Dara’s Firebird Lovesong - Part Three

by Scott-Patrick Mitchell

 

These days, Dara’s success was measured in sweat.  There was the way it stung her fingers as they cusped on the edge of rawness. There was the way it stained her singlets, even if she wore them baggy and loose, billowing and braless. There was the way it licked its way down the crevice of her buttocks beneath her tight leather leggings. By the end of a gig it had ferociously lapped all over her, leaving her perfumed , soaked, exhausted. Yet elated. Wet with wonderment.

‘Goodnight!’ she screamed into the microphone, slacking her grip on the Firebird so it buoyed by her side, slacking like the sneer on her face.

She stalked off stage, the crowd whooping. She wasn’t the only thing that was sweating in The OAF: everything was sweating, from Dara to the roadies to the other band members to the entire audience. Even the roof was sweating as the humidity in the low ceilinged club forced a precipitation of perspiration back on to the crowd. A steam, a frenzied haze of sex and song, music and mayhem, simmered up off the crowd and condensed in rivulets above them. The audience was baying for more, howling, clapping, cat-calling. They were a frenetic, adrenaline charged wall of fans and some diehard groupies, old skool riot grrls geared up with a dash of emo and grunge.

‘Great show Phoenix,’ her manager, Annie, called as Dara swaggered past her with the other Dentata girls. Her band mates chuckled and hollered, Sass high-fiving Dolly as all four of them strutted backstage to their dressing room.

Phoenix. The name brought a proud smirk to Dara’s lips every time she heard it. The name was her non deplume, her secret identity from the dreary, normal world she had left behind her. The world she only rarely haunted when, on occasions befitting her return, she’d try not to wear too much black to family events: birthdays, Christmas, Chinese New Year. Her parents had noticed the shift in her, the move from awkward to assertive, but had never really broached the subject. Or rather, Dara had never granted them the opportunity to broach the subject.

Elise, however, knew all about Phoenix and consequently the band, Dentata. Elise loved Phoenix. And quite unlike most promises little sisters promise to make - but invariably break - Elise had kept Phoenix a secret from their parents just as Dara has asked. Well, that’s if you consider blackmail asking.

‘You wouldn’t!?’ Elise had screamed the day Dara had sworn her to secrecy.

‘Yeah, I will,’ Dara had purred, cool and calm, confident behind her new persona. ‘You see, it’s simple Elise: you tell mum and dad about Phoenix and her band and I’ll tell them about that trip to the doctor’s we had to take when you were 16. Remember that? It was with Brett Ellis’ little brother right? Gee, you wouldn’t want to bring shame to the family name would you little sis’?’

‘You mean like lesbian punk rocker Phoenix would…?’

And from that point Elise had, surprisingly, kept Phoenix a secret. It was easy really: Phoenix was the big sister Elise had never had. Whereas Dara was dorky, gawky, awkward and shy, Phoenix was lean, mean, agile and keen - a wound up sex machine, part Agyness Deyn, part Lucy Liu. Whereas Dara would never say ‘boo’, Phoenix would lead Elise by the hand into the darkest parts of the night, taunting the shadows and ghosts and ghouls to bring it, bring it on. Put simply, Phoenix was fun. Far more fun.

‘Hey Sass,’ Dara purred, ‘come here and help me out of these.’

Backstage at The OAF, Dara lay on the couch and raised her long slender legs into the air, wiggling her bare feet, suggestively wriggling, her leather clad legs shiny and slick and long. Dolly laughed. Jess cackled. Sass walked over to Dara and with long slender arms, reached over the side of the couch and gripped Dara’s hips. Her long porcelain fingers then dug in beneath the top of Dara’s leggings and slowly peeled off the second layer of soaked skin. Dara exhaled languidly as musk enveloped the room. Sass lolled on her heels, her palms wet, her nose twitching.

‘Oh Sass,’ Jess snarled, ‘you haven’t a hope in hell.’

And with that she threw a towel at the back of Sass’ head, knocking her from her fragrant daze. Sass blushed and threw the towel down at Dara, who giggled, kicking her legs at Sass so her black panties could be seen as her limbs gracefully nipped the air.

But it was true - for all the sex appeal, for all the constrained refrain that seeped from Dara when she was Phoenix, the one thing neither of them ever were was sluts. People suggested, yes. People even accused, passing a girlfriend’s fancy and hero worship off as an outright affair. Dara had been confronted twice by psycho bitches, possessive lesbian groupies who believed their star struck lover was indeed doing far more than fantasising about being with Phoenix. And during both confrontations, Dara had laughed directly into the faces of the accusers, the one that had decided to wield a knife during the confrontation being punched in the face by Phoenix, suffering concussion, a broken nose, a small blackout and a whole lotta lost pride. And threats from the other members of Dentata, naturally. In fact, when Annie found out about the incident both the psycho girlfriend and moon-eyed lover - who had both been regulars at Dentata gigs - seemingly vanished and were never seen moshing again.

Dara never slept around. In fact, she had only had one girlfriend, but she had only lasted three months. She couldn’t cope with the music. She couldn’t cope with Phoenix. She couldn’t cope with the self-confidence and containment that Phoenix had. Independence wasn’t sexy to some people. So it’d been Phoenix who had broken off the relationship, not Dara. Phoenix wasn’t about to see another girl come between her and her guitar.

Ah, the guitar. Patti. Named after Patti Smith. Such a nexus, such a dark star in the life of Dara. The return of the guitar, the reverse theft of it back into to her life just under two years ago had marked such a metamorphosis, such a flux in the life that Dara had lived. Songs had instantly seeped from Patti like tears for a long lost friend. Patti had been charged with such emotion, such pent up want to be heard that when Dara had begun playing her… well, it’d been a matter of hours before the first song had scribbled itself down, a day later inked itself in. A week later and there were a dozen gems. Within a month and Dara was beginning to change. A confidence was burning from her cracked fingers, a swagger was in her step. Her body responded, as did her clothes, and a sexiness slowly engulfed every moment of her day like a star going supernova.

Andrew at the agency had tried to make an advance on her one day, near the photocopiers, after weeks of unreturned emails. Dara had calmly but firmly placed her index finger on his pouted lips.

‘Andrew, no… things are different now.’

‘But I thought you liked me Dara,’ he’d stammered, his pants clearly straining at the short high waisted skirts Dara had taken to wearing and the legs they now betrayed. ‘We kissed. I thought it was a good kiss’

‘It was,’ Dara cooed, ‘but….’

And she found it too awkward to tell him there so after work they went out to a rowdy bar Dara had chosen and she told him everything: about her childhood dreams, about the Firebird, about Jody and more importantly the return of all three of these things a month back. How now events had conspired to take her somewhere new, and she wasn’t sure what was happening, or who she was becoming, but all she knew was that she liked it.

Andrew stubbornly understood, but when he later came back to her flat and listened to her play, his jaw dropped.

‘Dara… wow, I mean. That’s so hot.’

‘Thanks,’ she blushed, but only slightly.

He leaned back on her tatty couch, ‘You’re so hot.’

What he had hoped to have been a purr came out a slur and Dara laughed.

‘You’re drunk Andrew. Time to say goodnight.’

Even though he had protested about being hustled into a taxi, the next morning he was at her desk, bleary eyed.

‘Dara,’ he winced, ‘you play really good guitar. I mean, really good guitar.’

‘Yeah?’ she cooed, eyebrow cocked suggestively, white blouse unbuttoned to reveal the slightest of cleavage.

‘Yeah… listen, put together some stuff and come and see me in a few weeks. Professionally I mean.’

A couple of weeks later and Andrew introduced Dara to Annie, a new whiz he’d been training. Annie, all blonde hair and small figure, could’ve easily passed as a schoolgirl her features were that crisp and young. But the way she sized Dara up belayed a worldly charm. And when she heard Dara play, Annie’s eyes blazed, and the schoolgirl she looked became something far more dark and inscrutable.

‘Wow - she is good,’ she said to Andrew before swinging back to Dara, ‘but the name? The name doesn’t gel. You don’t seem a Dara - no offence - you seem something stronger, something unknown, something hereto unquantifiable.’

‘How about Phoenix?’ The name had been murmuring there at the back of her throat ever since Patti had come back into her life, ever since the Firebird had blazed alive again within her grip. And the name made sense, seemed to fit.

‘I like it… listen Dara - sorry, Phoenix - I’ve got some girls who are looking for someone like you. And you can sing. Damn you can sing. Dara, how would you like to join a band.’

Patti hummed, albeit only between Dara’s fingers. Dara wasn’t sure if she had struck the strings and believed she hadn’t. It was as though Patti had answered for her.

‘We’ll think about it,’ Dara said.

That night she played the Firebird until her fingers bled. She sang until her voice began to tear. She then put on old Hole records and danced and drank and gathered up all the bad memories of her life: school photographs, old tax returns, her work name badge. Out the back of her flat, in the overgrown garden she lumped everything into a large old flowerpot and set alight to everything within it.

‘Come on then Phoenix,’ she dared into the flames.

The dark curls of smoke snaked into Dara and there, beneath a harvest moon with a face full of fire and the smoke of a life spent, Dara felt Phoenix rise up, a light sweat beading across her lip, a slight sheen glistening her brow. Three days later and Dentata were signed.

Dara was drunk when she rounded the corner of her street. Drunk but excited. One hand was buried deep into the pocket of her designer cashmere trench coat, the other carried Patti in her case. Dara loved playing music. Loved the electricity it forged in her fingers, in her groin. She was drunk: on liquor and lyrics. But as she approached her flat she noticed someone out the front, loitering beneath the front lamp. As she got closer, she could make out the shape of a woman and for the first time in a long time Dara felt her insides constrict and twitch.

‘My my my,’ she snarled as she approached the blonde, ‘look what the cat dragged in.’

‘Dara!’ Jody yelped, balling forward from her heels to toe excitedly. ‘Or Phoenix, right? It’s Phoenix now isn’t it?!’

‘Jody, what the fuck do you want?’

Dara dug deep into the pockets of her trench coat, balling up her fists. She hadn’t seen Jody since the return of the Firebird, and now here she was, blonde and a little more washed out, yet still as seemingly firm beneath the tight sweater and even tighter jeans. Jody smiled softly, but when she noticed the nicety wasn’t returned she kicked the toe of her boot and studied the motion before saying, ‘Look, Dara… fuck, I’m sorry hey. I’m really sorry for what I did.’

‘Why are you here Jody?’

‘To apologise!’

‘You could’ve written a letter or sent flowers or, wait… how about not even fucking bothered at all!’ Dara snaped. ‘Because you certainly haven’t in the - oh - two years since I found out you were a lying thief!’

A taxi went zipping by. Across the street, above the town houses, Sydney glowed. Another taxi zipped by.

‘Dara, I know I should’ve… Dara, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I….’

‘Why are you here, really?!’

‘I wanted to see if the rumours were true,’ Jody stammered. ‘I wanted to see if the same Dara I had a crush on in high school had grown up to become Phoenix, the hottest lead singer of the hottest all girl punk grunge band in town. And,’ she paused, eyeing Dara up and down, ‘the rumours are true.’

Another taxi zipped by. There was a humidity in the air, a heavy moistness.

‘So you thought you’d come and get a piece did you?’

‘Ha!’ Jody threw her head back, the blonde hair catching the light, dazzling slightly. ‘Me get a piece of Phoenix? Never. I came to apologise. That was all. Nothing more. Look, Dara… what I did I did out of jealousy. I was stupid and young. Hell, I’m still stupid. I… just want you to know I’m sorry for what I did. I wanted you, but didn’t know how to get you.’

‘You didn’t need to get me,’ Dara laughed. ‘You could’ve had me - however you wanted me. I was mad for you Jody. Mad!’

‘I know. Look… Dara, I’m sorry. Good luck. You seem to be living it. Good bye.’

She smiled politely then turned and walked off, her shoulders slumped, her head down.

Dara fished out her keys, opened the front door, placed Patti inside and paused. She turned swiftly.

‘Jody! Wait!’

Jody stopped and turned, a small smile on her lips.

‘I shouldn’t be such a bitch. Look, I’m not sure I understand why you did it, but I accept the apology. Look, would you like to come inside and talk about it… maybe have a drink.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah… but if I catch you stealing anything else I’ll cut your fucking hands off.’

They laughed and Jody walked toward her, smiled as she crossed over the step into Dara’s house. Phoenix closed the door behind them, watched the way Jody’s firm butt clung to the inside of her jeans, wiggled in just that right way up the hall. If payback is a bitch, Phoenix thought to herself, locking the door, then I’m just the girl to collect debts.

 

The Part Three Remix by Scott-Patrick Mitchell is licensed under a CC Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia licence. It is a derivative work of Damian McDonald’s CC Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia licensed story. The original is available at http://www.remixmylit.com/daras-firebird-lovesong-by-damian-mcdonald/. For details on how you can reuse the original and this remix see http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.5/au/.