Layered brown
hair. Indigo eyes. Infectious smile. Coconut sized norks. The air smelled
sweeter with her nearby. She represented the promise of rock n’ roll.
The
party itself was somewhat anticlimactic. I mostly stood around smiling and
nodding. Moreover, there were hordes of chest-beaters swarming about the ladies
and hors d'oeuvres. They weren’t nearly as warm and welcoming as Lana, etc.
Most of them were downright hostile. If it weren’t for Skeffington I would’ve
likely been stuffed into a dustbin and rolled down the great lawn. I knew it
was pure jealousy over my meteoric rise, but I didn’t want to be physically
injured on account of it.
The
highlight of the affair came during the final act. The parlor of Moxley Manor
came adorned with a magnificent grand pianoforte. It was a tiny bit fancier
than the antique upright occupying space in our living room. I slipped away
from some horribly dull conversation to admire it more closely. Lana caught me
peeking under the lid at its guts.
“I
don’t suppose you play piano too?”
“It’s
been awhile.”
“Are
you being modest? Well, I want you to play something for us. Maybe you can
bring some life back to these fading pixies. What do you say? ” I’d gladly draw
my pistols for one last stand against the blahs before curfew. My first
inclination had been to grab my sidekick from the other room as backup. It
dawned on me, however, that this presented a golden opportunity to distinguish
myself as Mr. Wonderful.
“Right.
Sure.”
“Splendid.
Thank you!” She gently stroked my arm before raising her voice above the din.
“Hey, listen up…I’ve got a treat. Our favorite rock n’ roller has graciously
agreed to play a few songs for us on mum’s piano.” The jealous wankers sulked.
Everyone else gathered around the piano for an intimate goodnight smacker from
yours truly. I was determined to send them dancing into their nighties with
fever.
“Penny
Please Budge Up” and “Jimmy Jammy Beggar” rolled off the keys like thunder. The
small crowd responded enthusiastically. Even Skeffington seemed chuffed. I
would’ve gladly relinquished the spotlight, but the revelers demanded a
chocolate mint for their fluffy pillows. It was at this moment that a painful
thought escaped from my conscience, which had been locked away in an
underground dungeon along with my plums. Regrettably, the thought couldn’t be
shaken. I didn’t want to disappoint, however, so “Hello Again, Moggy” filled
the electric parlor air.
It
was an inside joke on me.
PART
II
WHILE
WE WERE STILL US
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday
morning greeted me with additional unpleasantries.
“You’re
a royal flop in need of strong medicine. But I’m going to turn you into a
decent and responsible lad like your brother if it bloody kills me.” Blowing
curfew appeared to be the least egregious of my sins. A horrible progress
report had come through the post on Friday afternoon. My consistently
lackluster academic career had finally gone belly up and there was no denying
that rock n’ roll had snuffed it. “The foolishness ends today. Do you
understand me?”
“Right.
Got it.” I understood that he was a confused twit who had his head up his own
arse. I would’ve rather done porridge with the Birmingham Boys than become more
like brother. Arguing the point seemed futile, however, because they were such
great chums and dad was irate.
“Are
you ready to hear your punishment?” I nodded without realizing that he was
about to set forth the terms of my unconditional surrender. “Your guitar will
remain at home during school hours. No exceptions. You will come directly home
each day and sit at the kitchen table until all of your schoolwork is finished.
Then it’s right to your chores. Your mother will not be bailing you out
anymore. You will find a part-time job for the weekends doing something
respectable. You will also begin searching for a full-time job for the summer.
No more free ride.
hair. Indigo eyes. Infectious smile. Coconut sized norks. The air smelled
sweeter with her nearby. She represented the promise of rock n’ roll.
The
party itself was somewhat anticlimactic. I mostly stood around smiling and
nodding. Moreover, there were hordes of chest-beaters swarming about the ladies
and hors d'oeuvres. They weren’t nearly as warm and welcoming as Lana, etc.
Most of them were downright hostile. If it weren’t for Skeffington I would’ve
likely been stuffed into a dustbin and rolled down the great lawn. I knew it
was pure jealousy over my meteoric rise, but I didn’t want to be physically
injured on account of it.
The
highlight of the affair came during the final act. The parlor of Moxley Manor
came adorned with a magnificent grand pianoforte. It was a tiny bit fancier
than the antique upright occupying space in our living room. I slipped away
from some horribly dull conversation to admire it more closely. Lana caught me
peeking under the lid at its guts.
“I
don’t suppose you play piano too?”
“It’s
been awhile.”
“Are
you being modest? Well, I want you to play something for us. Maybe you can
bring some life back to these fading pixies. What do you say? ” I’d gladly draw
my pistols for one last stand against the blahs before curfew. My first
inclination had been to grab my sidekick from the other room as backup. It
dawned on me, however, that this presented a golden opportunity to distinguish
myself as Mr. Wonderful.
“Right.
Sure.”
“Splendid.
Thank you!” She gently stroked my arm before raising her voice above the din.
“Hey, listen up…I’ve got a treat. Our favorite rock n’ roller has graciously
agreed to play a few songs for us on mum’s piano.” The jealous wankers sulked.
Everyone else gathered around the piano for an intimate goodnight smacker from
yours truly. I was determined to send them dancing into their nighties with
fever.
“Penny
Please Budge Up” and “Jimmy Jammy Beggar” rolled off the keys like thunder. The
small crowd responded enthusiastically. Even Skeffington seemed chuffed. I
would’ve gladly relinquished the spotlight, but the revelers demanded a
chocolate mint for their fluffy pillows. It was at this moment that a painful
thought escaped from my conscience, which had been locked away in an
underground dungeon along with my plums. Regrettably, the thought couldn’t be
shaken. I didn’t want to disappoint, however, so “Hello Again, Moggy” filled
the electric parlor air.
It
was an inside joke on me.
PART
II
WHILE
WE WERE STILL US
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday
morning greeted me with additional unpleasantries.
“You’re
a royal flop in need of strong medicine. But I’m going to turn you into a
decent and responsible lad like your brother if it bloody kills me.” Blowing
curfew appeared to be the least egregious of my sins. A horrible progress
report had come through the post on Friday afternoon. My consistently
lackluster academic career had finally gone belly up and there was no denying
that rock n’ roll had snuffed it. “The foolishness ends today. Do you
understand me?”
“Right.
Got it.” I understood that he was a confused twit who had his head up his own
arse. I would’ve rather done porridge with the Birmingham Boys than become more
like brother. Arguing the point seemed futile, however, because they were such
great chums and dad was irate.
“Are
you ready to hear your punishment?” I nodded without realizing that he was
about to set forth the terms of my unconditional surrender. “Your guitar will
remain at home during school hours. No exceptions. You will come directly home
each day and sit at the kitchen table until all of your schoolwork is finished.
Then it’s right to your chores. Your mother will not be bailing you out
anymore. You will find a part-time job for the weekends doing something
respectable. You will also begin searching for a full-time job for the summer.
No more free ride.
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