VIBES

October 14, 2006, 9:15pm: I was fifteen minutes late but I was still earlier than the rest of the band. Apparently, I was earlier than everybody else because other than a black man and a white woman nursing spirits at the bar, the Cooler Lounge was empty.

JJ was worried I wouldn't like the place, but I found it to be a change of pace from the blinding garishness of Las Vegas: Located nowhere near the main glut of the strip, the Cooler Lounge resided in a strip mall but was situated near the street-- it wasn't tucked away, it didn't look like a hole in the wall. The interior reminded me of a place called The Chimney Sweep in Sherman Oaks, due to its pool tables and jukebox and an old school furnace with seats circling it.

The stage was big, with a curious foot-high barrier erected at the edge of the stage-- a singer could step on it with one leg for maximum rock and roll posturing; the beers would not fall off the edge if placed at our feet; and it seemed like an effective deterrent to unruly stage divers and drunken fans trying to commandeer the microphone mid-set.

The bartender was an impossibly gorgeous punk rock chick, with jet black hair in Betty Page bangs, alabaster white porcelain skin, and a crimson red push-up bra that elevated her already-ample cleavage to lusty heights. She dripped with raw attitude, so I made my approach carefully.

"Newcastle, please," I asked politely.

I then noticed the band line-up on a chalkboard behind her. We were listed second.

When she served me, I tipped her and asked, "I'm with the second band listed. Is that the order we go on tonight?"

"No," she said, icily, wondering if I was trying to hit on her. "We wait until all the bands arrive, then we decide who goes on when."

"Oh," I said, befuddled. That's not how it's done in Los Angeles, for sure. I guessed that they must get a lot of cancellations. "Thank you."

At that moment, Rose walked in the door with three of her friends.

Rose was my latest crush. I met her at a show in August and was taken by her wit, her intelligence, her warmth, her humor. I know now that, although she likes me, she is not attracted to me-- she didn't have to tell me, I guessed it after many failed attempts to get her to go out with me alone without any friends or chaperones.

I knew that one of the people she brought with her was her "boyfriend", a college friend of hers who lived in Nevada just outside of Vegas. I put quotes on the label of "boyfriend" because they're really just fuck-buddies.

I can't see how anyone could have a long-distance relationship these days. Most likely, it was her way of keeping guys like me from making fools of themselves by asking her out.

"James!" she exclaimed when she saw me, and ran to me and gave me a great big hug that lasted longer than I expected. Then, she introduced her man, who went by the initials PG... and she definitely made it a point to say he was her "boyfriend".

I barely blinked as I shook his hand. I'd been through this drill many times before. It never changes-- I am excellent at not showing any disappointment when I put my mind to it. In fact, I keep getting better at it because I've had so much practice.

She introduced her friends, a couple who were engaged to be married next year. The woman, named Catherine, looked semi-attractive but carried herself in a manner that clued me in to her obnoxiousness; the man, going by the handle KC (what's up with guys using initials in Vegas?), shook my hand and immediately turned his attention to the barmaid, hoping to get a drink in him as soon as possible.

Rose and I sat and chatted. She regaled me with the nightmarish account of her trip to Sin City: a plane flight that arrived on time to McCarran Airport, only to turn around and go back to Burbank Airport due to inclement weather; an impromptu drive with two men she met on the plane who needed to be in Las Vegas as badly as she did; a joyless sojourn with the men as they smoked too much weed and got lost on their way...

"I'm sorry," I said, not really meaning it. I was peeved about PG. I tried not to let my disappointment show, even as I was glad to see her.

"Yeah, well, I'm here now, and I'm ready to watch you guys play!"

Rose turned to her friends and asked if they had been served yet. KC, proving to be more immediately obnoxious than his wife-to-be, said within earshot of the hot barmaid, "I haven't gotten a drink yet... if only the bartender would serve me, then I can start getting my drink on!"

The barmaid did not turn her head or let on that she heard him. She was busy counting the money in the register while talking on the phone to someone who wanted directions.

After about a minute, KC repeated his passive-aggressive request, this time slightly louder. "I'd love to get a drink, if only the bartender would hurry up and serve me."

Without turning her back, the barmaid tartly shot back: "That's nice."

I almost did a spit-take worthy of the classic slapstick comedies of the '30s. KC and Catherine looked at each other in amazement, then looked at Rose and PG, who both turned to me as if I had the power to do anything about it.

I smiled, raised my Newcastle, shrugged, and said nothing. Then, I took a swig and continued to talk to Rose, who listened as I rapped on about my weekend so far.


*/*


October 14, 2006, 10:39pm: By the time the other bands arrived and our place in the evening's line-up was determined, I was well on my way to mental oblivion.

I realized that I was almost out of coke, and yet I still kept going to the bathroom to powder my nose every half hour. I drank as many $3 Newcastles as I could-- the club offered the band free pitchers of Bud Lite, but I preferred the taste of Newcastle... and $3 was a good price to pay for a quality ale.

When the Missing Digits crew showed up, the first thing I did was apologize to Buddha for being so short with him on the phone earlier. He thought nothing of it, humble as usual. Then he informed me that they'd almost gotten into a car accident on the way to the gig.

I thought of the curse hanging over the weekend and then patted him on the back. "Dude, seriously?"

"Oh yeah. It was close. We were a bit shaken up by that."

I tried to spin it for him, still repentant for my rudeness on the phone. "Well, at least you guys are OK and made it here in one piece. We're gonna rock tonight, man, I just know it!"

"Oh, hell yeah!" Buddha replied, all smiles and radiating a Zen-like calm.

It was around the time that the first band started to set up on stage when Mack's mother and stepfather arrived at the club. It was a surprise, and it worked its magic: Mack was jazzed to see them. None of his family had ever seen him perform, being that they all lived in Arizona. When they discovered that Mack would be playing in Las Vegas, they called the Cooler Lounge and asked the barmaid for directions, then made the drive.

The effect on Mack set him floating on air. Always an agreeable sort, Mack was now fueled with superhuman excitement and anticipation. I believe that this small but significant show of support from his family contributed to his searing performance later on that night.

Shortly afterward, I watched in awe as Mack charmed the icy barmaid. She was putty in his hands, and he wasn't even trying to lay any lines on her.

"I can't believe my mom's here!" Mack said to the barmaid as he picked up another pitcher. "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah," she said, girlishly, twirling her hair with her fingers and giggling like a teeny-bopper. "They called earlier and asked me to keep it a secret."

Mack sensed her vibe, smiled politely, and took the pitcher in his hands. He turned around and saw me standing behind him, waiting for another beer.

"Ayyy mengh!" Mack shouted, doing his impression of my well-known Tony Montana impersonation. Then he leaned in to whisper to me.

"Got some E. Good shit. You down?"

"E?"

I was a bit shocked, because I always believed the guys in the band were not heads at all.

"Sure, I'm down. Might come in handy for the strip club later. You wanna come with us?" I figured having a stud-bull like Mack in attendance would strengthen our odds of attracting women in Sin City.

"Maybe," he said. I was feeling a bit of the darkness I detected in Mack-- he was a red-blooded American male tried and true, but that sinister edge I picked up from him was slowly creeping its way out into the open. Most likely it was emerging due to the first band's endless delays in setting up.

The first band took half an hour to get ready. They were a local LV band, taking their cue from groups like Slipknot and Korn: Goth make-up, gruesome stage props and visuals, massive equipment flourishes like drum cages, Marshall stacks, and a DJ with vinyl turntables who couldn't seem to figure out how to ground them so that they wouldn't hum mechanically.

We were getting impatient. I was running back and forth between the men's room and my place at the bar, keeping my nose packed with clean cocaine bursts. I was also wondering if Low and the bachelor party crew were going to make it out here or just flake on me.

I saw Rose standing with PG at the billiards table. They were hanging out with KC and Catherine, keeping to themselves. Every now and then she would look over at me, wondering if I was going to stand still for one milliscond.

Finally, she caught me as I was making another trip to the bathroom.

"James," she said nervously, under her breath, not moving her lips, as if she were trying to keep her voice down. "Why are you guys not hanging out with us?"

"What?" I was blazing from countless coke rips, sweating and agitated.

"It's like, you guys are over there, and we're over here... like you're ashamed of us or something."

From previous conversations with Rose, I knew she had a strange fear of being treated badly by unsigned bands she lent her support to, and I was getting a similar vibe from her tone.

"Well, it's not like you all can't come over to where we are," I explained rationally. "We're just mingling, trying to court everybody who came out. Some of Mack's family is here, JJ and Mack's friends are here, JJ's girlfriend is here, my friends are on their way, you guys are here... We're not trying to shut you out. And plus, this band is taking forever to set up..."

Rose was wise enough to use this last comment as an out. "Yeah, what's up with that? it's almost 11, and they're just dicking around up there!"

"I know... Well, when we take the stage, we'll show them how it's done."

"That's the spirit!" Rose said, smiling. I liked her enthusiasm. It made me feel special.

When the opening band finally started up, their fans were in attendance. Their crowd consisted of barely-21 misfits and outcasts who'd rather spend their weekend nights watching loud nu-metal bands kick out the jams than wander aimlessly on the Strip. They were locals, and they wanted no part of the excess of Vegas-- they had to live with it every day, and a place like Cooler Lounge was a refreshing respite for them.

Unfortunately, I didn't think much of the band's music. It was typical detuned noise metal, and while the players were tight and the singer had a hell of a scream on him, their songs were simplistic, brutal riffs that led nowhere. They had energy and spark, but I didn't think it was worth the long wait.

Carrie, JJ's girlfriend, grabbed me as I laid on a couch near the stage. She wanted to smoke weed with me in the car.

This was our routine, our pre-show ritual. Carrie could smoke me under the table but no one else in the Missing Digits circle was as ready as I was when it came to last-minute impromptu smoke-out sessions.

"Let's go," I said to her. We had time before the first band was done with their set, and I needed something other than alcohol to offset the effects of the coke.


*/*


October 14, 2006, 11:15pm: Carrie and I smoked in the rental, making small talk and not getting too deep. She described the near-accident that she and the rest of the crew had almost gotten into, and felt that it was a good enough excuse to smoke herself silly.

I still wondered what her deal was, why she put out this vibe like she wanted me, like she would cheat on JJ if only I'd make a move. Maybe it was the coke intensifying my ego's whimsies, or maybe it was more apparent than in previous smoke-out sessions, but I couldn't escape the awkwardness of Carrie pulling me away, while JJ was standing not too far away, to get high.

As we finished, I saw the bachelor party guys pull up in the parking lot in A-Team's car. Carrie and I piled out of the smoke-filled car, and I motioned for her to walk with me to greet the boys.

They were already shit-faced beyond belief, especially Wolf, who stood out by virtue of his aviator sunglasses covering his eyes when there was no sun out. They stumbled out of the vehicle like circus clowns and greeted me drunkenly.

I introduced Carrie to the rest of the crew.

"This is Down Low, the groom-to-be," I said, "and this is A-Team, Low's brother." Carrie shook their hands and smiled.

I continued. "This is KD Long, and you already know Wolfie... and this is BJ Fornicati."

BJ shook Carrie's hand, and a fiendish look swept over his face. "I know you," he stated. "I've met you before."

"I don't think so," Carrie said, unsure of Fornicati's gist.

The rest of us looked at each other and giggled slightly: Was BJ trying to make moves on JJ's girlfriend?

"I'm positive." BJ contemplated her for a spell, then he brightened and almost shouted, "I remember now! Valley College! We had a class together!"

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to Carrie. "Oh yeeeeaaahhhhh," she crowed. "But that was so long ago, before I met JJ."

The last part of her statement led the rest of us to believe that maybe, just maybe, she and BJ had hooked up.

With Fornicati, anything was possible.

He was a semi-legend in our circle of friends for being an unabashed flirter, oblivious to his lackluster aura and bland appearance. Anything in a skirt was fair game for BJ, and although he didn't always bag the girl, you could never fault him for at least trying.

It turned out that years ago Carrie scored weed from Fornicati after class, and they both ended up going out together to a hip-hop club later that night. That evening ended with Carrie getting pushed to the floor by a rude clubgoer while Fornicati stepped in to defuse the situation. No fight erupted, but Carrie getting knocked down soured the event for everyone involved.

I laughed, the combination of chemicals in my bloodstream elevating my euphoria to heretofore-unseen levels.

"Small world, ain't it?" I cackled aloud to no one in particular.