Just finished this one. I kind of like it. Look for the finished version on the site this Sunday.
Everywhere A Sign
Chicago, Illinois, 8.19p
"Hey guys," Steve grinned back at them from the driver's seat, "y'think it's that place with the huge bowling pin over the door?"
Bracing one hand against an amplifier, Eugene lifted himself to as erect a posture as the low ceiling of the van would allow. Stepping forward to gaze through the windshield, he nodded to himself upon reading the words "Tonight Idiots & SWK" in red block letters on the brightly lit sign over the door. He then clapped Steve once on the shoulder and turned about to make his way toward the small bed in the back of the van upon which Faye had been sleeping soundly since the 265 bypass around Indianapolis.
As the club was on the left side of the street, Steve kept the van moving so as to make a U-turn at the end of the block. The force of the manouvre threw Eugene against the side of the vehicle and nearly spilled him on top of the Idiots' bass player, who sat quietly on the floor sipping a warm bottle of beer. Nodding apology, Eugene waited for the van to assume a straighter path, then continued on his way. Faye, however, was awake before he sat down beside her. Yawning, she glanced out the back window just as Steve brought the van to a stop. For a moment, everyone felt the curious absence of vibration as the engine fell silent.
"Steve," she called, rubbing sleep from her eyes, "we dressing for this one?" She brushed her fingers against the long blue evening gown wrapped in plastic and hanging from a hook on the wall.
"First show of the tour?" he called back without turning around. "Damn right we are. But we'll load in first. Plenty of time."
The roar of poorly lubricated runners followed by a blast of arctic cold filled the van as Gary pulled back the side door and exited the van. Rubbing the sudden goosebumps on her upper arms fiercely, Faye cast her eyes about the shadows. Eugene, who found it difficult to tear his eyes from the whipping tendrils of her long hair, leaned over and gathered the item she sought from the floor. Accepting the sweater graciously, she pulled it over her head and took a moment to adjust it smartly about her waist while Eugene slipped one hand behind her neck and swept her hair from underneath the collar in one fluid motion.
Eyebrows raising themselves in surprise, he cupped one probing palm over her shoulder then pressed it to her back. "That sweater's really warm," he observed.
"Sure is," Faye nodded and smiled broadly. "Some parts of the floor get really hot. There's a place between the seats up front where I like to put socks. Nothing better than a warm, dry pair pair of socks to change into when you're driving seven straight hours through bum-fucked Minnesota in the middle of January."
Now fully awake, she looked toward the front of the van, which her brother and Del had long since abandoned, then out the back window once more. She turned a confused pair of eyes on Eugene.
"Where's Sylvia's truck? Did we lose them?"
"Think so," Eugene frowned. "At the last toll on the Kennedy Expressway. We had exact change, so were heading for the automatic lane. But they veered off at like the last second for the manual one." He grinned sharply, "Guess they ate all the Vanilla Wafers."
Faye laughed. Mark had shown up at Buckethouse that morning brandishing a box of Vanilla Wafers and announcing his firm resolve to test the old legend that the automatic booths on Illinois toll roads would accept the cookies in lieu of coins. Though both Steve and Irene had balked, he remained steadfast.
Smiling back at her, Eugene continued, "So we were looking for them when we came through, but there was a big jam-up. You know how there's like no lanes painted after the tolls? Like how basically it's roadway anarchy for fifty feet or so?"
Faye nodded and rolled her eyes. "I always just follow a cab if I see one. I figure they know what they're doing."
"That's what Steve did. We got through it okay. But we couldn't find them anywhere. Then California Street came up, so we took it. We were kinda hoping to find them already here."
"Well shit," Faye muttered. "They're probably in Milwaukee by now."
"Uh-uh," Eugene shook his head. "Irene knows where to go. She used to live in Mt. Prospect, so they won't get lost or anything."
Fishing Faye's heavy coat from behind the bass drum, Eugene laid it over her shoulders. Together they exited the van, not forgetting to pull the heavy door shut behind them. A few people milling about on the sidewalk gestured secretly at Faye and whispered as the two made for the door. Loud music filled their ears as Eugene pulled the glass door aside and waved her in ahead of him.
Informing the stone faced doorman that they were members of the band, they shuffled past the lounge on their right and entered the club proper. A long row of bowling lanes now silent, dark and empty of pins stretched from one end of the long room to the other. A gapless barrier of orange plastic mesh protected the lanes from the encroachment of the ever growing crowd. To their left stood a large open area leading to the elevated stage upon which the opening band's drummer was testing his kit; to their right, an array of tables--some empty, some filled with merchandise for sale. Around these tables a small number of potential customers had gathered to thumb through the displayed CDs, zines and vinyl record albums in blue milk crates. They found Steve and Del behind one of these tables against the far wall.
They watched as Del held a large piece of cardboard to the wall, seeming to affix miles of duct tape to keep it from falling. Eugene read the information scrawled on the cardboard in thick black magic marker.
IDIOTS INDIE RAWK MECHANDISING ROAD SHOW!
7" vinyl - $3 . . . . CDs - $12
T-Shirts L & XL - $12
CASH ONLY you check floating deadbeats!
FREE stickers for all you freeloading fucks!
(sex w/Faye and/or Steve is more than you can afford--GET A JOB!)
(note: when the chapter goes up, there will be a link to a picture of this sign)
Drawing two t-shirts from the box at his feet, Steve folded them and placed them on the table next to the compact discs. He looked up and smiled at Eugene and his sister. "Merchandise, it keeps us in line... and common sense says it's by design."
Eugene nodded vigorously, "What could a business man ever want more, than to have us..." he and Steve said the next words together, "SUCKING in his store!"
(note: these lines are from the song "Merchandise" on the album Repeater by Fugazi)
"Yeah well..." Steve wagged his head good naturedly. "Even Fugazi's got merchandise."
"Ah, but no t-shirts," Eugene countered.
"Well, when I'm selling as many records as Ian MacKaye, maybe I'll phase 'em out."
Eugene laughed, "You're already selling as many!"
"Not quite," Steve shook his head, "but I'd probably still sell shirts even if I did." Glancing up at the sign, he surveyed the table and did a quick mental inventory. Satisfied that a sample of each item was on display, he nodded once to Del then rubbed his hands together and asked Eugene, "How 'bout you guys? Any worthless crap to peddle?"
"Just some shirts, but those are in the truck."
"I'll leave some space here for 'em, but dude," Steve shook his head parentally, "y'gotta get a disc out or something."
Eugene shrugged disconsolately. "Too expensive, and we can't find anybody who wants to put one out for us. But we're gonna record some songs in January and press as many as we can on Mark's dad's computer."
"That's a good way to start," Steve acknowledged. "But why don't I talk to Rick for you? Y'know who he is? The guy who owns Barge-In? He put out our first record."
"Uh..." Eugene took a moment to think. "Yeah, but isn't he kind of a wierdo?"
"Uh-huh," Steve acknowledged with a nod. "He's this middle-aged guy who wants to be part of like the scene -- by the way, he's the only guy I know who still seriously uses that word. He's got money, so he uses it to put out records. It's kind of pathetic the way he hangs around and stuff, but he's okay. I'll give him a call when we get back."
Nodding, it was only now that Eugene realized Faye was no longer standing beside him. Turning about, he spotted her by one of the other tables engaged in conversation with a girl in a hooded sweatshirt who seemed to be trying to conceal the small tape recorder she held at her side. In response to something uttered by Faye, the girl seemed to grow suddenly infused with energy, nodding and smiling brightly and clasping the tape recorder to her chest with both hands. Gesturing for the girl to follow, Faye approached the Idiots' table. She set one hand against it and leaned across to speak to her brother.
Smiling and waving hello to the girl, Eugene felt a pinch of embarrassment as she kept her eyes riveted hungrily on Faye, Steve and Del. Having listened to Faye, Steve nodded cordially to the girl, who threw him back an overzealously clumsy smile that seemed to call on every resource in her body. Faye touched a brief hand to Eugene's shoulder as she passed, then to an isolated table in the corner along with Steve and the girl clutching the tape recorder.
Eugene took a moment to observe them and found a light, though quite uncomfortable, touch of jealousy prick at a secluded place in his mind. The sensation did not abate as he watched Steve grow ever more animated in response to questions from the girl, whose dancing eyes betrayed the energy she drew from the interview. A mild annoyance further grew within him as he noticed Faye's obviously building enthusiasm.
Tearing himself away, he turned and took a moment to regard his reflection in the long window that allowed patrons of the lounge to look out onto the bowling alley. The somewhat morose expression with which his transparent reflection greeted his tangible self only heightened his discomfort. Exhaling, he tried to refocus his eyes on the people at the bar watching the first half of the Bulls on the television set. Yet the dim scene on the other side of the glass and the comparitively bright lighting that surrounded him allowed his vision no extended purchase. Try as he might, he could only glimpse a glass being raised, a head bobbing up and down or a puff of smoke drifting lazily from someone's parted lips before he once more caught his own clouded and repulsively hungry expression looking back at him.
Exhaling in frustration, he picked his way through the milling crowd. He did not fail to notice that no one now moved aside or acknowledged his passing as they had done when he had entered the club beside Faye. Frowning, he nodded curtly to the doorman, who remained inexorably silent and motionless as Eugene pressed his weight lazily against the door. As it swung open, he found himself staring with undue attention at the small piece of cardboard taped above the handle -- a small piece of cardboard upon which someone had scrawled:
ABSOLUTELY NO
FREE RE-ENTRY!
end
take care
---jones
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"what Marie's not gonna do"
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a punk rock romance in words, music & art
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