Short story – circa 2008/2009

Note – this was a short story written for a prompt.  I lost it many years ago and only happened on it by chance when looking through old sent emails.  I haven’t done anything to it since the original posting so it is a little rough.


I’ve been a roadie for the best part of 40 years and I can honestly say when it comes to groupies I’ve seen it all.  Man some of those chicks… the things they’ll do to get with the band.  I’ve had mothers and daughters offering to get freaky, more blow jobs than you can imagine and dude, you should see my Polaroid collection.  But there’s one girl that I will never forget. 


It was back in 87 when rock was dirty and the girls were dirtier.  Every night brought a score, girls, drugs you name it we did it.  Those were the best days.  I spent the latter part of the 80’s touring with this band, White Poison all perms and tight pants, poster boys for rock n roll.  Nowadays the kids call it ‘hair metal’ but back then it was all rock.  White Poison had rocked the charts with power ballad after power ballad, they took crunching riffs and melodic solos and elevated them above the formulaic generic AOR everyone else was touting.  Their faces fronted all the right magazines, posters of them shirtless and bulging adorned the walls of teenage girls, the world was their oyster.  We were on the European leg of their Rock the World tour having conquered North America and the UK.  It wasn’t quite Beatlemania but it was close.


By the time we reached Germany all of us were aware of the girl.  She had been at every gig, following us from State to State in the US.  She was at Wembley Stadium in London then Hamburg, Nurnberg, wherever we went she would show up.  Man she was dedicated.  Every night you could see her stage left staring up at the band and after the show she’d be by the stage door waiting with the die-hards.  She was just known as ‘the girl’.  On the bus we’d all be like, “hey did you see the girl again” and all of us had.  Yet she never once tried to make it with the band.  I think that’s what made her so noticeable, that and she was hot. 


We were due to play a couple of nights in Frankfurt when Davey, the bassist broke his wrist.  A replacement was flown in rather than cancel any dates and Davey had the dubious pleasure of watching in the wings night after night seeing someone else get his glory.  Inevitably he soon got bored and decided to join the crowd to see the shows instead.  We’d wait until the band was just due on stage and then he’d sneak into the front unnoticed by the masses.  It was obvious who he was aiming for.  The girl.  If he couldn’t play with the band he’d try and score with the most desired groupie.


The boys were hanging out in the dressing room after a particularly epic gig in Berlin.  Davey was still on the mend and still working on ‘the girl’.  Carlos, vocals, and Jimmy, keys, were playing table football, Tico, drums, was having a sleep as usual while the three guitars Davey, Ando, lead, and Mickey, Davey’s stand-in were playing cards.  Mickey was the one to ask the question.

“Hey Davey, how’s it going with that chick?”

“What ‘the girl’?  Slow man she’s cold.”

“Yeah but she’s fine”

“You are not wrong there Ando my friend, you are not wrong” Mickey took a card looked at it and swapped with one of the ones he was holding.  “So you think you’ll make it with her before we leave Germany?”

“You’d better move fast buddy, that wrist must be close to fixed”

“Aw shit man, you mean I gotta go back to session music”, joked Mickey, adding with a glint in his eye, “perhaps I’ll stick around and try my luck with her, eh” He raised his eyebrows, goggling lewdly at Davey.

“Hey good luck man, she is ice.” 

“You know what I don’t get?”

“Sex Ando, ever.”

“Oh you’re funny Davey.”  He retorted punching Davey on his good arm.  “No I don’t get why you’re so bothered by her, you don’t even like Asian chicks.”

“Dude she’s blonde.”

“Huh, I coulda sworn you were trying to make it with the Asian chick.”


The following night I overheard a similar conversation between Davey and Tico, this time Tico swore Davey was chatting up a black girl.  Two nights later it was Jimmy who mistakenly thought she was a brunette.  Only Carlos knew she was a redhead, while Mickey, who kept his own counsel most of the time, confided in Truck, one of the other roadies, that he could have sworn she was Hispanic.  In the end Davey asked one of the photographers to get a picture so they could settle it.


“Shit man, what is that?”  The band had gathered around to view the photo, hoping to finally put the mystery of ‘the girl’ to rest.

“Dude, who took this?  Emerson?  Better check the rest of his shots, this is crappy.”

“Man if he’s fucked up any more he is so fired.”  Carlos shook his head in disgust.

Tico frowned over the picture a moment longer before handing it back to Davey.  “That is poor man, what a let-down.  Can’t believe I stayed awake for that shit.”

“I don’t get it.  Hey Cleveland, you get any Polaroids of her?”  Cleveland, that’s me, as in steamer, as in you don’t want to know any more than that.

“Yeah but they’re weird man, I dunno, take a look.”  We compared Emerson’s shots with mine and all had the same odd warping over ‘the girl’s’ face.

“Perhaps there was a light or something” Mickey suggested, and it seemed the most sensible idea.  We left it at that still no nearer to resolving the differing opinions of the band.


The next night was Mickey’s last with the band and therefore Davey’s last chance with ‘the girl’.  For all anyone knows he left with her that night because he never made it backstage and we never saw him, or ’the girl’ again.  Mikey filled in for him permanently as White Poison headed to Russia for a run of controversial ‘behind the Iron Curtain’ shows. 






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