#but also jack cheering Tommy on the whole time was sweet

[bonesandthebees]

Okay, I am waking up to bad comments so let me start my day with some Glass analysis. First off, I have not read the comments and I probably won’t be reading them cuz they sound very upsetting. I do think that the main problem is that Tommy calling Wilbur by name against his will is triggering people’s personal trauma. That probably causes them to project onto Wilbur (this fandom has a tendency to do that, which is part of why c!Wilbur was villainized to such an extent, but let's not get into that). The upset over Wulbkr being ‘deadnamed’ then causes them to miss the nuance you put into the chapter.

That’s something very fun about fanfic. It’s an interactive medium. You see our reactions to every chapter and you can adjust accordingly. So I feel like because of the backlash on last chapter, there’s a lot more reference to Wilbur trying to kill Tommy. Now that might have been there anyway, but it feels highlighted to me because I know that’s something a lot of people are willing to forget.

I think both Sam and Tubbo bring up the murder attempt and how little time has passed. There’s an open discussion about Tommy’s safety. Heck it’s so obvious he’s scared when Wilbur doesn’t answer him in the morning and expects another abuse when he opens the door. Phil comes rushing in because they are shooting at each other and he thinks Tommy got attacked again. (also, it takes him a while, did it just take that long for them to get loud enough so he could hear or did Phil fall asleep at the door and only just wake up?).

Anyway, I think there a misconception that because Tommy forgives Wilbur and acts like it’s not a big deal (same with Niki and Jack) that it was okay. Tommy forgiving Wilbur doesn’t mean it never happened. There are still consequences to those actions like the night guards and general distrust. Tommy forgiving him does not make it okay. Tommy being used to near-death experiences does not make it okay. And this one’s just for glass!Tommy himself: the fact that he was desperate or feels bad about it does not make it okay!

Also, is everyone just missing that Wilbur likes being called his name? Like they beat the name out of him. He did not give it up willingly. So the years of trauma and dehumanisation are making this difficult. He is convinced he should not be called a name. Yet the bird in his chest picks up at hearing it. Yet the bird is sad when Tommy doesn’t use his name. It hurts, not because he doesn’t want to be called his name (subconsciously that is), but because it’s been so long since someone used it and he missed being called his name. Even if he didn’t realise it before, he can now no longer ignore it. Which triggers more religious trauma.

-🌲

SPRUCEEEE hi good morning welcome to the shitshow on my blog. definitely avoid the comments. most are very sweet and nice but there are just a few bad ones that bummed me out earlier (but then all my very kind anons popped in here and cheered me up so i'm better now)

I definitely agree that I think part of it is an issue with projection. I straight up wasn't even thinking of the name thing as a deadname so it didn't occur to me until after I started seeing comments on it, but it makes sense in retrospect why some people would connect it to that. then like you said it can overshadow the rest of the nuance in the story which just creates a whole host of problems as a result

you're right that I adjusted the chapter according to the reactions of last chapter. partly with the reminders about wilbur nearly killing tommy only a week earlier, but also the flashbacks about the pythia training wilbur not to use his name. after we both saw the reactions to the previous chapter, my dear friend eli suggested that I include some flashbacks of that to emphasize how it wasn't his choice to give up his name, which I thought was a really smart idea hence why it got thrown in there. fanfic is definitely a fun interactive medium like that which is also another reason why I enjoy these anon messages so much. it gives me a great idea what you guys are thinking as the story goes on so i can adjust things if needed.

also i'm so glad you noticed that tommy is still scared!! just because he forgave wilbur doesn't mean it's okay. he was freaked out when wilbur didn't say anything, and was nervous when he opened the door that wilbur was going to attack him again. he wants to think that wilbur isn't going to do anything again, but he doesn't know for sure. even if he's used to dealing with death, the attack left some mental scars on tommy that aren't just erased since he's decided not to hold a grudge about it.

also, phil was kind of dozing off but he wasn't fully asleep. it just took a few back and forths for tommy and wilbur to get loud enough for phil to hear them through the door.

ok now for my favorite part of your ask. I hope you know the second I read that last paragraph I literally just mouthed THANK YOU at my computer over and over again because I was so relieved someone noticed it

wilbur LIKES being called his name. he can't admit that to himself because of the brainwashing, but deep down he really enjoys hearing tommy say his name again. the bird perks up hearing it. when tommy asks him if it's really just a sound to him, he can't answer. it hurts because he was trained to associate it with hurt, but he wants it so badly. he just can't even acknowledge that as a truth. I'm so so relieved you saw this. I think I'm gonna have to make it a bit more obvious next chapter though lmao

[paragal]

You know what they say, Johnny Quaver makes you famous and Eduardo Cleff robs you blind

[the--blackdahlia]

Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 25 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 25

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings:  Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

Check out my Patreon for more chapters! (And to help me pay for the antibiotic that I need...)

May 10th, 1986

(Y/n) held Bret’s hand as they headed towards Tommy and Heather’s wedding. Heather had asked her to a bridesmaid, but when she found out who was the best man, she had declined. They pulled up at the venue, (Y/n) taking a deep breath.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bret asked her and kissed her hand.

“I’m okay. Just a little weary of a couple of the guests hating my guts.” She told him. “But it’s my brothers big day. I probably only have five more of these to sit through for him.” She laughed a little, relaxing when she saw him smile at her joke. He was bubbly and light where Nikki was more dark and rough. He was everything Nikki wasn’t. But god, she missed Nikki.

"How can anyone hate sick a sweet person like you?" Bret asked as he pulled her in for a kiss. She moaned as he deepened it.

“Babe, we won’t make the wedding if we keep this up.” (Y/n) laughed.

"Who says we can't be fashionably late?" He teased as he pulled her tighter. She could’ve sworn she felt someone watching them as they kissed, but she melted into Bret’s embrace anyway.

“We’ll have plenty of time for this at the hotel afterwards.” (Y/n) winked at him. “Ready?”

"Let's go," her said and led her inside.

Nikki clenched his fist. She had moved on. Of course she did. He told himself, she was gorgeous and well adjusted. He, on the other hand, was a mess. The way she kissed he new boyfriend reminded him of the way she kissed him when they were together. He got the feeling again, he needed to feel numb. He looked at the song in his pocket and threw it in the floor. Quickly going inside her find a good spot to get high.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Tommy asked as he was stretched out on the couch in the grooms room a little bit later. “This is Heather’s and my big day! I don’t want you to ruin it for her!”

"Like I ruined (Y/n)," he muttered.

“It’s been months Nik.” Vince sighed. He knew Vanessa was there with her boyfriend, and it hurt like hell. But he was just drinking, not shooting up every chance he got.

“Look, I’m sorry things worked out bad for you two, but we don’t have time for this.” Tommy sighed. “Now are you gonna man up and be there with me, or do I need to ask someone else?”

“I got ya drummer.” Mick said, pushing himself up.

“I got this!” Nikki said, tripping over the table. Tommy stared down at Nikki, shaking his head.

“You were almost my brother-in-law.” He mumbled. “Maybe it was a good thing it didn’t happen.” He turned and walked out of the room. He knew those words had to sting, but he really didn’t care.

****

Nikki could barely stand the whole ceremony. He was sure he looked awful in the wedding pictures, but he didn’t care. They moved right into the reception afterwards. Everyone started to dance after Heather and Tommy did. Heather tossed her bouquet, which ended up in (Y/n)’s hands. Vanessa, Athena, and Heather all cheered for her. Nikki stood off to the side, watching them. He could see the new tattoo proudly under her backless dress. Angel wings, full and fluffy. He could also see that blond devil wrapping his arm around her waist and planting a big kiss on her lips.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer.” Vanessa said to him.

"Won't make a difference," Nikki muttered as he drowned himself in Jack.

“You know she still loves you, right?” Vanessa told him. “You broke her heart though.”

"What do I do?" He asked. "What can I do?"

"Getting clean would be a start," Vanessa sighed. "But knowing you… It's a long shot." Vanessa grabbed her drinks and walked back too John who was waiting for her. (Y/n) went to the bar to get a drink. Nikki looked over at her. He wanted to say something, anything. But his mind was blank what could he say. Shaking his head he turned around and walked away.

Tommy walked over to his sister after Nikki left. (Y/n) leaned on the bar, waiting for her drink. Tommy leaned against it, watching her.

"So, Bret is a nice guy," he said to her. "He make you happy?" (Y/n) got her drink and raised it to her lips.

"Yeah…" she got her drink took a sip. "How mad were you when you heard I left Elektra?" They hadn’t talked a whole lot since everything went down, mainly communicating through Heather and Athena.

"I almost punched Tom's lights out." He sighed, "I'm still pissed at Nikki. I should have forced him to stay away from you."

"I'm sorry about everything." She whispered  looking down.

"Hey," he said. "No crying on my wedding day." He said and hugged her. "Love you little sis."

"Love you t-bone." She hugged him but saw Nikki. "I wish I could ask him to dance."

"Not sure how he will take it," Tommy growled. "I don't know why I asked him to be my best man. But, he's still my best friend when he's not moping" Tommy sighed.

"He'll be ok." She smiled at Tommy. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She downed her drink before she made her way over to Nikki. "Hi…"

"Oh, hey," Nikki tried to act sober. "You look good." That wasn't a lie. She did look good to him. He couldn't tell if the drugs were making his heart race or if she was.

"Would you like to dance with me?" She asked quietly.

“You sure blondie won’t come here and deck me,” Nikki looked over at Bret and sighed. He was sitting at a table, eating a piece of cake while he waited on her. She seemed happy with him and he was trying not to ruin it.

"He'll be ok." She smiled softly at him. "Unless you don't want to…" she turned to walk away. Nikki took her hand in his and felt that small jolt of electricity he did when he first touched her,

“No… I can dance,” he led her to the dance floor stumbling a bit.

"Are you ok?" She asked as he pulled her close to him.

“Honestly… no… but… it’s nice being with you right now,” he muttered. He wasn't sure what he was saying. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating because of the drugs. She was pressed up against his chest and he could smell her hair.

"I miss you." She admitted to him. "I…" she sighed as the song ended. She wanted to tell him she still loved him, that she wanted him back, but his lack of talking made her change her mind. "I guess I better let you go silly boy." She let go of him. “Bye Nikki.”

She left him standing in the middle of the floor as she want back to Bret, “I miss you too sweet girl,” he whispered before going off again to get high.

****

Nikki sighed as he frowned at the girls that came by him. Vince sat at a chair opposite him.

“What’s wrong man?” he looked up at the girl he had in his lap. He sighed as she reminded him of Vanessa. He always seemed to pick girls that reminded him of her.

“They just don’t look right to me man,” Nikki sighed.  

“What kind of girl are you looking for?” Vince asked, knowing exactly who he was looking for. Because he was looking for his own Vanessa out there.

"I just… I have a type in mind." He sighed as he took a shot and snorted the blow in the table. He looked at Vince. "Man I need something more."

“Well, what about her?” He asked, pointing to a girl carrying drinks. She had short brown hair and innocent eyes. Much like a college student Nikki had fallen in love with. While she didn’t look exactly like the girl of his dreams, she was pretty close.

"Yeah, I guess," Nikki let the euphoria fill him as the drugs kicked in. He wasn't sure what he had in his system but he just needed her. He took her to his room for the night, but something wasn’t right. She didn’t have the right tattoos and it was ruining the illusion.

"Hey, you ok?"

Even her voice sounded wrong. It grated his ears. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine his (Y/n). His sweet girl, whose voice was like a song. He pounded into the random chick but nothing too it. All he could think of was the letter she left and the ring on his bass.

When he was done, he kicked the girl out. He looked at the phone in the room. He only knew the one number for her, and he wasn’t sure if she had it transferred somewhere. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. He should’ve fought for her at the wedding. But he didn’t. And now he was alone in an empty room with his thoughts and his drugs.

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[another-broken-avenue3]

Somebody to Love || part one

warning: language

word count: 3.4K

hello everyone! I hope you all enjoy this. let me know if you liked it and if you’d want to read more. thank you xxx

p.s. a special thank you to Bree (@serpentbaby) and Steph (I don’t have her url at the moment) for helping me while I was writing this. ya’ll are my faves ❤️

---------------------------------------------------------

May 1981

           My sneakers squeak against the ugly tiled floors of Donny’s Diner as myself and my two best friends made our way to the hostess podium. The clouds had let loose a downpour of rain and we had been soaked.

           “God, I’m freezing,” Willow says, rubbing her arms to try to warm herself up.

           “I told you to bring a jacket, Willow,” Julie, Jul for short, remarks while rolling her eyes.

           “Hey, I’m freezing and I wore one,” I reply, pulling my leather jacket closed.

           “See Jul, you don’t need to be rude.” Willow sticks her tongue out at Jul and continues rubbing her hands against her arms.

           An older waitress approaches us. “Booth or table girlies?”

           “Booth please,” we all chime in unison.

           She leads us to a booth in the middle of the diner and hands us all menus. I immediately start perusing mine for something hot to eat. Jul just sits there popping the piece of gum in her mouth. Willow starts looking through the drink options.

           “Anything to drink or do you girls need a minute?” The waitress asks. Her name tag says ‘Dottie.’

           “I’ll have a coffee, black.” Jul pops her gum again.

           I sigh. “I’ll have a coke please.”

           “I’ll also have a coke,” Willow chimes in.

           Dottie smiles, writes it all down, and heads to towards the kitchen.

           Within just a couple minutes, she’s back with our drinks.

           Suddenly a group of guys push each other through the door. They’re loud and obnoxious, except for one who’s trailing behind with a flask in his hand.

           “Dottie!” One of them with black hair yells, drawling out the waitress’s name.

           She smiles and leads them to the booth next to ours. “Nikki, good to see you doll. Vince, Mick, Tommy, always a pleasure.”

           “My usual please Dottie,” the one she called Nikki says.

           “Of course. Vince? Mick? You two want anything?” she asks, motioning to the blonde and black haired guys sitting on the seat directly behind Jul.

           The black haired one just holds up his flask and shakes his head. The blonde locks eyes with a blonde chick barely wearing clothes across the diner and shakes his head.

          “No thanks Dottie.”

          “Tommy? Blueberry pancakes?” She smiles at a very tall dark haired guy sitting next to the one she called Nikki.

          “Dottie, you know me so well.” He flashes a big smile.

          Dottie nods and walks back to the kitchen.

          “Hello? Earth to Willow and Echo??”

          I snap back to reality, not even realizing I was staring at the interaction. I turn to Willow and notice she was doing the same thing.

          I quickly look back down at my menu to find some food.

          “That show was fucking crazy! Like when you hit that dickhead with your bass, Nikki, crazy shit dude!” I hear Tommy say.

          “Yeah but when you dove into the crowd and started beating the shit out of that other guy T-Bone!” Nikki starts laughing loudly.

          Jul scoffs. “If those dudes don’t chill the fuck out soon I swear I’ll snap,” she whispers.

          “Jul, just let it go please,” Willow whispers then goes back to looking at her menu.

          Dottie stops at our booth again. “You girls ready to order?”

          We fold up our menus and put them together.

          “I’ll have eggs, sunny side up, and a chocolate chip muffin please,” Willow chirps.

          “I’m good with just the coffee, thank you.”

          “I’d like a waffle with a side of bacon please,” I say, handing her our stack of menus once she’s done writing out order.

          “All right, I’ll bring that out for you girls as soon as it’s ready.” Dottie walks back to the kitchen, and then appears with the guys’ orders.

          She hands Nikki an airplane bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a glass of coke. Tommy happily takes his plate of blueberry pancakes. Nikki then chugs the whole little bottle of whiskey.

          “Whoa.”

          My eyes immediately shoot to Willow, as well as Jul’s and all the guys’.

          Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “I um... Sorry, I-,” she stutters.

          Nikki chuckles and smirks at her. “It’s okay angel face, I get that reaction a lot.”

          Jul rolls her eyes.

          “I’m Nikki. This is Mick,” he motions to the shorter guy with the flask.

          “Vince is our blonde haired bitch,” Tommy says with a laugh as Vince flips him off, “and I’m Tommy.” He flashes a big smile.

          “I’m Willow,” she touches her chest. “This ray of sunshine is Jul.” Jul raises her hand and continues sipping her coffee.

          “I’m Echo,” I say with a small smile.

          Dottie approaches our booth with our food and I realize how hungry I actually am.

          “Thank you so much Dottie,” I say taking my plate.

          “Enjoy ladies.”

          It takes everything I have not to moan out loud when I finally take a bite.

          “I’ll be back.” Jul gets up from the table and heads towards the bathrooms.

          I eat more of my waffle and bacon and suddenly see two figures in all black slip into our booth. My eyes look up and meet the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

          Tommy flashes a killer smile and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

          “It’s good right?” he asks with his mouth full. I smile and nod.

          “So what brings you girls here at this time of night?” Nikki asks, directing the question more at Willow.

          “Well we work at a bar not far from here and we got off and were starving so we decided to stop in,” Willow answers.

          “Well I’m certainly glad you all did.” Nikki winks.

          “What are you guys doing here? Did you guys catch a concert or something?” I ask.

          “What makes you guess that?” Tommy retorts with a smirk.

          “The leather jackets, the all black clothes, the hair; I just assumed.”

          Tommy laughs. “I guess you have a point there.” He takes a sip of his drink. “You were kind of right when you said we were at a show.”

          I raise my eyebrow. “Kind of right?” I question.

          He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled up flyer. I flatten it out the best I can and read over it.

Mötley Crüe

Whiskey A Go Go

3 Nights Only

          Then they had a picture of the four of them at the bottom. Holy shit.

          “Wait, you guys are a band?” I ask, still a little in shock.

          “Hell yeah we are!” Nikki says high-fiving Tommy.

          “Tonight was our first show there. It started off with us fighting a couple guys and then it ended fucking great!” Tommy starts twirling a drumstick between his fingers.

          I smile. “I assume you’re the drummer.”

          He smiles wide. “I am.”

          I watched him twirl the drumstick. “Where’d you learn to do that?” I ask.

          He sighs and stops twirling it. “High school marching band,” he kind of mumbles.

          I giggle. “You were in marching band? You’re lying. You definitely don’t seem like the type of person to be in a high school marching band.”

          He nods his head. “Nope, I was in my high school marching band.”

          “Echo was too!” Willow interjects.

          He glances at her then back to me with a look of surprise. “You were in marching band too?”

          I smile and nod. “I wasn’t a badass drummer though.”

          He laughs. “Bet you were still a badass. What’d you play?” he asks.

          I shake my head. “I didn’t play anything. I did flags.”

          His eyes go wide. “No fucking way. You did the throwing and spinning and all that shit?”

          I nod. “Yes I did. Tossing and spinning and doing all that while moving in between people and trying not to hit them.”

          “That’s fucking badass dude!”

          I smile wide. “You think so?” I laugh a little.

          “Yes!” He shows off his wonderful smile.

          My cheeks heat up a little, no doubt a light red from the compliment.

          “So you girls have any plans for the night?” Nikki asks.

          “We were just planning to go home and relax,” Willow replies.

          “No no no no no. You girls cannot just go home, there’s a whole night scene out there!” Nikki says throwing his hands in the air.

          “We work again tomorrow,” Jul pops up next to me.

          “Come hang with us, we’ll buy the drinks and everything.” Tommy looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

          I sigh and smile. “Jul, they’re paying so you can get all the tequila and vodka you want.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

          She cracks a small smile. “Okay fine, you got a deal.” The four of us all cheer.

          “First I’m finishing this great food,” I say as I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth.

          Tommy laughs a little.

          We finish our food, leaving money for the bill and a great tip for Dottie. We all file out the door and into the street. At least the rain stopped.

          “So where are we going exactly?” Willow asks.

          “A bar right down the street,” Nikki replies slinging his arm over her shoulders. I notice a slight pink hue spread over her cheeks.

          Tommy walks next to me. “So what’s your poison, Echo?”

          I shrug slightly. “I’ll drink anything really, except tequila.” A chill goes up my back and makes my body shutter at the thought of the sharp taste.

          He smiles. “I’ll remember that.”

          I pull my jacket closer to my body and shiver.

          “Are you cold?” Tommy looks down at me.

          “A little. We got caught in the rain earlier and my clothes are still damp,” I reply and look back at him.

          “Here.” His jacket is draped over my shoulders. Man how is his jacket so warm?

          “But Tommy-“

          He cuts me off. “No buts. You’re cold and my jacket is warm.” He smiles down at me. “Plus it looks better on you.”

          I giggle. He’s incredibly sweet. I slip my arms into the sleeves, which go at least two inches further than my fingertips.

          Tommy chuckles beside me. “What?” I ask, holding his jacket against me.

          “You.”

          I look up at him, confused. “Me? Me what?”

          He laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You’re fucking adorable.”

          We finally get to the bar and the boys lead us to the front of the line.

          “But the back of the line is back there,” I say pointing behind us.

          “Sweets, Motley Crue doesn’t wait in line,” Vince says walking past the guard and into the bar.

          Tommy holds up his hand, making devil horns, and sticks his tongue out. I laugh and follow them all inside.

          The music is loud and I can feel the bass thumping in my chest.

          “You want a drink, beautiful?” Tommy says in my ear.

          I nod and smile. “Surprise me.”

          He walks to the bar and comes back handing me a drink. “Bottoms up!” He clinks his glass against mine.

          I throw my back and cringe a little at the strong taste. Vodka, good but burns like hell.

          “Woo!” Tommy cheers after drinking his.

          I hear the opening chords for Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar. “Oh my god!”

          Tommy looks at me. “What?”

          “I love this song!” I yell over the music.

          He smiles at me as I start mouthing the words with the music.

          “Well you’re a real tough cookie with a long history, of breaking little hearts like the one in me.” I bounce my head to the beat and tap my foot.

          Tommy hasn’t stopped smiling. “Wanna dance?” he asks.

          I look at him with wide eyes. “I can’t dance to save my life.” I laugh.

          He leans in, talking into my ear, “I can’t either, but after a couple more drinks I’m not sure what’ll happen.”

          I laugh. “Well then let’s have another, rockstar!”

          He leads me to the bar and motions to the bartender. “Get me a couple shots of jack please.”

          “And I’ll have vodka and ginger ale please,” I yell over the music.

          Tommy downs both his shots as I sip on my drink.

          “Fuck that’s good!”

          I laugh and continue to move slightly to the voice of Pat Benatar.

          After a couple more vodka and ginger ales for me and probably a dozen shots for Tommy, we were pretty tipsy if not drunk.

          I hear one of the best musical voices in the world, Freddie Mercury. Somebody to Love, my favorite.

          “Oh my god Tommy we have to dance to this song please!” I say in Tommy’s ear.

          “Let’s do it!” He throws his hands up.

          I laugh as he takes my hand and leads me to the middle of the crowded dance floor. We start to dance. It’s most certainly sloppy and probably not the greatest, but we laugh and just enjoy ourselves.

          He starts pulling me closer and quietly singing the words to me. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. He’s swaying with me and smiling down at me. Holy fuck I didn’t realize how tall he really is ‘til just now. He’s so close I can smell the jack on his breath but I can also smell his cologne and it’s so nice. His hands find my hips as I look up at him. I want to say something but my already hazy mind can’t form a sentence.

          “Fuck,” Tommy mumbles.

          “What? What it is?” I ask, worried I did something wrong.

          “You.”

          “Me? What’d I do? Goddamit, I fucked something up didn’t I?”

          “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

          I look up at him. “Okay. What is it then?”

          He smiles and shakes his head a little. “You, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

          I feel my cheeks instantly heat up.

          Then I suddenly feel very lightheaded and hot and my hearing makes it sound like everyone else is miles away.

          “Echo? You okay?” Tommy looks down at me concerned.

          “I need some air,” I say, stepping away and making my way outside to the patio area.

          The cool air hits my skin and my dizziness fades. I lean against the railing and hold my head.

          I hear a cat-call whistle. Oh fuck me.

          “Well look at what we’ve got here.”

          I groan as a couple of tall, broad, and sweaty looking guys step towards me.

          “Looks like a pretty little drunk thing to me,” the black haired guy replies to the blonde one.

          “Leave me alone assholes.” I wave my hand at them, hoping they’d go away.

          “Fiery little thing, isn’t she?”

          “I like ‘em fiery.”

          The blonde grabs my wrist and tries to pull me close. “C’mon baby, we know exactly what you need.”

          “You don’t know shit.” I rip my wrist out of his hand and turn away from him. “Now keep your disgusting hands off of me.”

          “That’s what you think now,” the black haired one grabs my hips and whispers in my ear, “but we’ll have you screaming our names later.”

          “The only name she’ll be screaming later is mine.”

          I turn to the sound of Tommy’s voice. “Tommy.”

          He smiles at me, then turns and glares at them. “I believe I’ll be taking my girl now.”

          The guys laugh.

          “You’re not man enough for a girl like her,” the blonde spits at Tommy.

          “Yeah, she’d be much more satisfied with a couple of guys like us.”

          I feel my blood boiling. “You guys are right. I need big strong men to satisfy me.”

          The black haired one smirks and turns to me. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

          I put my hands on his shoulders. “There’s just one more thing.”

          “Oh? And what’s that?”

          “This.” I knee him right in the groin, causing him to fall to the ground. I smirk at Tommy who’s smiling ear to ear.

          “What the fuck?! You dumb cunt!” The blonde raises his fist.

          Just before he goes to hit me, Tommy grabs his arm. “Don’t you ever raise your hand at her!” Tommy’s fist connects with the blonde’s jaw. The blonde hits the floor and spits out a little blood.

          “C’mon gorgeous.” Tommy holds out his hand. I take it, smiling.

          I turn back to the two pieces of shit on the ground. “That’s what you get for being scumbags.”

          Tommy laughs and leads me back into the bar. “You were fucking amazing!” He hugs me tight, picking me up a little in the process.

          I giggle loudly. “Tommy, you were the amazing one!”

          He smiles and puts me back down.

          “Thank you for saving me.”

          He chuckles. “No problem, beautiful.”

          I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

          “You wanna get out of here?” he asks, smiling ear to ear.

          “I would love to.”

          We head back into the bar and search for any of the other Motley boys or one of my friends. I spot Jul sipping from a Jack Daniels bottle and passing it to Mick.

          “There’s Jul and Mick,” I say in Tommy’s ear.

          He nods and leads us over to them. “Hey, Mick, we’re heading out. You staying here?”

          “Yeah, I’m gonna hang out here for a while, drummer.”

          “Jul, are you staying too?” I ask.

          “Yeah, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” She smiles.

          I smile at her. “Okay, just keep an eye on Willow please? She seems like she’s having fun too.” I point to a corner where Willow and Nikki are all over each other.

          She laughs. “Yeah we’ll be home before too late.”

          I nod and wave. “See you at home.”

          Tommy and I leave the bar and walk down the mostly empty street.

          “Tommy.”

          “Yeah?”

          “I really appreciate you coming to my rescue at the bar. You’re my hero,” I look at my hands.

          “Hey,” he tilts my chin up using his index finger, “I’ll be your hero any day.”

          I blush as he flashes his amazing smile.

          The sky lights up and a loud crack soon follows.

          “Shit. Come on, let’s hurry and get you home before the rain starts again.” He places his hand on the small of my back.

          We make it onto my street when the rain starts to pour. I laugh and start running, Tommy following behind me. I quickly pull my keys from my jacket pocket and unlock the front door, flinging it open. Tommy stumbles in after me. I close the door behind him and take off his jacket and then my own.

          “I’m so sorry Tommy. You’re soaked now,” I say, noticing his shirt clinging to his torso. “Hold on, stay right there.”

          I run to my bedroom and start digging through my dresser for some clothes. I finally find a t-shirt and sweatpants that just might fit him. I come back out, seeing Tommy shiver a little.

          “Here I have some sweats and a t-shirt for you.” I hand him the clothes. “If you want you can change in the bathroom, it’s right down the hall on the left.”

          He smiles. “Thank you Echo, you’re a saint.”

          I watch as he walks down the hall and into the bathroom.

          I make my way back to my room and search for clothes for myself. Finding a pair of shorts and a long sleeve shirt, I slip off my wet clothing.

          “Echo?” I hear Tommy just outside my bedroom door.

          I slip on my shorts and adjust my shirt. “I’m in here.”

          He slowly opens the door. “Are you decent?” he asks, his hand covering his eyes.

          I let out a giggle as I see him peeking through his fingers. “I’m dressed, you silly man.”

          He smiles and leans against the doorway, looking at me.

          “What?” I throw my hair into a ponytail.

          “You look sexy in shorts.”

          I laugh a little. “Well thank you. Wanna watch a movie or something?” I ask, switching on the TV.

          “Fuck yeah!” He flops onto my bed and pats the spot next to him.

          “I don’t have a lot of movies though,” I say, lying next to him.

          “That’s okay. Let’s just watch TV.”

          “Okay.” I smile and flip through the channels until we find something that’s not horrible.

          I shiver a little.

          “You cold?” he asks. I nod a little.

          He pulls a blanket over us. “Better?”

          I smile up at him and nod. “Thank you, Tommy.”

          “You’re welcome, beautiful.”

          A yawn escapes my lips. “Fuck, sorry.”

          Tommy chuckles. “It’s okay baby.”

          We continue watching the TV show and my eyes start drooping shut. I feel Tommy’s arms snake around me and my body instantly relaxes.

          “Goodnight sweetness,” Tommy whispers in my ear.

[teacher-lavin]

Bon Bon, Jan Savitt, and me*

Photo from Vol Vistu Gaily Star (1939). 

See author’s reading of story in audio file at bottom. Also, Recording of Bon Bon performing “The Masquerade is Over.”

I found an envelope on my desk full of letters that I must have written back in brighter times. This one was on top. 

Dear Bon Bon:

I hope that’s OK, --to call you “Bon Bon.” I met you in 1974, the year just before you passed. You had invited my dad to visit, and he brought me along. I was 19. All I knew was that you were the crooner whose silken voice fronted the Jan Savitt Orchestra in the 1930s when my dad was a trombone player with the band.

Big handshakes when we arrived. I think you had been ill, and you were staying in Philly with your sister or an aunt. Trying to seem grown, I said, “Bon Bon, it’s great to meet you.” But my dad cut me down, saying, “That's Mr. Tunnell, to you, boy. Who do you think you are?” So, I corrected myself, “Sorry, Mr. Tunnell.” And you smiled and said, “Don’t pay that old goat no mind.” And then you candidly asked my dad, “Jack, does he play?” And my dad said, “He’s terrible.”

The room had an audience of three or four of your cousins and a blind lady from the neighborhood. There was also a delicate young woman about my age, a niece. My dad was being very courteous and fun with everybody, except me, of course. He usually reserved his jovial laugh, and decorous, joking manner for people whom he wished to impress. I was easily embarrassed in those days, particularly in “company” with my father. The reason was that my dad’s way of dealing with me was to attack when he sensed my weakness. The worst was when we were with other people.

So then, my father dressed me down again with a rebuke, “Kid, when are you gonna get a lip?” Shaking his head, he lamented loudly that I never practiced. But, Bon Bon, you put your arm around me, and whispered in a tone that  the whole room could hear, “Young fella, your old man ain’t never gonna change. He’s just wound up too tight. I would love to hear you playing or even leading a band somewhere, someday. I know you will.” You were speaking like you could look into my future. Then, you quipped, “You gotta have a sweet-lookin’ trumpet or a trombone, right?” I nodded. That was a lie. And you included my dad in the musing, “Jack, we gonna buy this kid a valve-trombone like that silver-plated horn we bought for you. Remember that, Jack? I told Mr. Savitt to get that one for you! You always made it sing.”

Bob Bon! The airy way you intoned your words was a melody. Your speaking voice rose and fell like a brass choir. Your phrasing, your pauses weren’t just talk, your way of speaking was like Coltrane and Miles trading licks at a jam session.  While speaking, you walked me across the room and introduced me to your niece, and she greeted me with this kind, innocent, bashful, welcoming single syllable and  accompanying gesture, “Hi.” She raised her hand faintly and tapped the air twice delicately. I melted. You prompted me, 

“Well, is it trombone or trumpet? I know Tommy Dorsey here would never let you play the sax." My dad rebutted, “Don’t mix me up with that scoundrel, Dorsey!” For my part, I was way off key at this point and, trying to sound mature and to join in the banter, I overstated my cause, “I play both! I play trombone and trumpet. Man, I’m bad.”

You saved me, halting and gazing at my old man, warning him, “Look out, Jack. He’s coming’ for you.” My dad just shook his head.

We were in the nice room at the front of your folks’ house where visitors came. When my mom and dad had been together, we had had a room like that. Drinks appeared. There was a lot of laughing. Once I started to feel the beer, I was OK. That’s how I met you. You were more than generous. You were a magnanimous presence. Well, the story continues. My dad and I left your family high and late that pallid summer afternoon. It was the seventies in Philly. The car radio played Temple University’s Jazz Station low, and against a background of static another friend of my dad, Hank Mobley, was wafting a Brazilian-styled Bossa melody from the car’s speakers. We were somewhere in Southwest Philadelphia. As we drove away, we were euphoric on so many memories you and my father shared. Skying on that feeling of friendship, --free associating like a long piano solo. We were inebriated by the luxury of having been together partying with good people. For the moment, I was drunk. And so I felt almost safe. Dad was telling me stories about you guys. I  knew that you were the star of Philly’s  Jan Savitt Orchestra. As my father wheeled his rusting Cadillac homeward, he told me that you were Catholic and that, while playing a gig in Pittsburgh where the band had to stay in a hotel, he met you early one Sunday morning walking to mass at a nearby Catholic church. He reminisced over the steering wheel, “It was a big band. Fifty people or more on the road.  But that singled Bon Bon and me out. We were the only two practicing Catholics. After that, we prayed together when the band was on the road on weekends.” It wasn’t just the whiskey talking, it was affection. From my dad, that was different. His voice went falsetto high and even broke a couple of times. He said you had “credibility” with Jan Savitt and that the bandleader followed your advice about musical arrangements, style and orchestra personnel. After you and my dad had gone to church  together, you must have commended his trombone playing to Savitt. So, the conductor began calling him up during performances from the back of the bandstand to the mike. Once up front, my dad said that he would crochet vamps and runs on the trombone behind “Bon Bon’s magical manner of lyricizing.” His horn had to echo your singing. The trombone had to blend, dipping in and out of your trademark sound. My dad concluded, “That was a great opportunity. Bon Bon opened the door for me.”

So, after leaving hotels in Reading and Scranton, Pennsylvania and Atlantic City and Cape May, New Jersey to seek out Sunday morning masses, doors started opening for my dad. I guess no matter how much hell you guys were raising through Saturday nights, you both went regularly together to communion the next morning. You had a bond. I learned that you knew lots of people in Pittsburgh, too. Through you, my dad met Art Blakey, Sonny Stitt and Ahmad Jamal all playing in the Hill District. “Bon Bon brought me to the party,” my dad remembered.

That suave evening on the way home, I also learned that Jan Savitt was real committed to launching an integrated orchestra back in the 1930s. As if teaching, my dad historicized, “Savitt was Jewish and he had seen too much hate. He wanted music to be a language that everybody could hear and speak and understand.” I was young, but I got that.

My dad remembered that, in some bands, white players were paid higher, belonged to separate musicians’ unions than black players and, “There were places we played where we had to enter through separate doors because the owners were racist idiots. It was humiliating to everybody. You see. You’ve got a friend who is including you in his life. You’ve got a friend who’s sharing his family and  connections with you. You’ve got a friend who is taking care of you. Then, you see him being excluded from the money and the respect he deserves, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  His family and friends always made space for me, --always were good to others. I was never cut out. No matter how hard he worked, Bon Bon was exploited, disrespected and insulted. He always showed courage. He always showed humanity.”  

The way home, punctuated by neighborhoods and stop lights and crosstown expressways, went quiet. Finally, my dad asked me, “So, what do you think?” Feeling unprepared, I said, “I don’t know,” Then, he reprimanded, “Well you’d better figure it the hell out, kid. You’d better figure things out or you’re going be stuck out in the cold.” 

We were back to being bitter. My dad by invective. Me by clenched silences. The stress of being with my dad made me sweat so much that I felt feverish. The hot summer evening suddenly seemed cold. So much had happened, I couldn’t make sense of  the currents sweeping through my shaking body. I got out of the car finally and my dad didn’t say “Bye,” he just said, “Figure it out!” That was over half-a-century ago, but since that time whenever I wanted to cheer my father up, I would mention your name. Especially at the end of his fight with cancer. As he’d lay listless in the aftermath of treatments, all I had to do was mention you if I wanted to see him pause and smile. Bon Bon! However briefly,  you brought me and my dad together. You made us whole. Yes. Your voice called friends and families and lovers to life’s weird party. Then, you sang, and those people felt the love. Audiences that came to hear you saw Black people and Jewish people and Irish Catholics and Protestants and Muslims all performing together back in the 1930s. You were a healer.

My dad was cruel, and I’ve had to deal with that. But he did love you. And the best gift he gave to me was the way he adored jazz musicians for their talents and their friendship.

He told me, “You can learn to love Jazz. It’s African music. It’s beautiful. Jazz is like being part of a big family. Ella and Dizzy and the Duke and the Count. They’re all connected. But you can never know what Black people in this country experience. You can never know the bigotry they have to face. You can’t know that from the inside.”

I got that as a kid. The only time I had ever seen the old man cry was near dinnertime on the day in July 1971 when Louis Armstrong died. I was just home from my job at a shoe factory in Norristown and was nursing a beer on my dad’s couch when the evening news suddenly reported that the Great Satchmo had passed. His face went wet with tears. “That man never played a bad note,” was all he could say, over and over, like a mantra.

Bon Bon! What I learned was that music --even the crooked notes like what I played on my student model trumpet at weddings and dances and other weekend gigs-- still had power over people.

So, no matter how angry I felt about my dad’s abuses to my mom or his bitter way with me, I have to thank you for caring. Even for that skinny, frightened teenager I was. You made me want to play bell tones and to share my sound. I wanted to soar on that silver valve-trombone that you and Jan Savitt bought for my dad.  That was a goal, right?  Well, even though my learning curve has been a spiritual mudslide, I feel your charm in moments of reverie like today writing this letter. I listen to you croon “The Masquerade is Over,” and I hear your voice honor love. I learned that, --at least. No matter whatever else has happened.

When the weather breaks, I’m going to be tracking down where you’re buried. I’m quite sure that must be somewhere in Pennsylvania. My dad once said that he would have loved to visit with a wreath from the two of us, --to remember you. I just want you to know all these years later that your voice is still heard, Mr. Tunnell.          

With Affection,

Johnny

* All of the persons named in this story are completely fabricated and fictitious and bear no connection to actual persons living or deceased, --except for Jan Savitt, George “Bon Bon” Tunnell, Ella Fitgerald, Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Stan Getz, Ahmad Jamal, Art Blakey, Miles Davis and John Coltrane.