April 19, Marriott, 12:00 p.m.
He had died three times this week and it was only Tuesday.
Wrapped in a lush towel and dripping wet, Lux wiped the condensation off the mirror and leaned in close to study the fading circular scar on his forehead. He then turned slowly and admired the reflection of his well-muscled body. If he looked closely he could make out a myriad of strange marks – all evidence of his extraordinary constitution and his bizarre compulsions. One of the main draws of a Daisy Chainsaw concert had become the “staged” death and rebirth of the lead singer. Sister Kat had given him this wonderful gift by breaking his neck 8 years ago; He made a mental note to pay her back one day.
Beginning to dry himself, he grunted loudly, “Girl!” He never called them by their names. Why bother?
Britanny rolled over in bed, stretching and yawning. She was pretty pleased with her current situation, nightly murder not withstanding. “Mmm?” she replied.
“Getcher ass up,” he growled. Luckily for her she recognized that tone and got in gear quickly.
Mr. Interior had been a good boy ever since that hotel bitch had taken him for a huge amount of money in an out-of-court settlement. The lawyers and handlers made sure he kept his nose clean, as it were, with a combination of behavior modifying prescriptions and around-the clock bodyguards. They assured him that it was for his own good and that his bank account couldn’t handle too many of his ‘outbursts’. “We can’t have Lux’s reputation as a ladies’ man tarnished in anyway,” he laughed to himself. Stupid cows like Rose McGowan needed him around to boost their own careers. “Starlet dates gorey Interior” just in time for her new movie….. Conveniently, Lux found that his new obsession of coming back to life, both on and off stage, took most of the edge off.
“We got some time before sound check,” he announced, “Isn’t there somewhere you wanted to visit?” Lux had a handful of pills and a glass of water set out for him on the table. He purposely ignored them. A delighted squeal came from the walk in closet.
Pere LaChaise would be a bittersweet trip for Lux; Morrison had stopped visiting him long ago – back when he barely escaped New Salem. In fact, he had no idea how he escaped New Salem, just that he did. He woke up one afternoon in a Boston hospital and soon discovered all contact with Jim had ceased. Lux missed his mentor but his destiny had been achieved, he had graduated. Maybe that was all Morrison was there for – to help him ascend.
Lux ran his hand through his towel dried hair. Ever since that weird September he had been dying it black. The white had been a little too freaky for even his weirdest fans, so he had his signature locks sheared off and dyed what was left dark again. Pulling on his leather pants and T-shirt, he knew he still looked damned good.
Britanny pranced out in her newest rocker slut ensemble just as Lux was tying up his Docs. He stood, grabbed his cell and glanced briefly at the living room floor. He wondered idly what the maids thought of all the blood they found in the mornings. Of course, they were paid well to not think.