Deanna • Duff McKagan

Chapter One • A Rock N' Roll Bash

June 6th, 1985

My white Converse sprint across the stained concrete sidewalk along the bustling streets of West Hollywood, trying my best to make it to the venue in time. Panting, I run down the back alley of the The Troubadour, flinging open the metal door the bartenders use to take out the trash. The music blares throughout the building, the sounds of shredding guitars and pounding drums vibrating the floors.

"Sorry I'm late," I grumble, squeezing past the bar patrons. "Landlord was givin' me a problem," my boss, Andrea, rolls her eyes, simply pulling a beer from the tap before handing it to the customer.

"You gotta stop being late, Brian is starting to catch on that I've been lying on your time stamps," she whispers in my ear as she pulls a couple more beers.

"I know, and I'm sorry," I drop the topic of conversation, turning to the customer in front of me. "What can I get for ya?" I ask the balding man as he glares at me.

"I've been waiting for a drink for two hours!" He screams, although I'm not sure if he's screaming to be louder than the music or to blame me for his alcohol withdrawal.

"Well," I scoff, shaking my head at the middle aged man before me. "You can wait a bit longer, because I'm not serving you." Andrea laughs from where she's serving her customers and I smirk, knowing I won't be getting any backlash from the events.

The man calls me a bitch before reluctantly moving away from the bar, heading back to his table. "Funny how they think they can order the people with the power around," Andrea chuckles, holding up a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Who are they?" It's a five piece band, their redheaded singer having one of the best vocal ranges I've ever heard. "They're pretty good, great actually." The guitarist has curls hiding most of his face, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as his fast paced fingers move along the frets.

Andrea pulls a flyer off the cork board behind the bar, handing it to me. "Up and coming band, this is their first gig with their new line up," she exclaims, pouring another drink for a customer. "Dammit!" The glass shatters in the ice bin beneath the counter.

"You're in the jungle baby, you're gonna die!" The lead singer sings into the microphone, causing the crowd of people to go wild.

At a lightening fast pace, I pour hot water in the ice bin in order to be able to drain the ice out. A series of groans come from the bar patrons as they learn that they'll have to wait for their drinks. "Cinnamon shots!" I scream out, filling twenty shot glasses with fireball.

Selling shots left and right, Andrea is able to drain out the ice before grabbing two large bags from the ice chest and filling it again. "Back in business!" She says.

I grab the flyer again, reading it off. "Guns N' Roses, live at the Troubadour. June 6, 1985. W. Axl Rose on vocals, Slash on lead guitar, Izzy Stradlin on rhythm guitar, Duff McKagan On Bass, Steven Adler on drums. A Rock N Roll Bash Where Everyone's Smashed," I snort, finding the rhyme hilarious.

"Wait," I raise my eyebrow, confused at one section of the band's flyer. "Guns N' Roses, isn't that the band made up of members of L.A Guns and Hollywood Rose?" I ask the redhead bartender. "I thought Tracii Guns was in this band."

"He was," the alcohol rush has died down, causing Andrea to begin wiping down our glasses with a rag. "Didn't show up to practice so they kicked him out, which you would know if you came here on time to talk to the band."

The lead singer, W. Axl Rose, begins singing the next song, a slower song which I could tell has a lot of meaning.

"Talk to me softly, there's something in your eyes