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Outsider By W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh Outsider Copyright © 2012 W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh Smashwords Edition Cover Design by Jane Timm Baxter Cover Photo by W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh *..*..*..*..* This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The author is grateful for your appreciation of their work; although if you would like to gift or share this eBook, please do so by purchasing an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. *..*..*..*..* Acknowledgements Respect to Never The Bride: you rock! Respect to Girlschool: you rock! Grateful thanks to my first readers, especially Charlotte Brennan, Jane Timm Baxter and Jim Baxter, and Jeannie Decker. Your feedback was greatly appreciated. And grateful thanks to Elyse Draper. TABLE OF CONTENTS Book One: Joy Joy Chapter One Joy Chapter Two Joy Chapter Three Joy Chapter Four Joy Chapter Five Joy Chapter Six Joy Chapter Seven Joy Chapter Eight Joy Chapter Nine Joy Chapter Ten Joy Chapter Eleven Joy Chapter Twelve Joy Chapter Thirteen Joy Chapter Fourteen Joy Chapter Fifteen Joy Chapter Sixteen Joy Chapter Seventeen Joy Chapter Eighteen Book Two Tony Tony Chapter One Tony Chapter Two Tony Chapter Three Tony Chapter Four Tony Chapter Five Tony Chapter Six Tony Chapter Seven Tony Chapter Eight Tony Chapter Nine Tony Chapter Ten Tony Chapter Eleven Tony Chapter Twelve Tony Chapter Thirteen Book Three Sid Sid Prologue: the Envoy Sid Chapter One Sid Chapter Two Sid Chapter Three Sid Chapter Four Sid Chapter Five Sid Chapter Six Sid Chapter Seven Sid Epilogue About the Author JOY A novel by W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh “I don’t talk much, don’t usually dance / But you caught my eye / I took a chance/ I took… a second look” (Never The Bride) “The obsessive fan is usually an inadequate pathetic personality who can’t form relationships with real people, and so lives in a fantasy world. Any reality usually defeats such people.” (Shirley Conran in “Lace”). CHAPTER ONE Did it all start that way for Sid Wasgo? Yes and no. If she wrote “Tequila After Dark” to remember her first encounter with Second Look, and yes, take her revenge on the rock singer, there had been a prelude to this first chapter. Back in time, she had been a singer, too. Back in time, a friend had mentioned Second Look. For some unknown reason Sid had assumed they were just another women’s band playing folk music. She couldn’t be bothered. Back in time, she had been feeling lost and despondent with her music, wondering which direction to take, wondering where to perform, wondering what to do. Was it still worth it? Did she still have the spark in her? Back in time, a friend with more piercings than she could count insisted on playing her one of the Second Look’s CDs. Sid had relented and decided to get done with the chore. But she wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of raw emotion. The first bar had been a swift arrow to her forgotten heart and a more than tough blow to her under- stimulated mind. She forgot how to breathe. And when she remembered how to speak, she asked: “Could I borrow this CD to make myself a copy?” Was it the voice, powerful, vindictive? She had always wanted to sing with such gusto and rock power, but had never known how. Was it the music, aggressive, direct? She had always wanted to play screaming riffs and lethal leads with her guitar, but had never known how. She had never felt that way before. There was a bright and blinding light expanding in her heart. So overwhelming that she didn’t know if it was pleasure or pain. Later, she realized that these two women called Second Look had done the totally unthinkable, something that no one else in a million years could have ever done: they had made Sid feel redundant. What was the point in carrying on with an uncertain career, trying to achieve something, when someone was already doing it, and doing a bloody good job at it! She was shocked. She didn’t know if she wanted to hate or love Second Look. A year later, yes, it took a long and busy year, Sid was strolling in her local park, enjoying the beginning of the summer, the peace of the blue sky and the green trees, when she spotted a battered copy of Hot Tickets in the middle of her path. She picked it up, checked it was only dated from the day before and, satisfied, sat down on a conveniently nearby wooden bench to read the gig listing. She hadn’t done so for too long a time. Life was going slow, but fine, even without much music. She scanned the names, knowing already what she’d be up to the next evening. When Second Look jumped at her. Bold lettering on the printed page. She read and read, and read again. Her eyes were not hallucinating. Her heart was suddenly swelling with light, beating out of rhythm, engulfing her soul. Second Look. Second Look would be performing the very next night in her very borough! Throwing her into a conflict of interests… She had said a long time ago she would attend a women’s benefit up in North London. But, but, Second Look was a powerful beacon pulling her into the light. Her blood was pulsing in tight bursts against her tattooed skin, threatening to break through. * * * * * * * The first Second Look gig she attended turned into a totally unusual evening for Sid, somehow. In “Tequila After Dark”, she had simply written out the three friends she had accidentally dragged along. The one she had never met before responded to an Irish name that Sid didn’t remember beyond the next five minutes, and Nat, who simply fancied her, accent and all, had actually brought her along. Nat, whose impossible-to-stop chatter irritated Sid, was an acquaintance of Sid’s and a friend of Judy’s. Judy, stout and low in her comments, was the tallest of the lot. They were way too early and wandered to the nearest chippy. They strolled in the park, devouring chips and chatting away, but Sid’s anxious mind was already by the stage, already listening to the music. She found a one-pound coin on the pavement outside the Blue Moon, shining for her eyes only, and later on, uncharacteristically, spent it on an A4- size poster of the band. Nat, considering the two performers good-looking on the photo, got herself a bigger one, furthermore irritating the currently impatient Sid. From then on that night, everything happened to Sid with a tinge of extraordinary. She contemplated the ceiling of the music lounge painted dark blue with lazy clouds and vague stars. She felt too restless to stick to the same corner and hang out with her friends. She chatted with the roadie selling Second Look paraphernalia. Yes, said the woman with a dark ponytail and without reserve, Terri the singer had more than the one dragon tattoo featured on the poster and Dawn, the keyboard player, had none. Sid herself was hiding under the shabby, long sleeves of her black, hooded shirt, Native American totem poles from shoulders to wrists, similar works in progress down her legs, some Navajo designs on her chest and abdomen, and, of course, a very realistic Smirnoff tarantula on her jugular. Because she was into vodka, sometimes. But not tonight. She was impatiently scanning the punters steadily crowding the music lounge, easily spotting groupies with their Second Look t-shirts in the humming hubbub of conversations. A soundtrack punctuated the consumption of various beers in many pints and unexpected disguises. She recognized Melissa Etheridge’s voice. And suddenly, she saw them. Being shortsighted, she didn’t exactly see the performers nor picked them out of the crowd because of a different style of clothes, she had learned to trust other senses; she was forever learning to live and cope with her extreme sensitivity. She simply knew, like a spontaneous knowledge, like an outburst of intuition, that these two women, one with blonde hair stopping short of the shoulders of her shiny, red top, the other one with coppery, wavy hair reaching to the top of her long sleeves, who had just walked into the room and were now talking with an anonymous punter, were Dawn Ferndale and Terri Harley, collectively known as Second Look. How could she be so sure? It was something about them, something different and familiar in their auras, their energy fields, and their vibes. Something echoing Sid’s. Ironically enough, in other circumstances, Sid wouldn’t have noticed the blinding light shining all around them; Sid would have never given them a second look. The two women made their way through the crowd, greeting friends and long-term fans alike. By the time the singer stepped onto the stage, Judy’s friends were squatting the last round table before the exit, and Sid and Judy were standing, waiting, a few feet from the stage.

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