I'm The Fox You've Been waiting For

It's been a long time since the book of love,
I cant count the tears of a life with no love.
Carry me back, carry me back, Carry me back, baby, where I come from.
It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.


Third drink, on the house. Led Zeppelin, on the radio. Famous rockers chillin' by the bar. She was starting to think that she loved this club. Her un-maintained, black fingernails tapped in time to the soothing, yet energizing beat of the song. Robert Plant's voice echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes and swayed her hair, like a free spirit.

Although the party vibe was intense and powerful, there was still a hint of insecurity in the air. It was 1983, and rock and new wave clashed, forming a vivid social scene. Most women tried to get into V.I.P places, others into V.I.P's pants. Not many sat by themselves, being taken away by last decade's gems.
She knew people there, they were after all, her colleges. She had her reasons for not wanting to be with them.

Her reality became more apparent when she felt the warm, gentle touch of a human being. Slowly and cautiously opening her eyes, she looked at her hand, and the masculine one that sat on top. At a suspenseful pace, she raised her head, ready to greet the stranger near her. She wasn't expecting to see a sweaty, paint decorated face before hers.
"Hi," he smiled. She forgot what song was on the radio.
"Hi..." she replied softly.
"I'm Eric," he introduced himself.
"I know," was her answer. Marie knew very well.

Two weeks before this happening, Marie Curtis stormed out of an editor's meeting, having her ideas crushed and disregarded completely. As soon as she mentioned The Beatles, she lost the task.
The magazine she worked for kept telling her "We're not restricted to one genre." Yet they only wanted to feature Gary Moore, Human League and Robert Smith. Her idea of rock revival went down the drain. It didn't matter what she had said, the fresh faced twenty year old wasn't good enough for journalism in their eyes. Marie could have given them the keys and a floor plan to Fort Knox and they still would have knocked her down. Better to be knocked down than knocked up she always thought. A motto consistently retrieved whenever she encountered an office slut.
As she walked away, the editor's son chased her along the corridors of tweed clad business people. He was the only person that liked her theory of Zigging when others Zag.
"I'll do what it takes. They're too afraid to break conformity. I can give you a chance. What do you need to make this article?" he asked, panting as he caught up with her.
"Tickets and passes to every KISS concert, every KISS party, press conference...you name it. I need to document everything! I want to get a grasp on the life of what used to be America's most famous band," Marie replied, serious, but her words laced with sarcasm. She didn't think he was for real.
"Done," he replied solidly. Marie was shocked.

So, there she sat. Like at all the other parties for that week. On one condition.
"Keep your distance from the band. You must not talk to them or get involved with either a member of the band or a member of management. You will only speak to them during your interview at the end of the month. Your job is to observe, understand?"

Eric Carr, the drummer of KISS, almost broke down the hotel door as he pushed his way inside, pulling Marie with him. Picking her up, he crashed onto the soft mattress. Trying hard to break away from her passionate kisses, he made his way back to the door, ensuring that it was closed. She couldn't wait for the few steps he needed to take back to the bed. Marie grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him down, with one of her legs on either side of his body. Her lips merged with Eric's excited grin, face paint rubbing off onto Marie's cheeks.
"How old are you?" he asked, potentially killing the hottest moment of Marie's life at that point. He slid his hands up Marie's back, unhooking her bra.
"Twenty," she whispered, removing his clothes also.
"Twenty....?" he asked, rolling her over onto her back. He moved on top of her and kissed her neck as he patiently awaited a reply.
"Twenty, twenty," she smiled. He pulled away, looking at her closely with his dark brown eyes.
"You're twenty years old?" he asked, surprised. She nodded with a cheeky grin.
"Wow," was all he could say, as his lips kissed down her body, reaching the top of her jeans.

The door burst open, making them both sit up with shock. At the door stood Ryan, Marie's employer's son. "What the hell is going on?" he yelled.
"Ryan, calm down..." Marie began to explain, covering her breasts with a blanket.
"Don't tell me to calm down! Get your clothes on and meet me downstairs, now!" he ordered, then slammed the door shut before he walked away.
"Is that your boss?" Eric asked. Marie nodded.
"He likes to think so anyway. Don't worry about him," she said, determined to pick up from where they left off.
"He seems pretty pissed," Eric said, while Marie kissed him. She shrugged.
He pulled back, getting off the bed.
"What's wrong?" Marie asked, worried. "No, don't stop because of him..."
Eric gently tossed Marie's shirt at her, then pulled on his pants.
"I'll fix this," he said, then walked out of the room.