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CHAPTER 62 “James Carroway speaking. This had better be important, as I’m currently waiting for a call from America.” Kim gripped the phone tighter. She considered not speaking. She considered instead throwing the phone at the wall as hard as she could, screaming and crying. Elke and Heather, after all... Heather and Elke. A filthy, snide drummer and a treacherous friend. Together. She found her voice, though, and spoke softly. “Is this the call you were waiting for?” “Kim.” “Fuck, don’t sound so bloody happy to see me, you old git.” She twisted the phone cord in her hands, and fell back onto the bed. “I’m not that tremendously bad, am I?” “I was expecting one of the others to call me; not expecting your voice. I heard you were sick. Though I do know what that means. Did you go off, get drunk, and fuck a stranger last night?” “Something like that,” she muttered. “I know Elvyn gets to you, but he shouldn’t get to you so badly.” “He had no right to tell this entire city that he was all for me! Now they’re going to think I feel something in reciprocation! Do you know how bloody much that sucks?” “Kim... I’ve known you a while now. Three years? In this short-lived business, that’s going good. You’ve put out two albums for me, you’ve come back to me every time you’ve found a hitch in life. Sometimes I feel as though you were my daughter. But if you were my daughter, I want you to understand that I would have to disown you for all this erratic behaviour.” “Bad threat, Carroway.” She paused. “Really, you are my father. I didn’t really have parents when I lived with them. They were mental cases who spent all their time in therapy. I don’t remember the last time I saw either one. I don’t remember the last words I said to either one, and it’s not even important to me to find it in myself again. I mean, who bloody cares? So they brought me into the world, so bloody what? Neither really acted as a parent. But I’ve learned from you, scary as it seems. The only thing that makes me otherwise from a normal daughter is a little thing called a contract. Meaning it isn’t actually legal for you to disown me. Nor is it legal for me to disown you. What is it, one more album, then we’re set to renegotiate?” Carroway laughed. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before dozens of times, but you’re spoiled rotten.” “And you’re a bloody wussy father. What of it?” She shook her head, unable to keep from smiling. “At least I listen.” “There is that. Sometimes I need that. It feels like you’re the only one there for me, Carroway. It’s beat-up-on-Kim year, I suppose. The media felt they had to desecrate my image, I keep having these fallings out with Jess... And Heather wants to bloody well see me dead. Did you know that? Of course you knew that.” “It’s no different from the beginning of your band.” “Oh ho, Carroway, that’s where you’re wrong. It is remarkably different. See, Elke’s fucking Heather now.” Her voice cracked, and she hoped Carroway didn’t notice. “I see.” “Yeh. It’s all... Y’know, it’s some sort of a revenge thing. Elke wanted me. Back when I had Gwen, Elke wanted me. And she brought Heather in to hurt me, and now I’m wondering if maybe Heather slept her way into the band, but I know Elke still wanted me after Gwen left, and after we had our hiatus, and that whole thing. I don’t know when it started. I just don’t. Can’t even imagine.” She couldn’t imagine the girl who had been her best friend years ago with her hands all over the filthy Heather. The damn bitch of a girl who wore makeup to look like dirt smudges, whose clothes were torn, and whose hair often had bits of twigs and leaves in it. Who always seemed to be right in ways that tore Kim apart inside. It was the ultimate betrayal. “I always suspected,” Carroway was saying. “And never thought to tell me?” “I never thought it was something you wanted to hear.” “You’re right.” “I’m sorry, if that helps at all.” “I don’t know how long we’re going to remain Kissably and the Sextet, Carroway. If I kill Heather, then we’re down to a quintet. Then if Ebony leaves to pursue Angelic Darkness, it’ll be a quartet. Take out Geneveve on an overdose or a fatal STD, and it’s a trio. Elke walks out because I killed Heather? Duet. Jessie leaves because I hurt her too much... Suddenly it’s Kim Kissably and the sorta-red-lipped-but-mostly-pink sax player. That’s not much of a bloody band.” “Do you foresee all this happening so soon?” “Foresee? Bloody hell, this isn’t something you just conjure out of thin air or divine or anything. This is the stuff of fucking nightmares. My nightmares. Hell, I might not even keep Chatha. She’ll go off with Xavier Holt from Wasted Assumption and make herself a new, fucked up experimental band with singles like Drum Machines! Then it’s just Kim Kissably, bitter and alone, but still oh so hot and young.” “So do you want the tour to end sooner?” “No, surprisingly.” “Explain that.” “See... When we’re touring, we’re obligated to each other.” Saying that, Kim realized she’d have to play the show that night, or Carroway would personally fly up and kill her. “None of us can run out, not for good. I’m terrified that when we get back to England, everyone will just drift away, and we’ll never find each other again. Sure, we might hate each other, but... We make damn fine music. And that’s what it’s about. None of us would have ever won any popularity contests, except maybe Chatha. And strangely enough, Raine, but he’s not really one of ours.” She paused. “Fuck, did you ever find out why he’s famous anyway?” “You don’t know?” “Hello? Would I be asking if I knew?” Carroway laughed. “Raine, now the king of the goth world for marrying none other than Ebony Darkness, was known before that because he was the frontman of a goth-industrial band. This was when industrial was just leaving synth-pop behind, and you were all kids.” “Called?” “The Coming Dawn.” “So he was a club kid. Wasted Assumption before they existed.” “He was a wild club kid. Better yet, born in Germany. No parents; they died in a car crash, and he was sent to live with British relatives when he was six. That was ’76, so he was just barely old enough to understand the big punk wave in ’79--” “Which was when you were in Terror Town.” “Yes. But everyone was in a punk band in ‘79. And little Raine--” “Know his real name?” “No one does.” “How do you know all this shit?” “Goth club rumours. If you ask him to verifiy any, he’ll only smirk and walk away.” “Sounds like him. Continue?” “Little 9-year-old Raine tried his best to do the punk scene, much to the dismay of his relatives. But Sex Pistols brought him to the Banshees, and the Banshees brought him to the Cure, and he somehow found Christian Death, Sisters of Mercy, and all the rest along the way. So in ’89, he was screaming and raging with The Coming Dawn, wearing badly done eyeliner and all the expected fishnets and band logos.” “Why’s he famous, though? Everyone’s clubbed with a band or two; that means shit.” “He was living with his uncle, who was arrested in ’89 for murder.” “Great family that guy’s got. What kind of murder?” “The variety where the victim is left lacking a lot of blood.” Kim sat up. “So all the little club goths said ‘vampire’--” “And Raine became famous overnight. Precisely.” “Shit!” “The attention changed his style, of course. He went from the trash-industrial look to a more Smith meets Dracula thing. And a few years later, he found Ebony or she found him, and you know it from there on in.” “So was his uncle ever convicted?” “No. Ended up he was completely innocent. The real killer is right now serving a life sentence.” “And Raine gets to keep his fame. Why’d he quit with music?” “He realized he was no good.” “Sorta like you?” Kim grinned. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” “You’re playing tonight?” “I have to.” “Do me a favour?” “Depends.” “Just extend the tour through the summer.” “So are you our manager now? I thought Jess did that.” “Think of me as the unofficial manager.” “Summer is pushing your bloody luck.” “Well?” “Let me think about it! I’ve got to go ask Raine about his mysterious past.” |
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Talk to LL,
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