On this the twelfth day of Christmas, a wise man and woman purchased books from the floating book shop. I thank them. Here's an excerpt from my near 200,000 word rock n roll epic,
Rising Star, the next novel I will work on getting published once/if
Exchanges makes it into print. It should take less than five minutes to read. Each chapter of the book begins with a quote from a famous song, in this instance the notorious Black Sabbath:
11 "...Happiness I cannot feel/And love to me is so unreal...."*
Rosemarie roused Mike, gently. He grumbled
"C'mon, you'll be late."
"I don' feel like goin'."
"Whattaya talkin' about? Before ya were always complainin' yous weren't gettin' enough work, now ya complainin' yous get too much."
"It's hard when ya gotta go to work every day."
Rosemarie sat at the edge of the bed and caressed his back. "I know it is, hon', but remember the commitment ya made."
"It's easy for those prima donnas. They don' gotta work or hafta feed a family."
"Whattaya talkin' about? Mitchell works; Richie works."
Mike shot her a look of contempt. "Mitchell works for his father - ya think he's gotta break his back like I do? An' Richie's got a different job every week. An' Paulie never worked a day in 'is life. Big deal, he gave guitar lessons. That ain't work. An' who knows what John does. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the biggest drug dealer in the city."
Rosemarie gave him a slight shove. "What's wrong with you? The band's finally makin' a move an' ya gettin' crankier."
"It's turnin' us against each other. It's me an' Richie on one side an' Paulie an' Mitchell on the other with John an' the Jew girl in between."
"I don't see that at all. Ya know what I think? I think ya chicken, that's all."
He stared at her silently.
"Look at you," she said. "I say such a nasty thing an' ya don' even fight back. It's true, then."
"I'm scared," he said with dread. "You see what happens to people when they get famous - divorce, drugs, scandal."
"That's just an excuse. You jus' don' think you're up to it. Think of all the people who're famous an' love it. Why d'ya think you won't be like that? Ya wanna spend the resta ya life wonderin' what ya mighta been? I don't. I'll hate ya if ya quit. If ya don' make it, fine - at least I'll know I got a husband who'll try when things get tough. If you're afraid bein' famous'll threaten our marriage, ya better think about quittin''ll do to it. The kids didn' get to play wit' you tonight, an' I hadda keep 'em quiet so ya could sleep. Make those sacrifices worth it."
"Sometimes I wish I could jus' take a month off from everything. I get up an' go to work; I come home an' work wit' the kids; I go out an' work wit' the band. I'm tired."
"Life don' work that way. Besides, you ain't been spendin' time wit' the kids. Don't blame them. Maybe you ain't man enough to live up to ya commitments. Get dressed an' get out. Ya make me sick wit' ya whinin'. I wish I played the bass instead’a you."
"You ain't gonna like this, Miss Know-It-All, but we got gigs Friday an' Saturday night. That takes care of ya parents' anniversary party. That bitch mus' be goin' down on every guy in town."
"The make her sacrifices worth it too, dammit. I'm prepared to do my part. My parents'll understand, an' if they don't - too bad. It's you who come up wit' all the excuses."
She left the room. He sat at the edge of the bed, thinking. He chuckled as he imagined the band taking the stage without a bassist, the others gazing about, puzzled, unable to perform. Why should he go, work so hard, only to come up short in the end? He could not envision playing a small theater, let alone the Garden, where John Paul Jones, John Entwhistle, Bill Wyman, Paul McCartney and other greats had performed. It seemed as wild as the fantasies he'd had as a boy of playing in the World Series. He could not picture himself on the cover of an album, his name among the credits. He could not see himself behind the wheel of a luxury automobile or living in a large house in a select neighborhood, each purchased with money earned through his musicianship. No one in either his or his wife's family had ever been wealthy or famous. He didn't even have a distant relative involved in organized crime. His family history was that of the lower middle class and he did not believe it would ever change. He feared the others in the band would abandon him and go on to huge success. They were improving so quickly, and he had to fight to keep pace. He feared he wasn't up to it. He wasn't blessed with the talent or intelligence of the others. Even Richie seemed to have surpassed him considerably in terms of ability.
"Will you get dressed!" said Rosemarie, bursting into the room. "Please, God, don't tell me I married a loser."
He leaped to his feet and lashed out at her blindly, striking her shoulder with a clenched fist. She fell into the wall with a loud crash, grimacing. They gazed at each other, stunned. The sound of the baby's wail broke the tension.
"I always wondered how long it'd take you to imitate ya father," said Rosemarie quietly, hurrying out.
He wished he had the guts to stay away permanently.
Rosemarie soothed Tracy with a kiss, soft words and a gentle rocking of the crib. "A lamp fell," she told her older daughter, who had also awakened and was gazing at her through the dimness of the halo of the night light. She sensed Jennifer knew better. Such scenes were becoming more and more common in the household.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle):
http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3Vic's Website:
http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle):
http://www.tiny.cc/OycgbVic's 2nd Novel:
http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6Vic's 1st Novel:
http://tiny.cc/94t5hVic's Screenplay on Kindle:
http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
