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Klub Klang had three small rooms upstairs where the bands could get dressed and hang out. They were totally gross, but everyone sat down on the couches anyway. When we’d come back in, the doors had opened and there was a bunch of people on the floor. Already the night was shaping up to be much better than the last show.
Fern and I went to the private bathroom to get dressed. We’d bought matching skirts, mine was red and hers was blue, and we did our makeup as dark as we could. She looked amazing with her hair as pale as it was now, and because she was wearing black and blue, the Marie-Lise look was somewhat lessened.
This club had a stage entrance that led right to the stage from upstairs. When it was time for us to go on, the four of us crowded at the side.
Edgar peeked around the corner and looked back at us, grinning. “There’s a ton of people here.”
“Awesome,” Fern said. “Let’s have a good one, guys.”
We all grinned at each other, and the three of them walked up onstage. To my surprise there was a general cheer that went up from the crowd.
When they’d all settled themselves with their instruments, the house music went down and I took a deep breath and walked up onto the stage.
The floor at the front of the stage was packed, and I felt eyes on me as I walked across and grabbed my microphone.
“We’re Colostomy Hag,” I announced as strongly as I could, and immediately Socks counted in the first song.
On either side of me, Fern and Edgar started moving, she in a wash of white hair and he with his dreads flying. Awkwardness hit me for a moment, but instead of freezing up, I took a deep breath, planted my hands on my hips, and hoped that my stillness looked like a deliberate attempt to contrast their movement. I scanned the front row of people, making eye contact with all of them.
Their heads were moving, and I was pleased to see some girls in the crowd as well, mainly looking at me and Fern. I didn’t get a sense of boredom or mocking from anyone. They all seemed into it.
I began singing and moving to the music, trying very hard to win them over by throwing myself into the song as roughly as possible. I moved up close to the crowd, and while no hands reached up to me, the guys there definitely got more into it. As they started moving and headbanging, it fuelled me as well. I threw my hair around, I let it lay in front of my face and roared through it.
At the end of the song, the crowd cheered loudly. I could feel all of us onstage swell with relief and pride.
Towards the end of the set, with the crowd clearly enjoying it, I noticed a guy who had pushed his way to the front. Throughout the last song he placed his elbows on the stage and leaned on them in an obvious sign of boredom, and every time I made eye contact with him he mimed a very dramatic yawn at me. I did my best to ignore him, not sure of how to deal with him, and tried to focus instead on the other people who were having a good time. He was a like a scab or a zit that you try to ignore but is a constant nag.
When we paused before our second-last song, the crowd cheered, and the guy cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Hey, bitch,” he shouted at me. “Why don’t you get off the stage and let a good band play?”
Fury boiled inside me. “Hey, prick,” I shouted back into the microphone. “Why don’t you come on up here and kiss my ass?”