CHAPTER 51

It was a “grrl thing.”

            Six of them, walking the downtown streets of D.C. in their best and wildest clothing, actually talking to each other, laughing, shoving, having a fine time. Even Geneveve seemed to be with them that evening, lacking her usual dazed expression.

            Kim, after a wild night with Dave had ended and she had had to face Jessie’s veiled brown eyes, had realized that she was losing touch with everything that she’d once had. She hadn’t been able to remember the last time she saw an honest smile on Jessie’s lips and in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time Chatha had hung off her arm, babbling things no one but the bright pink grrl could understand. This was the first time since the marriage that she had seen Ebony without Raine, and probably the first time in even longer that she’d seen Elke not hanging back in the corner, whispering harshly with Heather.

            She was glad Heather wasn’t there.

            “It’s all the boys’ fault,” she was saying to her grrls. She looked back at them, unable to stay serious. A smile played at her lips, and she didn’t even try to hold it back. It warmed her to see the smiles returned.

            Kim studied each of her bandmates, feeling rather proud to have them trailing in a group around her, making people step out of the way as they passed.

            Jessie was wearing a sensible black denim jacket, open over a dark green cotton dress that almost hid her feet. It was a very simple outfit, especially considering the others, but Kim felt a rush of feeling, because it was still so beautiful and unique. Kim reminded herself to chastise Jessie, though, because she was starting to wear makeup off stage; just a bit, nothing you’d notice when looking at her beside Ebony, but it seemed so foreign to Kim.

            Chatha was being very daring and wearing not all pink. Her jacket, vinyl and borrowed from Elke’s endless supply, was a very dark mauve. It cut off just below her ribs, but had sleeves so long that she lost her hand in them. This was a novel concept to her, which was apparent from all the times she lifted her arms and giggled at the sagging ends of the jacket. Under it, she was wearing a black unitard; the kind ballet dancers had, which was another source of endless amusement for her, as she mocked pirouettes and almost fell into all the others. To accompany this was her favorite pink plaid skirt, which had lines to match the black and mauve, and she had her hair in a mess that might have been trying to emulate Xavier’s ‘do. She looked all around happy, bouncing from Ebony to Kim to Jessie and back again with wide-eyed observations about what was apparently the most important city in the States.

            Ebony, as always, looked simply elegant. Her hair was up in a severe bun, with a few intentional trailing wisps falling over her face. Her green eyes were hidden behind narrow sunglasses, giving her a vampire’s mystique. Her black velvet dress had all the modesty of the Victorian era with a dauntingly modern cut, slit in all the right places to show flaring burgundy silk underneath. Kim respected that Ebony never showed skin. The things left to imagination made her sexier than anyone else in the band.

            Geneveve, probably only half aware that it was September in the northern States, was wearing a white halter-dress. It had a dropped waist, and the skirt had multi-coloured streaks going across it. Probably hair dye, Kim thought. Gen had to use that on something now that her hair was at most a centimeter long.

            Barely aware that she was doing it, Kim hesitated before glancing at Elke. The most viciously sexual creature in the band. Just looking at her was enough to make you wish you hadn’t left your handcuffs at home. Today, it was a high-necked, sleeveless minidress made of red vinyl with bondage straps and d-rings and various zippers, some edged open. Her hair was wild and free around her, and she had black gladiator sandals with deadly sharp stiletto heels.

            We could only be rock stars or prostitutes, Kim found herself thinking. She smiled, though this time it was a bit more painful, and looked back to the street in front of her.

            She herself was wearing an outfit almost identical to Chatha’s, on Chatha’s insistence. The jacket was blood red, with a tight black babydoll proclaiming “Evil Bitch” in white goth-ish handwriting underneath. Her red-based plaid skirt rode far higher than anything Chatha had ever dreamed of wearing, of course, and she was sporting knee-high leather boots that she had given Dave the privilege of lacing up before she left.

            “Really,” she found herself saying to the group behind and around her, “it is the boys’ fault. I wasn’t kidding about that.”

            She heard Elke snort.

            “I mean, look at us. This is the first time we’ve done anything together since gettin’ to this bloody country, right? Ebony’s got Raine, Chatha’s got Zavier--”

            “An’ Darius!”

            “And Darius.” Kim grinned. “Gen’s got whoever in every new city, right?”

            Geneveve replied with a smile.

            “And I’ve got my new tagalong. So I figured fuck all th’ boys, it’s gonna be us grrls tonight.”

            “I notice your choice of words.” It almost sounded like Elke forced herself to say that.

            “And I notice you’re filling in for Heather’s absence. Down, grrl. Tonight’s about us findin’ each other again, ‘cause I think this tour and all the boys ate whatever made us a group somewhere along the way.”

            Before it could turn into a fight between Kim and Elke, Chatha was squealing and pointing at a store across the street from them.

            “What is it, darlin’?” Kim caught her by the jacket, even though she had been trying to find her hand.

            “Tha’ store! See? See? Tha’ store has ahl those shirt in th’ window, an’ looka’ i’! Tha’s us!”

            Kim took a breath, and her eyes found what Chatha was talking about. The store was the kind that sold leather jewelry, vinyl clothes, and band shirts. One of the band shirts on display in the window had a picture of Kissably and her Sextet, most of them looking with bored apprehension at the camera, except a beaming Chatha. Below it was written “Welcome to Your Grrl Punk Fairytale.”

            It took all her self-control not to start squealing with Chatha. Instead, she whipped around, grinning. She found Jessie and smothered her in a hug. “We’re famous!”

            Behind her, Chatha kept repeating “can w’ go in?” until the question seemed to become one word, and even Elke’s “I guess we’d better check it, luv,” was unshielded.

            With one arm around Jessie and the other one being nearly torn off by Chatha, Kim crossed the street. She heard a murmur of approval from Ebony when they saw the sign, proclaiming “Nocturnal Compulsions.” Gen had moved in front of all of them, spotting the 20-something clerk standing around and looking rather bored. “He’s hot,” she murmured, flashing a quick grin at Kim--probably an attempt at assurance that she wouldn’t disappear tonight--and she walked into the store.

            “She’s meeting my eyes, she’s responding. It’s amazing,” Kim said.

            “You’re letting her in again, Kim.” Jessie squeezed her hand, then walked into the store as Chatha poked and prodded and pushed and pulled, insisting over and over again that they all had to check it out.

            “Pink!” Chatha was shrieking, throwing herself across the room at the far wall where there was a row of nothing but pink shirts with phrases that were anything but feminine. Most of them said ‘fuck’ at least once. Chatha, trying not to giggle too hard, was making tough-grrl poses and growling out the phrases.

            “Like a baby tiger,” Kim murmured, laughing.

            “Or a baby Kim,” Jessie responded, moving away before Kim could react properly. She hid her smile.

            Kim chased after her. “Hey, don’t you say she’ll grow up like me. She’s a lot better than that.”

            “Who said you were grown up?”

            “Hey, I’m a whole 21. Legal for everything that can be legal all over th’ bloody world. I’m adult. By law. So there.”

            “Adult and grown up have nothing to do with each other. I don’t want to think I have to call myself grown up yet.”

            “We’re rock stars! We never have to grow up.”

            “Sooner or later, they’ll never grow up,” Ebony said. She flashed one of her secretive smiles, knowing the others wouldn’t really get the reference.

            Kim took a breath, then a guess. “Steinman?”

            Nodding with approval, Ebony withdrew to another part of the store.

            Kim stood near the door with Jessie. Geneveve was talking to the boy near the counter, motioning to the window where they had seen their shirt. Elke was flipping through racks of vinyl. Chatha had just burst out with “Fuck you, y’ fuckin’ fuck!” which was far too much for her, and she fell onto the floor in a heap of giggles and pink.

            Kim blinked, then took Jessie by her arm and proceeded to the back of the store, where none of the others were. “Can we talk?”

            Jessie’s eyes flashed. She smiled. “Is it proper to do that kind of talking in a store?”

            “Nah, I mean talk.” Kim fingered the denim of Jessie’s jacket. “That’s a sorta ‘80s bad grrl jacket, y’know. I mean, back when you could still be bad without being half naked.”

            “And?”

            “And you’ve got on eyeliner.” Kim looked closer. “Charcoal gray. Really thin; I can never keep it that thin, I lose control and hafta go back to fill in the spaces. Looks so professional, I almost wonder if ... Ebony did it for you.”

            Jessie pulled back a bit, shaking her head. “No. I used to do this all the time, you know. When I was a kid.”

            “But... We were kids when we met.”

            “17 and 18? Not really kids then.”

            “I always thought you were-- ... You were just always like you were, y’know?”

            Jessie smiled softly, putting her hand up to Kim’s cheek. “And the beautiful lyricist is resorting to word repetition.”

            Kim put her hand over Jessie’s. “I’m not beautiful. I’m an attention grabber. If people stare at me, it’s th’ clothes, the hair, th’ bloody attitude.”

            “Or the inner fire that seems to draw us all in.” Jessie let her hand slide down, touching the collar of the blood red vinyl jacket. “You have a rather large fan base. Your band has gone platinum and is still selling more and more. You have girls out there wanting desperately to be you.”

            “If they really knew anything about me, they wouldn’t want it at all. I can’t even seem to make the best things in my life work out right.”

            “Kim--”

            “Nah, I just wanted t’ know if you were goin’ all wild-grrl on me or not. Losing some of that borin’ ol’ sense of responsibility of yours. Crossin’ over to the dark side.” She grinned. “I seem to have a corrupting effect on people. Just wanted t’ make sure.”

            “Kim!” The voice exploded beside her, and a very excited Chatha grabbed her by the hand and dragged her up to the front of the store. A group of three goth girls were standing up there, one with blood red hair and two blue streaks. They were gathered around Ebony, Elke (who had a new bag slung over her arm, probably containing another fetish item) and Geneveve.

            One girl was murmuring something to Ebony about soft lines and burgundy cords, probably in reference to some sort of clothing design. Another was talking animatedly to Elke and Geneveve about how amazing grrls with guitars were, and how she had taught herself guitar when she was 10 and was starting a band, finally, now that she was 15. The other one, the one with the hair, had been staring since Kim, Chatha and Jessie emerged from between the racks of clothes.

            Her mouth moved before she actually formed words. Even then, it was slow and disjointed. “Holy .... fucking .... shit...” The tone and catch to her voice more than the words made her friends turn around.

            After moments of silence, one squealed “They’re all here!” The 15-year-old with a band. “They’re all here,” she gasped again, pointing, as though her friends couldn’t actually see them.

            This all seemed too much for the teen girls, who now couldn’t decide which one of the infamous band they most wanted to talk to, what with them all standing right there with them.

            Kim found it amusing that no one, not even Elke, mentioned Heather.

            The one with the hair was now talking to Kim, about how she couldn’t stand the Sextet at first because it was all so very harsh and hateful, but after Blackened Princess, she really started to understand that Torn Horses was a very pained album, looking out through thousands of shields. “And I feel like that,” she was gasping out, almost crying. “Directing all the pain I feel anywhere I can, especially to anger. And oh, you’re standing here...” She reached out, almost as though to take Kim’s hands, but she was too scared and her hands dropped. She went on talking, saying that she knew Kim had intended to make a punk band, but Blackened Princess had easily pushed them over the edge into goth. “And they’re not so different, you know. Not really. Punk’s anger is turned outwards and goth’s anger is turned inwards. All the goth greats started punk. Cure, Bauhaus, Siouxsie, even Sisters, if you listen to their earliest takes. Like the final tracks on Some Girls Wander by Mistake. And you guys, you’re going to be the next greats; the next band everyone with any taste listens to.”

            After a while of this, Kim broke in gently. “And do you grrls have tickets for one of the shows?”

            They all three seemed to glow upon being called grrls by Kim Kissably herself.

            The one who had been talking to Ebony the entire time nodded vigorously. “For both shows. We figured there’s never going to be a chance you guys will come here again!”

            The one with a band was practically hopping on her feet, reminding Kim of Chatha. “Tomorrow night!” she proclaimed. “And the night after that. Both school nights, but my parents can fuck themselves sideways, nothing’s stopping me from going.”

            Kim smiled softly, remembering things like school and parents. “What are your names?”

            “Lucretia,” offered the girl who favored Ebony.

            “Killian,” said the one with the hair.

            “Tayce.” The 15-year-old guitarist grinned. “It means silence; I chose it for the irony.”

            “I’m assuming you have real names, too.”

            Lucretia ended up being Jill. Killian was Kailey, which was close enough. Tayce was Shannon.

            “But as soon as we have the money, we’re all changing our names. Legally. Tayce Ambressay. Mysterious and earthy but somewhat solid, y’know? Perfect for a front-grrl. Tayce is strong, for the guitarist in me, and Ambressay is all floaty, like total goth vocals.”

            Kim couldn’t help but smile at this group of girls, star struck but still confident. She surprised herself probably as much as everyone else when she next spoke. “You grrls interested in backstage passes?”

            Killian almost fell to the floor. Lucretia grabbed onto her, eyes widening. Tayce froze. There was a buzzing silence in the air before it all burst with one question, from Tayce. “Will Elvyn be there? He’s so hot!”

            This broke the tension, because Kim couldn’t help but laugh. “Have at him. Just remember he’s a bit old for you. Look, I don’t have any passes on me, but I can give you the number straight to my floor of the hotel. Somebody will take care of it. You guys choose whatever night you want.” Kim felt that the rest of her band was still staring at her, and it was impossible to keep from smiling. “Now, we’ve got to be heading out. Grrl’s night an’ everything. I promised them we’d hit a few clubs.”

***

“We gonna’ go t’ any strip clubs? Ah wonder if American boys look any diff’rent wi’ou’ their clothes on’n Brit boys, huh? Can w’ go t’ a strip club, jus’ t’ see? Can w’?”

            Kim rolled her eyes at Chatha, then cast a look at Geneveve. “I’d be afraid of losing her for the rest of the night if we went into a place where males were wearing no clothes.”

            “You’re one to talk,” Elke called out. “I mean, why are you the only one allowed to pick up stray Americans, luv?”

            Kim could hear something in Elke’s voice that it took her a while to recognize.

            Oh god.

            Jealousy.

            Her face burned and she turned away. She had driven it out of her mind; when Elke came back from her month-long vacation in Australia with Heather, how she had thrown herself at Kim. Kissed her. Been brushed aside. For countless things with pricks, for Jessie, and now for Dave.

            Elke had said that if Kim could go through so many things with pricks, she should be able to go through her own kind as well. And remembering how she had flirted with Ivory back in San Francisco, Kim’s face burned even more.

            Dave thought that anyone who wanted an exclusive relationship with a celebrity was an idiot. But that didn’t mean she could sleep with anyone who--

            Anyone who--

            Kim closed her eyes. She noticed everyone was silent, but the utter void of sound seemed strongest coming from Elke and Jessie. Elke had said her piece, done her damage; she didn’t need to say anything now. And Jessie... Poor Jess, so beautiful and trusting and soulful.

            Fuck it, and Kim was soulless. She didn’t bloody deserve Jessie. Didn’t deserve the band, with Chatha like a little sister babbling at her side and looking up at her adorably. Ebony, a wise friend, standing with her eyes downcast in the back. Even Geneveve with her faraway eyes and endless piercings.

            And Elke... Her lost best friend.

            Because she would never date inside the band.

            The pang of guilt almost knocked Kim over, but she kept walking.

            Jessie was her new best friend, her bassist, her lover. Standing there quietly as Dave moved in on her territory.

            I have to fucking quit, Kim thought. Fucking quit.

            Kim almost gasped when she realized she hadn’t seen Elke with anyone since she found out how she felt. No boys, no grrls. No one.

            “Fuck it,” she moaned softly.

            Jessie’s hand touched her shoulder softly, with an air of forgiveness. It was grrls’ night out; she would forget about Dave, even if Elke returned with another comment.

            I don’t deserve you, Kim thought wildly as the hand moved down to meet hers. Anything you’ve given me.

            Feeling calloused fingers brushing her palm, Kim wondered if Jessie had ever had anything to hide in her life. Any of these dark, hidden anguishes inside. Anything that didn’t show through her gentle brown eyes.

            “That place looks good.” Kim’s own voice surprised her. Too loud, against the silence that even Chatha had slipped into. Upon hearing another human voice, Chatha was perky and babbling again.

            The club was called Rocksteady, and Kim cringed to think what sort of live entertainment the sign outside was actually advertising.

HOPEFULLY WEDNESDAY
local act
Mondays and Thursdays, 9:00-11:00

            She smirked, noticing the band didn’t play on Wednesday at all. But she led her own band in, holding her breath until the nearly ethereal vocals of a band trying so very hard to be devastatingly goth reached her. Inappropriately fast drums accompanied, with pulses of guitar, tinkling of piano, and even waves of what Kim realized to be a harp. She stared at the stage a moment, where a bunch of gothlings who couldn’t be more than 18 had this interesting setup.

            ”Pity me, the beautiful,” the girl onstage was singing. The only girl. She was beautiful, in a very clinical way. Everything about her was so precise and controlled that Kim felt herself thinking even Ebony seemed impulsive. A smile had never touched those lips, because the vague pout that came when they stilled was much more heated. “A beauty that draws me so far away.” Her voice was high and pure, floating and so very arrogant. She knew how her notes held in the air. She knew how they landed so lightly on the people around her. Kim wondered how she would react to the passionate vocals she gave to her music, all over the board from screams to whimpers, with a few actual notes in between.

            Kim also wondered if this girl had had her hair hanging wildly in front of her face as she gasped for breath in front of a large audience, sweat tickling its way down her neck.

            She snorted, looking away. “That girl’s no performer.”

            “Oh, but she’s an excellent performer,” Ebony observed. “No human being can stand so still and arrogantly perfect without trying.”

            “Makes me sick,” Kim muttered. She found her way to the bar, before glancing back. Ebony was still watching the girl on the stage, and Kim wondered why until she noticed something about the dress that this perfect, precise girl was wearing. A long, tight-fitting dress that laced up the front, so tightly you couldn’t see anything underneath. The collar was high and stiff. The sleeves belled out, longer on the in-seam. There were silky black tassles trailing across the girl’s hands. Kim knew they were silky because she knew there was a black taffeta bat silhouette stitched onto both of the velvet sleeves, lined with black cord that hung down to make those tassles. She also knew that the red sash falling gently from one hip was attached at the top by a single belt loop made of the same cord that surrounded the bats. Kim knew this because it was Ebony’s. One of Ebony’s personal favorites, one of her earlier designs. One she had worn in several photo shoots. “Oh dear god,” Kim murmured.

            Ebony’s hand had drifted up to her neck, to a black pendant Raine had made. He was the one who knew about jewelry, and he had made her a metal bat filled in with black enamel to match the pattern she used on her Bat Girl line of designs. “Oh.” That one word almost caught in her throat.

            “Ebony.” Kim took her shoulders. “You’ve done it.”

            “We never exported to D.C.,” Ebony was saying as though that should mean the girl on stage wasn’t actually wearing one of her designs. “Ten American cities, that’s all. More when we have more, but...” She paused. “Oh.” Her voice was so incredibly soft, almost lost, but mostly awed.

            After that, it was time to celebrate. Which meant getting drunk, loud, and obnoxious. Chatha felt it necessary to start repeating some of the phrases from the rude little pink t-shirts, giggling wildly every time. Ebony was flushed beneath her makeup and smiling freely, making innuendo about what would happen when she went back to the hotel to celebrate with Raine. Chatha burst out with: “W’ don’ need any baby goths runnin’ ‘round ye’!”

            Kim was grinning. She drew Jessie close and whispered that if they wanted to celebrate alone, babies weren’t going to be a risk. So, both drunk enough to need a cab, they took one back to the hotel.

            They stumbled into Jessie’s room together (since Dave was probably still moping around in Kim’s), and lost their clothes somewhere between the door and the bed. Kim was able to gasp out “forgive me?” before there was no more time for words. The implied answer was enough for her.

            Later, one leg wrapped lazily around Jessie and with her head resting on her shoulder, Kim whispered, almost to herself: “Maybe I don’t need cock after all, Jess-luv.”

This chapter includes lyrics from Pity Me, The Beautiful, off Hopefully Wednesday's first album, First Infraction.
The lyrics were written by 'Morgana Grieflore' and are © LL Hager, 2002.

Index
Next
Back

Talk to LL, the author.
And keep in mind that everything on this page is © LL Hager 2000 - 2003 unless otherwise noted.