Susie was turning 14 in August, and she was still naïve enough to imagine a big party with balloons, pony rides, and games, but Marge got two keggers instead. Her daughter was just beginning to smoke cigarettes like her mom, and it was time to initiate her officially into the party tribe. She would be a freshman in a few weeks, and there was a necessary rite of passage to be made. Marge was proud of her “little girl,” whom she thought was still a sweet, innocent, blonde grunion. In reality, Susie was already carousing with her friends all over the Valley, and had a boyfriend with a beard named Conan, who was a very poorly kept secret.
Mike and Annie had made up from their latest spat, and she practically lived at the Rusty Bucket Ranch since her parents gave up and officially bestowed their blessings to live the life she was already leading to a degree that would have turned their hair gray if they only knew. “Just don’t get pregnant” was the only condition her parents gave her, but she and Mike knew more about birth control than they did. Marty could hear all their conversations in the other half of his shared bedroom, and he knew Annie was now on “the pill” – a recent development that pleased Mike very much, because now he could ditch the condoms. Whenever the lights were out, Marty had to endure an ongoing performance of what Bob Seger called “night moves” – just on the other side of the half-wall. He wore his Army surplus ear protectors whenever he wanted to sleep in his bed, but sometimes he just crashed in a tent down at the old camp site.
Marge had no steady beau at the moment, but that was likely to change soon. She spent a lot of time at Speck McAuliffe’s bar, which was a higher class joint than the Slodge in the way that a recycling center was more sophisticated than a dump. It was owned by cousins of their neighbors, but some past family feud rendered that unimportant. As a result of Marge expanding her territory, often there would be an unexpected male guest for breakfast on weekends, or a new car parked in the driveway. Marty found the ever-changing “father figures” to be unsettling, but he wanted his mom to be happy, and the times when he saw her happiest was when she was the object of a man’s attraction. Sadly for Marge, as soon as the fascination was consummated, the men drifted away; leaving her moping on the couch with a six-pack of Miller Lite and a box of Kleenex. Planning for Susie’s party gave her a healthy distraction from men for a couple of weeks, and she arranged a big surprise. One of the guys she met at Speck’s had a band, and they agreed to play a few songs at the party “to liven up the mood.” Marty had no idea what kind of music to expect, but considering the massive speakers at the rock concerts he had attended, he anticipated there was no way the cabin’s wiring could handle that kind of power load. Would they have microphones, too?
The White family’s prior experience with kegger parties at the Rusty Bucket Ranch had made them wiser. They invited only their closest friends, knowing they’d inform the next level of friends, but without school in session they expected the grapevine was likely to be pruned back some. The original plan was to have a surprise party, and everyone tried to keep it a secret from Susie, but she promptly heard about it from one of her friends. Fourteen-year-old girls were terrible at keeping secrets. The history of rapid communication in the Valley had three stages: first there was the telegraph, then the telephone, and now you just had to tell a girl. Julie and her new boyfriend, Scott, came out for the weekend to help with the festivities. Scott drove a brand new Jeep, wore a cowboy hat, and swaggered like Butch Cassidy. The dogs loved him, so Marty could be sure he was a good guy, but with his Texas boots, blue jeans, and plaid shirt he looked really out of place – like the Marlboro Man at a Reggae concert.
The McAuliffes wanted to play a big role in Susie’s party because she spent so much time at their house she was “like one of the clan.” Big Billy and Little Billy dug an elaborate barbecue pit where they planned to roast a whole pig, luau-style. Tillie and Hillie made a huge birthday cake and several dozen cupcakes for the crowd. Millie wasn’t feeling well, but sent over a large bouquet of flowers. Gilly knew a guy who rented party tables, and aptly set up the front yard in the style of a beer garden. They strung lights in the trees again, and made a perimeter with some tiki torches that the McAuliffes had in their basement, which framed a dancing area in the packed earth. Even Ent contributed to the festivities (in a most practical manner befitting his wisdom), by arranging for a couple of portable toilets and a dumpster to be delivered in the driveway on the big day.
Surveying the scene on that Saturday afternoon, Marty got a twinge of panic common to everyone who has prepared to throw a party, and wondered, what if nobody shows up? The coals in the pit were glowing so fiercely he could feel the heat while standing on the deck. The big and little Billies were wrestling with the dead pig and arguing the finer details of trussing it up. Happy women bustled about with trays of food and dishes covered in aluminum foil, while Mike and Gilly were stapling down the paper tablecloths because of a slight breeze. Julie and Scott arrived with two shiny keggers and coolers full of ice, and Marty’s fears of nobody coming to the party immediately disappeared like smoke through the trees. Cold beer attracts party people like flies on shit. Right on cue, Bobby Brew and the first gang of thirsty insects rolled into the driveway, having followed the yellow Jeep with some sort of primal instinct, the way vultures follow a dying cow. The Enterprise was right behind them, with the four Baxter brothers plus Bart and Tom all crammed inside. Then Rob, Dave, George, and Terry pulled in, and Terry wisely moved his truck out to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard and crossed the shallow creek, knowing that many cars would otherwise block him in.
Susie made her grand entrance, having been cloistered in her room with Tillie and Maryanne, her maids-in-waiting. The three of them wore too much makeup and seemed very out of place until a few carloads of their friends were dropped off by well-meaning parents, who waved at Marge in completely misplaced trust. Marty could see there were already three different parties developing. There were the experienced party animals, led by Bobby Brew, who gathered around the keggers with the single-mindedness of hungry hyenas. Buzzing around nearby was the hive of nubile newbies, of which Susie was the queen bee. They traveled in tightly packed swarms from the bathroom to her bedroom, and occasionally made an appearance outside, until being leered at became too overwhelming and they made a beeline for the house. More loosely organized, and in dubious control of the proceedings, was the royal court of senior party players, strutting and fretting, with Big Billy and Marge ruling over it all as the king and queen of the festivities.
The prepared food disappeared quickly, as more and more party people showed up. Marty went on his usual rounds to inspect the property, and cars were parked in every available spot. The closest anyone could get now was halfway up the dirt road, and that was filling up fast. By the time the drivers realized they couldn’t get through, there was usually a car or two behind them, so they just turned the motor off and got out, following the sound of the music. A group of younger guys Marty didn’t know asked him if this was the killer party with ten kegs and a live band, and he was amused at the exponential way news got around, mocking them with a ruse, “No, but we can save your soul, brother! Praise Jesus!” The young bucks hastily skirted around the crazy evangelist kid, and proceeded down the road to the dubious salvation of the rock & roll they could hear sifting through the trees. Marty eventually met Chas, Iggy, and Jared coming up from the McAuliffes’ with a case of Lowenbrau, and advised them to stash the beer in Millie’s refrigerator for later. Apparently, everyone within a 20-mile radius knew about the “secret” birthday party with the band. Oh well, Marty accepted, it wasn’t like anyone could stop it from happening…
Tillie and Maryanne corralled him as soon as he got back, saying the band was down at the McAuliffes’ house and couldn’t get in. “I just came from there, and I didn’t see anyone –” he started, then stopped, remembering there was a large van at Paula’s place when they stashed the Lowenbrau. He grabbed Rob and Dave in case they needed to carry a bunch of synthesizers and amps, and went down to pilot the lost musicians through the forest. They soon met up with four scraggly guys with instruments who looked right at home in the back woods – one was carrying a banjo, and another one had a washboard strapped to his back. Marty exclaimed with sincere delight, “Far out! You guys are a bluegrass band!” The musicians were pleased to be recognized, and introduced themselves. They called themselves “New Riders of the Purple Sage,” and offered the boys a hit from a guitar-shaped bong. One of them, the lead picker named David, sported a huge brown afro… even though he was white. They were the most unlikely bunch of bluegrass boys Marty had ever seen, and he told them so They all laughed loudly, obviously stoned out of their minds already, and Marty wondered how the hardcore party animals would react to such an antithetical “party” band.
When they got back to the Rusty Bucket Ranch, the crowd had swelled so that the different factions were no longer discernible. It was a reveling mass of humanity on a scale that surpassed any party that had gone before, all shifting and moving to the music, which was currently the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. “Cool tunes, man,” David nodded, surveying the crowd while Rob and Dave began clearing a space on the deck for their modest equipment. Marty appointed Derek as the official manager of the band, so he’d be sure they were freshly supplied with food, beer, and pot – not necessarily in that order. He had a microphone that plugged into his own stereo, and from inside his room, leaning out the window, he introduced the band, and they launched into a song that he actually knew: Panama Red. Well, bluegrass or not, live music is enchanting to party people, and they crowded around the “stage” dancing and reveling in the moment. It didn’t matter if it was Foghat or Foggy Mountain Breakdown, they all understood that music was their salvation. Marty saw the young sinners again and yelled “Praise Jesus!” and they looked worried, as if they might have to be baptized in the creek. Scott was in his element, and tried to form a line dance with Julie, which only confused the rockers who wanted to boogie to the music in their heads.
Later, Bobby Brew sidled up to Marty with a serious look on his face (which was very unusual for him) and informed him with drunken concern that the second keg was nearly empty. “What can I do?” Marty wondered, “There’s a hundred cars between us and the nearest liquor store, which is probably closed by now anyway!” Events would just have to take their course.
When the second keg was drained and unceremoniously dumped in the bushes, the mood became more anxious. Derek took to his role as band manager devotedly, and produced a constant supply of Heineken for the musicians (from who knows where), but other folks were getting restless. Chas and Jared retrieved their Lowenbrau from the McAuliffe’s refrigerator, and poured it secretly into party cups to disguise their source. Beer was definitely on everyone’s minds, but still the band played on, and nobody left. The “New Riders” seemed to be having a terrific time, playing song after song with just a couple of small amps, a banjo, and a washboard for percussion. Then a huge cheer went up after one of their songs, and the musicians exchanged abashed looks. “These guys really like bluegrass,” David mouthed to the banjo player, but the cheer wasn’t for them. A group of husky young men had gone over the hill to get more beer, and waded across the creek with two more kegs on their shoulders, which instantly cranked the energy level up to a religious fervor. The beer-bearing saviors were greeted as temporary messiahs, and an adoring crowd of acolytes lined up for a refill before the first new keg was even tapped. Marty saw familiar faces – both old and new – mixed in with total strangers once again, and marveled at the way that a kegger party could bring people together.
The band took a break, and it was far too quiet, so Marty went in his room to put on some Outlaws. Mike and Annie were sequestered inside, doing lines with a few other coke heads. They all looked up when Marty came in, alarmed that they had been discovered, but more concerned that they might have to share. The usual intensity that follows cocaine everywhere was filling the room with bad vibrations, so Marty went back outside where people were friendlier. Chas, Iggy, and Jared were happily gorging on a plate of barbecue. It took hours, but the roast pig was finally cooked! Marty went over to the table where Big Billy had laid it out on a clean tarp, and laughed to see the starving party animals tearing at the carcass like a pack of hyenas. He passed on the pig meat (because it looked too much like a pig), and went back to his room to get the turkey sandwich he had stashed. Bart and Tom were now there with Randy and a couple other friends, hanging around like dogs at a picnic hoping to be included in the circle of concentration that surrounded the mirror. They were all as wasted as Marty had ever seen them, weaving unsteadily on their feet and licking their chops in the direction of Mike and Annie. Marty discovered Derek’s stash of Heineken, grabbed one to wash down his sandwich, then went up to his truck to enjoy some seclusion and relative quiet. The constant social energy and stimulation was getting to be too much. It was close to midnight, and eating the sandwich made him full and drowsy, so he laid down on the seat to rest his eyes for a bit, and fell asleep.
The morning light through the windshield woke him up, and he had to go pee. Amazingly, it looked like the party was still going on down at the cabin, with lights on and people moving behind the windows. Marty walked in on a gathering that had a completely different kind of seriousness.
“We’ve been looking for you!” Marge wailed, her face anxious and stained with tears. “Mike’s been in an accident!”
“What?” Marty blurted out, shaking the cobwebs from his head. “Where – I mean, what happened?”
“He crashed the Stanger by himself,” Annie sobbed, “He’s in the hospital!” Her face was all red and puffy from crying. “We’re going there now.” On the way, she informed Marty how Mike had given Derek a ride home so he could buy some smokes, and when driving back he must have fallen asleep, and crashed into a tree on Deadman’s Curve! “He almost made it home,” she mourned inconsolably. The sheriffs told her the Stanger was totaled, and as they passed by the spot where it smashed into a redwood tree, Marty could see a big scar where the bark had been torn away, and gouges in the bank where the wreck had been dragged onto a tow truck. Burnt-out flares and broken glass were scattered all over the road, and a deputy was taking measurements. To think he was asleep in the cab of his truck when all that violence happened, just a few hundred yards away!
On the long drive to the hospital, Marty’s head hurt like crazy, and his mouth felt as if someone had stuffed an old gym sock into it. Annie sniffled quietly in the front seat as the Apollo followed Marge’s truck into the parking lot. They got out and joined Marge and Susie already entering the hospital; accosting the night desk clerk about Mike’s whereabouts. Even the elevator ride up to the fourth floor took too long. They found Mike unconscious, with his head and half his face heavily bandaged, and his arm in a cast. He was getting a transfusion of blood, and was hooked up to several monitors. The nurse who accompanied them to his room told them that he had a cracked skull, broken bones in his cheek, a busted wrist, a gash on his leg that required stitches, and a puncture wound in his abdomen from something inside the car. Of course the windows had also smashed into smithereens, and she explained they didn’t have time to get all the glass out of his face yet. He would be going back for more surgery after he stabilized, to fix up his cheek.
Marty loitered awkwardly in a corner of the room, stunned beyond comprehension, with his hands in his pockets. My poor brother from another mother, he lamented silently, how did he survive a direct collision with a tree? The “forces of abrupt deceleration” should have ripped him apart! Marty had driven around that sharp curve with him hundreds of times, and knew he was probably doing 25 or 30 when he hit an immovable object. He didn’t have the grades to get into physics class, but he knew that should fuck you up real bad. Annie was holding Mike’s hand and sharing tissues with Marge, who stroked the unbandaged part of his head. Susie was crying too, and typically felt as if this was all her fault. Marty was genuinely sorry for her – it was a rough end to her birthday party. He left to find a phone, and called to see if Derek was all right. It was 7 in the morning, and someone was sure to be awake by then. Audrey answered the phone in a sleepy voice, but screamed and became alert immediately when Marty told her the news. She put the phone down to check on her boys, and came back. I could hear Fred yelling in the background what was all the fuss. “They’re all fine, thank God,” she reported. “If there’s anything you need, let us know.”
By the time Marty got back, a deputy was in the room asking Marge a few questions. “His blood alcohol content was 0.21, which is really high,” the cop lectured officiously. He had a pointy nose and a tweedy mustache that was too small for his face. “He shouldn’t have been driving. Where did he get the alcohol?”
“I don’t know,” Marge said, chewing her lip and playing the ‘fool’ mom now, “He’s always been such a good boy.” She was an actress in college, and used it to her advantage whenever she got cornered. Cops were a common enemy for all of them, and nobody was going to narc on Marge for having a kegger party for her daughter’s 14th birthday.
The deputy looked at all of them knowingly. Marty recognized him as one of the regulars from Pt. Reyes who patrol the Valley, and he was certain they talked among themselves regarding the Rusty Bucket Ranch. “Okay, if that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said in his best cop voice, hitching up his gun belt. “I’ll have to cite him for drunk driving.” Marty was going to protest sarcastically that his brother was in no condition to sign a ticket, but before he could, the deputy added harshly, “He’s lucky he didn’t kill anyone, like that other accident.”
“What other accident?” Annie blurted fearfully, her hand on her mouth.
“The one on White’s Hill, where a young man on a motorcycle was killed. His friend is in the next room, and lucky to be alive.”
Marty immediately felt like a heel. When Deputy Do-Right had finished exerting his authority on the lawless youth of the world, and disappeared around the corner, he and Annie rushed outside to see who the ‘other young man’ was. There was no name on the door, but they could see someone on the bed with his head heavily bandaged, hooked up to even more IVs and machines. A nurse was checking his lines, saw them looking in through the window, and came out.
“Do you kids know this patient?”
“I don’t know, I mean we think so. There’s no name.” She told them, and Annie screamed. It was Tom, Bart’s little brother! And he was in a coma!! Marty’s mind was racing… omigod, does Bart have a motorcycle? Who do we know that rides a motorcycle? “What’s the other guy’s name, the one who –” he didn’t want to say it, and suddenly he had a lump in his throat. The kind nurse could see they were beside themselves with worry, and walked back to the nurse’s station to check the admission papers. She returned gravely, and informed them it was Tom’s friend Randy who was killed! They must have been going home from the party, too! Suddenly, Marty felt deeply ashamed. He returned to Mike’s room in a sheepish funk, and filled in Marge and Susie, while Annie went to use the phone and call her parents… just to let them know she was okay.
Marge was stunned and silent at the shocking news. She sat down heavily in the chair, and suddenly looked much older. “Boys will be boys” echoed through Marty’s sarcastic brain, but he loved her too much to say it. It must have been hard being “everyone’s mom.” One or two teenage boys were enough trouble for most folks.
Later that morning, Boobers and Derek showed up with Audrey, and Derek was inconsolable. “It’s all my fault,” he kept moaning, shaking his head as if he might go back in time. “I made him drive me home, it was all my fault.” Audrey was comforting him, telling him he wasn’t to blame, Mike was just being a good friend and making sure he was safe. Derek was beside himself with contrition, and made a very touching trip to Mike’s bedside, laying his hand lightly on his good arm, and adjusting the pillow and blankets solicitously. Boobers was stoic and solemn, or more likely he had a massive hangover. Marty wasn’t feeling too great himself.
The next day, he and Boobers went to see the remains of Mike’s car, which was in a police lot in San Rafael. The glorious Stanger was crumpled like an aluminum can from front to back, with its front corners curled in the shape of the tree around which it had wrapped. The impact was so severe that no part of the car was undented. Even the rear bumper was rippled and buckled from the force of the impact! Marty marveled again how his brother could have lived through such a horrific crash. They peered inside the tangled front seat, and saw a space just big enough for the driver that was miraculously protected, as if by a force field. The stick shift was sheared off, and there were blood stains all over the seats. Marty cleaned out the glove box, and grabbed the crucifix that still hung from the rear view mirror. Praise Jesus, indeed!
