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CHAPTER 63 After an elusive conversation with Raine, where Kim learned even less than she had expected, she went back to tell Carroway that the tour would extend into the summer, so long as he got her and her grrls out of the States. So it was that Kim Kissably and her entourage found themselves in Canada, of all places, by May. This hadn’t even been discussed at the beginning of their American tour. As Heather had pointed out peevishly, “we didn’t say North American, we just said American. Next, you’ll have us in Mexico!” Kim had reminded Heather that there was a South America too, which had helped shut her up. “We were never at all specific, after all,” Kim had told her. “We could have a go at all the Americas.” Canada was more than just an unexpected tour stop; it also ended up to be a very kind and solicitous country. People in the service industry smiled and chatted and didn’t seem at all resentful that they had to be helping foreigners. In fact, many of them were curious about England and asked a few too many questions. Kim would smile back and answer as many as she had time to. The number of people who stared at the band as they walked the streets was far smaller than in the States, as well. In the east, when they played Toronto, almost no one thought to look twice. It made Kim wonder if she should go back to her hotel room and dye all her hair green, but Jessie talked her down from it. Several times. “It’s not that I want to be a circus attraction,” Kim muttered. “But not everyone out there is as hot and weird and scary as we are; I want a li’l bit of bloody attention! I am a celebrity, but these bloody Canadians only notice I’m British.” “It’s our fault for not trying to press our influence up here before,” Jessie reminded her. “They have the CDs, but they’ve never had us.” “Well, the bloody States never had us.” “No, but you did expressly say that we would never go to the States, so of course everyone there assumed they had to see you some day.” “No one believes a word out of a punk goddess’s mouth, hm?” Jessie smiled faintly. “You left punk behind with the first album.” “Bitch.” Working their way west, a few more people paid attention. In Calgary, where they were only playing at a university ballroom, cars actually slowed the one time all the grrls were out together (and they were only out together, because they were all trying to find downtown; Elke and Kim hadn’t spoken since Seattle). Kim had told everyone that was more like it, then she had set out to explore the city’s relatively clean downtown area with Jessie and Chatha, leaving the rest to do whatever they wanted. By Vancouver (and mid June), people were staring at them for different reasons. Kim got the familiar thrill of voices whispering “is it her?” as she passed, and she decided she definitely liked this city best. In Vancouver, they had a stadium show again, and an extremely nice hotel. The hotel had been an anniversary gift to Raine and Ebony straight out of Carroway’s own pockets, since they would be celebrating their first year together there. He had told the band to not expect such treatment ever again, but Kim still insisted that he was a big softy. Before their Vancouver show, Kim spent a few hours lying in her expansive room. She had decided that she could get used to this. The bed was four-poster, and those posts were thick and intricately carved. There were mesh curtains in black and red, to match the room’s moody décor. Carroway definitely knew how to pick ‘em. The room itself was probably as big as her flat back in London, and that made her think that maybe she should get a new flat upon her return. With mesh curtains in red and black, and intricate wooden carvings. After all, she ought to start living like a rock star. Maybe get herself a mansion, so she wouldn’t have treacherous bitches like Elke living anywhere near her. She would be okay with Ebony, Chatha and Jessie still hanging around. Though Ebony was bound to get herself a mansion before anyone else in the band, since she had two relatively thriving means of income. And Chatha probably wouldn’t come without Xavier. Kim knew that shouldn’t be a problem for her; after all, it had been a one-night-only thing. It had been an incredible one-night-only, and she was sure that she could find someone that good in bed who wasn’t younger than her and taken by another. Somehow. Both Xavier and Chatha were still insisting that they existed in an open relationship, but Kim was sure Darius wouldn’t see it that way when they got back to London, and he’d send himself packing. Their bond was getting sickeningly strong, and if there was another marriage out of the Sextet, it would be Chatha and her boy-goth bassist. Only because of how close Chatha and Xavier were, Kim had held off fantasizing about him. She was tempted to. Often. Even as drunk as she had been, what she could remember had been amazing. The way he had led without being overbearing. His subtly lined eyes and the way he tried not to make a sound, though rather unsuccessfully. His deadly gentle kisses, whispering against her skin, and his hot hands moving so surely that he couldn’t have been younger than her. But of course, these thoughts weren’t allowed. So Kim sat up and crossed her legs, sitting between the posts at the end of the bed. Xavier was taken. She had Dave, who would still sometimes share her bed, and who had traveled all the way to Canada with her. That had to show he was worth something, right? Right. Of course. He was worth at least one quick romp a night. Kim stretched, then got off the bed. “Time to psych,” she told herself, even though she wanted to lie down again and cook up some wild, horny fantasy. It was okay to let her mind wander a little bit, but she had to be deciding important things like rant topics and wardrobe in the time she had before they left for the stadium. “First Canadian stadium,” she told her mirror image. Then she gave her mirror image the finger, not liking the fact that her hair was a solid red. A smile crossed her reflection as she thought of what it would be like to let Jessie do her hair again; to get banned from a fancy hotel for life because their excessive play permanently stained everything blue. Angry at herself for thinking of Jessie that way again, she started brushing her just-red hair. Maybe she would have to do something extreme, like cut it all off. It was almost down to her waist now, and it was such a pain in the ass. Sometimes she woke up sure she was strangling herself. At least the guys like it. And the girls. And most anything with a sex drive. But Kim was getting bored of being a sex symbol. She’d chastised the audience all she could back on the tour for Torn Horses, and she had at least one more album to look forward to as Kim Kissably and the Sextet. Maybe she could last longer. Maybe she could make herself. Kim put down the brush and stared at herself. For a moment, she wondered if she saw lines under her eyes. She was only 22. “Feel as old as Carroway,” she muttered. This wasn’t the proper attitude for her show, though. She had to feel like the punk-rock slut in schoolgirl attire who could control anything with a prick. She had to feel like a self-possessed grrl. She had to. “I am a goddess,” she told her reflection defiantly; somehow, her reflection still didn’t look like one. “I control every thing with a prick out there. My whim is theirs.” She couldn’t meet her own eyes; she wasn’t sure anymore if her ‘whim’ was her own. Leaving the mirror behind, she went to rummage through one of her suitcases, tossing plaid skirts and dress pins on the floor around her. She didn’t even look up when there was a knock on the door, assuming it was the cleaning ladies, and they’d let themselves in if it was really that important. A few more knocks, and Kim threw a dress pin at the door. It remained closed tightly, but would be a hazard to anyone walking around barefoot. “Bugger off,” she called. “Kim, I lost my key.” It was Dave. “So go to your own bloody room.” She tossed another dress pin at the door, and picked one up so she would be ready on the next interruption. “Kim…” This one hit the door and popped open. With a sigh, Kim got on her feet and went to the door, avoiding the pins. “What do you want?” She opened it a crack. “Raine and Ebony’s room is right beside mine, and they’re enjoying their anniversary a bit too enthusiastically for my taste. Wanna fuck?” He grinned like a kid, then pushed his way into the room. “Careful on the floor,” she said dully, and turned away. “What’s wrong?” “I’m scared these Canadians won’t like my dirty words.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is the first stadium we’re hitting. Carroway thinks we should go back to the other cities and try for something bigger, but I don’t know. Canada seems tame.” “Don’t let it make you tame, babe.” He slipped his arms around her waist and ground into her. She draped her arms over his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Blue, like a movie star. Like an All-American, with sandy brown boy-next-door hair. “This is just about sex, right?” Her hand strayed up to play with his hair. She leaned back, letting him support her weight. He was guiding them over to the bed, careful to avoid her dress pins on the floor. “And lots of it.” “You’re not here for emotional fulfillment or anything, right?” “Pure infatuation, baby.” “Do you expect me to take you home like a lost puppy dog?” “You can keep me chained in the backyard.” He grinned again, easing her onto the bed. “You are the last man in my life,” she said, almost a reminder to herself. “So make it last as long as it can.” “Do you think I look old?” He kissed her before answering, his tongue tracing just inside her lips. “You, dear Kissably, are the epitome of hot youth. And you’re never going to burn up or out.” “What would you do if I told you I fucked Zavier?” He’s eyes darkened for a moment, but he forced a smile and kissed her again. “I’ve already told you, I know I can’t have you all to myself. No one’s that selfish, anyway. Celebrities are public domain.” “So I’m everyone’s whore,” she murmured. “Hm?” She grabbed him and flipped him over on the bed, then pinned him there. “I need to prepare myself for the show, hon,” she purred. “Now... You’d better start begging.” |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |