“Welcome to being the girlfriend of a rock star my dear! We ride in the back so the groupies can ride the bus with the band. It’s a party goin’ on up there and we are not invited.”
“Yeah,” Heather said, “you are just going to have to learn to share.”
“Share what?” I asked.
“Your man!” All three said almost in unison.
As we rode into the Sheraton Hotel in Fort Myers, Florida, I thought about what was going on in the tour bus up ahead. I used to be that girl, maybe I still was. I knew one thing, I sure as hell didn’t like riding in the back in the limo when my “man” was in front of us on a tour bus with a shit load of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Share my ass!
Rock stars feel invincible and to make up the magic formula of being a rock god, you need equal parts talent, sweat and swagger. When they come off stage they are nuts, totally wired. Shaking and pouring things on themselves and flying high on adrenaline.
Their ears are ringing and if they have to get back to their limo and fans spot them, they do what is called a “runner” and get back to the car sweating and ready to burst from energy.
Sometimes there would be an after party, sometimes not. Sometimes the band would party with the other band, sometimes, not. Sometimes they would just go back to the hotel and chill with the other band members, sometimes not.
You’re dead tired, you go to bed, wake up, feel good for a while, then around 5:00, your body is gonna kill you, but you gotta play that night and you think you need the drugs to help get you through.
Sometimes, I would run into my rock star backstage but he was never alone. He had some blonde on his arm but it wasn’t his wife.
I heard around that they had divorced and he was hitting the needle pretty hard. Wouldn’t know it though by looking at him. God, he was beautiful.
Whenever I saw him, my mind went back to the hotel in Boston…I wish I was back there with him now.
After a few weeks the band had rocked its way through Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina, Mississippi, and Louisiana…19 cities so far.
Our last stop on this leg of the tour was at the Lakefront Arena in New Orleans.
We were headed up north to Canada but we were going back home for a few days to recoup and the band had one more show to do before we flew back to LA.
I had been shooting up pretty regular and getting my stuff from Roxy and her ol’ man, the lead guitarist. He was pretty cool but quiet and hard to read with his thick, black curly hair covering his eyes most of the time. He didn’t say much to anyone but he was crazy about Roxy and the two had plans to get married.
I was happy for them but felt sad for myself. I was not in love with the man who shared my bed, the freak is more like it. Our sex life was weird, creepy and not worth it for the most part.
I was used to getting fucked and happy to suck but he was more into watching me take a piss and tying me to the bedpost. He had also decided to add other women to our “relationship” and whipped out the video camera with each sordid interlude.
The drugs had been taking their toll on us, mind, body and soul. After a show, we would hole up in our hotel room, shoot up then pass out. We had stopped taking showers, what was the point, we would just get dirty again. Why make the bed, we would only sleep in it again and why get sober, we would only get drunk and high again.
We had only been together less than a year and I was already hooked on heroin, smelled like an old whore and looked just as bad.
My rock star had another beautiful blonde in his bed and she wasn’t me. It could have been me, it should have been me. But what would he want with a junkie?
The band was playing in New Orleans and I was backstage sitting alone in front of the makeup mirror flipping through the band‘s makeup. Eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, hairspray…it looked more like the backstage at a fashion show then a heavy metal rock concert.
The other girls had taken off and disappeared somewhere, the halls were quiet but I could hear the band playing up on stage.
Suddenly I heard footsteps coming up to the door.
There was a slight knock, almost timid at first, and then it got harder, with more conviction.
“Come in,” I said quietly.
The door slowly opened and there he was, there was my rock star.
Startled I said, “What…what are you doing here?”
He just stood there and looked at me.
Long black hair, blonde patches on each side, Grecian nose and crooked smile, tan skin that looked like muscled velvet…he was truly a rock and roll god and at that moment, he was in my presence.
“What are you doing with him Poppy?” he said slowly.
I thought I must be dreaming. Did he actually care about me, like me, possibly even love me?
“Oh,” I said as I hung my head.
He walked into the room and gently shut the door behind him. He seemed to glide in my direction as though he were floating on a cloud, a butter cloud.
He tenderly put his finger under my chin and lifted my head. Our eyes met and we actually saw each other again for the first time in a very long time.
“You look so sad,” he finally said. “I know what an asshole he is, everyone does. Is that what you want? Is he who you want? I thought we…”
He said we, oh God let him say it again…
“I mean,” he continued, “when we were together before I felt something, you were different somehow, ya know, and when I asked you to contact me when we got off tour, you…” he sighed as though he thought what was the point.
I quietly listened to the band play onstage. I had heard them enough to know their set list and how far along in the show they were. I knew how much time I had to be alone with him and they were only a few songs into the set.
“Are you going to say anything or was it all me?” he said.
Wake up Poppy, you must be dreaming, this is not real, not real in any way.
However, I wasn’t dreaming. My rock star was standing right there, right in front of me and asking me to love him. Or was he? I don’t know what he was doing but he was doing it right in front of me. I had to respond.
“I didn’t live in Boston,” was the only thing I could muster. Stupid!
He tilted his head to listen.
“I was only visiting my aunt there and I ended up driving cross country with her and ended up in Utah…oh hell, it’s a long boring story. I’m sure you don’t care to hear it.”
He seemed relieved, smiled and said, “You have several songs to tell me.” He knew the set list too.
I chuckled.
I told him how I had wanted to see him again and how I ended up in Salt Lake then LA and how I had met the singer and how it all went downhill from there.
But did he believe me or did he think I was just some junkie groupie who would fuck any rock star, didn’t matter which one, and now I was latched on to another one.
“You know I’m divorced now,” he said looking down at his ring finger. “Yeah, she got tired of all the shit and threw me out. Imagine that,” he laughed.
“I guess I was the last straw huh?” I asked.
“No, there were others.” He realized what he had just said, “Seriously though Poppy none of them mattered to me, not like you do.”
“Well, I see you’ve moved on,” I said, indicating the blonde who hung on his every word. Where was she now anyway?
“Oh you mean Anne,” he sounded disgusted. “Yeah, I caught her with a stage hand last night and I sent her back to Tampa. It wasn’t anything serious, just filling time that’s all. Believe it or not, I‘m a relationship type of guy. I don‘t like all this dating and shit, it gets too complicated, I like it to be me and her, you know a couple.”
“A rock star who actually wants to settle down?” Oops, maybe I went too far with the settle down business. Shut up Poppy and pull it together.
He just smiled.
I
was so high I could barely see straight. I had taken a bump of coke earlier, smoked some weed and had a few Jack and Cokes. On top of all that shit, I was high on Dilaudids which is a form of synthetic heroin. You can pop them or shoot them directly into your waiting vein.
Pure glorious man made heroin!
I was a mess and he was looking at me, probably quietly judging me. I was so far from the Poppy he had known back in Boston. He knows the deal.
“So he’s got you on the stuff?” His tone suddenly went serious. “I mean, it’s no secret okay, I mean look at you. He’s a fucking junkie, a total bi-polar asshole and I don’t know why someone hasn’t blown his brains out before now. I can’t stand that prick!”
He gently took my arm and lifted up the sleeves on my chiffon blouse. There, all along my rail thin arms were the tracks and bruises of a junkie. I began to quietly weep. I was so ashamed.
Taking the sleeve of his white silk shirt, he slowly rolled it up to reveal the same set of markings on his own arm.
Although I knew, I didn’t know.
“Yeah, it’s been a while now since I started. I took it up a few months ago and can’t shake the shit. Man it’s bad. I don’t want this life for you Poppy, I just don’t. You need to get clean and get away from him.”
“I don’t know how…” I cried.
The last song was almost over, they would be coming backstage soon, and my time with my rock star would be over.
“You’d better go,” I said softly.
“But…”
Suddenly the door opened and in walked Roxy, “Oops, s-o-r-r-y…” she said as she slithered back out of the room. Great! I knew she liked me but could I trust her? She stuck pretty close to her man and maybe she wouldn’t tell anyone.
I could hear the band onstage, they had just finished their last song, and the crowd was going wild. The floor was rocking from the feet stomping and shouting. It got louder and louder and it was hard to hear what my rock star was saying. However, that’s just it, he wasn’t saying anything, just standing there looking at me.
The door opened and a flurry of people came rushing in like a busted water pipe. I looked around and got lost in the sea of people but my rock star was gone.
We were taken to the airport immediately and headed back to Los Angeles. On the plane, Roxy confronted me.
“Hey Poppy, what was that I walked in on earlier tonight.” Dammit!
I just looked out the window and ignored her.
She plopped her bosomy self in the upright seat next to me. I sighed which should have indicated to her that I did not want a lecture. She was a bit older than the rest of us girls and she kinda took on a mother hen tone with us. I hated it but hell, that’s who she was.
“You know,” she said, “if he finds out, you’re out. I mean out on your ass out! It doesn’t matter what he does with other women, if you are his girlfriend, he expects you to be faithful to him. I know he’s a total dick but that’s how he is.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I said. She looked at me like she didn’t believe me.
“Well he wasn’t looking at you like nothing was going on. You can tell me…what’s the scoop poop?”
I sighed again. “Nothing, end of story.”
“Well, you know why he’s divorced don’t you?” She meant my rock star.
I didn’t answer.
“He’s an addict and I don’t mean just drugs, I mean sex, he’s a sex addict.”
“Oh please!” I said. “What rag mag did you get that from?”
“It’s true I tell you!” She insisted. “I know his wife. Total money hungry bitch but we were friends in a weird sort of I hate you kind of way.”
I smirked, “Yeah right, whatever Roxy!”
I didn’t want to hear it. I had read all the rock magazines, Creem, Hit Parader, Circus…hell I was in them myself now. Everywhere we went we were hounded by photographers. I felt famous too! However, I didn’t kid myself into thinking that this was real, not real in any way.
Was she right? I don’t know but I did know one thing…my rock star not only remembered me but guess what, I think he likes me too.
We landed back in LA and settled into the mansion for a long few days of R and R and R…rest, relaxation and rigs (needles)
Come Next Tuesday
Life with a rock star is a grand, non-stop parade of sex, drugs and rock and roll! Yeah right! Ain’t a whole lot grand about it, although the fame and the money can sure buy you a lot of drugs and a lot of cool things.
But even when I am with him, I feel alone. Alone in this big empty house, empty bed and empty soul.
We only had a few days off the road to pull our shit together and it was back on the bus and back in the back…in the limo.
I knew firsthand what those slut groupies were doing up ahead in the rock and roll tour bus but like the bimbo said, I had to share.
My mind drifted back to my rock star and how he cared, he really cared about me but where was he now? Where had he gone that night?
Shuffled out the door like a servant. Excused away by that rock star who shares my bed.
The first day off the road, we were lying in bed. The sun was coming up and although the curtains were pulled shut, I could see the light trying desperately to shine through. Kinda like my own soul.
I looked at him lying next to me. On his back with the expensive sheet barely covering his scrawny ass, his prominent spinal cord sticking through his thin junkie skin and that hair! No matter how often he washed it, it always looked like it was in need of an oil change.
We had been up all night, wired and too sick and tired to fuck (what’s new) and even too tired to take a shower. How long has it been? A week, maybe longer.
I sighed and looked around the room. This was a rock star’s bedroom for sure. However, it wasn’t my rock star’s. Oh I how I missed him.
I’m sure he was back in Boston or wherever taking his days off with pleasure with a new blonde by his side. The blonde who should be me.
I wondered if he was thinking of me too at that very moment.
As I laid there staring up at the reflection in the overhead mirror, I didn’t even recognize the person staring back at me. I was gaunt, pale and sick looking. My long hair almost as dirty and stringy looking as his.
Suddenly he turned over, reached a rail thin arm over my stomach and said, “Good morning Babe.” Babe, he hadn’t called me that in a long time.
He leaned in for a kiss with his nasty morning breath and I softly but hesitantly kissed him back.
“Let’s get married!” He said quickly and the sound of it almost knocked me off the bed.
Turning to look at him I said, “What the fuck?”
“What?” he seemed surprised. “Let’s go to Vegas and get married! I mean it, come on, it’ll be a blast.”
I knew he wasn’t high, he had just woken up, but he must have a screw loose.
He jumped out of bed with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning. He began spouting off plans to go to Vegas, get married then go back to Tabu where we met and tell Gerri the good news.
“Come on Poppy, get dressed!”
I just laid there. “You are not serious are you?”
“Hell yeah, I’m serious. I love ya baby! Let’s lock this thing down!”
I was quiet.
He sighed and put his head down then gently glided himself back into the bed beside me.
“Look,” he said taking my hand, “I know this tour has been hard on you and I know how you feel riding in the limo with the other girls but hey it’s all just part of the game you know. It doesn’t really mean anything.”
“Well, it’s not a game to me. I know what those groupies are doing up there and it makes me sick, you know.”
I don’t know why I was getting so upset. I mean, I did care about him but I was in no way in love with him. I loved the other him, my rock star, but he didn’t need a junkie in his life r
ight now.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll make ya deal, marry me today and I promise things will be different. You can ride on the bus with the rest of the band okay, you will be my wife and as the leader of this group, I make the rules. I love you Poppy and I don‘t want to lose you.”
At that moment, he sounded so romantic and sweet that I feel in love with him for just a second, but then it went away, but in the moment that I loved him, I said yes.
Looking back now, I must have been out of my mind. I was out of my mind, insane on alcohol and strung out on drugs. He didn’t want or need a wife, a lover or a whore. What he wanted was a drug buddy, a fucking drug buddy who happened to be a hot teenager and an awesome fuck and suck. Yeah, great criteria for a marriage.
We flew to Vegas that afternoon and got hitched. We were both high as a kite and I barely remember the ceremony which consisted of a preacher who dressed like Elvis and two witnesses who looked like Ma and Pa Kettle.
We whisked off to Tabu and I didn’t know any of the new girls there but Gerri was still there in her dark office.
“Come in,” she bellowed as we knocked on the door.
“Surprise,” I said as I waltzed in like I owned the place. For a moment she looked puzzled, as she did not recognize me.
“Yeah,” she said, “may I help you?”
She looked at him and then back at me and she honestly had no idea who we were.
“Gerri, it’s me Poppy. I used to work here for you. Don’t you remember? I was a waitress here for a while and well, we just got married and wanted to come by and see you since you are the reason why we met.”
She looked at me then blurted out, “Poppy? Poppy Bishop? What in the fucking hell happened to you girl?”
Not the welcome home I was expecting.
He just stood there knowing full well what she meant.
Shaking her head, “See what these fucked up rock stars do to you. What’s he got you on, heroin, coke? Look at you, I didn’t even recognize you!”
“Let’s go,” he said grabbing my arm, “we don’t need this shit.”
Tears began to well up in my eyes and I realized she was right.
Lick and a Promise-Diary of a Rock Star Groupie Page 12
