September 1993 #6
Mike was sure Rusty would never learn the chords and riffs in time, but he was wrong.
Rusty not only learned them, he improved them, his fingers flying up and down the neck of the guitar with a deftness the boys had never seen.
Rusty was effortless, cocksure, and a little goofy, not caring a lick about the end results since the offer itself was his win.
The performance was back on. Mr. McCreight set up a single row of lawn chairs on the driveway, his expression gleeful as Todd, James, and Kitty took their seats.
Phillip smiled at Todd. “Let them down easy, okay?”
Then he turned to the boys. “Don’t be nervous, fellas. It’s only your entire future riding on this moment.” He let out a silly, high-pitched laugh before slapping Mike on the back. “I’m kidding, you know that, right?”
Mike gave him a stiff nod and tried to smile, but a surge of nausea stopped him.
He bent at the waist and took a few slow, deep breaths to stop himself from vomiting.
Mrs. McCreight waved her husband into a chair, then told Mike to ‘stand up, young man.’ She placed both hands on his shoulders.
“You’ve got what it takes, I’ve heard it myself. Now’s your time to shine.”
Mike nodded, grateful for her faith in him, though it did little to override his nerves.
Zane, whose hands were both bandaged, called the other guys in for a quick huddle. “Look, we’ve worked our butts off for years now.” Glancing at Rusty, he said, “Well, not you, but you know. Anyway, this is a shot that most people never get. So… let’s make the most of it.”
“Yup. This is our shot,” Steven said. “We put it all on the line.”
Mike held his hand up to his mouth and burped.
They got into position, and Mike stared at Todd, intimidated by his tidy mustache that sat like a perfect salute above his top lip.
Tonight, he wielded the ultimate power over them, although it didn’t look like he was feeling the weight of the moment.
Instead, Todd looked impassive, if not a little annoyed, and Mike wondered how he felt about using precious moments of his holiday sitting on a folding lawn chair in a breezeless, soulless neighborhood rather than on an Adirondack chair on the dock watching the sunset.
Zane tapped his microphone, causing a screech of feedback. “We’re The Milky Way Trio, and we started a band so we can get girls.”
James chuckled. “That’s a great reason.”
“This first one’s about meeting that perfect girl and knowing she’s the one.
It’s called ‘The Stars in Your Eyes,’” Zane said, and to Mike, his best friend sounded very much the part of a lead singer of a real band.
He was Mick Jagger and Mike was Keith. And suddenly, Mike knew, without a doubt, that this was the start of something bigger than he’d ever dared to dream for himself.
They were about to bite into a juicy, ripe nectarine, having planted the seed way back in freshman year.
It was all going to happen. The sold-out stadiums, the hit records, and the girls too.
Steven counted them in. It was time to start their lives.
ZANE
Zane’s stomach tied itself into impossibly tight knots during the first song.
His voice cracked twice when he got to the chorus, and he sent a prayer up to the music gods that Todd wouldn’t notice.
But of course he would. Todd knew everything there was to know about music—the history, the sub-sub-subgenres, the names behind the biggest songs, and what key each song was in.
He most certainly knew what talent sounded like. And talent didn’t crack its damn voice.
His eyes darted to his mother, who was shoulder dancing to the beat while her sandal-clad feet tapped the cement.
She winked at him and smiled, and he felt a surge of confidence.
His dad, on the other hand, wore that pinched expression he had whenever they played, his eyes squinting as if closing them partway would somehow reduce the sound.
Todd was impossible to read. He didn’t smile or bop along to the beat.
He didn’t tap his toes or offer a reassuring nod at Zane.
His gaze shifted slowly to each member of the band while he rubbed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger.
When the first song ended, and the rest of their tiny audience (of Zane’s parents, Uncle James, and Kitty) erupted with applause, Todd folded his arms across his chest. Zane’s heart dropped to his knees, and he swallowed hard, wondering if they should bother to go on.
But a nod from his mother propelled him on.
He put his mouth up to the microphone and said, “This next one is called ‘To the Moon.’ It’s a little faster and louder, so I hope you like it… fast and loud.”
“One, two, three, four!” Steven yelled, hitting his drumsticks together in time with his words.
Zane distinctly saw a smile pass Todd’s lips when they sang the line, “One of these days, maybe today, one of these days, you’re gonna get yours,” and he knew he got the obvious reference to The Honeymooners. But then the smile faded, and Todd sat perfectly still, his back ramrod-straight.
The silence that followed the last note was more deafening than anything the band had ever played.
The audience didn’t clap. They didn’t cheer.
They didn’t even breathe. It was as if they were all crammed into a roller coaster car paused at the top of the first climb before it shoots down the track.
All eyes were on Todd, who made a smacking sound with his teeth, then turned to Phillip.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Phil. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but they’ve got it. ”
The next thirty seconds were pure joy. Steven sprung up from his stool and scrambled to get to Mike and Zane.
June jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around her son, giving him several quick pecks on the cheek and whispering how proud she was of him, before she let go to hug Mike.
Her eyes filled with happy tears, while her husband sat slumped in his chair.
But Zane didn’t care one bit that his father’s dream for him had been suddenly chucked out the window.
He was too busy letting his mind wander to what would come next.
He was going to get himself—and his best friend—the hell out of Spokane forever.
Away from Mike’s drunk mother and his brute of a father.
Away from his own dad, who was an empty husk of the content, successful man he had been.
But Zane was getting ahead of himself, and Todd, who was waving his hand for them to quiet down, was about to bring them all back to reality.
“All right now, listen carefully, because this is the best advice you’re ever going to get.
It comes free of charge. If you’re going to make a go of it, you need to know the band only works with Russell here in it.
” Todd gave Zane a hard look. “You might think I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’ve never seen you play guitar, but trust me, Russell’s got the best hands I’ve seen. Once-in-a-generation hands.”
“Pfft, no,” Rusty said. “That can’t be right. I barely play anymore.”
“It’s right,” Todd told him. “And if you don’t at least try to make a go of this, I’ll kill myself, then haunt you for the rest of your life for wasting your potential.”
Uncle James cleared his throat. “Um, Todd, that’s a little much, don’t you think? They’re just kids.”
“Kids or not, they’re about as talented as they come.
” He turned to Zane. “You’ve got the look and the voice—it’s gruff yet there’s a sensitivity to it that makes you unique.
If you want to play guitar as well, that’s fine.
Lots of rock bands have two guitar players.
But you need Russell,” he said. “Moving on, you’re going to need a new name.
The Milky Way Trio won’t work, for obvious reasons. ”
Mike, who had come up with the name, let his shoulders drop, then his eyes lit up. “What about The Milky Way Quartet?”
“The number wasn’t the reason,” Todd said, pursing his lips.
“It would’ve worked in 1949, maybe, but this is 1966.
It’s been a hell of a long time since Bill Haley and His Comets had a hit single.
Rock and roll has changed. You need a name you won’t mind having thirty years from now when you’re grizzled old men who’ve been through the ringer for your art. You need a name that’ll get you laid.”
Zane’s mom tsked. “Todd! Please!”
Todd raised an amused eyebrow at her. “What do you think ‘get girls’ means?”
“Certainly not that!” she answered, collecting the empty dessert plates.
He shrugged at her back. “They certainly aren’t looking for someone to play Pinochle with.”
The boys tried not to snicker, but the thought of ‘getting laid’ was too much for their young brains.
“All right, Todd, we don’t have to talk about that, now, do we?” Phillip said. “Not with Zane’s mother here. And… Kitty.”
Todd threw a lazy grin in Kitty’s direction. “Oh, I think she’s on board.”
June looked at Kitty. “Come on in the house, Kitty. If these men want to be crass, they can do it without us.”
Kitty gave Rusty a grin that said she was definitely on board, then tucked her lips between her teeth and hurried to catch up with June.
As soon as the screen door slammed behind the two women, Phillip, who seemed frozen until that moment, leaped from his lawn chair, the force of his movements causing it to collapse with a clang.
Ignoring it, he turned to Todd. “Are you seriously trying to say that these…” He pointed in the general direction of the band.
“That they’re talented enough to make money at this?
Like they could actually pay their bills with this… this noise?”
Todd glanced at Zane, then back at Phillip with a superior smile. “It’s not noise. It’s music. And not only their bills. Yours, their kids’ and grandkids’ and great grandkids’.”