All The Young Punks Pt. 50

"Marty, I'm done." Joe put a hand up. "It's decided. I can't work with Sal anymore and Nate is just... Nate. I'm sick of his shit too." He took another deep breath. "And there's another thing. I can't live in this damn city. It hurts me and the only reason I was here was for her. Without Tina, I have no desire to be here?"

"What about us?" Laura asked, her eyes glistening.

"You'll be fine. We have some good bands."

Stan slammed his palm on the table. "Call that girl today! You're being a fool. Every couple has fights. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you. You and Tina need to talk."

"If she wanted to see me she would have been at the airport." He turned to Marty. "You've seen it. T could never wait for me to get home. She was always waiting at the studio or Penn Station. I thought she might be at the airport. I left my flight info on her fridge."

"Maybe she forgot," Stan said.

Joe laughed. "And that's not a good sign, is it? Look, if she wanted to see me Tina would have been there. She's done with me and I won't offer myself for more abuse. Another rejection would kill me."

As his Guerilla Records team stared at him sadly, Joe was grateful for Doris carrying plates. She delivered sandwiches and the four had the saddest deli lunch after so many good times at Stan's deli. Near the end, as Stan was paying the tab, Joe had one more piece of business on his agenda.

"What's going on with the lawsuit? What have lawyers been saying? Is anything filed?"

"You still want to go through with that?" Stan asked, leaving too small a tip for Doris.

"When did I ever say I didn't?" Joe made a WTF expression. "Don't you want to sue her? She into us for almost six figures. That's money Guerilla Records could use that she stole."

Marty exhaled. "We don't know that we have a case. The lawyers are conflicted on that."

Stan pointed his finger at Joe. "And it's good that they are. When lawyers agree on every point, they'll suck you into a long legal process. That could cost us more in legal fees than the money we're chasing."

Joe was flabbergasted. "Are you seriously telling me you don't want to sue Sheila after what she did to us?"

The three stared at him. Laura spoke quietly. "She's closing her office."

"I don't fucking care. That crooked bitch cost me a lot more than money. My life is fucked, everything I built is gone. I want..."

"Revenge?" Stan interrupted him. "Is that what you want? Even if it cost us a hundred grand to get a hundred grand back?"

"As long as the cash is drained from her bank account, I don't fucking care. I don't care if her lawyers get it."

"And where would leave us?" Stan asked. "Out another hundred grand."

Joe couldn't believe his ears. He stood up. "Well, I guess I'm done here. Enjoy the record label."

He walked away with Stan barking, "What the hell does that mean?"

"This fucking city!" he shouted to everyone on the sidewalk as the door to the deli closed behind him. Joe walked the streets of this fucking city for hours, his mind flipping through his options and ideas for the future. He could start a new band, and it wouldn't have to be punk. He was ready to move on. The carnival sideshow was finished.

The Brits liked the show with the Ray Davies singalongs, but his stunts didn't play as well on the continent. A few European journalists made American clown comments, but they were a small minority. Most critics were fair with the band. Joe scraped the auditions after Rotterdam's draw was not enough to fill his cast a day after Brussels was barely enough. Paris was the last city to see the full punk rock carnival sideshow.

After Rotterdam, he made changes and tried new ways to find talent, but in the end, went back to pulling girls from audiences around Europe for singing and dance contests. It was not ideal and sometimes awkward. After realizing there were many American expats at shows, he tried the old TV singalongs in some cities with varying success. Joe played bits at every show, but not the full bag of tricks. Europe didn't get the real Young Punks, just a taste.

Joe felt in his heart that his stage antics had run their course. It was over. It was time to move on.

Walking the streets of New York, pissed off at his business partners, he knew that whatever he did next was not happening in New York. He was done with this fucking city. Joe popped into a couple of record shops, had two slices of Ray's Pizza and a beer for dinner, and made his way to Tommy Guns just after dark.

"Hey!" Tommy shouted as Joe walked in. "It's the fucking rockstar fresh off his conquest of Europe."

The hard punks cheered when Joe walked up to the bar.

Clyde pulled a stool out for him. "You don't look good," he said as Joe took it. "Are you okay?"

"I feel like shit."

"Do you need a second opinion?" Monk asked. "You look like shit too."

The punks laughed at a tired old joke. Joe ordered a pint and a shot of Jameson's. Tommy pulled the pint, poured the shot, and slid them in front of Joe.

"You're money is no good here tonight. Welcome home, kid."

Joe held his pint up, "Cheers. Thanks guys. It's good to be back where it started."

He spent his evening telling the hard punks about their tour of Europe to hard punks who were never more interested in hearing Joe talk.

"What was your favorite city?" Jett asked.

"It depends on what you're talking about; food, culture, architecture, or the show."

"Everything. Which city had it all?"

"Paris," Joe said without hesitation. "The auditions for our Paris shows were crazy. The French girls were game for anything. And there were American women fighting for spots."

"Ooo," Monk rubbed his hands together, "a Franco-American catfight."

"The best thing was," Joe continued. "These girls had actual talent, burlesque dancers and cabaret singers. The two Paris shows were incredible. As was the city, the food, and The Louvre."

"You went to the Louvre?" Sunny asked.

"I spent almost two days there and didn't see half their shit."

"You can do that next time you tour Europe."

As the hours passed, the original six showed up as well as the supporting punk characters. Joe was grateful it was a night with no band, not crowded, and they could talk. He never mentioned that he was killing his band. It was too much fun telling road tales. He didn't want to ruin the night. He bought the bar a round, insisted on paying, and gave one last toast.

"There's a part of me that believes my band didn't make it until we made it here. Thank you for that. I love this place."

Everyone drank and then Clyde broke out in song, "If you can make it here. You'll make it anywhere." Punks joined him. "It's up to you New York, New York!"

As he was leaving, the bar nearly empty, Joe pulled Tommy aside. He shook his hand.

"Thanks for the opportunity. This place is..."

"Are you kidding?" Tommy interrupted. "You were the best thing that happened here. You put me on the map."

"We were good together." Joe breathed deeply. "If you ever see your old friend, Sheila, you can tell that greedy bitch she killed my relationship with T and my band. We're done, Tommy. All of it. I'm moving on."

Tommy didn't have the words. He pulled Joe in and wrapped him in his manly Tommy guns. He hugged a little too tight for Joe's comfort. Joe staggered back to the Hotel Chelsea where he passed out as soon as hit the bed.

Janie twirled like a ballerina in the street. Her shoulder-length blonde hair flew outwards. She smiled, showing the gap where her tooth once was, a new tooth poking through. Her arms extended like the wings of a delicate bird. Her eyes met Joe's. Her voice whispered.

"You must go, Joe. Your life is not here."

Joe awoke in a sweat. His pillow was wet. "What the fuck," he said into the dark.

-- ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK ---

His last day in the city began with another hangover. Joe had two stops to make before he boarded Amtrak at Penn Station. He had awoken from his dream at 4:41 AM, flipped his wet pillow, but couldn't get back to sleep. His mind decided it was time to think and once that started, rest would not come. He popped three aspirin, drank multiple glasses of water, and lay awake until business hours.

While he felt justified in his anger at his business partners for letting Sheila Abrams skate after screwing him and his band, Joe regretted the way he left Marty, Stan, and Laura, in a huff. After checking out of the hotel, he was just around the corner from Guerilla Records and felt he had to correct that. There was no one in reception.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted yesterday," he said as he walked into Marty's office unannounced.

Marty looked up from his work. "We understand, Joe. You assume we're against suing her. We're not. We just don't know that it's the correct move."

"I will not sleep knowing she's getting away with this. I don't know how you can let that happen."

"I don't think we can afford litigation. There's already a lot of change happening here before you dropped your bomb on us. Marsha is retiring at the end of the year. Laura is staying on for a while, but this isn't her future. Honestly Joe, I don't know how we'll do without your band."

"What are you talking about, Marty? Before we met you had no bands, now you have what, is it sixteen? I realize none of them are big, but that's a significant improvement. You're not just a recording studio, you're a label. You have the club circuit and you're running tours, and you can distribute records with our shops."

"I know. That's all good, but your success gave us credibility."

"And that doesn't change. We built something. All you have to do is keep it running until the next big thing happens."

"Me? What are you going to do next? You would be an asset here."

"I can't live in this city. I need to go home and see my sisters. Maybe some quiet time with them will help me decide what's next. I don't have a plan."

He stopped in Laura's office and apologized to her. Laura was more sympathetic to his cause.

"I agree with you. I hate seeing her get away with this. She stole almost a hundred grand. How can that not be a crime?"

"I cannot believe Stan doesn't want to burn her down."

"He's not happy about it. The lawyers are making his head spin with their differing opinions. Stan said you were being vengeful and a big baby."

"Oh sure, the guy who handed us that crap payola contract that made Sheila's scam possible thinks I'm the problem?"

"He didn't say that."

"You know I love Stan, but all he does is tell me what can't be done and then doesn't give us the credit when we do it. He's always downplaying our accomplishments."

"Stan is very impressed with what you've done. Trust me. I've heard him say it a few times, including yesterday after your tantrum. I think he has trouble saying that to you because he knows you'll tease him and he hates that 'I told you so' crap."

"Whatever. I'm glad you're staying on. Marty needs you."

"He needs you too. I'm taking post-grad classes and when those are done in the spring I'll be making a decision."

"Are you gonna be one of those career students who stays in school forever collecting degrees and never..."

"No. I can't afford that."

"I hope you decide this is your home."

"It's your home too."

Joe shrugged. "Can you do me a favor? Can you ship those boxes I left here to my parents' house? I can't schlep those on the train."

"What about your guitar and amplifier?"

"Just leave those here. My pawn shop Tele is a bit beat up, but Marty can use the Champ."

"What's your plan, Joe?"

He shrugged. "For once, I don't have a plan, except for getting some coffee and breakfast and taking the train home."

"We have coffee here."

"I'll say this as nicely as possible," he smirked. "The coffee here sucks hard. It's weak-ass piss. I think you tie a coffee bean on a string and drag it through a pot of water."

"You're such a jerk."

"Yeah, that's what Tina always said. I just spent two months in Europe where they know how to make coffee, at least they do on the continent. We need that here. There's a place in Seattle I went to when we played there, Starbucks. It's in Pike's Place Market. It's good, strong coffee. We need that here."

"Speaking of Tina. You should call her. I'll bet you dinner that she'd like to hear from you."

"Nah. I'll pass."

"Chicken."

"Yup, and I'm not afraid to admit it."

As Joe was leaving, Laura stopped him in reception. "I came here for you. I believe in what you're doing and I wanted to help." She had to quell her emotions. "I loved your band. You were special. It's depressing to know that it's over."

"Do you think I don't feel the same?"

Laura looked up, "I know you do."

"I hope you decide to stick around and help Marty. He'll be lost when Marsha retires."

"I can't promise I'll stay here," she said softly. "not if you leave."

Joe sighed. "Sorry. I have a train to catch."

"Why do I feel like this is goodbye?" Laura said, her emotions showing.

Joe smirked, "Here's looking at you, kid."