Chapter 4

Dumphries laughed out loud the next day when he saw Zach. “You’re coming to practice like that?” he asked. Besides sweatpants, Zach was wearing a plastic trash bag with holes ripped into it for his head and arms. He held his bass guitar case in one hand and a well-stuffed gym bag in the other. “Joe’s gonna’ freak.”

“I’ll change before I get there,” Zach said as he pulled another sweatshirt over the bag.

“Then why not change now?” Dumphries asked.

“I want you to drop me off a few miles before we get there,” Zach explained. “I’ll run the rest of the way.”

“Jeez, man,” Dumphries said after they were in the car and on their way. “I hope you know what you’re doing. We’ve got band practice and you have to screw us all up by making us wait for you?”

“I won’t be long,” Zach promised. “Hey, whatever happened to the battery that was in here? I was getting used to having a foot rest.”

“It died again two days ago,” Dumphries said. “I put the new battery in and it started right up. Lucky I had it. I have to go buy a new one for a spare though.”

“How long before you’ve spent more on batteries than it would have to fix it?” Zach asked.

“I don’t know,” Dumphries. “Who cares? Carpe diem.”

The scenery became grittier as they passed through rings of suburbs in the direction of Philadelphia. Zach looked out the window as they passed run-down strip malls and fast food restaurants. He hoped Dumphries understood what was happening with the wrestling. They had been friends for years.

“You can’t bag the exercise just for today?” Dumphries asked. “Hey, get it, ‘bag’?”

“No way,” Zach said. “Staying in shape doesn’t work that way. You can’t take days off, otherwise you lose everything.”

“And the bag’s for losing weight, right?” Dumphries asked.

“Yup. I have to get down to 171,” Zach said.

“What are you now?” Dumphries asked.

“About 184,” Zach said.

“I thought you’re not supposed to just sweat it all off,” Dumphries said.

Zach shrugged. “You’re not, he said. “But I’m cutting it any way I can. I have to beat that guy at his own weight class.”

“What guy?” Dumphries asked.

“Mark Easton,” Zach said.

“I don’t know him,” Dumphries said.

“You go to a different school, how would you?” Zach said. “The guy was all over me all season last year. He’s a real straight arrow. Yesterday he jumped me. Where do you think I got this?” he asked, tapping the bluish, yellowish bruise on his face.

“He jumped you?” Dumphries asked.

“Well, after I jumped him first,” Zach said. “But I’m not taking his garbage anymore. I could have beat him last year if I hadn’t been out of shape. Not this time.”

“Sounds personal,” Dumphries said.

“It is,” Zach answered. “I don’t like him and his fancy wrestling shoes and silk sweat suits. It seems like he has a different one every practice.”

“He must be wild about you and your dirty greys,” Dumphries said. “Not to mention your trash bag.”

“And my duct-taped wrestling shoes,” Zach said. “Those are going to have to go. Hey, let me out at that IHOP.”

After Dumphries pulled into the parking lot Zach hopped out of the car. “Wait a minute, I can’t run with this,” he said, holding up the gym bag. “Just leave the car unlocked when you get there, okay?” He dropped the bag on the seat. “I’ll change when I get there.”

Thirty minutes later Zach arrived at Fauquier’s house on foot. After locating the car on the street he slipped inside and began poking through the gym bag for his street clothes. The cold air penetrated his wet sweats, and suddenly stripping his clothes off in the frigid car seemed like something he didn’t want to do. He picked up the bag and closed the car door. Joe was just going to have to deal with it.

The car across the street looked familiar. Zach walked for a closer look. When he saw the shredded roof he realized that it was Jeanine’s car. But what would she be doing here, Zach wondered. Did she know Joe? He strained to remember if she had mentioned him. If she was in Joe’s apartment that would be one more reason to feel embarrassed about how he was dressed.

“Look who’s here,” Herndon said loudly when Zach walked in. Zach didn’t answer because he was busy looking around for Jeanine. “What the hell are you wearing? That looks like a garbage bag.”

The apartment reeked of the polish that Fauquier constantly slathered on his guitar. As he passed through the room he heard Dumphries explaining why Zach was wearing the bag. Just outside the kitchen, just before he was able to duck into the bathroom to change, Jeanine and Fauquier appeared.

“Jeanine,” Zach said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Gee, it almost sounds like you’re glad to see,” she said with a smile. “Almost.”

“I didn’t know you and Joe were friends, that’s all,” Zach said.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she said. “I know everybody. Joe said I could watch you guys play.” She put her hand on his shoulder as she walked past but yanked it back suddenly. “Yuck, you’re all clammy,” she said before disappearing into the next room.

“So now you’re going to start coming to practice dressed like this?” Fauquier asked. “Are you with us or not, man? Every day you care less about what we’re trying to do.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zach asked. He glanced quickly in the direction Jeanine had gone, wondering how much of this she was hearing.

“You’re here, alright,” Joe said. “Wearing a trash bag.”

“But I’m here,” Zach repeated. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” He walked into the bathroom, emptied the gym bag onto the floor, and began stripping off the sopping sweats. Rather than pull the dank trash bag over his head he ripped it from his body, crumbled it up and jammed it into the trash can. I think I look lighter, he joked to himself after glancing in the mirror at his wet, naked body. He waited another minute, hoping he might dry out some, before getting dressed in the jeans and flannel shirt that he’d packed.

“Zach, we’ve been ready to go for a half-hour,” Fauquier said when Zach emerged. Herndon and Dumphries were already at their posts, ready to start practice, but Joe had waited stubbornly outside the bathroom door. Zach walked past and headed for his amplifier without even looking at him. Five minutes after walking in the door he was plugged in and ready to play.

Herndon started it with the familiar grinding riff on his guitar. Dumphries joined in after two measures, pounding away on his bass and snare drums. Zach yelled “Fire House!” into the microphone before joining in on bass. Seeing that Zach had no intention of answering, Fauquier trudged over and strapped on his guitar. Seconds later all four had forgotten about the tension between Fauquier and Zach. They slogged through a typically raucous rendition of Kiss’s ‘Fire House’. Zach’s voice boomed through the room and filled the voids in the music. It had long been an unspoken custom for the band to open every practice with the song. For Zach, the only athlete in the band, it always felt like pre-match stretching and warmups. Each time they reached the chorus, Fauquier eased over to share the microphone with Zach in a move that he’d seen in countless rock videos on MTV. Temporarily forgetting his anger, he grinned at his bandmates and bobbed his head to Dumphries’ hammering beat.

“Whooooooo! Oh yeah!” shouted Herndon when the song was finished. “Nothing like a little ‘Fire House’, boys!”

After they finished Zach noticed that Jeanine had settled into the window seat in the front of the room. She seemed mesmerized by the band as she sat quietly with her eyes fixed on them.

Zach, who was still trying to catch his breath, nodded with satisfaction at Herndon. He watched Fauquier put his guitar down and walk out of the room. When he came back he had a boom box and a few CDs. “I’ve got a few ideas I want to talk about,” he said.

“You mean you’ve made a few decisions,” Herndon said. “Right, Boss?”

“I was checking out the crowd at that last dance,” Fauquier said. “Half the stuff we played, they didn’t even know. They didn’t have a clue.”

“Well, we play a lot of original stuff,” Dumphries said. “How would they ever know that?”

“And we’re going to keep playing our own songs,” Fauquier said. “We’ve got to show that we’re not just record-copiers. But I’m talking about adding some new covers.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Zach said. “At gigs like that we play a lot of the wrong stuff. Those kids don’t want to hear Blue Oyster Cult or Sabbath.”

“I did see one kid yelling for ‘Jethro Tull’”, Herndon said with a straight face. “It was the kid with the ‘Sesame Street’ shirt.”

“Right,” Fauquier said, ignoring Herndon. “We need to mix in some teeny-bopper stuff, and some ballads. I got two easy songs here. This one’s KISS,” he said, pushing a button on the boom box. “’Shandi.’”

The music started before anybody could make any wisecracks about Joe’s known infatuation with KISS. Zach knew the song but had never imagined adding it to the repertoire. He considered it a pop song that KISS had recorded when they were trying for a more commercial sound. It wasn’t too bad though. “I like it,” he said after the song ended.

“I love that song,” Jeanine said from across the room. Zach looked over, still not sure why she was even there.

“Oh boy, another KISS song,” Herndon said. “What are you, Ace Frehley? I can’t wait to hear what else you have in mind.”

“Aerosmith,” Fauquier said.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Herndon said.

Zach waited as Fauquier inserted a different CD. Something told him that Herndon wasn’t going to like Fauquier’s choice. When the song started he recognized it instantly. It was “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” a ballad that was different than anything Aerosmith had ever played.

“You got to be kidding!” exploded Herndon. “That’s the gayest song I ever heard! Zach here’s going to have to put a dress on when he sings it!”

“SHHH!” said Jeanine. “I love this song too!”

“Of course you do,” Herndon said. “It’s a chick’s song.”

“Well, in a way that’s the point,” Fauquier said. “We’ve never played stuff like this. Maybe it’ll set us apart and get us noticed. You know, ‘this band can do it all’, something like that.”

“Can you sing this, Zach?” Dumphries asked. “It seems like it might be hard to pull off.”

“I don’t know,” Zach admitted. “I’ll try. I’d like to try it alone first. It might be embarrassing.”

“Here, take the CD,” Fauquier said, holding it out.

“Awe, come on,” Jeanine said. “Try it now, I want to hear it.”

“Maybe at the end, after I’m warmed up,” Zach said. He knew it wouldn’t happen. Fauquier would want everybody to brush up on the songs on their own before they tried them together. Instead, they spent the next couple of hours practicing the same songs they always played.

Later, after the instruments had been packed up, Fauquier sat down at the kitchen table where Zach was packing up his gym bag. “So Zach, how much weight do you have to lose, anyway?”

“A little over ten pounds,” Zach said. He rushed the words because Jeanine was walking over.

“It isn’t going to look good if our lead singer is all pasty and scrawny,” Fauquier said.

“I’m sure I won’t look any different,” Zach said.

Jeanine pulled out a chair for herself. “I can’t wait to hear the new songs,” she said.

“Well, I really need to go,” Zach said. “We’re done, right?”

“I was going to hang out a little,” Dumphries said.

“I’ll take you home,” Jeanine said quickly.

Zach hesitated, but realized he didn’t have a choice. He had homework waiting for him at home. Dumphries didn’t look like he’d be ready to leave anytime soon. Besides, Jeanine had taken him home before. What was the big deal this time?

“Okay,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind. Joe, I’ll work on those songs for next time, I promise,” he said.

“Sure, cool,” Fauquier said. “I think it’ll be a good move for us.”

“I really like those songs you guys are adding,” Jeanine said after they were on their way to Zach’s house.

“How well do you know Joe?” Zach asked.

“For years,” she said. “He’s the best guitarist I’ve ever seen. Not that I known anything.”

“I’m a little nervous about those new songs,” Zach said. “I’ve never really done any slow songs like that. I’m more of a screamer.”

“I don’t think so,” Jeanine said. “You’re good. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Zach laughed. “I can,” he said.

“So you were wearing the plastic bag to try to lose weight?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Zach said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, in wrestling, you go by how much you weigh. You know, you wrestle against guys who weigh the same as you,” he explained.

“But you’re not doing that,” she said. “If you’re losing weight, you’re going against guys who weigh less.”

“Well, they’re doing it too,” he said. “It’s just the way the sport is,” Zach said.

They drove for a few minutes without speaking. When they were pretty close to Zach’s house Jeanine finally broke the silence. “Do you think I could come see a wrestling game?”

“A match,” Zach said, smiling. “They’re called matches. Sure.”

“I ‘d really like to see it. I’ve never seen a match before,” she said.

By then they were at Zach’s house. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye Zach. Good luck with the songs.”

Later, Zach wondered why Jeanine had kissed him. She had no right to. He hadn’t given her any reason to think he wanted to kiss her, that he had any interest in her at all.

On the other hand, it would really burn up the jocks on the team, especially Easton, if a rock band groupie showed up at the matches to watch one of the wrestlers. Maybe she’d even bring some friends. That was something that made Zach smile. Then it made him laugh.