CHAPTER 18

Stone’s Throw 29.07.01

Kim and Elke showed up to Stone’s Throw with a few minutes to spare before their gig started. The rest of the grrls were already there, anxious to find some sign of their lead singer and guitarist. Upon seeing Kim, drunk and bedraggled, and Elke just as bad off (though not because of alcohol, as her pupils told anyone who cared to look), the band almost gave up any and all thoughts of a gig. Jessie, in fact, tried to beg Kim to not set foot on stage, especially not until she would tell Jessie how much she had had to drink.

            “Drink? Ah don’ drink, m’dear. I drank when I started goin’ out wi’ Gwen; don’t drink.” Kim shook her head swiftly, then pulled Jessie really close so she could whisper in her ear. “I think tha’ Elke popped a tab of acid, though. Tab or two. Don’t know how many it takes t’ get her as far gone as she is.” Giggling, she let go of Jessie. “Le’s get this show on the road, then!”

            Knowing that Kim would never forgive her if the show didn’t get started, Jessie drifted out onto the stage with the rest of the band. Other than her, Heather was the only one who showed unrest at the state of the vocalist and guitarist. Her biggest problem with the night, though, was that Elke was caught up in the same evils as Kim, so there was no way to start a fight out of this without losing her biggest supporter.

            Chatha walked Kim out onto the stage, holding her arm until she had brought her to a mic stand so she would have something to hold herself up on. With only a quick check to see if Kim was sure she wanted to do this (to which Kim said “o’ course! Th’ stage is m’ life, and I’m still alive, so let’s get playin’!”), Chatha left her swaying at the mic stand and took up her usual place at the back of the stage by Ebony.

            The grrls ran a few instrument checks, but Kim paid no attention to them. She was staring out into the crowd, her eyes narrowed. She knew there were faces out there in the dark, staring back, but she couldn’t see a single one. Under the glare of the lights, she couldn’t tell if there were human beings or just automatons out there. Testing to see which it was, she addressed the crowd. “Well, how’re you t’night? Why’re you look--” Suddenly forgetting that this crowd was supposed to be in front of her, she looked back at the band, perplexed. “They’re lookin’ at m’ weird!”

            Chatha said, a little louder than she needed to “They’re waitin’ fer y’to perform!”

            Kim blinked once, twice, then she began to understand. She murmured, “Oh... Yeah. Okay. Hi.” Her attention went back to the audience. “Yer a rather large crowd! Large crowd...” Those two words seemed to be the only two she could get through her mind for a while, but then she was able to break through the drunken haze a little and at least pick up on an introduction.

            “Well, I’d like t’ introduce my band. I-- We-- We are Kim-- I am Kim Kissably!” Rather proud of herself for having straightened that all out, she looked back at her grrls for encouragement. Amused faces smiled back at her (though she didn’t notice Jessie was not as amused as the others). She turned back to the audience. “And here, behind me, the Red Lips Sextet!”

            Chatha took the chance to wave like a maniac (until, of course, Ebony poked her in the ribs with her long black nails). With a quick, hurt look at her friend, Chatha started to pout. Kim didn’t notice any of this going on behind her, of course. She was too busy discovering how intriguing her own band’s name was. “Huh, sex... Sextet... Sextet, mmm...”

            She held the microphone very close; almost afraid it would fly away if she didn’t. She moaned into it, stretching out her back a little, shaking her head, getting her hair in front of her face. Her long, blood red hair. “I’m just in that sort of mood today. Just that sort of mood, yeah... Mmm... Now, I don’t even know what I’m doing here...” She looked up and around, then back to the band again. “Evidently...”

            Jessie held up her bass, doing her best to get Kim’s mind back on track.

            “Songs... Songs?” Kim, smiling now that she’d figured that out, loosened her grip on the mic. “Yeah, songs.”

            The audience, thinking that maybe she was acting, clapped for her and called out for her to sing something (or bare her chest; they wouldn’t have minded either).

            “Enough applause. We’re singing. We’re singing t’ -- I’m singing t’day. And my band is...” Any possible word escaped her for a while. She stared at the mic, as though that would answer, then she blurted out the first word that came to her. “Banding. I’m singing today, and we’re going to open with... A song I like to call...” She straightened up, crooning seductively into the microphone. “We Only Need a Few to Fuck.” She drew the last word out with as much passion as she could muster.

            “’Course, the record label said we’d hafta’ call it Only Need a Few to--” The name caught, not wanting to be said for some reason. Kim could hear, somewhere far behind her, Ebony calling up the real name lightly. Kim didn’t really hear her. “Huh?” Then it sank in. “Oh! We Only Need a Few!”

            Nodding, proud of herself for figuring out the title of one of her favorite songs, Kim grinned. She soon found something to quit grinning over, though. “That’s what Beggars said we’d hafta’ call it. Oh, Beggars and the damn bloody things with pricks...” She practically snarled, shoving the microphone away from her. In only a few moments, she’d grabbed the thing again, forgetting her anger from a short time before.

            “But, y’know, it’s true.” She said it like she was talking to an old friend; an old friend who actually knew what she was saying. “It really is true. Friend o’ mine said it first day I saw her. My darlin’ li’l bandmate. Ain’t she darlin’?”

            At this, Chatha bounced around the stage, and made a few strange noises on the saxophone.

            Kim, grinning, continued. “Yeah, Chatha for you; with the sax.” She lost track for a while, not really recognizing the microphone in front of her. Then she snapped out of it and continued. “Anyway, it’s about boys.” She drew the word out, making it sound vile yet sexy at the same time. “Guys... Blokes... Males... Things with pricks...” She lost that voice and blurted out: “May they all burn in hell! Buggers.”

            Now that she had found this track, she decided to stay on the track. “You all think with Mr. Happy. Tiny widdle Mr. Happy. Happy mister. Mm, c’mere...” She drew in a long breathe between her teeth, then continued in an almost yearning voice. “I’ll make you happy.”

            She shook her head angrily, then ripped the mic out of its stand. “If it’s all they want, it’s all they should get! Breed the hot ones and kill the rest! Fuck, not even the hot ones... Just the ones who know their place and duty in bed!”

            She bent over, holding the mic, stroking it, then half purred and half growled: “Get back to the corner, boy!”

            Lazily, she walked back to the mic stand and replaced the mic. “Mmm. I’m in need of a good fucking... Any takers?” She stared out into the audience. Pointing randomly, not sure which of the jeering lads she was pointing at, Kim continued. “Yes, you, after the gig. Mmm, I’ll enjoy you, boy...”

            Her mind jumped topics again, and she started to talk with the strength typical of Kim Kissably. “Now, we grrls--we bitches--we’re bad people too.” She said that last part almost like Betty Boop would, only so intensely sarcastic that even Heather was impressed. Her voice calmed down, dry and stretched. “I’m between bed buddies now, as she just dumped me. Because she loves me.” She shook her head, bewildered, but too drunk and angry to feel it. “Makes sense, don’t it? Oh, always, always, always...”

            Now the anger rose up even more. Why should she be sad about Gwen leaving? It’s Gwen who would be hurt by this! Because Kim was strong, Kim could go on. Kim could keep ranting, and that would heal everything. So she kept ranting.

            “So don’t ...don’t give in to this relationship shit! It’s just ... just words! And words, and words, and words! Trying to do something other than get you in bed, and really, what’s the point? What’s the point t’ have words? Oh fuck, I don’t know...” She was losing her strength, would have collapsed if she didn’t have the mic stand as an anchor in front of her.

            “I don’t know... Fuck the words...” She displaced the weakness, turning the only other place she could. The very drunk part of her mind was quite amused with the word fuck, so had fun with its implications. “Fuck the world,” she said as though discovering the possibilities of those words. “Fuck everything... Oh, fuck... Ohhh, fuck... Oh...”

            After only a few more moans, she found her way back to her original topic.

            “We only need a few... A few to fuck, you know that? We only need a few of them, because there’s so many of us! There’s so many of us, and we can do everything else for each other, but if we rely on each other for fucking, we’ll only fuck each other up!” The word ‘fuck’ had now become dangerous to her, so she spit it out each time.

            Gaining momentum, but at the same time a confused anger, she dragged the mic and stand across the stage with her as she paced. “Never trust a grrl in bed. Never bloody well fucking trust a grrl in bed! She’ll tell you sweet, sweet, sweet things and say that there is no commitment, and then she will get scared and she will bloody well run away. She will bloody well run away...” Tears threatened to enter her voice for the first time that evening. That pissed her off even more, so she started ranting again.

            “So forget about the grrls. They can be your friends, they can’t be anything else. Forget about the grrls... Because we want the things with pricks! We want them, and we want them for one reason only... We only want them, mmm, only... Only want them... Oh, we only want them for one reason, one reason only, ain’t that right, grrls?” She gained more of a sane strength through the support of her band behind her, who all seemed to agree. “Ain’t that right? We only need them to fuck. We only need a few to fuck!”

            This being the introduction to the song of that name, Kim screamed into the microphone “Elke, start it up! Give me that damn fuckin’ guitar!”

            And so the song started. Kim, seemingly completely on her feet again, crooned into the microphone. “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy...”

            In a soft, teasing, overtly sensual voice, she went off on the verse a few steps ahead of the instruments. “So you want off that leash, boy?” Her voice was so airy, so cruel. “Huh, boy, do ya’? I hear you squealing, I watch you squirming... If you keep it up, boy, I just might want s’more...”

            Too drunk to really be able to pick up the chorus properly, she whisper-sang this as well. “You have to believe you’re the last beast in the world. All the other whipping boys hung themselves on their chains.” She shrugged, so coldly and matter-of-factly that Jessie faltered on the bass line for a moment. Kim, not noticing, continued. “It’s a pity, but it doesn’t matter. We only need a few, boy, only need a few to fuck!”

            She held the mic close, starting to feel a bit of pain again, channeling it out through a grating voice. “Cry for me, my mewling baby. I knew all along what you had inside. Scream for me--” her voice nearly broke “--you choking bastard. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. I’ll just keep you forever... Forever ... oh, forever... In my pleasure... Your pain.”

            Kim rested her forehead on the mic as the band continued playing behind her. Elke, who had started to get edgy, made a strange sound with her guitar that got Kim’s attention. Kim looked back at the band, who were all waiting for her. “What? What do you mean I need to--” She shook her head, disbelieving the fact that the song wasn’t over. “Oh, fuck off... No, I’m done. Oh fuck. Done the song, then! Bloody hell... Bloody hell. Done the song, done the song, done-- Don’t like that song anymore. Bloody hell...” She held her head as though she had a headache, but she couldn’t feel anything through the fuzz of alcohol.

            She turned her attention back to the crowd, all staring expectantly at her. “What are you looking at? You can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t expect anything from me! You know that. Can’t expect anything from me, because guess what? Guess what?” She waited for an answer, but didn’t get any that satisfied her.

            “I’m not one of your little playthings. I’m not one of your little playthings! Want to know what I am? Do you really want to know what I am?” Looking satisfied with herself, she drew up to her full height. “I ... am ... a ... femi-nazi.”

            When the crowd didn’t answer at all, she narrowed her eyes. “D’ya even know what that is? Huh, you don’t even know what that is! You think Nazis and you hear Germany, and you, oh, you don’t even know what that is!” She waved her hands in the air erratically, getting herself flustered.”

            Behind her, though she didn’t see it, Elke had made the discovery of a hole in the ceiling that no one but her could see. And there was this strange creature crawling out of it. This strange, eight-legged creature ... a spider! Her eyes wide, she pointed, but no one noticed her. All eyes were on Kim Kisabbly.

            Kim continued, not knowing what was going on behind her. “Femi-nazi, femi-nazi, fem-i-nazi...” She glared disapprovingly at the crowd before her. “Well, it’s what we were gonna’ call this band. Instead, we’re Kim Kissably and the Red Lips Sextet, and that’s all due to the bitch who dumped me because she loves me... Uh... We were gonna’ be called... Femi-Nazis ‘R’ Us. Now isn’t that cool? That’s cool.” She nodded approvingly, and Chatha giggled, agreeing whole-heartedly.

            “Yeah, that’s cool! Chatha thinks that -- yeah, she agrees with me.” Kim nodded again. “And Gen’s the one who said it. Gen--she’s guitar. Guitar. Over there, yeah.” She waved behind her without actually looking. “They all think that’s what we should have been, and I don’t know why I listened to Gwen, but ... oh fuck, oh...”

            Wringing her hands, Kim backed away from the mic. “It’s what we are. We’re all femi-nazis, each and every one.” She grabbed the mic stand. “What is a femi-nazi? Ha! What is a femi-nazi? How fucking dare you ask me what a femi-naxi is?”

            Glancing back at the band again, needing more input for her fuddled mind, she asked: “You think I should tell ‘em?”

            Elke was pointing at the ceiling, jabbering something about spiders.

            Kim decided that this was some sort of fun, playful code meaning that she should tell the audience. “Well... Elke, my dear guitarist thinks--” With another backward glance at her lead guitarist and best friend, pointing and babbling, Kim shrugged. “Thinks there’s ... spiders? She thinks there’s spiders and she thinks I should tell you!”

            Shaking her head, wondering if Elke really was acting up like that behind her, Kim leaned into the mic stand. “Fuck, I’m drunk. And I think-- No, she’s not drunk... She’s on sumthin’.” For some reason, Kim couldn’t remember anymore.

            “Wanna’ know what a femi-nazi is? Fem-i-nazi... A femi-nazi is someone who hates those things with pricks. A femi-nazi is a grrl who stands for herself. A grrl who is not afraid to use you and abuse you and ... oh ... toss you aside.” She purred it. “Because I’m like that... Because we -- are -- like -- that...”

            She moaned into the microphone, finding her footing once more on this familiar topic. “Don’t’cha like it that way? Mmm, don’t you like it that way? I’m in charge... I am in control. And that is the way... The way, boy, that you want it... Oh, mmm, boy... Boy... Mmm...”

            With a vice-like grip on the microphone, looking pale and even drunker under the lights than she had looked previously, Kim was starting to sway. Her hands were clasped at the top of the stand, her cheek pressed against the edge of the mic, her hair shrouding her face. Slowly, she drew her head up, cradling the mic right up to her mouth still holding on for dear life, and she began to murmur in a sing-song voice.

            “Kimmy-dear isn’t in here today; she’s drifting away... Drifting away. Kimmy dear has no more words to say. She’s drifting, drifting, drifting all day...”

            She straightened up a bit, loosening the death’s grip on the stand, seeming to have gained some strength after that moment of weakness up there on the stage. She started talking rhythmically, dangerously. “It’s a thing for control and a flair for the strange. Aren’t I deranged? Aren’t I deranged? To want so much fear. Oh, to lust after pain. Come to me, love. You want it the same. You know what I’m saying; you want it inside. Learn the way of things from where you cannot hide.”

            She lost the strength again, rubbing the mic across her cheek and chin, then drew it back up so she could speak into it. “Oh, it’s a way to find some relief, and baby...” She moaned. “Oh, baby...” Pulled back from the mic a bit. “Baby...” Drew the mic with her as she fell back more. “Oh, baby...” Took a full step back, dragging the mic and stand with her. “Baby, I want some release.”

            She jerked her hands, waving the stand around in front of her, before dragging it violently along the floor right up to her. Her voice was strong, as strong as it was in any of her shows, dripping with the caustic sexuality she always used as her shield on stage.

            “Take up the whips and don’t cringe from the chains. It’s always the same, it’s always the same! I’m allowed, oh allowed, to be this way. You know I hafta’ be this way as you continue grinding...” She lost some of the strength, bowing her head, confused and hurt. Her hands clutched at the mic stand, needing an anchor. “Oh, continue grinding...” And even through this apparent pain, her voice was still so sexy and moaning. “Oh, grind my ideals into the ground.”

            Snapping out of the pain, she had reached a fevered pitch. “Oh, the ground! The ground! Grind yourself into the ground!”

            Gaining once more a visage of calmness, the tone of control entered her voice, and she handled the mic stand smoothly and delicately. “Come back to me for everything. Come back for another try, we’ll try you out. We’ll use you up and throw you out. Throw you out.”

            She began speaking with a bit more confidentiality, though still as Kim Kissably all the way: “It’s who I am, it’s how I am, expect no more, expect no less. Expect the mindfully mindless attack...” Losing her posture again, she slumped again the mic stand. “Shit, I’m drunk,” she muttered, then started laughing as though it was the most amusing statement that had ever been made in the history of gigs.

            She regained her composure, pulling the mic out of its stand. She held the mic so near her mouth. she practically swallowed it. “Is it really all that bad?” Her voice now so smooth, so sexy, so perfect. “A little bit of razor’s edge. Oh, you know how much you want it. Just as much as you want me.”

            Her voice took on the tone of a child; a taunting, fulfilled child used to getting her way. “It’s just a little thing called S&M, bay-bay...”

            She drifted on that thought for a while, not really moving. When she came back down to reality, it was with a suspicious glare for everyone in the crowd. “Oh, what do you think this--what do you think this all is? I mean, I’ve, oh, we haven’t played--we’ve played a song. We’ve played one song. That’s what Ebony’s tellin’-- That’s Eb, by the way. That’s Ebony. She’s ... our goth, yeah. She is our goth. And amazingly enough, she is the one no’ on alcohol or drugs or ... or ... anything.”

            She waved a dismissive hand back at Ebony, not really interested in her bandmate. She wanted to keep talking to the audience, explain to their poor male minds what was going on. “But wanna’ know what this here is? This here is ... is the result of too much alcohol. You see, this happens--happens sometimes when you get fucked over by those who you probably love and--”

            Realizing her slip, Kim covered her mouth. She shook her head, as though that would get rid of what she was guilty of saying. “Oh! Bad word! Bad word, because if you love someone, naturally you’ve gotta’ leave ‘em. Bad word. Huh, love. Fuck bloody love. Love, love, love, love--”

            She broke herself off, falling back onto the beginnings of this new speech. “This is the result of too much alcohol. This is what it’s like when you’re so piss bloody drunk that you don’t even know what you’re saying...” Her voice had neared the breaking point. It was halfway between a sob and a moan. “I used to know. Oh, I used to know. So long ago... I knew... I actually knew...

            “Oh, I can’t even say it anymore... I just can’t even say it...” She was nearing the point where she would start bawling into the microphone, losing any self-respect she could have ever had for herself.

            Behind her, one person knew this was coming. So Jessie started playing out the bass-line for Cornerstore Brothel, hoping that the sound of familiar music would draw Kim back to saner, safer ground.

            “Yeah, that’s Jessie...” Kim pushed herself back from the mic. “She’s startin’ up the bass. That’s Jessie. I know that song... I wrote that song! Wanna’ know wha’ i’ is? Wanna’ know what this song is? It’s called...” She thought long and hard, then the name came to her. “It’s called Cornerstore Brothel.”

            She swayed in front of the mic stand, actually along to the music that was playing. None of the grrls other than Jessie had picked up their parts yet, waiting to see whether or not Kim would actually go anywhere with this song. Kim seemed entranced by Jessie’s bass. She sighed deeply. “You hear that pretty bass-line? Yeah, Jessie wrote that all her own.”

            Things were getting interesting behind her again. Elke, eyes wide, was slashing her guitar through the air at spiders only she could see, spiders that were now all around her on the floor, no longer just crawling out of the ceiling.

            Kim laughed. “You hear that pretty guitar-line? As Elke’s swinging her guitar in the air. That looks fun. I wish I had a guitar.”

            The rest of the grrls started up their instruments. “Mmm, song.” Kim nodded. “This is our song. Cornerstore Brothel!”

            One of the weakest, saddest songs on the album. On most any other day, Kim wouldn’t think to have ever played it in front of a live audience. She was too gone to notice what she was doing, though; too gone to notice that Jessie was trying to bring out some of her humanity on stage. Not even thinking that there could be an ulterior motive to this song, she started singing.

            “Can you see her standing there, her life spent outside her daddy’s cornerstore? She’s inviting you in with her devious smile, waiting until the time when you’ll start up your offers.” A part of her, very far away, remembered that she had written this for herself. To chastise herself for turning into the whore that she had been, the whore that she had escaped when she found Gwen.

            “No, it’s not the life she wanted. No, she won’t grow past this phase. She’s huddling under her scarce, sheer top. You know this place will become her grave...” Her voice gained a bit of strength, though she couldn’t find any of the right notes to hit. “She hasn’t got much future, but oh how she moves. She knows all the places of which you’ll approve.”

            She found the mic in her hand, so she gripped it tightly and leaned into it. “It’s been more than years since she was a girl, so go ahead and use her up... There’s nothing left now, use her up.”

            Ahead of even Chatha’s unpredictable saxophone, Kim screamed into the microphone. “Stop!” Almost whimpering, her voice dropped. “Don’t stand for it, grrl! Rule yourself and let no one else near you.”

            The only sounds now were Kim’s voice and Jessie’s bass. The rest of the band, even the stoned Elke, could hear the pain that ravaged their lead singer. “Stop! You are your own, grrl. You’re gonna’ be so much more than he’s made you.” Shaking her head, bitter to the point where she could actually taste it, Kim broke from the song. “I’m gonna’ be so much more than she had made me!” She sobbed, grabbing onto the mic stand so she wouldn’t fall to her knees. “Continue,” she whispered, not sure who she was talking to. “Continue!”

            All the instruments picked back up, and Kim waited for the proper time to murmur “standing outside your daddy’s fucking cornerstore” into the mic before she dropped it and backed away.

            “Oh, I fucking give up. I fucking give up. Oh...” Her hands practically tearing out her hair, she stopped herself before she backed into the band behind her. She was aware of Elke’s voice, but unaware of what was being said. Knowing only that she needed to get out of the lights or she would be sick, Kim waved her hands toward the stage. “Wha’s Elke sayin’, anyway? You listen to her for a while, I’m goin’ away.” She stumbled past her stoned guitarist, falling against the wall heading backstage. Jessie rushed to her side, but was only able to coax a few broken moans from her, not anything that could be put to any use.

            Elke, looking dazed, drifted over to Kim’s microphone. She touched it carefully, almost as though worried whatever was afflicting Kim had come off of the microphone. When she wasn’t instantly zapped into a drunken, quivering mass, she smiled and nodded. “Dude! Microphone! Whoah...”

            She peered around the stage, into the lights, out at the crowd. There was something weird about everything she saw, something not quite real. The only really real things now were those crawling eight-legged creatures surrounding her on the floor. “D’ya see ‘em? D’ya see ‘em? I -- the -- they’re everywhere. Man, they’re everywhere... I swear! See, it’s that hole--” she jerked her hand back, pointing at the hole that only she could see, where more spiders were spilling out. “--it’s that hole up there. Dude! Spiders... Spiiiders... Spiders everywhere!”

            Jerking her foot to avoid being stepped on by one of the black monsters, Elke shivered. “They’re as big as -- they’re as big as m’ bloody head. They’re everywhere, man... Spiders...”

            Her voice gained pitch. “And you can see ‘em. The way they’re so creepy and crawly and everywhere.” She slipped into a sing-song voice, much like Kim had used earlier that night. “They’re everywhere. Spiders!” She shivered, yet was somehow so caught up by the ugly creatures crawling on the floor behind her. “Oh, and they’re so hairy and long. Look at those legs! Ah, fuck, that thing could wrap itself around my f--

            “Ever seen Alien? It’s like that! It’s like that... Oh, fuck, dude. They’re everywhere. They’re everywhere!”

            One of the spiders sped down on a string of silk in front of her. Instinctively, Elke lashed out at it with her guitar, breaking the thread and sending the spider out into the crowd, all eight legs flailing. “See? See that? Right there, right there! Get away! Get away... Right there, right there, there’s one, and--”

            She swung at another, then another. A light got between her guitar and a spider, swinging hazardously out over the crowd. “Oh, fuck, watch your heads... Watch your heads! Audience people, watch your heads... Oh... Oh shit, I’m sorry.” And yet she was laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry.”

            She shook her head in amazement, watching the swinging light. The spiders were crawling across it now. “Oh wow, they’re e--”

            Kim, pulling away from Jessie, had decided it was time to steal her own show back. She closed her hand over the mic stand, catching Elke off guard.

            “Wha’? Kim’s taking over again, apparently. Bring it on, Kimmy-grrl!” She staggered back from the mic stand, crashing into Jessie on the way. Jessie did her best to get Elke to the back of the stage, where she could do the least harm.

            “Now, apparently,” Kim was saying, “this is what happens to Elke when she’s on--” and she started whispering harshly “--too many drugs.” She laughed. “See, this is me on alcohol, and this is her on drugs. I think she took a tab of ...acid. Or two. So she’s seeing things.”

            Kim glanced around, scared for a moment that maybe she could see the spiders too. “I, actually, when she talks enough about it, I think I might hear it, but ... I might see it. Huh.” She laughed again, not knowing what else she could do.

            “But, I’ve got something a lot more important to talk about now. It’s something I talk about all the time, and if you have seen any of my shows before, you know the four words I hate more than anything else in this world.”

            Saxophone sounds, wild and raunchy, started up behind her. She was delighted by the fact that at least one of her crazy bandmates knew what she was doing. “And see, dear li’l Chatha already know what I’m going to do, she’s started up. Play that sax, baby!”

            Kim let the sax drift out over the crowd for a while before finding herself again. “Ah... This little diddy is something that I like to call Nice Shoes, Let’s Fuck.” She spit the word out. “Of course, Beggars’... Beggars’ and their nice little grand James Carroway who’s all proper and, oh, sucking up to us with comments of Bauhaus... He wouldn’t let us keep the ‘fuck’.” Her alcohol-addled mind grabbed onto that word again. “Mmm, keep the fuck...” She snapped out of it, finding her source of anger once more. “So, naturally, it’s Nice Shoes, Let’s... Huh, and you can insert your own word there. So start it up, grrls!”

            The grrls had actually already started it up, which Kim didn’t notice. She dived into the song, with no care of where she landed. “Nice shoes, let’s fuck! Oh, nice shoes, let’s fuck... Nice shoes, let’s fuck!”

            Not remembering what the tune was supposed to be at all, she started chanted. “I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard it all. Ya’ really think I need you for fun? I want it intense, I want the control. Get back to the wall and try someone else!”

            Jessie actually accompanied her on the next chorus (though Elke was too busy making wild swings at thin air to help either of them along). “Nice shoes, let’s fuck! Nice shoes, let’s fuck! Nice shoes, let’s fuck!”

            Slipping back into the chant that Kim was beginning to think might actually be how she had intended the song to sound, she moved her hands up the mic stand. “I want you down on the floor, I wanna’ see you exposed. I wanna’ see you scared and weak.” The instruments around her softened, a delicate piano line taking over. Now this was something Kim remembered the tune for. “Crawl for me... Crawl, baby.”

            Then she lost the tune again as the instruments grew louder around her. Steadfastly sticking to the chant, she continued. “Never forget that I’ve never needed you. You’d better stop drooling or I’ll make you lick it off the floor.”

            The chorus approached again; the chorus made sense, the chorus was easy. Screaming and moaning, and so easy. “Nice shoes, let’s fuck! Nice shoes, let’s fuck! Nice shoes, let’s fuck!”

            She wasn’t even sure if Jessie had accompanied her on that one. She just kept on with the song. “Crawl for me... Crawl, baby... Crawl... Mmm, nice shoes...” And just like that, the song was over, and the audience knew her four most hated words. She nodded to herself, only slightly aware that her neck was starting to hurt from all the times she had already done that during the night.

            As the instruments died down around her, she grabbed the microphone, ready for another rant. “Mmm, on the topic of fu-cking... Oh, it’s a nice pastime, ain’t it? Wonderful, beautiful... Pure escapist passion... Oh, mmm... Mmm...” She dragged her hand back through her hair, catching blood-red strands between her fingers.

            “I think maybe I ... might want some. Right here. Right bloody now.” The urgency in her voice was inescapable. “Oh, you know ... you know that’s what would be best. Right here and right now and make the bitch shut up.” Kim wasn’t sure whether she meant herself or Gwen. But why would she mean Gwen? “Right ... right here and right now, make the bitch shut up. Make the bitch shut up... Mmm...”

            Deciding she was talking about herself, Kim pulled the mic out of its stand. “You’ll never make me shut up. Because you things with pricks always want to be on top... Always want to be in control. Oh, you’re going to fall under me, and I am going to go through you like you are nothing.” If it was possible, she sounded more bitter than she had all night. “Like you were never, ever, ever anything. Like you are not a person. You’re not a person... Mmm, oh... You’re not a person.”

            She slipped the mic back into its stand, not remembering why she had taken it out in the first place. One thing was burning through her mind. “Mmm... I just need a quick fucking. Just need to get this over, bloody over with... Get rid of thoughts of her... Thoughts of her...” So maybe she had been talking about Gwen. But why talk about Gwen? Why?

            “Oh, we were amazing together. We were always, always, always in each other’s minds and in each other’s pants. Notice, not trousers; no, not trousers. In each other’s pants. When we were wearing pants.” She laughed, thrilled with how naughty she could be up here on stage. “Oh, I’m not even going into the stories. The many, many, many stories...”

            She sighed, remembering. Everything. “Did you know that her nipples could cut bloody glass? Oh, to be with those nipples again... Mmm...”

            Her voice had lost any volume. “Y’know, it’s not really that bad... To be completely alone. Because then, my dear, you can be who you want to be. You can fuck who you want to fuck.” Her face was raising. “And you can be as bloody dangerous,” she forced that into a whisper, “as you could have even imagined.”

            She straightened. “Because guess what, boys? Guess what, all you things with pricks out there? Guess what? Mmm...” Her voice dropped to the whisper again. “I’m dangerous. I ... am ... a ... danger ... bitch!”

            Even Elke was on cue for this song, starting up her guitar.

            “And see, they’re starting another song for me! They know what I’m doing up here!” Which was a fact that really did seem worth this much excitement to Kim in her drunken state. “They’re starting another song for me!”

            She obliged her band, beginning to sing. “Ooh, I’m dangerous! My lips are burning, searing and entrapping with one kiss. Ooh, I’m dangerous! You’ll never be the same again once you’ve tasted me.” She moaned. “Taste me...”

            The chorus crept up on her and she flowed along with it, barely taken by surprise. “Take a look and take a feel. I’m an angel with a twisted view. I’m a fiery grrl, a danger bitch. And I want you... Oh, I want you...”

            She knew there was something about the next verse that should bug her, but she didn’t remember what until she had gotten into it. “Oooh, I’m dangerous! I could crush your bones between my thighs...” Oh, the bone-crushing thighs that Gwen had loved so much... Kim shook herself out of it. “Ooh, I’m dangerous! And I’d rather drown you in my eyes.” Because it was much better to be the destructive one. To hurt before she could be hurt again. “Drown, baby...”

            And even though this song had been written for those things with pricks out there, Kim was now speaking to Gwen; Gwen, who couldn’t hear her because she wasn’t at the show, had never been at a show, would never be at a show. “I want to watch you move inside with that final, awful languor.” Because wasn’t it better to know Gwen was dead? Better to know she was dead that just lost? Lost forever...

            “I’m dangerous,” Kim moaned out before nearly losing her balance. She would have fallen into the crowd if a voice behind her didn’t catch her attention.

            “Are you?” It was Jessie. Reciting a section that had gotten onto the album but had never been in a show before.

            “Am I?” Kim murmured it, barely aware that it was the right response.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well...” She felt some strength returning to her, and the sound of guitars rose behind her. “When you’re finally done, please take me along...” And it was all she could ask for, really. From anyone. Because she was always, always left behind. Always left behind.

            The chorus brought her back into her mind. “Take a look and take a feel. I’m an angel with a twisted view. I’m a fiery grrl, a danger bitch. And I want you... Oh, I want you...”

            Then that song was over. But it didn’t feel like it was over, so Kim drove on with words that extended it even as the instruments died behind her. “Always, always, ever and always. I’m a danger bitch. You gotta’ know that. It’s a part of who I am. I -- I am a danger bitch. It’s the same as--” Kim lost the word she was looking for “--anything.”

            Not satisfied with that, she decided to try to clear her point up. “It’s like being a femi-nazi. That’s what I am. I’m a femi-nazi, I’m a danger bitch, I ... am ... a ... grrrrl... Oh... I’m a grrl, grrrrl, grrrrl... Grrrrrrl...” She gasped, letting go of the microphone. After a calming breath, she approached it again. “Can you ever get any better than this? No, there is nothing. Nothing in the world better than this...” Without even thinking about what she was doing, Kim had her hands on her shirt, playing with the buttons. “Wanna’ see it? D’you want to see it? Wanna’ see it now?”

            Buttons were coming undone under her hands. “Open right in front of you. Oh...” Her shirt fell away, and she slipped her bra off. “This is me. This is me, no holds barred. This ... is everything I have to give. This ... is everything.” Her voice shook. The crowd cheered, screamed, asked for more. Kim didn’t hear them. She was aware of being slightly cold, then felt as Jessie slipped her own sweater over her shoulders, the only grrl in the group behind her who was willing to move to help.

            Kim huddled under the sweater, saying nothing to Jessie. There was nothing to say to Jessie, nothing to say to excuse herself for standing up there, doing exactly what the things with pricks wanted. She stared out over the audience, through the lights, near collapse. “You don’t even understand,” she murmured. “You don’t bloody well understand.”

            Jessie backed up, knowing well enough to leave Kim alone now instead of drawing more attention to what Kim would put into her long line of infamous mistakes. Barely noticing that Jessie left her side, Kim tugged at the collar of her half-American friend’s sweater, concentrating on the feeling as it moved across her skin. “This is what she could have had...” Her hands dropped and she stared into the crowd again. “Who here wants me?”

            A wave of noise crashed down on her, the audience surged forward. A mass of horny, desperate followers; things with pricks who had been hanging on every word she said all evening just because she had a body they wanted. “All of you. All of you! And yet she didn’t...” That statement made no sense to Kim. These thousand (bloody hell, maybe even more) blokes all wanted her, and Gwen didn’t. “She didn’t because she did.” A reason she would never understand. “What the-- Bloody hell, what is that? She didn’t want the danger bitch.” She forced bitterness into her voice, driving away the pain. “Because she fell in love with the danger bitch. Because the danger bitch fell in love with her band...”

            Absently, she tugged at the sweater that now felt like it was constricting around her. The stage lights were too hot, but something inside her told her not to take off another shirt. Not tonight, at least. Not tonight. “Isn’t this an amazing band to be in love with? Danger bitch has pushed it too far...”

            There was a crash near the back of the stage, and Elke cried out something about spiders.

            “Danger bitch’s guitarist is screaming about bloody spiders. Bloody acid trip bloody f-- ... Spiders.” She ignored everything going on behind her, because if she didn’t, she would have to acknowledge that at least one person was as miserable as she was at the moment. “Do you know what the problem with spiders is? Spiders can’t cry.”

            Kim herself would have started crying then, but she deflected it into a pitiful laugh. Gasping, she started again. “That’s their only problem. They have eight eyes. Eight bloody useless eyes, because they have no tears. They have no tears...” She held onto the microphone, feeling the world and time fly past her, feeling herself being stripped down clean to the bone by the eyes of everyone in front of her. She pushed it all aside, listening to Elke as she screamed and swung at the spiders.

            “Now I know what I was reminded of...” Kim’s voice was far away, her gaze fixed near the ceiling. “What Elke reminded me of... Somethin’ from childhood... Oh so long ago...” She reached her hands out, fingers playing over each other, crawling around in the air to badly mimic a spider’s movements. “Remember with that hand thing and everything? I don’t even remember all the lyrics... One of those things ... we used to tell our children. Fuck, I’m still a child...”

            Her hands fell from the air, glancing the mic stand. She didn’t notice. She was standing in her childhood, and she started to sing what she could remember. “The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout.” She laughed. “See? See, children’s song. Children’s song...”

            She put her hands back up into the air, remembering the movements she had been taught in her earliest memories of school. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out.” Her hands stalled in the falling motion, realizing how hopeless this song was. “Washed the spider out...” She shook her head. It was useless, but it was childish, so she had to continue. “Down came the sun... Up? Out? Down? Up? ... Out? Out! Out came the-- Out came the sun and dried up all the rain and the ... itsy bitsy spi-der crawled up the spout again.” She laughed, for the pure futility that the poor spider was going through. Crawling up drains, being washed out, crawling up them again, being washed out again, endlessly tortured to keep children amused. Endlessly tortured for the sake of the children. For the sake of the children, and wasn’t it so bloody funny? “Oh, childhood memories... There’s nothing like ‘em. Nothing like childhood memories. Oh...”

            Her hands had found their way to the mic stand again, holding on. “Wanna’ know what I remember from my childhood? I wasn’t even a child, was I? I was-- I’m still a child. Bloody hell, what, when, when?” She lost herself, trying to remember. When she snapped back, it wasn’t with the fact that she had wanted to find. “I’m only 19, you know. Huh, only 19... I’m barely legal.” She pushed down the shoulder of Jessie’s sweater, getting a large cheer from the crowd. They didn’t get another strip tease, though.

            “But what was I saying? How old-- What year is it?”

            “’91,” Geneveve called up.

            “It’s ’91? It’s ’91. That’s it, it’s ’91.” It took her a while longer to figure out why she had wanted the year. “I remember... The Sisters of Mercy. 19 ... 83?”

            There was a sound of agreement behind her, coming from the goth at the keyboards.

            “Eb-- Eb says it’s ’83. She’s the goth, she knows. First and Last and Always, 1983. How old was I? ’91, ’83... Eight years? So I was 11. I, that-- That’s childhood, right? I was 11...”

            She released the mic stand and shook her arms out, tired of the constant position. “So it’s time for a tribute. Because I’m in childhood memory mode right now, mmm... Marian. Everyone’s heard that, right? If you’re at my bloody concert, you’ve bloody heard Marian. If you’re at my bloody concert, you’ve bloody heard everything done by The Sisters of Mercy. Everything done by Siouxsie and the Banshees, haven’t you? And everything, everything... You’ve heard Marian!” Not getting anything out of the audience, she was disgusted. “Andrew Eldritch would be ashamed of you!”

            She shook her head. “Oh, bloody hell... It’s so sad. Such a sad song... And he sings half of the thing in German. In German! In Deutsch, should I say? In their native tongue. Deutsch. Doesn’t that just sound so, so... I don’t know. So, mmm... I don’t know, it’s strange, it’s ... not bloody well English!” The truism creeped up on her slowly, and she decided to let the audience know that she had, in fact, figured it out. “Of course it’s not English, it’s Deutsch.

            “So it’s time for a tribute. Marian...”

            Instruments were finding notes behind her. The bass-line was faltering, which part of Kim’s mind knew was wrong, but the rest of her mind ignored. “Jus’ a sec’,” she murmured, “while I get my mind in order. And while Jessie figures out how to pic up the bass-line. Oh, it’s not that tough... It is the Sisters of Mercy, after all. Singing in Deutsch. Wir singen in Deutsch! I learned that ... in school.” School, a forgotten place, along with her childhood and the itsy bitsy spider; something so far behind her now, so far away, getting farther as the world spun under her drunken feet. “And I’m a drop-out.” She said it without realizing its import. “Hmm, here we go... Here we bloody go...”

            The entire band was finally in synch, playing a song they knew through instinct and exposure, not practice. Even Chatha was playing lightly, carefully, not sure where Kim would lead off to next.

            “In a sea of faces, in a sea of doubt... In this cruel place, your voice above the maelstrom. In the wake of the ship of fools and the falling further down... If you can see me, Marian, reach out and take me home...” Furious that she was letting her voice betray her, Kim shook the mic stand as though that would undo it. “I hear you calling, Marian... Across the water, across the wave... I hear you calling, Marian... Can you hear me calling you to save me, save me, save me from the grave? Marian...”

            Kim stood silent for a moment, something dawning on her. “Oh fuck, that’s wrong.” She went back to the song, the new and proper name on her tongue. “Gwendolyn... There’s a weight above me, and the pressure is all too strong to breathe deep, breathe long and hard to take the water down and go to sleep. To sink still further beneath the fatal wave. Gwendolyn, I think I’m drowning! This sea is killing me...”

            A perfect yet pained band was playing behind Kim, she was sinking into the rhythm more than she had with even the songs she herself wrote. Something about the urgency in her voice, the pain wracking her mind, drew the grrls together under the too-hot stage lights.

            “I hear you calling, Gwendolyn... Across the water, across the wave. I hear you calling, Gwendolyn... Can you hear me calling you to save me, save me, save me from the grave?” Wanting to repeat the lost girl’s name, but knowing it wasn’t the right part of the song, Kim whispered: “I wanna’ do that again. Gwendolyn... And again... Gwendolyn...”

            The song moved along, and there was no more room for English anymore. English would purvey the true meaning of the song, the true source of the pain. So Kim followed in Andrew Eldritch’s footsteps, and she sang his German words. “Was ich kann--“ She looked out at the audience. “See? Deutsch. Was ich kann und was ich könnte; weiβ ich gar nicht mehr. Gib mir wieder etwas schönes. Zieh mich aus dem Meer.”

            But she wasn’t Eldritch, so she couldn’t get away with that. She couldn’t escape with just the implication of what she was feeling. She wasn’t that cold; wasn’t that stone fucking cold. Because then this loss wouldn’t hurt her. “Sssh... Ssh, grrls... Grrls, grrls, what does that mean?” She motioned for the band to back up, and they started to replay for her. “What I can and what I could do. I just don’t know anymore. Give me something beautiful again. Drag me from the sea. ... Continue.

            “Ich höre dich rufen, Marian. Or is it Gwendolyn again? Kannst du mich schreien hören? Ich bin hier allien. Ich höre dich rufen, Gwendolyn... Ohne deine hilfe, verliere ich mich in diesem Ort.” She sighed. “And what’s that mean? Mmm... I hear you calling, Gwendolyn... Can you hear me crying out? I am here alone. I hear you calling, Gwendolyn...” She hesitated, not remembering what the words meant for a moment. “Without your help, I’ll lose myself in this place.” But that was past being true, wasn’t it? She’d lost herself already, no one could save her. She had her microphone anchor, and everything else was dragging her out to sea. Too late. Too late. “Gwendolyn... Gwendolyn...

            “I hear you calling, Gwendolyn... Across the water, across the wave... I hear you calling, Gwendolyn...” Her voice suddenly lost all strength. “Can you hear me calling out? ... To save me, save me, save me from the grave...”

            She let the band fade out behind her before opening her mouth again, but she was talking to herself. She didn’t remember the audience before her. “Grow up, Kimmy-dear. She’s not coming back... She’s not bloody coming back...” The tears that had been threatening all night were now on her cheeks, bringing down black trails of eyeliner and mascara. The black trails that only a grrl got when she cried, because only a grrl had enough courage to go through emotional pain without waterproof makeup. Only a grrl had the confidence that she wouldn’t leave the black trails on her face, so only a grrl would risk it. Only a grrl would risk it.

            “Oh, bloody hell... Bloody hell... She’s never coming back... She’s never ... bloody ... coming back...” She fought the tears as silently as she could, trying to keep them from shaking her body. “Oh god, oh god...”

            Drawing herself up, Kim shook the tears away. She let the anger and aggression role back in. “I may as well continue being this bitch in front of you! This front-bitch for a bitch band! I am your front grrrl for the evening... And I’m hear to say ... nothing more than ... goodnight.” She whispered that, her latest spurt of strength gone already. “Because I’m not bloody well going on...” She sobbed. “Gonna’ bloody well shoot myself.”

            There were hands on her arms, and she didn’t know whose they were. Probably Jessie. Jessie, hovering and worrying, trying to make things bitter. Kim couldn’t see through her tears. “Just go back there and bloody well shoot myself. And you all don’t care.” She knew it was true; the mass of things with pricks in front of her probably weren’t even listening. “Because you got to see my tits. And that’s all that matters, and that’s all you’ll remember of tonight. That’s all that bloody matters... It’s all that bloody well matters...”

            The hands on her arms were tightening their grip, holding her as she trashed against the feelings inside. “There is nothing bloody well else. There’s nothing, nothing... Nothing, you can’t tell me otherwise, you can’t bloody well tell me otherwise... Bloody hell, fuck yourselves!” She jerked against the soothing hands, not wanting to be calmed. “Fuck yourselves, you things with pricks! You can’t be trusted, because not even my grrls can be trusted... You are nothing. I ... I am nothing...”

            She went limp in the grip of those strong, soothing hands. And they were Jessie’s hands after all, short fingernails and calloused fingertips, so gentle and sure. Kim removed Jessie’s hands, wanting to end this show the right way. She leaned into the microphone, letting out a moan. “Though I could use one last fuck before I kill myself. C’mon... Any takers? Mmm...”

            Leaving the audience to that, Kim stumbled off stage. Jessie followed right behind her, not wanting to let Kim out of her sight for fear that there would be takers. Many of them. Once backstage, Kim whipped around to glare at Jessie. “And what did you think you were doing, giving me this shirt and showing them all just how weak I was up there all alone, huh? What did you think you were doing?” Her voice was taut, barely functional anymore.

            “Saving a friend from deeper humiliation.”

            Kim shook her head. “Nah, nah, that’s not it.” But she couldn’t remember what she had wanted to accuse Jessie of, if anything. “Nice t-shirt,” she murmured dully, staring at the Siouxsie and the Banshees shirt that Jessie had been wearing under her sweater.

            “Can I get you home, Kim? I don’t think you’ll forgive me if I let you head off with one of the blokes from the crowd tonight.”

            “Whatever,” she whispered. Her mind was everywhere but right there. She understood that Elke was still out on stage, doing her best to round up and get rid of the remaining spiders, probably inciting some sort of riot. The sax sounds told her Chatha was out there too, and then she saw Ebony and Geneveve and Heather all slowly file backstage. Elke and Chatha stayed up front, playing with the spiders that only one of them could see.

This chapter includes too many lyrics to start listing off. Check it out at Stone's Throw.
The lyrics to Sister's of Mercy's Marian (version) are included, written by Andrew Eldritch and Wayne Hussey, © WEA Records Ltd., 1985
All other lyrics were written by 'Kim Kissably', and are © LL Hager, 2000.

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