A  C A S E  O F  L O U N G E  L I Z A R D - R Y

Lounge Lizard-ry : adjective-- a proliferation of Lounge Lizards, or a State of Reptilian Grace 

I made the mistake of going to the Rainbow last night. Usually on weekends the Rainbow is packed with drinkers and rockers. Tourists looking for Slash, Exchange students looking for Slash, or Slash's Wife looking for Slash. It's packed to the Gills, Mullets on every barstool, Lip Service Spandex still reigns King. But lurking amongst the Fringed Leather Bon Jovi Jackets and the cheap stench of Aqua-Net is the unmistakable slither of the Lounge Lizard from the Latin Three Piece Suitus, Gold Chains Maximus)

There are the Old Men, lawyers mostly, who think they can hook up with a young rock chick by plying them with free drinks and lots of Coke. And believe it or not they can . There are the Wanna-Be Brian Epsteins, Entrepeneurs whose job it is to Bamboozle young bands out of their Publishing. And believe it or not they do. There are the pseudo-Gangster types, big tough guys that push their weight around. And nobody fucks with them. The Rainbow has existed for 40 years now, it is a Landmark on the Sunset Strip and every Rocker sooner or later must make his Hajj to it's glimmering Neon Lights. Last night however, was an object lesson in Severe Lounge Lizard-ry....

My wife and her new gal-pal decided on a night on the town so off to the Rainbow we went. It was a Wednesday and therefore only half full. When you walk into the Rainbow everyone sitting at the tables crane their heads around to look at you, they want to know if you're SOMEBODY.  I think some dude recognized me 'cause he flipped me off and said-

"KISS RULES!!"

Yes, I know, we've been through that. Just send me a shitty E-mail like the rest of them and get over it. They were playing KISS on the house sound system, apparently a bit of revenge from Gene-O Himself. It sounded good. I guess They're Right and I'm Wrong.

The three of us sat at the bar, ordered drinks. On the wall next to me was an old picture of the band D'MOLLS. Do any of you remember D'Molls? They were a contemporary of mine back in the Late Cretaceous Period. They were popular and got a deal before we did so I was sorta jealous of them. Their brand of Cock Rock was no different from the Rest, Roxxy Roxx and Filthy Roxx, Roxx Regime and Roxx Coxx, Foxxy Roxx , Foxxy Foxx, Foxxy Feux and so on. If your band name or your stage name had either the words Roxx or Foxx in it (emphasis on the Double X's) you were considered cool. Rik Foxx. Vikki Foxx. Would you do it in a Boxx, would you do it with Vikki Foxx ? From the Catt in the Hatt. My name had Two Z's in it so I was different and not at all like them. JiZZy Pearl. Nikki SiXX. LiXX Array. You had to have a name back then, something funny, something Hollywood. I think as people got older they sort of outgrew the silliness associated with that time. Rik Foxx
dropped the one X to just FOX, after all we're going into the New Millennium and it's time to be serious. So anyway D'Molls got signed and got some short-lived notoriety and then they disappeared into Rock Oblivion. But their picture is still up at the Rainbow in a place of honor and
that was good. 

My wife and her friend were both looking hot and getting ogled hard from all sides. My friend Simon Daniels said hello and we chatted. He is a Survivor like myself and a good guy. 

"See that guy over there?" He pointed to the corner of the bar.  "He was the sound man at Bourbon Square."

For those of you not from L.A., Bourbon Square is a Faceless Valley Dive, home to such bands as Coxxy Loxx, or was it Coxxy Roxx?

"So what's so special about this guy?" I asked.

"He thinks he's Robert Plant."

I turned nonchalantly and looked at him. He was a fat bloated Roadie-looking long haired John Q. Everyman. He hugged his Coors Light and dreamt of The Song Remains the Same. 

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"His band broke up."

Yeah, I know. His drummer died.

So now he sits, looking not so much like a Robert Plant but more like a tired Biff from Saxon. In six months he'll look like Lemmy.

"I want to dance!" My wife said suddenly.  "Let's go upstairs!"

The upstairs is where people go to dance. It's real dark up there and perfect for doing drugs or groping or talking all sorts of Hollywood Bullshit Talk. It's also the Den of the Lounge Lizard...

The three of us went upstairs and we surveyed the scene. On the dance floor were two Mullet-Heads, tourists presumably, dancing and enjoying themselves. It seemed safe so my wife and her friend went down the little set of stairs to dance and I sat at the edge, watching. Then it Started.

"Your girlfriend---she's Hot"

I turned to look and there sitting next to me was a Replica of Richie Cunningham's father, straight from Happy Days, a drunken coked-out Tom Bosley. Obese, dressed in a 3-piece suit, he looked at me with beady red ferret eyes and a leer worthy of John Wayne Gacy.

"Yeah" I said, turning away.

I watched the girls Dirty-Dance, I didn't want to talk to this fucker.

"You must have a problem." He said and he started to play the Pac-Man table-top machine in front of him. His hands were jiggling so much from the drugs that he kept losing, he'd put in quarter after quarter and just lose.

I watched the girls dance and in the course of ten minutes they got hit on 4 times. And when I say hit on I mean solidly interrupted, forced to stop dancing , forced to be shitty, real shitty just to make the Lizards go away. I should have brought my bag of Romaine Lettuce to keep them at bay. The girl's dancing had awakened the Primal Reptilian Instinct to Mate.

First came Tom Bosley. He positioned himself right between my wife and her friend and started to dance like Zorba the Geek, kicking his heels and spinning, opening his lime green sportcoat to show off his attractive lime green vest and purple tie. The girls started laughing at him, they couldn't help it --the guy thought he was The Lord of the Dance. They laughed at him and he started laughing too  'cause I guess that's what IDIOTS do when they don't know they're being laughed at. After a few minutes he was rebuffed and he went upstairs to the VIP loft, probably to fortify himself with a couple more lines.

Then came Mr. Adidas Warm-Up-Suit Guy. He was hammered and swaying from side to side, he just bumped his way into them. That's his Way, he gets chicks to notice him by spilling his drinks on them. This guy was creepier than Bosley, He DEMANDED to Party, he wouldn't take no for an answer. I watched it all go down and decided not to intervene; my wife can handle herself. 

"DID YOU JUST TELL ME TO FUCK OFF?" I heard him yell over the loud music. He seemed befuddled, like this was the LAST thing he'd expected to hear. And he still wouldn't leave, he just stood there holding his drink, swaying from right to left like one of those Punch-Me Clowns.

Over in the far corner someone was gesturing to me. He was a big gangster-looking guy, a Goodfella. He waved to me and I thought he recognized me so I waved back to him and his cronies. I guess he took that as a Sign to come over.

"Do your girls like to eat Pussy?" He shouted.

I looked at him. Now what do you fucking say to THAT?

"Uh...I don't know" I said tentatively. This guy was big and his accent was foreign so I just decided to play along.

"I WANT YOUR GIRLS TO DANCE WITH MY GIRLS!!" He said and he pulled this tall attractive Jamaican Girl out of her seat towards us. She was pretty but she seemed nervous, probably from all the Blow he'd shoved up her Beak.

"Girls?" I said to them.

"Why don't you go dance?"

My wife took the hint and the three chicks went back on the dance floor, leaving me with Sammy "The Bull" Gravano.

"Don't get me wrong " he said in his stilted English.  "I LOVE TO FUCK. I like to give all my girls the BIG DICK!!"

And he showed me his forearm to emphasize his prowess.

"I used to just fuck them but now I get them to eat their own pussies first and THEN I FUCK THEM!!" He said proudly.

I looked at this Piece of Shit and imagined all Sorts of Horror behind those closed Doors. This guy was the Devil, he wasn't just a Lounge Lizard, he was a fucking Gila Monster. This guy looked for girls fresh off the Bus, naive, innocent, looking for a career in modeling or television. He'd get them High, feed them Lies, then introduce them to his Associates, Scum and Bag. Pretty soon she's a piece of Warm String Cheese, fucking and sucking for Rock Cocaine. 

"We're having a party later" He put his hand on my shoulder. "IN BEVERLY HILLS...." He enunciated the words real slow, "Bevvv-errr-lly Hillssssss", so I would be real fucking impressed and want to sell my wife and her friend into White Slavery for an Eight-Ball.

"There's some girls there, fresh from the Bahamas" He winked.  "Two girls for every guy. Lots of FUN!"

I just nodded my head, I didn't want to say anything sarcastic to piss him off. It was Time to Leave, the air was getting thicker, it must have been Full Moon.  Josie came off the dance floor and I pulled her arm.

"We're getting out of here," I said " Where's your friend?"

I grabbed the two girls and their coats. We walked past the Lizard and his Posse and we headed downstairs. We sat at the bar for a minute, finishing our drinks.

"That girl didn't want us to leave," My wife said.  "The one we were dancing with. She said she'd lost her boyfriend and those guys had given her a bunch of coke and she didn't want us to leave her alone with them."

I couldn't help her. She was already a Fly caught in their Web, her Die was Cast. She'd either find her boyfriend or she wouldn't. She'd either get away from them or she wouldn't. In the Jungle the gazelle doesn't question the Lion as to Why He Kills, he just sips slowly at the Watering Hole, counts his Blessings and moves on. On the way home I gave my wife's friend a short lesson in Hollywood, she being new in town and vulnerable to all the Lies and the Villains. Every day Young Naive guys and girls come to L.A. to get a record deal or to get on Baywatch.... and most don't.