Eddie: she'd kissed his hand with an upward curl of tongue - each frostbitten knuckle printed in tattoo ink to spell out that elusive four-lettered word: love - and he'd hoisted her up in leather jacket arms she'd almost missed to the point of useless tears. He grappled vice-like to her hips, spun, and then, clung as she squealed and lifted her kicking four-inch heels onto his rock n' roll pedestal: precious motorbike with ice creeping in its unattended panes.
Down and dirty on the glistening pink and smoke-filled tile they rolled in imperfect unison and she pulled him down hard with tagging mayfly strands of that loose white scarf: chiffon before chiffon was cool and never, ever feminine. Unconventional alien conventionalists stirred to his down-boys horn rhythms: spaced out on a hot brass sound that promised, once again, a good old time.
Frank had shimmied out of her like an " old overcoat " for Eddie, now half-a-brain ex delivery boy with that notorious naiveté charm and a quickness with his fingers on hot metal and girls' garter belts. But lo and behold, they were very nearly in love! Her entire bedroom was a shrine plastered with images of his face. He was an unsanitary lover to the beat of alto sax - mutual and 100 monogamous in rock n' roll romance - and unlike a certain devil eyed sponge of a man he gave gave gave back what he took and what he took, well, made her shiver just in rapture with the thought.
Sad that he was bludgeoned to death with an ice pick, impaled in the deep freeze, before the end of the night. A mercy killing Frank had called it. Merciful for who was what she wanted to know! She could hear herself screaming - fingernails scraping - and black tears streaming thick in vain from made-up eyes.
He dragged himself from the deep freeze on six-inch pumps, that killer of a sweet transvestite of an alien of a man, blood on ice dragging him down and irritation in his step. Well, then she was shaking. Watching Magenta peel the blood spattered rubber gloves from Furter's hands as he held them out, pompous and feeling debased in the messy homicidal act, the domestic's lascivious scowl in turn curling rouged lips and not much for solace.
She turned her head. Marked down another lover on the list. Frank first, on his self-serving one man mission, and then this unmerciful tragedy to put the icing on the cake and simultaneously end Eddie's unfulfilled life. And to think her darling would become nothing more than a surviving part of that perfect muscle-bound creation and the thick cut sirloin of a macabre dinner. One down and none to go for Columbia.
Around that same time, Magenta, parallel to her brother in equal servitude, allowed for their alleged Master and his (in actuality, more Riff Raff's for his constant and exhausting work in the project) handsome newborn creation into the dark and somber bridal suite.
The name in itself should have been implication enough of the proceeding sexual acts that were to take place. First Rocky - then Janet, her fiancé Brad - Frank would deflower at least three that night. Even that was coming up short for the lustful alien, due to the excessive amount of lovers he could, did have at his fingertips given any night of the week. It was enough to make her scowl.
Later though she would have time for her dear brother, his neck sweet lover's bites and their symbolic hand-and-elbow show of deeper interconnected bonds. He would frighten Rocky from the dark bedsheets and rouse him from his gold lacquered chains with threat of fire and hot caking beige-white wax. Intimidated, frightened he would run and they would have their time alone, together, dark and sweet before Riff Raff sent the transmission through and she let loose the dogs a second late.
She would tend to the abrasions, stunted scars and lacerations - ringed with black merlot blood, dried in polka dot swarth formation - that biting whiplash tolled over his hunched and suffered back. But that was a good while after. Before that, she would see the so-called groupie and her acclaimed now-and-then comrade: Columbia.