Behind the club, vans and U-Haul rental trucks line the alleyway. From each of them, rock and rollers, clad in black with jackets and T-shirts emblazoned with whatever logo represents their band, pull musical gear out of the vehicles. This is their night. This is Halloween and this is the show that has a recording contract on the line. Every one there, from roadie/fan to seasoned veteran knows the importance of tonight’s performance. Needless to say, the chitter chatter is at a minimum.
Skeezer, behind the wheel of the band’s van, is directed into a spot just in front of the large garage-style doors that function as the delivery entrance to the club. Mona and Michael stand off to the side, attempting to blend into the shadows of the alley.
Fans crowd into the alleyway just beyond the line of vans. Clad in black or in costumes—it is Halloween after all—like their idols, the rabid horror punk fans are as excited for this show as the musicians. Tonight is the night legends are made! For some of the fans, those wearing Orzo masks, the music matters much less than the hero they have come to see.
The other band members can’t help but notice the strange, masked fans staring Michael down. Some musicians snicker at the tortured singer, most try to ignore him while others are bold enough to shoot Michael the bird.
Skeezer stops the van and clambers out. He joins Ricky at the back doors; Michael and Mona are walking towards them when a voice cuts through the din of gear load in and set up.
“There he is!” The voice behind that sentiment rings out, carrying through the alley and bouncing off of the concrete walls. Michael and the rest look up to see a group of Orzo fans, wearing masks and clutching photos and DVDs, barreling through the bands, oblivious of what kind of chaos or damage they are causing. The group is led by Orzo39, fresh from his appearance on The Monty Reigns show. The press of flesh is followed by a gaggle of reporters and camera operators from multiple TV stations.
“Oh shit,” Michael says.
Mona steps in front of Michael. Ricky and Skeezer can’t take their eyes off the cameras.
Mona turns toward the club and pulls Michael in that direction. Before they can make any headway, Orzo39 steps in front of them, stopping their progress. Michael looks longingly into the dark recesses of the club. He can be anonymous in there.
“Michael! Michael! Wow…it is so great to meet you. Do you think you could sign some stuff for us?”
The Orzo fans, attempting to be respectful to their leader, jockey for position behind Orzo39 with their photos and DVDs.
“He must have loved you!” a masked fan shouts.
“What was he like?” another asks.
Michael is unable to answer; all around him were the masks, the faces, of Orzo the Clown. He can barely breathe. Recognizing this, Mona takes over and shoves Orzo39, and whatever fans get within her reach. Some tumble backward, others hold their ground. Being with Michael has made her a celebrity too.
“Each one of you bastards is one sick fuck, all right?” Mona blurts out. “Get the fuck out of our way!”
The crowd presses in closer. Michael, thanks to Mona’s frenzied pushing a moment ago, finds an escape route. Sliding between people, Michael enters the club and pulls Mona along with him.
The fans press forward until Orzo39 holds up a hand, stopping them. The reporters and camera operators do not follow, either.
Smiling from ear to ear, Orzo39 calls into the club, “We love you!”