Boring Girls Page 16

  They had giant props onstage: a huge skull that slowly leaked dark red blood from its eye sockets and jagged nasal cavity, a rack that contained fierce-looking medieval weapons. During one song, Balthazar grabbed a big battle-axe from the rack and swung it around, cleaving into a guitar amp, hacking into it several times before finally slicing its blade into the stage floor as the crowd reached a frenzy. He exuded a dark gloom mixed with a psychotic air, grinning evilly at the audience, letting out frightening roars from behind his curtain of long black hair. The other guys in his band headbanged and bounded around the stage, but Balthazar mostly stood in one place, and his stillness and imposing height were just as effective in making the crowd go insane as any movement could have been. The fact that his face was slim and handsome made him even more appealing.

  I studied the video clips closely, and even though Colostomy Hag didn’t have another show booked, I knew I would be more prepared next time. I kicked myself for having been so weak at our first show. The next one, whenever it was, was going to be completely different.

  xXx

  We all stayed busy. We kept rehearsing once a week, and I focused on writing lyrics and doing more designs, just ideas for posters or whatever else we needed. Socks suggested that we try to record a full album at some point, and so I started designing rough ideas for album art. School continued, life at home continued, but I had sort of stopped paying attention to those things. I was completely immersed in my little world, of being with the band and spending my free time doing creative things in my room and studying videos. I maintained my grades and was agreeable with my family. It was all just an exercise in getting through the parts of my day that were standing between me and the things I actually wanted to do. I became very good at feigning interest in Melissa’s grades, my father’s stories about his class, and the boring assignments and projects I was given in school. I don’t understand why some people argue with their parents or give attitude to teachers. It is so much easier to just smile, nod, and say the expected responses. You don’t have to actually care, and no one will flag you as any sort of concern.

  Fern called me one night freaking out. “Gurgol is coming.”

  “Oh my god,” I said. “When?”

  “St. Charles in two weeks. Do you want to go?”

  “Oh, totally,” I said. “You know, we should try to meet Marie-Lise.”

  Fern got a little quiet for a few moments, which she always tended to do when we talked about Marie-Lise. I figured this was because she was always trying to play it cool so that no one would suspect how much she truly admired and idolized her. “Yeah, but I mean, how?”

  “If we showed up early I bet we could find her somewhere. I mean you remember how we just hung out for hours before our show. We could have fun with it — try to find her, and if we can’t, maybe we could do some shopping or something.”

  “That’d be cool,” Fern agreed.

  A huge blow came when Socks made some calls, just to see if Gurgol needed an opening act, and found out that Heathenistic Bile had somehow landed the gig. “I don’t understand that at all,” he grouched at rehearsal that weekend. “I don’t see how they got that gig. They have no fan base, and they’re terrible.”

  “Maybe we’re wrong?” Edgar fretted. “Maybe they really are wicked awesome and somehow, we just don’t get it?”

  “Nope,” I shook my head. “And you know what’s going to make this amazing is that we’re going to get to watch a huge crowd laugh at that shitty band. It’s going to be awesome.”

  Socks and Edgar didn’t want to come up to St. Charles early with us, so Fern and I took a bus. The guys would meet us there later, and we’d all drive back home in the van. The bus made stops in the small towns along the way to St. Charles, picking up more people and dropping off others, which was aggravating. After a while both of us just fell asleep. We’d gotten up early to catch one of the first buses so we could have the whole afternoon to search for Marie-Lise.

  When we got off the bus in downtown St. Charles, we got into a taxi and asked the driver to drop us off at the club where Gurgol was playing that night. In the cab, Fern fretted, looking into the mirror in her powder compact. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look great.” We had discussed what to wear so that we would look cool if we met her, but not ridiculously done-up. Fern had opted to wear a black dress and tights, and I’d gone for a black sweater and dark navy jeans. I remembered the girls who’d flocked around Paul after our show, and I didn’t want to look like some sort of desperate groupie. We wanted to talk to Marie-Lise to get her insights into being in a band, into what it was like as things moved forward, and about being female in the industry. Not to kiss her ass or be just another face in the crowd.

  The cab dropped us off outside a large club. The front doors were bolted and the street was deserted. “So what now?” I was starting to lose my nerve a bit. I totally felt like a stalking, hovering groupie, sniffing around.

  “Let’s check out behind the club. You know they’ll load in through the back doors,” Fern suggested.

  I felt like a fool as we carefully walked around the building. Even if we did see Marie-Lise, what if she didn’t want to talk to us? What if we annoyed her? What if she was a huge bitch? And who did we think we were anyway, trying to force her to talk to us?

  It then occurred to me that walking out back might result in an encounter with Heathenistic Bile. What if they were back here too, buddying it up with Gurgol? I didn’t want them to see us slithering around like desperate losers. I was starting to think this had been a really stupid idea. But I followed closely behind Fern, who must have started feeling stupid too, because when we reached the corner of the building before the back parking lot, she paused.

  “Rachel,” she whispered, “what if Paul and those guys are back here?”

  “Yeah. Maybe we should turn back,” I murmured.

  Fern peeked around the corner. “There’s a tour bus.”

  Now afraid that members of either band would come up behind us and catch us doing this pathetic spy routine, I glanced behind me. “Let’s just get out of here,” I said. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “Me too. But check out the bus.”

  I peeked around the corner and saw the big tour bus parked by the back doors. There was no sign of any people around and there were no other vehicles.

  “What time is it?” I said.

  “It’s just after noon.”

  “They’re probably all asleep on the bus,” I figured. “Let’s go. This is really stupid.”

  Resigned, we left the parking lot area and walked up the street away from the deserted club towards a small shopping area. My heart sank as I realized we still had hours and hours before the show, and what were we going to do? Go back to the club when they were soundchecking and try to break in? For what purpose? I was annoyed that I’d even made this suggestion.

  We decided to go to a coffee shop and sit down for a while. As we walked up to the shop, there were a few people sitting out at the patio tables despite the chilly air. Fern grabbed my arm and hissed, “Look.”

  Marie-Lise was sitting with a cup of coffee and a magazine. She was wearing big dark sunglasses and was dressed in jeans and a sweater, but it was unmistakably her.

  “What do we do?” Fern asked.

  “Let’s get something to drink,” I suggested. We went into the shop and ordered two coffees, then abled onto the patio and chose a table a little ways from her.

  I didn’t want to stare at her too obviously, and made a conscious effort to keep my eyes on Fern. “We won’t get a chance any better than this,” I said. “We should go talk to her.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to bother her,” Fern said, her gaze flicking from me to Marie-Lise.

  “She’s just reading a magazine. Let’s go. We’ll regret it if we don’t,” I said. Fern tried to protest, but
I picked up my drink and approached the table where Marie-Lise sat.

  “Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could. “Are you Marie-Lise?”

  She looked up from her magazine and gave me a pleasant smile. “Yes, I am.”

  “Er, are you busy? Mind if we join you?”

  She hesitated, and in that moment I truly felt like the rudest person on earth. Quickly, I tried to redeem myself somehow. “I mean, I know you’re on tour and you’re always around people and stuff. It’s gotta be pretty draining. If you’d rather just sit and relax by yourself, no worries. I totally understand. You don’t know us, I mean, for all you know we’re psychos, right? We don’t want to annoy you.”

  “You’re not annoying,” she said, continuing to smile. “Sure, why not sit down. I mean, I have to get going in a little while, though.”

  “I totally understand,” I said, putting my drink on the table and pulling up a chair. Fern followed suit. “You gotta load in and soundcheck, all that stuff.” I was trying to speak with authority, to relate to her as one band member to another and show her we were on the same page, but I could tell I wasn’t impressing her.

  She nodded, continuing to smile at us. “So, you know I’m Marie-Lise. What are your names?”

  Fern and I introduced ourselves, and she shook our hands across the table. I could tell she was in a “mode” — obviously the mode she would always be in when meeting fans. I wondered if there was any way to get her to feel comfortable with us. It was interesting, seeing her like this, with no makeup on and her pale hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

  “So, how’s the tour going?” Fern asked in the softest, most terrified voice I had ever heard come out of her mouth. I wanted to giggle, she was so nervous.

  “Oh, it’s great,” Marie-Lise said. “We’re out for five months. About halfway done now, and everything’s going wonderful. Great shows.” She sounded so formal, as if this was an interview.

  “There’s a reason we wanted to meet you and talk to you,” I interjected. “See, Fern and I are in a band ourselves.”

  She nodded. “That’s very cool. What do you guys do in the band?”

  “I sing, and Fern plays guitar.”

  “Awesome. What’s the band called?”

  “Colostomy Hag,” I said proudly.

  Her frozen smile flashed into a genuine grin for a second. “That’s one of the best band names I think I’ve ever heard,” she laughed.

  “Thanks!”

  Almost immediately, she flipped back into the super-pleasant mode. “If you guys want to give me a demo, I’d be happy to give it a listen.”

  So that’s what it was. She was used to being approached by people who were hoping that she could help out their own projects, use her in some way. Well, luckily for us, we didn’t have a demo worth giving her anyway. And if we had brought it and tried to give it to her, all it would have done was solidify in her mind that we were just like everybody else.

  “We don’t have a demo. Actually, the reason that we wanted to meet you is to let you know that, I guess, you’re a bit of a role model to us.”

  “Oh, that’s very sweet of you to say.”

  “No, seriously. There aren’t many women in metal. You’re one of the few, and as we’re just starting out in a band, I mean, I guess we just wanted to get some of your perspectives on things. I mean, you’re amazing onstage. You don’t take any crap from anyone.”

  “And you’re a great bass player,” Fern added.

  Marie-Lise took a sip of her coffee. “That’s nice of you guys to say. And I mean . . . yeah. You’re right. Things were pretty difficult, especially at the beginning.”

  She took out a cigarette and lit it. Fern quickly reached into her own purse and took one out, and inwardly I rolled my eyes.

  “To be honest with you guys, I mean, I’ve met girls like you before. Girls who are in bands, just starting things out. And you never hear anything from them again. It’s like they lose interest. Or maybe something happens that discourages them, you know? And they don’t think they’re going to have a place in this business.” Marie-Lise blew smoke thoughtfully. “When I got started, I met a lot of assholes. People who just don’t think that a girl should be there, you know? More like, the girls should be waiting offstage to boost the guys’ egos and stuff.”

  “I totally know,” I said, nodding.

  “And even now, I mean, sure. Sometimes I still meet up with someone who wants to disrespect me. Sometimes it’s someone in the crowd, sometimes it’s someone behind the scenes that’s supposed to be there to help me.”

  “So how do you deal with it?” I asked.

  She grinned, relaxing. “Well, I mean, if it’s someone in the crowd, I love that. I’ll punch him right in the face. You just can’t let it get to you, can’t let it do anything to affect what you’re doing. My whole thing is — what if I got upset onstage? There’s one asshole there who wants to disrespect me, and there’s five hundred people there who are giving me a chance, and there’s another four hundred and ninety-nine who think I’m awesome. This is one person. And if I were to burst into tears, or walk offstage, I would be changing nine hundred and ninety-nine people’s opinions of me. Over one jerk.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed.

  “See, when you’re in this business, you need to have a goal. That’s what I think. A reason that you’re doing it. Something to keep in your mind to focus on and work towards. So when you’re at your lowest you can picture whatever it is in your mind, and remind yourself why you’re not going to quit.” She grinned. “Because you’re going to want to quit. And you probably will, in all honesty. Most people do. It’s not all glitz and glam like everyone thinks.”

  “What’s it like?” Fern said.

  “Work is what it is. Hard work. And it doesn’t pay off. If making money is your goal, I’d suggest finding a new one. Only a few bands make it really big and make that money and have that lifestyle. Everyone else struggles. We’re still struggling and we’ve been in the band for seven years now.”

  I was a little surprised to hear that. Gurgol was in all the magazines, they were very popular. I’d assumed they were doing great. “What’s your goal?” I said.

  “To make music with my friends and have incredible experiences alongside them. To see the world, which we’ve done and are still doing. To have a different kind of life than everyone I knew growing up. That kind of thing. An interesting life. Something amazing to look back on. I chose a different path than most people I know. And I’m proud of it, even if it isn’t buying me a house.” She laughed.

  “What’s it like being on the tour bus?” Fern said. I tried not to scowl. She sounded like a fan, and here I was, trying to be an equal.

  “Work,” Marie-Lise repeated. “All of it is work. Definitely. I love the guys. And that’s the other thing I should tell you. You’re going to run into a lot of assholes who will hate you because you’re a woman in metal. Make sure that whoever you are in the band with supports you and believes in you. Make sure they’ll have your back, no matter what happens. And have theirs.”

  I felt like we were being watched and flicked my eyes to the sidewalk. To my surprise, I saw Kate and Jennifer, Paul’s stage dancers or girlfriends or whatever the hell they were, walking past the coffee shop. Their eyes were riveted to our table, obviously noticing us having our friendly coffee with Marie-Lise. I tried to suppress my grin and turned my attention back to her as the girls passed, wanting to solidify the impression they were getting of us being friends. “Do you ever get lonely?”

  “Sure,” Marie-Lise said. “All of us do. Even though you’re constantly surrounded by people, I feel alone a lot of the time.”

  “And that’s why you’ll get off the tour bus in the morning and come have a coffee by yourself,” I said.

  She laughed. “Exactly. Being alone for a while makes me f
eel less alone when I go back.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Marie-Lise stood up. “It was great meeting both of you, but I should really get back to the bus.”

  “Thanks for talking to us,” I said, and we shook hands.

  After Marie-Lise shook Fern’s hand, she reached forward and touched a strand of Fern’s hair, gazing at it. “You should try using Pegasus,” she said. “That’s what I use when I bleach my hair. It’s kind of expensive, but it really works to get it nice and pale. You don’t end up with that sort of brassy yellow.”

  “Thanks,” Fern said.

  “Bye, girls,” she said and made her way down the sidewalk.

  We sat at the table and watched her walk back towards the club. “That was amazing,” Fern said. “I really can’t believe we met her, and she was so nice to us.”

  “Paul’s stupid girlfriends saw us here with her too,” I said. “They walked by. They’ll totally think we’re friends with Marie-Lise. Fucking awesome.”

  “You know, it was weird. I was completely nervous with her. I felt stupid.”

  “Nah. It was fine,” I said. “I liked what she had to say. I fucking can’t wait to see the show tonight.”

  We sat thoughtfully for a few moments, and then Fern said, “Do you have a goal with the band?”

  I thought for a second. “I’m sure I do, I just have to think about it for a while,” I said. “What about you?”

  “Well, I guess part of it has to do with being able to play the guitar well,” she said, furrowing her brow. “I mean, I really love it, and I love how far I’ve come with it. I want to see how good I can get with it.”

  “And be able to show that off to people,” I said, smiling.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s part of it too,” she said. “I mean wouldn’t that be part of it for everyone? Wanting attention and to stand out and everything?”

  I was mulling over my goal, my reason for wanting to do Colostomy Hag. Was it because I wanted attention? Because I wanted everyone to think I was cool and talented and original? I guess part of it was that. I think I really also wanted to show people, the type of people who were going to naysay us, and me, and make fun of us, that they were wrong. I wanted to surprise people. If they thought that a girl couldn’t lead a metal band, I wanted to prove to them that they were dead wrong.