Painted Black by Greg Kihn Page B

thing?”
    â€œNothing. Was I a complete bugger?”
    Bobby sat up.
    â€œYes! Yes you were! You really fucked up.”
    He must not even remember being punched out by Erlene ,Bobby thought . Score one for Clovis, it could have cost him his job at Olympic.
    â€œSorry. But will you come over and help me find Anita?”
    Bobby laughed.
    â€œYou gotta be kidding me. Can you go to America and help me get Cricket back?”
    â€œYes!” Brian shouted. “For God’s sake, help me get Anita back. I’ll do anything!”
    â€œYou beat her up in a packed nightclub, Brian. You bloodied her nose in front of all her friends. I would think she’d be halfway back to Munich by now.”
    â€œNo!” Brian sounded like a petulant child. “Look, if I take you to America and help you patch up with Cricket, will you help me get Anita back?”
    Bobby sighed. Brian Jones was a piece of work. He sincerely believed that being a rock star and a member of the Rolling Stones gave him license for anything.
    â€œWhat can I do?” Bobby sighed.
    â€œYou helped the Beatles. I know. John told me the whole story. You saved their lives. You have the magic. Now I need you to save mine.”
    Bobby still felt mildly psychedelic. It was hard to separate fantasy from reality. Was this conversation really happening? Was it a dream?
    â€œAre you there?” Brian asked after a long pause.
    â€œHuh? I can’t talk now. Let me wake up a little,” Bobby croaked.
    â€œTake your time. Have some tea.”
    Bobby couldn’t think straight yet. His mind was still scrambled from the LSD. He compared his earlier peaceful trip with John to the chaotic trip with Brian and his friends. With John, it had all been quiet contemplation and peace. Just the two of them.
    With Brian, it was a roller coaster ride. He loved to surround himself with people. Faces came and went looming out of the shadows. The background conversation at The Scotch of Saint James became white noise. It all swirled out of control and all Bobby could do was watch and listen. The gravitational field generated by Brian’s own personality guided the chaos, pulling along his dinner quests just for the fun of it.
    He realized the extraordinary differences between John and Brian. Maybe that’s why they’re such good friends , Bobby thought. Opposites attract .
    Music propelled both men through life but with very different engines. John was all about creating new songs, new opportunities, new vistas. He was a dedicated revolutionary. He exploded with creative energy, which extended from writing to artwork to music. To John, it was all about the next song, the next challenge.
    Brian, on the other hand, felt that every great song had already been written and that the musician’s role in life is to reinterpret the music through his own eyes. Brian strove to make old songs sound new. For the first three albums, the Stones followed that same path. It was all about the blues then. What could be more perfect than the blues? Three chords were all you ever needed.
    â€œBo Diddley” came back to him. In his mind, he replayed every second of that song. The maracas sizzled, the guitars throbbed, the vocal echoed. Bobby couldn’t get it out of his head. He made a mental note to purchase Bo’s Greatest Hits as soon as possible.
    Bobby realized that he had been dosed by two of the greatest musicians of his generation. Instead of feeling special, he felt nauseous. He made the same promise to himself that he’d made after his first trip with John: Never, never again .
    Bobby looked at the clock on the wall and realized he hadn’t called Cricket.
    Oh my God, I missed my window of opportunity! They’re already there. How many hours ahead are they? Or is it behind? She’s gonna hate me!
    His mouth was as dry as the Sahara and he could hardly talk, but he was determined. He dialed the number with shaky hands. The