Songbirds
The
Ballad of Bridget and Brian 
Kitty Schooley
Chapter
8
Turkey Vultures
Table of Contents
Chapter 11
Getting Cocked and Cock Fights
I moved in with a romantic vision of what living with Brian would be like. I was, however, hit on the head by reality. I lived with four young men. Four young men who had just escaped the discipline of living with their parents. Four young men who thought nothing of getting high.
There were meetings. These were to discuss where the band was playing and the finances. I would bring up the circumstances of the house. “Could we just agree on keeping the kitchen clean? Make up a schedule of dishes getting done? Honestly, you can’t even go in there and cook or eat because every dish is dirty!”
“Yeah, sure, Mom,” Joey teased.
“Bridget,” Brian said very formally, “we all agreed everyone does their own dishes, has their own food. This isn’t a commune, for chrissake.”
“Great, if everyone would do that. But they’re not.”
“Get off it,” Brian said, “this is for band schedule stuff and finances.”
“I can’t live in this pig sty!” Tears threatened but I controlled them for the moment.
“Bridget’s right,” Mark said.
Brian’s eyes flashed hot lightning at him. There had already started to be scenes. Mark and I had gotten outside jobs. That meant we rode into work together, because vehicles were scarce. One morning as I left with Mark, Brian said, “That skirt’s too short.”
“You’re not my father!” I shot back at him. I knew Brian was more concerned about the length being too short for the ride with Mark and not for actually being at work. Brian was increasingly feeling confused about Mark’s ambiguous sexual orientation.
That night, Brian heatedly told Mark, “So the pansy-assed girls of the band want a dish washing schedule.” I could feel even Joey cringe with that one. The overriding attitude was that Mark was a great bassist and whatever he wanted outside of the band was ignored.
“That was rude,” Mark said. “You’re bigger than that, Brian.”
“Am I?” Brian beared his teeth in an unfriendly mask.
“Hey, I got no problem with it,” Greg interceded. “Just make up a schedule, Bridget. I’ll make sure it’s kept.”
Brian whirled around. As long as Greg and Joey kept quiet there could be no consensus. Greg just sat there, waiting. It was Mark that spoke again. “He’s jealous of me.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Brian shouted at Mark.
“Am I? That comment about Bridget’s skirt? You can’t stand that she’s in the car with me for twenty minutes.”
“You’re all fucking crazy!” Joey screamed. I could contain the tears no longer and ran out of the room into our bedroom. I thought about packing and calling Meg, but first I had to fall onto the bed in an uncontrollable heap of sobs. I put the pillow over my head, so that I couldn’t hear what was going on in the living room.
Had there been a phone in our room, I would have called Meg—perhaps not to pack up and leave, but at least for some sympathy. But there was only one phone and it was in a very public area of the house—the front entryway.
Time passed and I noticed it was quiet. Most if not all had left. There was the dull noise of a radio or TV on somewhere in the house. Something inside nudged me to investigate. I walked through the empty and still disastrous kitchen into the living room turned studio that was lit by the cool gray light of the TV screen only. Brian slumped on the sofa. I never wanted to sit on it—I swore they picked it up from a dump. It smelled and was so stained the original color was uncertain. The springs were so stressed anyone who sat there was nearly on the floor. “Brian?” I said uncertainly. Before we had lived here we had hardly ever fought. The fact that we were now was distressing.
He glanced over at me. His chin was in his hand and his fingers splayed about. “You should know we got gigs coming up Friday and Saturday. Standard rehearsal on Sunday afternoon. All the bills are paid up. That’s all I had to say.”
I sat down cross-legged in front of him. I touched his knee. “Brian, I’d like you to be more considerate of my feelings when I bring something up.” I waved my hand toward the kitchen. “You can see that the original agreement’s not holding up. My Mom wants to come over for a visit and I can’t even bring her.”
“I didn’t want our meeting’s to get bogged down in stuff. Household shit.”
I looked up at him pleadingly. “I know, there’s no other forum, though.”
“This hasn’t been easy for me, Bree. No one else wants to make the bookings, pay the bills. God, I sound like my Dad.”
“I wanted to live here with you. And most of it’s been great. When the band gets up on stage, we just congeal. It’s amazing. And I think you’re responsible for most of it. The catalyst. You got to me. You got to everyone.” I fell silent. There were two separate issues that had come to fore in the meeting. “So what’s going to happen in the kitchen?”
“I guess you’re going to make a schedule and Greg’s gonna beat anyone who doesn’t stick to it.”
“And you agree?”
“Yeah, I agree.”
I touched his knee again. “Brian, are you really jealous of Mark?”
He leaned forward and touched my cheek. “You really are naive, aren’t you? He likes you. More than likes, wants you.”
“But he’s supposed to be gay.”
“Bi is more like it.”
I lay my head down on his lap. “What’s gonna happen to us?”
He petted my hair. “I don’t know, Bree. Guess we’re just gonna have to work it out as we go along. I love you. Hope that’s enough.”
“I love you, too.”
It was when we were alone together in our room. I would read the promises in his eyes. Everything I wanted and more. It was enough for me at that time. We would make love. Only we could get hassled when the kids were home, as Brian would say. We would be making love, and then would hear on the other side of the folding door exaggerated panting and sighs. “Leave us alone!” Brian would bellow. The mood would be ruined and we were left wanting. Brian, as many times as not, would get dressed and get high with the guys. So it was really me left wanting. I would wake up when he came to bed and try to renew the promises of earlier. But he would be, “Tired, Bree. Check me out in the morning.”
Only many times I would have to leave before he was fully awake. So the crazy quilt that was our life got stitched. Burlap next to brocade and velveteen. I always believed it would be more satin and velvet when the band got on its way.
The band was getting on its way. More and more gigs poured in. All around the college areas. Omaha, Kansas City, Des Moines and St. Louis. Brian complained he was so busy he didn’t even get to listen to any other music or write. So I started writing.
“I wrote a song,” I said one day when no one else was home.
“You’re cute, Bree.”
“No really, I want you to listen to it.”
“All right.” Brian pulled his pants on. We had made love while no one else was home. “Let’s go in the studio.”
I put my clothes back on and followed Brian into the studio. He had already picked up his guitar and was strumming mindlessly. He looked up. “Whacha got, Bree-gee?”
I sat down at my keyboard, played a short introduction, and then began singing:
I was young and stupid, I thought I’d seen cupid
Still something about him,
I remember he loved me with a slow hand.
Guitar man, please the people with your music
and love me with your slow hand.
I felt my heart beat fast, He could play make it last,
not a man of many words,
I loved he who loved me with a slow hand.
Guitar man, please the people with your music
and love me with your slow hand.
I grew more than wise now, it would be hard explaining how,
I knew he couldn’t make it; I was through,
though he loved me with a slow hand.
Guitar man, please the people with your music
and love me with your slow hand.
Next made love like a full court press, exciting yes (yes, yes, yes)
But I lost my breath
I thought of the man who loved me with a slow hand.
Guitar man, please the people with your music
and love me with your slow hand.
Brian looked at me his eyes melting into quicksilver. “That about me?”
I was flustered. Of course, I had thought of him when I wrote it. The original idea was from Eric Clapton. “You know how they call Eric Clapton slow hand? I just expanded on it.”
Thankfully, he didn’t believe me. He came over, took my hand off the keyboard, and pulled me up and into his arms. “It’s great. We’ll use it.” We were back in our room in seconds.
That was part of the crazy quilt of my life that made up the pieces before my illusion of the perfect moment. Some pieces were rough as burlap. Others were as smooth and as comforting as velvet. Some were as exquisite as brocade. The band was doing progressively better. It was more than Brian could handle to manage us. The money was flowing in, allowing all who had outside jobs to quit and concentrate on the band. We thought relief came the night Dex Mendoza walked backstage one night in Kansas City. “You kids are great,” he said. “Who’s your manager?”
“I am,” Brian replied tersely.
“How’d ya like a break? I’m looking for a group to manage.”
“What’ve you done?” Brian asked suspiciously.
It turned out Dex had enough experience to impress Brian and the rest of the band. The real battle began over me. Brian never told me what transpired because I was the one he was protecting. Mark was present and would eventually tell me.
“What about the girl?” Dex asked. “You gonna replace her?”
“Absolutely not,” Brian replied.
“Look, kid,” Dex said, “she’s your girlfriend right? This shit happens all the time. You gotta keep her happy so you put her in the band.”
“Bridget’s good,” Mark said. “She was there before any of the rest of us. She deserves this break more than any of us.” Brian was so angry he could not even speak.
“Hey, I’m not saying she’s not good,” Dex said. “She just doesn’t mesh. You and the rest of the band pull one way, she pulls another. You’re hard driving rock. You need a Jerry Lee Lewis, Elton John type. She’s Carole King. Maybe on her own ticket...”
“You sexist son-of-a-bitch!” Brian spurted. “Carole King rocks sometimes and Elton John does sweet stuff. Lots of bands do eclectic rock. You just got some reason you don’t want a woman in the band.”
“Women, girls that is, buy records. They don’t want to buy records from another female. And they certainly don’t wanna know the hip swiveling guy they idolize is hooked up with the chick in the band.”
Brian went into a corner and started pounding his fist on the wall to keep from hitting the guy. Mark still seemed to think he could be won over with logic. “Carole King has topped the charts. Linda is in Wings with Paul McCartney. They sell records.”
“You’d be next,” Dex said.
Mark came close to hitting him himself at that point. He chose to turn away, tug Brian by the shirtsleeve and said, “Let’s get out of here, man.”
“No,” Brian swiped at Mark and pointed at Dex. “So you’d take that low talent pretty boy Joey and make him the star?”
“He’d sell records. The rest of you are along for the ride. You tell me that’s not why he’s in the band?”
“Bastard,” Brian said. “Well, you crawled out of the woodwork, there’ll be other slime. We’ll wait until the next one oozes out.” He was so mad his metaphors were neither consistent nor necessarily making sense.
I wondered what had happened for a long while afterward. I had thought prior to that meeting we were about ready to sign with a manager. “Brian, I thought we were going to sign with Dex. You’ve got so much to do, don’t you want a break.”
“Don’t forget about a manager’s take,” Brian said.
“Sweetie, you’re frazzled, is it worth that much? And it’s possible they’d get us better paying gigs.”
“He wasn’t for us. There’ll be others.”
I was sitting next to him on the bed. I combed my fingers through his hair and rested my head on his shoulder. I was so in love with Brian then, I could not imagine we would ever part. What I did imagine was that once the money started rolling in, we would get married. Then we would have a baby. I imagined that sort of thing abounded in the world of rock. I had closed my eyes to the short-term marriages and relationships that were the rule. I was blind to the infidelities. I was oblivious to the children that got left in the wake. To me, it was about the music Brian and I could make together. It was the kind of love that the songs were all written about. Brian was serious about making it work. So I thought he was equally serious about us.
Perhaps he was. Perhaps he just got distracted. There was finally a day a manager walked into our lives that took the band as we were. We signed and our hopes were at their highest. My hopes were at their highest. Brian would come through with marriage and then we would have a family, resting on our laurels. It was as close to the perfect moment as I could get. At least in that decade.
His name was Seth Ashton. He said, “You should be out in LA, cutting records.”
“We’ve heard this before,” Brian said skeptically.
“You don’t think you’re good enough?”
“Of course, I do. Just that the last guy wanted changes,” Brian said.
“What kind of changes?”
“Personnel changes for one.”
“Hmm,” Seth said. “If the band wanted them, that’s one thing. But when you’ve had a chance to congeal as a band, it’s better not to mess with the mix. Sure, you need some edges smoothed out. That’s what managers and producers are for.”
I liked him. Perhaps a bit too much. Brian was sure the way I smiled at Seth meant more than it did. I couldn’t explain it to him then. I couldn’t explain that I saw Seth stepping into our lives as our ticket to all that I wanted. We would go out to Los Angeles, record an album, and buy a little house. We did all that. It just that I thought most of our live performances were over. I did not understand how the recording industry worked. One cut a record. Then one went out on the road to promote the record. Those individuals and bands that were extravagant out on the road were lucky to break even after a concert tour. Our band, In Faith, was one of the lucky ones. There was never any extra money. Plus there was all the scenes that Brian and I lived through. I survived but a great cost was extracted. I was wounded and abused. Miraculously, I decided the drugs and alcohol were making it worse, making it impossible to make a lucid decision. Perhaps it was that alcohol was not a common experience at my home. It wasn’t denied, just not common. Brian’s father, on the other hand, came home to a beer or mixed drink every night. Not enough to cause him to have an accident or not show up for work in the morning. Just enough to blur all the feelings.
I started to notice when I came down from the drugs and alcohol how silly the band appeared off stage. Somehow they would pull it all together once plugged into the amps and in front of mikes. Except backstage, even moments before they went on, they could barely put together a sentence. I started to call Meg, my sister, from the road. Her voice became my lifeline to reality. I stopped even having the meaningless affairs.
When I cut my hair, it seemed the symbol of my connection to Brian was cut. Since I was no longer being extravagant, I could afford to put money aside for my own home in Los Angeles. I worked my connections to get a respectable job in the music business. I had no idea how lost I would get inside of that.
© 2005 Kitty Schooley
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