𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨

losin' my mind

chapter thirteen
"losin' my mind"

Noise vibrated off the walls. The floor where I stood was slightly sticky with spilt beer. The dress Nicky had picked out for me seemed far too short, but I was more than willing to push that aside to attend the band's first album release party. The most catching thing, besides Cooper being lifted above the band's shoulders, was Jamey across one couch with Melody perched in front of him, camera clicking as usual. Every time she laughed, he'd smile a little bigger.

Eileen stood beside me, pursing her pink lips and fondling the expensive looking pearls around her neck that she told me belonged to her great grandmother, "Do you know when this little party is going to be over? I work in the morning." I shrugged and didn't reply; if Cooper got his way, this 'little party' would go all night.

At midnight of March 13th, Peter's birthday, Losin' My Mind was released. Obviously, they weren't famous enough to hold a normal prestigious party called for an album release, but they could certainly party like they were all the rage, and in one of Eileen's parents' mansions, they certainly did. Even the birthday boy seemed to be getting out of his shell; Peter wore the crown Tommy and Toby made him and hopped up and down with Turner, as both of them could barely dance at all.

I turned away, sick of the fumes inside the crowded room, and pushed outside to the pool deck. Buddy sat on the steps, smoking and thinking, unaware of my presence before I sat down behind him, kissing his neck. "What are you thinking about?" I asked him.

"This. All of this. It's crazy. Even if the album flopped, we're so young to be doing all this. I mean, I'm only nineteen." He buried his head in his hands, overwhelmed, and I didn't blame him. They deserved all the success that came to them, they worked for it all, but that meant little to lots of others. Cooper's hero, Mick Jagger, had done this before, had ventured out into the unknown waters of the music business, but of course he was twenty-seven then, not nineteen. Even so, he had a degree of some sort to fall back on... if this all failed, the band flopped, what would we do then? Would Buddy just continue being a mechanic his whole life, and would Darrell have to crawl back to going to UCLA? Would Turner have to get over his squeamish fear of guts and be a doctor to make a living? Would Peter, god forbid, work in law? And good lord, what would Cooper do? Buddy seemed to be thinking the same thing, for he groaned louder this time.

I could tell him it wouldn't flop, because he knew it wouldn't deep down, but the words would do little to ease so I just rested my head in the spot that seemed perfect for me in his neck until the door burst open behind us, "Selene! C'mon now, they're playing the album in full!"

A drunk Cooper, grin dopey, wobbled while he looked at the both of us. For whatever reason, when he saw our embrace, it faltered but he easily picked it up again. "Let's go!" He said, his voice slightly more slurred so it sounded like a tougher Austin Powers.

He pulled me inside where Nicky was commanding the rest, standing atop the coffee table. The over-the-top glow from the over-the-top chandelier circled her like a beacon, the party-goers sitting, talking, laughing, holding their respective lover surrounding her. I couldn't really hear her, but I didn't really try; Buddy hurriedly found a seat beside Jamey while Nicky raised her glass to a chorus of joyous shouts. I recognized Love Thing playing, the first song off the album once Nicky set it on. Me and Cooper lingered at the door; he seemed almost embarrassed, once his loud, melodious voice took over every speaker in the room, by the way his gaze stayed by his feet and his smile bashful. I, myself, was amazed; if I had a talent like Cooper did, I would be embracing it. He deserved to, at the very least, so I told him this by laying a hand on him until he looked at me, "You deserve this." He didn't do anything but nod- afterwards, his chin was held a little higher.

Life after that party was hardly normal, but completely the same all at once. The Flowers played their gigs, but it was different somehow. They were a club band, but they had a couple shows with Cheap Trick and other famous-er acts. Nobody was quite sure where to put them. They weren't washed-up hair metal pretty boys, and they weren't bottle-smashing, bloody-mouthed punks. They certainly weren't cheesy pop artists, and they weren't yeehaw country boys. They were the Flowers; anything but plain and simple.

Word got out that Motley fuckin' Crue was after the Flowers. Now those guys the band envied. There weren't many metal bands that the Flowers admired; bands like Poison bodied that sold-out ordeal, which to the band was a criminal offence. Motley, however, stuck to their guns. They also were the first band to do that over-the-top vaguely KISS thing with all that leather, and that was cool.

"Keep up, or the security guards are gonna think you're some type-a groupies or sumthin'." Cooper bossed, leading the way, while the rest of us followed with muddled enthusiasm. Since I was clinging to Buddy's hand, I could feel the hot nervous sweat coming off of his, and I was sure Nicky was feeling the same way about holding Darrell's. Eileen scoffed at the accusation and continued bustling along in her fur coat, "Trust me Cooper, they won't confuse me for a groupie."

"What's that supposed to mean, Princess?" Nicky snapped, reminding me for a short second why most girls were scared of her. Me and Buddy exchanged a humoured look while Darrell somehow managed to calm them down. Darrell, always the saving grace whether or not you'd determine that by his looks, was good at that.

"Woah-oh, cat fight! Hot-ttt!" A man laughed boyishly, letting his tongue hit against his front teeth so he hissed, gaining the attention of us all. The man, blonde, bore a shit-eating grin and, rubbing his hands together, gestured to his friend whose face quickly lit up with recognition, "Nicky?"

All heads, except the blonde man, instinctively turned towards Nicky until a voice spoke over, "Yeah?" It was tough to hide their identities any longer; everybody knew who Motley Crue was, so certainly Nikki Sixx responding to Tommy Lee, thinking it was for him, was no surprise. "No dude," Tommy muttered, distractedly, running a hand through his famous teased hair, "Nicky fuckin' Barrett." Nikki finally noticed the large group standing in front of him, particularly, of course, Nicky; his smile widened, viciously, as though sensing the possible shit-show about to blow through and already enjoying it.

Considering that this reunion was all taking place backstage of a soon-to-be concert, most of us were weirded out if not eternally confused. Nicky, however, didn't seem phased nor pleased, "I've told you Tommy, my last name isn't fucking Barrett!" She spoke in a harsh whisper, as though trying to maintain a secret that had already gotten out. My hands grew heavy holding Buddy's amp (roadies weren't yet in the pay book), so much so I had to set it down.

"Right, right, 'cuz you never fucking-" Tommy began, though it was interrupted when Cooper stepped forward, bristling himself in all his frontman-ly duties, "Hey Tommy, I'm Cooper Kit, lead singer, and thrilled to put all this shit behind us, hey? No hard feelings?! Y'know, somebody told me once 'the past will only get you behind' or some shit, but I really can't remember who told me that so.. Hey Selene, did you say that? Sounds like something you'd say-"

"Dude," Buddy interrupted, thankfully, with a dashing grin, "Shut the fuck up, or you're going to feel some hard feelings." A nudge to the shoulder, a sly grin, a welcoming laugh. Just like that, Buddy and Cooper and Turner, who offered a hilariously bad impression of the loud frontman, and Peter, who was always down to laugh at anybody's joke, were welcomed into the crashing clan of Motley Crue's entourage.

Darrell, with his arm around Nicky and an out-of-character territorial expression on his face, might take a bit longer to be invited.

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(photo: buddy and nikki, or nikki-with-an-i as he'd be promptly nicknamed. taken by melody griffin in 1986)