by Amy Asbury
Pepper has straight, shoulder-length white-blond hair and wears red lipstick. Instead of a beauty spot, he draws an "X" above his lip, which is weird, but creative. He says it is the anti-beauty spot. He is my age and works at the Hostess bakery during the day, where they make Twinkies and stuff. We are probably the youngest people in this crowd right now. So anyway, back to the story of the night. I found Razz, Holly, Stacy and Roxy and they wanted to use the old tickets from Roxy’s Tryx show the week before to get into the Swingin’ Thing show, but no one wanted to face getting caught, so I walked up to the door man, handed him all of the tickets and we all walked right in. Swingin’ Thing was half over and everyone separated into the crowd. A bit later, I saw Roxy at the bar with a blond pulled up close to him.
Swingin’ Thing played a great show and threw out the beach balls into the crowd as we all tried stealing each other’s drinks. After the show, the whole crowd poured out in front of the club and gathered under the lights of the marquee. Razz was telling Jessie Star of Tryx that they should touch foreheads, saying “Big foreheads unite!” and Jessie said, “Is my forehead that big?”
My sister Becky, Michael and I piled into Cristabelle’s car to leave, but we were missing Razz and the rest. We were yelling his name but he couldn’t hear us. Cristabelle was forced to pull her car out into traffic on Sunset because there were people behind us honking. I got out of the car in the middle of traffic to run and get him; she said she would pull up the road a little and wait for us. People were “wooo-hooo”ing me from their cars, yelling stuff about me and whistling at me. I ran onto the sidewalk, toward the Rainbow. Guys were grabbing me in the crowds, but I kept going, dodging drunk guys left and right, slapping people’s hands off me. I got to the Rainbow and realized that not only could I not find Razz, but I was all alone out there in a skimpy lavender and pink leopard print outfit. I was scared.
Then I saw a bright neon light: Bobby Berry. He came over and agreed to walk with me to find Razz. His made-up eyes looked tired and I noticed he had a five o’clock shadow under his makeup. As we wove in and out of the crowds, I realized that all of the good-looking people had left to go to parties and all that was left was people who were not the standard patrons; people who were drunk and had decided to finally get out of their cars and take a look around, maybe beat up a few “glam fags.”
We ran into Pepper and waited for him to pee by the Whisky, his platinum hair pulled back into a headband. I left them and hoped I could find Cristabelle up the hill from the Whisky, where she said she would be. Just as I was about to cry from thinking I was left there, Cristabelle pulled up and I ran and got into the car.
Journal Entry 4/21/91
I went to The Strip on Friday and after the night was over, we all got into Stacy Star’s BMW that was parked above the Whisky. When we got to the stoplight, we saw Weird Al Yankovic at the crosswalk. Missy yelled, “AL!” – apparently she knew him- and he came and jumped on the hood of the car! He smashed his face against Stacy’s windshield; we could see his eyes bugging out and his glasses tilting to the side, trying to be funny. Stacy said in his baritone voice, “I don’t care who the fuck you are, get the fuck off my car!” He accelerated a little bit and then stepped on the brakes really hard. Al went flying out into the street like a rag doll. I wondered if he broke some bones, but we peeled out, so I never knew. We turned out onto Sunset. Michael saw us, jumped out of a crowd on the sidewalk, and started running alongside the car with Bobby Berry, banging on the windows. Missy said, “Leave him. He’ll be fine. I have left him down here so many times…” So we sped away, leaving him in the street.
Journal Entry 4/30/91
We all went to El Compadre on Saturday night. It is a dark little Mexican cantina with a mariachi band, candles on the tables, red leather booths, twinkly lights around the edges of the place and chips and salsa at each table. Everybody ordered flaming margaritas. They cut a lime in half, douse it with alcohol, and then light it on fire. It is a little fire ball in your drink. I hate tequila since I puked from it in front of the cops. Razz kept yelling for the waiter to bring me daiquiris in a shrill voice, “Caesar! A daiquiri for the lady!”
Razz told me about a waiter at another popular restaurant- he said that when the guy brought him the check at the end of the night, there would be a line of coke on the little tray, under the bill. Then they would do the coke together.
Caesar kept coming and dumping extra shots in our drinks. Some young girl asked me how I was served alcohol, if I had a fake ID or what- I thought about it for a second and said truthfully that I had no idea. I hadn’t thought much about it, it kind of just happened. Michael weaved through the crowds and ended up at another table talking to a guy who fought in the war in the Middle East. When he came back, he was disgusted with himself.
“Dude,” he said in his snobby, nasal, Valley Girl voice and teased out hair, “That guy just got back from the Middle East. He has shot people. Dude...he is a stud. He fought for our country. We’re wimps, Razz. We were gonna go hide in Canada if there was a draft. That guy fought for our country and he is still alive! He is here partying! What a stud!”
Razz rolled his eyes nonchalantly and said, “Could you picture me at war, Michael? With my beauty spot, going, ‘who do I shoot’?” He sipped his margarita like a woman and considered the conversation over.
Michael went with me to the ladies room, fixing his hair and using the stall. He had on a magenta blazer, khaki pants, and saddle shoes with polka dot bows on them. One foot was black with white polka dots and the other was white with black polka dots.
Back at the table Holly said, “I used to drink every day…now I drink nonstop! Dude, I am an alcoholic!” I took off with Holly, who was my ride and who is the only person who has never tried to pick up on me, so I trust him. We sat in the car and waited for the others and he told me he had just found out that a very good friend of his had just died of a heroin overdose. I felt so sad for him. We tried to corral everyone back to the car and somehow Michael was pulled into a big brawl with an Arab guy. The next thing I knew, Holly was out of the car socking the guy in the face, probably letting out his anger over his friend dying. Bobby Berry jumped in and was punching people with his neon green bandana in his hair. I was sitting in Holly’s car with all of the doors open and the motor running. Security people ran over and so did a bunch of other people. Holly split the guy’s nose open with his rings and Michael was being dragged by his long hair (as was Bobby) and thrown all over the place. They were both still punching people. Then the Arab guy pulled out a gun. Everything screeched to a halt.
When it was over, everyone was all pumped up, especially Michael.
“Dude! We brawled! Bobby! You can fight! You knocked out two guys!”
He couldn’t believe it. Bobby had clearly fought before, but kind of hid it because it wasn’t ‘glam’ to be that masculine. He made no comment.
We left and went to a gas station on Highland and Franklin. Some guy looked at our guys and said, “Hey GIRLS.” They all jumped out of the car and started brawling again, except for Razz, who looked back at me and said, “I don’t wanna mess up my pretty face.”
Holly started hitting the guy with a crow bar that he pulled out of his car. He threw the guy on the windshield and started beating his head in. The guy grabbed Holly’s arm and started biting him. Michael punched another guy and got punched back. Then one of the guys pulled out a huge knife and everything went silent. I covered my eyes- I didn’t want to see a stabbing through the windshield. The gas station attendant was laughing and did nothing. I wasn’t surprised because I had seen that place taped off with police tape before; complete with white sheets covering dead bodies. Anyway, the fight stopped when that knife was pulled out.
Journal Entry 5/12/91
Michael moved out of Dusty’s condo and in with three girls in Hollywood because he couldn’t afford the rent.
I got a ride to the apartment, somewhere on Sycamore. I was the only person wear
ing brightly colored clothing in a room of girls sitting around wearing black and pouting. I was also the only person smiling, which I consider key. The girls who rent the apartment are not pretty enough nor are they stylish enough, but they are now in our crowd by default. We went to pick up Roxy and he ignored me for the first 45 minutes, which I predicted and didn’t care or worry about whatsoever. Michael just started hanging with a band called the Brats. They are kind of tough, no pink and shit. Lots of black. They seemed a little dark, but apparently they are the new cool guys in town, so all bets are off. We picked them up and we all went to El Compadre. While I was sucking back cocktails through red straws, I thought about how that night was the senior prom at my high school. I was missing it. But I like where I am. I love my crowd. I love that it is colorful, unpredictable, and exciting. There are no rules for me. I am free to run wild. I think I am a little past proms. I don’t know if that is really cool or sort of sad.
I won’t bore you with the story of Roxy and me. It was the same cat and mouse chase as always. He was pawing me under the table while several girls sent me death stares. Here is the conversation we had:
He said, “Look, I will be honest- I just got out of a three year relationship- I am not going to get back into one. But I like you. I do.” Then he asked me to go to the movies. I found it corny, but endearing.
“Your boyfriend won’t even know! I like you! Why won’t you believe me?!”
I laughed and pretended to be very nonchalant, but I was dying inside. Missy told me he went down on Rachel the other night and then tried to get on her. I asked him about it and he said, “Okay, okay- I am not gonna lie and try to deny shit. I do fucked up things all the time. But I like you. I want you to believe me.”
We just sat there and stared at each other. He is such a whore- he doesn’t even hide it! He is the worst.
Journal Entry 5/20/91
The girls who went out with us tonight were totally rude to me because one of them likes Roxy. Who doesn’t? Her name is Mia and she is very plain, with this overinflated sense of confidence. She kept trying to drop hints to me that they are sleeping together, which they probably are. She said, “When we are in bed tonight” and “When we wake up in the morning” a bunch of times. The best part was when I was walking and she ran and caught up to me. She put on a really confrontational voice and said, “We have a problem. I am dating Brian. You like him, don’t you?” I laughed and said I had a boyfriend. She was so non-threatening to me that I barely even got mad. I looked at Roxy in a different light that night. Anyone can have a piece of him. He isn’t hard to get. He isn’t even good enough to have me.
I was finally over really liking Roxy. It had taken a few months, but the sting was gone and I felt more in control and less impressed with him. It taught me a good lesson, but then again, it also worked against me. I thought to myself, Okay, now that I don’t like him anymore, I can’t get hurt…
And that came into play one night when we all went out. I had come straight from work and hadn’t even showered, so I cringe to think of the state of my lady parts. They were the furthest thing from fresh and clean that you could possibly imagine. You know where this is going (laughs). Roxy and I ended up at a party somewhere and out of nowhere, I started totally making out with him in a kitchen, next to some hanging baskets of vegetables. We went into a bathroom and hooked up- we didn’t have sex and I didn’t do anything to him, thankfully, but he went to town on me. All I could think was I should have showered!
After that night, I saw him one more time. He walked right by me with a girl on either side of him, one blond and one brunette. He glanced at me and then kept on walking, as if he didn’t even know me.
I never saw him again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Big Bang Glamour Cat Scratch Punk Alley Babies
With the exception of that, uh, indiscretion in a random bathroom, I appeared to be playing the game correctly. I was one of the popular girls, one of the cool people. I had the look, I knew everyone, and I was confident. I had achieved my goal, no matter how lame it was. Partying with the right people for a summer increased my social value even more. It no longer mattered to me that my family was broken apart and my mother couldn’t stand me. I had a new family who worshipped me. I was on top. I got a ride to The Strip every weekend, jumped out of the car, and ran off into the crowds to find my friends. I had a toothbrush in my boot and nothing else. I was nuts.
Journal Entry 6/6/1991
I only had four dollars to last me the whole week, and I pitched in two of it for a twelve pack. Michael and I were walking down The Strip drinking those beers, when a fight broke out between Johnny Valentine from the Brats and some shorthaired guys. Johnny was socked in the back of the head, and then it got broken up. Some black girls looked at me and said I looked like I was twelve years old and should be at home watching the Gummi Bears. I was hurt for a second, but quickly got over it when dark haired, blue-eyed Sunny from none other than Swingin’ Thing asked me to go to a party with them! I was thrilled! They were trying to pull me into their car and it was starting to drive away when he yelled, “Come on! Come on! Jump in!” I was flattered, but I knew if I got in that car I would end up God knows where. I grabbed my camera (the ONE time I ever brought it to Hollywood) and pointed it toward them. They were motioning for me and hanging out of the car. I thought, ‘This will be the ego boost of the year if I can get this shot! The glory!’ But my camera didn’t work and I looked like an idiot taking a picture of them instead of either going or saying no.
After coming down from my temporary high, I realized that I had no ride home. I was just standing there in the dust with a camera and two dollars. I found Michael and we got in some girl’s car to go to a party. The girl made out with Michael and before the night was through, she gave him money! That little snake has all the luck. After the party, we laid on the ground and looked up at the sky for UFOs- then we started slapping each other in the forehead. Eventually, I had to call Jimmy to come and get me. He was pissed.
Journal Entry 6/16/91
The band that Jimmy put together had their first gig at Riki Rachtman’s Birthday Bash at Madame Wong’s West. It was a twenty-one and over club with a line around the block. Cristabelle and I got in through the side door and were on a guest list. One of the men at the door asked for my ID and I started to say I didn’t have it but another doorman said, “No one asked if you had ID.” And I said, “He just asked me,” and the man looked at his partner and said, “Ahhh, what does he know?”
I had a lot of beer. Razz was there with his good-looking friend, Darren Tyler, and they were sticking their strong margaritas in my face. Darren is hot and tall with olive skin and long, burgundy-tinted hair pushed over to the side. He is currently dating the wife of someone pretty famous. She used to be a bikini-clad mud wrestler from the Hollywood Tropicana, and now she stays home while the famous husband is on tour. Darren thinks he is the shit and has the personality of a bored debutante. He had the nerve to say, “Not to be mean, but your boyfriend is ugly. Does he have some really great personality or something?” I wasn’t shaken because I had heard it many times before by bigger names than his high-school-going ass. I responded in a more bored manner than even he could muster, “I can’t deal with your attitude. I won’t tolerate it,” and then walked away with my eyebrows up. I didn’t want to stand in the long line for the bathroom so I walked right in front of every single girl in line and went right into a stall and peed. They were mad. I did that twice.
I didn’t bat an eyelash at checking out another guy at Jimmy’s show because I had just recently done worse: I had cheated on him with Roxy. I kept trying to tell myself that maybe it wasn’t cheating because I didn’t so much as touch Roxy’s private parts…but he had touched mine. And I had made out with him! I couldn’t believe myself.
Cristabelle was truly ready to change scenes at that point. She was completely exhausted. She started to take interest in the rave scene and wanted to start goin
g to underground clubs, but I wasn’t ready to leave Hollywood. I had only just begun. I had found a place where I felt comfortable and happy and I wasn’t about to give it up to start dancing in abandoned warehouses with a pacifier in my mouth. I didn’t blame her for leaving the Hollywood scene and me along with it. I was totally using her to drive me around, which was horrible. I wasn’t even hiding it.
The guys dared me to kiss beautiful Missy one night on the way to Hollywood. She turned around from the front seat of the car and I leaned up toward her, heart beating fast, wanting to be cool in front of my older friends. All the guys woo-hooed and we laughed after kissing. I felt initiated, cool. I also felt even further away from my peers in high school and realized I had no one to tell my story to. I couldn’t tell Abby; she would think I was gay and be uncomfortable around me. I would have to keep things to myself. I continued my double life of high school student by day and cool rock chick by night.
