Part two of Second Chilhood

the plot begins to coagulate.

2     Joey

 

 

       “S**t! Easy, honey; that’s a little too rough.”

       “Ok, Joey, sorry, but ‘ju know I have get down deep enough to make the bloods flow.”

      “Yeah, yeah, I know.” S**t, that Brazilian accent really turns me on. Joey lifted his head up as far as he could and reached out to the ashtray and grabbed his Cuban. He played out a bit of smoke from the dark stogie, enough to give him the rush that a good cigar gives. Then he let his face drop back down onto the supports of the massage table. The sunlight coming off the pool underlit the table.  From where Jasmine lay in the water, Joey’s face looked pale blue, like that of a drowned man. She smiled at that thought.

    He had his eyes closed and couldn’t see her for the moment anyway.

    His cell went off again. Joey had his own ringtone he had recorded, a spiraling interwoven guitar thing, half classical and half metal. Magical, really.

     Joey lifted himself up on his elbows and looked to see who it was. He groaned a little and sat up. He waved off Celina the massage therapist, who picked up her little plastic basket of oils and loofas and padded away toward the bathhouse at the far end of the pool enclosure. Jasmine stayed where she was, her elbows pulled back on the top step of the pool. Her bare breasts floated just at the water line, her perfect n*****s made hard by the collision of water and air temperatures. The tiny waves created by the light breeze lapped and died gratefully on her goddess- like curves. That’s how it is when you’re twenty "six, she thought.  Ain’t life grand?

      Joey listened to the metallic voice coming out if his cell phone.

      “Hey man. Um hum. Super Bowl, very cool. I love Tony Riggs, man.”

     Jasmine could hear the deep voice of Greg Horn coming from the cell phone even from across the pool. She looked at Joey. How did he stay in such good shape for an old guy? He was tight, except for those little stringy bits below his triceps. She guessed the martial arts counter- balanced all the booze. Some guys have all the luck.

       She found him interesting, but Jas had few delusions about Joey Lowe. He was a fun older guy to hang out with. His spontaneity went well with his money. They would fly down to Mexico or off to London on a whim. He knew people everywhere. People with money. S**t, I’m just a very pretty girl who managed to end up in the right place at the right time. She knew he’d get tired of her. He didn’t have three ex-wives and countless ex-girlfriends because he was the commitment type. Joey liked his stuff and nobody was going to interfere with that.

      At least he wasn’t such a big hypocrite as Greg Horn, the guy with the soon-to-be "ex- wife and the four kids that were as old as Jas. She was with Joey; that didn’t stop Greg from hitting on her. He was really disgusting; so two- faced. Joey was an a*****e, a real spoiled brat, but he was what he was. Greg was devious. She wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.  

     “Yeah, well, s**t. I guess I’m going to have to do this, then, right? As long as I’m getting sixty percent of net. We’ll need to tell Stone that I can cut with him in January, before the AT&T.” Pause. Joey winked at Jasmine. He held his hands up like he was holding a glass. She got it.

     Jas got out of the pool, toweled off and slid into a deep blue silk kimono. She poured a glass of Falcon’s Blood Pinot Noir from the poolside bar and brought it to Joey.

     What a beautiful girl, he thought. That Ukrainian thing: Slavic beauty with just a hint of Genghis Khan lurking in there somewhere, making her dangerous and hot. He grabbed at her a*s as she moved away from him. She gave him a look that said, you naughty old man. Well, that he was; that he was.

      “Right Greggo. OK. S**t, yes! Later, man”

     Joey reached up and felt his smooth skull. So I’m f*****g bald on top; I’m also f****n’ rich!

     “Hey Jas. Sushi?”

     “Sure”

 

 

     The phone rang. Roberta looked up from the woodpile. Leave a message, please. She swung the axe down and split a nineteen- inch- long piece of lodgepole clean. Lodgepole burns like paper, but it sure is easy to split, she thought. The phone went off again. Ok, that’s enough wood for now.

    “C’mon Ringo” Her old lab woke up and stretched old his front legs and slowly got to his feet. He followed Roberta up the side of the house to the back door. Roberta pushed it open with her boot and Ringo trotted inside to the fireplace and his bed. He dropped down and made himself comfortable. No need to be unnecessarily awake.

    Roberta dumped her armload of spit logs onto the holder next to the fireplace. The phone went off again.  Hold your horses, for heaven’s sake, she thought. Must be important.

     “Hello?”

     “Hey Roberta, it’s Ace.”

    “Ace. “ The way she said his name she sounded like she had just found her favorite pair of cowboy boots under an old tarp in the garage. She sat down on her plump couch in front of the fire. The fire’s warmth and the sound of Ace’s voice made her feel comfortable. “How the hell are you, stranger? She said.” How are Sheel and your baby?”

     “Oh, we’re fine, you know, crazy; being an old dad and all that. How are you?”

    “You know, good.” She said, knowing that Ace knew the qualifications behind such a bland pronouncement.

     Ace went on, “Well…but listen, I have a little good news for you. Big One is going to be in an ad. If Joey’ll go for it, we’re gonna recut it. It’s for Charles’ goddam penis implant. Thirty grand for you if it happens.”

    “How appropriate! Wow, thirty grand would be great. My truck is dying. Penis implants would be good. Maybe all those guys with little dicks could get over themselves”

    “I think brain implants would be more useful.”

   “That’s because you don’t need the dick implant.”

   “Jeez, my little wiener’s gotten me in enough trouble as it is! But as far as the money goes, I need it; Sheila’s always putting the pressure on me to go to work at Kinko’s or something. How’s Montana? S**t, I miss the west, big time.”

    “It’s just getting cold. We had four inches of snow last week, but it all melted off. You guys should come out here and see me.” Roberta paused.” Or maybe just you should come” Oh naughty girl.

     “Right” said Ace. “I’m sure Sheila wouldn’t mind if I came out there and visited you!”

    They laughed.

    “How’s my little Molly?”

    “She’s good. Sheila’s got her in Uppends Hall, a fancy-schmancy school. Second grade, which is the like the first year of high school socially. You know, all the right kids. She fits right in, unfortunately; that whole social thing. She’s got her mama’s good looks and her daddy’s lack of money. It’s tough on me, two women. God, one is too much for me, always has been!”

    “You are just too sweet a guy to be left alone, that’s your problem, Ace.”

    “Yeah, well, I don’t know about that. That’s not what I hear around this house! So how’s your love life treating you? Those Montanans must be howling like wolves outside your door on these cold nights.”

    “I’m keeping ‘em at a distance Ace. I’m an old broad who’s set in her ways. There is one guy I see from time to time. He’s a bit younger.”

    “I know you, Rob; that means he’s twenty- four.”

    “Well, maybe not quite that young. What can I say?’ Roberta said.” You live all the way down south in Nashville, what am I supposed to do when I get lonely?”

      “You’re a crack- up, Roberta!” Ace grinned into the phone.” I’ll let you know about the ad as soon as I hear something. It all depends on you-know-who.”

     “I’ll light a moose on fire and pray. Tell him I’ll blow him if he’ll do it.”

     “I think that’s his problem; you never blew him.”

     “Well, there’s another guy in the band I didn’t blow either, no fault of mine.”

    “I hear the girls arriving; talk to you soon.”

    “I love you and miss, you Ace”

    “I love you too, Rob. Gotta go.” There was hint of anxiety in Ace’s voice. Roberta knew Sheila would want to know who he had been talking to. Ace would be deleting her number so the phone only showed Harry’s.

      Roberta hung up and sat on the couch, absorbing the heat. Ace. A picture of Danny came to mind. God, it’s like that was all somebody else’s life or something. Ace is a good guy. He deserves to be cut more slack than Sheila cuts him. Those two are from different planets.

     She sensed movement outside her big window and got up slowly. Full rack Moose in the yard. Don’t wake up, Ringo. She watched the big fellow pluck willow leaves for a while. Finally the moose wandered off.

     Ace would like that.  Roberta thought. But Sheila wouldn’t.

 

 

 

 

3) Do It to Me One More Time

 

 

     “Where the f**k is he?”

      “Chill, Harry; he’ll be there. Keep your pants on.” Horn hung up on Harry and swerved his big black Mercedes to avoid a paint-splattered van not quite keeping up with the insane flow of traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. He flipped the Chicano van driver off from behind the safety of the tinted"out windshield and clicked on Joey’s number.

     “Yeah, baby!” Joey’s voice gleamed like an actress’s caps.

     “Are you on your way? The girls are restless.”

     “Oh for f**k’s sake, I’m only a few minutes late.” Joey looked at the time: 2:30. Whoops!

     “Do you need to be picked up? I can swing by.”

     “Nah, I’m coming down the hill right now. I’ll be there in a half hour, max.”

     “Fine. It’s just Harry. He was easier when he was drinking.”

     “Yeah, well so was my first wife. Actually, she was easier when I was drinking”

     Joey looked out over the blue Pacific. The view from the driveway was almost as good as from the living room in this house. He felt himself coming; he leaned his head back on the headrest

    “That’s it, baby, that’s it, oh god, oh sweet god, oh s**t….”

    Jas sat up slowly and pulled her long dark hair up in a twist.

    He grinned at her. “You want to drive this thing?”

    She shrugged. He got out and she slid over to the driver’s eat. It wasn’t far to PCH. He got in.

    “OK, let’s see how you do this time. You gotta beat two forty "two.”

    The wheels screeched as she peeled out of the drive. There’s nothing quite like an ’89 Maserati.

 

 

     Harry paced around, fretting. Ace was trying to get a sound he could live with out of the rented Fender Deluxe. Ace hadn’t been playing out for a while. It didn’t matter. No one would hear him anyway. Marco and Boomer hung out: bored already.

     Marco was playing Zelda Nine on his blackberry. Boomer was slumped on the couch reading the Wall Street Journal as usual.

     Marco said without looking up from the tiny screen, “Hey Ace, we’ve been playing your song.”

    “Which one, Slow Cookin’ or Nightline?”

     “You wrote Nightline? I didn’t know that. We’ve been playing both your songs. Great songs, man”

     “Well, thanks. Wish they could put ‘em out again. I don’t see much from the Cojones Brothers these days in my royalty statements. I’m proud to have been on that record way back when though.”

     “I thought the Cojones were old, but you f***s are getting to be real dinosaurs. This gig is going to be sponsored by Depends. Oh s**t! D****t” Marco had to start the level again when he failed to get the green sword from the tomb.

     “Yeah, we’re going to play all matinees so we can get to sleep early.”

     “You should bring your kids along so I can have someone to hang out with at night.”

     “You’ll have the Dark Lord.”

     “True enough.”

     Horn came into the rehearsal space with two Hollywood-style suit types, one tall, one short. No ties, mock turtles, black and black.

     F****n’ Mutt the tennis-playing undertaker and Jewish Jeff, thought Harry the Hebe.

     “Guys, this is Ed Guilder and Nick Stein. Ed’s with Gratius Artus and Nick is overseeing this for Xeonosis.”

     Boomer spoke up from his Wall Street Journal.” Hey, can you get me one of those implants?”

     Horn said, “You need two, Boomer. Ace, how’s that rewrite looking?”

     “Ok, here’s what I have so far. Mind you, it’s not in stone quite yet.”

     “Was it a hard rewrite?” piped up Marco, “did you have a lot of lead in your pencil when you wrote it? “

     “Alright, wiseass ladies!” Horn sounded serious. The hired hands looked at each other in mock fear.

      “Ok, so you know how the original goes.” Said Ace.” Hey guys, chorus.”

      Marco swung on his bass and Boomer settled behind the keys. Harry slammed the snare and they kicked into the familiar riff.  It sounded good, even without Joey: thumpa-thumpa, chack-a-chack-a-chack. Ace leaned into the microphone.

“Here comes the big one,

feels like the whole world is shakin’,

no where to run, no where to run,

Here comes the big one.”

       The Hollywood suits smiled and nodded. Ace signaled roll on; the band kept pumping.

     “So I was thinking maybe….

Here comes the big one,

Hey baby, you know I ain’t fakin’,

gonna have some fun, gonna have some fun,

Here comes the Big One...”

 

    They shut off the riff and looked to the two money men.

     “Wow! Man! That is so, so…” Tall Ed glanced over at Short Nick. “so…like real… close!  Yes, very close! I love it, don’t we Nick?”

    Nick bobbed his head slightly.” Love it! I’m just wondering if it can’t be a bit more...well, you know… sexy! Yeah, I mean, not that it isn’t! But Xeonosis is spending a lot to bring this out and we want to be sure that it’s going to really be a home run! Can we get a little… I’m saying a little, but I mean a lot…yeah, a lot more sex into it?”

       Harry, irritated from the first word of criticism, said,” Well, how about:

Men are from mars

Women from Venus

all you guys with little dicks

can get a big penis.”

       Harry was laughing, but just under the jag he was fuming. Horn wished he could toss a bottle of cabernet into him and cool him out.

     But Harry was on a roll. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them with a little towel. ”Or,

You finally got a big c**k

everybody respects it

you can sue Xeonosis

when your body rejects it.”

 

 

     Tall and Short chuckled patronizingly at this humorous outburst.

     Greg Horn interceded, shooting a stiletto of a look at Harry,” Ok, OK, fun is fun! Let’s get down to it.”

     Just then the door to the studio flew open and in strode Joey Lowe, athletically resplendent in a black leather western gambler’s vest over a maroon silk v-neck t-shirt and wearing tight ripped-up jeans with red hi-tops. A couple of chains and a modest Celtic cross dangled on his chiseled chest. Ace peered. Joey’s dyeing his chest hair!

     “You fuckheads!” he shouted gleefully. “Aceley- Waceley! F****n’ Harry the Hebe!” Hey Marco, Boomeranger. “

     There were phony "baloney hugs all around. His smile radiated like a disco ball at one AM.

     “Horny one, who are these fine gents?” He just about crushed Tall and Short’s hands with his taekwondo handshake.

     One of Joey’s personal crew, a cockney bloke with spiked-out hair named Tool,  said, “ ’ere we go, princess!” and slipped a custom candy apple blue Les Paul seven-string over Joey’s shoulder. He turned around and looked at his rig, kicked a couple of pedals and let out a wail that would have freaked out an F-18 pilot.

     “What’re we doing?” He looked over at the dark-haired beauty queen he had come in with.

    ” Hey Jas, call Ruffo’s. Eight. You coming, Ace?  You’re coming " everyone’s coming. Tell Ruffo we’ll need one of his fantastic paellas. You guys gotta taste this s**t! Great! And Jas, get some of your girlfriends down there " Ace is two thousand miles from the old ball and chain.”

     Ace rolled his eyes. Still, pretty girls to look at would be nice.

     Horn said, “Ed and Nick were voicing some concerns over the rewrite that Ace did.”

     Joey glanced at the paper on the music stand by the microphone. “What this? Sing this, Ace.”

     Joey spun around, as if he was playing in front of sixty thousand people at Wembley, and stomped his foot. Harry slammed his sticks together One! Two! Three! Four! Now the band was really pumping. No Doubt. There was a reason why Joey Lowe was a household name. You couldn’t hear Ace’s guitar any longer. All you needed was Joey, ripping that big number one riff. Joey threw a couple of classic lead guitarist shapes to an imaginary throng and then crouched over and grinned at Ace who leaned into the mic.

“…. Here comes the big one,

baby, you know I ain’t fakin’

gonna have some fun, gonna have some fun

Here comes the Big One.”

 

    Joey leaned into a rippin’ solo. Screeeam! Whaaa! Spoodley- doodley, Skeeoww! Flackata-Flackata! Pow! He spun and threw a reverse C shape in front of the drums, leading Harry the Hebe into a big ending.

     “Yeowch! That is raw sex! I f****n’ love it!” yelled Joey. He high-fived Ace and Harry, and then everyone else, including Ed and Nick.

    Greg Horn looked at Tall and Short.” What do you think?”

    Short Nick , glanced at Tall Ed, shrugged, grinned like ’58 Oldsmobiles, and said, “Absolutely brilliant. We love it!”

     

 

 

        “Charles, it’s your ballgame. If you want the Spud Palace, you got the Spud Palace. Personally, I’d rather wind up the tour in New York or L.A. or anywhere other than the Spud Palace!”

      Charles looked down the mirrored hallway to where his secretary Svetlana was sitting at her glass desk. “Greg, just humor me. It’ll be just like old times. Whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on! I want to do the monitor mix. I’ll fly you down to HuicaHuica for golf afterward.”

      “But seriously Charles. Pocatello…I don’t think anybody wants to go back there.”

     “ I’ll throw in an extra five grand for each guy, plus twenty for Joey.”

     Greg shrugged. Oh well, Idaho here we come.

 

 

     “F****n’ Pocatello? No f****n’ way!” Joey was irate. He felt a lightning wave of fear sweep down his spine, which he attempted to correct with a big slug of cabernet. “What if she shows up? Charles is out of his f****n’ mind!” Another half a glass went down.

     Greg let Joey rant. “Joey, “he said evenly, “Charles owns your a*s for four months, for four mil. And she won’t show. Even if she did, it’s been thirty years.”

      Joey felt the wine slide through his bloodstream. That’s better.

      Greg went on, “It’s just one night. I think it’s f****n' insane as well, but Charles wants to relive his youth.”

      “Well, tell him to import another Russian broad or something. Ah, f**k it! Can we check up on her?”

    “I’ll look into it. No worries, big guy.” Greg clicked off. What a pain in the a*s all this s**t is.

 

Sometimes I just wish I chuck it all.

     

      He thought for a second. Nahh!

 

Author's Note

well? waddyah think so far?