Totally True Tales From The Backstage: How To Not Leave Town
Author’s note: This story is not originally mine. It was told to me one night after a show in Portland by the guy in the opening band that it happened to, as we decompressed in a nearby dive bar. I did buy it from him for 6 Miller High Life’s and 3 shots of Jager. He said I now own it outright, and can do whatever I want with it.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent, and retained to exploit the deserving.
Stephen leapt down the four steps from the stage, and landed with both feet on the concrete green room floor.
“That’s how you fucking DO IT!” He spun around around and held his palm up at shoulder height.
David slapped it as he walked down the stairs, headed towards the chipped wooden table opposite the stage door. He grabbed a baby carrot from the plastic tray and swirled it around the cup of ranch dressing, breaking up the film that had congealed over the top.
Stephen could still hear the the remnant wash of the cymbals coming from the stage, the dissonant last chord made by his guitar as he dropped it onto the stage slowly building into a wall of feedback over the P.A. The crowd was still clapping and hooting, needing more music from the two-piece rock band, and Stephen said in his best Daniel Day Lewis imitation, “There. Will. Be. Encore.”
David plunged his hand into the ice-filled bus tub, and fished out two bottles of PBR. He pitched one to Stephen, who snatched it mid-flight, twisted it open, cocked his elbow back, and snapped the cap airborne at the wall. It hit a drooping poster of The Faces. Someone had drawn a cartoon bubble coming out of Rod Stewart’s mouth. “My stomach hurts. Call an ambulance.”
“I mean, you better be careful,” Stephen continued, pointing at David. “If you invite us to come cross country to rock your club, we’re going to come and rock your fucking club!”
With the momentum of the crowd noise slowly building, the lit-up cellphone sitting in his open guitar case caught Stephen’s eye. He snatched it. 3 missed calls and 4 texts in the last hour, all from his girlfriend Ruby. He furrowed his brow and pushed his long, sweaty blond hair out of his eyes.
He touched the “return call” button. She answered on the first ring. “What’s up babe?” asked Stephen. “Sorry I missed you. But we were a little busy DESTROYING the poor people of Cleveland.”
Ruby laughed. “Oh honey, I don’t want to bug you. But real quick, listen. Mom and I wanted to surprise you guys. We want to clean your apartment while you’re gone.”
“Oh, that’s totally sweet. But you don’t have to do that.” Stephen heard the crowd begin to stomp.
“We want to!” she sang. His mom muttered agreement in the background. “We’re at your door right now.”
At the door right now. The crowd noise from the other room suddenly went silent as Stephen’s attention lasered in on the phone conversation.
“That’s…that’s totally awesome,” he stammered. He shot a wide eyed look at David, who was trying to bounce a drumstick off the floor. “But really, no, you don’t have to do that.”
Stephen thought hard. He and David shared a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, part of a complex of small bungalows on a lush, overgrown courtyard, centered around a dried-up, long broken fountain. They called it Melrose Disgrace.
His primary concern was the possibility of a full ashtray on the coffee table, evidence of the hidden smoking habit he swore was history. Maybe a roach too, sitting on the edge. Oh well. He could easily blame that all on David, who was not only his drummer and roommate, but also built-in fall guy. But as hard as Stephen racked his brain, he could not remember in what condition they left the apartment. There was a large black hole where his memory of them leaving this morning should have been.
As his mind raced, Ruby chimed in on the other end. “So listen, do you guys have someone staying at your place while you’re gone the next two weeks?”
Stephen snapped back into focus. “No. No, not at all. Why?”
“Because we’re standing on the step, and we hear the TV blaring inside. The curtains are closed, and we don’t want to walk in on anybody.”
“That’s weird?” said Stephen. “No, you’re the only other person with the key. We must have left it on. Uh…go on in, I guess?” Let the chips fall where they may.
“Oh, OK. I just wanted to make sure…God, this lock is so sticky, you guys really should do something about…”
Through the phone, he heard the mom scream. “Oh my god,” Ruby exhaled. “Stephen!”
“Oh right,” remembered Stephen sadly. “We left the TV on.”
They had fucked up the waking up part of the morning. In order to make it to Cleveland in time to pick up the van, rental gear, and get to the club, they had booked an 8:00 am flight from LAX, which meant airport at 7:00, which meant leave the house at 6:00. They had convinced their manager Tim to give them a ride. He wasn’t super stoked to do it, but it was in his best monetary interest to make sure they made it to the first show of the two week tour. He agreed, but made them swear that they would be ready to go when he got there.
They made the decision to be super responsible. “We are not going out!” they declared. “We will stay in, go to bed early, and make that flight!”
David ran out for a pizza and a case. They sat down on the couch to chill. They decided to pay-per-view a movie. They deduced that the financial commitment to the rental would further cement their commitment to stay in. “There’s no way we’re going to pay good money for this movie, then go out, and have it expire unwatched, right?”
But unfortunately, as always, they couldn’t settle on anything. Either seen it, or no fucking way I’m watching that. Naturally, the remote control eventually led them to the adult movie section of the menu.
“Look, it just makes more sense to get the 24-hour deal,” they reasoned. “That way you can dip back in whenever you want. No one watches a porno straight through from beginning to end.” So they did.
Stephen was awakened by manager Tim pounding on the door and yelling “Assholes! Let’s go!” He looked at his phone. Shit, 6:15 am. They overslept. Fortunately, they had at least had the good sense to put their guitar cases and backpacks in the entryway, and to fall asleep fully dressed.
The TV was still on, the screen filled with tanned skin slapping together in high definition. Stephen quickly dug through the couch cushions and beer bottles that covered the coffee table, searching for the remote, to no success. “We have to go now! You’re going to miss the god damned flight!” cried Tim from the open doorway. “Fuck it,” said Stephen, abandoning the search for the remote. He left the porno playing, grabbed his gear and sprinted out the door, followed close behind by David, who had just emerged from his bedroom.
“Mom, just go in the kitchen! Stephen, how do I turn it off?” Ruby’s voice had a stressed urgency, but there was a slight bit of amusement as well. In dating Stephen, and by extension his drummer David, this was not a completely uncharacteristic event.
“I don’t know! I couldn’t find the remote this morning! Just unplug the whole TV from the wall! Look, it was just a joke thing, we were…”
Stephen was interrupted by the mother’s background cry of “OH MY GOD. RUBY COME HERE.”
Stephen could hear Ruby scrambling from the living room into the kitchen. His head was spinning, trying to break through the fuzzy memory of the early morning.
“Mom?” Ruby sounded as scared as Stephen felt. “What’s wrong…Jesus Christ, Stephen, it’s like one hundred degrees in here!”
Stephen waved David over and turned the speakerphone on. He silently mouthed the words “Apartment hot?” to David. David furrowed his brow and shook his head. The apartment had a heater, but Stephen knew for a fact that he had pulled the 9-volt battery out of the thermostat to use in his distortion pedal.
“Babe?” asked a timid Stephen. “Honey, what is it?”
“Hold on Stephen. Mom, move over. Are the the knobs too hot to touch? I’ll do it.” Ruby struggled for a second. “Stephen, the oven is on high and wide open.”
Once again, Stephen’s brain clicked. “Yes,” he said. “We were baking last night.”
They had finished the pizza, most of the case of beer, and lost interest in the constant stream of smut on the TV. They were not looking forward to the length of the early morning flight. They had a decent sized bag of weed in their stash box, and a package of brownie mix. It was a no-brainer. “Let’s make some edibles for the flight.”
Looking for butter in the fridge, they also happened upon a bottle of Grey Goose in the freezer, a leftover from last month’s house party. They started drinking screwdrivers while mixing up the batter.
“Hey, do you think we might tweak out on these things on the plane?” asked Stephen.
“Yeah, and we don’t want to be thrashed when we get to Cleveland. Do you still have any Xanax?”
“Let’s crush some bars up and do half the tray with Xanies, in case we want to crash out on the flight.”
It was creeping up on midnight, and they both started to get a little concerned that they weren’t going to get enough rest that night. The plan was made to eat a Xanax right when the brownies went into the oven, so they could pull them out, cut them up, and fall immediately asleep.
“Oops,” said Stephen sheepishly. “Uh, can you shut that off? Our bad.” He dropped down onto the green room futon couch. It was the same texture as one of those foam blocks you stick floral arrangements into, and gave a soft squish under his weight.
“Yeah, oops!” Ruby’s anger and embarassment was evident. She whispered into the phone. “You idiots could have burned the whole place down.”
Stephen looked over at his backpack, where the two zip-locs of brownies were. One had a large “X” on it, written in Sharpie. The other said “Snoop.” He thought Tim had brought them, as a going away present.
“Did we leave anything on the counter?” asked Stephen.
David smiled and nodded his head, letting out a soft “Nice.”
“Well, ha ha, good thing you guys came by!” Stephen was trying to lighten the mood. “Our gas bill would have been bonkers.”
Ruby wasn’t paying attention. “I’m going to open the kitchen window. Mom, go open the bathroom window to get a cross breeze going.”
From the tinny phone speaker, Stephen and David could both clearly hear a distant “OH NO” followed by retching.
The single bathroom was directly off the kitchen, another charming aspect of the apartment. They listened as Ruby ran across the linoleum floor.
“Oh GOD,” she coughed. “What’s that smell?”
The two bandmates looked at each other. “Oh,” said Stephen. “The chain must have come off.”
The fact that the toilet chain had been slipping off for the last four months was a testament to Stephen and David’s laziness. Instead of biting the bullet, heading down to Home Depot, and buying a new assembly, they had attached the broken link to the lever with a guitar string. That fix would last, on average, 6 flushes.
At this moment, Stephen realized why David had all the Xanax. Xanax wreaked havoc on Stephen’s bowels.
He also remembered where he woke up this morning. It was not in his bed. It was with his cheek pressed up against the smooth white bathroom wall, perched on the throne.
Tim was banging on the door. They had overslept! They were going to miss the flight, and fuck up the tour! He quickly cleaned up, pulled up his pants, and hit the flusher.
There was no resistance. The metal arm pinged against the porcelain lid of the tank. The fucking chain.
Tim’s pounding on the door became more intense, and he began the name calling. Stephen flipped the seat cover down, and ran past the open oven into the living room.
Slowly the heat from the kitchen infiltrated the bathroom.
Stephen rubbed his forehead with his palm as he listened to the coughing and dry heaving over the phone.
“Mom, get out of there. Don’t touch anything.” It sounded like the phone was down by Ruby’s side. They heard her walking, and then the slamming of the bathroom door. “I swear to god Stephen.” She was pissed.
“I, uh…We…” Stephen had nothing.
“We need to get some air in here,” barked Ruby. “Let’s get all the other windows open.”
They heard two pair of footsteps walking down the hall. They heard a door open. They heard the mom scream. They heard Ruby scream. They heard a third scream.
David arched his eyebrows. “I think I called Keri over! She loves Xanax.”
The phone line disconnected. Two calls went straight to Ruby’s voicemail, and the text went unreplied.
“I think these guys are on heroin,” a guy yelled into his buddy’s ear in a nightclub in Cleveland.
“Because they almost blew the stage up on their last song, and this encore is like a funeral procession.”
“Yeah,” said the other guy. “You’re right. Total junkies. They still rock, though.”
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