3. Savor The Kill
Another day, another city, another show.
Seth had left me earlier in the week to stay with Leah for a while. She was puking all night and day and he was the only one available to take care of her during the day. I had told him to go, but god damn did I miss him.
Joe handed me my compact mirror loaded with blow and a straw. "I'm fucking geeked, dude. Where'd you get this shit?"
"Some chick gave it to me last night," Bradley told him before he was passed the mirror.
"You just accept drugs from strangers?" I laughed.
"Like you don't," John said as he rubbed his finger across the now clean mirror.
"One of these days, we're going to end up snorting an RC and being hospitalized," I said.
"One of these days, you're going to get roofied," John cracked.
"And then we'll have to kill someone," Joe added.
I bumped his shoulder with mine. "This is some pretty serious coke, B." I stood up and shook myself. "Ooooh. Let's do something fun today."
"We have about two hours," John conceded. "What'd you have in mind?"
I clapped my hands dramatically. "SHOTS!" I yelled to the entire pub. "Shots, and then we travel, men!"
We tossed a few back and then we ran. We covered as much of the city as was possible with what time we had, laughing and playing and snapping pictures of each other around town. We ducked down alleyways to snort cocaine while people passed by on the streets above. We had a blast and we gave zero fucks.
By the time we hit the venue, I was so wasted. I could walk and talk but I was a jittery mess. I stumbled around the ladies restroom attempting to get myself ready.
"Ummm... need some help?" a girls voice asked. I had a long sleeved mesh top stuck on my head, and I really did need help. "I think your head is in an arm hole," she continued.
"Yes, please," I answered. The shirt was twisted and moved until it was in its proper spot.
"Oh, shit!" she gasped. "Liz! It's you!"
"That it is," I smiled.
"I'm a huge fan! Will you take a selfie with me?"
"Sure but let me finish getting dressed first."
The door clamored open and there stood John. He came in and quickly locked the door behind him.
"The fuck?" I pulled my bottoms the rest of the way up.
"Who's she?" he eyed the girl.
"Oh, I'm Erica." She bobbed her head nervously.
"How old are you, Erica?"
"Old enough?" she answered, unsure. "Seventeen."
"You should probably leave the immediate vicinity," he winked. She looked at me for confirmation.
"You don't want a record before you're an adult," I said with a shrug. "You're welcome to hang with us after the show, though."
John waved her away. "Bye, darlin'," he said as she left the room. He pulled out the remaining cocaine and dumped it on the edge of the sink. "You ready for this?"
My mouth was literally watering. "Oh, yeah," I smiled. We took our lines straight to the face and then he left the room, jittery and jumbled and wired. I applied my makeup sloppily and stared at my wide eyed reflection. "Showtime, motherfucker."
I ascended towards the stage straight through the crowd. People were pushing me, pulling me, starting to get a little chaotic. I wasn't totally there after a full day of booze and blow and I was laughing in the midst of it. I felt someone lift me up and carry me, then set me sitting up on the edge of the stage... and still I laughed as I sat there.
"Uh... Liz?" Joe came up behind me and wrapped my guitar across my front. "Hey! Come on, man."
"Shit," I giggled. I was supposed to be starting my show. But I was So. Fucked. Up. I stood up and got behind the microphone. "Guys? Guys," I said into the mic. "I am really fucking wasted right now."
And they screamed! They cheered! They yelled that they loved us. They yelled that they were fucked up, too. They yelled that they wanted to be.
I tossed my head back, howling with laughter and then I screamed right the fuck back at them. "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS READY FOR SOME DESPERATE ATTEMPT?!" They all went wild and we started to jam. I was in a haze but luckily, I wasn't me when I was on stage. Stage me was a motherfucking thrashing, wild beast.
Ten songs on our set list, twelve for a really large crowd. We were blasting through our songs just slightly quicker than normal due to our shared speed experience. First five songs went without a hitch; the crowd was feeling us, we were feeling them. I hit the sixth song and I'm starting to see red flying around me. My nose is just pouring blood and it's being slung wildly across my face, down my front, into my hair. The song ends and I take a drink of water, then take another and spew it out on everyone in front of me.
People are starting to react, yelling up to me that I'm bleeding, asking if I'm hurt.
"I'm bleeding?" I asked them. They all respond with a resounding yes. "Kids... this is why you don't do hard drugs." John starts right in with song number seven.
We wrap out show and everyone is still hyped, still wasted, looking for more. The guys all find groupies, and of course a bunch of groupies find me. Women in metal get all types - straight guys, lesbians, gay guys, straight girls, any demographic you can imagine offering me sex, drugs, clothing, keepsakes and everything in between. My night is a whirlwind of people begging me for a little attention. I do their dope, I drink their drinks and I attempt to give them some of what they're seeking.
Almost every somewhat popular musician out there thanks their fans, for obvious reasons. But most of them don't actually want to hang out with their fans. It's a business to them, an obligation to be filled at the correct price. I can understand their point of view, but I felt like they were really missing out.
I LOVED my fans. I loved meeting people from all over and getting to know them a little. When the dickwads in my band invited girls backstage and ditched them, I went out of my way to talk to them. When I met a fan that really stood out to me, I befriended them. I did this because I was one of them more than what they perceived me to be.
It was four a.m. when we started to head to our motel. It'd been a crazy night and one of the staff had to drive our van. My phone started to ring and I was immediately terrified that something bad had happened.
"What in the WORLD were you thinking?!" Anthony Boggs was my PR guy, and my natural born enemy. He was a homophobic, xenophobic, islamophobic Republican gun-toting scum of the Earth.
"Nice to hear from you, Boggs," I lied, my voice cracking sleepily.
"You think this shit is funny, don't you? It's not, Collins. It's really fucking not. You're a known liability - "
"Oh, fuck off! I'm not a fucking actress or a model or a Presidential candidate. The public is well aware of who I am. If I'm a liability now, I was a liability before and that makes it pretty fucking stupid for you to yell at me." I started to yawn.
He sighed in resignation. "I have an interview for you tomorrow. Guys name is Max Something, he's with Metal Injection. Can you handle that?"
"By tomorrow, do you mean later today? It's four in the morning here."
"Yeah, I do. Six o'clock."
"Okay, I guess." And then I hung up. He was sure to stew on that for at least a few hours and then he'd still worry I wouldn't show up for that interview.
I did show up, though, after a couple of hours of sleep, a shower, and a lot of caffeine. I met Max Something at a laid back restaurant and got a huge hoagie to enjoy while he threw questions at me. He seemed really nice, very personable, and also a little terrified of me. He warmed up, though. It was easy to see when it happened because he stopped asking piddly little bullshit questions and started in on the juicier goods.
"Any comment on what happened at your bands gig last night?"
I looked a bit puzzled. "Well, we had a pretty awesome show if that's what you mean."
"It's not," he smiled. I was more referring to the drug use and the blood flying everywhere."
"Oh, that!" I faked. "I mean, what can I say? I said what I said last night, it was pretty straightforward. I got fucked up before the show, I was fucked up during and I had a nosebleed. It happens."
"Does it bother you that people are comparing you to other young female celebrities that are well known for partying, such as Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, etc.?"
I slipped my sunglasses off and stared. "Does it bother me? Maybe, but not in the ways it would most people. It bothers me because I have a total of one thing in common with Lindsey Lohan. Not much of a comparison there. If the press or whoever wants to talk about me in reference to someone else, why not Joan Jett? Why not Otep? Why not any of countless other women in rock n' roll and metal that have had actual influence on me, my lifestyle, or my music? Better yet, why does it have to be a woman? You could compare me to Phil Anselmo, you could compare me to Dax Riggs. I've taken in a lot more of their personas than fucking Paris Hilton. Not to say I'm anywhere near as talented as any of those musicians, but fuck, man. Paris fucking Hilton?"
"Right on," he smiled. "What does your mystery boyfriend think about your staunch views?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, then relaxed and smiled. "No comment."
He turned his tape recorder off. "Off the record? I really am curious about this guy. Do you just hide him in hotel rooms?"
"Even better," I replied. "And off the record, I don't get why it even matters. I didn't become a professional musician to have people digging around in my personal life."
"Metal is making a comeback. You might have something to do with that." He tucked his things back into his trendy messenger bag. "Want a drink? I'll buy." He ordered us beers and then settled in more comfortably.
We were getting drunk and bullshitting like old friends. It wasn't until I said Seth's name and saw the spark of interest go off in him that I realized that wasn't the best idea.
"I should probably go," I told him. "We get up early tomorrow and head out."
"Out of New York?" he asked.
"Yeah," I gave him a look. "Off to Juggalo country."
He chuckled. "Sounds awesome."
It will be. Deftones and Incubus are playing an arena a city over."
"Big fan of theirs?" He started searching for a writing utensil. "On the record?"
"Definitely. Big fan, I mean. Deftones have been one of my favorite bands since White Pony came out. Chino Moreno's voice is just..." I shuddered a bit thinking about it. "It's so sensual. Their music has this flow to it that's almost ethereal feeling but they get really heavy as well. Magical."
He scribbled a bit longer and then smiled. "That was a great interview," he commented.
I laughed. "They're really not my strong suit."
We said our goodbyes then.