NOTE – this is a continuation of this story: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/
They played guitar til the sun rose. Helene wondered if Ramona Gallery could see her staring at after each break. Eighteen years separated them. Every time Helene moved her dirty blonde hair behind her ears, Ramona would do the same with her graying red tresses. He ended the songwriting session. Helene glared, never wanting the moment the pass. Ramona rubbed her rough right hand over Helene’s left arm.
“We both look like hell. Wanna go put it in a kitchen?”
Shocked at her offer, Helene smiled and shook her head like puppy.
Ramona and the two other guitarists walked to the elevator. She said goodbye to them. He walked over to Helene and held a 100 dollar bill.
“No, I mean thanks, but playing and writing with Ramona was like winning the lottery, dude.”
He smiled, folded the money, and placed it in her guitar case.
“You’re here because of Ramona Gallery. She saw you with your band. If you want a gig playing with us , then you need to tell her so. Ramona’s weird. She won’t ask you directly. Consider this money an advance for future work. “
To make 100 dollars as a member of Slipper Socks Medium, she would have to play three shows a night in a place that held 100 people, and abstain from any food or drinks. She had met one of her musical heroes, wrote song for three hours, and been invited to breakfast. Before Helene had a chance to think any harder about her future, Ramona called to her from foyer.
“If you want greasy goodness, giddy-up gorgeous!”
He shook his head at Helene.
“You think you’re ready to be a real musician. You really want to make something that matters?”
She looked at the holes in her jeans, the dirt under her ugly nails, and remembered the eviction notice in her cockroached bedroom.
“What would you know about real music? You just pay the players.”
She smirked and walked toward the elevator to join Ramona. A few steps away she turned toward him.
“Yeah, I want this more than anything. I’m just not going to tell you every five minutes how much I’m dancing inside.”
The women rode to the street and walked into the urban sunrise, guitars in hand. Ramona smiled at Helene.
“There’s a place that will think we’re pretty down the street. Let’s eat like rock stars. You’re buying.”
******blogger’s note******** This was a tough assignment. Last fall, for Nanowrimo, which I failed to complete, I wrote something about male musicians with a horror backdrop. It sucked. The challenge from http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/ was: Go back into my archives, pick a fiction piece and rewrite. So I molded this into a new story episode about Helene Troy. You can find her story here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/
Today’s song is what I imagined as a theme song for these two as they walked down the street grungy and hungry. Here’s Veruca Salt’s Volcano Girls: