The next morning, we had no time to waste. Not only did we have dinner with Trixie's mom tonight, we also had a photo shoot all day beforehand. So, having no idea what to do, we just shoved a bunch of clothes and makeup into suitcases and hauled ass over to Elektra for the shoot. As soon as we got there, we were introduced with the photographer, who went through the rundown of making sure everything we did was sexy, straight-out hard rock themed.
Trixie's look featured her white-to-black gradient hair in an absolutely dead-straight style down her back, just a little draping in the front. Her top was a Victorian lace knit top with an off-the-shoulder look, short sleeves, and a pleated hem. That was matched with boot-cut, polished jeans, and heeled boots that were completely matte and plain. Her makeup, of course, was simple; black eye shadow, black lipstick, a deep yet blended contour, and black nail polish to match. I had to admit, for Trixie, it was laid back, but she looked gorgeous.
Vicky had a black and white floral dress with a halterneck bodice and flared skirt, with a black ribbon tied around it for a fifties feeling. Her stockings, however, made it edgier, as they were shredded, and she had buckled, ankle-height boots instead of a simple black heel. Her hair was teased to be just a little messy, which matched her crimson lipstick. Her makeup was simple and natural, but there was just enough smoke to it to make her seem 'tuff' as she called it. She looked classy, but for a fifties' look, it was very Rock N' Roll to me.
Sonic's look was simplistic for her, but it looked killer. Her top was a black, faux leather crop top with a plunged v-neck, cut-out detail, halter neckline, and tie-back fastening with a tight fit. With it, she had a faux leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings, black finger-less gloves, and a pair tall, 70's-style, wet-leather platform boots. Her makeup was black and smokey, with hints of blue to bring out her blue hair, which was slicked to flare out at the bottom. Her lipstick was black as well, but it came off as a metallic blue.
I was wearing a long, loose Ramones shirt that barely covered my ass, with nothing else but a black, lace pair of panties and wide-holed fishnets stockings with combat boots. My hair was styled to be wavy and somewhat voluminous, and I had messy smoked makeup with a simple clear lip gloss. I had lots of bracelets on as well, and decided I'd have a burning joint sticking out of my mouth. So, to make life easy, I lit it, took a few puffs, and un-lit it, so it would look burning without making everything smell too much like marijuana.
"Well, don't you ladies look wonderful!" The photographer gleamed, smiling brightly. "Now, props! Miss Starr, I assume that joint is a part of what you're going for?" I nodded, slightly confused at his cheerfulness. Then again, it wasn't like I didn't appreciate it. "Hmm... bring a can of beer as well, pleas?e And relight that thing for the photo shoot! Art is limitless! Miss Blaire, why don't you get your guitar? Miss Belle, you should get your bass as well! I want to make it look like they're a part of the band, really incorporate the theme here. Miss Stud, take your drumsticks and- do we have a pistol? Great, we'll give you an empty pistol."
So, they handed Vicky a black pistol, me a can of beer, and Sonic and Trixie got their instruments. "Beautiful! Now, let's head off to the location!"
"Wait," Vicky interrupted, "It's not here? And why the hell am I going to hold a gun?" It sounded more defensive than it was, but I was wondering the same thing.
Our photographer laughed. "Because you're the one nobody expects to have it. And as I said before, art is limitless! We're going to a real life alleyway for this! Dirty, hardcore, and most likely drug-infested. This is going to be very Rock N' Roll, don't you think?" We nodded uncomfortably, and I actually felt somewhat intimidated. This dude really wanted an authentic shot.
So, hopping into Vicky's car, we followed the photographer and his two assistants, along with Jasmine, to exactly what he had described; a dirty, hardcore, drug-infested alleyway. There was an abandoned dumpster toward the middle of it. Needles and empty packets of miscellaneous drugs were scattered everywhere among the trash. It wasn't exactly pleasing in terms of cleanliness, but it's not like it wasn't going to make for a cool shoot.
"Stella!" One of the assistants chimed. "Sit on that dumpster, crossing your legs turning only your head and shoulders to the wall parallel to it." I did so promptly, and slipped the joint into my mouth, lighting it. The beer can, I held on my thigh, leaning back just a bit. "Sonic, lean back into the wall, one leg up against it, and position your guitar- perfect! Trixie, stand almost symmetrically to her, but without the leg up, actually, cross them at the bottom, and almost cradle the bass. Yes! Vicky, act as if you're twirling your drumsticks in the hand closer to Trixie, and, holding the gun, put your other hand on your hip, with your finger on the trigger."
Awkwardly, we all positioned ourselves as we were told. We were significantly used to just doing whatever felt right, so being asked to be like little puppets wasn't exactly thrilling. However, we couldn't just be asshole from the start and say 'no, that's not what we're doing because I said so.' We had to be willing to let the creative decisions start with our photographer.
That's what we did. When we were told to bat an eye or give an expression or rearrange ourselves a little, we did it. Once we saw the first round of photos, all our group shots, we were no longer disoriented by being told to do a certain thing rather, we loved the way they all turned out. "Amazing!" Our photographer beamed, clapping his hands together. "Now it's time for the individuals; Miss Belle, you're first!"
The photo shoot seemed to drag on forever whenever you weren't the one in front of the camera. I had to say, though, I gave this photographer a lot of credit. Every photo he took was very careful and precise, and you could tell that he was trying to capture us. We ended up giving him a seriously big tip at the end, especially since he let us pick our favorites instead of taking some of the pics for use. He even gave us each a copy of one of our individual shots in a small size to copy and use for autographs. We were extremely thankful, especially since none of us had thought of something so practical ourselves.
Once we'd left the photo shoot, we actually did end up stopping by the office supply shop for some sharpies in a variety of colors, about a hundred copies of the little pictures of ourselves to sign, and some bubblegum. After that, we spent awhile browsing around at a record store nearby, trying to find either vinyls that we didn't have or that we could draw some inspiration from. It was about four-thirty when we decided to head out to Trixie's mom's house.
When Trixie said that her mother was a complete hippy, she seriously wasn't kidding. The house seemed to be deteriorating, but not fatally. There was no door, only one of those bead curtain type of thing that you walked right through. Everything was slightly disheveled, covered in tattered posters, and it just looked plain organic. In fact, there was a beautiful display of bongs and bowls and lava lamps instead of flower vases or sculptures. There weren't any decorative plants, either, just marijuana plants, which I personally appreciated.
"Everything we have is organic, not 'dirty'," Trixie explained as we followed her in. "Well, we try to be, anyway. Every piece of food is hand-grown, and mom actually tries to be as eco-friendly as humanly possible. She's completely non-judgmental, just wants to be one with nature and world peace, that kind of thing. Janis is the same way, a complete copycat of her. Even dad's that way; he just decided that 'world peace couldn't happen with such a trippy chick, man, I gotta do it on my own'. That sort of shit. Actually's, it's dad's week with Janis, so it's just mom here today."
Now, although I was definitely proven to that the hippy lifestyle was a thing here, when I first heard Mrs. Marks talk, I was absolutely convinced she could have been from the sixties when she spoke. "Hey hey, teeny boppers! Heard your bag was some Rock N' Roll, huh?" I personally was as impressed as I was weirded out, but Trixie laughed at our expressions. Clearly this wasn't our strong suit.
"Mom, uh, Ginger, this is the rest of that band I told you about." Trixie didn't seem to be embarrassed, but sort of unsure of how to carry this out. "Vicky Stud, Stella Starr, and Sonic Blaire."
She laughed, standing up from her meditative state. "Far out names, chicks! Hope you got the munchies, there's a bird in the oven and veggies to go around. I'll give you a lid afterwards if you cats want, I've been jonesing for some Mary Jane." I, of course, accepted, though the others turned it down. I admired this lifestyle in a way; everything was so chilled out, and I had to love that. Trixie was right, there was no judgement at all.
So, we ate dinner with completely hand-carved wooden bowls and utensils and organic food. After we'd eaten, though, Ginger, as she made us call her, asked, "Want some electric Kool-Aid?" Naturally, we asked what it was, because none of us had heard that term in our lives.
Trixie explained, "In the 60's, during the acid tests, Kool-Aid was mixed with LSD to test out the effects. It's some psychedelic shit, I gotta say." After glancing at each other for a bit, we nodded, deciding we'd test it out. Ginger whisked away to go make a batch. "I know we don't seem similar," Trixie admitted, "but we really are pretty alike. We just express it differently, and I'm just a bit darker in nature."
Electric Kool-Aid was possibly the weirdest thing I'd ever experienced. Apparently Ginger made her own acid, although I'd never know how she managed. At first, nothing happened, but all of a sudden, the walls were oozing neon slime. Everything was warped, and everything seemed to be talking. I almost felt like I was weightless, almost like I was drowning in the wonders of the world.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Ginger probably said that she was going to get it, but I genuinely didn't care to listen, until she walked up to me a moment later, looking as spaced as I was. "It's for you, Stella," she told me simply, and I nodded, struggling to walk over to the phone without stepping in any of the green ooze; it had started to get onto the floor.
"Stella?" a voice asked, which I recognized as Satchel's. "Stella, you need to get your ass home, now."
Something clicked inside me. Even though everything still looked psychedelic and warped, my mind seemed to sharpen as soon as Satchel said that. "Why? Is everyone okay?" Paranoia started to fill my mind.
Sighing, the guitarist answered, "Someone sent an envelope for your dad, right? Well, it was anonymous, but he opened it. They were pictures of you and Axl, uh, sucking face..."
My blood froze. Every piece of my being suddenly felt like a broken vase, just smashing into bits. "What did he say..?" I asked numbly, not even sure if I wanted the answer.
"He's losing his shit, Stella, and I'm telling you, if you try to hide, it's gonna make it worse."
"I can't come home now, though! That's fucking suicide even without the pictures!"
"Why?"
"Because I'm high, on LSD."
"Acid? Jesus fucking Christ, Stella... I don't have a problem with that, but he's gonna kick your ass. Listen, just try to come home now, and whatever you do, try to act calm. He doesn't know I called you, but Stella, you're so fucked if you don't come now." Thankfully, he didn't sound mad; just worried.
As soon as I hung up with Satchel, I explained to the band and Ginger, who were all tripping as hard as I was, what happened. No one was in a state of mind to try to think about how this happened, but they sure as hell knew I was serious. We drove back to my place as soon as possible, even running through a red light or two.
The second I got in the house, I knew that I was fucked.