Epilogue

November 4, 2009

Yankee Stadium

Bronx, New York

The din from the crowd approached a deafening roar as Mariano Rivera, the New York Yankees' peerless relief ace, went into his stretch, about to deliver the tenth pitch of a tense at-bat to Shane Victorino, the Philadelphia Phillies' center fielder. With the count full, Victorino swung at Rivera's cut fastball, managing only a soft ground ball in the direction of Robinson Cano, the Yankees' second baseman. Cano fielded the ball cleanly, fired to first, and pandemonium ensued. The Yankees had won the game, 7-3, as well as the World Series, four games to two. For the twenty-seventh time in their illustrious history, they were world champions of baseball.

Amid all the revelry, a somewhat forlorn figure in a thick coat and a Phillies' cap remained glued to his seat in the lower deck along the first base side. Right next to him, his jubilant wife, sporting a Yankees' cap, was jumping up and down, screaming as loud as anyone.

It only took a few seconds for Inez to take pity on me. She reached down and affectionately turned my cap one quarter turn counterclockwise. She shouted into my ear, utilizing the only means she had to make herself heard among the craziness, "At least you have last year, right?"

"There is that," I acknowledged. The Phillies, of course, had been defending champions themselves, having won the 2008 World Series, their first championship since that magical year of 1980. Best of all, I'd been able to savor last year's victory – as Inez had this year – without the burden of pre-knowledge.

A short while later, as we walked out of the stadium hand in hand, insanity still reigned around us. You gotta love New York. However, the ambient noise level had dropped to the point where we were now able to have a reasonable conversation. I opted to expand on the same theme.

"I have to admit, the Yankees were the better team this year and deserved to win. But that shouldn't take away from last year. Flags fly forever, right?" I noted a little glumly.

"I'll give you that much," giggled Inez. "But lest we forget ... there's the matter of a certain little bet."

"I was hoping you forgot about that," I grimaced.

"Not a chance," she said with a smile that was almost predatory. "You're wearing that Derek Jeter jersey for one full week. In fact, I expect to see it on you when you're sleeping."

"Nope. I decided to start sleeping naked."

"Nice try," laughed my wife. "but no dice. It's going on you when we get back to the hotel, and you're also wearing it when we fly back home."

"So, what do we do with that Chase Utley jersey we bought in case the Phillies won?"

Inez laughed again, threw her arms around me, and kissed me hard on the mouth. "You can put it away, and keep it as a reminder of how foolish it is to bet against a team that's won... twenty-seven world championships. Did you know that twenty seven is three cubed?"

August 31, 2013

New Brunswick, New Jersey

"Hey, Dennis," I mock-complained, as I ran my fingers up and down the keyboard, a limbering ritual I'd been performing before each gig ever since the old college days. "This mic of mine needs a little adjustment. I'm telling ya, man, you can't find good help nowadays." The others all laughed; of course, I was just busting his balls.

"You get what you pay for," shot back Dennis, "and you guys ain't paying me shit, right?" Dennis, of course, could give as well as he could take.

"He's got you there, buddy," Dave threw in, flashing his trademark grin.

No, Lightning in a Bottle had not re-formed, at least as a full-time entity. We all had our careers and responsibilities. What we had done was committed ourselves to coming together once a year to support a cause we all felt very strongly about. We were taking part, as one of several participating acts, in a show where all proceeds would go to support said cause.

The "cause" in question was the result of a idea that had been put forth several years ago by our dear friend Allie. She had gone ahead and started up a charitable organization to benefit battered women, and over the years, it had evolved into a very successful entity. It was through this foundation that Inez found a new professional calling. In 2011, she effectively retired as a practicing psychologist at the tender age of forty-eight. Jason and Valerie, fully supportive of Inez in this endeavor, located a new young psychologist to partner up with, and they divided up Inez's former patients. Now, Inez works full time for the foundation, acting as a traveling spokesperson. She has become an accomplished public speaker, talking to large audiences about a topic that is dear to her heart. I am also involved in the foundation; I sit on the board of directors. More often than not, I accompany her in her travels.

As a result of this development, another big change ensued. Both Lexie and Tina had decided to head east in pursuit of higher education; both were attending college in the Philadelphia area (or in Lexie's case, had attended college – she was a recent graduate). Inez and I purchased a lovely home in South Jersey, not too far from Philly. No, we didn't abandon New Mexico, nor did we sell the home we'd lived in all those years. We now split our time between the two locales, in effect, having our cake and eating it too.

But I digress. This particular annual concert, being held for the third year on the Saturday during Labor Day weekend, was one of the foundation's chief fund-raisers. Lightning in a Bottle had also played at the first two. That made it a total of three gigs since we reunited at the talent show in 2007. We'd also been persuaded to play at a holiday festival the previous December. Yes, we were slowly but surely being pulled out of retirement.

Each year, the list of performers had grown larger and more impressive, and this year's show promised to be the best yet. It was held in a large outdoor park, just like the first two. Arrangements had been made to switch the show to an indoor venue should weather be a concern, but the day dawned bright and sunny, and the good weather held through the afternoon and evening.

There were eight acts in the show, with each one allotted about forty-five minutes' worth of stage time. The second act to play was one we all were familiar with: Thunderblast, the third-place finisher in the memorable talent show (in both timelines). Paul had struck up a friendship with a couple of the band members, and they'd been all too happy to help out our cause. They put forth their typically workmanlike, professional and thoroughly enjoyable effort.

The band which took the stage before Thunderblast, and the two that followed, were less experienced outfits that, more than anything, were grateful for the exposure. That didn't hold true for the next one, however. Funk Station, featuring our good friend (and fellow time traveler) George Raymond, put down a blistering ten-song set that had everyone in the audience bouncing around.

"I love watching those guys play," I said to Inez as they wrapped things up. "Their love for music really comes through, and it's infectious."

But there wasn't time to discuss the matter at great length, for Lightning in a Bottle was next in line. With the help of Dennis and Mayra (Derek wasn't able to fly in from Los Angeles for this show), we got set up in short order. We opened with "Hazy Shade of Winter", and then followed with a couple of tunes from our heyday: "Boys of Summer" and Springsteen's "Glory Days" (after all, it was New Jersey). We slowed it way down for the next two songs, one contemporary, one classic. Eileen emoted her way through a haunting rendition of Adele's "Someone Like You". Evie got her turn in front of the microphone, too, delivering to perfection the particularly poignant lyrics of Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide".

About two-thirds of the way through the set, we trotted out our big surprise. We chose this spot in the proceedings to debut Lightning in a Bottle's first two original tunes.

Inez and I were our songwriting team. We'd always dreamed about doing this, going back almost to the beginning, but the time never seemed right. We'd even made crude efforts at writing songs in the past, but they never got any further than notations on paper. Now, at this point in our lives, we had all the time we needed to put it all together. During our first practice session prior to this show, we bounced our compositions off of the others, and they were united in their praise. We decided to go for it.

"Those of you out there who remember the good old days," I addressed the crowd with a sly grin, "know us as a cover band, and only a cover band. However, in our old age, we've finally decided to become more than that." Many in the audience actually gasped at that announcement, but were quickly drowned out by an enthusiastic ovation.

I handled lead vocals on the first tune, a guitar-driven rocker. It was a somewhat sarcastic, somewhat humorous ode to aging titled "Youth Is Wasted on the Young". (We'd run through this tune in front of our children earlier, and they loved it.) Next, Inez sang lead on a power ballad titled "After the Smoke Clears", whose lyrics depicted that hopeful moment when romantic discord turns toward reconciliation. Both songs were greeted with wild approval from the stunned audience.

After the original songs, it was time for the collaboration. George, my time-travel advisor, joined us on stage for one song, with his wife, Elsie (who we'd gotten to know quite well) out in the audience. It turned out that George could play a mean harmonica, and he and I shared vocals on the bluesy U2/B.B. King joint effort, "When Love Comes To Town". With George backstage again, we followed with another U2 tune. Guitar in hand, I remained in front of the mic as we ran through my all-time favorite song from Bono and the boys, "One".

Next, Inez moved up front, and smiled widely as she spoke into the microphone. "I'm doing this next song on a dare," she laughed. I'd been the one to facetiously mention the possibility during practice; Dave had been the one to throw down the challenge. "Go ahead, Inez," he chortled. "Show them your Shakira impersonation. I dare you."

My wife was never one to back down from a dare. So, for this number, Evie and I picked up our guitars to join Inez's lead, and we launched into a blistering rendition of Shakira's "Objection (Tango)" Inez sang it with power and sensuality, actually throwing in a Shakira-esque hip shimmy in the middle, and even doing a more than passable job with the pseudo-rap segment near the end. The audience just ate it up. It was our nominal final song of the show, but right away, we began to hear the "Encore!" chants.

We gave them two more tunes. We launched into "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant", always a favorite among our old fans, quite a few of whom were on hand. Finally, Inez returned to the mic to sing a song of recent vintage that was a favorite of hers, "Stars" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.

Under normal conditions, we couldn't help but feel a slight letdown at the end of a gig, especially with us being part-timers. Today, however, was an exception. A very special moment was at hand.

Right before the 2007 talent show, Lexie, Tina, and the three eldest children of Eileen and Dave had fantasized about forming their own band. We'd all viewed it as nothing more than a cute little dream. However, they'd gone ahead and actually done it. The idea had taken quite a while to take root, not coming to fruition until they all were in college. Their band was Philadelphia-based, and had gained quite a following (not to mention critical acclaim) in both the Philly club scene and the New Jersey beach scene during the summer. They were a seven-person outfit, and they'd chosen a name which paid tribute to their elders: Lightning Strikes Twice.

Lexie was one lead vocalist and the primary keyboardist. Handling rhythm guitar, and serving as another lead vocalist, was a young man by the name of Nick Worley. He and Lexie had met early on in college, and had quickly become an item. Recently, Nick had become our son-in-law. That's right – our little girl was now twenty-three years old, a college graduate, and a married woman.

Nineteen-year-old Tina was the band's resident multi-instrumentalist. You name it, she could play it passably. She could strum the guitar, pound out on the keyboard, wail away on the sax, and was even competent on a diverse assortment of instruments like the violin, the harmonica, and the flute. She was also a more than adequate backup vocalist.

Jaden Mancuso, who'd impressed us so much with his guitar work six years ago, was lead guitarist. His younger sister Zoe was the band's bassist, and still-younger sister Leah was another guitarist and a third option for lead vocals.

The band, however, was short a drummer at the start. They held a round of auditions, not finding anyone suitable, before having the ideal candidate suggested to them by none other than their respective parents. He was Raul Hutchins, son of Dennis and Mayra. The younger generation had devised a solution to young Raul's name issues. He couldn't be Raul Junior, he couldn't be Raul the Second, so he was dubbed "Deuce," to his crusty old grandpa's everlasting consternation. "Deuce," a laid-back young man with a devil-may-care demeanor, had no problems whatsoever with that moniker. He was also one hell of a drummer, every bit Dave's equal. "Deuce" was brought on board, and they were good to go.

Three years after their formation, they'd reached heights that Lightning in a Bottle never had, although we'd certainly reached the limits of our aspirations. Lightning Strikes Twice had a good-sized catalog of original material; their songs were co-penned by Lexie and Nick. They still threw cover tunes into their set lists, but they were the exception, not the rule. Evan, son of Evie and Vince, had been brought on as manager (he'd graduated from Rutgers), fulfilling the vision he'd described years earlier. Evan was in the process of working a few contacts in the recording industry, with the hope of landing a recording contract for the band.

Today, for the first time, they'd be playing on the same stage as us old-timers. It was a highly sentimental moment for all concerned. Lightning Strikes Twice ran through a twelve-song set composed entirely of original material, and it was debatable which act received the louder ovation – the young 'uns or the old farts. This point was hashed over afterward, with lots of good-natured ribbing from both sides.

"Ah, hell, they just felt sorry for you nursing home hacks," cracked Nick, poking fun at his father-in-law.

"I was playing guitar long before you ever saw the light of day, grasshopper," I laughed in reply.

So, who was the final act of the show, the headliner, the last one to take the stage? None other than Allie Ronson herself.

Allie's comeback as a successful musician had been almost unprecedented. Her meteoric rise as a pop queen – and subsequent fall – had been quite predictable for those with a feel for the music industry. She'd dropped out of sight for twenty years, bottoming out as a waitress at Denny's, before finding a new passion and creating the very successful charitable foundation. This gave her a degree of credibility with the public at large. About five years ago, she'd gotten the itch to take another belated shot at a lasting music career. She'd managed to persuade one of the major record labels to offer her a contract. The terms of the contract were, not surprisingly, less than favorable. Bottom line was, she'd have to prove herself, and if she wanted to go through with it, she'd have to fund much of the venture herself. Allie believed she'd reached a dead end – until Inez and I agreed to lend her a hand.