Rowdy at Red Rocks

1 -- Wooly Monsturo at the Gate

"What's that man holding in his hand?

He looks a lot like a guy I knew way back when."

~ Wings, 1975.

***

5 a.m.

It was a brisk Friday morning at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. In fourteen hours, it would hold a sold-out show for more than nine-thousand. Posters plastered all over the 700-acre park detailed the main event:

Bring in the New Year with 1993's

All-New, All-Female, Rainbow-Colored International Super Group!

Prism Records presents:

The Femme Fractals

The Five Gorgeous Goddesses of Pop!

Vermilion - Ireland's #1 Feisty Ginger.

Xanthos - Korean Pop Idol worth her weight in gold.

Galwanna - the Latin Beauty who turns women green with envy.

Magenta - hold your breath when this Hollywood Hottie comes through.

And Turquoise - the Blue Ridge Mountains' Afro-Aphrodite.

***

Off-season, the park was open to the public, dawn till dusk. But with events scheduled today, it was locked down. Carlos, the security officer, stood vigil till noon.

The 22-year-old Cuban American worked here on the weekends while going to Colorado University. He took a swig of the morning air past his newly-grown mustache.

His peaceful watch ceased when he heard a rustle in the trees. A figure strode past the crest of the park's hiking trail.

Carlos adjusted his binoculars. It looked like a mountain of a man creeping towards the front gate. Carlos squinted for details. A brown-yellow speckled beanie and a red-patterned scarf bundled the man's face. He wore, what looked like, two or three threadbare flannels, all tucked into a baggy pair of Levi's. Both knees of the

Levi's were torn, blue threads of fabric jutting through.

The figure stopped at the entrance. He leaned back and forth, scouting the area.

Carlos's eyes bulged. In the early wisps of the morning, he spied a black canvas bag. It was long and slender, slung over the man's arm.

"That wooly monstruo has a pistola!" Carlos trembled as he brandished his baton.

Thinking the coast clear, the man-made to leap over the turnstiles.

"St-Stop señor!" The man froze, mid hurtle.

"Oh!... Hi. Sorry, I thought the park would be empty."

"Wait--that's a chica's voice?" Carlos mouthed a silent prayer.

The mass of winter clothes bashfully returned to the ground outside the entrance and pulled down its scarf. It revealed a 27-year-old, radiant, brown-eyed ebony woman. She gave a little wave, her hands in speckled brown-yellow gloves that matched her beanie. Carlos rushed to the gates.

"Hola, señorita ." His breath a puff between them. "I am afraid the park is closed this morning."

He gestured to the quiet and serene plaza behind him. "Were you...trying to jump the fence?" A smile flashed beneath his 'stache.

"No! er--yes. Sorry. Let me start again. I'm April."

"Hola, April. My name is Carlos. I am sorry, but I must keep the park closed for the show tonight. And, before you ask, it is already sold out. Go home, put on your payamas and rest. Come back tomorrow, si?"

"Forget about my pajamas!" April moaned at the security officer. "Ugh! I wish I could get in. You know, I used to write music, but...I haven't been able to in months. I thought here, in the world's only natural acoustic amphitheatre--well, that I could find my muse."

April fought back a yawn, tired from her journey. Carlos thought that would be the end of it, but the ebony woman stayed. Undeterred.

"Is there, is there any way you'd let me in...early? Wait! Of course, I'm part of the band. Tonight. I've got one of these."

She lifted up her scarf and reached into her flannels, pulling out a lanyard and badge marked VIP. "Please, please, please. We fly out tomorrow morning! This is my one chance to see and hear the amphitheatre before it's full of people and...pop music." She shuddered.

Carlos pulled the badge closer. April lurched forward against the turnstile. Surprised, the ebony woman steadied herself on his hands.

Her wooly touch quickened the Cuban American's pulse. He couldn't see the badge past her wide brown eyes.

But, the view was soured. Carlos spied lines of stress and a weary brow under her beanie. "She looks just a few years older than me," he thought. "How could such a young and beautiful chica be so sad?"

"Wait...I know your face. Turquoise! My god, si, it is you. That is quite a perfect ugly disguise you made for yourself."

That stung. April gave a sorrowful look down at her clothes. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Tell me, how is señorita Galwanna in real life? She is so captivating in your music videos. Mmm, the way she salsas..."

April frowned at the thought. "All that woman does is salsa."

Carlos nodded but wasn't listening. Galwanna danced in his head. "My study partner? She is Zoe. A huge fan of Galwanna. Wait till I tell her I got to meet a Fractal."

Carlos released the badge and stood back, sizing her up. He tried to imagine the "Afro-Aphrodite" under all that plaid. "Do you think you could get her an autograph from señorita Galwanna?"

April swallowed her pride. Her Pop Goddess status was slighted by this starry-eyed kid.

"Sure. Whatever. Listen, I know this sounds crazy. I woke up in the middle of the night and knew I had to be here. Please, I got lost and hiked for miles on the trail. I think a mountain lion followed me on that last leg. Imagine if I had to ward him off with this!"

She spun around the black case on her arm. Carlos threw up his hands in surrender.

"Oh! No, no, no, it's my Martin backpacker." She unzipped the side and drew out the thin-bodied guitar. "I'll just play for a little bit--be out before you know it."

Carlos relaxed his arms and looked back at the smiling chica and her silly little guitar. "Well, mountain lions are no joke. I would hate for you to be eaten before the show." Carlos milked the moment with an exaggerated sigh. "Si, the park is all yours."

He opened the gate and motioned her through, sneaking an ogling as she walked past. "Whatever she had under there," he thought, "it makes those high-waisted jeans sway muy bien."

April started for the public entrance along the side of the amphitheatre. "Wait, Turquoise, why not make the most of that VIP pass?"

Carlos thumbed through his keys and unlocked an unassuming door off the plaza.

It led backstage. April starred with trepidation. The inner walls were full of plaques and framed concert photos. "Just through here, down the tunnel and up the concrete stairs. No rush señorita , only, be sure to leave before 7 a.m., si? The Acroyoga class is the first event. Very elite. Very exclusive."

"Don't worry, I'll be out well before then. This means the world to me, Carlos." April gave him a timid hug and pecked a kiss on his forehead.

Carlos was surprised by her strong grip but leaned in for the moment before April ran through the door.

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2 -- Rocks Creation and Ship

"Goddess on the mountain top

Burning like a silver flame

The summit of beauty and love

And Venus was her name"

~ Bananarama, 1986.

***

Just inside the VIP route, April spied a poster, one of the hundreds plastered all around the 700-acres of Red Rocks. Stupefied, she scanned the bedazzled fonts, stopping to pour over the final description of Turquoise.

"'Blue Ridge Mountains?' I'm from Ohio!" April's five-foot-five frame yelled at the poster just outside the amphitheatre, slapping it with the back of her hand. She read the next line: "Afro-what?!"

Carlos rushed back to the entrance, seeing April pounding the wall 10-feet ahead. April was embarrassed by the outburst. She looked towards him, trying to hide her head in the red-patterned scarf around her neck. A meek smile formed while she coyly buried her face. Her brown eyes twinkled as she mouthed "sorry."

He wondered why she would be pounding a picture of herself? After a moment, he decided it was not his concern. Carlos smiled back with a dismissive wave of his hand and resumed patrol.

Trying to stay calm, April's eyes drew back to the poster.

Five stunning women stood at attention, dressed in white and black lycra leotards layered with long stockings. Their stockings were in their personas' colors. Shoulder to shoulder in a slanted line, they formed a human rainbow.

Vermilion was in the bottom front, her bright crimson stockings complimenting her short bobbed ginger curls. Her electric energy was infectious, even through the paper. The rest of the girls followed their loose rainbow order, Turquoise standing at the top of the line. Her long natural curls were done up in a 'fro, which flared radiantly out behind her green-blue headband.

Each stood in a wide A-shape, their taunt legs stretched out to show their colorful stockings and boots. GoGo boots. Thick heeled and square-toed, the vinyl '70s holdovers went up to their shins.

April sighed. "We look like Power Ranger strippers at the disco."

She stared at Turquoise, barely recognizing the woman. The last six months were a blur of rigorous conditioning, drilling routines, and wardrobe.

She was always fit but stocky in her wide frame. Now, the woman on the poster was so lean! April's rich ebony cheeks hid a blush as she eyed her hourglass figure. "'Goddess of Pop' indeed."

Her body transformation was the most extreme of the girls, aided by her fashion. April was a flannel and jeans girl and seldom shopped. She liked to wear her clothes till they wore out.

Her style was exemplified by the outfit she chose that Friday morning. The wooly monster at the gate was made of several of her favorite articles worn for years. Underneath the layers of flannel, she still had to wear two orange sports bras to keep her 36Ds from causing a scene. Below her faded Levi's and tattered blue sweats, even April's panties were threadbare, their grey elastic slipping past her flat abs and resting low against her toned ass. Two layers of hole-covered wool socks kept her sore feet warm in her pale TrailBlazers boots. Her jet-black curls were tied back with a worn scrunchy.

With a final lingering stare, she pulled her wintery mass away from the poster and hiked down the tunnel. It snaked around to a narrow set of concrete stairs, leading backstage.

These stairs were a legend.

Since the tunnel was constructed in 1959, every band who played Red Rock left their mark, the walls around and every step awash with their signatures.

April found Jethro Tull in a cluster of names. "This is when they played in 1971!"

It was a sold out concert, but hundreds still showed up the day of to try and get in. Riots broke out around the park. SWAT was deployed and dozens of tear gas bombs were disseminated.

April stared down at Ian Anderson and Martin Barre's signatures. "You guys got the city of Denver to ban rock'n'roll for six years!" She let out another shudder. "Between you and me? I hope we can do the same for pop."

***

Out of the tunnel, April squealed in the amphitheatre.

Hundreds of rows of concrete plateaus, each with a row of wooden benches across their edge. It was a three-mile hike to the top and back. She spun to her left, North, to see Ship Rock. Across the amphitheatre to her right, South, Creation Rock. She squealed again, harmonized in the natural acoustics.

The air was crisp with excitement and radiant energy. Beneath her layers, April's ebony skin glistened from the miles she hiked to get here.

She breathed in the electric atmosphere. "Almost a Century of performances" she mused aloud, "from an Australian opera singer in 1905 to the Beatles in 1964. Just last year, The Moody Blues played with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra!"

Even after all the mountain air on her hike, this air in here was somehow better. She breathed in the amphitheatre, its vapors addicting.

Breathing so hard labored her double sports bras, heaving her poet's heart and ample bosom in the process. She needed a channel for the excitement. She leapt to the narrow concrete stairs and sprinted parallel with Ship Rock.

She made it ten rows up, then ran across the concrete plateau, stopping in the center. The air was even fresher up here! She sucked in as much as she could carry. She finished her circuit, running down the stairs by Creation Rock.

Tension in her shoulders and in her soul loosened in the maw of this grand crimson earthen structure.

She felt the energies of eons around her. "Dinosaurs walked through these stones! Ancient Man-made venues like this in Greece and Rome! Dramas. Tragedies. Comedies. The foundations of Western performance--they could all happen right here."

It elated her spirit, unfogged her muse.

"But where to set up?" She eyed the amphitheatre, aglow with a light blue, moments before the sunrise.

The energy was rising by the second. She had to tap into it. In a flash, she was on centerstage.

April tried to calm her racing pulse. She bent down, hiking a TrailBlazer up onto her shredded layered pants, and sat in half-lotus.

She squinted her eyes shut. "Breath in. Breath out. Calm. Calm. Calm."

On the hike, her two-pound Martin backpacker hung heavy with expectations. But here, at the confluence of ancient wonder and natural splendor, it leapt off her shoulder, ready to sing.

April slid her six-string around her flannels and onto her lap. The sun broke over the nosebleeds as the ebony musician breathed another breath of the idyllic morning into her lungs.

***

After letting the brown-eyed chica into the amphitheatre, Carlos hiked the steel employee stairs bolted to the back of the sandstone arena. Above the nosebleeds, he unlocked the Red Rocks Audio/Visual room.

It was a turreted, octagonal structure with two-way glass next to Creation Rock.

This was a perfect place to study while he fulfilled his guard duties. The two-way glass of the turret gave him a perfect view of the stage, seats and plaza. Plus, with a degree in audio arts, he had access to all the equipment used to mix and record live performances on stage.

Zoe agreed.

Yesterday, despite his reluctance, she convinced her classmate they should study alone together. Working on Dr. Bell's Audio Scavenger Hunt, they mixed clips into the late evening. Carlos pulled out a cot for her and slept on the floor to get up in time for his shift.

As the security officer opened the door, he saw Zoe's petite olive-skinned frame shivering on the cot. The 21-year-old from the Dominican Republic had tossed off her blanket. He tripped over her scuffed Nike Airs as he approached.

Leaning over her now, he paused to appreciate the view. Zoe had blonde curly hair from her Scotch-Irish mother. It was still in tight ponytails from the night before. She wore a baggy CU tracksuit, loaned from her sorority. Her skinny five-foot-one frame was lost in the folds, save for the two small peaks of her 30A breasts and her slender hips. His eyes followed her legs down to her shivering toes, huddled together in long-necked argyle socks.

"So eclectic," Carlos thought. "She has a different pair of socks for every day of the year!" He reached over his study partner and replaced her light-green blanket.

As he made his way to the soundboard to continue working, he glimpsed the wooley mass of April running around the amphitheatre.

His mind still on tape mixing, he pressed RECORD on one of the consoles. A cassette began chronicling all the sounds emanating from the stage.

Not wanting to wake his study partner, he went out to the nosebleeds to watch this crazy chica play her skinny little guitar.

***

Red Rock's stage was a modest fixture, dwarfed by the 300-foot sandstone boulders to its North and South.

April sat on its chilly panel wood. She rested her Martin backpacker's narrow frame on her calf. To feel its strings, she removed her brown-yellow gloves, revealing her mocha hands. They were chilled in the morning air, but a fire grew inside.

It had been so long since it was just the two of them. She held her Martin in her hands, its six-strings quivering against its frets as its soundhole bellowed the whistle of the wind.

The morning chill thawed with the sun.

The fire in April's hands consumed her. She yanked off her brown-yellow beanie and hurled it out into the benches; unspooled her red-patterned scarf and sent it like a streamer stage left. She pulled off her VIP badge past her loose ponytail. Her ample curls were free, once she tore off the tired scrunchy holding them back.

Beams of light washed over the venue, irradiating April.

She took another gasp of air.

Drenched with excited sweat, she fought the buttons on her first flannel.

One. Two. Three. The fourth wouldn't yield.

She tugged and tugged until its chest panels ripped in two.

April's brown eyes stared at the mess of fabric on her chest. A thought came to mind as she eyed the rest of her layers beneath the flannel's remains.

The air made her wild. With a feral shrug, April barred her teeth and ripped.

Her second shirt exploded across her chest. The third, she flexed against her back until its threads gave out with a sudden Rip!

Her chest heaved from the force as she threw off the strips and stands of her old favorite clothes, revealing her toned arms.

The sunlight was glorious, elating her bare shoulders. April's firm chocolate stomach now peeked out from her high-waisted Levi's.

"Breath in. Out. Calm calm calm!" It wasn't enough, she was burning up.

The embrace of the amphitheatre was so close! It was all around her in Red Rocks. But these clothes! She hurled her knees to her chest, groping for her laces.

Her hands told a life's story. Her knuckles hardened by years of boxing with speed and impact bags, her outlet before the Fractals' new regiments.

The laces finally yielded. She hurled her boots across the amphitheatre, distant clops echoing in the natural soundstage.

Her socks tore with little resistance.

***

In the nosebleeds, Carlos marveled at her coco toes through his binoculars.

***

Her feet were free! Her body lurched back in rapture. She had felt the lustful eyes of crowds before, but all for her Turquoise persona, never plain old April Addams.

This audience, the audience of centuries still in these rows, spurred on the real April. She arched her back and clawed down at her Levi's. Their patchwork holes multiplied. She wrestled with their clasp, finally tearing the zipper off in a jagged torque. She bunched up the sweaty denim scraps and tossed them over her shoulder.

They slumped on a small console.

Writhing on the floor, one step closer, she eyed her sweatpants. Their elastic had worn out months ago. That morning, April had to cinch the drawstrings tight to keep them around her newly-sinew waist.

With a growl of exertion, she fought and fought against the knot around her. Stalemate! She groped down to her blown-out knees. She tore and tore till each leg cleaved free. The drawstring was all that remained, a ragged blue belt resting against her sleek abs and drooping grey panties.

So close! She sprung to her feet. With a hand around each side of the blue belt, she pulled through her new window of leverage. The weak fabric strained and strained.

Snap!

The slacks were no more.

April breathed a deep breath as a reward. But her chest was still restrained?

Her sports bras! April's biceps flexed. She flung them to the rafters, like two missiles launched from her chest.

Her charcoal nipples came erect in the morning air. April's breast made a faint Swish-Swish as they jostled in freedom.

Her panties, though the weakest, held to the end. With one hand, April took her thumb and forefinger around one of their threadbare corners. With a low growl, she pulled up.