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CHAPTER 58 Kim had already lost track of the month and the city. It was winter ... or was winter over? They kept jumping states so often, it was hard to tell time by the climate. Kim had surprised herself and everyone else when she told Carroway they would extend the tour, but by then it was all she had keeping her together. It didn’t really matter anymore that this was all in front of an American audience, because shows were starting to blur together. She began to become guilty of something she had always flagged other bands for: recycling her pre-song speeches. She just found she didn’t have the energy to come up with new and exciting ways to insult men anymore, and besides, there didn’t seem to be much point in doing that. The American media now seemed caught up on her softer side. Punk bitch with a heart of gold, so said Marsha’s little interview, which had made it straight to Rolling Stone. This, of course, had to be accompanied by a picture of her during a live show with her shirt just barely on, screaming into the microphone. Kim didn’t even think she looked at all good in it. Talia’s interview opened insisting that Kim wasn’t nearly as militant as she made herself out to be, and was just more or less confused. This interview had, ironically enough, made its way into Playboy just in time to accompany her nudie pics. A picture of her wearing nothing but a vinyl bikini bottom, with her legs drawn up to her chin and her feet apart, was what adorned the front of the magazine, with the teaser “You may have more of a chance with her than you think.” She didn’t necessarily feel betrayed. She had known the pictures and interviews would go to the highest bidder, and part of her had been expecting this. Regardless of everything going on, or more likely because of, she found herself getting depressed more and more often. Nothing seemed worth doing anymore. Everything that had been worth it had already been done, multiple times. She was losing herself into a sad apathy, and no one was really going out of their way to save her from herself. Armed with a copy of January’s Rolling Stone, February’s Playboy, and a CD she had bought on a current outing, Kim knocked carefully at the door to Jessie’s hotel room. It was something she hadn’t done for months; hadn’t dared to even try. Yes, things had been left open... Jessie had more or less invited Kim to grow up and join her, but Kim had brushed it aside with her usual melodramatic flair. Growing up was something Kim never planned on doing, anyway, so she knew she could never get everything back with Jessie. But she at least wanted friendship again. She wanted to be able to feel alive around someone, which she now didn’t even feel with Dave. The door was opened hesitantly, then Jessie just stood there, looking at her. She didn’t seem surprised. Nor did she seem happy. She just pushed her hair, which was now layered and getting wild, out of her face and watched to see what Kim would do. Kim twisted a lock of her own straight, fading red hair between her fingers, highly conscious of how much of a mess she looked. She held out her hand with the CD, forcing herself to smile a little. “A peace offering.” Jessie’s mahogany eyes fell to the CD, and then rose back to Kim. They were veiled behind mascara’d lashes, seeming darker under a dusting of brown eyeshadow. “Kate Bush?” The lips that formed the question were a deep wine colour. “I figured that you had everything by The Cure, even the American Boys Don’t Cry. Besides, I wouldn’t want to give you anything with male vocals right now, even when they can be as femme as Robert Smith. And I know for a fact that you have everything Sioux has done, so... See, I know you’re interested in Kate. Almost sure you don’t have more than a best of, and--” “And you hate her. So why use something you hate as a peace offering? This is the first time you’ve fucking talked to me since September outside of a professional relationship, and you come in offering me a CD you hate.” Jessie’s hand, which Kim noticed had well-shaped nails that were painted daring red, held the edge of the door tighter. Fearing that Jessie was about to shut the door, Kim shook her head and took a step forward, getting a foot in the doorway. “It’s opened, see? My offering isn’t so much the CD as the fact that I tried it... It bloody well took me three tries before I understood what she’s doing, because her voice bloody confuses me, but she’s an amazing artist, really. And she’s hot, to boot. Just look at her.” Jessie took the CD from Kim. “The Dreaming.” “A good 10 or so years old. I bought it for the cover, but it turns out there’s more to it than the cover. I still find it hard to settle into, but--” “I’ll listen. Thanks.” Kim swallowed. She hugged the magazines to her chest. “You’re welcome, I suppose.” “Were you only here for that, then?” Jessie was trying to keep up the cold edge to her voice, but it was slowly fading. The look of disdain she had been forcing on her face was also edging away, leaving a look just as lost as Kim’s. “I’ve missed you.” “You saw me on stage last night.” “You know what I mean.” “I’d like to say I missed you too, but I’m not entirely sure who you are anymore.” Jessie walked into her hotel room, letting Kim follow. “I’m the punk bitch with a heart of gold. Didn’t you know?” She threw the magazines past Jessie, managing to land Rolling Stone on the bed, but Playboy ended up on the floor. Jessie stared at the magazine on the floor, where Kim (with her blue streaks airbrushed in) was posing for all the men who had enough money, wearing a black vinyl fetish bikini. “If the media thinks you’re that easy to get,” Jessie muttered, “they have a lot yet to learn.” “You’ve lost weight,” Kim said quietly. She fought the urge to say “a lot,” and managed to win against it. “Really? Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.” “You’ve changed.” “And you say this as though you haven’t?” “Jess--” “Why the fuck are you here?” Kim felt a rush of tears, and she turned away, heading for the door. “Doesn’t bloody matter, does it?” Jessie didn’t make a move to stop her. That’s what made Kim stop when she reached the door, and slam her open palm into it. “Fuck!” She turned back, figuring it was useless by then to attempt to hide the tears. “I didn’t want it to fucking happen like this!” “You mean you didn’t intend to fuck everyone who crossed your path?” “What I wanted with you--what I had with you--was friendship, Jess-luv. Not like two schoolgirls who know each other’s dirty little secrets, no, but two souls who may as well be one, what for all they share. If I were ever to love, it wouldn’t be about fucking. It would be about friendship. And I hurt our friendship more than anything else the first time I shared your bed, because we both knew my nature from the beginning and we both tried to pretend we didn’t. I am not alone in this fault. I’m not alone in this. I am so bloody alone everywhere else, I just can’t be here. Please. Please, Jess, I’ve been dying. You don’t uderstand how far gone I am, Jess, please.” Jessie sat down in front of the chest of drawers. “I do understand, Kim.” She opened up the top drawer and took out a piece of paper. “I wrote something for you. I was going to slip it under your door sometime before the tour ended. Maybe. I don’t know.” “What is it?” “A song?” She shrugged. “I’m not the lyricist here.” “And yet your lyrics are always the strongest between us.” Jessie held the piece of paper out to Kim, and she took it. “Do I read it now?” Kim traced the edges, but didn’t unfold it. “Sure.” “Out loud?” “Be my guest.” Kim sat on the bed and opened the paper. She took a breath, then read. “She had such a pretty face. Now I watch it waste away.” Her hand trailed up to her face, and she traced the bags under her eyes. “Do you know what they say about the fatally ill? Neither do I. It’s all hush hush. It’s something you just don’t talk about. She had such a simple smile, now I watch it twist in pain, and how can I refrain from crying with her?” Her voice faltered. She swallowed. “I’m on my knees now. It’s my turn to beg now. I want everything back, right where it was.” Jessie closed her eyes, tensing. “She had beauty in her motions, and beauty in her words, but she stands here as betrayal.” Kim winced. “She lives here through betrayal. She dies here in betrayal.” She folded the paper up, then started crying again in earnest. She drew her legs up onto the bed, and buried her face into her knees. It took minutes before Jessie was beside her, tentatively touching her shoulder and breathing whispered words that neither of them understood. “It can’t go back,” Kim said through her tears. She struggled to regain her composure, but it was a lost cause. “Not the way it was. Because that’s not what we’re meant to be.” “Then what are we meant to be?” “True friends. We’re meant to live in each other’s hearts, not in each other’s hormones. You mean too much to me, Jessie. Jessica. As fucked up as we both are, we are each other. And I need you as that, not as another conquest in the bedroom.” “Maybe when you grow out of this...” Kim pulled away. “Maybe.” She hugged her knees. “It’s just that this tour is killing me. I don’t know where or when I am anymore. Or who, for that matter.” “Promise me there’ll be no more naked pictures?” “More than a promise; it’s my new motto.” “And stay away from the media?” “They’ve already scarred me for life. I don’t think I could face another reporter if I had to.” Kim looked at Jessie. “Your turn, now. Promise me that we’ll always be friends, and what we’ve done in the past won’t get in the way?” “Things like that can’t be promised.” “Promise you’ll try?” “Yes.” Kim let go of herself and sprawled back on the bed. “Where are we, anyway?” Jessie smiled. “I’ve lost track, too.”
This chapter includes lyrics from
The Best of the Dying, off the grrl's third
album,
Bright Eyed Naive. |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |