The Devil Wears Black Leather: Chapter 17

David S. Grant is posting his latest fiction “The Devil Wears Black Leather” while he works on his latest book, the fourth and final installment that follows: Bliss | Bleach | Blackout. The working title is of course, Bleak. Why is he doing this? Because he loves you! (Note: Also, may be drunk, hence the third person intro.) For more information (or purchase/download) David’s books check out his Goodreads (Bleach 4.6 out of 5 rating; Bleach | Blackout 4.8 rating) or Amazon page.


The next day I try to work on my novel, but I have very little motivation.  Instead I sleep and watch reruns of Spin City and Saved by the Bell.  I spend an hour of the afternoon meditating and telling myself that I am not going to do drugs anymore.  I leave for Vegas tomorrow and I have not packed.  What do you wear when you have a meeting with Elvis?  I stare across the room at my puke-stained Chuck Taylors.

Lucy and Jagger call and we all decide to go to a party in TriBeCa that is a friend of someone that recently bought a piece of art from Jagger.  The party has a name which usually means there will drugs.  The name of the party is “The Manufactured Chaos Party.”  It’s definitely a name that screams out large amounts of drug usage.

Outside I meet Lucy and we are walking down the steps of the subway station when a large rat sized cockroach passes us as if he is about to miss his train.  We decide to leave the station and instead get a taxi.

Lucy and I meet Jagger on the corner of West Broadway and White and walk over to the loft on Franklin.  We are greeted at the door by Star, it’s her party, and she says “Just call me Star like Star Jones without the angry!”  She cackles and then points to where the alcohol is in the kitchen.  There doesn’t appear to be any drugs, only alcohol.  “That’s interesting” Says Jagger seeing the same thing.

Lucy and Jagger take off through the fast growing crowd and I decide to stay behind and head over to the kitchen to make myself a vodka rocks.  Star comes over and I comment on the people and she says she has calculated the number of people will fill up the apartment enough that “You can feel the breath of your neighbor, but not their sweat!”  Then Star stands back and asks me why I am rubbing ice cubes on my chest and I don’t have an answer.  More cackling and then Jagger comes back, motioning across the room to Lucy who is dancing with some girls and then looks at me and says, “She’s evil”, and then he is distracted because a short man with a mustache comes through the door, but he passes by and Jagger continues, “She’s cool though.  It’s good, I think,”  We are both sweating.  I make vodka for Jagger and freshen up my drink, we both look around at the people and that’s when the theme begins to make more sense.

The guest list is very random.  A passive guy with an Italian girl who is going around telling everyone her family is part of the mafia, no not the descendents, the actual fucking mafia.  The passive guy smiles and drinks a lot of vodka mixed with Sprite and leaves to go smoke every ten minutes.  Outside on the terrace (where everyone is smoking) there is an Irish construction worker chain smoking Winston cigarettes and liberally using the word nigger.  A gay man runs around inside letting everyone know that he is “in charge” of the syrup and yelling about needing a studded cod piece.  There is a Spanish dancer who doesn’t speak English.  She is dancing with an Asian lesbian who came with two other Asian girls who are both drunk and talking to an annoying girl in a blue skirt who is unhappy with the last three movies she has watched.

“Who does this?  This is going to blow up!”  I say to Jagger who looks back at me and smile, “Sure is. Star is crazy.”  I wonder what she bought from Jagger, but am afraid to bring it up, plus I just dropped an ice cube down the front of my pants.

After one hour there are at least fifteen empty wine bottles, five empty liquor bottles, and the walls are covered in maple syrup.  There are only twenty people present.  Thirty minutes later neighbors are banging on the door three people are getting trampled because they passed out and syrup is dripping from the ceiling.  Star stands on her small coffee table and announces “The birth of chaos!”

This leads to more liquor, more wine and Lucy begins kissing the Spanish dancer.  The Spanish dancer comes over, wipes syrup from her lips and puts her fingers in my mouth. “I hear you’re going to be a famous writer”, she grins.

Jagger comes over and he is covered in syrup and carrying a bottle of tequila.  We both take a couple pulls and then Star lets everyone know it’s time to leave by playing Jefferson Starship’s “We Built This City.”

Outside Jagger, Lucy, and I are staring at each other.  Jagger loses his balance and falls to the sidewalk, Lucy laughs and I puke, again splashing onto my Chuck Taylors.  I remove my shoes and socks and leave them on the side of the street.  This is what it’s like coming down from chaos without drugs.


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The Writing of David S. Grant View all posts by Pulp Scribbler

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