The Ballad of Helene Troy

By Lance Burson

In the hot, sticky summer of 2008, New York City saw the rebirth of rock and roll. Her form is female and her style was relentless. Twenty-four-year-old singer-songwriter-guitarist, Helene Troy, had a dream to matter with her talent in music. In a roach-infested apartment in the rotten core of The Big Apple, Helene worked, sweated, bled, drank, fought, loved, and rocked harder than her peers in hopes of becoming the next great thing. The rise and fall of her band, Slipper Socks Medium, highlighted her dramatic, gritty road to possible stardom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lance Burson
• Release date: Feb 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301190492

Lance Burson

Anxiety filled,sarcastic, punk rocking, sports& music obsessed robot-human hybrid writer livin with 4 women in Atlanta, Georgia not talking about Fight Club. Columnist for @SprocketInk. Author of The Ballad of Helene Troy by Pound Publishing.

Book preview

The Ballad of Helene Troy

Lance Burson

Copyright 2013 by Lance Burson

Published by Pound Publishing

Published at Smashwords

Leaning against the door to the roof, with a guitar case in each hand, Helene Troy growled as her cell phone slipped from her sweaty cheek and crashed into several pieces on the steps below. Living on thirty-three dollars for the next six days, she cursed the thought of the phone being ruined.

Damn it. Not right now.

She sat the cases on the concrete floor and leaned over to observe her latest disaster. The door opened, bumping her left hip and sending her sprawled over several steps. The tinny, girlish voice of her friend and band mate, Sadie Olivares, echoed over Helene.

Leney! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!

Helene didn’t bother getting up. She stretched her arms over two steps and tried to put the small black phone together. She answered Sadie with an acrid tongue.

Oh, I’m just great Sade. Darcy had our apartment phone shut off to save money to pay the power company. Of course, that money went to her loser druggie boyfriend. So, you sending me ass over elbows was just what I needed.

Helene picked up the phone components and pushed herself up into a sitting position on the top step. She sighed and choked back tears. She wondered how to deal with an irresponsible roommate and almost no money. Sadie squeezed in next to her and tried to hug Helene.

I have duct tape at my apartment. We’ll get your phone working and you can eat pizza at my place tonight. I paid the power bill, this time. Do you forgive me?

Sadie’s thin lips stretched into a warm, cautious smile. She pulled strands of straight ginger hair from her mouth. Helene softened her hard green-eyed glare and faked a smile. She stood and shoved the cell phone remnants into her little black backpack. She picked up the guitar cases as Sadie opened the door. With a blistering New York City August sun shining down, the women readied to chase their rock and roll dreams.

The symphonic crunch of guitars and drums bounced around the roof of the apartment building. An hour into band practice for Helene's four woman group, Slipper Socks Medium, produced more perspiration than inspiration. Her gray Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirt was soaked with sweat from the August heat. She stopped strumming her electric guitar and turned to her band mates.

Hey, let's take a break. Sadie, you want to work on some lyrics and let the other two run make a booze and food run?

Sadie placed her bass guitar on a metal stand and wiped strands of wet ginger hair from her mouth.

Yeah, Leney, of course. I have no money, can you spot me a few bucks?

Helene rolled her eyes, making no effort to hide her discontent with her financial situation. She pulled her guitar strap over her head and glared at her rhythm guitar player and roommate, Darcy Bridges. Darcy knew the look well, so she sprang into action.

I've got forty-three dollars. That's should get us enough beer, maybe a small bottle of liquor for our lovely Leney, and some snacks.

Darcy turned to the band's drummer, Mara Vincent, who yelled.

Darse, I can pitch in too. Don't worry we'll at least get through this day drunk.

The two raven-haired players left the roof in mischievous giggles. Helene shook her head in disgust, walked over to the nearest wall and looked out into the sky. When she heard Darcy and Mara close the door to the stairs, she spoke.

Sadie, you ever think there's a better way to do this shit?

She turned and watched Sadie approach in a cautious shuffle.

What do you mean, Leney? You could never quit playing music, it's your life.

Helene pivoted and held her guitar in her sweat drenched right hand, unplugged, close to the roof's eave.

It's been two and a half years since I moved to New York from Pittsburgh. I share an unlit apartment with a drug addict and several roaches. I had more money as a college student than I do as a musician. We can't afford to cut our EP. No matter how cool you and I make our MySpace page or rock a club on a Friday night at 1 am, we're spinning our wheels. Sade, it just isn't working.

Tears formed in of her deep green eyes. She didn't expect Sadie to have any answers or pearls of wisdom, she just wanted her words to be spoken. Sadie tried to comfort her.

Leney, you're the core of this band. You're our Robert Plant and Jimmy Page together. I'm broke too and this is our apartment roof we're playing on, but I believe in you. Everyone we play with or around thinks you're fucking amazing.

Helene took the guitar away from the side of the roof and walked to Sadie. She threw her left arm around her and the two women embraced for several seconds. Helene forced a smile and tossed her long brown hair to let some sun shine on her tired face.

Come on Sadie, let's go write our own Stairway to Heaven.

Helene and Sadie put down their guitars and walked under an eave to savor the small amount of shade off the building's roof. Helene placed her black notepad filled with lyrics and chord changes on her lap. They pressed their backs against the air conditioning vents and exchanged ahhhs at the coolness. Sadie took her phone from her jeans and frowned at the time display.

Darcy and Mara have been gone for almost an hour and a half. What do you think, boys or weed?

Helene closed her eyes so Sadie couldn't see her anger seething.

If I had any money I'd bet they ran into boys with weed. At this point, if they bring back bottled waters and a contact high, I'd be satisfied enough to not kill them.

The women let out simultaneous laughs. Their levity was interrupted when the large, heavy metal door connecting the stairs to the roof flew open. It sounded like thunder rolling over the top of the building. Darcy and Mara were giggling, and carrying full brown paper bags.

Slipper Socks Medium is drinking its lunch and smoking its dessert!

Helene rolled her eyes at Darcy's behavior. She leaped to her feet and walked over to her mischievious bandmates.

Lovely Lady Leney, this is yours!

Darcy handed Helene a small bottle of Bushmills whiskey. It was the cheapest sold in New York City liquor stores. She shook her head, unscrewed the bottle and took a large drink. Mara reached inside her sleeveless vest and pulled a white marijuana joint from an inside pocket. She put her right hand on her hip and held the joint with pride in front of Helene.

Here's the inspiration Slipper Socks Medium needs to get through this practice and be ready for our gig Thursday night.

Sadie stood, picked up Helene's notepad, and walked over to all three women.

Leney and I worked on two songs while you two were getting high. We were already inspired.

Helene extended her left arm and pushed away Mara's distraction. The guilt she felt questioning the band's future burned away in the summer sun.

Helene struggled with the oppressive heat. Sun bore down on the summit of her friend Sadie’s Brooklyn apartment building. Slipper Socks Medium’s band practice had become tiresome. Under the influence of beer and pot, Darcy and Mara were sloppy in their playing and grumbled when Helene yelled let's do it again!. Helene glared at her carefree drummer and guitar player, who lit fresh cigarettes, drank more beer and talked about their plans for later.

I’m done, girls. We got three new songs down and a set list for Thursday’s gig.

Darcy pulled out her phone, checked a text message and motioned for Mara to come stand beside her for a private conversation.

Helene unplugged her guitar. Still gripping the instrument, she walked to the chipped brick edge of the roof and peered over the intersection of 48th Street and 8th Avenue. Sweat pooled over her tired hands. She watched construction workers getting off from work, walk into the corner bar, Social Circle. Sadie’s voice carried over her shoulders.

From up here, this damn city actually looks possible doesn’t it?

Helene refused to turn around for fear of crying in front of her band mates.

Sade, this place is two different towns. One’s for the people who are trying to live here and the other one’s for the people like us, who are dying to live here. New York’s going to belong to me if it fucking kills me.

Car horns bounced off building walls. The whistles of policeman directing afternoon traffic tweeted throughout the warm air. Helene saw a green, yellow and red Nathan’s hot dog cart.

Come on Sadie. Let’s make those other two pack up our stuff. I’ll get a couple of hot dogs and we can work on the lyrics we didn’t get to earlier.

Mustard smudged the corners of Helene and Sadie’s mouths after they inhaled the last bites of their hot dogs. Sadie smiled at their messy faces. Helene pulled the half empty bottle of whiskey from her tattered backpack. They exchanged sips while sitting on the curb.

Sadie, I’m really glad your roommates agreed to let you keep most of our gear at your apartment. It’s getting to be like a crack house at mine and Darcy’s place.

Sadie hadn’t swallowed enough to allow a response. After another mutual drink of Bushmills, Darcy and Mara approached. Mara tossed a black and white flyer advertising another band’s show. It landed face up on the street grate by Helene’s Doc Marten booted feet.

Look at this bullshit. Superfluous Force is saying we’re opening for them, Thursday night.

Helene realized Darcy had forgotten to call the club owner to secure a good time slot. If would appear to the people attending that Slipper Socks Medium was supporting Superfluous Force, a band they despised. Helene’s deep green eyes narrowed in a vicious scowl toward Darcy. Darcy pulled a cigarette from the back pocket of her blue jeans then leaned within inches of Helene’s sweat glistened face. With a gentle wipe of her right thumb, Darcy removed the mustard from Helene’s lips.

I thought you were calling them, Leney? It’s no big deal. Mara’s been fooling around Superfluous Force’s manager. We’ll figure out a way to get over on those assholes.

Helene rolled her eyes, stood up, then collected her backpack and two guitar cases. Disgusted with Slipper Socks Medium’s slow decay, she turned her back to the women and started walking to the nearest train station. Darcy caught up to her and tried a sly smile.

Leney, come on, don’t be mad? I’ll make it up to you.

Helene turned around, tossed her long brown hair away from her face, and grit her teeth.

It’s bad enough I have to do everything, Darse. What’s worse is you expecting me to do it. Don’t fucking talk to me until Thursday.

A small piece of broken tile sliced into Helene’s left big toe as she stepped from her small, dingy shower. She was too tired to curse the poor condition of her apartment. She stopped the trickle of blood by stepping into her towel after dropping it to the floor. She hopped naked to her backpack next to her bed and pulled out a band-aid. Being a guitar player, she was used to damaged hands and fingers. Helene’s cell phone danced on her bed. She rolled her eyes, sat on her bed and answered.

Can Leney come out and play?

It was her ex-boyfriend Case. His band, The Golden Apples, were signed to a major label and experiencing the initial flashes of fame. She sighed into the phone. Music and crowd noise competed with Case’s deep voice.

Leney, you okay? Your band is here at The Odyssey! Well, two of them! I think Sadie’s on her way! Darcy and Mara said you’re mad at them! Relax, okay, you’re the greatest opening act in New York City!

Helene finished the band-aid application and pulled the bed sheet over her. She felt stupid, thinking Case could see her, naked, through the phone.

Case Hill, go do your rock star thing on some groupies. I’m not interested. Tell Sadie to go back home. She deserves better than that crowd.

Before she could hang up, she heard Case scream into the phone.

I miss you Leney! Good luck Thursday!

She flipped the phone closed and hunted through a small wooden dresser drawer. She discovered a pair of white cotton panties and black t-shirt with a faded Oasis logo. She dressed and after running a comb through her long, wet, brown hair she picked up her acoustic guitar and the half empty bottle of whiskey then headed to the tiny fire escape connected to her apartment. Helene sat down in a white plastic chair and glimpsed the crescent moon peering over the sunset. A swig of whiskey soothed her throat. She stared at the young night sky.

I guess it’s supposed to be this hard. But I don’t have to enjoy it.

Helene strummed the guitar and sang the lyrics from earlier in the day’s band practice.

"Take me to dinner, take me to bed, take me to the moon

Just show me a place, other than the hard and the rock

I need something different, and I need it soon

Just make it some place that curses the clock."

Helene stopped and glanced at the moon. The stress of the band and her frustration with not being further along as a musician overwhelmed her. She wiped tears from her eyes and stretched her bare legs over a white plastic table. With tears in her eyes, she rolled her fingers across the strings and let loose on another of her compositions.

I’ll never forget it. I remember it so well.

We celebrated your success, on my back

i ignored your theft and hung out in your hell

We drank epicurean and talked Dante

I thought we were rocking the third circle

but the more Dom we poured, I pondered over