CHAPTER 16

In an attempt to test the waters, James Carroway allowed to grrls to choose the first song to be released as a single. Kim immediately jumped on the idea and proposed all the more severe tracks to her fellow band mates.

            “Whipped, Chained, and Left for Dead!”

            Heather barely even looked at her before snorting and walking out of the room. Chatha made a face as the door closed behind the ratty drummer, then turned to Kim. “Ah really like tha’ ‘ole ‘yer worth n’more than th’pain tha’ I give ou’,’ but we’ve gotta’ consider what’ll ‘elp us, y’know? Ah mean, I’d buy th’album fer tha’ song! But ah’m no’ normal an’ all.”

            Kim’s face darkened and she took a seat, looking at each of the other grrls in turn. “More input on yes or no for this song, please.”

            “I think ‘never forget the malice of the moment’ are beautiful lyrics,” Jessie started, feeling Elke’s eyes on her as she spoke. Throughout the recording of the album, they had garnered a rather strong dislike for each other. She shook her head and kept looking at Kim. “But really, Kim, do you want to show the public that weakness right off?”

            “What weakness?”

            “‘I’m not really this morbid, baby--’”

            “‘--it’s just a game I play.’ Yeah, I think they deserve to buy the whole bloody album to hear that line. So what about Weeping Bitter Acid Tears?”

            “You kidding? Every Cure fan in the world will want you dead within the first thirty seconds.” Geneveve shook her head.

            “Oh, c’mon, I wasn’t really mocking Boys Don’t Cry! I happen to respect Robert Smith and his band.”

            “But some may not see it that way.” Ebony shook her head. “If you cut out the Cure fans, we may lose a lot of potential listeners.”

            “Fine then. No Cure references. How about Another Hardcore Tangent? That’s a beaut!” This time, Kim looked to Elke, who hadn’t given any input on the single yet.

            “It’s rather aggressive.” Braiding a small chunk of her hair, Elke thought. “I think, because it’s so aggressive, it’s something you want surrounded by a package. Like an album, or a live show. And besides, you make the words in that sound so dirty regardless of whether they are or not, that editing it for radio play would be next to impossible.” She shrugged. “I love the song, but I don’t see it ever helpin’ us make it big.”

            Not happy at the lack of cooperation, Kim got out of her chair and started pacing. “Y’know, this is my bloody band. I can dictate a single, and that will be the bloody single we go with.”

            Jessie, aware that Elke was still watching her, stayed in her seat. “Kim, we’re just giving input. All of us are aware that the final decision is yours, because this band wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

            That was something Kim didn’t agree with (she, in fact, though Jessie had brought them this far), but she didn’t have the heart to make a bitter comment about it in front of Chatha, who was dangling a pendant over her upturned face and grinning as it spun. So instead, she sighed. “I don’t want us to wimp out on our first single.”

            “We’re no’ gonna’ wimp ou’!” Chatha dropped the pendant, catching herself with it in the cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice. She hopped to her feet, then walked over to Kim and hung off of her arm, babbling about how they were going to “show th’worl’ jus’wha’ grrls really are!” Her enthusiasm was addictive, as always, and Kim was able to talk the grrls into having Nice Shoes, Let’s Fuck as their first single.

            “Of course, you realize,” Elke said, “that we’ll have to edit the title a bit.”

            “Eh, James said as much when he found out that was gonna’ be on the album.” Kim shook her head. “I say awright, let’s keep him bloody well appeased. It’s not every day a band like ours gets signed to Beggars’, you know, and we don’t want to get kicked out before we release our first album.”

            So it was agreed that Nice Shoes, Let’s... would be their first single. It was daring and crude, especially for a grrl-driven band to be releasing. In a world taken over by American music and the new wave of things like sexist death metal and hardcore rap, none of them ever really hoped to get very far.

            In fact, when Nice Shoes, Let’s debuted on the chart at 87, Kim came running into the practice room, out of breath, babbling wildly about fame and fortune. There had been a few veiled hopes to maybe be registered on the charts, but none of them had even thought about breaking the top hundred.

            It was April of 1991 when the album was released. Chatha spent all the days when they weren’t gigging or practicing for their gigs running up and down a new block of London, talking up the greatness of this all new grrl punk album. No one paid much attention to her, and she always came back to her apartment dejected. It took a matter of a few minutes for her to brighten up again.

            Jessie, the only truly business-minded grrl in the whole lot, spent her time contacting radio stations and music stores. A few of the stations told her they wouldn’t back her band until they had a more radio-friendly single out. She told them to wait a few months, until the strong-headed front grrl would be willing for that to happen.

            They really didn’t need to go out of their way to promote themselves, though. The gigs were selling the idea of the band. Kim moaned and screamed and teased her way through most every club in London in only a few months, getting word of their album into all the right circles, and a demand for a nation-wide tour started up. It surprised Kim more than any of the others. She had been doing her best to scare away her mainly male audience since the album was released, but more and more of them seemed to appear at every show.

            Throughout the growing success of the Red Lips Sextet, it became difficult for Kim and Gwen to pretend there was no band when they were with each other. The weekend-lover idea had started waning before the release of the album, and by mid May, Gwen was lucky to have Kim once every two weeks. Even then, it was all she could do to steer the topic away from Kim’s excitement over almost becoming a name in the business.

            By the end of May, Torn Horses had hit 50 on the charts (which was to be its peak position), and Gwen gave Kim an ultimatum: she would be with Gwen at least as often as she was with the band, or the relationship would be over.

            To assuage Gwen, Kim took a week off that would have just been interviews anyway. She didn’t much like reporters. (And it ended up being Chatha who did all the talking in that week of interviews, so Kim wouldn’t have been able to compete, even if she had chosen to appear.)

            The week was spent at Gwen’s parents’ cabin; where their first weekend together had been. As they entered the place, shutting the door softly behind them, Kim stretched her arms, smiled, and did a quick spin so she was staring into Gwen’s eyes. “Bein’ here really reminds me how much I hate the city. Too many people, too little air... Too little you, luv.”

            Gwen smiled back, a little too softly for comfort, and slipped her arms around Kim’s waist. “Well, you have me now. An entire week of nothing but me. How will you ever survive?” She kissed Kim, lingering.

            “Mm, I think I’ll find a way,” Kim breathed against the soft lips of the girl she really had seen too little of in the past year. She brushed Gwen’s black hair, which was clinging to both their faces, back and looked intently into the green eyes that hadn’t been this close in almost a month. “Let’s make the week forever. We can live out here. Hunt for food. Damn the world.” Her lips met Gwen’s again. “Damn the act and the followers. I want to be here with you forever. Can we do that?”

            “We can work on it.” Gwen sighed, then rested her head on Kim’s chest, holding her tighter. “If you’ll let me just listen to your heartbeat for some of that forever.”

            “I’ll grant you that, luv.” She laid her cheek on Gwen’s black hair. “How can I not?”

            Their first day was calm; they were both trying to find a way to forgive the months of recording and gigging. By the third, they were playful again, unafraid of hurting their relationship with just one small mistake.

            “So how are those glass-cutting nipples of mine doing?” Kim grabbed Gwen as she walked out of the kitchen, nearly making her spill the bottle of wine that she was taking out with her.

            “Bitch,” Gwen murmured, smiling. “And I thought they were mine.” She pulled away, heading to the living room to find a place to set the wine down.

            “Yours, mine, what’s the difference?” Kim followed. “You’re mine, so what’s yours is mine.”

            “Ah, so that means your bone-crushing thighs are actually mine, hmm? I’ve always wanted bone-crushing thighs.”

            “And I’ve always wanted glass-cutting nipples! Fair trade, I must say.” Kim blew a kiss at Gwen, then she let herself fall backwards onto the couch, sprawled with an absolute lack of modesty. Her skirt had fallen rather high.

            Gwen displayed an adroit smile, kneeling on the floor beside Kim. She put her hand on Kim’s knee, slowly pushing up to what little was hidden by the skirt. “So can I get some use out of these bone-crushing thighs, or is it really just the thought that counts?”

            “Hmm...” Kim gazed at her, her own hand moving down so she could play her fingers over Gwen’s. “Am I allowed use of the glass-cutting nipples?”

            “Beyond doubt, luv.”

            “Then have at me.”

            Gwen drew her hand back, running her fingernails over Kim’s thigh, just hard enough to leave a few white lines. She kissed the length of each scratch, one by one, while gentle massaging Kim’s legs.

            Kim, her eyes closed, made sounds of approval. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to losing this... By pushing it, with that stupid band of hers. That stupid dream that kept her from living real life. And so what if Chatha was a darling little girl who couldn’t get enough of her and Jessie was the smartest, smoothest, subtlest person she had ever come across? So what if Elke would disown her for even daring to think thoughts of ending the band? As Gwen pushed Kim’s legs apart, she responded with more than just the usual horniness; there was a feeling somewhere in an unfamiliar place inside herself. A feeling she couldn’t recall ever having been inside her before. She was scared to even try to identify it.

            “Gwen?”

            “Hmm?”

            “I never want to lose you. Not for the band, not for anything. It’s not worth it.”

            “Talk later,” Gwen whispered.

            Kim sighed deeply, losing herself to sensation. She’d worry about emotions later.

***

At the end of the week, they had more than made up. Kim was speaking seriously about quitting the band and spending the rest of her life with Gwen in the British wilderness, but Gwen insisted that she go back and finish up her gigging for Torn Horses. She even encouraged Kim to take up the national tour.

            “You’ve got a talent, luv. I admit, I sometimes get jealous when the world has the hots for you worse than I do, but I don’t want you wasting away because of me.”

            So they kissed and went their separate ways until the next time they could both free themselves. The first gig after they parted was hard for Kim, trying to build back up the required amounts of angst for one of her stage shows.

            It started slowly, with the band playing and her singing. The audience lost interest in the show quickly, and started gaining interest in what little the grrl in front of the microphone was wearing. Kim was able to take that to fuel herself, and kicked into her true show-mode fifteen minutes through the gig.

            “Oh, so what’re you staring at?” She gawked back at the crowd. “This here li’l girly ‘oo’s not wearing anything! Yeah, yeah, I know what some of you are thinking...” She cleared her throat, then started speaking in a pure, sweet, corny voice. “That poor thing! Can’t afford a scrap of clothing! That must be so, because otherwise she’d be a slut--” Kim spit the word out, cradling the microphone close to her “--since only sluts wear clothing this small, right? ‘Course, that’s just what you girls out there think.” She narrowed her eyes against the lights. “What little there are of you. Gah, don’t any bloody females come t’ see my show?”

            Shaking her head with disgust, Kim loosened her grip on the mic stand. “An’ I know what you blokes out there are thinking, too. Not that I’m a slut; no, you’d never use that word, not to my face. Not ‘less I was the kind who liked hearing that, huh? The dirty--” she drew the word out, ending her breath with a moan. She hissed in air through her teeth “--kind. Mmm, maybe. You’ll never know.” She snorted. “See, ‘cause to you, to all you bloody things with pricks out there, I’m an object. This skirt--” she pulled up on her short plaid skirt, not caring how much the audience got to see “--is just an inconvenience to all you horny pricks out there. And this shirt! Oh, I know you’re dying for this shirt to disappear. Well... It is a bit hot in here, isn’t it?” She started unbuttoning it, leaving one holding it together in the middle. “The stage lights do it, y’know. Too hot for their own bloody good. So hot...” She gasped and pulled away from the mic, turning her back completely to the audience. Pausing only a moment, she undid the last button, and slid the shirt seductively down her shoulders.

            Jessie stared at her face for the longest time before looking away, her brown eyes darker than usual. Elke smiled a little, clapping her hand softly. Glad that someone appreciated what she was trying to do, Kim grinned back at her before turning around, holding the shirt in one hand. “Who here would die for a piece of this?”

            There was cheering.

            “You’ll get the chance! Oh, you’ll get the chance... Just give me a chance. To be a true performer, my dear gentlemen. My dear things with pricks. I wanna’ tell you a little bit about what it’s like to be a grrl.” She let go of her shirt. “And who knows, maybe the bra will follow. Remain intent, dear audience.”

            Behind Kim, Chatha leaned over to Gen to ask if she should be intent too. Gen nodded, then muttered “jus’ don’t be too intent. Some of this stuff was never meant for children’s eyes or ears.” Complaining about not being a child, Chatha drifted across the stage to bug Ebony instead.

            “’Cause I wanna’ tell you a little bit,” Kim was continuing, “about the mindset of a grrl. We’re sick of the use and the abuse. Believe me, we’re so bloody sick of it. We’re all searchin’ for a way to express ourselves, and I just happen to have one. This band here.”

            Chatha waved wildly until Ebony grabbed her hand. She cast her goth friend a hurt look, but then went back to paying avid attention to Kim.

            “And I can say anythin’, can’t I? Nobody listens. Nobody bloody listens. They watch. You’re hear ‘cause of what you get to see. Yes, I’m standin’ here shirtless. Captive audience! Do you buy my CD in hopes of nude photographs? Well, you’re gonna’ have to wait until we hit it big in the US of A, then I think you’re guaranteed to see me on the front cover of their Playboy. And on the inside too, of course. So I can tell you all anything. Want to know what I want to tell you now? The fact that grrls can’t be brought to cry.”

            Heather, who always listened intently to Kim’s rants for any clues about what she was intending on doing, poised her sticks over the drum set, ready to begin Weeping Bitter Acid Tears the second Kim’s rant died down.

            “Oh, we have tears. But crying isn’t enough. No, we do something much different. Something that’s worthy of the pain we are capable of feeling inside.” She stepped back from the mic, hanging her head. Heather kicked in with the drum, and the other grrls soon followed.

            Kim slowly pulled the mic out of its stand, starting to sing in the taunting voice that had nearly become her trademark. “Oh, you heard so long ago that boys don’t cry, and you know I can believe that. Why shouldn’t I believe that? So closed and so hollow, so devoid and so shallow! No, they don’t have anything inside to let out!”

            Elke went off on a small but formidable guitar solo before Kim jumped in again. “I’m gonna’ tell you now that grrls don’t cry, but it’s for other reasons. So many other reasons. Crying’s not strong enough to express the mad intensity a grrl has inside!”

            Jessie and Elke had maneuvered themselves to the other two mics at the front of the stage, prepared for the chorus.

            Kim screamed into her mic “You hurt me!” and the grrls on either side of her sang “and I’m not crying” into theirs.

            “I’m weeping bitter acid tears! You hurt me!”

            “You’ll never catch me crying.”

            “And I’ll never understand your fears.” Her voice had calmed down, to a softer tone. Less biting. Less mocking. More musical. “Why, boy, are you scared of me? You hurt me before I ever lashed out. The battle has become a war, one you started when you made me ... your whore!”

            Once back on her feet, all the gigs went well for Kim. Torn Horses sailed at 50 on the charts for two months. By mid July, the second single was released. It was Ducking Out of Danger, Kim’s bitter song about her disbelief in love. It entered the charts at 43 and promptly got her in trouble with Gwen. Whatever she’d been brooding about before their week-long getaway came back instantly when she heard Kim’s voice proclaiming “it’s been a long life of ducking out of danger, keeping one step ahead of the foolish concept of love” over the radio.

            Kim didn’t understand, and all Gwen was willing to say to her was “I know you don’t!” Then she had stalked off, leaving Kim in a silence that lasted two weeks.

            The gigs for the entirety of that time were fiery and dangerous, worrying Jessie, disgusting Heather, and exciting the other grrls. Kim got closer and closer to doing an actual strip tease every time, with more searing and sarcastic words to accompany it than ever before. The audience, as always, didn’t realize what she was saying to them.

            She stalked out of the last gig in the two weeks of silence, disgusted and disappointed in the apparent lack of thinking life that the audience had, swearing that she’d quit the band next time she was faced by any group so disgustingly male.

This chapter includes the lyrics to Whipped, Chained and Left for Dead, and Weeping Bitter Acid Tears off the grrls' first album, Torn Horses.
The lyrics were written by 'Kim Kissably', and are © LL Hager, 2000.

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