, sensing drama was about to unfold. He sighed, wishing she would go to her room. She stood there. snacking on cheese and crackers, eavesdropping. Joe thought, 'fuck it. She'll probably take my side.'

He turned the television off. "Remember when you got home from your birthday dinner and I was shitfaced?"

"Yes. I was not pleased. You were sloppy drunk."

He exhaled. "Do you want to know why?"

"I didn't know there was a reason you got drunk. We had just had a fun week camping."

Joe shook his head, "And you can't think of anything that may have upset me?"

Tina thought for a moment, "No. I can't."

"How about the fact that after a year together... I've never met your family. We had just gotten back from a great trip and you ran home for your birthday. You didn't even consider inviting me. Are you ashamed of me or is there some other..."

"No!" she interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't think you....'

"Stop!" He said loudly. "You asked me what's wrong and I'm telling you. Let me finish."

Tina took a seat on the couch beside him. She glanced at Lana, wishing she hadn't brought this up in front of her roommate. Lana retreated to her room. Joe watched her door close.

"Give me one good reason I haven't met your parents. They live a half hour away. You go home all the time. Not once have you invited me. What do you expect me to think? I'm just a high school flunkie and dumb punk. You think your parents wouldn't approve of me." He paused. "That's what I think."

Tina was shocked, staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. It was her turn to speak and she was without words. They sat in an awkward silence. She leaned to hug him, Joe put his hand against her shoulder. He wasn't having it. A hug wasn't fixing this.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know this was a problem."

"How can it not be?" He said. "I know how. You never considered it. Taking me home to meet your family never entered your mind. Either that or you have some reason I'm not aware of. I know it's not your family, so it has to be me."

"That's not true. I love you and I'm proud of you. I'm happy to be with you. You know that, Joe. My family is just..." she struggled to explain. "They can be judgy, especially my Mom."

"So you have thought about it... and I don't measure up."

"That's not what I said."

"How would they judge me? Let me guess. I didn't go to college. I'm younger than you. I'm a musician. Parents don't want their daughters dating low-life, uneducated, fucking musicians."

"That is not fair."

"A dumb punk rock musician... the fucking worst!"

Tina didn't know what to say. Her eyes welled up. She knew she had no words to explain why a year had passed and she never brought Joe home, at least no words that would satisfy him. She had never seen him this upset with her, and she didn't like it. There was only one reply that might help. She tried to hold back her tears.

"I'll take you home this weekend. I promise."

"Fuck that!" He said, standing up and looking down at her. "Now? I had to be a little bitch about it for you to act? No." He shook his head. "I'm in no mood for it."

Joe grabbed his leather, "I'm going out." He opened the door and walked out.

Tina sat stunned. The tears came. Lana emerged from her room and went to her. She sat beside Tina, saying nothing at first. Lana hugged her.

"I know he just said some hurtful shit," Lana said. "And maybe he's overreacting... but he's not wrong."

"I know," Tina wept.

"Now you can't bring him home without it looking like he forced you. You fucked up and now you can't win, even when you do the right thing."

"I know."

The next day was Joe's meeting with Stan and his guy at RCA. He had gotten home late after his first fight with Tina, drunk again, and slept on the sofa. When she tried to get him to come to bed, he refused. She left him alone. In the morning, Joe was up, showered, and gone before she was out of bed.

Joe was already going into this meeting skeptical, with a bad attitude. After last night's drama, he was in no mood for bullshit. That's precisely what Roger Goodman at RCA was dealing, the typical record company bullshit.

After the meeting, Joe fumed in the elevator, not wanting to make a scene in front of strangers. Stan stood silently by his side. When the door opened, Joe walked briskly through the lobby and out to the street. When Stan caught up, Joe let him have it.

"Did you really believe that mother fucker was going let us keep the masters? Of course not. You let him listen to that first demo, not the best recording, but he tells me it's great. Then he has the balls to say we should record all our songs with his team, in his studio. Why? So they can control everything, keep the masters, and publishing rights."

Stan stood quietly as passersby noticed the young punk barking at the old man. He exhaled. "I'm sorry. Roger assured me they would negotiate fairly with you. He likes your music. I believe him."

"You once called record execs snakes in suits. They lie all the time. Why would you think that asshole was different?"

"I've known Roger for many years. He's never wronged me."

"I bet he's wronged a bunch of bands. He thinks I'm some dumb punk who's an easy mark. All he has to do is flash a signing bonus, make some big promises, and I'll drool all over the contract signing my life away. Fuck him. That money is nothing. We make that in one road trip, at dive bars!"

Joe turned and started walking. Stan followed and caught up. They walked a block before Joe spoke again. This time with no anger.

"I'm sorry, Stan. I know you tried to take the conventional route, but that's not the road we're gonna travel. I'm sorry I yelled at you. That was my frustration pouring out. It's not your fault record execs are sleazy. That's the world you know, and I get it, but I have other ideas."

Joe stopped at a crosswalk to wait for a light. He put his hand out. "Do you accept my apology? I didn't mean to take this out on you. I'm sorry."

Stan took Joe's hand. "It's okay, kid. We need to discuss these ideas you keep talking about. I'm all ears."

"I'm taking the train home tomorrow to see my sisters. Let's set up a meeting for after this road trip; you, Marty, and the band. We need to discuss this record label idea."

"Are you hungry?" Stan asked as they crossed the street.

"Yes," Joe said. "I am."

"Marty's meeting me for deli. Would you like to join us?"

"Are we going to that shitty place on the Upper West Side?"

"Ya know," Stan said, as he walked down the subway station stairs. "I was just about to say if there's one thing you're not, it's a dumb punk. And then you had to ruin it by saying dumb punk shit."

Joe and Tina had a long talk that night. It was emotional but there was no high drama, no tears, just apologies. She apologized for never taking Joe home to meet the parents. He apologized for handling it so poorly and being a little bitch about it. She said she understood. If the roles were reversed, she might feel the same. The makeup sex was pretty amazing. Joe was on the early train to Providence.

---- CELEBRITY RV ---

The band's Interstate 95 route now extended from Portland to Philadelphia with three new venues, two in New Jersey. Joe included them in their last run down the coast during the summer. Sitting in the parking lot of their venue in Hampton Beach, eating take-out burgers before their gig, Simon made an observation.

"The Minnow is like the fifth member of the band. Everywhere we go she attracts attention." He gestured to a group of young ladies coming their way.

"That's the best thing about her," Nate said. "She's a babe magnet." He waved at the girls.

The RV had changed the band's routine. In the past, they'd dine at restaurants before going to the venue. Now they ordered take-out, parked outside the club, and waited for their friends to arrive. This was how Simon met most fans during his first tours.

"Hey, guys," a cute blonde smiled. "How's it going?"

"Great," Nate smiled and stood to greet them. "I'm Nate."

"Yeah, we know," a brunette said. "We met last time you were here."

Sal laughed, "You can't expect him to remember every chick he meets on the road."

The band set up their folding table and chairs before every gig and chatted with patrons as they stopped by to say hello. If Nate or Sal saw a girl they fancied, they'd invite them back for an after-party. Simon was less of a dog, but not above an occasional hookup. Joe was a good boy, friendly with the young ladies who flirted but well-behaved. It was not easy.

The brunette walked up close to him. "Hi Joe," she smiled. "I have a question."

"What's up, Jess?"

She looked at Nate. "He remembers us." Then she turned back to Joe. "How do you decide who to pick for the dance contest?"

Joe sipped his drink and stood up. "I look for cute girls who are already dancing and having a good time, assuming they won't be shy."

"Do you ever accept requests?"

"Requests to dance on stage?"

"Yes," she leaned against him. "I want one of your shirts."

"Oh," he nodded. "This is a formal request?"

"Yes," she said blushing. "I'd also like to see your RV. Can you show me?"

He pointed behind him. "There she is, the SS Minnow."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean inside."

Nate, Sal, and Simon looked at one another. Joe's road-girl dilemma was entertainment for his bandmates. They enjoyed watching him navigate awkward situations with flirty girls. It didn't happen at every gig, but Joe fending off the advances of drunk girls was common.

Joe waved her in, then followed, checking out her very cute ass as she stepped up. The Minnow tour took less than a minute. When he finished talking, she made her move, getting close to Joe, placing a hand on his chest, looking up, her big blue eyes met his.

"I have a girlfriend," He stepped back. "I'm sorry."

"Where is she?"

"Manhattan."

"And you're here, all alone."

"Yes," he said, making his way around her. "But I don't fool around. I'll pick you for the contest if you're up front." Joe waved a hand towards the door. "But you'll have to win to get a shirt."

"Does your girlfriend know you wrestle girls every night?"

"Of course she does. She's seen many shows."

Disappointed Jessica rejoined her friends, whispering. The band relished in Joe's awkward suffering. As the girls waved and walked away, the guys snickered.

"Did she make a move?" Simon asked.

"Yup."

"I don't know how you do it, man," Sal said. "She's so hot... and so into you."

"She wants your shirt," Nate said. "Or something more."

"That bird needs a rescue," Simon smiled. "Maybe she'd like some proper treatment after you hurt her feelings with your cold rejection."

"I didn't hurt her."

"She's looking back at you," Nate said. "I think Simon's right."

Nate walked over to the car the three girls were standing beside. He chatted them up for a minute. When he put his arm around Jess, she pulled back. Joe smiled as Nate went down in flames. A minute later, he returned, a jilted man.

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Nothing."

"Exactly," Joe smiled. "There's no substitution for Joey...the real thing."

"Oh, fuck off!" Nate pushed him.

"You gotta be kidding me," Sal laughed.

"Wanker," Simon added.

"Go ahead," Joe pointed toward the girls. "Take your shot."

"She's not my type," Sal said.

"I know. She has taste."

The Minnow had become a celebrity RV. There were evenings when they pulled into a venue's parking lot and fans would be waiting. They waved and followed the RV into the lot. The Winnebago Brave gave them shelter, a comfy ride, and a front porch to hang out wherever they parked it; at beach pavilions, record shops, campgrounds, and hotels they used a few times per week for showering and hygiene. The RV got a little gamey after two days without showers. Once a week, four punks would sit in a laundromat for hours spooking old ladies who didn't like the looks of them.

Road trips were never easy but The Minnow made them easier.

The new gig in New Jersey was at The Stone Pony, a beach bar in Asbury Park where Bruce Springsteen got his start. It was a large club, over 800 capacity, with a flat rate. Joe wasn't thrilled with that deal but he wanted to play this venue. The late-season beach crowd was rowdy. There was a fight in the middle of the set. The band played through it. It wasn't a punk crowd but it was still a decent gig.

Club Lido was a beach bar not very close to the Atlantic City boardwalk. It sat on grassy dunes north of the main strip, a little off the beaten path. It was a good room but not a great crowd. The sideshow did well at both venues but Joe didn't feel the love. Maybe next time.

The final stop on the trip was The Navy Yard in Philadelphia. It was a cavernous warehouse adjacent to the Naval shipyard. It surpassed Gravesend as the largest venue the band had performed in. The Young Punks took a backup role to a popular local act, Pennyhill. Joe accepted that role because he suspected the home band would draw a larger crowd. He was correct.

With only seventy-five minutes to work with, Joe packed the set with two singalongs, a dance contest, and Name That Tune, a bit they'd been working on for a year trying to perfect it. The crowd went nuts when a large, drunk, redhead roughed Joe up after winning the dance contest. He selected her thinking the cute brunette would easily win, but the linebacker had many friends in the audience. When Joe explained that she had to take his tee shirt off his back, a shirt she would never fit in, she grabbed him, pulled his head down, and used her weight to subdue Joe. On the stage floor, he squirmed and struggled as she slapped and threw elbows.

When it ended, with Joe a mess and Debbie walking off with his I Love New York shirt, he stepped up to the mic. "I've had my ass kicked a few times doing this bit, punched in the balls, slapped in the face, and my hair pulled... but this was the worst."

Late in the set, he chose a couple to compete in Name That Tune. One member of the band would play his part in a popular song; drums, bass, or guitar. The contestants had to guess the song. The first one was easy. Once Sal thumped his bass with a handful of notes. The young lady grabbed the mic from Joe.

"Psycho Killer!"

"Correct!" Joe took the mic back and held it out. Grabbing the mic from his hand first was the buzzer. "Okay Mike, your girl is up one in a best of three. The pressure is on." He pointed at Simon.

Si played the opening to another hit. Jenny grabbed the mic again. "Ain't Talkin' Bout Love!"

"We have a winner!" Joe held Jenny's arm up.

She hugged him.

"What do I win?"

"Well, you just won the pants in this relationship after emasculating your boyfriend, and you get a tee shirt... but I'm not wrestling." Joe then produced three shirts for her to choose from.

It was a good set, the crowd was great, but what made Joe most happy was the manager, Kristen, pulling him aside after the band broke down their gear.

"I don't know what that was," she said, "but they liked it. Do you guys wanna come back next month?"

"I have the next six weeks booked, but after that," Joe said. "Definitely... if we can be the headliner."

Kristen scrunched her nose, then exhaled. "Cover bands don't usually headline here. We can talk later, maybe I'll put up three bands. Is that okay?"

"Hey, we just played six of our originals in that set, and we have more."

"I'll see what I can do."

"You don't want anyone following the sideshow."

She smiled and pointed at members of Pennyhill taking the stage. "Yeah, they already complained."