She pauses for a moment, and when she goes on she changes the subject abruptly. “Oh, and as far as tonight’s gig is concerned, I want to see you at your best, Baby Doll, you understand me? I want you to get your mind out of your misery and into rock!”
I understand her, and I slowly start to grin back at her, while her own smile grows wider and fiercer. “I want you to be Jet-Black-Jenny tonight, I want you to be the kick-ass she-devil our Crazy Bitches all want you to be.” Her voice grows loud and more intense. “I want you to fucking rock that motherfucking stage tonight!”
I feel a sudden rush of adrenaline at the thought of being onstage with my bandmates, losing myself in music, the way I’ve always done when I became unhappy.
Bette lowers her voice, locking eyes with me, “And I want you to make all our Crazy Bitches wet their panties!”
That makes me laugh so hard, I’m afraid of wetting my own panties. Bette laughs hard herself, her eyes gleaming. When we finally stop laughing, she stands up, and reaching down to me, she pulls me to my feet.
“C’mon, Baby Doll, let’s go have a beer.”
I walk back to the farmhouse with her, a smile on my face.
+++
The floor of the stage underneath my feet is vibrating as we’re playing the last song of our regular set, and I can feel the beat of the heavy staccato rhythm that Nellie’s drums have set for us. I’m matching her rhythm, and I whip my long, jet-black hair back and forth in time to the beat, losing myself in the music. As the song goes on it seems to grow harder and louder and faster. I feel as if ‘The Coldhearts’ have never been as hard and loud before. My skin is covered with goose bumps and sweat. The heat onstage makes me feel like I’m in a sauna, and I’m glad I’m wearing skimpy black shorts, and a tiny, black, crop top that leaves my well-muscled abs bare. I don’t mind, either, that there are girls watching, staring at my long legs and uncovered belly.
‘Your fingers are trembling and your heart is heavy and red…’
I don’t think that Bette’s ever sung those ominous, erotic lyrics more hypnotically. Our audience is totally under her spell, under our spell. I see two girls out of the corner of my eye, who practically seem to be fucking in front of the stage. Their bodies are grinding together, one of the girls standing in front of the other with her eyes closed, as the hand of the other girl slides down the front of her jeans. There are other straight couples that are doing things that are quite similar. But most of the crowd just stares at us, utterly rapt, lost in the music. Some of them have their mouths hanging open.
‘Your head is bent back, your back is arched…’
Bette is grinding her hips against the microphone stand, and judging from her expression she’s got fucking on her mind. She seems to radiate heat and erotic energy.
‘I’ll hold you up and drive you, baby, till you feel the daylight…’
As usual when we finish our version of ‘Drive’, there’s a moment’s silence, but then the crowd erupts into screams and whistles.
We bow and curtsy to our fans. We’re all covered with sweat, and we’re all grinning. I’ve never been so proud to be one of ‘The Coldhearts’, and I’ve never been so happy to be one of them, either. I’m eager to go out onstage again in a few minutes, and I know we’re going to play my song ‘Dead End Girl’ as an encore.
CHAPTER 13 – BEGINNINGS, ENDINGS, DREAMS, AND A SURPRISE
‘Dear Emilia,’
I’m trying to write a letter to Emilia, but those two words are the only ones that come to my mind. Since the morning I fled from her apartment after the awful fight we had, she’s gone back to not answering my phone calls, text messages, or emails. So I decided to write her a letter, but the words don’t want to come to me. I don’t even know if I should address her as ‘Dear Emilia’. I don’t know what she is to me now, either, my ex-girlfriend, maybe? I don’t want to think about her that way, because I still love her too much to believe that things between us are over for good. But then she told me to fuck off, didn’t she?
I’m in my little apartment, sitting at my desk. I haven’t spent much time here lately, I’m practically living at ‘The Coldhearts’ farmhouse these days, and now I’m about to move out of what became my home after my mother kicked me out of her place. The breakup with Emilia, if that’s what it was, made it easier for me to decide to move in with Nellie, and Bette, and Ina. I’ve packed up most of my belongings, and there are cardboard moving boxes piled up in a corner. Before long, Bette’s brother Ralph and ‘The Coldhearts’ road crew will be here to load my things into the band’s truck.
I’m lost in my thoughts of Emilia, still unable to write what I want to say to her, when I hear what sounds like the rustling of clothing at my front door, which I left open. Turning around on my desk chair, I look up and see Emilia standing in the doorway. She’s dressed all in black, black jeans, and a black t-shirt. Her hands are on her hips, and her long red hair looks disheveled. She seems to be skinnier than she used to be, and her face is pale. She looks at me coldly, her mouth a thin line.
“So you’re moving out, right?” She says without any kind of greeting.
I get up from my chair, wanting to close the distance between us and to put my arms around her, but I just remain standing there, frozen to the spot.
“Emilia,” I say breathlessly, “I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened.”
She smiles at me sourly. “Yes, Jennifer, you said that before.”
I wince when she calls me ‘Jennifer’, as always. She shakes her head and glares at me. “I don’t know how many times you’ve told me you’re sorry, but you keep doing the same thing over and over, you keep on hurting me, and that proves you’re not really sorry.”
“Emi, it’s not like that,” I blurt out.
“Oh?” She lifts her eyebrows, and smiles at me ironically. “Then, how is it, Jennifer Meier?”
My heart is pounding, and all I can do is to say desperately, “I love you, Emilia, and I always will.”
She laughs incredulously. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
I stare at the floor of my tiny apartment, avoiding Emilia’s angry eyes. There’s no way I can make her understand how I feel. I can see how she must believe the things I’ve done made it look like everything I said was a lie. When I told her how I’d fallen in love with Nellie and tried to convince her that I was still in love with her, too. After Emi and I slept together I had an outburst of jealous rage the next morning. I lashed out at her and hurt her, and then I ran away from her like a coward.
Finally I look at her. “I don’t really expect you to believe me anymore, Emi. But it’s true. I do love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. I just wish I knew how to make you believe me.” I shrug my shoulders, and let my hands drop at my sides.
“Well, good luck with the rest of your life, Jennifer.” Emilia gives me one last look, her features perfectly composed now. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” She disappears out of my doorway, and into her own apartment next door. I’m sure she’s disappeared from my life for good this time.
I never finish Emilia’s letter. Before I have a chance to drown in my sorrow Ralph and our roadies are standing in my doorway, ready to help me move.
+++
I’ve moved in to Caro’s former room in my bandmates’ farmhouse, and I’ve unpacked my things, and given the room my own personal touch. Moving in with them turns out to be a great decision. Every one of them is such good company, and not just Nellie. I feel as though I’m always surrounded by their love. It’s true there’s a bit of chaos here, especially with girls I don’t know coming and going, but I quickly get used to that. Of course I have to help the others clean the place, too, but I guess it was much worse when I was still living with my mother, and I was the only one who had to clean the bathroom with my little brother making fun of me.
I spend much of my time with Nellie in her room, like I am now. I’m sitting beside her on her bed with my legs crossed, staring at her laptop,
and checking out the posts on my new ‘Jenny Coldheart’ Twitter account. My phone’s lying on the bed next to us, and it’s open to my new Instagram account.
“Our fans all love you, Ms. Jenny Coldheart,” Nellie says, grinning exuberantly. “Look at how many followers you have on Twitter and Instagram already. And the band’s account’s gotten a lot more followers, too. And so have my own account, and Bette and Ina’s accounts. Also Ina’s boutique is getting more followers.” She nods in satisfaction. “You look really hot in the clothes she picked out for you.”
I look at the pictures of myself that I’ve posted on my new social media accounts. I have to admit, I really do look good in the tight and skimpy clothes I got from Ina’s shop. Yet it’s still weird to read the comments and crazy compliments I’m getting.
Hildegard, the cat, jumps onto my lap, and she keeps twisting and turning until she finds a position that’s really comfy. While I’m petting her, Nellie starts giggling, and points to the screen of her laptop.
“Oh my God, Jenny, look! One of the girls who’s following you actually says she wants to marry you.”
I frown at her. “That’s not funny, Nell, that’s just weird.” But then my curiosity gets the better of me, and I look. The post she’s talking about is from a girl who calls herself ‘Romagna’. Her profile picture shows a beautiful redhead.
I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t even know that girl. How can she possibly want to marry me?”
Nellie smiles at me smugly. “Well, for one thing, you’re gorgeous, and for another thing, you’re becoming a rock star, Jenny, and finally there’s a reason why Bette started to call our fans ‘Crazy Bitches’. They really can go crazy sometimes.”
I roll my eyes, and Nellie puts her arm around me, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. I have to smile, but I turn my attention back to Tweets I’ve gotten from ‘Romagna’. I frown again.
“Look at that! What the hell’s that supposed to mean, Nell?” Nellie looks at the Tweet I’m pointing to.
‘Even if three are more than two, I’d still marry you.’
She giggles. “Well, I told you our fans are crazy, didn’t I?”
I sigh in response. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get used to this kind of attention. “But who is she, and what’s she want?” I say, feeling a little exasperated.
Nellie just smiles and strokes my back. “Jenny, don’t worry about it. She’s probably some silly teenage girl who’s crazily infatuated with you.” She kisses my neck. “That’s something I can totally relate to.”
I look up at her. “You think that’s all it is?”
Nellie smirks. “Do you know how many weird Tweets I get, Jenny?” She leans forward, and puts one finger under my chin, turning my face toward her. She starts to kiss me, and makes me forget all about the mysterious girl on Twitter.
+++
One lazy Saturday morning two or three weeks later, I’m in the kitchen, finishing my last cup of coffee. I was the last one to get out of bed today, and while the others are already busy with whatever they are doing, I’m still sitting in the kitchen alone. When my cell phone goes off, I blink the last of my sleep from my eyes, and answer the call.
“Hey Blacky,” my old friend Martin says without even a ‘hello’, but he sounds enthusiastic. “I found a car that’s perfect for you.”
“Hi Martin. That sounds exciting.”
“It is exciting. It’s a VW Polo, you know. It’s in good shape, and I was surprised how little mileage there is on it. You’re going to love the price tag. It totally fits your budget.”
I smile to myself, hoping Martin’s enthusiasm isn’t misplaced. “Oh? That sounds great. When can I check it out?”
“Today, if you’re free. I can pick you up in an hour.”
“Great! I am free today, Martin. And I can be ready to go in one hour, too! Oh, and another thing! I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Martin. It’s been a while, you know?”
Martin’s happy to hear that, as always. I excuse myself, and after ending my call with him, I finish my coffee, and head to the bathroom to shower and get ready.
An hour later Martin’s car pulls up in front of the farmhouse. I’m sitting on the doorstep, waiting for him. I jump up and run to him, giving him a hug. There’s a big grin on his face as I kiss him on both his cheeks.
“Hey Martin, it’s so good to see you. I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Jenny.” He lets go and looks me over. “You look good.”
“Thanks, Martin,” I reply, a little out of breath. “I’m not too bad, actually.” I grin at him, and muss his blonde hair with one hand. “I’m all ready to go, if you are.”
He grins back at me. “I am, Blacky.” He crosses to the other side of his car, opening the door for me. “Hop in!”
I do, and we start off right away. “So, how are things with Maria?” I ask him when we are on our way back to the city. I’m sure they must be good, but I have to ask anyway.
He beams at me in response. “Things are great, Jenny. She’s amazing. She’s everything I could ever have hoped for in a girl.”
“I’m really happy for you, Martin.” And I mean it. It really does make me happy to see my old friend so happy.
He starts telling me about the other reason for his happiness, the progress his new band’s made. “The chemistry we have is really great, and now I always look forward to our rehearsals every Friday night.” He gives me a sidelong look. “You know that’s not always been true.”
I nod ruefully. I remember those time entirely too well. “What songs are you playing now?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“The old ones mostly, including the ones you wrote, but we are starting to rehearse some new material, too.”
It’s inevitable I think of Emilia. “And Emilia? How’s she doing now, Martin?” I ask tentatively.
He glances over at me briefly, before turning his attention back to the road. “She’s doing well, I guess. She actually wrote some lyrics for a new song.”
A new song? Oh my God, I hope it’s nothing like the songs I wrote about Sherinia; only this time it would be about me. I bite my lip, and do my best to say something noncommittal. “Oh? That’s…uh, great.”
Martin doesn’t say anymore about it, and I’m too afraid to ask him, and anyway we’ve just arrived at the car dealer’s. It’s the place where Martin works. I start getting nervous. I’ve got my driver’s license, after all, but I haven’t actually driven much.
We get out of the car, and I follow Martin over to the part of the lot that’s for used cars. He gestures over to a silver-grey compact car, and says, “That’s your car if you want it. Wait here, I’ll get the keys and red plates for you so you can take it for a test drive.”
While I’m waiting for him to get back, I walk up to the car and look it over. I gasp when I see the price tag behind the windshield. It’s a lot more than the price Martin mentioned. He comes back with the car keys and plates, and he’s got a big smile on his face, which falters when he sees the look on my face.
“What’s wrong, Jenny? Don’t you like it?”
“No, Martin, it’s not the car, it’s the price tag.” I point to it, still feeling a little shocked.
“Oh?” Martin glances over it, and then he smiles at me. “That’s just the list price, Blacky. You won’t have to pay that.” He grins. “I negotiated a big discount for you. It’s the price I mentioned to you on the phone.”
I sigh in relief, and smile at him gratefully. “Thanks, Martin, you’re the best.”
He opens the door to the driver’s side, and after I get in, he shuts the door for me, goes round, and opens the passenger side to get in.
“What do you think? Not bad, huh? Look, it has a radio, a CD player, and a USB connection so you can play music from your phone.”
“Wow, that’s great.” I look over at him in wonder. “And I can really get it for the price you said?”
“Absolutely, Jenny, don’t worry about it.�
�� Martin nods reassuringly. “Now, fasten your seat belt, and off we go.”
And we do. In the end it’s so much fun driving this little car that I immediately decide to buy it. On top of that I’m very proud of having the first car of my own, bought with money I earned myself.
+++
‘One and one and one is three – still you can come and marry me.’ Romagna keeps on sending me stuff like that on Twitter. On top of that she’s always making comments on the pictures I post on Instagram. They are the kind of comments that indicate that Nellie was right about her having the hots for me.
I don’t know whether I should be annoyed or flattered. I am starting to wonder who this crazy fangirl of mine could be in real life. The bio on her Twitter account’s homepage doesn’t tell me much. It says ‘Call me Romagna! I love rock and heavy metal. I love girls, and especially Jet-Black Jenny Coldheart, my future wife.’
I wrinkle my nose and think. The fact that Romagna’s picture is a pretty redheaded girl with freckles, and the fact that “Romagna” is part of the name of an Italian province, ‘Emilia Romagna’, makes me think it might be Emilia. But why would she do something so crazy like create a Twitter account under a fake name? Sighing with frustration I close my laptop. Whoever this ‘Romagna’ girl is, she’s really annoying.
“Hey you!” I glance over to the door of my room and see Nellie standing in the doorway, smiling at me. “I think it’s time for you to get some more practice driving in your new car, Jenny.”
I grin back at her, happy to have a chance to take a break from obsessing over the possible identity of my mysterious would-be wife on Twitter, and jump up from my foldout sofa. I run to my real-life girlfriend, and hugging her, I give her a quick kiss on the lips. “Okay, let’s go,” I reply, grabbing the car keys from my desk. I take her hand, and pull her behind me to the front door.
Once we’re outside, I discover that it’s a beautiful spring day, and the sun is shining. I let go of Nellie’s hand as the two of us get in my newly bought car, that’s parked next to Bette’s shiny sports car.
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