𝅘𝅥𝅮 All My Life - Foo Fighters

25th March, 2009. Wednesday

18:02

"So that's just... you say it never happened?" Ron, the interviewer from Guitar World magazine, asked over the phone.

"No, he was never asked. That's why I tweeted about it actually,"¹ Slash explained, his tone matter-of-fact. 

"Oh. So that's cleared up then," the interviewer remarked, his voice brightening. "By the way, it's good to see you on Twitter, man."

"Yeah, I just had to, although I'm not all that into that sort of shit. We'll see..." Slash muttered, his legs restless on the bed. March marked the month Juno launched a Twitter account for him, alongside some less pleasant milestones in his life.

"Well, thank you Slash, it was a pleasure as always," Ron said, wrapping up their interview.

"Same here. Take care." Slash murmured.

With a sigh, he got up and descended the stairs to the studio, grabbing two guitars. Already dressed and ready to leave, he knew he needed to hurry. His security guard, Timo, must have almost arrived at the venue, Fonda Theatre, where Slash was due for a quick soundcheck before hanging out with other artists performing that night.

***

20 minutes to go before stage time.

Slash had just finished warming up his fingers on his Les Paul Goldtop when his guitar tech came to retrieve it. He approached Shooter Jennings and Boots Riley inside the lounge room, aiming to clear the air with Shooter right then and there.

The situation with Shooter was simple: Duff McKagan had taken a liking to him a while back and had invited him to play with his own band, Loaded, once. That was it. Yet Shooter had mentioned in a recent interview that he was asked to join VR, and that he had declined. In fact, nobody had officially asked him to join Velvet Revolver. And if someone indeed had, Slash felt he really needed to know who.

As he approached them, something even better happened. Duff strode in, towering over the double arch, a wide grin spreading across his face as he spotted Slash.

"Hey," Duff called out.

Before they could speak, they were intercepted by Tom Morello's assistant and soon after, Tom himself.

While they were engaged in small talk, Slash didn't have to worry about approaching Shooter, as he came over to them on his own accord, a sly grin plastered on his face.

"You're mad at me bro!" Shooter exclaimed, like a surfer dude on a high.

"No," Slash chuckled, their fists connecting in greeting.

Shooter's grin impossibly widened. "They totally wrote it entirely differently, so be mad at them, man. Not me."

Duff jumped in, nodding with exaggerated, mock solemnity, "Uh huh, so you turned us down, how could you?!"

Shooter raked his fingers through his hair, barely containing his amusement. "Yeah, I was just telling him, I never said any of that, man! That was totally on them!"

Laughter erupted as Shooter recounted the truth: A mysterious email about joining VR had appeared in his inbox, sender unknown. He'd brushed it off, doubting its legitimacy; his own insecurities aside. Yet the article had mangled this into something unrecognizable.

Slash felt a relief, glad they could clear things up before hitting the stage. Despite all the gossip and headlines, the essence of rock 'n' roll still boiled down to collaboration and respect.

Their circle grew as Jerry Cantrell, Sen Dog, Corey Taylor, Wayne Kramer, and Tom Morello joined the fray.

It was refreshing to be with these dudes in a sober state, the excitement stemming solely from the prospect of jamming on stage—what they all knew and loved best. The fact that the gig benefited PATH (People Assisting the Homeless) added an extra feel-good factor to the evening.

Jerry, also a good friend of Slash's, had earlier expressed interest in contributing to Slash's solo project. Then they'd started discussing Corey's potential involvement when five statuesque women entered, including Susan, Denise, and Perla, bringing the conversation to a halt.

Slash had harbored a faint hope that Perla might bail at the last second, given her radio silence earlier that day. No such luck. She glided in, while the other "rockstar wives" gravitated to their respective partners. As she snaked her arm around his, it was clear that she was trying to put on a show that they were perfectly happy, despite rumours. When her fingers stealthily sought his hand, he pulled back, feigning an eye itch. Wordlessly, he'd communicated his desire for space. Yet her megawatt smile never faltered, clearly performing for their audience.

And Slash loathed every moment of it.

***

After an electrifying set of 25 songs, most of the performers and VIP guests reconvened on the theatre's rooftop deck for an intimate after-party. The gathering had evolved beyond a mere PR exercise into a cozy reunion for the rockstar fraternity, their camaraderie untainted by rivalry or ill will.

Slash found himself huddled in a corner, sharing a smoke with Lemmy Kilmister and Eugene Hütz. Their circle swelled as Duff, Corey Taylor and his girlfriend joined, followed closely by Susan and Perla. The sudden influx set Slash's teeth on edge. Perla's constant proximity and persistent attempts at physical contact grated on his last nerve.

A photographer prowled the deck, documenting the all-star night's festivities. In a moment of distraction, Perla pounced, threading her arm through Slash's just as the camera flashed. The shutter's click was the final straw.

Plastering on a forced smirk for the photographer, Slash firmly steered Perla to a secluded corner overlooking the midnight bustle of Hollywood Boulevard, the stucco and metal banisters framing the scene.

"What the HELL are you doing?" he snarled under his breath, fighting to keep his voice low.

Perla's smile remained unfaltering as she glanced around. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice honeyed with mock innocence.

Slash's patience evaporated. "You're all over me, all the fuckin' time. Just cut it out and leave me the fuck alone," he growled, hating the need to spell it out.

Perla's eyes narrowed, a sly smirk still playing on her ruby red lips as she leaned in. "You're pissing me off, baby, and you really don't wanna test me."

"Or what?" Slash snapped, his anger bubbling to the surface. He inhaled deeply, struggling for composure. "Are you fuckin' threatening me?"

"Oh come on now, you're smart enough not to underestimate your wife, honey," Perla purred, inching closer, her hand ghosting over his chest. "You know me better than that."

Slash exhaled sharply, acutely aware that Perla was fortunate he wasn't prone to violence. "Back the fuck off right now, and I mean it," he grunted, noticing Timo calmly surveying their exchange from a distance.

Desperate to escape the suffocating tension, Slash strode away, battling to maintain his composure. He lit another cigarette and made his way to Jerry Cantrell and Shooter near the bar. After a perfunctory five-minute chat, he bid a hasty farewell to everyone, catching Timo's eye with a subtle nod.

It was time to go.

***

28th March, 2009, Saturday.

10:16 am

Slash exhaled heavily, his words barely audible through the plume of smoke encircling his head. "I should have just... I shoulda fuckin' just filed for divorce." He took a contemplative sip of his morning coffee, his gaze fixed on the sunny Las Vegas skyline from his MGM penthouse suite.

Sam, one of Slash's oldest friends, nodded sympathetically, the spoon clinking against porcelain as he stirred an abundance of cream and sugar into his own coffee.

Slash's voice gained intensity as he continued, "What I hate is her audacity... to think that I owe her something. Like, I don't wanna talk to you, just fuckin' take a hike, you know." He punctuated his frustration with another deep drag of his Gitane.

The fallout from his hasty exit at Tom Morello's after-party on Wednesday, leaving separately from Perla, had apparently rippled through their social circle. Perla had called the next day, lamenting about whispers and pitying glances thrown her way, and how hard it was for her to keep a cool façade; which was a conversation Slash couldn't navigate calmly. Since then, he'd been screening her calls, resulting in a growing list of missed calls on his phone.

"What does she want exactly?" Sam asked, removing his baseball cap to reveal his receding ash blonde hairline.

Slash exhaled heavily, his tone eerily calm despite the turmoil in his words. "Whatever... All sorts of crazy shit, like, she's gonna make me feel sorry. That I better put my shit together, or else."

Sam leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing as he took a thoughtful sip of coffee. "Or else what?"

"Guess we'll see," Slash mumbled, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the end table by the window. "I'm so done with this shit."

Attempting to lighten the mood, Sam offered a wry smile. "You know, you could always get a new tattoo to fuckin', I don't know, commemorate your freedom or something."

"Yeah, right. More like 'Never Again.'" Slash chuckled dryly, his eyes inadvertently falling to the tattoo on his left forearm - "Perlita" scrawled over a rose. Regret and disgust crept up.

After polishing off their bagels and coffee, courtesy of room service, Slash and Sam left the penthouse. They regrouped downstairs with Eric and Slash's guitar tech, Chet. The quartet then headed to Guitar Center in Angel Park to kill time before Slash's afternoon business meeting with Mia from Frau Jailor at Lavo.

In the car, Slash found himself lost in thought. He absently fingered the strings of an imaginary guitar, his mind already drifting to the sanctuary of music - the one constant among his troubles.

***

"What, you just bought two guitars? That's it?" Jake quipped, his tone playful.

The Guitar Center excursion proved unexpectedly fruitful, Slash succumbing to temptation despite his initial resolve. Juno had arranged a sleek black Lincoln Navigator for Slash's Vegas jaunt, complete with an on-call driver. Timo, Slash's vigilant security detail, occupied the passenger seat beside Rico the driver, while Slash and Jake lounged in the back.

"Yeah," Slash muttered, his mind elsewhere. "Though I could've gone wild. Even like drums and shit." A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Jake mirrored the expression before his Blackberry's sharp trill interrupted. Once their meeting with Mia was over, Slash was set to listen to a few bass guitarists and drummers for his album at a downtown studio. Jake fielded the call, confirming their impending arrival with the studio owner.

"Sorry," he exhaled, tucking away the device. "That guy has the weirdest accent ever." Jake's speech often carried a subtle sass. His whole attitude, his ensemble - a vibrant Shamrock sweatshirt, sleek Prada frames, and colorful Nikes - screamed he was gay, while his enthusiastic ramblings about the NBA, monster trucks, and Hooters said otherwise.²

"Ah, we're here," Jake announced as they glided to a stop before the Venetian Resort, home to the upscale Italian eatery "Lavo," which stood regally across the boulevard from MGM.

Timo surveyed their surroundings with his usual vigilance, a sight Slash found perpetually amusing. Jake instructed the driver to return to the same entrance once Timo called.

Slash and Jake, flanked by Timo, made their way to the restaurant's entrance inside the resort. The maître d' greeted them, leading them down half a floor, through a long hallway adorned in cream, gold, and violet. They passed a secured area before reaching an elevator that whisked them to their destination.

The rooftop area of Lavo, reserved for VIP guests craving privacy and exclusivity, unfolded before them as the elevator doors slid open. Warm lighting illuminated a lush terrace adorned with dark leather seating and an expansive view of the Las Vegas Strip. Only two tables were occupied, which allowed Timo to remain by the arched door near the elevator, avoiding any unsettling presence.

Slash and Jake spotted Mia already seated at a table towards the end of the rooftop.

Her smile was, once again, inviting.

"Hey!" she chimed as she rose to greet them.

"Hey," Slash replied, embracing her with a familiarity that belied their brief acquaintance.

After Jake and Mia exchanged introductions and handshakes, they settled into their seats.

"Jake recently started representing me," Slash explained.

Jake's eyes lingered on the hot girl at the table, another tick in his "straight bro" column. With a slightly goofy grin, he spoke up: "I wanted to meet you in person. Slash keeps raving about how great you are."

"Does he know?" she smiled, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Who's your agent?" Jake asked abruptly, as Slash began fidgeting for a cigarette.

"I recently signed with someone. Lucy Rivera," Mia replied, the gentle breeze tousling her hair in an almost cinematic fashion.

After Jake's unsolicited approval of Mia's agent and talking about her reputation as the "tough-love mom" in the agent world, they prepared to place their orders and get down to business.

"Yeah," Jake said, glancing up at the waitress. "Just sparkling water for me, thanks." He handed the menu back to the ginger-haired girl in her black uniform. Half-turning to Mia, he explained, "I'll need to get going a bit sooner than I had imagined."

Mia nodded politely, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'll have your blackest coffee, please. And the Tiramisu, thank you." she told the waitress.

"I'll have the same, thanks," Slash added, handing over both menus.

As Slash lit up a cigarette, Jake turned to Mia. "How often do you guys come play here?"

"Every two months, give or take," Mia replied.

Jake nodded, his fingers drumming on the table's white marble surface. "Not your first time at the Extreme Fest then?"

"Actually, it is a first," she said, lighting up her own cigarette. "We got lucky and swooped in there, pretty short notice."

Slash exhaled a plume of smoke. "It's uh... Which skate park was it?"

"Desert Breeze. Spring Valley," Mia confirmed. She exhaled smoke with a flirty smile, tapping ash into the glass ashtray. "So... I'm all ears. What do you have in mind?"

Slash began, wrists on the table. "Well," he said, "I'm planning on doing a solo record featuring artists I like and who are mostly my friends." He paused for another drag. "So far, we have Lemmy, Alice Cooper, Kid Rock, Chris Cornell, it goes on... The thing is, I already have a lot of songs that I've written and collaborated on with each artist, and we usually finish the song together, lyrics and/or music."

Mia nodded along, listening intently as the waitress returned with their order.

Slash leaned back, his chair creaking slightly. "Actually, I have a couple of tunes left that haven't found their match yet. And I know you can write, too. So, what we'll do is get together and jam... or I can send you some recordings. See if you can come up with some lyrics." He stubbed out his cigarette, then retrieved the Gitanes pack, fidgeting with it.

"You'd get full credit for everything, of course," Jake interjected, as Mia continued nodding.

Her hand resting on her neck, Mia finally spoke up. "That's... amazing, really. Needless to say, I'm totally on board. So, when can we start?" Her smile was infectious.

Slash lit another cigarette. "We'll arrange everything back in LA. I have a short trip scheduled right after this one, then we can start meeting and see how it goes," he explained. "We'll start recording in April, for a few months."

Jake chimed in again, outlining plans for possible music videos, launch gigs, and talk show appearances.

Slash, not entirely pleased with Jake's rapid-fire delivery, worried about overwhelming their potential collaborator. "How are you feeling about... all of this?" he asked Mia.

Mia's gaze remained steady, devoid of any hint of intimidation. She reclined, savoring a sip of coffee before responding. "I think I know where you're going with this question," she mused, setting down her cup with a soft clink. "I've been lingering, enjoying the local scene in LA. But for some time now, I've felt that doing bigger things is inevitable for me. Solo or with Frau Jailor." She leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully. "Did you guys know I have a day job?"

Huh?

Slash's brow furrowed in surprise. "No," he admitted, echoing Jake's equally bewildered response.

Mia's lips curved into a knowing smile, clearly relishing their confusion. She unveiled her role at Paramount Pictures' music development division, outlining her responsibilities in handling briefs, recruiting musicians to craft new scores. While she emphasized her genuine enjoyment of the work, she acknowledged its inevitable expiration date as her singing career ascended.

Slash realized he knew less about Mia than he'd thought, beyond her occasionally noticeable Canadian accent. Her unrealized stardom had puzzled him when he first saw her perform, and this corporate career revelation only deepened the mystery.

Slash and Jake exchanged a quick glance. "Honestly, I find it bizarre that you're not as big as those names I just mentioned. You're the whole package," Slash ventured, carefully balancing curiosity and compliment.

"Maybe the timing wasn't right until now,"Mia replied cryptically, deftly sidestepping further revelations about herself.

Well, I can't wait to witness this shit happen," Slash said, taking a sip of his coffee. The still-hot liquid prompted an unexpectedly loud slurp.

Jake checked his watch for the third time in two minutes. "Mia, it's been a pleasure meeting you," he said, rising. "I'll leave you two to it now. Unfortunately, I gotta bounce. I'll be contacting Lucy afterwards to go over the tedious details, yeah?"

"It's all cool," Mia replied with a reserved smile.

After Jake's departure, Slash was about to light up again when Mia asked, "You really need to wear your shades here?", as she gracefully removed her jacket, revealing a subtle yet intriguing cleavage.

Slash grinned, "Yeah, I feel sort of... weird without them." He lit his cigarette and offered one to Mia. "How much time do you have?" he felt compelled to ask.

Mia checked her phone while accepting a cigarette. "20 minutes. I will go straight to the venue and prepare."

He lit it for her, "I really wanna be there to watch, but I have to do auditions all day. I'm searching for a drummer and a bass player here this weekend."

"For the album, you mean?" Mia inquired.

"Yeah, and for live performances of the album," he explained. For a second he did consider removing his glasses to see her better but... no.

"That's fine," Mia said, tapping ash from her cigarette. "I'll tell them your good wishes."

A sudden idea struck Slash. If she was going to participate in the album, albeit unofficially, why not invite her to tonight's party?

Mia tilted her head, offering a sweet smile. "What?"

"Well," he exhaled smoke, "...we'll have a party with some of my and Eric's friends in my hotel suite tonight. If you could come, it could be interesting for you, I suppose," he suggested.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she considered the idea. "We're invited to the after-party of the festival organizers. I'll see if I can leave early, before 11," she shrugged.

"Give me a call when you do, and I'll have someone pick you up."

"I will," she nodded, synchronizing her cigarette puff with his.

Feeling his introversion creeping in, Slash searched for a conversation topic. "So, are you, like, working on any new songs lately?" he asked.

Mia showed no signs of shyness. "Well, both me and Johnny always come up with something new, all the time. We just bring it up in jam sessions and work on them right there. Recently, I've been hearing this melody in my head... For months. Last night I couldn't sleep, it was just haunting me."

"I know the feeling," Slash nodded, smiling.

"So I just got up, picked up my guitar, and pretty much outlined the song in less than two hours. Lyrics and all."

"Awesome. Can I hear it sometime?"

"Will you have a guitar at your party?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right," he murmured with a chuckle.

"I guess," Mia smirked. "And will you have anything for me to hear?" she asked playfully.

Slash decided it was time to play some of his good cards. "Yeah, maybe. I have this song that I imagine would be fucking awesome with your vocals."

"Really?" Mia perked up, intrigued.

He nodded, before revealing what he was about to reveal. "Don't laugh, but just for now, I call it The Morning Climax."

The girl nearly choked on her coffee, managing to redirect it into a snort and chuckle. "The Morning Climax? That's... captivating, even for a temporary song title."

"You'll see my point when you hear it."

"What a tease," she quipped. Glancing at her phone, she added, "And now, if you excuse me, I have some kicking ass to do at the skate park."

"I'll go with you. I also need to get to the audition," Slash offered, unsure of their routes but feeling compelled to give her a lift.

"Oh no, that's totally OK, I'll just grab a cab." Mia insisted as they exited the VIP area, Timo and the Maître d' leading them to the elevators.

Downstairs, they lingered on the sidewalk outside the entrance.

"Oh, it was great talking to you!" Mia beamed, her eyes crinkling. "Can't wait to process... all this."

She moved in for a hug, but Slash had already leaned in for a cheek kiss, which landed precariously close to her lips.

Heat rushed to his face, catching him off guard. His admiration for Mia was innocent, boyish even – he often felt giddy around attractive women. But this contact sent a jolt through his lips and... elsewhere.

"Yeah, you'll..." he breathed, "you'll process."

Timo gestured urgently, "Boss! Over here!" signaling their car's arrival.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Slash said, "Just hop in with us."

"I couldn't –"

"I insist, and you don't have a choice," he grinned.

Inside the car, with Rico driving and Timo up front, Slash and Mia settled into the backseat, cruising towards Desert Breeze Park.

"Where in LA do you live?" Slash asked.

"Sherman Oaks. But the northern part," she nodded, clutching her studded black leather tote on her lap.

"Oh, cool," he nodded. "Word is the valley's about to blow up."

"As long as it stays safe and the smog doesn't get worse, I'm good," Mia shrugged.

Slash's phone buzzed. Perla's name flashed on the screen. He declined the call.

"Funny enough, I had a place near Mulholland Drive until recently - technically Sherman Oaks," he said, sidestepping mention of his current temporary residence. "And way back, I briefly lived near your area, I think."

"No way! Where exactly?" 

"Uh, it was in..." he trailed off as his phone rang again. He quickly silenced it, catching Mia's fleeting glance. "Near Sepulveda, by the fire station. Around '90, 91. Pretty quiet and boring back then."

She chuckled, "What, they kicked you out for being too loud and shit?"

"You could say that," he grinned, memories of newfound wealth, ex-girlfriends, blackouts, and just sheer insanity flooding back. "I moved around a lot in those days."

Mia gazed out the window. "You did? Well, I just love how it's both lively and chill. Central... if a bit too hot."

"And must be way more expensive than back in the day," Slash added as they cruised down the highway. "I'm on the road so much, I barely know what's in my own neighborhood anymore. Couldn't picture living anywhere but LA, though."

"Were you born there?" Mia asked as they zipped through a tunnel.

"Nah, but I've lived in LA since I was a kid."

"OG..." Mia smiled with a slight nod.

"I guess," he snorted. Before he could ask about her background, his phone buzzed yet again. "Sorry," he muttered, rejecting the call and silencing it completely.

They arrived at the skate park's west entrance, and Mia thanked him before leaving.

As they turned southeast toward the studio, Slash checked his phone. A new text glowed ominously:

"You're lucky I still love you motherfucker. Call me back and I MEAN IT."

Slash sighed heavily, eyes fixed on the message. He shook his head, rubbing his temples.

"Hey Rico, how far are we?" Slash asked.

Rico glanced at the GPS. "Ten minutes, tops."

"Kay," Slash nodded and dialed Jake's number.

"Hey. Got a sec?" Slash said when Jake answered.

"Yup, talk to me." Jake replied.

Slash urged Jake to expedite Mia's offer and send Lucy the documents ASAP.

"It's gotta be today," Slash emphasized. "Don't wanna sit on this any longer. Can you make it happen?"

Jake let out a short, breathy laugh. "Scout's honor."

As the studio loomed ahead, Slash's lips quirked in a wry half-smile - another day, another tightrope walk between old demons and fresh inspiration.

¹ And here's that tweet (https://x.com/slash/status/1376069799)

² Those years, there was no woke culture, it was not extremely off for people to have some prejiduce and certain cheesy stereotypes for queer folks (albeit still frowned upon). Calling people "gay" or saying "Are you fn gay?" as an insultish jab would still not be okay though, as far as I remember, having dissolved pretty much from pop culture a few years back. Fellow millenials would back me up I suppose.