CHAPTER 29

Watching from behind the glass in the mixing room, Kim wouldn’t let herself feel anything as Heather and Elke discussed approaches to songs and tested out a few runs of the strange combination of guitar and drums. It would be maybe another half hour before they needed Darius’ assistance with the recording and playing back of already recorded tracks. They were very focused on the task at hand, not letting one bar go until they were sure it sounded right.

            The Sextet had never recorded together like that. They had done ten or fifteen takes of every song, then picked the one that sounded coolest, whether or not it sounded right. There had never been much practicing, just talk of what things were supposed to be like. Jessie had sometimes taken control when the noise got too chaotic, but... The Sextet had never gotten along like Elke and Heather were now getting along.

            Kim wouldn’t let herself feel jealous. It was best that Elke’s attention was somewhere else, anyway. She didn’t need her lead guitarist to be in love with her. But she needed need her lead guitarist to be in love with Heather, either! Of course, Elke wasn’t. She couldn’t be, no one could be. Heather was a strong willed little bitch who refused to see anything past her own mindset.

            Sighing, Kim pushed away from the mixing board. If what she was thinking about Heather was true, that meant no one could ever love her either.

            “You’re missing a fashion show.”

            Kim looked over to see James Carroway standing in the door. She turned away, watching the group’s independents again. “Hm.”

            “Ebony brought in some of her own designs. Chatha’s been insisting for a while; I’m surprised it took her this long to give in.”

            “Yeh.”

            James moved farther into the room. “You’re missing Chatha in goth clothes, Kim. It’s a once in a lifetime chance.”

            “Huh.”

            He took her shoulder and turned her away from the window. “People grow apart.”

            “She was my best friend.”

            “Things change.”

            “And what sort of bloody consolation is that? There are no constants, you can’t keep anyone. There is no bloody consolation there, I’m sorry. It’s just tellin’ me that my entire life has been buggered and will always be buggered.”

            James leaned against the mixing board. “I wish I could tell you otherwise. At least your band is still together.”

            “Yeh, we’re together, but for how much longer? And who the bloody hell listens to us, anyway? I mean, the money’s coming in, but I haven’t seen a single fan just wandering around the streets. I only see ‘em packed into the concert halls. They’re nowhere else. Bloody hell, if you just open your eyes, you can see millions of people wearing Metallica shirts. Or Nirvana. Nirvana’s new and big and so bloody American. It’s all American, Carroway. That’s what sells. They’re taking over our bloody country. They’re taking over our bloody continent!”

            “Do you listen to Depeche Mode?”

            “What sort of bloody question is that?”

            “Just that. Do you listen to them?”

            “Sometimes. Why?”

            “They’re hitting it huge in the States; nearly as big as they’re hitting it here. Our country’s voice is being heard.”

            “What, so our country’s voice is a bunch o’ blokes who started their career as a boy band with screaming crowds of teenage girls? Our country’s voice is written by some thing with a prick who has a blonde afro and dresses in female fetish gear?”

            “I don’t think Martin Gore’s done that since the mid ‘80s.”

            “Why can’t our country’s voice be fuelled by grrls, Carroway? Why can’t we be heard and influential?”

            “Torn Horses was released as an American ordeal last month.”

            “What?”

            “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before. It’s not the same as the original. It’s basically full of radio edits, but the American audience has been eating it up anyway. The sales are strong. You may have a chance of going platinum.”

            “On a bloody radio edit version of an album that could never be played on the radio? Bloody hell!”

            “Imports direct from our offices have been increasing, too. There are some Americans who actually want the real thing. I’ve decided that when your new album is released here, it will also be released in the States. Same packaging, same content. That way, the Americans can really hear what you’re all about.”

            Kim didn’t say anything. She was too busy trying to reconcile the release of a bastardized version of Torn Horses.

            “I think this means you should do an American tour.”

            She glared at him.

            “Look, they evidently like your stuff. MTV has been trying to talk Beggars’ into letting them do a special on your group, but I know you’d kill me if I okayed it. There have been articles in American magazines, and even some newspapers about you and your girls.”

            “Grrls.”

            “Grrls, right. I think that if you actually toured their country, that would make you and your grrls more money than any of us even thought possible.”

            “I’m not bloody well in this for the money, Carroway.” She went back to watching Heather and Elke. Elke was bent over her guitar, working out a riff while Heather readjusted the positioning of her drum set.

            “It will spread your views to more people.”

            “Look, Carroway... It’s the bloody US of A, the walking incarnation of corruption and idleness. I wouldn’t even go there to die.”

            “Maybe you should discuss it with your grrls. It is a chance to get you better exposure.”

            “No. Alive or dead, the States will never have me. I don’t want some American bloke gawking at me, awright? Let alone a crowd of thousands.”

            “So are you going to tell your grrls what they’re missing out on?”

            “Since it’s not a bloody issue, I don’t think my grrls even have to know.” She walked toward the door. “So if you will be so kind as to bugger off, this discussion is over.”

***

Much to the joy of Chatha, it was time for another photo shoot. They had the photographer, this time a foreign bloke named Lucius, for the entire day. Chatha nearly drove him mad within the first half hour, comparing him over and over again to Yvette and wondering aloud why they didn’t get her as a photographer again.

            It was Kim’s idea to give the photo shoot a dual purpose. Firstly, to sell the band. Secondly, to publicize Angelic Darkness, which Ebony said would be getting on its feet within a year or less.

            The band shots were gotten out of the way first. This was on Chatha’s insistence, because she had had an idea for this shoot for quite some time now and wouldn’t rest until she was able to go through with it. She was wearing an ‘80s off-the-shoulder pink glittery sweater and a pink plaid pleated (“say tha’ five times fast!”) skirt. What she’d worn backstage on the last night of their Torn Horses tour.

            It was so she would have happy thoughts to connect to the outfit, since it really would be a pity to have to get rid of it. So while Chatha bounced around the room asking Lucius why he wasn’t Yvette, he went through a few rolls of film trying to capture the perfect picture of her innate pinkness.

            Kim had a new dress bought just for this photo shoot. It was red punk plaid, sleeveless and floor length. The entire front was supposed to be held together with gold dress pins. She only had these pins done up down to her belly button. From there, the dress fell open, revealing a black skirt so short that she wouldn’t be able to sit down without showing a bit much. Elke ooh-ed and ah-ed over the outfit, making it quite clear that she hadn’t forgotten Kim for Heather.

            Before the rest of the band had gotten themselves ready to face the camera, Chatha grabbed Kim and dragged her out in front of the back drop (which was a boring pale tan color). “Ah think tha’ there’s go’ t’ be some pics o’ jus’ us. Th’ innocent, an’ th’ not-so-very.” Chatha grinned, then she took both of Kim’s hands. “Le’s dance!”

            Unable to help it, Kim grinned back at Chatha. They spun around the room for a while, giggling and getting rather dizzy. Chatha made it even worse when she started singing one of Kim’s favorite Siouxsie songs, so they were both gasping out the words between fits of laughter.

            “Peeeeeek-a-boo! Peeeeeek-a-boo! Peeeeeek-a-boo! Peeeeeek-a-boo! Golly jeepers, where’dja get those peepers? Peep-show, creep-show, where did you get those eyes?”

            Kim lost her grip on Chatha’s hands, and they both tumbled to the floor in opposite directions, landing in piles of pink and plaid, still unable to stop laughing. Kim was able to murmur “ow,” only making herself laugh harder. And throughout all this, Lucius had been taking pictures.

            When the rest of the band emerged from the dressing room, they didn’t even ask why both Chatha and Kim were sprawled out on the floor. Ebony went over to help her little pink friend up, then she just shook her head at Kim. “Don’t go romping around in an ultra short skirt, Kim. Especially not in front of a camera.”

            Kim got to her feet, smoothing the skirt down. “Well, now the camera’s seen my nice an’ lacy scanties. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

            The rest of the band’s photo shoot went as it was supposed to. A lot of moody, sexy and pouty posing as Lucius told them how amazing they all looked. Heather always kept to the sidelines. She refused any solo pictures. Geneveve was spacy and flinched every time the flash went off. Everything went as was expected.

            After an entire morning of posing and getting sick of it all, Heather left. She said it was to work on a new set for Raising the Dead. Geneveve decided that since one person had left already, she would too. It didn’t bother Kim at all. In fact, it was better this way.

            “Now that the non-partakers are outta’ here, we do a friend a favor.” Kim nodded at Ebony. “She’s been working very hard making her own goth clothes, and she’s going to be selling them soon. Carroway told me you guys had a fun little fashion show already, but Ebony and I talked about this, and I want what’s left of the band to make some publicity shots for her company-to-be. Anyone not like this idea?”

            “Ah’m gonna’ have a picture wearin’ black?” Chatha’s eyes were wide. She looked at Ebony, then over at Lucius, then at Kim. “Bu’ m’hair’s pink. Is tha’ okay? Tha’s no’ very goth or anythin’...”

            “Goths are eccentric.” Ebony smoothed out a flyaway in Chatha’s hair. “I think it’s allowed. Besides, you’re a celebrity, darling Chatha. Pink is your trademark. The world will understand.”

            “Ah’m a celebrity?” And after the one or two seconds it took for Chatha to accept that, she went skipping around the room chanting “ah’m a celebrity!” over and over.

            “Raine should be here in a few minutes. He’s bringing all the stuff.” Ebony drifted over to the doorway, waiting.

            Kim walked over to Jessie. “You’re staying?”

            “May as well. Ebony deserves all of our help.”

            “Never thought I’d ever get to see you gothed out, Miss America.”

            “Nor I you.”

            “Though I’m a lot closer than you are. I dress weird and wear makeup religiously. You’re...”

            “Are you going to finish that sentence or leave it as a word?”

            “I wanted to say you’re normal, but that’s not true.”

            “I look it.”

            “Yeh. You look safe.”

            “Is that also untrue?”

            “I don’t think anyone in this band is a safe individual. You’re dangerous in different ways, though.”

            “Such as?”

This chapter includes the lyrics to Peek-a-Boo by Siouxise and the Banshees, written by Harry Warren, Johnny Mercer, and the Banshees, © Polydor Ltd. (UK), 1988

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