Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway (21 page)

 

Kim was a master at cutting costs. He controlled the money, so nobody was really sure how much was actually passing through his hands, but if you believed Kim, there was never any money for anything, and every dollar he laid out was sending him deeper and deeper into debt. He was always crying poverty, and did everything as cheaply as possible. A favorite gimmick of Kim’s was to have the band turn up at important shows in a limo. “Rock and roll is about glamour!” he’d insist. “To be a legend, you have to be separate from the rest of the scum and the human flotsam out there! You must be bigger than life . . .” So he had us roll up in a fancy-ass limo with all the windows blacked out, all for the benefit of the kids and press who were lined up on the sidewalk trying to get into our show. What those kids didn’t know was that in an effort to cut costs, Kim had made us stand around on a street corner two blocks away from the venue so the limo could pick us up. It drove us the two blocks, and we’d make a big show of exiting and being rushed into the venue. When we were done, we were ushered back into the limo, driven two blocks, and dropped off on the same dark street corner we started from. From there, we’d hop into an idling, beaten-up van driven by one of our roadies. When we complained about it the first time—“Why can’t we just take the limo home, Kim?”—our manager scowled at us and sneered. “Who do you think you are? Elton fucking John? I pay for that thing by the mile! My name isn’t Nelson A. Rockefeller, you stupid fucking dogs! Are you trying to put me in the poorhouse?”

 

The motel was one of those typical seedy places on the outskirts of nowhere; there was a small, dark office in the lonely forecourt with a flickering vacancy sign and a 7UP machine that looked like it had been sitting there rusting since the 1950s. We all filed into the motel, and as usual, Kim had only rented one room for the entire band.

 

Inside, the place was small, cramped, and decrepit. The wallpaper had turned brown, and had musty damp patches on it. The carpet was stained, and the whole place smelled of mildew. There was a tiny black-and-white television bolted to one wall, and the window looked out upon a blinking neon sign that announced grande lux motel. There was some time to kill before the show, and we were running around the tiny room, laughing and goofing off. There was a woman, let’s call her Marcie, sitting on the bed, pouting. I didn’t know what she was doing there.

 

“I’m huuuuungry!” she said, while Kim messed around with the TV trying to pick up a signal. “Yeah, me, too!” Sandy yelled. We all noticed an agitated look come over Kim’s face, so we joined in laughing. “Can we order room service?”

 

“NO!” screamed Kim. “You greedy fucking dogs! Wait until after the show!”

 

“Pleeease, Kim!” Marcie said, whining. “I could faint if I don’t eat!”

 

I rolled my eyes at Sandy. This Marcie woman was acting weird. She was slurring her words a little, giggling to herself, and rolling around on the bed like she was loaded on quaaludes or some other kind of downer. Sandy raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Cherie—what the fuck is up with her?”

 

We basically ignored her, though she was acting like a total space cadet. Kim was ignoring her, too, perched on the end of the bed like a crow on a telephone line. He had a grimace on that ugly old face of his as he tried to ignore the commotion in the room. Scott was rummaging through some papers from his briefcase, trying to look productive now that Kim was around.

 

“FOOD!” we yelled, laughing. “FOOD, FOOD, FOOOOD!”

 

At this, Kim jumped to his feet. “God FUCKING dog pucks!” he screamed. He threw his hands up in the air as if the very idea of spending money on food were causing him some deep, spiritual pain.

 

“Come on, Kim!” Sandy said. “Just some burgers or something. We’re starving!”

 

Scott scowled at us, as if we were interrupting his important work. Kim looked thoughtful for a moment, and started stroking his chin. He looked like a cartoon supervillain, plotting some diabolical scheme so he would never have to buy us food again. Sometimes Kim would give us what he called our “per diem”—which seemed to be Latin for an occasional ten, maybe twenty dollars to buy alcohol, cigarettes, or food. Other than that, we hadn’t seen a penny from all of those sold-out shows we had been playing. Whenever we brought this up, Kim would tell us that we still owed the record company for the album and promotion, and that unless we had a hit single, we would owe money to Mercury for the rest of our lives. Not knowing much about how the industry worked, we’d just nod sagely and take whatever pitiful handouts Kim decided to throw our way.

 

“Keeeiiiiimmmmmmmm!” Marcie pleaded. “I’m gonna diiieee if I don’t eat something!”

 

“All right, you fucking DOGS!” Kim finally screamed in disgust. “I’ll get you your fucking dog food. Here . . . you!” He shoved a twenty in Stinky’s face. “Go pick up some burgers for these ungrateful dog cunts, will you?”

 

When Kim handed over that twenty-dollar bill, he looked like he was about to collapse from the strain of it all. Scott watched this all go down with a look of amused indifference on his face.

 

As we waited around for the burgers, it became more and more apparent that Marcie was not herself. She got up and tried to walk over to us at one point, wobbled, and then fell back onto the bed. Nobody asked her what was wrong; we were content to watch her make a fool of herself. She was acting like a total mess. I started to wonder if someone had slipped her a mickey.

 

After a while there was a knock on the door, and Stinky returned with our burgers. We started pulling our food out of the grease-stained fast-food bag, and finding a place to sit down and eat.

 

“OUT, DOGS!” Kim suddenly bellowed.

 

The girls and I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Then I went right back to my cheeseburger.

 

“Dog DAMN it, you dog cunts! Eat outside! I have some business to attend to! Scott, get the bitches out of my room!”

 

Kim stared at us until we realized that he was dead serious. Scott got up and started ushering us toward the door. We all grumbled under our breath and began gathering together the food so we could trudge outside. When I was halfway out the door, I looked back into the room. Marcie was still lying on the bed staring at her food with a dazed expression on her face.

 

“You coming, or what?”

 

Kim shot me a dirty look. “She stays!”

 

Marcie just sat there, looking up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. I looked over to Rick, who seemed as puzzled as I was. He shrugged. I looked at Scott, who smiled at me knowingly.

 

“Come on,” he said. “Kim has a surprise for you all. A real treat. Just do what he says . . .”

 

“GET OUT!” Kim bellowed.

 

“All right, all right!” I said as we backed out of the door. “Keep your damn wig on, man!”

 

As we shuffled out, Sandy asked Scott what the hell was going on. “What do you mean he’s got a surprise for us? What kind of a surprise?”

 

“Oh, you’ll like it . . .” Scott said, winking conspiratorially. “It’s gonna be wild!”

 

With that, he went back in the room, closing the door after him. We sat in the decrepit outdoor hallway, eating our food and complaining about what a wack job Kim was.

 

“Man,” Rick said, stuffing a handful of french fries into his mouth, “is he always such a dick?”

 

“Always.” Sandy laughed. “Actually, that was Kim being nice. At least he bought us food this time . . .”

 

Stinky had either left to help set up for the gig or was in the van smoking pot. We were all pretty glad because it meant we could breathe easy for a while.

 

We were still shit-talking Kim when suddenly the door to our room was wrenched open and Scott stuck his head out. “Come on!” he whispered, frantically waving for us to come inside. He peered down the hallway like a lookout during a robbery heist. He held the door open, and with a sigh we all trailed back into the room with our half-eaten burgers in our hands.

 

Inside, there was some kind of weird scene going on. One of the beds had been pushed up against the wall so that it was the focal point for everybody in the room. Marcie was still on the bed, but most of her clothes were in a pile on the floor. She was leaning against the wall in just her T-shirt and panties. She was rolling her head left to right and talking to herself. As we walked in, Scott closed the door behind us and put the chain across. Kim was standing over Marcie. He looked at us, and waited until we had sat down, as Scott, on the other bed, directed us to do. We were all looking at Kim and Marcie, utterly confused. Then Kim removed his orange suit jacket, revealing a ripped, filthy T-shirt. He had a weird body, skinny and lanky, the skeleton plainly visible through the pale skin. He looked like a praying mantis or something. Marcie had her eyes closed, and was laughing at nothing in particular.

 

“All right, dogs,” Kim said in that theatrical way of his, straightening up. “Pay attention. I’m going to teach you the right way to fuck!”

 

Nobody knew how to respond to this. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as I glanced at Sandy. She shrugged and shook her head. Clearly, she thought he was kidding. This comforted me a little. I looked up at Scott, but he was staring at Kim and Marcie, transfixed.

 

“Shut up, Kim!” Sandy said. “You’re not funny! Stop messing around!”

 

Kim ignored us. He was advancing toward the bed like a lion stalking its prey. I looked over to Rick. He whispered, “Like, what the fuck? He’s kidding around, right?”

 

“Lesson number one!” Kim grinned as he stood by the foot of the bed. He reached down and started pulling Marcie’s T-shirt up, revealing her breasts. She just lay back on the bed laughing hysterically as he started to pull her underwear down, past her knees, dropping them at his feet. Now Marcie was lying almost totally naked on the bed, and she wasn’t even trying to cover herself. I felt my cheeks reddening, but I stayed there, frozen to the spot. Kim looked over to us, unmoved by our obvious discomfort. “Observe! This is the correct way to give a bitch head!”

 

Then, as we looked on in shock, Kim pulled Marcie’s legs apart and crawled between them. He started gnawing at her like a hungry dog. I felt my stomach lurch, but I couldn’t turn away. I looked at the woman. Instead of fighting him off, she was smiling, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Ohhh God!” she moaned, like she was starring in some cheesy porno flick or something. She arched her back so Kim could have at it. He was making these really disgusting noises . . . slobbering, animal noises, as he thrashed his head from side to side. He looked like he was trying to crawl right up inside of her. He came up for breath for a moment and lifted his face long enough to pant, “What do you want? How do you want me to eat you?”

 

Laughing, Marcie screamed, “Eat me like a WOLF!”

 

Kim’s face contorted horribly, and he licked his lips before actually howling. “AAAWWWWOOOOOAAAHHH!” Then he shoved his face back between her legs and started attacking her with his tongue again.

 

As this was happening, us girls and Rick were standing there with our mouths hanging open. There’d been nervous laughter at first, but now there was nothing. It felt very cold in there. The food had been forgotten. The only sound in the room was coming from the bed.

 

Kim jumped up as if seized by a sudden inspiration, and grabbed a hairbrush from the dresser. It was my hairbrush, I was pretty sure of it. He advanced on the bed again, pushing the woman’s legs apart. There was a sick, heavy silence in the room as he started working the handle of the brush into her.

 

I stood, shaking, and said, “I’m out of here. This is fucking sick!” As I went to leave, Scott grabbed my arm. “Stay!” he commanded. I was intimidated by his tone of voice. I sat back down again silently.

 

“You like that, don’t you?” Kim was saying, and he started sliding the brush in and out of her. Marcie was smiling and moaning like crazy. I remembered when I did the school talent show, some of the acts were so awful . . . there was one girl in particular who got up and sang, and she was no nervous, and so out of tune, that watching her perform was a profoundly uncomfortable experience. She forgot the song, and just stood there looking mortified. People started slow-clapping and booing her. I just wanted to rush up onstage and bundle her off to save her from herself. That memory came back to me at that moment. I was so embarrassed for Marcie that it was unbearable to watch. I felt really sorry for her. This was disgusting. This was total humiliation!

 

Kim stood up and undid his belt, letting his trousers fall to his ankles. I could see his erect penis through what looked like one-hundred-year-old underwear. He waited until he had mounted Marcie before he pulled them down, as if he were somehow seized by a moment of self-consciousness.

 

When he had worked his torn underwear down, he asked her, “Do you want it?”

 

“Oh yes!” Marcie screamed.

 

“How bad do you want it?” He sneered like a snake coming in for the kill.

 

“Real bad!” she screamed as she reached for his face like a blind girl.

 

Then, in front of all of us, Kim shoved himself into her, and started pounding away with all the force and subtlety of a jackhammer. Marcie was screaming her approval as Kim pumped and gyrated against her. The others had started groaning at Kim’s sideshow act, and I could hear Sandy shouting “oh my GOD!” over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears. Scott was laughing and clapping, whooping and hollering, like we were at a sporting event. I felt nauseous; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The only thing that was keeping us from rushing Kim and ripping him off of Marcie was that she was actually encouraging it! She seemed to want it! The whole scene was so bizarre, so strange, that in a weird way I felt like I was watching a movie rather than witnessing something in real life.