The following is an excerpt from 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!

Screamology

     They stopped at Happy Donuts on their way to the Gilman Street Club.
     “Aren’t we supposed to get doughnuts after the show?” asked Miranda.
     “I need to load up for this show,” said Skye as she scanned the selection of pastries.
     “Apple fritter?”
     “Bluch. I don’t need the sugar hangover.”
     Miranda glanced at the one doughnut shop worker who was helping a loquacious customer. “Annie’s band is headlining already.”
     Skye ordered coffee and a bear claw as she thought about Annie’s side venture Screamocracy.
     Annie had reassured Skye that her new band was just a side gig, something to help get her ya yas out in between tours.
     They walked through the cool and semi-misty night air towards the club. They were still a few blocks away when they noticed a bustling crowd outside of the small club.
     “Fuck me,” said Miranda. “What the fuck is that?”
     Skye did not say anything as they waded through the numerous punks and pushed their way to the door.
     “We’re sold out,” said the bespectacled young door woman who was enshrouded in a very large hoodie.
     “We already got tickets,” said Skye.
     A young, shaggy haired man put a hand on the door woman’s shoulder. “They’re Dynamite Chicks.”
     “Oh. Right,” said the door woman as if she was slightly embarrassed or possibly just irritated.
     The club was only half full. Most of the crowd was milling around outside the club as the next band was setting up.
     Skye and Miranda stood by the sound booth as they looked around the small club. Every square inch of the club’s walls were covered with graffiti, artwork, and band stickers. The long wooden merchandise tables near the band entrance were wallpapered in band stickers and graffiti as well.
     Skye had not been by the Gilman Street Club for more than a year, but she felt as if she had not been there in a much longer time. Much of the artwork and graffiti that she had been familiar with had been covered up, which was to be expected as the walls of the storied music venue were constantly being relayered with new scribblings and artwork.
     But regardless of all the changes, the very atmosphere of the place brought back a flood of memories.
     When she had been a teenage runaway in Berkeley, she had gone to Gilman almost every weekend, going there by default. She would go by even when she didn’t know who was playing, if for no other reason than just to talk to friends of hers who would no doubt be there. It was during the time when she was fairly established as an alcoholic, and she was trying just about every street drug on the scene. Gilman had a strict no drugs and alcohol policy, and Skye always marveled at how everyone respected that rule, never bothering to bring in any illicit substances into the club.
     Not that people did not alter themselves when going to shows at Gilman. They would drink and do their drugs before going to the club. Between bands people would wander a few blocks away to their parked cars to imbibe a few more beers or down a couple of swigs of their hard liquor of choice. They would do a few tokes and maybe a few more lines before staggering back before the next band started.
     The younger version of Skye had been there more than a few times when she was drunk, wired, tripping, stoned, or any combination of those states of intoxication.
     “Y’gonna mosh?” asked Miranda, breaking Skye’s train of nostalgic thought.
     “Mmm…”
     Skye stood alongside Miranda as the first band played, a raucous three piece that got the crowd fairly riled up. It did not take long after they began their first song for the club to fill up, as everyone who had been milling around outside started cramming themselves inside once they heard the music.
     Observing the crowd, Skye was surprised at how many young punks were there. She was certain a good deal of the crowd was not yet old enough to buy alcohol, and there were even some rowdy and bouncing punks that she was convinced were not old enough to vote yet.
     A compact pit had begun, but there was not much circling as the place was so crowded. People jumped up and down and twirled around, trying as much as possible to slam into each other in the compacted space.
     The crowd slowly dispersed after the band’s set, as people went outside to smoke cigarettes, get some fresh air, and run back to their cars to drink more booze and do more drugs.
     “Where the fuck is Annie?” asked Miranda as she looked around the crowd.
     “Who the fuck knows. Probably dragging in her equipment.”
     Miranda cast a glance at Skye. “She knows we were coming, right?”
     “I sent her a text, but she never got back to me.”
     Miranda resumed looking out over the crowd. Skye was waiting for the crush of people to thin out before she pushed her way to the snack room for a soda.
     That’s when she saw the look on Miranda’s face.
     She quickly darted her eyes around. She could sense that someone nearby was affecting Miranda’s mood.
     Skye gently nudged Miranda. “What’s up?”
     “Damage is here,” said Miranda with her unchanging expression.
     “Oh yay. Just what we needed. A macho twit.”
     Damage was the former lead singer of The Drill Bits, a popular figure in the underground scene that was buoyed by a carefully manicured reputation, a reputation that had been painstakingly packaged and prepared for her solo career.
     “Didja see her latest video?” asked Skye.
     Miranda stuck out her tongue. “Actin’ all tough with all those goth pretty boys. What a dork.”
     Skye flashed back to the highly stylized music video that Damage had used to launch her solo career, a video with slim, pale, and muscular goth boys dancing in tight and revealing clothing while she tried her best to look tough and evil.
     “Oh fuck me,” groaned Skye.
     “What?”
     “She’s got a couple a’ pretty boys in tow.”
     Miranda craned her neck and spotted the two carefully coiffed and dressed men who were walking behind Damage. They were slim and sinewy, looking around with plain expressions, trying their best to give icy stares while looking at no one or no one thing in particular.
     Skye looked around the club. “Where the hell is Molly?”
     “Ain’t she with Gail?”
     Skye shot Miranda a look. “Not in public.”
     Damage saw Skye as she was making her way through the crowd and gave her a very subtle chin jut. Skye responded with a gratuitous and intentionally silly wave of her hand.
     Damage kept walking slowly through the crowd, shaking a few hands and giving her precisely choreographed chin jut to only a few carefully selected people as her Goth boys trailed behind her.
     “Those boys of hers are walking as if they were her bodyguards,” said Skye.
     “Psh!” dismiss Miranda. “I could drop both of those dorks in a minute.”
     Damage eventually walked up to Skye while carefully making sure she did not look as if she had been deliberately walking up to Skye.
     “Skye Wright,” said Damage.
     “What’s up D.”
     “Damage,” she corrected.
     “Sure.” Skye jutted a thumb towards Miranda. “Don’t mind her. She’s trying to detox from that bear claw she had this morning.”
     “That was an apple fritter,” said Miranda.
     “Even worse.”
     “So, your latest album is doing pretty well,” said Damage diplomatically.
     “Yeah. Our sales are climbing at the moment.”
     Skye noted that the two highly stylized Goth boys were busy looking askance as they stood behind Damage, carefully using their hard-look eyes for maximum effect.
     Skye was sorely tempted to make a snide remark, but she held back.
     “We should think about working together sometime,” said Damage. “Maybe you could open for me.”
     Skye was tempted to nudge Miranda who formed a sour expression at the suggestion.
     “Who knows,” said Skye carefully. “That could be a thing.”
     Skye knew that Gail had entered the room. The air of just about any place noticeably changed whenever she made an entrance. Damage rolled her eyes with a quick glance.
     “See ya Skye,” said Damage as she deliberately turned and started towards Gail.
     “Sure thang.”
     “You’re not seriously thinking about doing a show with that ridiculous dork, are you?” hissed Miranda.
     “We’ll toss it to Tandasil and she’ll figure out how to handle it.”
     Miranda stood straight. “Whattaya mean, handle it?”
     “You know, weasel out of having to do anything without making waves.”
     “Why the fuck would we care about making waves?”
     Skye held up her hands. “Hey, Drill Bits is really fuckin’ popular with a lot of the dingbats in here.”
     “But Damage?”
     “Okay. Maybe not her so much. But still…”
     Miranda put her hands behind her back and stood with a decidedly sour look on her face.
     The next band started up just as Gail and Damage started talking to each other.
     Skye tried to distract herself with the next opening band. “Are these bands getting younger or are we just getting older?”
     “We old,” moaned Miranda.
     Skye had never heard of the band Rat Army. She assumed they were a new band. Her thoughts about their being young-looking were buoyed by their playing style, which she thought was very Clash-like.
     The crowd was obviously into them as a decent pit opened up. Miranda nudged Skye and tossed her head towards the pit. Skye shook her head.
     “Not in the mood,” said Skye.
     Miranda gave a quick nod.
     Skye and Miranda made their way outside after their set was over.
     “Air!” declared Miranda as she spread her arms out in the cool night air.
     Skye looked around the crowd. “I still haven’t seen Annie anywhere.”
     “I thought I saw a clump of hair near the stage that looked kinda like her.”
     Skye decided not to mention how young the crowd looked when she saw Gail heading towards her.
     “What’s up killer?” smiled Gail.
     “I saw you talking to Damage.”
     Gail let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Gotta suck up to the players.”
     “Did you see her latest video?” asked Miranda.
     “The boy toys video? Yeah.”
     Gail winced as she stuck her tongue out. Skye returned the look.
     “Careful, Damage might see you guys gossiping about her,” cautioned Miranda with a grin.
     “What you doin’ here?” asked Skye. “How long has it been since you’ve been to Gilman?”
     Gail scrunched her arms against herself in the cold night air. “Jeez, I think not since the last time DOA was here.”
     “Did Damage ask you to open for her?” asked Miranda with a raised eyebrow.
     “What? No, I don’t think she would ever ask me that.”
     “Oh darn,” said Skye sarcastically.
     Gail leaned towards Skye. “She did tell me about you gettin’ eaten out by Brim at Reppers.”
     “Goddamit!” blurted Skye. “That wasn’t me!”
     Miranda shook her head. “It wasn’t. I was with her. Brim was dining at the Y with Violet.”
     “Really?” replied Gail in surprise.
     “You know Violet?” asked Miranda. “From the Broomsticks?”
     Gail looked even more surprised. “Oh shit! Another long hair…”
     “Yeah.”
     “No wonder they thought it was you.”
     “How far has that bullshit rumor gotten around?” asked Miranda.
     Gail stopped looking surprised and started looking embarrassed. “Well…”
     “Shit,” moaned Skye.
     “I’ll see what I can do to quash it. Or correct it.”
     “Well don’t kill yourself tryin’ to get these dweebs down with the street. It wouldn’t be the first time a bullshit rumor about me got around.”
     Gail looked around the crowd. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever see this at Gilman again.”
     “See what?”
     “People like you, me, and Damage, all here at the same time.”
     Skye’s skin bristled. She held her tongue as she tried to organize her colliding thoughts.
     “Skye you fucker!” shouted a woman’s voice. “You tryin’ to show me up?”
     Skye turned around and spotted Annie taking her guitar into Gilman’s side door.
     “Hell naw!” shouted Skye. “Gail’s gonna do that!”
     Annie went into the club. Skye and company milled around for a few more moments before joining the line to get back in.
     The place seemed even more crowded as they jostled their way towards the back of the club.
     “You wanna go up front?” asked Miranda.
     Skye folded her arms as the crowd crushed in on them. “Naw. I don’t wanna look like I’m tryin’ to steal her thunder.”
     Miranda convinced Skye to go by the right side of the stage.
     Annie took her jacket off. She was wearing a torn and faded Germs t-shirt that barely covered her thin torso. Skye also noted that her hair was much more chaotic than usual.
     She recognized Anita, the drummer from Corpsicle, but she did not recognize the bass player with wild, curly red hair or the short Goth-looking guitarist whose wide eyes peered out between a curtain of straight black and flat hair.
     Annie gave her guitar a strum and the whole crowd started to move with people pushing and jostling their way towards the front. Skye and Miranda managed to find a decent corner near the right side of the stage, standing in between some equipment cases and a few drum pieces left behind by the last band.
     Annie shook her head around as she gripped her guitar. She leaned into the microphone. “What the fuck did you call me?” she shrieked at the top of her lungs.
     Many people in the crowd started shouting, many of them calling out random names. A few members of the audience called her a poser. Some yelled the word ho. There was also rock star, metalhead, and junky. Skye could have sworn someone in the crowd called her a bass player, and a very disheveled young woman with matted blonde hair and frayed clothes leaped up and shouted, “Honeybunch!”
     Annie knelt and scratched out a long, ear-splitting note. The rest of the band joined in. Skye was surprised how raw and dirgy the song was. Annie suddenly stood straight and tall and shrieked into the microphone, singing so fast and loud that even Skye’s club-trained ears could not make out the words.
     The song slowed down with the chorus, where nearly everyone in the band growled out a slow and thumping chorus.
     They finished up the song to a round of raucous applause.
     “Play Goth Butt!” shouted a young buzz cut woman from the middle of the pit.
     “Play what?” winced Annie into the mic. “You want me to play with a Goth’s butt? What?” she yarked.
     They launched into the next song which was a whirlwind of power chords. The bass player sang, growling out violent lyrics about the various ways she wanted to torture and kill her ex.
     Skye and Miranda took a step back. The floor in front of the stage erupted as a large pit opened up. Flying and colliding punks were going all out as Annie’s band played the violent song.
     The song ended and the crowd cheered at the top of their lungs. The club felt as if it was shaking as the jostling and compacted punks made the crowd move like a wave.
     “This next song is a cover. Let’s see if any of you lame-o posers can figure out where it’s from.”
     Skye looked over at Miranda who looked back.
     Annie’s derogatory preamble had been biting and aggressive. It hit a bad note with Skye. When she turned to Miranda, she could see that it bothered Miranda as well. It was written all over her face, at least for Skye.
     Annie started up the song. “I put on my clothes, they make me look dull…” growled Annie into the mic.
     Skye and Miranda looked at each other again. They knew exactly what song she was singing. “I dress high class, it makes me look high paid…” The entire band sang the chorus. “I’m just a slave to my clit! It really makes me sick!”
     Miranda leaned close to Skye so she could hear her over the music. “That’s kinda brilliant.”
     “No shit. I wish we had thought of that!”
     After finishing the song, a bald-headed woman in a plaid skirt and leather jacket jumped onto the stage and leaned into the mic. “Speed Freak Weekend!” she shouted.
     Annie shoved her off of the stage, pushing her into the pit where a clustered group of punks caught her, holding her up above the audience.
     “Enough with the goddamn Dynamite requests! This is Screamology! We’re here to fuck your shit up!”
     Half of the crowd cheered while the other half jeered.
     They played one dirgy and loud song after the next as Annie screamed and jumped around the entire time. The more they played, the more worked up the audience got. In between songs there was so much yelling and jeering that Skye could barely hear any of Annie’s in-between songs monologues.
     They played an unusually long set, so much so that Skye could see the Gilman club personnel starting to get uneasy as they tried edging themselves towards the stage, waving their hands and tapping on imaginary watches while looking at Annie.
     They finally played their last song, a Ramones cover, churning the still large, crazy, and packed-in crowd with a blast of Blitzkrieg Bop.
     After the show, Skye saw Annie at the other end of the club. She had her arm around a young leather-jacketed man as she talked to the punks who were crowding around her.
     Skye stood and watched as even more punks came in from the outside and crushed up to talk to Annie.
     Skye turned to Miranda. “Fuck it. I’ll just text her tomorrow.”
     “She never answers your texts anymore.”
     “Yeah, I know.”