Being a rock star isn’t always as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be—at least at first. At first, when you’re a no-shit wannabe, when all you have on your side are a couple thousand album sales, life sucks. No money, no fans, no security for the future.

Munky still remembered scraping up enough money to buy a couple of cheeseburgers from McDonald’s. For at least two years, David, Munky, Head and Fieldy had worked odd jobs and stayed up for hours and hours to pay off ominous bills to their small residence. Many times had Munky, when he worked with Head at a furniture-moving company, got by on a mere three hours of sleep. After his brief repose, the whole damned mess started all over again. Sure, Kaitlin had been there, sleeping in a closet on a dirty mattress with him (and, most often, with Head as well), but he had had neither the time nor the energy to pay attention to her half the time. It was sleep, eat, work, band practice, sleep. That’s all. Usually not enough time for much of anything. Oh wait, correction: eat, sleep, work, band practice, beg parents for money, sleep.

Well, when Korn had gotten signed, and that tour bus had pulled up in front of their small Huntington Beach house, they had grabbed their kinkiest porno, waved goodbye to their chicks, and never looked back. Many miles and many years later, as well as millions of album sales later, Munky stood in front of the small dressing room of a band that was going through what he had been through, with an exception: they were all sixteen year-old Canadian chicks. Kittie had more promise than any band Munky had seen in a long while, perhaps more promise than he had ever seen in his entire life. They would never endure the drudgery of a dead-end job at a fast-food joint, they would never have to go to college and waste away behind a desk. Those girls knew what hard work was, though. Competing ferociously in a man’s sport, they were subconsciously becoming representatives of their gender in a male-dominated genre.

Munky cracked open the door to their dressing room. It was the size of a master bedroom, with a couch, a cooler, a few running cracks in the asbestos-insulated walls, and not much else. Morgan’s guitar, a mahogany BC Rich Warlock, was in a corner, the velvet interior of its coffin case a deep red. The girls were sitting on steel folding chairs, playing a card game and laughing. They looked towards him unanimously as he stuck his head into the doorway. "Hey guys."

"Hey," Talena countered first, her voice light. Her large, youthful eyes brimmed with joy, and with a heated flush of nostalgia. Munky gave her a private acknowledgement and asked, pretending to notice for the first time the poor-quality of their establishment, "You guys wanna come and hang with us? This really sucks…I’m sorry that we couldn’t get you guys a better place, but if you wanna hang with us, you can."

Again. Talena. "Yeah, sure."

"Ours is bigger; it’s got a couch and shit," he said nonchalantly as he led the four young girls down the hallway. (Luckily, he didn’t happen to run into their parents). Finally, he found Korn’s room and opened it, not surprised to once again see that the other band members had returned, this time talking. Obviously, earlier that morning, Head had informed them to leave, not to interrogate him about what had happened at the press conference. Munky was fine with that. Now. As he entered the room, he planned to thank Head for setting him up with Shawna: something he hadn’t known he had needed.

But if Head knew what had resulted from that meeting, what new questions ran through his head now…he wasn’t so sure Head would approve. In fact, he knew that he wouldn’t approve.

But he looked peachy as could be when Munky entered the room. When he saw that Talena followed, close behind, his smile faded into a frown, and he stuck his munchkin nose back into the magazine that had consumed him a couple of hours before, a little more privately this time, now that the girls had arrived. Head liked to graze over every detail with his eyes; even the backgrounds of the pictures. It took an hour to go through just one issue.

It took him even longer than that when he was alone.

"This is nicer," Morgan blurted as she walked in. She was tall and slender, a large silver Gothic cross rising from her chest as she twirled around in a short leather miniskirt, reveling in the space. Mercedes, the tallest, and the only blonde of the group, the drummer, was behind her, standing a little stiffly.

"Hey, what do we got here? More of ‘em? Hey, Talena," Fieldy greeted her with a high five.

"Yeah. Guys—" and here, Fieldy, Jon, and David looked up, pleasure on their faces, "I thought that it would be cool if they hung out with us for a while. The room booked for them is really shitty." Fieldy nodded in understanding before continuing to shine his basses. Mercedes offered to help him. David sat in the corner, fooling with one of them, quietly keeping to himself until Mercedes struck up a conversation with him.

"Oh, yum," Morgan, the guitarist of Kittie, the smallest and thinnest, a strict vegetarian, eyed the mini-buffet on the other side of the dressing room. Fieldy followed her; he wanted some food. After they had gotten together some cheese and crackers, Munky left with them to get soda for everyone (and drink mixes for Korn).

"What’cha reading, Jon?" Morgan chirped. She plopped down next to him. She lifted up the cover so that she could see: "Playboy". "Oooh, Jon! Why are you reading the articles?"

He shot her an incredulous look. "What?" Then he smirked. "Why?… Do you want to see the pictures?"

"Jon, I’m not sure…" Head interjected, his own magazine folded over, his large hands covering strategic spots of the layouts. Talena had watched porn with them last night, but they couldn’t make a habit of exposing the girls to that shit. It just wasn’t right. What had happened between Talena and Munky last night was proof. And Jonathan had slept with so many women…Morgan didn’t seem the least bit shy, not like Talena, who had had at least a hint of innocence about her…until Munky got his grubby hands on her…

"Yeah, I wanna see ‘em! Come on Jon, why don’t you let me look at them?" Her voice was teasing, soothing, her dark eyes magnificently seductive. As Head frowned, Jonathan, amused as hell, flipped to the front page. "She’s hot," Morgan purred to herself as she looked at the first bunny. She moved closer to Jon. Placed a hand on his thin knee.

"Jon, you should put that away. What if her parents walk in?"

"Just chill, Brian."

"Fine, don’t listen to me," he said crossly. He wanted to tell him that it wasn’t right; wanted to tell him what had happened between Munky and Talena, who was busy talking to David; wanted to tell them that he was just being a stupid fuck.

Jonathan never gave him the chance to. "What’s gotten into you?" he prodded. His pierced left eyebrow lifted defiantly. "It’s not like I’m forcing her, Head." She was practically sitting on his lap. He looked at her. "Am I forcing you?"

"No."

Head just let it go. "Whatever."

Head put his magazine away. He got his guitar. The strings needed to be changed, anyway. He went to his own private corner, changed his strings, thinking about Munky. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted him to feel better. He thought that he had looked a little happier when he came in, but the way that he had been this morning made it hard for Head to believe that everything was just happy-dandy after one session.

When Munky came back, he crouched down next to Head. Head put his guitar aside. "Brian. Thanks—for everything." They hugged. Munky sat next to him. Head messed up Munky’s hair with a noogie. Munky returned the gesture as Head protested wildly. He had just redone his braids that morning. "I’m gonna go talk to Talena," Munky said finally.

"You do that."

"Alright."

"Just looking out for you, man."

"I know."

"I hope so." Then, "I love you."

Munky gave him an odd look when he answered back. "I love you, too."

………………………………………………………………………

"So, what are you trying to say?" Talena asked him softly, her large, dark eyes welling up despite herself in the white bathroom. Everything in there was white: the toilet, the sink, the urinal, the walls, the floor, the stall…everything. It was almost suffocating Munky. He thought that it should be easier than it was to tell this young child, this once innocent young girl, that no, he could not let this go any farther.

As if it could.

He had to end it right there; he didn’t have a choice. Eventually their relationship would get out, if their so-called "excursion" wouldn’t already. That’s what Munky wanted to prevent: making the nightly news or front papers of the tabloids. That’s all he needed right now. He didn’t want to be seen as a cradle robber. There was still a brief, silly hope spinning around in Munky’s head that Kaitlin would take him back; that she would come to her senses and realize that what they had together was special.

But then again, Kaitlin had realized it all along. That’s why she had pined away, marking off each day that he was gone on the calendar with a large X, a red circle and a few hearts scrawled on the day when he was going to come back home. She had wasted away the most beautiful days of her late adolescence loving him unconditionally from afar. And what had he done?

He didn’t know which was worse: the loose whore or the little girl. Either way, he had been fucked. Fucked over. By himself.

He tried to steady himself by leaning over the rim of the porcelain sink. All the white was blinding him. The walls were blending into the ceiling and the light was reflecting off the thousands of tiny ivory tiles on the floor, such a stark contrast to the two clad in black…the two black stars against a white vacuum of space.

"I’m not saying that I didn’t like it last night. It was…" He needed a thesaurus, oh God… "beautiful." He hid a wince; it sounded so wrong. But she didn’t falter. She just started crying.

Munky officially nominated himself for Asshole of the Year.

"It’s okay, Munky. I understand. You broke up with her, and you needed someone else. I understand—"

"It wasn’t like that."

"Yes, it was."

"I wanted you. I would have been with you whether or not she called me." There was a silence as he rested his hand on her slender shoulder. He leaned over her softly, whispered into her ear, "you know that. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. You’re so special."

Her eyes were so fragile, like sea glass, when they met his. Her bottom lip trembled. Tenderly, he kissed it, letting the taste of her salty tears linger on his tongue. "So, it wasn’t…just…" She sniffled. "You care about me?"

Her submission was total when she sank into his arms. Her knees melted into rubber in his warm embrace. He held her up, and hoped to God that no one would knock on the locked door, or happen to overhear their conversation. "Of course I care about you. And I always will. I haven’t slept with a whole lot of women in my life. I’m not one of those guys."

He really wasn’t. Until cheating on Kaitlin, she had been his one and only ever.

(unless you want to include Hodge Podge)

"There’s another thing I want to apologize for, before we go back out there—"

"—I can’t go back out there—"

"Oh, it’ll be alright," he cooed. And just then, they heard Fieldy hoot. Obviously, something interesting was going on in the other room. "I—I just wanted to apologize for the way that I—well, I wasn’t as considerate of you as I should have been. I was kind of—rough. I’ve never been like that before. I just haven’t—"

"It’s alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Painful pause.

"Friends, then?"

"Friends." Munky mumbled a reply, a grin playing on his thin lips—ok, phew, there is a God—and hugged her again before letting go. Another hoot. Munky was about to unlock the door when her voice came out, small, wanting, "Munky, just one more time—just one more kiss. That’s all. Just one more."

He didn’t want to say no, turning a slow semicircle to face her. He cupped his hands around her beautiful face, ran them down the length of her slender neck. She nuzzled his stubble with the palm of her hand, so gently, pulling his face down towards hers. As they once again embraced, their kisses started out innocently, though it was far from a casual liplock. Before he knew it, he had been caught up in her spell, as he had been the night before, the sweet caresses of her tongue against his so right in a way that couldn’t be.

The apex of their passion gave way to more broken kisses. He gently eased his hold on her. He took her hand in his, and on a moment of impulse, kneeled down and kissed the back of her hand softly. When he looked up, he saw that a lone tear wandered down her pale cheek, wiping away some of the ivory foundation her mother so complained about, revealing blushing skin.

There. It was done.

Together, friends, they entered the dressing room again