Truly a prophet of doom!
Nora
So I woke up nauseated, with someone punching me in the stomach and 500 people spitting on me. Probably one of Lyndsey’s fantasies, if you ask him.
I was leaning against a wooden stage. Bright flashing lights burned my eyes. A girl with cat eye makeup and wearing a see-through plastic bag bounced toward me. Her lips were safety-pinned together. She had the word anarchy written on her stomach.
I rolled out of her way, looked up and saw the four ugliest men in black leather jackets I’d ever seen playing music. A can of beer bounced off my head. Who were they? I don’t know. Definitely one of Harrison’s bands. The Ugly Creeps would’ve been a great name for them. The song was about a beach. It was loud and fast and everyone was screaming rock, rock. I pushed through the mob. Saw a sign that said Rainbow Room. Asked a girl with a face full of pins and chains where the toilet was and she grabbed my ass. Then a skinny, pale slashed-up boy with spiked hair and a padlock chain around his neck grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bar.
“I need the toilet. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“We can have fun in the loo.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“I’m up for any kind of fun, luv...”
He pulled me into a toilet and shut the door. It smelled awful. Every toilet was full. The sinks were streaked with what looked like blood.
“Do you want me to be sick with you, luv?”
I didn’t feel threatened. He was soft-spoken. Seemed like a sweet boy. I wanted to be polite, but the overpowering ammonia stink of urine was making me dizzy.
“No, thank you, just some privacy.”
I went in the second stall and the toilet looked like it hadn’t been flushed in a month. It looked like flies were stuck in the shitty crust around the rim. And some creative types had built a Stonehenge of cigarette butts by plunging them in a circle into the filth.
“Band’s alright, innit? but we’re better. We’re the greatest band in the world…”
“Be right out.” I vomited carefully, like I was spreading frosting on a cake.
“We’re going to America. We’re going to be rich and famous!”
I went to open the stall door and heard someone else come in the toilets. I looked under the door and saw the new man had on a black trench coat and blue and green plaid pants.
“What are you doing in here, Sid?”
He was an American. His voice sounded familiar. And my new friend’s name was Sid. I wondered if it was short for Sidney.
“Waiting for my friend.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be anywhere alone.”
“I’s just helping a lady.”
“With what exactly?”
“Said she was ill. Needed a place to puke.”
“This is definitely the place to do that. You better get back out there. Johnny’s looking for you. If he catches you in here…”
I heard Sid leave and then the American pounded on my stall door. “Get out here now, you junkie trash. You whores are supposed to stay away from Sid! Now! Quit fucking around!”
I opened the stall door and what I saw made me sit down on that filthy toilet. He was older, thinner, but I knew it was Knox. He looked like a ghost.
“Nora? Is that you?”
“Hey Knox, how are you?”
“It’s not possible.”
“I thought we got past that last time.”
He walked into the stall and touched my hair. “Is it really you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been ten years. Where did you go? Why did you disappear?”
“Can we get out of here? I can feel the infections.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He pulled me off the toilet. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He took me outside and we walked down the street. It was cold and wet and the air smelled like garbage. He gave me his coat. It smelled like cigarettes. The whole country smelled like cheap cigarettes.
“How do you know Sid?”
“I don’t, really. I just met him tonight.”
“You might be the only person in the world who doesn’t know him. He’s the great Sid Vicious.”
“And why should I care?”
“He pretends to play bass for the Sex Pistols.”
“That’s supposed to mean something to me?”
He laughed and put his arm around me. “God, I missed you!”
We cut through mountains of garbage bags and went into a diner run by a rude, ugly, little mute man. He threw a plate and a spoon and a chipmunk, chipped mug down on the table. A moment later the Rash poured me a cup of tea.
“Don’t mind him. You’ll get used to it. We call him the Rash.”
Knox told me he moved to London in 73 and started working for record companies. Said he was personal friends with Richard Branson like I was supposed to be impressed.
“Are you still friends with Andy?”
“Nope. Valerie shot him a year after you disappeared. I was accused of being friends with the enemy.”
“Is Valerie okay?”
“Last I heard.” He dumped three seconds of sugar into his tea. “What about you, future girl?”
“I don’t know. I just got here.”
He gulped his tea and had a happy seizure. “So let’s make the best of it. I need your help.”
“Doing what?”
“You ever kidnap anyone?”
Harrison
Rob the Savoy took great care in choosing a soundtrack for Lyndsey’s trip to the shoplifter chair. He left Lyndsey strapped in for 30 minutes while he went to pull the right album.
“You better let me out of here, you little fucker.” The jock shit-bag was acting all badass, but I could tell he was scared.
“Rob’s gonna give you the ride of your life.”
“What does that mean?”
Rob came back wearing an Eddie mask and holding the Iron Maiden Killers album over his head in triumph.
“I think it means you better get ready.”
Rob howled like a dog while he wheeled out a turntable. “You want to guess the song, Harris?”
“I’m gonna say, Murders in the Rue Morgue?”
“You are truly a prophet of doom, my friend!” He dropped the needle, spun around and kicked Lyndsey in the chest.
Lyndsey’s face seemed to explode. He screamed until he was out of air. He dry-heaved and then started to cry.
I thought he was gonna die. “Hey, uh, Rob, don’t you think that was a little much?”
“Didn’t you say this bitch played football?”
“Lacrosse.”
“That’s worth a beating all by itself!”
He back-handed Lyndsey across the face, cutting his lip. “You gonna leave my friend Harris alone?”
Lyndsey dribbled blood down his polo shirt. “Yes, please, stop hitting me.”
“You gonna respect the genius of Lou Reed and John Cale?”
“I don’t know who they are.”
“Severely wrong answer…”
I jumped between Rob and Lyndsey. Yeah, I hated the prick and he deserved a beating. But I didn't want to go to jail.
"Tell him who else you listen to, Lyndsey!"
"Creed."
Rob punched a Celine Dion cutout and started whipping Sheena Easton cassettes at Lyndsey's head. I ducked out of the way.
"There has to be someone better! If you want to get out alive!"
"Nickelback?"
"I can't help you. Go ahead and kill him..."
Rob pulled me aside. "I'm not gonna kill him. I'm just gonna reeducate him, Communist style."
I left the store.
I like watching people get beaten in movies.
Not in real life.
