Last bit of meme

[taratemima]

For lone_gunfreak

Danny/Steve

Disclaimer: None of this happened. I don't know anything about Steve or Danny's love life. Also, I have no idea what late-seventies Los Angeles was like.



I finally tell Danny what was going while we're picking up a Chinese food order. George got the call from A&M. Speed Bumps had more than enough material to make an album, and we got good reviews on our live shows.

"Unlike us sell-outs," Danny snorts. "It's like LA music critics have never gotten over the sixties, or the Mystic Knights dissolving."

"I don't think we've changed much," I say shaking my head, "we just use more guitars."

He looks up at me, not too hard to do, I admit, blinking. He opens his mouth a few times, but seems to stop himself from saying anything.

However, I keep talking. "Artistic merit aside, they can't deny that we put out a lot of energy live. We got some new fans for the Mystic Knights fans who took off. People like us, people have fun. It takes less time to set-up and break down too." I couldn't help but laugh at the memories of carrying frog costumes and symbols of Chedarina royalty. "That is what making this really hard."

Danny nods. "Well, you'll kill yourself trying to play in two bands. You can't have two careers going at the same time."

I shake my head. He's right, and I don't know why I feel so tense. It isn't so much telling the other members. They can find other guitarists; the whole punk thing has pushed people who are not Jimmy Page to pick up guitars and play. Oingo Boingo isn't doing too badly themselves, with a seven inch and stories of a brewing bidding war. So, it's all up to me, deciding between equally talented and equally promising bands.

So why do I want Danny to say something? Not just because he was the music director, then the songwriter. Not because I respect his talents, even if he doesn't see that he has them. I think it is because I respect his judgment. If he thinks the band can do fine without me, I'll go. If he doesn't, then I'll stay. For some reason though, I don't want to leave him.

Oh boy, this is beginning to feel a little more than a collaborator/band-mate relationship. Seems to be heading toward something you can get arrested in most states for doing. Shit. So, leave it to Danny, but don't tell him why. As open-minded as he is about people (and it is surprising considering his snap judgments of movies, music, politics, and whatever you're talking about), this may be beyond his understanding.

A few minutes later, we are walking out with our brown bags of steaming pot-stickers and meat in brown stews. Night is cool compared to the day's dry heat. Even if we were in t-shirts and jeans, the food keeps us warm. Streetlights cast a weird orange glow over us.

"You may as well leave," Danny suddenly says.

I look down at him. I never thought I hear him say it like that. I almost feel insulted. "What? I thought we worked well together."

"Yeah, but we work too well together. I mean, I may just fall into old patterns and it'll grow stale like the Mystic Knights . . ."

I squint, feeling like I ought to defend myself. "So, why keep Vatos or the horn section or Kerry? Start all over. Why put the weight on me?"

Danny looks up at me, and he suddenly seems fragile. His eyes look black and lost behind his big glasses (even if I know they are hazel). He blinks and does that opening his mouth to say something and then stopping.

I can't stand this. "You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Opening your mouth like you got something to say."

"I got nothing to say, Steve. If you want to go do Speed Bumps, go. I won't stop you. I could use someone new, I could write with a new person."

Then he stops and lifts the bag higher. "I don't want to though, but if you hear why, you'll definitely want to run to that other band as fast as possible."

"What the hell are you talking about, Danny?" I sound brittle in the open air.

He mutters it, almost not wanting me to hear. "I've been . . . Jesus it can't be love, I had done it, please don't tell the other guys, I had other guys, and now you've been on my mind like crazy. So, there you go. Go--you can be sure George and the other guys won't be lusting after you.” He hoists his bags higher and walks faster. He's walking away and he said what I wanted to him to say. I've got to stop him.

"Elfman, wait up," I said, running after him while keeping the food steady. Fuck, for a short guy, he walks fast. I do catch up.

I put the bags in one arm, and touch his shoulder with the other. He turns around, his eyes wide and confused. "What? What, Steve?" He swallows hard and purses his mouth, like he's trying to keep it together.

"That was what I was hoping you'd say. Only without the permission to leave bit." I put my arms around his shoulder. He leans into me, sighing.

"Steve, don't stay just because you're mooning over me."

"I'm not. It's the music too. It's--I like George, I think he is a good musician. I just wonder if he will get too comfortable and too set into what he's doing. You never will because you push yourself."

I squeeze against him, and he leans against me. Then he stiffens up and moves away from me. "Teenagers in packs," he murmurs. I know what he means. Be one thing if the food got stolen or bashed in, wait until we tell everyone why we got beaten up. That's how we stay, just enough inches away, but looking at each other every so often. What are we going to do with ourselves?

We finally get to the apartment, and can hear arguments and loud horror movies from outside. We get the food in and lay it out on the table. Danny walks to the dark hallway, and I follow.

"I'll meet up with George tomorrow," I tell Danny. "He'll understand."

"All of it?" He suddenly looked scared.

"No, just the parts about music. That's what matters." We stand facing each other. Even in a dark room, Danny glows, and I can't tell whether it is the fair-skinned thing or the light of madness.

I run my fingers through his hair, and he hums, leaning against my hand. Somebody calls us for dinner, and we stand away. "In a minute," Danny yells.

He asks me in a softer voice, "You're staying? For good?"

"I'm staying as long as the band needs me. As long as we aren't playing safe."

"I don't think we'd last five years, but I'll--we'll keep you as long as we can."

I kiss his forehead, and then he stands straight up and kisses me. I close my eyes and focus on kissing him back. We pull away when Dale threatens to eat Danny's lo mein. "I'll hurt you if you try," he yells back. We walk into the kitchen, and I'm ready to tell folks I'm playing in Boingo full-time.

Years later, after we had the love thing burn out and just have us as friends and we got married and stuff, I'm in the basement studio, back when he was dividing his time between the band and the scores. I joke to Danny about him once saying that you can't have two careers at once. He laughs. "I didn't know shit when I was in my twenties, anyway," he says.

I grab some paper and say, "But you learned."