Punk and Zen (21 page)

“You guys are really busy tonight,” I observed, and
Jen glanced around the bar before nodding in agreement. “Looks like you can use
some help.”

Jen squinted at me, a survey that went from my hair to
my boots and back again. “Yeah, and…?” she asked helpfully, and crossed her
arms over her chest again.

“I can help,” I stated simply and shrugged
nonchalantly. All right, I’d put it out there; guess I’d see, right?

The worst that could happen was nothing, and since
nothing happens without anyone’s help anyway, I’d wouldn’t lose anything—unless
that deepening groove between Jen’s brows meant she was getting ready to toss
me through the window. I’d deal with that too, if it came to it, but she’d have
to catch me first—and I hadn’t been caught yet.

Still, I watched her face as I waited for an answer.
Man, if those eyebrows came any closer, they were gonna stay that way forever,
I thought as I calmly met and withstood Jen’s glare.

Finally, she nodded. “You,” she pointed at me, “wait
here.” She craned her head around to shout over the people sitting at the bar.
“Hey! Dee! C’mere a sec!” Jen crossed her arms still again and favored me with
her grim expression. “Let’s see what the manager says.”

Steph and Jerkster had stepped away from the bar, and
I mouthed “dunno” and shrugged at them while we waited in silence. When Jen
narrowed her beady focus on Jerkster, I could swear I heard him yipe.

“I’m, uh, gonna find a bathroom, uh, yeah, gotta go,”
he muttered behind me, then slipped and squeezed away through the press.

“Chicken!” Steph hissed at his retreating form. I
glanced over at Steph, and we grinned at each other for a moment before Steph
looked suddenly stricken.

“Ah shit!” she exclaimed in an undertone, peering
after the trail Jerkster had left behind.

“What?” I asked in a stage whisper. The Lady Grim was
still staring at us, after all.

Steph leaned over to whisper in my ear. “He’s got the
bottle!”

“Shit!” I exclaimed in a low tone. Shit was right.
Drinks were a little pricey there, so we’d snuck in a bottle of plum wine (what
can I say, it’s a guilty pleasure of mine—and it was a gift from the head of
Fiji House), and after buying a beer apiece and drinking it, we’d take turns
going into the bathroom and filling the beer bottles with wine—well, at least
before I’d switched to “just juice.”

I’d never done anything like that before, but Steph
and Jerkster had, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Okay, I’d let
Steph drink my beer and gone straight for the wine; I’m just not a beer fan,
well, except for the occasional Guinness. Besides, I wasn’t worried about
germs—alcohol killed them.

But still, there were two things wrong with this
scenario. First, if we got caught, we were out of there. Second, since Jerkster
had the bottle, it could end up empty, he would end up stupid, and we would end
up caught. This would end any chance I had of ever coming here again, forget
about getting a job. Oh, and a drunk Jerkster was very difficult to guide; he
was heavy!

“Go get him!” I hissed, hoping that Granite Sides
wouldn’t hear us over the din. Judging from what I could see of her
personality, I figured she’d think we were just two stupid kids having an
argument.

“I’m on it!” Stephie agreed, and off she elbowed
through the crowd.

Jen’s eyebrows touched as she watched me, and I
answered her gaze nonchalantly, standing as comfortably as I could.

For a moment, I felt like I was back in high school
with all those nuns and tried to mentally picture Jen in a habit. I shook my
head. Nope, didn’t work for me; those muscles would never fit through the sleeves.
And she didn’t scare me—not the way the nuns did, anyway. They’d had a direct
connection to God; all Jen had was that scowl. And her size. And those arms.
Okay, so she was scary. Never mind.

Finally through the madding crowd eased a figure I
thought at first I recognized; then, two seconds later, I did.

“
Liebchen
!” exclaimed Dee Dee, waving her
ever-present bar rag before tucking it into her waistband so she could scoop me
up into an embrace and kiss each side of my face. “Where have you been?”

I returned Dee Dee’s greeting with a hug and a quick
kiss of my own, very glad to see her. She’d left the Red Spot a while before I
did, which was part of what made the job not so fun anymore; she was not only
cool, but also the only other female who’d worked there who wasn’t a waitress.

I attempted to explain over her repeated exclamations.

“Ah, Dee, this girl,” and Jen said it with such
disdain I wondered for a second what I’d done to piss her off, “here wants to
know if—” Jen continued officiously, but Dee Dee waved her off, put an arm
around my shoulders, and faced her.

“No, no, Jen, this gorgeous creature is none other
than Nina the DJ.
Und
she can have whatever she likes. What would you
like, Nina?” Dee Dee asked. “I am not just
bierwert
—barkeeper—here, I am
the manager!” She beamed at me, her eyes sparkling. I guess it had been longer
than I thought since we’d spoken, because her accent hit my ears freshly and
made me smile. She’d been like that at the Red Spot—the happier she was, the
stronger her accent. Cool.

“Hey, that’s great! That’s truly terrific!” I
congratulated because I truly meant it. I took a breath. Might as well just get
to it.

“I was really wondering if—” I began, but Ham Hands
interrupted me.

“The kid wants a job, Dee Dee,” she told her in a
loud, bored voice. She focused her attention narrowly on me and said, “Hey, are
you even old enough to be here? Let me see your ID.”

I reached for my jacket pocket, but Dee Dee placed a
restraining hand on mine. I had only recently reached legal majority, but no
one at the Red Spot, or any other place I hung out or worked, had cared—or even
noticed.

“Now, Jen, that’s not necessary,” Dee Dee scolded. “I
haf told you, this is DJ Nina. We worked together. But I’m sorry, Nina,” she
said with true regret, “we don’t have a cabaret license,
und
so a DJ is
ABC not possible at this time.” She put a warm hand on my shoulder, and
her voice went from regret to concern.

“But are you okay? Do you need any help, can I gif you
some money or anything?” she asked me, reaching into her back pocket and
pulling out quite a cash stash.

“No, no, I’m fine. I don’t need any money,” I said,
embarrassed, waving her hands away, “but it looks like you could use a
waitress. What do you say?”

Dee Dee grinned at me. “You were always a smart girl,
Nina. Smart and proud. With that face, you’ll make great tips!” she enthused,
and pinched my cheek. “Done, then!
Und
when it’s quiet, you’ll work with
me on the bar—I’ll teach you everything I know!” she announced, and promptly
hugged me again.

“Oh, Nina, we’ll have such fun working together, I
know it!” she said, and impetuously crushed me to her. I murmured some sort of
agreement; I don’t know what because I couldn’t breathe. Finally she released
me and cast her eyes on Jen while I surreptitiously restarted my deflated lungs
and fixed my hair. As far as I could tell, they were still functional.

“You’ll get the paperwork, Jen,” she asked her, “and
introduce Nina around? Nina,” she said, “come tomorrow afternoon at four, and
we’ll start from there, okay?” She stroked my shoulder and I nodded in
agreement.

“That’s great, thanks,” I answered, and could feel my
smile stretch so wide my face hurt. Cool. A steady job that got me off Staten
Island and away from everyone I didn’t want to deal with anymore. DJing was
great, but I didn’t want to rely on it as my only source of income, and, as
much fun as it could be, I was starting to get frustrated, too. I wanted to
focus on
my
music, not someone else’s.

“No, no, no thanks for me,
liebchen
. You’ll be
doing me a favor,” she smiled, “
und
now I’ve got to get back to all
those thirsty women!” She pinched my cheek. “Tomorrow,
liebchen
. For
now, I leave you in Jen’s capable hands, no?” she asked, looking at Jen.

“Of course,” Jen answered stonily.

As soon as Dee Dee left, Jen rolled her eyes and shook
her head as if she’d just been asked to scrub a prison bathroom with her
toothbrush, again. “C’mon, kid,” she said in that same you’re-buggin’-me tone,
“let me take you ’round.” She gestured and I followed.

She was able to walk me through the bar rather
quickly, since her size made a nice-sized path. “And don’t think your friends
can drink for free,” she warned me as we passed Jerkster and Stephie, who
waved. I smiled back and gave them the thumbs-up from behind the Iron Giant’s
back.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course not,” I answered as her glare
fell on me again. Apparently I hadn’t answered quickly enough. Mollified, she
continued the tour, including the basement, where all the kegs for the bar taps
were. It was a crawl space accessible from outside the building, and ABC Page
104while I had to walk bent over, Jen was bent almost double.

I tried very hard not to laugh—I didn’t want to have
to deal with that glare again—and I was pretty certain I’d see it again soon. I
have to admit, I wasn’t wrong.

After the tour, Jen asked me to show up the next
afternoon at two so we could do all the paperwork, and with no “good-bye,” not
even a “see ya,” she steadfastly ignored me the rest of the night. I made sure
to find and thank Dee Dee before we left, though, and also made sure to get
phone numbers: the bar, her home, and her cell. Hey, you never know when
something might happen, right? I just wanted to be prepared.

Jerkster fell asleep as Stephie and I made plans on
the ferry ride back to the rock we called home.

“Oh, hey, want to come back to my place or we going to
yours?” she asked. “We still going over that stuff?”

She was referring to our upcoming gig. Our upcoming
first gig as a full band—ever. But man! It had been hard to book even a crappy
night with a crappier time slot. It took two weeks of phone calls just to find
out there was a twelve-week wait for an available slot, then another two weeks
of trying to get in touch with an actual person in charge to get scheduled into
the twelve-week wait. The good, no, the best thing about it? We were in. But
that was also the scary part, too, so we needed to use our time wisely. We’d
planned to just hang out tonight, then go back to one of our places and work
out the rest of our set and rehearsal schedule, and the three of us were
supposed to be there—the drummer we were working with had already promised to
work with whatever schedule we came up with.

But even if Jerkster was there physically—and that
looked doubtful, given that we couldn’t budge him—he was too drunk to be any
good. Still, we had work to do. Stephie and I could figure it out. We usually
handled all the scheduling anyway.

“Uh, your place, it’s closer,” I decided.

“Cool, then. I’ve got Fudgesicles.”

“Awesome,” I smiled, “and I know an all-night pizza
joint—my treat.”

We walked off the boat together, leaving Jerkster to
sleep it off. He’d show up at Stephie’s house later—that’s where he always
went.

After a meal of pizza and frozen chocolate-flavored
chemicals, Stephie and I mapped out all the details for our next few
rehearsals, the songs for the show, and how we’d meet up to get there. This was
CBGB, which was a big deal for us. The fact that the place was so famous made
it intimidating, but the fact that we were the last act on a Sunday let us know
our place in the pecking order—nowhere.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Faith

I never thought it’d be so hard now just to crawl

But it’s the thing that keeps me from the fire

And I can’t stop now because I know how far I’ll fall

I’m hand-over-hand on a thin red wire

“Sensation”—Life
Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

In between rehearsals and sleep, I worked. And worked.
When Dee Dee wasn’t there, Jen constantly picked on me.

“Hey, kid, go across the street to the White Horse
Tavern and get ice—here’s your bucket,” and she’d hand me a five-gallon bucket
and smirk. Or “Hey, bar’s backed up—grab two cases of beer from storage,”
referring to the crawl space under the bar.

What she didn’t know was that when I used to bar back
for extra money at the Red Spot, I’d handled ten-gallon buckets, and the boys
and I would race to unpack the beer, carrying four cases at a time. So it was
my time to smirk to myself when I saw her or Grace, the other bartender,
sweating and straining while they carried two. Hell, compared to my labor at
the Red Spot, this was a vacation. Well, except for Jen. What a bitch. And what
was with the “kid” thing, anyway?

“Kid, there’s a couple waiting in the corner,” she’d
order. Like, duh, I was already getting their drinks. Or, “Hey, kid, grab a
broom, will ya?” Uh, just finished with that.

It was constant, and if it wasn’t about work, it was
about something else. “Kid like you should be going crazy—playing the field
like tomorrow won’t ever come,” she told me seriously one day when she caught
me pocketing a phone number with a tip without a second glance.