singer he was
dating then. This was arranged through Mötley Crüe’s clothing designer, who’d seen a painting of a
leopard girl I’d done and suggested something similar, only with
Vanity’s long, lean likeness.
It wasn’t necessary for me
to meet Nikki to complete the job. Dru, however, began working
directly with the band, spending time with them at their rehearsal
studio and building a personal rapport.
I finally met Nikki
backstage at the Forum Club at somebody’s concert. (Can’t recall
who.) We were introduced, and he reached for my outstretched hand,
mumbled a greeting, and stared straight through me. His eyes were
glassy and he could barely speak. This was around the time he was
keeping a journal which would later become a brilliant book called
The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock
Star.
My path crossed with him
again, albeit indirectly, when I was working for Chanel cosmetics.
Brandi, his playmate model wife at the time, used Chanel, and
whenever she would order something the other salesgirls would give
me the sale because they knew that my husband had a connection to
the band. I would send Brandi notes with the latest product
information, along with regards from my family to hers. By now, Dru
had been to their house a few times and had given Brandi a gift
when she and Nikki had their first child.
The last time I saw Nikki
was at a music trade show, about four or five years later. Based on
his healthy appearance, I assumed he was drug-free. We’d just
received a Christmas card from his family with an adorable picture
of his kids.
His gaze kept drifting in
my direction, as if he thought that he should acknowledge me
somehow. I was standing in the background while Dru chatted with
him and Tommy.
When the band members
walked away, a cluster of fans following them, I got the sudden
urge to call out to Nikki.
He spun around and I made
reference to the card, telling him, “Your children are
beautiful.”
He flashed a proud smile
and thanked me. He was beaming, and I saw the look of a man who
loved his children more than anything . He also seemed achingly vulnerable. (His marriage was on the
skids, but I didn’t know that then.)
Later that day, Dru
attended a business meeting, and I left the trade show with some
friends and walked around the area. Then one of my friends said to
me, “Nikki Sixx is across the street and he’s waving at
you.”
Yes, indeed, there he was,
smiling once again, and trying to get my attention. It was the
sweetest moment, as if I was the celebrity instead of him. I waved
back, just a little finger waggle, and we headed off in separate
directions.
A lot of time has passed
since I saw him, and I doubt he remembers me, as our encounters
were rather fleeting. But what’s important is that I remember how
he affected me that day.
When I started plotting
this series, I didn’t intend for Seven to get his own book. But as
his character developed, he prompted me to tell his story, to give
him a voice, even if he wasn’t supposed to be real.
So there you go: my
experience with Nikki Sixx and how it triggered a schizophrenic
hallucination named Smiling Seven.
And now, if you’re so
inclined, you can turn the page and read the excerpt from BEAUTIFUL
CONFUSION and continue on the path of Room 105.
.
BEAUTIFUL
CONFUSION
Book One in the Room 105
Series
Prologue
I hated schizophrenia. I hated
everything it did to Abby, the sister I adored. With her pixie
blonde hair, disturbed thoughts, and enormous blue eyes, she
reminded me of a scattered little fairy. Her full name was Abigail
Ann Winston, but I’d been calling her Abby for as long as I could
remember. As for me, I’d been christened Vanessa Day Winston and no
one had ever shortened it to anything. She was twelve and I was
thirteen, and although both of us were said to have gifted IQs, our
minds were light-years apart.
“ My people need a
warrior,” Abby
dating then. This was arranged through Mötley Crüe’s clothing designer, who’d seen a painting of a
leopard girl I’d done and suggested something similar, only with
Vanity’s long, lean likeness.
It wasn’t necessary for me
to meet Nikki to complete the job. Dru, however, began working
directly with the band, spending time with them at their rehearsal
studio and building a personal rapport.
I finally met Nikki
backstage at the Forum Club at somebody’s concert. (Can’t recall
who.) We were introduced, and he reached for my outstretched hand,
mumbled a greeting, and stared straight through me. His eyes were
glassy and he could barely speak. This was around the time he was
keeping a journal which would later become a brilliant book called
The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock
Star.
My path crossed with him
again, albeit indirectly, when I was working for Chanel cosmetics.
Brandi, his playmate model wife at the time, used Chanel, and
whenever she would order something the other salesgirls would give
me the sale because they knew that my husband had a connection to
the band. I would send Brandi notes with the latest product
information, along with regards from my family to hers. By now, Dru
had been to their house a few times and had given Brandi a gift
when she and Nikki had their first child.
The last time I saw Nikki
was at a music trade show, about four or five years later. Based on
his healthy appearance, I assumed he was drug-free. We’d just
received a Christmas card from his family with an adorable picture
of his kids.
His gaze kept drifting in
my direction, as if he thought that he should acknowledge me
somehow. I was standing in the background while Dru chatted with
him and Tommy.
When the band members
walked away, a cluster of fans following them, I got the sudden
urge to call out to Nikki.
He spun around and I made
reference to the card, telling him, “Your children are
beautiful.”
He flashed a proud smile
and thanked me. He was beaming, and I saw the look of a man who
loved his children more than anything . He also seemed achingly vulnerable. (His marriage was on the
skids, but I didn’t know that then.)
Later that day, Dru
attended a business meeting, and I left the trade show with some
friends and walked around the area. Then one of my friends said to
me, “Nikki Sixx is across the street and he’s waving at
you.”
Yes, indeed, there he was,
smiling once again, and trying to get my attention. It was the
sweetest moment, as if I was the celebrity instead of him. I waved
back, just a little finger waggle, and we headed off in separate
directions.
A lot of time has passed
since I saw him, and I doubt he remembers me, as our encounters
were rather fleeting. But what’s important is that I remember how
he affected me that day.
When I started plotting
this series, I didn’t intend for Seven to get his own book. But as
his character developed, he prompted me to tell his story, to give
him a voice, even if he wasn’t supposed to be real.
So there you go: my
experience with Nikki Sixx and how it triggered a schizophrenic
hallucination named Smiling Seven.
And now, if you’re so
inclined, you can turn the page and read the excerpt from BEAUTIFUL
CONFUSION and continue on the path of Room 105.
.
BEAUTIFUL
CONFUSION
Book One in the Room 105
Series
Prologue
I hated schizophrenia. I hated
everything it did to Abby, the sister I adored. With her pixie
blonde hair, disturbed thoughts, and enormous blue eyes, she
reminded me of a scattered little fairy. Her full name was Abigail
Ann Winston, but I’d been calling her Abby for as long as I could
remember. As for me, I’d been christened Vanessa Day Winston and no
one had ever shortened it to anything. She was twelve and I was
thirteen, and although both of us were said to have gifted IQs, our
minds were light-years apart.
“ My people need a
warrior,” Abby
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