West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

Mitchell tossed his head, trying to get the sweat to change course. Of course, it didn't work. At the end of the show like this, the sweat had a mind of its own.

"So," he said in a conversational way, putting his left foot forward more, almost straddling the mic stand. His guitar got in the way, so he used his right hand to move it away. "Those lousy fuckers in this half-ass town wouldn't let us stay up here tonight until midnight so we could do this all proper, like."

The crowd booed. Mitchell nodded approvingly, looking around at them and then at the band. Trevor and Eric looked suitably impressed and they nodded along with Mitchell.

"But," he said, holding up one finger and cocking his head. More sweat dripped into his eyes; he blinked it out. "They wouldn't budge even when we offered them lots of money. And I mean lots," he said, wondering if the fans could possibly comprehend the negotiations they'd tried. Beside him, Eric nodded agreement. Trevor just laughed.

"So. Here we are, and you fucks are probably gonna bolt outta here and head off to another party. When you get there, be sure you show off your special New Year's T-shirts and then laugh your asses off 'cause none of us got 'em."

The crowd roared again, like that was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. As if it was true, Mitchell thought. Shit, he had the original drawing that Kerri had made somewhere in all his papers. As if ShapeShifter would make something as exclusive as a commemorative New Year's tee and not hold out a few for themselves.

"Before we go, let's have ourselves a little celebration. Ready? Dans'll help you count down from ten, and we'll have some fireworks and shit."

He paused as Eric signalled to Daniel before approaching. "Invite the crew out," the guitarist reminded him. Good thing; he'd forgotten. As if he'd wanted to do this without Kerri.

"Whoa," Mitchell said, holding both hands up to quiet the fans. "We gotta do this right. Bring the crew on out. Ker, techs, everyone back there. C'mon out."

Once Kerri had nestled under his left arm, his guitar touching her hip and his sweat drenching her, he waited for the rest of the crew to stumble out. Even though he'd warned them he'd be doing this, they were still wary, as if they were expecting some sort of joke.

On any other day, they'd have gotten one, that was for sure. Ordinarily, crew belonged in the background. But this was New Year's Eve, and while they hadn't gotten permission to bust through the arena's curfew, they had gotten permission for some indoor fireworks and an early celebration.

Then, band and crew would party backstage until they were all too soused to stand.

Bobby, Mitchell's tech, offered to take his guitar. But Mitchell shook his head. "You're off duty for a few," he said, leaning away from the mic so it wouldn't pick up his voice. The guitar wasn't heavy; he could carry it a few more minutes.

Daniel provided the bass drum beat that the crowd used to count down, and then the pyro guys back at the sound board set off the fireworks.

As he and Kerri watched, smiling, Trevor came up behind them. "So, tonight the night you're gonna wise up and dump Rusty's ass? That girl in the third row sure looks like she'd be willing to ease the parting."

Mitchell cuffed the back of Trevor's head and grinned. "You don't stop, do you, asshole?"

Trevor grinned happily. "Who, me?"

Labels: creative writing, fiction, novel excerpt, outtake, touring

The last person Mitchell wanted to talk to about this was Trevor. But Trevor was his roommate, and Daniel and Eric were off in their room, probably with girls. Which meant Mitchell couldn't just go knocking. Even if the interruption would be welcome -- which there was no way in Hell it would be -- Mitchell didn't want anyone outside the band to see the green too closely. Not that he wanted the guys to see the green, but he was stuck on that one.

"What else can we try?" he asked Trevor morosely.

Trevor held up the slice of pizza he was chowing on. "Anchovies? I'm still hungry."

"You hate anchovies, asshole," Mitchell said and flopped on his back on his bed. "And why the fuck would they work if nothing else has?"

"I still think you ought to cut it," Trevor said around a mouthful of the meatball pizza he'd special ordered, shamelessly using the ShapeShifter name to get what he wanted. For free, too, that fucker.

"Just shave it all," Trevor said. Mitchell could imagine his usual I'm-up-to-no-good expression. "It's hardly a chick magnet all green, but I hear chicks dig stubble. That could work for you for awhile."

Mitchell didn't even bother to snort. Trevor could shave his own damn head if he wanted to know about girls and stubble. But he was Mitchell Voss. He had an image to maintain as a long-haired rock god.

Which meant he had to get the blonde back.

Groaning, he reached for the phone. "Name your price," he said to the person who answered. "But you've got to get your ass over here and get the green out of my hair."

"What did you do now?" she asked.

"Are you gonna come, or not?"

"Are you going to pay for this?"

"Repeatedly," he sighed. But yeah, he'd pay for her flight down. There was no way she could get there if he didn't.

"I'll call you back when I book the flight."

Mitchell hung up and covered his face with his hands for a long minute, than sat up and lit a cigarette. Trevor was finishing the last piece of pizza. He'd eaten the whole thing by himself.

"Drastic measures?" Trevor asked, smacking his lips and flicking some leftover sauce off his fingers. It splattered on the wall.

"As drastic as it gets."

"Good." Trevor stood up and burped. He looked over at Mitchell. "I'm tired of your mopey ass. It's too big a world to spend it hiding in a hotel."

"We could go swimming," Mitchell told him.

Trevor laughed. "There's hope for you yet, asshole."

"Cut my hair off while I'm sleeping tonight and there won't be any hope for you," Mitchell tossed back. Knowing that help was on the way made him feel that much better.

Labels: creative writing, fiction, Green Hair Week, novel excerpt, outtake, short story

Mitchell was still waking up on the bus, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and scratching it off his chest, when he staggered into to the front lounge.

Trevor took one look at him and screeched, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray.

"What the fuck?" Mitchell asked, squinting at his band. He was, like it was any surprise, the last one up. Even Charlie the tour manager was sitting in the front lounge, pretending to read a magazine.

"Your head," Daniel said.

Mitchell scrubbed at his beard. He'd been too lazy after the show the night before to shave; he figured that blanket fuzz or feathers were stuck in it. Again.

"Your hair," Eric said. "It … how'd it get worse overnight?"

"It didn't," Daniel said, starting to smirk.

Trevor choked on his laughter. "Hey, dumb fuck," he said to Mitchell, who lifted his chin but still couldn't get his eyes the whole way open.

"Get out of the sun," Trevor said. "Man, I know plenty of girls who wouldn't stand on a street corner with hair that color."

"What are we going to do about it?" Eric asked.

"Bleach it?" Daniel suggested.

"Cut it off!" Trevor crowed.

"Same thing," the tour manager said, not looking up from his magazine. "I'll make some calls, see if we can find some beauty shop who'll fix you up."

Trevor snickered. "I want to see M in curlers!"

Mitchell growled at him and sunk into the bench seat behind the table. "If word about this gets out…"

Daniel played with one of his curls. "That's a good point. Maybe we should see if we can fix this, ourselves, first."

"How?" Eric asked.

Daniel opened the mini-fridge and looked inside. "I'm sure we can find something."

Labels: creative writing, fiction, Green Hair Week, novel excerpt, outtake, short story

Mitchell glared at the crowd. "What's the matter with you pussies?" he sneered.

He could feel the band holding its breath behind him. Like they hadn't expected him to do this.

"You guys are acting like my head's green or something."

Trevor cracked up, laughing so hard, he doubled over, his unbuttoned shirt brushing against the strings of his bass so that it, too, had a comment to make.

The crowd, though, was stunned almost into silence. After a long pause, they roared.

"That's been taken care of," Mitchell told Eric and hit the opening chord for the next song.

Labels: creative writing, fiction, Green Hair Week, novel excerpt, outtake, short story

No one noticed it until just before showtime. "Uhh… Mitchell?" Eric asked, standing over the band leader and peering down at his head.

"What?" Mitchell growled. His hangover was proving more stubborn than he'd anticipated and he'd already chugged the four quarts of orange juice that the band's tour rider specified -- and sent out a runner for two more. That meant, he was sure, he'd get halfway through the half-hour set and have to piss. Hopefully, there'd be a bathroom nearby. If not, he'd be decorating the venue.

Not that he'd never done that before.

Eric was touching his head, picking at his hair. Angrily, he swatted the lead guitarist away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Your hair." Eric swallowed audibly. Mitchell, through the throbbing head and now the heartburn from all that orange juice, decided to let him say whatever it was that he was scared to. Then he'd kill him.

"It's … green."

Mitchell turned away and grabbed the nearest lock of past-his-shoulders hair. As he held it up, he could see it -- and it wasn't as faint as he'd hoped. "Fuck," he groaned, drawing the word out so that it was more a sound than an actual word.

"Three days in a pool, blondie," Trevor giggled, coming over for a look.

Mitchell very deliberately placed a fist in Trevor's gut and shoved him away. "Lemon juice," he ordered, looking around. They had lemon juice, he was sure of it, because Daniel put it in his tea.

The drummer hustled to hand over the little plastic lemon. Mitchell grabbed it and leaned over one of the sinks in the dressing room's bathroom, squirting the juice straight on his head and working it through his hair, trying to get it to bleach back to almost-white. Fucking stupid color for hair, he thought as he squirted and rubbed, squirted and rubbed.

Eric followed and helped. "Dans, send for more when you see a runner!" he called.

"Just steal some from the crew," Trevor said. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as if this was better than anything he'd ever seen.

Then again, this being Trevor, it probably was. At least until the next greatest thing came along.

"Is it working?" Mitchell asked, the fumes making his eyes water. "My neck can't take much more."

"Uhh… no," Eric said. "And M, I hate to tell you this, but …"

"Spit it out."

"It's really green."

"Holy shit!" Daniel said, coming in the bathroom and poking at Mitchell's head. "How'd you make it worse?"

Mitchell jerked up so fast, he cracked his head on the faucet. He let out a wordless yowl and jumped up and down, a hand clapped to his wet hair, until the first jolt of pain faded.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder as he left the bathroom, hopefully on the trail of more lemon juice. "Better fix it fast," the drummer said.

Mitchell stared at his reflection. He didn't need to get close to the mirror to see it. Green. His hair was green. He looked like a fucking polar bear at the height of summer, except even polar bears had some white left to them. He couldn't say the same. Not really. Not without exaggerating wildly.

Trevor, bent over at the waist and holding his gut, broke into peals of laughter.

"Trev, shut the fuck up. You're not helping," Mitchell told him, fighting a wave of panic. They had a show to do…

"FUCK!" Daniel roared, storming into the bathroom. "Charlie just came in. Dudes, we're on!"

They froze, giving each other terrified looks. They were about to take the stage, and their frontman, the one person everyone looked at, had very wet, very green long hair.

And the hot stage lights would probably only help one of those two problems.

Labels: creative writing, fiction, Green Hair Week, novel excerpt, outtake, short story

The show was over for the night; they'd kicked ass -- for a change, so Mitchell hadn't worried much when their tour manager had asked him to be fast about showering so they could have a few quick words. He'd been expecting to hear that JR, the band's manager, had set up a headlining tour. Instead, he came back to the dressing room with the next-best news he could think of.

"Guys, get this," he said with one of those grins that should have told them trouble was ahead. "Charlie just told me that Jim Shields changed the schedule."

"Again?" Eric groaned. He was bent over, tying his Doc Martens; his voice was muffled.

"Yeah, but this is good. He wants to take three days off after the Phoenix gig so he can go explore some of the power centers and shit in Sedona. As his opening act, we get three days off!"

"Power centers?" Eric arched an eyebrow.

"I heard his dick could use some energy," Trevor said. He was laying on his back on the couch the promoter had brought in, one foot on the floor, the other flung over the back of the couch. Mitchell wasn't entirely certain what he was doing with his hands -- or why there weren't any girls around. They were ShapeShifter; there were always girls around.

"Three days off," Mitchell said again. "Hello? Three days."

Daniel grinned at him. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

It still seemed too good to be true. "A place that's warm enough for an outdoor pool and three days with nothing to do but have us some fun? Fuck yeah, I'm thinking what you are!"

"Outdoor pool?" Trevor asked. He propped himself up on his elbows and gave Mitchell one of those looks that meant he was plotting something.

Mitchell didn't know his grin could get any bigger, but somehow, it did. "I told Charlie to make sure the hotel has all-night lighting out there and they know where to direct the pizza delivery guys. I, for one, am not leaving unless the cops make me. And even then, I'll be back!"

Daniel laughed. "I'm right there with you, bro."

"Eric? Trev?" Mitchell looked at them. As if they'd miss this.

The bigger question was who'd remember it.

Labels: creative writing, fiction, Green Hair Week, novel excerpt, outtake, short story

I was inspired by the whole Death by Cheese thing, and I seem to be entranced by a new plot idea. For a new novel, folks, not another outtake.

This cracked me up. ShapeShifter's been in demand for TV appearances:

Apparently, one of the kids' cable networks had called and put out feelers, but had run when reminded of Mitchell's love for the words "pussies" and "fuckers."

"Funny," Mitchell had pointed out to JR, "I've never said those two particular words on any other broadcast we've done."

They'd both conveniently ignored Mitchell's talent for slipping them into songs and somehow past the censors who were supposed to be on guard for them.



***
Back tomorrow with a Thursday Thirteen

Labels: creative writing, fiction, novel excerpt, outtake