Stay Until We Break (22 page)

Cole

Saturday, September 2, 1995

Maxwell’s, Hoboken, NJ

With Crown the Robin and Red Five

Soft Tour—Day 24

When Claire and I walk into Maxwell’s, I hear the opening of “Daylight” as Soft begins to soundcheck. My cabinet thunders throughout the club. Sonia must have tweaked the sustain on my Big Muff to get it to roar like that. The band room is empty except for Al, Maxwell’s soundman, and Soft up on stage. Claire and I stand off to the side so we can watch them a minute without being seen, and good God, Sonia is absolutely nailing it on bass. She’s rocking so hard up there I’m about to go all doe-eyed just watching her. It doesn’t help matters that she’s in that sexy black cowgirl dress I bought her in North Carolina, or that she’s dyed her hair bright blue, because fuck, that’s hot. How the hell can I stay mad when seeing her like that makes me feel like this?

This is exactly why I didn’t want to be here tonight.

Joey spots Claire and grins from ear to ear. In fact, the way she grins back at him confirms that he’s behind Claire’s little stunt tonight. I step out from behind the post and give him a nod. Emmy sees me and whoops from the mic and Travis grins at me from the stage. Damn, I’ve missed my people.

Sonia looks up then and I try to look cool and shit with my hands in my pockets. Her face goes pink, so I know I’ve made her nervous, too. Good. And no, I’m not sorry.

“McCormack,” Emmy says when the song ends. “You’re late. You’re lucky we don’t fire you.”

I can’t help but laugh at that.

“Looks like my stunt double has managed just fine,” I say. “You sure you need me at all?”

“Don’t talk crazy,” Emmylou says. “Of course we need you.” She glances over at Sonia, who is unusually quiet as she watches me. “The manager hasn’t shut up about you all day. All week, actually.”

“Is that so?” I ask.

Sunny scowls at Emmy and then she really blushes, reminding me of the adorable, awkward eighteen-year-old kid she was when I felt that very first pang in my chest for her.

“You’re awesome on that thing,” I say, pointing at the bass. “Couldn’t rock ‘Daylight’ any better myself.”

“You really think so?” she says, surprised.

“Do you have ears?” I say. “You’re amazing.”

“All right, you two,” Emmy says. “We’ve got a soundcheck to finish. Cole, let’s go.”

Sunny keeps those icy blue eyes of hers locked on mine as I climb up on the stage. When she gives me back my bass, she lingers with her hands on it for a second, and that moment between us sets a fire to my heart.

I’m surprised by how good it makes me feel to hold my guitar again. Feels like I can breathe deeper, stop thinking so damn much. I start thumping on it, worried my calluses might have gone soft this past week, but they’re okay. Joey jumps in with a beat and we lock right up for a few bars, and now I’m back. Back where I belong for the very last time.

“You’ve been missed,” Sunny says.

“Oh yeah?” She’s talking about me being up on stage, right? Not in her sleeping bag.

But the way she looks at me right now, I’m not so sure.

***

The Maxwell’s homecoming set we play is, without question, the best we’ve ever played. We’re ablaze in the old room tonight, channeling the spirit of Sonic Youth and New Order and Nirvana and every good band near and far that’s ever played here. Every song feels like a testament to our generation, not because our songs are that good, but because the good energy between us and the packed house is enough to feel all the way out to outer space.

Can’t see anything but faces from here to the very back wall. Many I know well, and a third of them are faces I’ve seen up here rocking this same stage. If this isn’t a who’s who of the Jersey indie rock scene tonight, don’t know what is. Aside from Crown the Robin, I see all of our regulars from Hub City—the Holy Hobbies, Red Five. (Yeah, what’s good, Hank? Dick.) Diseased, Millie and Bailey from Vagaboss, the guys from Buttcrack, and even Jim Testa himself. And if that wasn’t enough, Chimp Cringle and Crypt Whores are here all the way from Virginia. We had to beg to get them in because unbeknownst to us, the damn club sold out! Even Crown didn’t see that one coming, and they play Maxwell’s on the regular.

She doesn’t take any credit, but I know our homecoming crowd is massive because of all Sonia has done to promote us over the last month. Now I get it—I see how all those calls to radio stations she’s thrown on her calling card have paid off. Soft will be in good hands with Sunny around, and as much as it will kill me to see them chart and get signed without me, that’s what I want and I’m sure she’ll see to it. She’s the one who got me here tonight, after all. And yeah, Joey confessed that he called Claire and put her up to her little stunt, but he did that because Sunny pushed him to do it. “I knew you’d never miss Maxwell’s,” he’d said. Right. Sure.

I’m so glad I didn’t, though, because this night, with everyone I know here, will be something that stays with me forever. For the rest of my life I want to remember that I had this. Even if my music career didn’t pan out the way I’d hoped, it still mattered because it taught me that life doesn’t have to be all scars and bad memories. I get to have memories like this, too. I practiced and gigged and drove countless hours and miles and lost sleep and slept on floors and ate ramen for weeks and took shit from my family for wasting my time in the band for years just to arrive at this moment.

But if it wasn’t for Sonia, I wouldn’t have even shown up.

Our set tonight is one big, loud blur as we cruise from one tune to the next into the next until we pause to say thanks before the last song of the night. Last song of the tour. Last song of my music career.

And if it’s the last song I’m going to play with these guys, I’m so glad it’s “Loud.”

This is when I look up and see her, my Sunshine, standing on the bleachers to the side, not in front of me like she normally does. Makes me a little sad, but I get it. We may have stopped fighting, but the truth remains: as soon as I pack up my bass and walk away from Soft, I’m no longer the guy with the bright future, all the exciting possibilities like she has ahead of her. I’m the regular guy with the predictable, mediocre future and all the obligations that go along with it.

She deserves the rock star.

For the last three minutes I’m playing this song, I can still pretend that’s me. More than anything she’s asked me for, Sonia wanted me to play this set. So if this is the last thing I can do to make her happy, Goddamn I’m going to bring it.

Travis starts the opening riff to “Loud” and the energy is exploding in so many different directions, but nothing is as explosive as the inside of my head. I’m feeling it so hard I start bouncing in place, already close to crowd surfing and I haven’t even started playing yet. I feel like I’m going to break in half with every crushing thud of Joey’s kick drum, and it feels so right. And I don’t—can’t—think of what it will be like to walk away at the end of the night, because that feels like my body walking away from my soul. I close my eyes and feel this song everywhere—the rumble in my chest, in my hands, in my head. My legs feel it. And it feels like breaking free.

I strum heavy bass chords against Travis’s riff, move on stage as I follow the sound of it into the verse. The roar from Trap’s Marshall is a fire in the dark where all my fears go to die. I hit my distortion and thunder right along with the strings, driving this song as hard as I can into the very next now. Emmy’s voice is like starlight busting through the deepest part of night as she breaks out the first verse, and as loud as we are, I hear what sounds like every voice in the bar singing right along with her. I look up, and realize this is actually happening. The sold-out crowd at Maxwell’s is pressed up to the stage and everyone is singing our song. I look over at Emmy and she looks so fucking happy I feel a catch in my throat. Even the Steel Trap can’t stay cool at a time like this. He’s head banging right on the edge of the stage and playing like his hands are on fire. Joey’s eyes are closed as he sings along, not even into the mic but just because he’s feeling it so hard.

That’s when Sonia finally looks up and gives me this killer sad smile and I almost forget what the hell I’m doing, where I am. All I can think about is holding her under the stars in Tennessee. My eyes lock on hers when I step up to the mic for my backing vocal, my heart galloping when we get to the chorus because even though this is Emmy and Travis’s song, I’m so glad it’s giving me the chance to say something I’ll never get to say to this girl again. She’s looking right at me as I sing,
Loud . . . is how . . .

I love you.

Sunny’s face cracks and she has to look away as she blinks back tears. That’s almost enough to break me. I want to leap from the stage and take her in my arms, but I’m still not sure if she’d let me.

My attention shifts to the floor when I see Claire lurching toward the stage, pushing through the crowd until she’s right up to the monitor in front of me, her arms over her head, cheering as wildly as the biggest drunk in the bar.

“Coco!” she screams so loud I can hear her over the music. She laughs and throws the devil’s horns at me. I catch her eye and she smiles and thumbs over her shoulder, back to the bleachers, and holy fucking shit. “Look!” she yells.

Oh my God, my mother is here.

My mother is here with Patrick, who’s in an REO Speedwagon concert T-shirt and has his stupid cell phone on a clip on his belt. The look on my face, I have no idea what it must be. Horror? Can’t remember the last time I saw my mom in a bar without a drink in her hand. Never, actually. Never has she come to see me play. Never even expressed any interest in my band other than,
Why are you wasting your time? Are you doing drugs? You need a real job. When are you gonna grow up?
And et cetera. That’s all she’s ever had to say about it. She looks right at me and dabs at her eyes with a crumpled bar napkin. Is the smoke in here making her eyes water? Shit, is her asthma going to flare up again?

I look back to where Sonia was, but now she’s gone, disappeared somewhere into the crowd. My head is flooded with so many things, I have no idea what to think or feel. We’re in the last part of the song and I’m a total mess. But I close my eyes, hit my pick to the strings, and drink in that last chord ringing out into the night.

“There’s no place like Jersey,” Emmylou says into the mic. You almost can’t even hear her over the cheering. “Good night, guys. We love you all.”

I take one last look out at that packed house, the last audience I’ll ever play for.
Just try to remember this, Cole. Remember it was good. Maybe it didn’t last, but maybe nothing this good ever does.

I flip my amp to standby and set my bass in the stand, wipe my face down with a towel Joey tosses me. Then I squat down at the edge of the stage where Claire stands, grinning at me.

“What the hell is Mom doing here?” I ask.

“She and Uncle Patty came to see you play!” she says. “Crazy, right?”

“Are you behind this?”

“No, I swear,” she says, and I don’t believe her, but that look in my sister’s eye, I know it. It’s been a while, but that’s the look she gives me when she’s proud to call me her brother. And it’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen.

“When’s the next show?” she asks, totally ignoring the reality that there’s no next show for me. “Sonia says I’m on the guest list for life!”

“She does, huh?”

Sonia is now standing on the floor next to Claire, saying something to Emmy, who’s listening like her life depends on it. Then Sonia turns to me.

“I’m heading to the bar to get you guys a round,” she says, business as usual. “Do you want a shot of Jameson?”

No, I don’t want a shot. I want her. In fact, all I want is her. There’s so much I have to say to her before the night ends, but right there in the middle of two hundred and fifty people screaming, “More!” at us isn’t really the time.

“Cole?”

“Just water,” I say.

She nods and turns from me, and the crowd parts before her like she’s royalty as she heads for the bar. I turn and see Emmy’s face and she looks like she’s going to be sick. Travis looks worried and now so am I. She beckons both of us over and we huddle at the drum kit with Joey.

“Guys,” she says, looking pale. “Something has happened.”

“What?” I ask, my stomach dropping to the floor. It has to be something awful with the look on her face.

“Mat . . .” She covers her mouth and fans her hand in front of her face.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Travis says.

We all lean in close. Joey stands up and she wraps her arms around my and Travis’s shoulders and whispers, “Matador is here.” She practically faints when she tells us. Good thing she doesn’t, because we’re all too stunned to catch her.

“Wait, what?” Travis says.

“Holy shit,” I say. “Sunny really got someone from Matador here?”

“Fuck yes!” Joey says. “Did they dig it? We rocked the fucking house tonight!”

“I can’t believe it,” Emmy says, trying to calm down. She gestures to the bar, where Sunny is talking to a guy I don’t recognize. “She says they loved the single and they want to set up a meeting with us to talk about doing a full-length. They’ve got a CMJ showcase at the Mercury Lounge in October they want us to play for them.”

“No fucking way,” Travis says.

“Yes fucking way!” Joey jumps up from the huddle and throws his arms around all of us, and I am stunned. Fucking stunned.

“Cole, are you okay?” Travis says.

“I’m . . .” Am I okay? I don’t even know. “Tripping. I’m tripping.”

“Well get your shit together,” Emmy says. “We’re doing ‘Amber Orbit’ for the encore, straight into ‘Metal Madness.’”

“No, let’s roll ‘Amber’ into ‘Fire in the Empire,’” Joey says. “That has a huge ending and it’s all ours.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Emmy says, recovering from her shock, her face determined. “But no more than two songs, and no second encore. Let’s be classy.”

“Good plan,” Travis says.

I’m still tripping, though.

“Cole?” Emmy says, putting both hands on my shoulders. “Look at me. Are you here?”