FicWad

The smell of cigarette smoke. The bright lights. Music pounding in my ears.
It was, without a doubt, the best high I had ever been on, and I’d been on my fair share. I plugged in, hearing as if from far away Axl’s voice welcoming the crowd.
Welcoming the crowd to Guns ‘n’ Fucking Roses.
I looked up. Slash nodded, and my fingers came down, hitting the first chord.
“Well I’m a west coast-struttin’, one bad mother, got a rattlesnake suitcase under my arm. . .”
I could already feel her, pulling my eyes like a magnet to the left side of the stage. But I fought it, staring down at my white guitar, feeling the bass beat pulse through me.
“Said I’m a mean machine, been drinkin’ gasoline, and honey, you can make my motor hum. . .”
I looked into the stage light, staring out over the crowd. I had a gig to play, I needed to stay focused.
“Loaded like a freight train… flyin’ like an aeroplane…”
Ah, fuck it.
“Feelin’ like a space brain, one more time tonight.”
She was moving like a snake, feeling up the cage, swiveling her hips. I gritted my teeth, glancing back down at the strings before looking up again.
“Bottoms up!”
I might as well have groaned out loud for the look that Duff gave me. He smirked, glancing over at me and then Jen, who was now flaunting her long legs, wrapping them around the cage bars and throwing her head back. The green stage lights caught that long, red-brown hair and her sexy burgundy lips as she flashed a smile at someone in the crowd. My bandmate sidled over to me, his fingers going steady at the thick strings of his bass.
“Distracted, Stradlin?” He muttered in my ear over the roar of the crowd, his hair falling over his face as he leaned on my shoulder.
“How can you not be?” I replied, still staring at my girl through the bleached strands. She wore red awfully fucking well.
“It’s called five fucking hundred screaming people,” he informed me. I thumped the scratchplate on my guitar as Slash burst into his solo.
She was writhing, ripples traveling up and down her body. The stage lights lit up her smooth, bare skin and the scarlet bra and panties. This time I did groan aloud, provoking a snide chuckle from Duff. I finally looked away before things got too serious downstairs, watching the strings again. Imagining what she was doing in time with that bass drum beat.
Damn. I needed a really long, cold shower.
Mercifully, the song ended, and Duff finally picked his head up off of me.
“Thank you!” Axl’s deep voice sounded through the speakers as I swung off my guitar, my leather pants uncomfortably tight.
“This is a song about what the city will do to a person…”
I tossed my hat near the drum kit and practically ripped my shirt off, which was damp with sweat. My sweat-heavy hair fell into my eyes as I hoisted the strap back over my head, which clacked against my necklaces as it settled. Turning around again, my eyes automatically going stage left, I saw the glimmer of a red dancing costume turning back around. I smiled
She’d been looking too.
And now it was back to the strings, the cool wood of my guitar pressing against my skin. The opening of Jungle somehow trickled through my lust-addled brain to my fingers, the blunt strumming blasting from the speakers. Slash grinned at me through his cigarette, and I joined him at the front of the stage, staring out over a dark crowd that was going wild. I glanced over at the cage.
She wasn't even bothering with trying to dance, just standing there in her goddamn platform heels, eyes following my every move. I loved those fucking shoes. I flexed my arms for her benefit, shaking back my damp hair again. As the intro ended, our eyes met.
"Oh my God."
She mouthed the words at me before the vocals hit.
“Welcome to the Jungle, we got fun and games...”
And then she was off.
*
"Man, that was fun." Slash shot back what I was pretty sure was his fourth or fifth Jack of the night.
"That other girl we had dancing, Renée, she's a real looker, ain't she?" He commented, pouring another shot. I ogled at him.
"We had another dancer?"
"Not that anybody expected you to notice," Duff smirked, grabbing a cigarette out of Slash's shirt pocket.
I twisted around to gape at him. "Man, are you sure? I didn't even realize."
"Yeah, I know."
He flopped down on the ratty backstage couch beside me, lighting up the Marlboro. I took a second to process this, picking at my guitar, before Axl and Steven barged into the dressing room, laughing and sporting several more bottles of liquor.
"Hey fuckers, that was some damn fine rock and roll!" Axl threw himself down in the armchair, grinning as he popped the top off a bottle of vodka, which Slash eagerly reached for.
"Tryin' to get off the Brown again?" I asked, standing and grinding out my cigarette.
"Yeah." He didn't even glance up. "At least for a while."
Stretching, I exited the dressing room, not wishing to be there for what inevitably would become a battle over the booze between Duff and Slash. I took a deep breath outside the door, hearing the rowdy voices from inside laughing and hollering. Thank god for solitude. I took off down the narrow hallway, squeezing past roadies and groupies, stepping over wires and cords. I was detained as a woman in black lingerie grabbed my hand.
"Hey, lay off, I've got a girl," I said, pushing her away impatiently.
"Yeah, I know, and she's out in that crowd somewhere waitin' for ya," she drawled, nodding her head towards the stage. This must be Renée. I nodded curtly. I'd tell her Slash's comments another time.
Striding off to the main stage, I ran my eyes over the crowd in the Roxy, a sea of faces blurred by the stage lights. It was going to be impossible to pick her out in a madhouse like this. I sighed. It was unavoidable. I hopped off the steps, immediately getting swept up by the mob. Already feeling choked, I began elbowing my way through the club, desperate to reach the slight semblance of order that was the bar. Places like this always left me longing for the dirty grind of the street. This may be bright, boozy, and loud, but I knew I would trade it all for a dark, deserted alleyway without thinking twice.
"Izzy!" Thank god. Red fingernails reached out to grip my shoulder, and I could have kissed her right then and there. I did, in fact, smashing our lips together, flicking my tongue against hers. She tasted of whiskey and smoke and sex, and I loved it. I could feel my leathers tightening up again. She looked at me dizzily as I pulled away, her fingernails digging into my arm.
"Can't tell you how good that feels, after watching you fucking French kiss a pole for an hour and a half," I told her hoarsely, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Let's get the hell out of here."
We made our way to the front door, all my thoughts of the bar forgotten. I wanted to take her home, NOW.
I had just stepped out the door, leaving the smothering noise behind, when I heard my name.
"Hey, Stradlin!"
I knew that tone, knew what was probably coming. I stopped, Jen behind me. Turning, I saw a man slowly approaching. Slight gimp, bad teeth. He couldn't have been much older than me. I might have done business with him before: I didn't remember. They all blurred together after a while.
"Hey, Stradlin." He edged up on the two of us, hands shoved in his pockets. Glancing at Jen appreciatively. I stepped in front of her, crossing my arms. He got the message, licking his dry lips. The guy's hands were shaking, and I knew the feeling.
"Hey I need some, need some bad. You carryin' any? I'll give you anything you fuckin' want."
I deliberated, wishing Jen wasn't here. I hated for her to see me so down and dirty like this.
Get a fucking grip, Isbell. She's been dancing on the Strip since she was nineteen. She's a world girl.
Nevertheless, I shot her what I was sure was a guilty look. She said nothing, just stared at me under the headlights, arms crossed over that same trench coat that we met in.
I turned back, shoving my hand in my pocket for the packet I knew was sitting there.
"Yeah, I got some."