Chapter Twenty Two

Mario Flambeau looked pretty sharp, in a brand new clean outfit, a bath and a shave. He stood looking wherever Roy pointed him, which backstage was directly at me. I think it was the first time he had ever been aimed in my direction, and I was surprised by the warmth that seemed to glow in his eyes. I tried to glow back. I was thinking my most positive thoughts. Joey Anthony was ready, intense. I could see his hands itching to bang on the drums. Bobby was still prancing and jerking around, directing his chatter at Roy for a change. It was almost our time.

"It's the end of the world, man", Bobby said, "get ready for the lightning and thunder! Next thing you know it will be a new world."

Really, I'd been listening to this crap for hours already. All I wanted was for it to stop.

The band on before us was finished. It would be a rapid change - we were to use the same mikes and equipment. There was no need to tear down or set anything up. Roy had my bass. He had Mario's guitar. He had the sound system ready to pipe in canned Mario in case it was needed. We all had our fingers crossed that it wouldn't be. The roadies were quick to get it all ready, and Hot Rod Shimley was there to emcee. He made a big deal out of Mario Flambeau, saying his name over and over again. Once or twice he made mention of Bobby and the Bees. I'm sure he got it wrong on purpose. He was probably sick and tired of having to give any attention to a guy who had come and waged war on his station.

The reference to 'Bobby and the Bees' made Bobby so mad. He abruptly dropped his talk about changing the world and adopted a new tone of "making them pay", and "showing them up". He got so twitchy and fidgety I thought he was going to explode. He was running in place, pumping fists in the air, when Hot Rod finally got around to presenting, without further ado, Mario Flambeau and the Bedouins.

We came walking out to modest applause. Roy led Mario to the far side of the stage, strapped the guitar around his neck, and plugged it in. Joey Anthony got himself seated and started right off with the kick drum, the intro to Stoplight. I followed on the second count and we were right there, him and me. For the next twenty seconds we played that same riff, waiting for Bobby to come out and join us. When he did, it was only because Roy was physically pushing him. All of a sudden, the bravado was gone. I could tell by the look on his face, he was petrified.

He was literally petrified, in fact. He was comatose, frozen, unmoving. He stood in the front of the set where Roy pushed him, and didn't do anything else. Joey Anthony and I were still playing. Mario was not, and Bobby wasn't singing. The crowd was beginning to get restless.

"Sing, motherfucker!", Joey Anthony hissed, "sing or I'll come down God help me".

Bobby paid no attention. I'm pretty sure he didn't even hear him. My worst fear was about to come true. After another twenty seconds and several more warnings, Joey Anthony stopped playing, leapt off his stool, and ran to the front of the stage. He spun Bobby around and, grabbing him by the shirt, started shaking him and yelling in his face.

"Sing, motherfucker! I will fucking kill you, you turd, piece of shit! God damn it, sing! I'll beat your fucking brains out, I will!"

I was pretty certain he meant it. I was the only one playing now. The audience was hushed. It was weird. I knew that I had to do something, but what? I was supposed to avoid confrontations. That was the thought that popped into my mind, and the next thing I knew I'd put my whistle in my mouth and I blew it as hard as I could.

Three things happened.

One, Joey Anthony stopped, and looked over at me. I was frantically shaking my head. He let go of Bobby's shirt.

Two, Bobby came alive all at once, and ran as fast as he could down the steps off the stage, and took off into the audience.

Three, Mario Flambeau started playing guitar, and not only playing guitar, but in a whole different way, like he never had done in all of the time we had known him. He was playing along with my bass line. It sounded fantastic. The man was really an artist. Joey Anthony hurried back to his kit and the three of us jammed as if we'd been playing together forever. It was really amazing.

We quickly gave up on the song we had started, and just moved along into uncharted waters. I would lead for a section, then Joey Anthony changed it. Mario would start a new riff and the two of us picked up on that. We had a massive rhythm going at one point and the crowd were all clapping and shouting along. I lost track of time. We all did. Roy and the other promoters just let us go on for awhile, but finally made us aware that we had to shut down. We brought it down easy, Joey Anthony and I, as if we had planned it that way. Once we stopped playing, the only sound left was Mario's guitar.

I unstrapped my guitar, handed it to someone, and walked over to disconnect Mario. Somebody else was already there. It was Laura. She unplugged him, and led him gently away.

Well, we haven't hooked up with Mario since, but Joey Anthony and I are planning a reunion of sorts, one without Bobby O'Bannon, whom no one has seen since that day. We might visit St. Catherine's Church, and ask Laura to let us sit in. It might be fun, it might not, but I'm certain it's bound to be different.