Diary of a Girl-Next-Door Heavy Metal Novelist

August 6, 2003 (Part 2 of my KISS Experience)
After the last explosion, darkness cloaked the stage, and my fellow platinummers and I headed to the back door. My biggest concern as we waited was that the wind had messed up my hair. As all of us lined up, we were asked to sign waivers (I guess in case a sandbag dropped on us), as well as agreements that said something like:

1. Do not make cell phone calls
2. Do not ask the band for autographs
3. Do not act aggressively with the band
4. Absolutely no running

I haven't been to the gym in two years. Why would I start running now? In heels?

The managers finally got everyone's forms, and they let us backstage. I felt like a kindergartner on a field trip to the zoo. There were chaperones and rules and lots of intrigue. And there was barking.

"Now we're going to go into the hospitality room. The band will be there waiting for you. Listen up! We're not going to touch anything and we're not going to eat their food. We're going to line up in an orderly way for pictures." Even though we were treated like children, I listened to every word, trying to picture what it would look like and contemplate how I could move toward the back of the line because I needed time to find my lipstick in my Harley Davidson "pocketbook". In a few seconds, they opened the magic door, and I swear it seemed preternaturally bright inside the room - like when Dorothy walked out of her house into Munchkinland.

We entered, and There. Was. KISS.

Right in front of me! They did not look as physically imposing as I'd expected, but in their new costumes, the contrast between black and light, leather and skin, spandex and greasepaint seemed ultradramatic. Their sculpted bodies, standing together in anticipation of photos, reminded me of the four men who had hoisted the flag at Iwo Jima. These were rock 'n' roll's elite squad of soldiers -- men who had survived against all odds to conquer the masses - and continued to do so 30 years after they had enlisted in the fight for eternal youth. Among the ranks sat Gene's mother and KISS's manager, Doc Maghee. The famed Superman sheet I'd heard about in interviews hung across a door that must have led to their dressing room, and I was right there! It was like I'd been transported into one of the KISS documentaries I'd watched so many times.

I must admit, I was feeling pretty confident, like I was the best looking kitten in the place - until I saw a throng of blond 20-somethings huddled in the corner. None of them spoke; they just watched. Now who was the zoo observer? Whatever. I had no time for insecurity. I caught Paul's and Gene's eyes and winked at each of them, then found my spot on the floor so I could stand and prepare for my picture. I pulled my comb out of the front of my dress, and went to task while the Britneys stared. Luckily, I turned and saw my platinum partner-in-crime who'd sat beside me during the show. She was fixing her hair, too, and she gave me a look of support, so I felt less self-conscious.

KISS was nice. As each person ahead of me approached them to pose, the band greeted, smiled and assured the chattier fans that there would be time for mingling later. Most of the group (probably 15-20 of us) was men, with a surprising number of individuals having flown over from Japan. Some gave the band small gifts, and one tiny woman was so moved, the staff had to peel her off Gene like a strip of velcro. All the while, the band showed patience and warmth.

My turn! "I wondered," I addressed the hotties, "if you would all make a muscle like this?" I flexed my tiny biceps.

"Those of us who have muscles, that is," Paul said. We all laughed as I wiggled in between Peter and him. I squeezed Paul's rock-hard bicep (and remarkably soft skin), and made my best "oo la la" face for the camera. The band were good sports. Victory! For the second photo, I felt something touch my hip, and I jumped a little. It was Peter, wrapping his arm around my waist. Sexy! (except when I heard a voice in my head say, "Suck in your gut, girl"). I hope I hope I hope at least one of my pictures comes out looking good.

Part one was over, and my nerves were all intact. I made my way back to my portfolio, clutched it, and waited for the lifeguard to call "free swim." At that point, I would make my way straight to Gene and say the one thing I had scripted. "Hi. I'm Colette." Beyond that, I had no idea.

But I had no fear. (I promise, I'll finish tomorrow!)

July 7, 2003 (Part 3 of the KISS Experience)
Gene Simmons. He's a giant - in music, in Americana and in person. I sidled up to him and waited for my turn. First up were a couple guys who commented that KISS was smart to tour with Aerosmith in order to "fill the stadium." Gene reminded the fellows that KISS could have sold out the show on their own thankyouverymuch. While the fans spoke, Gene looked away from them and straight at me. His eyes opened wide, just like my mouth - in a huge smile. Next up came a woman who looked like a boy (good bless her). "Remember me, Gene?" she asked. I don't know, but he's gonna remember me, I thought.

"Okay everybody, let's start wrapping it up!" My heart started pumping. Oh shit. They're going to kick us out of here. I can't leave before I talk to Gene! Despite my moment of nerves during RARAN, this was the first time I realized I might fail. (continued)

Return to Home * About the Author * Track KISSfiction Progress * Favorite Photos
Diary Table of Contents * Diary Cast of Characters * Links
Guestbook * KISSfic Yahoo Group
Contact the Author