I normally didn’t go to live shows for bands I’d never listened to, but Sven insisted they were good. I didn’t tend to trust Sven’s taste on anything outside women, which to date was just one woman. When he wasn’t working he was high, and so I took his enjoyment of things with a grain of salt.
“I know my music,” Sven insisted from the passenger seat. He had wanted to drive, but Josh never trusted his claims of sobriety. “These guys are really good.”
“We all know music,” Josh said from behind the wheel, rubbing his temple.
“You two are such haters,” Sven muttered. “Sorry to drag you away from Pornhub and your hands tonight or whatever the fuck you two do when home and alone.”
“Wow, project much?” Josh asked with a chuckle.
“I’m the only one here with a significant other, so I think it’s pretty safe to assume—”
“You still jack it more than both of us combined, Sven,” I said.
“How would you know?”
Josh snorted and started laughing around his reply. “You are a masturbation poster child.”
“I have a girlfriend who actually likes to fuck me, so you two can shut the hell up.”
Josh and I shared a smile through the review mirror.
“What is your girlfriend going to be doing while we’re at this show?” Josh asked.
“She’s working tonight. She couldn’t get off.”
“Bummer. Though without her, you may get through a whole show without a blunt.”
“I do not smoke that much pot.”
Josh rolled his eyes. Sven continued to insist he didn’t have a problem, which reminded me a bit of what I used to say back before I’d gone to rehab. Luckily I’d replaced that addiction with a variety of other vices, mostly drinking and casual sex, none of which were destroying my life. Yet.
I wouldn’t put it past me to fuck myself over.
“I’ve never shown up to work high—ever. Can you imagine what would happen if I did? Holy shit.”
“Yeah, it’s probably not a good idea to work at a hospital while high.”
“I’d end up killing someone.”
“You’re just lucky they don’t drug test you nurses.”
“If they did, I’d just switch it with someone else’s. It’s not like urine is hard to find in a hospital.” Sven twisted around in his seat, then back again, peering through the darkness. “I think this bar is somewhere around here.”
“Somewhere around here” ended up being a block away. Luckily there was a large parking lot across the street, so we managed to snag parking without too much trouble. Several other groups of people were doing the same, the women dressed in jeans and crop tops, the sort of thing you wore to rock shows in cramped, overheated spaces.
“Nice pants, by the way,” Josh told me as he arrived at my side. He gestured toward my leopard-print pants. “Very 80’s.”
“Where do you wear animal print pants if not to a concert?”
“Not much of a concert,” Sven said as we headed across the parking lot. “This place is pretty small. It’s gonna be packed.”
“You sure?”
“Oh, definitely. This band always draws big crowds. They’re good. And the guy I know… he’s pretty cool. He says we can find him after the show and share a couple beers if we want.”
“Do we have to buy merchandise?”
Sven laughed. “I don’t think so, but you can ask.”
“How do you know this guy, anyway?”
Sven shrugged. “Around.”
The real answer was that potheads all knew each other somehow, even in a city as large as Los Angeles. When he got high, Sven tended to stay inside and eat Fritos with his girlfriend, but on the rare occasions he was sober, he could be quite the socialite. I wasn’t a recluse myself, but most of the people I met while out on the prowl I didn’t remember too well the next day. I found it hard to make casual friends in the same way Sven could.
There were no bouncers at the door, but there was a guy on a stool checking IDs, which meant a minute or two of waiting in line. The bar was packed, and it took five minutes to push our way toward it, where the bartenders were overwhelmed. Josh told us to find a spot somewhere to stand while he waited for our booze. I grabbed Sven’s sleeve and let him guide me deeper into the performance space, where a large dance floor spanned out in front of a narrow stage with old neon signs blazing through the darkness.
“Are they the first to play?” I asked Sven in a voice loud enough to carry over at least a hundred other conversations.
“Yup,” Sven replied, already digging for his phone and tapping out a text. He was probably talking to Carlita. She was not quite as dedicated to job performance as her boyfriend, so I wouldn’t put it past her to text while she waitressed. I didn’t even want to know what they were saying to each other. Probably something gross. Since I met him, I’d met several of Sven’s partners, but he hadn’t been attached to any of them like he was to Carlita. Maybe it was her feminine wiles, considering she was the first woman Sven ever dated.
“This isn’t a queer band, is it?” I asked Sven.
“Hell no. Why? You planning on some after show hanky panky?”
How did Sven, someone from Sweden, even know what hanky panky was? True, he barely had an accent and his English vocabulary was beyond mine most of the time, but hanky panky felt too colloquial.
“Depends on how much I drink,” I joked, just as Josh arrived with drinks. He’d only gotten one beer for me, which I had anticipated. Josh and I frequented plenty of bars, but he ragged on my drinking habits so much that I always toned it down around him, to the point I almost drank like a normal person.
“I’m sure no one roofied this,” Josh said as he handed me the open bottle.
“Gee, thanks. Pretty sure no one here would want to.”
Josh peered around the crowd of mostly white dudes with unbrushed long hair and predominantly black outfits. This was a group of people who still thought cargo pants were acceptable attire at a music event, so… painfully hetero, it seemed.
“There may be a few stealthy homos,” Josh said with a chuckle. “You do have a talent with the straight guys.”
“Yeah, ‘straight’.” Sven made quotes with his fingers before throwing back some beer. “Just like I’m ‘gay’.”
“I know how homophobic metalheads can be. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn these pants.”
“Don’t sweat it, man,” Sven insisted. “It’ll be fine. No one is looking at your pants. If anyone says shit, it’ll be about the guyliner.”
“Would you please stop calling it ‘guyliner’ like I’m some kind of insecure manchild? It’s eyeliner. And eye shadow. Besides, plenty of manly man rockers have worn make-up, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“You’re not a manly man.”
“I can certainly kick ass like one.”
Josh snorted, then coughed a little on his drink. When I glared at him, he wiped at the corner of his eyes.
“Justin, you are five-foot-eight and a hundred-forty soaking wet.”
“I’ve kicked more ass than you ever have, Josh.”
“Yeah, cuz I solve my problems like an adult.”
I glared at him, but I couldn’t get in a word before the lights flashed and someone came out on stage to introduce the band, named Pugnacious. Everyone around me screeched with such enthusiasm my ears rang before the music even started. Then the band bounced onto the stage, five men in their early twenties. Some looked more conventional than other, but my attention was immediately drawn to the guitarist and the bass player. Their different haircuts made it initially difficult to tell, but after staring between them for a few moments, I realized they had to be identical twins. That really didn’t draw my interest half as much as how hot they were. The one with the shaggier hair winked and smiled at the crowd, clearly loving the attention of several screaming female fans up front. Someone cried “take off your shirt”, and into the microphone the guitarist said, “Afterward you can get a private show.”
“Wow,” Josh muttered next to me, and I laughed.
“Is that the guy you know?” I called to Sven as the volume levels around me rose.
“Nah. I know the black guy.”
There was one black guy with bleached hair who also held a guitar. The vocalist was a scrawny guy with long black hair, probably the least attractive of the group. Sneaking around the shadows behind the stage was a white guy with his hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a sweatshirt despite the heat of the lights and crowd.
They looked like a motley crew of performers, but once they started into their first song, I could see why they were popular. Their sound sat somewhere between rock and indie, and their vocalist had a stronger voice than his skinny frame suggested. Their accompaniment was tight, and as little as I knew about drumming, I thought their drummer was especially talented. By the third song, I was joining the crowd in their pulsing dance, forgetting that I wasn’t amongst my usual type of people. I begged Josh to join, knowing he’d want to stand to the side and observe. Josh was a clown and outgoing enough to win friends wherever he went, but despite his denial, he was self-conscious about his weight. He may have been considered “too fat” at a gay bar, but there were plenty of bigger guys here, most of whom were less graceful and less groomed. If they could dance and enjoy themselves, there was no reason Josh couldn’t try.
Pugnacious enjoyed performing, which the crowd reflected with enthusiasm. I picked up on that energy, and I danced until I was out of breath. Then I shoved my way to the bar and got another beer, which I chugged down quick so that I could back to the dance floor.
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