deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 15: art pop and pop art

By a quarter to eleven, Joey had left Sam's apartment and disappeared into the inky darkness, and Frank still hadn't returned to his room downstairs. The building was silent, and yet the sound of Stormtroopers of Death still rang throughout her ears. In retrospect, their lyrics made her blush to think about. Loud, crude, rude, and over the top, and yet glorious.
Add to this, she was going to get that money, for sure.
Her ankle and her knee continued to ache from her fall, but at least Joey was kind enough to help her spread it across the couch cushions. The last thing he did prior to leaving was place an ice pack on her ankle.
In the mean time, she flipped back to the drawing of the man from her dreams for a good long look at him. There were a few things she knew she could have done a little better, such as the white stripe atop his head. And yet, what was done was done right there in her hands. She gazed into those dark eyes and she wondered if she could see him more in her dreams.
Despite it being late, Sam had no desire to go to bed just yet. What she said to Joey had already gone away from her mouth. The deadline was coming up. She needed to fill out the rest of those pages. She thought of the show from earlier, and the mirrored images right before her.
There needed to be more than what she had already done in the prior pages. There needed to be more as the time was counting down to the due date. With a grimace in pain, she lifted herself from the couch and she ducked back into the bedroom to check the exact day on a little piece of paper on her desk. She thought about that due date, much closer than she originally believed if she wanted to start that fall term, as she returned to the front room for the journal. She let out a low whistle from the pain in her leg, but without wasting another second, she returned the pack onto her injury.
She wondered if she could turn it in early so it could be a weight lifted off of her shoulders. One less thing to worry about. All night long. All night and not a single moment of sleep from the pressure, and also from the pain.
Both combined to drive her.
She set the journal across her lap and she brought the tip of the pencil to the paper. Her view had been mirrored, and she had no reference to help out, but she managed to sketch out Dan with his bass guitar slung over his shoulder from memory: much like Frank, Charlie, and Joey, he had wavy long dark hair down past his shoulders, which he kept obscured over his face. He looked to be playing left handed there on the page, but she needed to draw it out. She needed to use Stormtroopers of Death, her saviors, the men with no restraint on their sense of humor or their own groovy distorted music, as her muses for the night.
Once she had signed the full graphite drawing of Dan, she drew out a sketch for Scott, followed by one of Billy, complete with a microphone in hand. Charlie was drawn from the side so she could work on a bit of perspective for the drum kit: she started work on the cymbals when the first rays of the sun shone through the window on the other side of the room.
"Oh my god," she muttered as she lifted the page and revealed one more page rested upon the hard cover of the journal. Even though she had pushed out all the rest of the building, she swore she never heard anyone walking through that front door after Joey had left. Frank still hadn't returned home overnight. She shifted her leg every so often to keep things comfortable all night long: but that time, she moved her foot closer to the back of the couch and every inch tingled.
Sam grimaced in pain as she moved her leg closer to her body in hopes to wake up her foot, albeit without causing any more pain to her ankle.
She thought of the boys down in Brooklyn. Joey liked her, and Joey also told her that it could be possible that Frank could develop something with her. It was taking on some sort of triangular form right before her eyes, and yet it might have been a part of her imagination. No one really said anything, and for all she knew it was just based on hearsay all courtesy of Aurora.
She needed one more drawing.
Something. Anything.
There was a myriad of things she hadn't drawn as of yet. Two people in the same picture, let alone two people close together. She kept her leg bent and lay her knee on the cushion, and she rested the journal atop her knee. She drew out their heads first, side by side. Their arms wrapped around each other's bodies. Their thighs pressed against each other. She drew out the upper lip on the left one, followed by the bottom lip. The upper lip on the right one, followed by the bottom lip. Both of them interlocked with each other.
She held back for a better look at the rough drawing, and she realized neither of them had no hair.
No one was telling her anything. All of it based on assumption. Maybe she could pry an answer out of someone somehow if she forced it. Aurora had her work cut out for her and there was no way she could rightfully ask either Joey or Frank without being blunt.
She closed her tired eyes and sighed through her nose. She thought about Joey's black curls as she put down dark spirals on the figure on the right: within time, she put down some soft waves on the figure on the left. She soon followed it all up with a bit of shading around her breasts to ensure they resembled to breasts. She thought about Joey's chest and if it resembled to anything she was shading in at the moment.
It was just something to make her giggle, to play around with Aurora should she ever see it for herself. But then again, it was just a journal to be handed into a small group of people who were to decide her fate for her and her position in art school. Not for Aurora's eyes, or the eyes of anyone else.
And with that, she signed the bottom of the drawing and leaned back into the couch. She let out a low whistle as she knew she would have to make a trip downtown anyway to check on Frank and Charlie.
Sam limped into the kitchen, and she put on a quick pot of coffee. All the while, Emile's voice floated up from downstairs, right through the heater vent in the far corner of the room. He sounded angry about something; his voice was then followed up by that of a woman. Bickering with one of the tenants about something.
She sipped her coffee and within time, she hobbled down the block to the subway station for that long trip back to down to Brooklyn. She hoped to hitch a ride with Aurora again up to the school as she held onto her journal on her lap and kept her purse close to her body. Even though the ice on her ankle helped a great deal, there was no way she could stand up the whole ride down there. Indeed, sitting there had its discomfort: she couldn't stretch out her legs and every time she did, someone always ran into her feet.
Lucky for her, she reached the heart of Brooklyn before she could ache any more and yet she had no idea where L'Amour was right off base. She peered up at the clear blue sky overhead, at the skyscrapers that lined the crowded streets before her. She squinted against the bright sun and she took her sunglasses out of her purse with one hand.
The woman donned in all black set against a bright colored street.
She thought about what she and Joey had gone through the night before with all the signs along the road. Just follow the signs. They know more than those on the road. Sam took a glimpse across the street and she recognized those pale bricks and those bright lights on the side, now darkened with the daylight. Something donned in total darkness set against a bright colored street.
Despite the pain in her leg, she crossed the street with the journal still pressed to the side of her body. She recognized that helmet of orange near the edge of the building.
"Marla!" she called out, to which Marla turned around for a look over at her. She squinted her eyes and brought a hand over her brow to protect from the bright mid morning sun.
"Hey!" she greeted Sam, who hurried up towards her, still with the journal pressed to her body. Marla dropped her gaze to her stiff arm and frowned at the sight. "What you got there?"
"My sketchbook," Sam replied, somewhat out of breath. "You know, the thing I have to turn into the school at some point so I can start up."
"Oh, yeah! I was just going to ask you about that, but you went home with Joey." She peered behind Sam, still with a frown plastered on her face. "Where is Joey?"
"He went home after he dropped me off." It was the truth: Joey did return home after he helped her into the apartment.
"By the way, how's your leg doing? Lars told me you took a big fall next to the stage and it was hurting like hell last night."
"It's—It's better than it was," she confessed as she shuffled her foot over the surface of the sidewalk. "Still hurts, and I'm limping, too. At least I can walk around, though—last night, I couldn't hardly take two steps without feeling like I was about to fall over again."
Charlie emerged from behind the edge of the building with his hair disheveled and a pair of sunglasses over his face.
"Who you talking to, babe—oh, hey, Sam!" He showed her a sickly little smile.
"Were you guys here all night?" she asked him as he stretched his arms up over his head.
"Yeah, everyone was like, 'stay the night!' and Marla and I were like, 'okay?' so we slept in the back room. We were just about to get some breakfast."
"Well, I hate to do this to you guys, but—I have to turn this in." Sam held up the journal and Charlie gasped.
"Oh, shit! Already?" He was stunned.
"Well, the sooner, the better."
"Oh, right, right, right. Well, yeah—let's fetch Frankie and mosey on up to the school—" He leaned back a bit and turned his head. "Hey, Frankie! Let's get sump'n to eat!"
"I had a feeling Frankie was here still," Sam confessed as she shifted her weight: her ankle started to ache again.
"Yeah, Frankie passed out last night," said Marla with a chuckle. Frank emerged from behind Charlie with his hair glistening under the sun.
"Did you shower just now?" Sam asked him with a laugh.
"I ran my head under one of the kitchen sinks in there," he cracked, "yeah, I showered in there. We're all a little bit hungover still from last night. Including me."
Marla put her arm around Sam to help her out to the car, even though she promised her she could walk just fine on her own.
"We're going to make a little stop up by the school, too," Charlie told Frank once they were in the car. "Sam I am's gotta show the people there her journal."
"Oh, hell yeah!" Frank's voice filled out the front of the car. He then turned around and showed her a big beaming smile. "You're gonna places, I just know it!"
They started on the drive up to Manhattan and all the while Frank couldn't help but drum on the ceiling right over his head and on the dashboard.
"Man, and you thought I was obnoxious with that," Charlie scoffed as they took the main artery up to Manhattan.
"Oh, come on, my best friend is gonna get into art school!" Frank exclaimed. "I gotta celebrate, Char."
Sam gazed out the window, at all the buildings that surrounded the block. The whole thing felt like a dream, like none of it was actually happening. The sun was big and bright against the pure blue sky, which was more blue than she ever imagined. The lights were brighter than ever before and the warm spring air that flowed through the car windows never smelled sweeter, despite it being the heart of the City.
Within time, they reached the small shady parking lot outside of the school. Charlie pulled up to the curb before the glass front doors and Sam almost swan dove out of the back seat, still with the journal in hand. Charlie burst out laughing and then he turned to Frank and Marla.
"You guys wanna take a walk?" he offered them as Sam gathered herself and adjusted her purse strap. Bad idea to do that: her leg ached even more as a result of it. She stood upright and Frank and Charlie came up to her.
"Good luck, girly cue," Frank said in a big bold voice, and he threw his arms around her.
"We'll be waiting for you out here," Charlie added, as he stood back and rested his hands on the cold metallic railing within the concrete steps. She then turned to the glass doors with her purse over her shoulder and the sketchbook tucked her arm, and she headed inside.
She was greeted by that familiar clean smell from the carpet, the smell of college, as well as a young man in a sensible white shirt and with a head of fine platinum blond hair.
"I'm here to turn in my art to get into art school," she proclaimed.
"Oh, really?" he asked her with a friendly smile on his face, and she handed the journal to him as if she was depending her life on him. "Did you fill out all the paper work yet?"
"I did, yes."
"And your name?"
"Samantha Shelley," she stated, "for the fall term."
"I hope we can have you by then, Miss Shelley," he told her with a thin lipped smile. "We will send you a letter in the next week—give or take." He took her hand: his fingers curled around her hand like spidery snakes and his palm had a bit of a warmth to it that she couldn't explain, and for a moment, she forgot about the pain in her knee and her ankle. She could trust him.
"What's your name, by the way?" she asked him.
"I'm Bill," he said, "and I'm supposed to be at work soon."
"I'll leave you to it, then," she declared as the smile crept across her face.
"And I'll hand this into the right people," he vowed; for a second, she swore he winked at her. Without another word, they parted ways and she returned outside to find Frank and Charlie right next to the car; the latter leaned into the rear window to say something to Marla while the former put his hair up in a loose ponytail atop his head.
"Five little monkeys jumpin' on the bed," they chanted in unison, when Frank turned to see her.
"There she is!" he declared with his arm extended towards her. She pressed herself close to his body. "That was quick. How'd it go?"
"They're going to send me a letter in about a week or so," she explained.
"God, how exciting!" Marla exclaimed. "Attending art school in New York City."
"Also, you might wanna check your bank account at some point today," Charlie suggested with a grin on his face.
"And I have to talk to Aurora about something, too," Marla informed them.
"She headed back up to the place, didn't she?" Charlie asked her as he bowed his head back in through the open window.
"Yeah, she did—real early this morning."
"Miss Work Horse," Sam joked as she rounded the back end of the car and slid into the back seat.
They headed on back up through the streets of Manhattan to meet up with Aurora, who stood outside of the front door with a clipboard full of papers in one arm and her jet black hair tied up in a taut ponytail atop her head. Her purple top shone in the bright sun like a piece of amethyst; the four of them pulled up to the curb in front of her.
"Uh, yes, we'd like four bowls of pho, some French fries, and I'd like a milkshake," Charlie joked in a single breath.
"A milkshake with pho?" Aurora replied as she wrinkled her nose.
"At least it's pho and not kimchi," Marla retorted as she slid out of the car.
"Oh, hell yeah, that's true," Aurora nodded and tucked the pen behind her ear. "Oh, and by the way, we've got some people you guys oughta meet here."
"Some dudes?" Sam called as she climbed out of the back seat right behind Marla, even though she very easily could take that other side. She adjusted the strap of her purse.
"Some manly men, yes," Aurora joked, "and there's a girl, too."
"Manly men and a girly girl," Frank added as he climbed out of the passenger seat and fixed his ponytail yet again.
Aurora led them into the cozy front room, made even cozier by how many people had congregated in there. Five men dressed in total black as well as a girl with a short bob of jet black hair, a low cut black top over a leather mini skirt, and something sticklike in her back pocket stood behind them with her arms folded across her chest. She was the only person with short hair given each of those men had long inky waves down past their shoulders. They all turned to Aurora, Marla, Sam, Frank, and Charlie.
"Gentlemen, ladies," Aurora declared, "meet the Legacy, here all the way from the Bay Area with their four track."
Sam's eyes wondered to the far edge of the room.
There he was again. The boy with the yarmulke atop his head, except that time she could actually see him at a close range. He had little tight curls at the back of his head which started to touch his shoulders, and his face was slightly round and boyish; even from across the room, Sam could tell he towered over her. He reached up to adjust the yarmulke and she could tell he had a great deal of that thick black hair under there.
But there was something more to him.
At one point, he took off the yarmulke and gave his hair a toss back with a flick of his head. For a second, she swore the lights shone a little too hard onto the right side of his head, but when he lowered his head, she noticed a little sliver of white over his forehead. Maybe it was the light hitting him at an odd angle. Or maybe not, given the rest of his hair was solid black. A little shock of white, about the size of her pinky finger, against a helmet of solid jet black waves all around his head.
He held the yarmulke before him in one hand and he ran his free fingers through his hair. It was definitely a little sprout of white hair; white silvery hair much like the mysterious man in her dreams. The only difference was he seemed nothing like the man in her dreams, who always held her or at least wanted to come closer to her; on the other hand, this young man seemed more interested in what was going on behind that door. However, she still wanted to keep her eyes on him and that little sliver on the crown of his head, like a little droplet of a pearl.
"Sam?" Aurora asked her which broke her out of her daydream.
"Huh?" Sam gaped at her, flabbergasted.
"Marsha's tryin' to get through," Frank told her, and Sam stumbled back a bit. Marsha breezed past her to greet this small, fledgling band.
"So you guys changed drummers, right?" Aurora asked the girl with the drum sticks in her back pocket.
"Yeah, Louie left for a bit," she grumbled, "but then again, I'm the one payin' his rent so I dunno what his big deal is all about." She looked like she meant business, even with her arms folded across her chest to accentuate it. One of the boys giggled behind her and she flashed him a smirk.
"Okay, so you're—" Aurora gestured to her.
"Zelda," she said.
"Zelda?"
"Zelda Carmichael. I'm the alternate and the one paying Louie's rent."
"I'm Eric," the heavy boy next to her said.
"Eric, that was it!" Aurora declared as she scribbled something down. Before Sam and Marla could learn their other names, Frank and Charlie led them into the next room. Even from down the hallway, Sam kept her eye on that little knit yarmulke for a second longer. He looked like he was about ten years old, except he was willing to play in a metal band.
"Yeah, Derrick left—" Eric was cut off by Sam moving out of earshot.
"Just wanna get you ladies into another spot," Frank told them as he fixed his ponytail yet again.
"Didn't know they were going to be here just yet, either," Marla confessed.
"Apparently they're not going to be the Legacy anymore," Charlie announced. "That's according to Billy, anyways."
"They're not?" Aurora gaped at him and she almost dropped her pencil.
"Yeah, I guess there's another band down in New Orleans called that," he explained, "and they copyrighted the name, too. That's what I've heard, anyways. They don't even know—all they know is there's another band called the Legacy. As far as I know, they're just going to drop the 'the' as far as their demo tape goes, but who knows. But I have no idea what kind of music they do, either."
"So they're going to have to change their name," Aurora concluded.
"What're they called now?" Sam asked him.
"They've got some ideas, but one that caught my ear—'cause Billy was the one who came up with it—was Testament."
"Testament! Sounds mysterious."
"Mysterious and faithful sounding," Aurora added. "Like they're about to preach something to me, or give me something to help me out."
"I like it," Marla said, "there's a bit of an elegance to it." She folded her arms across her chest. "Billy came up with it, really?"
"Yeah. At least I think he did. When he comes back up this way, ask him 'bout it, babe."
"Where is Billy, anyways?" Frank asked him.
"He disappeared as far as I know," Charlie joked. Marla took a seat on the couch on the side of the room, and Sam followed suit so they could take up a pocket of silence against the crowded place.
"So much people in here right now," Sam said in a low voice and with a grin on her face. All the things happening around her made her forget about the pain in her leg.
"Yeah, it's starting to..." Marla cleared her throat. "...come together. Like it's all on the come up. All the hard work is about to play out in the best way possible. It's all bands coming together with their tapes and their records. It's almost like a dream."
"And I've got art school knocking on the door, too," Sam added. "Bring it on, I say."
Marla extended her hand to give her a high five, and that was when Billy stumbled into the room right then.
"There's the man of the hour!" Sam declared with a clap of her hands.
"So you came up with the name Testament," Marla started as she gave her orange hair a toss.
"Yeah, but nothing's concrete as of yet," he explained with a bit of a quiver to his words. He then pointed at Sam. "Check your bank account. You've got a little something waiting for you."
"That's what I've heard," she said, and she turned her head to Marla.
Everything felt to be on the come up. But there was something she still didn't understand at the moment, and that was the boy in the yarmulke.