Much to the chagrin of Phillip McCreight (and the neighbors), June let the boys take over their garage, relegating the family Ford to the carport. She said she’d rather know where the boys were than have them out gallivanting all over town doing God knows what with God knows who. (June got word of her son’s dalliance with Janice Pendergrass from Mrs. Pendergrass herself, at church of all places. Mrs. Pendergrass was quite put out that she’d had to cut Zane’s gum out of her daughter’sbeautiful chestnut hair.) So, to hold off her only child’s experimenting with girls as long as possible, June backed the car out of the garage and told Zane it was all his. Then she went out and bought a lifetime supply of cotton balls for times when the noise got to be too much.
For the last few months, however, Mike was increasingly certain they were about to lose their practice space. There had been a shift in the mood of the McCreight household, and if there was one thing Mike was attuned to, it was a shifting mood. In 1963, J.C. Penney had come out with its own brand of stoves, washers, dryers, and dishwashers, which was taking a huge bite out of sales at McCreight’s Reliable Appliances. Phillip already had to let two salesmen go,both good men with families, and before long, his interest in astronomy was replaced by a taste for cheap scotch.
Mike missed his meandering chats with a man who didn’t see him as a total disappointment, and Mrs. McCreight could tell it bothered him. Of course she could. She was the world’s best mom. Occasionally, if the night sky was clear and Mr. McCreight seemed content enough, she’d tell Mike to get the telescope out of the closet. Then she’dorder her husband to get some fresh air rather than rotting away in that old La-Z-Boy. Sometimes he’d groan about how a man’s home was supposed to be his castle, but he’d go outside to the yard, and they’d pick up where they left off, working their way through the constellations. But more often than not, Mr. McCreight would tell Mike he was a little tired and to go ahead on his own.
By the spring of 1966, McCreight’s Reliable Appliances closed its doors forever, leaving a gaping hole in Phillip’s sense of identity, and an even bigger hole in his income. Luckily, June knew how to make the most of what they had, so there was enough saved up to live comfortably, but not what you’d call ‘well,’ for a long time. With Mr. McCreight home all day desperate to figure out what to do next, their practices became the problem Mike knew it would. Uptight fathers need quiet, not guitar solos and crashing symbols. He wanted them out.
More than that, Mike knew Mr. McCreight wanted Zane to forget about ‘this whole music malarkey’ and set his mind to college. He’d also suggested that Mike should get a degree in astrophysics or astronomy. Whether Mr. McCreight actually believed Mike had what it took to work at NASA, or whether he was simply trying to shift Mike’s focus so his own son would do the same, was anyone’s guess. But Mike, having grown up the way he did, with parents who were sure he lacked even a wisp of potential, decided it was the latter of the two reasons.
Mrs. McCreight, however, was determined to support their dream, and so the two were at odds about this, along with most other topics under the sun these days. But then, one evening, the answer to all their prayers arrived via a phone call from June’s brother, James, who lived in New York. He wascoming to Spokane for a holiday and bringing his ‘special friend,’ Todd. They were renting a cottage on Silver Lake and would love it if the family could come out for a big barbecue and fireworks on the Fourth of July. Todd was a senior writer forHit Parader—the most influential rock and roll magazine in the USA. Todd was a big deal. He’d actually met The Beatles the year before (very nice fellows, surprisingly funny too) and wrote a widely-read article about his time backstage with the quartet. Todd knew talent. Todd had connections.
So, a plan was hatched by the McCreights and delivered to the members of The Milky Way Trio on a Saturday afternoon at the end of May. They’d put on a short concert for Todd and get his expert opinion on whether the boys had a future in the music industry or not. Whatever verdict Todd reached, they would all agree to live with. Both the McCreights’ middle-aged eyes shone with excitement—June’s because she was certain this would be the boys’ big break, and Phillip’s because he would finally get his garage back.
The boys threw themselves into practicing their two best original songs, ‘The Stars in Your Eyes’ (a slow rock ballad about the love of a good woman) and ‘To the Moon’ (an up-tempo tune about beating up a guy who dares to get in the way of you and your good woman). ‘To the Moon’ had hints of punk that caused a particularly pained expression to appear on Mr. McCreight’s face.
When July arrived, the boys all had thickly calloused hands from practicing, and June had upgraded from cotton balls to industrial ear plugs for both herself and Phillip. The boys buzzed with excitement, unable to sleep a full night, eat a whole meal, or focus on any topic other than their upcoming performance for more than a few seconds. Asplanned, the family went to Silver Lake for the day (with Mike, who was one of them now).
But as often happens when one is on the precipice of a life-altering event, something went terribly wrong. Zane insisted on doing the fireworks show by himself, so he’d have a bigger audience, and wound up burning his hands. (Freud would have had a lot to say about it.) The burns wouldn’t cause permanent damage, but they would certainly stop him from picking up a guitar for a few weeks, and by then, Todd and James would be gone, taking their one shot at the big time with them.
Steven, who’d spent Independence Day in his grandma’s backyard for a dreadfully boring barbecue (with not even one firecracker in sight), had just gotten home when Mike called to give him the bad news. His big sister Kitty’s new boyfriend, Rusty Dwyer, happened to be snuggled up on the sofa with Kitty when a disappointed Steven hung up the phone. Rusty clearly knew the best way to win over his girlfriend’s family was to be good to her little brother, so he offered to play for them.
Mike was sure Rusty would never learn the chords and riffs in time, but he was wrong. Rusty not only learned them, heimprovedthem, his fingers flying up and down the neck of the guitar with a deftness the boys had never seen. Rusty was effortless, cocksure, and a little goofy, not caring a lick about the end results since the offer itself was his win.
The performance was back on. Mr. McCreight set up a single row of lawn chairs on the driveway, his expression gleeful as Todd, James, and Kitty took their seats.
Phillip smiled at Todd. “Let them down easy, okay?”
Then he turned to the boys. “Don’t be nervous, fellas. It’s only your entire future riding on this moment.” He let out asilly, high-pitched laugh before slapping Mike on the back. “I’m kidding, you know that, right?”
Mike gave him a stiff nod and tried to smile, but a surge of nausea stopped him. He bent at the waist and took a few slow, deep breaths to stop himself from vomiting. Mrs. McCreight waved her husband into a chair, then told Mike to ‘stand up, young man.’ She placed both hands on his shoulders. “You’ve got what it takes, I’ve heard it myself. Now’s your time to shine.”
Mike nodded, grateful for her faith in him, though it did little to override his nerves.
Zane, whose hands were both bandaged, called the other guys in for a quick huddle. “Look, we’ve worked our butts off for years now.” Glancing at Rusty, he said, “Well, not you, but you know. Anyway, this is a shot that most people never get. So… let’s make the most of it.”
“Yup. This is our shot,” Steven said. “We put it all on the line.”
Mike held his hand up to his mouth and burped.
They got into position, and Mike stared at Todd, intimidated by his tidy mustache that sat like a perfect salute above his top lip. Tonight, he wielded the ultimate power over them, although it didn’t look like he was feeling the weight of the moment. Instead, Todd looked impassive, if not a little annoyed, and Mike wondered how he felt about using precious moments of his holiday sitting on a folding lawn chair in a breezeless, soulless neighborhood rather than on an Adirondack chair on the dock watching the sunset.
Zane tapped his microphone, causing a screech of feedback. “We’re The Milky Way Trio, and we started a band so we can get girls.”
James chuckled. “That’s a great reason.”
“This first one’s about meeting that perfect girl and knowing she’s the one. It’s called ‘The Stars in Your Eyes,’” Zane said, and to Mike, his best friend sounded very much the part of a lead singer of a real band. He was Mick Jagger and Mike was Keith. And suddenly, Mike knew, without a doubt, that this was the start of something bigger than he’d ever dared to dream for himself. They were about to bite into a juicy, ripe nectarine, having planted the seed way back in freshman year. It was all going to happen. The sold-out stadiums, the hit records, and the girls too.
Steven counted them in. It was time to start their lives.
ZANE
Zane’s stomach tied itself into impossibly tight knots during the first song. His voice cracked twice when he got to the chorus, and he sent a prayer up to the music gods that Todd wouldn’t notice. But of course he would. Todd knew everything there was to know about music—the history, the sub-sub-subgenres, the names behind the biggest songs, and what key each song was in. He most certainly knew what talent sounded like. And talent didn’t crack its damn voice.
His eyes darted to his mother, who was shoulder dancing to the beat while her sandal-clad feet tapped the cement. She winked at him and smiled, and he felt a surge of confidence. His dad, on the other hand, wore that pinched expression he had whenever they played, his eyes squinting as if closing them partway would somehow reduce the sound.
Todd was impossible to read. He didn’t smile or bop along to the beat. He didn’t tap his toes or offer a reassuringnod at Zane. His gaze shifted slowly to each member of the band while he rubbed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. When the first song ended, and the rest of their tiny audience (of Zane’s parents, Uncle James, and Kitty) erupted with applause, Todd folded his arms across his chest. Zane’s heart dropped to his knees, and he swallowed hard, wondering if they should bother to go on. But a nod from his mother propelled him on. He put his mouth up to the microphone and said, “This next one is called ‘To the Moon.’ It’s a little faster and louder, so I hope you like it… fast and loud.”
“One, two, three, four!” Steven yelled, hitting his drumsticks together in time with his words.
