Thunderbowl - Lesley Choyce [8]
Ike was ready to blow. Al would have had him out cold on the floor in ten seconds. I could have just stood back and watched.
Just then, Stewy walked up. “Every-thing okay here, boys?”
I smiled. “Yes. Just fine, sir.”
“Good, good. I like all my customers to have a good time.”
“Well, we were just leaving,” Suzanne said in a slurred voice. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the door.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re leaving,” she said, fishing her car keys out of her purse.
“Hey, I’ve got to play another set. Besides, you’ve had a lot to drink. You shouldn’t be driving.”
Suzanne gave me a look that could burn through concrete. “Well, I’m leaving. With you or without you.” She was wobbling as she walked away. I couldn’t let her drive off like that.
I followed her to her red Trans Am and got in. As soon as I sat down, she leaned over and kissed me hard on the mouth. She stuck her tongue halfway down my throat. I thought I’d choke. But I can’t say I wanted her to quit.
Just as quickly she pulled away from me. She fired up the car. “Watch this,” she said and put the car in reverse, pushing the gas pedal to the floor. We lost a year’s worth of good tire tread in thirty seconds as she squealed out of the parking space. Next she jammed the Trans Am into first gear and tore out of there. I was sure we were going to get killed.
“Slow down,” I yelled.
“Come on, loosen up,” she answered. She was weaving a little and driving way too fast. “Bet you didn’t know I was a hotshot driver.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Now cut it out!”
“But you haven’t seen anything yet.”
We were approaching an intersection. Suzanne downshifted, cranked the wheel hard to the right and threw the car into a screaming full-speed turn.
We almost made the turn, but the Trans Am slid over onto the other side of the road. A car was coming head-on. All I saw were the headlights. Suzanne cranked the wheel hard to the right. Too far. Now we jumped the curb and were speeding across somebody’s lawn. Straight ahead was a tree.
Suzanne was pulling hard again on the wheel. But she still had her foot down on the gas. In a panic I reached for the ignition key, yanked it hard and pulled it out.
We were back on the sidewalk now and headed for the street. The car sputtered to a stop.
Suzanne hung her head. I thought she was going to cry. I was too mad to try and be nice to her.
“That was stupid” was all I could say. I was still holding her key chain. The keys felt warm in my hand.
I opened the door and got out.
“Give me my keys back so we can get out of here,” she insisted.
“Forget it!” I hollered. I threw them as far as I could off into the dark night.
Then I started walking.
Chapter Eight
I thought I wouldn’t want to see Suzanne again. But when she didn’t show the next night at The Dungeon, I phoned her house. There was no answer, even though I tried about twenty times.
My playing wasn’t so good. I hit some wrong chords in the middle of “Ugly Intruder.” At one point I nearly stumbled off the stage.
“What’s wrong with you?” Al asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I don’t feel inspired.”
“Inspired? Bull. Forget the girl. Get into the music.” Al looked over at Drek. “Kids today… I don’t know what gets into ‘em,” he said, shaking his head.
I looked around at the packed house. We had a reputation. We were just about the hottest band in town. Drek said it was time to cut a demo with our own money. We had lots of our own material. But I didn’t think we were ready. And I wanted to hold onto some of the money I’d made. I looked out at the crowd again and around at the faces. Something was missing. Suzanne wasn’t there.
Then I spotted a familiar face. Langford! My English teacher was here at The Dungeon! He was looking at me. He waved. I pretended I didn’t see him.
“Come on, Germ. Stop daydreaming. We have work to play,” Drek reminded me.
Al leaned across his drums and whispered, “Get inspired.”
So I got inspired. I wanted Langford to know why I was thinking about quitting school. He wasn’t such a bad guy. He deserved to know the