Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03

Nine acres, all paved, with a store and attached garage with three bays big enough to handle big rigs. Estimated value was just under six hundred thousand. The bank was hoping to get two fifty.

I was twenty two, but saw possibilities. I wouldn't get my trust fund for another three years, so I talked my Dad into backing me, loan to be paid in full when I received my fund.

Property was selling well, and I figured I most likely wouldn't get it. Surprisingly, not many showed for the auction. Most investors at the time were looking into residential investments, and the property was zoned business. The location wasn't that great business wise, so there wasn't a lot of interest.

In the end, I got it for one hundred sixty four thousand. After the thirty day waiting period the bank insisted on having to entertain upset bids, we closed. Dad wrote a check.

With Dad's permission, I borrowed enough to put up mini warehouses, enclose the property with a six foot steel fence, and install security cameras. I hired a real estate firm to manage the property. Seven years later, it's paid for.

I also enclosed the store/garage building with fencing and converted the store area to a office and storage area for my instruments. In addition to security cameras, I also had a state of the art burglar alarm.

This is where I met Freddie. He walked in and looked over my instruments. "Wow" was all he said.

He was there to look at a 1956 ES 125 Gibson I had acquired. It was an arch top acoustic/electric, with a really good tone. A single p90 pickup model. I had one, a 1958, that I rarely played but couldn't seem to let go of.

I got the '56 when a young guy around fifteen inherited it from his uncle. He wanted a solid body, something more in tune with his head banger mentality. I gave him $1,000 after talking to his parents. I had just picked up a mid eighties Yamaha teardrop electric, light blue. It came with a small Fender 15 watt practice amp. I had two hundred in it. I showed it to the kid just to be nice.

He fell in love, and after talking to his parents, I gave him the guitar, amp, and five hundred cash.

I had seven hundred in it, and had it advertised for four thousand. That was a little higher than average, but it came with the original case and paperwork. I figured I could get thirty two to thirty five, making a nice profit.

Freddie was like a kid in a candy shop. He looked at everything, even those that weren't for sale. He loved my 1968 red SG and 1957 Fender Squire, also red.

I took the 125 down and he chorded it a few times, admiring the action. Then we plugged it into a small practice amp so he could get the full effect.

I had a few old metal folding chairs I had picked up at an auction. They were perfect to sit and play on. He sat down, and after a few minutes, started into She Talks To Angels, an old Black Crowes song, probably the best song they ever did.

I couldn't resist. I grabbed my 125, plugged in, and did the finger picking work while he chorded. By the time we had finished I realized who he was.

"Chance Blaze" I said grinning.

He grinned back.

"I prefer Freddie. My manager was a big admirer of John Mellencamps' manager, who insisted he become John Cougar. So he stuck me with Chance Blaze, kinda silly, huh?"

"I have to agree. But you do have a pretty good sound."

Chance Blaze was an up and coming country singer. Just 25, he was handsome, personable, but more importantly, he could actually sing. He had the borderline bad boy image going, and many of his songs had a bit of a rock edge. At this stage he was an opening act, one or two good songs away from being a headliner.

He relaxed and we spent another ninety minute just jamming, playing anything that suited us. Towards the end, I took my SG and played slide while he did the old blues standard 'Come On In To My Kitchen' in the Warren Haynes/Greg Allman style.

He let out a little whoop when we were done.

"Damn, that was fine!"

"You're not so bad yourself. Why don't you do more lead work on your CDs?"

"I used to when I had my old band. Now I just pick up guys when I need them. I'm actually rehearsing for a tour now."

We offered and counter offered on the 125, but I knew he really wanted it, and he knew I was in the high end of the estimated value range. He ended up writing me a check for thirty five hundred.

He thanked me, and we parted not quite friends, knowing we probably never see each other again. He did tell me if I ever went to one of his shows, let his management know and he would get me backstage passes.

When I told Sammi who bought the guitar it threw her for a loop. Apparently he was one of her favorite singers. If I had known, I would have taken her with me. When I told her about his offer for backstage passes, she made me swear on my '61 EBO I would take her when he started his next tour.

............................................

A year before I met Sammi and Sandy, I had another brush with cancer. This time it was Dottie.

She was fifty six, and took regularly scheduled mammograms. Her latest showed some lumps in her left breast. It was cancer, malignant. They did exploratory, and decided they would rather be safe than sorry. The procedure was a success, but she lost her breast. She was devastated.

We hovered over Dottie until she got sick of us. Between us, she never had a chance to become depressed. When she recovered sufficiently she sent me home with an admonition that if I really wanted to make her happy, get busy and give her some grandchildren to spoil.

I kissed her cheek and promised I would get right on it.

..............................................

Thanks to my work with the kids at the hospital over the years, I became well regarded by the hospital administration. When they asked me to sit on the board of the fundraising arm of the cancer wing, I was honored.

I think they recruited me knowing my background and the fact that I was in the entertainment business. They wanted to do something different this year, something ambitious. All my years in the local music scene paid off.

I met Josh Wingate while Dottie was being treated. His wife was a breast cancer survivor, and they just happened to own the Downtown Music Hall, an old auditorium they had bought from the local school system when they closed a school down due to consolidation. It was what we called a ladder venue, booking acts that were working their way up, and those that had peaked and were on the way down. They had it refurbished, installed state of the art lighting and sound systems, and opened. They got people whose careers were rising as well as those that were declining. It had two bars, and could hold three thousand people, according to the fire rating.

It also had a mini jumbotron, twelve feet square.

He came on board and donated use of the hall for three nights in four month's time. It fell to me to get the musicians.

I pulled in every favor I had and made promises that would haunt me for years to come.

My band was a given. I told them I would pay for their time and they laughed at me. They all knew someone or had someone with cancer, so they were on board 100%.

Next I went after the local college chamber quartet. They weren't sure how they would fit but loved the idea of that much exposure. They were in.

Horns For Hire was four guys who did session and tour work. Between them they could play every brass or woodwind instrument known to man. One of them was an old band mate, from my beach era. When I explained what I wanted they were all over it.

I had played with Blue String Theory, a bluegrass outfit on occasion. I didn't have to recruit them, they heard what I was doing and volunteered.

Hard Country was next. A top of the line country band, they had a pretty loyal following. I played with them a few times, filling in. Occasionally I would drop in and play my Gibson Lap steel on a few songs, if my band wasn't working. By now the small music scene in my area knew what was going on and before I could make my pitch they told me yes.

By then I had more than enough musicians, but kept getting volunteers.

Jenny/Ginny/Jen was an all girl trio whose music is best described as punk meets rockabilly. I knew Jenny from my music teacher. She was one of his last students before he retired. I actually handled a few of her lessons while he was sick. They were breaking up, Ginny was pregnant and Jen was getting married, and they wanted this to be their swan song. How could I say no? I had one more musician I was going after, and then we would start rehearsals.

..........................................

Moria O'Sullivan Stewart was a true Irish lass. She was only 5'3" and 115lbs. Flaming red hair, deep green eyes that look straight through your soul, a smile that could make angels sing, and a body that would make even the devil himself fall in lust. She was also Jimmy's sister, older by three years.

We met when Jimmy asked me to help him move some of his stuff out of her basement. The house was large, five bedrooms, four baths, and a fully furnished basement.

"How many people live here?" I asked Jimmy when we pulled up.

"Just Moira and her husband."

"Wow, they must be loaded."

"Yeah, he's some financial guru to millionaires, every time he breathes money come in."

"Ever give you stock tips?"

"Hell no. He doesn't approve of my rock and roll lifestyle, even if it is a myth. When does he think we can party? We work full times jobs during the week and play most weekends, Hell, for us a good time is ten hours straight sleep."

We grabbed the stuff, mostly old baby furniture he was giving away to a friend. We were just about done when Moira came downstairs to say hello. I think my heart literally missed a beat the first time I saw her.

"I'm glad to finally meet you. Jimmy talks about you constantly. Can you really play all those instruments?"

I was telling her what I played while Jimmy was rummaging around in the corner, looking for the bolts to a baby crib. He pulled out an old photo album.

"Hey Wiley, look at this. Moria was quite the little rocker when she was young, she even had her own band."

Moria squealed. "Give me that! I'm sure he doesn't want to see it, I forgot it was here. It's embarrassing to believe I even looked like that."

Of course, with that intro, I had to see.

It was a sight. She fronted an all girl band, four teenagers with spiked hair, torn jeans, and too much make up. She was still pretty though.

She looked at the photos and couldn't help but smile.

"We thought we were going the next generation Bangles, or GoGos. We didn't last a year."

Jimmy joined the conversation.

"Don't let Sis fool you. They were pretty good, especially Moira. You should hear her play."

"Oh Jimmy, that was a long time ago. I haven't touched a guitar in years."

I thought I heard a touch of longing in her voice.

"Why not?" I couldn't help asking.

"Well, for one thing, I don't own a guitar anymore. I'm sure I don't even remember how."

"I find that hard to believe. You'd get it back in no time if you really wanted."

Holding out my hand, I said "Let me see your hands."

She looked at me oddly. Jimmy just smiled, he had been around me long enough to understand.

She slowly reached out and placed her hand in mine. I held it up, surprising her by turning it over and examining her fingers. Her hands were large, fingers long and tapered. She shyly drew it back.

She was blushing slightly.

"Please, I've always thought my hands were unattractive."

I think I shocked us all when I disagreed.

"I don't think so. You have a musicians' hands, and that makes them beautiful. You should really start playing again."

Jimmy jumped in.

"He's right Sis, you always smiled when you played, and I don't see you smile nearly enough anymore."

Something was going on I didn't know about, and I put it down as a sibling thing.

"I'll think about it. It could be fun, and I could use a new hobby."

The way she said it made me believe her.

"Well, if you need any help picking out a guitar, let us know. We could probably get you a good deal."

By then my van was loaded, so we said our goodbyes and left.

..........................................

Two weeks went by and I had pretty much put Moria out of my mind, when Jimmy called.

"We're you serious about helping Sis pick out a guitar?"

"Sure, find out when she wants to and I'll see if I can go."

"How about now?"

It was a Sunday afternoon. Sammi had to work, filling in for another girl on maternity leave. I was at my office, putting some pieces I had ordered off Ebay onto a guitar I was restoring.

"Now's not really good. I'm at the storage buildings, working on something."

He was not to be deterred.

"Great! We're finishing lunch now, we can be there in 30 minutes. See ya."

Well, there goes my afternoon, I thought as I finished fitting the pick guard on the guitar. They must have been close because twenty minutes later Jimmy was buzzing me. I flipped the switch on the gate to let them in.

Jimmy was the only true friend I had in the band, and the only one who had ever been to my office. He teased me about my security measures, but at any given time I could have $250,000 worth of equipment on hand. Not many people knew about the place, and I swore Jimmy to silence.

Moira was impressed with everything. She did what everyone does, touring and inspecting, before she spoke.

"I've decided to buy a guitar. I went down to the music store, but the selection was pretty limited. Jimmy told me you sold guitars, why didn't you tell me?"

I was uncomfortable.

"I didn't tell you because you were related to my friend. I didn't come to your home to make a sales pitch. Besides, most of my stuff is old. You look like a shiny new type girl to me."

I don't think she took that well. A bit of her Irish temper showed.

"You don't know a thing about me. And for your information, I prefer aged quality to new mediocrity. Now, what have you got?"

I pulled down a Hummingbird acoustic I had recently acquired. It had a really good sound. Not as good as my old Martin, but really nice.

She frowned.

"Sorry, not interested. I learned to play on an electric, it's what I'm comfortable with."

I laughed, and that's when she got her nickname.

"All right, Clapton. Let's see what I got."

I saw an interview whit Eric Clapton once when he talked about how it took him years to get comfortable with an acoustic because he learned on electric and that was what he was used to. It took him awhile to realize volume and tone had to be controlled by the way he played, not by the twist of a knob. He said it make him a better player.

Clapton is a really, really good guitarist, but I never understood the 'Clapton is God' thing that circulated early in his career. I keep getting a vision of two drunk limeys painting the phrase on a subway wall, one saying to the other "I don't know, mate. I'm pretty sure good has another o in it."

Every thing I showed her she didn't like. I told her that was all I had currently had for sale, if she could tell me what she wanted I would try to find it for her.

She pointed to my '57 Squire.

"Let me play that."

I plugged it up and turned her loose. It was love at first strum, and I have to admit, it looked better in her hands than mine. She was slow and missed a few notes, but I could tell at one time her skill level was exceptional. We left her alone for awhile, Jimmy wanted to see the drum kit I had picked up recently.

I don't usually fool with drums, but this was an exceptional set, Ludwig, from the era when everything had to be doubled. Double snares, double toms, double basses, fifteen cymbals. It was pretty impressive.

I got it when I looked at a guitar to see if it was restorable. It wasn't. He had it stored in a damp basement for twenty two years, exposed. The neck was warped, the body had splits and even a bit of rot.

The drums, however, had been stored lovingly, in cases in the driest part of the basement. The guy asked me if I was interested in them as a possible trade. We looked them over pretty good, they had been stored as long as the guitar. They had belonged to his brother, and he told him to get rid of them. I didn't have anything I wanted to trade, but I bought them out right for three hundred. I could play, just barely.

Jimmy was like a kid at Christmas. He started uncasing and setting up immediately. Moira came up when we were half done. I had been listening to her, muscle memory must have held up, I could hear the improvement, even in the short time she played.

"I want this one." She still had it in her hands.

"You can't have that one, it's mine and not for sale."

She didn't like being told no.

"Come on, everything has a price. I can afford it, my husband will just laugh and write you a check."

I shot her down pretty quick.

"Listen to me. This...guitar...is...not...for... sale. Did I say it slow enough for you to understand? I'll look around and try to find you one like it if you want, it shouldn't take long. Or you can go on all kinds of websites and find it yourself pretty quick."

She was not used to being told no was pretty obvious. She actually stamped her foot.

"I'll give you twice what it's worth. Please?"

I thought it was kind of funny. Jimmy was actually laughing.

"Give it up Sis. I know from experience when he says no it really means no. He's just as stubborn and headstrong as you are."

I could see her disappointment and felt bad for her. I did something totally out of character for me.

"Tell you what. I'll loan you the guitar until we can find you one. That way you can practice. How's that for a compromise?"

She thought about it for awhile, then smiled. I could almost see the gears turning in her head. If she got her hands on it, I was never going to get it back. In my mind, I was just as sure she would never keep it.

"All right, do you have an amp to go with it?"

I did, but she wasn't getting it.

"No, but you can pick up a little practice amp anywhere. Get Jimmy to run you by any music store. You can be playing by tonight. I expect you to take care of it."

She smiled. "I'll take care of it like it was mine."

"No, take care of it like it doesn't belong to you, and the guy who loaned it could be a real asshole if it gets damaged. Clear?"

There was a little tightening around her eyes, she really did have a temper. "Clear" she said, reluctantly.

"Great. Come on Clapton, I'll get you the case."

................................................

She practiced, hard. Jimmy said he didn't think it left her hands while she was awake for days.

Three weeks went by. I found a Squire similar to mine for a good price and bought it with Moira in mind. Jimmie brought her over to look at it. It was another Sunday, Sammi was working. She said it would be the last time, the girl everyone was filling in for would be back from maternity leave the next week.

I had finished setting up the drum kit, and Jimmy immediately went to it. Some of the heads had to be replaced and he was tuning it for me.

She played the guitar for a few minutes.

"It's nice, but I don't like it."

This surprised me, I thought she would love it.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, exactly. But it doesn't play as well as yours, and to be honest, I don't like the color."

It didn't play as well as mine because it was factory set. I had a man I used to set up my guitars. For comparison, there's nothing wrong with a factory set up, but if you get a pro to set one up, it's like going from a V6 Mustang to one of those monster models with the turbo charged V8's.

The guy I used was trained and licensed by Fender. You could buy a Stratocaster off the shelf in his shop for three or four hundred, or he would build you one for about eleven. It was worth the price difference. He did every guitar I owned.