Cold Gin

You wanted the best, you got the best, the hottest band in the world...KISS.

I can feel the electricity of the set running through my body as the band explode onto the stage. Peter Criss rises up at the back of the stage drumming as if his life depended on it. The Demon, Gene Simmons emerges on the left side, tongue wildly out of control and strutting on the stage. Next is Ace, staggering and clutching his guitar in his own unique way, and to complete the line up, Paul bursts on stage, full of energy and hyping up the audience.

“Are you alright?!”

The crowd goes wild, scream ecstatically in reply to the Starchild.

“O-kay...Well here’s the first number...”

As the opening chords of Mr. Speed rings out across the stadium, I feel happier than I have ever been in my life. Even though I’m being crushed against the barrier, the band is inches away from my face, and like everybody else of the front row, we’re desperately trying to grab a hold of our heroes. I take out the bottle of gin that I managed to smuggle especially just for Cold Gin, and take a massive swig from the bottle. I don’t particularly like gin, but it makes me feel closer to the music. To my surprise I see Ace heading over to me, and I can hear the screams of the girls around me growing louder as they all jump up to touch him. He bends down to one of the roadies and whispers something in his ear. The roadie nods and steps over to me.

“Miss, alcohol is not permitted at this venue. Mr. Frehley suggests that I confiscate the bottle, and should you wish to retrieve your item after the show, please make your way backstage.”

At first, I felt a little stupid for whipping out the bottle so publicly, but then my brain registers the second part of what the roadie has just said.

“Should you wish to retrieve your item after the show, please make your way backstage.”

Oh my God. The adrenaline pumps through my veins even harder until I can hear my heart pumping through my ears and the music takes a back seat to the loud thumping. I don’t even notice that KISS are now halfway through Firehouse, my favourite track. I just stand there, slightly stunned and wondering what to do. Heck, I didn’t even care about the gin anymore. Ace Frehley had just invited me backstage. It must be a mistake, I was clearly hyped up and misheard the guy. And they would probably ring the police, and I would probably be arrested for illegal possession of alcohol. I can’t enjoy the rest of the gig because I’m so confused, but I make the decision to get out of there as fast as possible at the end of the concert. As tradition dictates, KISS end on Rock and Roll All Nite, and as the last note sounds, I try to slip away as discreetly as possible. Except I’m blocked in by screaming girls who are not going to budge. That’s when I feel a tap on my shoulder. The roadie has returned. Shit.

“Please come with me, Miss.”

He expertly opens the barrier so that I am the only one who passes from the crowd to the sacred backstage area where Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Peter Criss and Ace Frehley become KISS. I turn back and see several other girls screaming at the roadies to let them backstage, but the other muscle men stand there stony and silent. I follow the roadie down some winding tunnels with slightly loose floorboards and miles of wires to an underground corridor.

“Watch the step.”

He says as he pushes a black door open, and steps into a large open room buzzing with conversation and containing several half-drunk glasses, make up bags and guitar cases. Then I realise, I’m about to step into KISS’s dressing room. I want to vomit with excitement, and my legs turn to jelly, but I follow him in as calmly as possible. And sure enough, KISS are standing right in front of me.
Gene Simmons has already got two ladies sitting on his lap on a sofa in the far right corner, and is feeding them pieces of white chocolate, but he still winks at me. I smile politely as I take in the surreal situation.
Paul is on the phone to someone, gesturing enthusiastically, and obviously still pumped from the concert. He absent-mindedly twirls one of his curls round his slender fingers and leans against his table.
Peter comes up to the roadie, slaps him on the back and tousles my hair. I can smell the liquor on his breath, but I can tell it’s only enough to make him tipsy.

“Eddie, who’s the kid?” He asks, nodding at me. He smiles cheekily, which instantly puts me at ease.

“Ace wanted to speak to her. She brought some gin to the concert.”

“You’re a bad, bad girl.” he slurs slightly, then walks off laughing to himself.

Then I see him. I should probably tell you now that I’ve never really found Ace conventionally attractive-that was always Paul- but when you meet him, there’s something so magnetic about his poise and general air that makes you want to sit down, speak to him and just absorb his personality. He was perched on his dressing table, smirking at me and taking gulps from my bottle of gin. Eddie the roadie leads me up to him.

“Here she is.”

“Thanks, Curly. See ya later.” Ace replies in his familiar New York twang.

And with that, Eddie waltzes off to deal with some proper business.
Ace watches him walk out of the door, takes another sip, and then motions for me to sit next to him. I sit next to him clumsily, and he cackles as I fall off a little, but pulls me back just in the nick of time.

“So, you’re the gin girl...Ginny?” He cracks up at his own joke, and I can’t help but join in with his infectious laughing.

“Yeah, I guess so. My name’s Roxy, though.”

“That’s a cute name. Do you mind if I call ya Ginny?”

“Not really given the circumstances in which I’ve arrived here...”

He cackles wildly again and slaps his thighs as if I’ve told the funniest joke in the world. He takes another gulp of my gin, and then offers me the bottle. I accept, and take a pretty long drink to impress him, even though I really want to spit it out.

“Well, Ginny, how old are ya?”

“17.”

“Ohhhhh,” he says disapprovingly “Ya know it’s illegal for you to be drinking, and I’m sure you’re parents wouldn’t be very happy knowing what you did tonight.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t mind too much.” I answer. It was true, my parents understood what being a teenager was all about, and whilst none of my friends had been allowed to go to the KISS concert, mine had encouraged it, and even booked me into a hotel so I could watch the whole show plus encores.

“That’s pretty cool of them. Hey look, here comes Paul!”
And with that he swiftly places the bottle in my lap and tucks my arm over it.

“Frehley, was that a bottle of COOOOOLD GIN I see there?”

“No, curly, I swear. It’s this girl, Roxy- you gotta understand, she’s a bad influence, trying to tempt me! I’m a saint!” Ace states with an innocent shrug.

And with that, all three of us are laughing hysterically at the irony of the situation.
Paul is still in his full make-up and outfit, and although the sweat creates a sheen on his body, it’s weirdly attractive. In magazines he’s perfect, but in real life he is even better. I gaze at the ridiculously toned arms and drink in his beautifully androgynous face. He places a hand on my knee, leans forward slightly, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but he just takes an eyelash off my face, places it in his palm, puckers up and blows it into Ace’s face.

“Well, Roxy, we wouldn’t want you to be a bad influence on Ace. He’s an angel.”
Paul grabs his cheeks and starts cooing at Ace who bats him away, but is obviously amused.

“Aww, shucks, you’re exaggerating Paulie...”

I start to feel like a third wheel, when I notice Paul and Ace share a very definite and conspicuous look. Ace laughs under his breath slightly, and looks at the floor like a little boy. Paul grins widely then moves to kiss me on the cheek, and slaps Ace on the back.

“Well, you kids have fun! I’m going to fire my LOOOOOVE GUN!” and with that Paul dances off to the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry about him...” Ace says.

“Oh, no, not at all, I’ve always liked Paul!” I reply, then realise what I’ve just said...Ace looks instantly hurt.

“Oh, I guess I better get going...It’s getting late...Thanks for coming to the concert Ginny.”

“NO!” I almost shriek, because now I don’t want to leave him at all. A feeling sweeps over me and I say:

“I’ve always like Paul, but this is how I feel about you...”
And before he can jump off the table, I lean in and kiss him lightly but firmly on his black lips, he’s slow to respond at first, which is probably the alcohol’s fault, but then he tucks an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. We don’t break the kiss as I drape my legs over his lap and slide my arms round his neck. I’ve never felt so edgy or alive in my life, but suddenly Ace breaks the kiss, and stares at me intensely for a long time. Crap, I’m probably an awful kisser, and about to be kicked out onto the street...or relegated to Gene Simmons’ corner of the room.