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.I hated that kind of thing.Good was good and bad didn’t need the column inches.I cobbled something together, a patchwork of neutral phrases that looked good but meant nothing.Then, finally, I typed up my notes for the Craig Adler story, transcribing the interview with his neighbor, the encounters with Mike and Warren, and I understood just how little I had.Everyone said Craig hadn’t used heroin in months.Yet he’d died from an overdose.He’d bought it somewhere and put a needle in his arm when his band was all set to sign a good record deal.Had he suddenly decided to use some smack that night? Or had someone used the heroin to murder him? Until the threat, I’d believed it was just a sad accident.Now I had to keep digging until I found the truth.I sat back and thought, chewing on a strand of hair; it was a habit I’d kept since childhood, and one of the reasons I didn’t cut my hair.The only one who might have any sort of answer was Sandy.All I could do was hope she’d call me.Without her I didn’t have much of a story at all.And it was a story.The phone message underlined that.I’d just finished by the time Steve came home, the warm smell of dish detergent on his skin.He gave me one of the goofy smiles that he could do so well, all teeth and eyes, then one of the long kisses that always melted my heart, a reminder that he really did feel a deep passion for me.When he wanted, Steve could be deliciously sensual.And he was kind in a natural way that none of my other boyfriends had ever managed, thoughtful and sweet.He cared.He stroked my hair before flopping on to the couch with a beer, boots resting on the table, then took a drink and sighed.“Busy day?” I asked.He shrugged.“One of the machines went down so we were really hassled the whole shift.” He looked at me with concern.“What about you? What did Rob say about the message?”“I’m staying on the story,” I told him.“That threat means someone killed Craig.”“I know.I kept hearing that voice all day.”“Yeah, I know.Me too.” The words had traveled through my head more times than I could count, too, as I tried to make any possible sense of them.“I saw Mike and Warren.They were pretty broken up about it all.” I thought for a moment.“I guess a little bitter, too, like Craig’s death just cheated them out of their fame and money.”“Did you tell them someone had murdered him?”“No.I’m not saying anything about that until I know more.”“Those guys were tight.” He swung his feet back to the floor and sat forward, his eyes intent and intelligent, hair flopping around his face.“And without them it would have sounded pretty ordinary, you know.They were the ones who put the bite in it.You remember Killer Days? That’s the one with the riff in a really odd time signature.”“Yeah.” I could recall it.I didn’t think it was the best thing they’d done but it was still a good song, a downward spiral of a piece that exploded at the end.Every time they played it on stage the audience went wild.“Craig wrote that a couple of years back.I remember he played it once when a bunch of us were over at his place for a party,” Steve continued.“It was okay, but nothing special.It was Tony who came up with the riff and Warren who suggested the way to do it.”“I didn’t know that,” I said with interest.I’d always assumed that Craig had been the driving force and that the others had been mostly interchangeable.“You’ve got to give them credit.” He stretched out lazily.“Anyway, what’s for dinner?”I glared at him until he held up his hands in apology, then said, “Just pizza.”I put it in the oven to cook and cleaned up the table where I’d been working.I felt as if I’d been running fast for the last couple of days, dashing from person to person only to hear the same words over and over again.We lazed around until eight-thirty, and I went to get ready for the show.A few years ago I’d have put on crazy makeup, somewhere between glam Bowie and Adam Ant.I’d toned it down since I hit my thirties, just some purple sparkly eye shadow and bright red lipstick.I spent a few minutes with hairspray and a comb, ratting my hair up, then stood back and looked in the mirror.Not too bad.There were lines around my eyes and mouth, but I’d earned them and I wasn’t going to hide them.An old CBGB t-shirt, black jeans that were washed out and tight, and heavy biker boots.To finish it off I put on a leather jacket with SEXUAL ANARCHY in a faded scrawl on the back.I’d found it sitting on top of a garbage can back in ’83 when I was walking to a gig, as if it had been waiting for me.The lining was torn but I’d mended it carefully with a needle and thread.The words brought comments and offers but it only took a dark, enigmatic smile to shut most people up.By nine-thirty we were at the Vogue, drinking Rolling Rock and saying hi to familiar faces, Scotty, Anne, Dave, Jane, the people who liked to hang out.A couple of girls in leather looked hungrily at Steve, then let their eyes pass quickly over me, so I grabbed him and gave him a long, deep kiss as they watched, just to piss them off.I loved this place [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.I hated that kind of thing.Good was good and bad didn’t need the column inches.I cobbled something together, a patchwork of neutral phrases that looked good but meant nothing.Then, finally, I typed up my notes for the Craig Adler story, transcribing the interview with his neighbor, the encounters with Mike and Warren, and I understood just how little I had.Everyone said Craig hadn’t used heroin in months.Yet he’d died from an overdose.He’d bought it somewhere and put a needle in his arm when his band was all set to sign a good record deal.Had he suddenly decided to use some smack that night? Or had someone used the heroin to murder him? Until the threat, I’d believed it was just a sad accident.Now I had to keep digging until I found the truth.I sat back and thought, chewing on a strand of hair; it was a habit I’d kept since childhood, and one of the reasons I didn’t cut my hair.The only one who might have any sort of answer was Sandy.All I could do was hope she’d call me.Without her I didn’t have much of a story at all.And it was a story.The phone message underlined that.I’d just finished by the time Steve came home, the warm smell of dish detergent on his skin.He gave me one of the goofy smiles that he could do so well, all teeth and eyes, then one of the long kisses that always melted my heart, a reminder that he really did feel a deep passion for me.When he wanted, Steve could be deliciously sensual.And he was kind in a natural way that none of my other boyfriends had ever managed, thoughtful and sweet.He cared.He stroked my hair before flopping on to the couch with a beer, boots resting on the table, then took a drink and sighed.“Busy day?” I asked.He shrugged.“One of the machines went down so we were really hassled the whole shift.” He looked at me with concern.“What about you? What did Rob say about the message?”“I’m staying on the story,” I told him.“That threat means someone killed Craig.”“I know.I kept hearing that voice all day.”“Yeah, I know.Me too.” The words had traveled through my head more times than I could count, too, as I tried to make any possible sense of them.“I saw Mike and Warren.They were pretty broken up about it all.” I thought for a moment.“I guess a little bitter, too, like Craig’s death just cheated them out of their fame and money.”“Did you tell them someone had murdered him?”“No.I’m not saying anything about that until I know more.”“Those guys were tight.” He swung his feet back to the floor and sat forward, his eyes intent and intelligent, hair flopping around his face.“And without them it would have sounded pretty ordinary, you know.They were the ones who put the bite in it.You remember Killer Days? That’s the one with the riff in a really odd time signature.”“Yeah.” I could recall it.I didn’t think it was the best thing they’d done but it was still a good song, a downward spiral of a piece that exploded at the end.Every time they played it on stage the audience went wild.“Craig wrote that a couple of years back.I remember he played it once when a bunch of us were over at his place for a party,” Steve continued.“It was okay, but nothing special.It was Tony who came up with the riff and Warren who suggested the way to do it.”“I didn’t know that,” I said with interest.I’d always assumed that Craig had been the driving force and that the others had been mostly interchangeable.“You’ve got to give them credit.” He stretched out lazily.“Anyway, what’s for dinner?”I glared at him until he held up his hands in apology, then said, “Just pizza.”I put it in the oven to cook and cleaned up the table where I’d been working.I felt as if I’d been running fast for the last couple of days, dashing from person to person only to hear the same words over and over again.We lazed around until eight-thirty, and I went to get ready for the show.A few years ago I’d have put on crazy makeup, somewhere between glam Bowie and Adam Ant.I’d toned it down since I hit my thirties, just some purple sparkly eye shadow and bright red lipstick.I spent a few minutes with hairspray and a comb, ratting my hair up, then stood back and looked in the mirror.Not too bad.There were lines around my eyes and mouth, but I’d earned them and I wasn’t going to hide them.An old CBGB t-shirt, black jeans that were washed out and tight, and heavy biker boots.To finish it off I put on a leather jacket with SEXUAL ANARCHY in a faded scrawl on the back.I’d found it sitting on top of a garbage can back in ’83 when I was walking to a gig, as if it had been waiting for me.The lining was torn but I’d mended it carefully with a needle and thread.The words brought comments and offers but it only took a dark, enigmatic smile to shut most people up.By nine-thirty we were at the Vogue, drinking Rolling Rock and saying hi to familiar faces, Scotty, Anne, Dave, Jane, the people who liked to hang out.A couple of girls in leather looked hungrily at Steve, then let their eyes pass quickly over me, so I grabbed him and gave him a long, deep kiss as they watched, just to piss them off.I loved this place [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]