AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 5

When Courtney returned home, she made the mistake of mentioning that she had seen Byron Reed at Yosemite.

Home: the cramped, tiny, two bedroom old house in Glendale, California; the one her father had bought just before he had died.  Courtney had been in the ninth grade then.

Courtney wanted to brag that Byron Reed had asked for her telephone number, but Mom would crucify her if she found out that she hadn’t given it to him.  She also didn’t dare mention that she had broken up with Vlad.

As soon as she had told Vlad that something was off in their relationship, and she wanted some time to herself to sort things out, he had instantly proposed marriage.  She didn’t know what to do with that at all.  She just didn’t love him anymore.  If she told her mom that Vlad (the favorite son of a millionaire!) had proposed, and she had said no . . . Out of the question.

Her mother didn’t know too much about Byron Reed; no more than about half an hour worth of gossip.  Her mom read all the fluff rags like National Confidential, Citizen, U, word for word, cover to cover, twice.  Courtney suspected she even took notes.

Mom brought out some back issues that she hadn’t thrown away yet on Byron Reed.  Courtney acted disinterested (as she memorized the positions of the magazines in the stacks).

Byron Reed was romantically linked with big-breasted Tina Sherman the pop/disco vocalist (Lovin’ Ya Till It Hurts).

Byron Reed was the ex-partner of Krane, the superstar.  Byron Reed was the former president of dB Records.  His ex-wife was Estelle Moreau, the hothothot actress.

Record stores and bookstores sang a stereo song to Courtney, luring her into them.  Nine-tenths of Noise+ was devoted to CDs and analog audio cassettes and movie rentals, but way back in a far corner was a small vinyl section.  She rationed herself to 1 Krane-and-Reed vinyl album (either that or buy a CD player).

Mayflower Books made more of a dent in her pocketbook.  Movie magazines, with pictures and articles about Krane, and Moreau.  Music magazines with more information on Krane, and Tina Sherman.  Two fat Rock-and-Roll History books.  The thin, groupie-oriented paperback on The Krane-And-Reed Story.  Thick with photos of Byron Reed!  (Gawwd.  Calm down, Courty.)  The unauthorized bio of Estelle Moreau, and Krane’s autobiography.

Courtney sneaked her treasures into her room, shoved her typewriter aside, hooked up her college stereo, and . . .

Gawwd.

It was a scathing disappointment.  Krane-and-Reed was pasteurized pop.  It was the same simple-minded homogenized goo that could be heard in any big American city on any Top-40 station.  She knew it was going to be rock-and-roll, she was semi-prepared, but couldn’t it be progressive rock, or ground-breaking rock?

This was going to take some sustenance.  She ordered in pepperoni pizza, told Mom to hold all calls (especially Vlad), and she spread out her research materials in front of her.

Take that pandemonium off the platter!

She yanked the needle off the record, and put on some quality sounds.  Back in her closet, she dredged out some decent music.

Handel, Die Orgelkonzerte.

Tina Sherman.  She was not living with Byron Reed.  They were ‘seeing each other.’  She was the daughter of a music biz big shot, and she was an up-and-coming singer.  One article listed her age at 26; breast measurement, 38DD.

Estelle, as everyone in the world knew, was a straw blond with drop dead French femininity.  She was haughty like Royalty, voluptuous, and dangerously sexy.

Estelle’s unauthorized biography was about as bitchy as anything Courty had ever read.

She had modeled in Europe for about a year in 1969, and then . . . 1969?  She had been 19, then.  That made her 43-years-old!  She had had a nervous breakdown, after a year of modeling, and a fast-lane life full of cocaine and psilocybin.  She had been institutionalized for six months in an exclusive French resort for wealthy mental patients.  She had never been officially released; rather, she escaped!

She had vanished.  For 3 solid years.  Her family had feared that she was dead.  Then, she and Byron Reed applied for marriage in the city of Sherman Oaks, California, USA.  She was in the United States illegally.

The biographer had really dug for the dirt, and made her look like an angel turned slut.  Famous French Ex-Model Turns Rock&Roll Plaster-Casting Groupie, Lays All The Brashful Boys, And Marries One Of Them (Cradle-Snatches Byron Reed) To Establish US Citizenship.

The lost 3 years had been filled in later.

Courty ODed on Estelle, and skipped over huge sections of her bio.

It was time for desert.

It was time to read Reed.

After a couple of hours reading and daydreaming about Reed, Courty felt like a propeller-head with puppy love.  What did Freud call it?  Mysterium tremendum?

Reed was just so far outside her world.  He was rich and successful, and versatile.  He had backed away from performing, and gone into management, then shifted over to producing.  He owned a chain of recording studios.  He produced Harlot.  Harlot!

Courty stopped reading and just stared, listening to Handel.  She wanted to write Reed a letter.

But what am I?  I’m just a failed minor-poet.  I’ve never even had a collection of my work published.

On the far side of her dresser, was a short stack of today’s mail: manila envelopes, returned from the publishers with her poetry and short stories in them.  Courty didn’t have to open them to know that they were rejections.

Concerto B-dur op. 7 Nr. 3 ended, and the needle reached the scratchy non-musical center of the record.  Courty slumped in her chair, and just let it scratch.
 

COURTNEY, Chapter 6

Copyright 2005 Area 47