but four. Its tender rhythm sent the sweaty sexes clamoring for
one final grope at amorè. I tensed up midway through. How was I going to avoid
Becky? Was Lincoln an informant? Did I have the mettle to exist or perchance
prosper in Lana’s world? What actually went on in Moxley Manor during these
soirees? Three of these queries would be answered before the night had ended.
Bloody
hell. The crowd continued to cheer as we exited stage right. They probably
expected an encore, but we’d already played the entire Rip Churchill songbook.
Frisby’s brother Ollie waited for us outside the gymnasium in his van. My head
swiveled to and fro as we began loading up our gear. I grew more paranoid with
each trip. Every random noise sounded like footsteps and every voice sounded
like hers. I nearly ran for cover of darkness when two faces materialized by
the back of the van. Fortunately, it was Lana and “Lips” Ralston.
“My
mum’s got room for two more. Any of you rock n’ rollers interested?” Lana
Moxley had just offered up her mum as our personal chauffeur. “She parked out
back to avoid the crowd.” Hells bells. These birds were leading me directly into
the heart of darkness.
“I’m
in, Lana. Thanks. I just need two minutes to finish up here, if that’s all
right. What about you, mate?” Skeffington might’ve been the kindliest mate a
bloke could have, but these were dangerous times.
“Quite
alright. I’ll walk. One of you should go.” I nodded towards Lincoln and Frisby.
“You’re
too kind, Churchill. But we’re heading back with Ollie here. Believe it or not,
we’ve got another gig tonight.” This information would’ve blown my mind but for
the crisis unfolding in my lap. “Lana, I promise you…we will meet again soon.
You too, lovely.”
“It’s
settled then. We’ll meet you around back in a tick.” Skeffington had sealed my
fate. The path to popularity would be paved in confrontation and pain.
We
finished loading the equipment and bid farewell to our rhythm section. There
was no discussion about our future because they were in a hurry to get to the
Rusty Ruffles Tavern for gig number two. The van sped off into the night
leaving a trail of unanswered questions. Skeffington didn’t seem overly
concerned because he believed they were replaceable parts in our little rock n’
roll machine. I mostly viewed them as the motor.
The
journey to Madame Moxley’s jam jar was excruciating. I would’ve dropped to the
grass and shimmied over on my elbows if Skeffington hadn’t been there. I
instead tried to use Skeffington’s athletic frame as a human shield. We finally
rounded the back corner and spotted our chariot. I stopped and grabbed
Skeffington’s arm.
“I’m
supposed to meet Becky here after the dance. She’s waiting in that alley right
now.”
“What?
Are you bloody serious, mate?” I nodded. “You’re a fucking nutter. Go meet
Becky. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to impress Lana and her chums. I
know them, man. They’ll fancy you even more if you bail on account of some
bird. They’ll be talking about it for weeks.” Skeffington had obviously become
jaded.
“Are
you certain?” No verbal response was forthcoming. Skeffington pivoted and
marched straight for the Moxley Mobile. I had no choice but to follow. He threw
a glance towards the alley and something stopped him in his tracks. He smiled
and shook his head.
“Becky’s
not there, mate. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lana,
etc. could talk and giggle without breathing. Their ears were non-functioning
appendages, however. It was like watching a three dimensional telly. This
suited me fine considering I was incapable of regaling them with wit and charm.
I came off as brooding and mysterious and they had no interest in spoiling the
fun. In fact, they mostly treated me as if I’d been born the moment the velvet
curtain opened on the spring dance.
Lana
quickly became my favorite. Everything about her seemed gorgeous.
one final grope at amorè. I tensed up midway through. How was I going to avoid
Becky? Was Lincoln an informant? Did I have the mettle to exist or perchance
prosper in Lana’s world? What actually went on in Moxley Manor during these
soirees? Three of these queries would be answered before the night had ended.
Bloody
hell. The crowd continued to cheer as we exited stage right. They probably
expected an encore, but we’d already played the entire Rip Churchill songbook.
Frisby’s brother Ollie waited for us outside the gymnasium in his van. My head
swiveled to and fro as we began loading up our gear. I grew more paranoid with
each trip. Every random noise sounded like footsteps and every voice sounded
like hers. I nearly ran for cover of darkness when two faces materialized by
the back of the van. Fortunately, it was Lana and “Lips” Ralston.
“My
mum’s got room for two more. Any of you rock n’ rollers interested?” Lana
Moxley had just offered up her mum as our personal chauffeur. “She parked out
back to avoid the crowd.” Hells bells. These birds were leading me directly into
the heart of darkness.
“I’m
in, Lana. Thanks. I just need two minutes to finish up here, if that’s all
right. What about you, mate?” Skeffington might’ve been the kindliest mate a
bloke could have, but these were dangerous times.
“Quite
alright. I’ll walk. One of you should go.” I nodded towards Lincoln and Frisby.
“You’re
too kind, Churchill. But we’re heading back with Ollie here. Believe it or not,
we’ve got another gig tonight.” This information would’ve blown my mind but for
the crisis unfolding in my lap. “Lana, I promise you…we will meet again soon.
You too, lovely.”
“It’s
settled then. We’ll meet you around back in a tick.” Skeffington had sealed my
fate. The path to popularity would be paved in confrontation and pain.
We
finished loading the equipment and bid farewell to our rhythm section. There
was no discussion about our future because they were in a hurry to get to the
Rusty Ruffles Tavern for gig number two. The van sped off into the night
leaving a trail of unanswered questions. Skeffington didn’t seem overly
concerned because he believed they were replaceable parts in our little rock n’
roll machine. I mostly viewed them as the motor.
The
journey to Madame Moxley’s jam jar was excruciating. I would’ve dropped to the
grass and shimmied over on my elbows if Skeffington hadn’t been there. I
instead tried to use Skeffington’s athletic frame as a human shield. We finally
rounded the back corner and spotted our chariot. I stopped and grabbed
Skeffington’s arm.
“I’m
supposed to meet Becky here after the dance. She’s waiting in that alley right
now.”
“What?
Are you bloody serious, mate?” I nodded. “You’re a fucking nutter. Go meet
Becky. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to impress Lana and her chums. I
know them, man. They’ll fancy you even more if you bail on account of some
bird. They’ll be talking about it for weeks.” Skeffington had obviously become
jaded.
“Are
you certain?” No verbal response was forthcoming. Skeffington pivoted and
marched straight for the Moxley Mobile. I had no choice but to follow. He threw
a glance towards the alley and something stopped him in his tracks. He smiled
and shook his head.
“Becky’s
not there, mate. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lana,
etc. could talk and giggle without breathing. Their ears were non-functioning
appendages, however. It was like watching a three dimensional telly. This
suited me fine considering I was incapable of regaling them with wit and charm.
I came off as brooding and mysterious and they had no interest in spoiling the
fun. In fact, they mostly treated me as if I’d been born the moment the velvet
curtain opened on the spring dance.
Lana
quickly became my favorite. Everything about her seemed gorgeous.
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