my father's place, erupture 10

My Father's Place

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Bob and I drive out to Queens to pick up Vinnie and Joey at their grandmother's house, after Yom Kippur fast break.
I apply gooey black liquid eyeliner while we stop at a traffic light. "I'm surprised they're coming. I thought they'd have to stay with the family, it being a holiday and all."
"Nah, Vinnie and Joey ain't all that close with the folks." I feel real agitated as we approached, because I'm all punked out for tonite, and it's Yom Kippur and we have to pick up Vinnie and Joey at grandma's, which sort of freaks me out. Not that I thought I'd ever meet up with Vinnie's grandmother again, but still, I don't like to scare old people. We pull into the driveway and Bob gets out.
"C'mon, get out! We gotta get them!"
"Do I have to?"
"That's rude to stay in the car!"
"Uh, Bob? Do you have like a shirt or a jacket I can borrow? I feel weird on account of what I'm wearing." Which is yellow fishnets and combat boots, but that's ok. And even the plaid mini is ok. It's the sheer top I made out of black tights worn over a red sparkly bra that I call my 'surrender Dorothy' bra that I'm a little worried about.
"C'mon. It's ok. No one's gonna even blink."
When we get to the door, I hear Vinnie yelling. "But ma! I gotta wear the bandanna! I sweat like a pig! It keeps the sweat outta my eyes!" Joey comes to the door before we ring.
"We gotta get Vinnie outta there. You got eyeliner, right?" Joey says to me. "Vinnie doesn't want to have to leave the house looking normal and get dressed in the car. That's not punk, he thinks."
"Vinnie couldn't leave the house looking normal no matter how he was dressed," says Bob.
Bob and Vinnie are best friends. Joey is Vinnie's older brother. He's a year ahead of us in school, but I think he should be two years ahead. He's really good looking and the cutest punk rocker in school. He sometimes dates the cutest punk rock girl. Her name is Joanna, but the boys call her Ramona, after the Ramones' song "Sweet Sweet Little Ramona." The boys call me "Sheena" after another Ramones song. But anyway, the funny thing about Bob and Vinnie being best friends is that Bob is about 5'1", shorter than me even, and Vinnie must be about 6'6". And they're both incredibly ugly. Bob's brow had a ridge that makes him look neanderthal, and Vinnie has terrible skin and a small blond 'fro. They both wear leather jackets all the time, even in the summer, even today, when it's at least 80 degrees out at 9 PM. Joey is wearing a Buzzcocks t-shirt that Joanna made for him in silk-screening class, and a leather spiked dog collar.
Vinnie finally lumbers over to the front door, muttering under his breath and shoving something in his pocket. He ushers us outside.
"Can you believe I can't even wear a bandanna?"
We climb in the car and drive out to Roslyn, Long Island. We're going to this club called My Father's Place to see the Psychedelic Furs. We're lucky that one of us not only knows how to drive, but has a car, because for some reason the Furs are not playing in Manhattan. Bob's car is little and old, and the insides are all tore up. There's no little light that goes on when you open the door, and there's no radio. Vinnie turns on his boom box and puts on a tape of the Dead Boys. We're all quiet on the drive out to Roslyn, the only sounds are from the Dead Boys or the occasional spfttt from a beer can.
It's pretty empty at the club, which has a low ceiling and smells like my parent's basement. None of us get proofed. Bob buys me a bud and we sit at a table. Vinnie and Joey wander around, and I see them go backstage.
"Whaddya think they're doing?"
"Uh, I dunno. Joey likes to try to get backstage. Sometimes there's drugs and shit. So..."
"So."
Pause. Sometimes Bob and I can't talk to each other. He likes me too much, and I don't want to encourage him.
"I saw "Decline'..."
"How was that?"

"It was ok, but kind of fucked up. You know, it's all California hardcore. I like New York and London."
"I saw Cheetah Crome at Leshkos."
"Get the fuck out."
"No! S'true. He looked fucked up."
"Of course."
I take out a cigarette and tap the end n the bar a few times. I light up.
"And I saw John Lydon at the Brian Brain show."
"Oh...?"
"He acted like an asshole. But Martin Atkins was really sweet."
Bob looks a little hurt, and I suddenly realize my faux pas--I mentioned another guy. Even if it is Martin Atkins, who I'm obviously not going out with, he being like a big star, to us anyway.
Vinnie and Bob return with several long neck Rolling Rocks. "There's lots of beer backstage," says Joey, "C'mon back, everyone's too stoned to notice."
In the little wood paneled room, Tim from the Psychedelic Furs is slumped in a chair with his eyes closed. He may as well have been drooling. Richard is slinking around, going into other rooms. Joey goes over to talk to a roadie. I feel 10 years old and I just was set loose in a toy store. Desperate to look cool, I light another cigarette and open a beer and sit in a corner and don't say a word. Twenty minutes later we all got kicked out, because the show was going to start.
On the long ride home, we talk about the show. Vinnie and Joey are in the back seat, and I'm swivelled around in the front seat talking to them. Bob needs to concentrate on driving because he's still drunk.
"I was afraid they wouldn't do 'India'."
"Yeah, that was weird they saved it for the encore."
"Thought it would have been that stupid 'Pretty in Pink.' I hate that song!"
"It's not their best."
We're all too busy talking to notice that Bob has fallen asleep.

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