|
Stuck by a Drummer- The Adventure Continues
Taura Manson, wearing what was meant to be a sarong (but looked like a rag quilt she scalped from a bag lady) burst into the room. She looked frantic, freaky, and fucked-up: a hell of a combination.
"KC!!!" She rushed over to me. "Here, this is for you!!!" She tossed a scruffy brown teddy bear onto the bed: in midflight, it almost resembled a dead rat. "They told me that you woke up about half an hour ago!! But they said I couldn't visit you yet. Well, fuck 'em!!" She straightened up, her double chins bobbing righteously. "I showed them that no one gets between me and my friends."
As if on cue, three harried-looking nurses hurried in. Taura spun on her heel and faced them, teeth bared.
"You stupid bitches want something?"
My head began throbbing more fiercely. The last thing I wanted was Steve's number one psycho fan in my place of rest, but the battle that would follow if they dragged her out would likely result in a high body count that might include my own sorry ass. I struggled into a sitting position and raised my hand.
"Please, wait. It's ok. I know her. She can stay."
Smugness replaced the bulldog ferocity on Taura's face. "See? I told you. Now get lost."
The women looked at me doubtfully until I nodded. Then they left, after one said, "Just press the buzzer if there's any trouble."
The second the door closed, Taura beamed from ear to ear. "Thanks, KC!! Once again, I owe you, sis. Speaking of sis-" She acknowledged Kerri for the first time- "are you two sisters? You look alike."
I silently resolved to apologize to Kerri afterward, and introduced them. After their handshake broke off Taura said anxiously, "KC, I heard Steve talking about your accident during the soundcheck at the Railroad. He seemed so concerned that I had to come over myself and make sure you were Ok."
I had to smile at how obvious Steve's concern had been to everyone.
"But Pete is still my favorite band member," Taura added. "Steve is so fickle. He's nice, but he's all icing and no cake, as the saying goes. He's always been nice to me, and then told other people that I was this loony fan who needed to be locked up. I actually confronted him about this, and he told me that whoever was repeating those stories was lying about him. Steve has to learn to get real and stop acting like a barfly."
"He is wonderful." I had to smile at the memory of the clubhouse sex and early morning omelet. For a second the possibility that I was pregnant seemed less of a sentence. Steve had such a kind side, not to mention mischievous and passionate one too. How many rich performers did their own laundry, cooked like a pro, and jumped through a girl's window when the elevator was fully functional? Shit- was I falling in love?
"Careful with your feelings, sis," Taura warned. "I may be loony but I'm also perceptive. Don't fall too hard for Steve Coy- you'll hit concrete."
"What do you mean?" I asked warily. Unlike a lot of my journalist collegues, I NEVER discounted fans or their stories. Fans were not bound by rules of conduct or professionalism, and they were often the best sources for inside information.
"Steve is like a magpie when it comes to people. He picks them up and then drops them when something better comes along. Managers, record labels, etc. He's always been that way. The sad thing is that he's SO NICE to people even as he's arranging to screw them behind their backs. "
"Maybe," I said cautiously, "he just hasn't found the situation or person that suits him as he is. It must be difficult to be so many different things to different people."
"Different people is right." She opened her quilted purse and took out a folded up piece of magazine paper. "This was in yesterday's NEW MUSIC EXPRESS."
I took it and unfolded it slowly, not wanting to see what it contained but knowing I had to.
It was a grainy shot from an inside page (NME never progressed past newspaper format), and it was definitely of Steve: Steve in front of Freedom, a trendy London nightclub. He wore a dark bandana and leather jacket, and was smiling with that cocky, confident air of his. Just the sight made my heart contract in happiness. Then I saw that standing beside him was a smiling, darkhaired girl. She was dark-complected; clearly of Arabic or Moroccan descent. She was clinging to his arm and smiling up at him like she'd just discovered a new religion. The caption below read: STEVE COY OF DEAD OR ALIVE IS CELEBRATING HIS RETURN TO ENGLAND WITH NEW BBC VJ BRENDA LEIGH. THE TWO MET ON THE BRITISH AIRWAYS FLIGHT HOME AND ARE NOW INSEPARABLE. DON'T BE COY, KIDS!! WHAT'S THE STORY?
A cold feeling crept over my body and tears stung my eyes, but I managed to fold the picture and hand it back to Taura with the greatest composure. Kerri knew that it was only a mask though, and stepped in.
"Miss Manson, it's time for my sister to rest. Thank you for stopping by."
"KC," Taura said anxiously, "I felt you had to see that before things went further. I may be wacky, but I'm not stupid. I know you have it bad for Steve. And it will cause you nothing but grief."
"Thank you, Taura," I said, keeping my Oscar Award performance going.
Kerri escorted her out. The moment the door closed behind them, I rolled over in bed and began crying bitterly, all the while rubbing my belly. I was such a fucking fool- and maybe now a pregnant one. Minutes passed without my sister returning, but I didn't notice: I was too deeply absorbed in my private grief. When the bedside phone rang, I didn't even answer it at first. When I did, it was purely an automatic reaction.
"Hello?"
Steve's voice replied. "Hi, KC." More soon, folks!!
|