It was difficult to admit but the evening had been a failure.
The latest live music offering, this time from a local band, had failed to capture the imagination. I'd heard their demo tape only two days ago, I'd been reticent while Steve had told me to trust the Promoters and embrace something different.
Now with more and more punters leaving at the end of each song from a torturously depressing set list even my brother had to concede defeat, the most worrying aspect bring that at present we were barely halfway through their rapidly turgid set.
'Lifestyle' was an ironic choice of name, as was often the case. Their music did not indicate a lifestyle I would be willing to consider I contemplate as I find myself quiet enough to pour myself a large freehand measure of whisky which I glue down almost immediately.
I started a head count, ditching the idea immediately. I knew from advance ticket sales that 'Lifestyle' had failed to draw in even half the usual number of casual punters that our monthly live music events usually guaranteed.
I'd have been better placed stood at the front doors counting the steady procession heading for the exit as the lead singer whiningly caterwauled over yet another overly heavy thrash guitar accompaniment.
Each song they played sounding remarkably unlike the song that had preceded it. Angry maudlin rhetoric accompanying every similar sounding tune they attempted to entertain with. I'm sure their supposed style had a time and a place, to our detriment O'Leary's on a Wednesday night was neither.
Something about them was so painfully amateur that calling them amateur would though have been paying them a compliment.
Looking for distraction, trying not to dwell on lost revenue, I'd noticed her a handful of times across the evening already. She appeared to be alone. One of the few in attendance who remained captivated throughout the performance.
Late teens or perhaps early twenties she was dressed in a faded black sleeveless tee that sat an inch or two short of a faded black denim skirt, black fishnets clad her legs, while mid-calf patent leather vivid purple boots broke the dull monochrome of her outfit.
Visually her punkish appearance stood her out a little from even the fans of the band. Purple tones of makeup adorned her eyes and vivid purple lipstick painted her full lips. Her hair shoulder length bobbed hair style hung straight parted through the centre of her scalp one side light blonde while the other side in stark contrast was jet black, creating an unusual and captivating appearance. It mattered very little, but I couldn't ascertain which side was artificially dyed.
There was something about her appearance though that appeared almost unnatural, of course two-tone hair band slightly gothic makeup were far from natural but the way she held herself even as she swayed along to the musical accompaniment was visual out of place, a little forced.
Shortly after 'Lifestyle' had finished their set I'd watched her once more as she approached the lead singer at the bar. The exchange had started civil enough, although he did not appear overly warm to her approach. Within minutes a situation had flared up to the point of becoming physical. Voices of bystanders raised in objection as she noticeably stumbled while he physically her away from him. His physical reaction carrying enough ferocity to attract the attention of the additional security we hired for such occasions, tonight even they were itching for something to do so was the tedium.
By time they'd made their way to her several of his band mates had already dragged him away, drinks were spilled, voices were continued to be raised by the situation. I chuckle to myself as the situation dissipates the moment the lead singer storms away.
I simply shook my head at the pathetic drama while two members of the band's entourage held back the two-toned haired girl while she hollered after him.
"Why won't you let me explain... why don't you even care what happened to me Gregg... I confided in you... I confided..."
Her voice tailing off into angry hyperventilating tears.
"Go die in a ditch you fucking Whore," his voice boomed throughout the bar that had fallen to a hushed silence following the altercation. His voice sounding better than it had when he had closed their set with a song featuring the same lyrics.
For the remainder of the night she had perched, cross legged, on a bar stool angrily brooding while knock back shot after shot of neat vodka, demanding replacement after replacement into the shot glass from Chris our Barman. The crew had packed up the stage around her, she hung around in anticipation of another opportunity to capture the lead singer's attention, in her increasingly intoxicated state she obviously had not spotted him and the rest of his band leaving fire the fire exit around twenty minutes earlier.
On closing I noted security approach her once again to request she leave the bar. I stop them silently with a raise of my hand and a subtle wag of my finger. They don't question why but diligently follow my instruction as they concentrate on herding the few remaining patrons towards the door.
"Sack of shit night," Steve offers his brutal appraisal of the last seven hours.
"I won't disagree," I state without looking to him.
"Let's get cleared up ...a kebab and some strippers might take the edge off the night." Steve immediately starts collecting empty glasses around him from the bar.
"I dunno... Let's get some far cheaper benefit from the evening," I offer coldly to my brother with a nod towards the inebriated young women at the end of the bar.
Steve's grin spoke volumes, "Seems only fair."
"On one side of her head at least," I quip, referencing the two-tone hairstyle.
Steve chuckles.
Walking up to her from my side of the bar she sits slumped forward her head in hands as she bears her body weight on her elbows rested on the bar, she slowly looked up at me from weary bloodshot eyes, framed with dusky purple eye makeup. I notice for the first time a small silver hoop that pierces her nose through her right nostril.
"Hey there..." I offered a sincere an opening. "It's gotten late... Can I get you a cab?"
"No..." her head shake unexpectedly violently to punctuate the single word that was immediate and curt, "...No Taxis ....No fucking Taxis ....I don't trust Taxis."
Her continued response on slurred words confused me a little as I glance to Steve as he steps up to the bar to her left.
"Can we interest you in a lock in then?" Stevie offers with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
She turns her head to Steve, visually she looks like a blonde at this angle, before she looks back at me.
"Sounds.... Sounds like a terrible idea..." her eyes lock on mine slightly mischievously while lifting her empty shot glass towards me. "...but Vodka and I'm in"
"Best lock up Steve," I offer without taking my eyes from her bleary yet beautiful pale blue eyes. "And we'll have a private party for three."
