What The Devil Doesn't Know

Our flight from London to L.A. made a pit stop in New York. However, something just HAD to go wrong with the plane, and our flight from New York to L.A. was delayed until tomorrow.

"What are we going to do?" I asked Mickey.

"I guess we could leave our stuff with the airport since they're letting us...and then, you slept a lot on the plane right?" I hadn't, but I wasn't tired.

"Yeah."

"OK, well instead of wasting money on a hotel, we could just club hop all night. If we don't need to sleep, that is. The plane is leaving first thing in the morning anyway."

"That sounds fine. Whatever."

"OK. Do you want to go to ELECTRO?"

"What?"

"It's this club. I've been there a few times. It's big with the Myspace scenesters, but the drinks are pretty cheap."

"Yeah, that's fine." I wasn't about to pass up cheap drinks. I hadn't had one since about halfway through the flight, and the best thing to do at this point was keep drinking.

"I'll call a cab and put us on the list. I'll be right back." Mickey strolled through the baggage claim area, looking for good cell phone reception. He found a spot, and stayed glued there while he called the cab service and club owner. I watched him. His once tight fitting black jeans were now falling off his skeletal frame. His old black Polo with the red anarchy symbol spray painted on the back was dirty. And his pretty hair was a little greasy, with once brown patches that were now green and purple due to a giggly, pot induced high that led us scour London for bleach and manic panic. I looked down at my pink tips.

"OK cabs here." said Mickey, grabbing me by the sleeve of my jacket. "You coming?"

"Yeah." I say. My God, if anyone ever needed a drink, it was me right now.

"Good. We're on the list. Thirsty?"

"Extremely."
***
ELECTRO is a wannabe rave. There's laser lights and ecstasy all over the place, and someone is on a stage groaning into a microphone. It becomes obvious there's nothing exciting happening here when I realize through my drunken haze that the only kids turning up to ELECTRO are clearly underage with huge, over styled hair and Pokemon t-shirts. All hoping to catch a glimpse of pink sparkle cupcake or whoever the fuck their current myspace idol is. These boys are prettier than these girls. These boys are kissing each other. Not men, boys. Boys who are only pretending to be bisexual because it's trendy, not because they really are. And it's not the display of homosexuality that makes me sick, but how ridiculously generic these people are. I need a drink to keep from throwing up. A guy with a black and purple faux hawk sits down next to me in a booth.
"Hi guys! I'm Jayden Jones, fabulous club goer extraordinaire. You two look new to ELECTRO, is there anything I can do for you?" His black vinyl coat squeaks on the booth.

"Is it raining outside?" I ask, gesturing to the coat.

"Uh, no..."

"Oh. Well if it rains vodka anytime soon, catch it in this and bring it to me, k? Better yet, go get me a drink." I say, handing him my glass. Being true to his diva character, he gives me a nasty look and struts off. I do hope he comes back though. I could use the vodka I asked for.

Moments later, a new group takes the stage. The Jayden fellow is on keyboard. Only a few minutes into their set, and I see that my first impression was wrong. Behind the sparkly eyeshadow and guy-liner, there is a true musician. His passion outshines the little screamer, a boy who, like most screamers in screamo bands, is only there because he wants to be in a band without learning an instrument or being able to sing. Jayden's talent makes itself apparent above the flashing lights and fake people and I know Mickey sees what I do.

The show is over and Jayden jumps down, fixing his hair.
"I want to ask him to come to L.A. with us. We need a guy like him." Mickey approaches him while I sit and down another shot. But all this alcohol might be getting to me. I'm seeing double and dozing off. So while Mickey chats up Jayden, who is back into character, I stumble to the bathroom.

The bathrooms in ELECTRO are an experience by themselves. There is neon everything, and the futuristic faucets are hard to work. Glowing fish swim in glass cylinders at either end of the counter. I stare at the fish for a moment. A million thoughts are going through my vodka muddled brain. None of which I will remember tomorrow morning. I used to have fish like that. I used to read lots of books, most of which included a seedy club with a gimmick involving fish. Tubes of pink neon spiral up the cylinders. The lights over head are flashing. I walk into a spacious stall, and I swear I had a seizure while trying to take a piss. The club's bass makes itself present while I examine myself in a mirror. My cheeks are sunken, my eyes heavy and bloodshot. A girl with cheetah print hair and bright yellow leggings offers me some X. I take it. The feeling is nothing if you want to compare it to my past experiences with coke. But coupled with my drunkenness, it's nice.

I walk back into the club, and find Jayden and Mickey laughing. Jayden knows a guy who knows a guy, and therefore we're all staying in some fancy hotel. I hear free mini bar and club hopping is out of the question. I'm more alert now, so I help Mickey up and out the door, into a cab. As we drive along, New York's never fading lights are really just one big ELECTRO to me. I don't catch the name of the hotel I'm about to stay in. But Jayden pays the driver, tips him extra, and pays all our hotel fees that night. We are quite a sight in this ritzy hotel. Mickey and I stumbling along, trailing behind Jayden, an abnormality himself. We enter the elevator. I let Jayden press the buttons and lead me too a room.

"So what line of work are you in Jayden?" I ask, sitting Mickey and myself on the floor.

"Oh you know. Mypace music. Club promotion and gigs. That kind of thing." He lights a cigarette.

"You?" I wasn't prepared for such a question. How was I to handle this? I was fourteen. I didn't work. I mooched off Mickey, or played bait for Nazi hating gangs.

"Oh. I uh, I....I don't really do anything." I confessed. I was too wasted to make anything up. Jayden seemed to study me. He leaned back against the t.v. and took a long drag from his cigarette. His eyes bore into me. It stung.
We continued to make small talk like that for a while.

"I'm not fucked up at all." He announced, while I rattled on about the death penalty.

"What?"

"I'm not fucked up at all. Are you?"

"No, I'm not." I was lying of course.

"Oh. OK. Well, do you want a hit?"

"Of what?" I lolled my head back against the foot of my bed, Mickey came to after passing out as soon as I put him down. Jayden laughed.

"Good shit." He promised. Then, he pulled out three syringes. Everything was ready. He kept it that way because of his hectic club regimen.

"Is that coke?" Inquired Mickey, looking more alert. Jayden took a rubber band out of his squeaky vinyl pocket and wrapped it around his arm a few times. He took a syringe from between his teeth, and slid the needle underneath his sparkling flesh.

"Better." He sighed, in response to Mickey's question. "Well I hate to leave you two, but I've got another gig to be at in twenty minutes. Mickey, I'll meet you tomorrow morning at the gate. I'll call the front office and set up your wake up call. And if you need me again I'll be in the room next door when my gig is finished."
Not another word was said. Jayden left two syringes on the hotel's desk and left. Mickey and I pounced on them like kids on a cookie jar when mom went grocery shopping. All our thoughts of sobriety have vanished. After shooting up, we crawled into the big, white bed and fell asleep, cuddling.

And so began my infatuation with heroin.