deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 75: narcissus staring at his reflection

Another few weeks and another few weeks worth of having her ears blown out by the sheer amount of shows that took place before her, and Sam truly felt herself to be part of the music world as well as the art world. Every night, all the way until the final date in San Antonio, about a week before they had to prepare for the flight up to Oulu, in Finland, Charlie asked her to make a little sketch for him before he went up to the stage as sort of a good luck charm. He lent her a little blank notepad which he had found from the glove box in Anthrax's van, and he always made it specific, as well: they had to be in a sketchy style with strictly a black ink pen.
"Why exactly that?" she asked him one evening while the Cherry Suicides were setting up for their opening gig, and he gestured for her to move in closer to him.
"A little bird told me that Louie got one before I did," he replied in a low voice.
"Zelda!" she hissed.
"Nah, not Zelda," he assured her. "I did see it in the front window of Testament's van, though."
"Oh, I see. Propped it up within their sight so everyone could see it."
"Exactly! I'll get you more paper, too."
"Yeah, I'm kind of starting to run low on this notebook paper, if I'm honest."
But nevertheless, she sprung right to it: a little scratchy drawing of Charlie upon the lined paper, complete with the black curls all around his head. Sometimes, she drew a little drum kit before him to make it look as though it was in fact Charlie there: this was one of those times. Within a few minutes flat, she finished it and signed her initials at the bottom of the page, and then she handed it to him for good luck.
"You ought to compile all of those together in a collection of sorts," she suggested.
"Like a little book!" He then snapped his fingers; from underneath his bangs, Sam made out the twinkle in his dark eyes. "There's an idea for you."
"An art book?"
"Yeah! Something to do some day when you're out of school and you've made it big at some point." He flicked his bangs back and he flashed her a little wink.
"Not soon? While you guys are over in Scandinavia with the girls and with Metal Church?"
"Nah, it'll take too much of your time, if I'm honest. Even I can tell you that. By the way—you heard this from me—" He glanced around him before he returned to her. "—we're gonna be with Ozzy, too."
"No way!" Her face lit up at the sound of that.
"Yes way! But—" He leaned in closer to her again and he lowered his voice a bit. "—please don't tell Zelda, though. Scott and I want it to be a surprise for her. We got her and Minerva both into Ozzy and Randy Rhoads shortly after the announcement was made that we would be going to Finland. As far as the two of them know, it's just gonna be us with them and Metal Church."
"Okay—" Sam was cut off by Frank and Dan skirting past her with their guitars in hand. She then glanced down at the notepad in her hands: two pages left, and of course not nearly enough to tithe her over until they left for England at the end of August.
"Also, Zelda wants to talk to you," Charlie picked up again, that time with a slight clearing of his throat.
"About what?" she asked him.
He shook his head. "Dunno," he confessed. "She just told me earlier over breakfast that she wanted to talk to you about something."
"Well, where is she?" Sam wondered about that especially since she had bunked with the Cherry Suicides every night on this stint of the tour. She could have easily spoken to her about it at some point during one of those nights.
"She and Morgan are both signing autographs right now, believe it or not. I guess those girls are getting quite the fan base now. You know it's only a matter of time before they go Testament's route and start their own fan club. Morgan and I were talking about that just this morning over breakfast and I was like 'yes! You totally should at some point. Eric'll probably help you out with that, too, because he's the driving force behind that.'"
"What they get for thrashing all around," Sam chuckled.
"Right! In fact, I've been seeing a lot more women in our crowds now because of them. Definitely more of the punky type of women given their music—lots of dyed mohawks and black leather and studs, but women nonetheless. From a mile away, I can tell they're all women. Not only do I have to owe it to the four of them, but I want to hand it to you and—" He cleared his throat. "—Marla and Belinda especially. Our first real big female fans." Without a moment's hesitation, he put his arms around her and Sam returned the favor.
She then tucked the notepad into her pocket and before she could step away, Charlie spoke again.
"Did—Marla move into her new place by chance? I know it's been a while. I'm just—you know, just kinda curious."
"I think she did?" Sam recalled: every night seemed to melt into itself, despite the new surroundings each and every time. "I'll have to ask her when I see her tonight, because I'm not too sure if I'm honest. I called her from the room last night and she told me that she's waiting for a direct deposit from me. And I promised her I'll get it once you guys run off to Finland, 'cause that's when I get the money from Jon."
"I see. You know, I, um—" He cleared his throat again. "I still think about her from time to time."
Sam squinted her eyes at him, and she flashed back on the night in which Marla came with her and Joey to her parents' house.
"She told me—you guys broke up because you have feelings about someone else."
"And I do," he answered, frank.
"Do you mind me asking?" She lowered her voice enough to where only he could hear her over the commotion around them. He nibbled on his bottom lip and he gazed off to the side.
"I won't tell anyone," she vowed. "I promise. I'm not like Belinda—I'll keep a secret."
He chuckled at that, but then his expression turned serious once again.
"Rosita," he replied through gritted teeth.
"Really?"
"Yeah." He nodded at her. "She's just—she's a babe. She rocks, too. Just the way she plays bass, man, it just—it kind of reminds me of the way Frankie plays bass and the way Cliff used to play bass, too."
Her heart skpped a few beats at the sound of Cliff's name.
"Real friendly and just—" He shook his head again. "I've tried to ask her out but I just never got the courage to do so yet."
"You ought to," Sam told him. "Cliff did and we just clicked from that point on. For all you know, she might be the one for you."
Charlie sighed through his nose and he nibbled on his bottom lip again.
"It's a long flight up to Helsinki from here," he said. "That's a long time to think of the right words. I just don't really like being put on the spot like that. When I asked Marla out, she and I were all alone. It's just—finding that solitary moment, you know?"
"Yeah. 'Cause we're surrounded by people constantly."
"Right. Exactly, yeah! I can always pull her aside—like when people are getting off of the plane. I'll ask her right there."
"You should."
"I don't wanna make any promises, though, 'cause something always come up. Things always come up, especially while on tour."
"Right..."
"But I'll give it a shot, though," he told her. "That's the only promise I can genuinely make is that." He sighed through his nose and he glanced down to his hands. "And thank you for this, by the way." He flashed the little sketch to her.
"Just—an artist to another artist."
"Exactly!" Charlie peered over his shoulder to the other side of the room to the front doors and he knitted his eyebrows together. "Time is it?"
"I think it's almost noon?"
"I think Zelda might be on break. Why don't you go talk to her?"
Sam then nodded her head and once she tucked the notepad into her purse, she ambled over to the stairs at the edge of the stage; she padded across the narrow strip of carpet before the stage and then she made her way up one of the two aisles that split the rows of seats into neat thirds. She reached the double doors at the top there and she pushed open the one on the right: indeed, right in the front lobby of the theater was Zelda and Morgan seated at a low white table with felt tip pens in hand. The former had combed her back into a slick pompadour upon her head while the latter had on a bright red cowgirl hat and red lace gloves on her hands, complete with a red and black lace brassiere under a red lace bolero.
Zelda then turned her head and her face lit up at the sight of Sam.
"Hey, there she is!" she declared. "We were just discussing special outfits for tonight's show, given we're in Texas and whatnot."
"Kinda makes me wish I had my black hat with me," Sam confessed with a pat of her own head.
"We could be dead cowgirls," Morgan said with a smirk on her face. "With nooses around our necks and splatters all over our hats."
"Dead punk cowgirls," Zelda corrected her with a nod. She then returned to Sam. "So what's up?"
"You wanted to talk to me about something?"
She hesitated and then she gasped and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, that!" Her expression then turned serious. "Been meaning to tell you this for a couple of days now, and it just keeps slipping from memory. Just because I have other, important things to worry about and remember."
Sam lingered next to her, and the edge of the table.
"Another reason to be nicer to Alex the next time you see him," Zelda started again as she held the pen in between two fingers.
"What's that?" Sam asked her, and she hesitated once more.
"Do you ever notice how bullies tend to travel in packs," she pointed out, and Sam stopped right in her tracks.
"What do you mean?"
"They travel in packs and the ones getting picked on are usually solitary." She turned to Morgan. "Wouldn't you agree, Mo? That bullies travel in packs and their prey often stands alone?"
"Oh, yeah. And it's always a sign of vulnerability, too. They won't admit it, though. But why do you think—cowgirls—punks—metalheads—all travel in packs? Same mindset. Bullies have a similar mindset, but they refuse to admit it."
Sam frowned at that as Zelda returned her attention to her.
"They travel in packs because they know they're weak on their own. So—my suggestion, Sam." Zelda twirled the pen in between her fingers. "The next time you see him, like when we're out in California when we get home from Finland—talk to him. And really talk to him, too. That boy deserves it. He just looks—lonely to me. I don't really know his full story, other than what Louie, Zetro, and Greg have all told me about him, but I feel like he's an easy target. So—the little blow up you guys had makes me wonder if he sees you in a shitty light, and I know you're not like that at all. But he needs to know that. He needs to know that you're of good stature. I know it's gonna be hard, given he's so hard himself but—he's still just a young buck, though. We've met a few teenagers signing autographs in here—and it's just so cool to see. These young girls—a lot of boys, too—"
"The girls come for the music, the boys come for something else," Morgan joked.
"Right!" Zelda burst out laughing, and then she straightened herself out. "But—we've been seeing these kids coming through here in Texas—and there were those kids in Portland, too. And I think it was that bunch—in Tacoma and also in Portland, that got me thinking about Alex again, because he's still just a kid and we haven't seen him in a few weeks 'cause they're with Overkill right now. And I just think—he's legally an adult, but he's still just a boy, though. So—try to talk to him if you can. Let him know that he belongs with the whole gang and everything."
"It's a little bit hard for us," Morgan filled in, "because we're punks. We're a punk band. A punk band opening for a metal band, so it just feels a little weird with us and whatnot."
"But we think that," Zelda continued, "—since you and him actually have a little bit of history with Cliff especially—you could do it better with him than any of us can."
"Why us, though? Don't you think one of the guys from Testament could try and talk with him?"
"Because they're dudes," Zelda replied with a flutter of her eyelashes, "they're not good with feelings like us. I actually tried doing that with Louie once and he was struggling with it, I could tell. One of the things that drove me nuts about him was how it almost felt like I couldn't talk to him about anything on an emotional level."
Sam thought about that night in Boston, where Louie confessed that Zelda was his affair, and she tightened her lips at the very thought of that. Yet another secret to keep under wraps.
"Anyways—if you could do that, he could probably be a little more—present, I'd say? I was actually talking to Louie just last night and I guess they've been struggling lately."
"Why's that?" Sam asked her.
"I guess they've been kicking serious ass with the music lately but—they're sorta lacking with the presence. Alex moves around a little bit but he's like stilted, though."
"They're getting accused of being too much like Metallica, too," Morgan added.
"Yeah, that's another thing! Chuck apparently sounds way too much like James which is horse shit to me. There's a little parallel there given they're all from the San Francisco Bay Area, but I don't really see it to be honest."
A knock on the glass door to up the lobby from them caught their attention. Sam recognized that head of fiery red hair in the midday sun outside as she peered in through the smoked glass pane. Fiery dyed red hair coupled with large brown sunglasses, a white camisole over a matching long skirt, and a big shabby hand bag.
"Hey, it's Marla!" Sam called out; she padded over to the doors but before she reached Marla there, she returned to Zelda and wagged a finger at her.
"I'll remember that," she vowed, and Zelda nodded her head at her. Sam then opened the door and she was greeted by a blast of hot humid air in stark contrast to the air conditioner around her.
"Hey, you!" Marla greeted her and she stepped inside the lobby and shut the door behind her.
"I was wondering when you'd get here," Sam replied and they embraced one another.
"So Bel and Aurora helped me move my things into the new place in Hell's Kitchen," Marla started again as she took off her sunglasses, "I just need the other side of the first month's rent and the deposit, too."
"Well, this is the last date of the tour before they—" Sam gestured back to Zelda and Morgan at the table. "—head up to Helsinki next week. That's when I get paid."
"Okay, good!" Marla then reached into her hand bag for something and she took out her big Polaroid camera.
"Hey, I remember that."
"Oh, yeah, we got together at L'Amour—many moons ago, and you made that drawing of me and Charlie. And you used that Polaroid, too. I decided, eh, why not have it again?"
She turned back to Sam again.
"You wanna get something to drink? I'm like dying of thirst right now."
"I'd love to."
"You ladies wanna join us?" Marla called to Zelda and Morgan.
"We're shooting the rock star bullshit and signing autographs," Zelda replied. "We should be seeing more people coming through here in about ten minutes."
"Yeah, I saw a bunch of people standing out in the shade around the corner here. I thought maybe they showed up early for will call."
"Nah, it's for them," Sam told her. "They're actually starting to make serious headway in the music world now."
"Right on! Anyways, there's a juice bar right up the street here. We can sit in the shade, too, and I just heard that we're not too far from the River Walk and the Alamo, either."
"So you can literally call me Sam Houston now!"
Zelda and Morgan laughed out loud at that.
"Right!" Marla chuckled. "But anyways, it's actually not bad out—it's just the sun is hotter than holy fuck is all."
"Sounds like a plan." Sam returned to Zelda and Morgan. "I'll see you girls later—"
The two of them stepped outside to the sun as it hung high in the clear blue sky over their heads. Indeed, it wasn't that hot out, but the contrast of the air conditioner and the sunlight on their heads and the sidewalk around them made Sam wish for one of those large oak trees to cover their heads all the way up the block to the corner.
"So we've got a nice view of the water," Marla told her.
"And it's close to school, too, I remember you telling me that."
"Yeah, it is! No more taking the stinkin' subways so much. And by the way, Bel told me to tell you that, yes—we will help you. We kinda have to help you."
"I moved cross country," Sam recalled, "with the help of my parents, and almost by sheer luck, I met Frankie and Joey, but yeah—I could definitely use a little help."
They reached the juice bar in question and Sam took to the table right before the front door, right underneath an oak tree and a pair of short stubby palmetto trees, and she set her purse down before her. Marla offered to buy up for her given she hadn't a lot of money on her at the moment.
"I'm just gonna use the bathroom real quick, though," she told her as she set her purse down on the table before her. Sam nodded her head as she watched Marla head inside of there: that cherry red hair as bright as the very sun itself. Sam gave her hair a toss back and a light breeze came up from behind her. Still not enough to beat the intense summer sun, and she reached into her purse for a ponytail holder.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something by the corner to her left. As she tied up her hair, she looked over and spotted Joey at the corner of the building. He was looking at something, but she couldn't tell as to what he looked at there.
She set her hands down on her lap and she watched him. He stood before the glass and he leaned back a bit. He was looking at his own reflection.
She had an idea.
That in and of itself could act as her newest painting, and she would put more thought into it this time around. She knew he would move at some point. He turned his back to her right then. She had nothing with her but the little notepad and the ink pen in her purse.
But then again, Marla's camera stood right there on the table next to her. Without a second thought, she picked up the camera and she pointed it in Joey's direction. All the times she thought of making a stained glass window about his likeness.
Slim and delicate, almost elegant in fact. The black curls sprawled down his back towards his thin waist. The white shirt he wore only accentuated the thinness of his body and the richness of his curls.
She took out the camera and she took the cover off of the lens. She peered in through the aperture and there he was, right within her line of sight.
"C'mon, Joey, turn to the side again," she muttered to herself; she rested her finger on the bottom on top. For a second, she felt like a genuine photographer. "The other side. C'mon, Marla's gonna be back soon."
Like magic, he turned to the right side. She pressed the button and the flash dissipated with the midday sun so he couldn't see it. The camera spat out the Polaroid and she took it before anyone could see it for themselves. She waved it about so the ink would settle in on the paper.
His slim body was as flat as a washboard, and his curls sprawled down towards his waist like tentacles. He had slightly bent his legs at the knees all the while, but she knew she had the perfect subject to work with no one was looking. The decision now was between acrylic paints on canvas once again, or to go forth with the stained glass idea. If she carried out the latter, she would have to take a better shot of him, or he would have to sit still for her again, and she had no idea as to when he would do that again for her.
But she chuckled to herself as she looked on at the photograph in hand. She glanced up and she recognized Marla's head of cherry red hair on the other side of the glass, thus she quickly slipped the camera back into Marla's hand bag and she stashed the Polaroid into her own. Joey then strode away from the glass reflection and towards the front door of the juice bar for himself.
Some day, she would carry out that stained glass idea with him. It was a matter of when and how. Add to this, as she peered into her purse once again, she spotted that little plastic bag at the bottom there. A little more inspiration was all she needed, courtesy of Joey himself. But she had no lighter to do that just yet.
She took another glimpse up to the front door of the bar, and Joey had made his way inside; Marla then doubled back outside, right past him and towards the table once again. She squinted her eyes against the hot summer sun.
"So they've got all manner of smoothies and good stuff for us."
"I'll take blueberry if they have it," Sam told her.
"The special for today is blueberry pomegranate."
"I'll have that then!"
Marla opened her bag for her wallet and frowned at what she saw before her.
"What happened here?" she wondered aloud.
"What do you mean?"
She picked up her camera and she delved about the bottom of the hand bag for something.
"The cover came off of the lens." And Sam shook her head at that given she merely tossed the lid in there. Marla stuck the cover back on and then she returned for her wallet.
"It is getting kind of long in tooth, though. I've had it a long time... anyways, I'll be right back. And Joey's in there, by the way!"
"Oh, boy!" Sam felt her face grow warm at the sound of that, and Marla returned to the front door once again. The sight of Marla putting the cover back onto the lens made her think of Zelda's words to her. She could keep a secret, and yet she needed to heed by that promise as well. She reached into her purse again, and that time for the notepad and the pen.
The last night of the North American stint for the time being and she could fill in the next two pages there with some other things. She lifted the penultimate page and then she set the pad down on the table before her.
"'Talk to Alex,'" she muttered to herself as she wrote the words down on that final page of the notepad. Now she had something else to live to, especially since Marla knew nothing about what had happened that morning in her own city.