Fail, fail, fail, fail, succeed

More Than We Bargained For (Part 1)

“Wanna come to a party?”

We were returning from a lecture George Martin had given on his work with The Beatles, and it was still early, maybe 10:30 on a beautiful cool fall night in Boston. I’d driven in from New York for the event after he announced this would be his last public appearance. You were beside yourself with excitement and bought two tickets as soon as they went on sale. Both of us being musicians obsessed with the Fab-Four, this would be as close as we would ever get to hear an eye-witness account of history. We’d stopped by a Store-24 for ice cream and beer before heading back to your apartment when a young woman approached me at the checkout.

“What kind of party?” I said. May as well hear her out; I wasn’t young; the days had long passed when this sort of thing happened as a normal course of events.

“Follow me; I’ll tell you outside,” she said, smiling and motioning to the parking lot.

You were waiting in your car when I approached with my new friend. Clearly not amused. She checked you out, took a second to run some mental calculations, and decided you passed muster before spilling the beans.

“It’s a private sex party; you guys’ll have fun. “You know know,” she winked. ”B & D, that kind of stuff.” Something about her was off, making the whole thing even more enticing.

Always down for weird experiences, I wasted no time. “Sure; how do we get there?”

After giving us directions and a secret password, she got in her car and drove off. I looked at you with a shit-eating grin, my Haagen-Daaz already getting soft, and said, “C’mon — we’ve gotta check it out! We’ll leave if you’re not into it.” Of course, you didn’t want to go, but I was relentless. My plan wasn’t to have sex with strangers, I just wanted to check out what sounded like a freaky scene. I could tell my wife I was doing research. Maybe not the best plan, whatever; I’d figure that out later.

Humoring me, you begrudgingly went along. By the time we pulled up to the address, it was brutally cold. Boston weather’s like that, always changing on a dime. The place was a massive old candy warehouse in an industrial district that seemed to be deserted. We’d been driving in alleys, passing empty loading docks that looked like they hadn’t been used in a while when I saw someone go in an unmarked doorway.

“C’mon, this must be it.”

Oh, this was it, alright. You were my best friend, and this would turn out to be another memorable night in a long line of memorable nights stretching over decades before you passed away seven years ago today.

I loved you, my brother, and still think of you every day.

Rest In Peace.