“I didn’t know that pizza came from Hawaii,” said my grandmother just before she took a large bite out of the last slice left in the box. I was already miffed at her for swiping it before I had even reached out my hand.

“It’s not from Hawaii, sobo. I heard the pineapple topping started in Canada.”

“They grow pineapples in Canada? Isn’t it cold up there? Even colder than here in New Jersey?”

“They import the pineapples…look, let’s get back to my story.” I was still kind of hungry. So, I went to the kitchen and took the half bottle of soda out of the refrigerator and poured myself a glass. At least I could quench my thirst.

“Fine with me. It’s better than watching television shows I can’t understand. But I must say, koneko, the commercials are hilarious.”

I looked at the framed gold records and music industry awards on the walls of their surprisingly small 8th floor office. There was barely enough room for a piano, a roll-top desk, and a few folding chairs. Carole had already sat herself at the piano, turned toward me, while Gerry nervously paced. It was then I realized the room didn’t have any windows.

“Shuggie, huh. That your given name or a nickname?”

“Well, my name is really Itsuki. Itsuki Brennan. Shuggie is a nickname my stupid sister gave me when I was a baby because she has some kind of undiagnosed speech defect.”

“I’m sure you’re kidding. Shuggie’s a cute name—”

“For a girl?” Gerry gave me a sympathetic look and sat down on one of the folding chairs. He re-lit his pipe and took an exaggerated puff. “Johnny Otis’ son is named Shuggie. He’s a 12-year-old boy.”

“So, are you just here for the day?” Carole inquired.

“Oh no, you see, Bobby, that’s my boyfriend, except he doesn’t know we’re…uh…involved. We were supposed to be together for the summer. You know the tour with Hank & Honey. Then he tried to run off without me today after graduation. His graduation, not mine. I’m a senior this Fall…”

Gerry interjected between puffs, “You’re 17? That’s really young, don’t you think? Looks like your Romeo made a smart call.”

“Hey, I was 17 when we got married, mister.”

“That’s different. You were knocked up. I had to make you an honest woman.”

Turning away so they couldn’t see me blush, I said, “Well, there’s not much chance of that happening to me.”

“Shooting blanks, eh? Well, ladies, I’m gonna go over and talk to our fearless leader. He said he wanted us to write songs for some kiddie show the guys in La La Land are cooking up.” He strolled out after one final puff of his pipe.

“Don Kirshner’s the music supervisor for The Monkees TV show. It’s premiering on NBC this Fall.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re on the cover of Tiger Beat this month. Bobby doesn’t like that sort of music. He’s into Miles Davis and John Coltrane…whoever they are.”

“Well, he’s not going to play anything like that if he’s in Hank & Honey’s band. But everyone’s got to start somewhere. I should talk. Gerry and I wrote some treacle early on. Just to get a foot in the door.”

I was barely listening and started to quite unconsciously pace back and forth. Carole followed me with her eyes. I stopped and said to the wall, “Do you think they’ll let me in to see Bobby in the rehearsal studio? I’m afraid he’ll just forget about me and leave me stranded in the middle of Manhattan.”

“I don’t think he’d do that, Shuggie. Look, when Gerry comes back, I’ll walk you over there. It’s just up one block.”

“Thank you, Carole. I’d just die if I can’t spend the summer with him. I’ll lose him forever. He’ll go off to college or worse, he’ll actually play music for a living. There are lots of more…uh…mature girls out there. He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved.”

Carole turned around to face the keys of the piano and started playing the opening chords of "Go Away Little Girl": D, G, Em, G. I recognized it as a big hit for Steve Lawrence when I was in Junior High. Carole turned to me whenever the chorus came around, smiling, and winked.

When you're near me like this
You're much too hard to resist
So, go away little girl
Let's call it a day little girl
Please, go away little girl,
Before I beg you to stay.

“Your Bobby’s going to beg you stay. You’ll see.”

At that point, Gerry came back into the room, a scowl on his face. “Effing poohbah isn’t in today. Something about his daughter’s college graduation.”

“So, you had a nice long chat with his secretary instead, right? Let’s go, Shuggie, I’ll get you in to see your precious Bobby.”

Bobby was wailing on his saxophone when I walked into the rehearsal studio. The band was playing a soulful up-tempo arrangement of The Beatles’ latest hit, “We Can Work It Out.” Honey Hutch was singing without a microphone but her voice had plenty enough volume not to need one in this cozy studio. Hank’s Honeys, three young women dressed in casual tops and clamdiggers, lounged in folding chairs, singing back-up. The acoustic paneling on the walls didn’t totally suppress the band’s sound. I could hear them, albeit slightly muffled, as I approached down the hallway. Billy Schechter was standing by the doors, puffing away on a Marlboro. He seemed happy. Without a word, he opened the near door and shooed me in. He followed behind me.

When Bobby caught sight of me, he winked. Didn’t miss a beat though. Hank Hutch, a tall thin Black man with a finely trimmed goatee and slick, processed hair, was strumming away on his electric guitar, a gold Gibson Flying-V model that he played left-handed just like Albert King. When the song ended, he noticed me standing next to Billy by the doors.

“Hey, who’s that?” he shouted as everyone turned to look at me. Stupidly, I pointed at myself while swiveling my head to see who Hank was addressing.

“It’s cool, Hank. Just a friend of your new sax player. Don’t mind her.” Billy nodded toward me and dropped his filter tip to the floor, grinding it out with his cuban heel boot.

“Okay, fellas. Break. 10 minutes, tops. We’ll do that new number Chubby brought in.” Hank beckoned Billy over to him and they spoke in hushed tones. Something they didn’t want the rest of the group to overhear, I guess. Honey and the girls walked past me, giving me the side eye, as they went to the powder room en masse. Which reminded me I had to go myself. Maybe later would be better, huh?

“Hey, I was going to come looking for you the next long break we took. But here you are.” Bobby had a big smile on his face. Was it for me? Or for the fact he was fitting right in with Hank’s band?

“Carole walked me over and got me in the building. You look happy enough…to see me?”
“Sure.” He took me aside as a couple of the band members slapped Bobby on the back as they made their way toward the table in the corner of the room set up with a pair of electric coffee urns. “Listen. I called home and talked to my dad. He told me your parents are hot as lava. They think I kidnapped you. Dad knows I never intended you to come with me. It’s all your idea.”

“You think I’d just wait by the phone for you to call from Chicago or wherever? Maybe a couple of those “wish you were here” postcards?”

“Shuggie, you know what I’m saying.” Hank walked by us, pointing at his watch. “After we’re finished today, probably around 8 or 9, I’ll drive you back home. I’m praying your dad doesn’t own a shotgun.”

“Nah, he still has his Colt M1911 from the War…”

“Shit!”

“But I’m sure he’s out of ammo for it.”

“He’ll just pistol whip me to death instead, Shuggie.”

For the next five hours I watched them rehearse their hour-long set. Several times. Hank Hutch was a taskmaster. He screamed, bellowed, cajoled, even threatened with physical violence…and that was just with the women! He even called out Bobby a couple of times for missing a cue. I winced as Hank tore into him. But Bobby was stoic, just nodding and keeping his head down. Some of the other band members, especially Chubby the piano player, would talk back to Hank, sometimes erupting into loud shouting matches filled with expletives I’d never heard before. But, then again, I’m just a shy flower of a girl in whose mouth butter wouldn’t melt. No, really.

Around 7 o’clock, Billy had some food brought in from the diner across the street and we all chowed down. I was ravenously hungry. No solid food since breakfast. Just cups of awful tasting coffee. Honey Hutch plopped herself down in a chair next to Bobby and me. She gave me the once over before opening her mouth.

“Do you sing or dance?” I nodded, not in answer to her question, but impressed by her look. She was wearing huge loop earrings and her wig was wrapped in a colorful floral print silk scarf. She had the longest fake eyelashes I’ve ever seen. “So, when do we hear what you got?”

Bobby interjected, “She doesn’t sing or dance. She’s going back home tonight.”

“Too bad. You know, Hank really goes for young stuff. I was just 16 when we hooked up. He was playing a club where I grew up. In Tennessee. Ever been there?”

I stuttered out, “No, I’ve never been outside of New Jersey really.”

Honey stood up and looked down at me. “Well, nice to meet you anyway. Shuggie, is it? Hmmm. Never heard that name before. Not on a girl.” She walked away.

Alarmed, I whispered to Bobby, “Do you think she knows? About me, I mean.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You’re going home tonight.”

Suddenly I’d lost my appetite. I gave the rest of my meal to Bobby. He quite happily shoveled it onto his paper plate.

We walked quickly to where Bobby had parked his car earlier that day. It was dark. For some reason the streetlamps in this area didn’t shed much light on the street. I stumbled a few times trying to keep up with Bobby. He was carrying his sax case and keeping his free hand away from me. My skirt was too tight to increase my stride. I felt like shouting for Bobby to slow down but I didn’t want to draw more attention to us. Some of the pedestrians here gave me the willies.

There was a parking ticket stuck on a windshield wiper. “Oh shit, I got a ticket.”

“You’re lucky it’s not up on blocks and the trunk jimmied open. Where are we staying tonight?”

“You’re going home. This time of night, I can get you there in half an hour.”

I tried pleading, stamping my feet, even shedding a tear or two but Bobby was adamant. Thinking quickly, if not entirely wisely, I ran. Ran in a serpentine manner. Just like in the movies. It tends to confuse whoever is trying to catch you. At least in the movies.

“Shuggie, come back! What the fuck are you doing?”

I zigged and then zagged. I must have lost him when I zagged around a corner. Then, it occurred to me, I was lost myself. Afraid Bobby was just steps away, I dashed into the nearest subway entrance, almost tumbling down the stairs and colliding with a young guy wearing a NY Mets baseball cap.

Out of breath, I said, “Sorry.”

“No problem. It was my pleasure.” He doffed his cap and continued up the stairs.

I knew where I wanted to go. Would this subway take me there? I looked around for a friendly face. An older woman approached me.

“You look lost. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m trying to get to Sheridan Square. Can I take this train?”

“Well, you can take the 1 train to Christopher Street. You can walk to Sheridan Square from there. May I ask what a young girl like you is doing in that part of the city at this time of night?”

“Oh, I’m going to see my sister. She’s here for the summer. I’m from Bergenfield, actually.”

“Surprise visit then? Hmmm. You should’ve called ahead. That part of town is quite dangerous, especially for a dainty little girl like you.”

“I can handle myself. I wrestled in school.”

“They have girls’ wrestling in New Jersey?”

“Oh, no. I wrestled with the boys.”

“Are we talking about the same thing, miss? Oh, look your train is coming. Here, take this token. You won’t have time to buy one at the booth.”

Grabbing the token, I waved to the lady, dropped the token into the slot and went through the turnstile. The doors of the subway car closed just as I stepped in. With a lurch, we moved out of the station. The passengers looked up and gave me a brief glance before going back to what they were doing before I appeared. I could see I was no longer in Bergenfield. That was for sure. They say New York City is the melting pot of the world. Exhibit One would be the subway car I was standing in. Every race, ethnic group, old, young, rich, poor, men, women, children. They were all represented in that car. And, of course, one special girl. Me!

While the subway proceeded through the seven stops to Christopher Street, I sat in a window seat and berated myself for having to do what I was about to do. Seeking my sister’s help. Connie was in the city for the summer, interning in the sales department for a major pharmaceutical corporation. Probably getting coffee and answering phones, ha! And getting paid less than the girls in the typing pool. Big deal. Anyway, she and her friend from Rutgers were both in that internship program and sharing a small apartment in the West Village for the summer. Mom and Dad were very proud of her and had implicit trust in her spending three months by herself in the big bad city. Knowing her, she was hitting the discotheques and sleeping with every Tom and Dick she met. She’d leave the Harrys to her roommate.

When I emerged from the station at Christopher Street, I could see Sheridan Square about three blocks southeast from where I stood. I had been here just two weeks ago as I got dragged along with the whole family (even sobo) in Dad’s car when Connie moved in. It was a furnished apartment. Badly furnished but, hey, who’s complaining? Her roommate didn’t arrive until we had all gone back to Bergenfield so I’d never met her. Well, she’s going to meet me now, up close and personal. That’ll be a hoot.

I pressed the buzzer for Connie’s apartment and waited for someone to speak through the intercom. At the same time, an elderly gentleman with gray hair walked by, replete in a metal studded biker outfit, cap, leather jacket, pants, and boots. He looked like a gone-to-seed Marlon Brando from The Wild One. Strangely, there was no sign of a motorcycle anywhere.

“Yes? Who’s there?” the intercom crackled like a transmission from Gemini 8 to mission control. I suppressed the urge to bark out in a gargled tone, “Roger. This is Gemini 8 to Capcom.” Instead, I decided to play it straight.

“Hello. Is Connie there? It’s Shuggie. Can I come up?”

My sister’s voice broke through the clatter like a banshee. “Shuggie?! Wait till I get my hands on you! Come up. Now!” The door buzzed open. I slipped into the building and took the stairs to the third floor. Before I could even knock, Connie opened the door to their apartment, an angry scowl on her face. “Get in here!” She pulled me in roughly by the arm and I was face to face with her roommate Lauren.

“Lauren, this is my brother Shuggie.” Lauren stood there, her mouth agape. I swear she blinked a couple of times like a character on a TV sitcom.

“Your brother? You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

“Your sister has such a filthy mouth. It’s shameful for a young woman to speak like that,” my grandma declared, shaking her head disdainfully. “I know she’s my grandchild but it’s hard to like her. I think she doesn’t like me.”

“Well, she takes after Dad. And he’s even told me he’s not too fond of you.”

“Yes, Kanako is very much her father’s daughter. But, you my Itsuki-chan, are definitely your mother’s daughter.” She crossed her arms and smiled at me.