Sometime in New Haven - Part VIII
SOMETIME IN NEW HAVEN
The Story of the New Haven
Berlin Survivors
Part VIII
Sara and I slipped out of the kitchen and headed to the living room. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do next. I had a great time with Sara, and I wanted to pursue some sort of romantic relationship, but I didn’t want to say anything that might ruin the day. At the same time, I would hate for her to leave and think I wasn’t interested.
Sara and I seemed like we were connecting though. As we sat together in the living room, we chatted about work, life and Beatle music for a while when I decided to take the plunge (or at least dip a foot in the water). There were quite a few people coming and going and sitting within a few feet of us, but we didn’t seem to notice.
“I had a great time today,” I said.
“So did I,” Sara said. “Now I know a lot of cool places to go in New Haven.”
“Well, we only hit on a little bit here today,” I said. “There are plenty more places left to hit.”
“What are you? A professional tour guide?” she asked with a laugh.
“No, but actually I was hoping we could get together again,” I said. “I can be your tour guide, or we can just hand around or go to the Lincoln Theater and check out a movie or something.”
“I would like that,” she said.
Not as smooth as I would have liked, but a safe landing anyway.
Before we could say another word, I started to lean over hoping to kiss her, but David walked over and plopped down on the couch with us, squeezing next to me. He almost sat on us in the process. He also spilled half his beer, but not on us, fortunately.
“Hi, I’m David,” he said to Sara.
“This is Sara,” I said. “Sara works at Fitzwilly’s also.”
“Great,” David said to Sara. “That will get you either a spot in Rory’s band or a room in the house here.”
“It must be my lucky day then,” she said.
“So, Jack mentioned something earlier that you were thinking of going to New York City, did you go?” David asked me.
“No, I said. “When I left here this morning, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. Fortunately, I ran into Sara and was able to show her around New Haven.”
“Rory makes a wonderful tour guide,” she said.
“Jeremy and I might still go to New York tonight,” David said. “I’m going to wait and see if Rudy wants to go. Have you seen the television? There are hundreds of people – maybe a thousand or so – in New York. Just hanging at the Dakota. That's the place to be. At least we can be with other people who feel as lost as I do."
“I haven’t had a chance to watch the news yet. I think we will all be lost for a while,” I said.
“Well, what Lennon song said the most to you?” David asked.
“It would have to be ‘Imagine’ for what it says,” I said. “Although ‘God’ and ‘Working Class Hero’ said a lot too. I really like the song ‘John Sinclair’ because it was a protest song that worked and ‘Scumbag’ because John and Yoko wrote it with Frank Zappa. Actually, ‘Happy X-mas (War is Over)’ almost always makes me feel like I could cry. I don’t even want to know what it will be like listening to it now that John is dead. I don’t know. I like just about every song he did. I can’t name one song. They were all great. And I didn’t even get to the Beatle songs. I don’t know. But since it’s December, let’s go with ‘Happy Christmas.’ Hey, you should know better than to ask me to name just one Lennon song. What about you?”
“I like them all too, but ‘Imagine’ probably does the most for me as well,” David said. “I really like that Beatle song ‘You’ve got to hide your love away’ too. That was obviously a John Lennon song.”
Then David turned to Sara. “What about you, Sara?”
“Well, ‘Imagine’ is a beautiful song, both in how it sounds and for what it says,” she said.
‘Yeah,” David said.
“I probably shouldn’t say something like this,” yelled John Marshall, who stumbled into the living room unnoticed during the conversation. “Why couldn’t Yoko have been shot? Why John?”
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t say that,” David said.
“But why not?” John Marshall asked. “Don’t you think some people are asking that question?”
“Yeah, some very fucked-up people,” I said.
“And what are you? Some sort of fucken Yoko lover?” Brian chimed in.
“No,” I said. “But already she’s probably one of the most disliked people in the world because everyone thinks she broke up the Beatles and now you want to see her dead. That’s fucked up.”
“So you would rather see John dead than Yoko. . .” John Marshall started.
“Fuck you,” I interrupted, trying not to raise my voice. “I didn’t know any of us had a choice. No one asked me before it happened, ‘Oh, by the way, someone is going to get shot tonight, who would you like it to be?’ I’m saying it’s fucked up what happened to John Lennon and it would be fucked up no matter who it happened to. And it has probably already happened to a few people in this world since last night.”
“Besides,” Jack said, walking towards John Marshall. “If you are such a John Lennon fan, and if you know anything at all about him, you know that he probably couldn’t go on if someone shot Yoko. By the way, you are a pretty fucked up individual.”
“Maybe so, Jack,” Brian said. “But all he’s saying is Yoko still sucks, her music sucks and she has no fucken talent. What has she ever done besides fuck a Beatle?”
“I saw her and John on the Mike Douglas Show about six years ago,” I said, actually hoping to diffuse what looked to become a tense situation with my storytelling skills. “They were there for a week as guest hosts or something. Anyway, I remember one show where she was talking about how people should say that they love each other more. But, not happy just to say this should happen, they picked a random name out of the Philadelphia telephone book and called this old woman and told her they loved her. They told her she should pass the message on. It was taking an old theme, which is all any of us can do, and giving it a fresh look. She was saying, ‘All You Need is Love’.”
“I think I saw that,” said Ken, another housemate. “When John introduced himself to the woman on the telephone she said something like, ‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.’ That bit was pretty cool.”
“Yeah, pretty cool,” John Marshall said. “But everyone knows his music would have been so much better if Yoko didn’t ruin it with those fucken noises.”
“She was just spouting a bunch of radical feminist bullshit,” Brian said.
“I’m curious,” Sara asked Brian. “What part exactly do you have a problem with? The fact that she’s a feminist or the fact that she’s a radical?”
“What?” Brian asked, looking confused by the question.
“This is all very interesting,” John Marshall said, shaking his head as if he were amused by everything, but still wobbling to keep his balance. “You guys would make great hippies. You know: peace, love all that stupid bullshit, but you are a few years too late. Besides, that shit doesn’t fly in the real world. You are all living in some fucken la-la land. I’m out of here.”
John Marshall left, although I worried that Jack was going to get himself slugged because he held the door open for him and asked if he wanted to blast any other “people of peace.”
“Have you ever read a book?” Jack asked. “Do you even know how to read?”
“Fuck you,” John Marshall yelled back.
“Oh, and a skilled debater as well,” Jack countered.
Jack paused before closing the door. He was talking to someone out front. I just hoped it wasn’t John Marshall. I was actually pleased with Brian’s demise, although I wasn’t sure why he was still hanging out. He was huddled with a few people at the bar in the living room quietly trying to make his case.
Ken leaned over and said that John Marshall was probably overloaded on “Sometime in New York City,” which was on the stereo before we arrived.
Then I saw Jack shake hands with someone at the door and point in my direction.
“Oh, it’s Ray,” Sara said.
Chapter 4
“Ray, this is Rory,” Sara said as we both extended our arms to shake hands.
“So there weren’t many John Lennon fans in Madison today?” I asked.
“No, Madison is a hide-away for Nixon Republicans,” Ray said.
“Well, make yourself comfortable, would you like a drink?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said looking at his sister. “We have time, don’t we Sara?”
“Yes we do,” she said.
“Right this way,” Jack said to Ray. “I’ll show you where the beer garden is. The Jack Daniels cart should be by in a while.”
“A Jack Daniels cart?” Ray asked with a smile.
The party continued, with people moving from room to room as they talked mostly about John Lennon, although the conversations were peppered with other topics, such as the American hostages in Iran and the U.S. Olympic hockey team winning the gold medal - an old topic, actually, that usually found new life in gatherings where alcohol was served. Jack and Brian were talking at the bar in the living room for a while then left the room together. I couldn’t tell which one was more popped as they walked by. Actually, they both seemed close to the limit.
“I can’t believe what a Neanderthal Brian and the other guy were,” Sara said. “I mean, people already know that Brian is a bit of a put-on, but that show before took it to a new level.”
“Well,” I said, trying to muffle my elation. “You just never know.”
“Yeah, but I guess it was pretty obvious with those two,” she said.
Jack returned alone a few minutes later.
After awhile, Ziggy and Jeremy started another one of their great debates in the hallway outside the living room door. The only time anyone could hear them, though, was between songs so it was pretty comical.
“You know the guitar lead on ‘You Really Got Me’ was really played by Jimmy Page,” Jeremy said.
“Bullshit,” Ziggy countered. “That is Dave Davies. There’s no question about it. Listen to the guitar leads in some of the other Kinks’ songs of the same time period, like ‘All Day and All of the Night,’ ‘I Need You’ and ‘Till the End of the Day’.”
“It’s the same lead, I know,” Jeremy said. “He stole them.”
“It’s not the same lead,” Ziggy said. “But there are a few trademark notes and progressions in those leads that were classic Dave. They’re trademarks.
Another John Lennon song played on the stereo. When it was over, we all were able to hear the debate again, still in progress.
Both were not only trying to top each other with their points, they were also raising their voices a bit. I guess they figured they got extra debate points if they were the loudest.
“I think Jimmy Page played the lead, and then Dave Davies just stole what he was capable of playing from it to use on the other songs,” said Jeremy, although I think at that point he was only trying to piss off Ziggy.
“That’s bullshit,” screamed Ziggy, letting his status as a Kinks’ fanatic show. “Listen to Jimmy Page’s early work. The guitar lead in ‘You Really Got Me’ was not his style.”
Another John Lennon song, and yet another brief pause before the next song. The debate did seem to give everyone a break from the heavy mood.
“Look, the early Kinks’ music was like the definitive core sound of rock ‘n roll,” Ziggy said.
“Listen to early Jimmy Page. Listen to the Yardbirds and early Led Zepelin. Those songs are great, classic, blues-based rock, but they were not The Kinks. They couldn’t touch the early Kinks.”
“And the Kinks couldn’t have done what Led Zeppelin did,” Jeremy said.
“They didn’t have to; they had already left their lasting influence on rock ‘n roll,” Ziggy said.
“Are these guys really getting mad at each other?” Sara leaned over and asked once the next song started.
“No,” I said. “They do this all the time. This is their version of a verbal steel cage match. It’s like wrestling for them. They only time they ever got physical was when they argued over which is better for cotton mouth: grape or orange soda.”
The heavy smell of marijuana started drifting from the kitchen; a sure sign of a successful party, I thought.
“This is a great place,” Ray said. “And the entertainment value of the hallway debate can’t be beat.”
“Actually, you missed your sister joining in one of the earlier debates,” I said.
“When?” Ray asked.
“Some asshole was wishing Yoko Ono dead and then complained that she was a ‘radical feminist’.” I said.
“Oh shit,” Ray said. “Real smart move on his part; complaining about feminism in front of Sara. Did she hit him?”
“With a good line,” I said. “Which probably hurt him more than hitting him physically.”
“Are you familiar with Yoko’s stuff?” Jack asked.
“No,” Sara answered. “I just had a problem with that guy’s attitude. And besides, I thought Rory was probably going to hit him.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m a non-violent kind of guy. At least, I’d like to think so.”
David walked into the living room to announce that he and Rudy were heading to New York City.
Ray offered to drive them to the New Haven train station, that way he could grab a bite to eat. “I haven’t really eaten all day and these couple of beers and all is starting to go straight to my head,” Ray said.
Sara, though suggested that she drive to the train station, that way she could get her bag from Fitzwilly’s and pick up some food for Ray. Besides, she said, Ray looked as though he was enjoying himself. Jack offered to drive as well, but there were no takers on that one.
“It looks as though I might need a tour guide on this trip,” Sara said to me.
We were off in Ray’s car.
“You guys should come to New York with us,” David suggested.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Besides, I have to work tomorrow.”
“This is something you could blow off work for,” he said.
“I’m staying,” I said. “But, hey, if you kids stay in the city longer than a few hours send me a postcard, alright?”
“You got it,” Rudy said.
“Actually, I bet it will be quite the experience,” I said.
“I’m sure it will be,” David said. “There are Lennon fans swarming on Central Park. We just feel we have to go.”
We dropped those guys off at the train station and headed back downtown.
“So, where do we get Ray something for dinner?” Sara asked.
“What does he like?”
“He’ll eat anything.”
“Mamoun’s falafel restaurant on Park Street,” I said. “Guaranteed good stuff.”
We ordered five falafels, figuring there may be a couple of other hungry people back at the house. We sat down and listened to the Indian music that was always piped into the dining room and chatted while we waited. She talked about friends she left behind and I told her about Aragon. Mostly we talked about our work schedules as we tried to come up with a day to get together again. We decided on Friday night.
I decided Mamouns was perfect. I leaned across the table to kiss Sara. She met me half-way.
Her lips were soft and the kiss sent a warm wave through my body. Our tongues met briefly and we pulled away. We were both smiling as we sat looking at each other for a few minutes. As I did at Sprague Hall, I admired her freckles and wished I could just nibble them right off her face.
“Your order is ready,” the woman behind the counter said.
We paid and left. In the car, we exchanged another kiss, this time a little longer as we embraced over the uncomfortable console between the two front seats.
“You know, Rory,” she said with a playful smile. “This is as far as we’re going on a first date.”
“Well, Sara,” I said. “This isn’t really a date. We’re just hanging out with each other. So we could. . .”
“In that case, we’ve already gone too far,” she said with a laugh.
“Fine,” I said. “Actually, this day is going far better than I thought it would when I woke up this morning.”
“Yeah,” she said, starting up the car. “I’m having a great day.”
We headed back to the house, which still had about 25 people scattered throughout the rooms partying. I was curious, though, as to what happened to Brian and what he and Jack were discussing earlier, but I figured he was probably passed out somewhere.
Ray was in Jack’s room with Jack and Ziggy. All three dug into the falafels.
“I’m glad you went to get some food for your brother, Sara, and didn’t leave it to Rory,” Jack said. “Rory would never have gotten us anything to eat. He might even learn some manners hanging out with you.”
“Well it was Rory’s idea to get some extras,” Sara said.
She took my hand, gave me a kiss and headed off to the bathroom.
“What a difference a day makes,” Jack said to me as Sara left the room. “It must have been the ‘Just a cook–slash–poet living in an animal house’ line that got her.”
“No, it was my charm,” I said, although I didn’t really want to say much of anything in front of Ray.
“Yeah, but is it a 1-4-3?” Jack asked.
“What’s a 1-4-3?” Ziggy asked.
“Buddy, the heroin addict, told me it is a code for ‘I’ll always love you’ that he learned from one of his fellow smack fiends that he met in Rhode Island,” Jack said.
“What, do they have their own code language?” Ray asked.
“Beats me,” Jack said. “But Buddy said this one guy from Rhode Island used to talk about how he fell in love with this poet who would end all her poems and letters to him with a ‘1-4-3'. She finally left him because of his smack habit but he would say 1-4-3 every time the needle would pop the skin. He told Buddy the 1-4-3 would carry him through the uncomfortable feeling of sticking a foreign object into his arm until the high kicked in.”
“Is that a true story?” Ray asked.
“Well, it was told to me by a heroin addict, so who knows if it’s true,” Jack said. “He probably made it up for money.”
“It’s not a bad story, though,” Ziggy said, lighting up a joint.
“Well, 1-4-3 or not, just make sure you are nice to my sister,” Ray said. “She doesn’t need someone being an asshole to her.”
“Of course,” I said, although he threw me off a little with that comment. “I like her. I’ll be nice to her. Besides, I’m not an asshole."
"Yeah, I can vouch for him,” Ziggy said. “I mean, he's not too much of an asshole. Not all the time anyway."
“Thanks,” I said.
“I know,” Ray said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want to sound like a jerk or anything. I just feel comfortable talking to you guys and thought I could speak my mind.”
“You can,” I said. “It’s cool.”
At that point, the door burst open.
“Jack, what the fuck is wrong with you?” a pale Brian yelled.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s a waiter. And you’re just in time to clear some glasses.”
“Fuck the glasses,” Brian said. “You guys are fucked. I can’t believe the shit Jack pulled with me.”
“Brian, calm down,” Ziggy said. “Take a deep breath and tell us what the fuck you are talking about.”
“It was nothing,” Jack started. “He just. . .”
“Fuck you it was nothing,” Brian yelled. “I told Jack downstairs I was feeling too high. I was fucked-up and he said he knew just the thing to mellow me out.”
“He usually does,” I said.
“Sure he does,” Brian said. “He hands me a joint and an ashtray, sits me on a fucken bean bag, hands me the fucken head phones and plays this fucked-up fucken tape. I couldn’t even listen to it all it was so fucked-up.”
“And the key word there is fucked in case you guys missed it,” Jack said.
“Yeah, fuck you!” Brian said, walking towards Jack with clenched fists.
“So Brian,” Ziggy said, stepping between Jack and Brian. “What tape was it?”
“Berlin,” Brian said. “It was so fucked-up. I mean, I melted into that bean bag. I was just about passed out so I kept listening to that tape because I couldn’t muster the energy to get up and turn it off. I just kept listening figuring it would get better. Wrong fucken answer, man. I should have figured this was going to be a fucked up day when Mike started pouring me shots of cheap booze at Fitzwilly’s when I got off work.”
“Cheap booze?” I said. “That’s not right!”
“Dick, I mean Brian, look,” Jack started, still trying, but failing miserably, to contain a smile.
“Look nothing,” Brian said. “You’re a dick! I’m fucken out of here.”
“I really hate to see anyone go away mad, though,” Jack said, trying to hold back a laugh.
Brian was out the door.
“Gets ‘em all the time,” Jack said.
“I thought you were through with that ‘Berlin’ shit?” I asked.
“I am, now,” Jack said, lighting up a joint. “I guess I just wanted to see how ‘Berlin’ worked with an abundance of cheap booze, cocaine and dope.”
“It just seemed like a waste of some perfectly good art on that dick,” I said.
“And drugs,” Ziggy said. “I guess we’re just white punks on dope.”
“Yep,” I said, adding to The Tubes song Ziggy started. “Mom and Dad moved to Hollywood.”
“Hang myself when I get enough rope,” Jack chimed in.
“Jeez, it smells like a party in here,” Sara said as she entered the room, carrying a few steins of beer. “I washed a few glasses downstairs so I could get us some more beer.”
“Now Rory would definitely never have done that for us,” Jack said.
“Only because you guys never use clean glasses,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up with Brian, he looked like a crazed animal as he ran down the stairs,” Sara said. “Did you see that?”
“Jeez, I didn’t see that,” Jack said. “I wonder what’s up?”
“As he was heading down the hall to the front door, Michael and that new hostess, you know, the one that was working this afternoon, came in,” Sara said. “Brian just stopped dead in his tracks and moaned.”
We smoked a little and had another beer in Jack’s room, but decided to head to the door when a dozen or so other people poured in, including Michael and the hostess he tormented earlier in the day.
“I heard you ran into Brian,” I said to Michael.
“Yeah, he was bumping into the walls,” Michael said.
The hostess walked over to Sara and started talking, which gave me a chance to ask Michael what was going on.
“Hey, I didn’t know she would get so upset about the car accident call,” Michael said. “I felt guilty so I asked her if she wanted to join me in a drink. This won’t lead to anything, but it was great running into Brian. Jesus, Rory, what did you guys do to him? He looked terrible.”
“We didn’t do anything to him,” I said. “He just can’t handle a good party, I guess.”
“I guess,” Michael said as Sara and the new hostess joined us.
“Welcome to the house,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Michael was nice enough to bring me here. I’m glad he did after the miserable day I had.”
“Really?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Well, this gentleman called the restaurant this afternoon looking to cancel a luncheon engagement because his wife died,” she said. “I don’t think his friends ever got the message. It was rather upsetting. Michael suggested we go out for a cocktail.”
“Well, Michael knows what he’s talking about,” I said. “Especially when it comes to cocktails. After all, he’s a trained professional.”
“Ray, we will have to leave soon,” Sara said to her brother as we left the room. “It’s already past 10 and I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Lock the door when you leave,” Ziggy said, although he knew we didn’t have locks on the room doors. “I want to keep Jeremy out. Once the Dave Davies argument was over, he started in on his theory about how the ‘Scooby Doo’ cartoons featured television’s first openly stoned and homosexual characters. I can’t take it anymore.”
As we headed down the hall to my room, we ran into Jeremy.
“Hey,” Jeremy said to me. “Aren’t you guys going to play tonight? I was kind of looking forward to hear how you guys would play some John Lennon.”
“No,” I said. “Aragon’s not around anymore.”
“Yeah?” Jeremy said. “What happened to Aragon?”
“He moved to Boston last night,” I said.
“That’s wild,” Jeremy said, walking into Jack’s room.
“Is it just me, or is everyone in the house now partying in the smallest room in the house and the room with the least amount of furniture?” I asked.
“This place is something,” Sara said.
“Yeah, there’s some really good people here and your brother seems to be enjoying himself,” I said. “He’s a cool guy.”
Sara was humming that song again. I still didn’t know what the song was, but I was actually enjoying it.
We walked to my room where I poured myself into the cushioned chair near the window and lit a cigarette. Sara sat on the arm of the chair, took the cigarette from my mouth and ran her fingers through my hair.
“I’ve got to lie down,” she said, handing me back the cigarette. “I feel like I can fall asleep standing up.”
She leaned over and gave me a kiss then walked over to the bed.
I walked over to the stereo and switched through a few radio stations before putting on a cassette of ‘The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society.’
“This doesn’t sound like John Lennon,” Sara said.
“No, it’s The Kinks,” I said. “I will probably put on John Lennon right after this even though all my Lennon tapes and records are scattered throughout the house now.”
“The Kinks sound good,” she said.
“So, is there one person that you wished you never lost touch with over the years?” I asked Sara.
“Yes,” she said. “My father.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked.
There was a long pause.
“How about you?” she asked. “There must be people you wished you never lost touch with.”
“Yeah, I guess there are a few people.”
Another long pause passed, I added, “You know. I was in the military, so I always saw people come and go. What about you? Where were you where you had to say ‘good-bye’ to so many people.”
After another long pause, where I figured Sara probably drifted off to sleep, Sara finally said, “I can’t do this now. It’s not easy.”
“Hey, forget it,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I had a tough move as a little kid, where I was taken from my friends,” Sara said. “I was taken from everyone except Ray. We had to move an awful lot for a few years there. When we finally got settled, I was still afraid to get too close to anyone. As I grew up, a lot of the other girls thought I was just a snob. There were a couple, though, that I was really friendly with. They were my best friends, I loved them, but I still couldn’t let them get too close. I wanted to. I wish I had told them how much they meant to me. I wish I could now. I don’t know. . .”
I looked out the window, over the calm of Lake Whitney, and finished my cigarette. As I pushed what little was left of my cigarette into the ashtray, I looked over at the bed and saw Sara was sleeping. She looked peaceful. She looked very Irish. She looked beautiful. I wished I could have climbed in bed with her. Instead I walked over and kissed her on the forehead and put a blanket over her.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and slouched down, figuring I might get a little shut-eye as well. I was debating whether to try to climb into my bed, although I didn’t want Sara to get spooked. I pulled my sneakers off and got comfortable in the chair. After all, I had to be awake in seven hours and I needed some sleep.
That was not to be, though, as Jack, Ray and Ziggy quietly entered my room.
“Rory, are you asleep?” Jack asked.
“Around this house?” I answered. “Never.”
“We are taking Ray over to see the waterfall,” Jack said. “Do you want to come?”
The waterfall across the street was beautiful up close. Jack and I would often grab a couple of beers and sit on the bank of Lake Whitney and watch the waterfall while talking about life. It was a very relaxing little piece of the world. Even on a chilly December evening.
“Let’s go,” I said, putting my Chuck Taylors back on and grabbing my jackets.
The Story of the New Haven
Berlin Survivors
Part VIII
Sara and I slipped out of the kitchen and headed to the living room. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do next. I had a great time with Sara, and I wanted to pursue some sort of romantic relationship, but I didn’t want to say anything that might ruin the day. At the same time, I would hate for her to leave and think I wasn’t interested.
Sara and I seemed like we were connecting though. As we sat together in the living room, we chatted about work, life and Beatle music for a while when I decided to take the plunge (or at least dip a foot in the water). There were quite a few people coming and going and sitting within a few feet of us, but we didn’t seem to notice.
“I had a great time today,” I said.
“So did I,” Sara said. “Now I know a lot of cool places to go in New Haven.”
“Well, we only hit on a little bit here today,” I said. “There are plenty more places left to hit.”
“What are you? A professional tour guide?” she asked with a laugh.
“No, but actually I was hoping we could get together again,” I said. “I can be your tour guide, or we can just hand around or go to the Lincoln Theater and check out a movie or something.”
“I would like that,” she said.
Not as smooth as I would have liked, but a safe landing anyway.
Before we could say another word, I started to lean over hoping to kiss her, but David walked over and plopped down on the couch with us, squeezing next to me. He almost sat on us in the process. He also spilled half his beer, but not on us, fortunately.
“Hi, I’m David,” he said to Sara.
“This is Sara,” I said. “Sara works at Fitzwilly’s also.”
“Great,” David said to Sara. “That will get you either a spot in Rory’s band or a room in the house here.”
“It must be my lucky day then,” she said.
“So, Jack mentioned something earlier that you were thinking of going to New York City, did you go?” David asked me.
“No, I said. “When I left here this morning, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. Fortunately, I ran into Sara and was able to show her around New Haven.”
“Rory makes a wonderful tour guide,” she said.
“Jeremy and I might still go to New York tonight,” David said. “I’m going to wait and see if Rudy wants to go. Have you seen the television? There are hundreds of people – maybe a thousand or so – in New York. Just hanging at the Dakota. That's the place to be. At least we can be with other people who feel as lost as I do."
“I haven’t had a chance to watch the news yet. I think we will all be lost for a while,” I said.
“Well, what Lennon song said the most to you?” David asked.
“It would have to be ‘Imagine’ for what it says,” I said. “Although ‘God’ and ‘Working Class Hero’ said a lot too. I really like the song ‘John Sinclair’ because it was a protest song that worked and ‘Scumbag’ because John and Yoko wrote it with Frank Zappa. Actually, ‘Happy X-mas (War is Over)’ almost always makes me feel like I could cry. I don’t even want to know what it will be like listening to it now that John is dead. I don’t know. I like just about every song he did. I can’t name one song. They were all great. And I didn’t even get to the Beatle songs. I don’t know. But since it’s December, let’s go with ‘Happy Christmas.’ Hey, you should know better than to ask me to name just one Lennon song. What about you?”
“I like them all too, but ‘Imagine’ probably does the most for me as well,” David said. “I really like that Beatle song ‘You’ve got to hide your love away’ too. That was obviously a John Lennon song.”
Then David turned to Sara. “What about you, Sara?”
“Well, ‘Imagine’ is a beautiful song, both in how it sounds and for what it says,” she said.
‘Yeah,” David said.
“I probably shouldn’t say something like this,” yelled John Marshall, who stumbled into the living room unnoticed during the conversation. “Why couldn’t Yoko have been shot? Why John?”
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t say that,” David said.
“But why not?” John Marshall asked. “Don’t you think some people are asking that question?”
“Yeah, some very fucked-up people,” I said.
“And what are you? Some sort of fucken Yoko lover?” Brian chimed in.
“No,” I said. “But already she’s probably one of the most disliked people in the world because everyone thinks she broke up the Beatles and now you want to see her dead. That’s fucked up.”
“So you would rather see John dead than Yoko. . .” John Marshall started.
“Fuck you,” I interrupted, trying not to raise my voice. “I didn’t know any of us had a choice. No one asked me before it happened, ‘Oh, by the way, someone is going to get shot tonight, who would you like it to be?’ I’m saying it’s fucked up what happened to John Lennon and it would be fucked up no matter who it happened to. And it has probably already happened to a few people in this world since last night.”
“Besides,” Jack said, walking towards John Marshall. “If you are such a John Lennon fan, and if you know anything at all about him, you know that he probably couldn’t go on if someone shot Yoko. By the way, you are a pretty fucked up individual.”
“Maybe so, Jack,” Brian said. “But all he’s saying is Yoko still sucks, her music sucks and she has no fucken talent. What has she ever done besides fuck a Beatle?”
“I saw her and John on the Mike Douglas Show about six years ago,” I said, actually hoping to diffuse what looked to become a tense situation with my storytelling skills. “They were there for a week as guest hosts or something. Anyway, I remember one show where she was talking about how people should say that they love each other more. But, not happy just to say this should happen, they picked a random name out of the Philadelphia telephone book and called this old woman and told her they loved her. They told her she should pass the message on. It was taking an old theme, which is all any of us can do, and giving it a fresh look. She was saying, ‘All You Need is Love’.”
“I think I saw that,” said Ken, another housemate. “When John introduced himself to the woman on the telephone she said something like, ‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.’ That bit was pretty cool.”
“Yeah, pretty cool,” John Marshall said. “But everyone knows his music would have been so much better if Yoko didn’t ruin it with those fucken noises.”
“She was just spouting a bunch of radical feminist bullshit,” Brian said.
“I’m curious,” Sara asked Brian. “What part exactly do you have a problem with? The fact that she’s a feminist or the fact that she’s a radical?”
“What?” Brian asked, looking confused by the question.
“This is all very interesting,” John Marshall said, shaking his head as if he were amused by everything, but still wobbling to keep his balance. “You guys would make great hippies. You know: peace, love all that stupid bullshit, but you are a few years too late. Besides, that shit doesn’t fly in the real world. You are all living in some fucken la-la land. I’m out of here.”
John Marshall left, although I worried that Jack was going to get himself slugged because he held the door open for him and asked if he wanted to blast any other “people of peace.”
“Have you ever read a book?” Jack asked. “Do you even know how to read?”
“Fuck you,” John Marshall yelled back.
“Oh, and a skilled debater as well,” Jack countered.
Jack paused before closing the door. He was talking to someone out front. I just hoped it wasn’t John Marshall. I was actually pleased with Brian’s demise, although I wasn’t sure why he was still hanging out. He was huddled with a few people at the bar in the living room quietly trying to make his case.
Ken leaned over and said that John Marshall was probably overloaded on “Sometime in New York City,” which was on the stereo before we arrived.
Then I saw Jack shake hands with someone at the door and point in my direction.
“Oh, it’s Ray,” Sara said.
Chapter 4
“Ray, this is Rory,” Sara said as we both extended our arms to shake hands.
“So there weren’t many John Lennon fans in Madison today?” I asked.
“No, Madison is a hide-away for Nixon Republicans,” Ray said.
“Well, make yourself comfortable, would you like a drink?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said looking at his sister. “We have time, don’t we Sara?”
“Yes we do,” she said.
“Right this way,” Jack said to Ray. “I’ll show you where the beer garden is. The Jack Daniels cart should be by in a while.”
“A Jack Daniels cart?” Ray asked with a smile.
The party continued, with people moving from room to room as they talked mostly about John Lennon, although the conversations were peppered with other topics, such as the American hostages in Iran and the U.S. Olympic hockey team winning the gold medal - an old topic, actually, that usually found new life in gatherings where alcohol was served. Jack and Brian were talking at the bar in the living room for a while then left the room together. I couldn’t tell which one was more popped as they walked by. Actually, they both seemed close to the limit.
“I can’t believe what a Neanderthal Brian and the other guy were,” Sara said. “I mean, people already know that Brian is a bit of a put-on, but that show before took it to a new level.”
“Well,” I said, trying to muffle my elation. “You just never know.”
“Yeah, but I guess it was pretty obvious with those two,” she said.
Jack returned alone a few minutes later.
After awhile, Ziggy and Jeremy started another one of their great debates in the hallway outside the living room door. The only time anyone could hear them, though, was between songs so it was pretty comical.
“You know the guitar lead on ‘You Really Got Me’ was really played by Jimmy Page,” Jeremy said.
“Bullshit,” Ziggy countered. “That is Dave Davies. There’s no question about it. Listen to the guitar leads in some of the other Kinks’ songs of the same time period, like ‘All Day and All of the Night,’ ‘I Need You’ and ‘Till the End of the Day’.”
“It’s the same lead, I know,” Jeremy said. “He stole them.”
“It’s not the same lead,” Ziggy said. “But there are a few trademark notes and progressions in those leads that were classic Dave. They’re trademarks.
Another John Lennon song played on the stereo. When it was over, we all were able to hear the debate again, still in progress.
Both were not only trying to top each other with their points, they were also raising their voices a bit. I guess they figured they got extra debate points if they were the loudest.
“I think Jimmy Page played the lead, and then Dave Davies just stole what he was capable of playing from it to use on the other songs,” said Jeremy, although I think at that point he was only trying to piss off Ziggy.
“That’s bullshit,” screamed Ziggy, letting his status as a Kinks’ fanatic show. “Listen to Jimmy Page’s early work. The guitar lead in ‘You Really Got Me’ was not his style.”
Another John Lennon song, and yet another brief pause before the next song. The debate did seem to give everyone a break from the heavy mood.
“Look, the early Kinks’ music was like the definitive core sound of rock ‘n roll,” Ziggy said.
“Listen to early Jimmy Page. Listen to the Yardbirds and early Led Zepelin. Those songs are great, classic, blues-based rock, but they were not The Kinks. They couldn’t touch the early Kinks.”
“And the Kinks couldn’t have done what Led Zeppelin did,” Jeremy said.
“They didn’t have to; they had already left their lasting influence on rock ‘n roll,” Ziggy said.
“Are these guys really getting mad at each other?” Sara leaned over and asked once the next song started.
“No,” I said. “They do this all the time. This is their version of a verbal steel cage match. It’s like wrestling for them. They only time they ever got physical was when they argued over which is better for cotton mouth: grape or orange soda.”
The heavy smell of marijuana started drifting from the kitchen; a sure sign of a successful party, I thought.
“This is a great place,” Ray said. “And the entertainment value of the hallway debate can’t be beat.”
“Actually, you missed your sister joining in one of the earlier debates,” I said.
“When?” Ray asked.
“Some asshole was wishing Yoko Ono dead and then complained that she was a ‘radical feminist’.” I said.
“Oh shit,” Ray said. “Real smart move on his part; complaining about feminism in front of Sara. Did she hit him?”
“With a good line,” I said. “Which probably hurt him more than hitting him physically.”
“Are you familiar with Yoko’s stuff?” Jack asked.
“No,” Sara answered. “I just had a problem with that guy’s attitude. And besides, I thought Rory was probably going to hit him.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m a non-violent kind of guy. At least, I’d like to think so.”
David walked into the living room to announce that he and Rudy were heading to New York City.
Ray offered to drive them to the New Haven train station, that way he could grab a bite to eat. “I haven’t really eaten all day and these couple of beers and all is starting to go straight to my head,” Ray said.
Sara, though suggested that she drive to the train station, that way she could get her bag from Fitzwilly’s and pick up some food for Ray. Besides, she said, Ray looked as though he was enjoying himself. Jack offered to drive as well, but there were no takers on that one.
“It looks as though I might need a tour guide on this trip,” Sara said to me.
We were off in Ray’s car.
“You guys should come to New York with us,” David suggested.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Besides, I have to work tomorrow.”
“This is something you could blow off work for,” he said.
“I’m staying,” I said. “But, hey, if you kids stay in the city longer than a few hours send me a postcard, alright?”
“You got it,” Rudy said.
“Actually, I bet it will be quite the experience,” I said.
“I’m sure it will be,” David said. “There are Lennon fans swarming on Central Park. We just feel we have to go.”
We dropped those guys off at the train station and headed back downtown.
“So, where do we get Ray something for dinner?” Sara asked.
“What does he like?”
“He’ll eat anything.”
“Mamoun’s falafel restaurant on Park Street,” I said. “Guaranteed good stuff.”
We ordered five falafels, figuring there may be a couple of other hungry people back at the house. We sat down and listened to the Indian music that was always piped into the dining room and chatted while we waited. She talked about friends she left behind and I told her about Aragon. Mostly we talked about our work schedules as we tried to come up with a day to get together again. We decided on Friday night.
I decided Mamouns was perfect. I leaned across the table to kiss Sara. She met me half-way.
Her lips were soft and the kiss sent a warm wave through my body. Our tongues met briefly and we pulled away. We were both smiling as we sat looking at each other for a few minutes. As I did at Sprague Hall, I admired her freckles and wished I could just nibble them right off her face.
“Your order is ready,” the woman behind the counter said.
We paid and left. In the car, we exchanged another kiss, this time a little longer as we embraced over the uncomfortable console between the two front seats.
“You know, Rory,” she said with a playful smile. “This is as far as we’re going on a first date.”
“Well, Sara,” I said. “This isn’t really a date. We’re just hanging out with each other. So we could. . .”
“In that case, we’ve already gone too far,” she said with a laugh.
“Fine,” I said. “Actually, this day is going far better than I thought it would when I woke up this morning.”
“Yeah,” she said, starting up the car. “I’m having a great day.”
We headed back to the house, which still had about 25 people scattered throughout the rooms partying. I was curious, though, as to what happened to Brian and what he and Jack were discussing earlier, but I figured he was probably passed out somewhere.
Ray was in Jack’s room with Jack and Ziggy. All three dug into the falafels.
“I’m glad you went to get some food for your brother, Sara, and didn’t leave it to Rory,” Jack said. “Rory would never have gotten us anything to eat. He might even learn some manners hanging out with you.”
“Well it was Rory’s idea to get some extras,” Sara said.
She took my hand, gave me a kiss and headed off to the bathroom.
“What a difference a day makes,” Jack said to me as Sara left the room. “It must have been the ‘Just a cook–slash–poet living in an animal house’ line that got her.”
“No, it was my charm,” I said, although I didn’t really want to say much of anything in front of Ray.
“Yeah, but is it a 1-4-3?” Jack asked.
“What’s a 1-4-3?” Ziggy asked.
“Buddy, the heroin addict, told me it is a code for ‘I’ll always love you’ that he learned from one of his fellow smack fiends that he met in Rhode Island,” Jack said.
“What, do they have their own code language?” Ray asked.
“Beats me,” Jack said. “But Buddy said this one guy from Rhode Island used to talk about how he fell in love with this poet who would end all her poems and letters to him with a ‘1-4-3'. She finally left him because of his smack habit but he would say 1-4-3 every time the needle would pop the skin. He told Buddy the 1-4-3 would carry him through the uncomfortable feeling of sticking a foreign object into his arm until the high kicked in.”
“Is that a true story?” Ray asked.
“Well, it was told to me by a heroin addict, so who knows if it’s true,” Jack said. “He probably made it up for money.”
“It’s not a bad story, though,” Ziggy said, lighting up a joint.
“Well, 1-4-3 or not, just make sure you are nice to my sister,” Ray said. “She doesn’t need someone being an asshole to her.”
“Of course,” I said, although he threw me off a little with that comment. “I like her. I’ll be nice to her. Besides, I’m not an asshole."
"Yeah, I can vouch for him,” Ziggy said. “I mean, he's not too much of an asshole. Not all the time anyway."
“Thanks,” I said.
“I know,” Ray said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want to sound like a jerk or anything. I just feel comfortable talking to you guys and thought I could speak my mind.”
“You can,” I said. “It’s cool.”
At that point, the door burst open.
“Jack, what the fuck is wrong with you?” a pale Brian yelled.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s a waiter. And you’re just in time to clear some glasses.”
“Fuck the glasses,” Brian said. “You guys are fucked. I can’t believe the shit Jack pulled with me.”
“Brian, calm down,” Ziggy said. “Take a deep breath and tell us what the fuck you are talking about.”
“It was nothing,” Jack started. “He just. . .”
“Fuck you it was nothing,” Brian yelled. “I told Jack downstairs I was feeling too high. I was fucked-up and he said he knew just the thing to mellow me out.”
“He usually does,” I said.
“Sure he does,” Brian said. “He hands me a joint and an ashtray, sits me on a fucken bean bag, hands me the fucken head phones and plays this fucked-up fucken tape. I couldn’t even listen to it all it was so fucked-up.”
“And the key word there is fucked in case you guys missed it,” Jack said.
“Yeah, fuck you!” Brian said, walking towards Jack with clenched fists.
“So Brian,” Ziggy said, stepping between Jack and Brian. “What tape was it?”
“Berlin,” Brian said. “It was so fucked-up. I mean, I melted into that bean bag. I was just about passed out so I kept listening to that tape because I couldn’t muster the energy to get up and turn it off. I just kept listening figuring it would get better. Wrong fucken answer, man. I should have figured this was going to be a fucked up day when Mike started pouring me shots of cheap booze at Fitzwilly’s when I got off work.”
“Cheap booze?” I said. “That’s not right!”
“Dick, I mean Brian, look,” Jack started, still trying, but failing miserably, to contain a smile.
“Look nothing,” Brian said. “You’re a dick! I’m fucken out of here.”
“I really hate to see anyone go away mad, though,” Jack said, trying to hold back a laugh.
Brian was out the door.
“Gets ‘em all the time,” Jack said.
“I thought you were through with that ‘Berlin’ shit?” I asked.
“I am, now,” Jack said, lighting up a joint. “I guess I just wanted to see how ‘Berlin’ worked with an abundance of cheap booze, cocaine and dope.”
“It just seemed like a waste of some perfectly good art on that dick,” I said.
“And drugs,” Ziggy said. “I guess we’re just white punks on dope.”
“Yep,” I said, adding to The Tubes song Ziggy started. “Mom and Dad moved to Hollywood.”
“Hang myself when I get enough rope,” Jack chimed in.
“Jeez, it smells like a party in here,” Sara said as she entered the room, carrying a few steins of beer. “I washed a few glasses downstairs so I could get us some more beer.”
“Now Rory would definitely never have done that for us,” Jack said.
“Only because you guys never use clean glasses,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up with Brian, he looked like a crazed animal as he ran down the stairs,” Sara said. “Did you see that?”
“Jeez, I didn’t see that,” Jack said. “I wonder what’s up?”
“As he was heading down the hall to the front door, Michael and that new hostess, you know, the one that was working this afternoon, came in,” Sara said. “Brian just stopped dead in his tracks and moaned.”
We smoked a little and had another beer in Jack’s room, but decided to head to the door when a dozen or so other people poured in, including Michael and the hostess he tormented earlier in the day.
“I heard you ran into Brian,” I said to Michael.
“Yeah, he was bumping into the walls,” Michael said.
The hostess walked over to Sara and started talking, which gave me a chance to ask Michael what was going on.
“Hey, I didn’t know she would get so upset about the car accident call,” Michael said. “I felt guilty so I asked her if she wanted to join me in a drink. This won’t lead to anything, but it was great running into Brian. Jesus, Rory, what did you guys do to him? He looked terrible.”
“We didn’t do anything to him,” I said. “He just can’t handle a good party, I guess.”
“I guess,” Michael said as Sara and the new hostess joined us.
“Welcome to the house,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Michael was nice enough to bring me here. I’m glad he did after the miserable day I had.”
“Really?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Well, this gentleman called the restaurant this afternoon looking to cancel a luncheon engagement because his wife died,” she said. “I don’t think his friends ever got the message. It was rather upsetting. Michael suggested we go out for a cocktail.”
“Well, Michael knows what he’s talking about,” I said. “Especially when it comes to cocktails. After all, he’s a trained professional.”
“Ray, we will have to leave soon,” Sara said to her brother as we left the room. “It’s already past 10 and I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Lock the door when you leave,” Ziggy said, although he knew we didn’t have locks on the room doors. “I want to keep Jeremy out. Once the Dave Davies argument was over, he started in on his theory about how the ‘Scooby Doo’ cartoons featured television’s first openly stoned and homosexual characters. I can’t take it anymore.”
As we headed down the hall to my room, we ran into Jeremy.
“Hey,” Jeremy said to me. “Aren’t you guys going to play tonight? I was kind of looking forward to hear how you guys would play some John Lennon.”
“No,” I said. “Aragon’s not around anymore.”
“Yeah?” Jeremy said. “What happened to Aragon?”
“He moved to Boston last night,” I said.
“That’s wild,” Jeremy said, walking into Jack’s room.
“Is it just me, or is everyone in the house now partying in the smallest room in the house and the room with the least amount of furniture?” I asked.
“This place is something,” Sara said.
“Yeah, there’s some really good people here and your brother seems to be enjoying himself,” I said. “He’s a cool guy.”
Sara was humming that song again. I still didn’t know what the song was, but I was actually enjoying it.
We walked to my room where I poured myself into the cushioned chair near the window and lit a cigarette. Sara sat on the arm of the chair, took the cigarette from my mouth and ran her fingers through my hair.
“I’ve got to lie down,” she said, handing me back the cigarette. “I feel like I can fall asleep standing up.”
She leaned over and gave me a kiss then walked over to the bed.
I walked over to the stereo and switched through a few radio stations before putting on a cassette of ‘The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society.’
“This doesn’t sound like John Lennon,” Sara said.
“No, it’s The Kinks,” I said. “I will probably put on John Lennon right after this even though all my Lennon tapes and records are scattered throughout the house now.”
“The Kinks sound good,” she said.
“So, is there one person that you wished you never lost touch with over the years?” I asked Sara.
“Yes,” she said. “My father.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked.
There was a long pause.
“How about you?” she asked. “There must be people you wished you never lost touch with.”
“Yeah, I guess there are a few people.”
Another long pause passed, I added, “You know. I was in the military, so I always saw people come and go. What about you? Where were you where you had to say ‘good-bye’ to so many people.”
After another long pause, where I figured Sara probably drifted off to sleep, Sara finally said, “I can’t do this now. It’s not easy.”
“Hey, forget it,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I had a tough move as a little kid, where I was taken from my friends,” Sara said. “I was taken from everyone except Ray. We had to move an awful lot for a few years there. When we finally got settled, I was still afraid to get too close to anyone. As I grew up, a lot of the other girls thought I was just a snob. There were a couple, though, that I was really friendly with. They were my best friends, I loved them, but I still couldn’t let them get too close. I wanted to. I wish I had told them how much they meant to me. I wish I could now. I don’t know. . .”
I looked out the window, over the calm of Lake Whitney, and finished my cigarette. As I pushed what little was left of my cigarette into the ashtray, I looked over at the bed and saw Sara was sleeping. She looked peaceful. She looked very Irish. She looked beautiful. I wished I could have climbed in bed with her. Instead I walked over and kissed her on the forehead and put a blanket over her.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and slouched down, figuring I might get a little shut-eye as well. I was debating whether to try to climb into my bed, although I didn’t want Sara to get spooked. I pulled my sneakers off and got comfortable in the chair. After all, I had to be awake in seven hours and I needed some sleep.
That was not to be, though, as Jack, Ray and Ziggy quietly entered my room.
“Rory, are you asleep?” Jack asked.
“Around this house?” I answered. “Never.”
“We are taking Ray over to see the waterfall,” Jack said. “Do you want to come?”
The waterfall across the street was beautiful up close. Jack and I would often grab a couple of beers and sit on the bank of Lake Whitney and watch the waterfall while talking about life. It was a very relaxing little piece of the world. Even on a chilly December evening.
“Let’s go,” I said, putting my Chuck Taylors back on and grabbing my jackets.
posted by Kane | 7:19 PM
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