charisma

the concert

2006: 

Rolling Stone Interview Tape Transcript: (_____)/(_____). 10-19-2006

"(_____), I know you're married to Gene Simmons of KISS. Would you maybe like to tell us a bit about how you two met?"

"Ooh, that's one hell of a story. We actually met at one of their shows— but it's not what you think."

"Really? Do tell us more."

"Well, for starters, the funniest thing about it is that I wasn't sitting anywhere near the band. But somehow, I ended up almost dying, meeting one of my favorite bands, and falling in love, all in one night."

"Really? That sounds like a lot to happen in just one—"

"Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. I didn't almost die, but I almost got jumped. And... it took a few nights for me to really fall in love, but I'll get on with it. I believe this was one of the tours in—"

1978:

A young girl barely out of college going to a rough-and-tough-fire-spewing-crazy-crazy-nights KISS concert. Great idea, right? It seemed like one at the time.

The idea had seemed good, great and fucking dandy when I had bought the tickets.

When I had gotten ready that day.

When I had taxied to the venue.

When I had gotten to my seat.

When the band had first come out in all their glory.

When the girl behind me and I had made friends singing "Love Gun."

When the curtain had finally closed and I'd started making my way out.

That night was on the way to being quite possibly the best night of my life. I'd achieved the perfect wing when doing my eyeliner. I'd heard all of my favorite songs and totally rocked out. I'd had a really nice time talking with the girl I'd met, who'd come from the next state for the concert. My unfortunate wit and never-shutting mouth hadn't gotten me in trouble, either. The concert had been perfect. The sound of electric guitar, bass, and drums still resounded in my heart. I'd left feeling happier than I had in a while. 

Smiling and humming "C'mon And Love Me," I tried to move with the crowd exiting the stadium, just trying to get home like everyone else. I was already walking out much later than planned because I stayed late talking with the girl I'd met. We'd chatted for about an hour until the cleaning crew kicked us out of the amphitheater, forcing us to go our separate ways. She and I were some of the last ones to leave our seats, but the halls were still packed. There was still a good amount of people who'd hung around like us or were waiting inside for their rides. I was almost out, though. Walking against the wall and standing on my toes, I could see the doors that led to the parking lot. The two guys in front of me weren't making this go any quicker. I think they were a little tipsy-- they kept swaying around and struggling to put one foot in front of the other. In the tight atmosphere, completely boxed in by the crowd on my right side and the wall on my left, I stumbled and accidentally knocked into the tall, leather clad men. 

By this point we were so close to the exit, but the guys in front of me turned around and glared down, menacingly at the girl who'd dared to smack into them. What nerve I had, walking like a normal, sober person. I noticed, on the arms of their jackets, a crude symbol that I recognized as the sign of one of the most dangerous street gangs in my city. They were a fiery, violent pack, so desperate to flash their knives, they'd pick fights with just about anybody over just about anything. These two loomed over me, their faces scarred and hardened with a wild look in their eyes. One of them was a dirty blonde with a Aerosmith t-shirt and the other had a shaved head and a cut on his cheek. They had moved as swiftly as animals, driving me back and trapping me against the wall. "Hey there, sweet cheeks."