CHAPTER 39

The band agreed to do the video, even though they were walking into it without any idea of what was going to happen in it. Kim said there was no way it could be worse than any of the things they’d already done on stage. “Stone’s Throw, anyone?”

            It was decided that the next single of Blackened Princess would be Darkling Asking. Heather asked why they were bothering to release another single so late in the game, to which Kim responded “We’re still touring. If we’re still bloody touring, that means we have to keep people’s attention with ‘new’ material. We’ll most likely release yet another single when we’re into our American tour.”

            The final festival show was in Munich. Kim hadn’t felt a great love for German crowds since the Sisters of Mercy concert in Berlin, but she still loved the country and couldn’t refuse to play there. She took to the stage as usual, coming on after her grrls had set up and the audience was starting to get anxious. She had often wondered what would happen if she didn’t come up onstage at all, but she knew that both Elke and Jessie would kill her.

            She smiled at Jessie quickly before taking her place in front of the mic. Jessie smiled back, softly. Everything about her was always soft. Overflowing with passion and beauty, but always soft. Kim sighed, taking a great effort to actually turn her eyes away from the half American bassist, then she grabbed the microphone.

            “Wie gehts?”

            The crowd cheered.

            “Ich bin Kim Kissably! Meine Freundinen sind das Red Lips Sextet! Wir kommen aus England und wir kommen, um Deutschland zu schaukeln!” She cast a quick look over her shoulder at Ebony, hoping the goth would tell her if she’d just messed up that entire introduction. Ebony was far better at German than she was. The keyboardist gave her no signs, so she continued. “Obviously, I’m not German, so I’m going to keep this up in English, awright? Be pissed at me if you want, but it’ll be a way better show if you don’t think I’m an idiot, huh?” She smiled. “Ah, Deutschland. Fine place here. Where I first met my absolute male idol. Yes, I have a male idol. Shoot me now! But you’ve got to understand... He’s Andrew Eldritch.”

            The crowd evidently understood, as there was quite a positive reaction to that name.

            “Not to say that he’s any better than Siouxsie Sioux. No, not in the least. Siouxsie is... She is an icon of power and artistry. Eldritch is just angst and sex and s’more angst and sex with a few overtones of bitterness and politics. Ah, you’ve got to love the music industry, nein?

            “Us grrls are putting out a new single soon. Proof that there’s life beyond the superficial; even a bitch like me can feel. That’s a bloody shocker, ain’t it? Darkling Asking is what this song is called, and it was only written because everyone needs at least one song to balance out their career.” Kim felt Jessie looking at her; she didn’t turn, since she didn’t wanted to see just how disapproving the look was. What business of Jessie’s was it if Kim lied to an audience, anyway?

            “Actually, it’s more to balance out a lot of the anger on th’ first album. Yes, I hate most anything with a prick. I wouldn’t if they would learn how to get along with those of us who don’t have pricks. We aren’t weaklings, you know. We can do things like open doors and carry books and pull out chairs all on our lonesome. I know, I know, that’s a lot to wrap such a tiny little mind around. But if they would think with something a bit bigger than their prick, maybe they would one day actually be as smart as one of us grrls. Believe me, a lot more brain tissue can fit in a skull than in the head of a prick. And it really works out for the worst when there’s not much a prick there to begin with.

            “There are some men out there not guided by that force between their legs, I know. They’re rare. Few and far between. I’ve only ever met one, personally, and don’t expect to meet another. But that’s just the way it works, huh? What this has to do with my song is the fact that this song is written through the eyes of a fictional man, highly intelligent and beautifully tragic, named Heathcliff.

            “I don’t know how many of you out there have read Wuthering Heights. Doubt it’s been translated into German that often. You have your own classics to worry about, as most cultures do. Of course, considering half of you are fluent in English by your teens, it wouldn’t be that much trouble to go out and find an English edition, would it?

            “I’m rambling.” Kim ran her hand through her hair. She didn’t feel right up there for some reason. The energy wasn’t flowing like it was supposed to. The stagelights were hurting her eyes, and she was frustrated that she couldn’t see the crowd past them. “Fuck this,” she muttered, shaking her head.

            “What she’s trying to say is that the content in Darkling Asking doesn’t mean she’s accepting things with pricks back into her life.” Jessie faltered a little when she used Kim’s phrase for men. “It’s just that Heathcliff, this man in Wuthering Heights, is a remarkable case. The song wasn’t written in a moment of weakness. More a moment of enlightenment. Breaking away from things she has done in the past that may have been superficial or somewhat meaningless.”

            “Not that ‘meaningless’ is the exact phrasing I would use.” Kim eased the microphone out of its stand. “But we do all have to admit to past mistakes. Yes, I have made mistakes! The wonderful, all-powerful, perfect little danger grrl, Kim Kissably, has made mistakes. Do you believe that of me?”

            Kim pointed the mic out to the crowd, and there was an overwhelming cry of ‘nein’ coming back at her. Her eyes widened, but she caught herself before she really reacted. She brought the mic back to herself. “Well, whatever you wish to believe of this goddess that stands before you, I have fucked up. We’ve all fucked up, haven’t we? But here’s the difference! Here’s the bloody difference!” Kim stepped back, now on an even level with Jessie and Elke. “I’m not sorry!” She screamed it, only feeling Jessie’s disappointment at the change in direction for a moment before Chatha wailed on the sax, drawing the entire band into Forbidden Guilt Trip.

            Kim hung her head, letting her hair hang in a red and blue fallen halo around her hands. Gripping the microphone, holding it so close that she could almost taste its metal mesh. She was singing in her true taunting form, even though that wasn’t how it was cut on the album. “It’s something forbidden, something you could never ask of me. I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry!”

            She threw her hair back, staring out into the audience as they cheered. Now it felt right. Now it was right. She was wild, breathing heavily, full of life. Energy was rushing through her veins, and she felt like she could fuck everyone in the world and still have strength for more. “I’ve been hurt, so I’m just hurting back ... boy.”

            The erotically moaned addition was certainly not expected from Jessie, as the bass line faltered.

            “I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry! It’s something you just can’t ask of me. I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry!”

            The band could feel that she was on top of the game. The music they were making was miles away from what most of the festival shows had been, even if Jessie was on edge. “Don’t do this to me, don’t assume this of me. I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry! What can I do to make you not hate me? I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry!”

            She dropped one hand down, knowing that once the show felt so right, she had to give the audience what they were all screaming for. Geneveve was moving in with a guitar solo, anyway; a rare occurrence nowadays. Kim started unbuttoning her shirt, smiling. “Mmm, been waitin’ for this, haven’t you? I’ve made some crowds wait all night. Don’t you feel lucky?”

            The bass line had dropped completely now. Kim closed her eyes, not letting herself acknowledge. It was about the show, about how it had always been done and how it always had to be. The Red Lips Sextet had trademarks, and they wouldn’t be the same band anymore if that changed. She wouldn’t be the same person anymore if she didn’t do it. Ever since her first gig, with the Dickless Shits or whatever it was that they had actually called themselves. When she was 15, rebellious, slutty. The token whore to front a male-driven band. The eye candy to grab some attention.

            “You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t understand that I’m done doing those things that made you afraid of me.”

            She had left the Dickless Shits (had it been Direct Caution?) when the lead guitarist (Erich Braer, a Brit by birth who forced a bad German accent because he thought it was cool) had decided their on-and-off relationship wasn’t worth it, even for the awesome sex. Besides, Kim had been such a bitch to him; taking out all her past problems with men, tearing him to pieces. He had liked it at the time, liked the loss of control. He had used it as a weapon against her when he was tired, of course, as anything with a prick would have.

            “I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry!”

            The Backdoor Cockheads had followed. They called themselves Badly Timed Miscreation. To be cute, the frontman had called himself Timothy Miscreant. Kim had never seen the appeal. She’d joined this band after seeing an add in the paper calling for a tragically hot backup vocalist. It had been a veiled request for a girl who would be willing to fuck the entire band, maybe all at once. Making Kim the token whore once again.

            “Maybe there are sins for which I’m guilty, but I’m not sorry! I’m not sorry!” Standing with her shirt blowing open around her body, Kim was wondering what had happened to all the men she had let use her just so she could feel she had used them. She wondered how many more there would be. She felt Jessie’s eyes on her. Did she know what was going on in Kim’s mind?

            “What the hell do you expect from me? I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry!”

            She turned to stare at Jessie, feeling her body shake as she kept singing her lies. “I’m done with the anger that made you judge me. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry.” She dropped her head as the music came to a crashing halt. The final note of the sax seemed to stretch on forever and ever, dancing in the chilled night air. “Or at least I’ll never admit it.” Her voice was low, half raw. She shook her head angrily, pissed at herself for letting these mood swings even touch her on the stage. Buzzing silence came from all the amps and speakers, waiting for the next word to be spoken by this infamous woman on the stage.

            When it became apparent that Kim wasn’t going to be raising her head any time soon, Chatha ventured up to a mic, tapped it to make sure it was on, then declared in a voice just as pink and cheery as her long skirt and plastic rain jacket: “Ah’m th’ next Lora Logic!”

            Ebony had followed the pink grrl from the back of the stage, and now led her away from the mic. She gave Kim a long look before her eyes settled on Jessie. She shook her head. The air was still hanging in silence.

            A soft, easy bass-line was started up. The rest of the band knew the song, but didn’t know what to do with their lead grrl in such a state of distress. It was only moments before the subtle, scraping drums came in, of course, but everyone else held back out of respect or fear. Kim was staring at Jessie again, shaking her head. The bass-line, even though so simple, was stirring things inside her. “The song only went on this album for Gwen,” she whispered. Jessie couldn’t have heard, but she shook her head anyway. Then Kim started singing.

            “Everything inside this empty heart spilled out to chase after you...”

***

“We’re getting married in late June.” Ebony leaned back into Raine, regarding Kim with that cold, confusing look that only goths could muster. “That gives us time to shoot the video, I suppose. Then we’ll be away for the month and a half we have left before touring starts up again. There are tensions building here that I’m not sure I want to be around.”

            Kim scowled at the dark grrl. “And what tensions would those be?”

            “Were you even conscious of your actions in Munich, dear Kissably?”

            Kim sighed, glaring at the back of the plane seat in front of her. Jessie was sleeping to her right, and Chatha had disappeared into the bathroom with Darius about half an hour ago. No one else would think to step in on this conversation. “It was the last show. Last in Europe ‘till another album. Everything’s flying away. What happens when this is my next regret? My next greatest bloody mistake? You know it will become that; you know everything, don’t you?”

            Ebony looked past Kim, at the sleeping half-American bassist. “I can’t claim to know anything. I can only say that I’ve been interpreting things. You might want to be careful, as you leave it wide open to such interpretations.”

            “I’ve written a new song. That might interest you.”

            Ebony was silent, allowing Kim to continue.

            “It’s called Violence of Music. Written for Andrew Eldritch and Ribbons. ‘I don’t want to die by the hands of music; that’s a choice that isn’t mine.’ And I’ve been working on another. Got the idea in Munich. Or should I say München? Practice a language I will never need.”

            “You’re practicing a lot that you will never need.”

This chapter includes lyrics to Forbidden Guilt Trip and Darkling Asking, off the grrls' second album, Blackened Princess.
The lyrics were written by 'Kim Kissably', and are © LL Hager, 2000.

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