Lipstick and Leather by Kim Hawes;

Author:Kim Hawes;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lightning Source Inc. (Tier 1)
Published: 2023-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Toilet Tale

OPEN THE PAGES OF ANY ROCK ’N’ ROLL MEMOIR and you will come across a story involving a hotel room, the police and a dash for the toilet. Here is mine, and there’s no false modesty here, it’s a great one – certainly I have never come across anything to match it for its lunatic convolutions. Advance warning: it hinges on the sharing of pornography.

This particular tour with Concrete Blonde had not been without its strains. One of the chief causes of discontent was James Mankey’s NordicTrack elliptical cross trainer, which he had insisted on bringing aboard the tour bus. Jim was obsessed with fitness and was loath to succumb to the unhealthy habits of life on the road.

The cross trainer, having been delivered to one of the venues, was loaded onto the bus and took up the whole of the aisle, so that if you wanted to get to the lounge at the back you had to climb over it to do so. (Not so bad if you’re long-limbed, but quite an inconvenience if you’re not – especially if you’ve had a few.) When Jim did his workouts, the cross trainer had to be dragged down to the front of the bus where he would spend an hour or two pumping and puffing. For all the frustration it caused everyone else, it was probably a good thing for Jim to have an outlet for his own. On the whole, he was quiet and calm, but just occasionally he’d lose it, and when he blew, he blew.

In New Orleans he’d done just that. When we stopped off at a hotel, I stuck a note under each person’s door detailing the schedule for the duration of our stay. On this occasion the notes I had stuck under everyone’s door the night before had informed them that we didn’t have to leave the hotel till three, so everyone would be able to enjoy a much-needed lie-in. I had been enjoying mine when I was woken by a fierce knocking on my door. Fearing that in my exhaustion I’d managed to oversleep, I looked at my bedside clock. It was 10 a.m. I went to the door and found Jim outside, fully dressed, ready for the day, his suitcase beside him.

‘Where was my wake-up call?’ he fired.

‘Your what?’ I said, squinting at him through newly opened eyes.

‘My wake-up call. I didn’t have my wake-up call.’

‘Jim, it’s 10 a.m.’

‘I know it’s ten o’clock. If I’d had my wake-up call, I’d have been ready on time.’ He looked up and down the corridor. ‘Where the hell is everybody?’

‘I suspect they’re in bed.’

‘In bed?’

‘Where I was.’

‘Jesus Christ! What chance has anyone got when the wake-up caller needs a fucking wake-up call?’

‘Didn’t you see my note?’

‘What note?’

‘The schedule I put under your door.’

He said nothing, but from the way he shifted on his feet I could see that he hadn’t.

‘It’s on the schedule I put under everyone’s door, including yours, that we aren’t leaving the hotel till three this afternoon.

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