ShapeShifter Fiction: New Shoes (Trevor’s Song era)

“Roberta! Roberta, where are you?” Daniel yelled as the band dragged into their dressing room.

That had to be, Mitchell thought, one of the truly dumb questions in the world. Ma always said there were no dumb questions, but come on. Daniel knew damn well that Roberta was behind them, handing out the towels and bathrobes as they came off stage.

“She’s not here,” Loren said, peeking around a corner. “She’ll be back in a few. What can I help you with?” A hip appeared around the corner. Nothing more. Just the hip.

Loren wasn’t long for employment by ShapeShifter, Mitchell thought. Not if that hip was some sort of sexual thing.

Daniel plopped down on the couch, pulling the hood off his robe and tossing his towel beside him. He crossed his right foot over his left knee and pulled at a flap of rubber on his shoe.

Mitchell and Trevor peered over the back of the couch at it.

That flap of rubber made up the edges of a hole square over the ball of Daniel’s foot. He’d worn through his favorite pair of stage shoes. Mitchell peered more closely. Sure enough, he could see skin through there.

“Are you fucking crying?” Trevor asked, attention focused on the drummer’s face.

Mitchell shoved Trev so hard, the bass player stumbled a few steps to the side. He bit back the smile; it had been a good line. Daniel did tend to get a little bit too attached to certain things. These stupid shoes were one of them. If they’d been Mitchell’s, they’d have been trashed awhile ago.

“What’s wrong?” Loren asked. This time, they could see all of her. Skinny black jeans. Black t-shirt that clung. Why did they keep hiring these skinny twigs as wardrobe assistant? This one looked more like a boy than a girl. She even wore black Chuck hi-tops and an earring in only one ear. Her dyed-black hair was still short enough to be gelled into spikes on top.

“My shoe,” Daniel said, plucking rhythms out of the raw edge of the rubber.

Mitchell had to give the guy credit for not whining. To Daniel, this was the same sort of tragedy as a bad review — something to sulk about and get cranky over. Only this would last for days. Maybe longer, if the new ones took awhile to break in.

Loren shrugged. “I’ll go out with Roberta tomorrow and get you a new pair. What’s your size?”

“I want the same style.”

The girl held out her hand.

Mitchell gaped at her. Eric audibly gasped. She was actually asking Daniel to take off his shoes? While she was right there, in front of him? She really wasn’t going to be long in this job, but this time it was because what was going to come out with Daniel’s feet was going to kill her. Already, Eric and Trevor were moving off, and Mitchell was straightening up, ready to bolt.

Daniel shrugged and pulled at the laces. Mitchell retreated to his wardrobe case. It was past time for a shower, anyway. Maybe he’d get lucky and be gone when the shoes came off and the funk came out.

No such thing. Holding his breath, he darted for the shower. On the way, he noticed Loren, cradling the shoes to her chest, oblivious.

He froze. Eric did the same thing beside him. They couldn’t help but stare at the girl. She acted like this was some prize she’d been handed. Something precious, like a newborn baby.

Mitchell knew she wasn’t cut out for the roadie life.

“Maybe she’s got no sense of smell,” Eric whispered.

Mitchell nodded agreement. It was better than admitting they’d hired another groupie.

Roberta arrived, her nose squinching up. “Let me guess. Daniel’s shoes are off.”

Loren held them out. “He got a hole. We gotta get a new pair.”

Roberta waved at the offering. “What we need to get is a couple of pairs of the same style, like Mitchell has. Give them time to air out between shows.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Roberta said.

Daniel stood up and turned to face the wardrobe manager. “No,” he said again.

Trevor chuckled and lit a cigarette. “This could be good,” he said.

Mitchell agreed. Daniel didn’t get assertive very often, but when he did, look out. Same for Roberta. Watching these two go at it was going to be worth the delayed shower. Even if his back was starting to itch.

Loren still cradled the shoes to her chest.

“We’ll buy them and set them out the way we do Mitchell’s shoes. What you do from there is up to you,” Roberta said.

Daniel looked at Mitchell. “Is it awful? Can you feel the difference?”

Mitchell shrugged. Like he cared about his shoes when there was so much else to worry about during a show. Was he hitting his marks? Reading the set list right? Controlling the crowd? Playing well and singing better?

Yeah. He had time to freak about his shoes. Uh-huh.

With a heavy sigh, Daniel stood up and unbelted his robe. Eric took that as a sign and moved off. Mitchell turned to follow, but stopped when he noticed Loren.

She was rubbing Daniel’s shoes over the front of her t-shirt, her face screwed up in the pain she hadn’t shown earlier.

“That oughta keep that fucking creep off me,” she muttered and tossed the shoes into the trash. “I gotta fucking job to do. I’m not here for him.”

Mitchell made a mental note to find out what that was about. First, he had to take care of his back. An itch this bad meant it’d break out for sure. And then his guitar strap would rub, making the zits hurt every time he moved, which was pretty fucking often during a show.

Daniel, Mitchell decided, was getting off light if all he had to worry about was his feet.

Yes, this is one of the scenes that Iron Maiden inspired! Don’t ask how or why; I couldn’t even begin to tell you. I will say, however, that there’s more. I’ve been intrigued by Loren and while I don’t think she’ll be a regular around here, we’ll definitely see more of her. In the meantime, as I play with Loren, you should go visit the other people who took up the Sunday Scribblings challenge this week.