It was a beautiful day, apparently the calm before the storm. I thank the two gentlemen who purchased books. Here's another excerpt from my as yet unpublished, near 200,000 word rock n roll epic:
The phone rang and rang. Now that school had resumed and Mrs. Ranga had returned to her position as teacher's aide, Paul no longer had anyone to take his morning calls. He remained in bed, hoping the caller would desist. Soon the ringing ceased. Moments later, it began again.
"Wake up, wake up," said Susan gaily.
Paul groaned and collapsed into the easy chair. "What could be so important at this hour?"
"I have great news."
"Next time wake me up only if it's bad news. I can wait to hear good news."
"My, aren't we cranky. Were you a bad boy last night? Shut up and listen. We got Lamour East tomorrow night. You're opening for a band called Juggernaut. You're better than them, and they just cut a demo. This's a big chance for us. Blow them away and we'll be headlining the place next."
He was speechless.
"Paul?"
"I'm in shock. I get the feelin' I'm gonna wake up an' find out I was dreamin'. Mitchell told me Freud says dreams're wish-fulfillment."
"It's only Lamour. You should've expected it. I hope it's not the height you've set for yourself. Try to get as many of your friends there as possible. It'll make us look better. The schools're closed the next day, so there should be a big crowd."
His mother was descending the stairs as he was hanging up. He took her in his arms and danced her around the room.
"Ya gonna make a record?" she said, glowing.
"No, we're playing the Lamour in Queens."
Her excitement vanished. "Oh. Get dressed. If ya wanna take me to the dance ya gotta wear more than ya underwear."
He picked up the phone.
"I was afraid of this," said Mitchell.
"What d'you mean? It'll be a piece of cake."
"It's not that. Rosh Hashanah starts at sundown. I was so relieved we had nothing lined up. I wasn't sure what I'd do. It's clear now. I can't play, not this year after my grandmother died, maybe not ever again on the high holy days."
Paul was stunned.
"Say something."
"You don't wanna hear what I have to say right now."
"I was hoping you, at least, would understand."
"This's a big chance for us. We can't pass it up."
"Do it without me."
"Yeah, right. That'd go over big."
"If we're really good, this won't affect us."
"I hope you're right."
He slammed down the receiver and screeched, kicking at his football, which was lying nearby. It ricocheted around the room wildly. His mother, alarmed, called to him, stepping onto the stairway.
"Mitchell's not playin' 'cause of the Jewish holiday."
She did not reply immediately. "I didn' know he was religious. Whattaya gonna do?"
"Call Susan, 'though I'm afraid she might dump us now."
"She won't if ya really good. Besides, she's Jewish too. She'll understand."
"She may be Jewish, but she'll be there, I guarantee you that, and she'd expect Mitchell to be too."
He dialed every 15 minutes. He wondered if she'd gone to temple. He couldn't imagine it, as she seemed Jewish only in name.
As evening fell he decided to act. He called Tommy, the band's former singer, who taught keyboard to high-schoolers. He practically had to beg to get him to help. He was unable to reach Susan at her office and regretted not having demanded her home number. He called Mitchell, hoping he would have it or be able to get it from Bonnie. It was too late. The sun had gone down. He called information and received, as he'd expected, the number at her office.
John took the news of the crisis in stride. Paul despaired at thought of how Richie and Mike would react.
"Eat somethin'," his mother urged as he entered the kitchen, where the family was having dinner.
"I feel too sick to eat."
He unloaded the van himself, hoping the others would be appeased at not having to perform the task. Richie appreciated it.
"What a relief. That's the only parta this I hate. Maybe someday soon we'll have roadies."
Paul feared they would never see that day. Richie slung an arm around him.
"Ya look like ya jus' lost ya bes' frien'. Don' worry. It's gonna be a snap. Relax. Who's better'n us?"
Paul shuddered at the chilling irony of having lost his best friend. He was not only upset at the setback the band had suffered; he was stunned that Mitchell's faith was more important to him than their friendship, while his own was not nearly as important as that friendship. As he related the news, Richie stared as if he suspected a practical joke.
"We get a break like this an' the Jew-bastid can't make a sacrifice?"
Mike reacted similarly. "What bull. I missed my in-law's anniversary an' I never said nothin' to nobody."
"Prob'bly 'cause ya were glad ya didn' hafta go. Who you foolin'?"
"Who asked you, fat boy? Whose side ya on, anyway?"
"There's no sides here," said Paul. "We're all in this together."
"Then where's that Jew? If it was Christmas ya know damn well we'd be playin'."
"I understand how you feel. I'm pissed myself, but we gotta adjust an' do the best we can. Tommy's fillin' in."
"Good," said Richie emphatically. "Who needs that....?"
"Don't get crazy now. We'll never find anybody talented enough to replace Mitchell. We just gotta accept this. Let's not make it any worse than it is."
John and Tommy arrived minutes apart. Tommy shook hands timidly, apparently intimidated by his replacement.
They worked through the abbreviated set slowly. Paul had chosen the easiest of the songs. Tommy offered basic accompaniment. He lacked Mitchell's flair and understanding of nuance. Paul's spirits deflated. The sound seemed even emptier than he'd expected. Even his own compositions, which were largely guitar-oriented, seemed flat. He considered playing without keyboard but feared Tommy, who'd been nice enough to help, would be humiliated.
Tommy was so tense and unsure of himself his eyes never left the panel. Even his physical appearance seemed to affect the chemistry. His black beard and bold features were obtrusive and seemed to draw attention from John. His lack of confidence was so obvious as to be distracting.
After the first run through the set, Paul excused himself and went into the house. He prayed Susan had returned to her office by some wild chance. There was no answer. He received Bonnie's number from information. She wasn't home. He considered calling Lamour East to cancel the date, but didn't dare do so without consulting Susan. He feared the band's reputation would suffer irreparable damage.
His mother, carrying refreshments, smiling, followed him to the garage.
"Hi, Tommy. How's Marie?"
"Fine, Mil. She's pregnant."
Everyone congratulated him, and the tension was dispelled a moment. Mrs. Ranga kissed him. Her expression then became serious.
"Ya know, Phil's watchin' the game inside an' the announcer was jus' sayin' that one year Sandy Koufax wouldn't play in a World Series game 'cause of the Jewish holiday -- an' his team came back to win it, anyway. I guess God was on their side."
There was silence momentarily, then John, unable to restrain himself, laughed. "I don't mean no disrespect, Mrs. Ranga. It just struck me funny, that's all. You're some piece of work."
"Thank you. Looks like you're the only one here wit' a sense of humor. I hope they learn from you."
"I always liked buckin' the odds."
"Good for you."
She left them.
"Can you guys make it here tomorrow afternoon?" said Paul. "School's closed, right, Tom?"
"Yeah. I'll be here. I can use the practice."
The quip amused no one.
"I'm sicka my job anyway," said Richie, shrugging. "I don' care if I get fired."
"I'm off tomorrow," said Mike. "My boss's a Jew."
"How 'bout you, John?" said Paul, tense, relieved as the look in John's eyes indicated he would attend. "Thanks, guys. You're the best. Let's run through it once more."
"Look," said Richie, nodding toward an ominous figure waddling down the driveway.
"I'll brain 'er if she starts in tonight," said Paul, pulling the garage door all the way down.
The others groaned, although the night was cool.
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