Well, this
is it. Time to go. Got to do it.
Yep. Shauna stared at her bedroom
door and willed herself to open it. She’d
taken a shower and shaved her legs and put on an outfit that her mom had
purchased for her. She felt
uncomfortable but she knew she looked ok, at least in terms of what society
thought was ok, or as ok as she would ever look, considering what she had to
work with. She wore a skirt that went to
her knees, and flat shoes that pinched her toes and a purple blouse that came
in at the waist, with little flower-shaped buttons down the front. Even her hair was styled in that way the
hairdresser had suggested. The whole
look had taken hours to put together.
Did normal people seriously do this everyday?
Now all she had to do was go
outside and walk through Pointe-Claire village in search of a job. Any moment now she would walk downstairs and
open the front door and go outside and head out. Yep.
Any moment now.
“That was
awesome!” Cerise clapped her hands with genuine appreciation. She knew Parisses Squares weren’t exactly the
most polished band in existence but for garage rock or whatever you called it,
they were pretty good.
They
weren’t literally in a garage, it was actually the basement of a house in Dorval that Lloyd and
Bernie shared with a bunch of other twenty-something guys. Jeff apparently had an apartment downtown and
Tom still lived with his parents in Baie D’Urfe. And maybe they were more like glorified filk
than rock but Cerise wasn’t exactly an expert at musical genres.
After an hour of listening to the
band rehearse, Cerise decided she’d bring earplugs next time. She wondered how the neighbours could stand
it, but the house was near the airport so maybe the neighbourhood was always
noisy anyway.
Tom
suggested Cerise join them for Fire at Will and Jeff made some lame
protestation so she told him to shut his piehole and boldly stepped up to the
microphone Tom provided. Maybe Terry was
right; maybe Jeff was into her and that’s why he kept giving her a hard time
even though everyone else was enthusiastic about her joining the band.
Shauna
practically ran downstairs in the hopes of maintaining her nerve but when she
reached the front door her mother stopped her.
“Where do
you think you’re going?
“To look
for a job.”
“Oh well,
alright then.”
Shauna
rushed outside and stared down the street.
Just keep walking. One step at a
time. One step at a time.
“Fire at
will, shoot to kill. Sometimes it’s
better to be lucky than good. He’s the
best poker player in the neighbourhood.
Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good, he’s the best poker player in the
neighbourhood. But that’s his only skill,
hence fire at Will. And always shoot to
kill.”
They
finished the song and Bernie hollered with excitement, declaring that to be the
best song ever and Parisses Squares to be the best band ever.
“Relax, it
wasn’t that good,” grumbled Jeff.
“But you
admit it was pretty decent,” smiled Tom, walking over to his computer. He played back the song and they all listened
carefully.
It was so
weird to hear herself sing. Did she
really sound like that? Was her voice
too nasally? Too high-pitched? No one seemed bothered by it, not even Jeff.
“I guess we
don’t completely suck,” he admitted.
“We’re
totally awesome and that song is hilarious,” beamed Lloyd. “Especially the part where you’re like, sir I
protest, I am not a merry man.”
“Can you
bring your computer on stage?” asked Cerise.
“’Cause what if like, we inserted samples from the show into the
song? Like after we say the line you
hear Worf in the background saying it.
Could be funny.”
“Totally!”
Tom enthused and the others nodded, even Jeff.
So
awesome. Cerise was totally part of a
band!
Shauna
slowly walked along Pointe-Claire village and looked into every store
window. There was a clothing shop, a
shoe store and a coffee shop with help wanted signs. She walked past each one and kept going, then
circled around and walked down the other side of the street. First she had to do recon before going into
any places, right? She walked down the
left side of the street and looked into the store windows. A touristy shop had a help wanted sign. So four places. Four places where she could apply. So she just had to walk down the street again
and go into the stores.
She turned
around and walked up the right side of the street. She approached the clothing store. She’d never get hired there because she
wasn’t fashionable and those places only wanted stylish people. She had the same basic thought process as she
passed the shoe store and at the coffee shop she panicked as she realized that
she didn’t even have a CV or whatever.
Weren’t you supposed to have a resume or something? But she’d never worked before. And even if she did have a CV no one would
hire her because everyone always instantly hated her. She’d never get hired anywhere!
Cerise sat
on the sofa while the guys discussed various song related things she couldn’t
quite understand. They used words like
treble, bass, pitch… words she had no frame of reference for and she realized
she was in over her head. She had no
business being in a band.
Tom asked
her to sing the Do Re Mi thing so he could record her range. She wasn’t sure what he was talking about but
took her best guess. She sang and her
voice cracked on Ti.
“You have
absolutely no training, do you?” asked Jeff, not unkindly.
She shook
her head in embarrassment.
“None of us
have training,” said Tom.
“We’ve all
had music classes. We can all read
music. I’m sorry but Avril Lavigne here
knows nothing about music.”
“Ok, first
of all, Cerise is way cuter than Avril Lavigne,” said Bernie. “I mean Avril has a fucked up nose.”
“Cerise is
a natural,” said Tom, ignoring Bernie’s comment. “You heard her.”
“I thought
we’d already decided this was a go,” said Lloyd.
“Maybe
Jeff’s right,” Cerise shrugged. “I don’t
have training and I don’t know anything about music. I’m just a poseur. I’d probably just drag you guys down.”
“Not like
we’d have far to go,” snorted Jeff.
“Listen,
this doesn’t have to be a big deal,” said Bernie. “We bring Cerise to a few
shows and see how it goes. I mean we all
know performing live is totally different from recording or rehearsal. Maybe she won’t be able to cut it but maybe
she’ll rock it. All we can do is wait
and see.”
They all
nodded in agreement and Tom brought up their touring schedule on his computer. Their first show was in Montreal , downtown at some club and it was in
less than a week! A freaking week!
“Oh my god,
I’m so not ready!” Cerise exclaimed. “I
didn’t know I’d have to do anything so soon.”
“See? She doesn’t even wanna do it!” said Jeff.
“Jeff,
fuck, shut up! Stop ragging on
Cerise. What is your problem?” asked Tom
in exasperation.
“Fuck! Seriously?
Why am I the only one who sees this?” Jeff asked, equally
exasperated. “It’s nothing against
Sunshine McGee over here,” he jutted his chin at Cerise. “But like isn’t it kind of insane to add
another member at the last minute? Even
just us four we’re not ready to go on tour.
I mean, we’re called Parrisses Squares for fuck’s sake. Our songs are retarded. We can’t even play our instruments. We only started this stupid band to have fun
and now it’s like you’re trying to make us a real band, with a chick singer and
everything. I just don’t feel like we’re
there.”
Lloyd
sighed. “Fuck, not this insecurity shit
again. Jeff, why do you always have to
be such a baby? Sorry but I don’t have
the time or energy to be your therapist.
Just fucking get with the program or get out.”
“God, way
harsh,” said Bernie. “Jeff is just being
Debbie Downer as usual. He’ll get over
it as soon as we do our first show and rock it.
Like he always does.”
Jeff was
clearly embarrassed and for the first time Cerise felt bad for him. He rolled his eyes and called them all
assholes but he was obviously hurt by Lloyd’s words.
Fuck
it. She’d never get a job so why even try? Shauna walked into Clyde’s and sat at the
bar. She ordered a beer and drank
silently and was was about halfway through her drink when a shadow
appeared. She realized someone was
standing next to her but she didn’t want to look up. Perhaps if she ignored them they’d go
away. Or maybe it was just someone
trying to get the bartender’s attention.
“Hey.” The voice was male and deep.
Maybe he
wasn’t talking to her. She ignored the
voice and stared into her beer.
“You look
kinda familiar,” the voice went on. “Do I
know you?”
She sighed
and looked up. Oh shit! It was that guy from high school, that total
douche. He was one of the popular kids;
one of the biggest assholes. Part of
Cerise’s crowd once she’d started dating that hockey guy. Shauna scanned her brain for a second and
recalled his name: Andrew Lester.
She didn’t
want to let on that she knew who he was and simply shrugged. He was probably going to say something mean
or beat her up or something. She wasn’t
sure if she should just up and run or what.
He cocked
his head to the side and smiled. “Did we
like go out at some point?”
She
chuckled with surprise. He didn’t
remember her at all. And why should
he? She wasn’t very memorable and she
was dressed totally different from usual, with her sleek skirt and boob-hugging
blouse.
“Yeah, sure,” she replied with a smirk,
not bothering to hide how amusing she found this situation to be.
Andrew
Lester smiled at her. “Maybe we should
go out again.”
She knew
that look. It was the look Stan and his
friends had given her when they wanted sex.
Was it possible that Andrew Lester wanted to fuck her? She laughed out loud at the possibility. It was too funny. How hilarious if she were to sleep with the
most popular guy from high school? He
was a huge player and always picked the prettiest girls. Either this was a trick and he wanted to torture
her or he thought she looked ok and wanted to fuck her. Most likely it was a trick. Even though he’d never directly done anything
to her she knew he was one of the biggest pushers of the Porta-potty chick label. But
what if it wasn’t a trick? What if he
actually thought she was a normal person?
She couldn’t let this opportunity go by just because she was afraid of
getting hurt. She’d end up hurt no
matter what, might as well take the chance to do something major.
“Is that a
yes?” he asked, grinning, apparently taking her laughter as a positive sign.
“Well I
dunno if I wanna go out. Let’s just do
it here,” she shrugged.
He grinned
again and she tried to control herself.
She felt butterflies in her stomach and quickly chugged the rest of her
beer in the hopes of generating some courage.
She stood up and he took her hand, leading her into the men’s
bathroom.
He grabbed
her and kissed her. Holy shit! Was this really happening? He pushed her into a stall and lifted her
skirt, shoving his hand into her panties.
They were pink and frilly. Even
though she’d known no one would see them she figured she’d go all out with the
fancy outfit today. Thank god she
had! Andrew Lester didn’t suspect a
thing. He had no idea he was about to
fuck the Porta-potty chick!
He unzipped
his pants and took his dick out, which was smaller than she’d imagined. She wanted to laugh again but held it
in. He produced a condom from his jeans’
pocket and tore it open with his teeth, then expertly rolled it onto his little
weiner. Without a word he roughly turned
her around and bent her over the toilet, ripping down her panties. She didn’t feel turned on but her pussy
moistened anyway, which was good because a second later she felt his dick enter
her. He pushed over and over again,
grunting softly as she looked around.
The walls were covered in graffiti, some of it funny, some of it racist,
some of it both. The toilet lid was
dirty and the stall smelled strongly of urine.
This was so nasty. It was like
being in a porno. She could totally be a
porn star if she wanted. Like for people
with Porta-potty fetishes. Perhaps a
minute went by and then Andrew Lester was done.
He pulled out and she could hear him zipping up his jeans.
She pulled
up her panties and adjusted her skirt, turning around to see him leaving. “Uh, I’ll call you,” he said as he checked
his hair in the mirror.
“No you
won’t,” she chuckled indifferently. She
didn’t want a relationship with this asshole.
She just wanted to know that the most popular guy in school had slept
with her unwittingly. Either he had
really low standards or he thought she was pretty enough to fuck. Either way it was awesome.
“You’re
right, I won’t,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t
have answered anyway.” There were so
many other things she wanted to say. All
the possibilities ran through her mind.
She could tell him he wasn’t worth her time, that he was a bad lay. Or that he was ugly or stupid or that his
dick was tiny or that he smelled. Or she
could tell him he’d just fucked the Porta-potty chick, and that he thought he
was so cool but he’d just fucked the biggest loser in school and didn’t even
realize it.
But before
she could make up her mind he was gone.
Tom played
a recording of the band without Cerise and then played one with her contribution. To her ears they sounded better with her but
she couldn’t be sure. Tom, Bernie and
Lloyd all hollered about how exciting this was.
How the tour this summer would be the best thing ever if Cerise came
along. Jeff sat silently and forlornly.
Tom played the two tracks again. “We suck, we suck, we suck so bad,” he chimed
in with the first track. “We rock, we
rock, we rock so good,” he said as Cerise sang in the background.
“We even play better when she’s
singing,” said Bernie enthusiastically.
“It’s like we try harder or something.
Even you, Jeff.”
Jeff snorted. “We should get matching outfits. We’ll all wear black pants and Converse and
white button-down shirts with black ties, even Cerise, except she’ll be in a
mini skirt and she’ll have fishnets.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” asked
Lloyd, echoing Cerise’s thoughts.
“’Cause that’s actually a really good idea.”
“The only thing I would suggest
is to practice your breathing,” Bernie said to Cerise. “Sometimes you don’t have enough air to get
through the words, and that’s when your voice cracks, see at the end of neighbourhood there?”
She nodded and Tom suggested they
keep practicing. They went on for hours,
practicing various songs. Cerise’s
throat was killing her and Tom kept feeding her tea and honey, explaining how
she’d have to take care of her voice from now on, teaching her how to breathe
from her diaghram and so on. It was all
so much more work than she ever would have anticipated.
She sat on the sofa taking a
break and watched the guys practice a song from before her time. All the guys were sweating, their faces set
with concentration. They were all so
into this. Her stomach lurched as she
once again realized she was in over her head.
Was this really happening?
Shauna emerged from the bathroom
and saw that Andrew Lester was nowhere to be found. She walked up to the bar and the bartender
asked her if she wanted anything else.
Without even thinking she asked for an application.
“Do you have any experience
working at a pub?”
“No. I don’t have any experience at anything…
except taking shit from assholes. So I figure
I’d be pretty good at this,” she said, indicating the bar.
The bartender chuckled and
regarded her. She smiled and tried to
look sexy. Maybe she’d fuck this guy too
and maybe that way she’d get a job.
“Well we don’t need anyone right
now,” he said.
“Doesn’t hurt to do an
interview,” she suggested, trying to sound alluring. “We could just go to the back and see what
happens.” She grinned in what she hoped
was a suggestive manner.
He stood up straight and screwed
up his face like he was grossed out.
“When we’re hiring we post the listings online.” He was obviously totally turned off. He knew she was nothing more than the
Porta-potty chick.
“Oh, ok,” she stammered, suddenly
feeling queezy. God, she was such an
idiot. She rushed outside and walked
home, feeling like a slut and a loser.
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