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CHAPTER 55 “And how is my Brit-grrl t’night?” Dave waltzed right into Kim’s hotel room without so much as making a pretense of knocking. He still had the key-card in his hand, and Kim grabbed it from him. “I’ll take that, thankyouverymuch.” “Well, I thought it would be handy for me to be able to get in and out of your room as I pleased.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear: “You seemed t’ like how I woke you up last time.” She rolled her shoulders, in an attempt to make him back off. “Aw, c’mon, if you do this bad mood thing, that means I’ll hafta go off and spend money to get laid on a whim.” She glanced at him, wondering if the comment made her want to cringe or jump him. He pissed her off. He had always pissed her off. And it’s what she needed. “I think I’ll keep you,” she said. “Oh, so am I like a dog now?” “Do you want to be? I’m sure I have a choker and leash somewhere in my luggage.” “You got something to make me beg and pant for?” She got out of the chair that she’d been sitting in since she got back, right in front of the mirror, and walked over to Dave. “You tell me.” “Ooh, someone’s in dom mode tonight.” He grinned. “How’d your shoot go, oh bitch goddess of mine?” “Hm. Slept with th’ photographer.” “He hot?” “She. Very.” “Should I be jealous that you score with girls more often than I do?” “Sure. But at least you get to score with me.” Kim took a step back, not interested in playing with him anymore. Not right then, anyway. “Do me a favor?” “Anything.” “Don’t tell Jess about th’ photo shoot.” “Oh yeah, it’d be different for her if you’re out with another grrl, huh?” Kim swallowed. “Yes. Look, I... Think I forgot something in the cab. I’m going to go call around after it, awright?” She headed for the door, not caring that her excuse had been more than a little pathetic. “You’ve got a phone in here,” Dave reminded her. “Yeh, but I think that someone else has a phone book in their room. Maybe. Y’know.” Dave nodded his head, quite sure he knew what was going on. “Still in the mood for grrls, then? You ever tried a threesome? I’m sure that’d clear up a lot of problems with--” Kim shut the door behind her. She put her hand up to her mouth and did her best not to scream. Instead, she squeaked and moaned pitifully, biting into her hand. She paced the hotel hallway, doing everything she could to fend off hysteria. No. It wasn’t going to end like this. The band wasn’t going to end over this. There was nothing left but the band now. No Jessie. No Jessie... No Jess, no mahogany eyes and soft-calloused hands and bass guitar and everything that had ever made this band for Kim in the first place... But Jessie hadn’t quit. No one had quit. Not the band. So the band wouldn’t end. Even if she hated Heather and Elke hated her. Even if Chatha was losing interest and Ebony had never really had any. Even if Geneveve would be dead of an OD at the very first opportunity she found. No one had quit the bloody band, so they were going to stay in this bloody country until Carroway called them home. There was nothing else left. A door opened, and for a moment Kim was terrified that it would be Jessie walking out, staring at her with her sad, sad, accusing eyes, saying she knew what Kim did with the photographer. With Gabi. With her glamorous looks, so unlike Jessie’s. So unlike what had attracted her most about Jessie. The fact that she was so real. So human. But it wasn’t Jessie. So there was no opportunity to beg forgiveness. In fact, it was Raine, and Kim quickly hid her wounded hand--which had red welts from her teeth--behind her back. She took a breath before speaking. “Why aren’t you attached to Ebony?” He glanced at her; that sidelong better-than-you (what he called gother-than-thou) glance he had perfected. “We aren’t actually the same person.” “Could have fooled me,” she muttered. She turned around, ready to go back to her room and fuck Dave’s brains out. “You have lipstick on,” Raine said softly, sounding somewhat amused. “So? I was doing a shoot.” “No.” Now he sounded more amused. “On your cheek.” Kim’s hand strayed up to her cheek. And all she could wonder was if Jessie had seen her come in, if Jessie knew, if this meant that things were over forever. “I won’t tell,” Raine murmured, in mock conspiracy. Kim closed her eyes. Maybe she’d even let Dave be on top tonight; she had already lost all control. *** When in the recording studio, working on Blackened Princess, Kim had put together a song she was rather proud of. Ignoring the title, which was Not Another Love Song, she almost always called it the anti-ballad. It had been written because the musical representation for anything without a prick was atrocious. There were the bad-girl R&B acts like TLC that were getting some attention, the remnants of the wild ‘80s teeny-boppers (like Madonna, with her fancy new S&M phase), and the ballad-girls. These were what pissed Kim off the most. Whitney Houston and her indescribably monotonous I Will Always Love You, Celine Dion with the too-big and utterly pointless Where Does my Heart Beat Now. Kim had been adamant that there was no musical form lower than that made by the ballad-girls, so she had written her anti-ballad in response. It was written in the same pent up, mournful way that any of the radio hits were, with an achingly slow beat, just to make sure people understood what Kim was trying to prove. Then she tossed in a few dropped tones to give the song a personality instead of just leaving it pathetically flat like the songs she had been mocking. Out of everything Kim had written, Not Another Love Song had probably been the calmest and easiest to listen to. But onstage in New York, she caught the audience and her entire band off guard when she slammed into it so hard that at first the backing music couldn’t keep up. This was Kim’s choice for opening song of the night. She had ignored Wasted Assumption’s entire set, and had passed up on the chance for some sort of an opening rant. Who cared, anyway? She just pounded into the song in a voice that The Slits would have approved of, not caring who began to understand what she was going through. “I don’t need a future of flowers!” She snorted. “Fragrant meadows and story book harmony? Fuck no, I don’t want the life you expect a bleedin’ girl to reach for with wide-eyed wonder.” Kim was noticing, just barely, that the bassline hadn’t sped up with everything else; it was stilling holding to the original beat from the soft version of the song. Kim drove on, not letting it get to her. “Why the hell won’t you listen and why won’t you fucking believe when I say I don’t want another love song?” She felt her voice catching, and they were only minutes into the show. If she shredded her voice permanently, she didn’t really care. “You do nothing to amaze me or sweep me off my feet! You know I’m not bloody well moved that way.” A protest was now coming from someone other than Jessie (though who knew if Jessie was protesting or proving a point?). The sax had slowed down, and the piano followed it. Heather, getting rather fed up with all this, simply put her drumsticks down and waited to see what the remaining two musicians would do. The guitars both settled into the original speed of the song (probably, Kim told herself, so Elke wouldn’t sound like an idiot to be one of the only two people playing out of time). Kim glared back at Chatha, since she didn’t dare look at Jessie. Chatha just looked at her with hurt eyes, then looked away. Having no other choice, Kim continued the song the way she had originally written it. “This is the way I choose to present myself.” She felt a chill. “Maybe even the way I so choose to be. So maybe I’m not as harcore as I want, but I live for myself. I act for myself.” She put her hands up to the mic, realizing she didn’t want to be there. At all. She didn’t want to be singing these words that made her shake and feel sick, because they weren’t true anymore. She stood staring at the mic as the instruments around her played. Her band mates were probably waiting for her to break out into a rant; pull something that Kim Kissably would pull, even only minutes into the show. But Kim kept on staring at the mic, then she felt the tears rising up in her. She choked once, twice, and then it was a full sob, and she shoved the mic away from her. She turned away from the stage lights and audience, and she ran. No one offered any resistance until she’d reached a door backstage that led outside. Then Chatha was by her side, looking small and young but resolute. “Ah was gonna’ ask wha’s wrong,” the pink grrl said, “but ah think th’ fact that ah’m th’ only one ‘oo followed y’ is kinda m’answer.” Kim licked her lips, her hand on the bar that would push the door open and let her go running out onto the streets of New York. “Darlin’, be a dear and go amuse the audience. L.A. rather liked Drum Machines; don’t you think New York would too?” “Look, ah know ah’m th’ youngest. Ah know tha’ yr all thinkin’ ah’m real stupid’n everythin’, but I do ge’ wha’s goin’ on.” “No one thinks you’re stupid, darlin’. Just innocent.” “An’ ah keep tellin’ y’ tha’ ah’m no’. Y’know, even Zavier though’ I di’n’ know ‘bout you an’ Jess.” “There’s nothing to know,” Kim said softly. “I’s no’ like ah know wha’ anyone else sees, bu’ ah’ve been figurin’ some things out. An’ I miss y’.” “I’m right here, Chatha.” Chatha shook her head, looking far older than her 18 years, or even Kim’s 21. “Y’ ‘aven’t been “right ‘ere” fr so long, ah’m startin’ to wonder where y’ did go. Ah want y’ t’ be okay. You’re like m’sister. Y’ are m’sister. Ah don’ wanna lose y’.” Kim sighed deeply, feeling the tears on her cheeks. “I’m still here. I’m just having trouble figuring out where ‘here’ is right now, is all.” Chatha threw her arms around Kim, pulling her away from the door. “Ah’ll give up Zavier, an’ I’ll make Eb give up Raine, then we can kill Dave and that’ll bring Jessie back t’ you, an’ we’ll all be awright again.” Kim held her close, resting her forehead on the mess of pink hair. “It’s not that easy, Darlin’.” “Ah know.” Chatha heaved a humongous sigh, then giggled. “Can w’ still kill Dave?” Kim smiled slightly. “Dave’s my problem, luv. When he has to be dealt with, I’ll figure things out. But not yet.” “Oh.” “C’mon, let’s go teach New York about Robert Smith.” Chatha squealed and let go of Kim. “Can we?” Kim motioned in front of her. “After you.” Then, watching the pink grrl skip through the backstage area, Kim sighed and eventually followed. This
chapter includes lyrics to
Not Another Love Song, off the grrls' second album, Blackened
Princess. |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |