ShapeShifter: The Demo Tapes: Year 1 by Susan Helene Gottfried
"Breasts?" the meat guy asked.
Trevor leaned close. "No," he drawled. "Tits. We need chicken tits; that's what's on the menu tonight."
Rusty covered her face with her hands.
"Aww, come on, Rusty," he laughed. "Like that's not what you fancy artists call 'em."
"No, Trev, we don't," she said, dropping her hands and looking utterly cool. "We call them chicken breasts. Save the tits for the women, okay?"
He gave her a wolfish grin. "You know that's the best part of you girls."
Mitchell leaned over and whispered, "Only because you haven't met a woman like Kerri."
Trevor fought the impulse to spit, puke, and shudder. "Who the fuck wants a woman like her? Oh, yeah. You, you big loser."
Mitchell rewarded him with another cuff to the back of his head, hard enough to make his ears ring.
"Just take the bird tits and let's get out of here," he said, licking his lips and savoring the hit Mitchell had given him. On days like these, when Mitchell handed it out just right, life was good.
Mitchell’s Desk
Whenever I'm inspired or bored, I sit and work up some Thursday Thirteen lists, figuring that if I ever have a week where I'm not as inspired, I'll have it handy and be ready to go. That's where Mitchell's Desk came from.
It wasn't enough to simply post a list of thirteen things on Mitchell's desk. After all, how many of you expect rock stars to even have desks? That alone made it necessary to do more than offer a list. You needed something to flesh it out. Besides, I love it when Amy and Mitchell start giving each other grief; I really like their relationship because no matter how cruel they are to each other, the fact that they not only love each other but genuinely like each other shines through.
Mitchell's Desk, first posted April first, 2007. No fooling.
Mitchell joined Amy in the doorway of the room that had once been Wayne's private space. Mitchell looked things over; it was shaping up into an office all right. His office. If Kerri's studio in what had been the attic was hers, this dark, quiet room was his.
"M," Amy said, drawing the sound out.
He grunted, immediately on guard.
"What's that big wooden thing in the middle of the room?"
"A desk, Aim," he said, playing along. Privately, he was disappointed that she couldn't do any better. After all, he'd practically been voted Least Likely to Need a Desk in high school. Guitar players didn't need desks, unless they got caught up in the drama of sweeping everything off so that a girl could be laid down there. Best of all when that happened, someone else cleaned up the mess.
"You." Amy said. It was a declaration. "You have a desk."
"A whole office-like space," he agreed, nodding so happily, he felt like a dork. "I've got a band to run, remember?"
"You didn't need a desk in your apartment."
"Not so long as I was happy eating on my couch," Mitchell said. "What did you think the table turned into?"
She played with her lower lip, thinking. "That really is a desk," she finally said.
"Scares the shit outta me, too," he lied. He was the one who ran the band. His band.
Okay, he admitted. That part scared the shit out of him. But it wasn't like Trevor could really run the band anymore. Eric refused to do anything other than hear the final decisions and Daniel wasn't willing to make the hard decisions. That left it up to Mitchell.
Amy nodded, like she'd agreed with something he'd been thinking. She clapped him on the shoulder. "The band's in good hands," she said and left the room, heading down the small hallway to the breezeway that connected the house to the new addition.
Mitchell stayed in his office for a minute, letting Amy's words sink in. Had she really just praised him?
"Aim!" He tore down the hall after her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob of one of the new guest rooms.
"You just… you were nice. You feel okay?"
"Every now and then, Pipsqueak, you earn it." Her smile, that sisterly one he hated, broadened. "Must be Kerri's influence 'cause we both know you couldn't do it alone."
He put his arm around her shoulders. "That's better."
"It is a cool desk, Mitchell."
He snorted. "The whole fucking house is cool, Aim."
"Yeah, well, I'm still mad it's yours and not mine. Don't push your luck."
Hearts
Hearts came about because of a picture posted at another blog around Valentine's Day 2007. The blog owner was asking for people to write something inspired by the picture. As luck would have it, another blogger was having a contest, too, built around the theme of love. It seemed natural to blend the two.
I think of Kerri and Mitchell's relationship as being incredibly romantic, and thus, for these contests, a scene set during their honeymoon felt natural.
I didn't win either contest, but that was okay. The idea is to expose my writing to an ever-widening group of people, and in that, I succeeded.
Hearts, first posted February 11, 2006.
So far, it had all lived up to its promise: the island was beautiful, the house and beach secluded, the staff discreet, and the bed big comfortable. So big and comfortable that despite its white sheets, it was a shame to leave it.
But Mitchell had wanted to go snorkeling, and that meant Kerri'd had to go into town to buy a bathing suit, something she hadn't owned in years. Mitchell had warned her to choose a basic suit instead of a sexy one; when the band was touring, hotel pools were his favorite place to spend down time. A sexy suit would interfere with swimming.
While she'd been out shopping, she'd stopped and picked up a few sundresses, another thing she hadn't owned in who-knew-how-long. They were coming in handy; when Mitchell's manager had given them use of his vacation house for a two-week honeymoon, it had been with the condition that they visit his favorite restaurants at least once. If she had to wear clothes at all on this dream vacation, Kerri thought, she was going to wear something skimpy and beautiful.
She and Mitchell were seated on a patio along the beach at one of those restaurants, their dinner orders just placed, when Mitchell got up, left his Vans by the patio's edge, and wandered down the beach. Kerri cocked her head as she watched him, itching for a sketch pad. There seemed to always be a light wind near the shore; it blew his silvery-white hair across the back of his black tank in a tantalizing way. Add in his camoflage cargo shorts and he was a hell of a vision as he bent to play in the sand near the surf. Nothing at all like a powerful rock star. Just a regular guy.
She sat there, savoring, wishing she had the means to draw him, until he turned and waved at her. It was an invitation to come see, so she kicked off her sandals beside his black slip-ons and followed.
"What did you do?" she laughed as she got close enough to see.
"What's it look like?" he laughed, holding his arms out to show off his masterpieces.
"It looks like a bunch of hearts."
"Well, then," he said with a definitive nod. "Guess this is what happens when there's no guitar handy and I hear music."
"Looks to me like you hear hearts." she said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple.
"It's your damn fault, woman," he breathed into her ear.
She shivered. "I think I'll take it."
New Year’s Eve in Dallas
A few days before New Year's Eve 2006, I told the Tour Manager that I needed a way to properly mark the arrival of 2007. An outtake. I wrote one, but hated it. I wrote another. Still not in love.
All of this was happening right up against my self-imposed deadline of New Year's Eve. Yeah, I knew most of you wouldn't be online right then to see it and I probably had a day before my groupies would stop in. But I didn't want a day or two. I wanted to do it right. Man, I pushed myself. And you guys got New Year's Eve in Dallas, first posted December 31, 2006. This show has particular importance in Trevor's Song, so
Mitchell tossed his head, trying to get the sweat to change course. Of course, it didn't work. By the end of show, the sweat had a life of its own.
"So," he said in a conversational way, stepping his left foot forward so he almost straddled the mic stand. Very deliberately, knowing the crowd was hanging on every last thing he did, he moved his guitar out of his way. "Those lousy fuckers in this half-ass town wouldn't let us stay up here tonight until midnight so we could do this all proper, like."
The crowd booed. Mitchell nodded approvingly, looking around at them and then at the band. Trevor and Eric looked suitably impressed. They nodded along with Mitchell. Daniel gave a thumbs-up and an exaggerated nod.
"But," Mitchell said, holding up one finger and cocking his head. More sweat dripped into his eyes; he blinked it out and resisted the urge to shake his head like a wet dog. He had more to say. "They wouldn't budge even when we offered them lots of money. And I mean lots," he said, wondering if the fans could possibly comprehend the negotiations they'd tried. Beside him, Eric nodded agreement. Trevor just laughed.
"So. Here we are, and you fucks are probably gonna bolt outta here and head off to another party. When you get there, be sure you show off your special New Year's T-shirts and then laugh your asses off 'cause none of us got 'em."
The crowd roared again, like that was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. As if it was true, Mitchell thought. Shit, he had Kerri's original drawing. As if ShapeShifter would make something as exclusive as a commemorative New Year's tee and not hold out a few … hundred … for themselves.
"Before we go, let's have ourselves a little celebration. Ready? Dans'll help you count down from ten, and we'll have some fireworks and shit."
He paused as Eric signalled to Daniel before approaching. "Invite the crew out," the guitarist reminded him. Good thing; he'd forgotten. As if he'd wanted to do this without Kerri.
"Whoa," Mitchell said, holding both hands up to quiet the fans. "We gotta do this right. Bring the crew on out. Ker, techs, everyone back there. C'mon out."
Once Kerri had nestled under his left arm, his guitar touching her hip and his sweat drenching her, he motioned for the crew to pick up their pace. Even though they'd been told this would happen, they were still wary, as if they spent so much time out of the spotlight, being in it terrified them.
Bobby, Mitchell's tech, offered to take his guitar. But Mitchell shook his head. "You're off duty for a few," he said, leaning away from the mic so it wouldn't pick up his voice. The guitar wasn't heavy; he could carry it a few more minutes. Besides, he never felt right onstage without it.
Daniel provided the bass drum beat that the crowd used to count down, and then the pyro guys at the light board set off the indoor fireworks they'd managed to get a special permit for.
As he and Kerri watched, smiling, Trevor came up behind them. "So, tonight the night you're gonna wise up and dump Rusty's ass? That girl in the third row sure looks like she'd be willing to ease the parting."
Mitchell cuffed the back of Trevor's head and grinned. "You don't stop, do you, asshole?"
Trevor grinned happily. "Who, me?"
Rain
This was one of the first outtakes I ever wrote, and the first one to be posted to my blog. (It was first posted at Gather.com, in fact, and then at the blog.)
It's three paragraphs long, but I think any longer would have killed the moment.
Rain, posted way back on April 8 2006.
Mitchell nudged Kerri awake. When she tilted her face toward him, he whispered, "Rain."
She listened. Sure enough, even over the rumble of the engine, she could hear the rain beating on the bus and the sound of water being pushed aside by large wheels. She couldn't remember ever feeling more safe.
"Rain," she whispered back, pressed more firmly against him, and promptly fell back to sleep.
Inspiration
I have a lot of quiet periods. Quiet when the music in my head stops and my characters are as still and serene as my brain. That's when scenes like this one come about. Life with a music man isn't always easy; they have their quirks. For Mitchell, it's being what Trevor describes as "mostly nocturnal."
This outtake teeters on the edge of being set at the end of Trevor's Song, or, more likely, right after. This sort of quiet scene that's redolent of real life -- as opposed to touring life -- fits into the rough times after Trevor's Song ends.
Inspiration, first posted February 5, 2007.
When Kerri woke, Mitchell was still busy with his Midnight Blue ESP. She wasn't sure what time he'd brought it up to their bedroom; she only remembered that it had been after three when she'd last looked at the clock, and the room had only held one guitar: the acoustic that was always there for these middle-of-the-night inspirations.
In fact, when Kerri had made that last time check, Mitchell had been asleep. He'd been so far gone, he hadn't noticed when she'd accidentally kneed him as she'd tried to get comfortable.
It was ten now, she saw when she lifted her head out of the pillows she'd needed when he'd taken his shoulder back. Late for her, and she had a million things yet to do. Even though Michelle had started coming daily to clean, Kerri believed there was no reason to ask her to deal with the empty beer bottles in the TV room. Likewise, Kerri herself would strip the bed -- once Mitchell got his ass off it.
"Been up long?" she asked him, sitting up and kissing his right shoulder.
He nodded, his mouth counting beats or mouthing chord changes or lyrics; Kerri wasn't sure which. Experience had taught her it was one of those three and until the notebook on his nightstand was full with a million scratch-outs and then a final, impossible-to-read song, he wasn't moving, saying, or possibly even thinking.
Such was life with a musician.
Kerri planted another kiss on his shoulder and brushed at the ends of his hair, resting so temptingly just above her lips, and got up to face the day.
Kerri’s Craving
As we progress into the post-Trevor's Song outtakes, we see Mitchell becoming a bit wiser and savvier. Not too much; his innocence is what makes him such a great character.
Most women will profess to the importance of chocolate in our lives. Some of us more than the rest of you. Therefore, Kerri needed to have a craving that was similar to mine.
Kerri's Craving, first posted May 8, 2006.
Mitchell wasn't having much luck reading the latest guitar gods magazine. He knew it was stupid to sit at the kitchen table and try to read in the first place, but Kerri wasn't helping matters any.
She was pacing around the cooking area, stopping to open the pantry, the refrigerator, the cabinets. She'd move things around, dig in the freezer, close everything up again, and move on to the next spot.
Over and over.
She was on her twelth circuit when he'd had enough.
"Woman, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I need chocolate. I can't believe we don't have any chocolate. Why is there no chocolate in this house?" She took every single thing off one of the pantry shelves and set it on the floor.
Mitchell got up to take a look. Pancake mix, syrup, cans of tuna, corn starch; it was the sort of stuff he was expecting to see. And he supposed he remembered picking up that bottle of Big Buck's Bodacious Sauce the last time he'd stopped by for some ribs.
But when it came to things like a dry scone mix, a paper cup of corn chowder that needed to have water added before it was anything but powder, and six varieties of balsamic vinegar, all he could do was scratch his head. Some of it he could blame on Val, who loved to force her gourmet finds on them. Some of it might have come from the nanny, some from shit they'd picked up in various countries, but jarred mushrooms?
The dried habaneros were probably one of Amy's jokes. Like he'd let something like that near his vocal chords. He'd never be able to sing again if he wasn't careful with that spicy shit.
"Ker," he asked softly as s
She looked at the can of baby bay shrimp in her hand. "You know," she said slowly, "I have no clue. And you know what else?" she asked, fixing him with a stare that was so bright, it made him wince. "I don't care. It's not chocolate and that is what this is about. Where the fuck is the chocolate?"
He thought fast. The boys were still with Nancy; he had time. He could pull this off -- if he moved now.
Mitchell grabbed Kerri by the shoulders and turned her toward the door leading to the garage. "Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
She tried to resist, so he bent his knees and slung her over his shoulder.
"I'm taking you out to buy every single peanut butter cup the store's got. What doesn't make you puke in an hour's going into the freezer."
"Stop!"
When she struggled, he set her down as gently as he could, worried that the way she was thrashing around, she'd hurt herself. Or, worse, he'd hurt her.
"I don't want peanut butter cups. I want…" She licked her lips, her eyes roaming the ceiling. "I want brownies."
"I think I saw a box on the floor."
Kerri looked at him, her hazel eyes twinkling. "Race ya to 'em."
"Nah, you go. Call me when they're done." He started to stroll off, but she tackled him. Thankfully, not hard enough to bring him down, but hard enough to knock some of his wind out. He gave her a scornful look over his shoulder.
"You're eating?" she asked. "Then you're helping bake."
"Only if I get to smear batter on you and lick it off."
"Nope," she said calmly, picking the box up off the floor.
"You do it to me?" he asked hopefully. "Would that be enough chocolate?"
She pressed up against him and gave him one of those infuriating closed-lipped kisses. "Try it and see. But… after we bake these puppies and I've had a few."