JEWEL EYED JUDY

Track Two: Sandy Brown

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INTERVIEWER: And what after that? Did they ever come back?

JUDY: [shrugging] They didn't. I guess I must've scared them off.

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By some miracle and a fresh bag of weed, she'd managed to survive through the rest of the day. Looking back that night, she'd definitely overreacted. Thankfully, the next day, they were nowhere to be seen - or the few days after that.

Judy was sure of this, and had been in the habit of picking up extra shifts for some more cash, meaning she'd been in the whole week. Not once did the group reappear. She had to ask herself - is it because of me? Truly, she doubted it was, but she was grateful nonetheless.

It was on the eighth day that her lucky streak seemed to run out. Her best friend, a hazelnut eyed, ginger-haired girl on the verge of her thirties, named Sandy Brown, had invited her to one of her shows. Maybe a bit unfair to suggest, albeit truthful, that she'd been unsuccessful in finding a place in the music industry quite some years now, and seemed resigned to living the rest of her life cheque to cheque from gigs in cramped, claustrophobic bars.

Deep down Judy knew she was only judgemental of this because she felt herself heading down that same path. On Judy's free days, she'd spend some time in recording studious, providing backing vocals for a cheap fee. Unlike Sandy, however, she'd never attempted a solo career of her own. But still, the idea of not getting out of this place, not finding that shining light in the distance, it scared her. It raked her body with sobs in the dead of night.

Regardless - Sandy Brown. When Judy had first heard it, she thought it was unusual, and that opinion hadn't changed since. Later on in their relationship, Sandy had admitted to it being her fourth name, a last, desperate grapple for stardom. Sandy was careless, and seemed to enjoy that she didn't have much to lose.

"As long as I can sing," Sandy had told her once, "I'll always be free.. artistically, at least." She'd finished with a final glance of cardboard scraps lying in the corner of Judy's room, littered with various slogans, mostly surrounding whatever political uprising was going on at the time.

It was a Sunday - the Lord's day. Funny that, considering Judy was situated backstage at the Gorilla Venue with a snorting Sandy. She was playing in around an hour, just after some band named The Six.

"The Six," said Judy, tasting the name in her mouth, "Fucking stupid name. At least it's not another something-Brothers band."

"You can say that again," replied Sandy, "All these years I've been playing the Strip, and I haven't heard a single good band or musician name. Including all four of mine."

With a lopsided grin and white powder still dotted around her nose, Sandy looked up at Judy. The younger girl would never dare suggest it, but Sandy was definitely dependant on the stuff. Evidently, she wasn't as free as she claimed to be. Although it pained her to do so, she always clamped her mouth shut, never quite understanding the extent of the addiction.

Deciding to divide Sandy's attention between her and something else, whatever else, as long as it wasn't the coke, she suggested they actually watch the band. It wasn't uncommon for the two to stick around after Sandy had sang - but they never really watched whoever was first.

"Do you think they'll be like the Jackson Five? Three Dog Night?" laughed Judy. In response, Sandy shrugged, a more serious, detached face overcoming whatever emotion she'd had before. Without another word, Sandy stood up and made her way to the bar, Judy lingering not too far behind.

They'd arrived just in time to see the band begin setting up, and a respectably sized crowd make their way in. Not paying too much attention, she glanced at the stage. That was when her heart stopped.

Sat on a sizeable amp, fiddling with a bass, she met eyes.

"Shit, Sandy," hissed Judy, "It's the guy. The one I went all blank faced to." Sandy wasn't listening, more preoccupied with whatever was behind the bar. Judy couldn't help but cringe at herself as the man upstage shot her a friendly smile. Her head whipped around, ensuring no one else was around, before returning the gesture with a wave. At least, she prayed that smile was for her.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Whatever she'd said about the band before, it didn't matter. She was vowing that she'd be open-minded, give them a chance, maybe redeem herself if the opportunity arose. Taking the time to scan the rest of the band, the only other person who seemed to really stand out was the man who stood center-stage, with curly locks, and a confident stance. Identifying him immediately as the frontman, she really couldn't remember whether she'd noticed him in the diner eight days before.

In fact, aside from that blonde headed girl stood at a keyboard, and the bassist, she couldn't recall seeing a single one. But she was noticing them now, and she could vaguely recognise the different hair styles and colours.

They seemed about ready to play.

To the frontman's left, the guitarist strummed, and the sound pummelled through the room. Judy felt her nose scrunch in dissatisfaction.

"Another arena band," she'd muttered, turning away for a drink.

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