A Compelling Life

8. Welcome to the jungle

One hour to go until Guns 'n Roses will enter the stage, and there's a line forming outside of the Troubadour already. Dozens of people stand around on the sidewalk, smoking, talking and drinking, their faces lighting up in eager anticipation about the night that lies before them. According to Corey, everybody who's anybody is gonna be here tonight. Needless to say, it didn't take much convincing to get him and the girls to join me on this night out.

We receive quite a few dirty looks from the patiently waiting partygoers as we pass them to make our way to the VIP entrance in front of the queue. The doorman that awaits us there -the love child of Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Incredible Hulk, by the looks of him- squints his deep-set eyes at us and growls: "You on the list?"

Realizing Axl probably doesn't know Paulina and Vicky's names, I just go with: "Yeah, the name's Karen...and friends".

"Lemme see". The intimidating bruiser scans the names on the paper in front of him with his stubby index finger. "Ah, there you are. One hot blonde chick by the name of Karen....one redhead....one brunette....and one...ehm... guy".

His hand prevents me from reading the exact words myself, but judging from the lizard-like smile creeping onto his face, the complete description is a lot more indecent.

"Yup, that's us," I nod while he hands out backstage passes for the 4 of us. For fuck's sake, backstage passes? I know it seems stupid, not to mention petty, but I can't help but feel a little annoyed that our names were actually on the guest list in the first place. I mean, I said I'd think about coming tonight. And Axl, being the conceited prick that he is, just went around assuming that my attendance was a dead certainty. Sure, he was totally right about that, and asking if Corey could come too probably didn't help my whole unapproachable ice queen-act either, but that's not the point. The point IS that I forget what my point was again every time I look into his eyes, and I'm not sure that I like the profound sense of vulnerability this inflicts on me.

But I'm here tonight to have a good time, so I decide to set my conflicted feelings about Axl aside for the moment and enjoy it.

The doorman unclasps the velvet rope that prevents the common folk from trespassing, and we quickly make our way through the smoky, dark venue to find a spot in front of the stage. Me and the girls are dressed to impress in short bodycon dresses, and Corey, who's quickly becoming our own personal stylist, teased our hairs to the perfect messes they are now.

We have a few drinks as we watch the crowd gather in until the place is packed. It's a little after 9 when an older man with glasses and a mustache enters the stage and grabs the microphone. "Alright people, you've all be waiting for them. So without further ado, the Troubadour presents: the most dangerous band in L.A.: Guns 'n fucking Roses!"

Enthusiastic cheers erupt from the crowd as the band members take their places on the stage. They're all dressed in tank tops and black leather pants; except for Izzy, who's sporting a yellow copy. Axl's topped off his outfit with large dark sunglasses and an officer's cap. A bold fashion choice, but he pulls it off perfectly. I sigh and poke Corey's arm. "Oh my god! He looks so hot!"

Corey takes his eyes away from a shirtless Slash for a second. "I know, you're probably like: 'arrest me, officer, I've been a very naughty girl' ", he chuckles.

"True," I admit, clinking my beer glass against his, while Axl walks up to the microphone standard and the crowd falls into an expectant silence for just a brief moment.

"YOU KNOW WHERE THE FUCK YOU ARE? YOU'RE IN THE JUNGLE BABY. YOU'RE GONNA DIEEEEEE," he screams in a high pitched raspy voice that's so surprisingly different from his speaking voice that my jaw literally drops in amazement. When the guitars and drums kick in and Axl lets out an out of this world sound I can only describe as a lion's roar, I feel goosebumps rising up all over my body.

I'd expected them to be good, but exceptional doesn't even begin to define what this is. The music, the lyrics, the chemistry between the band members, their captivating stage presence; I watch them in awe, knowing that I'm witnessing something really special here. When Axl proceeds to move his body in a snake-like dance, singing something about feeling his serpentine and swaying his hips from side to side while simultaneously tilting his upper body, I scream and whistle like a total groupie- and I'm definitely not the only one screaming my lungs out. The crowd goes wild, and for some reason, the images of Beatlemania emerge into my brain. I could never quite grasp how a band could have this kind of magical power over people, how their performance could drive thousands of girls so far over the edge that they would faint, shed tears and throw their panties at them, but.... I get how you can totally lose control over your emotions by the perfection of a musical moment like this now, unable to express your feelings other than crying or laughing or shouting.

The band never caves in, maintaining the same level of energy they provided in their first song throughout their whole performance. Corey, Paulina, Vicky and I don't speak much, but we look at each other in silent appreciation from time to time, wide smiles plastered across our faces. A captivating song about a certain Mr. Brownstone follows after 'Welcome to the jungle', and when that finishes, they continue with an eerily beautiful and more subdued song called 'Sweet child o'mine'. It could be my imagination, but Axl's, who's taken off his sunglasses by now, seems to be looking at directly at me when singing the words 'where do we go now'. I point my index finger at my heart, my lips miming, 'me?' He winks and nods his head sideways a little, in the direction of the backstage area.

Vicky catches on to our silent conversation and she nudges me playfully, a deviant grin coming across her face. "Do you hear that sound?"

The only sound I'm hearing is the stunning voice of Axl singing this wonderful song. "No, what?"

She cracks up over her own joke. "The sound of your panties dropping on the floor!"

"Ha, joke's on you. Have you seen how tight this dress is? I'm not wearing any," I reply, sticking out my tongue before I laugh along with her.

As much as I love seeing Guns 'n Roses in action on the stage, the promise of some private action between Axl and me almost leaves me impatient for the show to end....