|SIDE STORY– Have Merci, Have Merci, BB
Lorry’s main day job in Boston was as a housekeeper. It was easy on the head, had flexible hours and actually paid pretty good. She booked some of her jobs through an agency, but also had her own clients. She took care of a few townhouses on Beacon Hill, but her main client was Mrs. G who lived in an affluent community about 20 miles or so outside of Boston. Mr. & Mrs. G were natives of France who bought a local modern mansion so he could be near the American headquarters of his international company. Mrs. G was very generous and on top of a good rate of pay, paid for gas mileage and eventually had her husband sell Lorry one of his company cars for $1. She was very European. Youthful and blonde, she combined the class and elegance of Catherine Denueve with the sensual appeal of the young Bridget Bardot. To me, Lorry was the most beautiful woman I had ever encountered, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate Mrs. G’s charms. And, oh la la that accent.
|There wasn't a vast difference in age and G treated Lorry more like a younger sister than a maid. They had similar interests. The G’s collected art and she was also an amateur photographer who went on global photo safaris, had a full darkroom in her home and first piqued Lorry’s interest in fine art photography. They were on a first name basis, but of course Lorry was addressed as Lorraine. Each day she was there, G would prepare an elaborate lunch that they shared over a bottle of classic French wine. Once in a while I would help Lorry out with straightening up the place so she could leave early. The G’s had two boys, 9 and 11 who were big Kiss fans, illustrating that the good taste of the parents isn’t always carried down to the children. The older kid had just started playing guitar and Lorry had shown him how to play power chords and a few rhythms. Anyway, Mrs. G thought it would be a good idea if Lorry’s punk band played for the boy’s upcoming 12th birthday bash. Lorry wasn’t too sure if Tracks would fit in with the adult friends they were inviting. But Mrs. G insisted, thinking it was really daring and très cool to have a wild rock ‘n’ roll band play at her house party. She also insisted on paying big bucks.
So we packed up the band, arrived early and stuffed ourselves on the impressive spread of gourmet food they had laid out. There were waiters with champagne and a bartender to tend to our needs. I could have gotten used to that lifestyle pretty quickly. It was supposed to be a pool party for the kids, but an early evening shower forced us to set up in the rec room (which was about the size of the Club in Cambridge). We did a (somewhat) censored opening set to the delight of the pre-teens and the shock of the G’s friends. But Mrs. G thought we were just fantastique.
|Later, when the weather cleared up, we wheeled our equipment up to the pool and set up in the gazebo that was at one end. The kids splashed around more or less in time to the music. The adults tried to indulge in cocktail conversation while we blasted away. It was a steamy night and it wasn’t long before the mosquitoes had their way with us. I think Wild Johnny was the first to jump into the pool, quickly followed by Mrs. G, champagne glass in hand and still wearing her lavender ultra-suede dress. Not wanting to be appear rude, and probably just as tipsy, a number of clothed guests quickly followed suit. That was around the time the cops showed up. The G’s nearest neighbors must have been half a mile away, but they apparently were bothered enough by the noise (or lack of an invitation) to complain about the “wild” party next door. The police were excessively polite, apologizing profusely for having to interrupt the festivities. As long as the band didn’t play again they were sure it would be O.K. Mrs. G couldn’t have been more delighted that her party had turned out so scandalous.
So it was an early night for us. We scoffed up more food and drink, packed up the car and headed back to Boston. It wasn’t easy getting out of that community and just when I was sure I was heading in the right direction, a police car was blocking the road. Residents had seen us driving around “suspiciously” with a car loaded up with a “number of items” and thought the police should check to see if anyone’s home had been broken into. They were ready to hold us for questioning, but a quick phone call was made to clear us and the cop’s had a chuckle about that crazy French couple and their wild rock ‘n’ roll party before sending us on our way.
We had played sleazy bars, debauched loft parties and even a strip club, who would have thought that Tracks most unlikely gig, a prepubescent pool party, would attract the most police attention?
|Tracks...the Wild Ones|
Madamoiselle Doll avec Mssrs. Rey et Kross - Les Tracks
|Punk rock poodle gets into the act. The G's pre-teen sons started ripping up the knees of their jeans right after Tracks played for them.|