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| "Sweet Head" // "Velvet Goldmine" |
Chapter 6: "Year 4: Til There Was Rock, You Only Had God"
His rise to stardom, James, now Ziggy, reflected, felt like an insurmountable mountain. Impossible and improbable to even conceive of until one day he had done it. He had made it. It was as if the climb had leveled out somewhere and instead of an uphill battle, it was like being strapped on a rocket to Mars. And now he was on top of the world. Everything and anything you could think of was at his disposal. He was put up only in the poshest hotels, played the swankiest gigs all over the country, could have his pick of any bird he wanted, and had thousands of adoring fans all dedicated to following him and his message to the ends of the earth.
Of course, it was largely in part to his fortuitous meeting with the Spiders, the name of Ronno, Weird, and Gilly's gang. Together they didn't just make sound - they ascended. They touched divinity. They were the embodiment of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. The Spiders had made sure of it, as they introduced James to more cocaine and girls than he could remember. They were glamourous and dangerous and although James was bewildered and amazed at it all, Ziggy was not.
Ziggy would be not only the greatest rock star, but be the living embodiment of a rock god. He was just about the best anyone could hear. Brother Ziggy was tough as glass and clean as night. He could be a rubber peacock, an angelic whore, a wrought iron face upon the wall. He had a bedroom, every mirror in town, with the type of head he got these days. He was the kind of man that his mother had warned him of, filled with a type of violent insanity, an instability that was close to genius, close to God, and nothing could stop him from saving the world with his message.
Taking on that alter-ego was the best decision he had ever made. As soon as he declared that he was going to be their front man, James knew he had to impress them. So he did. He had grabbed Ronno's kit and started belting out the craziest, most far out jams he could lay down. He knew all of his works by memory, had nothing but music playing in his head for two years, and he knew that the Spiders would understand what he was trying to say when no one else would.
It turned out that his inner compass hadn't steered him wrong. Ronno was impressed (and the numerous rounds consumed on James' account hadn't hurt either). He was even more impressed when the next day James showed up with his hair shorn, died bright red, with shaved off eyebrows, and a face full of make-up in a fantastic Japanese-inspired costume. He had a vision, (and some balls), and Ronno couldn't deny that he looked out of this world. They had their first gig that night.
Of course, that hadn't stopped James from butting heads against the Spiders when he declared that for the plan to work they also had to wear make-up and put on zany outfits and women's heels. He had also insisted that the Spiders change their name to the Spiders From Mars in order to emphasize their extra-terrestrial message. Not to mention that he had only given them four hours to rehearse before performing together. But after the first night, when the Spiders had gotten even more girls than they ever had before, there were no more complaints with how James - Ziggy - ran the show.
And their first gig was an unparalleled success. It was the first night James had fully taken on his alter-ego persona and it felt like he was Living again. For the first time since long before the end of the world had been declared, James was doing more than just surviving and existing. It was exhilarating and exalting. It was like ecstasy at a free festival, like touching the very soul of holding each and every life. The music was never more rockin, the crowd never more crazed, the fervour never more frenzied. It was what James had been waiting for, but he knew he would never partake in it. He had to die for it to go on. Now, there could only be Ziggy.
"Traumatics thick and fast, your faith in me can last; Besides I'm known to lay you, one and all"
--
She knew that she would be left in the wings of a dirty old hole-in-the-wall pub, but that didn't stop her heart from breaking. He sent her photographs of himself every now and then, but they were impersonal, all shots of his performing on stage, and merely inscribed "For My Honey" with a signature at the bottom.
He simply didn't have time for little Myrna-Jean anymore, although he never officially told her that or even technically broke up with her. Rather, one day his things were simply gone from Haddon Hall. Their last night together had been like any other, a passionate burst like a solar flare that seemed to last an eternity until it didn't. He offered no explanation, no excuse, and Myrna-Jean expected none. She would've thought less of him if he had. They had known from the beginning theirs was a relationship of convenience. It was unfortunate that her heart had to get tangled up in the whole affair.
He was performing nationwide, and she was still stuck in little old Beckenham. Tony, Rudi, Bevan, and Sonny had all left long ago, disillusioned by James' inconsistency and descent into insanity. But Myrna-Jean had known for a long time that James was like the Stardust he so loved. A bright, burning flame, disorienting and spectacular, but gone in an instant leaving nothing but dust behind him and in his soul. That was simply his nature. It still hurt though. And now he was going by this ridiculous name - "Ziggy" - and knocking about with some extremely questionable people. If the James she met years ago was still in there, he was long since buried and left to rot.
She still believed in him, in his original message, deep down, and thought it must be love that she felt for him (or maybe that was just the side-effects of the cocaine). But that wouldn't stop her from making sure James knew exactly how much he hurt her.
--
Despite the fact that the crowds were getting larger due to the increased adulation and adoration of Ziggy and his spiders, Valentine hadn't missed a single performance. Finding a single space in the cramped venues was now nearly impossible as many of Ziggy's acolytes, as Valentine liked to call them since he believed they were more than mere "groupies", clamoured and fought to be as close to their chosen Messiah as possible.
But without fail, every single night, no matter where or when, Valentine would quietly arrive and establish himself in a nook or cranny that others always seemed to overlook. He had been converted ever since seeing StarDust all those long months ago, and his devotion was unwavering, never failing.
He would watch with gleaming eyes from the shadows. He never approached StarDust - Ziggy, it was later revealed to be his first name, and what a glorious, fitting title it was for the boy - as he preferred to greedily devour him, savour him, with his eyes.
He had mesmerizing hot red hair, high, sharp cheekbones that was accentuated with his makeup, and crazy legs that went on for miles that he showed off in his skintight jumpsuit, with glinting rings on his fingers. And every night he pranced around on the stage, showing off his bulging attributes to his adoring followers, shaking his God-given ass, undulating his pelvis, regularly pantomiming sexual gratification to the wide-eyed crowd, drowning in the ecstasy of the rock 'n' roll divinity.
There was no doubt about it. Ziggy was sex and salvation itself, personified in a deliciously, unearthly beautiful form. Valentine could feel his groin stirring just at the memory of last night's show, when Ziggy had got on his knees before Ronno and puckered his sweet lips just - there - right on the lead guitar's body, so close to heaven. He groaned at the thought of his most treasured fantasy.
He would be noticed, one night, in the shadows. Ziggy's eyes would land upon him, piercing straight into his soul, in the middle of his song, right when he sang, "with my guitar and me soprano, we can give you sweet head", then he would leave the club, only to be cornered by Ziggy himself. He would wordlessly be led by the hand to Ziggy's domain, swept up and spellbound, his knees shaking with cheeks aflame. And Ziggy would simply clutch him close to his breast, holding him, caressing him, before showing him the leather belt round his hips. Then, with his nebulous body swaying above, Valentine would be guided to kneel, an eager supplicant to his wonderful panther like princess. Soon, his tongue would be swollen with devil's love, ravishing Ziggy, having him whole, before, like a king volcano, he would reach his ultimate crescendo.
Ah, to dream. To be so chosen by Ziggy. Truly, he was a goldmine. But it was never to be. Valentine knew this, as he restricted his interactions with Ziggy to the nights he performed. It was a way to establish a comforting ritual that he hadn't had since when he had been a believer in God. It was like communion every Sunday. Only meant to be taken in church, the sublime feelings sequestered and constrained to the comforting, repetitive act. Never to be partaken in outside of the strictest confines of time and space. His nightly attendance was like showing up on a Sunday morning. music the bread and wine for his soul. His face the icon at whose feet he worshiped.
So for now, Valentine had to content himself with disguising the damp front of his trousers as he settled in for yet another night's show, eager to once again be graced with his object of adulation, adoration, and salvation.
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