Circus Tent is a series of short stories and rock and roll vignettes about Skye Wright’s band The Dynamite Chicks going on a cross-country tour.

In this story, Annie, Skye’s lead guitarist, does her damndest to be a bad influence.

     CEO

     Annie found Skye slumped on a couch in the hotel lobby, looking at her phone with glassy eyes. Annie had just gotten out of the van with her backpack and carry-on.
     Annie thought Skye looked as if she were melting. “What up boss?”
     “Our rooms aren’t ready yet,” said Skye, not looking away from her phone. “We got here too early.”
     “Spacin’ out on TikToks?” asked Annie as she flopped her thin frame down on the couch.
     “Naw. Looking at the Butt Fork admin page.”
     Annie looked around the lobby. She saw Colleen at the registration desk, talking to a desk agent. Annie thought Colleen looked as if she had lost weight, even though they had just started the tour, and Colleen did not have a lot of weight to lose.
     Annie looked through the small crowd of tourists and business suits, trying to see who she could spot, given that the various members of the entourage ran off in different directions once they got there, like school children let loose from a school bus.
     She finally spotted Molly and Roach, standing around and talking to each other just outside of the hotel doors. She spotted Sussy’s bobbed black hair, as she was sitting on another hotel couch, looking through her phone.
     She lost sight of Collen, just when it occurred to her that she had not been looking out for Svenja, or Gitta, or the other member of The Jolly Sturms whose name she had embarrassingly forgotten.
     Annie leaned towards Skye, who was still intently staring at her phone. “What th’ fuck you doin’ now?”
     “There’s a dip in the Sturms overseas sales. Trying to figure out what that’s about.”
     “Jesus Skye, give it a rest. Let the Vulcan handle all that shit. We should go out an’ look aroun’, find out what this town has to offer.”
     Skye did not react as she kept her eyes on her phone. Annie sat back and looked out over the hotel lobby, resuming her people watching.
     She saw tourists wearing khaki shorts and kitschy button up shirts. She saw business suits and pantsuits, sometimes casual, sometimes more buttoned-down and serious. She wondered how people could live such lives, spending all of their time trying to be as ordinary and conventional as possible, where they did everything they could to subvert their minds, their imaginations, and their very souls, in a lifeless and lifelong pursuit of constant conforming.
     Annie nudged Skye.
     “The Broomsticks sales are way up,” said Skye as she kept her eyes glued to her phone. “But that overseas dip with the Sturms…”
     Annie looked to the hotel desk. She caught the eye of one of the agents. Annie held up her hands.
     “Not quite yet,” said the proper looking young woman at the registration desk as she held up a finger to indicate that it would still be a while.
     “Damn. Y’think with the kinda cred we got now our rooms would be ready!” yawped Annie.
     “Shit, we haven’t even released Gail’s new album yet. Then we can get all the hookers we want.”
     “Ooh! I’ve never hired a gigolo before!”
     Skye rolled her eyes as she put down her phone. “You sure about that?”
     “So how much is getting Gail and the Powder Snouts gonna affect us?”
     Skye’s eyes fluttered as she sank deeper into the couch. “We’re gonna need more office space, and soon. Probably a spot not too far from the studio.”
     “No shit? How about a storefront? That way we can sell junk to people who pass by.”
     “That kinda idea has already been floated,” said Skye as she struggled to sit up. “Open a store for the label and have the new office space in the back. I’ve known dinky labels who have done that.”
     “See? You should put me in charge.”
     “Doing gigolos in the backroom?”
     “Sure!” brightened Annie. “Do the rock star thing.”
     “Just boink a buncha groupies.”
     Annie waved a hand at Skye. “Nah. I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”
     Skye picked up her phone again and looked at it with her haggard eyes.
     Annie saw Skye holding onto the phone as if it were a heavy weight.
     Annie flashed back to the early days of The Dynamite Chicks, when they were playing punk dives as a group of drunks and speed freaks, getting loaded before their shows, making sure they were at least slightly tipsy, somewhat stoned, possibly wired, and on occasion all three before they hit the stage. The last thing on their minds were business details. They only worried about money back in those days when they slept in vans, all crowded into one motel room, and became surprised on those rare occasions when they were decently paid for their gigs.
     There was no looking at the big picture back in their club dive days. There was no intense scrutiny of details. They would go on the road without even a bass amp, asking other bands if they could use theirs, and sometimes having to end their sets early because someone broke a string and they didn’t have any spares.
     Not that they didn’t have ideas about attaining some success. They would make flyers and sell their demo tapes in the hopes of attracting bigger crowds, but hopes and thoughts of far-flung success, of going viral, was only a thin concept in the back of their minds, always floating in the background like an afterthought. Annie thought back to those days, wondering if they did ever have any sense of making it out in the world, if they ever thought they would make a real splash like L7, or Bikini Kill, or maybe even reach Ramones level success.
     She glanced at Skye, an old friend who had sworn off drugs and drink, at least as much as she could with her occasional relapses.
     And she could only marvel at how much she had changed.
     Annie swatted at Skye’s phone. “Put that thing away and let’s walk around, see what we can find.”
     “Hang on,” said Skye as she tapped away at her phone.
     Annie stood up. “C’mon, ditch the Tandasil act and stop acting like such a boss.”
     “I’m not acting,” said Skye as she kept looking at her phone. “I am the boss!”
     Annie let out a grunt as she grabbed Skye’s phone. Skye wrestled with Annie for a minute.
     “Knock it off!” hissed Skye between her teeth. “You’re gonna get us kicked outta here!”
     “Come on you lame-o,” groused Annie. “Get offa that couch! Tell the desk we’re gonna go wander aroun’.”
     “Or what?”
     “Or I’ll kick your ass!” smiled Annie.
     Skye put her phone away. “Fine,” she said as she stood up. “Let’s go wander.”
     Skye sent Colleen a quick text after they ditched their luggage with the hotel’s bell service.
     “Gah!” blorped Annie as they walked out onto the sunny street. “Natural light!”
     “Why do I get the feeling we’re gonna get arrested for being drunk in public when we haven’t even been drinking?”
     “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Annie lifted her arm and stuck her nose in her armpit. “Eeyuh!” she winced as she put her arm down. “Man, I am ripe!’
     “Our hair looks like fright wigs, and we’ve been wearing these clothes since last night.”
     “Damn. We gotta find a punk bar and hit on some guys.”
     Skye winced at Annie. “What the fuck are you talking about? We look like a couple of homeless serial killers.”
     “I know! Those guys will be all over us.”
     Skye shook her head around and repeated her wince. “You’re crazy. They’ll run from us.”
     “No way. They love down in the dirt women. We’ll be fighting them off.”
     “I still say you’re crazy.”
     They walked around downtown, finding a lot of typical businesses for a large city center. They detoured down a few promising side streets, passing by liquor stores and a few working class restaurants before finding a casual cafe with artwork on the walls and a lot of patrons who looked like college students.
     “I need to eat something,” said Skye as she detoured into the cafe.
     Annie squinted at the menu board. “I don’t think they have any booze in this place.”
     “Tie one on for the show?” asked Skye as she waited for her onion bagel and cream cheese.
     “Maybe there’s a scrub bar nearby.”
     “Sure. Maybe some of these youngins know where one is.”
     “Psh! You make us sound like a couple a’ old hags.”
     “We are a couple a’ old hags.”
     The short and chubby young woman with dark red dreads behind the counter started to hand Skye her bagel when she stopped. “Hey, aren’t you in a band?”
     “Jug band,” said Skye as she took her bagel.
     “I play the comb harmonica,” said Annie.
     Red dreads pointed at Annie. “You’re in The Dynamite Chicks.”
     “Who, me?”
     “And Screamology!”
     Skye tilted her head at Annie. “She’s got ya there. If she knows the name of your ditchy side gig, she’s down with the street.”
     Annie leaned on the counter and looked right at red dreads. “You wouldn’t happen to know where any punk bars are around here? Like a wannabe dive full of metal an’ punk boys?”
     “Oh. Lessee… There’s Hunton’s on MC Street. That’s where a lotta people like us would be.”
     Annie brightened up. “Awesome! That’s where we’re goin’ then.”
     “Yeah, there’s probably not a lot of people there. They get most of their action at night.”
     Annie waved off red dreads and led Skye out of the cafe.
     Annie took out her phone. “It’s not too far from here. We can walk there.”
     “Day drinking?”
     “Just a pint or two,” said Annie as she kept navigating.
     Annie quickened her pace as her phone guided her to Hunton’s. Skye tried to keep pace at the same time as she observed the street scenes. She always liked to check out all of the little details of places that were new to her, especially the independent stores. She always admired the small things that made them unique, even the corner liquor stores that usually had some identifying marks, be it a small statue of Buddha or a string of paper four leaf clovers or sports paraphernalia.
     She took note of an arts and crafts store that had macrame’ dolls in the window, an ice cream store with discount cones that advertised itself with very amateurish hand-painted signs, and a fabric store with very old and classic sewing machines lined up in the window.
     Down a long high street, they finally came up to Hunton’s, which had an exterior that made it look like a biker bar. Skye knew it was a punk bikers bar when she saw a BSA and an old classic Triumph parked outside.
     Inside, the place was wide and dark, with scattered tables and chairs. Industrial music was playing in the background. Skye was impressed by the interior artwork, a gallery of paintings displaying alternate visions of devils and angels as punks and goths.
     They saw a few bikers in their leathers, sitting in the back. Several other patrons who looked like working class civilians were sitting at a window table, drinking pints of lager.
     Annie ordered a pint from the chubby-cheeked pink-haired punk behind the bar, while Skye got a bottle of soda.
     “This place is pretty dead,” said Skye as they sat at a center table so they could check the place out.
     “It’s fuckin’ cool though. I’d like to see this place when it’s jumpin’.”
     “Is there a stage in here? Maybe we can have an impromptu show.”
     Annie looked down at Skye’s bottle of cola. “Y’know, there are times I wish you still drinked.”
     “Seriously? I was such a lush though.”
     “You were usually wired. Not so lushy as most of us.”
     Skye’s cell phone buzzed and she glanced at it. “Yeah, I suppose so. After a while I only drank booze to take the edge off the speed.”
     “Ah, the good ol’ days!” said Annie as she leaned back in her chair, holding up her pint as if she were giving a toast.
     “You really wish I was still hitting’ the booze?’ asked Skye as she pocketed her cell.
     “Well, maybe not like we used to. I kinda wish we could just have a couple a’ beers now an’ then, an’ do that ridiculous stuff we used to, like make up fucked up pick up lines and actually try them out on some of the blockheads in the bar.”
     “Hell, we could still do that.”
     Annie made a face. “It wouldn’t be the same without the lubrication.”
     “Don’’t fuckin’ tempt me. I done relapsed twice since I decided to get my shit together. I don’t need to fall down that hell hole again.”
     “C’mon Skye, you beat yourself up too much about that shit.”
     “Yeah, Lee already gave me that spiel. But I was lucky. The first time I tried to take myself out, and I failed. The second time I woke up in a jail cell. I don’t wanna check out over somethin’ stupid, or wake up and find out I really fucked someone up and am lookin’ down the barrel of decades in state prison.”
     “I think you’re bein’ a bit overdramatic.”
     “Am I?”
     “Yeah! How many times did you get wasted in the ol’ days? You lost count, right?”
     “We all lost count.”
     “And you’re still here.”
     Skye narrowed her eyes at Annie. “Only by way of dumb luck.”
     Annie knew that she was there by way of dumb luck as well, as she thought about all of the people she knew who had checked out, and some who should’ve checked out. She thought about Carl and Mirian, Cheshire and Harris, all of her friends who had died rock and roll deaths… going out on junk, getting wiped out in traffic accidents, or taking themselves out. She thought about the rest… the friends, the acquaintances, the club goers, and a few of her past lovers who had gone to the great beyond far too early.
     Then there were the ones who missed the last ride, but probably shouldn’t have. There was Katy, who was bound to a wheelchair after slamming her motorcycle into a wall. There was Blame, her old bass player when she was in a scrub band, who was currently facing a myriad of crippling health problems, no doubt because of all the over-the-top excess she engaged in when she was younger.
     Her sight became dark when she thought about Debsie, her wild rock and roll friend, who went on a wild drug and drinking binge one night, only to black out and wake up in a jail cell, with no memory of what had happened the night before, and found out she had killed her boyfriend, an event her ruined memory was never able to recall.
     She was due for parole in a few more years, and no other subject engendered such a split in the scene concerning the subject of Debsie. Some wanted to support her, and others wanted to shun her, as well as too many who had mixed feelings.
     Annie snapped out of her train of thought when two young, gaunt men with chain necklaces and shredded band shirts walked in.
     Annie quickly nudged Skye. “Looky!”
     “What?”
     “The crusties that just walked in.”
     Skye glanced at the two as they leaned on the bar. “If Discharge patches were people.”
     Annie squinted at the two young plank boys.
     Skye knew what she was up to.
     As soon as they started walking away from the bar with their pints, Annie spoke up.
     “M.U.D.!” said Annie while pointing at the first Discharge patch.
     “What?” asked Discharge patch one as he stopped and gawked at Annie.
     “Your patch. You listen to M.U.D.”
     Discharge patch one looked down at his jacket as if he had forgotten there were band patches on it.
     “Yeah,” he said blankly. “Got it at Gilman when I saw them up there.”
     “That sounds like a story. Why don’tcha tell me about it?”
     Skye’s skin bristled when Annie pushed out a chair with her foot. It took a moment for Discharge patch one to realize she was inviting him to sit at their table.
Discharge patch had slightly sunken cheeks, and Skye could not tell if his faraway look was the result of having gotten wasted or if it was his natural, dumbfounded look.
His friend looked more like a normal guy, except for his spiked hair and patch vest. He had full cheeks and the kind of face that betrayed the coming of a goofy smile.
     Discharge patch one sat down cautiously, as if he suspected he might be walking into a trap. Discharge patch two sat down right next to Annie, giving a nod and a smile as he set his pint of lager down.
     “You like M.U.D.?” asked Discharge patch one.
     “I do,” replied Annie, “except Doug owes me a dollar.”
     “Doug?” winced Discharge patch one in confusion.
     “The singer,” said Discharge patch two.
     “Why does he owe you a dollar?”
     Skye rolled her eyes at Annie.
     “Long story,” said Annie. “Are you guys local?”
     “Yeah,” said Discharge patch one as if he were unsure. “Are you?”
     Discharge patch two swatted his friend on the arm. “They’re in The Dynamite Chicks you fool!”
     “Really?” blurted Discharge patch one as his eyes brightened up, finally showing a spark of unwraith-like life.
     “You guys are playin’ tonight,” remarked Discharge patch two.
     “We were thinking of mixing it up for this tour,” said Skye.
     “Mixing it up?”
     “With the Sturms.”
     “How’s that?”
     “Switch up the members, then we’ll have The Dynamite Sturms and The Jolly Chicks.”
     “The Jolly Chicks sounds like a Sesame Street band,” said Annie.
     “With actual chicks playin’!” said Discharge patch two.
     “How about we just mash up both bands?” said Annie. “That way we don’t have to be there as long.”
     “The Jolly Dynamite Chick Sturms?” asked Skye.
     “What the fuck is a sturm anyways?” asked Discharge patch one.
     Annie tossed her head back in surprise. “I don’t know. I never asked!”
     “It means storm,” said Skye.
     “You speak German?”
     “Ja, ja! Kann ziemlich gut Deutsch.”
     “Say something in German,” asked Discharge patch two.
     “Something in German.”
     “No, I mean, something in German, in German.”
     “Etwas auf Deutsch.”
     “What’s that mean?” asked Discharge patch one.
     “Something in German,” smiled Skye.
     “Ha ha,” said Discharge patch two sarcastically.
     “Who’s opening for you?” asked Discharge one.
     “Some band called Darling Fascist Bully Boy.”
     “No fuckin’ way!” blurted Discharge patch two.
     Annie sat back. “Why no way?”
     “I used to be their drummer,” said Discharge patch one.
     “No shit?” said Skye. “What happened?”
     Discharge patch one shrunk in his seat, looking embarrassed. “It’s… kind of a long story.”
     Discharge patch two nodded.
     Skye took the opportunity to talk about music. She asked the Discharge patches about the bands they had been in, what kind of music they played, and what the local scene was like.
     Annie kept asking them questions that irked Skye, such as what did they like to drink, if they had girlfriends, and what kind of pit injuries had they sustained lately.
     The jukebox music that had been continuously playing in the background came to a stop. The two Discharge patches excused themselves to refresh their pints.
     Annie leaned into Skye. “Come on girl, let’s take these guys somewhere and have some fun with ‘em.”
     Skye gave Annie a sour look. “You can’t be serious.”
     “I am! You can have the smart one.”
     Skye crossed her arms. “It’s really sad that I know who you mean by ‘the smart one.’”
     “I ain’t askin’ ya’ to get in a relationship with him, just take him somewhere and help him build a memory.”
     “Uch. I don’t think I could go through with it.”
     Annie leaned in towards Skye. “I betcha he’s never been with a woman who knows what she’s doin’. You could really rock his world!”
     “It would be nice to find a guy who really knew what he was doin’.”
     “C’mon Skye, let’s play with these dingbats!”
     Skye increased the intensity of her wince. “I’m sorry Annie, I just can’t. I can’t bear to seduce a dumbass.”
     “Seriously? Cute and dumb aren’t enough?”
     Skye shook her head. “No, not anymore.”
     “Psh! Since when did you get standards?”
     “I’ve been through too many dingbats. You just want something better after a while.”
     “Blug.”
     “It’s gotta be more than just looks.”
     Annie let out a long sigh. “Yeah, you’re right.” Annie narrowed her eyes at Skye. “But you’re still an awful wingwoman.”
     “Guilty.” Skye downed her cola. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
     They started out.
     “You guys are comin’ to see us tonight, right?” asked Annie as they passed by the Discharge patches at the bar.
     “Naw,” drawled Discharge patch one.
     “Why not? You don’t like us?”
     “We totally wanna fuckin’ go,” said Discharge patch two, “but we can’t afford the tickets.”
     “Aw man, that sucks.”
     “We could probably afford to go if we didn’t drink so much,” smiled Discharge patch two as he held up a fresh pint.
     Skye and Annie were just out the door, walking back to the hotel, when Skye stopped.
     “What?” asked Annie.
     Skye threw up her hands. “Fuck it!”
     She turned on her heel and made her way back into the bar. She found the Discharge patches looking over the bar’s old juke box.
     “Hey, gimme one a’ your phone numbers,” said Skye. “I can get you into the show tonight.”
     Their faces lit up with surprise and delight.
     “Seriously?” blurted Discharge patch one.
     “I hadda miss way too many cool shows when I was broke, back in the day. I know how it is.”
     She got the number of Discharge patch two, whose name turned out to be Toby. She promised them Colleen would text them e-tickets.
     Skye and Annie exited the place once more, beaming in the total delight of the two crusties who were overjoyed with the invite.
     “Have fun with ‘em after the show?” smiled a hopeful Annie.
     “We’ll see.”