Chapter Eighteen

I went to bed with only the vague idea that things had changed and I didn't know how. I was my usual short-sighted self, only concerned with my day to day operations. I was annoyed of course that Bobby was back in the house. It meant no more refuge for me in my home, at least for the foreseeable future. I had thought I was free and clear of that problem, and here it was, right back again in no time at all. The news of the "hit" didn't really hit me at all. If I'd thought of it much, I would've thought that it would be a small ride, old friends would stop by, maybe one or two people would interview us for the local trade rags, and that would be it. In a week or a month it would become an old joke, which we'd hear about once in awhile if that much. I pretty much figured it wouldn't impact me much, just being the bass player and all. It would be all about Mario, until people realized the truth of the matter. Then it would be a sad story and end. I was riding a hot streak of being very wrong, and that night I was as wrong as I could possibly be.

It was Bobby, of course. My prophecy might have come true if he hadn't gone out and done what he did. Instead, the improbable tale became a front page affair, with headlines blaring SINGER TRASHES RADIO STATION, and KKAS GETS ASS KICKED. The words 'Bobby and the Bedouins' were everywhere the next day. We woke up to the news on the radio. We grabbed the morning paper in shock. My dad was perplexed. My mom was incensed. I was confused and Bobby was completely ecstatic. I don't know how, no wait, I do know. It was Roy Everson who gave them our names. The previous night, when he'd discarded Bobby, he'd neglected to tell us about the forthcoming press. He probably knew we wouldn't approve, didn't want our names linked to a criminal matter. I tried to look at it philosophically, and signed to my dad the old saying that there is no such thing as bad publicity, and he sighed and generally agreed, but he liked everything just exactly the way it had been, and didn't really relish the challenge.

It was a challenge that day. The phone at the store rang off the proverbial hook. Every media outlet in town and from miles around was hoping for any exclusive details they could get. Reporters were lined up outside the front door when we got there to open the place. It was a most handy time to be mute. I put away my whiteboard and hid in the storeroom, leaving my dad to deal with the mess. My mom called to warn me that Bobby was heading our way, and I was sneaking out the back when I ran smack in to Joey Anthony Francesco.

"Running away?" he smiled as we physically collided. I nodded and smiled back.

"Roy called me this morning", he said. "Wants to get us all back in the studio. What do you think?"

I tried my best - without whiteboard and without his capacity to understand signing - that I thought it was a terrible idea but probably inevitable, at least for the short term. I don't know how I managed to make myself understood, but I must have done a good job, because he replied,

"I almost hate to do it myself, but you know what they sau, opportunity knocks!"

That was it, the unavoidable fact. Sometimes, when your ship does come in, it comes in so fast and so directly that you cannot get out from under it. Sometimes that ship is a big one, and it runs over everything in sight. It may be "your" ship, but it doesn't care about you. The ship is its own ship, and it's damned if it doesn't "come in".

"Might as well make the best of it", Joey Anthony said. "I mean, there's the money, for one thing. Besides", he continued, as if he needed convincing himself, "you only live once".

We understood each other, I think. It was the same way with music, when we were playing. As long as we focused on what we were doing, on what we were doing together, and ignored the rest of it, the crazy shit, the other guys, then maybe we could make something of it. I tried to express that to him, but I'm pretty sure I didn't get through. It was a complicated idea. Even writing it down would be hard. Besides, it wasn't that easy to ignore Mario and Bobby, with the one making a racket nonstop, and the other one constantly in motion and hectoring you like a yellow jacket at a barbecue picnic.

The yellow jacket found us, back there in the alley, and close behind him was Roy Everson. The only one missing was Mario Flambeau, but not to worry, said Roy, I've got it under control. He'd set up a schedule for us to rehearse. It was to be nightly from then until the Waterfront Festival. At least I won't be trapped all alone in my basement with that guy, I thought. I was looking on the bright side again. When will I ever stop doing that?