Ricky,
I think you'd understand. Right? You'd see the fate in this. You'd know I'm not leaving you behind or stepping over you. I gave up my dream after you left, thought it was why you left in the first place, that I had to atone for it. My home's either in the Valley or in the forgotten corners of Los Angeles and I still can't decide which is more true, still feel guilty claiming either of them over the other, still fear fully returning heart-and-soul to either of them, still feel unworthy of either of them. I want to find ways to take you all with me, carry you, in some way. Like you and La Rosa temporarily carried me out of the wilderness in your own ways. I've done so much to be able to get to this point, not just in the way of accomplishments but things you might find shameful. But when I truly make it-- and I'm so close now, I can feel it-- it won't matter. The shame's already worth nothing-- a temporary feeling for an outcome that made the feeling worth it and then some. I'm used to that more than you'd ever know, and you never did come to understand, but I'll make it worth all of our while, even if you can't be there to see it. I promise you.
Love always,
Julie
*
I never thought I'd join a band in the middle of their tour-- almost like getting thrown into the deep-end to be taught to swim, except I'm not actually performing yet. The old guy's finishing up and I'm just working with the crew 'til we're all back in San Fran. It's awkward in that way it must be when you're the replacement getting trained by the guy that knows he's getting laid off in more typical lines of work-- haven't had many "typical" lines of work so I can't exactly say from personal experience, just what I've heard from friends and barflys n' such. I haven't spoken to the soon-to-be-old guy-- know his name's Robert, that's it. He's a fine singer, so not sure why I'm getting the gig over him. Not to bag on my own voice, and part of me KNOWS I deserve to be here 'n need to act like it, but the rest of me hasn't caught up yet. Some of the guys in the band don't seem to understand it either tho. I get wary looks from the drummer especially (Al, short for Alistair-- typical stuffy Brit name); the rest of them do a better job being polite but the vibes clearly change as soon as they notice I'm around. They're all gelled together and I'm just the new guy, and not just the new guy, but the new guy decidedly shorter and un-blond than the Robert Plant-alike they wished for.
"They know it's their last chance", says the manager-- Walt. For their record label to keep them, that is. They all want to make it big, and it's hard to make it big now playing jazz fusion type stuff. They were a little too late to take advantage of the novelty of FM and the ship sailed, so they have to plot a new course or get deserted, or something like that. That's where I come in. Walt told me he "worked his ass off" selling me to the rest of the guys, that he believed in me, that he was looking forward to great things once we were back in CA. "They'll come around. I'll make damn sure of it.", he said. Clapped a hand on my shoulder. Had to try my hardest not to flinch or cringe, to make a good impression on at least ONE person, and I either succeeded or he didn't care to notice otherwise.
I've been hanging around 'em more than talking, trying to get a good idea of who they all are. I was already familiar with Nate Sorensen-- the guitar player, the young prodigy centerpiece of the whole thing for understandable reason. I guess more honestly I knew of all of them before now: Nate, Greg, Rory, Al. Lorenzo would take me along on his deals and I'd slip thru backstage however I could just to see them play, but more specifically, to hear Nate play guitar.
He doesn't look or act how he plays: boyish, almost like his skipping school from fifteen onward froze a part of him there. Nearly as short as I am (and with nearly as big a nose!), lean, with a big messy frizz of brown curls and a handlebar mustache. Constant big mischievous toothy smiles. Off-stage he's loud, vulgar, impulsive; on-stage he's prone to those typical rockstar orgasmic poses and faces that cause a good amount of my friends to roll their eyes-- the guys think it's tryhard, the girls think it's chauvinist. I get it, tho. it's part of the performance just like certain kinds of posturing are part and parcel to muscleheads and leathermen[1]. The way Nate plays also complements the simulated sex-- in other words, he makes love to his guitar rather than fucking it. Like any gentleness or depth he has is only able to be translated thru playing his instrument. I understand that, too, in my own way... or at least, I sympathize with it. it's why I thought we'd complement each other so well since the first time I heard him. He still doesn't seem to believe it. I'll make him. I have to. So far he was just interested in getting more information on how to better shoplift from me... maybe a mistake telling him? Thought it'd impress him, wanted easy conversation topics. Oh well.
Meanwhile, for some reason, despite all I just said about Nate, I find myself wanting to win the keyboardist (Greg) over just as strongly. Maybe because he's even more standoffish than Nate is; it'll be harder to win him over and I do gravitate to that sort of challenge. He's been in the band the longest with Nate, but has a lot more experience than Nate does. I'd like to get to learn some from that experience. He's tall, sturdy, looser darker curls than Nate, his mustache fuller and less handlebar'd. Big heavy-lidded green eyes that look tired until they crinkle with a smile. He's got a smooth calm baritone singing or speaking, and he's most often sitting or standing behind a set of electric organs and keyboards while on stage-- makes sense why they'd want more of a clear focal point. I hope he doesn't resent it much. It's hard to tell: he doesn't glare at me like Al, at least, but he doesn't smile at me, either. When he's around the others he seems as laid-back as his voice. Harmonizing with him would be easy with the high tenor I've got; I feel like we could produce some interesting stuff, if he's smart enough to let me.
Rory's the bassist, and attempts to find any opportunity he can to crack a joke. Lanky, long blond hair, old acne scars on his cheeks, bright blue eyes, always with a little cheeky grin. I too often expect the worst out of jokes-- to be the butt of them, etc-- so I might be more uneasy around him than he is around me. He DID make a joke about my nose, which I've come to expect but the consistency makes it tiring. Not the best first impression, if we're being honest, but so far seems to mean well and is decent around me. Al's the drummer, like I said, and I don't have much to say about him yet besides the fact that he likes me the least. And like I also said, I don't talk to Robert. Would feel awkward and strange doing so.
Days are so exhausting, I have no idea how I found it in me to write all this-- but this'll have to be it. At least I know I'll fall asleep!
PS: Walt and Nate did recognize me, but only barely. I mean, all they knew from seeing me where they did four years ago was that I was helping Lorenzo sell acid. It shouldn't be that upsetting to me. And yet it still sets my nerves on end...
[1] Admittedly, that particular kind of rock n’ roll posturing is something I’ve always been drawn to, ever since I was a boy.