The following is the first two chapters of my newest novel Nobody’s Hero, the continuing adventures of Skye Wright as she wrestles with burgeoning fame, flaky musicians, junkies, and all of the other chaos that comes with a rock and roll life.

Book four in The Rise and Fall of Skye wright series!

Stage Dive

     Skye raked out the final strike of the song. She lifted her head and looked out over the cheering crowd.
     She was out of breath as her damp hair hung over her eyes.
     She put down her guitar and took off her jacket, throwing it to the side of the stage as Molly chattered at the audience, performing another one of her patented in-between song monologues.
     Skye turned around and looked at Preston with wild eyes that made him freeze in place.
     She fixed her eyes on him. Preston could only look back at her with a blank stare.
     “This next song is Barbecue the Rich!” shouted Molly, causing the crowd to erupt with applause.
     As soon as the song kicked in, Skye walked back to the drum riser and put her guitar down on its stand, letting Preston take up the full brunt of the guitar portion of the song. She walked up next to Preston, gave him a quick glance, and suddenly broke into a run, running towards the edge of the stage.
     She thought she saw a surprised look on a wide-eyed Molly when she launched herself off of the stage and into the crowd.
     She landed on a crowd of hands that rose up to cushion her fall and hoist her above the crowd.
     She glanced at the stage as she crowd surfed. Molly was screaming into the mic, having brought herself right to the edge of the stage with a surprised and happy look on her face.
     The whole band was driving the song, as if they had all just gotten a sudden charge.
     Skye was eventually carried back to the stage by the raised hands of the crowd. Skye held her arms and legs up, trying to maintain her balance as they kept passing her along.
     When she got close enough, the security guards in the thin fenced off trench between the crowd and the stage reached out and grabbed Skye, tossing her back onstage with what she felt was an unnecessarily aggressive shove.
     Skye wobbled towards her guitar, trying to maintain her balance as she walked through her dizziness. She grasped her guitar and got back into the song.
     She jumped back in with the next song, Flat Ears Hiss, one of their more popular songs, but not so popular that it was one of the tunes that they were obligated to play for every show.
     She looked around the audience as she played. They had played the song so many times she barely had to think about what she was doing, playing on instinct.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Skye knew she was going to get Tandasil’s patented stare as they were walking off the stage.
     “What? Iggy Pop does it,” defended Skye.
     Tandasil responded with her trademark raise of an eyebrow. She glanced at the rest of the band as they organized their equipment, stopping long enough to take a pointed look at Preston.
     “How many times has Preston filled in for Annie?” asked Tandasil.
     “I dunno,” said Skye as she put her guitar back in its case. “At least three or four times in the past couple a’ months.”
     “Annie’s been floating around an awful lot. You think she might split from the band?”
     Skye froze for a moment as she thought about their occasionally missing-in-action lead guitarist. She stood up straight and looked right at Tandasil. “Split from the band? What makes you think that?”
     Tandasil leaned towards Skye and lowered her voice. “I heard she’s been hangin’ out with Anita quite a bit.”
     “Who? The drummer from Corpsicle?”
     Tandasil nodded.
     “So? They know each other from their Gilman days.”
     “Anita is looking for a new band.”
     Skye shook her head around. “Okay.”
     “I’m jus’ sayin’.”
     “Fine!” said Skye as she closed her guitar case.
     Tandasil floated away as Preston walked up.
     “How’d I do?” asked Preston.
     “You’re really gettin’ the hang of it,” said Skye.
     Preston looked out over the stage. “Yeah. I think I am.”
     “People are asking me why you aren’t facing the amps anymore.”
     “Is that a shtick they’re expecting now?”
     A hand came down on Skye’s shoulder. It was Molly.
     “Dig Doug is here,” said Molly. “She’s been grillin’ the band.”
     “Grilling?”
     “Maybe not grilling. Just asking questions.”
     It did not take Skye long to spot the short curly red hair, round face, and trademark baseball hat of Dig Doug, one of the columnists for Maximum Rock and Roll. She was never seen without a baseball cap, usually a band hat or just a plain black hat. This evening she was wearing her Einstürzende Neubauten hat along with her leather-jacketed all-black outfit.
     Skye was putting away her guitar when she saw herself in a backstage mirror. Her long and wild hair was even more chaotic than ever. Strands of dyed-black hair that were hanging in front of her face. Her Chaos UK tank top was hanging limply from her shoulders as it was drenched with sweat.
     She thought about what a rock and roll mess she was while Dig Doug eventually made her way across the backstage.
     “Hey Skye.”
     “Whattup Doug?”
     “Can I pick your brain for my column?”
     “Sure. Why the hell not?”
     Doug held up her cell phone. “Mind if I record us?”
     “Sure. You’re gonna need it for court later anyways,” smiled Skye.
     Doug started her voice recorder. “How d’ya think this latest show went?”
     “Pretty good. Preston’s really gettin’ in the groove with this act.”
     “Is Annie ever coming back to the band full time?”
     “That’s what she’s said. She’s workin’ things out an’ working on some new material.”
     Doug leaned in closer. “There’s talk that she’s thinking of starting another act.”
     “Sure. Plenty a’ people are in more than one gig. If she decides to wail with an extra band, then more power to her. Why the fuck not?”
     “Lotsa people are wondering what’s up with your next tour, what you’re planning while you’re doing these occasional club dates.”
     “Still working out the details. Lotsa jawin’ with my band manager who’s organizing it.”
     “You guys gonna tour with Gail Burp again? Because she’s gearing up for another big tour”
     Skye tried to contain her expression as she answered. “We might do a few dates with Burp, but the consensus is that we really need to do our own thing. You know, finally get out there as a headliner.”
     “I’m sure your fans will appreciate that.”
     “I hope so.”
     Doug raised her eyebrows. “Any other reason you might want to tour with Burp, asides from the publicity pull?”
     Skye used all her willpower not to knit her brow. “Whattaya mean?”
     “Some people are wondering if you’ll ever do clubs like Gilman again.”
     “I’d like to play a club like Gilman, but logistically it might not be realistic.”
     “Why do you say that?” asked Doug as she contrived a concerned look on her face.
     “Well, we’re filling up places like the Wolf Theater and other barns like that. I don’t wanna swamp Gilman with an unruly mob.”
     Doug nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
     “As soon as we hammer out the details about our tour, we’ll let people know.”
     “Just one more thing. You want to make any comments about Xan’s bash at the Reppers Mansion?”
     Skye screwed up her face as she recalled the large and ungainly rock star bash that Xan Mel had thrown when they were in Chicago for Gail Burp’s last tour, an event that she and the rest of her band had reluctantly attended. “Comment on it?”
     “Yeah,” asked Doug with a hopeful look on her face.
     “Well, it was okay. Kinda big an’ crowded. We were basically there to support Burp.”
     “Uh huh,” said Doug as she looked hopefully at Skye.
     “Yeah.”
     “That’s it?”
     Skye held up her hands. “What else you want me to say?”
     Doug gave Skye a wide-eyed look and shook her head. “No. I guess that’s enough.”
     “Okay.”
     Skye made her way through the backstage crowd and found Roach who was standing next to her broken down drum set, waiting for roadies to help her load it into their equipment van.
     “How was your talk with Dig Doug?”
     “Okay I guess. Kinda weird.”
     Skye watched as Larry and Harp started pushing their music cases to the loading dock.
     She was thinking about their tour, the Dynamite Chicks’ first real tour.

Colleen

     Colleen came back into the Butt Fork offices with an armful of shirts.
     “What the fuck? You clean out all the tables?” asked Roach.
     “One of each,” said Colleen.
     Colleen opened the standing trunk and started folding and storing shirts. Roach was slumped on a couch while Skye sat in a folding chair and plunked away at her guitar.
     Colleen took out her cell and started texting.
     “Kick it a ‘sec, Colleen,” said Skye, “Crash on the couch and tell me what you think a’ my new song.”
     “In a minute,” said Colleen as she concentrated on her phone. Colleen looked around the room as if she was missing something. “Be right back,” she said as she ducked out of the room.
     “That crazy bitch makes me feel lazy,” said Roach.
     “Right?” replied Skye. “The only time we can get her to slow down is when we get her to the bar and put a drink in her hand.”
     Skye had recruited Colleen when Tandasil wanted an assistant for the upcoming tour. They were going to be bringing a regular opening act with them, and there were far more details to fuss.
     Skye immediately thought of Colleen when Tandasil told her she was looking for an assistant, her dynamo of a friend who had organized so many dive bar and club shows, as well as art showings and various other alt-culture events, usually on her own. For years, ever since she was a teenager, she had presided over many club and art shows, almost always doing the bulk of the work herself. During all of those years of being a working-class promoter she had chased down drunken singers, gone after heroin addicted guitarists, talked to drunk or coked up club and bar managers, and managed to wrangle, corral, prop up, and organize and endless parade of punk, metal, and new wave bands as well as all manner of fringe artists.
     Working with Tandasil, Colleen was still trying to get the hang of commanding underlings to do some of the work she was assigned. She could not shake the habit of trying to get everything done herself, especially since she wanted all of her tasks to be done right.
     Something that occurred to Skye as Tandasil walked in and saw the pile of shirts.
     “Did Colleen grab all of these?” asked Tandasil.
     “Raked the tables and stroked all of the band managers,” replied Skye.
     “Like, literally stroked them?”
     “Maybe.”
     Colleen came back in.
     “I was wondering if you gathered those passes for The Jolly Sturms,” said Tandasil as she turned to Colleen.
     “The singer’s got ’em.”
     “Excellent!” said Tandasil as she turned and walked away to deal with other business.
     Skye stood up and put her guitar on its stand. “Way to impress th’ boss!”
     Colleen squinted at Skye. “You’re supposed to be the boss.”
     Skye shook her head around. “I don’t wanna be boss. I’ll defer to Molly or Annie or someone else.”
     Colleen turned around and looked across the office. “Harp! What th’ fuck!”
     “Whaaaat?” bellowed a faraway Harp as she stubbed out her cigarette and moseyed over.
     “Don’t let Tand catch you with smokes in here,” said Colleen.
     “I know. The Vulcan death grip.” Harp leaned towards Skye. “Help me Obi Wan, you’re my only hope.”
     “If I’m your only hope then you’re really screwed.”
     “Help me organize these shirts!” commanded Colleen while waving a band shirt over Harp’s head.
     “Sure.”
     Skye looked through the shirts, checking out the bands Colleen had collected. “Anti-Virals and Abinormals?”
     “Don’t get ’em mixed up,” murmured Harp.
     Skye saw Tandasil talking to Larry in the studio’s control room. She left Colleen and Harp and their pile of shirts to creep up on her band manager. “What’s up boss?”
     “Details, details, details,” deadpanned Tandasil.
     Skye cast a quick glance back at her friends and their giant pile of t-shirts. “How is Colleen working out?”
     Tandasil put a hand on Skye’s arm. “Where did you find her? She’s a dream come true.”
     “Really?”
     “My workload has been cut in half because of her. She gets so much done. When you asked me to hire one of your friends to help, I was kinda…” Tandasil performed a skeptical eye roll.
     “She’s used to organizing shows on her own, with almost no help. Colleen’s always had to do a dozen things at once to get stuff going.”
     Tandasil cast a quick glance in Colleen’s direction as she came in and out of the room. “She could easily manage a band on her own.”
     “Yeah?”
     “Honestly, I’m afraid I might lose her.”
     “I promise not to tell.”
     Tandasil floated off to tend to other matters. Skye was putting away her guitar when Roach walked up.
     “Sooooooooo Skye…” said Roach as she put her hands behind her back.
     Skye looked at her suspiciously. “What’s up?”
     Roach narrowed her eyes. “Have you been holdin’ out on us?”
     “What the blazes are you talking about you crazy person?”
     “Xan’s party at Reppers.”
     “You mean the one where you and Annie were butt naked in the garden?”
     “Yeah!”
     “What about it? All I did was wander around bored and talk to twits.”
     Roach scrunched her face. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
     “Like what?”
     Roach leaned towards Skye. “Like Brim eating you out in one of the dance rooms.”
     Skye’s skin bristled. “What!?”
     “Peoples be sayin’.”
     “What people? Who?”
     Roach took a step back. “It’s kinda makin’ the rounds on the rumor mill.”
     “That wasn’t me!” bellowed Skye. “That was Violet. You know, the singer from the Broomsticks!”
     “Really?”
     “Yeah! Me and Miranda saw her. She had Brim’s head jammed up into her pantsless crotch.”
     Roach’s eyes became wide. “Well, no shit they got you mixed up. You guys hella look alike.”
     “They can’t tell one long haired punk from another, apparently.”
     Roach looked askance.
     “What?” asked Skye.
     “Just about everybody thinks it was you gettin’ dined on at that party.”
     “Great. Does that at least mean our record sales will go up?”
     Roach shrugged. “One can only hope!”