FicWad

*******
"I hate being cooped up here all day," Pizzazz groaned one afternoon. She was lounging outside by the mansion's pool with Roxy and Jetta. Stormer was out with her brother. Pizzazz longed to be on the town, making mischief, but she didn't want to risk any run-ins with the authorities either.

"It could be worse," Roxy shrugged. "At least we're cooped up someplace nice."

"This is such a beautiful mansion," Jetta murmured. Some days she had to pinch herself to ensure she wasn't dreaming. She could hardly believe that she lived on such a scenic estate, with the warm sun smiling on the pool's clean water. It was such a contrast from the squalid flat she'd grown up in, in which she didn't even have her own room and had slept on the sofa. At this mansion, you could look out a window and see an expanse of lush green trees. At her parents' flat, all she'd seen was concrete and traffic. She quickly pushed those memories aside.

"I hope we get to stay here. Daddy said something to me the other day about possibly selling the place," Pizzazz said.

"What??" Roxy asked, nearly choking on her beer.

"Oh, ease up. I don't think he was serious. He just said that if things don't turn around we may need to sell this one and move to a smaller mansion."

Roxy and Jetta exchanged a look, both a bit incredulous at Pizzazz's lack of alarm over this.

"Would your dad joke about something like that?" Jetta asked.

"I dunno. He sounded like he was just tossing ideas out."

"How much smaller? I mean like, how much smaller of a mansion would we move to?" Roxy asked. Like Jetta, she had grown up poor. Like Jetta, she had gotten very used to living at the Gabor mansion.

"Oh don't worry - I'm sure you'll all still have your own rooms." Pizzazz looked at the two and saw their genuine worry. Her voice carried irritation now, "Like I said, ease up you two! I don't think it's gonna happen."

Jetta reclined back on her lounger. "Even if he did want to sell this place, I don't know whether he could find a buyer."

Pizzazz decidedly disliked the turn this conversation had taken, and she wished she hadn't brought it up at all. She'd have to ask her father for more details next time she saw him. Weeks would slip by without them seeing each other - oftentimes more than a month would elapse.

"I have such a kink in my neck," Pizzazz groaned, as she rubbed the side of her neck. "Must've slept funny. I gotta get Stormer to give me another massage."

Roxy looked at Pizzazz. She herself had only once tried to have a massage, years ago. It was hard for her to get used to someone touching her like that and she hadn't enjoyed it. She wondered about giving it another try.

"She's good," Jetta said. "I had this 'orrible kink in my shoulder the other day and she worked it out."

"Maybe she oughta request tips," Roxy remarked snidely.

Just then, the butler approached. "Excuse me, ladies," he began. "Miss Gabor, you have a telephone call. Riot is on the line." He held the phone in his hands.

"Riot?" Pizzazz asked, sitting bolt upright.

Roxy and Jetta exchanged semi-alarmed looks. Both detested the hold that that man still had on their leader.

"Let's put Riot on speaker," Jetta suggested. She half-expected Pizzazz to shoot the idea right down, but instead Pizzazz acquiesced.

"Okay," Pizzazz said. She briefly looked at her bandmates, and Jetta caught the glance, wondering if Pizzazz was trying to steady herself before the conversation.

"Hello," Pizzazz said, once the phone was on speaker.

"Pizzazz, how are you today?" Riot asked.

Roxy's ears protested the sound of that man's voice. Everything that he and his band had done came floating to the surface again. Once more, she and Jetta looked at each other and both saw her own disgust mirrored in the other's face.

"I'm doing fine, Riot," Pizzazz responded, her voice a note or two higher and softer than usual. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well," he responded. Roxy felt like gagging at all the polite talk. "The reason why I was calling is because I would like you - and the other Misfits, if you wish - to come to Stinger Sound. I have a business proposal that I would like to discuss in person."

"Really?" Jetta asked. She expected that Pizzazz would throw her a sour look for butting into the conversation - and she was right - but she wanted to speak. "What do you mean by a business proposal?"

"Jetta, is that you? How nice to hear from you," Riot said. He then continued, "I really would prefer that we discuss the details in person. But I can tell you that it has to do with promoting our bands and gaining mutual benefit. For the Misfits, the Stingers, and Jem and the Holograms."

Pizzazz wrinkled her nose at the mention of the last group. However, she was intrigued. Jetta and Roxy were curious as well, and the Misfits and Riot made plans to meet the next day.

*********
I supposed it's normal. If you were moving to a city where your sister and your girlfriend lived, you'd probably spend more time with your girlfriend than your sister. That's how it was for Craig, and I tried not to get too jealous. I really love my brother but I guess it's natural that more of his free time would be spent with Aja.

Of course that didn't mean he was neglecting me. Free time was something Craig had a lot of; he was not exactly chasing after his music career with a vengeance. One afternoon, we found ourselves spending some time together. First I played for him, on my synth, some of the new songs I'd written. We then drove around and stopped at a park. I asked where Aja was that day and Craig said that she was at a meeting with the rest of her band and the Stingers.

When Craig was driving me back to the Gabor mansion to drop me off, I asked, with a little laugh, "Do you want to come in? Say hi to Pizzazz and crew?"

He replied, sarcastically, "Um, let me think about that. No thanks."

"They really have gotten nicer since your last interaction with them," I said, with a smile. "What you saw during the talent search - that was the Misfits at their absolute worst."

"You keep saying that; I guess I gotta believe you," he said, though he was clearly unconvinced. "I wish you'd go solo though. And I sure wish I had an example or something of how much nicer and better your dear bandmates are now."

Whenever Craig talks about my bandmates, you can just tell how much he dislikes them. It's not just the tone of his voice or the words he says - even the looks on his face scream out how much he can't stand them. I so much wanted him to see their good qualities that I didn't think before I spoke.

"Look, just recently they....they helped me out when things looked really bad for me. They took care of me. In their own way."

I regretted even saying the words, since I now knew I was backed into a corner. I didn't want to tell Craig the whole story, but I so desperately wanted him to understand how the group functions as a family (a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless).

"Really? You were in trouble? What happened, Mary?

"I can't go into a lot of detail about it. But I was in trouble and they came to my rescue. They were great."

"But why can't you tell me about what happened?" he persisted. "What sort of trouble were you in? Is it something I can help with?"

"I - I'll tell you later," I stammered, and I knew I was blushing again.

Craig sighed. "Are you hiding something from me, Mary? Sometimes you're just so closed off to me. Is there something we should talk about?"

My heart sank. Aja must've told him. Damn Kimber and her motor mouth! That's the last time I ever tell her anything of importance. And damn Aja too.

I just didn't want Craig to know yet. I wasn't ready to have that conversation. Look, I'm not someone who's ever going to wave a flag or march in a parade. Maybe someday I'll be comfortable being gay and settle down with someone and have her be accepted by my family. But today is not that day.

I was saved by the timing - we had reached the mansion. We pulled right up to the circular front entrance (there no longer was a manned gate to screen visitors).

"Let's talk about this later, okay?" I asked.

"Okay, but I'm holding you to this. I'm not going to drop it."

I didn't reply. Instead I reached over to give him a hug before scampering out of the car.

Roxy met me just moments after I entered the great hall of the mansion. I started towards the main staircase when I saw her coming my way.

"Hey, Stormer," she said in greeting. "How'd your day with your brother go?"

"It was nice. I played him some of the songs I've written and then we went to a park."

"Hmmm. You sure he's not gonna leak any of those songs to the Holo-twerps?"

"Oh, come on, Roxy," I said. She'd sounded serious, which scared me. "Craig would never do that. And besides, he can't play the keyboards to save his life."

Roxy then filled me in on some of what I missed during the day. She mentioned the meeting with the Stingers scheduled for tomorrow and then told me, "Pizzazz wants us to have a slumber party tonight," she said.

"Sounds lovely. It's been a while since we've had one," I replied.

I can't remember at what point we started having slumber parties but I know it was before Jetta joined. I think one of our first ones was around the time we'd wanted to play that gig at the victory party for the Indy 500. Nothing too fancy, our slumber parties consisted of us putting our sleepwear on, going downstairs to the mansion's rec room, cooking, eating, playing darts or pool or whatever, maybe doing each other's hair and such, watching a video, usually sleeping on sleeping bags on the floor (though Pizzazz somehow always manages to grab the pull-out bed in the sofa), etc. Standard sleep-over fare. I remembered the first time the Misfits had such a party - it was Pizzazz's idea and when I heard it, I was quite surprised that she'd wanted to do this. I'm pretty sure that Roxy never had one before as a child. I also remembered the look on Jetta's face after she joined and we'd told her about this tradition. She'd been surprised but she came to enjoy this just fine as well. A childhood tradition for people who's childhoods had not been so great?

Several hours later, I was wearing a robe over my pajamas and sitting on the sofa eating chips and dip with Roxy. Pizzazz and Jetta were playing ping pong at the nearby table. Roxy and I were only half-watching the movie that played on the TV.

"If we do hafta move to another mansion, I hope we still have a cool rec room like this," Roxy said, her mouth full. She was wearing a typical bedtime outfit for her - an oversized shirt. She had no leggings or other "bottoms" on, and her bare legs were curled up underneath her. I had to make sure my eyes never lingered on those legs for too long.

"Move to another mansion?" I asked, raising my voice and looking at Pizzazz.

"Sheesh, I regret I ever brought it up!" Pizzazz exclaimed, as she lobbed the ping pong over at Jetta. Jetta had to lunge for it and missed. "I doubt we're gonna move. My father was just saying that it's a possibility!"

Pizzazz got reabsorbed in her game when Jetta shot another ball over in her direction. Roxy turned to me and spoke quietly enough that Pizzazz and Jetta probably couldn't hear.

"I hear you're running a massage service," she said.

"What? Oh that. Well, those two both like it and we don't have a spa here anymore." I looked at her and asked, "You don't like massages, do you?"

"Tried it once and felt all weird with someone touching me," she explained. "I made 'em stop."

"Really?" I asked. I hoped that maybe someday Roxy would open up and tell me a bit about her childhood. From the clues I had picked up, I am almost sure she was physically abused. (And if I ever get my hands on the person or people who did that, I will show them how tough Stormer can be!) Needless to say, Roxy's not exactly forthcoming with this information and I knew that today would be no exception. "Well, if you ever want to try it again, I'd be happy to. I enjoy working with my hands."

"You sure you're not just trying to get your hands on some straight girl flesh?" she teased.

I could tell from her voice that she was just kidding, so I playfully swatted at her. Then, seriously, I began, "Aww, gimme a break. Doing stuff like that is how I show that I care about you guys."

"Oh how sweet," she muttered sarcastically, though I could tell - I've known Roxy long enough - that deep down she was pleased by my declaration of caring. Deep down, that is.

"So like are you ever gonna go out and find yourself a girlfriend then?" she asked, jokingly again. "So we don't hafta worry about hanging out with this horny lesbo all the time??"

"Maybe someday. I'm not ready yet," I replied, just as Pizzazz asked, "What the hell are you guys talking about??"

"Yeah, I thought I heard something about a 'horny lesbo'??" Jetta asked, laughing. "I had to ask meself if that's an animal you'd find in the jungle."

"Roxy's new name for me," I laughed, and the others giggled too. And really, I didn't mind their teasing since I could tell it was all meant in fun. Actually, that is another area where the three of them have really cleaned up their act, and I made a mental note to tell Craig about it. The day I walked out on the band, years ago, it was because they were teasing me harshly and not listening to my ideas. When I returned, I did so on my terms. The rest of the band had learned their lesson; they really cut down on 'taking the mickey out of me', as Jetta would say.

Just then, Jetta hit the ping pong ball way off-course and it landed in the dip that Roxy and I were sharing. "Great job, Jetta," Roxy said. I could see that Roxy was upset at the fate of our onion dip - neither of us wanted it now that the dirty ping pong ball had marred the dip.

So Roxy reached her hand in, scooped out the ball and lots of surrounding dip, and threw it back at Jetta. The mess landed on Jetta's alluring lilac nightgown.

"Hey, yank!" she yelled. "This nightie cost a fortune!" She then tossed her racket at Roxy. It hit her shoulder.

And so, the two of them had another spat. They spent some time throwing things at each other and yelling in general. For whatever reason, Pizzazz hadn't wanted to join in the fray that night. I could tell that their fight wasn't too serious so I didn't try to break it up. Actually, it seemed as though we'd gone a bit too long without a Jetta-Roxy fight and they are kind of funny to watch, in a pathetic sort of way.

And once they were finished getting it out of their system, they calmed down. I suggested that we play a board game and was surprised when not only did no one deride the idea, but they went along with it.

*********
The Misfits drove to Stinger Sound the next day. Pizzazz looked at the towering building with the words STINGER SOUND and the image of the blond trio emblazoned on the top. She remembered when the building had been called Misfit Music, when her band's name and images had been in lights. Those memories led her to recall also how Riot and his band had embarrassed her, demeaned her personally. The familiar feeling of rage welled up inside her, the discontent and pain rumbling in her gut. She fought hard to contain it, knowing that now was not the time to have a fit. She had to be calm and in control, especially around Riot.

Jetta sat next to her and looked at her out of the corner of her eye. She reached her hand over and gave Pizzazz's hand a small, barely perceptible squeeze. Deep down, Pizzazz appreciated the gesture (though she would never admit so). Roxy was a good friend too, but Jetta had a better understanding of people. Inwardly Pizzazz shrugged. She liked them both.

"Remember, Pizzazz," Stormer began gently, "you're our leader, but any decision we make today, we're going to make together."

"Yeah," Roxy added. "You lose your head when you're with Riot."

"Alright, alright, what the heck do you take me for??" Pizzazz asked, irritated.

"So what do you think he wants?" Jetta asked.

"Whatever it is, I smell a rat," Roxy responded.

Pizzazz said, "Come off it, Roxy. We don't even know what his business proposal - like he called it - is. We should at least hear him out."

Roxy's ears were offended at Pizzazz's words. Despite everything Riot and his band had done, Pizzazz cut him more slack than she did almost anyone. The thought disgusted her.

"Yeah, sure," she said, her voice full of vinegar. "Let's listen to the guy who took our record company from us, who played you for a fool, who's probably sleeping with the two sluts he has in his band --- "

Fortunately, Pizzazz had just parked the car in Stinger Sounds' garage, as she turned around in her seat and nearly lunged towards Roxy. She did not need another reminder of how Riot had played her. "Look, Roxy," she began, harshly, "why the hell don't you- "

"Hey, you two," Stormer cut in. She gently touched both Pizzazz's and Roxy's arms. "Come on, we're going into a meeting. Let's keep our heads about us," she said, her voice strong but soft. "We don't have a manager to help us - not that Eric was ever all that great - so we need to keep calm."

"She's right," Jetta said. "I don't know what Riot's on about, but he said it's a business proposal, and with the industry rotting away like it is, we need to listen to the bloke."

"We need to go in there with the Misfits' interests in mind, and we can't do that if we're fighting each other," Stormer said firmly.

Angry as she was, Pizzazz knew Stormer was right. When the Stingers had hit the scene, Stormer was the one who had really pulled the Misfits together. She was the one who pointed out that the Misfits had now lost their record company, that the Stingers were both musically stellar and very cunning, and that if the Misfits wanted to be able to stay afloat in this environment - now with two supergroups to compete against - they had to get their act together. With a burst of pride, Pizzazz thought that her band had indeed done so.

"Fine," the singer said. She turned the engine off and unlocked the doors. `Those three had better appreciate my restraint - and my good business sense!' she thought.

When they reached the conference room where the Stingers waited, the Misfits observed Riot sitting at the head of the long, rectangular table. His posture was relaxed as he leaned against the back of his seat. Minx and Rapture sat on either side of him. The Stingers had never had a manager. Riot made all the decisions.

Pizzazz surveyed the room's set-up and decided to take the seat at the head of the opposite end of the table. It would place quite a bit of distance between the two groups. Roxy and Stormer took seats on her left side, Jetta on her right. Roxy glanced at Pizzazz out of the corner of her eye. 'Good', she thought. 'She looks composed and she's got her poker face on.' Roxy had to hope it would last.

A uniformed employee entered the room and offered drinks to the bands. As they were served, Riot dispensed with the usual platitudes, telling the Misfits how well they looked and chatting with Pizzazz about the weather.

As the small talk went on, Jetta looked at Riot and mused at how unimpressed she'd always been with his looks. Some women reacted to Riot as if he were a demigod but Riot's supposedly remarkable charisma did nothing for Jetta. He was handsome, yes, but Jetta didn't understand the women who reacted as if spellbound by him. She was glad that Roxy and Stormer weren't taken in either.

Riot then reached the point of the meeting. "These are difficult times for musical groups," he began. "We've all suffered from the closing of concert venues, decreased ticket sales, decreased record sales, consolidation of radio stations. Not to mention the fact that we're all living under a microscope. We just received a letter from the Department of Communications stating that they want to review our lyrics before they will distribute our next album." His voice conveyed disdain.

The Misfits exchanged a few looks with each other. This was new to them. Roxy wondered how this Department of Communications would have received the lyrics of "Welcome to the Jungle" or "I'm Gonna Hunt You Down."

"So what are you suggesting?" Pizzazz asked, her voice remaining even.

"An informal union - between the Stingers, the Misfits, and Jem and the Holograms. Now I do mean informal. At this point, if we tried to coordinate any sort of formal association, I do not think it would be received well. You must be wondering what I mean by an informal union. I propose that our groups do things such as keeping our eyes on government restrictions in areas like reviewing of lyrics; that we look for opportunities to keep popular music in the public's eye and to promote ourselves - and eventually other musical acts too. Later on I see us banding together with other artists, but for now let's start with the three most popular bands in America. We know that our three groups can work together well - we all conducted ourselves well at Ba Nee's going away party. I would like us to kick this off by doing a benefit concert."

"A benefit concert?" Pizzazz asked.

"I know it's not something your band makes a habit of doing. We don't either. But with music fans so strapped for money, maybe this is just what we need. People are desperate for....an escape, a means to have fun. So they can go to a benefit concert where the tickets are priced low, see three amazing music groups, and feel good about themselves in the process since they're contributing to a good cause. We, in turn, get a lot of free publicity and a chance to remain on the public's mind. All three of our bands are finding it harder and harder to get promoted. A benefit concert is just what we need to capture media attention again and cement our new pact."

Riot paused for effect. He could see that the Misfits were listening. So he continued, "Now Stinger Sound and Starlight Music will probably have to absorb much of the costs of this event. None of our bands will make any money off of this if we're going to keep the tickets cheap enough that people can afford them. We might not break even. So, right off the bat you need to understand that this is not a money-making plan. We're doing it to benefit a few good causes and promote ourselves."

"What types of charities will this be a benefit for?" Stormer asked. Riot saw that she leaned forward in her seat, looking engaged in the discussion. She looked so pretty and innocent that for a moment Riot had trouble believing what he'd learned about her.

"This is certainly open to negotiation. We compiled a list of suggestions - perhaps we can trim it down to two or three." Riot looked at Rapture, and she passed a piece of paper with the suggested charities down towards the Misfits.

"You mentioned Starlight Music. Did Jem and the Holograms agree to this?" Pizzazz asked as Stormer began to look over the list.

"Yes. They agreed when we met with them yesterday, whether or not the Misfits are in. But we hope you will join with us as well. Our three bands have been at the top of the charts for so long, it wouldn't be the same without you."

"Where were you thinking of having the concert?" Pizzazz asked. "A lot of the bigger places are closed."

"We have some ideas. Perhaps a medium-sized venue like the Gen Corp Arena. This will be the music event of the year - but unfortunately I don't think we could fill a stadium."

Riot's words were true. A few short years ago, any one of the three bands could fill a stadium by itself. No longer.

"So what do you say?" Riot asked.

Jetta was immensely relieved when Pizzazz gave the same reply that Jetta herself would. "I'd like some time to think it over and discuss it with my group."

Moments later, the Misfits found themselves sitting in a smaller conference room down the hall, at a round table. Their discussion did not last too long. Despite the fact that Roxy still "smelled a rat" and that Jetta grudgingly agreed with her old foe, Pizzazz and Stormer were able to convince them. They knew that they could really use the publicity. If their next album was to be a success, they had to keep their name on people's tongues. And no one liked the idea of the other two bands going forward with something like this without the Misfits. Years ago, they might have tried to put on their own rival concert on the same night - but they had no manager to assist with that and there was no use fighting for a crumb from a very small pie anyway. Realistically, their options were limited. And all the Misfits relished the chance to play to a large audience once more.

Not that it carried much weight with the Misfits, but Stormer phoned Starlight House to get Kimber or Aja's perspective on her band's meeting with the Stingers yesterday. Aja answered the phone and was sincerely excited about the benefit show.

"You don't....like suspect that the Stingers are up to anything, do you?" Stormer asked.

"No, not at all. They've stopped doing stuff like that. Besides, I've got a pretty good bullshit detector and I could tell if something were fishy," Aja replied.

The Misfits re-entered the conference room and took their seats. Pizzazz told the Stingers that they accepted the offer. Jetta looked over at Rapture and could have sworn that she saw a telling look on Rapture's face. It was as if the corner of one lip wanted to turn upwards into a smile or a sneer.

Riot promised to send over a contract within the next few days to cement the details. He once again said that he looked forward to the publicity this would foster. The two bands bid each other adieu, and the Misfits left the room.

Minx turned to her bandmates and smiled. "Oh, the Misfits will get publicity alright. Just not the kind they were hoping for." The Stingers laughed.

*******
For the next several weeks, preparations were under way for the benefit concert. Two charities were selected: one for runaway youths and another that had to do with helping people afford to buy houses. It was a dream come true for me; I'd always wanted the Misfits to do more benefits. It was only during the last couple of years, when I'd had some influence in the band, that I'd been able to convince us to do them more regularly.

During those weeks, I tried to forget about my future beyond the benefit. I still couldn't risk traveling because of the screening that so many cities were doing. I didn't want to think about how I'd ever resolve this, and I got chills every time I thought of the words "blood test". One day I made a half-hearted attempt to learn which cities were requiring the test, as Pizzazz had advised me after her meeting with that guy, but I could not find the information. So I buried thoughts of the future and instead lost myself in the thing I do best, the thing that I believe I was put on earth to do: making music.

There is nothing that makes me happier than a good song, and it is even better when I'm the one who helped the song come into being. I pour my pent-up emotion and love into the music and try to produce songs that get your adrenaline pumping and heart racing.

The combination of the instrumentation that I helped put together plus Pizzazz's voice is so powerful, so moving that suddenly I can forget or forgive all of Pizzazz's foibles: her arrogance, her rudeness, her tantrums. (I won't go on here; the list could fill half a page).

I was happy to spend the bulk of my days on music. Free time was spent with the other Misfits (or sometimes with Craig though things were still awkward between me and him). We Misfits rehearsed diligently for the benefit - granted, we'd just finished a tour but we wanted to be in top form for the show, especially given the presence of our rivals. We may be quasi-friendly rivals now, but make no mistake - the competition was still there and we vowed that we would not be outdone. We wanted the biggest applause at the end of the night; we wanted fans and the media to say that our set was the strongest. It would not be easy because both of the other bands were musically brilliant too. And we were at a disadvantage from the start because, much as I hate to admit it, the other two bands were more popular than the Misfits and pretty much always had been. But hey, we don't shy away from a challenge.

The publicity for the benefit was actually going very well. Riot had been right: the combined power of our three bands was enough to get media attention. We had TV appearances scheduled and interviews in both magazines and on the radio. For a moment or two it felt just like the hustle and bustle of the old days but at a more manageable pace.

Ticket sales were steady but not outstanding. A few weeks after they went on sale, they were still not sold out, unfortunately. The prices were kept low so people could afford them, though I think many people still couldn't. The tickets - to this show with three supergroups -- sold for about one-third of the price that a show with only one of the three bands alone could've demanded only a few years ago. At least this reminded me of how lucky I was. It was hard to hear the others complaining about possibly having to move to a smaller mansion (still only a remote possibility according to Pizzazz) when I sometimes heard reports of record homelessness or multiple families crowded into a tiny rented house. But I don't criticize my bandmates for their attitudes and, besides, I'm not perfect either.

Back to the publicity for the show, one of the events arranged was an appearance on Lin-Z's show of all three of the bands. The show would be kicked off with an interview of Pizzazz, Riot, and Jem - all at the same time. Then each of the three groups would perform one song.

The order in which we'd perform had been chosen by lot - just as it would on the night of the benefit concert itself. We drew the slot to play last, which I saw as a good omen. (We all dearly hoped that we'd draw the last slot again on the night of the actual concert. At the very least, we sure didn't want to have to go first.) But the performance on the show would likely take a back seat to the interview. Jem, Riot, and Pizzazz sharing the same interview was, at least in the past, a guaranteed recipe for catastrophe. It seemed odd that she wanted them on the show all at once; it wasn't Lin-Z's style to court controversy. This was not the Harriet Horne show after all. I wondered if this was a desperate attempt on Lin-Z's part to get ratings up. But then again, the three bands were acting together with some degree of unity; we had all agreed to come together for a cause.

We drove to the studio on the evening of the show. I hadn't been able to see Pizzazz much during the day so I wasn't sure what type of mood she was in. I did know that she'd spent the afternoon with this guy who she periodically gets together with, and I hoped that maybe some good old sex would have placed her in a sunny mood.

"Now, Pizzazz, you know this isn't going to be easy with both Jem and Riot there," Jetta began, once we had arrived in our dressing room. Her voice had caring in it though she did sound a smidgen like a school teacher talking to a youngster.

Pizzazz turned from the mirror, her mascara brush in hand. "Thanks, Jetta, are you my damn therapist now?" she muttered, sounding decidedly displeased.

"Well, she does have a point," I piped up, trying to sound gentle but firm. "It's going to be hard to keep your cool around both of them at once."

"Yeah," Roxy said. She came off sounding more antagonistic than, I think, she'd intended. "Do ya think you can handle it? I mean, you're gonna - "

Pizzazz marched up to Roxy and socked her in the stomach. She hit hard, from what I could tell. I was shocked. Over the years, Pizzazz has yelled at us, she's called us names, but she never actually struck one of us. (She did come close. One time she shoved me really hard. And I was told she did something to Jetta once Jetta's deception had been found out. But those incidents were a long time ago and, judging from the look on Roxy's face, not as severe as what just happened).

I had only a second to react, but I knew that Roxy's instinct would be to hit back and we absolutely could not have a fist fight in the dressing room with the two rival bands on the premises and our biggest TV appearance in ages set to start in thirty minutes. So I placed myself between Roxy and Pizzazz, putting my hands on Roxy's shoulders.

Fortunately, Jetta's intuition was just as strong. She went up to Pizzazz and similarly restrained her.

Roxy was outraged. She began to yell words to the effect of, "You want a piece of me?! Come an' get it, and I'll beat your rich girl ass to a pulp!" A string of obscenities followed. It was not pleasant. I tried to calm her down by saying some reassuring words but she wasn't listening. I struggled to keep holding her back physically.

All of this happened in the span of a second or two, but I looked over at Pizzazz and Jetta. I thought that Pizzazz may have regretted her action briefly, but Roxy's fighting words were spurring her on and I saw Jetta struggling to restrain her. Pizzazz returned Roxy's verbal assault.

"C'mon Pizzazz, stop it," Jetta said. "You got your knickers all in a twist over nothing."

Meanwhile, Roxy succeeded in throwing me off of her and she advanced towards Pizzazz. I scrambled to get in front of Pizzazz to keep Roxy from hitting the singer, but our timing was off and Roxy ended up hitting me on the jaw. The blow was meant for Pizzazz but I was a split second too early and Roxy hadn't seen me in time to stop.

Man that girl is strong. Tears automatically appeared at the corners of my eyes as the intense pain set in.

"Oh shit! Stormer, I didn't mean to hit you!" Roxy exclaimed. She rushed right up to me and took my arm.

"See what you did!" Pizzazz yelled at Roxy.

"Pizzazz, that's enough," Jetta said softly. "Let's worry about Stormer now and forget the stupid fight."

Jetta rushed up to me too. "Is it broken? Can you talk?" she asked.

I touched the side of my face. "I don't know," I managed to say.

"She's bleeding!" Pizzazz screeched

"Did-did you lose a tooth?" Roxy asked. Her voice was full of regret and concern.

"I don't know," I said again.

"'ere," Jetta said, leading me towards the sofa. I was glad to sit because my legs were shaky.

I opened my mouth and Roxy looked in.

Roxy declared that she saw no missing teeth, just as Jetta ordered Pizzazz to find some ice. Surprisingly to me, Pizzazz wordlessly followed Jetta's command. I don't remember all of what happened next except that at some point an ice pack was held against my face. Roxy held onto my arm and apologized more than once.

At one point, Pizzazz asked if I could still go on and play the song. Honestly, she sounded more worried about our appearance on the show than the fact that I was hurt. Earlier she'd sounded more horrified at the sight of blood than at the fact that I was bleeding.

But then I do remember her sitting on my other side at one point and actually stroking my arm, so maybe I'm wrong there.

"Okay," I began, once the pain began to turn to numbness and I slowly realized that I would be fine for the performance. "I want you two to make up - NOW!" I commanded.

Pizzazz and Roxy looked at me and then looked at each other. In that instant I realized that they were going to do it and, despite the pain I silently celebrated this ability of mine.

"I apologize," Pizzazz said, looking at Roxy for a second and then looking down. She took a breath and then said, "I'm just so f---ing sick of everyone questioning my sanity, acting like I can't be trusted to keep my head together!" she added, sounding pouty but a bit more like her old self.

"So then ya go out and do something that makes you look totally mental," Roxy said, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Roxy," I said, in a tone clearly meant as a warning.

"Okay. I accept your apology," she said, though her intonation used during that sentence was one of exasperation. "Just don't forget that we're not your damn punching bags. I ain't no one's punching bag!" The last sentence was said with particular vehemence.

"Okay, okay," Pizzazz said. "I said I was sorry! I won't do it again

"Good enough," I said, observing. "Now hug each other."

"You're really pushin' it, Stormer," Roxy muttered as she arose from the sofa. She looked pretty disgusted.

Okay, so no hug would take place. At least I got Pizzazz to apologize; this was not a frequent occurrence.

Later, as Pizzazz was being taken to the stage for the interview and Roxy was in the bathroom, Jetta sat next to me. She put an arm around me and said, "You are a real star. The way you handled that whole thing was class!"

I sighed. "Just as long as I can get them on speaking terms and get us to be able to perform our song well."

She nodded. "So how are you doing then?"

"Okay," I said. "The ice has helped a lot. I think I might be all swollen tomorrow though." I paused. "I just hope Pizzazz can get through this interview now."

"I suspect that she has calmed down. Maybe that took the fight out of her."

"Maybe. Or did it just whet her appetite?"

We exchanged a look, wondering. She and I then turned on the monitor in our room to watch the interview. I wasn't sure where Roxy went but I guessed that she didn't want to look at Pizzazz right now. I held my breath as the introduction was played and Lin-Z then kicked off her show. I noticed how my nervousness over Pizzazz's behavior served to make me forget about the physical pain for several minutes. She was such a firecracker - who knew what we'd see? Would she make a fool of herself, and therefore us, in front of our rivals and the American public? Would our career disappear further into the mists?

But the interview went off without a hitch! Pizzazz was positively mellow. Jetta and I looked at each other at one point and exchanged surprised smiles. Pizzazz sat on the interview couch with Riot and Jem and they chatted as if the three had been old friends.

Lin-Z asked them questions about the benefit concert and the organizations that would be recipients of the funding. She then asked each of the three what their bands had been up to and when fans could expect a new album and tour. (In our case, of course, we had just finished up the tour to promote our latest album so Pizzazz talked about the fact that we were writing new material. Lin-Z asked how the tour had gone and Pizzazz spoke for a bit about it). Then Lin-Z asked about the rivalry among the groups. Jem just said how happy the bands all were to come together and support some great causes, as Pizzazz nodded along to her words. That moment was positively surreal but there it was!

The other surprise was the brevity of the interview. I seemed to recall these types of interviews going on for much longer, but this one couldn't have lasted more than five minutes. I wondered if the station needed to air more commercials? Whatever the case, after the interview ended, we were escorted to the stage to prepare for our song. Roxy was already there, her guitar strapped on. She still didn't look pleased but she appeared "centered" enough to perform.

We Misfits had considered debuting one of the new songs, but they just weren't at that stage of readiness that we wanted to publicly unveil them yet. So we agreed to perform an old favorite - "Listen Up". I must say that we performed extremely well, but of course I'm biased. The applause from the in-studio audience was hearty.

*********
I had a dream that night. I dreamt that Craig somehow found out that I was gay. We were standing and talking inside our parents' house, and outside it was raining harder than I could ever remember, with loud thunder. Because of the rain, Craig and I could barely hear each other.

But I remember the disgusted look on his face. I remember him being angry and trying to not lash out at me. I was crying, and I told him something like, "I'm still the same Mary you've always known; I'm still your sister."

I had to strain to hear him since the thunderstorm was still drowning out our conversation. But then he said something that I couldn't forget, "You're not my sister anymore."

I woke up in a panic. It was one of those dreams that felt so real when it was happening. It took me a few moments to calm down and reassure myself that it hadn't actually happened. Yet, I said to myself.

*********
"You have a phone call, Miss Phillips," the butler at the Gabor mansion announced the next morning. Stormer was sitting at the kitchen table wearing her pajamas, drinking coffee and paging through the newspaper. She hoped to see a story regarding the previous day's Lin-Z appearance. She also was waiting for the other Misfits to get up so she could begin making buttermilk pancakes for them. Her mouth still felt sore and was slightly swollen, so she knew she would need to stick to softer foods, and avoid the spicy ones.

"Hello?" Stormer asked, picking up the receiver.

"Hi Mary, it's me," Craig answered. "What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"What time do I....?" Stormer repeated quizzically. She was surprised by the phone call and still disturbed from the dream she'd had.

"Our breakfast? Remember, we planned to go out for ---"

"Breakfast? Yeah, we planned for tomorrow, right?"

"No, Mary, we planned to do it today," Craig insisted, with a smile. "I'm sure of it."

Stormer shook her head. "It can't be. I wrote down Monday."

"I'm positive we agreed to today." Craig paused. "Well, are you free today? Can you do it?"

"Yeah, I can," Stormer said, realizing that she had nothing pressing that morning anyway. The Misfits wouldn't begin work on the new songs until late in the afternoon. "Just give me some time to take my shower and get ready."

Not long afterwards, Stormer let the butler know her whereabouts and she set off with Craig. As she got settled in the car, she asked him about his progress in finding a gig.

Craig sighed, "You were right that the music scene's not much better here. I sank to a new low yesterday."

"What happened?" Stormer asked.

"I auditioned for a band that plays weddings and that sort of thing. No original material and no aspirations of becoming a supergroup like yours. They just play weddings and bar mitzvahs and such, wearing tuxes and performing other bands' songs." He took a breath. "I guess I should be thankful they even want a real drummer, since a lot of groups use drum machines instead. And I hate to admit it, but I'd be glad if I get the gig. I need the money."

"Now, Craig, about the whole money thing, remember what I ---"

"I'm not going to take any more money from you! It's bad enough that you're paying my insurance premiums, and the utilities on the house, and I'm driving your car, but I'm not going to ask you for anything more. Regardless of whether this gig works out or not, I think I'm going to have to get a day job. Any job, even if it's cleaning restrooms or something. It's embarrassing going to dinner with my girlfriend and having her foot the bill! I can't even buy her a nice pair of earrings or anything like that."

"Oh, come off it," Stormer said. "Despite all the charity gigs the Holograms played, Aja must be plenty well off. Besides, she doesn't seem to be the fancy-jewelry type to me anyway. She's pretty down to earth and practical."

"I know. I love that about her," he said dreamily. "We installed a new dishwasher at Starlight House yesterday, and she didn't even need my help."

A bemused Stormer smiled at how love-struck Craig sounded over his girlfriend's mechanical ability. "So hey....how are things going with her then?" she asked, a playful tone in her voice. Thoughts of Craig wanting to buy Aja jewels seemed to portend well.

Craig couldn't hide the smile. "Well, other than the fact that I can't treat her to dinner at Magnum's, everything's great. I've been spending more time with the rest of her band too. Aja told me that I've gained their full approval."

"Well, I'm not surprised. They already like you -- you nearly joined the group once before."

"Yeah, and I'm glad that nothing's changed there in terms of us getting along. So, what about you, sis? Any luck in the romance department lately?"

Stormer's heart sank as she wondered if every encounter with her brother would bring these uncomfortable moments. She still did not know whether Aja had spilled the beans; Craig's question might have been an innocent one.

"No, situation normal," Stormer said with a forced laugh.

The car came to a red light, and Craig turned his head to get a look at his sister.

"Hey....what's wrong with your face?" he asked, noticing the swelling along her jaw for the first time.

"Oh, this?" Stormer asked, feeling a bit as if she went from the frying pan to the fire. "It's a long story."

"Really? What happened?"

Stormer decided to concede this one. She couldn't dodge the subject, and Craig might as well know what had happened. `He already hates my bandmates so how much worse can it get?' she wondered. Stormer recounted the events of the previous evening, telling Craig the entire story.

"That Pizzazz....what an overgrown brat," he muttered. "Having temper tantrums at her age. And Roxy! Does she think with her fists??"

"I told you, Craig, it was a mistake that she hit me. And once they realized I was hurt, they were great. They rallied, they got me an ice pack."

"Oh big deal. Mary, you don't belong with them. Why don't you leave--- "

Stormer cut him off, this time her voice harsh. "Craig. We're not going to discuss this anymore! I'm a Misfit and I'm staying in the band. End of subject!"

She nearly yelled that last sentence. A stunned Craig clammed up, and their breakfast conversation was stilted, with too many secrets and silences between them.

**********
Pizzazz paced the floor of her spacious room like a caged animal. `What would Stormer do?' she wondered. She then chided herself. `Why do I care what that sensitive wimp would do?' She answered herself, forced to admit, `Because she usually makes sense.' Her thoughts continued to swirl out of control, which was normal for her.

Pizzazz had been impressed with Roxy's performance on the Lin-Z show yesterday evening. She played guitar with her typical aggression, one of the traits which had attracted Pizzazz in the first place. But their ride home had been awkward and nearly silent.

On some level, Pizzazz wanted to resolve what had happened between her and Roxy in the dressing room. But she had no idea how. Years ago Pizzazz would have just let the incident pass until both had forgotten about it. `Years of that Stormer and her mushiness have taken their toll inside my head,' Pizzazz grumbled.

Just then, Pizzazz turned her head at the subtle sound of paper being slipped under her bedroom door.

"What is it, James?" she asked the butler, looking at the white paper that James had placed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Gabor - I didn't realize that you were up," James stammered from the other side of the door. "We have some visitors. There are two men from the Morality Office here."

Pizzazz's blood froze. Once again, she had no idea what to say or do. It was not a position in which she felt comfortable. She held back from smashing a vase or guitar, marveling at her willpower.

"I told them that I thought that no one was awake yet," James continued. "They said that they will wait here until you are ready. They are in the sitting room on the west wing. We're serving them coffee and breakfast amenities."

Pizzazz heard James speak and tried to absorb the words. She dimly recalled saying that she would get ready to receive them. She also heard James say that "Miss Phillips" was at a restaurant having breakfast with her brother, but that the presence of the entire band had been requested.

Pizzazz rushed through her hair and make-up. Moments later she met up with Jetta and Roxy in the hallway, and they walked down the stairs together.

"What do they want?" Roxy whispered.

"I don't know, but it's probably good that Stormer's out with her brother," Jetta whispered back.

Pizzazz looked at them and heard their shaky voices. They were as scared as she was. She wished fervently, once more, for the days when her father's lawyers could have handled anything. The realization that she was on a tightrope with no net - even though she had realized it several times before - still felt like ice water trickling down her neck.

The three Misfits entered the room, and the two uniformed men stood to greet them.

"I'm Officer McMillan and this is Officer Weirzbowski," one of the men began. They wore starched, brown uniforms and their shoes shined brightly.

Pizzazz introduced her bandmates, using their real names. She was expecting the officers to immediately ask for the whereabouts of Stormer, but they did not.

"We came here today," McMillan began as he and his coworker sat down once more, "because we wanted to talk to Miss Pelligrini."

Pizzazz nearly gasped, and she whirled her head around to face Roxy.

"Me?" Roxy asked.

"We were reviewing your birth certificate," he continued, tonelessly. "Your mother's name is listed as Jane Pelligrini. There is no father listed." He said that last sentence slowly, as if it were a most grievous failing. He then paused before asking, "Do you know who your father is or was?"

Roxy, who was a bit of a movie buff, fleetingly wondered whether some bizarre twist in her life was about to be revealed. Were the officers here to tell her that her father was someone famous?

Her prior dealings with the Morality Office indicated that she should act serious and answer honestly. "No," Roxy replied truthfully.

"So your parents were not married?" he asked. He now addressed her as if he were speaking to some sort of lower form of life.

Pizzazz's insides were mixed with rage and fear. The way the officers looked at Roxy. The way they disrupted her own day. They way they threw their weight around.

"No," Roxy said. She coolly maintained eye contact with McMillan.

"I see," McMillan said as Weirzbowski wrote something down. "We are compiling a database of all illegitimates. We need to track everyone who was born out of wedlock."

Pizzazz again looked at Roxy out of the corner of her eye and knew that it was as much of a herculean effort for her guitarist, as it was for her, to keep from tackling the officers. `In the old days we would've pulverized them in no time,' Pizzazz thought.

But neither woman wanted to spend the night in jail.

"What do you mean by track us?" Roxy asked.

"We'll ask the questions here, young lady," he said irritably. McMillan then answered Roxy's question. "Like I said, we are compiling a database of illegitimates. We want to see if illegitimates also produce more out of wedlock children. Now, you yourself are not married, are you?"

"No."

"Do you have any children?"

"No."

"Your mother is dead, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the whereabouts of your brother Tony?"

"No."

Pizzazz listened to Roxy's monosyllabic answers and wished she could somehow send her some more strength and restraint. As it was, Roxy's grace under fire so far was admirable.

Just then, Stormer walked into the room.

"Hi everyone," she smiled. Her face nearly froze when she saw the uniformed officers, but she outwardly recovered her composure quickly. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"We were just finishing up here," McMillan said, as he and Weirzbowski rose from their seats. "Thank you for your time, ladies. If we have any further questions, we will return."

Pizzazz rang for James, and the butler escorted the officers to the main door.

"Um....what did I just miss?" Stormer asked after a few moments of silence.

Roxy stood up, smashed her fist into the wall, and stormed out of the room.

*********
Stormer stood in the sitting room, looking at a dumbfounded Pizzazz and Jetta. The room was eerily silent following Roxy's explosion. Stormer thought that Roxy's fingers must be hurting from having smashed the hard wall.

"So, what did I miss?" Stormer repeated. "What were those Morality Police - or whatever they're called - doing here?"

"They weren't here to see you," Jetta said, her arms folded over her chest.

"They asked Roxy a bunch of questions," Pizzazz sighed. "About her family. Seems her birth certificate doesn't contain the name of her father."

"Yeah, so we learned the shocking secret that her parents weren't married," Jetta said sarcastically. "Like we care. They said they were going to put her name down in some database they're keeping to track all the 'illegitimates'."

Stormer's mind reeled. "Wait, wait. A database of....people who's parents weren't married? Can we back up and you guys tell me everything that happened?"

Pizzazz recounted the brief conversation between the officers and Roxy. She then shrugged. "I never knew she had a brother. Or that her parents weren't married." Roxy had never talked about it. Biological family wasn't too important to Pizzazz, Roxy, or Jetta.

Listening to Pizzazz's description of the encounter, Jetta wondered out loud, "But why were they after her? Surely she's not the only.... 'illegitimate' in the bleedin' country? Why were they poking around her birth certificate and why pay us a personal visit?"

"Yeah," Pizzazz said. "Is someone keeping tabs on us?"

The three women exchanged glances, and each saw her own fear mirrored on the others' faces.

"These are such scary times," Stormer murmured. "Sometimes I want to cry. It's like there's so much going on that we can't control, that no one can help us with."

"Yeah! How long before they go after me and start keeping a file of all the guys I've gone out with!" Pizzazz exclaimed.

Stormer and Jetta looked at each other, unsure of how flippant Pizzazz was trying to be.

"That would be a long file, Pizzazz," Jetta said.

"Yeah, you'd crash their computers!" Stormer smiled. She reminded herself to keep her sense of humor when it came to Pizzazz, even though the concerns Stormer had voiced were grave ones. As usual, Pizzazz was focused on herself.

But then again, maybe not.

"Very funny," Pizzazz remarked. She then got to her feet. "Come on, girls. Let's go talk to Roxy."

********
In the privacy of her spacious room, Roxy paced the floor. Her room was in its usual state of disarray, with guitars and clothing strewn about the floor. Cosmetics and demo tapes were spread on top of a cluttered dresser, which was overlooked by a dusty mirror. The dresser also contained a picture of herself, Pizzazz, and Stormer accepting the Best New Group award. Another framed photograph on her nightstand contained a picture of the Misfits after their performance at a stadium, each of the four members with a triumphant arm raised in the air.

Though the thought was not top of her mind at the time, she realized that she had a sense of how Stormer must have felt. Humiliation in front of the rest of the band. Feeling exposed. `Like I'm supposed to be f---ing ashamed of somethin' that ain't my doing!' she exclaimed to herself.

She heard the knock at her door and debated ignoring it. But the debate didn't last long. She opened the door.

Pizzazz, Stormer, and Jetta entered.

"So the truth's out!" Roxy exclaimed, watching them enter. "My parents weren't married!"

"Big stupid deal!" Jetta shrugged. "Mine are married but they're total arseholes. What's it matter?"

"Well apparently it matters to the stupid Morality Office," Pizzazz grumbled.

Roxy slumped down on the bed. Pizzazz sat next to her, as Stormer and Jetta seated themselves on nearby chairs. Stormer picked up a jacket that had been left on the chair and deposited it onto the floor, knowing that Roxy wouldn't notice or care.

"Well, look on the bright side," Stormer began, facing Roxy. "Maybe our jail cells will be next to each other's. That is, if they put illegitimates and queers in the same wing."

"We'll bring you guys food and stuff," Pizzazz said, with a nod in Jetta's direction. "If we're not arrested for something too."

"This is serious shit though," Roxy said. "My name going into some stupid database. So what the hell are they doing? Are they paying a personal visit to everyone whose parents weren't married?"

"We were wondering that ourselves," Jetta said. "It doesn't seem likely. What made them pick us?"

"And how long before they pay us another visit and decide to make us all take blood tests again?" Pizzazz grumbled, looking at Stormer.

"Maybe they just want to intimidate us," Stormer said. She had to admit that she was clueless as to what the band should do, and looking at her bandmates' faces, she guessed that she was not alone.

"My head hurts thinking about all this political crap," Pizzazz said. "There's nothing we can do about it." Her bandmates felt the same way. After all, they were not a political band.

Stormer looked at Roxy and said, "You know, I never knew you had a brother."

Roxy shrugged. She didn't relish the idea of talking about her past, but she too was glad for the change of subject. "Half-brother. I didn't know him that well. He was a lot older and he left....home when I was a kid."

"Who cares about blood relatives?" Jetta asked. "I never had one who was worth their salt."

"Me neither," Pizzazz added. "'Cept for Daddy and all the money he gave me, but he did that so he wouldn't have to feel guilty about ignoring me all the time."

Stormer looked around the room and then asked, quietly, "So....were all of you abused or neglected by your families then?"

"Stormer!" Jetta exclaimed, out of surprise more than anything.

"What is this, group therapy?" Pizzazz asked, dismissively.

Stormer shrugged. "I just want to know. You never talk about your backgrounds - none of you. But I think of you like my sisters and I want to know more about your families. What you went through."

Stormer knew full well that she was treading on thin, thin ice. This was a taboo subject. She had learned that early on, when a few weeks after meeting Pizzazz and Roxy she'd asked an innocent question about their families. Her new bandmates had yelled at her to "shut the hell up" and both had looked one step away from physically assaulting her just for asking the question. Family was a subject that no one broached, though Stormer had gleaned a few things here and there, oftentimes from what was not said as much as from what was. She sat on the chair that day, nervously looking from bandmate to bandmate, half expecting another derisive remark. Instead, the room was heavy with silence.

At last, Jetta spoke. "I dunno if I'd say mine were abusive. More like they ignored me. I'd be twelve years old and stay out all night, and they wouldn't say a thing. They never hugged me or did anything mushy like that. And I....I had a creepy uncle who stayed with us occasionally."

Jetta clammed up, realizing that she had no desire to go into more detail, especially on that last piece. She wondered if she should regret that she spoke. Jetta looked around at the others and hoped that one would open her mouth. Oddly enough, it was Roxy who came to her rescue.

"Well, okay, if you want to know," Roxy began, surprising herself. "Yeah, my mom was a jerk. She hit me. And most of her asshole boyfriends over the years hit me too. That's why I split when I was 13. But the gang I joined was cool. They took good care of me and showed me how to fight."

Once she was finished, Roxy looked at Pizzazz. She hoped the singer would talk. She had wondered over the years about her background too.

"Well, I," Pizzazz began, awkwardly, "I hate this kind of stuff. But since you guys did it....Well, my mom left when I was eight. Before that, she was a jerk too." Pizzazz took a breath, and for a second, the others thought they might hear more. "Okay, Stormer?? You happy now?"

Pizzazz wasn't able to say anything more. She tried to eviscerate the memories, wishing away the image of a cold mother who decided early on that her daughter was now too old to be kissed. The image was followed by memories of a little girl who would slink into her mother's bathroom, rifle through the wastebasket, and retrieve tissues with her mother's lipstick blots on them, pressing them against her cold cheek. Pizzazz felt ill both at the memories and at how much she had shared.

Stormer wasn't surprised at what Pizzazz had said. To her, it kind of helped fit everything into place. In all these years, she knew that no mention had ever been made of a mother, and thus she had figured that either Pizzazz's mother had either died or left the family. The more she thought about it, the more it all made sense to Stormer when she recalled Pizzazz's reactions during those times that any member of the band had walked out

Roxy then asked, "What about you, Stormer?"

Stormer shook her head. "I didn't go through anything like you all did. My parents were okay. They weren't perfect but they were usually nice." Stormer bore no ill will towards her deceased parents. Her father at times was harsh and distant, and her mother often seemed very sad and enfolded inside her own sorrows. But they did love her and Craig, and they sometimes showed it. "They died in a car accident a few years before I joined the band," she added, though she had mentioned that to the others before. "Um....thank you all for talking about this," she concluded. "I appreciate it."

The four women sat looking at each other. Cutting through the shroud of silence had been uncomfortable and scary, but also somehow freeing.

"Okay, suddenly I'm really hungry," Roxy said.

"You? Hungry? I can't imagine," Jetta remarked, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation.

"Well, c'mon," Pizzazz said, standing up. "Let's go out and get something to eat!"

Stormer readily agreed, even though she'd just eaten.

"And how 'bout a movie afterwards?" Roxy added.

As they filed out of the room, Pizzazz lingered for a moment with Roxy. She touched her hand to the guitarist's back. "You know, I never thought of you as my punching bag." She wanted to find a better way to say what she was trying to verbalize about yesterday, but this would have to do.

"Yeah, I know. But try to keep from going mental on us again," Roxy said. She then added, "You did good on the interview."

"I know," Pizzazz said. She smiled. "I'm the best, I'm the best! And you were kick ass during the song."

"As always," Roxy added.

Pizzazz took a breath. She was going to demand that the group see an action film and avoid any emotional chick flicks. She'd had about all the sappiness she could take for one day now.

*******
I mustered my courage and did something I never thought I would do. I went to a lesbian bar.

Not that I'm a big drinker or anything like that, but I wasn't sure where else to go to meet other gay women. It was something I wanted to do, something I'd been curious about for so long.

I was terrified preparing for it, but the evening turned out to be uneventful. I dug out an old gay and lesbian community newspaper that I'd covertly picked up a few years ago, and looked at the nightlife section. I called up a few bars, but the first two I tried were closed. The third one had moved and they were very hesitant to give me their address. It was in a rough part of town.

I pulled my hair back and wore no make-up. I dressed in jeans and an old sweater, hoping I would not be recognized.

When I finally found the place (and it was not easy, as it was sandwiched between two other establishments and you could barely see the address on the door), I walked in. It was almost like walking into this haunted house we'd visited a couple years ago while on tour. Once you got inside, it was pitch black. I waited for my eyes to adjust while a bouncer type frisked me to make sure that I wasn't carrying any weapons. She asked for my ID and shined a flashlight on it. Then I was allowed to enter.

I coughed at the cigarette smoke. The bar was small, consisting of not much more than a rectangular bar area, with a few pool tables off to the side. I ordered a drink and tried to covertly observe the other women. Some of them were masculine-looking. I resigned myself to the fact that I'd always be attracted to long-haired, make-up wearing feminine types in skirts or dresses. And there were a few women who fit that profile - I saw two of them in a corner making out. I watched some of the women play pool and overheard snippets of conversation around the bar. But I didn't approach anyone. One woman offered to buy me a drink, but I was a little flustered and just mumbled, "No thanks." She looked mortified and skulked away. I considered going after her and apologizing, but I was glued to my seat the entire time.

When I returned home after an hour or so, I couldn't say that I felt either great or miserable. My only aim had been to muster up the courage to go there and exist with other lesbians for a little while. I had achieved that, though not much else. It was a start, I thought. I knew at that point that I couldn't hide from or ignore who and what I was. I didn't know how to get acquainted with that side of me yet, but it seemed that perhaps this was a baby-step in the right direction.

"What did you do last night?" Jetta asked me the following morning.

I told her, trying to sound as casual as I could.

"You did?" she asked. "Wow, good for you. It must have taken a lot of courage to do that. Did you meet anyone?"

I noticed a few things about Jetta. First, she sounded sincerely interested in this and happy for me. Like she recognized how big of a step this was for me. One should never underestimate how well Jetta understands people and their motivations. The second thing I noticed was that she didn't seem at all worried about the image of the band. I felt that if Pizzazz had been told where I went, her first questions would have been around ensuring that no one had recognized me because she didn't want people to know that the Misfits had a lesbian member.

Of course I realized that I had better tell Jetta that I was semi-disguised. She would report right back to Pizzazz. She always does.

And maybe I'm wrong about Pizzazz's reaction. She still has her - ahem - issues, but she has been getting better about things. She did an admirable job handling the discussion we had a week ago regarding our families; I had to give her credit for that.

"No. I just sat there and had a drink," I answered. I then added, "And I went in disguise. Sort of. I had my hair pulled back and no make-up on. I wore an old pair of jeans and a plain sweater - I doubt anyone would've recognized me."

"Well, who cares if they do? Unless...well, is it illegal in LA?"

"Not that I know of. I checked around a little while ago and the city's not making anyone take the blood test to get in." I answered truthfully, though I also realized as I spoke that just because LA wasn't requiring new entrants to take a blood test didn't mean that they weren't cracking down on gay people. After all, it seemed that many of the bars had been forced to go underground. And it seemed that the Morality Office had free reign, so if they could detain gay people in other cities, couldn't they do it here too? I felt the familiar sense of dread about a topic that I didn't want to deal with. I really had no idea what the legal status of gay people was here and now. I just wished I didn't have to worry about it.

"Well, as long as you stay safe, luv. I hope you meet someone someday."

*******
TO BE CONTINUED