THE ADVENTURES OF A ROCK CHICK IN AMERICA: dazed, confused, broke and clueless.
I didn’t know it was such a long way from Montreal to Santa Cruz. Obviously, I knew how far it was from a geographical point of view. But to actually travel there non-stop in a bus? The sheer endlessness of it didn’t register until my bum went numb after the umpteenth pitstop in the middle of nowhere. Were we nearly there yet?
THE HURTING: the sad impossibility of never disappointing
Unsettled, I have staggered on,
Fragile, broken, mending,
Fluffing tattered feathers,
FROM TRAD WIFE TO ROCK CHICK: how I moved from KitchenAid to the Geneva underground music scene in the Eighties.
Of course, we never went even once went there to work out, although I remember using the pool and the jacuzzi. I also recall using the tanning booth quite a bit, because Mr. Super-Hot - whose name was Jacques - would come in and make sure all was well, and adjust my little glasses, and press the button to make the tanning lights come on and sit there for ages asking me all sorts of questions about myself. He was excellent for my ego.
UNFORGETTABLE
She harnessed herself to his heart, haunting his harmonies with her smoky voice
AN EX-LOVER? A LONGTIME ADMIRER?A GUARDIAN ANGEL? DIVERSION (continued from REVENGE)
He slid from the barstool.
Hurled insults and vodka ice down an unsuspecting cleavage.
