West Seattle Blues (18 page)

Twelve

“Thank you,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do,” he continued, after a long pause. He sounded like he was talking to himself as much as to me. “Then when he called, I just couldn’t do it. I thought about what you and Jim had said. You know what made me sure he was full of shit?”

“What?”

“When he started shouting at me and called me a dumb fucker.”

“Bad move.”

“Yeah.” He gave an old man’s weary sigh. “I hung up on him. He called back and I let the machine take it. He called me ‘bout every name under the sun. I guess I owe you an apology. All I could see was what I wanted. But he didn’t really know anything. He just wanted my cash.”

“He did. Believe me.” I knew.

“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate it.”

“Did you call your grandson?” I asked. I knew I should be furious with Carson. But for some reason I couldn’t stay mad at him.

“Yeah, But he wasn’t home. I’ll try again later.”

“How’s your leg? You’ve got a big gig coming up. You ready for it?”

“Much as I’ll ever be,” he answered, and a gentle chuckle returned to his voice. “The leg’s okay. Still hurts, but I got good drugs and decent bourbon, so I’ll survive. I still don’t see who’s going to bother coming out to the show. They’re not going to know who I am.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. The whole new alternative country thing’s taking off, like those bands who’ve covered your songs.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” He seemed amused. “What the hell does it mean, anyway?”

“Kind of the new country rock.” It was as good and short a definition as any. “But with some real country in it. I think you’ll probably have a good crowd.”

He laughed loud. “I doubt I’ve had a good crowd since I played the Bluebird back in Nashville. And that was a long, long time ago.”

“Maybe you’ll be surprised.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied doubtfully.

“Believe it.”
The Rocket
was due out tomorrow, including the story on him. His gig was next Tuesday, so there was plenty of time for people to read and decide to attend but not long enough for them to forget. And Tuesday-night gigs filled the music hunger between weekends.

“I’ll still be hobbling.”

“It’ll make you look like a man of mystery. All the women will be asking what happened to you.”

“Right,” he laughed.

I turned serious. “You did good, Carson, really. You know that. I saw Nick again last night. And this morning someone had ripped out the spark plug wires on my car.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave that to the cops. It’s their job. They’re the pros at this.”

“I guess so. They did jack shit about my boy’s death, though.” There was bitterness in his voice and I decided to change the topic again.

“Is your grandson coming to the gig?”

“He’s on the guest list. You too, if you want to be.”

“Sure.” I didn’t bother to tell him that they knew me at the Tractor; I never had to pay. “What about his mom? Angie?”

“If she wants to be there. She’s raised a good kid. Can’t have been easy being married to my son.”

“Invite her, Carson.. She seems like a pretty nice lady.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, but without any certainty in his voice. It was up to him, though. Maybe, if Carson wouldn’t pay up, we’d heard the last of Nick.

But in my heart I was sure we hadn’t.

Next morning, once the gridlock that was Seattle rush hour had passed, I headed into town. Dustin had taken the day off, using up his remaining vacation time. He said it was to hang out at home with Ian, but I knew he wanted to be around, and to feel as if he was doing something useful. Still, I knew what I’d find when I returned. They’d both still be sprawled on the couch, watching Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network. I wasn’t complaining, since it gave me time to do things. That bastard Nick wasn’t going to make me hide myself away. I wouldn’t let him.

I parked on Sixth, close to the cinema, and hiked around to
The Rocket
office, picking up the latest issue from the machine out front. It was still free, still popular, and remarkably, one of the best music papers in the whole country. I was proud to be writing for it.

The feature on Carson looked good, topped with a pair of photos of the man himself. There was one of him from his heyday, wearing a glittering Nudie suit, and one as he looked now. The recent picture caught him on the porch of his house, the guitar resting against a chair, a face that showed its age proudly, about as weathered as the boards on the wall behind him.

In the office there was the usual sense of relief and accomplishment that accompanied publication. Give it another week and the stress levels would rise again, but for now they could relax a little.

I picked up the messages and music from my pigeonhole: cassettes, some CDs, a couple of 45s and LPs, meant to tempt me into reviews. I knocked on Tonia’s door and she beckoned me in as she finished her phone call.

“Jesus.” She rolled her eyes. “The best band since Nirvana? Another one? Really? Do those publicists think we’re that dumb? What’s up?”

“You said you wanted a piece on that Irish guy.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I’m still waiting to hear back on a time. Can you hang tight on it?”

“No problem.”

“You have anything else you want to pitch in the meantime?”

“Not really. Maybe a review of Carson Mack’s show next week.”

Tonia pursed her lips. “Maybe not, okay? We’ve just done the story, we don’t want overkill.”

“Sure.” I accepted that: It wasn’t often Tonia said no.

“Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.” The truth was that I hadn’t listened to much new music lately. Between Carson and Ian, I hadn’t had the time. And even less of an inclination. Most new bands were beginning to sound like ones I’d heard back in the Seventies, when at least it was all new. The rest seemed like clones of the big Seattle groups. The revenge of grunge? I needed something different to give me a spark. I was growing older, I realized, and damned picky. But picky was good. And so was experience. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

“I’ll chase them up about that interview,” she promised. “He’s not here until next month, so we still have a little time.”

“Thanks.”

“And if anything else comes up, I’ll give you a call.” I turned to leave but she called me back. “Close the door,” she said quietly. “I wanted to let you know, I’m going to be leaving. I’ve handed in my notice but I haven’t told anyone in the office yet.”

“Why?” It seemed as if she’d barely started the job; it hadn’t even been a year yet. “What is it? It must be big.”

“I had an offer from New York. Great job, unbelievable money. I’d be crazy to turn it down.”

“Come on, spill” I said as I sat down. “You can’t leave it like that.”

“Well…” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You know MTV does news?”

“Seriously? You got a gig with MTV?” I was impressed. That was flying very high indeed.

“Not onscreen. But as an editor. Senior editor.” Tonia preened a little, but she had every right. The network might be terrible, but the job sounded a powerful one. She’d decide what music news millions got to see every day. “And,” she added, “they headhunted me.”

“Wow, congratulations. When do you go?”

“I leave here end of April and start with them at the beginning of June. Just enough time in between to find an apartment and get everything moved across country.”

“Man.” I shook my head, then I had a thought. “What about Charlie?” Her cat wouldn’t be happy in the city, shut up inside an apartment all the time.

“Yeah…I don’t suppose you know anyone who wants a cat, do you? I can’t do that to him. He’s sweet. He doesn’t even bring home dead birds anymore.”

“Let me talk to Dustin about it.” I’d never had a pet. Now I had a kid and a house, maybe it was time to go the whole hog.

“Really? That would be a huge weight off my mind, if you could. I feel bad but it just wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“I’ll let you know. But, really, that’s incredible news.” I reached out and clasped her hand. I was pleased for her and the opportunity, but I’d also be sad to see her go. I’d had good editors at this magazine, but a woman in charge had been the best. She knew what it was like for us, all the crap we received that other people never even considered. Also, since Tonia took the job,
The Rocket
had covered more female artists and it was about time. She’d made sure the Riot Grrrl movement received plenty of space, to show that music wasn’t just a boy’s club.

“They’ll pick someone good, don’t worry,” she told me.

“I hope so,” I said.

“Just don’t say anything yet, please.”

“Okay.”

She paused and thought for a moment. “Maybe you should apply.”

“Me?” I burst out laughing. “That’s just crazy talk, lady.”

Tonia shrugged. “Think about it. I reckon you’d be pretty good.”

I drove past the Pink Elephant car wash with its garish cartoon sign, then out along Aurora, past the old garage that had become Soundgarden’s rehearsal space, and up to the Queen Anne turnoff, sandwiched between a no-tell motel and Canlis, one of the best traditional restaurants in Seattle. That was its reputation, anyway. I’d never actually eaten there; the idea of dressing up to go out for dinner had never appealed to me.

This was my old neighborhood. I’d lived here for several years. I knew every street on Queen Anne and I made my way past the stores at the top of the hill, from S&M Market, past Safeway and Thriftway, then beyond the garage and down the counterbalance. The descent was steep, very steep, and always an adventure. A little snow and you’d better write your will before attempting it.

Eventually I found a parking place over on Third, took a backpack from the trunk and walked over to Park Avenue Records. This was the used-record store where I sold most of the promotional albums I received. I kept a few, but the majority vanished into a death pile, to be brought here every couple of months. I had a few hundred dollars in credit in this place, but these days I went for the cash. The money helped out when there
was a mortgage to pay and a child to raise.

My visits were never short and an hour later I emerged with a hundred and twenty bucks in my purse and some new music stashed in the pack. It was a fair trade. So much music I didn’t want was gone, and I had a few items to add to the shelves at home. Sometime I might even find a chance to listen to them. At the corner I ducked into Pagliacci Pizza.

May was already there, wearing a shredded Black Flag tee shirt, faded jeans and chic heels. I always felt like the dowdy cousin when next to her. Whatever she wore, she exuded style. A day planner was spread out across the table in front of her, half the time slots already filled in. So that was what it was like to be organized and successful, I thought.

“Hey,” I said.

She glanced up and gave a bright, perfect smile. I loved her and I envied her. I wanted to be just like her, and yet I felt glad I wasn’t. Quickly she gathered up all her papers and pushed them into a big leather messenger bag.

“I ordered the usual,” she said. “I hope that’s okay.”

We met here for lunch every two months. It was our regular girl date. The Hawaiian pizza was great and I could indulge without feeling guilty. Often Ian was with me, but sometimes I was able to escape alone and feel like an adult. When he was born, I’d been determined not to slow down my life and instead to take him everywhere with me – coffee, lunches, appointments. That only lasted a few months. Heading off by myself, I could feel some freedom, away from the weight of the diaper bag and all the other things that accompanied any trip out with a young kid.

May and I chatted for a pleasant half hour, each nibbling at a small pizza. She was very social, out most nights the way I’d once done. I didn’t miss that at all but I enjoyed the gossip and stories she told me. Some were funny, a few scandalous, but they all made me laugh and splutter into my coffee. I was desperate to tell her about the upcoming editor’s job at
The Rocket
. It could have been made just for her. But I’d promised Tonia. So I was buzzing but I kept quiet.

“I see you’ve been hanging out with older men,” she said.

“What?” I didn’t understand

“
The Rocket
.”

“Oh.” I figured it out. “You mean Carson?”

“His face looks very lived-in. What’s his music like? I might go down and see him play.”

“The stuff he recorded in the Seventies is terrible. It’s so full of strings that it’s like wading through treacle. Good songs, but they sound like shit.” She nodded in understanding. “I’m not really sure what he sounds like now. You
should
come on down. We’re going.”

She shrugged, a maybe gesture. I knew she preferred louder music, like the bands that played the Off Ramp, the Crocodile or RCKCNDY.

“Anything much coming up?”

She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I’ve heard a whisper that the music editor’s job at
Seattle Weekly
is opening up. I might apply for that.”

“You’d be perfect,” I said, and she would. Two major music jobs going free at the same time? That was interesting. It was starting to seem as if people didn’t stick anywhere for very long these days. What happened to finding something you liked and sticking with it? But anyone who turned May down for a job needed their head examined. If she went for it, she’d get it.

“What about you?”

I shrugged. “An interview, if it ever happens. Just the same as the other day, really.”

We split the bill, hugged each other, and I strolled back to find the car. I walked up and down the block on Third, but I couldn’t see it. I knew I’d left it there. I was certain of that. I hiked all the way down to Elliott, then back up Second, just in case I’d make a mistake. My Horizon wasn’t there.
Fuck
.

I knew exactly who’d done it. He might as well have left a business card. Now he was going to make sure I couldn’t let him out of my mind for a second.

I found a payphone and called the cops, giving them all the details. They asked the questions they asked every woman, all the demeaning, doubting crap. Yes, I’d checked the whole damn area. I knew what my fucking car looked like and also the license plate number. I spent half an hour waiting outside the Uptown Theater for a cruiser to arrive. We drove around the streets, but the Horizon had vanished. The young officer at the wheel looked embarrassed as he wrote me a police report.