Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “Wait, so you’re not afraid of dying in this metal contraption, but if we do you’ll be glad to go to heaven so the angels have sex and God or whatever becomes a porn star?” I clarify.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  “How in the fuck does your brain go from screws, bolts, metal, feelings of imminent death, and asking me if I’m afraid, to angels and the creator having orgies?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say they would have orgies. I think they would have to keep some of their morals. Maybe the big man can since he’s in charge and shit, but not the angels. They can have monogamous sex.”

  “You’re going to hell for this conversation alone,” I advise.

  “Nah, it’s too hot there. I’m more of a 75 year round kinda guy.”

  “Did you read all this on the internet too?” I wonder.

  “Nah, I’ve got a spiritual aptitude for this kinda shit.”

  “You should publish an article on Wikipedia about what happens when you and I go to heaven,” I endorse.

  “The world is not ready for the truth about Kipley. I mean we have to walk around all day acting like mere mortals, so we can’t let them aware of our true existence. It’s like if vampires were to come out of the closet, so to speak, the mortals would have to question the existence of all other mythological characters. Next thing you know we’ve got vampires, werewolves, leprechauns, fairies, trolls, demons, witches, and us.”

  “And we are?”

  “Half god, half man or wo-man,” he answers.

  “Are you telling me vampires are real?”

  “Have I taught you nothing woman? Of course they’re real. I wish I was born one sometimes, but I got stuck being in this divine form with you. We’re lucky, we could be trolls.”

  “Only if I get to hold a sign near a pretty bridge with a sign that says ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. If you’ve already abandoned hope, disregard, and bring the beer’.”

  “Trolls can’t drink beer,” he says.

  “Where did you read that?”

  “Internet,” he says and gives me an impatient expression

  “Of course.”

  Our conversation takes place as the metal cages move one by one around the track of the ride to load each individual cage with passengers. The conversation… can you call it that? Anyhow the words we were speaking to each other halt as the ride has been weighed down with passengers and spins around a track at an insane speed. On top of it, the cage spins around bolts and screws. The cool air wafts through the cage surrounding our faces and laughter.

  As we’re unloaded out of the metal death trap, Kip tugs me by the hand again. He leads me from game to game determined to win me what has to be the biggest teddy bear ever made. He plays the game where you have to ring a hole with water and watch as it climbs to the top.

  “This shit is rigged! There is no way that fat kid beat me. Fat people have bad reaction times,” he states.

  “Stop talking about fat kids.”

  “I don’t have a problem with him being fat. I have a problem being beat by a roly poly.”

  “What if it was an old guy?” I ask.

  “Old people have thin skin, thin hair, and bad eyesight. It would only confirm this shit is rigged. No way is an old geezer beating me.”

  “So you’d have a problem with old people too?”

  “Only if they beat me. Once the game is over and I’ve had time to think about my behavior I’d probably feel bad for wanting to beat the fat kid or old man. Sometimes I need time to put my thoughts into perspective. I’m just a passionate person and it can overtake me,” he explains.

  “Ya don’t say?”

  He drags me to the balloon dart game next where the carnie stares at me. I can’t tell if my disguise turns him on or repulses him. No matter, Kip to the rescue.

  “Dude, don’t stare it’s impolite. I told her to keep taking the hormones so ‘the change’ would be complete but she didn’t listen. She men! You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. Luckily the boobs didn’t go away when she stopped the treatments. The facial hair grew back, and it only takes a little while to get used to it. Tickles your balls but it’s actually nice.”

  The carnie gapes at Kip, but he finally wins that damn teddy bear.

  “Photo booth!” he says excitedly.

  The three of us, Kip, myself, and Godzilla Bear enters the photo booth and take an insane amount of pictures. We spend a hundred dollars in the damn thing. The pictures were of us making every facial expression known to man. Kip even licked my mustache. Lucky me. After we collected our pictures it was time for carnival food. We couldn’t decide so we loaded up a bag with funnel cakes, cinnamon rolls, candy apples, and cotton candy. With a final stop for coffee, we hail a cab and went back to the city.

  I fall asleep in the car, with my disguise on, and my arm draped across Godzilla bear. Kip exhausts me, but I had the time of my life. I really can’t remember the last time I had this much carefree fun. I didn’t have to worry about being seen once we left Bryant Park, and I experienced life like any other girl in her twenties would. Kip seems to always be the light in my life.

  “Wake up my beautiful she-man. Godzilla bear wants a beer,” Kip says.

  He pays the cab driver and drags the bear from the car and then leads me into a hole in the wall bar. We order beers and shots and play pool for hours. Much like most nights of drinking the alcohol creeps up on us, and we’re having a difficult time staying upright by three in the morning. There are at least two of Kip in my vision, and everything is insanely funny.

  “Let’s go to bed,” Kip says and attempts to roll onto the pool table.

  “Nope, I want the fluffy bed at the hotel,” I pout.

  “I don’t know if I can make it that far, she-man.”

  “We gotta. Godzilla Bear is drunk, and he wants a fluffy bed to lay in too,” I slur.

  Kip laughs loudly and obnoxiously which is funny. Yep, it’s totally funny.

  “K. I gotta a plan,” Kip garbles.

  “K. But no jungle peepers and no cocksuckers!” I yell and then laugh.

  “No, no, no, no, I lose my ninja powers when I drink so I couldn’t fight them off. We definitely have to avoid those.”

  “Definitely,” I agree.

  Somehow we manage to get a cab. We literally fall into it and pull our legs in because they just don’t seem to want to work. Stupid fucking legs. Bohemian Rhapsody is playing in the cab and because he’s stupid rock star filthy rich, he hands the cab drive a fifty to turn the shit all the way up. Man I love my life.

  Chapter 18

  Koi

  “Mamaaaaaaaa!”

  “Just killed a maaaaannnn!”

  What the fuck is that sound?

  “Put a gun against his head! Sho’ as fuck did!”

  “Mamaaaaaaaa!”

  “It’s not time for mama yet, Hen!”

  Jesus Christ.

  I hear doors opening and what could never be mistaken for drunken laughter fills the hotel hallway.

  “Memphissssssssssssssss! Hahahaha I sound like ssssnake,” Henley slurs obnoxiously loud.

  “You drunk, Hen?” Memphis asks.

  “Reesy cup! Where ya been?” she yells.

  “Hey Hen! How ya feeling?” Rhys asks.

  “Grrrrrreat! Haha now I sound like Tony the Tiger. You were wrong Kip, I’m a fucking shape shifter! The jungle peepers ain’t got shit on me,” she garbles.

  I get up and open my door to see what in the hell she’s gotten herself into now. Her and Kip and a fucking huge ass teddy bear are sitting on a bellhop cart, with the bellboy behind them.

  “Ma’am would you like me to push you to your room?” the amused bellboy asks.

  “Yesssssssssss!” she laughs. “Snakey Henley!”

  “Henley I was fucking singing!” Kip adds.

  The bellboy slowly pushes them down the long hallway from the ele
vator. As loud as they were I was sure they would’ve been closer to my room. Who in the hell let Kip and Henley get drunk together? I mean listen to the following phrase, “Henley and Kip got drunk together in New York City… with no supervision.” Does that sound like a good idea to you?

  “What the fuck?” Jagger says as he comes from the room beside mine.

  “Gonna be a long night,” Camden adds with a smile on his face.

  “Put a gun against his head!” Kip sings.

  “You already sang that line dip shit,” Henley advises.

  “Uh… fuck… Pulled my gun, now he’s dead!” Kip sings the correct line.

  The bellboy is having a difficult time pushing these two and the bear without spilling them out, so with sluggishness he finally reaches us. The sober people in the hallway burst into laughter. They’re both wearing trucker hats, mustaches, and leather vests. Jesus Christ, looking down at these two reminds me of a time when we were fifteen years old. The only thing missing from this bellhop cart is Caleb.

  Before I step into their space I can smell the tequila drifting in the air. Henley plus Kip plus a big ass teddy bear that appears to have one eye missing plus copious amounts of tequila plus NYC is a combination for disaster.

  Cory emerges from his room and Joe follows behind from his own room.

  Cory leans down to Henley, “You’re in big trouble missy.”

  “Nuh-uh,” she argues.

  “How much did you drink?” Joe asks.

  Kip and Henley both count their fingers and somewhere around seven she drops her hands and sticks out her bottom lip and says, “Just a little.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say.

  “Okay! Fine! I drank a little more than a little,” she nods as if that’s her story and she’s sticking to it.

  Seeing my sister like this is oddly refreshing. She looks so fucking happy and sunny. She’s been a little different since she’s been back from Columbia and she’s handled shit like the old Henley would. I know we each grow from the tragedies and mistakes in our lives and we can never go back after some of the things we endure, and she’ll never be the young twenty-two year old girl she was the night Caleb died. I get that, but damn it’s good to see part of her is still in there.

  “How much is a little more than a little?” Joe asks.

  “A whole lot?” she smiles and bats her eyes at him.

  Joe smiles down at her, “Yeah? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow, girl.”

  “Nuh-uh. I’m a shape shifter so I can shape shift out of a hangover now,” she says serious as can be.

  “Is that right?” Rhys asks.

  “Mama, life had just begun! But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away!” Kip sings at the tops of his lung.

  “Bruh, my ear drums!” Cam says.

  “Yeah, well I was in this hallway with Henley and Godzilla Bear first. We had the hallway all to ourselves and then all you assholes show up and ruin all the fun. So, if you don’t mind I shall continue singing the song of my people,” Kip slurs.

  “What kind of disguise are you two wearing?” Rhys asks.

  “I told people Henley was a she-man, and she stopped taking her hormones so her facial hair grew back but the tits stayed. Thank fuck for that, right?” Kip answers Rhys.

  “Fucking A,” Rhys answers.

  “What happened to the bear’s eye?” I ask.

  “He needed more character. He just looked like a regular teddy bear and that just wouldn’t do. There was a guy at the bar who had some crazy motorcycle vest on and something about Angels… anyhow,” Kip begins.

  “The Hell’s Angels?” Cam clarifies.

  “Uh, yeah, maybe, anyways his name was… oh yeah, I remember it was Sticker. So Sticker was quite amused by our disguises and our enormous bear. We got to talking and thought if he was gonna be a biker bear he should have more character. Henley decided Sticker should cut his eye out. Makes him look rugged and tough like a biker. He can’t be no pansy ass bear with biker parents like us,” Kip answers.

  “You aren’t bikers,” Cory says.

  “Shut up Cory. You’re ruining the dream man. Hen’s a shapeshifter now, so she’s a biker when she wants to be and Sticker said I have enough tats to join up,” Kip explains.

  “So you let a Hell’s Angel by the name of Sticker cut out the teddy bear’s eye?” I ask.

  “Yup. We were living the life tonight boys. Ain’t that right, Hen?”

  “Sticker was the shit,” she answers.

  “Sticker figured out who Henley really was. She had to remove the disguise momentarily and shift back into rock star mode so she could take pics with him and his friends. It was epic,” Kip continues.

  “Did his friends have on leather vests too and names like Blade, Tank, Renegade, Killer, or Skinny?” Joe asks.

  “Actually one was named Blade,” Kip says.

  “Their vests were so cool. I even got to take a picture with Sticker’s friend’s vest on,” Henley adds.

  “So let me get this straight, you went to a bar in New York City, got trashed, hung out with the Hell’s Angels, took pictures with them out of disguise, and put one of their vests on?” Cam asks her.

  “Yeah I put on Veep’s vest and don’t forget Sticker cut out Godzilla Bear’s eye.

  We gotta get him a patch,” she answers.

  “Wait what? You put on the Veep’s vest?” Cory asks.

  “Yup, he was quite smitten with her. Can we get back to singing Bohemian Rhapsody now?” Kip asks.

  “You put a Hell’s Angel’s Vice President’s vest on?” Cory asks.

  “No, I put on Veep’s vest,” Hen corrects.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say.

  “Hen, the Hells Angel’s are a 1% motorcycle club,” Cory explains.

  “What’s that?” she asks

  “They kill people. Did you see anyone with a 1% patch?” Cory asks.

  “Yup. Veep had one. I told them I killed someone so it would scare them, though,” she answers.

  “You did what?” I ask.

  “Yup. Told them what that ass fuck stalker did to me and how I kicked his ass, Cash chewed him up, I hit the fucker in the balls with the end of my shotgun, and then emptied 10 forty cals into his ass. Veep was impressed. I should get a 1% patch,” she winks.

  “They kill people?” Kip asks.

  “Yes. They kill other outlaw bikers and sometimes civilians who get mixed up with them,” Cory advises.

  “That’s so fucking cool,” Kips says.

  “Way cooler than jungle peepers. At least they have cool tattoos and vests. The jungle peepers eat people,” Henley adds.

  “DO NOT start the jungle peeper shit again! I’ll end up with fucking malaria or Ebola!” Joe yells.

  Then we all burst into laughter. I mean we laugh so hard and so long we end up on the floor. My ribs hurt so badly, but I can’t stop because Kip and Henley got trashed in a bar where they told people she was a she-man. They hung out with the Hells Angels who cut out the teddy bear’s eye, and now they want an eye patch for him. My sister posed as herself with 1% bikers and they were fucking smitten with her. Smitten! I told you this would be disastrous.

  “You’re hurting Godzilla Bear’s feelings. We really need to get him a patch tomorrow, Kip,” Henley says with furrowed brows.

  “Hey bellboy,” Kips says as he leans in the cart and then falls out of it.

  That only causes our laughter to grow into hysterics.

  “Hey bellboy!” he yells.

  “Sir,” the bellboy responds.

  “I need an eye patch for our teddy bear, can you ask concierge to make that happen before I wake up in the…. Well this afternoon?” he asks.

  The bellboy really tries to hold it together, but he fails.

  He snorts out a laugh, “Yes sir, I’ll relay the message.”

  Chapter 19

  Henley

  Someone hit me in the head wit
h a sledgehammer. I’m sure of it. I pry one of my eyes open, and it hurts. Oh how it hurts. Tequila is such an asshole.

  “Good morning,” Kip croaks out with his sexy raspy morning voice.

  “I’m never drinking again,” I mumble.

  “Ah, the declarations one makes the morning after a bender,” he snickers.

  The asshole.

  “Food… meds… orange juice,” I grumble.

  “Taken care of, get your sniffer workin’.”

  I sit up in bed and see half the room service menu ordered and sitting on trays around the room.

  “Here,” Kip says and shoves four Advil in my hand.

  He hands me orange juice to wash the pills down.

  He’s shirtless with all his tattoos on display. The hair on the top of his head is all mussed and his stomach and chest are toned. I need to buy a vibrator for the road. How do men look so fucking sexy after a night of drinking? It’s so not fair. I’m sure I have raccoon eyes courtesy of eyeliner and mascara. My hair probably looks like a squirrel found a new home, and my breath would knock an elephant on its ass.

  “Eat woman,” he commands.

  I dive into some pancakes and fruit.

  “I need a vibrator,” I ramble with food in my mouth.

  Lady like, I know.

  “Say what?” his eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead.

  “I need a vibrator or I’ll spontaneously combust.”

  “I’m going to be a good friend and offer my moral support through this difficult and painful time. I’ll go with you,” he says with that mischievous grin he wears so well.

  “I couldn’t ask you to suffer through something so awful,” I tease.

  “But I’m a great friend so I’ll go to the sex shop with you. It’s the least I can do after you dressed like a transvestite for me,” he says motioning his hands between him and me.

  Sometimes I think he can’t talk without his hands

  “Stupid vow,” I mutter.

  “What are you going on about?”

  “I vowed not to have an orgasm with a man. It will put distance between me and my crazy vagina who really likes penis. She’s such a cunt.”