By Otis B. Driftwooed
An eerie, expectant hush fell over the sold-out stadium when she, refulgent, princess lovely, cooed the band’s biggest hit, “Grace Kelly Kiss,” before channeling Betty Davis, shatter-glass brittleness when the band whipped into the drum-led guitar slither of “Wicked Eve”. Lighters and reverence were abandoned as the crowd followed that tonal shift, women and men dancing, shouting out their hormonal responses.
These moments, caught on video, would prove to be the band’s most-remembered live Eighties performance, as evidenced by online chat rooms and referenced media clips when she, still beautiful, now a movie star, died in her sleep in her Beverly Hills home more than thirty years later.
“We’ll never experience the likes of her again,” one Tumbling Stone critic wrote in his heartfelt eulogy. “She was unique, multi-talented, endlessly beneficent – in a word, pure.”
Copyright ©2011, 2012 Otis B. Driftwooed. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
Otis B. Driftwooed was born in the United States, and lives in the Pacific Northwest. This is his first published story under this name.