PUNKS Ch. 16: Abuses and Violations

August 1994

On Joe's first morning back home from New York, Tina phoned him at their usual time. She was not in the best of moods considering the amazing day she had just shared with her best man.

"Sunday night was awful," she said. "His golf game got rained out after nine holes. He had been home for hours, pacing the apartment because I wasn't there."

"That sucks." Joe pretended to care. "It didn't even occur to me the rain would ruin his day."

"I know." Tina said, "I wasn't thinking about his stupid game. He was such a baby. He questioned me about my day. He took off for a golf day with his buddies and expected me to sit at home waiting for him, but then he's upset because he was alone all afternoon."

"I guess he didn't like waiting for you when you were supposed to be waiting for him."

"I know!" T replied, exasperated. "And Troy doesn't see it. I used a fake headache to dodge going out to dinner. He was looking forward to dining out, so he whined and tried to guilt me into going. I was not interested at all. I have a strong headache game.

"I can't say I went up against it."

"Not much. We ordered Chinese take-out and watched a bad action movie he picked up at Blockbuster."

"What did you watch?"

"Under Seige."

"Awww, Steven Seagal, fuck. Your husband is guilty of domestic abuse making you watch that crap."

"I think that's why he picked it. Once I had agreed to watch a movie, he punished me."

"I will say this," Joe added, "If you pointed a gun at me and said I must watch a Steven Seagal film to save my life, I could do Under Siege. Who doesn't love Tommy Lee Jones?

"But you must suffer Gary Busy to get the Tommy Lee."

After a moment of reflection, Joe said, "That's a really good point." This was another thing he liked about Tina. She could critique a bad action film with the same earnestness as a painting or photograph.

"I hoped to fall asleep during it, but Troy kept turning up the volume on the action scenes."

Joe laughed, "Oh shit, he has the remote? That's the pants in the family these days."

"I have it some nights," Tina protested.

"Yeah, the nights he's not watching."

Tina didn't answer that remark. After a moment of silence, Joe continued needling her. "Was it worth it, T? Was your Sunday afternoon with me worth the grief you had to put up with in the evening?"

There was a long silence before her quiet reply.

"Yes, Joe. It was. That was a wonderful day." Tina sighed, "I just have to be more careful. Thankfully he didn't pop in at the office. That would have blown up my working on Sunday alibi."

"It sucks to have a ball and chain."

"The thing is, he has no reason not to trust me, so it annoys me that he's so suspicious any time I do something outside my routine."

"On the other hand," Joe added, "you are having an affair with me. He may have no reason to suspect it, but there it is."

"I'm quite aware that I'm cheating on my husband, Joe. You don't need to remind me." Tina paused for a moment. "The other day I said I would do this with no other man. You know that's true, right?"

"Yes, I do. And that's why I know you married the wrong man."

For the first time, Tina did not respond to one of Joe's 'Married the wrong man' comments. He noticed. Maybe she was beginning to see things his way. There was no doubt she was unhappily married, and Joe was certain that she loved him.

He also noticed that Tina admitted to cheating, exposing the fact that she understands her blow jobs aren't cheating theory is bullshit. None of Tina's inconsistencies troubled him. Joe wasn't going to call her out. That could backfire badly. He was fascinated by what she was willing to do for him. Her contortions and moral flexibility were impressive. And he was frustrated by what she refused to do. Her boundaries seemed arbitrary and artificial.

He was addicted to the head games they played and this psycho-sexual dance that pushed her to do things she'd never do with another man. Joe wanted to test how far T was willing to go. How long could she live this lie?

-- Stray Cat --

It had been nine months since Joe had played live. He was feeling the itch to get on stage. While he had no interest in working with City of Angels, he contacted Chico, his best man in LA. They were always good but hadn't been in close contact since the last tour. Chico now had three kids at home and was busy with domestic life. He was also feeling the urge to play.

"I don't want to tour," he told Joe, "but I'd like to get out and play again."

"I hear ya, Chi. I started feeling it two months ago."

"Just get me out of this house for a few hours a week. Can we revive the Eldorados? We can just play local gigs."

"Let me see what I can do."

Days later, Joe walked into Grant's Music Store. He had a flier to post on the wall cluttered with business cards and wanted ads. He needed a bass player and a drummer. After talking with his old friend Grant, he motioned to a young man across the store noodling quietly on guitar.

"Who's this kid?"

"He stumbled in here last week trying to sell me a Les Paul."

"That's the last thing you need." Joe glanced at Grant's wall of Gibson guitars, mostly Les Paul's.

"That's what I told him. He's new in town and seems to be unloading gear. I bought an Ibanez from him and might take a Tele off his hands."

"Is that shit hot?"

"No. You can hear him, can't you? The kid can play. I just think he's hurting for cash."

"Selling guitars when you're desperate is the fucking worst. It always leads to regretful decisions."

Joe approached the young man, mid-twenties, tallish, lean, and good-looking. His brown shoulder-length hair was a little unkempt and he needed a shave, or was it a sad attempt at a beard? Joe watched him picking his way through a Nirvana riff, followed by another. When he stopped Joe took a step closer.

"So, how long have you been playing?"

The kid looked up. "Since I was twelve; so, twelve years now."

"New in town?"

"Yeah, I drove cross country with a friend last week."

"From where?"

"I was in New York the last couple of years."

"Whereabouts, the city?"

"Yeah, we lived in the East Village and did some time in Brooklyn."

"I spent my best years in the village." Joe extended his hand. "I'm Joe."

The kid put his guitar pick between his teeth and shook Joe's hand. "Daniel."

"Nice to meet you Danny." Joe smiled. "Is Danny okay?"

"Sure."

"Grant tells me you're unloading gear."

"Yeah, I'm a little hard up for cash. I hate doing it but a friend is letting me crash on her couch and have to kick in something to help her out."

"How long have you been in town?"

"Six days."

"Are you looking for work?"

"Do you have work?"

"Well, I own a small recording studio across town. I could keep you busy, part-time. I can also hook you up with other people, to get you connected."

"That would be cool."

Joe pulled out his business card and handed it to the kid.

"Holy fuck." Dan looked up. "I thought you looked familiar."

"Yeah, it's a curse."

"Are you guys done? I heard the band had a falling out."

"The guys have families and needed a break from the road. I don't know what we are. Do you play any other instruments?"

"I can play bass and little piano."

"Can you play that?" Joe pointed to a beautiful sapphire and turquoise upright acoustic bass. The overhead lights reflected off the lacquer finish.

"I'm sure I could learn."

"You have my address there. Come by the shop tomorrow. We can talk. I'll find some busy work for you." He shook Dan's hand. "And stop selling your guitars. You will regret it later."

Joe left Danny to his playing to ask Grant a favor. Before he spoke, Grant had a question. "I thought you were done rescuing stray cats. You got burned pretty badly."

"Yeah, and I also hate that I don't trust strangers as much as I once did. I'm trying to get over that, to do more. I can give that kid a few weeks' work just fixing the shit I hate fixing, which is a lot of stuff."

During his decade in Venice, Joe developed a reputation for picking up stray cats. There was a significant homeless population around the boardwalk, a source of frustration for local residents. The boardwalk was full of street performers and buskers trying to eke out a living. Joe had given some odd jobs to a few street musicians in recordings. He helped people with talent. He paid them with cash and kindness. A break-in at his studio, theft, and vicious vandalism, caused him to retreat from his charity. Joe was trying to turn that around.

The following day, Danny showed up and Joe put him to work doing the little jobs around the studio that Joe often neglected. He didn't have full-time work for the kid, but it was enough to justify having him around. First, he had to lay down some rules.

"We had a break-in years ago. What they couldn't steal, they smashed. So I'm a little overprotective. For now, you can be here only when I'm home. I'll tell you if I need you tomorrow, and you show up. That's the deal. I'll pay you cash for now."

"I'm in Westwood, so I have to work on the bus schedule."

"You're taking the city bus to get here?"

Danny nodded.

"Fuck. You're one notch above rock bottom."

"What's rock bottom?"

"When you can't afford the bus."

Danny smiled and snickered. "Yeah, I've never been there, but I've been a poor musician in Boston, in New York. I figured LA could do me no worse."

"Why are you in Westwood? That's high-value real estate."

"I'm crashing with my ex-girlfriend, but she has a new boyfriend and two roommates."

"Are those cute roommates?"

"Holy shit, boss." Danny said half under his breath, "Yeah, and they're flashing it. They walk around the house in their bras and panties half the time. I think they're doing it to tease me."

"What would happen if you fucked one of her roommates?"

"Chelle told me I would be out the door if I did that."

"Sucks to be you, Danny, living with pussy you can't have and riding the bus."

Joe got a good vibe from the kid. He just did. The fact Danny was from Boston and Joe from Providence, and they were both big Celtics and Red Sox fans didn't hurt Danny's chances. Joe had been living in hostile Laker territory for years. He found an ally.

A week into their arrangement, Danny had been at the studio for four days. Joe was impressed at his showing up ready to work and having no problem understanding what Joe needed. That included hauling lumber to the roof where Joe was planning to build a roof deck garden.

"I have business in New York in a couple of weeks. Down the road, If this works out, I'll get you a key and security code for the alarm system. I'm not ready for that. When I go back east I'll leave a list of things to do and have Grant come by and let you in."

Danny nodded. "I understand."

"Just leaving you here alone is putting a great deal of trust in you, but Grant will be checking in."

"Okay, that's fair," Danny said. "You can trust me, boss. I'm a lot of things, but I'm no crook."

"You're done for the day. I'll see you tomorrow."

Danny nodded, "I'll be here by nine."

"One more thing," Joe added, "don't call me boss."

*****

In the months since Tina had adjusted her boundaries, allowing herself oral freedom without guilt, she gave Joe what he wanted but taunted him with what he couldn't have. Tina loved pushing Joe's buttons. She was fascinated by what she could make Joe do, like fly from LA to NYC for a blow job. She felt a sense of power and control. Tina enjoyed teasing him and took pleasure in knowing she could get him flustered. She mostly did this from a safe distance, over the phone.

"Oh my god, Joe." Tina whispered sexily, "I can't stop thinking about you filling my pussy. I want you to stuff me with your beautiful cock and make me..."

"You can stop now." Joe interrupted in a flat tone, "How many times do I have to tell you? If you're not going to fuck me keep your pussy out of the discussion."

"I'm aching, baby," Tina giggled, "My pussy is so hot for you."

"You think it's funny now, but you might not find it so cute when I ram my cock inside you - unless that's what you're hoping for."

"No, that's not what I'm asking for." Tina said out of character, "I'm just teasing you."

"But that's what you did years ago when you wanted to get fucked," Joe reminded her of past provocations. "You'd prance around the apartment in your panties, flashing your ass at me, knowing I would take you."

"I loved it when you took me, but this isn't the same. My pussy is not in the game."

"I don't see it that way, T. If you keep talking about how wet you are, how much you want me to fuck you, and if you're flashing your ass at me... your pussy is in play."

"Nope. I'm just messing with you." Tina repeated, "I will not fuck you."

"I'm just telling you to be careful what signals you send. I'm dead serious, Tina. I think you want to get slammed, and I'm warning you, if you keep this up, that's what you'll get."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"I'm just telling you what's coming if you keep taunting me."

"Oh, baby," T said breathlessly, "your threats make me so wet. My pussy is dripping for you. I'm ready to be fucked by your long, fat cock."

"You're asking for it."

Tina giggled, "You're a tough talker, Joe."

"Are you doubting me?"

"You won't force yourself on me. It's not your way."

"I'm accepting your challenge, T. The next time I see you, if you tease me with your ass, you're getting fucked whether you like it or not. You can say no all day, but I'm taking that pussy if you keep playing this game."

"Big talker."

Joe suspected Tina was pushing their sexual agreement forward by flashing her ass when she sucked his cock. From a safe distance of three thousand miles she said, "If you were here right now, I'd give you the pussy you need." In her office, she lifted her dress, flashed her ass, played with her pussy while she went down on him, and even let Joe lick her fingers. Tina teased the idea of fucking Joe while standing firm on her blow jobs only rule.

Joe loved the game. He was masturbating while thinking of taking Tina's pussy by force because he believed that's what she wanted. The problem was, Joe wasn't certain of this. If he took her pussy after misreading her intentions it could be a major mistake on his part. He was literally up at night thinking of this dilemma with a trip to New York looming.

Up at night is never a good time for Joe. His mind goes places best avoided. He was in deep, and he knew it. All that talk about moving on from Tina and making a life with Jasmine was in the past. Joe was living two lives, one in LA - his weekends with Jas - and one in New York with a trip every month to get his dick sucked.

*****

Ever since the Seattle grunge scene surfaced in the late eighties, and exploded in the nineties, Joe had been looking for bands in that vein. He was always beaten by labels who got to that scene early. Joe also had his own band and a touring schedule. He could never dedicate enough time to the hunt. Now he was committed.

Guerilla Records had punk bands, rock bands, alt-rock, power-pop, and some rap artists. Because Grunge was punk-adjacent, Joe felt his label was a good fit. He didn't care if it was a Seattle band. He was just looking for that dirty grunge sound and the attitude that came with it.

Joe was on the threshold of signing a band he had seen a few months ago, but they were balking, talking to labels that had a foothold in Grunge. Sensing his chance was slipping away, he pitched a trip to New York for recording. After days of band debate, the five kids who formed the band Beacon Hill agreed. Joe went to work scheduling the trip. His plan met some internal company resistance.

"Hey, Joe. I have Marty here with me." Laura said, "We have a question."

"What's that?"

"What's going on with this insistence on flying bands here to record?" Laura asked.

"It's not new," Joe said, 'I've done it several times."

"Never three times in four months," Marty noted.

"That's because I'm producing full-time now. You want me to replace my band's income, right? I need new talent."

"I get that, Joe." Marty said, "Are you sure these guys are worth the expense? The last band didn't impress Kenny or me."

"I know. No one is more disappointed in how that session turned out than I am. Beacon Hill is different."

"How so? What makes them special?"

"Marty, do I have to explain what's going on in Seattle?"

"No," Laura jumped in, "but we'd like you to justify the expense. Money is tight."

"Well, I'll explain it anyway. Ever since Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Soundgarden destroyed the eighties metal scene, I've wanted to break a grunge band, and it's been a struggle. Sub Pop has that market locked down. The thing is, what they do is what we've been doing for fourteen years; no-frills, no overproduced stomped-on music. We don't overdub and edit the shit out of what the artist brings to the session. I hate these producers who think they know better. What guys like Steve Albini are doing is what we do. There's no reason we shouldn't be a player in that..."

"Joe," Marty interrupted, "you don't have to explain this. We just want to be sure we're not wasting our time and the travel expenses for another Surf Geeks session."

"Look, I apologize for that mess. I promise you these guys are serious. If we don't sign them, someone else will. They have other offers on the table. If you want, I'll take mine back. I didn't realize we lacked the funds to conduct business."

"Don't be a baby," Laura said, "we're trying to keep our business in good health. Asking these questions is not unreasonable."

"Especially after those kids you schlepped out last time," Marty added.

"If you don't like these guys after you meet them," Joe said emphatically, "I'll pay for the damn airfare and hotel. I feel that good about this band."

Three weeks later Joe arrived in New York a day ahead of his new band. He popped in at Guerilla Records to kill time before checking into The Chelsea. He sat in Marty's office discussing business. As always, his senior partner mentioned his concerns about cash flow. Joe had an answer.

"We could release the Live at Budokan record."

"I like that," Marty said, sitting up in his chair. "It's been nine months. Getting it out there before people forget about City of Angels is not a bad idea." He leaned over his desk. "I assume you're serious."

"Sure. If it will make you worry less," Joe smirked, "I'd like to listen to it again, before we pull the trigger."

"The editing is done. The cover art is done." Marty pressed a button on his phone to ring Kenny, the sound engineer. "Ken, can you bring me a Budokan CD for Joe?"

Ten minutes later, Joe and Marty stood in the hallway outside the Guerilla break room with Kenny the sound engineer discussing the live recording they did in Japan. Kenny had just handed Joe a copy they had edited several months ago.

Laura stood in the break room pouring a cup of coffee, eavesdropping on their conversation. She emerged just as their talk was wrapping up. Joe said hello as Marty and Kenny returned to work. Laura pointed at him, and then away, "Come to my office."

Joe was taken aback by her bluntness. There was no good morning, just a finger and a cold order.

"Close the door," she said as she sat at her desk. When Joe sat down across from her she dove right in. "When we talked about these trips we're paying for I had some questions I didn't want to ask in front of Marty."

"Okay," Joe nodded, "what's up."

"This will take a bit," she pointed a finger, "so don't interrupt me. Three months ago you came out with those kids from Phoenix. They were good, and their record is doing well, but it seemed like a stretch that you needed to give those nineteen-year-olds a trip to New York to land them."