Disclaimer: KISS, Gene Simmon and Paul Stanley are actual persons. This is a work of FICTION, and is not meant to harm or demean. It is a fictional account of what things might have been like for a personal friend of Gene and a friend of Stan getting to know KISS in their formative years. Raina MacLaren, Karen Valentez, Trisha Malloy and Liz of Sweet Revenge are property of the author, Trynia Merin.

Meanwhile, the taxi driver had found a place to stash his cab, and had met up with the other figure, in bluejeans and floral print shirt with wide lapels. His long leather coat hung around to his ankles, brown in color to match the slightly heeled cowboy boots. Long black hair flowed past his shoulders wiry stiff and curly. Amber eyes fixed into dark brown ones. Their owner adjusted his black beret, and buttoned the black pea coat against the quickening wind. For a moment Gene caught a glimpse of the leather belt, faded bell-bottoms, and flowered shirt unbuttoned to mid chest.

"I'm TELLING you, this guy had better be here. He sounded like a damn flake on the phone," Gene grumbled.

"Figures in a place like this..." Stanley muttered, quickly scoping out the scene as they rounded the corner. Electric white Christmas lights wound around the bare metal awnings, a blackboard set to the right of the small club entrance. It seemed little more then an opening in the bricks with a green painted metal door held open by a brightly painted rock.

"This is the place, and people are going in," Gene commented. "I told him to wait by the front entrance..."

"You'd almost miss it if your freaking blinked," Stanley joked.

"So, here we are," Gene said, glancing at his watch. "Shall we, Eisen?"

"Whatever, it's better then standing in the street like a couple of dumb asses..." Stanley shrugged. He wandered over to the entrance, and peered at the chalkboard propped on its stand. In cursive pastel chalks several band names were scrawled across the black surface, illuminated by the small twinkling lights.

"Sweet Revenge, Front and Center, Exit Stage Left, Valium," Gene read out the names of the local bands. Most didn't ring a bell. Except for the Ramones that is.

"I can't BELIEVE she didn't invite me..." Stanley complained, shoving his hands deep in his coat pockets. Sullenly, he leaned against the wall."Oh, are we back to THAT again?" Gene rolled his eyes, leaning up next to Stanley. "Because, let's face it kid, I'm sure she had a reason for not telling you."

"Jesus, she's my girl... why should she?" Stanley asked, settling into that pecking order that always asserted itself in Gene's presence. Often Stanley got the vibe that Gene thought of him as an annoying little brother, a tagalong.

"Hell, Stan, I don't know. Maybe because she knew you would totally freak out. And apparently she was right."

"Who ME?" Stan asked, pointing to his chest in surprise. "Freak out over a concert?"

"NOT over a concert, but have you ever thought to yourself just what these ladies do on stage? This isn't exactly a tea party."

"I know... but they're just playing... hell..." Stan shrugged. Gene chuckled to himself a bit, an irritating I-know-something-you-don't-know twinkle in his eyes.

"What is THAT look for, man?" Stanley demanded, nudging Gene hard.

"Sooo, it's not going to bother you if she shows a little skin? Moves and grooves it a bit? You're going to be OK with that, huh?" Gene asked, looking up at the streetlight and laughing again.

"Say WHAT?" Stanley almost squeaked, voice going up an octave. "Karen isn't into that... she's just... well into the music."

"I'm just saying, I've seen their show before. That's all I'm saying" Gene threw up his arms in surrender.

"You've SEEN them?" Stanley gasped. "WHEN?"

"Uh-huh, yeah, a time or two. Raina likes it when I am there."

"Shit, you lucky son of a bitch!" Stan grumbled. He folded his arms across his chest. His eyes darkened in anger, and he traced the crack in the pavement immediately ahead of him with the toe of one boot.

"So, you and Karen...you.... get biblical yet?" Gene teased, hitting him on the arm.

Stan's boot heel clicked as he kicked it into the ground. He snorted, "What do you think. Like it's any of your business... anyway."

Gene laughed loudly and tapped his toe on the concrete. He simply said, "It's just funny to think of you two together. That's all."

"Why?" Stan asked. "What makes you Mr. worldly wise in relationships?"

"I don't know. Shit. Karen will have most of those drunken idiots in there wild with lust tonight. And you....well...."

"Excuse the hell me?" Stan snorted, glaring at Gene.

He grinned, "You've got your sweet little mom and dad and your two story house..."

"And what's WRONG with that? Just cause I didn't go through hard knocks doesn't mean I don't know what it takes to work my ASS off."

"Hey, hey, LOOK! I'm not here to piss you off. Really. We're here because some idiot wants to join our band. Imagine THAT."

"Yeah... so where the hell is he?" Stanley repeated.

Glancing around at the gathering clot of people, Gene scanned for any likely suspects. "Hell if I know."

"Huh, what does he look like? Other then what he said about having some amazingly large attributes?"

Gene smiled, "What? Worried you're going to have competition, kid?"

"Screw you Gene," he muttered.

Punching Stan on the arm, Gene reminded him, "Lighten up, remember? We're here to have fun. NO fucking wonder she didn't invite you."

"Why do I put up with you sometimes?" he rolled his eyes.

"Guy sounded Italian....very Italian," Gene interrupted, changing the subject.

"GREAT!" Stan threw up his hands. "Just what I need, an Italian stallion... Getting all the attention... with his hot bod..."

"Sort of talks like this," Gene demonstrated, using a raspy voice.

"Oh man he sounds like a winner..." Stan groans.

"Bet Karen will cream her panties when she sees him" he laughs as he turns around.

"Shut the hell up," Stan snapped. Coat whirling around his legs he spun toward the direction of the entrance. "Let's just meet this guy and go in already!"

'Let me go see what I can find out. You stay here and don't let your damn lip drag the ground. For God's sake, at least ACT like you are having fun tonight," Gene told him.

"All right. But don't expect miracles Gene."

Self assured, Gene walked over to the entrance of the club, and found the bouncer. For a moment, he disappeared within, leaving Stan to watch the comings and goings of would be patrons. Fashions ranged from those matching his bohemian ensemble to stuffed shirts. Couples held hands, walking by to glimpse the sign, or stop and gape at the patrons beginning to line up to get in. Stan's gaze wandered over toward the street lamp on the corner. IN the orange haze, a girl was pressed against the post, held in place by some guy who had his hands all over her. "Jeez, can't those guys get a room?" he muttered.

By the time Gene returned, he noticed Stan staring at a point somewhere across the street. Tapping him on the shoulder he said, "Guy says the girls are here and getting ready. They'll be going on pretty soon. How much longer are we going to give this idiot?"

"He's got his HAND on her ass..." Stan shook his head in disbelief. "And she's groping him ALL over..."

"Doesn't look like she's minding it too much," Gene smiled.

"Don't they KNOW they're in public? Jesus, they are five minutes from taking it off..."

"Hang on, I'll take a closer look," Gene licked his lips. He wandered over toward the likely couple and watched their making out for a few minutes.

"Freak," Stan muttered.

"Huh....you think that's our boy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, as he returns.

"Why? Looks like the only person he's planning on meeting is Mr. Goodbar."

"Looks the part," Gene shrugged. "And I don't exactly see anyone else out here looking out of place. Go ask him. I'm not standing here and missing the opener. Ray will never let me live it down. Besides, they're saying a seat for us."

"WHY ME?" he complained. "You're the brains, damn it! I'll go in and YOU ASK him."

"Yeah, but you got the CHARM, pretty boy. Just go make nice and figure it out."

"Shit Gene... thanks a lot..."

"Besides....I want to be there to see the look on Karen's face when she sees you there. Pouting like a f**cking baby"

"Then you talk to him. I'm going in..." Stan muttered, and turned back to walk into the club.

"Christ, Eisen. I can't get you to do a damn thing."

"I'm saving the table. Isn't that enough? Besides I don't want that jerk punching my face for interrupting his makeout session!" Stan hissed back.

Left to his own devices, Gene returned to his spot by the couple. He coughed loudly, and then tapped the man on the shoulder. Immediately he was waved away by an irritated hand from the male half of the couple, still fully fused to the mouth of the female.

Gene coughed again, fishing a piece of paper out of his coat pocket, "We've got business here, pal. You been here long enough to see someone looking around....a Crisscuola?"

"Huh? What's it to you, Mac?" the guy asked, breaking his kiss with the woman. She shivered in embarrassment, slinking behind him. A pair of brown eyes fixed into Gene's, confused for the moment.

"Because if you've not seen this idiot, just tell me and I'll leave you two birds alone," Gene commented. While he wasn't nervous or intimidated, he could tell this short guy was powerfully built, his muscles contouring the t-shirt and jeans that he wore. A bit on the thinner side, but still someone you wouldn't want to mess with. A few tattoos were visible from what he could see on one arm that wasn't wrapped around the brunette. She seemed a nice piece of work, almost artsy like Stan.

"Which idiot are you asking about?" he asked slowly, turning to face Gene, with the girl pushed protectively behind him. "The one waiting in that getup?"

For emphasis, he poked Gene in the chest, pointing at the floral print shirt with the wide lapels. Gene laughed at the nerve of this guy. Whoever he was, he had balls, Gene told himself.

"Peter... don't mess with him," the girl gasped.

"Relax babe. So are you talking about that idiot, or the idiot kissing this lovely lady?" Peter repeated.

"I DO have my lovely lady inside, and I'm hoping to get to her pretty soon," Gene laughed. He smiled, overly exaggerated. "Besides, Casanova, some day you'll be waiting outside to see MY band."

"Oh really. So you're Gene?" he asked.

"Shit!!!" Gene shook his head, realizing he was staring right at the man he was looking for. "You're Peter!"

"Yep, sure am," Peter nodded, hands folded across his chest.

Gene extended his hand to Peter, "Well since you know my name, you know why I'm here..."

"Uh huh. So... Gene... is it..." Peter said slowly. "Kinda tall for a would be rock star, aren't you?"

"Well you know what they say about height... and I have it where it counts in ALL places," he cracked, with a smoldering wink at the girl.

"Yeah right. And I got a nine inch dick so there," Peter wisecracked back. The girl rolled her eyes, hand to hear head with disbelief at the audacity of the two men. Testosterone was indeed crackling in the air.

Gene smiled at his companion, "And you're still standing?"

"Uh... I should HOPE so," she flushed, gripping Peter's hand. Obviously, he had no clue that they were married, or did he care. Peter squeezed her hand and winked at her, urging her to leave the talking to him.

"Well, the chicks dig you, I can see. You've got that much going for you," Gene laughed.

"Mind if the lady tags along on business, Mr. Simmons?" Peter asked. "Or do you go by Gene... or do you have some other moniker?"

"I have MANY of them," he smiled, "But you can call me Gene. It's no problem. Look, my girl is just about to go on. How about we step inside and check out the show.....and your credentials."

"Hmm sounds Jake to me Gene. Let's talk business then." Peter nodded.

"Uh huh. Well they call me Pete. And if you call me Petey, I'll kick your freakin ass. The rest you know, so don't wear it out..."

"And the lovely lady would be....." Gene asked.

"Lydia," she chimed in, extending her hand to Gene.

"Charmed, I must say," he says as he kissed her hand.

"Hmm," she giggled, amused by this quaint greeting the strange man gave her. What gentleman ever kissed a woman's hand anymore?

"My WIFE," Peter said, slipping his arm around her waist.

"Hmmm. Well, for NOW..." he said quietly to Lydia as he winks playfully at her. A shiver passed over her, and she stepped backwards from the sexual energy sparking the gap between them.

"Uh, back off from my woman. In case you didn't look at her hand, the lady's spoken for," Peter said firmly.

"Hey it's cool," Gene held up a surrendering hand. "Why don't we step inside?"

Following Gene, Peter took Lydia's hand and walked her toward the club. She shivered in strange excitement of the unknown, as if she were witnessing the beginning of something unusual and very important.

Canned music cranked over the sound system as they walked past the bouncer into darkness. Smoke hit them full in the face, curling from dozens of cigarettes from the patrons milling about inside. Around many a table a half dozen or so people would be crammed, while others stood by the walls and glanced anxiously at the stage at the far end of the club.

"So, where's your table?" Peter asked, keeping Lydia close.

"Right up front there," he clapped Peter on the back. "Make yourself comfortable."

Pushing their way past several patrons, they spotted the thinner younger man sitting at a booth, down near the front where an old style orchestra pit was boarded up. There was a six-foot rise to the small stage, chipped and fading ornamentation wreathing around the stage opening. Once a movie palace, the club was now stuffed with tables and chairs on two levels. A gauze curtain concealed the act behind, the sounds of humming amplifiers fading into the buzzing crowd's conversations.

"Peter... isn't that..." Lydia whispered, recognizing the leather clad woman with dark brown hair. It was feathered and streaked with red highlights, her thick framed glasses obscuring green eyes.

"Shh, this is getting interesting," Peter chuckled. "Let's play dumb..."

Gene curved around the table, swinging his long legs over a chair. He sat between Stan and Raina. With a gesture of his hand, he indicated the two empty chairs beside Raina. Peter pulled one out for Lydia, pushing it in as he settled down next to her.

Surprise crossed Raina's face at sight of them. But Peter held a finger up to his lips, and Lydia winked. "So, this is my lovely lady Raina... who will delight and astound you this evening. And this is Stanley Eisen, my business partner..."

"Hey," Peter said, holding out his hand across the table.

"Nice to meet you, Raina," Lydia winked at her. Little did Gene know how small their world really was.

"I gotta get onstage soon, or Maurice will flip," she shrugged.

"He's their manager," Gene laughed. "Unofficially. But before you go... how about a greeting for your main man?"

Grabbing her as she stood, Gene tugged her down into his lap. He caught her lips in a soft kiss. He breathed in her ear and whispered, "You look WONDERFUL, love."

"Thank you," she whispered back, squarely balanced across his lap.

"You told Karen yet?" he smiled.

"No," she whispered. "Just let her find out on her own.

"Shit, I can't wait to see her face," Gene whispered. "AND his.""Shh," she whispered back, kissing him on the nose.

"So... you're Peter?" Stan asked.

"That'd be me," Peter nodded. "S you're this guy's partner in crime, eh?"

"Rhythm guitar...and a bit of the rest, at least until we find a lead guitarist," Gene said."Drummer with 11 years experience as in the ad," Peter nodded. "So what's this about me wearing a dress?"

Gene smiled smugly and began his spiel, "Petey boy, you just might not believe it, but we are going to make it big....HUGE....and we have some ideas on how we are going to do that."

Raina met eyes with Lydia, and they both shook their heads. Typical Gene. Peter listened, clearly unimpressed with the deliverance, especially when Gene pointed toward the door and said, "If you are looking for some f***cking garage band experience, the door is that-a-way..."

"I know where the door is man. I have eyes. And I say hell no. I'm in this for real."

"Excuse me while I get ready, lover," Raina said, rising from Gene's lap. "This is band business..."

"I've got her well trained," Gene grinned. He gave her a hearty slap on the butt as she left.

"Save some for later," she shook her finger at him. Mounting the stairs to one side, she vanished backstage.

"You ever recorded anything? Ever had a recording contract?" Gene asked Peter.

"I was in Chelsea a while back... we did a few rounds with the studios here and there..." he said.

"Never heard of 'em," Gene said harshly.

"Big deal. I've never heard of YOU either," Peter shrugged. "I know this drill already man. A million musicians start out. They get chewed up and spat out...."

"No, but you WILL. You can count on that."

"Uh huh," Peter nodded. "Well I'll tell you what Gene. I'm a survivor. IN ways you wouldn't even know."

"You'll have to be, sink or swim," Gene nodded. "Stanley and I here, we just kicked the shit out of the musicians in our last band because they just didn't cut it."

"I've been around the block a few times myself, man," Peter said. "I've seen shit come and go. So you need a drummer or don't you?"

Gene looked at Stan for a moment, and Stan raised an eyebrow, putting his lips together. He nodded slowly. Clearing his throat, Gene asked, "So, how far would you be willing to go? Can you hack it. Cause it's not gonna be pretty... and it won't be a free ride. You'll have to work your ass off..."

"How many hot shots wanna be big, and they get eaten for breakfast?" Peter asked Gene.

"Good question. Look Peter, we're rehearsing tomorrow night at 47th street. You be there and we'll give you a test run."

"Fine..." Peter nodded.

"And we'll see if you've got the balls, my friend," Gene added. Again, he glanced to Stanley, who was anxiously craning his neck as if to peer through the curtain with x-ray vision. He winced when Gene stepped on his toe and hissed something under his breath.

"Peter, what is your outlook on life?" Stan asked. Gene looked at the front of the stage occasionally to see if the girls were out yet.

"Well Stan... I've not had your typical 2.4 suburbia life man," Peter answered. He nudged Lydia, and reached for his pack of smokes in the left breast pocket. Extracting one, he lit it and blew a cloud of smoke toward Stan and Gene.

"Yeah... but what do you want out of life?"

"I grew up hard and fast on the streets. I learned to survive, if that's what you're asking. Used to having it rough..." Peter answered.

"You going to be afraid to leave the lady when we go on the road...Europe...Japan...the whole f**cking world?" Gene asked.

"Nope." Peter said. "The lady makes the choice herself. Stay or go."

"Fair enough. You write?" Gene asked.

"Not much," Peter shrugged. "I play and I sing."

"Good, because I do and so does Stan," said Gene.

"Let the others write. I just wanna perform, and have a good gig, and maybe see another year alive..." Peter says slowly. "And not live in a shithole and have to just get by."

"You....uhhh....like the Dolls?" Stan asked.

"Heard of 'em."

"You know," Gene clarified. "All that theatrical shit. What's your take on that?"

"You do what you have to..." Peter shrugged again. "Hell I don't give a crap as long as I can play and play it loud..."

"So you don't care if you have to perform in a dress or something weirder?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, shake your ass in tight sparkly pants?" Gene teased.

"I'll be behind a drum kit, what do I care?" Peter laughed. "Shit, I'm like a cat, I always land on my feet. I learn to adapt you know... And if I have to strut around with flames out my ass, so be it."

Gene looked at Stan for a moment, then back to Peter. Nodding, Stan gave a strange look to Gene, his eyes narrowing discernibly. Slowly Gene returned the nod, and focused on Peter again. "Just prove it to us tomorrow night."

"Yeah, you got it Gene." Peter nodded.

"And if you suck, we all go on our merry way," Gene finished.

"Say what's your band's name anyway? Or are you still figuring it out?"

"Well....." Gene started. "We were Wicked Lester...but we're in the process of a metamorphosis.'

However, the loudspeaker, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN..." drowned Gene's words out. "LET ME INTRODUCE TO YOU... the one the only the lovely and lascivious SWEET REVENGE!"

Gene smiled and turned his chair around to face the band. Lights flickered out, plunging the club into darkness. Only the tips of many cigarettes twinkled like stars in the hazy twilight. Lydia grew excited and leaned against Peter. Stan sat opposite, looking at the stage. Gene catcalled and whistled for Raina. There came a loud low rumbling, almost guttural. Three drum taps percussed, followed by a loud screeching guitar wail, and a woman's loud voice rising like a banshee in ancient Ireland. All lights blasted hot, spearing the darkness and revealing the band before them. Music crashed out in a first wave, deafening and then dropping to an audible rock volume.

A woman in a skintight black catsuit leapt down from the drum riser, giving a piercing banshee yell of, "HEYYYYYY!"

At sight of her, Stan's jaw dropped. Her breasts were precariously nestled in the v-neck of the strapless top, held in place by what must be hooks in the bodice back. Long blond hair flopped and curled over her electric blue eyes. Swinging her arm she slammed home a chord and began to sing,

"Ladies listen to me... I got a sound for all you chained in your captivity..."

"Break the holds those men hold dear, scream out your freedom loud to every EAR!"

From behind her organ, Raina sent a loud series of chords to match her rhythm. Trish dropped to her knees and riffed off a long whirring solo line. Loud and very funky, the song jarred and gyrated the listeners, employing them to tap their tables and rise to dance with the funk of Three-Dog night, and the keyboard action worthy of Ray Maznarick himself.

"And you'll GET YOUR SWEET Revenge..." resounded the chorus. Peter grabbed a knife and fork and began to jam along to the first song. From beside him, Lydia snapped pictures through a 35MM camera.

Down on center stage, Karen opened her mouth to reveal something on her tongue. She spun around, and leaned forward to one man standing near the stage, his hands braced on its side, kept out of range by the bouncers. Gene turned around and happily smacked Stan on the arm.

"You see THAT?:" he laughed. With a toss of her neck, she snapped her head sideways, flinging the pick toward the gentleman. Another, tossed from her microphone stand in a neat little line that Stan suddenly noticed followed it.

"Man, you lucky son of a bitch. You got yourself a piece of that," Gene needled Stan. He froze in shock and silence, watching her every move.

She pulled back, standing on stiletto heels as she shouted, "HEEEEYYYYYYY!"

Stroboscopically the stage lights flashed, accompanied by strange psychedelic patterns beamed to a projection screen behind Liz's head on the drum riser high above. Finally, the song clattered to a stop, hoots and hollers begging for more.

Gene, seeing that his teasing had no effect, turned back to the stage and smiles at Raina again. Raina winked in return, and looked half at Stan then rolls his eyes to Raina.

Karen seized the microphone and shouted, "Hello you lovely ladies and gentlemen! Can you let me hear you?"

A shout arose collectively from the crowd. Unanimously they answered.

"C'mon I KNOW You can do better then that, cats and kittens! Let me hear you AGAIN!" she shook her finger at the audience. Holding a hand to her ear, she waited for a rousing shout.

"That's better! Now lemmie introduce ya! We're SWEET REVENGE.... And we're ready to rock your WORLD baby!"

"OHHHH Yeah!" Gene shouted in his trademark yell.

"And from the sound of it... we've got a LIVE audience tonight, ladies and gents and people everywhere!" Karen continued. She strode across the stage toward where Trish stood, in shimmering silver minidress and white go-go boots, her hair in a sixties throwback.

"We're gals who don't put out... But we sure love to rock and roll it out..." she grinded her hips at these words, to the drumbeats of Liz. Stan covered his face in embarrassment.

"Whoa, she's not half bad," Peter muttered.

"She's HIS," Gene yelled, "Can you BELIEVE it?"

"HOLY shit you're fucking kidding me!" Peter laughed.

"HIS?" Lydia giggled. "GIMME A BREAK!"

"Shut up," Stan muttered. Gene laughed loudly and flings his arm around Stan.

"Bet she's taught him a thing or two," he howled.

"Hey you lovely man in the front row..." Karen interrupted, pointing directly at Gene. He fingered his chest in an innocent "who me?" look.

"You look like you know what women want..." she laughed, pointing at him again.

"Ohhhhhh, babyyyyyy...." he growled.

"Can you guess what the next song is about?" she asked, bending over and standing right on the edge of the stage, giving Gene a nice shot of her cleavage.

"If we're lucky, it's about sex!" he yelled.

"Give the man a prize!" she laughed. "We all know what rock and roll is people... no denying it, no lying about it... let's get DOWN TO IT! I'm burning up with fire, smothered down with sweat. I'm waiting and aching and there's one thing you can bet...."

Another raucous song lashed through the club, tempered with a strange Doors blues quality interwoven with more Three-Dog Night. Yet it was their own sound, Peter noticed.

"You going to let her know you're here any time soon, Kid?" Gene teased.

At the chorus, Karen sang a long sustained note, not even stopping to breathe. Everyone held his or her breath along with her, stunned by her endurance. She had the audience in the palm of her hand, the magnetism roping them into her siren's song.

"Gene... shut up," Stan hissed at him.

"Go ahead. Go right on down there and get yourself a PICK!" he laughed. Stan glowered at him. "See if she'll flick it to you off her chest."

Trish seized a pick and rested it on her chest. She stopped to bounce it off to let it drop toward the floor. Several men scrambled over each other to get it, fighting. Karen was doing the same, distributing guitar picks with a bounce or a flick of the head toward the willing recipients.

"Hey SWEETHEART!" Gene yelled, motioning to Karen. Blond curls shrouded her face, and she flicked them aside with a snap of her shapely neck. Stan rose from his chair, unable to stand still a moment longer.

"Watch THIS!" Gene chuckled merrily to Lydia. Karen's blue eyes flashed, and she met Gene's gaze. Bending on one knee, she continued her song, as if serenading Gene alone. "Brought you some fresh meat," he mouthed and winked.

"Leather and lace and no more space let's get DOWN TO IT!" she sang, putting all her force into her words. Gene slapped his hand down on his thigh.

"Right here, sister," he urged. She grabbed a pick and flipped it up in the air. He leaned his head back and attempted to catch it in his mouth. Missing it, the pick landed on the table by Stan's hand. He stood straight up and came away from the table, forcing his way down front. Gene looked over at Raina and winked again. In response, she licked her lips. "Later" he mouthed, "MUCH later."

Stan rested his hands on his hips and glared at them both. He forced his way to stand right before Karen's microphone stand, dark eyes staring at her. Suddenly Karen noticed him standing with the other people dancing up front.

"Crap!!! Busted," Gene chuckled to Peter. They saw how he rested his hands on his hips. Karen suddenly stopped, tripping momentarily over her guitar chord. Raina saved the day by singing the last verse as Karen recovered. Gene looked over at Raina and gave her a quick uncomfortable look. Raina suddenly ends the song and looks to the audience.

"We're breathless like you're breathless folks," she said. Everyone screamed and hooted with a rousing clapping.

"And just to show you how much we love this warm welcome..." Raina panted. "We'll sing something a little more groovy... so you can get into the swing... This next one's all about a girls best friends... diamonds... And it's a diamond in the rough..."

Gene cast Peter a quick, uncomfortable look and looked over at Stan again. Stan was still shaking his head. Rising slowly, Gene walked over to Stan. He carried a glass of beer from the table with him. Raina's fingers glided across the piano/organ part slowly and melodically. Liz drummed slowly, then picked up a hard beat. Stanley looked onstage forlornly, not recognizing the woman panting there as she struggled to regain her composure. Gene pressed the beer into Stan's hand. Taking the beer, he drained it in one gulp. Gene regarded him sadly, feeling sort of bad for the way he teased him. He also noticed the horrified look they received from Karen. Brown eyes met blue.

As if a trap had sprung, Karen snapped, "HIT IT!"

Raina nodded to Trish and Liz, who picked up the beat of Diamond IN the Rough, transforming it from a slow ballad to a hard heavy mournful song. There was anger burning in Karen's eyes, her every word laced with sorrow and wailing rage.

"Leave her alone," Gene muttered into Stan's ear, "Let her have her time."

Stan turned, shoulders slumped over. He returned to the table. Gene looked at Karen and then back at Raina and sighed. Following Stan to the table, he noticed that Peter was watching raptly.

"Man these girls are fucking HOT!" Peter commented. "Where did they come out of?"

As the next song transitioned, Gene recounted the story about the band and about how they all met. Lydia grinned from ear to ear, because she

she knew it already.

"So let me get this straight... you and Ray knew each other before this all happened?" Peter asked.

"You could say that" Gene smiled, "We sort of worked together."

"Uh huh... in the music biz?"

"Nah, actually we were teachers, if you can believe that."

"Music teachers?" Peter laughed. He winked at Lydia. He had NO idea Raina knew Gene. Lydia nodded, and Peter's eyes grew wide.

"Actually, the younger kids and it was general studies. Tried it for about six months. Hated it."

"Aww man," Peter laughed. "I can't imagine YOU a teacher! And what about HER?"

"Wasn't Ray a teacher in high school?" Lydia asked.

"Luckily for everyone in here, she loves this better," Gene smiled. Stanley chugged another beer and pouted.

"Yeah, she was. I guess we were too lonely people, destined to be somewhere else, I guess."

"Lonely, huh?" Peter asked.

"Our hearts weren't in it. Our hearts...they're up there." he nodded toward the stage.

"You guys been together a while huh?" Peter guessed.

"About half a year. Little less. We're just waiting around, hoping to make it big. Isn't that RIGHT, Stanley?" he said as he regarded Stan.

"Yeah, whatever," Stanley muttered, suddenly rising from the table again. "Excuse me, but I need some air..."

"Excuse me," Gene stated, and followed him.

***

"Eisen, what the HELL are you doing?" Gene shouted after Stan. He headed toward the men's room, Gene at his heels. Once in the bathroom he whirled on Gene.

"I'm just using the bathroom!" he gritted. "Are you gonna fucking HOLD IT for me?"

"I'm not talking about THAT. I'm talking about OUT THERE! You're about ready to see Karen into convulsions. She can't decide whether to cry or pummel you."

"Gene, she's NOTHING like she should be!" Stanley exploded at him.

"What the hell is she doing up there?"

"Like she SHOULD BE? Who the HELL are you to say who she SHOULD BE? Shit, Stan, this is their big chance. Don't you GET it?" Gene shouted back.

"Yeah, but like that? Selling herself to all those guys who would fuck her in a minute?" he yelled. "That's my woman damn it!"

"HERE'S the difference, even though apparently you are too stupid to get it. She APPEARS to be selling herself, but she's not. Hell, you think you're not going to do the same damn thing when YOU get up there?"

"Gene... you don't get it," Stanley sighed.

"And even YOU can't fuck every girl in the audience. It's ILLUSION, my friend."

"I don't want to fuck every girl in the audience!" he rolled his eyes.

"I just want to sing damn it and have fun! be NOTICED!"

"We can't fuck them all, but we sure can strut it up there so they all have friggin' wet dreams about us," Gene said.

"Yeah, and spit guitar picks off our tongue, right?" he snorted.

"OK....wait....so you're trying to tell me, you don't want some babe in the audience to have fantasies about you? Are you NUTS?" Gene cried, scandalized.

"I do damn it..." Stan protested. "Look Gene... this isn't like you and Ray... this is serious!"

"Serious? SERIOUS? Not like....." Gene stopped, mid sentence. His eyes sparkled with anger.

"You're just bed buddies.. aren't you?" he asked. "no strings, right?"

"Look, just because you broke her damn cherry," he muttered.

"Yeah, I did that. She gave me her virginity Gene..." Stan repeated. "Something you'd never get!"

"And you don't understand me at all," Gene said sadly as he turned away. Gene regarded the floor for a moment. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I would."

"Oh really?" Stan asked. "How? What do you know about hat sort of thing at all, Mr. sex machine? You tell me!"

"Are you going to go back out there and at least pretend to enjoy this, or are you going to walk out like some kind of asshole?" Gene asked, avoiding the question. Stan sighed and closed his eyes.

"Whatever Gene. Let's just go and finish this and get the fuck home."

"I tell you THIS," Gene said as he turned around, grabbing Stan's arm. "If you leave tonight without her, there's a few guys in the front row that wouldn't mind your sloppy seconds."

"We'll see about that," Stan shouted, rushing out of the men's room.

***

The last song of the set ended, and people whistled and screamed for more. "SWEEET SWEEET SWEEET!" they shouted. Taking hands, the girls of Sweet Revenge all bowed before them. Gene sauntered back to the table. Stan was looking more unhappy than ever.

"That was one HELL of a show," Peter said. Stan looked at Peter and rolled his eyes. "Hell if you have THEM what do you need a fucking band for?"

"Mark it down, Petey. They are going places." Gene held up a finger.

"I've got pics," Lydia laughed. "They have a weird look. Did you notice the one was in a hippie skirt?"

"And the one was a biker chick..." Peter adds. "Like personalities..."

"They are a strange combination, aren't they? But somehow it works for them," Gene explained. "At least that's what Ray says."

"Wonder if that'd work here," Stan muttered. "Different but the same... looking the same..."

"I tell you what. You knock our socks off there, Pete and we'll start thinking about what we want to do," Gene told Peter.

"I will, trust me," Peter laughed.

"Because I'm not living in this hell hole forever," Gene said, with determination.

"But I don't pound that rough rock. It's my own unique way of drumming you'll get..."

Canned music resumed, and the lights rose to normal dimness. Someone rushed out from backstage, clutching a wad of bills between her fingers. She reached Gene's side and cried, "LOOK AT THIS! Two hundred freaking DOLLARS!"

"Hmmmmmmm, guess that means pizza is on you, my love," Gene purred as he pulled her down to his lap. She stuffed it into her blouse, and settled on his lap comfortably. Taking a ten, she slipped it into his shirt.

"Here's your cut."

He laughed hard, "I just got the sexiest mental picture of licking pizza sauce off you," he said as he kissed her.

She kissed him back, "Here's for the encouragement..."

He hummed with amusement as they kissed. She buried her hand in his hair, curling her fingers through it. Peter grinned. Liz joins them, with Maurice, and Trish and her new boyfriend. Pleasantries and introductions were exchanged, as the others broke down the set.

"Hey Pete!" Liz' boyfriend shouted. "Why the hell are you with THESE GUYS?"

"Wait a minute. You KNOW this guy?" Gene asked him.

"Hi bro," Peter said to him.

"Sure as shit he's my BROTHER!" he says.

"I just spent ten minutes explaining the history of the band and you probably know more than I do" Gene laughed at himself.

"I'm the other Crisscuola," he laughed, extending this hand.

"Shaddup you," Peter groaned. Gene looked over to see if Stan was laughing. He wasn't. However, Lydia was laughing so hard she's crying.

Peter patted her on the back. Maurice walked up and handed money to Liz.

"There's your cut lady..."

"So.... What? Wait until he leaves THEN you can tell me how f***cking twisted he is" Gene grinned at Peter's Brother.

Karen suddenly joined them, clapping her hands with glee. "Did you see it?" she asks, and then stopped when she noticed Stanley.

"Here's you're cut," Maurice says to her, handing her 200 dollars. She took the money, not really looking at it. She was transfixed to Stan, trying to gauge his mood. Walking around the table, she squatted down to him.

"Hi, you!" she said.

"Hello yourself," he answered, sipping his beer. He tried to be as nonchalant as possible.

"God, I'm thirsty. Any chance I can get a drink of that?" Karen asked, her hand on his knee. He put the glass down, and straightened up.

"Why the hell not," he asks. "You've got everyone else ready to buy one one..."

She digested this in silence, knowing that he is angry, but hoping she can talk him out of it. Slowly she said, "I don't WANT everyone to buy me one... And if it's that big of a deal, don't bother. I'm sure someone will have a pitcher."

"So, you're the bigtime rock star huh?" Stanley says slowly.

"Everyone was really looking at you... a lot more then they should see," he said slowly, his voice growing in anger.

"You...you liked the show?" she asked, as she pulled up her costume a bit, trying to hide where it revealed her.

"Considering I wasn't invited..." he snorted sarcastically. "I'd say it was... interesting..."

She looked around to see if anyone was listening in. No one was. She sighed and rubbed her hand on her knee. Peter was talking to Lydia and Gene and Ray kissed passionately, Raina curled up in Gene's lap.

"Stan, I was GOING to. Really, I was, but I wasn't sure if you had to work tonight or not."

"I had to work but I could have stopped in." he said. "Shit you're performing and you don't tell me?"

"Well.... Then what about the lost fare?" she suggested, grasping at straws.

"What else are you bothering to not tell me? I mean shit, why even BOTHER telling me anything?" Stanley shouted. Her eyes flashed in anger too, but she is trying to remain calm. She took her hand off his knee.

"Since I obviously am out of this loop..." Stan began. Karen cut him off.

"I knew you would do this. I knew you would get upset. This isn't your kind of gig, that's why."

"Why, because all those men were looking at you?" he asked levelly.

"I would THINK you would be proud of me," Karen snapped.

"Shit Karen, if you had any less on, you'd be doing a free show!"

"And? Let them LOOK. They aren't getting anything. YOU, of all people, should know that."

"THEY don't!" he snapped, pounding his fist on the table. Everyone looked at them for a split second then went back about their business.

"So, what are you saying? You don't trust me?" She cried.

"No... I mean... shit..." he closed his eyes. "I don't like them throwing their fucking Numbers at you!"

She regarded him with angry, hurt eyes, when he held up a slip of paper caught in her hair. She cried, "Like I'm going to CALL them, Stan! Like I even WANT any of them."

"Uh, you guys wanna be alone?" Peter asked.

"No... I'm sorry..." Stan sighed. Gene looked at Stan with a warning glare.

"Look, the show was great ladies... it's been along day and I'm tired..." he apologized hastily. "I just need to get back on duty..."

Karen's eyes widened, and she rose also, saying, "I'll go with you..."

"Gene, I gotta split," Stan said to Gene.

"Oh, hey, well...." Gene says, shaking his hand. "Tomorrow night, we're testing this guy out, don't forget."

"I gotta take her home," Stan said, pointing to Karen. For a moment, she stood there, torn and unsure of what to do. Should she go with him, or stay to spite him?

"C'mon Karen, let's get out of here..." he said, offering her his hand. She threw him a hurt glance.

"It's late and this is no place for you to be right now," he muttered, taking her arm and pulling her out after him.