Chapter 1 - Starry Eyes

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**This was written to be a one-shot, but I had a request to continue with the story, so I did. It became a 6-part series.**

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Sept. 1980

The 17 year old kid and his friend made it into the club with no problem. Tommy’s height sometimes has it’s advantages; making him appear older than he actually is. Hell, he’s going to be 18 in about a few weeks anyway.

“Man, I don’t know about you, but I get a little nervous about sneaking around like this,” Tommy’s friend comments.

“It’s not that hard. I’ve done it enough times. The worst that happens is the bouncer grabs you by your collar and tosses you aside with a snarl. Who the fuck cares. I’m just glad that didn’t happen tonight. I’ve been wanting to see this fucking band,” Tommy replies.

“Me too. Heard they’re on their way up. Love this glam shit,” the friend says.

“Yeah, me too. Think this shirt fits me OK? Pinched it from my sister’s closet. She’s fucking onto me now, so I gotta be on the sly.”

“Why? What does she care what you wear?”

“Dude, cuz she’s got no fucking cool-ass clothes left. Took her awhile to figure out that I was the one taking them. She blamed my mom for losing them in the laundry.”

“You thinking of doing something new? Maybe glam?”

“Shit, I don’t know. My band has been gaining some traction, but they want to go in a direction that I don’t. Not sure what I’m going to do. Kinda sucks when you finally get the band sounding good enough to figuratively move out of your parent’s basement, and out and about to be heard; only to have it all crumble because people can’t get along. Starting over sucks.”

“I know what you mean, dude. My band is still at the fledgling stage. Sucks. I wanna know what it takes to get to where this band is.”

“Well, for one, you gotta be good,” Tommy laughs, backhanding his friend in the chest.

“Fuck you, man. Come on, you even said that we had a spark.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t lighting any wood. Now London, that lights my wood. They’re fucking good, man. Can’t wait for this fucking show to start. Opening act is gonna suck. I know it. I hope they keep their set list short.”

“You’d shit a brick, dude, if your band got to open for London.”

“Yeah, and everyone here would be hoping that we keep our fucking set list short,” Tommy laughs.

“Hey Tom, wanna come back to my place after the show. You know, maybe raid my parents’ liquor cabinet again?” the friend asks.

Tommy knows what he’s driving at. About 2 weeks ago, they locked lips at a party. They were both drunk. There may have been a little feeling of each other up too. The drummer knows that he’s been curious about these things, but this one didn’t feel right. Yeah, his friend looks nice and all, but Tommy is pretty sure that what happened with him needs to stay in the past. 

However, he’s uncertain if it’s just a ‘no’ to the partner or a ‘no’ to the entire concept of experimentation with a guy. It’s really about whether a feeling comes to him if he sees or talks to someone. If not, then it’s probably not worth exploring. Tommy has only felt the urge when flipping through rock n’ roll magazines. Maybe it’s the lure of it all, but he has yet to actually interact with a guy, face to face, who gets him cranking. Girls seem to do him just fine. 

However, there is another reason that Tommy wants to see London play. Besides the band poster on his wall, he caught a glimpse of the bassist coming out of a club a few weeks ago. There was something about his look; maybe the way he was dressed, maybe his facial structure, maybe it’s just that this guy is set to make it big. Whatever it was, young Tommy was drawn in. 

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