SURVIVAL OF THE MISFITS
By Stormkeeper
Once again, I wish to thank my diligent, detailed, and creative beta-testers: Denisia and Severine.
CHAPTER THREE
I tracked down Craig at our family house the next day.
"I got a little gift for you," I said, smiling and handing my brother an envelope. I glanced around and saw that he was doing an admirable job, for a bachelor, of keeping the place clean. The living room was a bit unkempt but the carpet had been recently vacuumed. The kitchen looked decent too with no dishes in the sink. But I mostly wanted to concentrate on the look on Craig's face.
"A gift? What's this?" he asked quizzically.
"Just open it," I grinned.
He did so. It was a gift certificate to Leber Jewelers, one of the top jewelry stores that featured stunning pieces, some of which were very unique. The certificate was for no small amount either, and I saw his eyes get really wide.
"Mary!" he exclaimed.
"It's for you to go and get Aja something nice," I said. "You told me you felt bad about not being able to get her some jewelry. So now you can get her some. In fact, I think they're having a sale on sapphires and rubies this weekend. I saw some great necklaces and earrings when I went there to get this, and I bet sapphires would work really well with Aja's coloring."
"I can't accept this! You're already paying for my health insurance, paying all the utilities here, letting me use your car – "
"Craig, who cares? I've got a lot of money saved. We made a lot, in the Misfits, over the years. This isn't that much money, and I want you to have it!"
"No, Mary. I won't take it."
"Well, there's nothing else that can be done with it. I've already bought the gift certificate and they won't refund it," I said, smiling. "Guess you're just gonna have to take this."
I love giving. It makes me feel really good. We went back and forth on this for a few minutes, but in the end Craig took the certificate.
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"Alright, Stormer, I've been saving it for you."
Roxy had a big, juicy zit on her forehead. I grinned. I like to pop pimples, and I rarely get them myself. But pimples make recurring visits on Roxy's face no matter what she applies to fend them off. Years ago I'd comment on them, asking her if she liked to pop them. I kept mentioning it enough that one day she finally rolled her eyes and said, "Oh for Christ's sake, do you just want to pop it yourself?" She had let me squeeze it. Now it was a tradition for us whenever she had pimples. She never got scars from the popping and whatever pain it caused apparently didn't bother her.
Jetta eyed us as I popped Roxy's pimple. "Gross," she muttered, shaking her head. "You two are barmy."
Pizzazz entered the studio. We were at Stinger Sound that afternoon. I looked at Pizzazz and noted that she was dressed up a lot more than she usually would for our sessions. Her make up was freshly applied and she had asked me to do her hair earlier. Her wrist was accented by the emerald and diamond bracelet we had purchased for her. I wondered if she wanted to look her best in case Riot happened by. Despite everything he had done to us, she still wanted to impress him.
"Okay, we gotta get to work here," Pizzazz commanded. A simple, 'Hello and good afternoon everyone,' would've been nice, but who am I kidding? Courtesy is not Pizzazz's strong point.
"Remind me why we're here again," Roxy groaned. She was slouched over in her seat, drinking a beer.
"We're gonna start making better quality recordings of the new songs," Pizzazz said, impatiently.
"Yeah, the equipment here's better," Jetta added.
Although the Gabor mansion also had a room we used for jamming and rehearsals, the facilities at Stinger Sound were better equipped. We weren't ready to begin recording the new album – not by a long shot – but we wanted to start laying down some more solid recordings of the new songs. We (well, I mostly) would play around with them for a while before they'd ever make it onto an album, continuing to refine and develop the songs.
Jetta then turned to me and smiled, "That was a cracker of a new song we did at the concert! The audience loved it."
"Now's the time to take the momentum from the show and keep working," Pizzazz said.
"A few of the articles on us mentioned that we were working on new material," I added. "We got great such coverage from that show. Er – not as great as what we used to get, of course. But maybe that'll help generate the excitement we need before our next release."
"We need every damn edge we can get with the music biz still in the toilet," Pizzazz grumbled.
So Roxy agreed, and we spent a few hours recording. It was a productive session. We hadn't intended to improvise but at one point Jetta embellished a track with her saxophone, adding in a solo of sorts. It was unexpected. Pizzazz heaped praise on it when we were finished with the song.
Not to be outdone, apparently, Roxy expanded her guitar solo on the next song. It was good but pretty rough though. Jetta's addition to the previous song sounded as if she'd been working on it earlier; it was more polished than what Roxy improvised.
"What'ya think?" Roxy asked, when the song was over. She was looking at Pizzazz, grinning in her direction.
But Jetta jumped in and replied, "Your little guitar solo? Ruddy awful! Were you making it up on the spot?"
Roxy made a face and I saw her hands clenching into fists. "Oh, stuff it up your ass, Jetta. It's called jamming. Besides, I'd like to hear you try to play guitar!"
"I'll play guitar when you learn how to play saxophone," Jetta shot back, taking a menacing step towards Roxy.
I sat down and sighed glumly. I wasn't up for another Roxy-Jetta spat. God knows I've heard enough of them over the years. The thought of another one made my bones weary.
Fortunately, Pizzazz seemed to agree. "Knock it off, you two! I'm not in the mood for another one of your fights. Besides, it's dinner time and I'm starving!"
Roxy and Jetta both looked at Pizzazz. Our leader looked quite serious about not wanting to referee a fight. They relaxed their stances.
I offered to make a reservation at one of the Pizzazz's favorite places. It was a traditional five star restaurant, known for its fine dining and outrageously expensive entrees. I don't think Pizzazz cared for the ambiance, but the food was good. I liked it just fine but their portions were actually kind of small and I hoped Roxy would be alright as she prefers larger portions. I inwardly sighed, resigned to the fact that I would be sharing much of my entrée with her. Well, she did let me pop her pimple earlier so I guess we would be even.
As we drove there, I reminded the others that we would need to be on our best behavior lest we attract the attention of the Morality Officers.
We entered the dimly lit restaurant. Dull music, way too subdued for us, played in the background as we walked towards the maitre-d'. The dour, thin man greeted the four of us with a stern, "Are you ladies alone?"
"Do we look like we're goddamn alone?" Pizzazz shot back.
The unfazed host looked at us reproachfully and replied, "I don't see a gentleman in your midst. You four women are dining alone?" he repeated. Honestly, I think he would've used more courtesy had he been addressing pond scum.
"Yeah, we are," Pizzazz insisted, exasperated. "Get the manager out here and tell him that Phyllis Gabor is here and wants a table."
The maitre-d' turned and wordlessly left, apparently to do Pizzazz's bidding. "Why that asshole," Roxy muttered. "I oughtta rearrange his face."
"Not here, Roxy," I urged quietly.
By the time the manager arrived, a young couple (a guy and a girl) arrived and were promptly seated by another server. The manager offered a stiff and insincere apology, and found us a table.
Our dinner conversation was stilted. Well, it's not like we ever sat around discussing Dostoevsky or had the most scintillating conversations in the world but this evening was truly a bit awkward. Bad feelings between Jetta and Roxy drifted around, as did the apprehension over our incident with the host. Would we someday be unable to dine out at all? What if Pizzazz hadn't been the daughter of Harvey Gabor and the heiress to the Gabor fortune?
On the way home, Pizzazz asked me if I'd use this cool scalp massager thing she had on her. She actually didn't ask me; it was more like she ordered me. But I didn't mind at all. The scalp massager is this thing with a handle – it's got lots of these prongs that poke out and you run it all along your (or someone else's) scalp. That used to be a small part of her spa ritual too, and Pizzazz was still mourning, I think, the fact that the mansion no longer had its own mini-resort.
When we neared the mansion, Roxy and Jetta began another spat. I don't even remember who started it or what it was about. I got the idea that Roxy was still sore about the disparaging comments on her improvised work. Pizzazz seemed to be tuning them out. Wordlessly she and I walked to her room. She seated herself in her favorite cushiony chair, and I retrieved the scalp massager from the dresser.
A second or two after I got to work, a soft tap sounded on the door.
"Pardon me for interrupting, Miss Gabor," James, the butler began. "But you have a phone call. It's from a Mr. T.R. He is on hold. Would you like to take the call?"
I gripped the massager more tightly. Techrat. I wondered what he might have discovered. I sensed it would not be good.
"Yeah, bring it in!" Pizzazz ordered.
Pizzazz's conversation with Techrat was brief. "He's got news for us," she said, after hanging up. "We're goin' there in person to find out what it is."
I wondered why she didn't push harder to make Techrat tell us over the phone what his news was. After all, we were all tired from the recording session and the heavy dinner, and Pizzazz had just begun to mellow out with me and the scalp massager. But less than ten minutes later, we were on the road with Roxy and Jetta. No one grumbled about the impromptu trip.
During the car ride, I looked out the window at the night sky. The bright lights of the city sped by as we neared the deserted area of Techrat's lair. The anxiety slowly began to build inside my gut and fears of an uncertain future swirled around again. I thought of the plan we had agreed to with Craig – building a hideaway – and my blood chilled at the idea that we someday may need to use it. I leaned my head against the window. I tried to focus my thoughts elsewhere so I began to mentally replay our session at Stinger Sound. The songs danced inside my head anew, and I started to embellish them -- a new riff here, a more dynamic opening there. I didn't realize that I was humming until Jetta gently tapped my shoulder, an amused look on her face.
We entered Techrat's home. Several glowing computer monitors illuminated the dark, cavernous space. I had managed to banish the anxiety during most of the car ride, but it was returning once more. I felt like downing valium in an effort to steady myself.
"Alright, Techrat, what's so important that you couldn't tell us over the phone," Pizzazz demanded.
"I just got into one of the Morality Office's computer systems," he rasped. "They're suspicious of you."
"No shit, we already knew that," Roxy said. Her arms were crossed and she looked distinctly tired and cranky. "They paid us a visit before the concert and said they put my name in some sort of database."
"Riot recently spoke with someone he knows there," Techrat continued, as if Roxy hadn't spoken. "He asked them to re-examine your blood test results from the night of the concert. Riot also had contact with this officer before then. Their records indicate that Riot asked them to come to the concert and require you, and the other bands, to take the test."
Jetta's eyes flew wide. "So it's not just enough that the bloody bastard set us up the night of the concert. He's still after us!"
"Big surprise," Roxy snorted.
Jetta shook her head. "Can't believe he didn't think we'd suss him out eventually."
I looked at Pizzazz. I wasn't sure what to expect – maybe for her to start throwing a tantrum and scream. But she wasn't doing that. Instead she closed her eyes and shook her head. I saw a wistful look on her face that suggested realization and resignation.
"What did I ever see in him?" Pizzazz finally breathed. She uttered it as if to herself, but it was loud enough that we all overheard her.
I blinked and took in Pizzazz's question. Somehow I knew, my instincts told me with certainty, that she had just turned a corner. Maybe it was the result of everything we had experienced during the last few months. But somehow I knew that Pizzazz had finally accepted in her gut what her brain had been telling her for years now, about Riot.
"That son of a bitch," she seethed. I then saw a look of enmity in her eyes, the likes of which I'd never seen from her, not even directed towards Jem.
Before we left, Techrat gave us print-outs of what he had discovered. He also gave us the contact information for a former member of the Morality Office. This former officer had been kicked out due to testing positive and apparently he was starting to work in opposition to their restrictive policies. Techrat mentioned that he came across this guy's information, and Jetta said that she thought he might make a good contact someday.
We piled back into the car after our meeting with Techrat. Roxy sat in the driver's seat (she's been doing more and more driving since our lead singer is finally coming to accept the fact that her driving is a menace to everyone, herself included) with Pizzazz on the passenger's side. Jetta and I sat in the backseat. We pulled out of the desolate area that surrounded Techrat's hideaway and sped towards the highway.
I hadn't noticed the storm clouds that had begun to gather on our way to Techrat's because I had been so wrapped up in worry. But by the time we left, the rain poured heavily. A strong wind blew.
We were quiet for the first several moments of our car ride. Once Techrat had shared his information with us, there had not been much conversation at all. Various possibilities had been playing out in my mind and they all led towards the same outcome.
Finally, Jetta's voice, with its accent that I always found beautiful, pierced the silence. "It's really pissing it down," she observed.
"I think that means it's raining hard," Roxy muttered sarcastically.
Jetta ignored her. "So, mates, now we know that Riot is still working with them to get at us," she said. "What do we do?"
"We gotta get Riot to stop," I offered. My sentiment may have been obvious but I thought I needed to say it anyway.
"Too bad we don't still got Zipper," Roxy said. "I'd like to send that thug over to Riot's and give him a piece of our minds. Scare him and show him what he gets for messin' with us."
"But that won't work," Pizzazz said flatly. "We don't have a Zipper anymore, and even if we did get somebody else, we can't threaten Riot. That penthouse he lives in has security like the Pentagon. So does Stinger Sound. Besides, they could always trace whoever we send back to us."
"Even if we could do it, I don't think that would do any good anyway," Jetta added. "It would probably make him all the more eager to get at us."
We were quiet again for several moments. I wished Roxy would slow down. She was a better driver than Pizzazz but even still, the highway was dark and the rain persistent.
"Maybe someone needs to ask him to stop," I suggested.
"We can't ask him to stop, you idiot," Pizzazz snapped irritably.
I bit my tongue at that comment. She had not called me "you idiot" or something as bad for many years. I did not want to argue this point with her now, but I made a mental note that I was not going to let that pass. I would need to confront her later but this was not the time to get upset over that.
And neither Roxy nor Jetta said anything either.
"He's not gonna listen to us," Pizzazz continued. "He's never cared a shit for me."
Once again, I was glad to hear Pizzazz verbalize the conclusion that I sensed she had finally internalized. The four of us were quiet once more and I hoped that one of the other three would propose the idea that I had. No one did.
"Then we gotta find someone who Riot will listen to," I finally said.
"Well who the hell would that be?" Roxy asked. "I don't think he listens to anyone. He calls the shots with Minx and Rapture – not that either of them would help us anyway."
"The only person he seems to care for is that bugger Jem," Jetta concluded. "Unless something's changed, he still fancies her."
Again I silently prayed that Pizzazz or one of the others would suggest it. But no one did, so I gently prodded them again.
"Maybe Jem could talk to Riot on our behalf," I said.
"What!" Pizzazz cried out.
"Why'd she want to help us?" Roxy asked, nearly as dismissive as Pizzazz.
"She's helped us before," I said, marveling at Roxy's short memory. "I think she would do it again if we asked."
"No f---ing way," Pizzazz said. "I am not going to her to ask for help!"
"So then what do we do, guys?" I asked. "Do we just sit around and hope that I don't get arrested? Or that Roxy doesn't get arrested for being 'illegitimate'? Or that they don't arrest us all for the crime of not being married? We barely got seated at the restaurant tonight!"
I tried to keep a lid on my anger and disappointment. Sometimes it seemed like Pizzazz had made such progress, and other times she seemed to be her old self. I'm not sure how ticked off I sounded during those questions that I asked.
The others were quiet, so I continued. "Look, I like the idea of building a secret room inside the mansion but I think it would be like a lot better if we didn't have to use it in the first place! If we can get Riot off our tails and get the Morality Office off our tails…it would be a lot better in the long run. Riot won't listen to us. The only person he listens to is Jem. Jem's helped us before. She helped us the night of the benefit concert. She and her band already know my secret. Why not ask for help?"
I knew I was starting to sound flustered and angry, so I slowed my pace and began again, more softly, "Look, Pizzazz, you already went to her and called a truce. That wasn't easy or fun -- but you did it. How much harder do you think this would be?"
I saw Pizzazz shake her head. She didn't turn around to face me but rather looked straight ahead. "If you want to ask her, then you can. I'm not gonna do it."
Once again, disappointment and rage vied for the top place inside my heart. After everything I've done for her, the countless hit songs I wrote, the years we spent in the same band!
"It would mean a lot more and make a greater impact if it came from you. You're our leader," I insisted.
"It's your fault that we're in this mess. You do it," Pizzazz said. She might as well have rammed a knife through my heart with that comment, the bitterness flooding her voice further twisting it inside.
I turned and looked at Jetta. She didn't look at me, keeping her gaze in Pizzazz's direction. She wouldn't speak up. She rarely, if ever, crosses Pizzazz.
Roxy opened her mouth. "Stormer's got a point, Pizzazz. I think Jem would probably do it if Stormer asked but…I dunno why, but I think she'd be really impressed if you asked her."
"Well, Jem and her band know how Stormer is," Jetta spoke up. "I mean, they know what a softie you are, luv," she said, turning towards me. "But if you, Pizzazz, went to them and asked for help….they know that it is not easy for you. They would sit up and really take notice."
Jetta's voice had sounded fearful and tentative. Very unlike her and I knew that would not impress Pizzazz at all. I piped up again.
"Kimber once told me how much it meant to Jem, the fact that you yourself called the truce. They all know that that kind of stuff is easier for me, and that you could've just put me up to it. But it came from you and it meant a lot to them. You are our leader, after all."
I added that last sentence in, hoping that sucking up would help. And I got to admit that I made up that part about Kimber. She never actually said that to me. But I knew in my heart that the sentiment was true.
"If Riot's attacking Stormer, then he's attacking all of us," Roxy said. "I mean, shit think of how much things sucked when Stormer left the group."
As disappointed as I was with Pizzazz, I was doubly impressed with Roxy now. She was really going to bat for me. No one ever spoke about the time I had left the Misfits, let alone admitted how difficult it had been for the three of them. I did worry that the fact that Roxy said this would just make Pizzazz more stubborn though.
"Okay, okay, fine," Pizzazz relented. "Shit. I'll talk to Jem. End of discussion."
Victory! I silently rejoiced. I would thank Roxy later on, I vowed. And I would talk to Pizzazz about calling me an idiot, I vowed, but I would do that much later, after her talk with Jem.
After that heated exchange, we chatted amicably about nothing during the rest of the car ride. It was late in the night, too late to call Starlight House now. I sensed that everyone wanted to put aside talk of arrests and Riot for the remainder of the night. I joined in the group's playful banter. The rain appeared to be slowing down.
When we began to enter the great hall of the mansion, the servant on duty stopped us.
"Excuse me, Miss Gabor," she began. "You have a phone call. The---"
"At this hour?" Pizzazz interrupted, screeching. I hate how rude she is to the servants. And trust me, she's not even as bad as she used to be.
"Yes, ma'am. The caller says it's an emergency."
"Who is it?"
"Someone named Clash."
The four of us exchanged looks. Clash? Now there was a blast from the past!
Pizzazz rolled her eyes. "Bring me the phone," she barked.
Pizzazz was handed the receiver and spoke into it. "What do you want, Clash?" she asked. As during the last few times we'd had any contact with Clash, Pizzazz's voice conveyed irritation and disdain.
The rest of us could not hear Clash's end of the conversation. We looked at each other as Pizzazz asked, "You're in jail?"
Clash arrested? This was news indeed.
Pizzazz was quiet for a moment, apparently listening to whatever Clash was saying, before she demanded, "Quit beating around the bush. What are you in jail for?"
And then a moment of silence before Pizzazz let out an exasperated shriek and said, to no one in particular, "Oh for shit's sake. Everyone I know turns out to be a f---kin' dyke!"
Roxy, Jetta, and I exchanged looks again as Pizzazz's words sank in.
Jetta then said, sounding affronted, "Hey, I'm not!"
"Me neither!" Roxy added.
Whether Clash could hear them over the phone lines, I had no idea. But Pizzazz was ignoring the three of us.
"No," Pizzazz said, in response to something Clash must have requested. "Forget it Clash – you're a total loser." Silence for another second or two, and then, "Too bad. Figure a way out of it yourself."
Pizzazz hung up the phone.
"What's goin' on?" Roxy asked. Her arms were crossed and she looked amused.
"Clash got herself arrested. Turns out that she's gay," Pizzazz said. Her voice just dripped contempt.
Roxy rolled her eyes and mumbled, sarcastically, "Big surprise."
I knew enough of Roxy to know that she was only posturing. She actually was surprised. Pizzazz definitely was too; only Jetta looked unflustered.
Me, I was kicking myself for not suspecting it. All the clues sure had been there but I hadn't noticed them. Maybe it was because I didn't particularly like Clash at all and never really tried to figure her out or get to know her better. And maybe it was because I had tried to run from that part of my identity for so long. It's only in the last few months that I had been facing it, and I sure wasn't looking to detect it in other people.
"What did she want?" I asked, the trepidation starting up again. "What happened to her?"
"She wants my help getting her out of jail. I told her to forget it. Clash is such a loser."
There were times I wanted to hit my bandmates over the head. It was taking every last bit of strength I had to keep from losing my temper. "Pizzazz, how did she get arrested? You have a bandmate who's a lesbian, remember? I'm trying to avoid going to jail myself, if you care to recall. It would help me out if I knew how she got arrested!"
I sounded snippy, I knew, and Pizzazz did not react well to it. Her words were fierce. "Yeah, I know you're a dyke, Stormer. I seem to remember that we're going to be tearing up my mansion and forcing me to grovel in front of Jem -- all for your sake!" She took a breath and added, "Clash said she was at some gay bar when they arrested everybody. I told you to avoid those places."
"So, I take it that you're not going to help her?" Jetta asked.
"No way. She ain't one of us. And I've done enough to help the Lesbian Nation today!"
With that, Pizzazz stomped off.
Later on, safely in the privacy of my own room, I lost it. I took the flowers that Pizzazz had given me on the night of the concert, dried now, and ground them all up between my fingers. That felt good, so I then took the vase and smashed it against a wall. It was plastic though, so it merely bounced off the wall and tumbled to the ground. Next, I hoisted up a chair and threw it across the room. It crashed against a wall and hit a nightstand on its way down to the floor. I reached the small bookcase in my room and knocked all of the books onto the floor.
It was so unfair. Pizzazz was mad at me, as if all of this was my fault! I couldn't stand the way she talked down to me, acted like she was doing me more favors than I could ever make up for. I was also furious at the society we lived in. I was made out to be a criminal and yet Pizzazz -- who has slept with dozens and dozens of men -- is considered to be just fine. I haven't ever even kissed a woman. My anger was fueled partly by my pent-up needs for affection.
And Pizzazz wouldn't do anything to help Clash. Maybe helping her would have been risky but I didn't get the slightest impression that fear was her main reason for hanging up on Clash. It was more like she couldn't be bothered because Clash wasn't one of us. I knew the girl had let us down countless times, but she also had done a lot for this band over the years. Pizzazz's brutally sarcastic closing comment, "I've done enough for the Lesbian Nation today!" kept replaying in my mind.
But breaking furniture isn't my forte and I didn't really enjoy smashing things, not anymore. It didn't make me feel any better. The rage and sorrow still battled inside of me. I did relish crumbling the dried flowers though.
Then I reached for my synth.
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After Pizzazz and Stormer had each gone off alone, Roxy and Jetta remained in the main hall. They looked at each other and exchanged a few words. Neither wanted to end the night that way. Jetta had an idea.
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Pizzazz paced about outside, walking around the pool. She wished she could throw one of the servants into the pool. She really wished she could throw Stormer into the pool. Or Clash. Or anybody.
It had stopped raining. The air outside felt charged and crisp. She tried to breathe it in. It was very quiet.
Pizzazz did not know what to do with the torrent of emotions that assaulted her. One by one they formed a fierce onslaught against her psyche. She continued to pace, trying to cope with the emotions.
Fear was prevalent. The future lay ahead, completely unknown and beyond her control and full of forces conspiring against her.
The sense of betrayal was overwhelming. It seemed as though no one told her anything until they had to, until they wanted something from her. And Riot betrayed her as well. 'But did he?' Pizzazz wondered. Can someone who was never on my side, ever, really betray me?'
Then the sense of embarrassment and shame took over, and it did not stem solely from Riot's actions. Soon Pizzazz would be groveling in front of Jem, the woman who had defeated her over and over again, the woman who had constantly proven that Pizzazz's mother was right and little Phyllis was trash.
Self-hatred bubbled to the top, for Pizzazz felt weak given that she allowed herself to care for that complete wimp Stormer. She had already bent over backwards to try to take care of her. She had already once before gone into enemy territory to get her back.
And the omnipresent anger remained. 'That ingrate Stormer had the gall to get testy with me, after everything I've done for her! And she's the one who's got a brother who adores her. I never had anything like that.'
Pizzazz collapsed onto one of the lawn chairs, exhausted and unable to decide what to do next. The chair was dry; the servants had covered all of the pool furniture before the rain began. Pizzazz did not even feel like tossing around any of the furniture. She had thrown enough tantrums in her life to know, on some level, that breaking things provides only a temporary respite. She had no idea how long she had paced around the pool or how long since she'd slumped down on one of the chairs.
"There you are," called a far-too-cheery voice highlighted with a British accent.
Pizzazz looked up to see Jetta and Roxy standing over her. They each held two drinks.
"Here," Roxy said, thrusting one drink in her direction. "Margarita."
Pizzazz wordlessly took the drink. She licked the salt off the sides. It was her favorite part; she preferred it to the sweetness of the fruity drink itself.
"This sucks," Pizzazz finally mumbled.
"What? The drink?" Jetta asked, sounding mildly affronted. She had made the margaritas herself, ensuring that she rolled the glasses in extra salt.
"No. I mean…just everything."
Roxy sat down on the lounger next to her and nodded. "I hear ya. Things suck really bad now."
"You said it," Jetta said, with a nod in Roxy's direction. She took a swig of her drink.
The three continued to drink silently. Pizzazz stared glassy-eyed at the moonlight reflected in the pool. Its sparkle reminded her of the glittery diamonds on the bracelet that her bandmates had given her. The bracelet made her think of the flowers she had given them on the night of concert, and what they symbolized. Pizzazz pitched her glass into the pool.
Roxy and Jetta, surprised, looked at the singer. Pizzazz shrugged and nabbed the fourth glass. She began to chug. I'm becoming such a wimp,' she told herself disgustedly.
"So Clash is a big ole' dyke," Roxy broke the silence, taking a swig of her drink.
"Does that really surprise you?" Jetta asked incredulously. "I always suspected it," she stated, truthfully.
"Yeah?" Pizzazz asked skeptically. She actually was not a big drinker and her cheeks were beginning to grow pink from the alcohol's influence.
"Oh come on. She followed us around, fawning over us like a ruddy puppy dog. She never had a boyfriend. You add it all up and what do you get? I think she particularly fancied you, Pizzazz."
"Hmph. Well I can't blame her," Pizzazz said, a bit piqued. She licked more salt off the rim of her glass. "But it doesn't matter, we're not gonna rescue her."
"I wonder how long she'll be in the slammer," Roxy mused. She did not particularly care about Clash but she wondered if Clash's fate could provide some clues about how Stormer might be treated if she were ever arrested.
A sound then began to dance through the night. It was unmistakable – Stormer's keyboard playing. With the window to Stormer's room open, the smooth melody drifted through the quiet air.
"Not too bad," Roxy remarked, after a minute or two.
"It's way too slow. If she wants me to sing it, she'd better pick up the pace," Pizzazz griped.
"I hope this slow song doesn't mean she's planning on making more music with that muppet Kimber again," Jetta added. Once the words were out, Jetta regretted them. Pizzazz did not like to be reminded of Stormer's previous defection. And this was the second time today that someone had mentioned it. Jetta inwardly kicked herself for her forgetfulness. She usually exhibited more thoughtfulness regarding her words.
The three sat in silence, continuing to drink and listen. Stormer's keyboard carried on. Now she switched to a faster paced song, the notes of which sounded familiar.
"Much better," Pizzazz said.
"Sounds like a variation on one of the songs we did in the studio today," Jetta added. She marveled at Stormer's ability. Jetta could create music and improvise but not at the frequency of Stormer, who never seemed to run out of ideas. Stormer was like a well that never ran dry, and Jetta had never encountered a musician/composer so prolific and so consistently strong during all of her years in the music world.
Roxy looked at Pizzazz. "C'mon," she suggested. "Let's bring her a margarita. We can jam with her."
"Okay," Pizzazz agreed. She did not sound thrilled, but she consented. The uncomfortable emotions were still swirling around inside her. But the alcohol was giving her a pleasant buzz and helping to loosen her up. She could even admit to herself that a loud jam session might make her feel better.
As Roxy grabbed the pitcher, she hoped that Stormer would want the company. Of course she will,' Roxy said to herself. She understood her friend well. Stormer always wanted to patch things up, she always wanted a happy ending.
Roxy, Jetta, and Pizzazz made their way inside and up the main staircase. Roxy tapped on Stormer's door.
"Care for some company, luv?" Jetta asked, when Stormer opened the door a tad.
"Uh – are you okay in here?" Roxy asked, surveying the trashed room. She turned and looked at Jetta and Pizzazz. Stormer was not known for throwing fits.
"Yeah. Swell," replied Stormer.
Later on that night (or technically, during the early hours of the morning), Jetta and Roxy found themselves in the kitchen making another margarita pitcher. They staggered back up to Stormer's room where the four Misfits continued to drink and play until the sun came up.
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I enjoyed that night. I liked drinking and jamming with my bandmates after our long, exhausting day. I knew full well that we were trying to wordlessly patch things up between Pizzazz and myself, and say that everything was going to be all right for the four of us.
But I also knew that margaritas and music alone wouldn't cut it either.
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TO BE CONTINUED
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