All The Young Punks Pt. 37

The Young Punks completed the crappy tour route Sheila had booked for them in May 1981. Her second tour, a June road trip, was an improvement. That route concluded at a new venue near the University of Delaware in Newark. Unfortunately, the school semester had just ended. The venue and the crowd were good, but Joe knew they would do better in the fall. Back in the city, he met with his partners at the usual place, Fine & Shapiro on the Upper West Side.

"So why is it we only meet here," Joe asked, "as if this is the only deli in town?"

"Because this is where I eat," Stan said. "I like doing lunch meetings. I'm buying you lunch so I chose the place. You should shut up and stop asking questions you know the answers to."

"How about I buy lunch someday? Do you like tacos?"

"Never had one."

"You've never had a taco. How old are you, like 72?"

Stan didn't answer. He quietly chewed with his mouth closed.

"You've gone seventy years never having a taco. That's crazy. They're amazing."

"I'm not interested."

"Do you eat anything besides deli?"

"He's never had Chinese food," Marty said, "Or Indian."

"I thought you Jews loved Chinese food, especially on Christmas because the Chinese are the only ones open for business."

"I don't eat foreign food. I can barely tolerate Italian."

Joe shook his head and took a long sip of coke, getting a nice bubbly slurp at the end, causing Stan to glare at him. "Doris," Joe held his cup out. "Before Stan has a stroke, can you fill me up?"

"Sure, hon." She took the cup.

"So," Stan got back to business. "Are you okay with Sheila now?"

Joe made a face that contradicted his words. "I guess so. Let's see how she handles the summer. We're playing only beach gigs in July, then I'm on vacation with T."

"Why do you take time off in the best season for business?" Stan asked.

"Because it's the best season for vacation, and it's also Tina's birthday and the week of our anniversary, the 8th and the 11th." Joe ate a French Fry then pointed another at Stan. "Summer is good because when you play gigs at the beach every day is the weekend. People are on holiday. We do great when the kids are at school too. That's our bread and butter for nine months of the year. The beach is a nice change from that."

"Where are you taking Tina?" Marty asked.

"We're going camping again, up around Lake George and the Adirondacks."

"It's nice up there," Marty nodded.

The whole time they were talking Joe was thinking back to Stan's question, are you okay with Sheila. He wasn't, but he also wasn't certain he wanted to burden his partners with his new workplace grievances. He was okay rehashing an old one.

"Every time I walk into her office there's something new there. She spends money like a drunken sailor."

"Like what?" Marty asked.

"All the stuff you have in your office that she could have used at no cost, the desks and chairs, the conference room, and now it's fax machines and copiers. The last time it was a bunch of new plants. She's got a jungle theme going, except her furniture is orange."

"Orange?"

"It's like a burnt orange, not great."

"Look," Stan focused on Joe's eyes. "You need to keep your head in our business, not hers. Sheila isn't spending our money."

Joe took a big bite of brisket. He chewed, staring at the table. "I should gotten the pastrami, this is dry."

"This brisket is not dry!" Stan said. "It's never dry."

"Maybe you just drool so much nothing is dry to you."

Marty chuckled, watching Stan's face turn pink. Joe smirked at the old man. Stan was a known drooler. He smoked cigars and drooled. Joe was just making an observation.

--- ROCK, ROCK, ROCKAWAY BEACH ---

The beach season presented a problem for Joe. They didn't need a week in NYC because they weren't playing those bars. It was strictly sun, sand, and surf all summer. It took Joe two trips to Rockaway Beach with Tina, handing cards to bar managers before he scored a gig. Their second venue in Queens was their only beach bar in New York.

There were familiar faces in the crowd at Riptide, patrons of their other Queens gig. It was a large bar a quarter mile from the sand. The show was new to ninety percent of the beachgoers. Joe picked girls for the dance contest under the condition they had a bikini on. Girls pulled their tee shirts and shorts off to prove eligibility, hands raised, titties bouncing up and down.

"Pick me!" A redhead did the pogo, arms up, big boobs bouncing.

"I'm a great dancer." A blonde yelled.

"I'm a stripper!"

Joe's head jerked to the third girl, a brunette. "Did you say you were a stripper?"

"Yes."

Joe pointed at her, "C'mon down! You're the next contestant on the Punks Chicks Dance Off!" The band played game show rock as Joe admired her perfectly round tits as he helped her on stage. He glanced at Sal and nodded. Sal's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

After both bikini girls were chosen, the band played a fast surf rock song that guaranteed a lot of giggling T&A. The crowd loved it, with smiles on all faces; even the girls putting their clothes back on while the two danced. Sparkle, the stripper chick, won in a cakewalk.

"Is that really your name?" Joe made a doubtful face.

"It's my stage name."

"As your prize for winning the crown!" He declared waving his arm. "You may have the shirt off my back, but... only if you can take it from me."

Some girls take a moment before it registers, others act in a split second, taking Joe by surprise. Sparkle had a handful of Joe's hair in a flash and then put the other hand under his shirt and lifted. She almost set the record for the fastest shirt snatch, but Joe recovered with the nun-ruler defense, hands in pits, arms down, and the fight was on. When Sparkle got him down on the stage floor, Joe reached around and unclasped her bikini top.

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

Sparkle slapped his face for real while her other arm held fabric over her ample breasts. She kneeled on Joe while she retied her top. He squirmed, but it was an act. The moment she had herself together, he reached for the ties again and took a hard punch to the stomach. He surrendered his shirt. The Rockaway Beach crowd went nuts. All was good in the end, Sparkle kissed Joe on the lips, holding his Scooby Do shirt over her head. Titties bouncing up and down.

The bikini rule at beach bars was developed over three summers when girls showed up in bathing suits and Joe saw that as an asset. This was not the first bikini top he'd freed.

Sitting on a beach near Hyannis, MA on Cape Cod, the Minnow parked fifty yards away, Simon looked over at Joe lying on a blanket. "This is the life. We work four hours a night five days a week and get to do this."

Joe looked over, "Do what, hide from the sun?" gesturing to the beach towel over Si's legs, long-sleeved shirt, and wide-brimmed hat.

"I learned my bloody lesson. I enjoy the beach my way." He stood, removed his hat and shirt, and walked toward the ocean. "I'm going in."

The band played from Old Orchard Beach, Maine to Ocean City, Maryland. Those anchor gigs were also new beach venues. They did sixteen gigs in twenty-two days, including another show at Rockaway before Nate and Sal returned to Providence by train.

--- THE WILDERNESS ---

Tina had been talking about this for months. She was not enjoying Joe's road schedule. He was working three weeks each month on 20 and 22-day tours. but also had to spend a few days in Providence with his sisters. As Joe planned their second summer getaway, Tina was excited.

Standing at the top of Fort Ticonderoga, Joe pointed east to the waterway that connects Lake Champlain to The Hudson River Valley tributaries. "This fort was the key to the wilderness," he said. "The British were trying to navigate the rivers to find the passage south, to Albany and then to New York City."

The wind blew Tina's hair sideways. "It's so beautiful up here." She looked at Joe and smiled. "Thank you for this, for taking me places I would never even think to go."

They had camped with The Minnow for two nights in Lake George, very close to the strip, where they played miniature golf, did a mid-day booze cruise on the 32-mile-long lake, and fucked like bunnies afterward. They saw the touristy, commercial side of the Adirondacks region. Today was Joe's history day.

"I've wanted to stand here for so long," Joe said. "We play just down the road, and in Vermont." He pointed east. "I can't justify the detour. I want to get straight to the next gig." He looked at T. "So, the Green Mountain Boys..."

"I just read about Ethan Allen and his boys downstairs."

"But I tell it with more flare. The sneaky patriots crept in under the cover of darkness. They walked right in and captured this vital fort without firing a shot. The redcoats were sleeping on duty, probably knackered. When the British ships sailed around that bend and saw their flag was down, they shit their limey britches and skedaddled." Joe slapped a large cannon. "These guns were aiming right at them manned by patriots."

"I bet you're dying to tell Simon this tale, aren't you?"

Joe nodded. "He hates my colonial history lessons."

"I know the feeling." Tina had rolled her eyes. "Okay, we did your history thingy. What's next?"

Joe pointed at the green blanket to the west with the distant mountains. "The Adirondack wilderness!" He declared. "Adventure!"

As they were driving west. Still in civilization only ten minutes from the fort, Joe added one more thing.

"And those cannons were later dragged in the snow, under blizzard conditions, two hundred miles to Boston where they forced the British fleet out of the harbor."

"Okay," Tina made eye contact. "Enough history."

"The same guns, T."

"I don't have room in my head for all this..." She gasped, "Ice cream! Let's get a cone!" She turned to Joe with a hopeful smile.

Joe shook his head. "You're just like Jeanie... a child."

On the final evening of the trip, the fourth chilly night camping in the wilderness, not a town within twenty miles, Joe was dealing with drama. They just had four great days of hiking, gathering wood, cooking meals on the fire, marshmallows at night, and napping by a lake watching a nesting pair of bald eagles while eating a picnic lunch. The last day went terribly wrong for Tina. After dinner they sat by the fire. She was in a foul mood

"Look, T. I'm laughing because it's funny, not because I'm making fun of you."

"It's the same thing."

"No, it's not."

"I'm not laughing," She said in a huff. "So you're not laughing with me. You're laughing at me."

"It's not that big a deal."

"I'm embarrassed. You humiliated me."

"I did no such thing."

Several hours ago, shortly after noon, they were in the middle of their final hike of the trip. Tina had done so well last year, and better this year, that Joe went for it. A twelve-mile loop trail up a mountain, across a col to a second peak, along a rocky ridge, and down the backside. Then it was an easy hike back around through a valley and forest so thick you lost the sun for long stretches. T had done eight miles on the first hike of the trip, like a trooper, clicking photos of wildlife and scenic vistas, so happy to be out there. Joe felt she could handle twelve.

"The last four miles are all flat," he told her. "We'll stroll back to camp."

On the descent from the ridge, Tina froze in her tracks ten paces in front of Joe. She turned to him, alarm in her eyes. "I have to poop."

"So, poop."

"Out here? In the woods?"

"Where the fuck else are you going to go?"

"Back at camp, the outhouse."

Joe pointed. "That's at least five miles ahead."

"We can run."

"No, you can't run five miles. Just drop your pants and drop the deuce off the trail. I have paper in my pack." He removed his backpack and unzipped a pouch.

"I'm not pooping outdoors. I'm not an animal."

Joe exhaled big. "T, listen to me. Hikers crap in the woods all the time. Nobody likes it, but you gotta do what ya gotta do. You peed on the first hike."

"Number two is different."

"Yes, but it's all the same."

Tina said nothing, she just turned and started hiking fast. Joe slipped his pack back on and followed.

"You said it was easy down there." She pointed into the valley below. "We can run when it's flat."

When they reached the valley floor, a thick green canopy above them, Tina broke into a jog. Joe matched her pace knowing this would not last long. A quarter mile later, she was skipping and hopping her ass moving weirdly as a beast of a turd put pressure on her sphincter.

"T, just take the dump. I can see you're in pain."

"No!" She trudged on.

It took all of Joe's willpower to not burst into laughter at her awkward movements. He knew he'd be murdered in the wilderness, not a witness for miles, if he did. Tina kept moving, but she was losing pace. Finally, she stopped and turned to Joe.

She whined, moving her hips from side to side. "It hurts."

"You have a choice. Shit in the woods... or shit in your pants in the woods."

Tina stared at him. Thinking of that simple logic.

"Oh, he added. Then you have to hike out with a load in your pants..." he started to break, giggling at the thought of her....

"Are you laughing at me?"

"I'm laughing at the situation." He covered his face. "Oh, my God. If you crap in your pants you'll have to clean it." He tittered.

"Give me the goddamn paper!" She lunged her arm out, hand open. "Asshole."

Joe turned sideways. "The zipper is open."

Tina reached inside the pouch, grabbed the roll, and walked six paces into a green wall of a thicket. She turned, "Where do I go?"

"Anywhere you wish." He looked around, then pointed, "Over there, behind that rock and fallen tree."

"That's not private."

"It's the fucking wilderness, T. Just do the deed."

"Here, hold my camera."

Tina walked twenty paces, looked back at Joe, and ducked for cover. He could see her hair above the rock. "Do I take my pants all the way off?" She shouted, then went silent. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God. It's all over the place. Oh, my God!"

"Are you okay?"

"Do not come near me."

"Are you okay?"

"I have a mess to clean."

"How bad?"

"Not good."

"You can leave your panties here if it's that bad. I have a pair of athletic shorts in my pack if you need them."

"I definitely need them."

"Okay. Give me sec. I'll throw them to you."

"Give me some water too."

Joe stifled a laugh, "Why, are you thirsty?"

"Asshole!"

He tittered as he pulled cotton shorts from his bag and walked them over with a bottle of water. "Here they come, over the rock."

Hours later, Joe was dealing with the emotional aftermath of Tina shitting herself in the woods. All day long images of her popped into his head, making him snicker. She caught him hiding his smiles, barely.

She was sitting on a log looking into the campfire. Cold, pitch blackness lurked forty feet away. Joe sat in his low beach chair on the opposite side of the fire. She would not go near him, hurt and embarrassed. Joe stopped saying he was sorry for laughing. He had one card to play.

He got up and went to The Minnow. Her eyes followed him. Hidden where his amp usually goes was a treat. He returned and silently set items on the picnic table. She watched trying to pretend she wasn't. When he produced the long switches they used for mallows the night before, she got up, suddenly interested.

"What's all this?" She pointed at the table. "Are you making smores?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise for our last night but you crapping your pants ruined it... because you're acting like I shit your pants."

Tina stepped closer, a smile curled her lips. "I love smores." She hugged him.

Joe shook his head thinking, 'Just like Jeanie."

--- TWO BANDS, ONE CLUB ---

Two weeks later, the band pulled up to the Knickerbocker Cafe in Westerly, RI, not far from Misquamicut Beach. On the sign in front, it read, 'Tonight. Roomful of Blues.' Joe got a sinking feeling. Sal noticed it too.

"Maybe they didn't change it from last night."

"It always says Young Punks when we play here."

Joe went inside to find a Rhode Island institution, Roomful of Blues, setting up for a gig. He talked with the manager he knew well and returned to the guys unloading.

"Pack it up. Roomful is here. We are not."

"Bloody hell," Simon muttered. "That means..."

"A club is waiting for us," Joe completed the sentence. "and we don't know which one."

"It's not the Muse or the Bon Vue, we just played them."

"Joanne said were here on Friday. Give me the schedule. Joe looked on Friday. She has us in New London that night." Joe looked at his mates. "This is why the phone numbers are with me at all times."

He ran inside to use the phone and came out fifteen minutes later. "Nope. we're there Saturday. It's the Ocean Mist. Let's go."

"Did you call The Mist?"

"Twice. It was busy. It has to be The Mist. Nothing else makes sense."

"How far is it?" Simon asked.

"Maybe a half hour."

The Ocean Mist in Matunuck, RI is a bar literally on the beach. The deck hangs over the sand, the surf only paces away. The deck had been lost in winter storms over the years and rebuilt a few times. It was one of their smallest venues, but a favorite bar on their beach circuit.

It was The Mist. Somehow, Sheila had confused dates and bars on the typewritten schedule she had given Joe.

**********

When the elevator opened, Joe faced the new logo of The Abrams Agency in giant, gold, block letters on the wall behind Laura's desk. She smiled, then realized he was staring behind her.

"What do you think?"

He stepped up to her desk. "It's a bit much when you know what goes on here?"

"What goes on here?"

"Is she in?"

"No."

Joe looked at the clock. "What the fuck was I thinking? It's only 10:12." His tone was not pleasant.

"Is there a problem?"

Joe took the seat against the wall and told Laura the tale of two bands at one club on the same night. He expressed the stress and frustration of that night very clearly.

"It was embarrassing showing up an hour late and then scrambling to get set up. We started the set forty minutes after the hour. I was never really right that night. I got the job done but I was in a pissy mood."

Laura grabbed Joe a coffee after he ran out of words. They sat and discussed her situation at AA. With school out, Laura had no classwork. She was going insane from boredom, but getting paid.

When Sheila arrived at 10:53, Joe didn't allow her to get settled and grab a cup of coffee as she requested when he abruptly informed her there was a big fuck up in her work. He stood in her big room, telling the story again, the same words he used with Laura, only more animated.

"It was a simple fuck up," he said. "It was booked as The Mist, The Knick, and The Trumbull Tavern. You just put the Ocean Mist behind the other two."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"What exactly would have done about it?"

Sheila stared at him. "I'm terribly sorry. You made the gig, right? And you got paid."

"Actually, not really. I felt so bad the band bought a round for the house, a hundred and ninety beers or shots, give or take."

"Well," She said in a huffy tone. "That was your choice. I'm going to put my purse in my office, check my messages, and get a coffee. We can discuss this in ten minutes."

"I've been here for nearly an hour, I'm not hanging around. I have a meeting with my partners."

"What would you like me to do, pay you for that gig?"

"No, I'd like you to give Laura the job of booking our tours. She's got nothing better to do. This place is a ghost town. If not, I'll do it myself and you won't see a nickel from my band."

"I have a contract."

Joe steeled his eyes. "Give me Laura... or a lawsuit. Your call."