Needle (16 page)

His own project was a female-fronted band called Waver. They were very speedy, and their arrangements permitted Colin to adopt some bad bass playing habits. Somehow though, we were able to draw a few decent performances out of him and finish the recording in fair shape.

Although it certainly wasn’t perfect, most people thought the demo was shockingly good and having it on hand dramatically increased the quantity, as well as the quality of gigs available to us. The first of these occurred on June 15
^th
when we were invited to play The Blarney Stone. Although there were many dives throughout New York with the same name, this particular installment was located downtown and had developed a reputation for featuring some of the city’s more talented bands. It would be our first gig in over six months
and though we weren’t the most well known band in town, the performance drew a surprising amount of interest and would clearly be the most heavily attended to date. For the first time, we would be performing to a large audience that was there specifically to see us, as opposed to the lingering remnants of another band’s following—or a pack of drunks that had just stumbled in from the street.

On the night of the gig, the band showed up about two hours early. Although I had deep reservations about Danny, and of course, Pat, I knew they were both deeply committed to Sections and believed in the quality of the songs. Colin, however, was different. I realized his interest in Sections was based purely on the fact that we appealed to a broad range of tastes, and that the added exposure would eventually benefit Waver. That’s why, when I was told that Colin had been trying to convince Danny and Pat to abandon Sections for another project—I wasn’t surprised. Of course, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to kick the living shit out of him as soon as I got the chance—it just means I wasn’t surprised.

Within an hour after the band showed up, Rachel, Melody, and everyone from Barry’s had arrived at the Blarney Stone. Cynthia, however, wasn’t in attendance and for the first time Matt and Melody were introduced. From the very onset it was obvious to everyone that Melody was attracted to Matt, Matt was attracted to Melody, and Perry wanted to stab himself in the heart. Having been cast aside for a gargantuan penis was one thing, but being passed up for the perpetually unconscious was quite another.

As we waited to take the stage, Melody grew drunker and drunker. Although she was fully aware of the fact that Matt was now living with and engaged to Cynthia, she began wrapping herself around him while he did nothing to discourage the contact. I watched in disgust, Perry watched in horror, and the star-crossed souls simply gazed into each other’s eyes as if time stood still—and as if Matt actually needed something else to be doing behind Cynthia’s back.

Within a few minutes the two were locked in a deep embrace. Although Matt obviously wanted her, whatever remnants he had left of a conscience compelled him to make sure she knew the score.

The bar rapidly filled and as the noise level increased, Matt repositioned his mouth beside Melody’s ear. Then, in an even tighter embrace, as if they were trapped alone on a jagged cliff and about to leap to their very deaths—Matt passionately screamed over the roar of mountain-top winds:

“You know I’m getting married…right!?!?!” he shouted.

Of course she did.

They then celebrated with an impassioned kiss, just before holding hands and jumping over the edge together. Within a few minutes we took the stage, and as Matt began to stumble through the songs, Melody looked as if she wanted to crawl into his amplifier.

After the last song I bid farewell to the audience, and then attempted to insert the mike-stand up Colin Emerson’s ass. Unfortunately, within seconds the bouncer was on stage and my arm was twisted behind my back preventing any
real
penetration.

29

Immediately after the Blarney Stone gig, Matt and Melody began a relationship that was even more bizarre than the one I was presently involved in with Rachel. And even though Matt made it clear that he would follow through with the wedding plans, I believe the feelings he had for Melody were actually deeper than those he had for the woman he was about to marry. Whether or not the secretive affection was genuine, however, or somehow connected to his escalating drug use which had now reached epic proportions, I doubt I will ever know. If it was drug related, it was due to the fact that Melody unconditionally accepted Matt for the fuck-up he was, unlike Cynthia who would have none of it. As a result, he lived a double life and began spending more time with Melody who was, to my knowledge, the only living soul on earth who could appreciate Matt for exactly the person he was. Due to the illicit relationship, Matt soon became a fixture at the apartment as school was closed for the summer, and there simply wasn’t a more convenient place for him to fuck himself up.

Like Perry, Matt preferred the syringe, and though he never spiked a vein in front of the girls, after scoring on 110
^th
Street he would spend the first few minutes of every visit locked in the bathroom with a needle sticking out of his arm. He would then retreat to the couch for several hours until emerging from his nod with a farewell erection for
Melody—just before rushing back to the Bronx to welcome Cynthia home from work. It couldn’t have been the most fulfilling relationship for either girl, but Melody never said a word and Cynthia never even knew he was missing.

I had also been getting high several times a week and though the girls knew exactly what I was doing, they were unfazed and did nothing to try to curb it. I suppose that in the beginning I’d desensitized them to the seriousness of the habit by remaining employed, paying the bills, brushing my teeth, and washing my ass. But still,
there is no question about the fact that while living with Rachel and Melody, two full years after my very first snort, I’d finally become a full-blown dope fiend
. My habit would soon reach a crescendo after Melody told me that she loved Sections—
and that I didn’t have to pay rent or household bills, so I could spend less time working and more time focusing on the music
.

“And Craig,” she said. “I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I know in my heart that someday you guys are gonna be superstars.”

I suppose Melody’s gesture came from a sincere desire to support the band, and as a result she became my very favorite enabler of all time. Of course, I still frequently made monetary contributions to the household, but due to her generosity I suddenly had enough money to purchase between three and five bags of dope,
daily
.

I was now fully aware of the fact that I was officially a junky—but didn’t care and was somehow able to look the other way. I knew I was physically addicted to heroin but was certain that if I wanted to, I could break the habit in a moment’s notice. Of course, I had absolutely no intention of doing so because I liked it too much, and had made a conscious decision to remain a functioning addict. But none of that really mattered anyway because eventually, I’d be a star. Perry said so…and now,
so did Melody
.

30

Shortly after attempting to impale Colin Emerson on stage, before the largest gathering we’d ever played in front of, Barry decided to transfer him over to the Lexington Avenue store. In his place and from the same location they sent Kurt Bono. Kurt was a classically trained guitarist who had attended Julliard to hone his skills, but his musicianship was hardly limited to a single instrument. Conveniently, as he stepped in to fill Colin’s shoes as bagel boy, he’d soon also fill the void as a bassist for Sections. I had a great deal of respect for Kurt, and was impressed that he’d been accepted into one of the most prestigious music schools in the country, especially in light of the fact that he was a complete burnout. Although now strictly a pot smoker, I had the impression that he was still paying the price for being an acid head in elementary school.

More than any other day, I hated Sunday as it was Megan’s only day off and I was forced to open the store. Kurt’s first shift fell on a Sunday, and when I arrived at 5:30 he was prepped for the morning rush with an espresso in one hand and a joint in the other.

“What’s up, bro? Wanna take a hit?” he asked without hesitation.

I immediately decided that I quite liked my new co-worker.

“Sure—nice combo,” I said as he handed me the joint, referring to the mixture of cannabis and caffeine.

“Poor man’s speedball,” he pointed out.

Yes, Kurt Bono and I would be getting along quite well, I imagined, and by the end of the day I was practically begging him to be our bassist. I then contacted Matt, Danny, Pat and Perry and arranged for him to formally audition later that evening.

Sunday’s early morning shift would usually force me to delay the daily dope-pilgrimage in exchange for some much needed slumber. Consequently, the moment my shift ended I jumped in a cab and headed straight home. I then walked into the apartment, kicked off my shoes, and passed out on the couch for several hours.

It was an intensely deep sleep, during which I’d awoken in the midst of a cold sweat and a nightmare that I initially attributed to a wake-up call from the junky monkey. In the dream, I was alone with Perry who, for some reason, was injecting heroin into my feet. It was incredibly vivid and painful as I recall him not only stabbing me with
the needle, but also raking it across the tops and bottoms of my toes.

As I sat up and stepped away from the couch, I felt a raw and intense pain in both feet from which blood was now seeping through several tears in my socks. This was obviously the handiwork of the cat, which, as it savored and methodically licked my blood from its claws was now glaring at me from the corner of the room. Bridget had already attacked me several times over the course of my stay, but this was the first assault that occurred while I was asleep and the one that inflicted the most damage.

As I limped around, the pain was so severe that I would’ve gone directly to the emergency room for pain killers—had I not been going directly to Harlem for heroin. I flagged a cab and headed to 110
^th
Street, where I immediately scored five bags of dope and descended into the subway.

The 110
^th
Street subway station smelled like shit and was completely filthy. The walls were covered in graffiti, and, with the exception of a few homeless addicts sleeping on the piss-stained platform, the station was deserted and lifeless. I quickly moved to the furthest end of the platform and began opening the bags of dope and snorting them, one after the next. Though I never saw him coming, as I was about to tear into my fifth and final bag I heard someone standing behind me.

As I turned, I was frozen with fear as a cop stood no more than three feet away. Fortunately, he wasn’t a roid-rager who would’ve liked nothing better than to kick my ass and then arrest me for it, but an older cop who’d long since given up life on the Mod Squad to walk the beat. He was well into the twilight of his career, and you could tell that by this point he was merely going through the motions and waiting for his pension to kick in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a rough voice.

Great question! What was I, a whiter than white boy doing on a subway platform in the middle of Harlem, with four empty dope wrappers crinkling under my feet and a full bag clenched in my fist? I searched the walls for an answer.

“Uhhhhmmm…” was what I decided to go with.

“Waiting for the train?” the cop patiently tried to help me along.

“Uhhhhh…OK,” I said.

The officer seemed perfectly satisfied with the explanation he provided, and then left to continue mulling his retirement.

Perry arranged for Kurt’s audition to be held at a new rehearsal
studio called Big Sounds on University Place in The Village. It was owned and operated by a gentleman named Anton Gifford, who had immediately hit it off with Perry upon meeting him at Dabney’s. Anton was a very nice, kind of goofy, 40 year-old guitarist who seemed unable to let go of the past. The studio was his life and the means by which he could earn a meager living to support his family, yet still remain on the periphery of what he loved most. It was really a sad situation because the studio was just barely squeaking by, and Anton was a terrible guitar player.

When I arrived, everyone including Kurt was already there, and we began running through the set list in order to assess his playing. Once again, he wasn’t my ideal bassist, but I liked Kurt personally and we decided to bring him aboard.

Beyond Kurt’s audition, the evening was notable for two major announcements that were made just prior to breaking down. One was issued by Perry, who informed us that upon receipt of the demo, CBGB’s invited Sections to open for PJ Harvey on a Friday night at the end of July. This was a significant accomplishment, not only because PJ Harvey was well established and CBGB’s was a premier venue, but because they offered the gig without ever having heard us play a live note. That was very unusual and quite a risk for any club to take, let alone CBGB’s, but apparently the demo was stronger than I’d initially thought. As soon as Perry mentioned the gig, there was a palpable excitement in the room and though I didn’t say anything—it felt like things were definitely moving in the right direction.

The second announcement was made by Matt, as he and Cynthia had finally set August 29
^th
as the day they would join hands in wedded bliss. However, when he reached into his briefcase for the invitations, it accidentally toppled over and out flew dozens of passed-due bills along with warnings to suspend a variety of services. It turned out that for several months Matt had been juggling debts in a desperate attempt to maintain a façade of domestic normalcy—as he borrowed from Peter to get high with Paul.

31

Before the big performance at CBGB’s, we accepted a tune-up gig at The Spiral on Houston Street. Overall, the show was solid and for his first performance with the band, Kurt did admirably. After leaving the stage, Perry and I were greeted by Katrina MacKay and her roommates, Bret and Stacy, all of whom we’d met at the very first Speakeasy gig. They each hailed from Georgia and Katrina, in particular, would become a fixture at our shows and one of Sections’ most ardent supporters.