So Close (a James Hetfield story)

Chapter 33

That night's post-concert party was being held at the Palladium nightclub in Manhattan. The club was reserved for the bands and invited guests, and it was a who's who of pop, rock and metal musicians, various boho artist types, New York socialites, and clubbers. It was a crazy mix of people, I noted, as I wound my way through the crowd trying to find the bar. GNR and Metallica were huge and everybody wanted to party with them, I, on the other hand, just needed a drink, something to dull my brain a little. I'd arrived twenty minutes earlier with Roberta, and she'd immediately let herself be led out to the dance floor by some cute guy. They'd tried to get me to join them but I'd begged off, not wanting to be a third wheel. I could see them on the dance floor moving against each other sensually and I was happy that she was having fun, but I felt a flash of envy too. I wished that I could be that carefree with men and say yes to any of the guys in the club who were currently trying to get my attention; no worries and no expectations, just have fun in the moment. Why did I have to be the all or nothing type? Right now it was definitely nothing. Less than nothing actually. I was a big fat negative in the love department these days, a downgrade from the big fat zero it had been a couple days ago. At least back then it was just lack of opportunity or interest, now it was just a confusing mess.

I made it to the bar and the attractive bartender gave me his best come-ons, but I was completely unaffected. Thanking him for my drink, I gave him the not-unkind-but-clearly-uninterested smile I'd perfected over the years. The two separate guys who tried their best pick-up moves as I made my way to the VIP area, got the same practiced smile. I didn't want to come off as a bitch, I just knew it was pointless. Why set an expectation I knew I couldn't fulfill?

Climbing the few steps to the raised VIP level, one of GNR's beefy security guys, Ricky, was standing sentinel, making sure only a select few made it to the private area. He high-fived me as I walked past, giving me a warm smile; he was a good guy and always kept an eye out for me. I could see that Axl and most of the guys in the band were holding court with a mix of other celebrities and groupies, so I wandered over to a balcony that looked out across the main floor of the club. From my vantage, I could easily see the dance area where Roberta was still dancing with her new friend, and nearby was Tracey and her boyfriend. Taking a sip from my cocktail, I tried to ignore the wave of loneliness that threatened to destroy my mood. It was my own fault after all, I didn't have to be alone, I chose to be. Of course, the truth of the matter was more complicated than that.

That truth chose that moment to make his entrance into the party flanked by the other members of the band. Metallica's appearance caused a ripple of excitement to go through the club, and I watched as numerous scantily clad girls made a beeline for them, each vying for the attention of the boys. I knew I should turn away, I didn't need to see this, but I was nothing if not a glutton for pain. Downing my entire drink, I forced myself to swallow the liquid as I watched the females fawning over the band, breasts pushed up against them, hands running over their arms and chests. Lars and Kirk were grinning like idiots and egging the ladies on, while Jason seemed slightly overwhelmed by the attention but certainly not uninterested. James was surrounded by at least four women, all of them pressing in around him, their hands moving over him greedily. I was unprepared for the punch to my gut, the ache of raw jealousy leaving me winded. He owed me nothing, he was free to do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, but somehow that didn't stop the hurt as I watched the women touch him. Even though James seemed unaffected by the attention, in fact he seemed completely uninterested, I decided I'd had enough torture. Putting down my empty glass, I made my way back downstairs and over to the dancefloor. By the time I found Roberta amongst all the swaying bodies, the alcohol I'd downed too quickly hit me hard. My brain was foggy and I was blessedly disconnected from my raw emotions. As if on cue, Stranglehold started to play, and my body's natural instinct to move took over. The groove was slow and sexy, and my hips started to sway to the rhythm as I closed my eyes and lost myself to the music.  It must have been less than a minute before I felt someone come up behind me and press themselves against me as I danced.