From Visions
of Garleyville
All that Glitters
"She's
late," Pauly said, pacing back and forth across the loft, his still-moist
feet leaving a trail along the wooden floor. He had put on underwear, but that
was all.
"Maybe you should finish getting dressed," I
suggested, looking up from my book. This drew such a look that my mouth snapped
shut.
"And maybe
you should keep quiet," Pauly said. "The last thing I need is comment
from you. I'm in no mood for this, I tell you. I'm sick of you, sick of the
band, sick of the whole thing, and just give me one excuse, I'll pack up my
things and move to the mountains."
"And do
what?"
"What the
hell do I know? Whatever all those hippies used to do when they went to the
country."
"Hippies
don't do that any more," I said. "This is 1974, not 1967."
"Then I'll
start my own movement. I should have shot myself back then, before everything
got out of hand. Before people started..."
He sputtered to
a stop, turned around, and glared at me. He must have known I was smiling. I
couldn't help it - I remembered similar diatribes from 1967 about how much he
hated hippies and how he should have committed hari kiri in grammar school
before that particular installment of insanity.
"And you
think this is funny?"
"I think
you're blowing it out of proportion."
"Do you
now?" Pauly said, planting his feet as if he was preparing to fight.
"And I suppose you'd like to take my place?"
"I can't
sing as well as you do."
"Bullshit!
You sing well enough and you know the lyrics to every song. Don't think I can't
see you and Garrick out there, mouthing the words."
"You're
the singer, Pauly," I said. "You get paid to do it. I just sing for
fun."
"I'd give
up the money if that's all that's stopping you," he said.
"That's
not all."
"Ah ha!"
Pauly said. "Then you wouldn't want to do this either!"
"I suppose
not," I said. "But if you're going to play the music, you have to
play the part."
"That's
bullshit," Pauly said and started to pace again. "You're just
parroting what the rest of the band are saying."
"I'm not
parroting anybody. I just happened to agree with them. This isn't the 60s
anymore. You can't just get up on stage and sing. You have to put on a
show."
"We do put
on a show!"
"You know
what I mean."
"Just
because we play David Bowie doesn't mean I have to look like him. Glitter Rock!
Hogwash!"
"But the
agent said..."
"I know
what the agent said, and I think he's full of shit, too."
"The rest
of the band doesn't seem to think so."
"Which is
why I'm standing here in my jockey shorts waiting for my sister. Those fools
told me if I didn't come dressed up tonight, they'd find a singer who would. As
if they could get anyone who'd make them sound as good as I do!
"I wish
you would just relax, Pauly," I said. "You're making more out of this
than it deserves. This is a fad. Just like hoola hoops. Sooner or later, it'll
go away."
"That's
what some people said about disco music. But look, if my sister isn't here in
five minutes, I'm leaving to go get drunk, and you're coming with me."
"If she
said she'll be here, she'll be here. She's just used to the band going on at
eight."
"And I
told her to come early, because the band wants to look me over first, to see if
I'm pretty enough to play with them."
"Well, to
be honest Pauly, I don't think you could ever put on enough makeup to make you
pretty."
"Oh, shut
up!" Pauly snapped. "The music business has become one big side show.
Any fad comes along and we're right on top of it, growing our hair when it
needs to be long, cutting it off when it doesn't, putting on band uniforms,
tuxedos, and now this insanity. Whatever happened to down-and-dirty rock
&roll? I miss the simplicity of playing in a garage."
"You don't
get paid when you play in a garage."
"Money
isn't everything."
And then she
came, peering down through the frosted skylight, her sharp nails tapping on the
glass. She smiled, and Pauly yelled: "Get the hell down here!"
"Where have you been?" Pauly demanded as
soon as she stepped down into the room. "Do you know what time it
is?"
"Calm
down, brother dear," Sara said. "You'll have a heart attack before
you're 30."
"God
forbid I die of something normal!" Pauly said. "The way I'm going,
I'll die of embarrassment. Did you bring the stuff?"
AEverything but the kitchen sink,@ she said and dumped a heavy bag onto the coffee
table. She grinned at me, then turned to look seriously at her brother's face,
studying the angles and shadows the way a sculptor might study a block of
stone. "This is going to be quite a project, making you look like a girl.
Why didn't they pick John? He has more feminine features."
"We're all
dressing up," Pauly said. "That's the only way they could talk me
into this."
"Well,
I'll do the best I can." She dragged over a stool and pushed Pauly down.
"Look,
Sara, I'm not interested in perfection," Pauly said. "The band and
the agent aren't going to enter me in a beauty pageant, or even a drag contest.
As long as I look remotely feminine, they'll be happy."
"Okay," Sara said, then drew a pair
of scissors from her bag.
"Hey!" Pauly yelled, and pulled
away. "What are you going to do with those?"
AI have to clear away some of the overgrowth, Pauly.
Are you going to give me a hard time?@
He stared at
her, and then sagged.
"All
right, do your worst," he mumbled.
And Sara set to
work, drawing lines around the mouth and the eyes, shaping everything, even
arranging the fall of his hair to create one single, dramatic effect. She
applied powders and creams, eye shadow and lipstick, gloss and rouge. When she
was done she stepped back, shook her head slowly -- in amazement I think -- and
looked at me.
"What do
you think?"
I blinked and
stared at the face which had emerged, a face that no one would have mistaken
for Pauly's, not even his own mother.
"I'm not
sure it's what the band had in mind," I said.
"Well," Sara said with a shrug.
"It's the best I can do."
"Let me
see!" Pauly demanded, and grabbed up the hand mirror from the table, and
nearly dropped it again. "My God, I look like a whore! Take it off!"
"After all
the work I've done? No way - you wanted to look like a girl, you look like a
girl. You never said what kind of girl."
"I suppose it'll have to do." Pauly
grumbled. Halfway through the first set, I'll have sweated most of it off,
anyway."
Then he saw me,
and the smirk on my face.
"What the
hell are you gawking at?" he shouted. "Go get the car."
When I pulled
around, Pauly rushed out the front door, head covered with a towel as if it was
raining, and slid into the back seat. He melted into the shadow as Sara climbed
in.
"Are we
set?" I asked.
"Yes,
we're set, drive!" he commanded. I put the car into gear and drove slowly
up Main Street in the direction of the club. Pauly stared out at the landscape,
grumbling, looking not at all like himself, nor like a girl - more like some
alien being recently landed via UFO. He was paranoid about people seeing him,
friends and neighbors who, knowing nothing about the modern club scene, would
take him as a transvestite or worse, would nod their heads, putting together all
the details from his past and say: "We always knew that boy was
strange."
He did seem to
calm down after a while - until we reached the Red Baron, where we found the
parking lot packed solid, cars piled up as if it was a Friday night.
"I don't
believe this!" he exploded. "How can we have a crowd like this on a
Wednesday?"
"Oh,"
I said. "I forgot to tell you."
"Tell me
what?"
"The agent
said we should really promote this."
"Promote?
How?"
"Well, I
heard him mention radio and the local paper."
"It's a
plot!" Pauly said, yanking the towel off of his head. He shoved the door
open before I could come to a full stop and charged across the parking lot, me
and Sara rushing after him. He pushed his way through the crowd waiting to get
in, but when he reached the door, the bouncer stopped him.
"Whoa
there, honey," the man said. "That'll be two bucks."
"I'm with
the band," Pauly said and tried to detach his arm from the big man's grip.
"Yeah,
yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," the man said. "I know
him --" he jabbed a finger at me "-- but I've never seen you
before."
"Look," Pauly said, pressing himself
a little closer to the man. "I am with the band. I'm the lead
singer."
"Yeah, and
I'm Janis Joplin. Give me two bucks or go away."
Pauly grabbed
the man by the collar and, staring at him nose to nose, said very quietly,
"Maybe you don't recognize me without my glasses, pal, but if I don't get
in there, the band won't go on - the band that filled up your parking lot on a
Wednesday night. You get my meaning?"
APauly?@ the man squeaked. AIs that
really you?@
ANo it's your fairy godfather!@ Pauly said, and let the bouncer go. "What's
gotten into you anyway?"
AWhat's gotten into you?@ the bouncer said, AYou look
more like a chick than most of the chicks.@
ALook, skip it, all right?@ Pauly said, shoving passed the man towards the inner
door. AI hope you didn't give the rest of the band such a
hard time.@
AThe rest of the band?@
Pauly stopped
half way through the door, his shoulders hiking up as if the man had struck
him. He turned very slowly.
"Are you
trying to tell me they didn't dress up?" Pauly asked.
"Dress up?
Sure. The way they always do. T-shirts and jeans, but nothing like..."
"I'll kill them!" he roared, flinging
himself through the door. Sara and I charged after him, trying to get hold of
his arms.
"Don't do
anything rash!" I yelled. "Remember the agent."
"And don't
mess up that make up," Sara yelled. "Or I'll kill you..."