Best try on Chrome browser.
SEPTEMBER 1989
Chico hadn’t heard from Joe since their last gig at the Wilshire, eight days ago. They usually talked a few times a week between gigs. He called the studio, no answer. He called the apartment and the machine picked up. He left a message. He called both numbers a second time with the same result.
“Something’s wrong,” he said to his wife Rosie. “He usually calls me.”
“Did he go out of town?”
“No. He would have told me. He always does.”
“Has he been in good spirits? He’s not depressed again, is he?”
“No. He’s disappointed Jesse left the band but he knew it was coming eventually.”
“Go check on him.”
“I don’t like showing up unannounced.”
“He’s your friend, Chico. Joe won’t be upset if you pop in.”
Chico drove over to find Ellie in her parking spot. He looked up to see Joe’s new signage on the building. He laughed.
NO PARKING VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED
We enjoy towing idiots who ignore our warnings.
6 cars have been towed in the past month.
IF YOU PARK IT WE WILL TOW IT
There was a phone number and fine print, but not too fine.
Cry at Manny’s Towing & Salvage, not here, we warned you.
The number six was a removable card. Joe had them made to change the towing tally. Chico walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. No one answered. He peeked inside and knocked again. Five minutes later he walked into The Daily Grind.
“Hi Annie, have you seen Joe this week?”
“Maybe five days ago,” she said. “His car is out back but he’s not around. He usually gets coffee every day so this is unusual.”
“I’m worried. He’s not answering his phone.”
“We are too. Brad and I talked about going in but you know Joe. He loathes busybodies,” she glanced at Frank and back at Chico. “So we didn’t.”
“Do you have a key to his place?”
“Yeah, for emergencies, or in case he locks himself out.”
“Okay,” Chico nodded. “If you give me the key I’ll go in. If he’s pissed off I’ll take the heat.”
“I’ll take some too. I just want to make sure he’s safe.”
Chico unlocked Joe’s door and pushed it open, “Hey, Joe! Are you home?” He walked inside. “Joe?”
The first thing that caught his eye was the mess in the kitchen. Joe never leaves dishes in the sink or on the counter. He keeps his place tidy. Then he saw the overfull wastebasket with two empty bottles of Jim Beam on top.
“That ain’t right.”
Chico walked into the dining area to find another empty bottle of bourbon on the table. “Fuck.” He moved slowly toward the short hall that leads to his bedrooms. “Joe?” He peaked into the second bath, then the cat’s room.
‘The litter box needs changing.’
In the master bedroom, China meowed from Joe’s bed. She jumped off, looked up at Chico, and ran to the master bath. Chico noted a fourth empty bottle on the bedside table. China returned to stick her head out of the bathroom and meowed at him. She was telling Chico where Joe was. When he stuck his head inside the doorway, Joe was on the floor in his underwear and a Tshirt.
“Joe?” Chico went to his knees and poked him. There was no response. He pushed him harder. A low moan came from Joe’s face on the tile. Chico exhaled, happy for a sign of life. He grabbed Joe with a fistful of the hair and picked his head up off the floor. There was vomit under his face, on his face, and in his hair. “Joe?”
Chico rolled him over. Joe moaned. Chico slapped his face lightly. Joe moaned. He slapped it harder. Joe’s eyes opened… bloodshot eyes.
“What the fuck? Did you hit me?”
“What’s your problem, bro? What’s the fuck are you doing?”
Joe picked his head up and looked around. He exhaled, “It looks like I’m napping in my bathroom.”
“What the fuck for?”
“I like the cool tiles.”
Chico helped him up. Joe stepped barefoot in dry vomit and slipped, nearly going down. Chico caught him. That’s when he saw two empty bottles in the bathtub, one broken, glass scattered about.
“What the fuck is with all the empty bottles, bro?” Chico sat him on the toilet.
“I was thirsty.”
“Why are you drinking?” He grabbed a face cloth and ran it under the water.
“I like Bourbon.”
“Dude. I don’t think Bourbon likes you back.” Chico wiped the puke off the side of Joe’s face and hair. “I’m gonna clean this mess up and get you in the shower. You smell like roadkill.”
He helped Joe to his bed. Joe flopped on the California King and didn’t move. China cautiously sniffed Joe while Chico went to work. First, he cleaned the dry vomit and removed the glass from the bathtub. Then he collected empty bottles. There was another halfempty bottle on his balcony overlooking the boulevard. Chico poured it down the bathroom sink.
“Okay, buddy. Let’s get you in the shower.” Chico smiled, shaking his head. “You look like shit, bro. This is worse than your breakin bender.” He helped Joe to the bathroom and then into the shower. He pulled the Tshirt over Joe’s head. He would not make a move on the boxer briefs. Joe leaned against the tile shower wall. Chico turned on the water and closed the glass door.
“Goddamn, that’s cold!” Joe shouted, his limbs came to life, eyes wide open, the first sign of awareness.
“Wash your hair. There’s puke in it. Take your shorts off. I’ll put some clothes out here for you.” Chico pointed at the glass door. “Do not walk around with your cock out. I don’t need to see that shit.”
Joe moaned as the water temp went up. He followed his best man’s orders. While he showered, Chico went into the kitchen and pulled the bag from the wastebasket. He counted seven Beam bottles in all. He carried the bag out to the dumpster and returned to find Joe sitting on the bed, shorts on.
“What is wrong with you? This ain’t you, bro. What the fuck is going on?”
“Tina’s getting married,” he half mumbled.
“What?’
“Tina’s getting married,” he said louder.
“The New York chick?”
“Yes, the New York bitch is getting married.”
“Okay. So what? When was the last time you saw her?”
“August of 1984.”
Chico laughed. “That’s over five years ago. You’re crying over a girl you haven’t seen in five years? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Joe exhaled. “I don’t know. It just hit me hard. I can’t explain it.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, like, Friday.”
“It’s Sunday, bro. We have to get some food in you.”
There was a knock on the back door. Chico looked at Joe. “You stay here. I’ll get that.”
It had been so long that Annie came up to check on the situation. Chico explained everything. Annie went back to her shop and returned with a large coffee and two pastries. She and Chico sat with Joe in his dining room as he sipped coffee and ate two muffins.
“That happened years ago, hon,” Annie said after Joe explained himself. “You can’t beat yourself up for that. Have you ever even tried to talk to her?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“Well,” Annie held Joe’s hand in hers. “I hate to break the news but she’s moved on. If you haven’t tried, what is she supposed to do?”
“She dumped me. It was her move, not mine.”
“You also left town, right? How can she reach you while you’re running around the world and moving to LA?”
Joe looked up at Annie. “Who’s side are you on?”
“I’m on your side, hon. Friends don’t bullshit friends. We give you the truth. Now go brush your teeth. Your breath smells like the dumpster out back.”
While Joe brushed, Annie and Chico made a pact. They would check on Joe every day, taking turns, Annie in the morning, and Chico in the evenings for a few days.
“Where’s Miranda?” Annie asked. “I haven’t seen her around.”
Joe exhaled. “She’s upset with me because I’m not ready to meet her family. It started a couple of weeks ago. She asked me to go to Sunday dinner at her parent’s house. I declined and a week later she brought it up again.”
“Did you have a fight?”
“No, not a fight but a frank discussion about our relationship. She didn’t like what I had to say. I was honest and the truth hurt her feelings.”
“I’m sorry, hon,” Annie said. “But drinking doesn’t make these problems go away.”
Before Annie and Chico left they coaxed a promise from Joe that he wouldn’t get drunk. He said the words but they didn’t believe him after experiencing the deep lows he fell to after his studio breakin.
It was a onetwothree punch combo over a oneweek span that launched Joe’s sorrowful drinking binge. Life was going great until Miranda made an issue of her family. After their frank discussion, she stopped calling. Days later Jesse announced he was leaving The Eldorados. Joe had to cancel two months of scheduled gigs. The morning he was making those unpleasant calls he received a call from New York.
.
I FUCKED UP
Those seven empty bottles represented six days of consumption. He learned of Tina’s engagement on a Monday call to Marty. His partner informed Joe for the fifth time that Stan was not doing well. He was readmitted to the hospital after another cardiac event, cleared, and sent home.
“Everyone else has visited him. I’ve been many times. Laura goes twice a week. Eddie Bags was there last week. Even Tina has…” Marty stopped.
Joe’s radar pinged. “Even Tina what?”
“She visits Stan.”
“What the fuck is up with that? Why is Tina visiting Stan?”
“She just,” Marty hesitated, sailing in treacherous seas. “They. Stan.”
“Spit it out, Marty.”
‘Shit’, Marty knew he stepped in shit. He exhaled. Marty was an intelligent, moderately successful businessman. He was not a quicktothinkandtalkyourwayoutofajam kind of guy. Marty was a ponderer.
“Ummm, yeah, they’ve been having lunches here and there for a while.”
“Tina and Stan meet for lunch?”
“Not as much anymore because Stan gives her shit for you leaving. He made her cry. They don’t do lunch but she visited him in the hospital.”
Joe didn’t know what to think of Stan and Tina remaining in contact for five years. He had no idea this was a thing. Marty never told him that, not even when he was in LA buying property and setting up his west coast studio.
Joe had one question. “What did they fight over?”
Marty exhaled. He didn’t know what to do except be honest. Sure, he lied by omission not mentioning that their Guerilla partner and Joe’s ex were pals, sort of, but outright lying was not in Marty’s toolbox. He couldn’t live with the Jewish guilt.
“Stan yelled at her for giving up on you and getting engaged.”
That was the day Joe and Jim hooked up again. He poured himself a tumbler of bourbon at 8:45 AM, took a long sip, and looked at the bottle. It was onequarter full but not for long. At 10:00, Joe drove over to Yeongs and bought two bottles of Beam because Yeong doesn’t sell handles. He went back two days later and bought two more and two days after that he walked to the store for another pair of 750s.
When Marty hung up the phone he walked to Laura’s office. She looked up to see him standing at the door.
“I fucked up. I told Joe that Tina’s getting married.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I just said I fucked up.”
.
FUCK THAT FUCKING BITCH
The day after Chico stopped by with coffee and pastry and cleaned up the sevenbottle mess, Joe stopped by Yeongs for two new soldiers. Hwan Yeong looked at Joe with concern. He had sold him several bottles of bourbon in a short period and Joe was back for more. He put two 750s on the counter.
“Are you okay, Joe?”
“Yes, I’m alright, and you?”
“I’m good. You seem to be drinking a lot.”
Joe found it amusing that his drug dealer was concerned. “I’m entertaining a lot.”
“Ah, yes, the ladies,” Yeong faked a smile.
Joe paid and nodded. “Thanks. Have a good day.”
Mr. Yeong did not believe Joe because he knew Joe. Normally he’d stick around and chat, talk about the neighborhood or how much they both hate the pussy Lakers. Hwan Yoeng was a huge Warriors fan. Joe usually asked about his daughter Joy and how she was doing. Joe barely spoke during his recent visits. He wasn’t himself.
Those two soldiers lasted four days. The first week was seven bottles so two bottles in four days was a major improvement. Joe went back for one more. Staring at the last quarter of his tenth bottle with a Jim on the rocks in his hand, Joe called home, not Mom and Dad’s number. He called Jackie and Luke’s apartment above them.
“Hey, sis. How’s the ball and chain treating you?”
“Hi, Joey. Luke is the best. We just painted the bathroom. We put in a new sink and tub.”
“You got rid of the clawfoot?”
“Yes, it was a hundred years old.”
“Exactly. You don’t get rid of a centuryold clawfoot tub.”
“Well, it’s gone. What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” Jackie closed her bedroom door. “Is everything okay?”
“Nope. Tina’s engaged to be married.”
Jackie didn’t have a word for a moment because she knew this was bad. Joe told her he was over Tina the week of her wedding in ’86 when she visited LA in ’87 and at Christmas three years in a row. She never believed him because he kept telling her he was over Tina. If Joe was truly over her he would never mention T.
“I’m sorry, Joe. So you’re not good, huh?”
“Nope. It’s bad, sis. I’ve had some crap times this year but this is too much.”
“Are you drinking?”
“Yup.”
“Are you drinking right now?”
“Yup.”
“Are you calling me drunk?”
“Nope, I just poured myself some whiskey. I kinda got some shit done the last couple of days. I worked in the studio. I placed an ad for a new drummer. I’m just in the dumps but I know I’m not at rock bottom.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m using a clean glass and ice cubes. I still have my dignity. I won’t drink out of the bottle.”
“You haven’t been in touch with Tina. How did you find out?”
Joe told Jackie about Stan’s illness and Tina visiting him and that the old Jew and girl with purple hair had been having lunch since he left NYC, that he had no clue, and Marty’s fuck up. It took a while with Jackie interrupting with questions that didn’t matter. Then she snapped.
“Fuck that bitch, Joe! You don’t need her and if you ask me you’re better off without her. I don’t even want to say her goddamn name. She’s dead to me and she should be dead to you. How long has it been, Joe?”
“Five years.”
Jackie took a breath, not wanting to get too worked up. “I’m sorry. I just know she hurt you. To know you’re still carrying this pain hurts me. I wish I could hug you right now.”
“Me too, sis. I could use a hug.”
“Can you do me just one favor?”
“Of course.”
“Stop drinking. You can be sad without the booze. That only makes it worse. You’ll get well sooner without the booze. I’m sure of it.”
Joe swirled his glass, watching his shrinking ice cube spin around. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll quit drinking tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“Because I have to finish this bottle.”
“Just dump it.”
“Fuck that. I don’t throw away whiskey, not even runofthemill Beam.”
“Just don’t drink it then.”
“If it’s in the house, sis, it’s going down. It’s just like ice cream.”
Jackie exhaled. “Okay, deal. You won’t buy another bottle?”
“I promise this is the end of my Tina Costello engagement bender.”
“Joe, repeat after me. Fuck that bitch.”
“No. I can’t say it if I don’t mean it.”
“Do you still love her?”
“It’s fucked up. I thought I was over her and then this news just leveled me. I guess I do without even thinking of it. I don’t think about her that often, sometimes, but not a lot.”
“Well. She’s moved on. It’s time for you to do the same.”
“Thanks, sis. I love you. I’m sorry I’m a jerky brother.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
On the worst night of his Tina Engagement Bender, hours before Chico found seven bottles, Joe stumbled to the boardwalk, weaved a crooked path to the pier, and out to the very end. He held onto the steel railing looking into the pastmidnight darkness where the Pacific and night sky meet. The only visible horizon was the path to a new day illuminated by moonlight glistening off the sea.
Joe was stupid drunk, bitter, and feeling sorry for himself. He held a felt jewelry box in his hand. He walked all that way to toss it in the drink but then remembered the journey he and that diamond ring with peridots had taken.
He accidentally lost it in the bottom of his leather backpack and took it for the ride south of the border. Benny wrapped it in cash, stuffed it in a tin box, and secured it to Ellie’s engine. His grease camouflage evaded several border inspections and Customs in Columbia. That ring made the voyage with Ellie in a container on the MSK Eldia. Joe removed the ring and cash from his engine in Buenos Aires before tobaccochewing Texan Cary worked on Ellie. He then carried the ring back on his feverish dash to the USA. Joe stuffed it in his sock drawer when he settled in Venice. Now he was ready the rid himself of this artifact from his failed love life in New York.
At the last moment, holding the box in his hand like a baseball, ready to hurl the ring into the dark Pacific, Joe recalled what he paid for that ring in 1983. It was a briefly sobering moment.
“She’s not worth it.” He put the box in his pocket and staggered home.
Joe did not buy another bottle after promising his sister Jackie he would not.
.
SQUARE ONE
Chico stopped by The Daily Grind for his coffee early on a weekday morning. He passed six coffee shops to get there. He went far off his work commute to see Annie. They had become friendly since Joe hooked up with his old drinking buddy Jim.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s been in every morning, later than usual, gets his coffee and pastry. He looks like crap but at least he’s out of the house. He’s not running. My son went to the studio to ask Joe about a guitar. Joe wasn’t there. Steven says he’s not working much. My son is obsessed with the fact we have a studio next door.”
“I’m going up to talk to him.”
Annie gave Chico a coffee and muffin to bring up to Joe who hadn’t been down yet. When Joe cracked the door open four inches and met Chico’s eyes he did not look good. Without a word, he turned and walked away leaving the door barely open. Chico pushed on the door and walked in. The first thing he did was scan the room for bottles. Since he picked Joe up off the floor he found one bottle a few days later. Annie also found one. It had been eight days.
“Hey, man. I can’t stay long, I have a job site in Riverside.” He set the coffee and muffin on the kitchen counter. There were dishes in the sink but not a pile like the sevenbottle day.
“How are you feeling, bro? I wish I could tell you you looked good.”
“I haven’t showered yet.” Joe picked up his coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Annie put it in her little green book.”
“Of course she did.”
“I think it’s time you get back on your horse. It sucks about Jesse. What’s your plan?”
“The timing sucks,” Joe said in a low voice. “It took months to find a new bass player. We had less than five months with John and now I’m back to square one.”
“Have you placed an ad for a new drummer?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?” Chico doubted him. “Maybe you should get on that. Are you angry with Jesse?”
“No. He told me a while back this could happen. I have no quarrel with Jesse.”
“I’m worried that you’re in no shape to deal with this. Have you told John we lost Jesse?”
“Not yet. I’ll get around to it. I put an ad up for a drummer.”
“Did you, or are you just saying that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“We’ll probably get the same douchey hair band dudes who want us to play their trash music.”
“I’ll weed them out over the phone this time.”
“Now that we’ve talked you do seem a little better. It’s not good but at least you’re talking.”
“Hey. I get up every day, say hi to Annie so she doesn’t barge in up here, I go for a walk and just look at houses and trees. I’m getting out there.”
ero
