cover art by aethel
Kitty wouldn't be here, except for the fact that James, the fucker, tricked her by scheduling the try-outs right after practice, and not telling her.
She didn't want to have anything to do with a new bass player; she was still pretty pissed that Vanessa had left them in a lurch like this. She certainly didn't want to sit here while shitty pretentious faux punks sneered at the girl behind the kit.
Like this asshole.
"Okay, thanks, that's enough," James shouted, over the buzzy thrum of the asshole's rendition of Clarissa. Kitty couldn't help herself, badum and a crash of the cymbal. Asshole glared at her, and Kitty blew him a kiss and smirked.
"Fucker," she muttered under her breath, biting back a smile when Steve laughed at her.
James shook the asshole's hand. "We've got a few more people coming in to audition, but our manager has your contact info, so we'll definitely give you a call. . ."
"Yeah, thanks," the asshole said, clearly seeing James' brush off for what it was. He packed up his fancy $1300 bass and stomped out of their practice space.
"He wasn't that bad," Steve remarked.
James shook his head. "No, he wasn't. But he wasn't going to fit in with us."
"True, true." Steve played a riff on his guitar, fingers sliding across the frets. "Who's next?"
James flipped through the sheaf of papers that their manager had given them. There were actual resumes from some of the candidates, a couple of fucking headshots, and a flyer for an art show. "This chick," James said, holding up the flyer.
"Uh huh," Kitty said, examining her nails. The polish was peeling on a few of them. "She won't replace Vanessa."
"I know," James said. "No one can replace Vanessa. But we need a bassist, at least for our live shows."
She shrugged and fiddled with her drum key, tightened the head on her snare, testing the tension by thumping the drum head. James was right, but Kitty would die before admitting it.
"Such a pain in my ass, Kitty Kat," James said.
Kitty flipped him off, while Steve laughed at them, like he always did.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. "Hello?"
"Showtime," Kitty muttered, and put on her 'I am interested' face.
"Over here," Steve called.
She was fucking hot, dressed in a short plaid skirt and knee high socks, her top clearly stolen from some poor Catholic school girl. Her dark hair was done in pigtails, and her lipstick was wicked red. "Lindsey," she said with a grin. "Hi."
Kitty felt a throb of heat in her cunt, and she pressed her knees together and tried to ignore it.
Lindsey was awful.
Her bass was beat to shit; it was slightly out of tune and one of the pickups had an annoying rattle that made Steve cringe as she stumbled her way through Bitches. Kitty wasn't entirely convinced that she even knew what song she was supposed to be playing.
She dove right into Planets of the Apes, not even pausing to see their reactions, her smile wide and bright. It was distracting. Those socks emphasized how long her legs were, and all Kitty could think about was licking her way between them. . .
James was nodding along and singing the words under his breath, wincing whenever Lindsey hit a sour note.
During the bridge of the song, Lindsey spun around and leaned into a backbend, hair brushing the ground and watching them upside down as they stared in amazement. That took some flexibility, and Kitty's mind immediately took a dive into the gutter, wondering what other ways Lindsey could bend her lithe body.
Lindsey pulled herself back up and crashed into the end of the song, and Kitty was still breathless and reeling from the backbend.
There was a brief pause, and then Lindsey started playing the familiar notes of Tornado. She stopped, brought her hand up to her mouth with a flourish and suddenly there was fire, Lindsey was breathing out a gout of fire like a motherfucking dragon, and she was laughing like a loon as a pile of papers at her feet burst into flames.
"Oh fuck," Steve said, moving quickly to smother the fire with his hoodie before anything else started burning. There was a lot of smoke, and it wasn't long before the fire alarm went off, and James was standing there, stunned.
"You're hired!" he shouted, and impossibly, Lindsey's smile grew bigger.
Kitty rushed to open the windows, using a bit of cardboard to fan at the smoke, trying to help it dissipate faster. She looked at Steve and James, who were talking to Lindsey, and something clicked.
Maybe Vanessa was irreplaceable, but Kitty had the feeling that Lindsey would make her own place in the band.