The Feet of God

 43 - NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOWBIZ

Bobby spotted Hank Decker inside the kitchen of the La Barge Inn.  He gave me an elbow to the side and whispered, “Roadie, start carrying our equipment out as fast as you can while I settle up.”

I left Bobby and Mr. Decker to discuss business, and busied myself stacking empty amp on top of empty amp and carrying them out to the back of the bus.  When I returned for another armful, Bobby and Mr. Decker was having what ya might call an animated discussion about the stipulations of the performance contract.

Maybe I’d just been in show business since yesterday, but I wasn’t born then.  I picked up the pace and hauled as much gear as I could, as fast as I could.  Strapping equipment on the roof of the bus I could see Freddy in the greenish glow of the onboard lighting still signing autographs.  Mom Cowridge was wrapping up Buffy’s tambourine-playing hand, while Cherrie was involved in changing out of her costume into something more transparent.

When I went back to retrieve the tape deck and load it on the bus, the discussion had escalated.  Bobby had Mr. Decker pushed up into a corner with a switchblade to his throat.  “Listen, shithead, nobody puts one over on the family and gets away with it.”

I unplugged the tape deck and began dragging it out.  I heard Bobby say, “You owe us $150 plus half the door, which I know for a fact comes to $450 total.  Now fucking fork it over.”

I got the equipment to the other side of the walk-in cooler, which blocked my view of what was happening, and I might’a heard a couple’a thuds and moans, or maybe not, all I know is, Bobby was suddenly next to me pulling at the machine.  “Move it!” he ordered.  “We’re outta here.”

Together we tossed the rest of the equipment into the rear of the bus and pushed past the remaining fans crowding around Freddy.

“Good night, ladies,” Bobby barked.  “Freddy needs his rest now to stay fresh and fabulous.  New towns, new gigs, new adventures.  Yeah, you bet.  Oh lucky, lucky, lucky.”  Under his breath he turned to Freddy and growled, “Flip ‘em the magical digit and get your ass behind that wheel, ‘cause we’re gonna have about twenty of those yahoos breathing down our necks in five minutes, and we need to be as far from here as possible when they do.”

Freddy gave his fans a big wink just before Bobby hauled him inside.  For a pint-sized runt, Bobby exhibited unbelievable strength throwing the former teen heartthrob into the driver’s seat.  Moments later the rainbow tour bus pulled outta La Barge.

Bobby plopped down next to Cherrie on a garbage bag filled with dirty costumes.  “In show business,” he said while counting money, “there are only two possibilities, cutting edge or cutting room floor.  You gotta know what your product is worth, and every buck you can steal above that is called success.  Tonight, dear family, we were a $200 success.”

Freddy drove the bus along old Highway 189 at a pretty good clip, skirting the Fontenelle Reservoir, and Bobby examined the map for quick but discreet routes to our next destination.

“Okay, about ten miles down this road you’re gonna see a sign for 372-South, we’ll take that, and catch I-80 at Green River and be in Tie Siding by morning.  It’s the Tie Siding Tavern Jamboree featuring The Cowridge Clan tomorrow night.”  Bobby looked around the bus.  “Feeling lucky now?”  (I definitely detected a bitter note of sarcasm in his voice.)

Mom rolled over next to Bobby and Cherrie, laying her chin to rest on Bobby’s shoulder.  “Bobby,” she sighed in a desultory way, “a mother never wants to pry into her children’s personal lives, but I have to ask, did you strong-arm that nice Mr. Decker for extra cash, or are we running from the scene of some other crime?”

Cherrie made that incomprehensible nasal sound again.  “So what was it, Bobbyyyyy?”

Bobby snapped at Cherrie, “Mind your own damned business, slut sister.”  Turning back to Mom, he said, “Let’s just hope whatever happened back there stays back there.”

Freddy looked at everyone in the rear view with his permanent happy face, pumping his thumb like a maniac.

Bobby shouted at him, “Keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road, dipshit!”  He was clearly in an irritable mood.  Bobby quickly flipped through a Teeny-Bop magazine sitting on top of a pile of crumpled clothes.  “I saw an article in here about The Grungy Bunch coming out of retirement with a tour of the Northeast.  And The Juke Boys are teaming up with The Sack Sisters to go on a multi-city tour around the South.”

“So?” Mom asked while she struggled with Buffy to get her to stop abusing herself with her mitt.

Bobby threw the magazine aside.  “Just more nostalgia acts on the road playing Podunk towns for a few measly bucks like us,” he buried his face in a beaded vest.  “I can’t take it anymore.”

Freddy chimed in, “I don’t see the problem, bro.”

Bobby threw the vest at the back of Freddy’s head and began kicking his feet into another bag of sequined shirts.  “I wanna play Vegas, I wanna play Veeeegaaas!”