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December 29th, 1979

I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.

I think that quite a lot these days. Not as much as I did when I first got here, when it jumped at me with every small thing I saw, like the Queen’s face on a dollar bill or the cars drivin’ on the other side of the road or anything to do with the metric system. Those mundane things aren’t exactly natural to me yet, but Debbie was laughin’ at me when I told her I checked the post last week, so I guess I got familiar enough where I don’t really notice ‘em much any more.

Nah, there’s more comic differences to muse on. My old boots on the porch table of some music exec’s house being one of them because what in the hell? I fly back home for seven fuckin’ days, come back to a call from Georgie inviting me here to celebrate the band getting themselves signed to a label. He wants to talk about joining their road crew, ‘cause he knows the run I’ve been on is due to end soon… but that won’t be tonight. We need shit in writing and he’s already half a bottle of Jack deep — the right state of mind to catch me up on all that happened while I was gone, he says. He’ll be right back, he just has to find Robert, whoever that is.

Fine by me, gives me the time to work on the joint I need, ‘cause what I do know so far is enough. Richard’s out of the band, Georgie cleared that up real quick since I initially said fuck no to the whole thing. Listenin’ to Richard bitch and moan at the bar was bad enough, but there I could drown him out, go back to my pool game or get another drink. Not for an entire tour leg…shit’s claustrophobic and awful enough.

Thinking I’d dodged a bullet, I started to smile. Good. Denny can be a little stuck in his pulpit, but he was onto something with that verse that says ‘the wicked are doomed to get exactly what they deserve…’

“He’s got his own deal.”

Fuckin’ A.

See darlin’, all the hell he put you through wasn’t for nothin’. The way he treated you like you were stupid? Well, honey, you were. How dare you be upset over him ignorin’ you on those nights where he didn’t just completely abandon you? You know better than to disturb the precious fuckin’ prodigy. You know none of it matters. All your pain’s just a mere stepping stone on his path to becoming a rock and roll star! If you think it’s bad tonight, just wait til he gets on the road…

She don’t know what she’s doin’ here either.

I don’t know what’s more uncomfortable for her, that short skirt of her black dress that she’s been tugging at or the wobble of her ankles in her sky high heels. Don’t get me wrong, she still looks too damn good for my own good, but I know she’s itchin’ to get out of here. Probably got dragged to this thing after workin’ all day, spent even more time to put all this stuff on just for him to not even look at her twice. Too busy catchin’ his own damn reflection in all the mirrors, I reckon.

I wish she could kick the damn things off and curl up next to me, look at the moon, trade swigs from the bottle, and shoot the shit for a while...

I sent her a postcard when I was home like she asked me to, but there wasn’t a lot of room to cover everything. Not like I could…I don’t know, it was strange coming back. It hasn’t been that long, so I’d forget I’d left at all at points. O’Hare don’t look too different than Heathrow. The airplane descended into the same grey sky that I left. Everything is in the same place in the house and everyone looks the same…’til something would remind me of the vast distance in between.

Didn’t help that I smoked too much and dealt with this by wondering what it’d be like if she were there with me. She ain’t too big on those things, I know, and that’s precisely why I’d want her there. If things got too weird at the table, too much lecturing from Bonnie or nosiness from Debbie or too much heaven or hell talk from Denny, Marilyn’d be the first to call it out. Wouldn’t think twice, wouldn’t care to either. I’m not saying she’d start a fight with them for no reason, she’s not a fuckin’ hothead like Vickie, she’d just tell it straight and make ‘em think on it. They need to sometimes. It’d be good.

Her nature doesn’t do her too well here. Hell, nothing about this scene is natural. It’s all part of this performance, this dance she’s been doin’ with him, or really this dance he does with her. He only brought her here to make him look good while he looks for someone who can make him look better. She’s put up with him enough through it, she thought that she’d get something real from him in return tonight. Recognition, an ounce of respect, love…

There’s something she wants to say, I can tell, but she washes it down. She should go back inside, go back to play her part. The urgency feels like a fuckin’ lie. You think he noticed you’ve been gone? If he did, he’d already be out here instead of up some industry ass like he is. There’s a lot of things he would’ve already done, honestly. Ain’t it odd that he’s never said a damn thing to me about you? There ain’t too much to say, I don’t want to invite any paranoia from him either, but some mild curiosity would be respectful. He knows we know each other, you’d think he’d at least want to clear the air and straighten the line. He never says much about you to anybody, other than “Sorry I’m late, got into a row with Marilyn.” or “Sorry it’s incomplete, Marilyn stayed over last night and I couldn’t focus.” You’re nothin’ to him but his excuse.

It ain’t even just about me either, he brought you into a room full of powerful men with glassy leering eyes, wandering hands, and wants that they always get and he left you lonesome in the damn lion’s den. Not that you can’t handle it or that you need to be tethered to his hip, but it’s unfair…how little care he handles you with. I’d ask what kind of man he thinks he is, but I reckon that question’s answered itself.

She’s not lyin’ to me though. It’s like a bad habit, bein’ with someone like that. You act in all sorts of ways you normally wouldn’t, become weird and anxious, blind and confused. Vickie had me that way, rushin’ to her side before anyone else could again when deep down I knew I was already too late. But again…blind and confused. How could they get by me if I wasn't home in the first place? That’s what she told me the first time. My fault for another man in her bed. It’s funny now but I truly fuckin’ believed it then. Nevermind that she’s the one who wanted me to take a job that kept me far away, Vickie loved to leave that part out.

I don’t know if Richard’s a cheater. He does act pretty damn squirrely, but he’s also so far up his own ass that he doesn’t have the sight for one woman, much less multiple...

“ Hey Tom!”

Georgie’s back, this time with the bottle of Jack and this blonde, equally as smashed, fella.

“T-this is my best m-mate, Robert. Robert, meet my good friend Tom…”

“Howdy.” Robert smiles. Can’t help but look at him funny for a minute, just wasn’t expecting to be greeted with that here, but I nod and tell him hi in return.

Georgie finishes a swig, “Shit…maybe you already know each other. Robert lives sout in Americer now. Been in Texas for a few years now...that’s close to where your from…in Indiana, right?”

Robert and I get a laugh out of that.

“Oh no no no Georgie, that’s up in Chicago.” His eyes soften in a wistful haze, “Ah Chicago…”

“That’s Illinois but close enough,” I try to correct, though Robert’s too immersed in reminiscing about West Grand Anne to hear.

“Oh yeah it was…talk about a fucking skyscraper, y’know…” He and Georgie damn near double over that. I crack a smile, but I’ve been around this type of shit enough to not see the novelty in it anymore...the way these guys bring these women backstage and use ‘em for one night only like it’s nothin’. Or maybe the guys are the ones gettin’ used, the way these groupies claw at them. Either way, none of it means a damn thing. Guess it doesn’t have to, but I’ve found that it’s better when it does. Sally Susquehanna ain’t gonna know how to handle you all the right ways like someone who wants to love you does, and you won’t know what to do with her either.

“Ah... anyway,” Georgie sighs, looking up at the sparkly stars in the sky for a minute before smiling peacefully at me, “This is great...whata terrific night, Tom. Goddamn…we are so lucky to be here...to be…fucking hell.”

He stops himself by taking another drink he does not need, but I ain’t gonna stop him. It’s his night and it’s not like he knows how to sleep anyway. After all the glasses are washed and the bar is swept, he’ll stay ‘til after the rays of sunrise are filtering through the window panes just to keep playing. I’ve stayed behind with him a few times when I didn’t want to go back to the darkness of my motel. I played some when I was younger, Bonnie gave me lessons with her acoustic guitar and I had fun with it but I didn’t stick with it for long. I remember a few chords but shit...I could never store it all in my head like Georgie does. He’ll just fire off these riffs and runs, his fingers flyin’ all over on the fretboard. It’s too damn fun to watch and listen to him. He’ll thrive on the road, in front of all those people every night. I’m happy he’s got his break.

“Get used to it. Wasn’t just luck that got you here.”

“Maybe…” He shrugs, “Sure helped though, didn’tit? Last coupla days… been fucking wild.”

I take a drag from the joint, “Tell me ‘bout it…”

“I’ll try…” Georgie says, but he gets a little too caught up in what he’s about to say and starts cracking up real bad.

“Christ Georgie…swallow a schoolgirl?” Robert ribs him, which only makes it worse, “S’alright, you’ll throw her up eventually.”

“Fuck you,” Georgie chokes out, now doubled over fighting his way through a rough coughing fit. It goes on long enough that Robert starts patting his back to help him work through it. “You really should’ve went to Emergency y’know. Asbestos ain’t shit that’s safe to inhale anymore.”

Georgie shakes his head, patting his own chest to work the rest of the fit out. “Naw, stop it. Swear it’s not that bad. Nowhere what Sonny got, thank God…surprised he’s here really...got two broken ribs andall…”

Robert chuckles, “Ah, don’t be so naive Giorgio...you know they gave the poor bastard some real good medicine to take care of that. If the smoke didn’t kill him, a lil cocktail party won’t hurt... ”

“True,” Georgie grins, then finally turns and sees how confused I’m startin’ to get.

“Jesus...the fuck was goin’ on when I was gone?”

Georgie opens his mouth but Robert’s eyes and arms widen to paint a picture for me. “Georgie didn’t tell ya about the EXPLOSION? Heard it was crazy. One moment they’re playing their show, then all of a sudden KABOOOOSH. Windows breaking, flames scalin’ the walls, total lunacy erupting through the bar as people run to escape…”

“Oh bloody hell, Robert! It didn’t EXPLODE... not…like that anyway,” Georgie sighs, “A fire started after the show...no one died, but getting outta there was awful…”

My stomach twists as he tells me more, about the rush to the door and how he and Roger pulled someone named Sonny up because he got caught and trampled in the wave of panic, about how bad Nick got it because he was in the back and the back door wouldn’t open, so he went out in the thick of it and broke out a window. Robert’s description really wasn’t that far off and I start going numb while Georgie goes on, drifting in and out between the details and realizing what they would’ve meant for me, because I would’ve been there at that show, in that crowd, fighting for my way out with them if I weren’t back home....

Denny pops into my head then, switched out of his brown church suit and into his blue flannel and overalls, cane leanin’ on the bottom cabinet while he put ice and root beer in a glass in the kitchen where I was doing nothin’ productive with myself other than smoking and thinkin’ about whiskey until he walked in and told me he was headed out to the barn. I told him I’d go with him, he insisted I didn’t have to, I ashed my cigarette and got up anyway. He gets around good with that thing now, but I don’t like him out there by himself in the dark. Doesn’t matter that he does it every night nowadays to feed his goats, I’ll go with him if I can help it. I had his glass in my right hand, my other arm looped around his as we went down the porch one step at a time. His cane struck the dirt precisely, every step of his felt firmly planted like he could do it with his eyes closed but it took mine a minute to remember the path in the part where there isn’t much light. I tripped a little on the uneven ground, enough of a jolt for the ice to clink.

I poked some fun at it, ‘cause really…how can’t I remember the way to the barn after all those nights of my sneakin’ out? Denny used to give me so much shit for goin’ out there to smoke joints when we were teenagers. He didn’t like me out there by myself either and it was right before his legs got messed up, so he’d climb up there with me sometimes like the act alone would stop me. He was just scared, ‘cause all he was bein’ told was that it was scary. That one joint robbed you of your soul and mind and spirit, that you’d turn permanently crazy in one hit. It’s all a bunch of shit that never dawned on me at his age, because Bonnie was the one who got me into it and she never gave me a reason to be scared. They made her laugh and relax and feel at peace like they made me. She was out of the house by then, so she wasn’t around to calm him down about it. So I tried to be as calm as possible about it and when he’d come up, I’d let him stay. He held out for a while, but eventually he gave into his curiosity and tried one. He liked it, but promised himself he’d never ask me for another one and he’s kept good on that. Though he’ll accept one only when I offer them. He’ll pray about it after every single one and every single time, I tell him the Lord will deal with me about it. My cross to bear for getting him out of his anxious head for a while.

I had one in my pocket and I thought about lighting it while I watched him tend to his goats, but it was too damn windy and I didn’t really want it anyway. There was something peaceful about being out in the field that I haven’t felt in a while, being under the crisp December moon, breathing in the warmer than usual air. It felt more like early fall than Christmas, it had gotten up to the 60s during the day, and that comforted me enough to not want to disturb it.

Denny chuckled and tightened his hold, instead just tellin’ me he was happy to have me home. At the time, it was a weird feeling to deal with…I was happy to be there too, but not as much as he was. My restlessness wouldn’t let me be, like lingering on it too long felt like snagging my foot like quicksand. It’s not that I don’t want to be home, I just don’t want to be here for too long. It’s not a bad place to be, but I can’t seem to shake it that I need to be elsewhere. Nowhere in particular, usually anywhere but here.

For the first time in a long time, that feeling is gone. I’m washed over with nothing but gratitude that I got to spend Christmas Eve back home with my brother at my side.

“Anyway...Nick said the sprinklers going off’s why it wasn’t a total loss but what spread was really severe. Dunno what he’s gonna do about it yet…hopefully the advance we’ll get gives him some time to figure it out. That’s really the saving grace in this whole bloody thing, y’know. Sonny got us a bit more in the contract ‘cause of all this...gonna fucking need it with my day job up in smoke…”

After another drink, Georgie turns the bottle towards me. Generous of him to want to share the small sliver left at the bottom, but…

“You know damn well I need more than that, George. C’mon…” I tilt my head towards the door, “Show me where the good shit is.”

“Alright alright,” He says and tries to open the door, but doesn’t get far before he’s stopped by another one of his laughing fits from Robert mocking him not saying goodbye and resorts to flipping him off.

I slide by him, using the last bit of my patience to keep the door propped open for him until he springs back up and we emerge into the sea of smoke and suits. Georgie insists on linking arms with me so we don’t get lost. I’m not gonna get lost, but he is gonna bust his ass in here without a little help, so I go along with it. It’s not as crowded as the normal backstage after show parties, but it’s more cramped and the smell of money is downright cloying. The colognes, perfumes, wine, cigars, cigarettes, cigarillos, silk, hell even their sweat is expensive. All the creams and moisturizers they use to keep their skin healthy, like they aren’t gonna burn in hell someday for everything they’ve done. Maybe not all of them will be put out to fry, but they all know they’ve done something worthy of it to get where they are. My eye is wandering all over the room to avoid starin’ at all the flash straight in the eye, lookin’ around for something…or rather someone familiar…

We find the something first. In a short while, I’ll be thankful for it being in that order. Georgie parks us at the bar, setting his bottle down on the marble and going right behind the counter. As obliterated as he is, he’s done this routine enough at Christie’s that it’s like he never left it. He digs around in the cabinet, pulls out a whiskey glass and sets it in front of me. He shovels some ice into it from a sterling silver spoon that matches the sterling silver ice bucket and then turns to the bottles on the shelf behind him. Georgie’s eye lands on it before mine does: JW Black. I’m surprised this Sonny guy has it tucked away here in his house bar. Under all the frills, he must be as miserable as I am…probably only sometimes, but I sure wasn’t the first one to have a drink out of this bottle. There was a dent in it before Georgie poured it, a small one but it’s there…and it’s not the popular choice among the partygoers tonight…that’d be the several empty Dom Perignon ‘71 bottles scattered on the bar, making it all sticky.

“I’m sure he’ll have his maid clean it tomorrow.” I mutter, getting a smile from Georgie.

Georgie points Sonny out to me when he’s back over on my side. Small guy with feathered sandy colored hair in the middle of the room, his white suit standing out among all the black and tweed that surrounds him. A beautiful woman in a silk dress that is falling off her frame is slunk on his arm. Her head is permanently cocked down at him, but Sonny don’t pay her a lick of attention and I can’t tell who looks more bored outta the two of them. I’d feel some kinship with him if his taste in the Doobie Brothers weren’t distracting me. Haven’t been a fan of the Michael McDonald stuff that he’s got playing on the stereo now.

The scene livens up soon. One of the black suits turns away from the circle, a mop of black hair coughing into his velvet elbow, inches away from accidentally lighting his curl up with the lit cigarette in between his bandaged fingers. The attempt at being quiet about it betrays him and soon he has to uncover his face to clutch onto his knees as he works through a nasty coughing fit, one far worse than the one Georgie had earlier, still managing to hold onto the flame in the process…

“Jesus Christ Nicky…go home…” Georgie sighs, a defeated break in his voice at the last part of his plea.

“Reckon it ain’t the first time you’ve said that tonight…”

Nick looks fuckin’ bad. There’s a decent gouge on his forehead (from hitting it on a shard left on the pane when he was trying to get out the window, Georgie tells me) and several smaller cuts down his left temple and cheek from where the rest of the glass must’ve got him when it shattered. And he sounds even worse than he looks…

“He got out of the fucking hospital again this morning, he shouldn’t be here at all but…he wasn’t gonna miss it. Neither was I, but fucking hell…I wasn’t admitted twice either…” Georgie looks guiltily over at the nearly empty bottle of his, “I’d drive him back myself if I could.”

I smirk. Hasn’t stopped me before. Indy backroads are straightforward and easy. No one’s gonna get hurt except for maybe you and the corn you run into. I ain’t proud of it, but I’ve done it.

“I’d drive him if you all had the right side of the road to drive on.”

Nick winces and it hurts him more to twist his face than it does to cough so he’s able to sharply gasp in enough air to break the fit. Sonny’s broken his entanglement with his bored beauty and stands next to him, rubbing his back until Nick’s heaving ceases and he’s able to stand back up and face him. Wordlessly, Sonny picks the cigarette out of Nick’s hand and extinguishes it in the cup of water he’s been holding. Georgie and I are both expecting Nick to start swinging in retaliation, he ain’t an easy person to take something from. I’d heard Georgie and Roger get into rows with him about drinking too much after they finished a show at the bar. He’d start getting too fucked up, enough that he couldn’t bartend any more that night. Georgie would try to get his last drink and Roger would try to pry away his keys so he wouldn’t drive off. Eventually he’d give into one of them, but not without losing his shit first.

Not tonight. While the cigarette floats around in the glass, Sonny holds out his other palm until he has the keys to Nick’s silver sports car to slip into his blazer. Ain’t no way he just got Nick to give those up that easily, but he did. Sonny only mutters something to the equally feathery haired guy to his right, sets down the cigarette cocktail on the glass table, then walks out the door we just came from with Nick following behind him. He’s equally as silent, but still gets his last word in: darting a burning stare at someone sitting on the couch, a person who I couldn’t quite see until the crowd fully dispersed.

Richard.

He’s sitting next to Marilyn, well a whole other person could fit in between them but that’s beside the point, and he’s fuckin’ yawning…oblivious to the whole damn thing as always.

“He didn’t get a fucking scratch on him.” Georgie seethes when Richard moves his hand away from his face. I ain’t surprised, he always seems to find a way to slither out unscathed.

I take a swig and sigh, “I wonder why...”

It’s rhetorical, but Georgie has an answer that I can’t stand to hear anymore.

“He was outside fighting with her, that’s why.”

Of course. Of fuckin’ course. Getting a jab at her was more important than being in there to figure out his solo record deal. He damn near could’ve died, she damn near could’ve died, the one chance he’s thrown everything else away for almost fuckin’ burned and the absolute miracle that it didn’t don’t matter... the bastard is sitting here at his own celebration bored with it all.

My fingers grip tight around the whiskey glass. It’s taking everything in me to not chuck it at his head. Would he feel anything then? No? Maybe he would if I grabbed him by his suit collar and slammed his precious fuckin’ pristine face right into it until he was bloodier than Nick? Because I swear to God, if I saw even the faintest mark on her from this, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Maybe then he’d learn how to fuckin’ care about her…and even then, I doubt it. He don’t care about nothin’...and I don’t get how that is, not when you have a woman like her that you get to hold.

I meet her eyes then and if I don’t wash it down with a drink, I’ll finally say it to her...

You’re really gonna let him break another piece of your heart when you know you could give it to me?

#tom rose #tarilyn #nick peterson #sonny anderson #robert montgomery #georgie detetta #denny rose #bonnie rose #debbie rose #roger harwood #annette #davdu didn't make it unfortunately #*writing #my longest tfg thing to date and bro.......#i had so much fun with this i'm gonna be so empty now

letter one - Jul 27th, 2012

My name is Lindzey Wills and I'm a soon-to-be student of the Tom Rose School for dog trainers in High Ridge, MO. I make the 'big call' this September to get everything straight and apply. In fact, I'll draw the basic outline (very very loosely), and then we'll all laugh as we see how it really plays out! As I type this particular post I am sixteen years old, birthday being August 31st. Living in Cortez, CO with my amazing grandfather who is funding this entire venture! A huge thanks to him. The goal is to shimmy into TRS for the professionals class in July, just before I turn eighteen. Hades, my German Shepherd, is coming with me as a personal dog. My other dog Butch, a wonderful mutt, will be staying with my mother in FL. The plan for class dogs is very loose right now but the breed is set in stone, Belgian Malinois. Speaking for current place in time- I want to sell both puppies after graduating the TRS Masters class. Living situation is going to be interesting, as we will be on campus in the dorms for the professionals class. Masters comes around and we'll be in an apartment! Living on my own worries me a bit, but I think that's a pretty natural feeling because right there with it is excitement! Who wouldn't be excited right?! This blog is going to be a mess. I run a spell check, but I rarely run these paragraphs through a grammar checker, telling everyone now. MECHANICS! Here's how this is going to work, if I come back to edit/add onto an old post you will see [EDIT] or [ADD] depending on which goes down. These are all (or should be .-.) linked to my Twitter feed @K9mei, so give it a follow if you have a Twitter! To reach me personally you can find my Facebook by searching my name, if you send a friend request be sure to mention my blog or I probably won't accept! Have any input you want to share publicly here on the blog? Join in by tagging #dogdom letters here on Tumblr or Twitter! Looking forward to the experience, so lets get this car on the road~

#Dog Trainer #Dog Training #Letters from the citizens of Dogdom #Tom Rose #Tom Rose School #Tom Rose School for Professional Dog Trainers #about me #letter one #letter