counterfeits. I wasn’t too impressed, since Stephen had merely copied Vera’s design. Jocelyn said it still wasn’t easy to do. She suggested I try banging out a Cézanne.
Stephen put us on the Coughins’ guest list. The whole band probably only got two guests, so I was grateful. I liked Lou Barlow’s songs a lot. I wasn’t alone. When dangerously full, Brownies held about two hundred and fifty people. All three nights sold out in about twelve seconds.
After the Coughins’ set of Game Theory B-sides, Jocelyn and I went outside to have a smoke and wait for Stephen. It was one of the first nice nights in April, when you think you might actually live to see the summer. A crowd of people kept us from venturing too far beyond the entrance. Two bouncers stood like enormous African urns on either side of the doorway
One of them got up on a milk crate and made an announcement. “People, the show is sold out. If you don’t have tickets, go somewhere else. I repeat. The show is sold out. Sorry.”
People moaned, though very few left.
“You’re not sorry,” the other bouncer joked.
“You’re right. I don’t give a flying fuck who they do or don’t let in. Let ’em all in. Let none of ’em in. I don’t care.” They laughed.
“I like these guys.” Jocelyn said about the bouncers, loud enough for them to hear.
“You catching that? ” one of the bouncers asked.
“Oh, yeah.” He called in to the guy taking tickets. “Zippy? Zip, you make sure this pretty lady and her friend get treated nice.”
“What’s that? ” Zippy was flustered, taking tickets like a madman and trying to make sense of a messy guest list. Brownies was not accustomed to crowds this size.
“Forget it, Zip. Go back to work.” The bouncer winked at Jocelyn.
“Zipper-headed Zippy,” said the other.
Two sonic youths wormed up to the front of the line. “You sure there aren’t any more tickets? ” one of them asked.
“One moment, please.” The bouncer got back up on his milk crate. “Oh, I forgot to mention,” he screamed down at the sonic youths. “The show is sold out! Go home! ”
People with tickets laughed. The bouncer stepped off the crate. The sonic youths evaporated.
Stephen finally came outside. He’d changed into a ratty white T-shirt that said “Be All You Can Be.” His hair was wet, and his face was red. He was hyper and effeminate.
“Hey, you!” He hugged Jocelyn. Then he hugged me. I wasn’t into it. I don’t like people who I’m not fucking touching me. “How were we? Be honest.”
“You looked like you were having a good time up there.” It was the most positive thing I could come up with.
“Really? Thanks.” He was still breathing heavy from the gig.
“I agree,” Jocelyn said. “You guys were amazing.”
“Thanks, you guys.” He group-hugged us.
“Nice set,” someone leaving the club said.
“Thank you soooo much.”
“Was it good for you? ” Jocelyn asked.
Stephen turned into Willona, the lusty neighbor on the TV show Good Times. “Sister, it’s always good for me.” Jocelyn slapped him on the arm. “No, there were some bumps, you know? But on the whole, I think it was—no, I know it was our best show yet. Each one gets better.” Stephen moved his hand in small increments from the left side of his body to his right, mimicking the Coughins’ evolution as a band. “And as long as that keeps happening, you know? ”
“Something good’s got to happen,” Jocelyn said.
“Improvement’s what you want,” I said.
“That’s what I keep telling Jeremy, but he’s so”—Stephen clenched his fists—“he wants everything to happen yesterday. He’s like a child. But you know what? I’m not going to think about his issues tonight. This is me not thinking about it. It was our best show yet, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
“You go, girl,” Jocelyn said.
The Coughins were never going anywhere, and at least two of the three of us knew it.
The crowd in front of Brownies parted. Lou Barlow waited while the rest of his party got out of the cab. He looked like a Lovin’ Spoonful-era John Sebastian. There was a scrawny dude wearing an unfashionably full beard and an olive drab army fatigues jacket. He had a camera in his hands, and two more around his neck. He immediately swapped out lenses. A green-haired woman wearing a co-opted auto mechanics jacket with LADY SUB POP embroidered in pink on a breast pocket was reading the number off her pager.
“Lou’s here! ” people murmured. “That’s