Outsider by W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh Page A

them, because she was not in a
hurry to feel the pain walking hand in hand with every truth about
her own life. And if she wanted to blame someone for the state of
her life, she didn’t have to look as far as Second Look, even if
Second Look were what she had always wanted to be. And could not
be. Because she was different.
    Rather than acknowledging the decaying
reality of her singing career that the wild Terri was unknowingly
throwing at her with every breath, Sid decided to focus on the
keyboard player.
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    Baby Dyke had found enough coins in her back
pockets to afford a small glass of soda water. She needed the
bubbles like vampires needed blood. Lost in music, she divided her
attention between her Goddess and the sparse dancers. Sid currently
pogoing madly with her tall friend. The so-damn-sexy stranger
swaying her hips and keeping her shoulders almost motionless. Was
it because if you got started too wildly the high heels would shock
you senseless against terra firma? No, Baby Dyke was better off not
thinking about the stranger’s slender legs.
    Her eyes moved along. A woman not taller than
herself, blonde, short-haired and probably blue-eyed, was
rhythmically swinging her hips and stepping one and two, on a
chronic basis. Next along after the pillar, a woman clad in baby
blue was hardly moving.
    Manic Sid was dancing all over the place,
right and left, her bare feet never sliding across the slippery
floor. Occasionally stopping two seconds by a punter, then bouncing
away again. Her eyes hooking without locking with anyone’s, even if
crossing daggers. And rebounding more powerfully.
    Baby Dyke was waiting for Dawn to sing, but
this was not to happen before the second set. Then she noticed that
tonight, the wild dancer was paying more attention to the keyboard
player than the singer…
     
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

    (Second Set)
    “ Who’s gonna fall tonight / Your guess is
as good as mine / Who’s gonna walk into her world / Who’s gonna
wish they stay in there / She knows you know”
    (Catherine “The Been” Feeney)
     
    Joy’s frustration was increasing by the
minute. Whenever Sid had stopped by her, she hadn’t made eye
contact. Whenever the mad dancer had looked at her, the gothic
woman had tried to weave her mesmerizing spell, but to no avail.
This was getting seriously tiring. She NEEDED to feed, but tonight
she wouldn’t give up. If she had to, she’d use inhuman means.
    She found herself having to keep an even
tighter check on her frustration during the break, when Sid’s
friend came to her and introduced herself as Judy. Joy had to play
the game, her useful youthful good looks were to blame.
    But then, Lady Luck suddenly struck in her
favour. The writer stopped near her, a visa card in one hand, and
asked Judy:
    “Want a drink?”
    “Yeah, another one of those.” Showing a
bottle of schnapps.
    And then boring into Joy’s eyes:
    “Want a drink as well?”
    “I’m already pissed out of my brain!” Making
time, weaving the spell, hooking at Sid’s soul, at last.
    “Well, you don’t have to ask for alcohol, you
can go for a soft drink, fruit juice, whatever!” Her brown eyes
searching Joy’s dark eyes, suddenly responding so easily and so
readily to the mighty will.
    “A diet Pepsi then.” Smiling slightly.
     
* * * * * * *
     
    What did Dawn’s voice sound like when she was
not singing, but just talking like anyone else? Baby Dyke cranked
up all her courage, felt her whole face go red and redder by the
second, probably a red akin to ripe tomato. She had to, she needed
to know, she wanted her Goddess to look at her, to talk to her, to
smile at her, to acknowledge her.
    She walked to Dawn, who was just handing back
a fan’s copy of the 1995 CD to Terri for autograph. Baby Dyke
reached out with her own copy, mumbling her request. The keyboard
player smiled her radiant smile:
    “Yes, of course! What’s your name?”
    More mumbling from Baby Dyke. She felt
totally