The Altar of Her Love

I explained that they'd won John over completely, and that I was happy to inform them that they had a regular gig every three or four weeks playing Thursday through Saturday -- that is, if they wanted it. I told them I'd pay them $1500 for each of the three-night stands, and if they played an additional Wednesday night, I'd make it $2000 for the four days. They were ecstatic. We shook hands, and I told them I'd draw up the contracts the following week.

I went back inside, and found that Erin had pretty much made sure that everything that needed to be done was done. I told everybody else they could leave, but I quietly asked Erin if she would stick around for a few minutes. I said I had something to tell her.

The others left, and after I locked the doors again behind them, I walked behind the bar and poured us each a pint. I handed Erin hers and told her to take a seat at one of the bar stools, while I closed out the last till. While I was counting out the money, I mentioned that John had observed her the night before. She seemed to get really nervous when I said that, like she thought she'd screwed up somehow.

"No, no, Erin. It's all good! You impressed him that's all, and I'll be honest with you, over the last two nights you've impressed me, too. Look, it's pretty simple. You've just got a way with the customers. They like you, and I can already tell that you work harder than anybody else we've got here. And maybe, more importantly, you've got initiative. That's a quality that's hard to find in people."

"Anyway, John told me that I should take some time to make a decision on whom to name assistant manager, but between you and me, Erin, I don't need to take any time -- you're the best person for the job, and I've already made up my mind. What do you say?"

She got this really huge grin on her face, those dimples flashing again. Erin was pretty no matter what, but when she smiled, she just made me melt. "Oh, Tom, that's so great! Thank you, thank you!" She reached forward and grasped my hand in both of hers. If there wasn't a bar separating her from me, I think she would have leaned forward to kiss me. She quickly recovered her sense of decorum, and sheepishly released my hand.

"Now, listen. I need to make this clear to you." I said it really seriously, as I finished putting the surplus cash from the till into a money bag. "I can't announce this right away. I don't want John to think that I haven't given it serious consideration, but I'm not gonna change my mind. You're the best person to do this, and in two, maybe three weeks, I'll go to John, and find out what kind of a raise I can offer you. I think it will be fairly significant. Is that okay with you that I have to wait?"

"Sure, sure! I don't care about that. I'm just glad you have confidence in me, and like I said before, Tom, you won't regret this!"

I smiled. "And like I said before, I know I won't!" We talked for a few more minutes while we drank our beers, and I finished preparing the deposit for Monday morning, and then putting the deposit, and all of the prepared cash drawers in the safe underneath the bar. When I was done, I asked Erin if she wanted to go upstairs to my apartment for a nightcap to celebrate our success and her promotion.

She got a confused, conflicted, almost fearful look on her face. "I don't know if I should, Tom." She paused. "It's pretty late."

It was the first time of several over the next nine months that I attempted to use my prodigious powers of persuasion, and, in this case, eventually they worked. "I know it's late, but where do you have to go -- home? If you're like me, you're so keyed up right now that you're not gonna go to sleep anyway. Besides, it's Saturday night, and you get to sleep in tomorrow."

"Well... you're right about going to sleep. I won't be doing that 'til I wind down a little bit. But...." She wouldn't look at me, and I knew exactly why she was hesitating. She could tell that I liked her. She could see it in my eyes. Still, I sensed that another part of her wanted to come.

"Come on! I'm not some creepy fucker. All I want is for you to join me for a drink and a little music, okay? Look absolutely no pressure, Erin, if you want to go home, I understand. It's just that we're gonna be working together, right? We should be friends -- people who trust each other. And hey, you're Irish aren't you? You must like Irish whiskey! I've got a bottle of Jameson's upstairs! Come on, just one drink -- we'll have some fun! By the way, I never thought to ask -- do you need a ride home? It's pretty cold out there. It's cold and it's late, and I don't want you walking. Just come up for a little bit, and then if you need one, I'll give you a ride home."

"Yeah, I would appreciate the ride; thanks for offering. And you're right about me being Irish, but that, of course, means I'm Catholic too, and maybe you forget this part, Tom, but I'm supposed to go to Mass tomorrow morning! So much for sleeping in!" she said it sarcastically, like she was clearly joking and flashed me a silly grin at the same time. Still, having been born and raised in the culture myself, I knew that Catholics that were sarcastic were always half-serious when they were goofing on their cult status.

"Look, Erin, I'll get you home at a reasonable hour, so you can go to Mass if you want to, and I'll tell you what, it's been a long time since I listened to it, but if you come up, I'll play Asbury Park for you!" She didn't say anything, but a big smile broke out on her face, and she shook her head up and down enthusiastically.

"Great! Let's go!" Within seconds, we were headed up the back stairwell to my place.

When we got inside, I invited her to sit down on the couch, but instead she stood in front of the stacks and stared with wonder at my record collection, organized meticulously in alphabetically order. Her look reminded me of that first afternoon that she'd come into Hector's for her interview. "Jesus, I've never seen so many records before. How many do you have?"

"I don't know. I've never counted them. A lot, that's all I know." I found the Springsteen record and put it on. I played that first side, the one with "Blinded by the Light" and "Lost in the Flood."

As far as I was concerned, those songs and a few others like them, with their wild imagery and insane rhymes represented the pinnacle of Springsteen's vision -- this whole world of crazy, unpredictable, sometimes joyous, sometimes tragic life on New York or Jersey streets -- life that was, on the one hand, completely different from my own banal youth, considering that I had grown up in another small city in the Midwest.

At the same time, as dull and as backwards as my own upbringing had been, I still felt like I was an urban rat too, and because of my adolescent experiences -- Saturday night joyrides, scoring drugs, stealing my way into the bowels of these bizarre, industrial wastelands, and then the next morning going to church and pretending to be sorry for everything I'd done -- I think I understood what Springsteen was describing in his little neck of the asphalt jungle.

While Erin was grooving on "Blinded by the Light", I made us a couple of cocktails -- Jameson's on the rocks. I didn't know if she drank her liquor straight up or not, but if she didn't, she didn't complain either. I guess I should have asked.

When I came back in the room, she was sitting on the couch. After I handed her the drink, I sat down on the chair facing it. I didn't want to scare her off by sitting too uncomfortably close to her.

"So, tell me about seeing Springsteen. Where was it?" she asked.

"In the Cities at, I can't remember, I think the St. Paul Civic Center, or some other stupid arena that's really huge and has awful acoustics. I don't really care to see anybody in that kind of setting anymore, and I wouldn't have paid money to do it then either, but this buddy of mine won a couple of tickets on some call-in radio show, and he offered to give me one of 'em if I drove him over there. So I did."

"Free tickets to Springsteen?" She shook her head jealously. "But you didn't like him, right?"

"No, it's not that. He put on a good show, and his band was great. He's like the most energetic guy you've ever seen. I mean he's all over the stage, jumping everywhere, and climbing up on speaker monitors to do guitar solos, shit like that, and maybe that's a little too theatrical for my tastes, but that wasn't the problem."

"It was the fucking audience and their rock god bullshit that bothered me. There were too many people there, and, like, practically all of them only knew the same one or two songs from Born to Run that they'd heard on the radio. It was just depressing. They ate up all the histrionics, and then missed everything that was supposed to be important. I just don't think that they got him, and the really sad part is that if they had gotten him, I'm not sure that they would have liked him."

"Yeah, he did kinda play up the rock god thing on that record, but I think that was mostly the fault of the record company, wasn't it?"

"You're right, it was; it definitely was. Everybody at the time was trying to sign the next Bob Dylan, and Columbia might have had even more incentive, because they'd already signed the first Bob Dylan. So yeah, they hyped the shit out of that record. I just didn't think it was nearly as good as the first two, and that was made even more depressing considering how many people bought it." I paused and took a drink, thinking maybe Erin had something to say in response, but she didn't, so I kept going. I felt the need to explain myself. "I don't hate things just because they're popular, but I think that if something is popular enough to make someone famous... at least someone who isn't already famous, then there is usually something almost subliminal in it that has devalued it. It's almost always made in such a way that makes it a deliberate calculation intended to achieve mass appeal." I paused. She didn't say anything, and I figured it was best to change the subject.

"Well, what did you think of The Phat Larry's?"

She smiled, and took a sip of her whiskey. She was going at it pretty slowly, and that should have been my cue to ask if she wanted me to throw some Coke or 7Up in it for her, but sometimes, I swear I'm just an oblivious dickhead. "They were good! A lot of fun! Everybody seemed to like them."

"You don't like that kind of music, though, do you?"

She got a kind of glum look on her face, because, unlike me, she didn't like challenging other people's opinions. "Well, some it is pretty good. I like that song 'Do You Want to Dance?' It sounds really familiar, like I've maybe heard it before."

"That's because you have. That's an old song, a late 50s pop/R&B record. A million people did it, but the first time it was a hit was for the black kid who wrote it, a guy named Bobby Freeman. The Larry's learned that song from The Ramones."

"Yeah, I liked that one, and "La Bamba" and also "I Fought the Law." But, you're right; most of it is a little too fast, too loud, too angry for my tastes. I guess I don't understand punk rock or even new wave. They always seem mad. What are they mad about? I don't get it."

"I don't know. I'm not sure they are, but if they are, I think they're angry that rock 'n' roll has been taken over by corporations, and the whole industry is geared to make a very few people very rich at the expense of everyone else. And, even more than that, it was supposed to be music performed for kids by other kids, and now it seems like it's controlled by people that are old enough to be their grandparents."

"Rock 'n' roll was supposed to be about rebellion. It was supposed to be about that feeling of strapping on a guitar for the first time with your friends and bashing something out in the garage and getting all exhilarated about being able to play three chords for three minutes, and now it's about concept albums, and multi-million dollar tours, concert T-shirts, drum solos, and huge arenas and things that are just so antithetical what it was all about in the first place."

"All those songs that you said you liked; those were records that were made by kids. "Do You Want to Dance" hit the top 5 when Bobby Freeman was 17. Richie Valens was a poor, Mexican kid from L.A. who had a hit with "La Bamba" before he had even graduated high school. He was dead before he turned 19. The Bobby Fuller Four had a hit with "I Fought the Law" when Bobby Fuller was 23, and he was dead at 24. And 'I Fought the Law'? That song was written by Sonny Curtis of Buddy Holly's band, and Buddy Holly died in that same plane crash that killed Richie Valens when he was 26."

"So what you're saying is that anybody who makes good rock music has to die young?"

"No, they don't have to die young; I would never wish that on anyone. But, I think the music should at least feel young. Grace Slick, and... what's the name of her band now... Starship? They have a hit right now, and she's almost 50 years old, and that song is probably the worst freaking song ever written, certainly the worst song she ever wrote, and she knows it. Why in God's name is that a hit, when there are a million great songs by a million new bands out there right now that can't even find a place to play much less, a record contract or a slot on the radio? It's disgusting!"

"It sounds like you're mad!"

"Maybe, but it's kinda sad when you used to be able to turn on the radio and hear music that just blew you away, and then you'd change the channel and they'd be playing a different great song that blew you away, and no two radio stations played exactly the same things, and there was such diversity in the styles of popular music -- country and rhythm and blues and soul and rock 'n' roll and pop, and... and it was all exciting and different and fun, and now we have bands like Journey, and Foreigner and Boston, and no matter which station you turn on you can't escape them! That guy from Boston is a fucking engineer from MIT, for god sakes! He can twiddle knobs on synthesizers with the best of them, but he wouldn't know a good song if it walked up and bit him on his sorry ass!"

I knew right away that what I was saying was offensive, and that I had come off as angry and spiteful, and I didn't want to do that. Neither one of us said anything for a good minute. The final verse of "Lost in the Flood" was just about to end, and those great, great lines came on a half-minute after I finished my nonsensical diatribe -- "Hey man, did you see that?/His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud/I wonder what the dude was sayin'/Or was he just lost in the flood?"

I stared at her really intensely, as a look of both remorse and shame swept across my face. "I'm sorry, Erin. I'm sorry for spewing all of that garbage all over you, but, I mean, listen to those lyrics. Aren't they about a thousand times better than 'We built this city on rock 'n'roll'?"

She smiled. "You're right, they are!" She took another drink, a bigger one this time, and then smiled again even more beautifully. "Please don't apologize, Tom. I admire your passion. I can tell you really care about what you're saying. I don't completely understand everything, but I think I get most of your arguments." The record came to an end, and I got up to pull the vinyl off my turntable.

"Is there something else I can play for you? Something else you'd like to hear? I've got a pretty big collection. I can probably find something that you'd be interested in."

She smiled again. "Do you have any Southside Johnny?"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" I laughed. "What... do you only listen to musicians from New Jersey?" I said it with pointed, but innocuous sarcasm. "Next, you'll probably ask for some Sinatra!" I laughed again, but she knew I was just teasing her.

"I love Sinatra!" She responded with genuine sincerity.

"I do, too, Erin. I do, too!" I laughed again, and then searched through the stacks to find a Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes album. I threw it on, and then excuse myself to go to the kitchen to freshen my drink. Erin still had about half of hers left, and I didn't want it to appear as if I was trying to get her drunk, so after I poured some more Jameson's over the ice in my glass, I put the cap back on the bottle, brought it back with me to the living room, and set it down on the coffee table.

Erin was sipping her drink, and she smiled at me again, as she listened with great pleasure to "I Don't Want to Go Home." I don't know how she conveyed the message to me, but it seemed like she'd intentionally moved to the far end of the couch to make room for me to sit down next to her. I wasn't sure that was what she wanted, but I took a chance and joined her.

She looked at me, and I could tell she was thinking. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Tom?" she asked kind of sweetly, apparently trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"I sure do! Four sisters and a brother! Good Catholic family! Although, my parents could barely keep up with our Irish neighbors! I think most of the kids I went to school with had close to a dozen siblings. We couldn't really measure up to the Murray's, the Fitzpatrick's, the Harrington's and the Gallagher's, and all the rest! How about you, Erin? I'm guessing the Kemp's have a big brood!"

She laughed. "We do! I've got four brothers and four sisters!"

"Where do you fall in the lineup?"

"Almost in the middle! Three older than me and five younger. There are still four kids at home."

"Where are they at? Where'd you grow up?"

"Watertown. We live right on the river. Big place! I've always liked it there. It was a good place to grow up!"

"That sounds nice!"

"It really was! I was so lucky. I'll be the first to admit it. I'm still lucky, and I know I don't deserve all the blessings I've had." It was an interesting comment, and being the argumentative kind of guy that I was only just beginning to realize was an irrefutable aspect of my character, I decided Erin needed to see things from a contrarian perspective. I figured she understand that it was a compliment.

"Some people say that there's no such thing as luck -- that people make their own luck. If they're right, Erin, maybe you're worthy of everything good that's happened to you. You know, you did a hell of job these past two nights. You deserve a promotion, and you're not getting one because you're lucky."

She smiled really sweetly, and her dimples and those lips of hers were just enticing me beyond belief at that very instant. "Well, thank you for saying that, Tom, but sometimes I wonder...." She stopped, and I could tell she didn't want to articulate what she was thinking.

"Wonder what?"

She looked at me, and I knew she was afraid to answer. "I don't know if I should say."

"Come on, tell me! What's up, Erin? What are you so unsure of? Why won't you say what you're thinking?"

She stared at me for the longest time, trying, I presumed, to gauge whether or not I could be trusted with her innermost thoughts. Finally, she was out with it. "I wonder whether or not you want something from me, and that something is the reason you're so nice to me. But more than that, Tom, I wonder whether I want that same thing from you."

At first I felt like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Wow! I guess I'm pretty transparent, huh? I'm sorry, Erin. I really don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just like you; that's all." I stopped to think about what I'd just said, and I realized that I wasn't being truthful. "You know something, you're right, that's bullshit, and I don't want to bullshit you. Maybe I should take you home right now. I feel bad. I'm sorry!"