17: "Oops, I Did It Again..."
Sandwiched between a green Dodge
Neon and a silver Honda Civic sat a black stretch limousine. Inside, a slender
blond tapped her long fingernails against an armrest and gazed out the window.
She scratched her bare midsection, just below a pale pink terry cloth halter
top. And fought with a form fitting leather miniskirt to uncross and to recross
her nylonned legs.
The limo inched forward several feet. The girl
sighed.
The man beside her shifted in his seat. Blond icicles dripped
over his eyes as he leaned over his legs and stared at the maroon carpeted
floor. "Britney, there's something I need to tell you."
"What is it,"
Anthony?" she asked, head turning. Shining strands of sunshine cascaded over her
shoulder. Her painted eyes met with his. "Is everything okay, Anthony?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, and bit at his upper lip. The lie stung
his brain. He shook his head. "No, I'm not."
She wrapped a delicate arm
around his bicep. The other she raised, and laid her palm across his forehead.
"Are you feeling okay, honey? You feel awfully warm, and your eyes look kind of
cloudy."
He wagged his head. "I just didn't sleep last night."
"Why not?"
'I was high as a kite,' came to Anthony's mind. He
bit at his lower lip and shrugged. "I just didn't."
"Oh!" Britney cooed
and flung her arms around his left bicep. She nestled her head on his shoulder.
Dark, glossy eyes peered up at him. "Are you feeling up to the concert then? We
don't have to go if you don't want to."
Anthony gazed into the pop
singer's eyes. His heart fluttered. A goofy smile played across his lips. With
his free arm, he reached for Britney's face. His fingers caressed her cheek.
They traveled toward her jaw, and swooped beneath her chin. His thumb brushed
across her rose petal lips. "Baby," he whispered, "I want to be with you."
Britney grinned. She untucked one of her hands and drew it to Anthony's
fingers. Her nails danced across his knuckles.
Lowering his thumb,
Anthony leaned toward Britney and closed his eyes. He gently kissed her. As he
withdrew his lips from hers, he opened his eyes to intense, dark ones. They
stared into one another's eyes. Gazing, peering... searching. Anthony drew close
to her and kissed her again. This time, his mouth lingered on hers, his tongue
running along the bottom of her upper lip. Her lips parted. The inside of his
cheek stung as a cinnamon laden tongue rhythmically lapped against it, then
tingled. He eased his left arm out of her grasp, wrapped it around her back, and
pulled her closer to his body. She laid her now idle hand flat against his
chest.
Anthony's fingers dug deep into Britney's shoulder blade, and
circled it. His hand explored her back, over the fluffy terry cloth. It ran over
a distinct line. He drew his fingers toward her spine. His nails scratched at a
clasp, just beneath the shirt. He unhooked it.
Britney caressed
Anthony's cheek as she sucked on his upper lip, her tongue massaging its
underside.
Tracing Britney's spine, Anthony ran his hand down her back.
He hooked his fingers around the hem of her halter top. Inch by inch, he drew it
up her back.
They jerked to the right as the limo skidded around a
corner. It slid to a halt. Through the tinted glass in front of them, a muffled
voice announced, "We're here, Ms. Spears."
Britney sat back. "Darn!" she
muttered. She reached her arms around her back and hooked the clasp on her bra.
Then ran her fingers through her hair. Gazing at Anthony, she grimaced. "It
figures, doesn't it."
"Damn straight!" he exclaimed. He drew a hand to
his lips. "I'm sorry, baby," he spoke through his fingers, eyes wide.
Britney giggled and shook her head. "It's okay, Anthony," she assured
him. She lowered his hand and ran a thumb over his lips. He kissed her.
"We'll get back to this later," he grinned.
The door beside
Britney opened, and she stepped out onto the curb. Her ebony platforms clunked
against the sidewalk. Anthony slid across the seat and jumped out of the limo.
His eyes widened as they scanned the cityscape. Black graffiti-ridden buildings
lined either side of the street, crammed into place, allowing no space. Anthony
couldn't find one shard of colour in this shades-of-gray neighbourhood. They had
entered Kenna's "Hellbent" video.
"Dave Navarro's playing HERE?!"
Anthony exclaimed, looking around.
Gesturing toward a street sign,
Britney nodded. "Yeah, this is 18th street." She scratched her head. "This IS
strange."
A husky young man closed the limo door behind Anthony. "Ms.
Spears," he said. "He's performing at that club over there." He pointed down the
street, to a corner that glowed in the approaching dusk. Painted across the
white washed side of a building was a voluptuous red head, her face about a
story tall. The cowering building beneath her covered the lower half of her
body. Fiery hair waved in an imaginary breeze. Beneath her long, thick
eyelashes, dark, knowing eyes flirted with Anthony. Her full, crimson lips
pouted at him. The shirt painted on her body accentuated her chest, exposing
about a foot of cleavage. Across it were the words "Madam's Organ", each word
outlining a breast.
"Ant, don't forget your disguise!" Britney handed
him a pair of green framed glasses. A bulbous rubber nose hung from the middle.
Anthony snorted. He put on the glasses and pulled the fake nose over his
own. Its latex interiour itched against his skin. He scrunched up his nose.
Clutching a fuzzy brown wig, Britney leaned toward him. She plopped it
on his head and tucked his real hair beneath it.
"Do I have to wear the
'fro tonight?" Anthony whined with a smirk.
Britney smiled back. "It's
not a 'fro! This is the one you left with me, so deal with it!"
"Yes,
dear."
Britney's teeth shown through her lips. She leaned forward again
and kissed his fake nose. "You're such a cutie!" she gushed.
Chuckling,
he retorted, "It's the nose, I know."
The driver retreated back into the
limo. As he drove off, Britney and Anthony strolled toward the gigantic red
head, holding hands.
Anthony monitored the sidewalk as they plodded
along. Closer to the venue, he saw goths and punks leaning against a wall. Some
were chatting away to those around them; others just stared at the ground. The
line led to a rickety porch. Wooden beams strained beneath its overhang,
everything sporting splinters. Britney and Anthony creaked up the steps.
A burly hand shot out from beneath the darkened alcove. "You're going to
have to wait in line," a bass voice demanded, "just like everybody else."
Britney shifted into a patch of light. "We have backstage seats," she
replied.
The man's chuckle made the floor beneath them tremble. "Yeah,
right! And I'm Carson Daly!" He extended a grim reaperesque finger toward the
crowds. "Just go stand in line!"
Britney heaved a sigh, and Anthony
reached for his nose. He pulled it off his face and eased past her, into the
light.
"No f***ing way!" the man's voice rose to a baritone. "You're..."
"Please don't announce it," Britney broke in, furrowing her brows.
"Sorry," the man whispered his reply. "Come on in!" he hissed. "I'll
escort you backstage myself."
Britney and Anthony slipped into the
porch's shadows. A rectangular light up ahead illuminated a husky form, and they
followed it. As they neared, the light divided into shapes and colours, shining
through the glass of a door's window. The figure opened the door to a larger
glowing rectangle.
Anthony felt Britney press into his side as his eyes
explored the club. A custodian scooted into his field of vision, clutching the
wooden handle of a mop and pushing it across the floor. Its gray bristles
swished against the hardwood floor. To Anthony's left, two men and a woman
scurried around behind a bar. He counted seven beers on tap. He scanned toward
the right, until his eyes gazed straight ahead. A couple hundred feet away were
black tables with T-shirts adorning the wall space over them.
Somebody
coughed. Glancing to his right, Anthony found a half naked man sitting on the
edge of the stage. Jet strands framed his forehead and streaked across his eyes
as he leaned over his legs, where he cradled a white Strat. Anthony's jaw went
slack. He stared at the man, at the downward gazing eyes, at the trim moustache
and bushy goatee, at the nipple rings, silver chain, and black tattoos. Anthony
gaped until the man looked up and gaped back. Deep, dark eyes bore through him.
Thick brown brows curved into arches over them, intensifying the stare. Without
breaking eye contact, the man set aside his guitar and got to his feet. And
swaggered toward Anthony. Narrowing his eyes, he held out a hand to the Chili
Pepper.
"Anthony Kiedis," he nodded the question, and pointed to him
with the other hand. "Dave Navarro. Nice to meet you."
Raising his
brows, Anthony raised the arm holding his disguise. He pinched it between his
pinky and ring fingers, and shook Dave's hand. "Um... hi."
Dave turned
to Britney and smiled. "Carmen told me you were coming." He hooked his thumbs in
the belt loops of his black leather pants. His fingers pointed toward the laces
crisscrossing the front. "Glad you two could make it."
"It's too bad she
couldn't be here though," Britney grimaced.
Dave nodded, his eyes
darting to the floor. "Yeah. But she'll be there for my Seattle show in a couple
days."
Anthony stared into the guitarist's eyes. Dave turned to him,
furrowing his brows. He sighed through his nose and pointed at the bar. "Let's
go get some drinks."
"Oh," Britney's eyes widened. She drew a hand to
her lips. "I'm underage."
"They have sodas and fruit juice too," Dave
replied. Then shrugged. "Or you can have a beer if you want. Just get whatever
you want. It's okay."
As they sauntered toward the bar, Britney
announced, "I'll just get a Pepsi."
"Okay, Britney. Anthony, what do you
want?"
Anthony hopped onto a bar stool. Britney settled beside him, and
Dave slid into the one on her other side. Anthony glanced at the labels on the
taps. "Summer ale."
Nodding, Dave looked to the approaching bartender.
"A Pepsi and two summer ales, please."
The bartender nodded and turned
around.
Propping his elbows on the bar, Anthony buried his head in his
hands. Thoughts spiraled through his mind, whirling and turning and spinning and
swirling... his temples ached, his brain screamed for peace.
"You tired,
man?"
Anthony looked over his fingers to find Dave watching him. He
nodded.
"Ant didn't sleep last night," Britney explained. She rubbed
Anthony's back.
"There's a cot backstage," Dave threw a thumb over his
shoulder. "You can take a nap if you want."
The bartender laid down
three glasses in front of Dave, who flicked him a twenty. Dave distributed the
drinks.
Frost covered Anthony's mug, save five spots where he had held
it. He drew spirals on the glass with his fingers. He looked past Britney, to
Dave. "I wouldn't want to miss your performance."
"The concert doesn't
even start for another two hours," Dave snorted. "And then there's an opening
act. That's time for a nap."
Anthony's eyelids drooped at the word
'nap'. He licked his lips. "I guess it would do me good."
"You really
should, Ant," Britney hugged his bicep. "You look really tired."
"Let's
go then. You can take your drink." Dave jumped off his barstool and stood over
Britney's shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't let them take my beer."
Britney grinned. "I won't." She squeezed Anthony's arm. "See you in a
few hours, honey. Have a good nap!"
"Thanks, baby." He kissed her. Mug
in hand, he followed Dave toward the stage. As the distance between Anthony and
Britney grew, his head cleared. One thought remained.
'Dave was a Chili
Pepper.'