H - Guitars, Girls and Deja Vu

"Guitars, Girls and D?j? Vu."

By John A. Mayer
? Feb. 2002 | 2583 words

The Toronto skyline looked inviting from the air. Lake Ontario danced
as the sunrise reflected on the water. It was good to be home. I had
been playing my guitar on the road for two years now and it was
starting to get old. Maybe it was time to abandon this crazy dream of
stardom and get a real job, I thought. The jet banked hard to the right
and began it's descent.

Unwelcome images of my ex-wife Amber and driving to work in rush hour
traffic swirled around in my head. Did I want to go back to that?
Settling down again might not be so bad with the right woman, I
reasoned. Some guys I knew were doing pretty well selling used cars.
Maybe after the next gig, I would try it. The plane touched down.

A shuttle bus took me to my Camaro at the "Park and Fly". A place to
stay and who to call were my first priorities. I sat in the driver's
seat flipping through my phone book trying to decide if I wanted
naughty or nice. Where do I find the perfect woman? Maybe she was right
there on these pages and I missed it. I turned on the cell phone and
headed toward the exit. By the time I hit the road my decision was
made. I would call Paige and try to start over. The phone was ringing.
Caller I.D. nailed me.

"John?"

"Hello Paige? It's me."

An hour went by in five seconds.

"Why are you calling?" she asked. "You walked out six months ago
because you needed your space. Didn't you find it?"

I had just flown back from Thunder Bay after playing a solo gig at the
Holiday Inn for three weeks. The crowd was a weird mix of cowboys,
Indians, skiers, and businessmen with their "secretaries". My Camaro
was now on the highway and the cell phone was breaking up.

"I found too much space in T-Bay," I said. "They wanted to hear more
country and Neil Diamond. A gay Indian came on to me and the bouncer
had to throw him out three times. He even tried to get on the elevator
with me."

"Aw, poor baby."

The sarcastic snickering in the background was payback. I knew it was
deserved. Paige used to sing and play keyboard with the band when we
toured, and a natural, easy relationship began. Her voice made me think
of her body. She was a petite brunette with lots of street smarts and
intelligence. For some reason, probably fear, I just couldn't settle
down with her then.

"Have you still got that twangy sheet music?" I asked. "I'd like to
come over and copy some of it. Besides, I could use a friend."

"Don't get any ideas, Mr. Commitment. Against my better judgement you
can come over, but we're not going to bed."

My ulterior motive was exposed, but I remained hopeful. The Toronto
traffic was a nightmare, and I pulled into Paige's driveway forty-five
minutes later. She rented a nice house in suburban Don Mills and had a
great music room in the basement. I wondered if she had a new
boyfriend. I scanned my phone book just in case.

The garden and hedges were neatly trimmed as always, and the lawn
ornament bunnies seemed to be staring at me. I didn't have to knock on
the door. Paige opened it and gave me a big hug. A couple of cocktails
later, I had a guitar in my hands and she was at the keyboard. The old
harmonies were as fresh as ever. She still had framed road photos of
the band on the walls. There was a really nice one of me with my
Ovation. I knew I blew it six months ago and wished I hadn't. Maybe
this time I could give commitment a chance and show my sensitive
side.

Things looked promising.

Ring ~ Ring ~ Ring.

She picked up the phone. It was Bob or Bill or somebody.
"Dinner at IL Posto? Yeah, that sounds nice. 7:00 o'clock is perfect.
See you then."

BUSTED! The mood went down the toilet, and I started copying sheet
music. She was being taken to one of the most expensive restaurants in
the city, probably by some rich guy. We played a few more standards,
but it was time to go. My pursuit of Paige would have to wait. I
excused myself to the washroom and popped open the cell phone.

"Hello Heather? It's me."

"Why are you calling?" she asked. "I thought you needed to be on the
endless highway. Did you crash?"

D?j? vu was taking hold.

I used every silver-tongued devil line that I could think of. She
accepted my peace offering of dinner and a movie, so I hit the road
again to Heather's apartment in Scarborough. There was no pretense with
Heather. What you saw was what you got and what you got was every man's
fantasy. It was time to check in with my agent.

"Hello Rick? It's me."

"Hold on a minute. I've got this demo tape blasting at seven D's. This
band is GOOD! How did it go in T-Bay?"

"Just fine. Nice crowd. Happy management. What's next?" I asked.
"You're going to Deep River for two weeks on Monday. Get ready for
moose hunters and cowboys."

The last thing I wanted was more cowboys. I had to eat, but did it have
to be moose? Life on the road as a solo entertainer can be lonely at
times if you're a folk rocker trying to adapt to other styles. I guess
that's what a professional does; adapt and survive. The thought of
playing a hundred and thirty miles north of Ottawa where roads suddenly
end did not appeal to me. I kept thinking "car payment".

I just finished talking to Rick when the phone rang. It was my bass
player "Spider".

"How's it hangin' man? Wanna go downtown and pick up women?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow, dude. Got a date tonight with
Heather."
Oh man, the LOVELY Heather? Can I come?"

"Not unless you pick up the cheque. Talk to you later."

The Camaro pulled into the Tuxedo Towers driveway. After finding a
parking space, ringing the buzzer, and exchanging niceties with a
Pakistani family on the elevator, I was in Heather's apartment. It was
like entering a shrine. Jim Morrison's face was everywhere along with a
framed collage of the "Doors" on stage. The fridge had beer in it and
the huge mirror on the bedroom ceiling was still there. A Molson Export
Ale was placed on a coaster by my chair. I inhaled it. Her long blonde
hair shimmered every time she moved in that tight blue dress that I
remembered oh so well.

Things looked promising.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. "I feel like surf and turf and
I'm dying to see this new chick flick. Did you hear that Joe and Rita
broke up? Did you know Hershey's Kisses are called that because the
machine that makes them looks like it's kissing the conveyor belt?
Jackie told me a pregnant goldfish is called a twit. As if I cared! Do
you want to watch 'Wheel of Fortune' before we go? Can I drive your
Camaro?"

"Absolutely NOT!"

We ended up eating at the Olive Garden and then walked through the mall
toward the Cineplex. Shopping was Heather's main focus in life. We
strolled past the gauntlet of evil mannequins and she never stopped
talking for more than ten seconds. Thank God for the movie!

The date from purgatory was only a forgotten memory later that night in
the bedroom. We caressed, we kissed, we made love under the mirror. Our
bodies came together so easily. Nothing else mattered.
She was so sweet and quiet lying there as I got ready to leave in mid
morning. Her soft breasts were uncovered and moved enticingly with
every breath. Luckily, the phone rang while I was in the kitchen
getting some juice.

"Hey Johnny, you owe me money. You better make a trip to the store
today and pay up before I break your fingers."
Happy Harry Baumgartner owned the local music store and I was behind on
my amp payment. I think he was kidding about the fingers, but you never
know. I left a note for Heather and drove to Harry's with a hundred
dollar bill. On the way I called mom to let her know I was alive.
"Hello mom? It's me."

"Well if it isn't the prodigal son. It's a good thing you called. I was
getting worried. Are you and your guitar surviving or starving?"
"Surviving mom. How's dad? By the way, what's for supper?"
"Roast beef, potatoes, carrots and corn. Are you coming?"

I would never turn down mom's roast beef so dinner was a done
deal.
When I turned into Harry's, the parking lot was full of musicians
hauling rental equipment in and out of the store. A few faces looked
familiar. I paid my overdue account, and checked out the new Taylor
guitars. What a sweet, rich sound! It was love at first strum. The
store phone rang constantly, and I could hear Harry conducting business
while he chewed on a half-lit Cuban cigar.

"Yeah O.K. bring it in, we'll fix it. Click. No, that IS our best
price, you moron. I'll give you 15% off if you get this right. If there
are three apples and you take away two, how many do you have? Wrong
Einstein! Two, you took them remember? Click. Hey, Domenic Baby. What's
up?"
The place was a beehive of musical brothers and sisters. It felt
comfortable. My cell phone rang through the noise. It was Spider.
"Hey man, how did it go with Heather? Did you escape before she woke
up?"

"Yeah, life is good. I hated the chick flick, but it was worth it. I'm
at Harry's checking out guitars. What are you up to?"

"Just eating cold pizza and having a beer. Bring me some bass strings
and come on over. I'll share."

The Camaro was pointed toward Spider's place in East York. His mother
died four years ago and he inherited her 1950's era two-bedroom brick
bungalow. He was happy and crazy and didn't need a whole lot of money.
Women came and went like the prairie wind. The neighbors didn't care
much for his lifestyle or his bass guitar at 3:00 A.M., but man could
he play. A Rickenbacher fretless was his favorite, and he could run a
funky lead on that thing.

We jammed all afternoon, sat out in the yard, and drank beer while
chatting with his elderly neighbors. He never really bothered to talk
to them since his mom died. It turned out that they didn't mind the
music as long as they could hear "All my Children" on TV at one
o'clock. He promised the volume would be turned down after midnight.
With our public relations good deed of the day done, I called mom to
see when dinner was ready.

"Hello again mom. It's me. When should I come over."

The answer was anytime, so I packed up my guitar and drove back to
Scarborough. The roast beef was excellent! My parents were always there
for my brothers and I no matter what dumb things we did. I think my
attitude and lifestyle troubled them the most. I can still remember my
teenage jam sessions in the basement. Dad's chair used to vibrate from
the noise while he was trying to watch TV. When I played alone, mom
would secretly sit on the stairs and listen while I composed songs. She
would always come down to offer advice and constructive criticism. I
was truly blessed.

Star Trek had just ended when the phone rang.

"Hello John? It's me."

"Carol, is that you? I thought you were in Paris studying art. Did you
get bored at the Louvre?"

"No, I'm just back on vacation for three weeks. Can I buy you a
drink?"

"Sure. How about the Place Pigalle in an hour? You can tell me all
about those arrogant Frenchmen."

"They're just cocky Europeans", she said. "See you there."
The phone rang again. It was Spider.

"Hey Johnny, listen to this riff. I might forget it in the
morning."
"Not now buddy, gotta meet Carol at the Pig. ~ Later."

The phone rang again. It was Heather.

"Hi John, I thought we might get together again tonight."

"I'm at mom's Heather. Can I call you back?"

The phone rang again. It was a telemarketer from the Phone
Company.

The phone rang again. I turned it off and inhaled deeply. The
bombardment stopped, and I felt like the ocean ebbing into low tide. No
rip currents, no sharks, no wind, only seagulls calling. As I was
driving to meet Carol, I listened to "Riders on the Storm" by the
Doors. I thought about Heather's body. The serenity was surreal and
disturbing.
John Barrymore once said, "In Genesis, it says that it is not good for
a man to be alone; but sometimes it is a great relief."

Laughing out loud I shouted, "No man is an island!" and turned the
phone back on.

I fought twelve lanes of freeway traffic to meet Carol on time. With
five minutes to spare, I pulled into the parking lot while the phone
was ringing. It was Carol.

"Hello Johnny? It's me. I just found out from Heather that you two
spent last night together, and probably will again tonight. I didn't
say anything about meeting you and guess what? I'm not! Have a nice
life."
Busted again. I turned off the phone, reclined the seat, and closed my
eyes. When you chop a lot of wood, you get a few chips. Spider's place
sounded like a good refuge for the night, and I drove there in silence.
Only two days had passed since coming home, and I was already in
trouble. I wondered how yesterday's need to settle down with one good
woman turned back into wanting every woman. Changing wasn't going to be
easy. The chorus to a favorite song of mine played in my head.

"Don't have to live any lies or make up dumb alibis
At Surfside's Bar and Grill.
Just give me shrimp and some fries, hot bikinis, blue skies,
A cold beer and a hundred dollar bill."

I crashed early at Spider's. The phone was thrown into a corner and I
stretched out on the couch. Bass guitar riffs filled the house and all
I could think about was Heather's body. My eyes closed and big button
telephones swirled around in my mind. Resistance was futile. I was
half-awake and reached for the phone.

An uneasy feeling made me stop.

Should I give in and spend another night with a beautiful body or be
more selective, caring, and responsible? Will Paige let me back into
her life and do I want to go there yet? Why was I torturing myself with
this deep stuff now? I felt a song forming in my head. The melody was
playing and the lyrics were unfolding. Maybe I was meant to do this.
Easy Street and fame can't be that hard to find.

I picked up my guitar and a writing pad.

The music flowed like a river and for now there were no more
questions.