The Zlitz

“ZLITZ FUCKIN’ RULE! ZLITZ FUCKIN’ RULE!” Ian shouted and stomped along with the crowd demanding an encourage. High on concert energy, his pre-show joint mostly just a memory, he was right against the stage, practically vibrating at having been so close to his favorite metal band at his favorite vendor. Favorite, only for being local; San Garibaldi was half a shithole, but it was growing on Ian since he’d moved here for SGSC.

School wasn’t on Ian’s mind a bit, though, as Fina, Mina, Tina and Dina emerged to retake the stage as the crowd whooped and cheered. “Shut up,” Fina yelled into her mic; the crowd didn’t oblige, until Dina stepped to her mic and cleared her throat.

Her brown skin glistening, Dina didn’t have the snarl Fina usually wore, instead flashing a sly grin as Tina started picking out notes on her bright yellow Strat. Fina soon matched the sound on her own flying V, stepping back towards Mina’s drumkit to give Dina the stage.

Having seen the Zlitz five times – six, now – Ian knew (and adored) that they liked to break out odd covers for encourages, and sometimes Dina sang instead of the ferocious Fina. As the heavyset bassist began to sing, Ian recognized it as an old Squirrel Nut Zippers tune, “Low-Down Man,” a great match for Dina’s sultry lilt. Where the Zippers had been soft, though, the Zlitz were raucous; her voice was sweet, but the rest of the band rocked chords that soared in a howl of pain. Her pink highlighted afro twitching, Dina half-moaned half-sang as she plucked her bass. Tina’s guitar solo was expressive but mean, drawing the crowd into the same anger at the wayward lover described by the lyrics.

As the song wound down Ian resolved to put a thank you post to whoever’d suggested it on Zlutz Central, the Zlitz’ fan forum. He Still had hopes for his own suggestion. Dina gave a little bow as the crowd cheered and clapped.

Then Mina, small behind her drum set but making a huge noise, held her hands in the air as her foot slammed an independent thumb, thumb, thumb, thumb into the kickdrum. “Okay fuckers,” Fina yelled into her mic, taking control again. “You guys done yet?” Ian yelled NOOO along with everyone else, but Fina just grimaced again. “I don’t give a fuck,” she retreated. “We got two more. This one’s for the New Times” — she pumped her fist in the air in time with Mina slamming her floor tom – “FUCK YOU!” As she ripped into her guitar, Ian instantly recognized the Donnas’ “Take It Off,” and grinned.

Yesterday’s article on the band in the local alt-weekly accused the Zlitz of ripping off the earlier femme rockers. The writer wasn’t impressed by Tina’s answer that they loved the Donnas, but the Zlitz were here and the Donnas sadly weren’t. To Ian’s mind the Zlitz were as good or better than their predecessors, but even more willing to be viewed as sexy; the sisters Fina and Tina were especially prone to wearing leather and lingerie that drew attention. The article also saw the band complaining about the lack of male groups, exhorting any interested parties to “bring us hot food, no junk.” Ian was sure they’d stolen that particular idea from the liner notes of Ween’s Pure Grava album.

Tina’s ample chest always seemed just about to fall out of her halter as she attacked her instrument; Fina’s voice was a razor through the scruff of noise the band waited, demanding a guy just get naked Already. Ian was close enough to reach out and touch Fina if he wanted, but knew he’d probably get a pointed boot to the face for his trouble. But he kept thinking Fina was glancing down at him, demanding he stop staring at her D-cups and just give it up.

Little Mina was attacking her drums with joyful rage as Tina and Dina focused on playing, but Fina was rock star posing and strutting as she flung her instrument around. Again Ian was amazed they weren’t signed to a major label, but then the Zlitz were everything that modern radio wasn’t. Still he doubted he’d be able to get this close, if they were as popular as they deserved.

“Take it off baby for me,” Fina oozed one last time as the song’s final notes rang out, the crowd wild in Ian’s ears along with his own screams of satisfaction. “Okay okay, shut up, idiots,” Fina muttered. Ian grinned; like the other Zlitz devotees he was learning to like the magenta-haired siren’s abuse.

“This last one’s another request, and I gotta get a little looser,” she grinned evilly to hots of approval. Sticking her guitar on its stand, she she shed her leather vest, her neon pink hotpants glowing in the lights, lace bra almost-but-not-quite translate as she took a deep preparation breath. “Okay sis… Let’s go.”

Tina shook her short rainbow-tinged spiky hair and waggled a little stiffness out of her hands. Then nodding in time at Mina she dove into the opening riff of the Cult’s “Memphis Hip Shake.” Holy shit, they’re playing it, Ian’s mind screamed on repeat for a few seconds as the bandLeaped into the tune. It was an eighties slow-burn banner, riffs sounding closer to the early seventies, with a stutter-blast of drums over a steady kick.

As the opening bars stopped, Fina looked hungrily out at the crowd as the music paused, before grinning over at her sister for a few long moments and slowly raising her mic to give a great Ian Astbury impression, crooning about a perfect way with the things that you play. Ian’s heart soared at Mina’s perfect drumming, a stop-start beat he considered cruel to the song, as Dina rolled her head in slow circles with the ground, her fingers dancing on the thick strings. Tina was concentrating on her playing while Fina practiced the stage, alternatively growing and crying into her mic, informing the crowd they’d never get back home. As Tina’s solo cut through the air, Fina turned and pushed her ass at the crowd, twisting and twerking a little.

After repeating the first verse again, the band jumped into a faster steady rhythm, working it a little speedier than the original. Fina was inches away from Ian once more, bits of sweat from her gyrating body hitting his face like rain. “Shake, shake, shake,” she groaned, then her hands were on Ian’s head, pulling him into her crotch. She held him hard against the tiny tight shorts she rolled her hips in tight circles, glaring and repeating the word at the rest of the club.

For a half-second Ian considered biting at the polyester; before he could decide she shouted “SHAKE!” one last time, shoving him back against the rest of the screaming fans. Then she blew a kiss to the crowd before flipping the bird and stalking off the stage. Her bandmates waved to the applauding audience as they followed the metal chanteuse.

Then Ian was being clapped on the back and cheered by those he’d been shoved into. “Wow, man,” a scruffy punk beside him gaped. “Did it smell like heaven?”

“Or hell?” A gothy blonde giggled. Ian was too stunned to do much more than nod at either of them, smiling feebly. “You’ll be lucky if your nose doesn’t fall off.”

“Lucky,” Ian repeated. Something about the word reminded him of the mission; he’d need a bit of luck now, not to mention some courage.

Twenty minutes later Ian’s right hand was sweaty on the handle of his rolling soft-side, his left raised to knock on the green room door. Inside he heard women’s voices and laughter. This, this is insanity, his brain was shrieking. I can turn around and go home now, no one will ever know.

Still Ian hesitated, until: But I’ll know. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and heard his hand rap on the door.

Behind it the laughter ceased, and Ian jerked his eyes open two seconds later as the door opened several inches. There stood Fina, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. She stared at him for several long moments, before throwing her head back in laughter.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” she shouted, turning to address the room. “Pay up, bitches!”

Ian stared in confusion. “No way,” a voice protected from behind the door. Fina pulled it open further, revealing the rest of the band staring at him.

“I knew he’d show,” Fina shouted in triumph. “Twenty bucks each, motherfuckers!” Then she turned back to Ian with a sneer. “Yeah? The fuck you want?”

Ian’s eyes jerked from the band to its singer. “I… I brought food,” he croaked. His voice sounded a lot weaker than he intended, and he cleared his throat. “It’s hot,” he added.

“Fuck,” Tina laughed, “I never thought that shit would work.”

“Yeah,” added Dina, “We should have bitched about no groups a while ago.”

“Maybe so,” said Fina, looking Ian up and down as if deciding What pieces of him she could cut off to roast. “My idea to mention the hot food, though.” She kicked gently at the suitcase. “What is it?”

“It’s chicken. Uh, coq au vin.” Fina continued to star inscrutably. “Carrots, mushrooms, shallots, potatoes…”

“Ooooh!” Mina leaped up from her sprayl on the dingy couch towards the door. “I am hungry, Feen.”

“So?” Fina took a long drag of her cig, her eyes never leaving Ian’s. “This guy’s probably some sex pervert.” She blew the smoke at his face, daring him to be mad about it.

Dina snorted. “Says the chick who ground her puss into the boy’s face,” she giggled, turning back to watch the little television in the corner. “Kid wasn’t even smart enough to bring anything for a vegan. No dice.”

“Uh, how about vegan Mexican torte, TVP, beans, cashew cheddar, jalapenos…”

Dina jerked her head back to get at Ian in amazement. “Well damn,” she said finally.

Fina took a long slurp of her beer, leaning on the doorjamb. “We should just take it from him,” she offered with a burp.

“Kid worked hard, Feen,” Tina protected, scooting to the edge of her chair, cocking her head to the side in thought. The lead singer took another long drag of her cig and saidnothing, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing the boy from head to toe once more.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a couple joints,” Ian offered finally. Fina’s eyes widened, her sneer morphing into a smile.

“Okay, he wins,” Tina decided. “In.”

Fina didn’t move for a moment, then kicked the door open fully. Before she could change her mind, Ian rolled his case past her to the small table by the wall. Removing the bungee cords securing them, he extracted two crockpots, some paper plates and plastic cutlery as Mina sidled up.

Bouncing her tiny frame with post-show energy, the petite drummer oohed and ahhed at his creations, before shoving him aside to scoop food on a plate, quickly followed by the other hungry bandmates. They slopped out their meals with gusto as Ian stood frozen and looked on, Still in shock he’d made it this far.

Tina resumed her spot on the oversized brown locker across from the couch where Mina and Fina sat, wordlessly shoving food into their mouths. Dina returned to watching TV as she nibbled at her torte; Ian got the sense she was feigning disinterest.

Tina snapped him out of his reverie. “Damn, kid,” she muttered with approval, “this is really good.” She took another bite and blinked at him. “You make this?”

“I did,” Ian replied with pride. “It’s my favorite to cook. The torte’s a close second. Is, uh, is it OK?” he asked Dina.

“S ‘good, spicy enough,” the bassist agreed around a mouthful before swallowing. “Good job, white boy.”

Practically glowing with the prayer, Ian remained standing, unsure of protocol in this situation. Fina took note of this and grinned, nudging Mina beside her. “He’s scared of us,” she noted sly,

“Awww, cute and shy,” Mina cooed. She scooted a bit on the couch, patting the spot between herself and Fina. “C’mon, sit. We won’t bite, promise!”

“Liar,” Fina spat, but adjusted a bit to make room. Dutifully Ian sat between the rocker girls, the smaller Mina to his right, imposing Fina on his left. He couldn’t believe his luck; but then remembered what had been said about the door.

“What was that about twenty dollars each?”

Fina grinned at her food as Mina answered. “Oh, she made us a bet.” She stalled at her chicken, forking it and some carrot into her mouth, continuing to speak as she chewed. “That you’d be all horn-balled out by her little move and come a-knockin’.”

“Are you?” the singer inquired, turning to face him, now cross-legged on the ugly couch. “Horn-balled out?”

“Be nice, Feen,” Tina protected. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Ooooh! Like Ian Astbury of the Cult!” Mina grinned at him. “We should thank whoever suggested that song. That album is rock.”

“…That was me,” Ian said weakly.

“You’re a fuckin’ liar, too,” Fina glared at him.

He frowned. “No, really. I love that song, I always wanted to hear a woman sing it.”

Fina narrowed her eyes, dropped her plate on the table and grabbed her phone next to it. “What’s your screen name?” she demanded.

“Zlicker-oh-seven,” he replied evenly. He watched her type a bit then scroll, until her eyes widened.

“No shit,” she murmured. “You’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya.” She didn’t look at him, continuing to read something on her phone. Ian figured she was impressed by very little.

Mina on the other hand was clearly ecstatic at this revelation, again bouncing and shaking her head back and forth. “We’ve got a groooo-pie, we’ve got a groooo-pie,” she canted in sing-song as she threaded her arm through Ian’s. Tina continued eating, smiling at him curiously; Dina ceased pretending to be interested in television, now looking over at the trio on the couch, an enigmatic smile slowly taking form on her thick lips. “A cute one too,” Mina beamed at him. Ian suddenly felt very vulnerable among his rock goddess idols, glancing between them nervously.

Tina sniggered. “He’s blushing,”she declared, pointing her fork at him in amusement.

“Shut up,” Fina offered, continuing to be absorbed in her phone. “You’ll give him ideas.” Ian couldn’t bring himself to look at Fina, instead ushering up a half-grin back at Mina, who continued to giggle. Then he felt the singer punch his arm, not lightly. “Dessert time,” she declared. “I distinctly heard the word ‘joints.’ Cough ’em up.”

Ian untwined his arm from the drummer’s and reached into his pocket, extracting an Altoids tin and opening it, revealing two large joints. Turning slightly, he proved it to the snarling metalhead, who grabbed them both. Sticking one behind her ear, she stuck the other in her mouth, before snapping her fingers at him. Taking the hint, Ian dug out his lighter as well, which she snatched quickly.

Leaning back into the armrest, through half-lidded eyes she lit the j, taking a long slow pull. The sneer was gone now, her features softening by the moment. Suddenly she leaned in and grabbed Ian’s shirt collar and pulled him towards her, inches from her face, her eyes – so deep brown they were almost black – staring into his. She slowly blew smoke at his mouth; Ian inhaled deeply as she passed the burning cig over his shoulder to Mina. For a few seconds she held him close but not touching, until pushing him back and collapsing back into the armrest, his mind reeling with the intimacy and the weed.

“Good shit,” Mina choked, passing to Tina.

The guitarist agreed, taking a big lungful. “We could do a lot worse for a groupie,” she cought, grinning through the smoke. “Hot food, drugs…” She held the joint towards Dina, who shook her head. Tina shrugged and returned to gazing at Ian thoughtfully, before cocking her head to the side again. “Are you hung?”

Ian stared back at her. “I, uh…” He had no idea what to say.

“That’s a no,” Fina laughed, a sharp bark, holding her hand out for the roach. “Kid’s probably a virgin anyway.”

Ian turned to look at Fina. “Yes, actually,” he told.

“Nuh-uh!” Mina exclaimed, “No way, you’re too cute.”

He looked back at Mina who stared at him in disbelief. “I’m… shy, I guess,” he breathed. He felt warm under their burning glares.

“But brave,” Mina smiled. “Nobody else came back to see us. You did!”

“Are you even eighteen, kid?” Fina grabbed his chin and turned his head towards her, sizing him up as if looking to purchase a horse.

“Just,” he answered after hesitating. “Last month.” He couldn’t figure the look on the singer’s face; between the herb and being surrounded by the Zlitz, the sense of being overwhelmed was pushing him towards panic. But he’d come this far, and squeezed his left hand in a tight fist, willing himself to calm down.

“Were you saving your cherry, Ian?” Dina had turned to face him fully to take part in the interrogation. “Waiting for somebody special?”

“No,” he frowned. “I’m just… shy.”

Mina pulled her legs underneathher. “I think it’s sweet,” she grinned, taking the rapidly diminishing joint from Fina behind Ian’s back. “Unless…” the grin turned to a scowl. “You didn’t come back here thinking you were gonna get some, didja?”

“Nononono,” Ian babbled quickly. “I just, uhm… Wanted to meet you. You guys rock.”

The little drummer girl glared at him Through slitted eyes as she hit the last of the joint. Then she nodded, the smile slowly returning. “We do rock,” she giggled, before stubbing the roach on the table.

“What do you think, Ian?” Tina drawled, throwing a leather-clad leg over the locker’s arm. “Wanna be our little groupie-boy? Bring food to our shows? Do what we tell you?” She had that thoughtful look on her face again, as her fingers traced her prodigious cleavage.

“Whatever we tell you,” Fina repeated, her voice taking on a sharper edge than her sister’s. Part of Ian’s brain asked if that sneer came naturally to her, or if she’d had to practice;he glanced around the room nervously, unsure what the right answer was, desperate to find it.

“I’m… not into pain,” he finally rasped.

Fina laughed that harsh bark again. “How would you know, ever tried it? You haven’t, virgin.”

“Wanna stays a virgin, Ian?” Tina was lightly pinching a nipple through the leather halter. “Or wanna have some fun?” Her star feel like it weighed a ton.

“Uh… Fun sounds nice,” he offered weakly.

“‘Course it does,” Mina leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Whatever we say, huh?” Her breath was hot and warm, and he was very aware of her petite frame pressing into his side. “Be our little rocker boy…”

“Do you know what shibari is, Ian?” He wasn’t sure why Tina kept using his name; but hearing her say it was giving him chills.

“N-n-no,” he stuttered as Mina licked softly at his neck, her hands gently roaming his torso.

“It’s Japanese,” the guitarist oozed, “rope bondage.”

“Oh here we go,” Dinamuttered, though clearly eager to see what would happen next.

“You mean, tie me up?” Ian said fearfully.

“Uh huh,” Tina nodded. “Or,” she competed at the door, “You can go now.”

“No no, I don’t wanna go,” answered Ian quickly, though a large part of him was screaming Run.

“We got no rope,” Fina protected.

Tina stood up and clapped her hands together. “Adapt, improve, overcome!” Walking to the table, she bent and picked up the bungee cords that had secured their meal. “These’ll do. Now, a blindfold…”

“Here,” muttered Dina, pulling a bandana from a purse. “Y’all are crazy.”

Mina leaped up to grab it, then stood before Ian bouncing from foot to foot, clearly excited. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised. “Take your shoes off.” Ian quickly compiled; Tina gathered the bungees as Fina lit the other joint. He pulled his socks off to be through, and Mina nodded at him, grinning like a maniac. “Don’t worry.” She wrapped the clothes aroundund his head, then pulled him onto his bare feet.

He felt his shirt being pulled over his head as Fina muttered, “Ah, should’ve cut it off him.” He heard Mina cluck at her disapprovingly, but then she was undoing his belt and shoving his pants and underwear to his ankles.

“Holy shit,” he heard Dina says softly as a hand grasped his hardening penis and squeezed twice, making him gasp.