The Wages, An Illustrated Story | 23. Songs and Parables | ’90s Band Portrait
So now we had to do a concert without a lead guitar.
I was disappointed, but I was confident in my ability to fill the rhythm guitar, and let the fiddle and pedal steel take the solos. I might even throw off my banjo and acoustic guitar and clang around on my Telecaster once or twice.
At last we arrived.
“OK get moving everybody,” I said, “We don’t have until the night to sort ourselves out. We’re up first.”
Crystal got everybody out except Joanne who lingered behind me.
As we were stepping off the bus, Joanne stretched her arms beside me and said to me “It’s because of me that you keep losing musicians.”
“Huh? I don’t see that,” I said, blinking at her in the sun and pushing my hands into the weary back of my neck. “What do you mean?”
“It’s hard on the other musicians because of our relationship,” she scrunched up the corners of her mouth. “For them it’s like working somewhere where the boss is fucking one of the staff.”
“What? Why would you say that? I don’t see it that way,” I said, feeling my brow furrow.
“I overheard Jerome say exactly that to the other men not long ago, and now he quit. I think that’s why you lost Lloyd on the fiddle in the winter and had to replace him, too.”
“Wait. Jerome actually said that before he quit?”
“I heard it. I don’t think he meant me to. They laughed too. I think it’s a strain on the other musicians in your band.”
“I don’t think Crystal feels that way,” I said.
“Crystal is your sister. It makes for a pretty closed club if you have your sister and your girlfriend in the band. I think they feel like they are more cut off from you than I am, because I am always getting it on with you.”
“Oh Joanne, even if it were true, which I doubt, it’s their problem, not yours, okay? It’s my thing to fix.” I said.
“That’s nice, but you’re talking to me like a boss would. Not a lover.”
I was a little irritated, but I felt bad for her and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. It’s a crazy life we all live.”
I stood close to Joanne for a moment, and I touched her face with my hand, and looked into her eyes, but she still looked dejected, squinting into the afternoon light, hiding the sweet blue behind her scrunched-up eyelids.
“I forgot my sunglasses. I’ll catch up in a minute,” Joanne said. She looked gloomy as she stepped back on the bus, and I slumped in disappointment and turned and headed for the bandshell.