All The Young Punks Pt. 41

Joe exhaled, thinking, not sure he wanted to have this conversation. He'd purposely avoided Sheila for nearly a year. He saw no good coming from a confrontation. She was under contract. His hands were tied. Why make matters worse?

"I made a mistake hiring you as band manager when all I needed was someone to make phone calls and coordinate with clubs and book our little tours. We didn't need a manager." He waved an arm, gesturing to her office. "I didn't need all this."

"This isn't yours. It's my agency. You simply have a contract with me."

"Yes, but the service you provide is far short of what an actual band manager does. You're getting a percentage that's not commensurate with the duties we hired you for. I fucked up."

"What's your problem with this?" She repeated his waving gesture.

"Nothing, if this is what someone needs. You could have set up shop in Marty's building with no lease, no need to spend big bucks on fancy office furniture, and no overhead. You could have used Marsha to answer phones and Marty could have helped you avoid fucking up our tours."

"But I didn't want to be a partner in your company. I'm doing what I've always wanted to do, starting my own agency."

"Because you signed one band you think you can support all this?"

"You've sent other bands and I have dozens of television and theater clients."

"I also don't like that you demoted Laura. She was doing a great job, now I'm back to square one with a new guy."

"Ken is good at his job and Laura will be his assistant when we have more bands. Are you sending more bands? And why haven't The Ruby Slippers and Studs signed management deals?"

"That's their business, not mine. I offered them my club circuit as well as Marty's service. Both have released albums and are using our clubs and record shops."

Sheila stared at Joe, her face a little scrunched, thinking.

"Okay," Joe stood up. "You asked and I answered. I honestly don't believe there's anything we can do. I'm stuck in this contract I never should have signed. I'm sleeping in the bed I made for myself."

"I hope these buses work out and you feel better about my agency after this tour."

Joe nodded, "I hope so too."

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---- SEVEN HOURS LATER ---

"Forty days!" Tina's hands found her hips. "A while back you told me you'd be home two weeks a month. Then you started doing longer trips after the first record came out and that was down to ten days a month, sometimes less. Now you'll be away for a month and a half?"

"It's not a month and a half, and it's only this one time. I made that clear to Sheila's people."

"It's six weeks, Joe. Close enough."

"Six weeks is forty-two days."

"Stop with the semantics." She stared at Joe. Her expression gradually changed from annoyance to sadness. "This is going to be awful. Six weeks!"

"I don't know what to tell ya, T. The Minnow crapping out put us in this situation. This is the only trip that will be this long. I made that clear to Sheila."

"Yeah, you keep saying that but you've also made it clear you don't trust her, and I'm not so sure I trust your word on this."

Tina shook her head in disgust, turned, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Before the band departed, Joe had Sal rent a van so the band could do two tune-up gigs in the city. Tina didn't attend his shows at The Cat Club or Tommy Guns. That week between New Year's Day and Joe's birthday was not the happiest time in 3C but as the days passed Tina stepped away from the ledge. The Young Punks were now on wNbc in NYC and other major media markets.

--- THE WHALE --

Early in the morning, standing on the sidewalk in front of Guerilla Records, Tina and Joe were saying their goodbyes. The tour bus engine rumbled nearby. She dreaded the next forty days.

"Are you even gonna miss me? I sometimes wonder if you do."

"Of course I do, every night when I go to bed. I just don't carry on about it because whining doesn't help."

Tina hugged him one last time. Joe looked over at Ellie and blew her a kiss. "I don't know who I'm going to miss more." He smiled.

"You're such a jerk." Tina pushed him back.

"You can't take a joke," he pulled her back in and kissed her. "Be careful with my baby."

"I'll leave her in Pop's good hands."

"I'm worried about the miles between here and there."

"I'm a better driver than you."

"Whatever." Joe picked up his bag. "I love you. I'll call tomorrow."

The driver greeted Joe at the curb like a doorman. He tried to take his guitar case to stow it under the bus.

"You drive," Joe said. "I'll handle my baggage." Joe gave him the up-and-down look, then put his hand out. "I'm Joe."

The driver shook his hand. "I'm Larry, nice to meet you."

"The amps and drums are stowed away?"

Larry nodded. "Buddled like babies."

Joe jumped on board with his duffle and guitar and got settled in. Tina sat in the Cadillac as the others followed one by one. Simon walked up. Nate was dropped off by a girl and Sal by cab. Joe waved to Tina as Larry closed the door.

"If you get tired and need a spell," Sal said to Larry, "let me know, I can drive this beast."

Larry didn't respond, but Joe did.

"Larry, if you ever let Sal behind the wheel I'll leave you on the shoulder and call your boss."

"He's a menace behind the wheel," Nate added

"It's amazing we're all alive to tell the tales." Si made it a hat trick.

"Fuck you guys," Sal said. "I saved your asses in Pennsylvania."

"Only because you got us in that jam," Joe noted.

Once they were settled in, Larry commanded the leviathan. The bus belched, roared, and lurched forward. Joe waved again as the bus rolled away, and then he went exploring, looking into cabinets and checking out the amenities on the bus.

"Hey, we have a car phone." Joe held up a brick.

"Wouldn't that be a bus phone?" Nate noted.

"Can we use this, Larry?"

"That's what it's there for."

"Great," Sal rolled his eyes. "Now we get to hear, 'I love you, T. You hang up first. No, you hang up first. I love you more."

Nate, Simon, and Larry laughed.

"Eat a dick, Sal, " Joe said. "We don't do that shit."

Joe went over the schedule with the guys as the bus meandered through Manhattan towards the tunnels and points west. He wasn't happy with some of the moves Ken had made.

"We're playing six of seven nights out of the gate. Next week we play five of seven, and then it's back to six. We only have eight days off in six weeks."

"I'm surprised you signed off on this," Simon said.

Joe exhaled, "The first schedule I saw wasn't this crazy. By the time I realized they added dates and two days at the end, it was too late."

"I'm okay with the forty-two days," Sal said, "Especially now that I'm not driving."

"I told Ken we're maxing out at thirty days after this. The new record is selling well, so I can handle one long tour to push the vinyl. I don't want to be away this long."

"Aww, poor Joey is gonna miss his girl," Nate smiled.

"Yes, I will miss T. Do you think I'm embarrassed by that?"

"She's great, Joe," Sal said. "but you could be having so much fun on the road. Look at this ride. There's gonna be a parade of pussy on this baby and you can't play."

"And I prefer what I have, something real."

Joe knew Larry could hear every word. For six weeks he'd be a fly on the wall. Leading up to the tour Joe had been thinking about having a stranger on board. He hoped Larry was cool.

"So, what's the deal on chicks," Nate asked. "Can we stay a few hours after a gig or do we roll out immediately? Will we be staying overnight in some places?"

"What are you looking at me for?" Joe said. "I've never been on one of these before."

"We have private rooms," Nate said. "I'd like to entertain ladies on occasion. It would be nice to know what the rules are."

Sal laughed. "Nate wants pussy rules."

Joe decided to find out right away if Larry was okay. As they entered the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey, he called up to the driver. "So what do you think about that Larry?" He caught him off guard.

"Excuse me? Think about what?"

"All the stuff we just said. Of course, you were listening. Why else would you turn your radio off in the cockpit?"

Larry looked up at his mirror and smiled at Joe, shaking his head. That's when Joe knew he was a good guy. He didn't deny eavesdropping.

"You don't have to make band rules on my bus guys, if that's what you're trying to do. You're the boss."

"Shit Larry," Simon said. "We need rules or you're fucked for forty days. These blokes are animals."

Larry looked back through his mirror. "I've done dozens of these band tours. I've seen a few things. I can handle anything you guys do as long as no one gets hurt. That's my only rule."

"Does that include feelings? Joe asked, "We hurt Sal's feelings all the time."

"You're talking about hurt feelings? Larry, Joe will weep on this tour, trust me."

"Yeah, his life is a goddamn sad teenage love story."

"I saw them saying goodbye," Simon said. "Was he tearful when he got on the bus, Larry?"

"No, the last thing she said to him was, 'You're such a jerk'."

"That's because I joked that I might miss Ellie more than her."

On the highway, the bus felt like it was floating on the ocean on a calm day. The ride was silky smooth. Joe sat back and read a paperback. The advantages of the bus were immediately apparent as Nate and Sal retired to their rooms and Simon listened to music on headphones. The ride was leisure time for the band; no driving, no Chekov, and more comfort than they were accustomed to.

"This thing rides like a QE2," Joe said to Larry as he placed a bookmark.

"I bet that Cadillac does too," Larry said to the mirror.

"Yeah, but you feel the speed. You're doing seventy and it feels like forty."

"I'm doing sixty. I don't speed."

Joe opened a pack of chewing gum, popped one in his mouth, and threw the foil wrapper at Simon. Si removed his headphones.

"What?"

"The Whale."

"What?"

"The bus, I'm christening our ride The Whale, the opposite of a minnow."

"Okay," Simon shook his head and put his headphones back on.

Joe changed to a seat directly behind the door, to the right of Larry. He figured if he was going to spend forty-two days with this guy, he might as well get to know him. He started by telling Larry the tale of the S.S. Minnow and how they ended up on his bus.

The Whale was amazing and Larry was a professional, a nice 50-ish guy from Jersey who told Joe his teenage son and his daughter in college know the band.

"They always ask who I'm driving. When I said The Young Punks my kid called his sister at Rutgers. She saw you play and went to some record shop thing you did. She gave him your record. They're both fans."

"Cool. Remind me to hook you up with some merch. There are T-shirts and records stowed below and we'll have more shipped to us while we're out here."

"They have your record."

"We have three albums. When you call home ask which ones they have. I assume you call home from the road."

"Every day. My kid says you guys are blowing up."

"That might be a little too strong a statement. A strange thing happened while we were on our holiday hiatus. Our third album came out and we have a hit. College radio has always been good to us, but now we're getting airtime on commercial stations."

"Good for you."

"That's why we're driving to Chicago first. Our management added shows to cash in on this sudden attention. We've never played Chicago, Detroit, or Cincinnati. They squeezed in these extra shows, added a couple of days, and shuffled the schedule at the last minute."

"Okay, that explains this bullshit route," Larry glanced sideways at Joe. "We're backtracking four times on this trip. That's unusual. You might have one city that's out of order, maybe two... never four."

"Sorry about that."

"Hey, it's not a problem. I just thought it was odd."

As they did with their first two records, the band released their third record, The Resistance, right before the holidays. They were on the road with a broken-down RV when the album was arriving at their Guerrilla shops. The title track was getting modest radio play in major markets, including cities they'd never played in. When Marty began receiving phone calls from music journalists in Chicago, Denver, and Phoenix, he called Joe excited.

"We have a hit record!"

Marty was a little over-excited. Their third record's early sales were far better than the previous two. On the day the band departed, Stan ordered another pressing of five thousand. Saying The Resistance was a hit record was a stretch. It was doing well and one song got through on big city radio. It appeared to be nationwide.

.

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-- FORTY DAYS AND FORTY NIGHTS --

When Ken booked six new cities, erasing four of the band's nights off and adding two days to the tour, he chose to put the band in small theaters. Joe was anxious about that move. They had never played in these cities and now The Young Punks had to sell over 1500 tickets in four venues. Two theaters, in Chicago and Cleveland, held over 2000.

He never told Tina about the extra two days, hoping she wouldn't count them on the calendar. As far as Joe was concerned, this was the forty-days and forty-nights tour.

There were plenty of reasons to feel anxious about this trip; forty-two days away from T, the additional cost of a bus and driver, the pressure of selling tickets at larger venues, and he was concerned the carnival sideshow might not play well in a theater. Chicago would be the first test.

When the band arrived at The Oriental Theater, a crew of four teamsters unloaded their gear and set up the stage for the band. They didn't expect this. The band always hauled their gear and did the work. It was awkward having men handling their equipment. The guys gave them instructions, unsure the job would be done as they did it.

Sensing his discomfort, the foreman spoke up. "You don't have to worry. This is what we do. You'll have plenty of time to make your adjustments before soundcheck."

Standing on stage, watching the teamsters, and looking out over the ornate 1920s Vaudeville theater, Joe felt lightheaded. He turned to Simon. "This place is huge. We're fucked."

"Always doom and gloom with you." Simon turned to a young woman who seemed to be important as she was directing staff. "Excuse me, would you know how we're doing with ticket sales?"

"As far as I know, you're good."

"What does that mean?" Joe asked.

"If sales were tanking," she said, jotting a note on her clipboard... "I would know."

The band slipped out for a bite to eat and returned to the Whale to relax. That was impossible. Joe was a wreck, Sal and Nate were amped up but also intimidated by the theater, and Simon was worried Joe was going to fall apart. He watched him across the bus, sitting quietly, head back, eyes closed. Joe hadn't spoken in a half hour, then he came to life in a flash.

"I don't know if the show is going to work. How are we going to get girls on stage? Without drunk chicks, were fucked. Will anyone be drinking? Do they even sell alcohol? I don't think my schtick is made for a place like this?"

"Take it easy," Simon said, his hands out, waving Joe down. "Why don't we step inside and talk to that busy lady? You can tell her what you need, and we can figure it out."

"We're not flying solo anymore," Sal said. "They gave us roadies. It's pretty awesome. I'm sure they'll help you. Go."

Joe took a deep breath and stood up again. He paced the center aisle.

There was one bit Joe wrote years ago that he only used six times, then retired it. While some punks roared, finding his dark humor hilarious, others found it revolting, especially women. They shouted at him from the crowd, 'Asshole.' Others flipped him off. He had several women confront him angrily off stage, calling him a jerk, and other less charitable names with F-bombs. The people who loved this bit really loved it. Those who hated it really fucking hated it.

"I think we should do Man Down," he said, leaning his butt against the stove.

"Holy shit," Sal said. "You have some balls. There are music critics out there. Are you sure you want to pull this stunt here, and now?"

Joe nervously paced the center aisle of the bus. "I want people to remember this show."

Nate laughed. "You don't think dragging girls onstage to sing, dance, and kick your ass isn't memorable enough? I remember every time a chick truly beats your ass. It's the best bit."

"I thought this tour was about the record?" Simon added.

"You guys are all against this?" Joe's hands went to his hips. Then he caught himself and put them in his pockets awkwardly. He was anxious, making last-minute changes to the set. He took a seat on the sofa. "Look, if people hate this, and some will, they'll be talking about it. They'll also talk about singing, dancing, and ass-kicking."

"The weirdos love it," Sal added. "The scary punks love it."

"It's dark humor."

"I'll make a deal with you. You guys can decide on stage. My vote is, If the show is going great, let's fuck it up, and then we will win the crowd back with tits and ass."

"And the new record," Simon added.

Joe was doing everything he could to not jump out of his skin and scream to release the kinetic energy building inside him. He was nervous, excited, anxious, eager, terrified, and ready to go. The waiting was killing him, and the Chicago beef he had for dinner was heavy in his belly.

"I have to alert the busy lady and security," Joe said. "We don't want them panicking." He looked at Larry. "Permission to go ashore, captain?"

Larry laughed and opened the door. Joe stepped off. "Is he always like this?" Larry asked. "And what's Man Down."

"No," Simon said. "But once in a while, he has an episode. He thinks too much and whips himself into a frenzy." He got up and motioned to Larry. "I'm gonna keep an eye on him. We don't want Joe pissing off the natives."

"I think that's exactly what he wants to do," Sal added.

--- SHOWTIME ---

There was a moment when the announcer said, "Please welcome, Guerilla Recording artists and sons of Providence, The Young Punks!", and Joe thought he was going to barf. He felt the Chicago beef he had for dinner churning. It was in his throat. He tasted it. He swallowed.

When the lights went up and he bashed that first chord, it all went away. He knew the job. So the room is bigger. He sang the first line, looking out at roughly two thousand people. He didn't yet know the numbers. They're still kids out there, high school, and college, and he noticed some younger kids had parental chaperones.

After the second song he addressed them, "Thank you, Chicago, it's good to finally get here." He strummed light chords. "I have one goal tonight. I will make you feel something, not just the music."

Seven songs into the show, Sal went down to one knee, behind Joe's left shoulder. Nate knew to bang crazy hard on the drums to signal Joe. He didn't need the signal. The eyes of the crowd told him the bit was on.

Sal went down, on his back, his black Fender bass across his torso.

Joe ignored the fans pointing at Sal behind him, banging harder chords and shouting his lyrics. Nate pounded harder, head down. Simon was on the other side, looking off as he played his parts.

Sal slowly turned to his side, back to the crowd. The band kept playing hard. Eyes in the crowd were wide and wild. Arms waved, and people shouted and pointed. A beefy security dude lifted himself on stage, distracting Joe, he looked over, and then back. He stopped playing, as did Nate, and then Simon.

Joe almost laughed when he saw Sal's legs twitching. "Oh, what the fuck. Meatball down!" He turned to the crowd. "He's always sleeping on the fucking job." He walked over, arriving three seconds behind the security dude.