Synopsis: They’re older and wiser but it won’t make any difference....you see...it’s not easy being an Oral Blonde.A traumatic event brings five friends back together after a twenty year absence. John "Sparky" Malveen, Doc Barlow, Wally, Rooster and Bug are the original members of the rock group "The Oral Blondes," and they have been given a second chance, but the offer expires in thirty days.
It is a journey to outrageous characters, mounting obstacles, and humorous situations, with hopes a past friendship will somehow yield a future together.
We were preparing for our first foray into the recording studio. It was a high and exciting time in The Oral Blondes budding career, we had a new drummer, we had a slew of what we felt were great songs and most importantly, we had the fresh breath of new management. At the time Blake Cole was a manager just starting out in the music business but had already made inroads with some of the major record companies. He arranged a sweet deal with one of the biggest studios in the city. His primary band was there recording their second effort for RCA and we could go in at night to use the downtime after they left.
The studio was state of the art and the best money could buy. We could not contain our mirth and felt that we should repay the faithful who had stood by us as we forged ahead. So we invited friends, and family, and girlfriends, oh . . . and chubs, . . . and hangers-on. We might have well put up flyers. The turnout was larger than most gigs we’d played. Even Wires had showed up to witness the blessed event.
It was bedlam from the get-go like kindergarten at recess. Video machines were assaulted,
fridges were raided, platinum records were removed from walls and used as frisbees and people were strewn about the place like corpses on a battle field, mostly drunk in puddles of their own vomit.
In the control room the plush couches supported the bodies, in places two deep, and the mindless chatter that the onset of an alcoholic daze will induce. Someone even brought a monkey. Several times the sound engineer had to turn around and tell people to shut up between takes. The air was blue with the thunder clouds of a smokey haze and the sound console was a virtual bar of mixtures, rye, rum, gin, and vodka. I was busy mixing myself a new drink when the door edged open and Wires’ head slowly made an entrance. I was ecstatic and ran to welcome him. I put my hand on his shoulder and coaxed him in.
"Wires! You came. It’s great to see you man."
"Wouldn’t have missed it Sparky."
"What you been up to? Still with the old band?"
"Nah. It finally died its death. I’m in charge of the house-sound for the Golden Horseshoe now."
"That’s cool. What about the drawings?" I gulped a mouthful of my drink. Some spilled on the carpet and I used my foot to blend it in, "Still as creative as ever?"
"I make time to do them. In fact, the local paper in Beaton want to run my comics in the Saturday issue."
"The Beaton Path? Wow. That’s great! You should talk to the Mayor he works for a newspaper. Maybe he can get you an in with them as well. He’s a fair-haired guy, vegetarian. You must have passed him on the way in."
"I passed a lot of people on the way in, Sparky. What exactly is a vegetarian supposed to look like? There was a guy almost comatose on the couch. Is that him?"
"No. That’s probably Chas."
"Well, I think Chas fell asleep on the remote. The TV was flipping channels and no one was watching. There was another guy in a room with some half-naked girl."
"Now that sounds like the Mayor."
"He was eating something but I don’t think it was vegetarian. Oh and I think there’s some record executives here. I heard them discussin’ you guys out in the lobby before I entered."
"Record guys? Shit!" I looked at Doc who had been pushing buttons and yelling, 'bulk erase!' My eyes darted to the madhouse around us. "Everybody Hide! Quick!"
There was a terrible commotion as bodies got up and banged into one another in an effort to find concealed spaces in a room barely big enough to contain those within it. I felt as if our parents had just come home unannounced in the middle of the party they told us not to have.
Wires moved to the side and reached for a cigarette, as a girl I did not know crawled under the sound console between the legs of the stunned engineer. Four others ran into the sound booth and put on head phones as they crouched down in a corner behind a bass amp. The rest elected couch cushions for their cloak of invisibility, thrusting their heads under, and remaining partially hidden like ostriches. Rooster slept through it all. He was still slumped against the track machines in the far corner where he’d been for the last two hours after he’d finished his guitar pass. There was an empty bottle of Jack jutting out from between his legs like an erect penis.
Wires struck a match with his thumb nail as he leaned against the wall. He still preferred to use the old wooden ones. He lit the end of the cigarette as the door to the control room opened. It was our new manager Blake Cole. He looked around, shook his head, and silently motioned for Doc and I to join him in the hall. Despite the clamor and clatter of everything falling apart around us, Bug walked calmly by, toward the studio, with a cup of tea in his hand. Blake waited for him to pass, "What’s going on here guys?"
"Uh . . . We were excited to be here and decided to have a few friends in to share the moment . . that’s all."
"A few friends is one thing but legions of inconsiderate malcontents is another."
"Things may be getting a little out of control I’ll admit but . . . "
"...A little out of control? A LITTLE OUT OF CONTROL! Have you seen the lounge? It’s a mess! There’s a gold record being used to serve cheese and crackers! Someone threw shit against the wall, as in human waste, and there’s a monkey with the TV remote changing channels and jumping up and down on a guy who’s passed out on the couch."
Doc spoke, "It’s a gibbon."
"A wha?"
"The monkey, it’s a gibbon. Probably responsible for the shit on the wall too. Don’t know about the cheese and cracker tray, they are mostly herbivores, but definitely the shit on the wall."
Blake glared at him.
"Ok . . . I think I’ll just shut my trap . . . " Doc trailed off.
Blake thundered, "Just because you pay for the time doesn’t mean you can do whatever you please with it, gentlemen! I have one of the A&R people from RCA out in the car. I was bringing him in to hear you guys. That’s right! But this unprofessional behavior." He shook his head. "I can’t take a chance like that. This already makes me look bad and you worse."
"Blake I don’t know what to say?"
Blake held up his hand to silence me, "Let me finish. You have a golden opportunity to step ahead of others. It’s in front of your face and you’re blowing it. I think you’re going to look back on this one day and regret that you missed this window. In this business you don’t get too many second chances. You have to capitalize on them when you do. It’s there for those who really want it but if you’re just using it to play rock star then I have no sympathy for you. Go get a day job. Now! I suggest you get busy putting this place back in order. Understand! Spic-and-span, or it’ll be a long time before you find yourself in a situation like this again."
After his tirade Blake paused for a moment to collect himself. He tugged downward on his blazer and strangled his tie to center, then turned and calmly walked off.
Bug joined us. He sipped his tea and placed it back in the saucer. "There’s no place to sit. There’s four peoples ass’s sticking out of the couch and I can’t find my monkey."
Tomorrow excerpt from: The wedding of Blood Monkey
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