September 3. 1976

The 'Destroyer' tour was slowly but surely coming to an end and I still hadn't decided what to do. The last concert was in 9 days and it was probably the last day I would spend with the band in my whole life. And I wasn't ready for it.

I was sitting on the stairs of the venue where the concert was taking place tonight. It was still noon and I was bored, so I was doodling a female portrait on the blank side of some report I had to throw away, but decided not to just to keep myself somehow entertained. I liked drawing, though I wouldn't call myself a good or even a decent artist. I got pissed off quite quickly when something didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, so I was never serious about it.

The face was almost grotesque. There was something terribly wrong with it, and I was getting more pissy for not being able to find out what it was. I was ready to crumble the paper and throw it across the street when I felt someone's large shadow lean over my head.

"Her mouth is too big," I heard a familiar male voice state. I turned around to see Paul, who was standing over me. His eyes were squinted, as the bright September sun was shining in his face. He moved a strand of his dark hair away and took a seat next to me on the stairs.

"Can I?" He asked, opening his palm. After a moment of hesitation, I put the pencil in his hand.

"The mouth's corners end in the middle of the eyes," he explained, drawing a few light lines across the face and erasing most of the facial features I had drawn. Before I could even understand what was happening, he had drawn a perfect pair of lips. I watched his hand lay the shadows on the sketch with grace, just the way his hand was moving was giving away that he knew exactly what he was doing. I remembered Paul was the one who had designed most of the costumes of the band, including working on their makeup designs. He had the trained eye of a confident artist.

"Here. And you don't need to draw every line of the nose. Use shadows instead, to show depth," he continued, laying some darker tones with the flat part of the pencil.

"Also, you can try drawing 3/4 instead of full face. It will make it easier for you to learn how to make the shadows at first."

I shamefully admit, that at some point I stopped listening. I started watching him instead. The way his hand held the pencil. I noticed the color of his skin was a few shades darker than mine, now easy to compare since we were sitting side by side. He was wearing a big round pendant on a silver necklace around his neck, contrasting with his skin. I realized it was the same one as the one he wore as a part of his stage costume. In the soft light of the afternoon, I noticed his eyes weren't charcoal black, like I earlier thought. The sun reflected in the irises, coloring in them in soft chocolate brown. Paul wasn't even that handsome but something in him caught the eye.

"Now you try," he said, putting the pencil in my hand and waiting. I was pulled back to reality, realizing I didn't remember a thing he had told me.

I must have looked quite dump, because he continued. "Show me where the light comes from," he tried again, talking to me with patience I never knew he had in him.

I pointed at the direction uncertainly, looking up at his face for confirmation. He nodded his head. "Now, separate the dark parts from the light ones and lay the shadows with the pencil."

I stared at the paper for a moment before drawing a few dark thick lines on the forehead. I turned my face to Paul's, waiting for him to nod again. Instead, he had his full lips pursed together, staring at the paper.

"Where's the eraser?" He asked. I took it from it's place next to me and showed it to him. "Erase that. Please," he whispered. I obediently did what he told me to, feeling the corners of my lips turn upwards. Soon, I failed to contain the giggle that rose up my throat.

"What!" Asked Paul, raising his eyebrow, looking at me like I was crazy.

"Nothing! You just seemed so attacked. Like 'Please erase that. Please don't touch a pencil with those unworthy hands ever again." My words made him laugh along quietly, shaking his head. His fluffy hair followed the motion and he had strands all over his face once again. I wondered if that's what would have happened if he didn't use half a can of hairspray before every show. Would he be able to see anything at all?

"You know I didn't mean that."

"You know that's exactly what you meant."

Paul was about to start arguing when we heard a voice from behind.

"Hey Picasso!" Gene shouted, making us both turn around. The bassist pointed to the watch that was on his wrist, knocking softly on it's face with his fingernail. Paul nodded silently and stood up, turning around to look at me again.

"Try what I told you. You can also ask Ace give a look at it. He is pretty good too and might explain it better than me."

I thanked him and he just waved his hand. "I still owe you, right? You still have to choose your —"

"Paul!" Gene shrieked and the singer rolled his eyes, walking besides the other male towards the venue. The bassist told him something with a smirk on his face, something which I couldn't really hear, since they were way too far from me. Paul answered with a punch on the shoulder, making Gene laugh loudly.

✵✵✵

September 10. 1976

I was sitting in one of the backstage rooms, chatting with one of the bodyguards that had to leave soon, since the show was about to start. He was an interesting person, since he had travelled a lot while working for Led Zeppelin on their USA tour a few years earlier. He was telling me a story about how he had to kick out a crazy groupie who had her eyes on Jimmy Paige, when he was called outside, since the masses of groupies had started to arrive. I wasn't left alone though. Just as he left the room, I saw Lydia Criss appear down the hall, so I waited for her.

She was a breath of fresh air since Jen had left. There were hardly any women here and I felt too shy and uncomfortable to talk to the men, not on my own anyway. Not like they scared me — it was just something way out of my comfort zone.

I had expected Lydia to be quite annoying to be honest. In my mind, she had been quite arrogant and selfish, someone with the confidence of being a rockstar's wife. Lydia had turned out to be none of the above. She was a calm and friendly person with a great sense of humor. She enjoyed photography and as usual was carrying her camera around her neck. Her silky black hair was pulled away from her face with a silver hairpin.

She walked to me and we chatted for a long time, not really caring about our surroundings. Lydia had asked me to be her model for a photography project she had on her mind and I was happy to participate. She was still making a big part of the photos for the band during concerts and from what I had seen she was pretty good.

After the concert we were all standing in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for the receptionist to give us the keys for our rooms. We were in a large group, the only ones separated were Lydia and Peter, who were standing a few feet away from us, giggling happily. As much as I liked them both as a couple and as separate human beings it all seemed kind of fake to me now, considering Peter's many one-night stands on the road. I knew I would never feel happy in such kind of relationship, and honestly I didn't know how did Lydia handle it. She never discussed it, not with me anyway.

"Erase that disapproving look from your face," I heard Ace whisper in my ear. I turned around to look at him questioningly.

"You have been throwing daggers at Peter since we arrived. Leave them be. It's not your place."

"I didn't mean to," I explained, shaking my head and looking down at my feet in embarrassment. "Do you think they noticed?"

"Nah. Doubt it."

We took our keys and left with our luggage up the floors. I was in the other end of the hall, pretty far from where the band was. Me and Bill usually shared that kind of bad luck, but it was still more quiet and calm, so neither of us really complained. I looked around. Without Jen the hotel rooms seemed so big and quiet, perhaps even lonely. I hated not being able to talk to anyone that openly like I did with her. Well, there was always Ace, who I had grown close with, but it was nothing compared to Jen. And still there was a big decision that I had to make, one that was haunting my sleep for the past few days.

As soon as I left my bags I left the room, locking the door and marched down the corridor.

I stopped in front of Ace's room and knocked softly on the wooden door. He screamed a 'come in' from inside and I quietly walked into the room.

"Hey, are you in a hurry?" I asked.

"No, not really, why?" He answered, moving to his suitcase and unziping it. His long dark hair was moved over one of his shoulders so that he could easily look through the bag without getting hair in his eyes. He pulled out two big bottles of whiskey and put them on the bedside drawer.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Shoot," he said, moving over and sitting on the bed, looking up to me, waiting. However, I didn't really know how to start.

"What's keeping you here? Why do you stay in KISS?" I asked, realizing it was probably the moat stupid thing I could ask him. Or perhaps it was stupid to talk to him about that anyway. What could Ace tell me, that would stop me from quitting my job?

He however, seemed to like the question by the way his brown eyes light up and the grin that appeared on his face.

"There are three major things in this world darling," he started, giving his face a serious expression, "Sex, drugs," he said, pointing his fingers with his other hand like he was counting, "and rock 'n' roll. That's what the band is giving me. This is what I'm all in for."

Good. Not my best idea.

I was ready to nod and find an excuse to leave before I heard him speak again.

"And what's keeping  you here?" He asked unexpectedly, making me look up at him. He had a small smile on his lips, but otherwise he seemed serious.

"Oh God I don't know!" I stated, crossing my legs and sitting on the floor. Ace giggled at my dramatic reaction, the high-pitched sound bringing a smile to my face. He pulled himself from the bed and sat on the floor in front of me.

"Drama queen. Come on, we aren't that bad! We all act decent, mostly me."

I laughed. "Yeah, it was Bill who broke down the hotel room and almost got arrested."

"Absolutely! That sick bastard! I couldn't sleep because of him. Everything was under control after all. Thanks to me." He stated, looking at me proudly, though I could see he was holding back his laughter.

"Uhum. I guess it was Bill again who the hotel wanted to throw away, since he had eight groupies in his room," I said, remembering that one time Mike had to deal with the poor maid, who got inside Ace's room in the morning only to find the mentioned eight groupies passed out naked on the floor. Jen and I had slept through it, but she wouldn't stop messing with him about it once she heard it later that day.

Thinking about Mike, I had hardly seen him for the past month. He hadn't said anything to anyone, but had decided not to do anything more than what he was expected to because of his job. Nobody seemed to bothered by that to be honest

"Yes, yes," he answered enthusiastically, waving his hands in the air, "it was horrible. Can't he at least do it and leave us good Christian boys alone, tucked in our beds?"

We kept joking around and the more we talked, the more I realized I would always miss that once I left. The whole mess, the planning, the four crazy rock stars. Sure they were annoying shits, but were they really that bad?

Soon Ace left and I was once again alone with my thoughts.

✵✵✵

September 12. 1976

The private plane landed on JFK International Airport somewhere around midday. We all literally ran down the stairs, since no one wanted to stay another minute in the hot closed space. The fact that you can't open a window while on an airplane sucked.

We walked down the halls, marching towards the exit. In a few days the boys would start working with full force again, but not me. I was going to be home.

We stopped to say our goodbyes in front of the airport. After that everyone was going to catch a cap home. I gladly accepted Lydia's offer to share one with her and Peter, since it turned out they lived in Brooklyn too. Perhaps I was being a third wheel, but I was too tired to care.

Mike shook hands with everyone, being the first one to leave. He picked up his suitcase and walked away in a quick pace, not turning back. He surely realized he was leaving for good, but he didn't even turn to look back.

Bill sighed, watching his former colleague walk away. "We have to schedule some interviews. We need to find people for the two free positions, this time not in the last minute."

"One," I said, perhaps a bit louder then I intended. All eyes were fixed on me when I spoke again. "One free position."

Everyone was still staring at me when I grinned," I hope that if the tour is in winter we at least won't be dying from the heat in those venues."

Ace seemed to be the first one to realized what I meant, because I could see the wide smile spread across his face. I couldn't do anything about it, since a second later I was pressed against him, his arms wrapped around me.

"I knew you wouldn't disappoint," he said, pressing me harder and cutting my oxygen even more. I placed my palms flat on his chest and pushed myself out of his hug. His eyes were shining happily and it was the first time I felt I was in fact a part of their team.

Gene and Paul gave me genuine smiles when they heard the news and I could swear I saw a hint of pride in the bassist's eyes.

I was the second one to leave, together with Peter and Lydia. We talked in the taxi, until it was time for me to leave them. Peter wanted to help me with my bags, but I assured him everything was alright. I took them from the car truck and walked the stairs to my apartment.

The big wooden door unlocked and I was welcomed in the familiar space I called home for more than three years. The bright colored rooms were feeling strange now, compared to the plain ones in most hotel rooms. I smiled and closed the door with a kick.

I decided not to bother with unpacking now, I had plenty of time to do it later. I took a quick shower and dried my hair with a towel, then changed into my pyjamas. I wasn't doing anything for the rest of the day.

I jumped on the couch and reached out for the phone that was sitting on the coffee table. I quickly dialed a number that I knew by heart.

"Hello?" I heard the voice of my favorite punk in the world ask.

"Dude," I started, "I have so much to tell you."

✵✵✵

END OF PART ONE