Johnny and The USed Wonz

  After work she cut short her gym session preferring to rush home to either watch The USed Wonz live video or hear the album’s second side. Unfortunately when she arrived, Earl wanted feeding and wouldn’t be dissuaded from watching the NFL, steadfastly arguing if he didn’t bring work home neither should she.

  In the end Linda carted the record player to the bedroom where she spent the night alone with album and its images of Johnny that still perplexed her. Before sleep she set her alarm so she could checkout the video before work. With The USed Wonz on her mind she wondered whether they ever felt as uncomfortable around each other as she did around Earl.

  Friday 22nd June 1984

  Christine watched the phone go down and pitied Johnny. She wished she could quash the anguish Linda caused him so regularly.

  ‘Hey there,’ she said. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Not entirely.’

  ‘What’s she said this time?’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything,’ his voice sounded acrimonious.

  ‘Sorry, I just wanted to help.’

  He headed for the bus. She’d have loved to walk the other way but with no choice she followed him up the steps.

  ‘All aboard,’ Dane said.

  The door closed and Jack crunched first gear.

  Christine sat and watched Johnny head to the back where Mazz waited with his acoustic guitar and a tape machine. She wondered about apologising. Instead she busied herself. Taking an old pair of jeans and scissors she chopped the legs down making cut-offs. She spent the next hour idly fraying the newly cut bottoms and gazing out the bus window.

  ‘Sorry about earlier.’

  Christine turned as Johnny squeezed into the seat next to her. She didn’t respond.

  ‘I was mad at myself,’ he said. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve done.’

  ‘Go on, what have you done?’

  ‘Only went and sent that thug’s wallet to Linda’s old office address.’

  Grateful of the company she said, ‘You div. D’you think it’ll make a difference?’

  ‘Probably not. Linda said she’ll send Fiona round for the post in the next few days.’

  ‘So the mail’s not getting forwarded on?’

  ‘Not sure. Apparently there’s nobody in the unit yet.’

  ‘She’ll get it eventually.’ Changing the subject she held up the greatly reduced skin-tight jeans and asked, ‘You like these?’

  ‘Are they for me?’

  ‘No,’ Christine said laughing, ‘for me.’

  ‘Then I love ’em. Not sure where your bum will go though.’

  Happy talking nonsense for a while Johnny took it easy but soon his mind wandered. He couldn’t imagine why Christine had a problem with Linda but didn’t want ask; not right then anyway.

  He’d had almost three weeks to consider who’d want to sabotage the band’s success. Still he couldn’t think who, but felt sure there must be more to it than a straight forward theft. Whoever had stiffed them probably wouldn’t have counted on Linda’s remarkable kindness. He still couldn’t get over that. His mind wound back to their first meeting. If first impressions mattered, then those impressions matter more than any.

  Monday 05th September 1983

  Less than a fortnight after first hearing The USed Wonz album Linda, casually dressed, drove to work in the afternoon sun.

  The previous night Earl had slammed doors and disappeared to bed in a sulk which had carried on into the next day. Maybe he had a point about her working on Labor Day but when she asked him how he’d like to spend the national holiday he had no answer. And, he’d been damn wrong about nobody working it.

  All the LA gig venues she’d rang answered and helped her. A couple of hours later, and with a change of clothes, she headed for the gym and found that open too. Most importantly she’d seen planes coming into LAX and thought of The USed Wonz arriving in their hotel earlier now under strict orders to rest.

  At the gym Linda worked out thoroughly until ditching the spandex she stepped into the shower. Conditioner followed shampoo which she dragged through her hair; coarse from her quarter African parentage and regular peroxide treatments.

  Whenever she met a new band she wanted to create the right impression. Though Vanquar’s head office lay many states away in New York, they had a major presence in Los Angeles. Working with Vanquar rather than for them (along with other record companies requiring her services) she didn’t like to look overly corporate. On the other hand her small company needed to look strong in the face of the multinational giants.

  Knowing Trudie so well she guessed she’d be wearing her usual trouser suit and flat slip-on shoes. Linda didn’t need or want to copy her.

  Towelling herself she knew for a woman of thirty-seven her hard worked and diligently exercised body still cut a fine figure. With that she knew what outfits she liked and, even though it’d be as predictable to Trudie as Trudie’s trouser suit would be to her, she stepped into and pulled the zip up on one of the knee-length burgundy dresses she’d picked up from the office earlier. She touched up her burgundy finger and toe nails and did her makeup with extra care despite the passing time.

  With heels, car keys and handbag she swept from the gym sensing heads turning her way. She headed for her Lotus knowing Earl would spit feathers if he could see her.

  * * *

  Several miles across town Johnny had woken with a start in an unfamiliar hotel bed. He hadn’t expected to sleep and rubbing his eyes saw Stu sleeping on a second twin bed.

  Hours earlier, they’d left Camden in dismal weather with no more than clothes and, having sold or donated everything else, two guitars and a keyboard. But by the time they’d checked the instruments into outsized baggage, Johnny’s anxiety about flying had risen to inebriating levels.

  Flopping back down on the bed he vaguely recollected Stu all but dragging him around Heathrow and Richard who himself hadn’t left the whiskeys entirely untouched convincing the flight crew that the guitarist’s paralytic stupor had nothing to do with alcohol. Grace had fastened his seatbelt and stroked his hand whilst he blotted out the hostesses who, for reasons unknown, demonstrated where the exits could be located in the unlikely event that the pilots lost consciousness and crashed the double-decker death tube back to Earth at hundreds of miles per hour.

  Under the stationary wings, the engines had blasted the grass flat. Johnny hadn’t been able to believe they could roar louder but in finally reaching his most scared he imagined the possibility of reuniting with his mother.

  He enjoyed the calm that followed despite the seemingly ludicrous increase of power as the plane raced along a runway which because he couldn’t see its end felt sure would run out.

  Fortunately Grace had nursed him all the way through take-off and, eleven hours later, soothed saving him from the panic of landing. He had relaxed for some of the flight and even given Stu a poker lesson. But during the decent Johnny only once cracked an eye open when Grace had asked him what he could see.

  ‘That’s the Pacific Ocean,’ she’d told him when he didn’t answer.

  Johnny hadn’t cared. He couldn’t feel the plane banking. The sea just appeared at a hideous angle it looked like it should slosh away.

  Grace told him about the big American cars and trucks she could see merrily trundling along on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. He wanted to be down there too and promised never to stop appreciating the safety of being on the ground if he made it.

  With seatbelt pelvis-crushingly tight the relief he experienced when the wheels touched down rivalled anything he’d ever felt.

  Turning as far as possible he hugged Grace. He wanted to hug everyone. Reaching across the aisle he slapped Stu’s thigh.

  The pilot’s voice without trace of panic came over the speakers calmly welcoming them to Los Angeles. He advised them of the local time and the high temperature before inviting the passengers to fly Pan Am again soon. Safely down, Johnny had no desire to fly with Pan Am or anyone anytime soon.
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  His delirium continued through immigration and baggage collection where he wanted to carry everyone’s bags. Even at the hotel Johnny still felt like bouncing off the walls. Trudie had prescribed sleep for everyone to ensure they had energy for the evening and after settling down Johnny had been surprised how quickly he’d nodded off.

  Minutes later and ready to eat, Johnny and Stu stood in the hotel’s foyer with Richard and Trudie who’d arranged to meet their tour agent in a nearby diner in Downtown LA’s West 9th Street. Whilst waiting for the girls, the joy at being alive and in America rushed back to Johnny making him agitated. When the girls arrived he laughed seeing Christine without makeup sleepwalking towards them. She didn’t respond.

  Frustratingly for Johnny, the group merely plodded into the late afternoon’s sun after Trudie. They arrived at the diner before he’d run his energy off and before the agent, Linda had arrived.

  Linda – the very mention of the name sent Johnny’s mind back almost a decade to the night his former life ended. Still, his memory of Miss Wilkinson lived on along with the sound of her calling through the letterbox, It’s Linda, Miss Wilkinson… He shook his head recalling the shepherd’s pie that had saved his life.

  Optimistically he’d hoped the agent would be like Miss Wilkinson but knew how unlikely that’d be given the fat, balding booking agent Richard had scored them before they’d left England.

  Inside, the group took over two adjacent four-seater tables. Johnny sat and Christine slumped opposite him. Their previous meal had been hours earlier on the plane. Faces vanished behind menus but unable to concentrate Johnny fidgeted.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Stu asked him.

  ‘I got to stretch my legs,’ he said standing.

  ‘What if we need to order?’ Christine asked.

  ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ Johnny said excusing himself.

  Outside amongst West 9th Street’s sights and smells he jogged against the four-lane stream of giant cars, taxis and trucks

  A block later he stopped to see, further up in the traffic an uncharacteristically low James-Bond-style car darting lane to lane, weaving through traffic. As the Lotus hollered by, Johnny’s head spun as he watched it cut across four lanes raising an ensemble of blaring horns before arresting with a screech of Goodyear tyres outside the diner he’d just jogged from.

  Despite the distance Johnny saw, not Roger Moore, but a striking blonde in a dress matching the car’s colour levitate from the driver’s seat.

  * * *

  Linda hated being late. Oblivious of the younger man watching her up the street she jabbed the key into the car’s lock, before straightening her dress and hair.

  Having left the gym she’d been aghast to discover police tape cordoning off the roads she needed. A glance at her watch showed she’d clawed back some lost time but she could already see a trouser-suited Trudie through the glass door.

  Preparing for a hug she approached Trudie who she liked more than enough but schoolgirl nervousness took over her as she vainly scanned two tables for signs of Johnny Won.

  With hug and compliments out the way, Trudie began introducing the somewhat jetlagged band and management. Linda generally enjoyed socialising though physically she knew she could be a cold fish around unfamiliar people. Appreciating the British reserve and their noninterest in air kisses she shook hands formally with everyone, none of whom mentioned Johnny.

  Apprehensively she remained standing looking everyone over again, like she’d suddenly find he’d been there all along. From the album cover she recognised Mazz and Stu but wouldn’t have looked twice at the weary Christine.

  * * *

  Heading back Johnny’s senses became saturated with details differentiating this American street from those of England which, least of all included dry heat.

  He glanced at the British sports car before pulling the diner’s door and stepping into the welcoming embrace of air-conditioning. Ahead he saw Christine laughing and looking up at what must be the same lady he’d seen dashing from Lotus.

  Regarding her from head to toe the mass of layered shoulder length blonde hair didn’t put him in mind of Linda Wilkinson’s full-length waving brunette locks; nor did the curves tightly wrapped in burgundy linen remind him of his ex-teacher’s excessively Kate-Bush-thin frame.

  Hovering, Johnny didn’t know whether to tap her shoulder and introduce himself or to push past and take his seat opposite Christine.

  Stu solved that problem with a simple, ‘Alright Mate.’

  In one second the lady turned round and looked up into his face.

  As well as knowing beautiful women when he saw them, Johnny thought he could tell the good ones from the bad. This time though, he thought he’d identified the right one. He couldn’t hope to rationalise it; she had something beyond unquestionable beauty. The way she looked at him blew his mind.

  Staring at one another neither spoke. And neither seemed aware of their silence.

  ‘Say hello to Linda,’ Mazz said.

  ‘Hello,’ Johnny said automatically sounding nothing like the rock star Vanquar-UK had promised America.

  The lady smiled accepting the hand he offered.

  ‘I’m Linda.’

  Of course you are, Johnny thought dumbly loving her accent. ‘I’m Johnny.’

  ‘Johnny Won,’ she said, ‘singer-guitarist.’

  Aware of everyone looking on he couldn’t think how best to respond. Just as he made to sit, Linda turned and took the place he’d been occupying opposite Christine.

  He nearly spoke but instead plonked next to a grinning Mazz who he tried ignoring.

  Tiredness suddenly caught up on him. Remembering all the girly doe-eyed expressions he’d seen from the stage he pondered how different Linda’s had been. She didn’t look at him again; too engaged with Christine who’d woken up.

  After the food arrived he chanced a surreptitious glance Linda’s way. Straining from the corner of his eye he guessed if Linda could be twelve to fifteen years his senior she’d been looking after herself. All the maturity and beauty a man could ask for. After the meal they agreed to go back to the hotel to freshen up for the evening.

  On the street, Stu whistled seeing Linda’s car.

  ‘See you at Al’s Bar,’ Trudie said to Linda who’d announced she’d pop home to change.

  Johnny looked on as, with a swish of blonde hair but without a glance his way, Linda disappeared into car and traffic with a only touch less haste than she’d arrived.

  * * *

  Not that any of them would think to care but Linda checked her rear-view mirror to make sure the party wouldn’t see her taking a right turn. Instead of heading to her apartment as she’d implied she made for the office where she phoned Earl and told him she’d visit her mom for a few hours.

  Days earlier when Fiona had queried her motivation for personally introducing The USed Wonz to LA, she’d stretched the truth saying she wanted professional time with Trudie.

  Now sitting at her desk she pondered what had just happened between her and Johnny Won. Being surprised shouldn’t have surprised her; but when Johnny had appeared behind her it; well it had surprised her as did the feel of her hand in his.

  Other than seeming taller in the flesh he’d been just like the album’s photos and that surprised her too because she’d guessed, perhaps, that certain something existed only because of the camera.

  * * *

  ‘Linda’s nice,’ Christine said sitting next to Johnny on the short taxi ride to Al’s Bar on South Hewitt Street.

  ‘Isn’t she?’ Trudie called from the front

  Johnny knew Christine’s comment had been for his benefit and as if to prove it: ‘You think so don’t you Johnny?’

  Catching on to the insinuation before Johnny could answer Trudie said, ‘Isn’t she a bit old for you; she’s got a couple of years on me?’

  ‘He likes d’em old,’ Christine said. ‘I dare say she’s why he’s all dressed up now.’

>   That may have been partly true, but when it came to style Johnny still took his lead from Stu who’d dressed in a soft charcoal grey suit; more pop than rock.

  Clearly uninterested in fashion, Trudie said, ‘You should know Linda lives with a right nasty bugger, can’t say I rate her taste in men.’

  ‘I reckon she fancied a taste of Johnny.’

  ‘Christine,’ Johnny snapped.

  Knowing better, she dropped the subject and squeezed his knee.

  ‘Bad Religion are playing the Whisky a Go Go tonight,’ Trudie said changing the conversation to the venues.

  ‘Are we going?’

  ‘Not tonight but Linda’s booked you to support a local band in a couple of days.’

  ‘Modest start then,’ Johnny muttered.

  ‘They’re not unsigned,’ Trudie said.

  ‘What’s its capacity?’

  ‘It’s recently been expanded to a thousand. But most importantly it’s like The Marquee in London, everyone’s played there.’

  ‘That’s cool.’

  ‘You’ll see, Linda’s an impressive agent alright. She knows what she’s doing and with her onside you can’t go wrong.’

  Right on cue the taxi pulled outside what Johnny guessed must be the destined Al’s Bar.

  Linda stood by the curb greeting Stu and the rest from the other taxi. Dressed in jeans and black T-shirt she might have looked a little younger especially with a burgundy bow in her hair but she still looked gorgeous and all woman.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to Christine who got out first.

  All American woman, Johnny thought hearing the accent again.

  * * *

  As Linda’s tour of LA venues unfolded, taxi ride followed taxi ride. Johnny stood close to her as she introduced the band to venue owners and other people of note. But despite his proximity to her, he began feeling ignored. Desperately wanting to talk to her he couldn’t believe she never took the same taxi as him or even looked at him; and after such an extraordinary exchange when they met.

  As Christine connected effortlessly with her, Johnny realised their group had split into one of grownups and one with him. Shaking his head he wondered how that’d happened.

  After another hour of venue hopping Johnny started feeling fed-up. Linda introduced them to one person after another who, initially charmed by their English accents, soon lost interest or so Johnny thought.