Chapter Eight
They had an hour to kill before Angels performance. She and Collins had wandered off in the direction of dressing rooms, while the others shoved the tables back into place, making enough room for all eleven of them.
Cha-Cha sat beside Mimi, the two girls driving Roger crazy talking about movies he'd never see and shopping he'd never participate in. He realized he wanted Mark back. Who was he supposed to talk to now? Mark practically had the ecstatic Ivana in his lap, smiling and joking around with her as Roger sat with his chin in his hand.
Roger looked to his other side with a bored glance. Rusty. In front of him, Maureen deep in conversation with Joanne. He heard the word 'protesting' and decided he wanted nothing to do with that.
So. Rusty. He'd talk to her. They were both musicians. Surely he could strike up some interesting conversation with her. Right? He gave it a shot, and soon he was sitting up straight and finding her a lot more intriguing than he'd thought.
She told him how she'd gotten into singing by being in school musicals as a child, which was where she was introduced to drag. She and her friends performed now and then in her club as well, and she also mentioned her position from last year when she found herself teaching Walter Koontz to sing.
"He really improved once he got over his fear."
"Fear?" Roger asked.
"Well, Walt was afraid of…me, basically. We never really got along, you know, the cop and the drag queen. His friend Tommy was the same way."
"Was?"
"He came around. They all did, eventually. People usually do. Walt's really great now, no more shouting 'fucking faggot' across the alley," she joked. Roger chuckled. "No, no, we're good friends now. He comes over now and then, sometimes for help with a song. He's kept up the routine, even without me teaching him." Rusty smiled thoughtfully. "Music can really help a person, you know?"
Roger nodded in agreement. "Yeah. I lost someone two years ago, her name was April." Roger shifted warily in his chair. How much did he want to share with his new friend? "Writing lyrics, composing music…really helped me get everything out of my system. My way of grieving and letting go, I guess." He shrugged, hoping to distract her from the emotion in his voice with his next line. "It's also what helped me keep Mimi."
Rusty nodded and smiled slowly. "Great examples of music healing."
"There's fifteen minuets till Angel comes on," Maureen said, checking her watch. "Should we head over? We forgot to leave someone to save our seats, we may have to hunt for some now."
"Yeah, good idea." Joanne looked over to Mimi, "Hey Meems, we gotta get back to the other room."
"Alright, in a second. So anyway," she continued with Cha-Cha, "I found the best skirt ever-" and she was off again.Maureen and Joannegot everyone else's attention and eventually they made their way back to the stage.
"Aw man," Cha-Cha whined as they all sat down. "We got back just in time for Stormy."
"Of course," sighed Rusty. "Just our luck."
"I hope she falls to her doom," Cha-Cha whispered excitedly. "And drags Pixie down with her."
"It's sad how happy that just made you," Rusty teased.
"A girl can dream."
Music started softly, then built up enough to bother some of their ears. It was a sad attempt at a melody, and seemed to drag on forever. Stormy and Pixie sauntered onto the stage in time with the beat, which only made them look even more ridiculous in Cha-Cha's humble opinion.
Stormy started the duet off with his deep voice, the first time it ever really worked to his advantage. The song was meant for a low voice. "Nightclubbin', we're nightclubbin' …We're what's happenin'"
"Nightclubbin', we're nightclubbin'…we're an ice machine." Pixie's voice, Cha-Cha to admit, was lovely. Too bad it got stuck with such a sour personality…
"I never got this song," Cha-Cha whispered to Rusty who nodded in agreement.
Stormy and Pixie continued together. "We see people…brand new people. They're something to see."
"What a way with words," moaned Cha-Cha sarcastically.
"When we're nightclubbing."
Pixie's line echoed Stormy's , "We're nightclubbin'," and they looked to the audience quickly before their monotonous drone of "Oh isn't it wild?"
"No. It's not. Go away."
"Cha-Cha!" Rusty whispered. "Do you have to comment on everything?"
Stormy sang alone. "Nightclubbin', we're nightclubbin'…we're walking through town."
"Nightclubbin', we're night clubbin'…we walk, like a ghost!"
"Even Pixie's voice can't save this thing." Rusty elbowed Cha-Cha, although she had to agree.
"We learn dances…brand new dances," their voices mixed awkwardly, Pixie's high voice trying but failing to compliment Stormy's.
"No duh," Cha-Cha huffed. "If it's not new, you wouldn't be learning it."
"Like the nuclear bomb…"
"Oh now you're dragging Japan into this?"
"Cha-Cha! For the love of God, will you please be quiet?"
"Well it's not like you're enjoying it anyway!"
"When we're nightclubbin'."
"Bright white clubbin'."
"Oh isn't it wild?" they finished in sync.
The stage was set with Angels' signature ten gallon plastic pickle tub, a wire garbage bin, and a long metal table.
Angel burst onto the stage and ten audience members screamed like mad, almost drowning out the several hundred others.
Angel had her drumsticks tucked snugly in her belt. Her knee high black heels were in place, along with a short black skirt and tight white tank top that had a unique design Miss Ivana had created for her. Collins adored it.
Music poured into the performance room through various speakers. Loud. Fast. Driving. Angel danced similarly to Ivana and Rusty their first day in her apartment. Just on the brink of dirty.
Collins had to will himself to stay seated, tempted to drag his lover back to the dressing room that very second.
She slipped her drumsticks out from beneath her belt. The moment one hit the metal table the music dropped to half the volume so her playing could be heard. She spun alongside the long table, sticks rhythmically hitting it in time to the beat to the beat.
Not the least bit dizzy, at the end of her twirls she landed gracefully on her pickle tub for a well timed 'thump'.
With only a seconds rest taken, she began again on the floor. She started on the space in front of her, then slowly twisted around to her left. Her drumsticks soon met the wire garbage bin, giving off a bizarrely wonderful sound. A few seconds later she was somersaulting backwards off the pickle tub to continue on it itself.
A break in her playing was met by the music's' volume increasing, louder but still not overpowering. Angel had twenty seconds to flaunt her flexibility, and she intended to use them all.
She sprung up from the floor, simultaneously sticking her drumsticks back into her belt. She went immediately into a series of back flips, the last one involving the stages back brick wall.
Her feet began to ache after the final landing, letting her know they resented her determination to always perform such acts in heels. She winced slightly, unnoticeable to the crowd, as she jumped back next to the table. Ignoring them as best she could, she hopped onto the table, pulled her drumsticks out once again, crouched down and played vigorously, enjoying the metallic clinks in return. Smiling, she was getting swept away by the lights, screams, sounds, and adrenaline.
She fell forward on her hands, dropping her sticks smoothly to stretch out on the table in such a way that our feline of Avenue B vowed she'd demand to be taught once they were home. She rolled onto her side, winked, then rolled completely off the table to land in a crouching position, somersaulted once, stood up with a twirl to plop down finally on the ten gallon plastic pickle tub. She crossed her ankles and arms and gave a single nod before the crowd roared its loudest yet.
Angel breathed heavily, tired from bouncing around, and sweating from the energy and hot lights. She barely stopped herself from laughing as she started off the stage when she spotted Maureen squeezing a red, breathless Joanne. Joanne looked at her with a 'I feel your pain' expression.
She fought her way through the crowded backstage area and out to the audience.
"Angel you were awesome!" Cha-Cha squealed, hugging her tightly. "Fantabulous!"
Angel was soon surrounded by her group of friends, each praising her performance.
When it was Collins turn to congradulte, he pulled his girl to him and kissed her hard. Angels knees threatened to give out, from both his emotion and her exhaustion.
Collins noticed and offered to carry her back. Angel rolled her eyes and pointed out they were only so far from their chairs. Hardly worth the effort, but she appreciated the thought.
"I never said it was back to the chairs," he purred.
Angel giggled, but she said she wanted to see the rest of the acts. The whole lot of them made their way to their seats.
Not an hour later Angel left to change, wanting to get out of her dirty clothes. Collins volunteered to escort her back, both walking away with smug, knowing grins.
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