The Pike_Evermore

  The Pike: Evermore

  By Erik Schubach

  Copyright © 2017 by Erik Schubach

  Self publishing

  P.O. Box 523

  Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026

  Cover Photo © 2017 RbvRbv DepositPhotos.com licence,

  Subarashii21 / Blambca / Iconic Bestiary ShutterStock.com licenses

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-9985110-5-4

  Prologue

  I sat with the twins Maxine, and Teddy, my niece and nephew extraordinaire in the back room of our bakery, The Pike, here at Pike Place Market in Seattle. We huddled around the iPad as we watched Na Na Evermore's latest podcast.

  She was sort of the bad girl of the underground rock and punk scene here in Seattle. And she had the looks to sell it well. What with her long sweeping black mohawk, the rest of her hair shaved, and those black tattoos all around her neck she wore like a lace collar that made you want to see the rest of them. Her dark makeup completed the punk rock clubbing girl look with her leathers.

  And if I were ever to travel the spectrum of the dating rainbow, Na Na Evermore would be the type to get my motor purring. She sort of already did as it was.

  The music world stopped to listen when she spoke. Whether it was about up and coming bands or singers, or fashion style, her predictions may as well have been the law of the land. I don't think the woman has ever picked a lame duck.

  Quack.

  I know, I know, don't look at me like that. The Evermore Plain Truth blog and podcasts aren't strictly PG enough for viewing by twelve-year-olds, but I'm the bad aunt who gets to spoil her niece and nephew and teach them how to make proper mischief before returning them to my sis.

  We watched as Na Na swung her mohawk from side to side at whatever underground rave she had been reporting from as she yelled over the thrash metal piece, “Iron Destiny is the shit, everyone. If they aren't signed by the end of the year, then I'll retire my dog collar. They have that unique classic sound that they blend seamlessly with the more invasive shredding that is becoming more widely accepted in the scene.”

  Some guy wearing far too much eyeliner, and multiple tongue piercings shoved his face in front of her camera. She stomped his foot and then kicked him in the butt when he bent over to cradle his foot. He fell beside the mosh pit. She yelled over her shoulder, “Instruct him that it's fuckin' rude to interrupt, would ya?”

  Multiple hands reached out and pulled the guy into the mosh pit, and she turned back to the camera, then did what only Na Na Evermore could pull off, and she squished her head to her shoulders and scrunched up her face. She could go from badass to infinitely adorable in two seconds flat, and that just cemented her as an immortal in the entertainment world.

  We all looked up from the pad and shared grins, then went back to watching. She pointed the camera at the stage for a few moments so we could get a taste of the band, then back to herself. She held up her wrist to show off a new heavy silver chain that looked to be constructed of Celtic knots and pointed to it and simply said, “Remington Creations.”

  She was always showing off the latest edgy clubbing gear, and vendors clamored to have her show off their gear. She did reach over a million viewers with each podcast after all.

  Then she said, “I'm going to get back to the performance, so this is Na Na Evermore signing off, I offer no bullshit, just...” We joined in when the people at the rave all yelled, “The plain truth!”

  We high fived each other then froze as someone cleared their throat behind us, and my older sis, Zoey, asked in the same voice which was standard issued to all mothers, “Really, Eve? Do you really think that the Evermore Plain Truth is something my children should be watching?”

  We all turned, sharing the universal 'busted' look with each other. I put on my toothiest grin and said, “Absolutely. It is very educational.”

  Maxine agreed as she said, “You should have seen her new midriff leather jacket mom, it was sexy, can I get one for the start of junior high?

  I dropped my head, shaking it as I muttered out the side of my mouth, “Not helping, kid.”

  Zoey crossed her arms and pointed out expectantly, one eyebrow cocked, “You're twelve, Maximus Prime.”

  Max grinned and crossed her arms in an eerie pantomime of her mother's stance. Their dark red hair a mirror of each other's and the slight smirk they shared told you that Max was going to be a stunner like her mom when she grew up. “We'll be thirteen in a week.” She lifted her chin imperiously.

  I enjoyed the tremor of a smile quirking at the corners of my sister's mouth, as she tried to play the stern parent. She wasn't fooling anyone, well except Teddy, who was lowering his head and saying, “Sorry mom.”

  I hugged the poor boy to me and put him in a headlock so I could ruffle his hair. He was getting so big. He was already taller than me, and Max was getting close.

  Zoey gave them mercy and pointed at Maxaroonie and said, “No.” Then clapped her hands at all three of us. “Come on, chop chop, the bakery won't open itself.”

  We all grinned and got to work.

  Once the kids ran out to stock the front cases with fresh pastries and bread, Zo shuffled over to me, bumped my hip as she looked at the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front room, “Do they know yet?”

  I shook my head and grinned up at her. “Nope. I can keep a secret. Besides, Nala is in here frequently with her BFF Madelyn. It's not like it will be the first time the twins stood in shock like blubbering buffoons around the woman.”

  Na Na Evermore's real name was Nala Dupree, and she was actually a really sweet woman who was sort of the opposite of what you would think of a punk princess. She took on a dangerous hardness that was quite impressive when she was defending her friends, but besides that, I think she's actually pretty insecure and lonely in the sea of admirers that flock around her.

  She sort of latched onto a couple girlfriends of ours, regulars at the Pike, Madelyn Stone, and Officer Danielle O’Brien. And I've seen an almost imperceptible change in her podcasts since. She seems to smile more and do cute things more than she used to. I think it is that they are real friends, not like the ones who like to ride on the coattails of her fame.

  A local news channel has pitched an idea to her, to use her insane popularity get her opinions out in a more PG friendly format, in a weekly segment they want to call Seattle Evermore, so that it didn't interfere with her normal podcasts and blog. And have her talk about local people and businesses that she feels comfortable endorsing that are a hallmark of the Seattle in-scene.

  This was a way for her to expand her ever-growing entertainment media empire and her brand. I can imagine the copious amounts of money they stacked around her to convince her. The only concession was that she had to curb her proclivity for four-letter expressions on the new segment.

  After weeks of negotiations with the station, she approached us and asked if we wanted to be the focus of the flagship episode of the segment. That she'd feel more relaxed around friends. We could only imagine the bo
ost in sales we would receive from the broadcast. Zoey exploded into a shower of yeses. I was afraid I'd have to get a mop out to clean them all up.

  We decided to keep it a secret from the twins, as Maximilian idolizes Nala so this would be a great surprise for her.

  Zoey and I shared the all knowing sister grin and nod as we got back to work. We'd be flooded with our morning regulars in just a few minutes, and there were croissants to be baked!

  Chapter 1 – Premiere

  I exhaled audibly as I stared in the mirror. I held the tail of my mohawk in my hand, indecision frustrating me. Should I braid it and hide it like normal? Ponytail and let people see it for once? Or do I do as Maddie says and be myself instead of the character I project to everyone and let it down for once?

  My waist length black hair was sort of my secret pride. It reminds me not to buy into the persona I feel is my alter ego now. Na Na Evermore. It reminds me that I'm an actual real person under all the layers of bullshit I have draped upon myself to forge my media empire. It is the last bit of Nala that I refuse to give up for the sake of making a living as this larger than life caricature of myself which I project to the world.

  I let the black locks puddle around my shoulders and cascade down my back. I smiled weakly. And muttered wistfully at my reflection, “Hi Nala.” Then I grinned back at myself and stood taller and started braiding the tail to tuck under my blouse.

  I almost snorted at the outfit I chose for my first live broadcast with KVRL in my Seattle Evermore segment. I had to fight the station tooth and nail to name the segment consistent with the branding I have built up since my college years as a marketing major. The brand that has put me, a nobody, on the global map of the music scene.

  I looked at the professional business suit I wore, which would have looked at home on any news anchor. But with my tats and mohawk, it was like thumbing my nose at the establishment, and that would play into my character well. Hell, I was going to enjoy the reactions it garnered from anyone who either knew me or knew of me. Sometimes I can't figure out where Nala ends, and Na Na begins, since we both have the same wicked sense of humor, and I believe her foul mouth has wormed its way into my own vernacular as well.

  But with all the drawbacks, she has made me stronger, that is something I cannot deny. I'm not the same mousy girl I had been back in school, afraid of my own shadow, watching others live life from a distance, from the fishbowl I lived in. Now I 'am' the shadow, and can take strength from it and live in the spotlight. Though I've learned that sometimes that same spotlight can burn. And sometimes, it is so bright that you can you lose sight of yourself.

  Madelyn and Dani don't see Na Na in me, and that grounds me. I'm so glad I befriended them, since I was getting confused as to who I really was and who I really wanted to be. It is awesome to have friends who can remind me that I can just be me, and have fun with the people I like, instead of living in the sea of paparazzi and hangers-on in my entourage who just want to capitalize on my fame for their own uses.

  I tucked the braid into the white pressed blouse then adjusted the collar, unbuttoning a button to let my necklace tats show, as well as a good amount of cleavage. Enough to see just a hint of my black lace bra.

  Hey, they said I had to curb my language, not my sexuality. As much as I am loathe to admit, sex sells. It made me an internet sensation, and I have expanded into other markets because of it. Case in point, this new gig, which is sort of my first legit professional job. I've not had to work for anyone for a paycheck since my junior year in college, when Na Na was born out of necessity.

  I knew I had to get serious about cementing my brand since time is unforgiving, unyielding, and beauty fades. One day I will wake up to find that the scene has moved on to a new, younger idol to fill my boots, and Na Na Evermore will just be a memory. Like the 80s bands who keep doing reunion tours just to re-live their glory days.

  By establishing my brand and growing my empire, I'll have something to fall back on. I have relationships with most of the record studios, and high-end custom accessories and clothing manufacturers for the scene. I created an eCommerce arm this year to hawk the gear which I'm a walking billboard for.

  Speaking of. I slipped on another contrast to the business suit, a chainmail fingerless glove that is attached to a silver ring on my middle finger, allowing the fine silver chainmail to drape across the back of my hand, and then attach to my wrist with a single loop of silver.

  Anarchy 5 created this 'Ethereal Armor' specifically for me, so I'll tout the edgy punk silversmith for my usual twenty percent referral fee of all profits. I make almost as much from referral fees from various vendors, as I make from advertisers on my blog and podcast.

  I couldn't full out endorse the piece on the segment, though I did negotiate product placement and mentions in the credits on the show and on the news station's website. Though the bastards will get fifty percent of my referrals for those items. KVRL has more money than God, so it was sort of a poke in the eye that they wanted to dip into my pocket too. Tit for tat I suppose.

  I slipped into the black kitten heels, with their cute little skull under the black bows.

  Ok, that was me not Na Na. But they were adorable.

  It's been forever since I've worn anything but my shit kicking, platform thigh highs during a broadcast, but I was trying to appear like I was wearing a costume for this. I felt the heels would be a nice touch.

  If it weren't for my hair, makeup, and ink, I'd look like a fairly respectable news anchor. Well, and the black nails. And the piercings... oh just shut up.

  I looked back when someone knocked lightly on the bathroom door. Madelyn called out, “Nala, come on, I'm going to be late getting my cart to the opening bell at the Market if you don't get your ass in gear now.”

  I grinned back at the door. Madelyn had recently made a splash on the art scene with her unique fabric dyeing art. She could create an entire universe on a piece of fabric with nothing but inspired strokes of dye. I always felt like I was stepping back through time, looking at the glimpses of the past she incorporates into all of her scenes. A local gallery is showing a grouping of her works, entitled fittingly enough, Winds of Change.

  But she has stayed true to herself. She still takes out her cart every day to Pike Place Market to sell her hand-dyed scarves, and handmade felt hats. I don't think she has realized just how much her art was about to change the world as she knew it. I was glad I had a front row seat.

  I was so nervous about this first broadcast that she had volunteered to drive me there when she went to work. We'd only have a few minutes to visit with the sisters at the Pike before Maddie had to open her cart and the camera crew showed up at the bakery for me.

  I still wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I was going to meet my, umm... producer... for the segment there. I had always done my own thing and hoped that someone else dictating things wasn't going to be a deal breaker for me. The studio assured me that this Porter character was top notch.

  I called out with a grin on my lips, “Cool your knickers, brat.”

  She giggled. “Knickers? What, are you British now?” I grinned at the door then took a deep breath and looked in the mirror one last time. I exhaled and said to myself, “You got this.”

  I pulled on Na Na's confidence and turned and opened the door to look down at Madelyn. She had pink hair today, and was wearing one of her floppy wide brim hats. She was such a cutie and didn't even realize it. I'm so glad she has her Officer Dani to remind her of it every day.

  I squished my lips over to one side and rolled with her British quip. “Fine, you pushy wanker, let's get our arses in gear.”

  She giggled and pointed at me as she said, “That accent's actually pretty sexy. You should go with that.”

  I pushed her shoulder and muttered, “See? Brat.”

  I glanced around my loft. “No Danielle today?”

  She shook her head as she glanced out the loft windows at Puget Sound below. I loved the view here, that's
why I picked this retrofitted old warehouse over any of the posh condos I checked out when I got a place of my own.

  I had the whole second floor and roof to myself. The first floor housed a vintage record shop, Spinners, a tattoo parlor, Ratz, and a private dance studio where I worked out during their off hours. It was such a pain staying in shape, just to maintain my public image.

  She took a moment to look me up and down and shook her head. “For something that should look normal, that actually looks like you are poking fun at the station and female professionals. Yet somehow, you make it work.”

  I grinned and quipped, “You smooth talker you. Backhanded compliment accepted. Now didn't you say we were going to be late?”

  She rolled her eyes, and we headed out. I grinned when she punched in her own code at the freight elevator to operate it. Only she and Dani had access to my Fortress of Solitude, none of my posse even had a code. Again, this told me that these two were the only ones I really trusted, my only true close friends.

  I know it sounds all gloom and doom and isn't as bleak a friendship landscape as I paint. I had plenty of people I'd classify as friends, like the sisters at the Pike, my ever entertaining webmaster, Reese Qualls, and believe it or not, Mandy Fay Harris herself. But these two had my complete trust that they had my back. Me, Nala. Though Mandy seems almost scarily aware of how I feel in my punk media queen persona.

  We hit the little corridor lobby between the dance studio and Spinners, and headed to the front doors. Maddie said to me in a resigned tone, “Shields up,” as she opened the door for me. I stood up taller and put on my kick ass and take names face then stepped confidently out onto the sidewalk.

  I was berated by a couple reporters, and I ignored their questions. One paparazzi got in my face with his camera, which he was wearing as a new eyepiece after I grabbed the lens with one hand and shoved his camera back in his face. Yup, I could expect another piece about how I attacked a poor little photographer in the daily rags.