Acid Rock

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Big Bang Benton hit the button that activated his recorded theme music, waited for the engineer's gesture that signaled that his microphone was dead and he was off the air, then stood up and waved to the twenty-five girls who were observing his small studio from behind protective soundproofed glass.

He rubbed a hand over his head, careful not to mess up the expensive woven hair piece, stretched himself luxuriously, then motioned again. The girls responded with cheers and eager waving of their own.

Benton stepped forward toward the glass, an awkward, pear-shaped man, thumping heavily on the heels of his blue Cuban boots. As if on signal the girls, most of them in their early teens, ran forward. They pressed their faces against the glass like hungry urchins on Thanksgiving, and Benton could hear their squeals when he ran his fingers through his hair again. He lowered the almost black smoked glasses he wore until they perched on the end of his nose, and he leaned his face forward to the glass, careful not to press his body against it because it might crush the rolled satin flowers on his purple and white satin shirt.

He mouthed the words against the glass.

«Who wants to come in and talk with the old Banger?»

He heard the usual shriek go up and leaned back to examine the reaction. Twenty-five girls. Twenty-five takers. Wait. Twenty-four.

The one who wasn't taking was a freckle-faced redhead with a sleek, lithe body and a face man, that was zonkier than zonked.

She had to be high, because she looked bored, and young girls did not get bored in the presence of Big Bang Benton.

Big Bang fixed her with his never-fail stare over the dark glasses, letting his eyes sing her songs of love and lechery waiting just around the corner.

The girl yawned. She didn't even bother to cover her mouth with her hand.

That decided Big Bang. He waved to a young pimply-faced usher who stood behind the crowd of girls, and then pointed to the redhead. Without another word, he turned away, left his studio and headed down the hallway to his dressing room. A dressing room was totally useless for a disc jockey, who could work in his underwear. But Big Bang Benton, who had been hooked on show business since he was Bennet Rappelyea of Batavia, New York, fifteen years earlier, had insisted upon and gotten one in his new contract.

Damn good thing too, he thought. Because if the station had balked about it, Big Bang was prepared to leave and take his following to any of the other dozen stations in the city that were falling all over themselves to sign him. When the Banger whistled, the station danced, and for the frustrated entertainer, there was a kind of sweet music in that too.

Back inside the studio, the teeny hoppers were making less than sweet music.

«Who does he think he is, walking away like that?» one demanded.

«But he smiled at us. Maybe he'll be back,» said her companion.

The usher approached the redhead.

«Big Bang wants to see you,» he said, touching the girl's arm.

She turned and looked deep into his pimples, her eyes not quite focused.

«Does he really know Maggot?» she asked, her voice mushy thick, as if her tongue tip were stuck to the back of her lower teeth.

«The Banger knows everybody, honey. They're all his friends,» the usher said.

«Good,» said Vickie Stoner. «Gotta ball that Maggot.»

The usher leaned forward and whispered in her ear. «First you gotta ball the Banger.»

«'S' all right. Him first. Gotta ball that Maggot.»

By now, the other girls had realized that Vickie was Big Bang's chosen girl of the day and they crowded toward her, wondering if she were some famous groupie that they had not recognized. But her face was unfamiliar to them and after a few seconds' inspection, they decided that she was not their equal, that Big Bang Benton's taste was all in his ass, and they turned away. The usher took Vickie by the hand and headed toward a door in the corner of the room. At the door, he turned and called to the girls who were motionless, in that brief frozen moment before the stampede to the exits started, «Hang around, girls. I'll be back in a few minutes to tell you some inside stories about Big Bang and your other favorite stars.» He smiled, cracking open a white-headed pimple on the side of his mouth, but the girls ignored that and squealed. Even an usher at an acid rock station was a celebrity.

The usher pushed Vickie through the door and began walking her down a long, rug-deadened hall, festooned with the station's initials. W-A-I-L. «Wail with Big Bang.» «It's Big Banging Time at WAIL.» In a series of framed advertisements behind glass on the walls idiotic slogans reduced Marconi's act of genius to its lowest common denominator. The advertisements were obvious allusions to sex, all happily seized upon by youngsters who wanted to embarrass their parents, without the concomitant danger of being responsible for the slogans themselves.

Vickie Stoner allowed herself to be propelled along the hallway, oblivious to the carpet, the signs and even the touch of the usher who was finding it difficult to resist a cheap feel, but did because of the possibility of reprisal from Big Bang.

«This is it, honey,» the usher said, pausing in front of a wooden door with a gold star on it. «The Banger's inside.»

«Gotta ball that Maggot,» Vickie Stoner said.

She opened the door and walked inside. The dressing room was actually a small studio apartment, complete with refrigerator, stove, dining nook and bed. Big Bang Benton was in the bed, a sheet pulled up to his chin, staring at Vickie over his almost-black glasses.

«Lock the door, sweetie,» he said.

Vickie Stoner turned and fumbled with the lock button but did not know, or care, whether or not it locked,

«You're a loyal fan of the Old Banger, eh?» Benton asked.

«Do you know Maggot?» she asked.

«Maggot? One of my dearest and nearest friends. A great talent. Truly a star in the firmament of the music world. Why, just the other day, he said to me, he said …»

«Where is he?» Vickie interrupted.

«He's in town,» Benton said. «But why worry about him. We're talking about you and me, the Old Banger.»

«Gotta ball that Maggot,» Vickie said.

«The way to his bed is through mine,» said Benton.

Vickie nodded and began removing her clothes. In almost no time, she was stripped and crawling under the cover where she flopped down on top of Benton's porcine bloated stomach.

After it was all over, Big Bang decided it would be helpful to the girl to get to know her a little better. Perhaps show a little interest in her and let her know the big stars were just folks after all. So he talked to her about his hopes and his needs, his frustrations and his sense of accomplishment at bringing a little happiness into the lives of young America through good clean entertainment.

Before he could discover that Vickie was snoring, the telephone next to the bed rang.

He hesitated before reaching out to the telephone. But he was relieved to find out it was not his bookmaker, but the station's publicity department. He was supposed to meet Maggot later today at Maggot's hotel suite to present him with a gold record for the million-sales of

Maggot's latest and greatest hit, «Mugga-Mugga Blink Blank.»

«Maggot say yes?» Big Bang asked.

«It's all set with him,» the publicity man said.

«Gotta ball that Maggot,» Vickie mumbled in her sleep, after hearing the magic name.

«All right,» Benton said. «When and where?» He repeated the answer. «Hotel Carlton. Fivethirty. Got it.»

He hung up the phone and was reaching for Vickie when the phone rang again.

There was no doubt about who was calling this time. Big Bang let out a heavy sigh, picked up the phone and sat up straight in bed to listen, lest his disrespectful slouching somehow show over the telephone.

«Yeah, Frankie, yeah. I understand.» He tried a chuckle on for size, to lighten the tension. He felt Vickie Stoner stir and reached out a hand for her, but she eluded it, got out of bed, and began to dress. He waved to her not to go as he listened to Frankie. He winked at Vickie. «Frankie, you call at the damnedest times. I'm in the rack now with this sweet little red-headed groupie named Vickie and … I don't know. Wait a minute, I'll ask. Hey, Vickie. What's your last name?»

«Stoner.»

«I know you're stoned. What's your last name?»

«Gotta ball that Maggot,» Vickie said and opened the door.

As the door closed behind her, Benton said, «I don't know. All she said was she was stoned.» Pause. «I don't know. Maybe she said Stoner.»

Then Big Bang listened, listened to what he had just had in his dressing room, listened to what she was worth, listened intently to how some information on Vickie Stoner could not only wipe out his gambling debts but set him up for life, listened intently enough so that when he hung up, he raced naked out into the hall, looking both ways, but there was no sign of Vickie. Only a troop of visiting Girl Scouts from Kearny, New Jersey, all of whom seemed delighted at seeing Big Bang naked, but whose scout leader thought the display was obscene and marched off to complain to the station management.

Vickie was out on the street by that time. Something in her mind told her that Maggot was at the Hotel Carlton but she didn't know how she knew. Must have been an extra-good pill. The secret of all knowledge. Better living through chemistry.

Wobbly but decisive, she headed downtown, where she knew the Carlton was located.

Back at the studio, Big Bang reentered his dressing room and picked up the telephone. He gave the switchboard operator a number to dial and when it rang and was answered, he said: «This is the Banger. Let me talk to Maggot.»