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front of the singer.
Alexi, who, like everyone else wanted to give the singer “five”
when she’d ask for it, was there, too. The ambiance was electric.
Alexi’s eyes were everywhere, spying on Green Mohican and every
woman with a touch of original style. And there was someone
attracting her attention more than Green Mohican or the charismatic
Terri for once. It was the unknown woman, whose black and white
hair seemed to cascade down so freely and fleetingly to her waist.
Whenever Alexi would try to catch her eyes, the stranger would
disappear behind a boring dancer. But Alexi was sure, this woman
whose looks were close to mesmerizing, this woman was occasionally
gazing at her, gypsy eyes staring at her very soul.
    The first set ended and Jenny reminded Alexi
it was her round. The unknown beauty had vanished.
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE

    (Second Set)
    “ Where are you / I’m looking for you /
Heaven help you / When I find you”
    (Nikki Lamborn and Catherine “The Been”
Feeney)
     
    To start their second set Terri didn’t bother
with any fancy introduction. Possibly weary of Sid’s reactions, the
writer having proven a bit of a wild card. Terri didn’t know that
Sid intended to be on her best behavior by then. This was what Sid
wanted to think, in her wildest dreams.
    The singer started stomping the stage with
her heavy fancy boots, roaring loud and clear Janis Joplin’s
acapella prayer to The Lord, just in case He’d be in a mood good
enough to grant her wish for a Mercedes-Benz. She had swapped her
Bad Girl T-shirt for a black, lacy one; maybe God will be more
impressed. If not, it at least gave an extra opportunity for the
crowd to stare at her quality tattoos. Dragons, uncoiling their
long tails and spitting their fire, one on each arm, one Chinese,
one Japanese.
    The whole audience thrived to sing along, and
when Terri waved the microphone in their direction for the repeat
of the first verse, they, of course, did badly, according to
Terri’s standards, and she told them so! Ah, performers, the more
talented, the harder on the fans.
    The success thundered in the venue, but next,
it was Take a Little Piece of My Heart … She had the audience
under a tightly-woven spell, in the palm of her hand. She had
undisputed power over the enthralled groupies. Sid was watching on,
more and more carried away by the music and increasingly
overwhelmed by the denser and denser energy of the crowd, her eyes
needing to hook into people’s eyes on a more intense basis, for an
extra burst of energy. In between scanning the crowd she was number
one for audience participation.
    Terri opened the bottle of mescal between two
numbers, shouted over the punters: “Thanx, Sid, wherever you are!”
moved her head to her right side and spotted the writer who had cut
herself an almost cozy corner in front of Dawn’s keyboards. The
singer handed the bottle over and Sid, savouring the taste of
Mexican alcohol, thought that every time tequila went down her
throat, it always had something to do with the Second Look singer.
Why not, at least, she’d be bound to keep sober.
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    The mesmerizing woman with gypsy eyes and
gothic looks had, at first, focused her attention on the woman with
the green mohican, tattoos and cut-off, kaki trousers. But this
woman, despite an obvious sensitivity spilling out of her every
pore, was in no way responding to her power of suggestion. She was
somehow protected by the very music possessing her body, by the
very voice tearing at her heart. Whenever she’d catch her
attention, and the briefest moment should have been enough, the
dancer seemed to amazingly gain extra energy and dance even more
wildly. Ah, she would be no easy prey, she would be enjoyable
prey.
    But song after song, the gypsy-eyed woman
felt increasingly frustrated. Her chosen victim was more and more
lost to her power, more and more lost to the world. It was getting
seriously tiring. What cat-and-mouse game was that?
    Moving