Favorite Scene Friday #3

Favorite Scene Friday Week #3

This scene was labeled as funny (especially one particular line) by the Writers' Digest Self-Published Book Awards reviewer. It's a "down-time" moment (a rare event for touring musicians), but has some funny moments. 

I've cleaned up some of the language on this one. But remember, if you've ever been around road musicians, of any genre, well...it's how they talk. 

RICHMOND, VA-Feel Like Makin’ Love

Sunday, June 24

We finally had a day off and could relax, after the most hectic week we’d had yet. The press had died down about Randy’s accident, and there were more interesting things going on in the world besides us. I didn’t want to think about the band or music or business or romance or anything, I just wanted to sleep, which I did, until about twelve-thirty.

Terry was already up and gone when I awoke. I took a long bath in the Jacuzzi and spent most of the early afternoon watching TV, catching up on world events. Space shuttle Discovery had landed safely that morning, and Air India Flight 182 had exploded yesterday over the Atlantic Ocean, killing over three hundred passengers.

There was a knock on the door about two. It was Bryon and Randy.

“What’s going on, man?” Bryon waltzed in and sat down. “You doing all right?”

“Why? What’s the rumor today?” I asked, tossing the remote control onto Terry’s bed.

“Rumor?” Randy picked up an ashtray and tapped in his ashes. “There’s no rumor about you.”

“That’s a relief.” I lied back down.

“Has there been a rumor?” Bryon asked. “I haven’t heard it.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I said.

“I heard you and Steve got into it the other night,” Randy said. “You shoulda just kicked his squirrelly ass. He never knows what he’s talking about.”

I just shook my head. “I thought you guys were friends again.”

The slim, dark guitarist frowned. “Yeah, that lasted about a day.” He lit a new cigarette with the old one, his hands still shaking terribly. Amazing that his withdrawal symptoms hadn’t affected his playing. “Asshole.”

There was obviously still some contention between Steve and Randy. Who knew what it was now.

“Was it true about him and that woman in Springfield?” Bryon asked.

“What?” I barely remembered “Grandma.”

“She told him she could get him a solo deal,” Randy muttered. “And he was stupid enough to believe it.”

“Solo deal?” Strange news. I had visions of us going through the whole David Lee Roth vs. Van Halen thing. “Is he serious?”

Randy shook his head. “He won’t get a solo deal. He can’t cut it on his own and he knows it.”

“Season doesn’t particularly care for him, does she?” Bryon announced.

Randy laughed. “That’s no lie. He was all over her after dinner last night. Or this morning, rather. Why didn’t you kick his ass, Jon?”

I sighed, remembering his continued advances toward her as we came out of Denney’s after the show. During dinner, after I watched her wolf down a bacon cheeseburger like it was her last meal, we’d discussed porn films, which led to a comment from Clint about how she was being bitchy lately because she wasn’t getting any.

That sounded familiar.

Anyway, Terry went into this long speech about how I was the one who always knew the right places to take women on dates, then when Season said romance was for suckers, Clint reached over and touched the back of her neck, saying the spot just under her right ear was her “on” switch. She shoved him off with a joke about not doing “that touchy-feely inbred cousin thing.” Naturally, Steve saw this as a golden opportunity to move in for the kill. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and kept leering at me, like I was some kind of sexual retard. I pretended not to notice, trying to keep Terry’s hair out of my food. Eventually Season climbed on her bus and slammed the door in Steve’s face.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I said. “According to Steve, I’m not even that.”

“Aw, fuck him,” Randy said. “It’s a wonder he can even function with what he’s been doing.”

Bryon and I exchanged looks, but Randy didn’t continue.

There was a sudden commotion at the door. It rattled ferociously, then someone banged it on it, swearing at the top his lungs like a truck driver.

“This key doesn’t work! The one time I don’t lose the damn key and the stupid-ass thing is broke!”

More banging.

“Damn,” said Randy, lighting yet another cigarette.

“Should we open it for him?” Bryon stood up.

“Nah, he’ll figure it out,” I said.

The doorknob sounded as if it was being ripped out.

“Dammit!”

Barry’s voice: “Terry, quit swearing!”

“My key doesn’t work! Barry! Don’t...aw, shit!”

Terry continued to battle with his key. He kicked the door, his profanities ringing through the corridor. I finally got up and let him in.

He stumbled into the room, his hand still clutching the knob. “Oh, hi, guys. I didn’t think anyone was in here.” He was instantly calm, strutting in and collapsing on his bed. “Let’s go find Jon a prostitute, and get him out of this funk he’s been in.”

“In Richmond, Virginia?” Bryon asked.

“The Virgin State?” Randy added, grinning.

“Nothing like poppin’ a virgin!” I threw a pillow at Terry.

“Ain’t that the truth!” The lanky New Mexican started thrusting his hips in the air.

Steve happened in. “What the hell’s going on in here?”

“Terry’s fucking an invisible woman,” Randy said, blowing circles of smoke out of his nose. “I’ll bet you can’t even top that.”

Steve didn’t respond. He seemed out of it, and I wondered about Randy’s previous comment about “what he’s been doing.” There was a weird awkward silence, then the singer said, “Barry wants us downstairs.”

Terry sat up, disappointed. “For what? It’s our day off.”

“Shopping.” Steve walked back out, like a zombie.

Worried looks went around the room. Finally Terry said, “He’s fucked up.”

Randy just nodded. “I quit drinking and he does this.”

“What’s he on?” I asked, standing and looking for my boots.

“I don’t know, he’s hiding it pretty well.” Randy crushed out his cigarette and scratched his head. “I’ve looked through all his stuff and can’t find anything but aspirin. I’ve caught people handing stuff off to him though, but he must take it all ‘coz there’s nothing left.”

We spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around Cloverleaf Mall, sort of incognito, to do some miscellaneous shopping. Randy and I looked for clothes. Terry picked up some jewelry, including a watch that I knew he would never look at. Bryon bought some things for Nita, and I never knew he had such great taste in lingerie. Terry picked up a black teddy and waved it in my face. “Maybe you should get this for your new girlfriend!”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I amended.

“Yet,” said Bryon.

“And besides, you don’t buy women you hardly know lingerie.” I started looking for a way out of Victoria’s Secret. Considering my current state, I didn’t need to be looking at lingerie.

Terry held the teddy up to his scrawny chest and looked in a mirror. “Is it me?”

Bryon narrowed his eyes. “Terry, I’m seriously worried about you.”

The drummer whistled to the rather attractive girl behind the counter. “Hey, baby, would you model this for me?”

“We’re leaving now.” I dragged Terry from the store.

Steve skulked around with us every once in a while, would disappear for a few minutes, then turn back up mysteriously, like some kind of vampire. It was really strange.

We were glad the mall wasn’t very busy, another reason we preferred Sundays off. If we needed to do errands, we could easily go unnoticed. We sort of blended in with the other long-haired guys who hung out in malls, two of which recognized Terry and me at Disc Jockey and asked for autographs.