Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 13: May 13, 1987

"Can I get another round? I'm not sober enough to be listening to this shit."

The bartender managed to catch my mumbled request over the blaring music. I glanced behind me to where a band was playing on stage by the title of 'Wooden Jukebox'. After a few seconds of watching, a finger tapped my forearm that was resting against the bar countertop. Turning back around and finding two more shots of vodka plus a bottle of beer, I nodded a thanks to the tender. I quickly learned his name was 'Todd'. Nice fella.

The Cathouse was mildly crowded tonight. That was to be expected, though. It was a Friday at midnight. "We know you guys like getting hammered, and we're Rusty Nails! Let's rock!" The singer of the band that just got on announced their name, soon blending into a song. I downed the first shot then the second in an instant, soon chasing it with the beer.

I suppressed the hiss that was itching at my throat from the burning sensation, closing my eyes and propping my elbows against the counter. It had only been a month since the boys had left, and I had been completely lost. Not only without them, but Les too. I hadn't made an effort to try and talk to her, I knew she would only push me away and probably call the cops.

For the past few weeks, I had been doing nothing but wasting away in bars and working minimal hours. With the sudden surge of money the boys had received from their album going #1 and whatnot, they insisted on paying the bills for the apartment, meaning I didn't have to work nearly as many hours as I did before.

The only reason I even go to my job anymore is to pay for groceries, drugs, and bar tabs. Blakely, my manager, was making it blatantly obvious that I was on the verge of getting fired, so I lied and said I wasn't working as many hours because I got another job and was working part-time. He bought it.

I was aware that I was wasting my life doing what I was doing, and I simply didn't give a fuck. What could I do? Not hang with Les, she hates me. Not hang with the band, they're touring the world making more money than I've ever even heard of. I hadn't even tried to look at their tour dates, I didn't bother. Why would I pester them with showing up when they've probably already replaced me? I mean, shit, I was useless to myself and everyone around me. I've never felt so pointless in my life.

"Hey, you from around here?" And now there was a bar creep skeeving on me when I was trying to wallow in self pity.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Uh- I guess, why?" I mumbled back, turning to the guy who was seated on the stood beside my own. "Oh, then I'm sure you're familiar with Canter's? I'd love to take you out." He had nearly white-blond hair with a bandana wrapped around his forehead and plush pink lips. With a black tank top and belt around his light jeans that sparkled in the dim light, he looked like every other rockstar on the Strip.

"Who are you?" My question was clearly hinting that I was uninterested, paired with a bored expression on my face. "Right. I'm Vince Neil." He held out his hand and I cautiously took it. His lips gently kissed my knuckles, causing me to roll my eyes and scoff, "Smooth one, rockstar. I'm Jimmie." "Just Jimmie?" "Just Jimmie." I confirmed. He nodded, letting go of my hand, "Huh. Cool. Well, uh, my band and I are going out to eat soon, would you care to come along?"

Contemplating my options for a second, I shrugged. What the hell did I have to lose? "Sure. How far?" "Just down the block." He slapped a $50 bill onto the counter and asked the bartender to cover both of our tabs. I mumbled a 'thanks' as I followed him out of the bar.

"So, where you from, Jimmie?" he asked, trying to make small-talk, I guess. "Around." I shrugged. He took the hint not to ask any more about it, thankfully, and quieted down after chuckling a bit, "Alright." "You said you have a band, right?" He nodded, clearing his throat a bit and smiling, "Oh, yeah. We're on tour at the moment and we stopped in L.A. for one of our shows tomorrow night. I'm from around here so I thought the boys and I could have a night out before being stuffed in the bus again."

"Where have you guys performed so far? What countries, I mean." He thought for a moment before answering, "Hm.. shit, I don't even know if I could name all of them. We've been to.. well, L.A. for sure." he nodded. "Great, glad we got that cleared up," I said sarcastically, chuckling. "Yeah, that's all I know, though. Maybe Mick might be able to tell you."

I assumed Mick was another band member, so I decided to keep quiet until I was for sure. Vince seemed a little familiar when I had first saw him at the bar, but I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. As we approached the flickering white lights of the run-down diner, he held the door open for me and allowed me to walk in before him while he followed.

I thanked the waitress as she directed us to where the rest of Vince's band was. She seemed to be fangirling a bit as she left our table, blushing furiously and trying to keep her composure. Was he really such a big shot? "So, this is our band." Vince said.

"Hey! Tommy Lee, drummer for the Crüe. It's a real pleasure." The tall and lanky brunette shot up from his seat and held out his hand eagerly. In a white tank top and blue jeans that made his legs look even longer than they already were, he smiled brightly.

"Right, uh- Jimmie." I took his hand in my own and shook it. "Mick Mars." the black-haired and slightly older man added with a mumbled and nod. "Hey." I muttered back with a small smile, contemplating if I should even mention my name again or make an effort to shake his hand. Why did I suck at meeting people?

"Mick's our guitarist. I'm Nikki Sixx, the bassist." The other tall guy had black hair as well, but it looked very soft. He was wearing a black tank top that read 'Mötley Crüe' and was cut under the arms very low along with black jeans. "Good to meet you guys. Uh- Vince told me you guys were in a band, but I didn't really put the pieces together until now." I admitted, sitting down and looking between the guys.

"Figured it out?" Nikki asked with a smirk. "I think so. Mötley Crüe?" I guessed, though I had a good chance that I was right. "Hey! Look at that! She got it right!" Tommy cheered, clapping. "What gave it away?" Nikki questioned again, the small grin never fading from his full lips. "The shirt," I chuckled, glancing down to his shirt that clearly printed their band name across the chest, "Plus Tommy mentioned he was drummer for 'The Crüe'. I took an educated guess."

"Smart girl." Mick smiled, nodding. "Good lookin' one, too." Nikki agreed. "Stop it, you're scaring her, dude." Tommy nudged his friend and groaned. "No worries," I laughed a little, "I had some friends that were pretty similar to you guys. They were some wild dudes." Though I had been doing nothing but thinking of them the past month, talking about them aloud with people I barely knew seemed to hit a certain spot that made the whole situation of them being gone hit me even harder.

"Yeah? Cool. I bet we'd get along with them real well." Tommy beamed. "You guys probably would." I smiled back.

"You probably would."