Loveless Summer - "Pilot"

Kyle Winters woke up with the biggest smile he'd probably ever worn. Last night, he had "closed" with the girl he had been in love with since elementary school, and there she was, laying naked in his bed right beside him, with his parents a million miles away on their fourth honeymoon. Tara and Kyle. Kyle and Tara. Tara... Winters. He slid in closer to cuddle up against her, his mind racing in too many directions for coherence. As he wrapped his arm around her, she sleepily yawned and embraced his hand, her smile peaking out from the side of her face that he could see.

"Good morning, Tara," Kyle whispered, lovingly and romantically.

"Mmm... good morning Carl..."

Kyle jerked back. "Uh... it's Kyle."

" Oh... whatever. So, Kyle , do you have any cigarettes?"

"What?"

"Cigarettes? You know, nicotine, cancer sticks, cigarettes?"

"Uh... I don't..."

"Oh, forget it!" Tara grunted with bother in her tone and rose from the bed, walking naked over to her purse. Her body was so perfect that Kyle had nearly completely forgotten what they were even talking about. But after returning to the bed with her cigarettes and lighter in hand, brushing her blonde hair from her face as she lit up, reality finally snapped in.

"Uh, you can't smoke in..."

"God Carl!" With this, she rose from the bed, sighing yet again, to open the nearest window, before exhaling a massive gust of smoke through the screen. "So, Carl..."

"Kyle..."

" So, Kyle , how was it?"

"How was what?"

"Oh, duh, you were a virgin... it was the best you've ever had."

"I'd like to try it again sometime."

Tara turned to look at him with a face that told him instantly that whatever she said next was meant to be polite, coming from a person who doesn't do polite. "Listen... Kyle ... you're cute, and you have a really great butt, but you aren't my type."

"Wait, if I'm not your type, then why did we... you know..."

"Because I like your butt, and sometimes I just want to play with an innocent kid with no baggage." After a lengthy drag, she dropped her half-smoked cigarette into an empty beer can and swished it about to extinguish the cherry... something Kyle found incredibly ironic, and somehow sexy. "But yeah, you aren't the kind of kid I go for." With this, she started putting her clothes on.

"Okay, then what's your type?"

"Oh... you know... muscles? Bad boys? Guys with big..."

"Okay, I get it," Kyle announced, interrupting her. "I know I'm not a big... muscular guy, but how do you know I'm not a bad boy?"

Tara adjusted her bra, pausing with a grin. "Okay, what's the baddest thing you've ever done?"

Kyle paused to think for a minute. "I went to jail once!"

Tara halted, swapping out her sarcastic grin for an enticed one. "Really? What did you do?"

"I was visiting my uncle," Kyle announced, quickly realizing just how not-cool that sounded.

"Oh," Tara's smile rapidly shifted to a frown, then to an annoyed scowl. "What did he do?"

"He ripped off his business partners."

"Oh, club fed?"

"No, it's a prison."

" No, I mean... ugh, nevermind." With this, Tara turned around and headed for the door, and Kyle let out a sigh, realizing he had botched his relationship with the first girl that had ever seen him naked, who wasn't his mom or a doctor anyway. But then, Tara stopped again, turning back to Kyle with a smile on her face. "You play guitar?" she asked, pointing at the 1972 Gibson Les Paul Deluxe that his dad had given him.

"Oh, yeah!" Kyle hastily replied, realizing that this was maybe the sort of "bad boy" thing she could be into. "I was in a band, too. Do you know the band Local Empire? I was the guitarist!"

"Never heard of you... can you play anything by Hannah Montana?"

"Hannah... you listen to Hannah Montana? I thought you liked bad boys and all that?"

"Okay, you know what Carl?"

"Kyle..."

"You know what Kyle? I need to go."

"Hey, can I call you?"

"Did I give you my number?"

"Uh," Kyle jumped out of bed, nearly forgetting he was naked, and walked over to his dresser to check his cell phone. "hang on..."

" Oh god, come on Kyle ."

"Tara... Tara... no, I don't have it."

"Well then, there's your answer, Kyle." With this, Tara made her way out of the door, and Kyle sank his head in shame. That's when he realized that perhaps she'd want his number. Still naked, Kyle dashed out into the hallway and headed for the balcony overlooking the living room and the front door, making it just in time to see Tara leaving.

"Tara, wait!"

"O-M-G, what?"

"I think I love you."

"You don't, Kyle."

" Well, will you at least think about seeing me again?"

"Ugh, fine! Leave your door unlocked. If I come back within ten minutes, we'll go out again."

Kyle sighed with relief. "Oh, good! I'll see you soon?"

" Whatever..." with this, Tara left, with Kyle standing in the upstairs hall with no clothes. He waited there, hoping she'd come back, but after ten minutes, there was no sign of her. Fed up, he turned to get back to his room, but just then, he saw the broad shape of a human through the foggy glass windows alongside the door. Tara had returned! He was getting excited just thinking about seeing her, and in more ways than one. But as the door opened, Kyle was mortified to hear the shrill nagging of his mom. In a panic, Kyle dashed down the hall naked, his manhood bouncing around in the air. He darted into his room, slamming the door behind him just as his mom called out to see who was home. What a morning .

Kyle's summer hadn't started out great. His band, Local Empire , had dissolved under the weight of an arrogant vocalist, a sub-par drummer, and a bassist's decision to join the Army after finishing his senior year of high school. Like the other members of the group, Kyle would be entering his senior year of high school when the summer was over, but that just led into the next issue he faced: college. Kyle had no interest in tacking on more schooling, though his parents weren't going to have it any other way. His real passion was music, and you didn't need a bachelor's degree to smash up hotel rooms and sleep with groupies. But by the same rights, Kyle wanted more than just the rock and roll lifestyle. Deep down, he wanted to entertain others. He loved the music he wrote, and he wanted others to love it, too. Of course he wanted to blow off the stage at Madison Square and pile into a limousine with his band, chugging off to an after-party where beautiful women and adoring fans would bombard him with attention, but there was another element to his ambitions, a serious one.

His friends were supportive, and his younger brother and several cousins were keen on his music. His dad was probably his biggest fan in the family, having been a guitarist in a mildly-successful punk band before Kyle was born, while his mom, as nice as she was, supported his dreams with detrimental realism. She was certain he'd never amount to anything in the music industry, and wanted him to get a serious job one day. Law school, or engineering school, or medical school... she had a brochure for everything she wanted him to do. She only wanted what was best for him, and her intentions were good, great in fact, but good intentions can be pretty easily derailed by a lack of respect for free will. A line that Kyle swore he'd use in a song one day.

And then there was Tara. Kyle really did feel like there was a cosmic link between them. He had been in love with her ever since she threw up her Lunchables on Nurse Beck in the fifth grade, while the class was lined up for a head lice inspection. He offered her a juice box, and she offered him another round of vomit, all over his chest and his bagged lunch. Her apology to him was the last time the two of them had talked. Since then, she floated through the various cliques in the school, eventually joining up with ultra-cool rich kids who considered themselves to be "gangstas," even though the closest thing to "thug life" any of them had experienced was shoplifting from Sharper Image... and getting caught. Kyle was more of an unknown entity at Binghamton High School. He wasn't popular, but he wasn't picked on or anything (his nickname, Pukey, had warn itself out by the sixth grade). He and Tara hooked up the night prior at a house party, but Kyle was starting to realize that he was... used? Can girls even use guys?

As Kyle got dressed, he decided that his senior year was going to be different. Better. The best year of his life. He'd form a new band, he'd prove to his mom that he had a future in music, and he'd get the girl before graduation. That was the plan, anyway. It would all start for him after he finished his shift at the mall. But as he left his room and headed for the stairs, his mom came out of nowhere like a British Spitfire, circling behind and then bombarding him with a hug.

"Kyle! How are you, dear?"

"I'm good mom, but I've gotta run, I have to get to work."

"Aww, I was going to tell you all about the trip your father and I just got back from."

"Tell me when I get home, mom." With this, he gave her a smile and a hug, and dashed for the door. He reached the bottom of the stairs before she stopped him dead in his tracks from sixty feet away.

"Kyle!" His mom came out onto the upstairs balcony in a fury, the beer can in her hand still smoking. He knew instantly that he'd hear it later, though he really did have to get to work, and her complaining would need to wait. Apparently, however, she hadn't gotten that memo. "What... is... this?"

"Tara Janowitz came over the morning..."

" Oh... and what did she want? Other than drinking beer and smoking... cigarettes ... in my house?"

"I'm sorry mom, she won't do it again, I promise!" With this, Kyle headed for the door, hoping to escape the pending lecture. But his mom's tractor beam was too strong. There was no escape.

" I know she won't do it again, because you won't talk to her again, Kyle! She's trouble! That whole family, nothing but trouble! Do you know what her mother does for a living?"

"Uh... Mrs. Janowitz? Isn't she a realtor?"

" Yes, but she sold the Johnson's their house, and Bill Johnson is a criminal!"

"Yeah, speaking of criminals, how is Uncle Billy, anyway?" Kyle asked, realizing as he said it that he didn't have time to listen to the reply.

"He gets out in three months, but whatever, this is more important. I don't want you drinking and smoking!"

"I know, mom, I need to go though, we can talk about it when I..."

" If you start drinking now, you'll be one of those hippy boys in college who goes for a useless degree. Like art. You don't want to be an art student , smoking marijuana cigarettes and getting hippies pregnant, making babies named `Moon Flower' or `Tiny Dancer,' do you? "

"No mom... wait, what? No, I have to go!"

"Okay, fine, be back by dinner, seven o'clock Kyle!" Kyle dashed out the door, but she continued to talk, knowing, or at least believing, that he could hear her from outside the door. "And don't start smoking or getting tattoos! I don't want you ending up in biker bars!"

Kyle's job was what it was: a source of income, nothing more, nothing less. Not that he really understood why he needed it. His parents had bought him his used 1994 Honda Civic, a car that was only a year younger than he was, and his insurance was under their policy. His parents even paid him an allowance still... $20 per week for taking out the garbage at the last possible second and never mowing the lawn. But his parents - well, his mom - wanted him to get the "vital experience that only a professional atmosphere can provide." But it wasn't like Kyle worked in an office, slinging paperwork across a copier or anything. Kyle worked a register in a shoe store. It wasn't exactly an eye-opening work experience. And he only put in ten hours per week. But his dad was the regional marketing director, having worked his way to the top from the same register that Kyle was stationed at, so his mom figured it was a good experience. But that was all there was to it, really. It was a job for income he didn't really need, giving experience that wasn't really experience. In fact, it did more to keep him from forming his new band than anything else, or so Kyle imagined.

After his dull three-hour shift was over, Kyle decided to venture over to the music store to visit Ben Houser, his best friend, and a talented bass player. The breakup of Local Empire couldn't have come at a better time, because Ben's band, Vertical Horizon , had also just called it quits. They had jammed together countless times in the past, but they never got into a band together for fear that the stress might cause a rift in their friendship. But it was stupid reasoning, and they both knew it only a few months after their two bands had gotten together.

Kyle walked into the store, immediately spotting Ben's boss, Mr. Bellamy, trying as usual to relate to customers half his age in a culture he couldn't begin to comprehend. Mr. Bellamy had a Welsh mother and an Irish father, and had spent a great deal of his life in the United Kingdom, giving him an odd accent that sounded partly Welsh, partly British, and with an American sort of "twang" to it. He was an acquaintance of Kyle's Dad, though he didn't really know how the two of them knew each other. He had pieced together that it had something to do with his dad's old punk band, leaving Kyle to assume Mr. Bellamy was probably a fan. As Kyle found himself imagining just how annoyed his Father probably was by Mr. Bellamy back when they knew each other, he realized that Ben wasn't visible anywhere in the store, meaning he was probably in the back room either getting stoned or hitting on Rebecca, his co-worker. Kyle decided to wait for a bit, giving Mr. Bellamy a smile before browsing through a copy of Guitar magazine from the adjacent rack.

" That right there is the bomb , yo!" Mr. Bellamy announced in the whitest way possible. "This compact disc has the phattest beats ever!"

"Yeah... thanks," said the customer, a girl who was probably twelve years old, buying a CD with a warning label and with no parents in sight.

"Come back soon, I hope you like the music!"

"Yeah, whatever, weirdo."

With this, Kyle approached Ben's boss. "Hey, Mr. Bellamy, how's things?"

"Hello Kyle, I'm a good dog."

"Uh... it's `I'm good, dog,' Mr. Bellamy."

"Oh, okay. I thought it was `I'm a good dog.'"

"Nope, close enough though. Hey, is Ben around?"

"Yes, he's in the back room with Rebecca I think, he should be out in a moment. Are you sure it's not `I'm a good dog?' I could have sworn I heard it that way."

"I'm sure, Mr. Bellamy. Do you mind if I hang out while I wait for Ben?"

"Sure, Kyle. How's the band, by the way?"

"Oh, we broke up, the bassist went off to the Army, and the other guys were just... well we broke up, but I'm hoping Ben and I can get a project going."

"I was in the Army, did you know that?"

"No sir, I didn't."

" Yes, it was 1977. I was only about a year older than you, eighteen. You know Star Wars? I joined the day after that movie came out in the theaters!"

"Wow, crazy, did you kill anyone?"

" I had my fill of killing, I don't mind saying." Kyle's expression shifted from dull to shocked and appalled, just in time for Mr. Bellamy to deal with a customer. During the transaction, millions of questions were rushing through Kyle's mind. Was Mr. Bellamy a war vet? No, because there weren't any wars in 1977. Or was he some sort of contract killer? A super-assassin or something? Did he experience shell-shock? That would explain quite a bit, actually. That's when Mr. Bellamy finished with his customer. "So, what were we talking about?"

"All of the killing you did in the Army."

"Oh, right! Our barracks had a serious mouse problem. I was given the job of setting traps. I must've murdered a hundred of them! But what can you do, right? Orders are orders!" With this, Ben emerged from the back room, Rebecca following close behind with an embarrassed grin on her face, straightening her shirt. Kyle could smell the pot on his best friend's clothes as he came over to the register.

"Hey Kyle, how's it going bro."

"I'm good... things are good. When do you get off?"

"What do you mean? I already did!" Ben announced, soliciting a playful kick to the leg from Rebecca. "No, for real? Like two hours. Why, whatcha scheming?"

"Nothing much, wanted to talk to you about music stuff."

Ben's eyes grew fixated on something on the opposite side of the room, and he seemed to zone out for a moment before replying. "Sure, yeah, hey, what happened with Tara last night?"

"Um..." Kyle smiled, and Ben knew everything. Well, almost everything.

"Details my man, details! How was it?"

"It was... well, I..."

"Tara? Tara Janowitz?" Rebecca seemed equal parts surprised, disgusted, and bewildered as she interrupted.

"Yeah, you know her?"

"Uh, yeah, everyone knows her. We call her `Herpowitz.' Did you have protection?"

"What? Yeah, of course..."

"Did you double-bag it?"

" Did I what? "

" I'm getting to it," Ben replied, putting a customer's purchase into a second layer of plastic bagging as Kyle realized it wasn't aimed at him. "The first three seasons of Sopranos on VHS? I didn't even know we sold VHS, and this is my third month here!" As the older woman handed Ben her credit card, she grunted in disgust, eying down Mr. Bellamy with an evil scowl, probably wondering why this man, in his early fifties, was allowing this despicable group of teenagers to blather on about sex in a business establishment, in front of customers.

"Anyway, yeah, Kyle, you need to get checked out," Rebecca explained.

"What do you mean?"

" I mean... tested, you know? Down there ? Tara Janowitz has been around the block more times than the mail man. Right before she slept with him."

Kyle couldn't respond. He wanted to write Rebecca's comments off as belonging to that special category of bitterness that teenage girls held for one-another. "So anyway, Ben, you good for later then?"

"Yeah, I'll chill with you after work, I'll be at your place." With this, Ben accepted his next customer, signaling for Kyle to wait. "Okay kid, that'll be $211.48."

"What?" the young customer responded. "I'm buying a magazine!"

"Oh, you didn't wanna pay for the CD's in your cargo pockets and tucked into your belt under your Yankees shirt?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, stoner."

"Yeah... I might be high right now, but I've got the eyes of a hawk, brother. A hawk. So ditch the CD's or hand over mommy's credit card."

The boy was taken back by Ben's comments, but after a moment of contemplation, he rolled his eyes and dumped all of the nearly-stolen CD's from his person, choosing two of them to add to his purchase, and putting the rest on the counter.

"Eyes of a hawk, kid. Hawk eyes. That's what they call me."

"Whatever, loser."

"So Kyle, yeah, your house after I get done here. Oh, and I have to go over to Dave Woo's house."

"What for?"

"What else? I'm feelin' the need, Kyle. The need for weed."

"Yeah, okay, I'll see you later then."

With this, Kyle left the madhouse of a music store and headed home, stopping to grab lunch at the pizza place where Tara occasionally worked. Tara wasn't in, though, so he just ordered a slice and a Coke and drove home after that. He had some planning to do anyway.

After getting home, Kyle chatted with his parents for a bit about their trip, and after another lecture from his mom about smoking and, for some reason, cannibalism, he went to his room to get on the computer. He decided he was going to "design" his new band from the ground up, hand-selecting the most talented musicians he knew, and listing off several back-ups for each position. His first list was of musicians he'd always wished he could jam with... a list of musicians that would form up his "dream band." Bowie on vocals, Greenwood on lead guitar, Fleck on bass, and Bonham on drums. With this, he went about trying to list out the other musicians he knew personally who had the playing styles that most similarly matched his dream musicians. He certainly didn't know anyone personally with those levels of talent, but he'd do his best to get as close as possible, and come up with a sort of Binghamton-area super-group.

He knew he wanted Ben on bass. Ben sounded nothing whatsoever like Bela Fleck, but he was incredibly talented regardless, and played funky walking bass lines that were unrivaled by anyone else that Kyle had ever heard, locally anyway. Kyle personally wanted to play lead guitar; he wasn't a particularly arrogant person, but he certainly felt he was more talented than many of the other guitarists In his school. He had played lead in Local Empire , though the "lead" title was a moot point with Kyle being the band's only guitarist. But he did know that he wanted someone playing rhythm guitar, maybe someone who could switch off to play keys. If they could sing, that would be a huge plus, because Kyle was hardly backup-singer quality, let alone capable of lead vocals. The list of guitarists was pretty long, but Kyle spent a few hours arranging them in the order that he felt they should be approached, sorted by talent and the immeasurable factor of how "cool" they were to talk to, assuming that a jerk-wad would more than likely thwart the group's chances of becoming something or getting somewhere.

Moments after Kyle finished his list, Ben showed up and derailed his entire scheme, going down the list and crossing people out with a Sharpie. This guy had graduated, this one moved to Georgia, this one took his dad's car for a spin and now he's chilling in military school. One by one, Ben found problems with each and every rhythm guitarist, and as the hours rolled by, they quickly found themselves running out of options. Deciding to save their talent-searching efforts for the next day, Kyle invited Ben to jam, and together, the two of them played, unplugged, well into the wee hours of the morning. They both had high hopes; faith that they'd find the right musicians for their new project, and they were confident that this was the sort of move that had been waiting - dying - to happen. What sort of talent might they find? How do they even go about finding other musicians? After Ben left, Kyle went to bed wondering what the next day might bring, and how they'd make it all happen for themselves.