L.A. stories (part II, Sweet Torture)

My uncle Gabby took it upon himself to save me from the suburbian hell that is Orange County, CA. Yup, the same O.C. that spawned that dreaded tv show. This was the guy who would sneak me into bars when I was fifteen and beg the house band to let me jam with them. Sometimes they would let me, but most of the time I just sat there watching Uncle Gabby consume scary amounts of beer. He would drop by the OC on weekends driving over from LA in his old BMW, his John Lennon glasses, his Father Guido Sarducci hat and matching moustache. Sometimes he would bring company.

I remember one evening when he showed up with three spandex-clad, big-haired, zebra-print-wearing, mascara-dripping rockers: Dolores, Tiffany, and Nancy. Dolores reminded me of something from Prince and the Revolution (on acid). Tiffany and Nancy looked like they would be right at home vomiting on the stage in the front row of a Megadeth concert. They were a band. I had guitars and drums in my room. It was perfect. I had to call my friend Darren. Darren and I were in a band. It was perfect.

Dolores was the drummer and Tiffany and Nancy both played guitar, ala the Cramps. “Hey, what’s your band’s name?” I ask. “Sweet Torture,” they say straight-faced and proceed to jam. Dolores knows only one beat, and it’s not the beat that goes with the one song that the guitar players know. I don’t even think the guitar players were playing the same song. But whatever they were playing, they were into it and it was loud. I’m surprised my folks didn’t pull the plug on our little noise orgy. I look over at Darren. He’s either in pain or trying really hard to stop himself from laughing. I can’t tell. “Yep, Sweet Torture…” I think to myself, “…genius.”

The fun stopped when we ran out of beer. So being the gracious host that I am, I took Tiffany and Uncle Gabby for a beer run leaving Darren behind with the other two to continue their sweet torture session. I don’t exactly know what went down in my room after we left but there’s probably a porno movie out there that comes close to what I was thinking. It would be years later that I found something on the internet written by Darren on his experience. I don’t remember much of what he wrote, except something about sitting quietly in the corner praying for these girls to take his virginity. Darren was a great writer.

I would run into the members of Sweet Torture occasionally over the next few months. I vaguely remember Tiffany chasing someone around a pool yelling “Dick torture!” But the details are fuzzy. I ran into Dolores while she was working as a bar waitress. I haven’t seen Nancy since that day. I wonder where these folks are now. I recently found Darren again through the net and I hope he reads this. Uncle Gabby died years ago. I miss him.