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Don’t You (Forget About Me)

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Don't You (Forget About Me)    

 

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S he twisted lips, the flexed fist, the nervous vegetarian body, the abused hair, the growl, the guitar, “White Wedding” ? all of these things leapt out of a cloud of smoke into my living room through the newly installed MTV just as I was coming of age and trying pot and couldn’t stop putting whole cupboards worth of food into my mouth. Some people you can’t help but think about having sex with: Joan Jett, Klaus Kinski, Angelina Jolie, Iggy Pop, Vladimir Zhirinovsky. But Billy Idol ? I take his sex appeal personally. And maybe I’m a delusional egomaniac, but I’ve always believed I would eventually have sex with him. Why not? If a person wants to live in Japan for a year, they should! If they really, really want to have sex with Billy Idol, then they should do that too. I don’t think Billy would mind.
   The only bet in my life I lost was in 1998. My friend Elizabeth Rose and I were discussing the parameters of my then open relationship, and she said, “I bet he wouldn’t let you have sex with Billy Idol.”
    I said, “Of course he would! He knows I’ve had a crush on Billy since I was fifteen years old. He wants me to be happy!”
    She made me write on the dollar before I had to give it to her: “Elizabeth Rose was right and I, Lisa Crystal Carver, was so, so wrong.”
    Well, gentle reader, I’m sure you have a Billy Idol of your own. So just imagine if your boss called you and said, “Your Billy Idol has a new CD out — Devil’s Playground, which is actually good! — and I want you to call your Billy Idol and say whatever you want, and for that, we’re going to pay you.”
    Okay. Now imagine the fateful day arrives and it’s going unbelievably well. Your Billy Idol is saying stuff like “I like you” in his cigarette-shredded voice suffused with laughter and guttural exclamations (the guy cusses like a motherfucker). Now imagine your Billy Idol has a publicist named Gina who must be in love with him, because she breaks in on the line and says you guys are going too far. She reminds you and your Billy Idol that everyone is supposed to be doing a job here.
    “Too far is never far enough,” you want to snap back at her, but you control yourself, because Gina is in control of the switchboard. She could cut you off at any time. And then, when you realize your goddamn tape broke and you tell Billy, she does just that — cuts him off before you can even say good-bye.
    “I found another tape! I promise to keep on topic,” you beg. “Can I please just have three more minutes? Hooksexup has a million readers! Young ones … they buy albums!”
    “The only time I can fit you in,” the icy and unplaceably accented Gina responds, “is when Billy’s next project comes out. In two to four years.”
    I was left with a mangled tape in my hands and tears in my eyes. “I am an incompetent boob,” I said to myself alone in my room. “I don’t deserve to have dreams!” It was as if I’d finally made it to Tokyo but forgot my visa and had to go home on the next flight.
    Well, I Scotch-taped the remnants of the tape together. Here you have the first five minutes of my conversation with the one, the only, Billy Idol.
GINA: Lisa — Billy Idol.
LISA: [screams a little, laughs, chokes]
BILLY: Hello, Lisa. It’s Billy.
LISA: [laughs] Uh … oh … hi! How are you? [laughs]
BILLY: Oh, pretty good!
LISA: Do you have a degree in literature and William Blake is your favorite author, or was that just a dream I had?
BILLY: No I don’t particularly. I went to University for a year but I left to join a punk rock group.
LISA: And your favorite author?
BILLY: I just wanted to read a lot of books, American authors. I wanted to be able to use the university, not it use me.
LISA: Hm. [disapproving]
BILLY: Heh, heh.
LISA: Um … do you want to marry me, after my divorce is final?
BILLY: Well, eh … how much money have you got?
LISA: Money?! I don’t have any. But I have a lot of love.
BILLY: Well, what’s your figure?
LISA: I’m skinny.
BILLY: Yeah, maybe.
LISA: I hear that you go out with strippers all the time.
BILLY: [laughs]
LISA: It’s not true?
BILLY: No, not all the time. Dancers — I like dancers.
LISA: I strip! Actually, no I don’t. I can’t dance for beans.
BILLY: I can’t dance either. I’m not bad in the sack, though.
LISA: Me, too! What a coincidence! On your new album, you say, “Ride on my lemon tree — you know what I mean.” Are you calling your penis a tree and your balls lemons?
BILLY: Sounds like it!
LISA: Don’t you think that makes people think that your sperm might be sour?
BILLY: [growls and sighs] Yeah, well, c’mon — you make lemonade.
LISA: So someone should have a sugar treat in their mouth … a throat lozenge.
BILLY: You’re not gonna take it that far.
LISA: Are you saying you stop before the magic moment? Or — oh! — I’m being too literal.
BILLY: Yes, you’re being too literal. Brilliantly done rock-n-roll is dimly brilliant, brilliantly dumb. Not what you’re doing! You’re trying to intellectualize it. It can’t be intellectualized.
LISA: I wasn’t trying — it just came to me!
BILLY: Yeah, well that’s the problem! It shouldn’t have even come to you. Don’t think! Just react.
LISA: This is probably why I can’t dance.
BILLY: Yeah, because you’re thinking. Don’t think!
LISA: It really is a ball-heavy album.
BILLY: It’s a bullocks-heavy album.
LISA: Usually rock is all about the cock, but you had Santa’s balls, and your lemons, and—
BILLY: Yeah, really! I never thought about that. Heh heh heh heh heh! I never quite thought about this album being a BALLS-HEAVY album. All right — I love that!
LISA: But when you’re not singing about balls, it does get quite romantic and melancholy.
BILLY: Aww.
LISA: Were you sad?
BILLY: Well no — it’s just when you write songs, those sorts of things tend to come out … emotions.
LISA: Yeah … and Satanism!
BILLY: Oh no, those weren’t Satanism songs. That was fear of evil. Overcoming evil with good — that’s what we want to do.
LISA: So you’re not getting into Satanism.
BILLY: No — overcome evil with good.
LISA: [sighs with relief] Oh, I didn’t get that! Oh, phew. I thought I was going to have to call the wedding off.
BILLY Like in “Body Snatcher” — you have to fight.
LISA: There’s one song where you’re standing on a wall of bones.
BILLY: That’s an allegorical heroin . . .
That’s where the tape broke, but I didn’t know and blithely kept interviewing. I will tell you what I remember. Though my memory — inexact under the best circumstances — was no doubt affected by this weird thing that happened: I got SO HOT — uncomfortably so. I took my temperature immediately after and it was 103. I took it again a couple hours later and it was back to 98.2. (I’m a little cold-blooded.) Is that even physically possible?
    Anyway, these are my impressions: He was speaking so sweetly about his son, Willem, in that ripped-up voice. He took ten years off to raise his son and daughter, Bonnie Blue. I asked how an energetic person like him was able to adapt to the excruciating pace of children — they can take an hour to get their pants and socks on. He said he loved it. After trying always to top his own sales with each new record, and non-stop touring and heroin-cocaine-alcohol consumption, it was a relief to just quit everything. He said he didn’t want his son to bring a friend home from school and find “Billy Fucking Idol, Crackhead.” But, he added, now that his son was heading off on his own, he could start being “a rake” again.
    "Oh Billy,” I cried at one point, “I’m not a fool. I’m just a fool for you.” That’s when he said he liked me. Unless I was having an auditory hallucination. Our only obstacle is this: Halfway through the interview, he started thinking my name was Crystal. So how will he ever find me? I imagined, while my fever was 103, Billy roaming the bars of Dover, New Hampshire, asking after Crystal.
    I never even got a chance to invite him to Rye Beach. It’s private — only town residents can go. We could’ve borrowed my stepmom’s car; she has a Rye resident sticker. We’d wear hoodies and no one would recognize him and bother him for autographs, as everyone in Rye is old and near-sighted.
    Alas.
    In the song "Cherie," Billy thanks Will’s mother (Perri Lister, a singer/actress/dancer) and basically asks her to take him back. (Bonnie Blue was born to “a fan” shortly after Will was born.) He told me that without learning about love and regret through raising children, he never would have known how to completely love a woman.
    I think that’s very romantic — a world traveler with access to Playboy bunnies, and he wants this middle-aged woman he grew up with, who is creative on her own, with whom he has a son. In the ten years Perri and Billy were together, she seemed to have a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy concerning Billy’s numerous indiscretions (and, I’m hoping, her own). So I can root for them to get back together to fulfill my daydream of true love lost and found, yet still not have my own personal goal — which wouldn’t take long — impinged upon. (Even if Billy and I married, it would probably be a short one.) I can’t say for sure that Gina broke in twice because she loves Billy and she could hear the love blossoming between us and she had to stop it any way she could. But I’m going to think it.
 

Click here to buy Devil’s Playground.

? 2005 Lisa Carver and hooksexup.com.

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