Read Online Dreams by Richard A. Lupoff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard A. Lupoff
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movie. Of course I said yes, and when we got there she opened a bottle of Chardonnay and put on an LP. I wondered what her choice in music was going to be, hoping it wouldn't be too hard or loud, and she astonished me.
Haydn!
***
Next time I saw her was at the Sweetwater in Mill Valley. Maria Muldaur was singing. I'd put on a spiffy new shirt and jeans just in case. And, all right, I spotted Vampirella. I didn't think Muldaur was her kind of music, but what the hell boss what the hell, I walked over and said, "Hi, remember me, Del Marston from Chicago?"
She looked through me.
"We met at the New Monk? Merl Saunders and Jerry Garcia?"
She said, "I'm waiting for a friend," and turned away.
What the heck?
Muldaur was sweet but I watched Vampirella all night and her friend never showed up. And once the show ended she disappeared before I could offer her a ride home.
Jeez.
Incidentally, I don't want you to think that my job is all hanging out at music venues, cadging catered meals in green rooms, drinking wine and smoking dope with hippies. I have to do interviews and write concert and record reviews and keep this little office going. And I don't want you to think that I actually run Rock! Rock! Rock! I'm just the so-called West Coast Editor. All my copy and all of Laura's photos wind up in New York where the bigwigs put the magazine together. And I have to keep them happy to keep the checks flowing westward.
Next show I wanted to cover was at the Pierce Street Annex back in the city. Really talented folkie named Paul Siebel, straight from Woodstock. It was a warm night for San Francisco, and I'd come home from the Laundromat with some clean duds just in time to get dressed for Siebel's show. I put on my best safari boots, clean jeans, and my Lone Star Beer tee shirt. The shirt was plenty comfortable and I was getting fond of it, although the dye the manufacturer used must have been pretty cheap because the shirt looked a little bit faded after only one washing.
Well, the price was right, anyhow.
Siebel was even better in person than he was on his self-titled LP. A modest, sweet-natured guy. I introduced myself and told him I wanted to do a piece on him for R!R!R! and he acted as if I was some kind of celebrity.
Coming out of the club after Siebel's show, who should I run into on Pierce Street but—right!—Vampirella. I had a little tape recorder in one hand and my notebook in the other and I was headed for my faithful bug. After the brush-off I'd got at the Sweetwater I didn't know what to expect of Vampie but she came running at me and jumped into my arms. Wrapped her legs around my waist, almost knocked the tape recorder out of my hands, planted a hot wet one on my ear and demanded, "Where have you been? Are you mad at me?"
Once she climbed down from my midsection and I got back the breath she'd knocked out of me, I said, "I thought you were mad at me ."
She said, "After that night we saw Jerry and Merl at the New Monk? How could I be mad at you? But then when I ran into you at the Muldaur show, I thought you must be totally pissed. Did I come on too strong at my place, or what?"
Now I was totally baffled. I figured all I could do was pretend the Sweetwater thing never happened. I said, "It's pretty late, do you need a ride or what?"
She said, "I'll tell you what, I'm really famished. You think we could rustle up some food?"
"Mel's should be open."
"That would be okay, but—do you know how to cook? Or I could make something if you have the ingredients."
Well, long story short, for once the bug started without a fuss, I found a parking spot half a block from my modest digs, and we wound up having a bedtime snack of bacon and eggs and English muffins. A bachelor like me learns to cook, at least the simple stuff.
In the morning she woke up first and returned the favor. And before she left she invited me to go to a movie that night. And would you believe, I had a plus-one press invite to exactly that flick.
Haydn!
***
Next time I saw her was at the Sweetwater in Mill Valley. Maria Muldaur was singing. I'd put on a spiffy new shirt and jeans just in case. And, all right, I spotted Vampirella. I didn't think Muldaur was her kind of music, but what the hell boss what the hell, I walked over and said, "Hi, remember me, Del Marston from Chicago?"
She looked through me.
"We met at the New Monk? Merl Saunders and Jerry Garcia?"
She said, "I'm waiting for a friend," and turned away.
What the heck?
Muldaur was sweet but I watched Vampirella all night and her friend never showed up. And once the show ended she disappeared before I could offer her a ride home.
Jeez.
Incidentally, I don't want you to think that my job is all hanging out at music venues, cadging catered meals in green rooms, drinking wine and smoking dope with hippies. I have to do interviews and write concert and record reviews and keep this little office going. And I don't want you to think that I actually run Rock! Rock! Rock! I'm just the so-called West Coast Editor. All my copy and all of Laura's photos wind up in New York where the bigwigs put the magazine together. And I have to keep them happy to keep the checks flowing westward.
Next show I wanted to cover was at the Pierce Street Annex back in the city. Really talented folkie named Paul Siebel, straight from Woodstock. It was a warm night for San Francisco, and I'd come home from the Laundromat with some clean duds just in time to get dressed for Siebel's show. I put on my best safari boots, clean jeans, and my Lone Star Beer tee shirt. The shirt was plenty comfortable and I was getting fond of it, although the dye the manufacturer used must have been pretty cheap because the shirt looked a little bit faded after only one washing.
Well, the price was right, anyhow.
Siebel was even better in person than he was on his self-titled LP. A modest, sweet-natured guy. I introduced myself and told him I wanted to do a piece on him for R!R!R! and he acted as if I was some kind of celebrity.
Coming out of the club after Siebel's show, who should I run into on Pierce Street but—right!—Vampirella. I had a little tape recorder in one hand and my notebook in the other and I was headed for my faithful bug. After the brush-off I'd got at the Sweetwater I didn't know what to expect of Vampie but she came running at me and jumped into my arms. Wrapped her legs around my waist, almost knocked the tape recorder out of my hands, planted a hot wet one on my ear and demanded, "Where have you been? Are you mad at me?"
Once she climbed down from my midsection and I got back the breath she'd knocked out of me, I said, "I thought you were mad at me ."
She said, "After that night we saw Jerry and Merl at the New Monk? How could I be mad at you? But then when I ran into you at the Muldaur show, I thought you must be totally pissed. Did I come on too strong at my place, or what?"
Now I was totally baffled. I figured all I could do was pretend the Sweetwater thing never happened. I said, "It's pretty late, do you need a ride or what?"
She said, "I'll tell you what, I'm really famished. You think we could rustle up some food?"
"Mel's should be open."
"That would be okay, but—do you know how to cook? Or I could make something if you have the ingredients."
Well, long story short, for once the bug started without a fuss, I found a parking spot half a block from my modest digs, and we wound up having a bedtime snack of bacon and eggs and English muffins. A bachelor like me learns to cook, at least the simple stuff.
In the morning she woke up first and returned the favor. And before she left she invited me to go to a movie that night. And would you believe, I had a plus-one press invite to exactly that flick.
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