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rossiWith due credit to Flogging Molly for their song, 'Devil's Dancefloor'. And to Johnny Devil, for being himself.
It started off just like any other night.
The gig had been so-so - small crowd, not a lot of life to it apart from the usual suspects. I've got a lot of love for my fans, though, have to since some nights they're the only ones there. I hung around a bit after the guys left, chatting with the regulars, making good with the owner so there would be a gig the next week. It was after closing when I finally hit the road - Mac had taken my ride so I wouldn't drive drunk, but it was a nice night for walking. Big old full moon, a whisper of a breeze just cold enough to wake me up, my best girl Tara slung over my shoulder in her case. I'd managed six or seven blocks on the journey home when she called my name from a shadowed doorway.
Now, let me get things straight, I'm not a bad looking guy. And I've had my share of groupies, over the years, it's part of the whole live music thing. But those days are gone and I'm not the sort of guy who goes around picking up strange women in the street and I wouldn't have even stopped, only she knew my name. So I stopped.
"That's me," I said, trying to see more of her than just a vague shape in the shadows. "Who wants to know?"
"A fan." Her voice was like warm honey, like sunlight drifting over bare skin on a summer's afternoon. Rich and sexy and it got me, all the way down to my toes.
"I have a lot of fans. Which one are you?" I asked, trying to shake it off. I had a warm bed and a warmer girl to get home to.
"Nobody special," she replied and I could hear the long, slow smile she wore as she said it.
"Well, Nobody," I said, trying to be smart and sounding more like a jackass. "I don't make a habit of talking to shadows, so if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way."
"Wait." And I was damned if I didn't freeze on the spot. Then she came out of the shadows and goddamn if all thought of home and my girl and everything else left my head. Because this Nobody Special... well, she was smoking. Heart-shaped face, great big dark eyes, full lips that looked like they'd been made for kissing. Dark hair tumbling over her shoulders like she'd just got out of bed. Helen of Troy might have had a face to launch a thousand ships, but this girl had a body that would make best friends kill each other and women weep.
"I have an offer for you, Johnny," she said with a smile and my knees went to jelly. I began nodding before she even started speaking again. "A gig. A very... special party. We'd like you to play."
The air kind of whooshed back into me - pretty girl or not, a gig was a gig and I was a professional. "Well, sure, sweet thing. Let me get my schedule out and we'll see if I'm free..." I started digging in my pocket for the notebook I keep my gigs in.
"Tonight," she said. "Now." And damned if I didn't forget to breathe again as she reached over and touched my arm. "I can take you there, but we have to leave now."
"Now?" And I'm ashamed to say I squeaked like a teenage boy. Her hand was hot on my arm, setting my nerves on fire even through the leather of my jacket.
"Now." It was a command, not a request and I managed a nod any way. My mouth had gone dry and I couldn't have said a word if you'd paid me. Which, you'll notice, I didn't even think of for this gig. When mysterious hot women approach you in the middle of the night for a special gig, you don't go haggling about the price.
She pulled me back towards the doorway she'd come out of and then... well, I still can't for the life of me explain it, but there was a swirling and whooshing and I felt like I'd been turned inside out and then we were somewhere else. And then things get really fuzzy.
It was outside, I remember that. I remember looking up and seeing stars blazing like diamonds, so close it felt like I could reach out and touch them. The moon was still there, too, but huge and orange, a harvest moon on steroids. There was cold air and warm breath on my neck and someone handed me a cup of something that burned like the finest brandy going down and filled my head with music. I unslung Tara and began playing, something wild and fast and primal and there was a howl of approval and then the party began.
I don't remember much after that. It's literally all a blur - music and bodies moving to the beat and the world moving around me. Glimpses of eyes and hair and bare skin. Costumes so elaborate they seemed real - scales and horns and hooves, fur and fangs, elaborate tattoos and hair dyed impossible colours... 'My' girl swirling through the crowd like a mad thing, fixing me with eyes the colour of insanity and awakening something in me. My own voice joined the howl and I screamed until I was hoarse.
I woke up the next morning, wet with dew from lying on the grass of High Park. My fingers were like raw hamburger, my feet bruised and bleeding every muscles aching like I'd gone ten rounds with King Kong. Tara was safely in her case, but every string was tattered and broken, as if I'd crammed a lifetime's worth of playing into one night.
And the grass around me... it was crushed and pocked with the marks of many feet who had spent the night dancing.
There was no payment - to be honest, I would have been afraid to spend anything they might have given me. Something about not tempting fate, you know?
Would I do it again if I had the chance? Damn straight I would.
It started off just like any other night.
The gig had been so-so - small crowd, not a lot of life to it apart from the usual suspects. I've got a lot of love for my fans, though, have to since some nights they're the only ones there. I hung around a bit after the guys left, chatting with the regulars, making good with the owner so there would be a gig the next week. It was after closing when I finally hit the road - Mac had taken my ride so I wouldn't drive drunk, but it was a nice night for walking. Big old full moon, a whisper of a breeze just cold enough to wake me up, my best girl Tara slung over my shoulder in her case. I'd managed six or seven blocks on the journey home when she called my name from a shadowed doorway.
Now, let me get things straight, I'm not a bad looking guy. And I've had my share of groupies, over the years, it's part of the whole live music thing. But those days are gone and I'm not the sort of guy who goes around picking up strange women in the street and I wouldn't have even stopped, only she knew my name. So I stopped.
"That's me," I said, trying to see more of her than just a vague shape in the shadows. "Who wants to know?"
"A fan." Her voice was like warm honey, like sunlight drifting over bare skin on a summer's afternoon. Rich and sexy and it got me, all the way down to my toes.
"I have a lot of fans. Which one are you?" I asked, trying to shake it off. I had a warm bed and a warmer girl to get home to.
"Nobody special," she replied and I could hear the long, slow smile she wore as she said it.
"Well, Nobody," I said, trying to be smart and sounding more like a jackass. "I don't make a habit of talking to shadows, so if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way."
"Wait." And I was damned if I didn't freeze on the spot. Then she came out of the shadows and goddamn if all thought of home and my girl and everything else left my head. Because this Nobody Special... well, she was smoking. Heart-shaped face, great big dark eyes, full lips that looked like they'd been made for kissing. Dark hair tumbling over her shoulders like she'd just got out of bed. Helen of Troy might have had a face to launch a thousand ships, but this girl had a body that would make best friends kill each other and women weep.
"I have an offer for you, Johnny," she said with a smile and my knees went to jelly. I began nodding before she even started speaking again. "A gig. A very... special party. We'd like you to play."
The air kind of whooshed back into me - pretty girl or not, a gig was a gig and I was a professional. "Well, sure, sweet thing. Let me get my schedule out and we'll see if I'm free..." I started digging in my pocket for the notebook I keep my gigs in.
"Tonight," she said. "Now." And damned if I didn't forget to breathe again as she reached over and touched my arm. "I can take you there, but we have to leave now."
"Now?" And I'm ashamed to say I squeaked like a teenage boy. Her hand was hot on my arm, setting my nerves on fire even through the leather of my jacket.
"Now." It was a command, not a request and I managed a nod any way. My mouth had gone dry and I couldn't have said a word if you'd paid me. Which, you'll notice, I didn't even think of for this gig. When mysterious hot women approach you in the middle of the night for a special gig, you don't go haggling about the price.
She pulled me back towards the doorway she'd come out of and then... well, I still can't for the life of me explain it, but there was a swirling and whooshing and I felt like I'd been turned inside out and then we were somewhere else. And then things get really fuzzy.
It was outside, I remember that. I remember looking up and seeing stars blazing like diamonds, so close it felt like I could reach out and touch them. The moon was still there, too, but huge and orange, a harvest moon on steroids. There was cold air and warm breath on my neck and someone handed me a cup of something that burned like the finest brandy going down and filled my head with music. I unslung Tara and began playing, something wild and fast and primal and there was a howl of approval and then the party began.
I don't remember much after that. It's literally all a blur - music and bodies moving to the beat and the world moving around me. Glimpses of eyes and hair and bare skin. Costumes so elaborate they seemed real - scales and horns and hooves, fur and fangs, elaborate tattoos and hair dyed impossible colours... 'My' girl swirling through the crowd like a mad thing, fixing me with eyes the colour of insanity and awakening something in me. My own voice joined the howl and I screamed until I was hoarse.
I woke up the next morning, wet with dew from lying on the grass of High Park. My fingers were like raw hamburger, my feet bruised and bleeding every muscles aching like I'd gone ten rounds with King Kong. Tara was safely in her case, but every string was tattered and broken, as if I'd crammed a lifetime's worth of playing into one night.
And the grass around me... it was crushed and pocked with the marks of many feet who had spent the night dancing.
There was no payment - to be honest, I would have been afraid to spend anything they might have given me. Something about not tempting fate, you know?
Would I do it again if I had the chance? Damn straight I would.
