San Diego, CA
Summer 1973
Goddammit!
Randy hated going to Uncle Chris' fucking holy-roller church. Every damn week he lost three hours of his fucking life that he would never get back.
Goddammit!
"My house, my rules. You stay with us, you go to church," Chris would say if Randy protested.
Randy wondered if he had finally reached his breaking point. After all, he had recently turned nineteen and had enough money saved to live on his own so what was keeping him from moving out? 'Too much of a chicken shit, that's why,' he thought. Randy knew it wouldn't be too much longer before either he or his Uncle Chris would eventually get sick of it all and Randy would be out for good.
As the family entered the church's main hall and saw so many people there, Randy realized something was up.
"What's going on?" he asked his younger cousin, Danny.
"It's revival, stupid. Remember? We have church every night this week," Danny said.
Like hell they did! Randy wasn't going to church every night, he had too many things going on. For one, his band had practice and, for him, that was the holiest thing in his life.
As the family settled into a pew in the middle of the hall, Randy noticed the church stage was rearranged. The giant pinewood podium and church organ had been pushed to the back wall and the stage was filled with musical instruments...a five piece Ludwig drum set, a Yamaha keyboard, a couple of acoustic guitars, a Fender bass and, Randy gave a closer look at the lead guitar, a white 1965 Stratocaster. Six microphones, with brightly colored covers, were positioned around the stage and were flanked by two large Marshall Speakers.
Oh, god. Randy had a sinking feeling they were about to be 'ministered' to by Jesus freaks and their shitty Jesus music.
Once the congregation had settled, the church Pastor took the stage and announced the beginning of the revival for the week. He extended his hand to a group of six people dressed in identical powder blue suits and introduced them as The Persuaders.
They were some type of family band. The smiling father took the microphone and introduced his wife, on the keyboard, his eldest daughter, on bass, her husband and his son-in-law, on lead guitar and his twelve year old son, on the drums.
And then there was, holy shit, his youngest daughter, Amy, as lead vocalist. The father proudly announced Amy had just completed high school and was going to attend Oral Roberts University in the fall. She looked familiar. Why was that? He chuckled. Damn, she looked like Michelle Phillips. Seriously! She had that same long, straight, dishwater blonde hair and girl-next-door good looks.
The group launched into their first song. As expected, it was some type of Jesus freak music. Their musical style was basically the same as the Carpenters with some folk and blues thrown in. Danny leaned over to Randy.
"They're better than your band," he said.
Hardly. The Persuaders were playing pretty elementary stuff, simple chords and rhythms, but good enough to please a church crowd. Amy, however, was different!
Clearly the family band's star, the girl had some pipes! She swayed to the music, pulled on the microphone cord, and sang her soul into the yellow microphone cover. Shit, she had quite the range. One, two...three octaves! Impressive. The rest of the band was definitely riding her talent but what type of shit was she singing?
'I've got confidence, God's gonna see me throuuuugh.
No matter, what the case may be.
I know, he's gonna fix it for me.
I've got confidence, he's gonna fix it for meeeeeee.'
Randy shook his head. A girl that good looking, and with that much talent, should not be on the stage of some church singing Jesus songs. He was deeply impressed with Amy as he applauded, along with everyone else, once the song was over. He couldn't think of any other girl with that much singing skill and he had seen a lot.
When he wasn't admiring her vocal talent, he tried his best to check out her bod, but he was at least a dozen rows back and the blue suit she wore didn't flatter her any. Once, she bent over and picked up a tambourine out of a guitar case and her polyester pants stretched around a tight ass. Nice! He wished she would bend over and pick something else up but she never did.
He thought about the last time he had seen a girl's bare ass. It had been about four months ago, just before he broke up with his ex, Brook Anderson. He had fucked her doggie-style in the back of his band's Chevy van after one of their gigs at Charlie's Bar.
The thought made him start to get a hard-on and he twisted in the church pew as he wondered how experienced Amy was. She was hot and certainly would have had boyfriends over the years but, being a church girl, he imagined she was pretty tame. In the heat of the moment, she may have let a boyfriend touch her titties but then she probably repented to Jesus about it afterward and didn't let him touch them ever again. Poor bastard.
After a few more songs, a half hour sermon from the Pastor and the obligatory altar call, the congregation was released. Randy waited in the parking lot, next to the family car, wanting to light up a Winston but one of Uncle Chris' rules was, 'no smoking on church grounds'. He watched the crowd build outside of the church doors and slowly disperse.
Damn, he wished Chris and the family would hurry the fuck up. It was so damn hot, he swore he could smell the asphalt melting under his boots. It was times like these Randy wished he was allowed to take his Chevelle to church so he could leave but Chris insisted they all be together on Sunday mornings.
A group of admirers milled around The Persuaders as Randy tried to get another look at Amy but, with the crowd, he only caught glimpses of her. He resigned to himself that she would be one of those hot girls that came into, and left, his life without ever having the opportunity to know her. Their presence certainly was always appreciated and, at the least, it would give him something to beat off to before he went to bed. Aunt Sally came up to the car, digging in her purse. Danny was close behind but Uncle Chris was nowhere in sight.
"Let's go," Aunt Sally commanded.
Randy gave her a questioning look.
"We're having The Persuaders over for dinner," Danny announced.
Randy raised an eyebrow and thought to himself, Really now? Hmmm.
"Uncle Chris is going to ride with them," Aunt Sally said. "We're going to go and get everything ready. Come on now, they'll be over in an hour."
******
When they got home, the only thing Randy wanted was a cigarette but Aunt Sally insisted he help set the table while she started cooking.
"Aunt Sally, I'm not going to church every night this week," he said as he and Danny put in the table extension.
"Really? Not even to see Amy?" she said with a smile.
Danny snickered.
"I saw the way you were looking at her," Aunt Sally said.
Shit! Was it that obvious?
"I'm not going, Aunt Sally. I have things I need to do, one being band practice," Randy said.
"You can talk to your Uncle Chris about it."
If his Uncle Chris tried to make him go to church every night, that was it, Randy was out. Once the table was set, Randy went into the back yard, packed his Winstons, lit one up, closed his eyes and let the nicotine sooth him.
Uncle Chris and his family had been kind enough to take Randy in after his mother died of cancer in a few years back. It was his Aunt Sally he was related to by blood but it was Uncle Chris who ruled the roost, made, and enforced the rules.
Randy began to think Uncle Chris probably wouldn't make him go. After all, for the most part, Uncle Chris gave Randy his space. The main rules were Randy had to attend church once a week, graduate high school (he did, barely), have a job and pay forty dollars a month for rent. He was permitted to smoke as long as he did it out back.
What he did in his room was his business but any rock music had to be listened to with headphones and he had to keep his albums in his room because Danny wasn't allowed to listen to any of it. If alcohol or drugs were ever found, Uncle Chris promised Randy he'd put him in the street, immediately!! Pornography was strictly prohibited, too but Randy secretly kept his girly mags in a bag in the back of his closet.
Aunt Sally opened the sliding glass door.
"Randy, they're here."
The dining room was jammed with people. The Persuaders, still in their powder blue church suits, were taking up places around the table which was topped with steaming pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Amy sat across from Randy.
Since he was closer to her, he could see some of her imperfections, which made her less intimidating. Her front teeth were big, he figured her tits were small B-cups, if she was lucky, and she had a pimple on the side of her nose that she had attempted to cover with makeup. Still, she was one good looking girl and certainly completely fuckable.
He was a little irritated that she wasn't paying much attention to him, hell, she didn't even look in his direction. He wondered if she was stuck up. Most likely, she thought she understood his type and her holy-roller values didn't approve.
"Randy's a good guitar player, himself, and he has his own band," Uncle Chris told The Persuaders.
That got Amy's attention and, for the first time, she looked directly at him.
"What kind of music do you play?" the brother-in-law of the band asked.
Randy remembered he was the band's lead guitarist.
"Rock music," Randy said, knowing not to elaborate. He had better things to do than argue with Jesus freaks about what was considered appropriate music and what was not.
"I'd like to hear some of it some time," Amy said.
Well, well, well! Randy thumbed towards his room.
"How about now?"
She nodded.
"C'mon."
Uncle Chris took him by the arm as Randy walked by.
"Remember the rules, Randy."
Yes, he knew. Whatever. Girls could go into his room but the door had to stay open. Not that it mattered to him because if he ever got lucky enough to get a willing chick into his room, he'd fuck her with the door wide open, closed, in front of his family, her family, God, or Jesus.
"You're a really good singer," he told her as they made their way down the hall.
She pushed back her hair and gave a guarded smile.
"Thanks."
She stopped at the door of his room and stared at his walls that were covered with posters of Frank Zappa, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple. An acoustic guitar was near his bed and in the corner, next to four milk crates packed with albums, was his pride and joy, a Gibson Les Paul electric guitar with a honey burst finish.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look like Michelle Phillips?" he asked.
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
"You're a good looking girl."
"Thanks."
Randy wished she would take off that ugly jacket so he could check her out a little more, or at least bend over one more time for him. Instead she just stood at the door and stared at the walls as if the band members, portrayed on the posters, might come out and grab her. Finally, she made her way inside.
"You ever listen to them, the Mamas and the Papas?" he asked, sitting on the bed and picking up the acoustic.
"Some. I'm really not supposed to listen to that kind of music."
