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Lightning In A BottleChapter 36: Return To St. James free porn video
May 23, 1983
The St. James prom was drawing closer, a scant four days from now. We were practicing every day now, and at this point, we just knew that we'd be in peak form when the moment arrived. For the one current St. James student among us, as well as two out of the three alumni, the special nature of this opportunity could not be overstated. The nearer the occasion drew, the more excited we became.
Of course, that was in spite of the personal issues we were dealing with at the same time. There had been no change in the situation with Dave and Eileen. I had not had a chance to speak at any great length with my sister, but it was rather apparent that little or no communication had occurred between them since the big blowup. Quite fortunately, both of them were musicians enough to not allow their problems to affect their performing. At the same time, the fact that Paul and I had reconciled our differences only served to isolate Dave even more. His mood could best be described as morose, and he merely did what he had to do to fulfill his role in the band. This was in spite of the fact that Paul had made efforts to remain close to Dave, and still checked on him daily. If Dave was hitting the bottle at this point, he was keeping it well hidden, and he appeared to be quite sober at all of our practices.
It turned out that, in fact, he was keeping it well hidden.
That evening, I made a run to the supermarket. I returned to the apartment with a couple of bags of food. Inside, Dennis was there, as well as a visitor. I couldn't believe who that visitor was.
Yes, it was Dave. And, regrettably, a very intoxicated version of himself.
Dennis looked at me with a half-grin, and shrugged. "He just knocked on the door, and wandered in. I didn't know what to do with him."
Then, Dave spotted me, and began spouting the incoherent babble of the inebriated. "Look, people! It's fucking Captain America! Circling the globe to wipe out tyranny! Rescuing damsels in distress worldwide! Bow down before his mighty presence, all ye peons!"
I looked over at Dennis, who was cracking up. "What the fuck was that?" he managed to get out between fits of laughter.
What could I do but laugh as well? People say the damnedest things when they're drunk, I thought. But once the levity subsided, I realized that this was, in fact, no laughing matter.
As Dave retreated into a quiet stupor, I went to the phone and dialed Paul's number.
"Get your ass over to my place," I told him. "We got a Dave problem." Paul had obviously never been to my apartment; I gave him directions. I didn't tell him what was going on. I guess the tone of my voice induced a great deal of concern on his part, because he was knocking on our door within minutes.
"What happened?" Paul asked me as soon as he stepped inside. Then, he noticed Dave, who was pretty much passed out on the sofa at this point.
"You've gotta be kidding me," added Paul, quite alarmed by this development.
There wasn't much any of us could do until Dave came around somewhat. Dennis called out for some pizza, which allowed us to pass the time hunger-free. Finally, more than an hour after Paul's arrival, Dave stirred, and made a move to sit up. It took him a few moments to regain some equilibrium. But when he spoke, it was apparent that he was a bit more alert than earlier; at least he wasn't making bizarre allusions to superheroes. His speech was still a little slurred, however, as he directed his remarks toward me.
"Do you know what it's like," he spat out, "to keep hearing over and over, what a fucking wonderful person you are? Pat helps little old ladies across the street. Pat climbs trees to rescue stuck cats. Pat –"
I interrupted him, deciding to keep things light in deference to his drunkenness. I sensed very strongly that his rant wasn't personal. "Not true. I may have helped someone across the street once or twice, but I've never gone charging up a tree to pull down a cat." That elicited chuckles from Dennis and Paul.
Dave went on, not even appearing to notice what I'd said. "I have to listen to this shit all the time. My girlfriend, who just dumped my ass, acts like you oughta be up for Brother of the Century. And then there's the band practices. Evie talks about you like you're the freakin' Pope. And Inez thinks that she's Juliet, and you're Romeo."
That remark caused Paul and Dennis to again laugh out loud, this time directing it at me. I just shrugged in response, and voiced the same phrase that had passed through my mind earlier. "People say the damnedest things when they're drunk, don't they?"
But that was the end of the fun, because at that point, things took a serious turn. The still-wasted Dave broke down, and actually started crying.
"Look at you. You're a better musician than I am," he told me, blubbering like a fool. "You get better grades than I do. I'm just a stupid fuck-up who can't even keep his girlfriend."
Well, I couldn't keep mine, either, I thought. I didn't have a chance to verbalize that notion, for Dave went on and on, beating himself up. It was sadly apparent what Dave's problem was here, and what was the primary source of his animosity toward me. He'd forgotten all about my blow-up and his ruined drums, or had at least relegated them to a secondary concern. His big issue now was achievement-related jealousy, in a specific sense. But more generally, it was a deep sense of personal inadequacy. This had been his handicap in the other timeline, as well. Why hadn't I thought of that before?
I needed to talk to Eileen about this, as soon as possible. But I couldn't do it with Dave present. So, I pulled Paul aside.
"Think you can manage to get Dave back to his place?" I asked him. "I need to call my sister, and let her know what's going on."
Paul began urging Dave to get his butt up from the sofa and hit the road. Dave balked at first, but relented after Paul continued to apply tenacious pressure.
"I'll let you know later how he's doing," Paul assured me.
They hadn't been out the door five seconds when I grabbed the phone and called Eileen. I filled her in on what had just happened, finishing with my analysis of Dave's little hang-up.
"You think that's why he's acting like this? He feels inferior to you?" Eileen replied as I wound up my little speech.
"Pretty much."
"If that's so," she continued, sounding a little doubtful, "he hasn't said anything to me about it."
I, however, knew Dave well enough from the other life to feel pretty damn certain that I was correct.
"I'm positive about this. He's a tough guy to read, Eileen. You've got your work cut out for you there. He uses humor as a distancing mechanism. He knows that if he makes people laugh, it will distract them enough to ignore the bigger picture."
"I'll take what you just told me into consideration. But I still want him to make the next move. And he has to promise me that he'll lay off the beer."
"On that point, Eileen, you need to be firm and insistent. Meanwhile, I'm gonna try to pull him aside at tomorrow's practice and have another chat with him. Do you mind? Again, if he tries to bring you into the conversation, I'll refuse."
"No problem at all, Pat. Use your own judgment. I trust you. Anyway, in spite of all this, I'm really worried about Dave. Can someone keep tabs on him for a while?"
"I already put Paul up to that. He's the right man for the job, because he won't tolerate any funny stuff from Dave with regards to alcohol."
May 24, 1983
Right after practice the next day, I cornered Dave as he was putting his stuff away.
"So tell me this," I said to him. "What was your SAT score back in high school?"
He regarded me with a look of utter confusion.
"Is this some sort of a trick question?" he finally got out.
"No, not at all."
"I don't remember," he said dismissively, turning around and resuming his disassembling work.
But I wasn't about to back down. "I seem to recall it being a damn sight higher than mine was," I told him.
He rose up slowly and turned around, suddenly catching on to my intent. "But you're practically getting straight A's, and I'm struggling to stay afloat," he pointed out.
"And why is that?" I asked him.
Dave had no answer to that inquiry. It was something he simply did not want to address. He just stared straight ahead, inviting me to continue.
"You can do something about that, you know," I added, my tone becoming less pointed.
He nodded briefly, and then brought up another point of concern from the previous evening.
"Everything I've done lately has backfired in my face. And everything you've done seems to be heroic."
"That's a different situation from the school thing. That's nothing but placement and timing. If, say, you'd been in my shoes when something happened to someone's parents, what would you have done?"
"I'd probably try to do exactly what you did."
"I know you would. So why does that make me any better than you? I had a chance to help someone, that's all. Someday, you might have a similar chance. Don't make the comparison you're trying to make. It's just not valid."
I could sense the wheels inside Dave's head turning as he mulled this over.
"Thanks for not tossing my drunk ass out on the street last night," he finally offered.
"I wouldn't do that to you."
A typical off-the-wall Dave comment followed, one which let me know that things were indeed moving swiftly in the right direction.
"Here's the only problem I have with 'Ebony and Ivory'. You as McCartney, yeah, maybe. But Evie's way too cute to pass as Stevie Wonder."
May 27, 1983
It was mid-afternoon, a few hours before our prom gig. Dennis and I looked over the van we'd procured for the evening. Holly, our recently hired co-manager, had talked her dad into letting us borrow it for the night. This was, after all, a road trip of more than an hour. The van had been a godsend; we'd been able to fit our entire stash of equipment into it.
"You know," I said to Dennis, "we'll have to look into getting a dedicated van, just for our band, even if it's a beat-up, old one. Probably sooner rather than later. The shows are lining up, and every time we play at the beach, it's at least a thirty-minute drive. It's getting to be a royal pain to shove everything into cars. We're gonna have to set some money aside for that purpose. All of this means more work for Annie and Holly."
"Plus," Dennis observed, "we're adding new stuff all the time."
"True, and you're responsible for a lot of that," I said with a laugh. Most of our recent equipment acquisitions were lights and other stage accessories. We'd given Dennis the leeway to put most of his ideas into practice, and with the help of Mayra, he'd done just that. The two of them were proving to be a first-rate stage crew. Oh, and they'd been out on another date or two; things seemed to be proceeding just wonderfully for them.
The past couple of days had been hectic, to say the least. The most noteworthy occurrence? Dave and Eileen had apparently had a long discussion about their relationship. I'd spoken only briefly to Eileen about it, but the upshot was that they were now back together, and Dave would, in fact, be attending the prom as Eileen's date. Dave had apparently managed to convince my sister that he was determined to change. An awkward situation had been averted.
"He still has a lot to prove to me, though," Eileen had warned me.
We'd practiced and practiced, and refined our set list as well. Given that our audience was comprised mostly of high school seniors, we'd decided to stick primarily with newer material, only throwing in a few select oldies.
Inez did have one personal request, though. She wanted "Goodbye To You" – the song she'd done such an amazing job with at our first gig, and which had been included in every one since – removed from our set list. Inez was the one member of our band who could make a request like that without inducing a round of questioning; she had the respect of everyone. And so, it was done. However, I pulled her aside later and expressed curiosity about it.
"That song is bitter and angry, which if you remember, is why I wanted to sing it in the first place," Inez explained. "But if there's one thing I've learned from what happened recently with my parents, it's that life is too short to hang on to negative emotions. I've decided to let go of past bitterness, and start looking ahead." She winked at me.
"Good for you," I told her sincerely. How I longed to reach the point where I could say that my own recent romantic disappointment was behind me. With each day that went by, I was getting closer and closer to that state, but I wasn't there yet.
There was another hot topic among us during the last few days before the prom, and it dealt with the final song of the evening: the prom theme. The tune that we'd been assigned to work with was "We've Got Tonight", originally done by Bob Seger. Unfortunately, a particularly hideous version of this song – a duet between Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton – had been on the charts in recent months, and was responsible for its selection as this year's prom theme.
"We're basing it on the Seger version. Right?" Dave had flatly stated.
"No doubt about it," I opined. "That song should never have been done as a duet. It's a song about one person seducing another. Having two people sing it to each other completely defeats that meaning. And for us, the only person who should be singing it is Eileen."
"No way," Eileen said with a grin. "You should sing it."
"It's your prom," I said to my sister. "You should have the honor."
"It's a song for a male vocalist. You take it, Pat."
"Not necessarily," I countered. And our friendly little debate went back and forth. The others all jumped in on Eileen's side, urging me to give in. I tried to deflect the opposition by resurrecting the duet idea, which was nothing but sheer desperation. Clearly, I couldn't sing it with Eileen. I was already singing "Ebony and Ivory" with Evie. That left Inez, with whom I had never sung up to this point. But it wouldn't happen here, either.
"It's yours, Pat," Inez said with a smile. "You're right, that song shouldn't be a duet. Accept the honor. Don't be modest."
I sighed in acquiescence. "Okay, then, but I'm doing it under protest."
I had agreed to drive the loaded van down the turnpike. I had spoken with Holly's dad beforehand, and managed to convince him that I was a responsible young man who wasn't likely to drive his van into a lake. Even though both of our co-managers would be making the trip, Holly herself wanted no part of driving the van. Instead, she hitched a ride with Annie. Dennis rode along with me in the van. The others all piled into Evie's car, and we all left at the same time, traveling together as if we were a caravan.
Dave, of course, as Eileen's date, had gone on ahead of us. The two of them planned to change into their prom clothes before the event itself, for pictures and the like. But they intended to switch over to their typical band attire once we started playing.
The prom venue was the same as it had been two years previously. We dropped our equipment off right outside the ballroom, leaving it in the care of our stage crew and our co-managers. Eileen had asked that the six band members meet at the ballroom entrance for a round of pictures. As we were walking as a group down the hallway leading to the ballroom, a vision of Evie and I strolling hand in hand down this same hallway two years ago briefly flashed through my mind. I glanced at Evie, who was in fact walking right next to me, and found her smiling in my direction.
"Memories," she stated simply.
"Yes, memories," I repeated.
I paused to reflect upon the incredible twists and turns of the past two years. Even though Evie and I were no longer romantically involved, our friendship was of a nature that allowed us to dwell on things like this with no traces of awkwardness or regret.
Shortly thereafter, I pulled Dave aside for a moment. I handed him an envelope with some cash in it.
"Sorry I waited so long to do this," I told him, "but consider this as payment for those drums I ruined. I didn't want you to think I was trying to influence you with money."
He nodded at me. "Thanks, dude. And don't sweat it."
It was a little over an hour later, with the prom already in full swing, when we took the stage.
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