Fly the Rain (4 page)

“
So, is that how you win—by
getting the most screams and applause from the kids?”

“
Yeah. Sort of. But
I
make the final
decision.”

“
Of course.” Sondra
understood. Wink, wink. If she accepted Craig’s new little
plaything into her band, they would be sure to win on Friday night.
But what if the kids went crazy over one of the other bands, and
she was stuck with a lousy drummer? Billy-Eye might override Craig.
Her band needed to be the most exciting, unique, outrageous group
Orange County had ever seen.

“
What’s the name of your
band? Oh, I guess you don’t have one yet.”

“
I’ve got some
ideas.”

“
Well, I don’t whether
you’ve heard, but we’ve put the word out that we would
prefer
a band with a
local-sounding name. You know, like
The
Sabine Rivers
, or
The Triangulars.
Of course, you
won’t want to use either of those names since I’m giving them as
examples. Chances are, one of these bands
will
.”

Don’t worry, she thought.
She’d already had something a lot better. It had just hit her. But
she didn’t want to tell
him
yet. That would spoil the
effect. “What’s the latest I can give you the name?”

“
Wednesday morning. I’m
going to record a radio spot that afternoon.”

“
Okay.”

They exchanged cell phone numbers. He said
he would call her a little later to set up a time to meet with
Cindy.

She walked out the door and saw the line of
losers. They don’t stand a chance, she thought.

Then she noticed a newcomer
at the end of the line. She was petite, mid-twenties, long black
hair. Did she bring that big red guitar, or did
it
bring
her
? Sondra had no idea whether
the girl could play, but she loved her instrument. It was a Gibson
ES-335 with classic 1957 humbucker pickups. “Nice.”

“
Thanks.”

“
What’s the name of your
band?”

“
Rainbow Bridge.”

“
Y’all renamed your band for
this gig, didn’t you?”

“
Yeah. Dumb,
huh?”

“
Well, they
do
want something
local sounding.”

Rainbow Bridge was about twenty miles from
where they were standing, between Bridge City and Port Arthur. It
was built in 1938, yet is still the tallest bridge in Texas.

“
I don’t know where the rest
of my band is. They should have been here by now.”

“
I’m Sondra.” She offered
her hand.

“
E. Z.”

Sondra looked amused.

“
No, no. Not
Easy
. It’s
initials. E. Z. Bender.”

“
Oh, I get it. You play lead
guitar.”

“
Right.”

“
I like it.”

“
Thanks.”

Sondra leaned in, and whispered, “Could you
come over here for a minute?”

E. Z. nodded and followed her some thirty
feet away from the line.

“
Would you be interested in
auditioning for my band?”

“
I told you I’m already in a
band,” said E. Z. “They’re just running late.”

“
Yeah, but would you
consider a change for the better?”

E. Z. studied Sondra’s eyes, and saw
mischief—maybe even danger. “Sure.”

“
Good. How about getting
together tonight?”

“
That’ll work. Do you
already have a name for your band?”

“
Yes, I do.” She waited a
moment, for effect. “
Orange
Puke
.”

“
Sounds nasty.”

“
Yeah.” Sondra laughed.
“We’re gonna blow chunks. But in a
good
way.”

Chapter
5

“
To be real honest, Jeffrey,
you’re not making much progress,” said Greg. “Are you practicing at
all?”

“
Well, yeah. Mom
makes
me. She sits
there watching to make sure I’m getting the right fingering and
phrasing.”

“
Hmm. I might need to talk
to her about that.” Greg hated when kids were
forced
into musicianship. He had
been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and
had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely
worked anyway. “You don’t really want to take piano, do
you?”

“
No, Sir.”

“
Well…”

“
I wish my mom would let me
take
guitar
lessons. That would be cool.”

“
You know you’d get calluses
like this.” Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his
fingertips.

“
Yeah! My friend, Zach, has
calluses. They’re hard like plastic.”

“
Well, you know, it hurts
for a while—until you build them up.”

“
I don’t care. I love the
guitar. I’ve been begging Mom to switch me from piano to
guitar.”

“
I’ll talk to
her.”

“
Great! I already have a
guitar and—“

“—
don’t get too excited yet.
We’ll see what she says.”

“
Thanks, Mr. Tenorly.” He
jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back
over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.

Greg’s 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he
now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would
step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the
townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville
Square.

But something was bugging him. His dad’s
birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn’t
regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.

Then he began to think about his uncle. He
had not seen Uncle Ed in a long, long time. He hoped they would be
able to just pick up where they’d left off. They always seemed to
be able to do that.

Edsel Torkman was his mom only sibling. Ed
had always been odd—even as a child. Kids made fun of him because
he talked faster than most people could listen. Sometimes, he would
begin to stutter. Then the kids would laugh out loud. But it never
seemed to bother Ed.

As a child, Greg had been afraid of his
uncle. But there was one thing about him that Greg had grown to
admire. Edsel Torkman didn’t believe in check books and credit
cards. He preferred carrying cold hard cash. And Greg always looked
forward to that crisp new fifty-dollar in each Christmas and
birthday card.

But that was about the extent of their
relationship—until Greg bought his first car at age 16. He paid
cash for the thing, from his paper route earnings. The big 1975
Ford Thunderbird had 250,000 miles on it, and weighed in at some
5,000 lbs. It got 8 miles per gallon—on the highway.

Uncle Ed had his own auto repair shop. And
when he heard about Greg’s purchase, he insisted on overhauling the
engine—for free.

Greg was thrilled—until he
found out that Uncle Ed expected him to act as assistant mechanic.
But he really wanted to get his car running. How would he ever ask
a girl out if he didn’t have a car? And it turned out to be a fun
learning experience. Ed was different—but he wasn’t
weird
. In fact, he
was the coolest guy Greg had ever known.

Greg sat down at his
computer, and looked up
Edsel Torkman’s
Auto Shop.

The phone rang ten times. Greg was about to
hang up, when Ed answered.

“
Torkman’s.”

“
Uncle Ed?”

“
Yeah. Greg, is that you?”
He talked so fast and so excitedly that he sounded as if he’d
polished off a gallon of coffee in less than an hour. “I mean, are
you Greg? Greg Tenorly. Are you my nephew Greg Tenorly?”

“
Yes, Uncle Ed,
it’s—“

“—
so, it’s Greg?”

“
Yes, Sir.”

“
Well, what have you been up
to, Greg? Not flipping cow patties, I’ll bet, huh?” Then the
stuttering kicked in. “Not doing that, ah-are ah-are you, ah-are
you, Greg?”

Then Greg remembered the key to slowing him
down. Talk to him very slowly. “How are you, Ed?”

“
Doing fine,” he blurted.
Then he slowed his speech just a little. “I’m doing
fine.”

“
Well, the reason I’m
calling—“

“—
you got another engine
that needs overhauling? We had one
trick
of a time doing your
Thunderbird, didn’t we? When was that? Two years ago?”

It had been nearly 20 years.
And Greg had never understood why his uncle used the word ‘trick’
instead of ‘heck’ or something else. He’d say things like:
We’d better get tricking
. Or,
what in the trick are you
doing?
Or,
I
torn the trick out of my knuckle when the wrench
slipped
. It was like the Smurfs. The
Smurfs use the word ‘smurf’’ to mean a lot of different things,
depending on the context. Uncle Ed used ‘trick.’

“
No, Uncle Ed. It’s been
quite a while since we did that.” Get to the point, Greg told
himself. “Are you going to my dad’s birthday party?”

“
Well, sure—if somebody
invites me. Oh, trick! That’s right. Norma invited me to the party.
Did you know your dad remarried?”

“
I just found
out.”

“
Yeah. I’d like to get
married someday. Someday.” He said the word a second time, as
though he’d forgotten to say it the first time.

“
Someday? Ed, you’re 50
years old. What’s stopping you?”

“
Well…”

“
Do you have a
girlfriend?”

“
Angie. Well, she’s not
really my girlfriend, but—“

“
Angie Silverstern?
She’s
married
, Ed.”

“
No. She’s not.”

“
Yeah. Don’t you remember?
That’s why her name’s not Mayberly anymore—she married Clifford
Silverstern. I know you used to have a crush on her,
but—“

“
No. She’s
divorced.”

“
Really? Okay. Well, then go
for it, Uncle Ed.”

“
I will.”

“
No. Don’t put it
off.”

“
I won’t.”

Greg wasn’t convinced. “I’ll tell you what:
I’m coming down for the birthday party, and if you haven’t told
Angie how you feel by then—“

“—
then you’re gonna help
me?”

“
Yes.”

“
Okay. It’s a
deal.”

“
And my new wife, Cynthia,
is coming too.”

“
Oh, yeah. I heard you were
getting married.”

“
Ed, I sent you a wedding
invitation.”

“
Oh, yeah. I guess that’s
where I heard it.”

“
I hated that you couldn’t
make it. I would love for you to have been there.”

“
I was planning to
come…”

But you forgot, thought Greg. “It’s okay.
Well, I’ll see you soon. Now walk across the street and have a talk
with Angie. She does still work at the restaurant?”

“
Of course.”

“
Then, go.
Tonight.”

**********

Sondra strapped her guitar on, and adjusted
her mike stand. “Ready?” Her voice echoed.

Cindy Banya nodded from her place at the
drums.

E. Z. Bender grabbed the guitar pick from
her between her lips and said, “Let’s do it.”

“
Okay, let’s try ‘Crash and
Burn,’” said Sondra.

Cindy knew of several songs by that name,
but took a guess that Sondra wanted the one by The Bangles. A song
about deliberately killing yourself in a car crash seemed like
something Sondra might like to sing.

E. Z. Bender made the same guess.

Craig Buttard watched from
across the huge hall. He could hardly wait to see
Billy-Eye’s
filled
with excited, money-squandering teenagers. The free cokes and
popcorn would help lure them in. And then they would spend loads of
money on hot dogs, pizza, and candy.

When they had finished the song, and the
reverberation had died down, he yelled, “Alright! Sounded great!”
He walked toward the stage.

“
Not too bad,” admitted
Sondra. “But we’ve got a ton of work to do before Friday
night.”

“
What about your friend, the
bass player?” said E. Z.

“
I talked to her this
afternoon,” said Sondra. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

“
Cool,” said
Cindy.

Craig winked at Cindy. She smiled at
him.

He had succeeded in getting her into a band.
Now he would work at getting her into his bed.

**********

Val lit up another joint. She had such
amazing thoughts while she was high. But the next day she would
realize that she must have forgotten most of the details, since
none of it made any sense.