Tattoo

Chapter Two

The night of the show, I saw Vijay at the bar arguing with the burly drummer from Narcoleptic. He gestured at the stage and I caught his eye and he grinned, a big shit-eating grin, as I worked the boards for the band - video, audio, and of course, enhancements for the holograms. 

Pitch was a dervish on stage, glowing with the crowd’s energy and of course, her boards. Between songs, she kept up a steady monologue for her audience, as Pitch Plus, with wings, fairy ears, halos and horns all flickering in and out of existence as her mood shifted. 

Zeke and Billy were her foils; Billy prancing on lead guitar, Zeke striding between bass and keyboards. And in the back, pulsing like a dying sun, Ned, on the drums. But it was Pitch at the center of it all. When she was in the song, she was a goddess, at times looming over the crowd fifteen feet high, crouched so her head didn’t go through the ceiling, then a fairy fluttering above the stage, scarcely more than a throbbing point of light with a voice that drove the crowd to dance in frenetic, sweaty time. 

Of course I cursed when she pulled that giantess stunt, it was really pushing the edges of what my tech could do, but it worked, and I worshipped her damn near as much as the crowd did. And they offered up their exultation with the flash and glow of dermals shining from their faces and flickering across raised hands lifted into the air; dermals which were recording the show as they sent out images of us on stage, bringing in virtual crowds in realtime. We were a hit.

After that we were doing two or three gigs a week in T.O. and then we toured for a month in the States, with three gigs in New York. 

 We got back into Toronto late Wednesday night at the end of March, and dropped the gear at the studio. We were lying around on the battered furniture, throwing back a few beers, when Billy, who had gone out in search of salty snacks,  burst into the studio only a couple of minutes after he’d left with a copy of inSight clutched in his hand. 

We’d made the cover. 

I watched Billy bounce around the studio, giving everyone a big kiss on the lips (including me; he was a good kisser, but could use a shave), saving Zeke till last. “Baby, you did it baby, you got us to the big time.” yelled Billy, and then leapt into his lover’s arms, toppling them both to the dusty floor. We all laughed, but when they started to pull at each others’ clothes, Pitch poured half of her beer over their heads.

“I’m as fond of a little boy-on-boy as the next girl, but I’d like to see this article that you two are bumping and grinding all over.”

Billy laughed again, bounced to his feet and gave Pitch another kiss, surprising her with the intensity of it. Still, being Pitch, she gave as good as she got. While they were occupied, Zeke got to his feet, blushing furiously, trying to look nonchalant about an obvious and, considering the tightness of his pants, probably highly uncomfortable erection.

I looked around, trying to capture the moment in my mind. Pitch trying to look hardcore and driven, but with a grin constantly sneaking onto her face. Zeke serene and content, his gaze focused on Billy, who was still hopping and dancing around the studio, singing “We are the Champions” at the top of his lungs. I knew that I had a huge, shit-eating grin on my face, but what was most memorable for me was Ned’s reaction. Phlegmatic, burnt-out Ned had a spark in his eye that I’d never seen before. Like there was some hope in the world after all, something good and real. I wondered what sort of junkie he’d been – it wasn’t as though he never touched anything now; he still drank, or took a hit on a toke now and again, but nothing excessive. And he’d always felt a little dead to me, as though he’d buried something of himself. But now it seemed as though our walking corpse had some life in him after all.