I sunk my teeth into the donut, letting out a content sigh. Perfectly airy and light, always coated with just the right amount of chocolate icing (or was it frosting?) and with a hole in the middle to save calories (which meant you could eat half a dozen without feeling guilty), nothing beat a solid chocolate donut. Or even a subpar one. I wasn't picky.
It was warm outside, but early enough in the day that it wasn't quite yet unpleasantly hot and humid. I knew it was only a matter of time though. It was June in New York, the heat was as inevitable as Peter's bitching. It also meant that Paul would be whining nonstop that the humidity was making his hair frizzier than usual while Ace would be using it as yet another excuse to show up to rehearsals drunk, insisting that copious amounts of cold beer was the only logical way to beat the heat. And Peter would probably find something to complain about too.
But I couldn't complain too much. For better or for worse, we were in this together, and we had been making things work to say the least. I had always assumed I'd make it big, but even with my ego I hadn't quite imagined making it to a-net-worth-of-several-million-dollars levels of big.
I polished off the last few bites of donut, brushing a handful of crumbs off my shirt before pushing open the door to the studio and walking inside.
"Good morning Mr. Simmons!" the girl behind the reception desk chirped, and I smiled, eyeing her up and down.
"Good morning...Dottie," I said, glancing at the name plate on her desk. "You're looking lovely this morning. Although I'm sure you'll look just as lovely this afternoon."
She giggled, rosy cheeks flushing even pinker. "I suppose you'll have to see that for yourself," she said, and I gave her a wink as I walked past.
"I always like a challenge," I said, giving her a parting wave as I continued down the hall.
Sure enough, Paul was standing in front of the window between the recording booth and the place we actually practiced, desperately trying to get his hair to lie a little flatter.
"This fucking heat!" he muttered.
"It's the humidity curly," Ace said with a heavy sigh, draped over a pile of amps. "That's the one that really gets ya."
"No, a hangover is what really gets you," Peter grumbled, scratching his temple with a drumstick. "That combined with having to wake up at six in the damn morning to drag myself into this godforsaken studio to play with this godforsaken band."
"Well aren't we all just having a lovely morning today?" I said cheerfully, stooping to pick up my bass and to avoid the stick Peter chucked at me.
"Could always be worse!" Ace said, sliding lower onto the floor and resting his arm over his eyes. "We could have Ezrin back in here playing drill sergeant with us."
"Say what you will but he did something right," Paul said, finally pulling himself away from the window. "We've charted pretty high."
"And which single was it that charted the highest?" Peter asked with feigned innocence, giving us a smug look, and I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, we know," I said. "Your song is so far the highest charting single we've released. So far."
"That's what I thought," he said with a self-satisfied smile, looking very much like a cat who had just gotten the cream.
It was hard to focus too much on practice. We had just gotten off the road after spending ten months touring, give or take a few weeks, and had about three weeks and change until we went right back out again. None of us wanted to be here, and so none of us really put in too much effort.
After practicing for the exact amount of time Bill told us to and not a second over, we decided to call it for the day.
"Oh, Gene!" Paul said, looking up from carefully packing up his guitar. "I had to reschedule a date tonight but I already had reservations, want to take them instead?"
"Yeah, I'm sure our old tour bus driver would love to meet up with you again for a date!" Ace crowed, and Peter laughed.
"Assuming she's still kicking! I mean she was what, 67 when Gene first realized that any hole's a goal?" Peter teased, and they both burst into laughter as I shrugged.
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," I said, before turning to Paul. "Sure, I'll take them. When and where?"
"Rainbow Room at 10," he said, and I let out a low whistle.
"Damn, you were really going to treat whatever broad you were going to wine and dine," I said. "She must be something."
He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving me a look. "Well, you can find out for yourself if you'd like. I haven't told her I need to reschedule, so if you want you can just take my place. I doubt she'll care too much, I don't think it's a night of witty conversation that she was after," he said with a wry smile, and I smiled back.
"I'll let you know what I think of her when I see you tomorrow then," I said.
At 9:55, I found myself dressed rather nicely for a change and walking into the Rainbow Room restaurant. I smoothed down my navy suit jacket, looking at the hostess.
"I had a reservation for two under the name Stanley? My date's not here yet," I said, and she nodded.
"Right this way sir," she said, leading me to a secluded table near the back of the restaurant, well away from any prying eyes and perfect for a rock star with a double identity.
A waiter appeared beside me, handing me a wine list I didn't bother to touch, figuring I'd let my date handle that while I instead turned my attention to the menu. I glanced at my watch, frowning slightly.
10:01
Clearly, Paul's date wasn't as neurotically punctual as he was.
As if the universe had heard what I was thinking, there was the sound of someone softly clearing their throat. I looked up, mouth growing dry as I locked eyes with the woman standing in front of the table.
"I'm Beatrice Ellis. You must be Paul Stanley," she said.
I blinked, at a loss for words as I stared at her. I couldn't even remember the last time I had been speechless.
Snapping out of it, I rose to my feet, lifting up her hand and kissing it before pulling back her chair for her.
"Actually, Paul couldn't make it. He didn't want to let you down though so I'm filling in for him. Gene Simmons, it's so wonderful to meet you," I said, pushing her toward the table after she sat down.
"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you as well," she said, cheeks flushing a warm pink, but I only smiled, shaking my head.
"No, the pleasure is all mine."
