No More No More

Catch Up

Brad comes back up a few days later, and then the day of the gig.  I still haven't said a word to Joe, and Steven and I have been hotter than ever.  Okay, fine.  Maybe I didn't give up my little plan completely.  I'll tell you: it's a great feeling when Steven and I are on the couch snuggles together and Joe is fuming silently beside us.

 --

The gig went fantastic.  The guys had finished the song that Steven hummed to me, they were calling it Dream On.  They played that at the gig as well as a Yardbirds tune.  I was again amazed at the way they come together.  They're actually more together than what the Strangeurs or the Chain Reaction or Anthony's various bands were.  Of course, they were all high as kites (and so was I), but the energy that they all had... The crowd was on their feet!  Brad went home after that and we didn't see too much of him for awhile.  About a month before my birthday (around February), Steven kept having him come over.  By my birthday, he was the rhythm guitarist of Aerosmith.  This meant that we had to invest in another chair.  Joe and I were back on speaking terms, after a short yelling match and a long apology and a silent agreement to be best friends and stay best friends.  That was also the year that Aerosmith got their first manager.  It was the first real Aerosmith gig, November of 1970.  They played at a high-school–Nipmunc Regional High.  There were a lot of drugs at the dance (sorry, teachers), but the kids really dug the band.  All the girls were trying to throw themselves at Steven and Joe.  And even though he winked and grinned at almost every one of them, after the set Steven joined me on the floor and spun me around, kissing me deeply and leaving me dizzy.

 --

Nineteen seventy-one and two were spent getting stoned and writing songs.  On a ride home in a cab one day, Steven suddenly gasped and grabbed a tissue box and started scribbling on it.  I had no clue what he was doing until a few short weeks later when he sang the words on the tissue box while the band played behind him.  This song was called Make It.

     All the clubs hated Aerosmith because they played their own songs.  One club owner actually refused to let them play unless they promised to never sit and play again.  Obviously Joey has to sit, but Steven and Joe sat too.  The song was called Major Barbara.

   In nineteen seventy-two, we were sitting at a bar after a show.  Aerosmith's popularity was increasing exponentially.  Suddenly a man in a suit approached us.  "Excuse me," he began professionally, "are you Steven... Tall–um, Tall–"  He was pronouncing his name as if you would be describing someone's height.  I rolled my eyes.  "Tall-uh-r–"  He cleared his throat.  "Are you Steven Tall-a-rye-co?"

     Steven smirked.  "No."

     "Do you know one?"

     "Nope," he said with a smile playing at his lips, "but I know a Steven Tallarico."  The man looked confused and wary.  "Why do you need him?"  Steven frowned skeptically, wiping his nose.

     The man pulls out an official looking piece of paper.  "This is a contract.  I'm from Columbia."

     Oh my God!  Columbia records!  I take Steven's hand, a smile threatening to crack my face in two.  Steven doesn't catch on so quickly.  "Columbia?  Where's that?"  He turns to the guys.  "Hey, this guy's from Columbia; he's looking for a Steven Tall-uh-rye-co."

    Brad whispers something in Steven's ear and Steven's eyes get real big.  He turns back to the man.  "Look, man," he begins, putting up his hands, "I didn't do anything... I don't have any drugs... If that's, uh, what you're looking for.  We don't need to go to the president.  I'm totally clean, I swear–"

     The man laughs, but it doesn't come from his heart.  He sits down on the bar stool next to me.  Reaching across me, he steals Steven's hand and shakes it.  "Columbia Records.  And I'm going to be frank: I've seen you boys a few times and I see some real potential.  I've taken recordings and played them for The Man.  He likes you guys.  We want you guys."

     I think that everyone's eyes just popped out of their heads.  Steven's grin stretched from either ear.  Within a few days, after the manager 'read through' (more like had a few joints with the contractor) the contract, Aerosmith was officially signed with Columbia Records.

     Before I know it, AEROSMITH is written in huge letters on a billboard (we got it for free; they could paint over it whenever), they're recording an album, and it's October of nineteen seventy-two.  Where did the time go?  Steven and I have been together all of three years, almost four (give or take a few days due to some minor fights).  I still catch Joe giving us dirty looks sometimes.

 --

I did not join Aerosmith on tour when they went all over.  I had had just about enough of the dingy hotel rooms by the second week, but I lasted nonetheless until September of nineteen seventy-three.  The boys had a short break in February, May, (only two shows in June) and July.  I actually went home for a little bit.  I figured it's been much too long since I've seen my mother (the last time I was home, it was for one day and half a night–Steven had apologized in his puppy-dog voice so many times that I just had to forgive him–now two years ago), and it'll be a nice change from the big city.  We all squeezed into the car, Steven dropping me off before they headed to the airport.  It was the first of October, we had driven home from Maine yesterday.  He left a lingering kiss on my lips, leaving Joe looking disgusted.  Nonetheless, Joe hugged me, and the rest of the boys bade me farewell.

     My mother was quite pleased to see me.  I spent my days with my friends, paying the cheap rent for the apartment on Commonwealth with the money that we were receiving, record shopping, or just (believe it or not) hanging with my mom.

     The tour was supposed to end around December fifteenth.  Steven had promised to call every night, but the calls became less and less frequent.  Worried that what happened to Joe and me might happen to Steven and me, I was usually up late waiting for the phone to ring.

     "You really like him, don't you?" my mother asked me on a cold November night, joining me with a mug of tea at the table.  It was getting late.  The boys were somewhere in the middle of the country.  "Annie?"

     I look up at her with a sad smile and I nod.  My mother sighs.  She breaks the cozy silence after a while.  "They're busy, honey.  He'll call when he can."  My mom always knows how to calm my nerves.  "Just another month, right?"  I nod again.  She stands up, squeezing my shoulder.  "Go get some sleep, okay?"

     That was the easiest I slept in a long time.