The Feet of God

 39 - THE CUP WAS HALF FULL

The bright clear day cheered me up, even if it was still cold outside.  Having recently managed to survive rocket and artillery fire, a freezing ice storm and a hotrod-driving maniac, while landing a plush job with The Cowridge Clan, I had to think things was progressing pretty well.

“Morning,” I half-averted my eyes as I held out the coffees to Cherrie Cowridge.  “I brought ya some coffee from across the way.”

She put her cell phone down and made an incredibly nasal noise I did not recognize from the show.  “Which one’s cream and sugar?”

“Those cups,” I pointed.

“I don’t suppose that’s nonfat cream, is it?”  She scrunched her nose.  “Did you get me any croissants?  Aren’t there any croissants?”

Mom pushed past Cherrie to grab a cup.  “Thanks, roadie,” she seemed grateful enough as she gave me an elbow nudge to the ribs.  “You might be new, but you sure know what a girl needs.”  She awarded me a double-wink.

Freddy and Bobby brought Buffy by.  Suddenly I realized that the teenager at the Pump-‘n-Pay only gave me five coffees, which had already been dispensed to the five Cowridges, leaving me diddlysquat.  Having looked the Pump-‘n-Pay clerk eyeball-to-eyeball not five minutes ago I already knew she was the type who’d pocketed my money, and I wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of convincing her I was a beverage short of a full order.  (I decided I needed to start keeping better track of my financial accounts.  Later I’d approach Freddy about an expense reimbursement for refreshments, and maybe apply for a Cowridge corporate credit card.)

The Cowridges took their coffees and each sort of drifted off in a separate direction.  I took this opportunity to engage a gas station attendant about getting a key to the public restroom.  He was initially reluctant, but he changed his tune once he knew I was part of the Cowridge entourage.  He even asked for my autograph.  About ten minutes later, having nothing better to do, I walked over to the edge of the parking lot where Bobby was leaned up against a fence enjoying a smoke with his cup of hot coffee.

“What gives with you guys getting the band back together?”  I tried not to be too intrusive.

“Whattaya mean?” he seemed defensive.

I gazed off at the white-capped mountains.  “Well, in the show you guys traveled around and played concerts and had crazy misadventures, but I can’t quite believe you’re doing this again for real.”

Bobby got a little touchy.  “This is a business,” he leaned into my face, “that’s what’s for real.  We earn a living doing this.  So what if it’s old ladies who pay to get close to a dream gone by?  They go home happy with their delusions intact.  A little money changes hands, but everyone has a good time and no one is supposed to get hurt.  Who the fuck cares?”

“I still picture the Cowridges in packed stadiums with thousands of chicks screaming and flashing you from their seats.”

“Look, roadie, that was then and this is now.  Yeah, sure, we were on the charts in ‘75, but that was a long time ago.  Now we do county fairs, roadhouse jamborees and golden-oldie nights at small clubs and other venues we can book.”

As Bobby continued to open up I noticed his coffee sat on a nearby post, half-drunk.

“You know, we wouldn’t even have this tour except His Fabulousness over there took a look at our old contract and found out the studio had agreed to pay us for 750 live performances at 600 bucks a show, plus the use of the bus.  He checked the records and we’d only done 125 live concerts before we were canceled, so they owed us for 625 performances.  The new owners of the studio wanted to just give us some money and call it square, but we’re talking $120 apiece times 625, and that’s not too shabby to lip-sync old songs.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” I agreed.

“Not bad,” Bobby shrugged.  “Plus the gate.  Keeps my bookie happy and my wife’s lawyers off my ass.  Besides, we’ve always been close as a performing unit, and everyone has an agenda.”

“An agenda?”

“Yeah.  Freddy gets to be a teen heartthrob every night on stage and deflower as many groupies as it takes to keep that ego stroked.  Mom gets to be near Freddy.  Oh, by the way, those rumors were true.  Freddy and Mom were all hot-to-trot right up until she found love letters in his trailer and strange gifts of Mazola corn oil.  She’s still got a hard-on for Freddy, but her main goal now is infomercials for insurance companies specializing in assisted living.  Cherrie, well, Cherrie is Cherrie.  She received a temporary release from court-ordered restrictions and got the ankle bracelet removed.  As for Buffy…let’s just say we sprang Buffy, and leave it at that.”

“And you?”

“Me?”  As the sun shone through his thinning Afro, Bobby took a long drag on his cigarette.  “I’m just the ugly duckling Cowridge who’s lucky to be along for the ride.”

“Are you gonna finish that?”  I pointed to his half-full coffee.

“Nahhh,” the Lucky Strike fizzled out as he flicked it into the cup.

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