Tommy

Literary Review, Spring, 2004 by Rem Reynolds

"Get the fuck up off the fucking floor and sing you fucking piece of shit," said Lance.

She thought of Alaska, or Wyoming, or some other quiet green place where she could walk on dusty paths while dappled light fell through the trees. She could move there. She could do that. There were ten thousand things she could do.

Tommy stood up and jerked the microphone to his mouth. In a clear, strong tenor he sang the first line of the song, right in time with the downbeat.

What a natural, thought Diane.

Backstage felt more exclusive after the show. People were being turned away. Diane stepped carefully around the room, staying at the edges of Lance's circles of conversation.

The set had been flawless. Tommy joked with the crowd, charming them with his Georgia accent and a bizarre array of knock-knock jokes. After the second encore, as the tousle-headed boys and girls headed for the door, Diane heard a music geek explaining to his girlfriend how Tommy's voice emulated certain tones from Tuvan throatsingers. "Fucking brilliant!" the kid said, running his hand through his floppy hair, and the girl had looked up at him in a way that Diane recognized: a mixture of love, boredom, and bafflement.

Lance stood with Tommy in a group of admirers, holding a drink in one hand and placing the other on Tommy's massive shoulder. Tommy was apparently off his leash now. A pink Band-Aid underlined his right eye. He took a lengthy swig from an oversized bottle of dark German beer, and shrugged Lance's hand off.

"Unreal," said Lance, not seeming to notice as Tommy sidestepped away from the conversation. "It was one of the best shows I've ever seen. It was like being at the first Ramones show. That's how people are going to talk about this. Did you see it out there? People were fucking nailed to the floor."

Diane found Leo's wife Mary in the corner, sitting happily with another girl. She congratulated her on the pregnancy.

"These are the best days of my life," said Mary. "Every day feels like a little miracle to me. The minutes are filled with love, like pieces of bread dipped in butter. Do you know what I mean?"

Diane had no idea. She nodded and kissed Mary's cheek.

She saw Tommy fetching a beer from the cooler and went to join him. She accepted the cigarette he plucked from the breast pocket of his hunting jacket. He hadn't removed it despite the body heat throb of the club. She placed the cigarette in her mouth and leaned over his enormous hands as he extended a light.

"Did I look nervous?" he asked her.

She thought for a moment. "Not really. You looked like a performer."

He laughed. "I was shaking like a baby rabbit. I've never had so many people looking at me, you know. Girls and stuff. You get up there and they're bearing down on you with their soft Bambi eyes. It killed me. I didn't want to leave. It was like an ocean of generosity."

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

"Sure." Tommy held a bottle to his mouth and popped the top off.

"What do you have?" she asked. "I mean, what do the doctors tell you?"