2005-02-23 - 5:36 p.m.

Chapter 4

Okay suckas, you asked for it! Here's Chapter 4 in the novel. By the by, the working title of the day is "Chupacabra: A Multi-Platinum Soap Opera." However, that may not work in actual publication (which I do intend to pursue... eventually) because it's ripping off a Rolling Stone cover article (about a different and REAL band, duh) from about a decade ago. But if you haven't read the previous chapters, do so now:

ch.1:
http://rladyofpunk.diaryland.com/050218_34.html
ch.2:
http://rladyofpunk.diaryland.com/050222_93.html
ch.3:
http://rladyofpunk.diaryland.com/050222_5.html
ch.4: Right here! This page you're on now? You are totally in the right place. Oh, and if you have read the previous chapters and something doesn't make sense, please, bring it to my attention! I've written these all out of order, so sometimes I take something for granted as having been said when really I say it in a later chapter. As for the requisite statement of narrator, this one is told from the perspective of Simpson. It picks up right where 3 left off- none of that implied elapsed time shit like in between the last 3 chapters. But I babble- here goes:

Epiphanol- it was still legal in Canada, he said.
Now I can�t remember who he was. I remember nothing, and yet I�m doing fine. I�m finer than fine. Beautifully, glamourously fine. I am Christian Albert Simpson. I am God.
And what�s more- I am on stage.
I am alive, I am loved.
I am tall.
They call for me- all those meaningless theys. Fuckers. Useless, meaningless theys. They call my name, and I move my lips- turn on the headlights, I tell them. I wail, I scream.
People like singles.
Turn on the headlights.
Turn on the headlights.
......
Augy.

I remember now- this was once for Augy. This was once about her. I forget the guitar solo- Drew picks up- I turn to look at Augy, but she counts the beats, oblivious.
Her soul is lost in counting.
Her soul is lost to me.
I am hurt.
I pick up on the verse.
I work-through-stumble-through-rock-through. I can see all. The undulating arms are fake. The people before me sway. I am not them. I am you, and you are me.
I am alone.
So I keep singing to myself. I sing about god and love and pain- it�s all I know.
I know Augy...
But I am alone.
The stars fall from the ceiling. Suddenly the noise stops. I can�t figure out why. I am confused. The lights on my face go away. Someone grabs my arm. We begin walking-running- he�s stomping. He�s angry. We emerge into the light. Where? We�re backstage. The man holding my arm is Alex.
�What the fuck is wrong with you?� He demands, narrowing his half-Asian eyes till they�re half-invisible. So dark- they shine in the too-bright light.
�Your eyes...� I whisper, reaching to touch his face. I touch his cheek- so rough/smooth. Alex grimaces and turns away.
�He�s a wreck-� he says to Drew.
Suddenly- violently, my head is jerked; my eyes forced into the light. It burns. My hair hurts. Drew holds the red curls tight, tilting my head closer to the light.
�Damn, look at those pupils- what the fuck are you on?�
�I�m fine...� I murmur, feeling like a hurt child.
�Well,� Augy says with her low, bitter, boyish sneer of a voice �well, we certainly can�t do an encore.�
�He wasn�t that bad on stage.� Drew responds.
�Are you insane?� Alex asks.
�We can probably fake it-� Drew continues.
�But he�s getting worse by the second-� says lovely Augy, our voice of reason.
�Oh, August...� I murmur.
�Look at him!� She gestures enthusiastically with her left, rumagaing in a pocket with her right. �This is AWFUL!� She gasps, finally attaining a cigarette from the receses of her pants.
Alex squints. Drew glares. August realizes she can�t smoke back here.
�Well, what do you think?� I grin.
�You are such a mess.�
But Alex grabs my arm anyway. �Just sing-� he growls in my ear, �just sing- remember the lyrics, leave your guitar here.�
I hear, getting louder and louder, the roar of... us. A hundred, million bazillion kids, shouting �Chup-a-cab-ra, Chup-a-cab-ra, Chup-a-cab-ra.�
Oh, yeah- I�m a god. I forgot for a second there.
I�m behind the microphone- I�m staying afloat. I�m okay.
I don�t remember after that.
I�m dragged off again. Alex and me, arm in arm.
�What the fuck was THAT?!� Sandra shouts.
She grabs me- she shakes me.
I feel sick- I throw up on her shoes. Dolce and Gabbana I see.
She stares at me in abject horror and I grin a big, barfy grin. I throw my arms around her neck and shout that I love my manager-lady.
She shoves, hard, and I�m against a wall. It feels like a bee stung my brain. I look up- Alex, Augy, Sam, Alex, Drew, Augy, Holly, Drew, Alex, Sandra- they�re all standing around me. Augy�s wearing a shirt that shows her belly. I think- just for a second, as they all stand around talking, that it looks a little bigger. Her navel ring sits on a little bitty mound. It�s growing. I hadn�t believed her when she told me. I hadn�t really understood until now.
I reach up to touch that curve of her abdomen. The skin is so soft. I rememer now- I remember the exact moment that thing in her belly came to be.
I love her so much.
But she slaps my hand down.
They seem to have reached a conclusion on what to do about me.
Alex grabs one arm.
Drew grabs the other.
�Were are we going?�
�You�re gonna lie down.� Drew grunts.
So I do. I don�t really remember. A lot of time passes. The ceiling is fasinating. Acoustic tile. Stains that look like clouds on Jupiter and the mole on August�s butt that no one else knows about.
Then I�m being grabbed again.
�We�re going to the bus,� Augy tells me.
And we do.
There are kids wanting scribbles. So I scribble. I smile and write on pictures of myself and I don�t make sense. The kids are nice. They love me.
Finally, Sandra pulls me on board.
�What is it?� She demands again. �Come on- is it pain killers?�
�I feel no pain.� I whisper. I am a lamb. I am very small.
�I wouldn�t press it right now.� Augy tells her.
�All I�m saying-� Sandra responds �Is that what you kids do in your spare time is fine, but I can�t have a show like that. People don�t pay 20 bucks a ticket so this jackass can fall down on himself.�
�Agreed.� Alex says thoughtfully.
And we ride in silence.
Then there�s a hotel. A nice one.
Alex and Drew carry me up. They throw me on the bed. They leave. Augy stays for a moment, petting my face. She is so gentle- so kind.
�I feel it.� I tell her.
�What?�
�Inside you.� I respond.
�What?� she�s still confused.
�Us.�
�Oh... yes- she�s growing.� Augy sighs, fingering her navel ring.
�She?�
�I�m sure- I can feel it being a she.�
�Are you sad?�
�I�m just... young. Young and I dunno. I haven�t told anyone else... can�t keep it secret forever.�
Then, after an excruciatingly long pause, she tells me she thinks she might want to get an abortion.
�No-� I whisper.
�You�re not the one with this thing in you. You don�t know...�
I hug her so tight.
I tell her I love her. I really mean it.
She still seems far away, but only in spirit. To make herself physically far away she rises from the bed and walks to the door.
�I�m really tired.� She says.
�I love you.� I tell her again.
�I�ll see you tomorrow.� she replies.
And then she disappears. She really is far away now. I turn onto the immaculately laundered pillow and cry. I cry and cry. I cry for hours. The night gets darker- night to the Nth degree. I am scared.
There is a knocking. A doornob turning.
�Are you okay, man?� I hear Drew�s big, tan, muscular voice. �I can hear you crying through the wall.�
�I�m scared.� I whisper.
He turns on the bedside lamp.
�Epiphanol?� he whispers.
�Umm... yeah.�
�I thought so. I used to do that stuff all the time. Hard to get since the govenment cracked down... but did you know they give it to schitzos in Canada?� His dark, dark eyes stare into my green ones, like they�re looking for something specific.
�I�m cold.� I whimper.
�The comedown sucks.� he says, matter-of-factly.
�Don�t leave me.�
He chuckles.
�You�ll be fine.�
�No...� no, I won�t, but the words don�t come out. I reach up and grab him as he leans over me. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I do August.
�Please don�t leave-� I sob.
He sighs and puts his arms around me.
�I won�t.� he says with resignation.
We embrace like that for I-don�t-know-how-long. Finally I relax, and he lays me back down on the bed.
�You are a mess.� he laughs gently.
�I�m sorry-� I respond, but he cuts me off.
�-at least you seem to be getting better.�
I hear him, but I�m also looking at him. Drew is so- rough. I remember how Augy is soft, and Alex is soft/rough. Drew is just rough. I touch his eternally stubbly face- he�s a man with a five o�clock shadow at 8 a.m. He turns his eyes away, as if in shame and pain. My hand remains.
�Simpson,� he whispers- �I... you know- I... I-�
I have no idea what�s going on. I just keep touching his cheek. It�s rougher in one direction than the other, so I rub my hand back and forth, grinning at the fun of texture. Rough, rougher, rough, rougher.
�Simpson- please stop-� he begs.
He turns his black eyes back to meet mine. They seem almost teary-very full of everything. They get bigger and bigger- closer and closer. He�s inches away from my face when I realize something. Something very wrong.
But by the time I figure it out though, it�s too late. So I give in. I know why he was sad, and now he�s doing something he never meant to do. He starts to close his eyes, and to be polite, I close mine as well. I lean forward, he leans forward, and we meet in the middle. He tastes dark and strong- just like I would think, had I thought to think about it before tonight.
�Your lips are soft!� I murmer in amazement.
�Simpson-� he hesitates, pushing me away a little, �Simpson, I�m sorry. I didn�t mean that. I didn�t mean anything.�
I study his face. How did I not notice before?
�You�re beautiful.� I whisper.
�But... you don�t...?� He draws away even more- scincerely aware of having crossed a line.
I laugh- it�s a blessing, a relief to do so. Here I am, trapped in the darkest night a human soul has ever treked through, and yet I can still laugh. It feels so good to be alive. It feels so good to be doing something- something that makes me feel something.
I smile up at Drew.
�Chris...� he whispers so faintly it�s lost in the whir of the hotel. The heating ducts and water pipes are all louder than him as he says my name. Only it�s my first name. The name no one- not August, not my mom- not anybody calls me by. Hell, the album credits me as �Simpson.� That�s who I am. Who�s this Chris guy Drew�s all over? What�s going on here?
Now Drew is shaking. We�re still touching. I reach out from my mind, trying to feel his- what is he doing? I don�t know. All I know is that he�s terrified.
�Are you scared of me?� I ask.
�I�m sorry, Chris,� he mumbles.
But I decide not to let him be. I tilt my face back up to his. Our lips meet. I reflect for a second that despite the accusations of queerity which have been leveled against me in the media, this is the gayest thing I�ve ever done. That thought makes me giggle too, so I just keep laughing, pulling Drew down to me. At last he gives in and takes me back up in his arms. We are so close at this moment- body to body, cheek to cheek, mouth to mouth.
I think I�m in love.

*

At some point, the sun comes through the curtains. There is a knocking, a knob turning... an angry gasp.
My arms are still wrapped aroud Drew�s bare torso. I hear him murmer a little as I turn around to see a very upset Amazon run out of the room.
Back on the bus, Alex is the only one speaking. I�m scared to look at Drew, and he�s scared to look at me. Sam seems to know something- he glares from a corner. August turns away- pushes open a window to smoke a cigarette.
�Stop!� I shout.
�Why?� She challenges.
�Your-� I gesture to her belly.
Alex tilts his head �Have you put on weight?�
�No!� she yells, throwing her half-smoked cigarette out the window.
�Sorry- just asking.� Alex backs off.
�You should ask.� I tell him, before turning to Augy, �and I certainly hope you don�t plan to smoke through the whole pregnancy.�
She glares.
�You know, SimPson,� she says, making the �p� pop, �If I may paraphrase David Bowie�s first wife for a moment: while finding two men, naked together in bed may not mean anything, it certainly... well, you know.�
There is complete silence.
August continues- �-and you know what happens after she says that in her memoir? She leaves him. She�s disgusted and she leaves.�
More incredibly tense silence.
�What the fuck is going on?� Alex demands.
�Shhh-� Holly hushes him.
Sam looks like he�s about to cry off all of his immacualtely applied eyeliner.
I want to die.
Love is suicide.
�So wait-� Alex is still trying to piece all of this together, �are you really pregnant?�
�Yeah,� August sighs dejectedly �I think I got knocked up by a dude after the Atlanta show. Or maybe it was the one in Miami. I�m not sure...�
�Wow, you�ve been workin� the groupies.� Alex smirks.
Holly makes a little huff noise.
�Honey...� he whines.
Okay, now everyone�s relationship baggage is out on the table. Alex has been screwing groupies and Holly knows it. Sweet little Holly who�s stood by him ever since we got out of high school. Sweet little Holly who puts up with so much. But wait- this isn�t about Holly. It�s about me. Me and what a dumbass I was and am when I�m all drugged out. This is about me and about August and that thing inside her. So August doesn�t want to say the baby�s mine. Fucking fine. Fucking super-fine.
�So are you gonna get an abortion?� Alex asks.
Augy lets out a ragged sob.
�I don�t know,� she says. �I just don�t know.�
Sam finally opens his sweet, perfectly glossed lips to whisper �I�ll help you raise it.�
She looks at him, and for a long moment their eyes meet in the most knowing way.
The silence is broken by tough, superflouosly glamorous Sandra, bounding up from the front.
�Hey guys, feelin� better?� She says as she pops me on the arm.
�Owwww.� I whine.
�Oh, that did not hurt, ya big baby! So, how do ya�ll feel about the tour ending?�
�Fucking blessed.� Augy growls.
�Ha ha- you�re cute,� Sandra laughs. Her laugh is indecpiherable irony. She�s brutal, but not in the subtle, wise way that Augy is. Her facade of toughness mixed with playful affection mixed with Versace is just that- a facade. She yells at promoters, throws things at roadies and gives me noogies, but underneath it all she�s just a weak, pathetic woman with no control over her own life and no one to ever truly love.
For an instant I feel sorry for her.
�Well I guess ya�ll are headed back to the studio then?�
�Go to Hell.� I state.
�Well, well! That�s not nice! I guess you�re still suffering from the effects of a day after!� She administers her most shit-eating grin.
�More than you can ever know.� I glare.
�Well, I�ll just leave you happy campers alone to talk about band stuff. We�re about three hours from stopping- just so you know!�
She refered to �band stuff � as if it were boogers.
I hate that manager.
�Remember back in the day when Holly used to manage us?� I ask.
�Yeah, I don�t do that any more for a reason.� Holly laughs, �You stay in that business too long and you wind up like her. �Sides, I didn�t have any real know-how anyway.�
We smile, feeling better for a few minutes, but then the mood topples. No longer united by our common managerial enemy, we are reminded of the rifts between us.
Love is suicide.

The last thing I wrote before this thing. The next thing I wrote after this.