This, I Love

Chapter 5: Number One, Number Two

January 23rd, 1985 - Chase Center, San Fransisco

"How do I look? Do you think these pants are too tight? Are these boots too shiny?" Colt asked Camila, worried for her answer and having to change again for the 12th time. He modelled for her, expanding his arms as he did a swift spin then kicked out his feet.

Camila studied the outfit from head to toe: red pants, black leather jacket embellished with pins and white graffiti, black cowboy boots (like all of the guys), and saw that he slicked his blonde hair down over his smoked out charcoal eyes, bringing out the blue in them. She nodded and returned to putting on her thick rings in front of her mirror in their dressing room.

"You look fantastic. Keep this one on, seriously."

"Are you sure? Should I go put on a shirt—"

"No, just wear what you have on. Stretch out those legs some more, make sure there's no chance of ripping 'em on stage when you're out there running around like a kid high on sugar at a backyard party," she picked up a small brush and dipped it in more black eyeshadow to paint around her eyes, since it didn't look dark or gritty enough.

Colt chuckled and outlined the waist of his pants. "Thanks, Mila. I think those jeans of yours look pretty tight, too. Well, tight, yeah, but I mean cool—"

"I know. Thanks," she tried dismissing him so she could get ready in peace but to her dismay he lingered around, silently judging her outfit. Apart from her black leather pants, Camila threw on a sideless blood red tank that occasionally flashed her tape covered breasts, heel boots, a bunch of leather bracelets with skeletons and spikes, teased her voluminous wavy hair and bangs, and covered her full lips with a scarlet coat. All that was missing was her one black fingerless glove she always played with. "I'm not changing a single thing if that's what you're about to tell me to do."

He laughed. "I wasn't. Just wondering how you can quickly put an outfit together and feel so confident in it."

"How can you not? You barely have to apply any effort, people will fawn over you no matter what you walk out there looking like."

"But will I fawn over me? 'Cause that's what matters here. If I don't look good, I don't feel good which means my performance will also be shit," Colt snatched a bottle of hairspray that Westley was getting ready to use. "You don't need it, man. You look fine."

"You sure?" He asked, running his fingers through his fluffy blown out hair in the mirror. Westley had on zebra pants, a band tee with a leather vest, and spiked cuffs on both forearms.

"Why don't you make yourself look more dirty? Like you just don't care? Because drummers usually don't."

"Fuck you, I'd never. I'd risk looking like Shakes when he doesn't shave."

"Hey!" Jordy shouted from across the room, coming from the bathroom with his curly hair drenched and dripping all over his leather jacket.

"Sorry, man. But it's the truth. Thank God you shaved on the bus," said Colt.

While the boys continued their chat about costumes and the experimenting more with makeup, Camila slipped out of the dressing room as she was already finished looking the part. Seven minutes 'til showtime and she just wanted to find Lauren - who decided she'd watch the show from the side of the stage this time, which meant she was definitely hanging around back here somewhere. Sound engineers and other crew members briskly walked up and down the corridors, bouncing their needs and demands off one another to assure that things would run smoothly tonight. Their opening act was just now closing out their last song—Camila could hear the audience's cheers echoing around her as the drum solo grew louder by the second and she jumped with excitement because she remembered what being praised for a solo felt like.