Songs To Sing- John Frusciante

1

 July 11, 1990

Pencey

Now, I wasn't by any means a hostile person, but there were certain shows that just pissed me off. This was one of them.

Here I was, standing in a venue that smelled oddly of sweat for January, only to have Dave fucking forget my bass at the studio.

For the album that I've nearly walked out twice during.

For the album that I have been oddly in the dark about the tour schedule for.

For the album that Perry had already announced that he was quitting the band after we were done touring it, essentially destroying the band that I had spent the past year trying to elevate.

I was fucking over it, to say the least. I was happy Perry was "quitting". I was happy it was going to be done.

"Turn around."

"Penny-"

"Dave, turn around and go get it. I'm not borrowing one."

He huffed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Can't you just tune yours? Borrow one from Fishbone's bass player? I know Flea would-"

"David, turn around and go get it. I am not playing without my bass."

Stephen was next to wander into the dressing room, a bottle of water clutched tightly in his hand. "What's going on?"

"Tell him to turn around and get my bass, please. He left it. At the studio. Please."

His brows furrowed, then turned to Dave, giving him a sympathetic look. Dave huffed. "Ten minutes."

"Thank you."

"Fuck off."

He brushed shoulders with Perry, who looked back at him with confusion before shrugging and sitting down in a crappy folding chair next to me. "Alright?" He asked, looking up as I tapped my foot.

"Just peachy." The dressing room went silent for a number of minutes before I got antsy again. "I need a drink. Something. God." I rifled around in my backpack, reaching down far enough to find my pack of cigarettes and lighter.

"Where-"

"Shut up." I spun around in the doorway, feeling the anger over absolutely nothing threatening to bubble up in my chest. I pushed the door open violently, expecting to swing open.

It stopped halfway with a dud.

My hand wound around the side of the door, looking down at the floor. Who I had hit with the door was scrawny-looking, that was for sure.

His mid-length red hair had swung into his eyes, and he was perched up on his elbows, shaking his head lightly. And then his eyes raked up to me quickly, doing a double take across my body. He was surely getting a look up the shorts I had chosen to wear, and the bra that just barely covered my chest. I wasn't one for being modest on stage, that was for sure.

I cocked my eyebrows, extending my hand down at him. "Are you okay? Sorry about door-jacking you, I'm not in the greatest of spirits at the-"

"No, no, it's alright." He took my hand to pull himself up, his arms flexing as he did so. He didn't come up much higher than me in height, but he still had to look down at me slightly. "Are you in-"

"Jane's Addiction. You've gotta be Chili Peppers because I've never seen you around before. I haven't seen Anthony since... Anyways, new kid, right?"

"Mhm. I would hesitate to say new, but..." He looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, I've gotta know your name."

"Why?"

"Because..." His eyes followed back to me, his arm falling to his side. "I'm John."

"Pencey."

"Pencey?"

Here we go. "Yes. Pencey. Now, if you'll excuse me, my guitarist came back, so I'm about to scream at him until I lose my fucking voice. And I really need a smoke." I smiled hastily and sarcastically, walking towards the back door before flipping back around to face him. My wild blonde hair followed my head around, filling nearly all the space between the walls of the tight hallway. "I'll see you, John."

***

John

I have to know who she is. I just do.

If I wasn't fighting to keep up this "arrogant asshole punk" facade, I would have actually told her why I asked her name.

She's beautiful.

There was just something about the way she gripped her pack of smokes so tightly in her bright pink nails, the way she was able to lift me off the ground so easily, the way the wallet chain curved along her leg, how her hips and thighs filled out her shorts so effortlessly...

I found myself wandering back to the green room, brain functioning on autopilot and only thinking of her. It was a damn crying shame we didn't really play with Jane's Addiction often.

I'd have to talk to Anthony about that one.

"You alright?"

"Hmm?" I looked up from the ground at Chad, who was drumming on a pad in the corner.

"You look white as a ghost, man."

"Sorry. I got hit with a door."

He laughed a little bit, the same happening to Flea, who was quietly (for once) picking at his bass. "Seriously? A door?"

"Shut up. She hit me hard, too."

"She?"

"Stop being an asshole, Anthony. Let's go." The arrogant front was back, spitting the words harshly at Anthony before grabbing the neck of my Strat harshly and pushing through the door. The hallway was packed with crew trying to juggle the 4 bands in the tiny venue. I wasn't having any of it, however, and I turned into a man on a mission trying to make my way to the stage in time for our set. It wasn't a very long set, truth be told, but Jane's Addiction had the longest one.

And I would be doing everything in my power to stay.

To watch her.

I had to talk to her again if it was the last thing I ever did.