Very Last Gig
(August 10-13, 2017)
18: There's No Turning Back
Love God was touched when he took the stage that afternoon and spotted Mabel and her friends cheering him on. They'd had their misunderstandings, but she looked really happy to see him strut out. And Wendy didn't look murderous, so that was a thing. He waved at the crowd, thumbing the microphone on with his other hand. "Who's ready to fall in love?" he shouted.
The whole amphitheater erupted in joyful response.
"My people! Glad to hear it. OK, right, here's something a little new and brand different. Or maybe the other way around, am I right? Guys, girls, let's hit it!"
The band tore into the intro, and his new song debuted—not hard rock, not his usual raise-the roof high-amp piece, but a strange combination of rock, rhythm, and a tad of CW, the volume swelling and the rhythm pounding like a heartbeat during a fast sprint.
The crowd hushed at the opening riffs, obviously unsure about this new direction. Love God danced across the front of the stage, raised the mike to his lips, and yelled, "Stay with me now!"
The crowd remained silent for the first verse. Then he ripped into the extended chorus:
You looked for love a thousand times,
Never made that soul connection!
Starin' at that mirror again,
Seein' that sad reflection!
Do you give up? Do you give up? Do you give up?
No!
My dad said, son, it's never too late,
Pull up your belt, step up to the plate,
You may be batting zero, never once won,
But now get ready for one thousand and one!
'Cause it's worth it! Oh, yeah, it's worth it!
When you finally connect, it's so worth it!
And then they began to clap along. Next verse and then the chorus again, and this time when he shouted, "Do you give up?" everybody—everybody, thousands of them—joyfully shouted, "No!" Love God snatched a moment to ad-lib, "That's right!" And then on the repeated line "It's worth it," the whole crowd echoed, "Worth it!"
The band picked up the energy and ramped up the noise. It was a fast piece, 140 beats per minute, with the verve of Twisted Sister or Meshuggah, but all the emotion was positive, optimistic, a surge of youthful hope that carried the oldsters right along. It was a swelling wave that Love God surfed, as if he were high on the crest and never coming down, as if he were about to launch straight into heaven.
They loved it.
When he finished the number, he dripped with sweat. Silencing the mike for a moment, he yelled offstage, "Towel me!"
And did a double-take. The guy who tossed him the black towel was Mammonus, not in his Security guard disguise, but in black turtleneck and tight black slacks. He looked completely different and gave a quirked smile and a languid wave.
But the show must go on. Love God wiped his face and tossed back his damp hair, then hung the towel around his neck. The applause rolled on and on, and when it finally ebbed, he bawled into the mike, "Whoo! Totally worth it!"
They cheered. Then he said, more softly, "Hey, how many of you are in love? Stand up!" When they did, he shook his head. "Only about a third of you? Aw, babes, that's not good enough. How many of you have been in love? No, stay standing!" He sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. "Little better, little better. Last question: How many of you are hoping to be in love?" Then he hopped up, laughing. "Everybody! OK, everybody sit down, that was your aerobics for the day. Listen to this next one, and if you take it to heart, I guarantee you, everybody here will be in love one day! You hear me, now? I guarantee it!"
It was another new one, less rock and more soul, and it was called "You'll Be Loved."
Ava at the keyboard hit chords that made you smile even as your heart ached. Lead guitarist Mel comforted and raised your hope. Pauline, the drummer, somehow changed the beat from a funeral march to a stride forward, on towards the better future. Lewis, the bassist, made each step lively.
Out in the audience, couples, and not always a girl and a guy, kissed and put their arms around each other. Some faces glistened with hopeful, happy tears. It was a kind of magic.
As he sang, Love God scanned the crowd. He didn't see Wilmer anywhere, and if Bratsman was out there, he was so well disguised that even a cherub couldn't spot him. He thought he saw Stanley Pines, but—no, probably his brother. Stanley wouldn't be wandering the aisles like that.
Love God sang on, hoping the hope he offered wasn't a false hope. He couldn't help sweeping his eyes across Mabel time and again. She and Teek were leaning against each other, holding hands.
"You will find love one day," he sang, wishing he could break all the rules and advise Mabel, hide her, keep her safe. But, as the King once sang, you might as well ask the sun to leave the sky. For a cherub, some things were just impossible.
But he sang the last chorus right to her and her brother, her sweetheart, and her friend. When he finished that one, Love God improvised again, speaking in a husky voice: "Love. It's the barrier to despair, it's the beacon of hope, it's the promise of tomorrow. Listen to me, now. There's never enough of it in this world, so you go out there and find it! You ready for some oldies?"
"Yeah!" the crowd roared back.
So he finished his set with four of his most popular tunes.
He named the band members, they got their applause, and then he said to the crowd, "I'll see you again tomorrow night, everybody! Be here! And remember, when you find love, it's—" he held the mike toward the audience.
"Totally! Worth! It!"
He threw back his head, laughed, and shouted, "Thank you! Have a great Woodstick!"
After taking his bows, with the towel still around his neck, Love God hurried offstage. No Mammonus in sight. He paused to catch up with and praise the musicians, who had nailed it, and then said, "I gotta go get something to drink. Catch you guys later!"
He threaded through all the musicians' rigs to his van, popped the back doors, and climbed in.
"This place," Mammonus drawled, "is a mess." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, the covers rumpled beneath him, his legs and arms both crossed as if he had a fastidious dread of actually touching anything in there.
Love God shrugged. "I keep meaning to clean it up, but you know—"
Mammonus stood in one smooth move. "Let's step out for a second."
The two stood behind the van, the doors open. Mammonus looked around furtively, and Love God said, "Wait, wait. You're not going to—"
Mammonus twiddled his fingers. "Shut up. You might not be allowed to use miracles for housecleaning, but I've got no strings like that on me. There, that's better. Now we can be comfortable."
The interior of the van had been cleaned up. It might have been on a showroom floor. The bed had been changed, remade and folded up into the side wall, leaving a bench. The table had folded down from the opposite wall. The van was plugged into the site electric system, and its air conditioner hummed without the annoying rattle that had developed lately. The cool air smelled of clean pine. In the closet, all of Love God's outfits hung, looking cleaned and pressed. "Thanks," Love God said.
"I was thinking of myself," Mammonus told him.
"Well, thanks for the towel. What happened to—oh. I'll bet it's folded and in the bathroom."
"Congratulations, you win. What are you doing now?"
Love God had opened the fridge. "I'm thirsty."
Sounding faintly irritated, Mammonus asked, "What are you getting?"
"Oh, sorry," Love God said, looking up from the compact fridge. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Very kind of you," Mammonus said dryly. But then he smiled. "What do you have?"
"Water, Pitt Cola—you can only get that here—a couple of Rimrock beers, and two six-packs of bottled nectar."
Mammonus looked interested. "Nectar? Haven't had that in a long time. Do you mind?"
"Here you go." Love God tossed him a frosty bottle.
Mammonus caught it and tossed it back. "Now hand me one. I don't want to waste magic cleaning myself up. That's better, thank you." They popped the tops and clinked bottles. "That was the first time I ever really heard your songs," Mammonus said.
His guest still held his untasted bottle, but Love God took a long swallow from his own. "Ahh. What did you think?"
"Not as dreadful as I expected."
Love God raised his bottle in salute. "High praise from you."
Mammonus had been holding his bottle up, staring through it at the light. In a flat, bored, curious voice, he asked, "Do you suppose this will dissolve me from the inside?"
"It's not holy," Love God said. "It's only nectar."
Mammonus took an experimental sip. He took a deep breath. "I seem to be in one piece. I'd hate to be forced to disincarnate before tomorrow night."
"What happens tomorrow night? I mean, I think I know in general terms, but—"
Ominously, Mammonus didn't meet his gaze, but sighed. "Between eleven tonight and one tomorrow, Mr. Bratsman is due to get his wish. However, to seal the deal, of course a sacrifice is necessary. Once that is done, Bratsman holds the group's contract, and Sev'ral Timez, for all practical purposes, becomes his property." He sipped and smacked his lips. "Was this always so fizzy?"
"You can't get old-fashioned nectar these days, unless it's home-brewed. So it's going to happen?"
"It's going to happen." Now Mammonus's voice was dour, disgusted, and weary.
Love God stared at him. "Mabel Pines is definitely—"
"The target, yes. I don't like the fizz."
"Nobody does. Real nectar should be—"
"Smooth and rich. Why do people always change things?"
"People don't make this."
"You know what I mean."
Love God nodded. "Yeah, I do. It's part of Creation, I suppose. When this Universe got started, entropy was born."
"Unsustainable," Mammonus said.
With a shrug, Love God said, "Has to be a day of reckoning. But it means disappointment in everyday life. You can't go home again."
Mammonus moodily added, "You can't step into the same river twice."
"Memory is always better than repeated experience."
"But, damn, they went and ruined nectar!"
Love God rose and took his own empty bottle and Mammonus's half-full one. He drained that one into the sink and then brought Mammonus a Pitt Cola. "Try this."
With a dubious look, Mammonus popped the can. "It's fizzy, too."
"Oh, watch out, there's a peach pit in every can."
"Mm. Well—it's not anything like I remember nectar, mind, but for a mundane concoction, not bad." He drank about half of the cola. "Let me ask you something. That thing you did on stage—"
"The music."
"Yes. You enjoy that? You looked like you were having, and I can't believe I'm saying this, fun."
Love God sat on the bench beside him. "You know how you were disappointed in how nectar tastes now? In how you can't step in the same river twice?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Music's not like that." Love God gazed into Mammonus's eyes. "When you reconnect with an old half-remembered song—the joy's still there. Entropy can't touch that. It's a kind of magic."
"Well," Mammonus said, "It eludes me."
Love God shook his head, though his expression remained benign. "It wouldn't if you'd let it take hold. All you have to do is believe."
"In the magic of rock and roll," Mammonus said flatly.
"Absolutely. Listen to some, not just with your ears, OK?"
For ten heavy seconds the two were silent. And then Mammonus said, "Not right now. I want to talk over some possibilities with you."
"All right," Love God said. "But promise me that later you'll give music a chance."
"Fine, fine," Mammonus said. "But not harps. I remember harps. As long as it's not harps."
Love God smiled and patted his shoulder. "No harps if you don't like them. But give it a try. You know why I like music? Music is love."
Mammonus snorted a short laugh. "Who says so?"
"Everybody," said Love God. And then they got down to tactics.