All The Young Punks Pt. 49

At 10:14, Ken Harris sat at the end of a long conference table in Rockefeller Center. Simon, Nate, Sal, and Roger Goodman occupied side chairs. Roger was only there to see if Joe Theroux would show up, and if he did, what his attitude was. The meeting was scheduled for 10 AM.

"How long are we gonna sit here like assholes?" Sal asked. "He's not coming."

"I'll give him until 10:30," Ken said.

"When was the last time anyone spoke to him?" Roger asked.

"I saw him in his hotel room," Simon said. "That was ten days ago, I think."

"What the fuck is he doing in a hotel?" Sal asked.

"Tina threw him out, or he left," Simon shrugged. "I'm not sure. Both have happened a few times."

"What the fuck for?" Nate asked.

Sal and Nate had no clue Joe was in a relationship hell. They hadn't spoken to him in nearly three months. Simon didn't think it was his place to explain, but he was the only one present with a clue.

"He promised Tina he'd be here for her gallery opening because she's here for us. You have to admit, she's done a lot. Now he's fucked because the tour stepped on her dream."

"Whoa," Sal said loudly. "What the fuck? We took the whole summer off for her and he's still screwed?"

"Yes," Simon said. "Her gallery construction had problems and delays. She's been a monster for weeks. They're fighting. She threw him out. He's walked out on her. Joe's not in a good place right now."

"Joe's a fucking pussy," Sal said. "He should have dumped that prissy crybaby years ago."

"Piss off, Sal," Simon glared at him. "You are nothing but an asshole toward Joe. He built this band. Without him, you wouldn't be sitting here."

"What the fuck do you know? You're just a replacement."

"And so are you, Sal," Nate added. "He started this band and he created the show. He writes the fucking music. He made you partner in..." he paused. "Nevermind. You're too blind and bitter to see the truth."

"What truth?"

"Thanks for confirming what I just said."

"So his girl is dumping him over this tour?" Ken asked.

"It seems that way," Simon replied quickly in an attempt to end Sal and Nate's bickering. "I think she'll be here for him when he returns. Joe's not so sure."

"Ha!' Sal nodded. "She's doing him a favor."

The people at EIC were concerned that Joe was going to screw them on this final tour. Joe not showing up for the pre-tour briefing amplified their angst. They waited until half past the hour before Ken commenced with the meeting. When it was over, Roger had something to add.

"If he pulls a no-show, you're all screwed. David will sue your band and Guerilla Records. He'll put Joe down like a dog."

"Who's David?" Sal asked.

"David Benjamin!" Nate barked at him. "He owns EIC, you meathead. You've only done three tours for him."

Roger chuckled believing that he was witnessing the beginning of the end for The Young Punks. It wasn't just Joe. The band was melting down before his eyes, and he couldn't be happier.

--- DAY TWO ---

On Thursday, as soon as business hours began, Joe phoned Tina from Providence. Rather than wallow in self-pity in a city that hurts him, he chose to spend his final week with the women who loved him. Joe still wallowed, but being with his sisters made it less painful because they shared his loss. The girls loved Tina. Jackie was especially hurt. She didn't want to believe it was over. He stood in the back of the kitchen where the basement door was, the phone cord pulled across the room.

"Amethyst Gallery. Can I help you?"

"Jenna?"

"Joe?"

"Yes."

"Where are you? We're going crazy here. It's so busy and it's down to the wire. We could have used your help."

"Tina told me to stay away. She can't stand to look at me and she doesn't want my help."

"What? She said you walked out."

"She threw me out. I walked out. We've done it all. She's done with me."

"What are you talking about? I've heard none of this. She's been stressed, and I know you fought over the tour, but she said nothing about you breaking up."

"I don't think it's official. That's why I'm calling, to see if she wants me at her party tomorrow night."

"Of course she does. Are you crazy? You better be here, Joe. She's counting on you to be here for her big night. T has always been there for you."

"You sound just like her. The last time we spoke she said if I fly to London on Saturday I should not attend her party. I would be an unwelcome distraction."

"Joe, I swear I've heard none of this. She's been quiet about you, except saying you had a fight and you walked out."

"Well, she gave you the Russian propaganda version. Is she there? I need to know if I'm welcome."

"So you are coming?"

"If she allows it."

"Ya know, I've walked in on her crying in her office twice since I got here. I assumed it was the stress. She's been overwhelmed, working fourteen-hour days. That thing you did with Gail really pissed her off. T was furious, but it worked, and she..."

"What do mean it worked?"

"Gail fixed it. The next day a new foreman and crew were working when we arrived. He apologized on behalf of J&L. His men didn't mess around. That was one of the days I walked in on her crying."

"She never told me that. Can you connect me?"

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

After a short wait, he heard the phone pick up, and then breathing.

"Hi, T. It's me."

"I know. Where are you?"

"Providence. I'm leaving Ellie in Dad's garage while I'm away. I'll be down on the train later today."

"So you are flying out Saturday?"

"If I don't David Benjamin will put us out of business. I can't allow that to happen to Marty. He could lose his building and his livelihood. I need to know if I'm welcome at your party. I would like to come. I have to pick up my tuxedo, or not. That's entirely up to you."

"You called me unreasonable, irrational, unstable, and I need therapy. And you said that I..."

"Who told you that?"

"You did, in your writing."

"You read my journal?"

"Yeah, you left it here. I wondered if you did that on purpose."

"No. I thought I lost it at The Chelsea."

"That hurt, Joe. If that's what you think of me..."

"You can scream in my face that I'm a loser, I'm pathetic, a headcase, and a crybaby, and you can strike me, but I can't write privately how that makes me feel? How about yelling fuck you at me? Is that all good?"

Tina said nothing.

"I can't believe you'd violate my privacy. You know how I feel about my journals."

"I can't believe you have such a low opinion of me."

"At least I didn't scream it in your face like a hateful shrew."

"At least I had the guts to say it to your face. You're a coward, Joe."

Once again, things went south fast. Joe didn't reply. He tried to dial down the tone. "I'm sorry, T. We sound like a couple of teenagers."

"You are a teenager. Grow the fuck up."

"I guess this means you don't want me at your party."

"I already told you that. I don't need the distraction."

"Okay."

There was silence. Joe heard her breathing. It was erratic, and then an audible gasp.

"Goodbye, Joe."

Click

Joe looked over at Jackie who heard one side of the conversation from the kitchen table. He walked over and hung the phone up on the wall, a tangled ball of cord dangled like twisted fruit. He sat with his sister.

"That didn't sound good," she said. "What did she say."

"Goodbye, Joe."

"It's over?"

"It seems so."

Jackie was a rock. That's what Joe called her, his rock. Jules was his heart, the sensitive soul. Jeanie was his muse. Jackie rarely cried. When she did, it broke Joe's heart because he knew she was really hurting. He watched her face scrunch up.

Joe leaned over and hugged her. "I'm sorry I fucked it all up, sis."

She cried but Jackie didn't carry on. It was tears and sobs for under a minute, she wiped her face with a Charmin paper towel, and the mourning was over.

"I think she's being a dumb bitch," she said, not angrily, but not a nice tone.

"I told you, the face that screamed the things she said was another woman. I didn't recognize her."

The two oldest Theroux kids sat at the table drinking coffee, grateful Mom had taken the little sisters to buy school clothes, talking, but sometimes sitting in silence.

"What shocked you the most?" Jackie asked.

"So many things, the crazy mood swings, the vile outbursts, the face of bitter contempt." Joe sipped from his Boston Celtics coffee mug. "That shit hurt, but there's something else. I haven't shed a tear. I knew it was over weeks ago. It's like when a defendant faces the jury on the day of his verdict. He's been thinking about this day for months. When the foreman reads guilty, some don't react."

"You haven't cried?"

"I did that at The Chelsea, crying on Jim's shoulder."

"Who's Jim?"

"Jim Beam."

"That's not good, Joe. If you're drinking and crying, stop drinking."

"Or you can stop crying. That's what I did, after a few talks with Jim."

"What are you going to do now?"

He exhaled big. "I guess I better move out before I fly. This is going to suck hard."

---- MOVING OUT ----

Joe had less than forty-eight hours to get to New York and clear his belongings out of 3C. On the train, he ran through a mental inventory of what he had there. It was a lot, and he was leaving Ellie behind in Dad's garage, moving out without a car.

The train rides were always a time to think without distraction. He had four hours inside his head, replaying all his missteps of the past eleven months. That's when it all started. He walked away from a forty-five-day tour. Sheila threw her Hail Mary cash grab, and Joe fucked himself in the long run by playing defense fighting EIC. Tina was correct. Had he simply done the hundred and twenty-five dates from the start, none of this would have happened.

When he arrived on Jones Street in the mid-afternoon. He figured he'd have plenty of time. Jenna said T was working fourteen-hour days. He went through the closet in the spare bedroom, removing clothes. He filled a trash bag with items he didn't want, clothes, and junk he didn't need in his future. He saved some trinkets he had collected in the city. He folded and packed some clothes in his new suitcase for London, and piled other items into boxes he picked up at the grocer down the street. He gathered his pawn shop Telecaster and Fender Champion amp and miscellaneous items.

Glancing at photos of him and Tina on the wall, he considered taking one but decided against carrying painful baggage. He had enough of that between his ears. He schlepped his guitar and amp on the subway to Guerilla Records

"Jesus Christ, Joe," Marty said. "You have everyone worried. What are you doing?"

"I'm moving out. I need to leave these here. I have a lot of stuff to move. Can I leave some boxes too?"

"Are you going on this tour?"

"I'm moving out. What do you think?"

"I'm sorry, Joe."

"Where's Laura?"

"She had a personal thing she had to do."

While Marty talked about corporate concerns, Joe was thinking about personal relationships. He walked into Laura's office, scribbled a note, and left behind a small box.

"David Benjamin is furious you skipped his meeting."

"Fuck David Benjamin."

"I got a letter from his attorneys."

"For what?"

"A warning."

"You mean a threat." Joe looked his partner in the eyes. "Please trust me, Marty. I won't fuck you, but I will fuck with them. Do me a favor, and I mean this. You didn't see me. You have no idea where I am. You don't know if I'm flying to London."

"Why?"

"Just promise me that's your story and you'll stick to it until they see me over there."

Marty sighed, "Okay. That's my story."

Joe made another trip back to 3C and then back to the studio to drop off two boxes of his belongings. It was not fun carrying bulk on the subway. His final stop in 3C was to retrieve the luggage he had packed for his trip. This stay took longer than the first two. He sat on the bed flipping through his journal Tina had snooped in to remember how bad his words were. They were shitty. He sat in silence looking around the purple and pink sanctuary, one of the happiest places in his life. So many amazing things happened in this room it was impossible to believe it was over.

He walked into the kitchen. 'Fuck. My cast iron. I guess I'm leaving it.'

He sat on the couch. 'Fuck. My vinyl. How did I forget that?'

He went to a knee and flipped through making a mental note of the forty or so albums he had there. He sighed. 'Fuck.'

Joe was hurting, but not so much that messing with Tina on the way out was below him. He placed a bottle of lube on the bathroom vanity, wet a paper towel, and dropped it in the sink.

He pulled Post-It notes from her pad by the phone and sat at the kitchen table to write a simple note with a red marker. 'Enjoy the records, T.' He removed his key to 3C from his Cadillac emblem key ring and placed the note dead center on the bare kitchen table with the key on top.

On a second note, he wrote his return flight information and stuck it to the fridge.

He smiled as he closed the door behind him knowing he'd give Tina some emotions on the way out, including disgust. He knocked on their gay neighbor's door to ask a favor. They had a key Tina had given them, and she had theirs.

"Hey, Joe. What's up?"

"I'm moving out and had to leave my key inside. Can you lock her deadbolt for me?"

"You're leaving for good?

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry, Joe." Mike leaned closer. "We heard the fights. She said some bad shit."

"Yes, she did."

"I'll lock the door. Dieter will be upset when he hears this. We think you're a wonderful couple."

"We were." Joe nodded slightly "I gotta run, Mike," he waved. "Thank you." Then walked down the stairs carrying his suitcase and leather pack.

"I'll do that right now. Good luck, Joe."

Of course, Joe had a plan. That morning, before he took the train to NYC, he had arranged a car service to a hotel near JFK and booked a room for Thursday and Friday. Now that he had a verdict, he didn't want to be in the city on the night of her gala.

During one of his drinking nights at The Chelsea, he woke at 3 AM after a fucked up dream of him walking into Tina's gallery drunk. He humiliated her by loudly congratulating Tina and giving over-the-top passive-aggressive compliments. That dream put revenge scenarios in his mind, showing up at her party and creating mischief.

He would never do these things, but the thoughts stayed with him. He quietly laughed at the pranks he came up with, like having martinis with Gail Mortensen and fucking her stupid after the gala and then getting on a flight laughing..."Bye, T." With thoughts like this, it was best to not be in the city just in case he was hanging out with Jim again.

During his first night at a crappy airport hotel bar, he and Jim concocted a new plan. Joe got up early on Friday, checked out, and canceled his reservation for the second night telling them the room had an odor, a musty, moldy smell. They offered him a new room. He declined. A car took him to JFK twenty-three hours before his scheduled flight.

"I'd like to exchange this ticket for another flight, today. I need to fly sooner."

The counter agent took his ticket, examined it, and began typing. "You'd like to go to Heathrow today?"

"Yes, but I have a question. Could you put me on another airline?"

"Why would you want that? Is something wrong?"

"This is complicated. Do we have time for that?"

The clerk looked behind him. Nobody was there.

"There's someone expecting me in London tomorrow but I want to go early and keep them in the dark. When I'm not there, they'll call Pan Am to check if I boarded my flight. I want that answer to be no and I don't want them to learn I got on another flight."

The clerk stared at him, looked at her screen, and typed. Joe liked her big hoop earrings. He was pretty sure she was Puerto Rican, but he wasn't certain. Rachel was cute but tough-looking.

"I assure you there is nothing illegal going on. It's just messy business, and I don't want my tour promoter to know I'm showing up. I want to make them sweat. It's a prank."

"Okay," She smiled. "I'm glad you said that. I can put you on British Airways. They fly to Heathrow every two hours. They have a 12:10 flight and a 2:15 after that..."

"I thought you said every two hours. It's only 8:45."

"Yes, but the next flight is on Concorde. All they have is first class. It departs in," She looked up at the clock. "Eight-five minutes."

Joe smiled mischievously. "Perfect. How much is that ticket?"

She kept typing. Looking between his document and the screen. "I know who you are," she said. "When you said tour promoter, it hit me. I saw you play at Riptide at Rockaway Beach. Your band is fun."

"That's the word on the street." Joe smiled. "So, can they trace me to the other airline?"

"If the FBI walked in here, yes, but the way I'm recording this, a private party would have a hard time finding you."

"Thank you. Do you have our records?"

"No, but I hear you on the radio a lot and I enjoyed your show." She looked up at him. "I need to make a phone call. I think I can get you a better price."

"How much is it?

"After you exchange your ticket, $5121."

"Holy crap!"

"Do you want me to see if I can get you a better price? What are the odds they'll sell a single first-class ticket at this hour? Sometimes they'll discount a very late purchase to avoid an empty seat."

Joe nodded, she made her call, and he listened to her try to convince a British Airways ticket agent to give her a better price or her passenger would stay with Pan Am. She smiled at Joe, then hung up. "She gave me a $1300 discount. After your ticket refund, you're looking at $3809."

Joe exhaled. "That's a-fucking-lot."

"Yes, but how often do you get a chance to fly Concorde?"

Joe shook his head. "You have a future in sales, Rachel." He smiled. "Fuck it, let's do it," and handed her his credit card.

It took a few minutes. The clock was ticking. She typed fast. Joe smiled as she handed him his ticket and boarding pass. "Thank you, Rachel, you're the best employee at Pan Am."

"I'm the only person you met."

"How lucky am I to get the best Pan American on the first try?"

She pointed, "Get moving, that flight departs in... seventy minutes."

Rachel smiled proudly as Joe walked off hastily to British Airways flight 2088 to Heathrow, a day early. It cost him big, but while he was waiting he came up with another way to create mischief in London. Besides, it was fucking Concorde!

---- MISSING IN ACTION ---

In London, Joe got a room at The Royal Gardens Hotel, three blocks from where the band was staying. It was an old hotel, a bit shabby, a grand dame that had her day back during the Great War. When he was settled in, Joe hit the streets to see the city.

Joe informed one person that he might fuck with EIC. When Joe was listed as missing in action, Simon was the only one who knew his homecoming was not being wrecked. As he did with Marty, Joe had sworn Simon to secrecy.

After an evening of walking the city with wide eyes, dining, and drinking in pubs, Joe retired to the Gardens. He stopped at the front desk before returning to his room, drunk and jetlagged.

"Can I help you sir?" The young lady on duty asked.

Joe paused, making earnest eye contact. "I'd like to arrange a wake-up call for 6:00."

"Your room number, sir?"

"Twelve."

"Do you have early business?"

"No," he said in a low tone. "I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep."

"Excuse me?" She furrowed her brow. "Is that Robert Frost?'

Joe smiled, "Yes, it is."

"That's the snowy woods poem," she said, suddenly engaged in a literary conversation on her hotel desk job.

"Yes," Joe replied, looking at her gold name tag, Charlotte.