Moria O’Sullivan Stewart was a true Irish lass. She was only 5’3″ and 115lbs. Flaming red hair, deep green eyes that look straight through your soul, a smile that could make angels sing, and a body that would make even the devil himself fall in lust. She was also Jimmy’s sister, older by three years.
We met when Jimmy asked me to help him move some of his stuff out of her basement. The house was large, five bedrooms, four baths, and a fully furnished basement.
“How many people live here?” I asked Jimmy when we pulled up.
“Just Moira and her husband.”
“Wow, they must be loaded.”
“Yeah, he’s some financial guru to millionaires, every time he breathes money come in.”
“Ever give you stock tips?”
“Hell no. He doesn’t approve of my rock and roll lifestyle, even if it is a myth. When does he think we can party? We work full times jobs during the week and play most weekends, Hell, for us a good time is ten hours straight sleep.”
We grabbed the stuff, mostly old baby furniture he was giving away to a friend. We were just about done when Moira came downstairs to say hello. I think my heart literally missed a beat the first time I saw her.
“I’m glad to finally meet you. Jimmy talks about you constantly. Can you really play all those instruments?”
I was telling her what I played while Jimmy was rummaging around in the corner, looking for the bolts to a baby crib. He pulled out an old photo album.
“Hey Wiley, look at this. Moria was quite the little rocker when she was young, she even had her own band.”
Moria squealed. “Give me that! I’m sure he doesn’t want to see it, I forgot it was here. It’s embarrassing to believe I even looked like that.”
Of course, with that intro, I had to see.
It was a sight. She fronted an all girl band, four teenagers with spiked hair, torn jeans, and too much make up. She was still pretty though.
She looked at the photos and couldn’t help but smile.
“We thought we were going the next generation Bangles, or GoGos. We didn’t last a year.”
Jimmy joined the conversation.
“Don’t let Sis fool you. They were pretty good, especially Moira. You should hear her play.”
“Oh Jimmy, that was a long time ago. I haven’t touched a guitar in years.”
I thought I heard a touch of longing in her voice.
“Why not?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Well, for one thing, I don’t own a guitar anymore. I’m sure I don’t even remember how.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’d get it back in no time if you really wanted.”
Holding out my hand, I said “Let me see your hands.”
She looked at me oddly. Jimmy just smiled, he had been around me long enough to understand.
She slowly reached out and placed her hand in mine. I held it up, surprising her by turning it over and examining her fingers. Her hands were large, fingers long and tapered. She shyly drew it back.
She was blushing slightly.
“Please, I’ve always thought my hands were unattractive.”
I think I shocked us all when I disagreed.
“I don’t think so. You have a musicians’ hands, and that makes them beautiful. You should really start playing again.”
Jimmy jumped in.
“He’s right Sis, you always smiled when you played, and I don’t see you smile nearly enough anymore.”
Something was going on I didn’t know about, and I put it down as a sibling thing.
“I’ll think about it. It could be fun, and I could use a new hobby.”
The way she said it made me believe her.
“Well, if you need any help picking out a guitar, let us know. We could probably get you a good deal.”
By then my van was loaded, so we said our goodbyes and left.
…………………
Two weeks went by and I had pretty much put Moria out of my mind, when Jimmy called.
“We’re you serious about helping Sis pick out a guitar?”
“Sure, find out when she wants to and I’ll see if I can go.”
“How about now?”
It was a Sunday afternoon. Sammi had to work, filling in for another girl on maternity leave. I was at my office, putting some pieces I had ordered off Ebay onto a guitar I was restoring.
“Now’s not really good. I’m at the storage buildings, working on something.”
He was not to be deterred.
“Great! We’re finishing lunch now, we can be there in 30 minutes. See ya.”
Well, there goes my afternoon, I thought as I finished fitting the pick guard on the guitar. They must have been close because twenty minutes later Jimmy was buzzing me. I flipped the switch on the gate to let them in.
Jimmy was the only true friend I had in the band, and the only one who had ever been to my office. He teased me about my security measures, but at any given time I could have $250, 000 worth of equipment on hand. Not many people knew about the place, and I swore Jimmy to silence.
Moira was impressed with everything. She did what everyone does, touring and inspecting, before she spoke.
“I’ve decided to buy a guitar. I went down to the music store, but the selection was pretty limited. Jimmy told me you sold guitars, why didn’t you tell me?”
I was uncomfortable.
“I didn’t tell you because you were related to my friend. I didn’t come to your home to make a sales pitch. Besides, most of my stuff is old. You look like a shiny new type girl to me.”
I don’t think she took that well. A bit of her Irish temper showed.
“You don’t know a thing about me. And for your information, I prefer aged quality to new mediocrity. Now, what have you got?”
I pulled down a Hummingbird acoustic I had recently acquired. It had a really good sound. Not as good as my old Martin, but really nice.
She frowned.
“Sorry, not interested. I learned to play on an electric, it’s what I’m comfortable with.”
I laughed, and that’s when she got her nickname.
“All right, Clapton. Let’s see what I got.”
I saw an interview whit Eric Clapton once when he talked about how it took him years to get comfortable with an acoustic because he learned on electric and that was what he was used to. It took him awhile to realize volume and tone had to be controlled by the way he played, not by the twist of a knob. He said it make him a better player.
Clapton is a really, really good guitarist, but I never understood the ‘Clapton is God’ thing that circulated early in his career. I keep getting a vision of two drunk limeys painting the phrase on a subway wall, one saying to the other “I don’t know, mate. I’m pretty sure good has another o in it.”
Every thing I showed her she didn’t like. I told her that was all I had currently had for sale, if she could tell me what she wanted I would try to find it for her.
She pointed to my ’57 Squire.
“Let me play that.”
I plugged it up and turned her loose. It was love at first strum, and I have to admit, it looked better in her hands than mine. She was slow and missed a few notes, but I could tell at one time her skill level was exceptional. We left her alone for awhile, Jimmy wanted to see the drum kit I had picked up recently.
I don’t usually fool with drums, but this was an exceptional set, Ludwig, from the era when everything had to be doubled. Double snares, double toms, double basses, fifteen cymbals. It was pretty impressive.
I got it when I looked at a guitar to see if it was restorable. It wasn’t. He had it stored in a damp basement for twenty two years, exposed. The neck was warped, the body had splits and even a bit of rot.