I had been serious sick from food poisoning this week. Puking and shitting non-stop.Two days of retching in the WC toilet. I slept in the living room to keep it close. Pus getting out of the loft bed was dangerous in my condition. I felt like Doc Holiday in Tombstone. Always ready to die.
Alice was a great nurse.
I do love her.
What’s an evening without a fight?
After the Klaus Nomi closed the show for the Vaudeville Show, I had a few drinks and then cleared the crowd from Irving Plaza. A table of rockers ignored my several polite requests. They looked familiar and I let them slide. Finally I said, “It’s time to go. Please finish your drinks. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
I had heard Merv from CBGB’s say that many times without any trouble, then again he was 6-4.
A musician with glasses stood up.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Not a clue. I just want to go home.”
“I’m not stopping you. Fuck off.”
I turned my head. Debbie Harry from Blondie glared at me and I recognized the big mouth as their guitarist.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Then why don’t you fuck off.”
He bumped into my chest. I did not move.
“You’re no one to me.” I shoved him away hard and he fell into the table. This band rose to their feet as a gang. Five on one. I looked for help. Anthony and Anthony were drinking at the bar. Completely useless as they had been all night. I was on my own. The band flanked me and one of them Japped me. Not a hard punch, but then hands grabbed my arms. I snatched the pianist by the hair. The rest of the band pigpiled atop me and we went to the ground together with the pianist was under me and got a stomping. Boots struck my ribs. One practically hard, knocking out my breath. Staying under the assault was a death wish. Somehow I rose to my feet. Pianist in hand. I punch him hard and was stunned to see his hair in my hand. The beating continued unabated. I saw an opening and clocked the guitarist, breaking his glasses, but there wasn’t much fight in me. Them neither. We stood apart. Anthony and Andy came to my sides.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Debbie spat with venom.
As I regained my breath. Not easy. At least two of my ribs were broken. It hurt to breathe. I got a drink at the bar. Alex. the manager of Irving Plaza, served me a double whiskey.
“On the house.”
Polish drinkers from the downstairs bar came up to the concert hall.
“I heard the band say you started it.” Chris the publicist said, as if believed them over me. “And they said they beat the shit out of you.”
There was no blood, but my body had been thrashed and I looked at my friend Anthony. “It was five on one. Pussies. I had no help.”
“At least you can tell your grandchildren what wimps Blondie were. You’re lucky it wasn’t the Ramones.”
“Yeah.” It was small solace.
I had been in plenty of fights this year. This was my first loss. I blame drink and the odds. I wasn’t looking for revenge. Not five against one. Alice was busy counting the take with her skinny stick pussy. She obviously hadn’t heard about the fight and I went back to 256 East 10th Street adn watched TV until the National Anthem.
Alice came into the apartment. The TV was a snow storm.
“Where are the stamps.”
“I forgot to get them.”
“I need those stamps.”
“At four in the morning.”
We hadn’t had sex in weeks. We did tonight. She felt so good. Being with her was good.
Later
Politically I have tested the ranks of the NRP. Some believe. Some don’t, but there are loyalists even after last night. The enemy grow in strength. Alice always has my back. But I am a coward to be hiding behind a women’s skirts. We are us.