RIGHT ON THE EDGE OF PARADISE
I was in a van, heading south. The night was hot and black. There were about two hours before the show.
"Man, we sucked last night," Zack whined.
Zack was the lead singer. He made a lot of noise even when he wasn't singing. I guess most lead singers did that. The other two guys in the band were Stuart, who played bass, and Nasty Boy, who played drums. I played guitar. Nasty Boy's real name was Wade but he got real mad if you called him that.
"Nah, we weren't that bad," Stuart said.
Stuart was so tall we could barely fold him into the van. He always sat in the back where there was more room.
"Where are we playing tonight?" asked Nasty Boy from the driver's seat.
"A place called Davey's Dive, just outside of downtown," replied Zack.
Zack always made all the arrangements. We didn't have a manager and so Zack kind of did all that stuff for us. It helped when you could talk like he could.
"What the hell town are we in anyway?" Stuart asked.
"Richmond," said Zack.
"Never heard of it," Stuart grumbled.
"It's only the capital of the state, dumbass," Zack laughed.
"Yeah, but I don't live in fucking Virginia, do I."
We were on a road trip, the latest in a series of about twenty. Zack insisted we needed to tour as much as possible to get ourselves known. I didn't know anything about Richmond or Virginia or any other damn thing, I just knew we were a long ways from home. We'd been driving for hours and I could already tell I was going to be exhausted for the gig.
Nasty Boy found the place and we pulled into the parking lot, tires crunching on gravel. It was a roadhouse bar full of old beat-up cars and motorbikes. We got the gear out of the back and started dragging it inside. We were running late, there were only a few minutes before we were supposed to start.
"You boys are late," the bartender said when we walked in.
"Sorry 'bout that," Zack said. "Made a few wrong turns back there."
We hadn't made any wrong turns, we were just late. It was a decent sized place but there were only about five people in there. Another one of these. I didn't see the point in playing if we were always going to be playing to five people. I could count on one hand the number of times we'd played for ten or more, especially recently. We weren't going to 'get ourselves known' playing to the bartender and his three dopey drunk friends.
We got our gear set up on the little stage and started right up.
"Hello, Richmond!" wailed Zack. "We're Cosmos, and we're here to rock your world!"
A few heads turned, then turned right back again. Stuart looked at me and rolled his eyes. We'd talked about this shit before. I turned and looked back at Nasty Boy and he looked about the same as ever - raring to go, chomping at the bit, ready to pound the hell out of those drums. Nasty Boy didn't care, he just lived to play drums, he'd play for the furniture if that was all there was.
Nasty Boy counted off and we launched into orbit. That was how Zack always put it, the way we were supposed to start the show. It went with the name Cosmos. I strummed my chords with as much energy as I could muster, Stuart fluttered his fingers along the bass, head down and frowning as always, Nasty Boy flailed around like an epileptic on speed and Zack made love to the microphone, his hair all in his face, crooning away like the diva he was. We were about ten seconds into the show and he was already starting in with the hands waving in the air and the girlie posturing and everything else. There wasn't a single girl in the place, I didn't know who he thought he was going to impress. The rednecks didn't like what they were hearing, apparently, there was some hooting and hollering starting up in the back - it wasn't Willie Nelson, it wasn't Waylon Jennings, it wasn't anything they recognized. Soon enough they'd be throwing bottles. We'd been through this before too.
We finished the first song, to no applause whatsoever. A beer or two would have helped, but we were all underage and the bartender didn't look like the type who'd look the other way. It was going to be a long night. We'd been doing this touring thing for almost two years already and I was sick to death of it. You drove around all day and night and got nowhere fast, you played songs for people who couldn't have cared less and made about enough money to cover expenses, if you were lucky. Zack and Nasty Boy could have gone on doing it forever but Stuart and I were pretty much done. The second song started up, this one not quite so fast, and now they were ignoring us completely. Fine, it was a rehearsal night.
We went outside for our break and stood around in the parking lot.
"That's just fucking ridiculous," Stuart said.
"You say that every night," Zack spat.
"Because it always is. Every single night."
"That's not true, the show before last was a good one. There were a lot of people there and everybody was having a good time. Lotta chicks, too."
"You hooked up that night," said Nasty Boy with his customary goofy grin.
"That's right dude, I did..." said Zack, and the two got to reminiscing about it. Stuart looked around to see if he could get away with lighting up a cigarette, and since no one was in sight he decided to chance it. The last time he'd done it, a cop had driven by and almost hauled us all in. I stood there in the dark with the sweat pouring down my face. Man, was it hot down south. I couldn't imagine having to put up with that for an entire summer.
Ten minutes later we were back inside and I was strapping my guitar back on. Only about ten more songs to go. We launched into the second half of the set and now Zack was jumping in the air like David Lee Roth, trying to whip the crowd into a frenzy. There was an older lady who'd shown up and she was taking an interest, standing off to the side and grinning. Way too old, even for Zack.
A few more rednecks wandered in as the night progressed, and by the end there was actually a sizeable crowd. Some of them even appeared to be digging the music now. The beer was helping. It was Friday night and everyone was getting drunk, getting loose, trying to kick back and have themselves a good time. It was an okay scene, I supposed, and yet more and more I was feeling like I never wanted to see the inside of another bar for the rest of my life. I forced my hand to continue its strumming and picking, forced a smile or something similar to my face. Almost there.
The set finished with a bang, our big finale number, the song Zack was most proud of. I'd never thought much of it but Zack was convinced it would be a top ten hit someday. He told us all the time. He screeched the last line, jumped in the air one more time, Nasty Boy crashed into the cymbals in a big orgasmic climax and we came flying to a halt. There, finally some decent applause. We were on our way to superstardom after all.
The bartender came over. "You boys sounded real good, here's your pay."
Fifty dollars, split four ways. Take out money for gas and food and maybe we'd get back home. What a crock. Meanwhile there were CEOs out there dressing up in suits and playing golf all day long and getting paid a million dollars for nothing. At least we gave the people a few tunes, at least we did something. The world was fucking silly. We got the gear back in the van and drove off.
"It's way too hot to sleep in the van tonight," Nasty Boy said. "Let's get a motel."
"Come on man, that's gonna blow every dollar we just made!" Zack said.
"It's too fuckin' hot," Stuart agreed. "I'll die if I try to sleep in this."
"Chris, you're the deciding vote. What say you?" Zack said. All eyes turned to me.
"Let's get the motel," I said.
The motel it would be. We drove for another few minutes until we came to a rathole place right next to the highway. There was exactly one other car in the parking lot; considering the fact it was a Friday night, that wasn't a good sign. But the room wasn't too bad, a little musty and mildewy but nothing we couldn't handle.
"We're gonna get bedbugs," Stuart said as he lay down on the bed. There were two twin beds, plenty of room for all.
"Where's that bottle of Jager?" Nasty Boy said. "It's in your bag, Zack, isn't it?"
"Sho nuff," Zack said, yanking the bottle out and immediately taking a swig. "Let's get this party started. Livin' the life, baybee......"
I'd seen this about a million times too many. 'Getting the party started' meant Zack and Nasty Boy getting shitfaced inside of an hour and then howling like loons before passing out. We'd be lucky if we didn't get thrown out of the place. Then again, there appeared to be no one else there so we'd probably be okay.
Even so, I didn't feel like hanging around to watch. Stuart was already out cold and snoring and so when Zack went to the bathroom and Nasty Boy had his back turned I slipped out the door. The air was so muggy I felt like I was having trouble getting it down my throat. The moon was out, half hidden away behind the clouds, and the crickets were making one hell of a racket. That was the other thing about the south, the size of the insects and the noise they made. Whole nuther world down there.
I stood confronted by the night. A ribbon of two-laned asphalt, going to the left and to the right, a wall of dense forest in front. Me and the road and the trees and nothing else. Better than bars and motels. I wasn't going to make it in the band much longer. Maybe when we went back home I'd put my notice in. Zack would be pissed but I didn't care; Zack was basically an asshole anyway. I looked left, then I looked right. Nothing but darkness in either direction, no distinguishing features of any kind. I picked left and started out. I was going to walk until I got to something, whatever that thing was. One needed goals in life.
A car came by, another young kid like me. "You want a ride?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, and got in.
Scott Taylor is 48 years old, and hails from Raleigh, North Carolina. He is a writer and a musician, and an avid world traveler.