Glory Days

Chapter Two

Winifred Jones flicked her amplifier off standby and lifted her guitar over her head. The white-lightning-bolt-on-black-leather strap snagged her long blonde hair and she raised her guitar to free the tugging tendrils.

    “Chill out Fred, it’s just another gig,” she whispered to herself, her voice lost in the squeal of feedback that came from the amplifier as soon as she turned the volume up on the guitar. It was one of those venues which her gear seemed to hate. The feedback wasn’t a big deal. It was just that she’d been feeling pretty weird all day. But now it was time to perform and that meant bringing out the best. She rearranged her facial expression from ‘worried’ to ‘don’t mess with me’ and turned to face the audience.

    Seventy or so faces looked back at her, their features blurred by the venue’s unnecessary over-the-top lighting rig. The crowd was a sign of the band’s changing fortunes. It was only a few months ago they’d been playing to a grand total of four friends and the bar staff. Somehow they’d got friendly with one of Brighton’s up and coming acts, Rioting Tiger, and suddenly the gigs had come flooding in. Now people were starting to take notice of Samedi Noir.

    “You ready to headline this thing?” Dahlia, her best friend and bass player yelled across the spiralling noise levels. Fred smiled.

    “Oh you know it.” The girls had agreed months ago with the boys from Rioting Tiger that they’d get a chance to headline one of their joint gigs. Tonight was that night. It was a good thing too, as Fred had the distinct feeling that the two bands’ relationship may be about to turn sour. Pushing that thought and other more unsettling ones to the back of her mind, she stepped up to the microphone.

    “Are you going to heaven? Because we aren’t.” Her unusually deep voice caused the crowd to go silent and every eye fixed on her six foot one frame. Long platinum blonde hair gave her the appearance of an angel with a halo but the rest of her fashion had a distinct dark side to it. She looked like the kind of girl who played with sharp objects and fire for kicks. The band members lowered their heads in unison for dramatic effect, looking like zombies prior to animation. Fred’s pendant flashed in the spot light and clinked against the body of her guitar. It was an intricate wired design which many mistook for an ornate heart. A man at the back of the crowd frowned in recognition.

     She raised her head.

     “I’m the name on everyone’s lips tonight,” she belted out, as the drummer counted off in time to the click track which was playing through her headphones. Fred hit the first chord of Angel Wings and felt the stage shake from sheer volume. She lived for this.

    Half an hour in, the majority of the audience were dancing and the other half were so drunk that their violent swaying could be construed as dancing. Fred turned to grin at Dahlia but was thrown out of her happy buzz by the look on the bass player’s face. She followed her eye line and caught sight of Josh Banks, drummer for Rioting Tiger and dastardly newly-ex-boyfriend of Dahlia, sucking face with a slim brunette in a crop top. Fred suddenly discovered she wasn’t playing guitar anymore and realised that the song had somehow managed to come to a fairly neat end. To be fair, the band were so well rehearsed, she could probably play these songs in her sleep.

    “She’s seen them, hasn’t she?” Violet shouted at Fred from behind the drum kit, her voice filled with both dread and anticipation. Fred silently cursed and nodded vaguely, watching Dahlia carefully. For a moment she thought she was going to let it go, but then the bass player stalked up to her microphone with intent.

    “It’s time for a bass solo.”

    “Oh good God…” Fred moved to intercept but was too late.