Hella Nation - Evan Wright [132]
“I can’t say ‘blow job’?” Nikki asks, amazed.
“No, man,” Stern whines. “I’ve been fined over two million dollars for that. We’ve got to bleep it.”
THAT EVENING’S SELLOUT SHOW at New York’s Roseland is something of a triumphal return for Mötley Crüe. Their last gig here, when they were touring with another singer in place of Vince, had to be canceled for lack of interest.
During the sound check inside the Roseland, Vince taps the tail section of a rocket ship lying on the stage. Nikki uses it as a prop for his song “Rocketship.”
“This is right out of Spinal Tap.” Vince kicks it. “Hopefully, by the time we do our big tour in the fall, this will be in Nikki’s backyard in L.A., and his kids will be playing on it. This is fucking lame.”
IN THE DRESSING ROOM DOWNSTAIRS, Mick, who has spent the afternoon with his girlfriend, is uncharacteristically talkative.
He warms to his favorite subject, guns. He explains how he and his brother, a lieutenant in the California Highway Patrol, set up elaborate shooting courses in the desert and blow up human figures with melon heads.
Mick waxes sentimental about the tripod-mounted World War II anti-aircraft gun that fired explosive rounds with an incredibly flat trajectory, and which he had to sell a few years back in order to “save my house during a divorce.”
The arrival of Mick’s girlfriend puts an end to the discussion of weapons. Robbie-Lauren Mantooth describes herself as a “blond Cherokee from Tennessee and Australia.” A Guess jeans model, Sports Illustrated swimsuitissue model and an underwater photographer for National Geographic, Mantooth perches on Mick’s knee, modeling an aquamarine halter top that clings to state-of-the-art breast implants (according to Mick Mars).
Mantooth speaks passionately about the plight of great white sharks, and her work lecturing in elementary schools to preserve them. “I show a film where I’m hugging a shark,” she prattles, looking up with jumbo blue eyes, serene as the summer sky, and abruptly changes the subject. “Would you like to see the heart on my butt?”
Mantooth wiggles off Mick’s lap and bends over in her lavender leather pants, to reveal a heart shape stitched into the leather that covers her heart-shaped butt cheeks.
“I wonder if Larry Flynt would ever let me take a picture with him that I could use in Christmas cards for my friends. I mean with my clothes on.”
“Larry would probably ask if he could lick your pussy,” Mick mumbles.
“Oh, well,” Mantooth says in her cheerful, bell-tone voice, as she trots out of the room to fetch a diet soda.
In her absence the room still smells faintly of perfume. Mick breaks the silence. “Thank God I left Indiana. Where I grew up the only life was getting fat, driving a tractor, growing corn and raising hogs.”
THE ROSEL AND PERFORMANCE ENDS with Mötley Crüe slumped dejectedly in their dressing room, feeling that, despite the enthusiastically mindless slamming in the crowd, their performance was off.
Vince has the added problem that while stepping off the stage, his girlfriend, Playboy model Heidi Clark, ran up behind him to give him a hug, just as he flicked his head back, causing an impact that left her with a shiner.
Heidi sits behind him on the dressing room chair. “Vinnie, you really hurt my eye,” Heidi says, wincing.
Across the room, Nikki strips out of his leather shorts and wraps himself in a towel. Heidi screams, “God damn it! I just saw Nikki’s balls. I’m getting the hell out of here!”
Moments after Heidi runs out, the tour assistant knocks on the door and says Sebastian Bach, the lead singer of the now defunct glam heavy metal band Skid Row, is outside and would like to come in and say hello.
“How is he?” Tommy asks.
“He seems pretty sober,” answers the tour assistant.
Bach zigzags in, waving his mane of shoulder-length hair from side to side. “You guys put on a wicked show! Nikki, I thought you were too rich to stage-dive, bro!”
“How’ve you been?” Tommy asks, slapping his palm.
“Great, man! Fucking