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“Jenny Jade, Miss Kincaid!”
Slash hollered his usual greeting as he charged through the doorway and threw me over his shoulder. I protested what I figured was a sufficient amount, but I was secretly really happy for some one on one time with him. He set me down in the kitchen, grinning crazily, hair askew, and asked what he could get me.
“Jesus, Slash, it’s only eleven. Didn’t anyone every tell you the rules to alcohol?”
“As far as I know, the only rule is to never get sober,” he told me cheerfully, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. “C’mon Jen, let’s go talk about the meaning of existing and my sex life and more deep shit like that.”
Laughing and shaking my head, I followed him into the living room and dropped down onto the couch beside him.
“So, what brings you here? God forbid you’d actually just visit your best friend of your own free will,” he groused, pouting. I grinned, ruffling his hair.
“No such luck, sorry man.” I took the cigarette he offered me. “Me and Izzy are having issues again.” He stubbed out the match in the ashtray, leaning forward.
“Alright, Popcorn’ll be here in about ten minutes, but,” he said, glancing at the clock, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“This is pathetic,” I declared. “Saul fucking Hudson is my therapist.”
He just chuckled.
“He’s dealing again.”
Slash rolled his eyes. “Honey, didja think he ever really stopped?”
“Well, no, not really. . .” I muttered, picking at the sofa cover. “I just wish he would’ve.”
Slash waved his cigarette airily. “Babe, he knows you hate it, but that’s just Izzy.”
I growled in frustration. “I just don’t get it, though. It’s not like he needs the money anymore.”
Slash just shrugged. “He’s been dealin’ since he was twenty, Jen. It’s just what Izzy does.”
I picked at my jeans moodily as Slash threw back the last of his beer. “Y’know, it’s weird seein’ you out of your bra and panties,” he told me, stretching. Then he threw back his head again and laughed uproariously, chucking the beer can into the trash. “Oh man, that came out wrong,” he giggled as Steven’s earsplitting rap rang from the hallway.
“I’ll get it,” I told him, striding to the front door and swinging it open. Steven wolf whistled when he saw me, grinning cheekily and stepping into the hallway.
“Shaddap, Adler,” Slash told him lazily, coming up behind us.
“All alone, are we? Oh man, what would Izzy say?” Steven hooted, plucking the cig from Slash’s mouth.
“Not that he’d care,” I grumbled, following the two men back in front of the TV.
“Oh, I beg to differ, Jennygirl,” Steven snorted, flipping through the channels until it landed on MTV. “He was very curious where I was going, y’know. Wanted to know where you’d run off to.” My stomach twitched a little, but I ignored it, watching Vince Neil's face in neon colors on the screen.
"Not surprised," Slash said, wiggling his fingers in Steven's direction. "Did you bring it?"
"Man, knucklin' right down to business, huh?" Steven smirked, digging in his back pocket. "Yeah, I brought it." He threw a zip baggie of white powder on the table.
Oh, great.
"Alright!" Slash grinned, reaching for the coke. "Special treat."
I rolled my eyes, watching him grab up a capo from the coffee table and begin to prepare the lines. Steven sat back, clearly pleased with himself, and threw an arm around me.
"So, Jenny, what's new?"
I shrugged, slumping into the couch. "Nothing much. Just counting down to the next show. Just like usual." I wasn't satisfied with me and Slash’s short exchange about Izzy, and I found myself wanting to burst out about it. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing both of them were using, and that talking to the two of them wouldn't make me feel much better anyways.
"Don't talk like that, girl. You got to live a little in between gigs. I swear, for a stripper, you’re not much fun,” Steven grinned teasingly. I swatted back at him. He knew full well how I lived, and it wasn’t much different from the rest of them.
Slash wiggled his extended fingers at me, curly head bent over his precious lines. “D’you got a dollar, sweetheart?”
Steven went to reach in my back pocket, grinning devilishly, but I whacked his hand back.
“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” He whined, but smirking all the while. I just smiled sweetly and flicked him off, and then laughed outright at his affronted face. Digging my wallet out of my jeans, I tossed Slash a crisp five, which he rolled into a thin tube.
“'Ey, look at the talent!” Steven exclaimed suddenly, grabbing the remote and cranking up the sound. Axl’s face stared at the three of us as the opening of Jungle blasted through the speaker system.
“Alright!” Slash exclaimed again delightedly. “Must be a sign.” He scooted over on the couch, offering me the dollar bill. “Ladies first, Jenny.”
I took it and slowly inhaled over the severe white strip as TV Steven’s drumbeats sped up to the facemelting first note of the song.
“Ahh.” I kicked back on the sofa, flicking the bill at Slash. It was a great rush. I felt so damn good, like I could do nothing wrong. I lazily watched as the two boys took their turns to the pulsing rock music, Axl shrieking in my ears about the hunger of the jungle. When Steven’s blonde head popped up, I grinned at him giddily, and he laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. I had to join in, smacking him on the knee and giggling. Slash smiled dazedly at the two of us, sweeping the remains of the coke off the table.
“Gimme back my cash, you fucker,” I chuckled. I felt ridiculously happy as he flicked me the bill, not bothering to unroll it.
“If you got a hunger for what you see, you’ll take it eventually…”
We all sat smiling stupidly at each other, me on the couch, Steven on the floor, and Slash on the coffee table. I hiccupped jerkily, and Steven rolled laughing on the floor.
“Shut up, Stevie,” I told him, grinning. “God, one Steven is enough, can you b’lieve we’ve got two?” I snorted to Slash, pointing at the screen.
“There’s two of me in a room too, pretty impressive, eh?” Slash smiled woozily.
We all stared at the music video playing on the TV, Steven tapping his fingers along to his own beat on the glass tabletop. I found myself unconsciously going through my cage moves in my head. It was a song I’d danced to too many times to count.
My stomach flipped. There he was. Dark haired, shirt open, head down. I blinked rapidly at the image of Izzy, spinning in a circle with his guitar. I had seen him do the exact same thing not too long ago, hadn’t I? My foggy brain probed for the memory.
Last night. It had been last night. I stared at the spot on the television where he had been long after the frame changed. Last night.
The show, the deal, the car ride home.
Getting into another fucking argument over the same goddamned thing.
The song ended, and still I stared at the place where he had been, spinning, spinning, spinning. I blinked, and Izzy spun against my eyelids.
I looked over at the two of them, who were slapping hands, grinning wildly at themselves for being on the airwaves.
“Boys?” I blurted. They both looked up like deer in the headlights, and I found myself bursting out laughing again. Steven beamed dizzily, and Slash just shook his frizzy head. And suddenly, I found myself spilling my guts to the two of them, talking about the speed dealing, the argument we’d had. How I wished he’d stay away from selling, that using was enough. I was half laughing, half crying, and high as shit. And I told them everything on my mind.
To my relief, Steven didn’t laugh at me. He was still faintly smiling, but I took it at face value and attributed it to the coke. Instead, he carefully lit a cigarette before speaking.
“Jenny, baby, I get what you’re saying, but you gotta know he isn’t gonna stop.”
I took a deep, shaky breath, feeling a bit hysterical. “Yeah, I know. It’s not really the actual dealing that bothers me.” I snagged Steven’s roll-up and took a long, calming drag before speaking again. “What bothers me is that he don’t really care whether I like it or not. He’s gonna keep on doin’ it, because it doesn’t bother him.”
Steven shrugged, taking back his cig. “Jen, what you gotta realize about Izzy, he doesn’t listen to anyone, mostly. Keeps his head down, mouth closed. But eyes open.” He wagged a finger at me. “He’s got those eyes open, girl, and he notices shit. Izzy doesn’t let anybody change him.”
Slash clicked off the muted TV.
“Stevie’s right, Jen. If you keep on tryin’ to change Izzy, you’re gonna lose him. He’ll block you out, he ain’t gonna listen. Take the good with the bad, honey.”
The second I heard the word lose, my throat tightened up, and I couldn’t breathe for an instant. Shit, was I really high? I knew I was.
Then why’d I feel so goddamn anxious?
I shook my head. “Stevie, you gotta cigarette for me?”
He mercifully tossed me the whole pack. Good ol’ Steven.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the ground in Slash’s living room, snickering, talking and smoking. I tried to teach the two of them to French inhale, and we all ended up rolling on the floor laughing again. The second I stopped thinking about it, Izzy would melt away into the back of my mind, and I’d feel the high again.
But when my mind landed on him, I’d feel lower than low, and my brain would spin its wheels over absolutely nothing.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
I fought it, smoking an entire pack of Steven’s cigarettes.
Wishing for more coke.
Because every time I closed my eyes, he was there with that guitar, shirtless and sweaty and stubborn and cold.
Spinning.
Always spinning, spinning, spinning.