While Mr. Britzinger, our history teacher, talked about the Weimar Republic my thoughts began to drift away.
I could not exactly remember when this silly crush on Lena Davids had begun. Earlier this school year she had had to present a paper in our German class. It was something about a book by Hermann Hesse. I still remember that light flush on her cheeks when she started out with her presentation and I could no longer get concentrated on what she was talking about. I was too much focused on her pink lips, her grey-blue eyes, and the way she moved her hands. At one point she tucked a strand of her thick dark-brown hair behind her ear. It was a small gesture only, but I found it adorable.
The next thing that came to my mind was I remembered her play soccer on the girls’ varsity team. She looked gorgeous in her white shorts and the black and red striped jersey, which represented our school colors. What I considered as particularly cute was her habit of pulling her black and red striped stockings up above her knees so that only a small patch of naked skin remained visible between the seam of her shorts and the upper end of her stockings. Or was it the way she moved on the green soccer field and the decisive way in which she tackled her opponents, which attracted me? Or was it the way she passed the ball to her teammates and it nearly always was a perfect pass?
Or did I develop that crush on her when I watched her waiting tables at the ‘Black Bean’ coffee lounge? She looked so cute in the long dark-red apron with the ‘Black Bean’ logo on it and the tight fitting polo shirt in yellow. I liked the way she moved between tables and how she was so focused on her patrons, always trying to put a smile on her face even when she was moody.
“Ms. Meier can you help us here?”
I nearly jumped from my chair when I heard Britzinger say my name. I had completely missed his question. All faces turned around to look at me. I began to flush.
“Uh, could you repeat your question, please, Mr.Britzinger?”
“I only asked you to repeat what I last said about president Friedrich Ebert.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”
“Ms. Meier, it seems you are not really interested in German history. Please be so kind as to prepare an essay on president Friedrich Ebert until next week. I’ll give you the exact topic after class.”
Fuck! That’s embarrassing. Not only have I zoned out completely – it is embarrassing to where my imagination has drifted.
I felt myself blush and saw the derisive smirk on many faces around me. I looked directly at Lena who had also turned her head around to face me. There was no sign of contempt on her face. When our gazes met she turned her face back to the teacher again.
+++
When I came home later that day – it was a Friday – a wave of stale air and cold cigarette smoke attacked me as soon as I opened the entrance door to our apartment. It was the usual smell in our flat. My mother was a heavy smoker – she used to smoke 30 cigarettes per day or even more. I hated it. She probably was still at work or hanging out at some after work party to hook up with just another one in what seemed like an endless series of men.
Since I had had lunch at the school cafeteria I didn’t stop in the kitchen and went directly to my bedroom. On my way I passed my brother’s room. There was loud music playing inside. My brother Chris was three years younger than me. I used to take care of him since our mother had chased our dad away some 5 or 6 years ago. However, I was not in a mood to see my brother now and opened the door to my room. It was the only place in our apartment where smoking was not allowed. Of course my closed bedroom door could not prevent the smoke from seeping in, but the air was still cleaner than in the kitchen and the living room. I plopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Later this evening I’d go to our weekly rehearsals of our band. Music was one of the only things that kept me going. I played bass guitar in a heavy rock band. My first acoustic guitar had been a birthday present from my dad. It had been shortly before he left the family, because he could no longer stand mom’s affairs with other men. I had to admit it - my mom was a slut.
I had then learned how to play guitar together with my best friend from the neighborhood – Martin. He was my age and we knew each other since elementary school. At the age of 16 Martin founded his first band and it was clear from the beginning that I would become a band member. The only thing was that I had to switch from guitar to bass.
At 6pm the doorbell rang. It had to be Martin who was picking me up for our rehearsal. I went to open the door.
“Hey Blackie, you ready?” Martin grinned. He had adopted a habit of calling me ‘Blackie’ because of my jet-black hair and my preference for black clothes. Martin himself was tall and lanky with a mop of curly dark-blond hair and blue-grey eyes.
“Sure,” I said. “Just let me get my bass. Want to come in for a moment?”
“Nah, I’d rather wait outside. Hurry up.”
I made a beeline to my bedroom and picked up the instrument case with my bass guitar. We put it into the backseat of Martin’s VW and hopped into the car. Martin started the engine and pulled into the street.
“How was your day?” I asked him.
“Thank God it’s Friday. I could leave earlier today.” Martin was in an apprenticeship as a car mechanic at a service station.
“How was yours?” he asked me in return.
“Crappy. I got some extra homework because I zoned out in history class.”
“Gross. I hope our rehearsal will be fine though.”
I nodded. A few minutes later we arrived at Marlon’s home. Marlon was our keyboard player. Our practice room was in the basement of his parents’ home. Martin pulled the car into the drive. We left the car, took our instruments, and climbed up the three steps to the entrance door. I rang the bell and immediately Max, Marlon’s dog, began to bark. A few moments later Marlon opened the door with Max sneaking around his knees. Marlon was a nerdy looking guy with short dark brown hair and black-rimmed glasses.
“Hi guys, come in,” he said. He hugged me briefly and shook hands with Martin. I petted Max who excitedly jumped around me. “Robin and Emilia are not yet here,” Marlon said. Robin was our drummer and Emilia our singer and Robin’s girlfriend.
“Let’s go downstairs anyway.”
Just as we turned around to the stairway we heard loud voices from beyond the closed entrance door. It had to be Robin and Emilia and it sounded like they were fighting again. Marlon turned around and opened the door before they had even rung the bell. Robin and Emilia were standing outside. Emilia was gesticulating wildly and her blue eyes were puffy and moist. Emilia was a beautiful, leggy redhead with long dark-red hair, and an incredible voice. I liked Emilia a lot and it hurt to see her in distress.
Robin had his hands in his pockets and looked to the ground. Robin had shoulder length blonde hair and was a notorious womanizer, even though I never understood why so many girls seemed to fall for him. When the door opened Emilia fell silent. They both said “Hi” simultaneously and entered the house. The guys went downstairs first and I waited for Emilia to follow. I hugged her and noticed she was stifling her tears. I also realized how good she smelled and how soft and warm her body was. It was a bit confusing.
“You okay?” I asked her in a low voice.
She slowly shook her head, but didn’t say anything.
“Maybe we should talk later?” I offered.
“Maybe,” she nodded. Then we went downstairs to our rehearsal room. The room was full of instruments and equipment. The guys had already opened their bottles of beer and Marlon threw the bottle opener in my direction as soon as I opened the door. I caught it with one hand and opened two bottles, one for Emilia and one for me. I took a big gulp. As soon as all band members had taken their respective places we began to play our first song. Martin started our rehearsal with a slow love song today and we followed along. Emilia began to sing her first part until the chorus was due, when suddenly her voice broke and tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I can’t go on,
” she whispered into the microphone. The band stopped and Robin threw his drumsticks into a corner.
“God damn it, Emilia, take a grip,” he yelled from behind his drums. Emilia turned around and ran to the door. “Fuck you, you bastard,” she screamed back at him, before she slammed the door behind her. There was a momentary silence.
I quickly put down my bass guitar and ran after her. I caught up with her just outside the entrance door of the house. Since we had December it was cold outside. Emilia squatted on the porch and tears ran down her cheeks. I cowered down beside her.
“What is it, Emi, can I help you?”
She shook her head. “It’s Robin. He’s such an asshole. He cheated on me again with that fucking bitch Andrea. It hurts.”
I took her in my arms. “It’s a shame. You’re so beautiful and nice and I can’t understand why he would cheat on you. You deserve better than that.” Again I realized how soft and warm she felt and somehow her smell was intoxicating.
What the fuck?
She cried on my shoulder until her tears finally stopped. None of the guys showed up in the meantime. At one point we both began to shiver because of the cold.
“Do you think you could make it through the rehearsal or do you want to leave?” I asked Emilia.
“I will make it. I’m going to shout out all the frustration and anger I’m feeling. And I’m going to ditch Robin.”
“C’mon, I’ll help you to get up.”
We both stood up and went back downstairs to the basement. The guys were talking about rock bands and drinking beer as we entered the room again. They looked up when we came back. Robin wanted to hug Emilia, but she pushed him away.
“Don’t you dare to ever touch me again; c’mon guys, let’s rock,” she said to the others.
We restarted our rehearsal, but this time with a heavy rock song and Emilia shouted her frustration and anger into the room. It was surprising how much emotion her angry voice added to the songs. I got lost in the music more and more and began to bang my head along with the rhythm.
+++
“Want to have a drink with me, Jenny? I need one and some good company,” Emilia asked me when our rehearsal ended.
“I’d love to, but I don’t want to drag my bass guitar to a bar.“
“You can leave it in my apartment. There are plenty of bars and pubs in the area where I live,” Emilia said. “We can take the tram, the stop is not far from my place.”
I hugged Martin and said good-bye to Marlon and Robin. The guys wanted to hang out a bit longer. Robin didn’t try to keep Emilia from leaving and she didn’t give him any further look. I took my bass guitar and left together with her.
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SAMPLE FROM JENNIFER’S TRIAD
We’ve got two sets to play on our New Year’s Eve gig, the first one at nine, and the second one at two in the morning of New Year’s Day. I don’t know how Marlon managed to get us into the line-up for that remarkable night, but he did. The venue is the same place where I spent the previous New Year’s Eve with Martin, Robin and Andrea. It was that night when I bumped into Max Stauder, and ended up in my best friend’s bed. In the end I was grateful that Martin didn’t take advantage of my being totally drunk.
Emilia is sitting next to me on the floor behind the stage, our backs against the wall. We are holding hands, while Martin discusses something with Robin and Marlon. We are waiting for our gig to start in a couple of minutes. The place is packed, and already now the air inside the hall is hot and stale.
We’re the third out of five bands playing tonight. The headliner is an all-girl metal band called ‘The Coldhearts’. They’re really famous locally. From what I’ve heard and read, they’re not just famous because they’re a good band, but also because they’re known as a lesbian band. I don’t know if they’re real lesbians, or if they’re faking it for the sake of the notoriety.
The four girls of the band arrived just a couple of minutes ago, and I’ve got to admit they’re pretty hot. I’m actually having trouble keeping myself from staring at them. I’ve already checked them out online, so I know their names. There’s Bette, the blonde singer and guitarist. She’s wearing skimpy black leather hot pants, black stockings, knee-high boots, and a blood-red tank top. Her long blonde hair is done in a French braid that hangs over her shoulder. As she kneels to lean her guitar case against the wall, her eyes wander over the backstage area. And then she sees Emilia and me! A little smile starts to play around her red lips, and she stands and walks up to us with her hips swaying. Squatting down in front of us, she offers us her hand.
“Hi,” she says, “I’m Bette Coldheart. And you are…?”
My throat is too dry to answer without clearing it, and I watch how Emilia grins and grabs Bette’s hand. “Oh hi, Bette, I’m Emilia, and this is Jenny. Good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you, Emilia. And you, Jenny,” Bette says, taking my hand. “You two really look so cute as a couple. You are together, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we’re together, Jenny and me.”
Once again Emilia is quicker to reply, while I’m just trying not to stare at Bette with my mouth hanging. Sherinia! She totally reminds me of Sherinia. She might not look like Sherinia, but she holds herself like Sherinia, and she looks at me like Sherinia did, she totally exudes sensuality like Sherinia did. Oh, be careful, Jenny! Don’t lose your mind!
“That’s awesome. You really look hot, you with your red hair, and you with your jet-black hair.” Bette smiles seductively, touching my hair, and reaching out for a strand of Emilia’s wavy hair.
Then she gets up, shaking her head. “So pretty girls. I must watch your performance. I will tell my band bitches to do the same. See you later.”
Blowing a kiss to us over the palm of her hand, before she turns around and sashays over to her ‘band bitches’. She says something to the other girls, and their heads turn in our direction. I have always hated when other people were obviously talking about me and I don’t know what they were saying. I have no time to think about it, or Bette, since it’s our turn to play. I put a tender kiss on Emilia’s lips, take a sip from my water bottle, grab my bass guitar, and walk onto stage.
We open our set as usual, with just my bass guitar and Marlon’s synthesizer playing a heavy intro. I watch Marlon count to three, and we begin to play. The sound is dark, heavy, and loud, the floor underneath my feet vibrating. I bang my head to the heavy rhythm, fully focused on my play, and the crowd begins to cheer. From the corner of my eye I see Robin taking his seat behind his drum kit, and then he joins our intro. Martin adds to the heavy rhythm with his guitar, before he plays a short guitar solo. Now it would be Emilia’s turn to hit the stage. But where the hell is she? Looking to my right I nearly stop playing when I see Bette slap Emilia’s butt with a smirk on her face! Emilia’s giggles are drowned by the sound of our music. She’s still smiling as she prances to the microphone stand, and curtsies to the audience. The crowd cheers and whistles. Emilia looks at me and grins, and then she starts singing.
I focus on playing, trying to avoid looking to my right hand side where ‘The Coldhearts’ are standing, watching our performance. I feel them staring at me, and I glance over to them. They wave and blow kisses to me. Crazy bitches! But they make me smile, and I decide to give them a show. Turning in their direction, I walk up to them, moving my hips, and grinning at them lasciviously. They shriek with laughter, and start dancing and shaking their own hips, blowing me more kisses. The audience can’t see them, just me, but when our song ends, the audience explodes with cheers, applause and whistles. There seem to be a lot of girls who like girls in the crowd. I can see them down there on the right hand side. So many girls, and they’re young and hot! I don’t know who started it, most likely Bette over there, but the girls begin to scream my name. “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!”
It’s so strange having the whole audience’s attention on me! Usually, it’d make me want to hide beh
ind Robin’s drum kit, but today I feel happily lightheaded, high on adrenaline.
“Thanks for the special applause for our Jenny here,” Emilia says, laughing, and I make a courtly bow to the audience, before Emilia announces our next song.
Martin, Marlon, and Robin seem to be bewildered by the turn of events that night, but it’s fun, and our whole first gig that night is a huge success. The slot allotted to us originally was 30 minutes only, but the crowd cheers for an encore, and so we play for another 10 minutes.
I’m covered in sweat as we leave the stage. ‘The Coldhearts’ are waiting for us, giving High Five to all band members.
“Amazing performance, Jenny,” Bette says, handing me a plastic cup of beer.
“Thank you, Bette.”
Emilia and I keep on talking to Bette and her ‘bitches’, while the next band is on stage. It’s quite obvious they’re flirting with us. They are all cute and sexy. Next to Bette there is Ina, the blonde lead-guitarist, a lively extrovert, wearing black jeans with trendy rips. There is Caro, the auburn bassist, cool and relaxed. Despite Bette’s openly flirtatious behavior, I can’t keep my eyes from Nellie, the pretty drummer. Her dark hair is done in that cute Alice Cullen style. I have always liked Alice Cullen a lot, and now ‘Nellie Coldheart’ is standing close to me as a kind of lookalike. She’s wearing very tight fitting black volleyball shorts, and a black tank top. Nellie seems to be more reticent and introverted than the other Coldhearts, and I like her best for it.
Being used to Sherinia’s flirtatious behavior, it doesn’t take me by surprise being the target of so much female attention, while Emilia seems to be flabbergasted. On the other hand it’s quite obvious she enjoys the flirting. Her eyes are sparkling, and she looks flushed and heated. Okay, could be from our gig, but still I recognize the signs. Of course Martin joins our banter, and I notice that Robin would love that, too, but Andrea is there as well, and so he doesn’t dare to. They are standing in the corner, talking to Marlon and his girlfriend Sophie.
Hard Rock Hot Heart Page 19