Featherless Bipeds (15 page)
“Did you like that song we played when you came in?” I ask her.
“You saw me dancing, didn't you?” she says coyly. “I'm not sure Jerry liked it very much, though. I wonder why, hmmmmm?”
“Hey, it's not necessarily about him. It could, in theory, be about any jerk who doesn't deserve you.”
“Look, Dak,” she says. “It's not like Jerry and I are getting married or anything, okay? I want to date lots of different people, to figure out what kind of person suits me best, to make sure I'm not just settling for the first person to come along like my parents did. And you promised you would let me do that, remember?”
“I'm trying, Zoe. But I can't make myself vanish.”
“I definitely don't want you to vanish, Dak,” she says, “but I don't want to be smothered, either. And you didn't have to dedicate the song to him. That was a bit much.”
“Did I do that?” I shrug. “Well, in the next set we've got another new song I'm going to dedicate to
you
.”
She sighs, swaying slightly.
“Look, Dak, I've had a few Margaritas, and I need to go to the washroom. Do you think you can behave yourself until I get back?”
“I promise,” I say.
“And don't talk to Jerry, okay?”
“What makes you think I'd want to?”
I watch her perfect behind as she walks away, then I climb back onto the stage to fix my bass drum. While I'm huddled behind my drum set, layering duct tape over the tear in the drum skin, Jimmy T and Jerry sit down with their beers at the table nearest the stage.
“Where the hell did that prick go with Zoe?” Jerry wonders. “I'm gonna kick his ass any minute now.”
“Well, wait until later, okay,” Jimmy T says. “We need him to play our last set of the night. Then you can have him.”
It sure is nice of Jimmy T to look out for me like that.
“Whatever,” Jerry says. From behind my drums, I can see him scanning the room with his squinty weasel eyes, but he doesn't see me. “Lots of fine babes in this place,” he observes. “If Zoe wants to leave with that skinny prick, well, fuck her. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
“I hear you, man,” Jimmy T laughs.
“So, Tanner,” Jerry says, “Your band is kind of like one of those politically-correct government ads, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. In government ads, there always has to be at least one faggot, one nigga, and one bitch.”
“Hey, man, watch who you're calling bitch. Lola's with me.”
“Whoa, really? Well done, man. She's got great tits.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Jimmy says. Then he gets twitchy, wondering aloud, “So, uh, who in the band do you think is gay?”
“Well, not you, obviously, 'cause you're an Alpha Beta man, right? And not your drummer, because he's always got a big hard-on for Zoe. And not the nigga guitar player, since . . . ”
“Hey, Man,” Jimmy T hisses, “watch your mouth, wouldja? Akim'll kill you if he hears you calling him that, and if Lola hears you, she'll kick
your
ass for saying it, and
mine
for listening! She goes crazy about shit like that!”
“Aw, come on,” Jerry says, “it's just a word. Call me a honky. I don't give a shit.”
“Would you call
Zoe
a ânigga'?” Jimmy T asks incredulously. “I mean, her skin's sort of dark, too.”
“Hey, she's not
that
dark,” Jerry winks, “Her skin's more like a nice tan. Besides, I like the taste of dark meat every once in a while.”
I am somewhat surprised by Jimmy T's response. “You're a dickhead,” he says, then rises from the table and struts away.
Did I hear Jerry right? I stand up and march over to his table.
“Excuse me, Jerry,” I say, through clenched teeth, “but I just overheard your conversation with Jimmy T, and . . . ?”
“Was I talking to you? Fuck off.”
He slides his chair backward, leans back. I lean forward with my palms on the table in front of him, and stare him in the eyes.
“I think I overheard you say something about
dark meat
?”
He stands up, steps around the table toward me. I straighten to my full height, locking my gaze on his beady weasel eyes.
“Yes,” he says, “I said I like the taste of
Zoe's
. It's so sweeeeet â not that you'll ever know. Now let me ask you something â how do
you
like the taste of your own blood?”
He sucker punches me in the face. I hit the floor. He stands over me, his lopsided smirk radiating bravado. “Zoe told me how eager you are to get your ass kicked in her defense. She goes on and on and on about it. It got you stabbed once, didn't it?”
As I'm trying to get up off the floor, he kicks me in the gut, his toe digging painfully into the scarred-over stab wound. I crumple, and hit the floor hard. My mouth waters. It's all I can do to keep from puking. My face pressed hard against the cold dance floor tiles, I see a blurred sideways image of Jimmy T and Lola pushing through the gathering crowd.
“Dak!” Lola shouts.
“Hey!” Jimmy T cries out, “He's gotta play in fifteen minutes!”
Jerry ignores him, takes a step toward me, pulling his foot back so he can kick me again. I grab his boot with both hands before it reaches me. Jerry hops around for a moment before tumbling against a table, sending glasses and bottles flying. We both scramble to our feet, circle each other.
From a safe distance, Jimmy T shouts, “Come on, Dak! For chrissakes! We've gotta go on stage soon!”
Jerry raises his fists to shoulder level.
“By the time I'm finished with you, you're gonna wish that knife had killed you, Dick.”
“My. Name. Is. Dak.”
CrackthudcrackthumpCRACK.
Like a machinegun accidentally going off, my right fist strikes him five times. Jerry's fingers grip at his spurting face.
“AIEEEEEEE!” he shrieks, “AIEEEEEEEEE! I'm bweeding! You fugger! You bwoke my fuggig doze!”
The crowd around us packs in tighter, like sharks drawn to blood in the water. Zoe pushes her way through.
“Jerry! Dak! What in the . . . ”
Jerry stomps past her, gurgling, “You wan' dis fuggin' psycho? You can 'ave 'im! I kin 'ave anybuddy I wand!”
He bulldozes through the crowd and slams through the front door of the tavern. His car roars away in a spray of gravel.
I've heard disappointment in Zoe's voice before. I've even heard anger before, but never anything like this. She is screaming at me.
“You think
this
is the way to get me to come back to you, Dak?” Her face is glowing, her hands slash at the air, her hair flies around wildly. “The first boyfriend I have who isn't
you
, you start a
fist fight
? You think that's the way to my heart? What the hell is the
matter
with you? When are you going to grow up, Dak?
When?
”
“But, Zoe,” I stammer, the adrenaline roaring through my veins, almost covering the pain, making me tremble all over, “you, you should have heard what he said, about, about . . . ”
I can't bring myself to repeat it.
“I don't want to hear excuses, Dak,” she says, lowering her voice. “It's even worse than what you did on our prom night in high school. Just when I think I'm ready to . . . aw, forget it. It's never going to work. Never.”
“But, Zoe, I . . . ”
“We're though, Dak. Don't ever talk to me again. Don't call. Don't write. Don't show up later tonight at my apartment looking all puppy-dog-eyed. I mean it this time. It's over. We're done.”
The assembled crowd parts as she turns and strides toward the exit. The place is quiet as the door clanks shut behind her.
The taxi is already pulling away when I reach the parking lot. I call out to her. She does not look back.
I sit down on a concrete parking divider and stare at the empty space on the horizon where the taxi's tail lights vanished. I stare at that spot for a long time, and everything seems frozen in space and time, as if somebody has accidentally hit the pause button on my remote control.
Eventually, I become aware of Lola and Jimmy T standing beside me in the parking lot. Lola's hand is on my shoulder.
“Don't worry Dak,” she says. “Jimmy told me what happened. We'll help you get everything straightened out.”
I can't say anything. I just keep hearing Zoe's final words.
It's
over. We're done.
Tristan comes bounding outside, babbling as if
his
remote control has a jammed fast-forward button.
“Dak! Dak! Lola! Jimmy T! I'm so glad I found you guys! We've got great news! Sung Li and Veronica were talking to one of the bartenders, and it turns out that he's got a day job working as an assistant sound technician at, get ready for this . . .
Big Plastic
Records
! The biggest independent record label in the country! Anyway, Akim and I have been out in the back parking lot talking to the guy, and he really likes the band, and he's gonna mention us to, get ready for this . . .
Billy VandenHammer
! One of the best producers in the country! The one they call The Purple Messiah. Akim gave the sound technician his phone number, and he said he'd try to get VandenHammer to come out to one of our gigs! Isn't that awesome, guys?”
“Yeah,” Lola says. “That's awesome, Tris.”
“Actually, that
is
pretty awesome,” Jimmy T says.
Lola punches him on the shoulder.
“Dak?” Tristan says, bouncing up and down in front of me, “Isn't that awesome, Dak?”
I can't lift my head off my knees.
“Dak? Dak?”
Glass Half Empty
Lyrics â D. Sifter, Music â A. Ganges, T. Low, D. Sifter
(From the album
Deaf Man's Garage,
recorded by The Featherless Bipeds)
I will swallow this sadness before it ferments into bitterness
I will savour the taste of the lingering pain of this loss
Alone in this crowd I will practice appearing uninjured
I will drink this glass empty and wait for myself to return
I will drink this glass empty and wait for myself to return
A man all alone's like a baby that's left to the wilderness
In every dark stranger the glint of a predator's eye
I will swallow this sadness before it ferments into bitterness
I will savour the taste of the lingering pain of this loss
Alone in this crowd I will practice appearing uninjured
I will drink this glass empty and wait for myself to return
I will drink this glass empty and wait for myself to return
The van speeds past a large blue road sign, which reads:
THEODORE
Population 1370
The Buttermilk Capital of Canada!
“Hello,
Theodore
!” Tristan hollers, “Are you ready to
rock ân'
roll
?”
Akim imitates a frenzied crowd, shouting, “YAAAAAAAAUU UUGGHHHH!”
Tristan extends his arm through the open window and flashes the Universal Rock ân' Roll Sign (thumb, index finger and little finger extended, the two middle fingers folded over) to Jimmy T and Lola, who are speeding along behind the van in Jimmy's Mercedes convertible. Lola and Jimmy T thrust their arms through open windows and return the salute.
“Did you know that in International Sign Language, that's the sign for âI love you'?” Akim mentions.
Like a junior high school girl seeing The Beatles in 1965, Tristan screeches, “Oh! Jimmy T
LOVES
me!”
Jimmy T stomps the accelerator, and blasts his horn several times as he roars past the van, cackling.
“Well,” Akim says, “since Jimmy booked the gig, I guess we should be following him. I have no idea where this place is supposed to be.”
Akim, who never drives faster than the speed limit, steps on the gas pedal to keep up with Jimmy T, who seems to be trying for a new land speed record. Scenery blurs past the van windows.
“Ya-HOOOOO!” Tristan hoots.
Everybody is excited, ready to rock like we've never rocked before. Billy VandenHammer, head producer at Big Plastic Records, the one they call The Purple Messiah, left a message on Akim's answering machine that he is going to come out to our next gig after this one. If he likes what he hears, he's going to talk to us about signing a recording contract. So, this gig is being treated as the dress rehearsal for The Featherless Bipeds' leap into musical fame and fortune. Everyone in the band is charged full of hope, their nerves crackling with anticipation. Everyone but me, that is.
I haven't really felt like playing the drums, or singing, or writing songs since Zoe walked away from me after my fight with Jerry at the Triple R. I've been showing up at rehearsals and all of that, but my heart hasn't been in the music, or in anything else. Of course there's the physical pain from the beating Jerry laid on me, but it's nothing compared to how it feels inside.
Tristan turns around, and peers over his seat.
“Hey, Dak, why the long face back there, buddy?” he says. “We're gonna be rock stars soon!”
“Great.” I try to smile.
Supercharged Tristan spins around to face Akim.
“Akim! We need something to get Dak revved up for the show. Pass Jimmy T, then pull into the nearest coffee shop.”
He spins back around, his wide eyes peering over the seat again.
“All you need is some caffeine and sugar! That'll perk you up!”“
“I don't need any caffeine. Or sugar. I'm not hungry. Or thirsty.”
“Well,
I
need some caffeine and sugar!” Tristan says.
