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CHAPTER 41 Kim lifted her legs, watching as the loosely tied ribbons fell even looser and drifted from her ankles to her knees. She kicked softly and the ribbons drifted down to the bed. She smiled, crossing her legs and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never lived out the inverse of a video before, luv, how about you?” Jessie glanced at her from the foot of the bed, where she had been sitting with her bass in her lap, working out recent inspirations. “What surprises me is how long it took you to protest.” Her fingers found a soft chord and played it. “And how quickly I was able to silence you.” She flashed a smile worthy of Kim before looking back down at her strings. “Do you think men believe in props? I’ve never known one who has. Well, they’d all of them want me to have a whip, but why live up to any bloody hype that they’re expecting? They can all bloody well bugger off. I don’t bloody well need to be one of their dominant playthings. Arsewipes. Femdom isn’t about the grrl being in charge, it’s about the thing with a prick getting what he wants.” “Femdom?” “I do believe that’s the fetish term for S&M with grrl on top. You’d have to ask Elke to be sure. But femdom, feminine dominance, all that tripe. I can see where they get it.” “So you don’t believe in femdom?” “Sexually, it’s still about the grrl being in their ‘place.’ The ‘place’ that a thing with a prick expects her to be, y’know?” “Hm.” Jessie was now picking out a rhythmic bass line. Kim sat up. “Face to Face.” She tried to catch Jessie’s eyes. When she failed, she sighed and collapsed onto the bed again. “Jess-luv...” “Hm?” “I want you to promise me something.” “What, Kim?” “Promise first.” “No. Tell.” “I’m a celebrity now, Miss America. Do you know what that means?” “Everyone who owns one of your albums wants to fuck you?” “Well, that too.” She giggled. “But no, it also means I’m not going to die of old age. Celebs are always ODs, suicides, murders, mysterious illnesses. Never old age.” “Not true.” “Name one celeb who died of old age!” “I’ll get back to you on that, Ms. Kissably.” “Well, Miss America, I am a celebrity and I say I’m going to die of some tragic design before I turn 30.” “That gives you less than a decade. Don’t talk like that.” “It gives me nine bloody years. I think I can manage.” “What did you want me to promise?” Kim closed her eyes and stretched her arms up over her head, jerking back a little when she hit the headboard. “Jess... I don’t know how much longer I’ll last. I really don’t. I want you to promise that when I die, you will cry.” The bass-line stopped. “Promise you will let the sorrow consume you. I don’t want any of that bloody moving on garbage that people are always talking about. You shouldn’t get over the death of someone you care about. How can anyone get over that empty space in their lives, huh? I would feel insulted and bloody well cast off if I left people behind to a week or two of tears then nothing else. I’d like to think I was worth more than just a toss-off bit of mourning, you know?” Jessie didn’t say anything. “Promise, Jess.” There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat and spoke in a low, half-broken voice. “I’m just fighting images of you in the grave...” She shook her head. “I won’t promise until you promise something.” “What?” “I know you’re a celebrity, but that doesn’t mean you have to take your own life. Promise me you’ll never kill yourself.” “Suicide is passé, Miss America. I wouldn’t dream of offing myself. Really, there can’t be a more boring way to go than that. Oh, poor Ms. Kissably, wallowing alone in her own blood and self-pity in the darkness and silence. I don’t bloody well think so. A suicide comes and goes in the media. I want to be forever. I want my death to be whispered about. Bootlegged, even!” “How can a death be bootlegged?” “They bloody well booted an emotional death, why can’t they figure out how t’ do the same with a physical death?” “I suppose, of all people, only you could ever have a bootlegged death.” “Thank you.” “Did you promise, Kim?” “Did you?” “Let’s just not make morbid promises to each other.” “How about we just not make any promises to each other? Promises are the downfall of every meaningful relationship to have ever existed.” “So we’re meaningful now, Ms. Kissably?” “Did you ever doubt it?” “There are times when I wonder if you can ever be meaningful.” “Ah, you’ve got me there.” Kim stretched her legs, leaving them sprawled on the bed. “There are times that I wonder the same.” *** “Do ah ge’ t’be th’ maid o’ honour or th’ flow’r grrl?” Chatha touched one of the sleeves, capped in blood red lace, on Ebony’s dress. The wedding dress. Being modeled and critiqued in the mirror in Chatha’s room (so Raine wouldn’t get to see it before the wedding). “I suppose that choice is yours, darling Chatha.” “Ah’ve always wan’ed t’ be a flow’r grrl, e’en if i’s jus’ somethin’ fer li’l kids t’ do. Maybe Darius can be th’ ring bearer? An’ wha’ sor’o’ person’ll be doin’ the ceremony if neitherah y’ are religious?” “A judge, most likely. It’s what atheists do.” “S’ yer gonna’ be conformin’ t’ wha’ all atheists do?” Ebony gave Chatha a look--one that would have usually stopped the pink grrl dead in her trail, but she wasn’t paying the slightest but of attention. “See, ‘cause ah had this idea tha’ maybe y’ could ge’ a rock star t’ marry y’ guys! All y’ need is t’ ge’ a marriage license, then y’ can do th’ ceremony howe’er y’ wanna!” “One problem, darling Chatha.” “Yeh?” “We don’t know any rock stars.” “We’re ahl rock stars! Ah’m sure w’ can convince anothe’ t’ do us a favo’!” Ebony rolled her eyes. “Who, might I ask, did you have in mind?” “Maybe... David Gahan? Or Nick Cave! Or... Robert Smith! Raine’d die if Smith did th’ ceremony! Or ‘e’d be spendin’ th’ entire time askin’ fer tips on how t’ do his hair... Or how ‘bout... Jim Steinman!” “Kim would go rabid if an American performed my wedding.” “Bu’ ‘e could do tha’ ‘ole ‘on a ho’ summer’s nigh’ would y’ offer yer throa’ t’ th’ wolf wi’ th’ red roses’ thing! Tha’d be perfect!” “Just because we’re goth doesn’t mean we’ll consume each other.” “Bu’ y’ could, sometimes. S’ jus’ in case, say i’ as yer vows!” “Get permission in advance?” “Yeh!” “Steinman couldn’t be reached on such short notice, darling.” “Oh... Well... Could y’ use tha’ bi’ anyway?”
Ebony let her rare smile slip. “We’ll see, darling. We’ll see.” |
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Talk to LL,
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