Painted Black (12 page)

“I was shocked when I heard about Anita and Keith.”

“I wasn't. Their karma is terrible. It only makes you wonder what Brian did earlier in his life to have such misfortune now.”

“Tell Clovis I called.”

Something in Erlene's voice sounded uncharacteristically shy and uncomfortable.

“Bobby?”

“Yes?”

“I've been having dreams.”

“What kind of dreams.”

“Bad dreams. Like we're all in danger. Like something terrible is going to happen.”

“Relax, Erlene. Nothing's going to happen.”

“That's what Clovis said. But I have a premonition.”

“Have you had these dreams before?”

Erlene was clearly embarrassed. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Uh-huh, I'm psychic. I get 'em all the time.”

“How many of them come true?”

Bobby expected a low number, like zero or one. He waited for her answer.

“All of them.”

Clovis came home late. He waited for an opportune moment to bring up Brian's job offer, but it never came. Clovis decided to try another tack.

“We sure could use some extra money around here with the baby comin' and all.”

Erlene hugged Clovis. “As long as we have each other, we'll be fine, hon.”

“Well, I'm talkin' about some real money.”

Erlene stepped back. “What do you mean?”

“I had a job offer today for twice the money I'm makin' now.”

“Oh, honey, that's wonderful. Who with? EMI Abbey Road?”

When Clovis didn't answer right away, the smile on Erlene's face dropped.

“Oh, no … Not him!”

Clovis nodded. “Brian Jones asked me to be his personal assistant.”

Erlene's sarcastic tone couldn't squelch her Baltimore accent.

“What do you have to do, score drugs for him and get chicks?”

“No! Of course not. I'm a professional. I'll be tuning guitars and changing strings and assisting him in the recording studio.”

“Goin' on tour, too?”

“I guess so.”

“You're gonna need that extra money for a psychiatrist.”

“I told him I had to talk to you first.”

“At least you did one thing right.”

Erlene rubbed her belly. “You know what would be nice, hon?”

Clovis shrugged.

“A trip to Baltimore after I have the baby.”

Clovis paused.

“Yeah?”

“Do you really want to take this job?”

A flicker of doubt flashed past Clovis's eyes, like the shadow of an unseen predator.

“I do … and I don't. I mean I love Brian and all, but it's hard to watch him destroy himself.”

“Maybe you can make a difference. It's the Christian thing to do, I guess. I just have a bad feeling about Brian.”

“Do you have a bad feeling about me?”

“No, not directly. I just fear that Brian could drag you down. You promise to never sleep with other women or take drugs?”

“Come on, hon. You know me. I just smoke a little weed now and then. That's all. I got you. Why would I want any of these skinny stuck-up English groupies?”

Erlene looked out the window at the streets of London.

“If you promise to take me back to Baltimore and raise the baby there, I'll let you work for Brian for one year. We can put the extra money in the bank.”

Clovis exhaled. “So, you'll have the baby in London and then we move back.”

Erlene nodded. “Back to the Big B.”

Clovis swept Erlene up in his arms. “Honey, you're the absolute best!”

“Can you handle this?”

“If he gets too crazy I can always quit.”

“Then it's agreed?”

John Lennon made himself comfortable in the control room at Olympic Recording Studios. He showed Paul McCartney what he had so far for the song that would later become the flipside of “All You Need Is Love.” They strummed acoustic guitars and composed the song on the spot.

“It's great being out of Abbey Road for a session,” John mused. “Gives us a chance to see what else is going on outside.”

George walked in at that moment, and with incredible deadpan comedic timing, said, “Yeah, but I miss the white lab coats.”

The Beatles broke up laughing.

George explained to Clovis, “All the employees of EMI Abbey Road wear coats and ties, and the engineers have to wear white lab coats.”

Paul bounced around several ideas, finally combining the chorus from another song with John's verses. “Baby, You're A Rich Man” came together in the studio in one six-hour session.

They went from song inception to finished mix in one long pass. Clovis had never seen the Beatles work in the studio. He was amazed at how quickly they moved. It seemed effortless. The Beatles were at the height of their creative powers during this period. They ruled the recording studio like young lords. The band recorded several takes of the basic track before deciding which one to use. They laid down the vocal in two takes.

Brian was impressed. After the Stones laid-back work ethic, watching the Beatles fly through their session was refreshing.

Clovis kept out of the way, standing with Brian. During the playbacks, Brian experimented with different instruments lying around from the last orchestral session. Among them was a rare electric instrument known as a Clavioline. It made a spacey keyboard sound and had been used on the Tornados' classic “Telstar” and Del Shannon's “Runaway.”

John wandered into the studio and saw it.

“Oy, what's this?”

“It's a Clavioline.”

Engineer Eddie Kramer plugged it into an amp and John began fooling around.

George Harrison encouraged Brian to try some of the instruments. Brian had originally considered playing sax, and he was an excellent sax player, but somehow it didn't sound exotic enough. He picked up an oboe and began to play what sounded like an Arabic riff in the intro.

“That's it!” John said. “That's the sound!”

He began to play the same type of Middle Eastern melody on the Clavioline. John created a weird sound with the Clavioline, and with Brian playing the oboe, it melded and sounded otherworldly. Sometimes dissonant, sometimes strangely in sync, the combined sound was compelling.

They quickly recorded a track of Brian improvising on the oboe. It was uncanny what Brian could do. The weird Arabic oboe part combined with the Clavioline sounded a little like a backward guitar.

A few minutes later, John changed his mind and the oboe was dropped. He played all the Arabic parts himself on the Clavioline. It sounded less cluttered that way.

The Beatles ran through the track while the engineers set up their microphones and got their levels. Ringo was in a soundproof cubicle, smiling and playing his Ludwig drum set. He could see the others and they could see him, but there would be no sound leakage on to the other mics. The Beatles liked to record live with the full band playing on the basic track, then they overdubbed the other parts.

The vibe was good as the Beatles carried out their magic. Clovis was in awe of them.
This is why they are the number-one band in the world
, he thought.
Nobody else can do it like they do.
They were light-years ahead of everyone else.

Brian pulled John aside. He was disappointed he couldn't contribute to the song.

“Sorry about the oboe, John.”

“That's okay. I got the sound I wanted on the Clavioline. We were hoping to get something different like the sax solo you did on ‘You Know My Name (Look Up the Number).'”

“I brought the sax.”

“Don't worry about it, I'm happy with the Clavioline. How is Clovis?”

“He's working for me now as my personal assistant.”

“Good. People don't understand. We don't play by the same rules. You need a guy like Clovis.”

“He just started today.”

“Let me know if you want anything from me.”

The Beatles finished recording and mixed “Baby, You're A Rich Man” by three a.m.

Clovis drove Brian to Bobby's apartment. He was afraid to go back to Courtfield Road, thinking the cops had been watching him, tapping his phone, and bugging his rooms. But Clovis brought Brian to Bobby's place with great trepidation. He knew Bobby would be against it. He warned Brian to be on his best behavior. “Remember, this is Dust Bin Bob's apartment. Nobody knows you're here.”

“Thanks, Clovis. I appreciate it.”

“I'll keep you hidden for the time being.”

“I gotta get out of London. Things are getting worse and worse. Pilcher is out to get me.”

“Where can you go?”

Brian thought for a moment, then drew a breath and said, “Monterey. It's the biggest gig ever. The Stones office has already bought the tickets. We can look up Dust Bin Bob. I want to go to that incredible record store he's always talking about. You know, the place he took the Beatles to.”

“The Hi-Dee-Ho Soul Shack?”

“That's it! We can invite Dust Bin Bob to go to Monterey with us. I really feel guilty about how I treated him. He fled back to Baltimore to get away from me.”

“Dust Bin Bob wanted a little time off with his family.”

Brian said, “Monterey would be perfect. I hear it's beautiful there on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. We can kick back and hear some great music. Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar, Hugh Masekela, plus all the San Francisco bands like Big Brother with Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, Country Joe, plus the Who and Hendrix. I'll be introducing Hendrix. It's going to be huge.”

“He'll really love that.”

“We can stop in Baltimore and surprise him.”

“I'll take my wife, Erlene, and she can visit Cricket while we're in Monterey. She's been homesick.”

“Excellent idea!” Brian said. “Let's arrange it straightaway.”

Chapter Ten

Sympathy for the Devil

Blood Mary and Her Back Plague Trolley Car Museum headquarters was at Mill Race Road. The ancient stone and mortar houses were cramped and primitive, but somehow the music sounded great there. They reminded Bobby of the Liverpool two-up, two-down row houses he grew up in. Like Liverpool, these tiny houses had two rooms up and two rooms down. Squeeze in a bathroom and that was it.

This obscure neighborhood of unpaved roads in the middle of Baltimore had somehow missed the passage of time. Even with the addition of indoor plumbing and electricity, these houses had always stood apart from the rest of the city.

The basement of Spider John's house was full of rocks, dirt, and junk. Tom got the idea to clean it out and make a proper rehearsal space. He recruited some friends and began excavating the basement.

They uncovered many Civil War–era items—pieces of pottery; bottles; bric-a-brac; a shoe; a rusted handgun, its barrel packed with mud; and several large rusty pieces of metal no one could identify. Once they cleaned out the top half, they took to the bottom half with shovels. Digging the dirt out was a grimy job. It was several feet deep. The smell was fetid. The dirt was moist.

Digging in the southwest corner, Tom made a shocking discovery. He found a human skull buried in the dirt floor. It looked pretty old, although no one there had any experience in dating skulls. Tom asked Bobby to take pictures of it, then he carefully reburied it in the corner of the basement.

Bobby didn't want to handle it. He used a shovel to move it. He photographed the skull from every angle. He couldn't wait to give it back to Tom.

“That was creepy, man. I wonder who it was.”

Tom shook his head. “That's it. I'm giving up on the whole basement project. I don't want to dig up any more surprises. God knows what else is down there.”

They decided to keep the discovery among themselves and not call the authorities. Whoever's skull it was had been buried a long time, probably more than a hundred years. The case was no doubt as cold as a dead fish. Besides, no one wanted cops crawling around the neighborhood. That was asking for trouble.

A few nights later, while rehearsing in the living room, the jugless jug band had worked their way through a case of beer. The music was extra hot that night, and the rehearsal had turned into a real party. A couple of friends of friends dropped in, then a couple more, and then the chicks that lived at the end of block stopped by after the hearing the music. The showed up with more beer. And some wine. Whenever you gave them an audience, the jugless jug band responded by playing even louder. Pretty soon the house was rockin'.

After an hour of hot skiffle licks, Memphis blues, and Texas swing, Bloody Mary and Her Black Plague Trolley Car Museum took a break. The only restroom in the house was a tiny little cubicle on the second floor at the top of the stairs. There were bedrooms or either side. To the right was Spider John's room and to the left was his friend George's. George was a successful musician in his own right and had actually cut an album. Everyone respected George. Lately, he spent most of his time in New York.

One by one, each man trudged up the narrow stairs and relieved himself with the appropriate sighs and grunts until it was Bobby's turn. His bladder was as full as the others, and he was anxious to stand before the porcelain basin and “bleed the lizard” as John Lennon would say.

Bobby took the steps two at a time. When he got to the top, curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn't resist peeking into George's bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was a pale young woman in a long white dress. Her black hair flowed down her back. Her head was bent as if in prayer, and Bobby could hear her weeping softly. A cool breeze drifted through the house as if someone had opened a window and caused a rush of cross-ventilation. Bobby caught a whiff of the same moist earthy smell of the cellar.

Bobby thought nothing of it. He assumed that the girl was George's girlfriend.

“Oh, hi …” Bobby said. “I didn't know anybody was in here.”

The girl didn't react at first. She just bowed her head and cried.

“Are you okay?”

She turned toward him. He saw her face. It was the face of infinite sadness. Her eyes looked like they had shed a thousand tears and looking at them made Bobby catch his breath. She seemed to look right through him.

Bobby stood there for a minute frozen in time, then his bladder reminded of the reason he came upstairs.

“I gotta go,” he said, and ducked into the bathroom. While he finished his business and washed his hands, he thought of the girl in George's room. How striking she was and how incredibly sad she looked. When he returned to the party, he made a point of not looking in as he passed George's door.

He returned to the party in the living room.

“Who's that girl?”

“What girl?” Tom replied.

“The one in George's room. Is that his girlfriend?”

Tom looked around at the others. Spider John had taken over on harmonica and kazoo since he broke his wrist. He tapped his Hohner Marine Band harmonica against his thigh.

“Did she have a long white dress on?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “What about it?”

“Was she crying?”

“Yes. So why don't you tell me what's going on?”

Spider John took a deep breath. Suddenly, the room got very, very quiet. Something creaked on the steps.

“We think she's a ghost.”

Bobby felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He felt a shiver.

“What do you know about her?”

“We don't know anything. George told me about her. He's seen her many times. I've heard her crying. He calls her Eleanor Rigby, you know, like the girl in the Beatles song?” Spider John sang the melody to “Eleanor Rigby.”

“I know the song.”

“You think that was her skull we found?” Bobby asked.

Spider John rolled his eyes.

“God, I hope so. I don't want to live in a multiple skull home.”

Bobby still felt goose bumps.

“Have you ever seen her?”

“No. She has chosen not to reveal herself to me. She must like you.”

“Are you sure it's not George's girlfriend?”

“George doesn't have a girlfriend.”

Tom, Bobby, and Spider John all spontaneously looked at one another.

“She's probably still there. You want to go see?”

They ran up the steps, turned the corner, and peered into George's room.

It was empty.

Bobby felt strange for the next few days. He had to convince himself of what he had seen. Had he literarily seen a ghost? Or was it just a neighborhood chick? He kept replaying the incident in his mind, trying to remember every detail. She didn't seem overly ghostly, unless you looked into the face of infinite sadness. Bobby wondered where that phrase had come from. It had popped into his head when he saw her face.

For some reason, he thought of that song by the Monkees written by Neil Diamond. It began to play in his mind.

He told Cricket about it and it frightened her. From that day forward, she refused to step foot in the house on Mill Race Road. Cricket believed in ghosts and apparitions, and they scared her.

Bobby couldn't get the experience out of his head. He'd always been a pragmatic man. He never believed in the supernatural. Not until now. His faith in an orderly, easy-to-explain universe was shaken. He couldn't sleep. His appetite waned. He had trouble concentrating.

What was happening?

The next day at the shop on Read Street, he found himself staring off into space most of the day. People asked him questions but he couldn't respond.

If she really was a ghost, why did she reveal herself to me?

Bobby closed up the shop early and went home in a daze. He lay down on the couch and took a nap.

Who was she? When did she live?

The doorbell rang. He thought he was dreaming, but when it persisted, he sat up. Cricket was in the kitchen. He could hear her scuttling about as Winston helped her make tuna salad sandwiches.

“Can you get it, hon?” Cricket called.

Bobby sat up and collected his thoughts.

The doorbell rang again. Bobby got up and walked to the door in his bare feet. He opened it and was flabbergasted.

Standing before him were Clovis, Erlene, and Brian Jones. Bobby blinked.
Am I dreaming?

“Surprise!” Clovis shouted. He lunged forward and hugged Bobby.

“Clovis? What are you doing here?”

“We're going to Monterey! You want to go? Brian's got a ticket for you.”

“Monterey?”

“Yeah, man! The Monterey Pop Festival.”

Bobby sputtered. “Well, come on in.” He called back to the kitchen to Cricket, “Honey, you won't believe who just walked in!”

Cricket came out wiping her hands on a towel with Winston at her side.

“Oh my God!”

Cricket hugged Erlene. “You came back.”

They entered the house. Bobby hugged Brian like a long-lost brother.

“How are you doing, man?”

“I'm over Anita if that's what you mean.” One look into Brian's eyes and Bobby knew that was a lie. But Brian put up a brave front. After all, he'd recently had to endure a tour of Europe standing next to Keith onstage. He was the man who not only stole the love of his life, he was also the man who had taken the reigns of his beloved blues band so they could record garbage like
Their Satanic Majesties Request
. That must have been painful.

“The cops are clamping down,” Brian said. “I had to get out of London.”

“The Stones office had already arranged for the tickets,” Clovis explained. “Our man Brian is the guest of honor, and he's going to introduce Jimi Hendrix.”

“What about Acid King Leon Silverman? Wasn't he the official envoy?”

Clovis said, “He wasn't the official anything, the stinkin' little weasel. He was a plant by the
News of the World
to get us busted at Redlands. He disappeared right after. People think he was working for the cops, and that's why they didn't open his briefcase.”

Brian grunted, “The bloody snitch! I'm gonna find that guy one day, and when I do, I'm going to teach him a lesson.”

Clovis said, “You'll have to stand in line because I want a piece of him, too.”

They talked for several hours before Brian went back to his hotel room. Erlene and Clovis stayed in the guest room at Bobby and Cricket's house on Southway.

They talked far into the night. Bobby told the tale of the beautiful ghost in George's room at Mill Race Road. They all got goose bumps. Erlene said she could feel the presence of the ghost on Bobby, like dusty fingerprints after he'd touched a room that had been empty for years.

Erlene said, “Her aura is still with you. I can tell that it made quite an impression.”

“You can?”

Clovis said, “Erlene's psychic. Lately she's been extra sensitive, I don't know why.”

“I do,” Erlene replied.

Erlene let a mischievous smile slide across her face. Clovis winked at her.

Bobby said, “A few weeks ago, I'd have dismissed the idea of ghosts as silly superstitions. But now, after what I've seen, I'm not so sure anymore. If ghosts exist, what else is out there? If Erlene says she's psychic, I'm inclined to believe her.”

“Do you mean psychic or psycho?” Clovis joked.

No one laughed.

Erlene hit Clovis on the head with a rolled-up newspaper. “Don't you make fun of me.”

“I'm sorry, hon. I was just foolin'.”

Now that she was back in Baltimore, Erlene's accent flared in all its glory. Her attitude was back, too. Yet, she sounded sincere.

“I ain't kiddin' about being psychic. Lately, my inner senses have been lightin' up like a pinball machine. Up until now, it's all been about Brian, but now … well, I think this girl is somehow connected.”

Clovis shook his head. “Don't get all goofy on me, you guys. I'm still a skeptic, and I don't believe in any of this crap. How could a girl who probably died over a hundred years ago possibly be connected to Brian Jones?”

Erlene rubbed her chin.

“I don't know. But I aim to find out. Can you take me there?”

“What? To Mill Race Road?”

Erlene nodded.

“I want to meet her.”

“I don't know …”

Clovis looked at Bobby with an exasperated “this has gone far enough” look. Clovis shrugged.

“She's my wife. If that's what she wants …”

Bobby sounded tired.

“All right. I'll take you in the morning.”

Cricket said, “How can you go over to those creepy little houses, Erlene? I'm never going inside there again.”

Erlene looked around the room. “It's important. I don't know how or why. It just is.”

Clovis said to Bobby, “How do we even know you saw a ghost? It could've been some girl from the party. Lots of hippie chicks wear granny dresses. Maybe she used the bathroom and slipped into George's room to be alone and then she left. You said she was crying. Maybe she was sick.”

“Should we take Brian with us to Mill Race Road? Afterward, we can go to the Hi-Dee-Ho Soul Shack?” Clovis asked.

“Why not? He might like Mill Race Road. He's into the supernatural, and that's a part of old Baltimore that most people never get to see.”

Erlene said, “I think I know why I'm so psychically sensitive these past days.”

Cricket looked concerned. “Why is that, hon?”

“It must be because I'm pregnant.”

Cricket let out a war whoop and hugged Erlene again. “You?”

Erlene nodded.

“Congratulations! You're pregnant! How wonderful!”

Erlene said, “We're coming back to Baltimore right after I have the baby.”