Chapter 52: Groupies!

June 27, 1984

As we approached the meat of the summer season, with the band ruling over our lives like never before, the difference from a year ago became more and more obvious. Twelve months ago, we were still wide-eyed newbies, savoring each new step forward as something that exceeded our wildest dreams. Now, although we loved what we were doing and were far from jaded, we had both a reputation to live up to, and a large following to please. We found that we were consistently able to meet those expectations. Spurring us on – at least Inez, Evie and I – was the sense that the end of our run as a band was not so far off in the future. We had not yet discussed our future plans with the others; although we'd talked about them among the three of us many times. We continued to hold the view that it was best for everyone to enjoy our remaining time together, however long it might prove to be, without the specter of finality hanging over our heads. It wasn't that much of a concern at this point, anyhow; we still had a year to go.

On another note, my brother and Lisette had made a decision, on their own, which showed maturity far beyond their actual ages. Following the big bash on Lisette's birthday, quite a special occasion for both of them, they'd acknowledged that while romantic feelings had definitely emerged, the distance was too much of a barrier right now. They elected to remain friends, "for now", but I continued to detect a definite spark whenever I spoke with my brother about Lisette. I had, on one occasion, kept my earlier promise and brought Seamus over to Lisette's house; they went and saw a movie together.

Now, on an idle (relatively speaking) Wednesday evening, while taking a practice break, we six band members were discussing an unrelated issue, one that we could no longer avoid.

Our playlist – the list of songs we knew – was quite extensive at that point. Everyone who followed us knew that. There was, however, an omission on that playlist that had become more and more glaring over time. The consequence of this omission – and it was something we definitely were aware of – was the question we found ourselves being asked more than any other.

"Why don't you guys do any Springsteen?"

With the release of Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA album a couple of weeks ago, this question was being thrown at us multiple times before and after each show. And when it arose, my bandmates would grin at me, and deflect it in my direction. The hang-up was entirely mine. I'd told the others, several times, that there was one artist whose material we should never touch. And that artist was none other than The Boss. To be strictly accurate, "Because The Night" was one of our showcase tunes, but we based our version on that of Patti Smith.

Not that I wasn't a Springsteen fan. Quite the opposite, in fact. You have to understand that central New Jersey in the 1980's was pretty much ground zero for Boss-mania. And if you had the audacity to cover a Springsteen tune, you had better do a first-rate job. On top of that, there were two or three dedicated Springsteen cover bands in the area at the time, and they were outstanding. If you turned your head away while they were playing, you'd swear that Bruce and the E Street Band were in the house.

I was worried that no matter how good we were, we'd suffer in comparison. But it was more than that; it all came back to me. I still was not the most confident lead singer on the planet, although I'd been handling about fifty percent of our lead vocals since I re-joined the band. Plus, I'm my own worst critic. In my mind, I was still a keyboardist first, and a vocalist second. My bandmates, however, had more faith in my ability than I did. Tonight, they called me on it.

"Look at this Bruce song that's all over the radio right now," Dave pointed out. "I mean, 'Dancing In the Dark'. I wouldn't call that a challenging vocal, Pat. Why not just try it?" He did have a point; "Dancing In the Dark" is probably the closest thing to a piece of throwaway pop fluff that The Boss ever put out.

"You can do it, Pat," echoed Eileen, offering sisterly encouragement. I also got a tight-lipped smile from Inez, which let me know that she too had thoughts on the matter, but was saving them for later.

At that, I relented. "Okay, let's give it a shot. It can't hurt to try, right?"

About twenty minutes later, we had a pretty damn good version of "Dancing In the Dark" in our repertoire. No, I wasn't Bruce, but as the others already knew, I was more than good enough to pull it off. And we had one more asset that came in handy when covering Springsteen: a top-notch saxophonist. There was no one who was happier about this little culture shift than Evie!

Feeling just a little foolish at that point, I suddenly noticed the others smiling at me in silence. I got their drift; they wanted to try another Springsteen song, and they were letting me pick which one.

"Well, in for a penny," I grinned. I suggested a real toughie: "Thunder Road". We began to discuss how to arrange it, when I mentioned that it would be best if Eileen handled the keyboard part. Throughout the first part of the song, the keyboard is pretty much the only instrumentation, save for a very brief but distinctive harmonica intro.

"I don't know," said Eileen, sounding as doubtful as I had earlier. "You're a lot better than me. That's a pretty hard one to play. I know you're singing, too, but wouldn't it be better if you did it?"

"You can do it, Eileen," I grinned, repeating her earlier quip directed at me. "Besides, it will look pretty stupid if I sing that line 'I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk' while I'm behind a keyboard."

That logic somehow got through to her, and she agreed to give it a whirl. We fooled around with it for a while. But there was one more enhancement in the works, and it was Dave who provided it. He had a harmonica that he liked to mess around with. He wasn't very good, and he often had us in stitches with his sometimes deliberately off-tune "playing". However, he had a revelation to share with us.

"I actually do know the harmonica intro for 'Thunder Road' pretty well," he declared. "Want me to work it in?" Dave, more than any of us, had no reservations about trying something a little different. And so, out came the harmonica. Dave did indeed know the intro, and it provided a needed degree of authenticity. It took us a while to get the song down, but when all was said and done, we had a version with Eileen's keyboard work and my vocals carrying us through the early part of the song. Following the end of the vocal part, we duplicated the long outro with Inez on the guitar and Evie dueling with her on the sax.

"So," Paul asked rhetorically, in a deliberately understated manner, "you guys think that one will go over well when we do it live?" There was no question it would.

A little later, during a quiet moment, my girlfriend strolled over and gently tapped me on the chest with her index finger. She spoke to me in a tone that was in no way critical, but maybe just a little pointed.

"You know ... you can do anything if you set your mind to it." Then, she gave me a kiss.

I realized that, with her unfailing support, she was probably right.

July 6, 1984

Groupies are like viruses. I'm not talking in an infectious disease sense; I have another analogy in mind. Perhaps you think you have the perfect medicine in hand to fight them off. Maybe it works for a while. In this case, my remedy was the fact that our lead guitarist and vocalist was now my girlfriend. But just like viruses, groupies adapt and mutate. Throw a cure at them, and it might drive them underground for a while. But you run the risk of having them re-emerge in a new and more deadly form.

When Inez and I had gotten together at the end of last summer, the groupies largely appeared to back off, for all of us. Maybe the subsequent end of the summer beach season had something to do with that, too. During the school year, we were pretty much left alone. But now that we were doing shows at the beach again – an entirely different scene – the groupies were back. Unfortunately, many of them were deterred not a whit by the fact that there were two committed relationships within our band.

Unlike last year, I wasn't the only groupie magnet. Dave had not one but two persistent female admirers that he simply couldn't shake. Even frequent glares from Eileen – she'd also verbally warned them to back off – weren't doing the trick. And it went the other way as well, for my baby sister had attracted a male "fan" of her own. Dave and I had a little chat with the guy after a show one night, and thankfully, he seemed to have backed down.

Evie, the one currently unattached member of our band, was being pursued by a guy who showed up at practically all of our gigs. He was taking the approach of asking her out for a date, rather than a quick pick-up, but that really didn't make any of us feel better about it. "He seems pretty harmless, and I just laugh when he comes on to me," Evie explained one night. "I figure if I don't take him seriously, he'll go away."

Inez, for some reason, didn't seem to be attracting the male groupies at this point in time. Perhaps, in this type of environment, men were more respective of (or intimidated by) existing relationships. And my own experience certainly supported that notion. I was now getting even more attention from female groupies than I had last summer. Inez took it all in good humor. "It comes with the territory," she laughed. "And I just tell myself that deep inside, they know that I'm getting something that they never will."

On this Friday evening, I was actually propositioned twice before the show even got started. A well-built brunette sneaked backstage, catching me by myself, and offered me oral sex on the spot. It goes without saying that I declined. Later, I was out on stage helping Dennis set up, while the others were in back. All of a sudden, a girl ran up and pinched my ass – in full view of many people. "I'll let you pinch mine later," she purred, before running off just as fast as she came. I wondered if her friends had egged her on.

The show itself was memorable for another reason, for this was the night we debuted our version of "Thunder Road". We didn't announce it ahead of time. Dave merely started off with the harmonica intro, and three or four notes in, a few in the audience realized what we were doing. Several loud screams burst forth, obviously from fans who'd been dying for us to do some Springsteen. This gave us a shot of energy, and we fed off it; we kicked ass from start to finish. The ovation at the end sealed the deal for us ... we needed to learn a few more Springsteen songs, pronto.

The other, um, highlight of the evening occurred a little later. It involved the sudden reappearance of the queen of the groupies: Felicia.

She had disappeared for about a year. I'd often wondered why she'd dropped the chase after the time she'd unabashedly fondled me outside the men's room after a show. Maybe she'd latched onto another musician or two in the interim. But here she was again, and she first made her presence known by strutting from left to right directly in front of the stage in the middle of a song, looking straight at me the whole time. She was dressed somewhat more modestly than the last time I'd seen her, when she'd been wearing only a bikini. Now, she simply had on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, although it was obvious her goal was the same as before.

At the end of the song, I walked over to Inez. "Is she kidding?" she asked, more bemused than anything else. But I was familiar enough with Felicia's act to know that she wasn't finished. And it was during the next song when Felicia raised the stakes even more.

I couldn't help but notice that she'd moved to the back of the club. This wasn't a particularly large venue; she was still not very far from the stage. About halfway through the song, she decided to stand up on a bar stool positioned along the back wall. No one in the club paid her any mind; everyone was facing forward, watching us play. Felicia looked me in the eye, and then raised her shirt far enough to reveal a bare midriff. She teasingly began toying with the shirt at that point, in a manner strongly suggestive of a striptease act.

She wouldn't dare raise that shirt any higher, would she? I thought.

She would.

In one smooth motion, she lifted the shirt up, fully revealing her bare breasts, which she left on display for a couple of seconds. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, she covered up and jumped down from the stool, with the club patrons none the wiser. That is, except for six band members who'd just been given an eyeful. An eyeful that was no doubt intended for yours truly.

I had no intention of making the same mistake I'd made last time; I wasn't about to let Felicia corner me when the gig was over. At show's end, I made a beeline for my car, making sure Inez was there by my side. The others met us in the parking lot, and I naturally took some serious ribbing from the gang. Even Inez was in stitches.

"I bow down before you, O King of the Groupies," cackled Dave. "My groupies never flash their tits in a crowded nightclub." Eileen swatted him with her hand, but she was laughing as hard as anyone.

July 14, 1984

A week and a day later, on a Saturday night, we had an experience which nearly made us forget all about Felicia's boob flash.

We did a show at a club in Seaside Heights, one where we'd never played before. At the start, we took the stage in our usual manner. A blonde woman stepped up to the microphone to introduce us. Right away, I knew she looked familiar, and I realized with a start who she was. Our MC was none other than Brenda Markham, the infamous cougar who'd wanted to devour me alive last summer. She was dressed somewhat more primly than the last time I'd seen her ... she had on a plain white button-down blouse, a gray skirt that was rather short and tight-fitting, and simple black high heels. But there was no mistaking it: this was the same woman. With the same agenda.

Right away, I shot a glance over at Inez. "Oh no," she mouthed, echoing what I was thinking.

"Now that my husband and I are the owners of this club," Brenda told the audience, informing us of something we didn't know, "it gives me great pleasure to introduce a band that's always been one of our favorites." She introduced each of us, in turn, saving me for last. When my turn came, she walked over, put her arm around me and declared, "Finally, right here we have the real hunky Pat O'Malley." As she spoke those words, she shamelessly pressed her breast into my side. I could smell the liquor on her breath.

All I could do was look around helplessly at my bandmates. Dave and Paul seemed as if they wanted to crack up, but were holding it back out of respect for my girlfriend. Inez, who normally took things like this in stride, realizing it was bound to happen from time to time, nonetheless appeared as though she wanted to claw a certain woman's eyes out.

The best course of action at that point was to begin playing, which is exactly what we did. About halfway through the first set, Brenda returned to the stage to make a few more remarks. Once again, she positioned herself right next to me, rubbing up against me and purring out a few more flattering come-ons. Rather than give her a chance to push things further, I ignored her, and we simply went right into our next song.

After the first set, I headed backstage, and guess who was waiting there for me? Brenda – with Inez looking on, maybe twenty feet away – reached out and touched my crotch, with a predatory look in her eye. She proceeded to tell me, "I know a place we can go later." She winked and sashayed off.

Astounded at Brenda's shamelessness, I gazed at my girlfriend, who was understandably fuming. I walked over to Inez, put my arm around her, and told her, "Group meeting. Right now."

Within a minute or two, the six band members, plus Dennis and Mayra, had retreated to a room behind the club which thankfully locked from the inside.

"When did she and her sugar daddy buy this establishment?" I asked the others right away.

"Someone out there told me it was less than a month ago," said Mayra. "This makes it five clubs they own along the Jersey shore."

"We swore we'd never again play at that club where we saw her last year, and the year before," Evie noted. "We're gonna have to keep tabs on their business acquisitions."

"The worst part," I threw in, "is that she's been drinking. She smells like a brewery."

But leave it to Dave to come up with a creative suggestion.

"Dude," he said to me, "this is one situation where her intoxication can be your friend, not your enemy." He then laid out his plan. The four women were quite skeptical, however.

"That might make her even more obnoxious," pointed out Eileen.

"You know what? It's worth a try though," declared Inez, reconsidering the point. "I'm willing to try anything right now."

Brenda made a few more opening remarks prior to the second set. When she was finished, I spoke into the microphone with a wide grin on my face.

"Everyone out there having a good time tonight?" Loud yells of affirmation from the audience. "Let's hear it for our hostess, Brenda! Isn't she great? Waiter! How about a drink for our MC?"

Brenda, thinking I was coming around to being receptive to her overtures, batted her eyelashes at me, and clasped her hands over her head as the audience cheered. The waiter brought her a drink, and just like that, we were into our next song.

About four songs later, I did it again. "How about another drink for our hostess? Give it up one more time for Brenda!" And she drank down another mixed drink, along with some perceived adulation that wasn't quite what she thought it was.

The start of the third set is when things began to spin out of control.

By now, as Brenda took the stage to give yet another little talk, her gait was wobbly and her speech was slurred. She tried to utter a few words, but they came slowly and clumsily. Gazing hungrily at me nonetheless, she teasingly unbuttoned a couple of buttons on the top of her shirt.

Meanwhile, positioned in the front row were a group of five or six young male revelers, somewhat under the influence themselves. The sight of a woman in a state of drunken arousal caused them to react the same way a shark does when it smells blood in the water. As they watched her unfasten the buttons on her shirt, the drunken fools began to chant, "More! More! More!"