Chapter Two
Joe and Jenny napped, and when they awoke, the light outside the windows became less natural and more artificial from one of the few lights for the alley. Joe put on an old cotton robe and Jenny borrowed one of his Max's staff shirts, just saying the club's name in white on black and Staff printed on a sleeve, the extra-large size just reaching her thighs, covering ass and genitalia, "In case the roommates are around," he explained, and they crept into the bathroom and shared a shower despite the tight fit. Despite cleaning each other and Joe sporting proof of his sexual interest, just the cleaning and the sensuality prevailed.
Joe put on a Misfits t shirt, covering it with a chambray shirt, and put on the black jeans that had been his uniform pants for work, while Jenny pulled out fresh panties, panty hose over it, and a cute cotton jumper, keeping the Max's shirt to wear under it. The bigger items had been rolled up in her backpack to make room. No bra, and to Joe, none was needed.
Jenny wanted Joe to show her his town. "And can we go to Max's?" she pleaded.
"Sure," Joe grinned.
Finally they finished with Joe's black leather jacket, nothing fancy but his favorite find in a second hand store which he had a tailor add cuffs so it fit his long arms, and she put on the peacoat.
The common area of the apartment, which included a small kitchen, neither the stove nor oven working, only the fridge--the roommates tended to eat out exclusively--a card table with metal folding chairs and a decrepit couch found on some corner and covered with a stained floral bedsheet, mostly yellow originally, and the small black and white television with its antenna as large as the TV doing its work fairly well, the TV always on when people were up, had all but one roommate crowding it and one guest, rock and roll and junkie legend JT...
"Are you Johnnie...?" Jenny started.
"Hey John," Joe interrupted. "What's up?" It didn't surprise Joe that Johnny checked out Jenny, notorious for his attraction to blonde waifs, a famous LA groupie one, and supposedly his wife, though Joe had never met her.
"Trying to get a book for eighty for some good shit. We're twenty short," Johnny explained.
"I'm off the shit John," Joe responded.
"Sure you are," John smirked.
The last of Joe's roommates emerged from her room waving a twenty. An attractive blonde, her dark roots showing, Gail seemed to woo trouble like it was a fun date, energetically making one mistake after another including dating a scary Puerto Rican coke dealer ending in a shouting match lasting rudely for hours, somehow coming out of it unscathed as she somehow always seemed to do. He'd spent a night with her early in her residence, at one point fingering her to orgasm but nothing further, probably because he didn't provide her cocaine. She was a classic coke whore.
"Just coke, Johnny," she whined.
"Of course. Just coke Joe. She'll let me borrow some for a speedball."
"Whatever," Joe muttered, pulling out his wallet and handing Johnny a twenty. "Knock yourself out."
"You gotta go downtown Joe," Johnny insisted. "You know you're our lucky charm."
Joe had a reputation for escaping trouble in the dangerous downtown drug territory, partly because of his tallness but mostly knowing when to run.
"I'm showing Jenny the city."
"What better part than the underbelly."
"Please Joe?" Jenny asked.
"Are we talking the alphabets or Clinton."
"Tenth."
Joe sighed. "You guys can hang with a friend if he's home. If not I'll meet you at the park."
"Cool."
"Can I come?" Gail asked.
"Why not?" Johnny chuckled.
Johnny headed right instead of left when they hit the street.
"Where are you going?" Joe asked.
"Getting a ride."
Joe shook his head following his sort of friend. He'd gotten respect from the famous junkie who tended to use his status to use people, but when Joe kicked him out of his room one morning back when he stayed at one of the front rooms, the one the couple, Maggie and Greg, Greg a great guitarist presently stuck in a junked out inertia and Maggie working a strip bar uptown for their money, their band, formed in England when Greg got kicked out of the band he'd been in, one of the first punk bands touring the British isles, for his drug habit, and he hooked up with the Maggie, an English Rose brunette beauty, their band in which she sang lead breaking up after one gig in New York, Joe became appreciated by Johnny for displaying balls.
Two and a half blocks later, Johnny stopped at a row house and pressed a buzzer, bringing down Waldo, the second guitarist in the band who towered over the diminutive Johnny at about six foot tall and wearing his usual garish costume, this time a polka dot shirt and lime green sports jacket, his hair sticking up and brassy looking from a purposefully poor bleach job.
The four followed Waldo to a mundane white Dodge Dart. "Best sit up front," Waldo told Joe. Legroom.
But it provided Jenny with direct access to Johnny which she immediately exploited. "I saw your band at the Minnesota State Fair!" she exclaimed. "You guys were so cool!"
"You played a fair?" Waldo laughed.
"Some little stage," Johnny remembered.
"Young America!" Jenny exclaimed. "It was great because it was intimate, and you guys rocked! I bought your albums afterwards and they're great!"
"Thanks kid," Johnny chuckled. "What were you, ten?"
"Fourteen actually. My friends were there too and a couple of them started a band! They've gotten pretty good, do their own songs and shit, but there wasn't any really decent place to play until recently, a place called the Longhorn. You heard of the Suicide Commandos?"
"I have," said Waldo. "Them and Pere Ubu both are on some label owned by the same assholes that put out your shit."
"Blank, owned by Mercury," Jenny agreed. "But the Commandos play there at the Longhorn, a lot more than my friends who I think are pretty great but I guess they're not unique enough or something."
"This Longhorn a bar?" Johnny asked.
"I know what you're asking but I've got a friend whose dad actually made us fake IDs. I think he's into some shady shit, but he's cool."
"Let me see."
She extracted a wide metal clip from her small black leather purse with a long leather strap that went around her neck and pulled out the card. Johnny noticed twenties clipped to other side.
"You're holding out," Johnny smirked.
"It's all I've got," Jenny murmured.
"Leave her alone, John," Joe growled.
"Just fucking with you kid," Johnny responded. "Let's see the ID."
"You can compare," Jenny said, handing him two.
"Impressive," Johnny said. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen as of today."
"You didn't say," said Joe.
"I didn't want to make a big deal about it, and it's been a lot better birthday thanks to you."
"Glad to help," Joe chuckled.
"I thought it would be cool seeing the double take when they checked my ID," Jenny added.
"You don't look eighteen," Johnny commented.
"My curse looking young."
"It won't be in a few years," Waldo predicted.
"I suppose."
"You should drive over to 9th between B and C," Joe instructed.
"Got it," said Aldo.
The block was like an island of new and restored buildings amongst a sea of destitution. Joe never could understand how it could survive with so many desperate junkies around, but there it was, and a couple friends from Bard had gotten an apartment there in one of the new ones. At Bard they'd started a band with another friend, a rather freakish looking guy as lead singer, one of the first punk bands Joe had seen, and had quit school like him and actually had a couple gigs at Max's.
Joe hopped out when Waldo parked in front of the building and rushed up to the buzzer. The guys lived on the entire second floor, one of them coming from considerable money, some Brahmin family from Boston.
"It's Joe," Joe said into the intercom when a voice responded. "And friends."
The door buzzed and Joe waved the car's occupants out, holding the door for them. "Second floor," he told them.
Waldo led the charge upstairs with Johnny behind him, Joe following Jenny, appreciating the view of her shifting butt under her dress. A woman Joe didn't recognize, untamed brunette hair and a nose ring, her face pale and pretty, held the door for him.
As he entered he heard a man exclaim, "What are you doing here, you Dago cunt."
"Same as you probably, you Mick," Johnny laughed.
Joe recognized Gene, a guitarist for one of the best punk bands, a regular at CBGBs who often frequented Max's for several drinks. He had flaming orange hair, his famous stage sneer replaced by a genuine smile.
Bill and Jim, his friends from Bard, both tall and blond and good looking, sat on the floor with the woman between them. They seemed always together, and Joe thought they might be gay, but perhaps bisexual instead since they both sat close to the woman. There were cushions, pillows really, and a coffee table at the center but no other furniture.
"You're going to jam, because that's what we're going to do," Gene smirked before leaning into a line of cocaine on the coffee table.
"Trouble with the Stiff's?" Johnny asked, settled next to his fellow punk. Gene handed him the rolled up bill and Johnny snorted a second line.
"Keeping options open," Gene finally replied.
"Joe's going up the street to cop. The sun stamp's supposed to be choice."
"Yeah?" Gene pulled out a roll of cash from his pocket.
"Right. You guys played CB's this weekend. These guys..."
"Strictly coke, but they get good shit."
"No shit. We're working on a book for eighty."
"Just a couple dimes," Gene said.
"I'll figure it out," said Joe, taking the twenty from Gene. "You okay hanging here, Jenny?"
"Sure," Jenny smiled, sitting kiddy corner from Johnny.
"It's just round the block."
Gail had shifted over to Jim and whispered, then stopped Joe with, "Can I get my twenty back?"
"No coke then?"
"I can spare some," said Jim.
Joe did as requested.
"I'll buzz you in," said Bill when Joe headed to the door.
"Thanks."
Joe headed out, walking swiftly down to C and heading back up after a short block, his eyes scanning as cooly as possible for the man, that is any patrol cars. He spotted a familiar face, a slim young Puerto Rican he'd dealt with before, and moved next to him. "Looking for Sun," he said quietly.
"Got it."
"Cool. A book for eight plus two?" Joe slapped him the roll.
"Follow me," the man said.
"Really?"
The man laughed. Joe followed him to an empty lot across the street and what looked like a bombed out basement where the man ducked inside, telling Joe to wait in the alley behind the building. An older Puerto Rican stood at an open back door. "Better wait inside," the man said.
"Problem?" Joe asked.
"Cop car."
Joe followed the man into a hallway. The man stepped out. An older woman and a girl emerged from an apartment, nodding to Joe and heading towards the front.
Several long minutes passed before the older man entered and handed Joe his purchases, Joe palming the stack. "Is it safe to head down the alley?" Joe asked.
"Probably best," the man said.
"Thanks. Trouble?"
"A little more than usual."
Joe nodded and headed out, his hands in his jacket pocket, one keeping hold of the packets. No one was in the alley which smelled strongly of urine, and he made a quick walk back to C, glancing both ways for the patrol car that must have come by. Another slim young Puerto Rican nodded to him at the corner of the alley and Joe nodded back, smiling. He walked swiftly back to the safety of his friends' apartment where he was immediately buzzed in.
Bill met him at the door. "Probably shouldn't make this a habit."
"So to speak," Joe smirked. "I'm actually doing this as a favor. I'm off the shit."
"Good. Want a snort before you go?"
"Sure. Did Jenny...?"
"Yep."
Jenny looked pretty amped up talking with the two famous rockers, but that could be a bit of being star struck.
Joe handed off the packets to Waldo, probably the most responsible junkie there. Bill laid out a couple lines of coke and a rolled bill. Joe sat and snorted.
"Ready?" he asked Jenny. She didn't look ready.
"Mind if I borrow your bathroom," Gene asked Bill.
"Knock yourself out."
"I'm going to show you New York," Joe reminded his new friend.
"Oh right," Jenny understood. "Sorry. Nice meeting you."
"You too," Johnny grinned. All three got up. Gene had already got his dope and headed to the bathroom.
"We'll be at Max's later," Jenny suggested.
"Then maybe I'll see you there."
"Okay."
"I'm coming too," said Gail. Somehow she'd been forgotten.
"Whatever," Joe annoyingly thought but didn't say.
On the street, obviously coked out, jittery and intense, Gail told them, "I got Richard Hell's address. Maybe you could introduce us."
"I've seen the Voidoids, in fact they were my first real punk band when they played the informal formal at Bard, but I've never met Richard."
"I'd like to meet him," Jenny said.
"Okay."
They went to the apartment on the third floor of a row house on Eleventh Street and Gail knocked. Immediately it was clear that Gail and Richard had met before what with his annoyance at seeing her.
"I just want an interview," Gail insisted through the cracked door.
"Go away," Richard muttered.
"I brought some coke," she offered.
That gave him pause, but mostly when he saw Joe. "I know you."
"I was a waiter at Max's."
"Maybe that's it."
"Sorry we bothered you."
"Yeah. Broke my concentration." He glanced up and down Gail. "Stop bothering me," he concluded.
"But the coke?" she offered, showing the folded tin foil.
"Thanks," he smirked, grabbed the packet and closed the door.
"Fuck!" Gail growled.
"You need to ease back on the intensity," Joe suggested.
"Use my feminine whiles," Gail muttered.
"It couldn't hurt."
"Act like a groupie."
Joe shrugged.
"Maybe your friends can sell me some more, except I'm low on funds."
Joe handed her a twenty.
"Thanks."
"If not there's a Puerto Rican guy on tenth who can help," Joe offered.
"Show me?"
They walked back to the corner and Joe described his connection, finally separating from his roommate.
Jenny took Joe's hand while they headed west beside Tomkins Square Park, once known as Needle Park and it hadn't improved much since.
"You weren't tempted?" Jenny asked. "I mean you had what? 120 dollars of heroin in your hand."
"Of course," Joe admitted.
"That's really strong of you."
"Thanks."
"What's it like?"
"Really nice, which is the problem. Everything becomes painless and kind of spacy, dreamy. There's rushes when you shoot up, especially speedballs which Johnny will probably do borrowing the coke from my friends probably. Everything else has its drawbacks, the edginess and nervousness of cocaine and speed, the paranoia of marijuana. With dope it's what happens after, the addiction, the need that takes you over, possesses you. It's actually easier to get off of it than alcohol, but you don't want to, you know?"
They reached the end of the block, the crossroads as far as decisions. "Hungry?" Joe asked.
"Not really."
"Yeah, me either what with the coke, but we should eat something. How about we head over to St Marks Place, sort of punk central, and I'll get us a couple slices and a couple egg creams at Gem Spa."
"You're the guide," Jenny smirked.
"I know a bunch of cheap and great places to eat around here since I used to live around here."
"Really? Show me where you lived."
They walked past the park and across Avenue A and midway down the block Joe noticed his former super who Joe speculated groomed him to eventually rob him, though Joe left before that, the guy who took the apartment, a friend from Bard and coincidently from his hometown as well ended up becoming the victim. "There's a Puerto Rican social club that sells nickel bags of pot. Want some?"
"Sure."
Joe avoided the asshole that way.
Once inside the place and going to a counter to buy a couple bags, Joe told her, "The black guy hanging on the stoop across the street was my super and I didn't leave on the best of terms. But that's where I lived."
"Got it," Jenny nodded.
"New York can be pretty tough."
"I'm getting that."
"But it's ultimately cool."
"I'm getting that too."
When they emerged, Jenny stuffing the small bags in her purse, the ex-super caught Joe's eyes, smirking and nodding. Joe nodded back, then immediately focused ahead.
They walked to the corner where Eighth Street became St Marks Place. "I recognize that store!" Jenny exclaimed.
"Gem Spa. It's where they shot the back of Johnny's band's first album."
"With that cool red leather jacket."
"Yep."
They crossed to it, Joe picking up the Village Voice, just out that day and ordered a couple chocolate egg creams, handing Jenny one. He let her look at the numerous papers for a couple minutes before they exited and headed back across the street for a couple slices, slimy and not great but edible. They stood near the curb a couple store fronts up and ate. Punks, a couple he knew and nodded at, mixed with several more regular folks, tourists amongst them most likely, their bouncing gazes at the environs cluing Joe in. Jenny did a bit of that.
"Manic Panic?" she giggled.
"The first punk boutique," Joe explained. "I know the owners, Tish and Snookie. Just passing acquaintances really."
"You seem to know a few people."
"My own sort of fame being waiter at a rock and roll club."
They finished eating, found a garbage container on the street and headed into Manic Panic. Jenny loved the crazy outfits and the crazy wigs and the crazy hair coloring and the crazy nail polish, Joe ended up buying her a little bottle of sparkly pink polish.
"Max's right?" the woman with short spiky hair who rang him up asked.
"Yep," Joe smiled. "You're Snookie."
"Guilty," she smirked.
"Joe. And this is Jenny."
"Hi," Jenny grinned. "Love your shop."
"Thanks."
"You still in a band?" Joe asked.
"No, but some friends, the Sic Fucks are playing Max's. But I guess you'd know that."
"I quit recently," Joe shrugged.
"Too bad," Snookie winked. "One less cutie to watch."
Joe chuckled.
Once back outside he had them cross the street. "I feel like a beer," he said.
"Okay."
They walked down into a fairly large bar, a tavern really. "A taste of the old hippy days," Joe explained, Janis exclaiming about taking a piece of her heart somewhat loudly in the somewhat loud space, the tin roof reverberating with the music and the several conversations, several of the benches and wooden tables occupied by groups sharing pitchers of beer. He recognized one group of punks looking like Jenny to be barely old enough to drink, a band, the pretty boy bass player exchanging nods with him. He bought a couple tall glasses of beer from the tough looking older woman bartender and brought them to one of the smaller tables where Jenny had sat.
"Recognize anyone?" Jenny asked.
"The young looking punks over there," he gestured with his head. "They're in a band called the Blessed."
"They're cute."
"They're kind of known for that. Like angels with attitudes."
They sat side by side perusing the ads for shows towards the back of the Voice. CBGBs and Max's were the only places for punk music really, although Great Guildersleeves, close to CBs had a pretty good more mainstream band, the Brats, but only if they went much farther downtown, past Canal, would there be any other place, and Joe didn't think that would happen, although the Mudd Club was a pretty cool club with it's upstairs like a hip after hours club. Maybe another night.
"You into jazz at all?" Joe asked.r"
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