The Break - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 The Doctor’s words still hung in his head like a heavy curtain keeping out the sunlight. Everything was dark. He still couldn’t believe he heard correctly. But he had heard correctly. “Cancer.” The doctor told him matter-of-factly. He was home now. After a while he heard the sounds of Ronnie’s band. It was an unfamiliar tune but it sounded great from here. Big Ron decided to go in and listen more closely. He entered the garage silently so that he wouldn’t disturb the boys. If they knew he was there, they might stop playing. Big Ron watched Ronnie in a way he never had before. For the very first time, Big Ron saw the incredible talent that his son had. Ronnie’s raspy screeching contrasted with full, rich baritone when he sang. It matched the music perfectly. “Damn, these guys are good.” He thought. He focused in on Ass. “The kid is intense. Look at that. He and that Ben are tight, real tight.” “Okay, okay.” Ronnie said. “So, whaddya think?” “It’s badass.” Pete said. Big Ron turned to leave the room before he was seen. He was impressed and he had an idea. His friend Bob Marsh just bought Ecks Saloon. Ron knew he was always looking for hot bands. Suddenly an idea hit him. He’d wanted his son to be a pro athlete, but that didn’t happen. He had different talents and now Big Ron believed it. Yes, Ronnie would be famous but not for winning Superbowls. Ron went to his office and made a phone call. When Ron returned to the garage, they were playing the same song. Only this time it had revved into a monster jam and suddenly there were three staccato symbol crashes and they abruptly ended. None of them had even looked at each other. They had all known it was time to stop. “Fuckin’ A” Pete said. Ron watched his son. It seemed like there was a peace surrounding him. A moment of happiness. He heard his son reply, “Yeah! Yeah!” And that was really all that needed to be said. Ron watched as the four performed a few post-jam rituals. Pete wiped off with a towel, Ben continued stroke the bass, Ass leaned back against the wall his arms hanging at his sides and Ronnie just stood in the middle of the floor, head down. “Hey Ronnie.” Big Ron said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” “Yeah.” Ronnie responded robotically without lifting his head. Big Ron spun on his heeled and walked briskly to his office. He walked across the room and took a seat behind his desk. “C’mon in, Ronnie.” Big Ron said cheerifully. “Have a seat.” “K,” Ronnie responded as he slouched down into one of the large leather chairs that faced Big Ron’s desk. Big Ron frowned to himself. “Jesus, what kind of Dad have I been if this is how reluctant my son is to be with me?” He thought. But he had to get rid of that thought. Maybe he could change things. He wanted to do this right. “Ronnie, hey, I was listening to you guys earlier. What was that song? I’ve never heard it before.” “Just somethin’ we’re working on.” Ronnie replied nonchalantly. ”You guys wrote that?” Ron asked, genuinely surprised. “I kinda came up with the idea, but yeah we wrote it. Just today.” Ronnie said in a snotty tone. “It’s great. You boys play well together.” Big Ron said. The words fell strangely on Ronnie’s ears. This was the first time Ronnie could ever remember his father commenting on his music, let alone the compliment. Ronnie was shocked. He really didn’t know how to respond. Ron saw Ronnie’s reaction and again frowned to himself. He didn’t know exactly what Ronnie was thinking but he felt his perplexion. “Anyway,” Big Ron continued. I have been listening to you guys for a while and it dawned on me that my friend owns Ecks Saloon and he is always looking for bands. Turns out he has a shitty band that he wants to fire, so you guys are on tomorrow night.” “Wha…what…what are you saying.” “Well I know you guys have had some problems getting gigs and you really do have talent. So, I thought I could help you out.” “What … I … what the fuck?” Ronnie could not believe what he was hearing. “Ronnie, I thought …” “You thought? What the fuck do you know about us?” “Well, I know you’re good, maybe even great.” Big Ron said a little confused. “Ronnie, I thought you’d be happy. I know how tough it is to get a break.” “You don’t get it, Dad.” Ronnie said. “We’re not ready.” “What do you mean, you guys are fantastic. And I know you know a lot of songs.” Big Ron said as he sat forward in his chair. He leaned forward to Ron. “I mean …” “Look, what gives you the right to just sign us up like that?” Ronnie interupted angrily. “Maybe we have another gig or plans or something. “Do you?” Big Ron asked. “What?” Ron said puzzled. “Have a gig or plans or something.” Big Ron replied irritated. “Well, no.” Ronnie replied. “I just we … well … we…where the fuck do you get off. You don’t even know the name of the band!” “What?” Ron asked. “You don’t know anything.” Ron pondered conversation. He was trying to figure out why Ronnie was reacting like this. He knew that he had never supported his music. Then, suddenly it hit him. “Don’t tell me that you guys have never played in public.” Big Ron said. Ronnie couldn’t bring his eyes to meet his father’s. He just sat for a moment head down and finally he said, “No we haven’t.” Ronnie said embarrassed. “Why not?” Big Ron asked. “I…ah…well...I’m not sure … I mean …” “Stage fright?” Ron said as he began to chuckle. “That’s it – stage fright.” He laughed fully now. “Really funny Dad. What do you know about it?” “Plenty.” Big Ron replied with a knowing nod. “What do you mean?” “You think it was easy playing in a Orange Bowl? In front of 80,000 people? On national TV? – yeah, I know a little bit about it.” It was Ronnie’s turn to be taken by surprise. “You played in the Orange Bowl?” “Yeah, did you ever listen to my stories?” “Guess not. So what happened? You know, at the Orange Bowl?” “Oh, I was scared shitless. I puked a couple of times and proceeded to have the best game of my life.” “What? You just went and played after puking?” Ronnie asked. “Yeah. Look Ronnie it’s natural to be nervous when you’re performing, but trust me once you get into it you have no problems.” Ron felt the angst from his son. He wanted to do something, say something to make Ronnie feel better. “Look Ronnie, why do you play music?” “What?” Ronnie asked dumbfounded. “Why do you play music? Is it cause you like it or you want to be famous or what?” “I guess …well …I mean … well …both …you know.” “Well then you’re going to have to get up on stage sometime, right. Hate to sound like a Nike commercial, but you just do it – get it. Look nothing in life is easy, but you can do what ever you have the courage to try. What’s the worst that can happen? Seriously, what’s the worst thing that can happen?” “You make it sound easy.” “Don’t get me wrong, it is difficult. But son, that is what life is.” Big Ron said in a very sincere voice. “If you let the fear win, you’ll never do anything. Christ look at this house. You think we would be living there if I gave in to fear?” Big Ron stood up and walked around the desk and sat down in the chair next to Ronnie. He reached out an put his hand on Ronnie’s knee. “Son, I am scared all the time.” Big Ron said. “You think you make decisions lightly when the deals you make are going to affect four thousand people you’ve never met, probably never will meet? You have to stand up and face it. Sometimes, you’ll fail. Other times, you’ll be successful.” “Dad,” Ronnie said. He swallowed obviously and asked, “Do you really think we’re good?” “Absolutely, you have a sound and what a rhythm section.” Ron said sincerely. “Those two are amazing.” “Yeah and they hardly even talk.” Ronnie replied knowingly. “They just know.” “I think you all share that. All good teams do.” Ron stated matter-of-factly. “Never forget you’re a team.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The four band-mates sat in what passed for a dressing room. They were about to be thrust upon the stage for their first gig. On top of that, they were to be introduced by one of the most popular local DJs. He did every Thursday at Ecks and tonight was no exception. “Put your hands to together for “Ratdick!” The DJ screamed into the microphone. “That’s us, dudes.” Pete said. “Let’s do it.” “Yeah!” Ass and Ben screamed together. Ronnie turned his head and puked into the sink. “Dude, Jesus Christ. What the …?” Pete started. “It’s cool.” Ronnie said reassuringly. “Kinda family ritual. Let’s kick some ass.” The four ran on to the stage. Ass literally jumped into his seat behind the drum kit. Ben and Pete assumed their positions and Ronnie strode forward to the microphone. “We’re gonna rock this fucking place, man.” Ronnie yelled into the mike as he ripped it out of its cradle on the stand. Instantly Pete ripped out the first strands of ‘Evenflow’. Although Ronnie’s voice did not sound much like Eddie Vedder’s, it was still strong, melodic and very good. The boys were tight. Ben and Ass were in rare form and Pete was just smoking. The sound was filling the bar and people began to take notice. After the first song, they didn’t even pause. Boom, right into Tool’s ‘Sober’. Again, Ronnie’s voice didn’t match, but it was almost a better sound because it fit so well with his band-mates. It wasn’t that “Ratdick” wanted to play covers. Not at all, just earlier in the day, the band had a very brief argument with the owner. He wanted them to play covers. They wanted to play more of their own stuff. “Look, you play shit that people know.” He stated flatly. “That way they dance. When they dance, they get thirsty. When they get thirsty, they drink. This is a bar. I want people to drink. So you play covers or you don’t play.” As they started in on their twelfth cover in a row, they could see that the dance floor was crowded already. It was better than Ronnie ever expected. His voice was at its peak. He was in the zone and loving it. “Not this song, not now.” He thought. Quickly he shot a glance at Pete. Pete subtly turned to Ass and Ass clued in Ben. Barely ten seconds passed and Ronnie stepped up to the mike. “Fuck it.” He said and instantly the band stopped in unison. The crowd erupted in a chorus of boos for having “Closer” interrupted. “We wanna do a song we just wrote the other day.” Ronnie said as he began the tuning start to the new song. An eerie feeling came over the entire band. The booing actually added something to the searching sound. It was almost as if Ronnie’s guitar was searching for something to appease the angry mob. When Ronnie and Pete simultaneously thundered into the nasty, severe riff, the booing instantly stopped. The music wretched out of the band with such emotion, that the crowd was instantly mesmerized. Pete cracked off the lead intro and the dance floor erupted. The drunk and not so drunk revelers began dancing with wild abandon. The longer they played, the more wicked the frenzy became. They came to the end of the song and Ass hit the cymbal with the familiar three staccato bursts and they stopped almost drained. They looked up to see the crowd cheering enthusiastically. “Break time.” Ronnie barked into the microphone. Pumping his fist, he strode off the stage completely confident the others were following right behind him. They basically staggered back to the dressing room. None of them had ever experienced anything quite so intense. “Holy Shit.” Pete was the first to find his voice. “Did you see that shit, dude?” “No doubt.” Ass added. “I knew that song was good, but I had no idea…” “Fucking A” Ben said to finish Ass’ sentence. Ronnie was wiping the sweat off his head with a white towel. He was shaking the wetness out onto the floor. “That really was better than sex.” Pete finally said. “That’s the most intense …” “Fuckin A.” Ben said again. “MOST INTENSE FUCKING EXPERIENCE!” Ronnie screamed directly into Pete’s face. Pete just smiled. The right hands of Ass and Ben met in a loud high five. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Quickly, the door swung open and the club owner filled the doorway. He was a massive man and by the looks of his reddened face and his sweat stained shirt, he was pissed – not a good combination. “What the fuck was that?” Bob Marsh asked sternly. “It’s a song we wrote.” Ronnie said looking directly into the fiery eyes of the huge man standing in front of him. “You wrote that?” He asked in a menacing tone as he moved well into Ronnie’s personal space. “Yeah, sorry. I know you told us to play covers.” Ronnie said apologetically but, uncharacteristically, he did not look away. “But we didn’t think you’d mind hearing one original.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” Bob asked. The boys exchanged puzzled looks. “Look at me. I got sweat running down my ass crack.” He said loudly. “I been dancing my ass off and did you see the crowd? They loved it. So, you guys got more of that shit?” Again, the boys looked at each other trying to put it all together. None of them attempted to answer the question. “Well do ya?” Bob asked almost accusingly. “Yeah.” Pete finally said. “Really, a couple? Three? A dozen, what?” “We’ve written sixty-two of our own songs.” Ronnie said nonchalantly. The owner was stunned. “Sixty-two.” He said. “Well if they’re anything like that last one, you can play as many as you want.” “Really?” Ronnie asked. “Hell yeah. I known you’re old man a long time.” He said. “And when that piece of shit told me you guys were good, I thought he was just blowing smoke for his kid. But I tell you what, you four have got IT. And I fuckin’ mean it. You’re here for the weekend and I have you back in two or three weeks. I gotta check the schedule.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.