My Heart

Prologue Part 1: Like The Eyes To The Soul

San Jose, California
Friday, May 22, 2009
(1:00 am)
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Stevie had caught a case of the giggles, and it had become contagious.

As Lindsey stood beside Stevie in the elevator on their way up to the floor where both of their hotel rooms were, he couldn't help but laugh as they continued their walk down Memory Lane, brought about by the conversation they'd just left when they'd said goodnight to Javier, Bob and Brian after a Fritz reunion dinner at the hotel restaurant. The three men and their wives had been at the show that night in San Jose, specially invited by Stevie when she'd first learned of the San Jose show from Marty Hom when the tour dates had been booked, and afterwards, they had all enjoyed dinner and a night of reminiscing that had ended up with the five members of Fritz huddled together at the hotel bar, drinking tequila as if they were all still twenty and laughing over old stories of gigs they all remembered...as well as a few they'd all tried hard to forget. Javier, Bob and Brian had all left with their wives in separate cars about half an hour ago, but both Stevie and Lindsey still had a full glass in front of them, and they'd decided to polish off the rest of their drinks together before heading upstairs for the night.

Stevie had touched his arm ten minutes ago and told him she was having a great time with him, and her tone had been one of surprise that he'd had to comment on.

"You make it sound like having a good time with me is like seeing the Loch Ness Monster or something, Stevie!" he said with a hint of laughter.

"Well when you don't BEHAVE like the Loch Ness Monsters, isn't it more pleasant?" Stevie had a sly grin on her face before finishing her tequila in one last gulp.

"I'll try to remember that when we get to Scotland in October." He tossed back the rest of his own glass, and then smiled at Stevie's burst of laughter. She was definitely drunk, he noted - Stevie's laughter was more of a guffaw when she was drunk, and more of a giggle when she was either stoned or just giddy.

Now she had dissolved into giggles, listening to Lindsey talk about the drive in Brian's mother's car home from San Francisco one cold night in December near Christmas 1969, when they'd had a tire blowout on the highway and had to call from the pay phone and wake up Robin to come and find them at the small rest stop off the nearest exit with fifty dollars for a new tire so Brian's mom didn't freak out.

"I swear to God, that is the most times I've ever heard any one person use the word 'dude' in one sitting," Lindsey was saying, talking about Brian's level of anxiety that night and how he'd been running around the rest stop hysterically. "Bob at one point just had his hands on his shoulders and was like, 'Dude, she'd not going to notice if it's the same,' and 'Calm down, dude. Robin will get here, okay, dude?' 'Dude, you've got to relax.' 'Chill out, dude.'"

Stevie's laughter filled the elevator, drowning out the instrumental flute version of "The Sound Of Silence" that played in the tiny speaker overhead. She was leaning on him now, somewhat in laughter and somewhat in drunkenness, her long red nails wrapping around his bicep for support. Lindsey found himself wondering if her toenails were painted the same color.

"Brian had a huge crush on Robin," Stevie said in between giggles. "Poor guy...she was going with the guy whose dad had that beautiful antique shop, and wouldn't give him the time of day." She shook her head over it as the elevator doors opened with a ding on their floor, and she began backing out of the elevator.

Lindsey followed Stevie out of the elevator, and the doors closed with a second ding as he said, "You mean the store where you would go to bed at night and write stuff down on your list of things you were going to buy when you got rich and famous?" He could still see Stevie, the year all three of them lived together in the basement of the antique store, which they were allowed to do only because Robin's boyfriend's father owned the place, scribbling in her journal at night about the various lamps and old tables and pillows with tassels she admired upstairs, announcing to him with glee and determination as she turned out the light and rolled over beside him that when she had the money, she was going to decorate her house like a Victorian castle, to which he'd reply, "Are you sure you were born in 1948 and not 1848?" His teasing was usually met with a giggle and a kiss, which almost never stopped there.