Chapter 29: Dysfunctional Outfit

Thanksgiving 1982

It was decided that we would have our first band practice the second Friday after Thanksgiving break at the home of Inez's uncle and aunt. This would give Inez a couple of extra weeks to recover fully. We'd ease back into it slowly, perhaps having a couple more practices before Christmas. Of course, we all had final exams to wade through as well, except, of course, Eileen. We'd try to get together over winter break a couple of times, and then hit the ground running as soon as spring semester got underway. All of this was planned without a meeting of any kind; suggestions and decisions were communicated to everyone through Inez and Eileen. In the short term, the two of them would have to be the glue that held this entire tenuous effort together. I still had not been in contact with Dave or Paul in any way, but that would change with the first practice session. I was already quite worried about how that would turn out.

I had also been concerned about the whole Thanksgiving experience, and how my problems with Dave had the potential to ruin it for everyone. But I needn't have worried. Everything managed to work itself out, just as I'd so boldly predicted a few months ago. On Thanksgiving Day, I had dinner with Julia's family at her place, while Dave went over to our house for dinner. Then, Mom and Dad had a second Thanksgiving meal the following evening, with Julia as the guest of honor. See? All that worry for nothing.

At Julia's house, her mom and dad fixed up a Thanksgiving feast for five people. I met Julia's older sister, Anita, for the first time. The Osmanskis were pretty low-key people. After dinner was finished, dessert was served, and the dishes were washed and put away (yes, I assisted with that last endeavor, scoring major points with Julia's parents), we all spent the rest of the evening in front of the TV, watching a couple of movies. I slept in a spare bedroom. It goes without saying that no hanky-panky took place between Julia and me.

Late the next morning, Julia and I got into my car and headed south. It was a long haul from her place to mine; nearly a two hour drive. Julia was somewhat quieter than usual during the trip. I tried my best to loosen her up.

"You aren't nervous about meeting my folks, are you?" I said with a smile.

"A little," she allowed.

"They'll love you, I promise. What's there not to love about you?"

Julia replied with a sweet smile, but still appeared somewhat ill at ease. There's something about long trips immediately prior to unfamiliar experiences; the idle waiting allows the worry mechanism in your brain to run rampant. As we approached our house, she seemed to relax. I guess at that point, she stopped thinking about it.

Inside, I introduced her to Dad, Mom, Eileen, and Seamus. The one who really rode to the rescue here was Eileen; soon, she and Julia were off by themselves, talking about girl things. They were only a year apart, age-wise; it came as no surprise to me that they hit it off.

At the dinner table, Julia loosened up even further, giggling furiously as Eileen and I started to pick on Seamus. We started telling stories about some of the nutty things he'd done a couple of years ago, including the infamous bowling ball incident, before karate lessons had helped him to outgrow that phase. Seamus was now thirteen, shooting up in height, and the owner of a newly deepened voice. But he was still, and always would be, the baby of the family.

"Don't let 'em get away with it, Seamus," Julia told him. "I'm the youngest in my family too, so I know what it's like."

Later in the evening, it was time for what was becoming an O'Malley tradition whenever we had a guest over: the mini-concert involving Eileen and me. Here, I deliberately held back somewhat, only giving Julia a glimpse of my talents. The full revelation would come when the band was up and running. We did "Morning Has Broken" and a few holiday songs. Nonetheless, Julia was duly impressed, and clapped heartily after each song.

"I can't wait to see the two of you up on stage," she gushed.

"Neither can we," Mom smiled. "It's about time."

Indeed, there was an aura of hope surrounding this year's Thanksgiving. Problems were still apparent, but there was a sense that things would get much better, very soon.

Of course, Julia and I would have to sleep apart at my house as well. There was a sleeper sofa in Dad's office; Mom fashioned it into a temporary guest bedroom. The next morning, Julia said goodbye to my family, telling everyone she'd see them on Christmas. Then, it was back out on the road, beginning the long trek north, to drop Julia off at her place.

"We've been together now for pretty much two solid days," I noted, "and we've had to remain celibate."

"Sunday night, when we're both back at the dorm?" Julia replied with a sly grin. "Look out, 'cause I'm jumping you the minute I see you."

It was, in fact, Sunday afternoon when I started up my Datsun, after saying goodbye to everyone, and commenced with the solitary drive back up to the university. I'd put some serious miles on that car over the past few days. Packed inside were my keyboard, my guitar, assorted accessories, and my entire collection of sheet music.

Once again, I was a musician.

December 7, 1982

I needed to start practicing right away. I was very, very rusty. Other than a couple of jam sessions at home with Eileen, I hadn't sung or touched any musical instrument in over a year. I knew it would easily come back to me. I just had to coax it out.

Unfortunately, living in a dorm, it's not easy to practice. You have to keep the noise levels down and be considerate of your neighbors. My own dorm room wasn't an option, anyway. Not with Dale, my quiet and studious roommate, living in there along with me. So, for a couple of days, I used Julia's room instead. Jeannette was understanding, and was spending a good deal of time with Kevin anyway. The two of them were every bit as serious about each other as Julia and me.

It was late afternoon; the two of us were alone in Julia's room. I put the keyboard directly in front of her bed and turned the volume down to almost nothing. I then asked Julia to close the door. I wanted to neither bother anyone nor attract a crowd. I wanted this to be a private performance, if indeed it could be called that, for my sweetheart. I pounded out a couple of simple pieces, just to warm up. Then, I turned to Julia.

"Got any requests?" I suddenly asked her.

"Do you know any Beatles songs?"

"I think I might," I said with a sly grin. I proceeded to play, and provide the vocals for, "Yesterday" and "Let It Be". I knew both of them cold, even after the long layoff. I realized that this wouldn't be nearly as hard as I thought. It's like riding a bicycle.

"How about some solo Lennon?" I said to Julia, as I went into "Imagine". She was gazing at me with stars in her eyes. Even though this was a private performance for my girlfriend, I could feel the rush returning, the satisfaction of performing. I loved to do this, and soon, I would be doing it regularly, in front of much larger assemblies of folks.

And then, I thought of the first group practice, only three days from now. I couldn't recall many instances in either life when I'd both dreaded and looked forward to something, at least to this degree.

December 10, 1982

It was a cold, breezy, somewhat overcast late afternoon, although the setting sun could be seen in a low-hanging sliver of clear sky that sliced through the clouds. The early darkness associated with this time of year was about to fall as I parked my car in front of my destination. It was a beautiful, large home on a huge tract of land. It was already adorned with Christmas decorations, and the entire display was turned on, although night had not yet fallen.

This was the home of Inez's aunt and uncle, the place where our first practice – or at least my first practice with Lightning in a Bottle – would be held. Although it was not far from the university, it was in a quiet and peaceful locale. Inez had given me directions. I told her quite honestly that I'd like to arrive a little early, for I was hoping like hell to be the first one there.

I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. I knew I'd need help in unloading my equipment. It looked as though Inez had been watching for me, for she answered the door. She'd come over by herself, much earlier in the afternoon. She was accompanied by her cousin, who Inez quickly introduced as Mayra Andrade. Mayra greeted me with a hug; I would quickly learn that she was a veritable hugging machine. It seemed like anyone and everyone she greeted got a hug of some kind. She had a constantly cheery, ever-smiling disposition. Mayra was also a sophomore at Rutgers, although she lived at home and commuted to class. She was a tall girl – about five-nine – with a voluptuous build. By no means was she fat, though; she might have been more accurately described as large-framed.

Inez and Mayra put on coats and helped me haul everything inside. Thankfully, there was nothing too heavy. There was just a lot of it. About six weeks following her unfortunate ordeal, Inez appeared to be pain-free; she had no difficulty in helping out. Perhaps, at least physically, she was completely back up to speed.

"You can just keep everything here, if you like, instead of carrying it back and forth in your car every time," Mayra offered. She spoke with an accent that was quite thick, much more so than her cousin.

"Thanks for the offer," I told her. "I think I'll do just that."

Then, I turned to Inez.

"It looks like you're coming along nicely," I told her. "I'm glad to see that. Are you up to running through a full practice?" Obviously, a lung injury like the one she'd suffered is a major concern for a singer.

"I've been singing a little bit on my own," she assured me, "and I'm pretty sure I'm back in regular form. We'll see how it goes tonight. I've had no pain to speak of for about a week now. Which means it's time to get back to work." Her voice was full of determination.

"I heard her sing yesterday," grinned Mayra, "and she sounds fantastic. My cousin is very strong, and very brave."

The conversation drew to a close, for it was time for me to meet some more members of the Andrade family. Eileen had given me the lowdown on the entire clan, over the phone, the night before.

"Inez's aunt and uncle are two of the nicest people you'll ever meet," she explained. "We all love them. They're almost like our band parents. We call them Señor and Señora Andrade. Even Dave, who you know is Mr. Informal, calls them that. Señor Andrade is a doctor, but believe it or not, we don't call him Dr. Andrade, although almost everyone else does. Señora Andrade and Inez's mom are sisters. The Andrades have two daughters. Mayra is your age, and Lisette is thirteen. They moved here from Puerto Rico about eight years ago."

First, I was introduced to Lisette, who was much smaller and more petite than her sister, and who spoke with little if any accent, due to her moving to New Jersey at a much earlier age than her sister. I also met Señora Andrade, who immediately took me aside. Her English was quite understandable, although charmingly fractured.

"Thank you for how you help Inez that time," she whispered. "She like my third daughter. That Danny, he no good. I tell her that all the time, but she was stubborn. You keep her from getting hurt worse. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I couldn't help but smile at those words. Now I knew where Inez had gotten her comforting, soothing side. A little bit of her aunt had rubbed off on her.

"You're welcome, Señora Andrade," I told her respectfully. "I was glad to help. And thanks for the kind words."

She and I chatted a little more, and then she directed me into the basement, site of this and all practices. And what a practice studio it was.

It was a huge room, maybe fifty feet by thirty feet, with only a few pieces of furniture, and lots of empty space. All of the instruments, save mine, were already in place. The most impressive part? A full sound system had been set up, complete with three microphones.

"Don't the neighbors complain about the noise?" I asked. We'd occasionally had that problem in Dave's garage, during our high school jam sessions, and we hadn't gotten involved with microphones.

Inez, who along with Mayra had tagged along behind Señora Andrade and me, fielded the question.

"Most of the room is underground, which limits the sound that gets out. The property is huge and the neighbors are far away. And we don't practice late in the evening. We stick to afternoons and early evenings."

"Wow," I said, admiring the setup. I mentally compared it to what we had in the other timeline. Bud McMillan's warehouse, and an endless supply of booze. This version of the band had first-class accommodations in a family environment. They appeared to be doing everything right.

And now, I would be a part of it.

My thought process was interrupted by the arrival of a few of my band mates. Dave and Eileen showed up. Dave, who only had one morning class on Fridays, had driven back to our home town to pick up Eileen. Evie arrived with them.

Eileen broke free from Dave for a second and came up to me. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" she offered in subdued exclamation. Ah, the naivete of youth.

Evie gave me a smile and a wave, but communicated nothing else to me.

Dave? He didn't even acknowledge my presence.

Oh boy, I thought. So this is what it's gonna be like?

Last to arrive was Paul, which was ironic, because I'd always known him to be unfailingly prompt. But he was, in fact, on time. Everyone else had been early, even the habitual late arriver, Dave. Obviously, my sister had had something to do with that.

Paul, like Dave, cast not so much as a glance in my direction, although he greeted the others heartily.

Finally, Señora Andrade and Mayra decided to leave us musicians to ourselves, heading upstairs. Just the six of us remained. Six people attempting to come together to form one of the most dysfunctional outfits imaginable.

Inez, thrust into a leadership role I sensed she wasn't entirely comfortable with, attempted to get things rolling.

"Your call, Pat. How do you want to start?"

"I'd like to see the rest of you play together, so I can get a feel for what we've got here. Why don't you run through a couple of songs, and I'll watch. Then, I'll try to join in."

"Okay with me," she replied, before looking at the others. "What do you think?" Everyone else, in full performing mode now, nodded as they appeared to come to an unspoken consensus.

I seated myself in a nearby chair, a most interested observer. The others took their positions, and proceeded to launch into an imaginative arrangement of Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen". Here, the three girls were front and center. They took turns with the vocals, one handing off to another seamlessly throughout the entire song, at times coming together for a three-part harmony that was truly breathtaking. I had wondered how having three talented female vocalists would work out, but with these three females, there simply was never any concern. Clearly enjoying themselves, they constantly smiled, and offered each other encouragement. The rendition was far more creative, far more elaborate, and just flat-out better than anything the other version of our band had ever come up with.

Watching them perform like this drove home a few points. I anticipated that with me being the lone male vocalist, I'd be doing a lot of singing. Also, I needed to get better with the guitar. I was second guitarist, after Inez, by default. Eileen and I would have to figure out how to divide keyboard duties, but I knew this would not be a problem.