Outsider (2 page)

The audience laughed delightedly along
Terri’s wide grin. Obviously, Sid was the first green mohican in
their audience, and no matter how much she could argue the world
and how well versed she happened to be in Second Look’s first
album, she couldn’t match the red head’s wits.

(Tequila After Dark)

It started like any other gigs. The usual
groupies. The usual drunk punters. The usual late soundcheck. The
usual kind of pub (music lounge at the back). This woman they had
seen a few times, never drinking alcohol, not even smoking (as far
as they could tell), never coming near touching distance of the
stage, but always dancing like everyone else and apparently having
a good time, a few rows of writhing bodies behind. She was
non-descript: shortish, brown hair vaguely attempting curls, dark
eyes, the thin and pale line of a scar across her left cheekbone,
no tattoos to be seen, black jeans, black simple boots (Doc
Martens?), red T-shirt, black jean jacket. Well, was she saving
this outfit especially for the Leos? It was a case to make you
wonder, or it wouldn’t have been, if she had stuck to her usual
behavior.

The ceiling of the music lounge was painted
like a blue sky with vague and lazy clouds. Billie was making her
way to the stage, greeting some long-term fans and friends alike,
her progression punctuated by a rocky soundtrack and her wild,
curly, red hair regularly falling before her green eyes, like
following a three-beat rhythm of their own. Mel, always the quiet
one, was a few steps ahead of her. Jo was fidgeting with her stool
behind the drum kit. She had done it a thousand times only during
the sound check. At safe distance from her music-possessed feet,
two pint glasses were secretly containing pure vodka (the one with
bison grass). Mel had three pints of soon-to-be-not-so-cool water
on the ready by her techno-musical paraphernalia (sound effects,
equalizer, etc) near the double keyboard whose undisputed master
she always was. Her electro-acoustic guitar, gorgeous Ovation
twelve- strings, was leaning peacefully just a foot before the back
wall. Billie would be front stage with a microphone, level with
Mel. On a narrow round bar table almost off the small stage, she
had a few shots of Tequila ready for quick consumption, and two
pints of water. She was used to sweat a lot on stage. Well,
astrologically speaking, she was a wild Leo. Mel was Leo, too, but
rising only; she was a favored and blessed Libra. Jo didn’t care.
Probably Scorpio.

The first thing Billie noticed when she
faced the crowd to roar her greetings, while Mel was flipping
switches and rotating buttons, was the non-descript fan breaking
established habits and standing first row, touching distance,
slurping a pint of non-identifiable, yellowish, sparkling drink,
next to the usual, forever-cheering groupies, given away by their
flamboyant Leos T-shirts.

* * * * * * *

Before the end of the first set, Terri and
Sid had shed their long sleeves, both revealing black t-shirts.
Times had turned sweaty. It had been a long time since rock’ n’
roll; it had been a long time since Sid had such a good time. She
had, as often, contributed to the quality of the sound with two
visits to the engineer who had listened to her suggestions. They
were both aware of the striking difference between the desk corner
and the audience floor. At first, he had been able to hear the
singer’s powerful voice four times louder than the music, while the
audience’s ears were struggling to decipher the various
instruments. Once again, she proved her theory right: too much
treble and not enough bass in the singer’s microphone. Dawn had
made lengthy visits, too, while Terri had made jokes about
G-strings. Better keep the audience entertained.

During the break, Sid, hot and sweaty, went
and stood by the exit of the lounge, keeping the door open for a
stream of cool air. Feet apart, tattooed arms crossed squarely in
front of her chest, she felt like a bouncer. The keyboard player,
coming back from the toilets, beamed a wide smile at her, wide
enough to generously bare all her white teeth and the gap between
the two front teeth:

“Alright?”

“Alright!” Sid automatically replied,
automatically giving a smile back. But feeling like running away,
and unable to run away with knees suddenly turned to a jelly-like
substance, because Dawn’s smile was so blindingly, dazzlingly
beautiful. Dawn sneaked back in, unaware of her power over the
green-mohicaned woman. Sid now knew why she had instinctively
solely focused her attention on the charismatic singer. Ironically
enough, it was all laid out in the only song where Terri was taking
a step back, the song that Sid could have written if she didn’t
feel so vulnerable, the number Dawn’s voice owned simply, but
surely:

“Track number five’s got the voice and the
smile and the matching grey eyes”.

If Terri’s eyes were a darker shade of brown
than Sid’s, Dawn’s were blatantly deep grey.

(Tequila After Dark)

Jan felt brave tonight. She wanted to stand
first row, face to face with her idols, without any interference,
just “Them” and her. Maybe it was this new antidepressant she was
on. Prozac used to be fine, until she started puking every day on
each hour. It was not a side effect she’d care to live with. This
new medication, whose name she kept forgetting, made her feel
different. She was not afraid anymore, whatever it was that used to
frighten her so. She stood tall and proud.

The rock-music background died down and the
singer with wild, red hair (was she Irish?) started to shout into
the mic. The crowd of groupies shouted back with excitement. Jan
was just standing there, arms crossed in front of her lean stomach,
her head slightly tipped to one side, her eyes bright with
fascination, barely the hint of a provocative smile on her
delicately chiseled lips, her drink temporarily forgotten and
resting at her feet. She could see that Billie had noticed her and
she felt satisfied. She was standing there, looking at the singer,
straightforward eyes, daring her, challenging her. But challenging
her to what?

The powerful voice, reminiscent of Janis
Joplin and Melissa Etheridge pulled into one, started its mad
acrobatics on the first rock number of the Leos.

But what are songs about? Generally about
love. Unrequited love, crazy love, desperate love, dying love,
crying love, new love, begging love. I would fall on my knees / I
would make the sun rise / I’d walk on water / I’d tear the sky
apart. Etc. Well, a happy love rarely brings a song.

Jan pushed her glass towards the stage and
let the wild rhythm of Jo’s drum kit take possession of her,
swinging her hips along tightening beats, undulating her body like
a snake.

Between songs the singer would harangue the
crowd, tease them, play with them, witty and flirtatious. It was
her temperament. It also allowed Mel to programme the next song on
her various machines.

Terri started the second set by
congratulating the crowd:

“Thank God you’re here!”

Sid shouted back:

“Nothing to do with God!”

Terri glanced at her and launched herself
into “Mercedez Benz”, Janis Joplin’s tongue-in-cheek acapella song.
Sid had guessed with amusement the worry in the singer’s eyes, the
“what’s wrong with this woman?” and decided to calm down. She
didn’t want the band to get pissed off with her. She made one with
the audience and played the game, singing along the repeat of the
first verse, knowing only one word out of three, struggling with
the tune whose key was slightly too high for her voice. When was
last time she had vocalized? Terri swiftly followed the song with
another Joplin’s number: “Take a Little Piece of My Heart”. The
audience went wild. Janis would have been proud. While Sid still
enjoyed the title of craziest dancer.

Rocky number after rocky number, the audience
was in love with the mischievous singer who always had the word to
make them laugh, while the keyboard player was fidgeting and
twiddling buttons around her electronic apparatuses.

Terri, shouting and haranguing the crowd,
complained about the plastic containers given to her with each shot
of her favorite drink:

“They must have heard of us! I always break
the glass after drinking my tequila. So last week I broke a window.
At the time, it seemed to be the best surface to break my
glass!”

The crowd roared with laughter. Terri went
on:

“That must be why they didn’t pay us!” After
a calculated facial expression she added: “No, I’m sure the cheque
is in the post!” and started on the next cover, a favorite of
Sid’s, “Black Velvet”. She used to love Alannah Myles’s version,
but Terri’s voice, a voice echoing Janis Joplin’s and Melissa
Etheridge’s, had no trouble eclipsing any other contender. She was
the best, even if Sid was still trying to figure out the
lyrics.

After another heroic number, a tall guy with
short brown hair and a quiet face –Sid identified him as a roadie-,
created a pause when he proffered a blasted plastic container with
a guaranteed content of 100% pure tequila to the appreciative
singer.

At first, Terri just stood there, in the
middle of the stage, microphone in one hand and drink in the other.
Long enough for Sid to notice the golden signet ring on the right
little finger and a few tight silver bracelets around the left
wrist.

Terri brought the tequila to her left nostril
and inhaled deeply. Repeated the operation with the right nostril.
And exhaled a long and greatly satisfied sigh. She eventually
stated:

“Don’t know about you guys, but my hay fever
is suddenly feeling much better!”

“Mine is on vacation!” Sid shouted back
spontaneously.

Terri looked at her, charismatic as ever:

“Wanna have a taste?” She stepped to the
edge. “You’re gonna be nice to me now?”

A bit wary because it was in her nature, Sid
closed the leftover distance and with a smile protested:

“I worship your voice! Well, I also enjoy
being a bit of a troublemaker sometimes.”

“Shut up and open your mouth!”

Sid had never been one to obey orders. But
somehow, she didn’t mind if it was the brash and butch Terri. The
spell-weaver poured the tequila on top of the exposed, pierced
tongue. Sid closed her mouth and her eyes, savoring the surprising
taste. Not the burning firewater she expected. She reopened her
brown eyes and bit into the lemon crescent offered by the other
brown-eyed singer, even though she was in unfriendly terms with
every citrus fruit. She swallowed the alcohol. It was heaven.

“What’s your favorite brand of tequila?” She
impulsively questioned Terri, simply ignoring their surroundings
and circumstances, the gig and the audience.

“Mescal,” Red Head answered, surprised. But
recovering swiftly she told the delighted audience, in the deepest
voice she could manage: “Bring me the worm!”

“I’ll bring a bottle to your next gig. When
is it?”

Brightly: “Mardi Gras.” The yearly gay
festival in London.

“I don’t do Mardi Gras!” Too commercial for
Sid’s politics.

The mighty Scorpio struck another ace:

“But I’m sure they’d do you!”

The rioting uproar of the audience gave
another point to their hero. Sid could only acknowledge her defeat.
But she didn’t mind losing a round to such a worthy adversary.

The gig picked up with another powerful rock
song, 100% courtesy of Second Look, wilder than ever. Sid was
dancing, pogoing, stomping. She was possessed by music. Still on
Cloud 9. By the time the singer ordered the audience to give her
“five”, she had moved to a corner in front of the double keyboard.
She saw her friend Judy giving “five”, then another dancer. Terri
was making her way along the stage with the confidence of a rock
star, step by step getting closer to Sid, who deliberately looked
away. A woman eagerly placed herself between her and the singer for
a “five”. But Sid knew, between wild beats of a speedy rhythm
track, and waited. The hand entered her field of vision, strong and
square. Sid looked up and smiled out to the smiling freckled face.
Their eyes exchanged understanding while Green Mohican gave Red
Head “five”. Not really “five”. Instead of slapping the extended
palm with the flat of her hand, she squeezed it. And was surprised
when the singer squeezed back.

She was still fiercely unaware of the
magnificent keyboard player, her mind unconsciously blocking her
out, so afraid of the too beautiful smile.

(Tequila After Dark)

Billie would shout at the crowd, asking them
how they were doing, complaining about the plastic glasses she had
to drink out of.

“
They must have heard of us! I always
break the glasses after drinking tequila, so last week I broke a
window. It seemed to be the best surface to break my glass!” The
crowd responded with noisy laughs. “That must be why they didn’t
pay us!” And added after quick consideration: “No, I’m sure the
cheque is in the post!” And started on a rendition of “Take A
Little Piece Of My Heart” Janis Joplin would have been proud
of.

Jan had sipped her anonymous pint dry. She
always was a fast drinker. She was dancing freely, alternating
pogoing and mad swinging of the hips, her gaze regularly riveting
itself to Billie’s eyes. Billie was equally wilder on stage,
screaming and roaring, her hair like the crazy branches of a willow
playing in the wind.

Every next number was rockier than the
previous one and the mischievous singer knew how to please her
crowd.

During a relatively quiet pause, she
accepted a tequila proffered by a roadie, placed the glass under
her nose, took a good sniff of the alcohol through one nostril then
the second and stated: