Boring Girls(90)

I felt hands on my shoulders and snapped my head up to see Edgar had come to stop me. I realized my eyes were burning and I wondered when I had last blinked. All I had been aware of was the pounding heartbeat of the microphone, the squealing as it fed back.

“Cut it out,” Edgar yelled at the guy in the crowd in front of us, and I felt an electric thrill run through me as I realized that I was right, my friend was siding with me.

I pulled myself together and looked at the crowd. All was quiet, and every face I could see was looking at us, aghast. I could tell they were waiting for direction, unsure what to think about what I had done. I realized I was in control here. They would listen to what I said.

The prick stood there, rubbing his sore head like a little kid would have, a mix of fury and confusion on his face.

“Say you’re sorry,” I ordered him in my most patronizing tone, chastising him like the child he looked like. My voice echoed in the silence. The crowd seemed to hold its breath.

“No way, you stupid whore,” the guy said, but he was far away enough from the mike that he sounded hollow, thin and pathetic. His voice broke on the word whore, making him sound even more idiotic and weak.

I brought the microphone down again, hard, onto his head, and the sound boomed hollowly through the room. The crowd began to cheer.

“Listen here, you f*cking insect,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the cheers. “You don’t touch girls like that. Do you get it? Now, I know this isn’t my show. It’s a Goreceps show. But if it was my show, I’d kick your ass the f*ck out.”

The crowd roar was deafening, and I looked back to see that the guys from Goreceps had come out on stage and were applauding. I realized that they were applauding me. Their singer, Jacob, made a gesture. Security moved in and dragged the * away through the crowd.

I stood there beside Fern, who seemed oblivious to it all and was wringing her hands, and wondered why the f*ck security hadn’t done anything to stop the guy in the first place.





THIRTY-SEVEN


“You’re breaking new ground,” the interviewer said. “There’s been a rallying of girls in metal. How does it feel to be a role model?”

The tape recorder was sitting on the table between us. I’d never done an interview before, and this woman worked for Blood Sledge, so I was sort of nervous. One of the biggest metal magazines in Europe, and here I was, sitting backstage, on a tour with a great band, being asked what it feels like to be a role model? It was surreal.

“I don’t think I’m a role model,” I said.

“Three nights ago in Leeds you beat a guy over the head with your microphone because he was grabbing your guitarist. A lot of girls look up to that.”

“I think a lot of girls should beat guys over the head if they’re going to be assaulted like that, because what that guy did was assault,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken. I took a deep breath. “I don’t get why people act like that. Why they think they’re entitled to treat girls that way.”

“Do you see a lot of this sort of thing while you’re touring? Do you think there’s an element of sexism in the music industry?”

I frowned, wondering if she was joking or if this was a serious question. “Definitely. I think a lot of guys have a sense of ego and over-confidence in this industry. Particularly . . .” An image of Balthazar flashed in my mind. I quickly dismissed it, clenching my fists. “Er, particularly musicians.”

The interviewer giggled. “Well, some might say that girls rather enjoy the attention of musicians.”

I swallowed my urge to reach across the table and slap her. I took a deep breath and replied calmly, “Not all girls. I think it’s a good lesson for some of these . . . *s to remember that. Not every girl is going to fall at your feet and do nothing but giggle. I don’t understand that perspective.”

The interviewer had stopped smiling and now seemed nervous, as though she knew she had offended me and wanted to clarify her point. “But there really are so many groupies —”

“Not every girl is a f*cking groupie,” I snapped. Her eyes widened in the silence that followed, and I was aware of the soft whirring of the tape recorder. The faces of the two girls who had been backstage with me and Fern, the ones who had to deal with the disgusting roadie, flashed in my mind. What had that night been like for them? What had happened to them after we had fled? I didn’t want to come off as a bitch here, so when I spoke next, I softened my tone. “And groupies don’t deserve to be treated badly either. It seems like some guys at shows just have a problem with women. It makes me so angry. I mean, Fern is onstage, playing guitar, and some guy thinks he has the right to just grope her, and no one does anything. I don’t understand that.”