"You wanted the best, and you got the best!" boomed through the speakers, several of which were located adjacent to her left ear. "The hottest band in the world...KISS!"
The black curtain over the stage dropped, to reveal the band: all done up in their seventies splendor, six-inch platform heels and leather and Spandex...for men hovering near the half-century mark, they all looked damn good in that Spandex. The music crashed forth from the speakers, and explosions went off; the smell of pyro filled her nostrils, and she smiled.
It was good to be home.
She wasn't sure that Gene would still recognize her -- after all, she barely recognized him; she'd done most of her KISS-following during the eighties, in the days without the makeup, and she was more familiar with the face behind the greasepaint than with the greasepaint itself. But then their eyes met, and it was just like the old days: she didn't bother to dive for the guitar pick he flicked in her direction, in this crowd it was certain suicide, and she had other guitar picks from the man...enough to know that even after all these years, Gene Simmons and his near-perfect memory were still intact.
He stomped over to her side of the stage, wiggled his tongue at her and did a few pelvic thrusts in her direction, which was his standard way of saying 'hello'; and she smiled.
It was good to be home.
In all the hullabaloo of the "reunion" tour, they'd left behind their more recent material, and she missed the songs she'd come to think of as concert standards: "I Love It Loud," "Heaven's On Fire"...she even missed "Creatures Of The Night," although it was a song she'd long ago gotten thoroughly sick of. But it was okay, because they did "Rock Bottom" and "Do You Love Me" and other songs she'd never heard live before. When they segued into "New York Groove," the arena went nuts, and she along with them -- when Gene stepped forward with the flaming sword to breathe fire, she held her own breath nervously; let the rest of the Garden scream, she was more worried that Gene would set his hair on fire again, and was relieved when the fireball burst forth from his mouth without inflicting damage.
Paul danced his way over to her side of the stage (stage right), and she spent a few moments appreciating her view -- then Ace made his way over to that side as well, and while the rest of the arena roared their approval of the hot guitar licks, she was busily mulling over the boggling concept of Spandex. Men in Spandex...she'd never quite realized how MUCH she'd missed the fashion standards of the eighties. Gene's stage costume included a large metal-plated codpiece, which wasn't much fun; on the other hand, Paul's and Ace's stage costumes did not (apparently) include underwear, which made for interesting front-row viewing. "Love Gun," indeed.
She licked her lips, and flipped her hair back with one languid hand; from the back of the stage, Gene caught her movement, and mimicked the hair-flipping part. The sight of this fearsome demon-creature in greasepaint with stage blood dripping down his front, parroting such a girlish gesture, was deeply amusing; she giggled, and Gene wiggled his tongue at her and flipped another guitar pick in her direction, which she again failed to catch.
The one tricky point of the night, the performance of the song "Beth," she was not looking forward to, since the song always reminded her of her dear departed Eric, and there was at least an even chance that she'd end up sobbing hysterically...but due to time constraints, the song was cut from the set, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Serendipity protecting her again.
Eventually, the show ended, in a cacophony of music and explosions, and the house lights went up.
And she smiled. Because it was good to be...
...to be...
...in a storage room at Merc HQ.
//Must've fallen asleep...//
She yawned, and stretched, and frowned. This was not good. No, not the fact that she was locked up and imprisoned by members of her erstwhile faction; that, she could live with.
But missing a KISS concert, one that she had front-row tickets for, that was unforgiveable.
The Mercs owed her, Jamie decided. They owed her a KISS concert, with front row seats; and they owed her well-endowed men in Spandex; and she was determined to collect on both debts before the War was over.
She felt much better after making that determination; it allowed her to forgive her Merc Mommies for causing her to miss the event of a lifetime, for keeping her locked in a closet while the show went on...her subconscious mind must have filled in the blanks, causing her to believe that she was actually at the show when in reality she was nowhere near the vicinity.
Of course, that didn't explain the hoarseness of her voice. Or the fact that her ears were ringing and she couldn't hear anything. And it definitely didn't explain the dogtag that hung from her neck, the one that said "KISSarmy" on one side, and "Alive/Worldwide '96-'97" on the other.
But then, reality warped in strange directions when there was a War happening. Nothing new about that.
And anyway, the Mercs still owed her. So that was okay.
She curled up on the floor again and tried to go back to sleep, to dream about men in Spandex...
(Instead, she dreamed about being stuck in the glass elevator in the CN Tower. But that's another story.)