Starry Eyes ~ Nikki Sixx

I Can't Get It

I woke up the next day around nine o'clock in the morning, and of course, Nikki was still snoring; a typical sign that he drank too much the night before and would not be waking up until around three. I carefully climbed out of bed, hoping that I was right, and that he would stay asleep while I repacked my things. 

By  the time I had finished getting ready, Doc was knocking on the door to walk me to my cab. Nikki was still passed out.

"Do me a favor when you go back up there and stick a mirror under his nose," I asked, putting on my sunglasses. "He's been out cold all night."

"Sure thing, Sadie. Have a safe trip. Here's a list of the hotels we'll be at and when, and their numbers." He hugged me. "Call if you need anything."

"Thank you, Doc, I will. See you around!" I said happily before climbing into my cab and directing the driver to the airport. 

°°°°°°

Landing in London was amazing, and stepping off of the plane was extremely freeing. The flight hadn't been full, but I still hated the idea of floating in a tin can, breathing other people's recycled air.

First thing was first: calling Nikki.

I found a phone booth, gave the operator the information, and waited. It rang twice before he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Nikki."

"Sadie! Where the fuck are you, what the hell happened?!"

"I'm... I'm in London. I don't want you to worry about me. Everything is fine."

"How could you not tell me? How could you just sneak out like that?"

"You wouldn't have let me leave otherwise. I had to. Look, I'll see you when you get home, okay? Don't worry."

There was a period of silence, followed by, "Don't bother. The locks will be changed before you get there," and the phone slamming.

I sat there in disbelief, the phone loosely in my hand before I hung it back up.

"Alright, well... there goes that plan," I said to myself, rolling my eyes before leaving the booth.

I wandered around for a while before finding a room at a hotel. Doc had given me an envelope with the proper currency, so I didn't need to worry.

Once I was settled into a room, I called the Crüe's hotel again, this time asking for Tommy.

"Yeah, I'll accept the charges... Sadie!" he shouted.

"Hey, T-Bone. How are you guys?"

"Well, Nikki's having a meltdown but we're fine. Where are you?"

"I'm in London right now. Please don't be angry with me for leaving. I wouldn't do it to-"

"Hey, you don't have to worry. I'm not upset. I wish you said something, but it's okay as long as I see you again... you are coming back, right?"

"Yeah, that's the plan. Unless I fall madly in love or something," I joked. 

"Okay, well," he laughed, "spread your wings, baby bird. Enjoy your trip!"

"Thanks, Tommy. Good luck tonight! Love you."

"Thanks, Sadie. Love you, too. Bye."

At least that went well. 

°°°°°°

My first two days in the city had been uneventful, and I had decided to go out to a bar to see if I could catch some music. On my way, I ignored the posters plastered around for tonight's entertainment, as it was too normal of a sight for it to stand out. There was no name on the marquee (which was not normal), but I could hear music inside.

After I had paid the entrance fee, I watched the band play the rest of their set (maybe three or four songs) and decided to head over to the bar for a drink. As I walked I kept feeling the velvet material of my shirt as a nervous habit; I hadn't been to a bar alone in a long time, and certainly not in London. 

All was well, but of course with my luck, someone slammed into me and spilled a tray full of drinks all over me.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" said a panicked voice. There was a distinct  English accent when he spoke, and before I could say a word, two ringed hands were already dabbing at my shirt with a handful of cocktail napkin.

"It's okay! Really, don't worry. Accidents happen," I said, finally looking up to see who was speaking to me.

"American, too, eh? Great job, Razz, spilling drinks on a pretty American girl," he joked to himself. 

I was kind of shell shocked... He was very tall, and equally as handsome. His bright blue eyes were ringed with thick black liner, and his wild mane of black hair was teased up in a rock and roll fashion. He wore the coolest pink satin shirt, tied in a knot at the bottom, which contrasted his leather pants and black and white striped jacket.

"Here," he said, handing me his jacket before beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, no, no! You really don't have to do that, really! It's okay."

"I insist," he said, continuing to removing his shirt, handing it to me. "I've ruined yours."

"Are you sure? What if you don't get it back?" I asked, worried. 

"That's alright, love."

"Uh, I'm sorry, but... Who are you? I asked, trying to be as polite as possible to this kind stranger.

"Name's Razzle."

"I'm Sadie... Your name is familiar to me, but I can't put a finger on it."

"Oh, I play with a band called Hanoi Rocks."

"No shit. That's it; I've heard of you guys before."

"Yeah? That's awesome. Where are you from, doll?"

"California. Los Angeles."

"No way! I'm dying to get to L.A.! I want to be in the center of it all."

"It get's pretty crazy... I'm gonna go switch tops," I said with a nervous laugh. "Would you like to talk some more when I come back?"

"Absolutely," he said with a warm smile, pulling his striped jacket back on.

I headed towards the bathroom, feeling my cheeks go red. Why the hell was I so flustered?

Because he's attractive... and literally gave you the shirt off of his back.

I switched tops, buttoning a couple buttons near the top and knotting the rest on my waist.

I had never seen such a nice shirt. It was so soft, and although it smelled a bit like cigarettes and hairspray, it was comforting. It made me think of home.

When I had walked out, Razzle handed me a drink.

"I figured the least I could do was actually let you drink the alcohol this time," he joked.

"Well, thank you. Would it be safe to call you my first friend that I've made in London?" I asked, sipping my Jack and Coke.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"By the way,"  his eyebrows raised in response, "your shirt smells like home."

"Really?" He tilted his head, slightly perplexed.

"Uh-huh. The Sunset Strip smells pretty similar. Cigarettes and hairspray make make the world go 'round."

"I'll take that," he said with a big smile. "It looks better on you."

He was charming to say the least, and he was definitely better company than being alone with my conscious.