Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time we hit the motorway, we were an hour late. Ryan drove and insisted we weren’t stopping anywhere. No one complained. They were all semi comatose, obviously hung over. I, however, was starving. I remembered when Keith got me drunk unbeknownst. My stomach felt tied in knots and I had no appetite. I was beyond annoyed that due to everyone’s indiscretions, I had to suffer. Ryan drove the van like someone stuck fireworks in the tailpipe. I sat and listened to my stomach growl. Despite Ryan’s speeding, it took forever to reach Manchester. The scenery wasn’t much to look at either.
We finally arrived around three and I hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.
“Check in, drop your things and meet back here,” Ryan said. “We’re due at sound check now.”
Everyone grumbled and complained. Keith collapsed in a chair while I checked in. I strode over and threw a key at him. “I’m dropping my things and finding something to eat.”
Keith followed, but said nothing. I found our room and stepped in. Keith strode in and flopped on the bed.
“You have only yourself to blame. If you drink to excess, you get a hangover. I rode here half starved because you blokes decided to have hangovers today.”
Keith got up, strode to the door, opened it and slamming it as he left.
I don’t know why he’s so pissed off, I thought. I was glad I left the party.
The hotel had a dining room, so I settled in and drew postcards while I waited.
I wasn’t surprised to find Keith in bed when I returned. Everyone else was probably sleeping off hangovers. I sat on the bed and drew postcards.
It was around six that Keith woke. “Hey, luv, when did you get back?”
“A couple hours ago. That must have been some party last night.”
He smiled. “It would have been better if you’d hung about.”
“I just got over a cold. Why would I want to make myself ill on purpose?”
“It’s what we do, luv. We’re rock stars.”
“Does some rock star bible say thou shall be struck by lightning if thou doesn’t engage in self-destructive behavior? I don’t cut my ear off because Van Gogh did.”
Keith snickered before brushing my hair from my face. “I hope not. You have such beautiful ears.” He began kissing me, but I pulled away.
“I mean it.”
Keith sighed. “I’m having a shower. Wanta join me?”
“No, I have to get dressed.”
Keith smirked. “I could take three showers in the time it takes you to get ready.”
I whacked him with a pillow.
“Oooh, looks like I hit a sore spot.”
“And I’m going to hit one big sore spot if you keep drinking so much.”
He gave a quick bow. “So sorry, Majesty.”
I managed to smile before heading to the bathroom.
I put on my pink frilly mini skirt, tank top with the black horizontal stripes, added a wide black belt, a black striped bow for
my hair, black fingerless gloves, black leggings and my black ankle boots. As I applied my makeup, Keith came out naked.
“See, I took an extra long shower and you’re still not ready.”
I shook my head. “Get clothes on or you’ll give your admirers more of a show than they bargained for.”
Somehow we got out on time. The Piss Ants headlining in a city the size of Manchester was impressive and I had quite a customer base.
The supporting act came on –- some band called Manchester Express. The audience seemed unenthusiastic, but responded to The Piss Ants with such fury, I thought the floor would catch fire from all the dancers crashing into each other.
After they left the stage, the usual screams of “Piss Ants! Piss Ants! Piss Ants!” emitted non-stop until they returned.
“What, you haven’t had enough of us yet? Here’s one I’m sure you’ll recognize,” Keith said. They tore into White Riot, which gave way to another Clash song; London’s Burning, only Keith changed the words to Manchester’s Burning.
“Goodnight, punks of Manchester.” He threw a broken guitar string into the crowd.
Jimmy leaped over his drums, knocking a cymbal over, rolled onto the stage floor, before getting up and leaping into the audience. Keith and Billy followed suit, but Keith got mobbed so vigorously, Ryan had to haul him to safety.
I rushed backstage to make sure Keith survived, but needn’t have worried. Keith was in tact and everyone was laughing about it.
“I never expected we’d be this well received in Manchester,” Ryan said.
Seeing everything was okay, I headed back to my table.
When the club finally emptied, I stashed the unsold items away and went backstage.
“There’s the love of my life,” Keith said as I entered. He handed me an open bottle of Perrier. “I have your favorite drink.”
I eyed him suspiciously and sniffed the bottle. “You spiked this, didn’t you?” I was furious — and disappointed. I stood, not knowing what to do, before throwing the contents on him. “If you like getting drunk, drink this!” I threw bottle down and ran outside.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
