The Groover's Last Stand

By Scot Savage

The year is 1988... the year of parachute pants, thin ties, waist belts and big hair. It is also the year of George the "Groover." After finally perfecting his craft, his dream of becoming a talented and famous DJ is on the verge of becoming a reality. His friend, the quiet and mild-natured, Sam, a former child actor and aspiring writer, warns George that fame is not all it's cracked up to be. Just when dreams are about to become reality, manipulation comes from around all corners, especially in the form of the devious and seductive Mistress Electra who is looking for pawns to add to her collection. Evil also comes in the form of the mysterious and warped Mr. Sweed and his two sinister henchmen. What are they really after and who will fall prey to their demented schemes Will the honest and dedicated, but clumsy and inept, Detective Lieutenant Montoya solve the mystery before it's too late

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257401048

Book preview

The Groover's Last Stand

The Groover’s Last Stand

A Novel

Scot Savage

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Schaumburg, IL

www.havevampirewilltravel.com

[e-mail]

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Copyright © 2006 by Scot Savage

ISBN # 978-1-257-40104-8

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Doug Helwig

Stygian Illustrations

Printed in the United States of America

¹⁰ ⁹ ⁸ ⁷ ⁶ ⁵ ⁴ ³ ²

Dedication

For Nicole… who lets my creative side flourish

and puts up with all my faults.

For all the hugs and kisses!

You will always be my true love and inspiration!

PROLOGUE

When the under-achieving George finally discovered that he had a knack for music, it was the catalyst that caused the manifestation of the Groover.

George decided that it was high-time to fine-tune his craft in order showcase his great talent to the world and carve his own niche into greatness.

From the solitude of his basement, for hours upon hours, George practiced his craft until he perfected it enough so that he felt that he was now worthy to share his artistic genius in front of an audience.

George believed that success was the best revenge. He would show them all—from the jocks that used to mock him to the girls that wanted to have nothing to do with him. He would take his success and ram it down the throats of all the teachers that belittled him and told him that he would amount to nothing. George was going to make them all eat their words. He would have the last laugh!

Success was the best revenge for most, but it was not satisfying enough for the Groover. He would use fame, fortune, status and celebrity to get back at those that made him suffer—by making them suffer in kind!

Once George had his foothold in the spotlight, the Groover would strike down hard—all while George was innocently sharing his gift of music with the world and making his mark in the lively arts.

Dark Elroy also had a talent—not music—evil.

He, too, needed to make his mark before he could give his gift of evil to humankind. What better way to leave a mark than to commit the most heinous crime of all—cold blooded murder!

In order to make his statement clear, Dark Elroy needed his first kill to make a deep impression. Preying on someone good, decent, wholesome and virtuous would only make Dark Elroy hated. Dark Elroy didn’t want people to hate him; he wanted them to fear him!

And so, Dark Elroy amused himself by thrashing and humiliating bullies and ruffians until he found someone amongst them that was as rotten and evil as himself. I

It didn’t take long to find his bitch—a punk named Grady!

As Dark Elroy felt Grady’s life force slowly seep away, he discovered that his victim was unsuitable. Grady was rotten, but he was not evil!

As the troublesome do-gooders pulled him off Grady, Dark Elroy knew that he was finished for the time being.

In order to preserve himself, he would have to go in hiding. It would only be a matter of time before Dark Elroy would sense the presence of a worthy adversary to do battle.

Only by defeating a foe just as evil as himself could Dark Elroy feel confident in sharing his gift of evil with the world.

Until that time came, he would wait—wait ever so patiently!

The Groover, on the other hand, welcomed any challengers that tried to take him down.

PART I

The Groover and the Three Guys

It all started, innocently enough, in 1988…

CHAPTER 1

Hey, Sam, where did ya’ put that opener? said Jon looking for a way to get the cap off his next bottle of beer.

How the hell should I know? Sam came back.

You had it last, nimrod.

Dan, the third man, began to get a slight buzz after his fourth beer and began to sing. "Beer, beer, the wonderful drink…."

Jon, Dan and Sam were known as The Three Guys.

There ages were 21, 22, and 22, respectively.

As usual, they were enjoying their favorite pastime: drinking beer in Jon’s basement.

Come on, jag! Jon kept persisting. Where is it?

I don’t know!

It was obvious that there was something on Jon’s mind that bothered him even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Perhaps, Jon’s girlfriend, Charlene, wasn’t going to show up after all. Just as well! She always got on people’s nerves with her dimwitted remarks. She wouldn’t be so bad if she managed to breed a dozen more brain cells.

Sam never understood why Jon liked Charlene so much. She already hurt Jon once and he swore that she would not do it to his pal again or else he would make that conniving girl pay.

Make her pay?

That was a stupid thought. This was none of his business.

Sam, despite his youthful appearance, was actually the oldest of the Three Guys despite that Dan looked older due to his predominant facial hair.

Sam was a slim young man who believed that he only had two attractive qualities going for him: his height and his clear facial complexion.

Sam was the most conservative of the group, preferring not to squander his trust fund inheritance on frivolous activities. Sam had a future to think about. He had less than a year to go before he graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing.

Sam was naïve in the fact that he didn’t realize that he was better off financially than the general populace. Sam was an aspiring writer and wanted nothing more since he was a child. He had written many short stories, even at a young age, which managed to get published in children’s magazines. Before his grandfather died, he wanted Sam to continue his dream of being a novelist and not settle for an alternative, but realistic career. In order to do that, his grandfather secretly put money away in a high yielding trust fund. Sam also had another source of income from his previous profession as well. 

When Sam turned eighteen, an attorney presented him with the trust which had enough money to pay tuition to a reasonably priced university. It also imparted

him with a weekly stipend for living expenses so that he could go to school full-time and devote himself wholly to his studies.

The only stipulation was that Sam maintained, at least, a ‘B’ average and

select classes pursuant to a career as a writer. If he violated the terms of the trust, it

would be null and void.

The stipend was modest, but it was enough so that Sam could afford a one-bedroom apartment and live comfortably. The disadvantage of this was that it made Sam ignorant and even more naïve to the ways of the world. He never knew the hardships of having to juggle classes and a part-time job.

He never had a clue that there were so many people that would change places

with him in a heartbeat, especially Jon and Dan, who still had to live at home; however, Dan had it better because Jon was banished to the basement while Dan had full run of his parent’s house.

Sam was now having serious doubts, wondering if he made the right decision. His literary touch had been waning and he hadn’t sold any of his stories in months. He tried to convince himself that this was because he was devoting all his time to his studies and the final push to graduation, but Sam had a feeling that it was something else. Something was holding his creativity at bay and Sam was afraid that he would end up becoming one of those eccentric starving artists living in some dirty basement hole, making a meager living writing greeting cards. Sam hoped that his creative block would pass.

Sam was the most honest and sincere of the three because he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Because of his shy nature, he was quiet around new people. Many mistook this behavior for rudeness and believed him to be a pompous jerk.

All faults aside, Sam was still a reasonably likable fellow; however, his loyalty to others was limited. He cared only for his family and his very small circle of friends.

When it came to meeting women, Sam was his own worst enemy. He mistakenly believed that his physical looks were only average at best, but Sam was actually a very attractive young man. Part of his misconception was that he still saw himself as the awkward and geeky adolescent teenager of years past. He never realized that with his maturity, his physical short-comings developed into assets. Sam went to the campus gym on a routine basis to work out, mostly to relieve some of the stress that comes with studies and exams. He never realized that he had cut his body into a slim form of lean muscle mass. Many people never saw his attractive physique because he hardly ever went shirtless or wore shorts to show it off. He never went to swim in the campus pool when there were young ladies present who might have seen and admired his striking physical frame.

The fact that Sam was shy with the opposite sex didn’t help much either. If he tried a little harder to approach women, he might have gotten more promising results. Sam believed that women avoided him because he wasn’t good-looking. The few times a woman took an interest in Sam only happened when they recognized him and realized that he used to be marginally famous at one time.

It was the way in which Sam presented himself that kept the ladies away. His lack of confidence and their impression of his low self-esteem is what made him appear undesirable. He subconsciously sabotaged himself into making himself appear unworthy of the affections of a female. All he needed to do was stand more proudly, exude an aura of authority and confidence and display more of that clever sense of humor he only showed to his close friends.

Yet, there was something that prevented him from letting others get too close and intimate—something that happened long ago, but he had no clue as to what it was.

The fact that Sam was shy, quiet and reserved made him a living contradiction, because he wasn’t always that way. When he was a small boy, he was outgoing, outspoken and very personable. Not only did young Sam have a knack for writing, but he also had a natural talent for performing. He was never afraid to act out scenes from movies and TV shows—memorizing the dialog, word for word, in front of family and friends.

Before he knew it, five-year-old Sam was appearing in magazine ads and commercials. By the time he was eight, he got a regular part for a series of commercials for a regional fast food chain known as Big Burger and he was one of the Big Burger Bunch. He stood out as the one with the red baseball cap that was always saying Big Burgers are the bomb!

By the time he was twelve, it was all over. One reason was that Sam lost his little boy cuteness and became an awkward adolescent and directors just weren’t interested in casting him anymore. It was just as well; Sam grew tired of the business, too.

Sam found that he preferred creating the story rather than taking part in it. That’s when Sam took more of an interest in his writing. The only other time he acted was in a high school musical where he scored the lead role. He only did this at the behest of the drama coach that recognized him as a former actor and asked him to help out. Sam considered the play to be his one-time comeback and swan song.

Occasionally, one of his old commercials would pop up and Sam received a residual check. Although the old commercials were infrequent, they still used his voice-over for the advertisement. Every time his voice was used to utter the phrase, Big Burgers are the bomb, he got a check. Even though he’s still profiting to some degree, he hated being reminded of being a has-been.

It was when Sam was twelve that he suddenly became shy and quiet. His performance in the high school play was the only time people saw him come out of his shell. He never seemed quiet when he was on the stage. Sam didn’t know why this was the case, but somehow his interest in acting evaporated—just like his creative edge in writing was starting to wane.

After several minutes of skillful peeling, Sam managed to get the paper label off his beer bottle in one piece and without ripping it apart. Sam looked at his handiwork proudly. Too bad he couldn’t make a living with this skill.

Oh, no, Sam heard Dan’s voice say. There goes Mr. Compulsive, peeling labels off again.

Sam crumpled up the label in a ball and threw it to the black, plastic trashcan that rested in the lonely corner of the basement. He missed it by inches.

Upon seeing this, Jon turned around and rushed at Sam. Stop messing up my basement. This place looks like a pigsty thanks to you. How would you like it if you came home and found mice scurrying around in your basement?

Sam’s laughed. Give me a break, Jon. You and your brother are the ones that eat your meals down here. Sam pointed at the floor. Look at all those crumbs. Face the facts, Jon-a-thon. Your brother, George, is a pig.

I guess you’re right. Sorry, Sam.

Forget it, Jon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a leak.

Jon sat in the swivel chair. It was another boring Friday night with nothing to do except gather around in the basement.

Although he was the youngest member of the trio, Jon had somehow acquired the position of leader. He was a man that always had the last word. To back this up, his mind was always full of confusing philosophies, cut-downs and comebacks. At a younger age, he got back at his enemies with his fists.

Even today, he is the most likely to take direct physical action; however, he

soon discovered the power of his tongue. He learned that his words could do more damage than his deeds.

Like Sam, Jon had his flaws. Unlike Sam, who was only outspoken on stage, Jon was personable all the time. He often got carried away with his bullshitting and became a pathological exaggerator. He was the most likely to over-react to any given situation.

Another one of Jon’s qualities that made him stand out from the others was that he was the best looking. His reddish, brown hair, freckles and a bright smile attracted women to him like a magnet.

Jon waited patiently for Charlene to arrive. He felt very stimulated tonight and wanted to get it on with her. With luck, Dan and Sam would take the hint and leave them alone. The only problem now was with his brother. George would come home soon and remain in the basement just to spite Jon.

Sam and Jon had a sort of mutual envy for each other. Sam envied Jon’s courage to stand up to people, speak his mind and tell them off with little concern for the consequences. Jon envied Sam’s freedom and the fact that he wasn’t subjected to living at home and didn’t have to worry about holding down a job. Sam had a great potential future and he was starting to piss it all away. All Sam did was feel sorry for himself just like their ex-friend, Marty.

Sam was still a member of SAG and could go back to acting or selling stories to magazines if he really tried, instead of sitting around drinking beer all the time. Maybe, that was why Jon was a little hard on Sam and ripped on him a little more than he did Dan.

Sam was a good writer. Jon knew that for a fact because he read everything his friend wrote. Now, Sam wasn’t even taking advantage of that talent. He hadn’t written anything in weeks.

Sam may have been content to give up the spotlight and take the rest of the Game of Life on the sidelines, but Jon sure as hell wasn’t. He wanted to take from the world all that it was willing to give him. It was bad enough that Sam was wasting his talents, but Jon had no intention of circling the toilet bowl of complacency.

Jon’s thoughts were interrupted when Sam finally staggered back into the basement.

Everything come out all right? asked Dan.

Before Sam could reply, the phone rang. Jon picked it up immediately.

"Hello. Well, it’s about time! Where are you? What do you mean still at home? Get over here. Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Yeah, see you in a bit. Bye! Jon slammed the phone on the hook. Stupid twit."

Whatsa’ matter? Dan smirked. Main squeeze can’t make it after all?

Jon shot back a stern look. She’s so brain dead at times. First, she tells me that her sister was gonna’ drop her off, then she forgot that Susan had a date and now the car is gone.

Tough luck, Sport.

Uh… Dan. Jon bit his lip. Would you pick her up?

Sorry, pal. I came here with Sam. Remember? My car is in the shop.

Jon turned his head to see Sam quietly sitting on the sleeper/sofa. Jon leaped right next to him and put on arm on his shoulder. Sam, ol’ buddy, you brought your car here, didn’t you?

So I did, said Sam as he pulled out his Chevette keys and placed them in Jon’s hands.

Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.

Remember. Sam winked. Go straight to her house and come right back here. No screwing around in the car. It took me a week to clean up those white stains from the last time. I’m also running on an eighth of a tank, so make sure she gives you a buck for gas—okay—just kidding.

Have I ever let you down? giggled Jon as he went out the door.

Sam turned his head to Dan.

Don’t look at me. Remember what he did to his beautiful Camaro?

Dan was the calmest and coolest of the group. It was a rare thing if Dan ever panicked. His philosophy was simple: Cool head is the key.

Dan believed that life was too short for him to ever let the little things in life worry him.

Just like his two pals, Dan was also a handsome young man, but he wasn’t hung up on his own looks. He had thick, raven-black, long hair that he always combed back. His most striking feature was his neatly trimmed goatee. He was also the largest and heaviest of the group; however, he was large as in muscular rather than fat.

Of the three, Dan had what it took to be the most scholastic. It was a strange twist. Sam had opportunities, but lacked motivation. Jon had motivation and lacked opportunity. In Dan’s case, he lacked opportunity and motivation. He never wanted to work too hard unless there was an absolute and definite payoff. Somewhat like Sam, he didn’t want to be too successful because he enjoyed his easygoing lifestyle. Leisure time was very valuable to him.

Unknown to the rest, Dan was not a virgin. He had more than his fill of women. He had even more than Jon. Today, his interest in women had waned because his desire for uncommitted sex had waned as well. All he was doing now was waiting for the right woman that he could eventually settle down with, but he wasn’t in a hurry either.

Of the group, Dan worried about Sam the most. Dan knew that of the two, Sam never had the experience of a woman. Maybe, this could explain Sam’s strange twists in behavior. Despite his occasional outbursts, Sam was still a somewhat stable guy despite his past troubles.

Dan had known Sam since the first grade and was very proud to have a friend that did TV commercials, but didn’t act arrogant and treated him just like any other friend.

Dan was around when Sam was twelve years old and had his nervous breakdown and mental collapse. Dan knew that this was the real reason why Sam didn’t act anymore. Sam was really in self-denial when he said he hated the business and wanted no more of it. Dan knew Sam would still be acting today if it weren’t for the unknown catalyst that set his friend off when he had that dreadful confrontation with that juvenile hoodlum, Grady.

Dan never told Jon about that incident for several reasons. Dan didn’t know all the facts, just rumors and speculations. Sam never brought the subject up and acted like it never happened. Perhaps, Sam had forgotten all about it considering the quantity of medication he had been taking at the time. Dan’s parents warned him never to talk about it and he never had the nerve to ask Sam about it either. It didn’t matter. He was just glad that Sam was able to wean off his medication and stop taking it some three years ago.

Some twenty minutes later, Jon returned with Charlene.

Charlene approached Sam and gave him a goofy look. Sam ignored her even

though he knew that she was still standing there.

Well, she said, What’s this crap about paying for gas?

It was obvious that Charlene was having a bad day and Sam was the perfect idiot to vent out her frustrations. She was pissed off about something and didn’t care that Sam’s request for gas money was only a joke.

Why are you always dumping on me, Sam? Charlene began her rant. Just because you use to be some hot-shit ten years ago doesn’t give you the right to walk all over people, you stupid has-been.

I never claimed to be much of an actor, Sam came back. "I was never an actor. I was just a snot-nose brat that caught a great wave and rode it out until it died. In order to be a has-been, you had to have been a someone first. I’m not a has-been. I’m a never-was. If you want to insult me, at least, get the terms right."

Damn right! Charlene saw her window of opportunity. "You were never much of an actor and you’re not much of a writer either. I haven’t seen any of the crap you write get published lately. How many hundreds of dollars did you draw as an income from writing? How many tens of people read your last piece of shit?"

Those words had stabbed Sam right in the heart. He had no snappy comeback for that remark because, deep down, he knew that she was right.

The silence lasted for a few seconds before Charlene realized that she had gone too far.

I’m sorry, Sam. That was out of line.

Accepted, Sam sighed, but the damage was already done.

As Sam took a seat, Jon took Charlene by the arm and pulled her off to the side to chastise her in private.

Why the hell did you do that for? We never make fun of Sam’s writing. Why don’t you just kick him in the balls while you were at it?

I told him that I was sorry.

You know the drill, Charlene. We all tease each other, but—come on—don’t rip on a man’s artistic expression.

"Artistic expression? My ass! What’s he going to do with his degree except wipe his butt with it? At least, I’m studying to learn a real job?"

Right. Jon snickered. Putting make-up on people? Whoop-dee-shit.

"Cosmetology, you jerk. Charlene had to remember to keep her voice down. It’s cosmetology."

A few minutes later, Jon and Charlene were kissing as if it was their last day on Earth together. Sam figured that, at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to get a piece of toilet paper between them.

The kissing halted by the when basement door was kicked open.

A frown appeared on Jon’s face. This could only mean the signature entrance of one person.

George was home from work!

CHAPTER 2

Hello, everybody, George shouted with exuberance that was totally unnecessary.

George was a young man about a year older than his brother. His appearance was

shabby. His brown shoes were covered with dust. His black slacks were baggy. His white shirt was still wrinkled on account that he was too lazy to take a few extra minutes to iron it. In his hurry to leave from work, George neglected to remove his official, red, food store vest, which was typical to all employees that bagged groceries at the checkout aisle.

If George bothered to keep up his physical appearance, he, too, would be a handsome man. He had features similar to his brother and probably would attract

just as many women if he put in any effort. If he bothered to style his auburn hair, he would really stand out in a crowd.

George kicked open the door because he didn’t have a free hand due to all the plastic bags that he carried in each arm. The first bag was tossed on his bed. The second bag seemed to contain a medium-sized box. He carefully placed it on top of the table where the rest of his stereo and audio equipment were kept.

Sam noticed that there was another long box, about four feet in length, made of wood on the table as well. It was sealed shut with a hasp and padlock. Sam had never seen the box before and he was a little curious about it.

George cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. "I said, Hi, Everyone!"

All the occupants in the basement just stared at George like he was some sort of vagrant that had wandered in from off the street.

George calmly walked up to Jon and stuck his face near his brother’s ear. Hi, little bro!

George knew that he was on a roll, so he decided to continue being a bothersome pest.

Hey, Jonathon! George still continued to shout. I see you brought your girlfriend. Hi, Charlene!

Then George turned around and greeted Sam and Dan with violent handshakes that nearly took their arms off. Hi, Danny! Hi, Sammy!

A real pleasure, yet again, mocked Dan.

Good ta’ see ya’, pal said Sam sarcastically.

With the general greetings out of the way, George immediately reached under his bed and pulled out a half-filled liter bottle of Smirnoff vodka.

Want me to get you a shot glass for that? asked Dan.

Shot glass? What for? replied George as he brought up the bottle to his mouth and took three giant gulps.

He then reached into his bag that he threw on the bed and pulled out a plastic two liter bottle of Classic Coke. Like the first bottle, George brought it up to his mouth and chased down the vodka. In the process,some of the coke dripped out the corners of his mouth and down his neck, which drenched his shirt. Again, George didn’t seem to mind. All he did was wipe the excess coke off his chin with his sleeve.

Oops, he laughed. Boy, am I a pig.

George then took the opportunity to turn off the music playing on the stereo.

Hey, said an annoyed Jon. We were listening to that, asshole.

You’ve listened long enough, George whined. "Besides, it’s my stereo."

"Of which I helped pay for!"

You guys wanna’ hear the mixing tape that the Master Mixer and I made yesterday? asked George.

Who’s Master Mixer? asked Dan.

Why, your ol’ buddy, Marty.

Oh, brother! Dan rolled his eyes back in disgust.

Dan hated the bastard!

He hated Marty's long, blond hair (which he always slicked back with, at least, a ton of mousse) which the jerk believed made women swoon. He hated that Marty thought that he was God’s gift to women. He hated Marty’s wardrobe that the freak believed was fashionable—the white, short sleeve shirts that didn’t have collars—the parachute pants and goofy brown penny loafers. Worst of all was that horrible long, black overcoat which, when worn, made Marty look like a drug dealer,  flasher or even a pimp.

All these things, Dan could forgive or overlook, but he hated Marty for a transgression that was unforgivable—disrespecting his mother!

As a matter of fact, George added, he should be here soon.

Why is he coming here? said Jon, slowly getting aggravated again.

Because he’s coming over to help me make another tape. He’s my new partner in my latest business venture.

What business? Jon couldn’t believe a word of it.

"The mixing business, of course. We make tapes and then sell them to radio stations. That’s how the local nightclub DJs got started."

Which DJs? said Dan, knowing that this would annoy George to no end.

Nevermind, George was surprised at Dan’s ignorance. Just wait until you hear this kick-ass tape.

No way! Jon tried to keep his cool. I’m not going to listen to that house music shit.

Well, maybe, somebody else does.

Nobody here wants to listen to your crummy tape, Jon was insistent.

I’d like to hear it, George, said Charlene.

Before Jon could utter another word, George inserted his tape and quickly pressed the play button.

The tape began with a scratch version of Sam Kinison’s famous Ohhh-Ohhhh! that lasted for a good fifteen seconds. The tape also included the sounds of RUN-DMC, New-Cleus, and many other House and Disco artists that the Three Guys hated with a passion.

Charlene, on the other hand, was having a field day. She was dancing around the basement as happily as a small child on Christmas morning.

Dan’s remarkable patience finally gave away. That’s it! I can’t take this house music shit anymore! I’m out of here!

Wait! Sam tried to stop him. Don’t you want me to drive you home?

No thanks, pal. I’ll walk.

With that, Dan was gone.

The music switched to a remix version of Get into the Groove.

Alright! Madonna! Charlene began to dance with renewed vigor.

Come on, Charlene, said Jon as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the doorway.

Where are we going? I want to stay and listen to this.

Let’s go, Jon demanded. Now that George is home, I can show you my dad’s car that George used to get to work. I was supposed to use it tonight to pick you up, but George took it from under my nose.

What are you talking about? I’ve already seen your dad’s car.

Not from the perspective of the back seat. Now get your jacket.

Now only Sam and George sat in the basement.

Of all the Three Guys, Sam was the one that George got along with the best, even better than with his brother, Jon. Sam still enjoyed hanging around with George even if Dan and Jon didn’t care much for his company. George was still a fun guy when he wasn’t drunk and being annoying. It was Sam’s hope that George would grow out of this phase. Sam thought it better not to get too deeply involved with someone so self-centered, but there was always hope that some people can change. Sam always clung to that hope and always seemed to give George the benefit of the doubt.

Sam, want to help me wire something together to my stereo system?

Sam was a little suspicious. Why can’t you do it yourself?

Because I’m kind of buzzed. Anyway, you’re good with electrical wires. Remember when you soldered those wires to that circuit board for my computer?

"Okay, but what system are you talking about?"

That’s right, snapped George. You don’t know, do ya’? I have something to show you.

Like a small child showing off his new Christmas toys to his friend, George unlocked the long flat wooden box on the stereo table. Sam was not amazed when he saw the contents.

So what? he said. It’s just a couple of record players.

Are you kidding? said George in shock. "These are Technics 1200 dual turntables. It only took me a month to save up for them."

Why so long?

Because they cost $350 a piece.

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Three fifty for a couple of lousy turntables? They must have seen a chump like you coming from a mile away. I can get a couple of those at the Venture by Harlem and Irving Plaza for $19.95.

I’m not talking about record players for children. There’s a difference between record players and turntables.

Like what?

"These are professional mixing turntables. They stop and go on a dime. Sound quality is great, too. I can even play the records in reverse. A mere record player can’t go that."

Play records backwards? Why would you want to do that?

For mixing, Sam. Sometimes, you are so clueless.

But why do you need two record players—I mean—turntables?

George couldn’t believe that someone who was used to seeing lighting and sound boards while shooting a commercial could be so ignorant of mixing equipment.

So you can blend in the record after one song is finished without having to take time in between to change records. That’s why I got this.

George opened the plastic bag to reveal a Numark DM 1900 Mixer.

How much did that set you back?

Oh, only $700, if you want the best sounds.

What is that $700 box supposed to do?

Help me hook it up and I’ll show you.

Some twenty minutes later, the two had everything hooked up perfectly.

Alright, Sam threw a screwdriver on George’s bed. How's it work?

George put a record on each turntable and let one of them play. First, you stick the headphone jack in this hole. Then you twist this knob here to decide which turntable that you want to listen to through the phones. You spin the record and listen to it through the phones so you can find where the song starts while the other turntable is playing a different song. When the first table is finishing, you flick this lever over and press the play button on the other turntable and it blends in like it’s still part of the same song.

When the first song ended, George demonstrated and the next song blended in perfectly.

This time, Sam was slightly impressed. Not bad, but you’ve spent all that money on it? Do you need something that fancy just so you can make some tapes?

Hell, no! I’m gonna’ be a professional performer just like you used to be.

What are you talking about?

Didn’t I tell you? George was surprised. After I got off work, I stopped at a bar called Dirty McGilligan’s. Ever hear of it, Sam?

Rings a bell.

I know this guy that’s a bouncer up there. He talked to the owner because they need a DJ up there on Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights. I went over there after work and I got hired on the spot.

Are you pulling my leg? I thought you said it was a sports bar?

Not after ten. They want to play house music to attract customers.

So, you’re gonna’ quit your day job so you can be famous?

Hey, George caught the sarcastic tone in Sam’s voice. It worked for you, didn’t it?

"I never had a day job and I was never famous."

Of course you were. Why are you so ashamed of your past affiliation with the spotlight?

Look, George. Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a double-edged sword. Sure, I had fun and made some descent coin, but it was hard work and long hours. It was fun being recognized too, but it also sucked when everyone starts scrutinizing your personal life. You so much as fart in public and the whole damn neighborhood learns about it. You have to deal with rumors and innuendo all the time. Take it from me, George. Stay an Average Joe. You’re better off.

Come on, Sam, admit it. You miss it, even if it's just a little.

I don’t miss it at all—and I don’t regret my decision to quit.

Really, then are you still paying dues to the Screen Actor’s Guild?

A stipulation of my Grandfather’s trust.

George knew that Sam was full of shit. It was just sour grapes on Sam’s part because the business turned its back on him.

George decided it best not to remark on that further. I’m not quitting anything just yet. I’ll work at the bar from ten at night until four in the morning. Then I come home, grab a few hours slee, and head to work.

That’s a big load. Sam was skeptical. Are you sure you can handle those long hours between two jobs?

No problem, pal. I wouldn’t have to be at work until the afternoon. I got it all figured out. If I keep both jobs, I’ll have the money to get those twenty-five hundred dollar speakers and that drum machine.

How much does this DJ job pay?

Sixty bucks a night. Cash! Plus possible tips and free drinks all night.

When do you start?

This Monday night.

That soon?

Yeah. Wanna’ drive me there? I need to get my record crates up there.

You gotta’ supply your own records?

Just for the time being, answered George.

Looks like you’re on the road to having it made, DJ George. I’ve been on that road a little myself. Enjoy it—while it lasts—DJ George.

No. George waved his finger. "It’s not DJ George. I’m going to call myself The Groover!"

After toasting George’s future with a shot of vodka, Sam departed.

It was still, at least, another hour before Marty was due to arrive and Jon wasn’t even finished with Charlene in the back seat of the car. George had the basement all to himself for a while and he just loved it that way. He could now practice mixing without any disturbance.

George let the disks play and mixed the music together flawlessly. He had been practicing for hours each day for many months and it was paying off. As a matter of fact, mixing was almost all he did when he had any free time. George now felt that he was becoming one with his music. After all those years of being put down by others, he finally found something that he could do well enough in order to be famous and make all those nay-sayers eat their words. He wanted to experience the fame and notoriety which Sam foolishly ignored and wanted to forever lock up or wish never happened.

No longer would George be mocked!

George smiled as he got Buster Poindexter’s Hot, Hot, Hot synchronized with Debbie Gibson’s Shake your Love.

Things were going just as planned. He had his new partner, Marty, to help take some of the burden. He didn’t have to worry about the Master Mixer screwing up because George could always get rid of him if he became a liability. George knew that Marty lacked the initiative to make good on his own unless he had someone else’s help.

Marty was a parasite. He leeched off others to get what he wanted, but George believed he still had his uses.

Will success spoil the Groover? George thought to himself. No way! It didn’t spoil Sam and it won’t spoil me. I’ll always remember where I came from.

CHAPTER 3

At approximately eight o’clock on Monday morning, George the Groover awoke from his drunken slumber. He was moderately hung over. All his body wanted to do was sleep a little longer; however, he did not want to sleep because he had the urge—the urge to play his music.

It was his life. Music was all he knew. He was one with music. All Groover wanted to do was play his music. The Groover was music.

George thumbed through his crates, which contained hundreds of records (a collection that was still growing) and picked out the ones he was in the mood to play. Groover cranked up the volume to 7 and began to scratch away with Pretty Poison’s Catch me I’m Falling.

"C-C-C-Catch me I’m fall-fall-fall-falling," the record went.

Perfectly timed as usual. What else could one expect from the great talents of the Groover? He knew that his first performance would make or break him. Groover had to be perfect. He was going to work his way to the top and nothing was going to stop him. The Groover would soon be known as the greatest DJ/mixer of all time. He was on a roll and no one was going to stop him. Anyone that got in his way now was going to get run over!

The sound of blaring synthesized trumpets finally made Jon jump out of his bed and his nerves were on fire.

What the hell, George! he shouted. What do you think you’re doing?

Mixing, George answered nonchalantly.

At eight o’clock in the freakin’ morning? Thanks for waking me up!

Keep quiet, Jon, George said impatiently. I can’t hear the shifts so can mix in the next song.

Turn it off, George!

C’mon, I need the practice. I gotta’ be perfect.  I'm gonna’ be famous.

Damn! What do I need to do to get a decent night’s sleep around here?

Dan never bitched and moaned when Sam was trying to get famous.

Sam’s work didn’t keep Dan up all night.

How come everyone else enjoys listening to my music?

"That’s because they aren’t forced to listen to it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It’s always the same. When I come home from school, you play your music. When I come home from work, you play your music. When I take a dump, you play your music—actually, I don’t mind it then, it helps unblock my constipation. Before I go to bed, you play your music. Now I get woke up by your music."

Leave me alone. You made me miss my cues.

Turn it off, George! Now! I mean it!

No!

Jon threw off his covers and walked briskly toward George’s equipment.

George, who was so pre-occupied by what he thought was musical art-making, didn’t realize that Jon was approaching.

After finding the master power cord, Jon yanked it out of the wall socket.

Hey! George jumped up. Plug it back in!

Go play with yourself!

Come on, Jon, George whined. This is your chance to pick up chicks when you tell them that your brother is a famous DJ.

Jon laughed so hard that the saliva in his mouth was starting to run. Yeah, right. That’ll be the day. Keep dreaming, Bro’.

It’ll happen. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry. I won’t forget about this!

I don’t give a shit! Jon threw the extension cord to the floor.

I gotta’ practice.

Then use those head phones you spent so much money on. You can practice all you want. Then Jon played his final card. "If you don’t stop your noise, I won’t let you use any of my records when you make your debut."

Conceding defeat, George had no choice but to plug the headphones in. Fine, you big baby. My God, some people are so inconsiderate.

Jon threw the covers over his head and soon fell back asleep.

Groover practiced his mixing under the silence of his headphones.

How could Jon, his own brother, be such an asshole? How could he be so uncaring? How could Jon not understand how important his music was to him?

He’s jealous, Groover thought. I’ll be somebody and he’ll be a nobody. He’ll be sorry about this! They’ll all be sorry! I’m going to be the Groover. If I keep practicing, no one will be better than me. No one!

Dan almost forgot how much fun sex could be.

The gorgeous red head that lay next to him lit up a cigarette. They weren’t finishedyet—merely taking a break between sessions.

So, how long are you going to be in town, Tina? Dan finally spoke.

Oh, about another week, she answered. But you know, I’ve been thinking of finishing up my education right here.

That would be nice. Denver doesn’t suit you much anyway.

I bet you were surprised to see me knocking on your door, huh?

I sure as hell was, Tina. You were lucky you even caught me. I was just on my way out to see my pals, Jon and Sam. You remember them, don’t you?

I think so. Tina thought out loud. The last time I saw them was about a half a year ago, wasn’t it? I believe we stopped by one of their houses after you took me to that Rush concert. I never forget faces. Jon is the guy that looks like Howdy Doody. And Sam is the tall, thin guy. Didn’t you mention once that he the same guy that used to be in those commercials when he was a kid?

Good memory, Babe.

One thing I don’t understand though. Tina was puzzled. How come when you called them to tell them you couldn’t join them tonight, you said you had to go out with your parents?

Dan’s answer took a few extra seconds to get out as he wanted to convey the right message. Well—if I told them that you were in town and that I wanted to spend a little time alone with you, they’d know we’d end up in bed together.

And that’s a bad thing?

"I think my friend, Sam, has some intimacy problems. I have a strong feeling that he’s frustrated when it comes to the ladies. He does a great job of acting like it doesn’t bother him, but I have a feeling that it’s really tearing him up deep inside. He already knows that Jon got laid by Charlene on several occasions. If he finds out that you and I are intimate, that will make him the only one of The Three Guys that’s still a virgin."

Oh, come on, laughed Tina. Sam never seemed quiet on those TV commercials. It looked like he was trying to mug for more camera time. It’s hard to believe that he’s shy with the opposite sex.

It’s not uncommon for actors to be personable on camera, but quiet and shy once the film stops rolling.

Maybe, I can introduce him to some of my girlfriends. They are very cute, nice and, most importantly, available to date.

Dan was skeptical. "I don’t know about that. He may suspect that we’re purposely trying to set him up. He hates mercy dates and girls that only talk to him because he used to be in commercials."

Forget about Sam for now.

She began to get on top of Dan who decided to enjoy himself rather than worry about his friend.

CHAPTER 4

At approximately eight o’clock in the evening, George was already dressed for his big debut even though he didn’t have to be at the bar until ten.

The moment of truth was so close, yet so far.

For the first time in a long time, other than a wedding or funeral, George was dressed up—new slacks and a stylish shirt that was freshly ironed and wrinkle-free. He was clean shaven and he combed his hair back in an attractive, slightly,

spiked-up style. George looked in the mirror and liked the results.

Just like Sam, George was a strange-looking and awkward teenager. Unlike Sam, who was a very cute child and then lost his bloom, but got it back later (although Sam didn’t realize it yet), Groover was not a cute child. He was just as strange looking and awkward even before puberty. Now his rose had bloomed. All George had to do was trim off the thorns.

The night of the Groover would soon be at hand!

George decided to relieve some of the tension and boredom by playing some more of his records. The music finally caught the attention of his brother, Jon, who was coming down stairs after taking a shower.

Can’t you ever get enough of playing those records?

What can I say? What are you up to, Little Bro’?

I’m going to the movies, if it’s any of your business.

George momentarily stopped his music. All by yourself?

What do you mean?

I thought that you mentioned that Dan was busy tonight.

Yes, but Sam isn’t busy, you dipshit.

Sam’s not going with you either. He’s gonna’ drive me and PG to the bar tonight. Why don’t you come along as well?

The remark annoyed Jon considerably. What are you talking about? I just called Sam an hour ago and he said nothing about taking you anywhere.

He told me that he would drive me and then hang around for a while.

That asshole, said Jon, but his anger was short lived. He jumped to attention when he heard an unexpected knocking on the basement window.

I think that’s for you, George. Who the hell could that be?

Probably, Keith. George ran up the stairs to let him in.

Jon finally found a blue pullover sweater that he liked and quickly put it on. Tonight, he decided to be a yuppie.

Moments later, George returned with a handsome young man with longish, red, curly hair. This was Keith— the infamous PG man. Like Master Mixin’ Marty, he was also a new DJ disciple of the Groover. PG’s first instinct was to rip off one of the beers that he had on his six-pack and open it up.

Heeey, Jon-neeee, PG said. Going with us to the bar?

No way. I’m going to the show.

PG began to pinch Jon’s check. Come on! We’re gonna’ have a lot of fun. We’re gonna’ get hammered, dance, meet broads and then take them home and bang them until all hours of the night. Ol’ George is gonna’ fill up that dance floor.

Not tonight, PG, Jon repeated.

Hey, Groover, said PG as he ripped George’s headphones off just as he put them on to mix again. How are we getting there? Did you get your Dad’s car?

Nope, but Sam’s driving us up there.

Bullshit, Jon interrupted.

All right, PG screamed. We’re going to party with Sammy-boy!

What do you mean? said Sam as he walked down the stairs. It was typical for any of the Three Guys to walk in without knocking. What party?

How’s it hanging? said George. We’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.

"Where are we going?"

You’re driving us to Dirty’s, you silly boy, George playfully slapped Sam on the face.

No, I’m not. I’m going to the movies with Jon.

Hey, George said that you promised that you would, said PG.

"I never promised. All I said was that I would let George know and get back to him."

Thanks a lot, Sam, said George as he began to put a face of disappointment in hopes of setting off Sam’s guilt trip. I could have had my dad’s car tonight, but I turned it down because I thought you were driving.

I called you this afternoon to check. Your brother answered and said that you were still sleeping—probably, hung over from the night before. I left you a message. Since you didn’t call me back, I thought that you didn’t need a ride.

Quit lying, Sam. You never called. I never got a message.

Really? Sam ripped off a piece of paper that was taped to the TV set. "It reads: George, Sam called. Wanted to know about tonight."

Great, George pouted. Just great.

The bar is not far from here and the weather is decent. Can’t you walk?

I have four record crates to bring up.

Can’t you bit the bullet and use the records at the bar?

I want to use my own music. I’ll flop if I play the bar’s crummy selection.

George threw himself on the sleeper/sofa and pouted some more.

Just as George anticipated, Sam’s guilt trip was too much and he gave in. Okay, I can’t stand it when you play on my good nature. Jon, I think I’ll have enough time to drop them off and come back for you.  It that okay?

Yeah, I guess so, Jon said quietly.

It was no use arguing—George always got his way.

Aren’t you gonna’ stay and get drunk with us? asked PG.

C’mon, Sam, George urged.

"What’s the big deal if I go? Why am I so popular all of a sudden?

Because we love you, laughed PG. We want to hang with the Burger Boy. Come on, Sammy say it. Shout it loud and proud.

Shout, what?

"Biiiiggg Burgers are the bomb. Do it for all your adoring fans, like me."

Sam looked at PG like he was nuts. I don’t think so.

Then can you join us at the bar instead? Please!

This time, Sam give in and made Jon believe he was letting these two take advantage of him. "I’ll be up there after the show—and that’s final."

George smiled as he gave a record crate to PG to load into Sam’s car.

Once again, he was able to manipulate Sam. It was one weakness that George always knew he could take advantage. In the future, he planned on manipulating Sam a lot more for his own needs. Even if Sam didn’t want the limelight anymore, Groover planned on letting his friend show him how to take it. He planned to exploit Sam’s knowledge and contacts. What was the harm? Sam was a very useful tool. Groover needed Sam to get it all started—to get to the top, and stay on top!

Once he was on top, he planned to stay there!

He was the Groover, and from now on, he planned on getting everything he always wanted.

Always!

CHAPTER 5

Jon and Sam made it to the theatre just in time to catch the upcoming preview trailer which looked like it was filled with nothing more than senseless violence.

Good thing we didn’t miss that, said Sam.

Hey, shut up! said a cute girl that was sitting in front of them.

Hey, a female admirer. Jon began to sit up straight and proper.

Are you kidding me? She just told me to shut up.

I see she has a friend sitting next to her. One for you, too, Sam.

Oh, give it up, Jon.

Jon leaned over, tapped the young lady on the shoulder and then cleared his throat. Please, excuse me, Miss, but my friend and I couldn’t help but notice you in the lobby earlier. You wouldn’t happen to be professional models?

Give me a break! The girl turned back around.

Before Sam could pat him on the back with a sarcastic Good going, buddy, the other cute girl next to her turned around.

Don’t mind my roommate, she said. She’s all bitter because she broke up with her boyfriend. I’m trying to get her to go out and meet some new people.

I’m so sorry to hear that. Jon kept up his bullshit sincerity.

I’m Jennifer. My friend’s name is Marilyn.

Deciding to have fun with the girls, Jon decided to use some fake names. A real pleasure to meet you. My name is Jeremy and this is my friend, Chad. Jon shook her hand. I’m sorry if we disturbed you. What a coincidence. Jennifer also happens to be the same name as my mother. Lie. Lie. Bullshit. Or do you prefer to be called Jenny?

Jennifer, please.

So what brings you here? Jennifer continued.

Well, Jennifer, Jon smiled. I’m here with my companion and future business associate. We’re taking it easy tonight. We’re on a semester break from medical school. We’re first year students at Harvard.

Ooooh, my! Jennifer giggled. That sounds soooo cool! Are you planning on being specialists?

Well, my friend, Chad, here, is going into internal medicine, but I’m thinking of going into gynecology.

Everything was going great for Jon!

Jennifer was a total flibbertigibbet and scatterbrain. He would have her under the sheets in a matter of hours and then disappear from her life under the anonymity of a bogus name.

"This is going to be a real scary movie, Jon continued. Perhaps, you young ladies might feel more comfortable sitting next to us? That way, you’ll have an arm to grab on to when a really gross, scary or intense part occurs."

Marilyn, seeing through Jon’s bullshit, but not wanting to piss her friend off by destroying her expectations or fantasies, merely grimaced and rolled her eyes.

Jennifer sat next to Jon and he immediately put his arm around her. Sam got stuck next to Marilyn the crab, who just sat in her seat like a dead squirrel.

Jon, you are such an asshole, Sam thought. If you dare tell any of them that I’m the Burger Boy, I’ll kill you real slow.

Several minutes later, Jon was kissing Jennifer.

Sam knew that by the middle of the movie, Jon would discreetly pop a few buttons open on Jennifer’s blouse and move his hand inside.

Nice couple. Sam turned to Marilyn who sat with her legs crossed, arms folded and with a sour expression on her face.

Your friend is an asshole, she said with clenched teeth.

Don’t hold back, Marilyn, said Sam. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Don’t patronize me. Medical students—my ass! You’re too stupid to be in medical school. I bet your friend, Jeremy—if that’s really his name—wouldn’t even know one end of a speculum from another."

What’s a speculum?

"Well, Chad, if you were really in med school, you would know. Jerk!"

I like you, too, Sam sat back with a fake smile.

Sam’s mind was on other things besides the movie.

Bitch! he thought. Smartass! I’ll settle with you later. If I knew what a speculum looked like, I’d shove it up your ass. What a minute! Calm down! Why am I letting some ignoramus get to me? I’m not going to let her upset my good time. She’s not a bitch—just a tired, miserable nitwit—that’s all.

At nine o’clock in the evening, Dirty McGilligan’s juke box was prematurely put out of commission by a thrown beer bottle from an annoyed drunk patron because he lost a big bet on a hockey game.

The police dragged out the troublemaker a few minutes after the bartender made the call. Odds had it that the charges would be dropped if the idiot agreed to pay for the damages. It was a lucky break for the Groover because the owner offered him an extra twenty bucks just to play 50s music an hour ahead of schedule.

Groover finished playing Mack the Knife and started up with Rock Around the Clock.

George was just happy to be playing records (and he was doing fine despite his nervousness), but midnight was the hour he was waiting for. It would soon be time to put away the 50s music