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CHAPTER 21 As the tour of Britain seemed to stretch out longer and longer, Kim took up the habit of one boy per city. It surprised her how many had bought into her image and wanted to see just how far she would go with her domination routine. It disgusted her, but it also intrigued her. With every new city, every new performance, there were more things with pricks that would do anything to be hurt by her just so long as they could be inside of her as well. It scared Jessie to see Kim giving up to her own image. She did her best to dissuade the nightly activities, but Kim was adamant that it was the only way to keep herself sane. “I have been hurt so bloody much already, Jess, can’t I have my time to hurt back? Just a little? They want it, they bloody well beg for it. They bring their own bloody toys! They want to be put in their bloody place, how can I say no to that?” “You’re lashing out at yourself, Kim. You’re not like this.” “And how would you bloody well know, Miss America? You don’t even know why I hate things with pricks so much! You don’t know what I was put through. Don’t know how many have gone through me when I thought I was the one going through them. This time, I know I’m the one who’s using. I need it! I need to know I can still be in control.” “But you hate them so much, and here you are fucking a new boy every night! The most intimate act in the world, yet you’re letting complete strangers who you will never see again violate you!” “I’m violating them!” “You’re not!” Kim had gone quiet. She had then stalked away, leaving Jessie to regret her words in that silence. The new interactions with blokes colored Kim’s performances. Everything became more like Stone’s Throw, charged with the dangerous and violent sexual energy of her rants like S&M Bay-Bay, though she was liable to slip into moods that scared the grrls behind her. Blood Clot in Repair, which had been a song Kim forbade to ever be performed on stage, found itself as a part of their regular repertoire. Kim kept insisting that now that she had a sex life again, there was no reason to be missing her dear Gwendolyn. In fact, the song became the required piano-driven slow song that most any other band had an equivalent for. The one for which lighters were held up and moshers held relatively still. It became quite an effective ego trip for Kim, who had never seen a wave of lighters in the crowd before. So, in every show, there was one rant that the grrls were used to. They knew it almost as off by heart as Kim did, and Chatha had even created a few wailing sax lines to accompany the words. It almost always came in after We Only Need a Few, with Kim leaning hard into the microphone, trying to catch her breath. She would brush her hair, blue streak and all, out of her face and back up a pace. “But that’s the difference, you see, between things with pricks ... and grrls.” Surveying the crowd, always disappointed by the number of grrls she saw, she came back to the mic stand. “You things with pricks need a bit of a lesson, there, don’t you? I see by the lack of my kind in the crowd that you don’t have enough contact with grrls to even know one if you saw one.” She snorted. “I only associate with grrls, myself. Strong-willed bitches. We’re all passionate, we’re all so alive; be intimidated! Hell, I intimidate myself.” That’s when forbidding, low sounds would come out of Chatha’s sax. “Things with pricks are things just waiting to be hurt and used up and tossed aside. But grrls... We’re able to hurt each other, quite readily. I learned my lesson; I was too cocky, thought nothing could get to me. I wasn’t expecting one of the grrls that I held closest to me, was I? Because you things with pricks are all so weak, you would never dare hurt the likes of me, and I’ve been so used to you things with pricks that I thought everyone else was the same.” She shook her head. “She had a will to match mine. That’s why we didn’t work. That’s why I’m back to fucking your kind. Never make bed buddies out of your own sex; there’s a reason we weren’t built to do such things. And silly me, I didn’t learn soon enough. “So do you want to hear the results of that? It’s not a weakness, because a weakness is something you things with pricks can exploit. None of you have enough intelligence, you’re all too pathetic, to be able to exploit this; it’s so old, so lost. Doesn’t matter.” That’s where Ebony always picked up the piano. It was low, working with minor chords that almost clashed, and when Kim’s voice rose to join the piano, it was almost as low. “I know who you are, you can never hope to escape. I know where you’re going. Good luck ... on your way.” The rest of the band kicked in, the drums painfully slow. Everything was quiet and moody, with the piano remaining the most prominent sound. The first verse repeated, stronger this time, and it landed right on top of the chorus, the saxophone wailing under Kim’s voice like a wounded animal. “If there’s a time in this world that I haven’t spoken for yet... If there’s a time in this world, I don’t think I want it.”
Everything hushed, and Kim leaned into the microphone. Her voice started
soft and grew out in waves, the instruments mimicking her. “And oh, can you
see beyond the mystery? Oh, can you see beyond everything I’ve lived for? Oh,
can you see ... my escape?”
The volume picked up, Elke’s guitar now wailing above the others,
crescendoing then falling silent before Kim came back with an explosive verse,
tearing at her voice. “And I don’t think you know what it’s like, and I
don’t think you really care! And I don’t think you know anything at all...
And I don’t think you’ll understand, and I don’t think you’ll take my
hand, and oh... You don’t care! Oh, no... You don’t care!”
Bitter, Kim pushed into the next verse. “Because, you’re
always better than me. And you’re always trying some way! Oh, you’re always
so much more... You’re always so much more...”
Everything but the sax fell still, and Kim worked with Chatha through the
next repetition of the chorus. “If there’s a time in this world that I
haven’t spoken for yet... If there’s a time in this world, I don’t think I
want it.” The drums slammed back in, taking the rest of the band with them.
“I know now there so much... So much beyond all we’ve had. And you
know now... It’s time for escape, it’s time to escape, it’s time to escape
from me! Oh, no... Oh, no... No...” Kim clasped her hands against her
chest, thrilling from the drama. “And do you really care enough to say you
love me? Care enough to say in a broken voice ‘I’m sorry, so sorry to leave
you behind...’ I’m sorry, so sorry, sorry to leave you behind...” The bass rose over the other instruments now, supporting Kim through the final repeat of the chorus. “If there’s a time in this world that I haven’t spoken for yet... If there’s a time in this world, I don’t think I want it.” And, as with every night, after the instruments died down and Kim caught her breath, she cradled the microphone close to her face and crooned: “See? That’s pain only a grrl could cause.” *** The last gig of their national tour had just ended. Kim, Elke and Geneveve were in the room backstage that had been set up with a caterer’s help (and James Carroway’s monetary donation), toasting each other and themselves, and playing with a few of the blokes who had scrounged up backstage passes somehow. Ebony was lying passed out on the couch, having toasted herself a bit too much already, and Raine was sitting on the floor beside her, his head rested in her lap, probably as drunk as she was. Heather had gone back to the hotel already, claiming severe exhaustion, but Kim was sure it had to do with wanting to be free of this band (at least for a little while) as soon as possible. Jessie had left for the hotel shortly after, upset over Kim’s drinking and flirting. So naturally, this left Chatha wandering around aimlessly. She had left her saxophone in the corner, stretching her back out and bouncing around the room. Alcohol bored her and all the blokes that were trying to impress Kim bored her too. She invented a dance routine in the middle of the floor, to some sort of ‘80s song that was stuck in her head, waking Raine up when she realized what it was and started singing along. “Yer a strange animal! Tha’s wha’ I know! Bu’ yer a strange animal, ah’ve gotta’ follow!” He groaned and covered his eyes with Ebony’s hand, muttering something about Gowan being illegalized in all humane countries. Ebony barely stirred, a fact that Chatha was highly insulted by. So she flounced her pink self into the dressing room, where she was quite intent to spend the rest of the night moping (or talking to Elke’s guitar; whichever decided to happen first). She ended up stopping in the doorway, staring at a bloke who she knew had been back with Kim and the others a few minutes ago. “What’re y’doin’ in ‘ere?” He jumped and looked at her, relaxing when he saw it was one of the members of the band. “I got curious. You grrls are bloody infamous, but there’s nothin’ too scary in your dressing room.” “Wha’s scary is wha’ we wear onstage; th’dressin’ room don’t matte’ much.” “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.” Chatha slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She wandered over to the portable wardrobe and picked up a pink feather boa that she had almost warn out on stage for their final show. Heather had protested it so much that the idea had been dropped. “Why pink?” She tugged the boa out of the wardrobe and draped it around her neck. “Simple. There is n’other color! It’s wha’ e’eryone thinks of as th’ color fer girls, bu’ y’ve gotta’ prove it ain’t ahl tha’ girly, y’know? I’s such a darin’ color ‘cuz o’ wha’ e’eryone thinks o’ i’. ‘Cuz ah’m nothin’ like th’typical girl.” “I’ve been curious about somethin’ since I started listening to your band...” “Abou’ wha’?” “Do you taste pink?” “Wha’s pink taste like? Ah mean, ah know tha’ pink lollies are ahl swee’ an strawberry or raspberry or bubblegum or... Well, a lo’ of things, bu’ ah’ve ne’er tried tastin’ anythin’ else pink. ‘Cept that one time... I was curious! But clothes bein’ pink doesn’t mean th’taste any diff’rent, so don’t e’en bother tryin’...” The bloke was laughing. Chatha realized she’d just been babbling on, and she lowered her head, blushing. He took a step toward her. “Nah, it’s awright. I love hearing your voice.” “Yeh?” “Yeah. I’ve been following your show for a while; this is the fifth city. I love it when you get up at the microphone. You’ve always got something new to say. Kim starts repeating herself, I’ve noticed.” “Oh well, sh’can do tha’ if sh’wants. Ah love ‘er show! Ah love ‘er energy.” “And she’s kill you if she heard you using that word.” “Y’can use it ‘bout things! Even she uses i’ abou’ things.” “Somehow, I can’t believe that from the infamous Kim Kissably.” “Y’jus’ don’t know ‘er. S’better tha’ way, ‘cause sh’wouldn’t want your kind t’know ‘er.” “My kind?” He seemed amused by that. “Why’d’ja ge’ a backstage pass if y’ ‘ate Kim s’much?” “I wanted to meet you.” “Oh...” Chatha, feeling rather self-conscious, flipped her pink boa around her neck and over one shoulder. “Tha’s cool.” “Wanted to know a bit about you. Seems like you’re the only innocent in the lot.” “Ah’m no’ innocent!” As if to prove that, she unwound the feather boa so she could get changed out of her stage clothes, as though getting undressed in front of blokes wasn’t weird for her at all. She walked calmly over to the wardrobe, where she dropped the boa and proceeded to slip out of her pink tank top that was still damp with sweat. It joined the boa on the floor of the wardrobe, and she looked around for the nearest pink shirt. Or jacket. Or anything. “Then how much of a non-innocent are you?” His voice was approaching behind her. She quickly grabbed a pink sweater accented with metallic threads and pulled it on. The neck was wide, straight out of the ‘80s, and it promptly slid down her shoulder. She turned back to look at him. “Ah’m a grrl. Let tha’ answer all your questions.” “So are all grrls like Kim?” “D’ya ‘ave a name? Ah don’ like talkin’ t’people ‘oo don’ ‘ave names.” “Warren.” “Well, Warren, each grrl is ‘er own. W’don’t ‘afta be alike.” “So that still leaves me not knowing how much of a non-innocent you are.” Chatha had turned her attention back to the wardrobe, trying to decide between pink jeans or a pleated pink and black plaid skirt. “Depends on th’day, ah suppose.” “So how ‘bout today?” “T’night.” Pretending that she was just changing in front of her band mates, like every other night, she kicked off her trousers then slipped into the skirt, fumbling with the dress pin for a while before becoming satisfied that the skirt wouldn’t slide right back down. “Fine. Tonight.” She glanced at him quickly. “Dunno’. S’big night; last show an’ ahl. Sorta’ tirin’. Ah’m jus’ no’ all in ‘ere right nah.” Even though she was being evasive, she caught a few more quick glances of him. She was curious about what the big deal about boys was, since she hadn’t really had time to start dating what with the band and all. “You’re really not like Kim.” “Nah. She’s like m’big sis’; I look up t’her an’ ahl, bu’ I’d ne’er wanna’ be ‘er.” “So you don’t hate anything with a prick?” “Ah’m talkin’ t’you, aren’t I?” “True enough.” She turned around to face him. “Look, ah’m no’ good with this stuff or anythin’, bu’ if y’wanna’ kiss me, y’can. Ah mean, if tha’s why you’re ‘ere an’ askin’ ahl this.” Warren smiled and walked up to her. He took her shoulder and pulled her closer, telling her it was all right when she giggled nervously. His other hand pushed her chin up as he leaned in close. Their lips met, and the softness of the feeling surprised Chatha. Soft and wet and nice, with maybe a little bit of urgency. When Warren pulled back, she shook her head. “Nah, le’s try tha’ again.” She slipped her arm around his waist and stood on her tiptoes so it would be easier for him. Open mouths this time, thrilling and confusing Chatha more than she thought physical contact should be able to. All the other grrls seemed so careless and flippant about anything having to do with blokes, so it surprised her that there was actually anything to it. Open mouths led to tongues, and their hands had taken to exploring. Chatha felt herself being pushed up against the side of the wardrobe, and she started to feel unsure about what was happening. She felt his hand under her shirt now and she tensed, trying to push him away. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She flattened herself against the wardrobe and said “no” firmly, but he just laughed, saying something about her being like all the rest. She tried to kick, but he was too close to her, pressing up against her. Instinct finally broke through and she screamed. He slammed his hand over her mouth and she did her best to bite it, but couldn’t get a good hold. Then she heard the door to the dressing room crashing open, and Kim’s voice screaming at Warren to get the hell away. Warren was torn away from Chatha, thrown to the floor, and Kim proceeded to throw anything she could get her hands on at him, screaming barely decipherable things about how no one could ever hurt one of her grrls and live. While this happened, Chatha slid down the wardrobe to the floor and held her knees, doing her best not to cry, especially not with Kim in the room; tears were something she was sure Kim couldn’t understand or forgive. Elke had come into the room now, and she was holding Kim back from killing the boy on the floor, yelling at him to leave before it was too late. Obviously in pain, he pulled himself to his feet, and limped as quickly as he could out of the door. Elke chased after him, yelling, making sure he left. Kim dropped down at Chatha’s side, putting her arms around her, whispering again and again how sorry she was. Hearing Kim use a word as real and human as sorry let Chatha break down, throwing her arms around her and sobbing. Kim rocked her, stroking her hair, promising that nothing like this would ever be allowed to happen again if there was a next tour. No blokes would be allowed backstage again if there was a next tour. None of her grrls would be hurt. None of them. After a long time, Chatha had calmed down, and they were both sitting with their backs against the wardrobe. Chatha was leaning against Kim, staring across the room. She took her arm and held on tightly before opening her mouth. “Kim?” “Yes, darlin’?” “Now ah know why y’hate boys s’much...” She closed her eyes, not letting go of Kim’s arm.
This chapter includes the lyrics to
Blood Clot in Repair, off the grrls' first
album, Torn Horses. |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |