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CHAPTER 13 Early August, 1990 “We made an Archer last night.” Kim posed the statement carefully, testing the waters. Gwen looked at her evenly, not saying anything. Sighing, Kim pressed on. “I can make a living on this. I made four hundred pounds in one night. When we started, we were paying to be allowed to play.” Gwen smiled softly, with only a hint of bitterness. “Must be great to have a love like the band. Like the pot and sweat in the crowd before you.” Kim, feeling the pressure of sickness at the back of her throat, crawled across the bed so she was kneeling beside Gwen. “You could be my manager. Come clubbin’ with us, make the money, fight off the rabidly drunk blokes.” “It seems that the one who shall not be named is your manager.” “Just ‘cause she’s a good talker. You know the club scene so much better. You could--” “Make you rich?” “Nah, Gwen. Spend more time with me. Spend our live together.” “Do you want that?” Gwen narrowed her black-lined eyes. “I’ve never been in a relationship longer than a month before now.” “You’ve never dated a girl before, either.” “And I’ve never cared so deeply.” “But do you love me?” Kim fell back on the bed, stretching her legs across Gwen’s. “You know I don’t believe in love.” “Neither do I.” “It’s a fairy tale. It’s a promise that things with pricks use to hold girls enthralled until they’re finished with them. I’m not falling for that trick, not ever.” She rolled over, bringing her face nearer to Gwen’s. “I am content with you. I feel whole with you. We have great conversations, even better sex, and I can’t remember how I survived before I found you.” Gwen wrapped her arms around Kim. “I’m sorry I’m being such a bitch, luv.” She kissed the top of Kim’s head. “I never thought I’d be dating a cult figure. An Archer for one night, and you’re not even signed. It’s breathtaking.” “It’s bloody marvelous.” Kim let out a long breath. “It’s exhausting, but so fulfilling. Everyone in that crowd wants me. Grrls, guys, everything in between. They scream my name, they want to touch me. There must’ve been a thousand people last night, faces I’m never going to recognize, all wanting me. It’s almost terrifying.” Gwen was silent, stroking her hair. “Elke’s eating it up, getting more and more hardcore every day. She had a bloody vinyl tube top on last night, and a chain-mail skirt over leather leggings. That takes guts. And Chatha’s hair’s bright pink now. It’s distracting, havin’ this pink mass wandering around the stage. No more distracting than Geneveve’s hair, though. Her head could fund Manic Panic for years.” Closing her eyes, Kim could feel herself standing on the stage, surrounded by the distinct personalities around her. “Eb’s thinking of launching her own line of goth clothes with the money she’s making. Angelic Darkness, that’s what she’ll call it. She’s so brooding... I wonder what’s in her head sometimes. She can get snappy sometimes, but not overtly.” There was still silence from Gwen. Kim was holding herself back from telling her about Jessica as well, how she was molding the band into something so perfect, Kim had never even imagined it. The way she knew how everyone’s instrument worked, how it would all sound when put against Kim’s song. Her smile, that was so soft and sincere, so natural with her calm style and attitude. “We’re playing Dudley’s Cavern tomorrow. It has a three thousand person capacity. They each pay seven quid to get in, and we get five per. If we hadn’t got an Archer last night, I’d never believe we’d be able to even half-fill this place. But who knows? It’s bloody excitin’. I could make a good year’s wages in a week with places like Dudley’s.” She shivered, snuggling closer to Gwen. “I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when this falls apart.” “When?” Gwen’s voice was soft. “It’s movin’ so bloody fast. There’s no way for this t’ do anything but crash and burn.” She sighed, feeling sick again. “It’s gotten so big.” “I know.” Gwen held Kim tighter, hoping to take her mind off the stage and back into the bedroom. The drum-machine rattled on, and Chatha picked up a shrill note. The other grrls started, Jessica’s bass keeping everything grounded. Kim leaned into her microphone and starting singing in a taunting voice. “Oh shit, here come the words. Here come the words he thinks he owes me. The words he thinks will serve to soothe me.” She laughed scornfully, then took the mic out of its stand and stood at the very edge of the edge as she started yelling. “I can turn and run or just hide my head, as long as those words never reach me again!” Her last word ended in a prolonged scream. The instruments died down and Jessica’s bass set the new, almost forbidding feel for where the chorus took on a half-way musical sound. “It’s been a long life of ducking out of danger, keeping one step ahead--” gasping for breath, Kim quit singing and spit her next line out “--of the foolish concept of love!” As the other two sets at Dudley’s Cavern had been, the show was a success. The grrls, all high off stage-excitement, tumbled into their dressing room, laughing. Chatha was jabbering at such a rate that no one understood what she was saying, but she wouldn’t calm down, just kept bouncing. Kim stopped in the doorway, staring at someone who shouldn’t have been in the dressing room. A man; 30-something, clean-shaven and well dressed. He stood up when Kim’s green eyes narrowed. He held out his hand, holding a card with his name, profession, and a symbol that Kim half recognized on it. “I’m James Carroway, an agent with Beggars’ Banquet. Word of you girls has reached around the British Isles, and I’m hoping I’m the first to get to you.” Kim looked at Jessica, not understanding. She looked back to James, then shook her head, suddenly angry. “I don’t bloody well know how you got in here, but I’ve heard that one before. Ooh, you’ve come t’ sign us; sure, you just want in my trousers.” “You’re not wearing trousers.” Kim looked down at her schoolgirl skirt, pissed at herself for such an obvious mistake. “Then you want up my bloody skirt.” “I wouldn’t mind, but I tend to go for women, not girls.” “Grrls,” Kim muttered. “Fuck off, please. Me and my grrls are tired, and we wanna’ get into some not-so-sweaty street clothes.” He sighed, prepared to put his card away and leave, but Jessica snatched it from his hand. She studied it, then took Kim to the side of the room. “I think it’s for real.” Kim glanced over at James. “He’s too ... fancy for Beggars’.” “He’s representing a big company; he has to look fancy.” “It doesn’t feel right for them.” “Did Peter Murphy ever wear a suit?” Jessica flipped the card between her fingers. “Oh, yummy... I’m not sure, but I’d kill to see that.” “Therefore, suits aren’t evil. Let’s just talk to him.” “And say what?” Jessica squeezed her shoulder. “Leave it to me.” The rest of the grrls seemed to be holding their breaths, just staring at this man who claimed to represent Beggars’ Banquet. Chatha, her hand clamped so tightly together that they were going white, hummed Bauhaus’ She’s in Parties to herself. “So you’re here to sign us?” Jessica handed him his card back. “Unless you had another label in mind. I certainly hope not. We’ve been hoping to get more ... grrls ... in our lineup for a while.” “I hope you don’t think we’re a bunch of little girls who can be ripped off easily. At this moment, we’re making three thousand quid per gig each. And Dudley’s wants us at least twice a week after this. That’s a fair deal of cash, and we’d all be fine to just keep on clubbin’.” Chatha looked about the burst, and Ebony put a hand over her mouth, telling her to keep quiet; this was how negotiations worked. “Leave it to the American.” He sighed and motioned to a chair. “Sit. Let’s talk.” Jessica sat down, Kim hovering behind her. Geneveve was pacing in the doorway, practicing breathing exercises; her face was flushed anyway. Elke stood in stunned silence beside her. Chatha twisted away from Ebony and planted herself on the floor beside Jessica. “Ah’ve ne’er been t’ a negotiation afore,” she whispered. Smiling, Jessica ruffled Chatha’s pink hair. “How many years do you want out of us?” “How about an open contract, renewed yearly? The power would be in your hands.” “Where would we record?” “Your choice of five studios, that is if you only want to record in London.” “How long do we have to cut our first album?” “Can you work with a half year?” She thought for a moment before answering. “We have enough songs for an album, but we’d appreciate flexibility.” “For a newly signed, I could stretch it out to a year.” Kim’s hand had drifted to Jessica’s shoulder during the talk, and she was now holding on tight, attempting to stop herself from shaking; the excitement was too much. “Will you make me edit any of my songs?” “So long as none of the titles have swears, we’re fine.” James looked up at Kim. “And we’re fine with your image and your politics.” “Wha’ abou’ money?” Chatha tugged Jessica’s sleeve, unable to direct the question at James. That made him laugh. “You get fifty percent off album sales, 75 on tours?” Instinctively, Jessica grabbed Kim before she could hurt James. She shook her head, slowly letting go of the fuming grrl. “If we want that kind of money, we’ll just keep clubbing. We’ll manage ourselves, so there’s no reason to be taking our tour money. We’ll be producing our own albums and other such things, so we won’t owe Beggars’ all that much.” He smiled. “Now I see why Americans are so full of themselves. You’re smart. For your age.” “Thank you. I’m thinking you start us at 75 percent album profit. If we make you a lot of money, we get 85 on the next album. If not, we’ll stay at 75. But we’re going to be getting our names on the rights to the song, so there’s no reason for us to give you tour money.” “You’re difficult.” “We could always start our own label.” Jessica made a move to stand up, but James held out his hand. “I can talk the idea up, but I give you no guarantees.” She settled back in the chair. “Do you, James Carroway, want us on Beggars’ Banquet?” “Truth?” “Yes.” “Yes. You have a sound I haven’t heard before, a strong attitude and even stronger message. You seem to be bitches with a cause, and you rule the audience while onstage.” “W’do,” Chatha giggled. “Tha’s th’power o’ multi-coloredness.” “It seems quick,” Kim murmured. “Four months t’gether, and we’re bloody signed by Beggars’ Banquet.” “Jus’ accept!” Chatha bounced to her feet. “We are grrls! We are rockin’! Bloo’y rockin’ ahl th’way.” She skipped over to Ebony to whisper excitedly at the placid goth grrl. A smile escaped Ebony every once in a while, and she didn’t even bother to catch it. Geneveve had crept back into the room. “We’re really signing?” “You, of course, realize that this means we need a drummer.” Elke draped her arms over Kim’s shoulders. “The sooner the better, luv.”
This chapter includes the lyrics to
Ducking Out of Danger, off the grrls' first
album, Torn Horses. |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |