on a moonbeam

It’s not hard to tell that the girl in front of him is barely listening, her eyes are glossed over and he can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind as she —- well, gawks at him. 

He’s a lot more patient with his fans nowadays, after the initial swarm and ego boost of the first days, to the general annoyance and inconvenience after the honeymoon phase, now he’s mostly just grateful they love him enough to buy millions of records and keep the record label off his back. 

Suddenly it’s a lot harder to keep the train of thought as the blonde nods along to his nonsense, wide eyes taking in his every word, so he lets out a chuckle at the end, downing the rest of the flat beer he’s been holding for far too long. 

Hearing her answer, he gives her a satisfied nod as he steps closer with crossed arms. This was finally a conversation he wanted to be having. He’s given her a good enough question that she has to think of something else but him, and he enjoys watching her facial expressions change as she tries to think of the answer, his eyebrows raised. 

“Aha, so it’s safe to say that you’re a lost soul. Like me. I know it sounds depressing, but home just sounds tedious, doesn’t it?” He taps his jaw as he replies, glancing back at the bar he’d exited a few minutes prior. 

“Y’know, there’s one thing that comes with being truly homeless, it’s that you get really good at drinking. Can I get you anything before the damned place closes?” He asks, nodding his head towards the dingy bar with a grin.

“Something like that,” she says through a crooked smile. “Yeah.” 

Tedious. What a perfect word. 

Even through the trance that Eddie had her in, Nova could sense that something was off, something in the way he moved within the world that was not beneath a spotlight or up on stage. She tried not to focus on it too hard.

“Sure.” 

Fuck. Normally she’d wave a hand in protest to any drink aimed her way by a stranger, but this was Eddie Nyx. Nova was almost certain he could ask her to do anything and she would say yes without hesitation like she had just done. She hated alcohol, but she would have been a fool not to say yes, if only to spend a few more minutes with the rock god. 

She took a step closer to the bar’s entrance, hoping he would follow. 

“I’ll buy yours and you can buy mine. You can tell me about all your homes.” 

“No, no, I…I’ll be okay.  I don’t…I just need to find a phone…call my grandma…she’ll have to…”  Grandma would have to drive all the way down here to pick her up, practically in the dead of night.  She was probably already asleep at this point.  Dear God, she was so dumb.  She was so excited about the meeting, she just assumed her contact would be able to drive her home and didn’t even think about making alternate travel plans.  Stupid.

“Well, there’s a payphone just around the building. I could walk you to it if you’d like so you’re not alone.” Nova stood up from the stoop, wobbling atop her platform boots like a fawn before she caught her balance. It would be easier for the other to accept her help if she was already standing, she figured. 

 It wasn’t the worst neighborhood in the world, but it definitely helped to use the buddy system after the sun went down. 

“You got coins?” 

Paulie hasn’t meshed well with the new girls.

It’s not their faults, though – it’s not as if she actually tries.

She hates that the label does that; plugs new girls into the group like it’s nothing, like it’s theirs. Like the sound doesn’t have a heartbeat or a soul that can only be achieved with the certain kind of alchemy or magic, along with the blood, sweat, and tears. 

She hates that they can just waltz in and benefit from all of the hard work she and Rosie had put in. These new girls didn’t go through the shared highs and lows, the drag uphill, the searing traumas that made Bitch Frenzy as much of a family as they were a band. 

Then again, they weren’t Bitch Frenzy anymore, were they?

Sighing heavily, Paulette is pulled out of her daze and turns her head slowly to the source of the voice – Nova. 

Poor thing – in another life, Paulie might have managed to put on a smile for her.

“Between you and me? No, not particularly,” she muses as she shifts a little higher in her seat, the vinyl of the booth squeaking beneath her.

“How do you feel it went back there at the studio?”

“You know, if there’s anything I can do to help, you can ask. I don’t bite unless you want me to.” Nova tried to crack a smile, if only to breathe a small bit of positivity into the atmosphere. She was not certain if it worked, but if appearances were anything to go on, it hadn’t. 

“I think it went okay. Great, actually, but what do I know? I just show up and pluck the strings.” The laugh she let out was as light as the bubbles in the cherry coke she sipped from. “I can tell it’s what they were hoping for when they don’t say anything between the tracks.” 

“The music’s not great, but it’s good. Catchy. People seem to like it a lot, which is something, right?” 

“Oh, no doubt,” Ant nodded, earnestly, over the jitter of his nerves. “He’s a fool for a good scratch. Right up here,” he tapped the back of his jaw, “and under the chin. Goes absolutely boneless.” Knocking ash to the pavement, he did his best to keep a surreptitious sort of watch out. An eye, an ear. Paulie would figure it out. She’d realize, when he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, that there was something up. And this would all be fine. How fucking unlikely, though. Really. Wasn’t as if Los Angeles was a small sort of place. To run into one of her girls, out here…

Blowing smoke, Ant chuffed at the thought. A fan. Would’ve been a dealbreaker for Paulie, he’d wager. “Nah, not my kinda sound, no.” Though he did wind up at more than a few of their shows, these days. Just. You know. Behind the scenes, shall we say. “Hard to miss you lot, all the same. What with the posters. And the magazine covers. And the radio ads…” Here they are, the jewels in Fusetone’s crown - the Gemstones! Paulie practically squirmed when that shit crackled over the airwaves. Did her bandmates feel the same? He’d wondered before, but. Not his business, and not something Paulie seemed too keen to chat about. Fair enough. “And I wouldn’t figure on a Gemstone being within a bloody mile of anyplace I’d call a good time.” He’d settled into that rockstar barely-there grin, lazy, a bit cheeky. “Sure it’s not you who’s lost, hm?” Cool, collected. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

"UGH.” Nova’s mouth sits agape in mock offense. “Rude!” 

All you punk boys are the same. 

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” she laughed, brushing off the comment. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Some of the similar Fusetone acts had that type of reputation. While Vital Noise’s acts were wild, and Lucky Clover’s were always on the front page of tabloids, unless you were in the big leagues and making money faster than the mint could print it, Fusetone kept you on a tight leash.  “I, know how to have a good time.”

“I’ll have you know I live right down the street.” A glittery, bubblegum pink fingernail pointed in the general direction towards her apartment, past the sketchy gas station across the street. It was the same apartment she first moved into after moving to L.A., and even though she’d made more than enough money to move to something nicer, she kinda liked being in the center of the grime. 

It wouldn’t be that big of an upgrade if she did decide to move, however, since there wasn’t much money left for rent after her shopping sprees. The newest glittery platforms, or rent money? The answer was clear.

“And where are you posted up, hot shot? Is it true Vital has you boys out near Santa Monica?” She sucked at her teeth. “Pre-tty swanky.” 

They had barely been in the room for more than five seconds before Paulie was leaving, and Rose turned to track her hasty departure, mouth opening to say something before she simply sighed and resigned herself to it, wincing as the door shut loudly. There was movement in her peripherals, Nova slinking out, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, heartsick for the old bond Bitch Frenzy had.

She sat down on the corner of a bed, a polite, tired smile creeping up her lips when she heard chatter, trying her best not to take anything undue out on the lollipop and Nova. 

“Yeah,” she agreed amicably. “I think we did great. You did really well on those new riffs, Nova,” she said, genuine in her intent, though like most of her interactions with the newer members, the sentiment came out distant.

“Uh,” she said before chuckling dryly, glancing at the door Paulie had just exited from. “No, I don’t usually, unless it’s to make a couple hours appearance at an afterparty before tracking back here. Feeling antsy? I can cover for you if our manager comes knocking,” she offered.

“Thanks! I almost snapped a string in the second half, but I think we managed to pull it off.” 

Nova turned over in the lounge chair and extended an arm to Rosie. The lit joint sent a thin stream of smoke swirling into the night air between her wiggling fingertips. An offering.

 There was something about Rosie that made Nova sad, but she wasn’t sure what it was. It wasn’t as if Rosie had ever let herself crack in front of Nova before, and the guitarist doubted she ever would. It was that leader of the band mentality. Ever polite, ever collected. 

What goes on in your head, Rosie Kang?

“Aw, I wouldn’t leave you all alone up here, but I appreciate the offer.” A wide smile lit up her face. “Buuuut, if you wanted to come with me... A gal just might consider it.” 

Nova rolled over on her back, humming a content sigh to herself. 

“Where do you think Paulie runs off to all the time?” 

“I do, actually…” Mari let the answer drift off into a contemplation of all the people she knew in this town. Quite a few names on her list could pull strings with a shop like that, but she’d never been one of the people to do things like that. She liked to charm her way in of her own accords “Good tip. I’ve been on a tight fashion budget lately, but that’s good to know for the future.”

”Really?”  It was a simple compliment, but Mari’s eyes lit up, their olive green hue even more vibrant, her face illuminate by the different blinking neon lights around them.  “Thanks,” she laughed. 

“My mother has the same. My dad calls them ‘witch eyes’.” Compliments from girls always felt more genuine, and she felt more likely to believe them. They didn’t have ulterior motives like guys did, no matter how poetic they thought they were being. “Your hair’s totally far out, by the way. I always want to style mine like that but I’m lazy so I just end up combing it.”

“Like crystal balls,” she laughed lightly. “Nice” 

Since crossing paths with the other woman, the street corner had become a gathering of ethereal beings. The other, with her green eyes, and Nova, with her pin straight pale hair. 

Nova pulls all of her hair forward to rest before her shoulders. “Thanks! Are you familiar with Tolkein at all? I wanted to look like Galadriel.” In a fit of giggles, Nova buried her face in her hands for a moment. “Can you believe it used to be brown and curly? Depending on your outlook on life, all the bleaching either ruined it or made it better.” She certainly felt more like herself. 

She used to go entire nights without being recognized---Hell, there were even some days when she was all but invisible to the public eye. Nowadays her privacy was becoming more of a privilege than a right, and the way she frequently found herself wishing she could move about the world like she used to, without eyes on her, made her sick. 

All she wanted was to slink down to the bar and see a local band play some music. The last thing she expected was a skirt torn by a drunk so-called fan. Her presence had caused a kerfuffle between sets, the likes of which had thrown her into a panic attack. 

Nova shoved her way to the ladies room and locked the door behind her. 

With her eyes closed, the muffled sounds of the bar crowd almost sounded like being underwater. Though oddly calming, it did little to keep the moisture from her eyes. 

Everything comes at a price. Her loyalty to the band did, and so did the stardom. She’d expected it somewhat, but coming to terms with the fact that she would soon belong more to the public than she did to herself felt like a grip around her throat. 

She lightly stomped the bottom of her platform against the gross floor of the restroom, and took a deep breath, though upon doing so she realized she wasn’t alone. 

“Shit,” she breathed and swiped the moisture from her cheeks. Thankfully it didn’t seem like the other was too bothered by her mild breakdown. 

“You look really cute,” she mewled. “I love your outfit.” 

Mary Jo deflated, shoulders clenching closer to her ears.  “That’s what I was afraid of,” she muttered.  Her fingers tapped erratically against her elbow.  Had she seen a phone booth in her pacing up and down the street?  The familiar voice of ‘this would be easier if you had your own car’ wormed its way into her head, and she quickly shook it out.  She and Grandma were perfectly fine with the one car between them.  (And there was also the Harley, but she preferred not to think about that option.)

The other girl spoke up again and Mary Jo flinched - not from fear, just surprise.  She never expected chatty strangers.

“Yes, I mean…sort of.  Not really.  I-I was supposed to meet someone here.  I guess they got hung up somewhere.”  Frankly, she was too anxious to be upset about her failed attempt at networking.

“Oh...” There was a little crack in her heart. Poor gal. 

She’d met so many girls who’d been ditched by guys lately that Nova began to wonder if men were worth anything past dusk. For a moment, she dug through her purse for a long stick of Doublemint, and popped it between her painted lips. Her brows knit at the sight of the girl before her. 

“Are you alright there, sugar? You’re looking kinda nervous. You’re not gonna be sick or anything, right?” 

She moved so quietly Silas hadn’t didn’t even realize she was there until she was crouching like a skittish little creature on the opposite side of the coffee table. Like she was afraid to get any closer to him. Silas didn’t blame her for that.

He opened one eye, rolled his head over to look at her. She was one of the Gemstones. Jade, if memory served, which it usually didn’t. His brain had a nasty habit of failing him when he needed it the most. “You’ve listened to Exit Wound?” Silas asked, his eyebrow quirked up in amused surprise. The song was on their first album. The one they’d recorded so Sonny could prove that they had something worth bringing to The States was a hard record to come by. Though, he supposed if anyone could get their hands on it it would be someone in a world famous pop band. 

Exit Wound was still one of his favorite songs he’d ever written, a rage fueled tirade about his own short comings. Even seven years later, the two minutes of verbal-abuse directed towards his seventeen year old self left him feeling cathartic every time he performed it. Silas peeled himself off the couch, slouching with his elbows propped up on his knees. “I had all the lyrics written in maybe thirty minutes,” he said, reaching for his beer bottle. He stares into the mouth as if the memory of it is hidden somewhere at the bottom. “Me and Ant were crashing at the venue because we didn’t have anywhere else to go after the gig. Or… I didn’t and he stayed with me. I don’t remember. I was sober, but itching, dig? And I started writing all the things I was saying to myself in my head, the things I’d tear out of my body if I could. It felt good to get them on paper, you know? I woke Ant up he pulled that sick baseline out of his ass then it was just like we’d had the song our whole lives.”

If only he knew how nuts she was for music of all kinds, he’d know why she snorted out a laugh at the question. 

Of course she’d listened to Exit Wound. It took her an entire summer of saving up to afford the bootleg of Skin that the owner of her local record shop continuously tempted her with. It had come all the way from New York City, which made her feel infinitely cooler than she was before possessing it. Nova should never have let Millie borrow it. She’d practically sobbed when Millie told her that her father snapped the record over his knee when he went to listen to The Osmonds and found the paper jacket of Skin behind the wholesome group in a field. 

For two whole years she had only her memory of the track listing to rely on. Skin was a tether between her and the reality she wanted to create during her lowest moments, and when that tether was cut she was lost again.

“Gosh,” she whispered, nodding. I started writing all the things I was saying to myself in my head, the things I’d tear out of my body if I could. His words were nothing short of inspiring. 

“That’s way powerful, man. It used to make me wish I could write a song worth hearing. Still does, even if it’s been a while since I heard it. I’ve never been good with words like that, but I guess I make up for it with the riffs.” Nova wiggled the fingers of her left hand to show off the little callouses.

 “Does Vital let you write like that still?” 

Heard it through the grapevine…

Nova never smokes cigarettes; she turns down alcohol 90% of the time, and drugs scare her because of some bad stuff she witnessed when she first moved to L.A.. On the odd occasion that she does drink it’s something fruity, colorful, and fun, with so little booze in it that she doesn’t have to taste it. She never goes over her limit with alcohol, which is around 1 to 2 drinks.

So, she’s relatively sober compared to the people she surrounds herself with. A lot of this has to do with her being scared of losing control and putting herself in a dangerous situation with people she doesn’t trust. 

Despite the lavish digs, the general atmosphere of the hotel suite they’d all been stuffed into had been anything but fun. 

Where the hell were they, anyways? Time seemed to move so fast when they were shuffled from place to place. Not knowing where she was gonna lay her head was part of the fun for Nova, who’d fully given in to just going wherever she was sent, guitar in tow.

Paulie had stormed off into the hallway for some reason or another (did she need one these days?), which was a major bummer, overall. So, pulling the little joint from her bra that she’d bought from a stagehand with long hair and a cute smile, Nova slinked off to the balcony. 

“I think we did pretty well,” she said to Rosie through the screen door from her spot on a chaise. 

“I looove whenever you hit the high notes,” she sighed. “It feels like flying. In your chest.” 

“Have you guys ever left a hotel while on tour?” 

Location: Mezcal Moon Time: 11:00 PM Status: Open

“You got something to say? Or you just gon’ stare?” 

“I—”

Gosh. That’s Marina Lee. Right there! Within an arm’s reach! 

“I’m trying to think of something cool to say, but I got nothin’. Sorry for staring.”

She goes back to swishing a straw around her ginger ale with extra cherries, minding her own business for as long as she possibly can stand it, which isn’t very long at all. 

“I’m just, like, a big fan. You know, I’m surprised we haven’t met before, actually.” “What I mean by that is that, well, you probably have no idea who I am unless you listen to Top 40 stuff, but I work for Fusetone, too. I’m pretty new though, but even though I’m new I’ve been a listening to the catalogue for years, decades even, so when I was brought in I was like, totally excited—“

She’s forgotten to take a breath during her rambling. 

“Sorry. I thought I didn’t have much to say, but here I am rambling.” 

Though she won’t express it, Nova hates this feeling. 

The practices are fine, she guesses, and the moments when it’s just the girls together are cool, but it’s like with every passing day a thread of tension gets shorter and tighter between three quarters of The Gemstones and Fusetone. 

It’s had her counting out the pros and cons of being in the band like beads on an abacus, back and forth, trying to find the solution to the question of if her love for performing was worth all this extra crap. 

She always gives up her counting when she realizes it’s too late to back out now. Besides, she doesn’t have it that bad. She guesses if she were Rosie or Paulie she would feel differently. 

Oh, Paulie. 

Nova watches her from her spot in the little corner booth the managers know to seat them in. It is at the perfect angle to keep people from recognizing or watching them easily. Places to hide away aren’t easy to come by these days.   

"Are you okay?” she asks quietly. “You’ve been staring at that window for, like, ten minutes... aaand I’m not sure you’re even lookin’ at anything.”