I was 22 when I first met Davina. I was also very wasted.
The coke was from Jame’s and mine’s personal stash. Every self respecting musician uses coke. Alcohol is water, it’s what you hydrate with, weed will make you so mellow that you won’t even make it into the studio, LSD will make you channel Hendrix or Morrison, only you’ll never remember what you played, Pinks are just scummy, and H is a fast-track to the morgue. Coke makes you creative though, gets your fingers around those difficult chords and fuels you to inspiration at two in the morning. So when Russell gave it to us during recording at the studio one evening, or morning, we graciously accepted. It was quite badly cut, but you don’t get a refund policy with coke, and definitely not with free coke. That’s also probably why we still had some with us; we reserved it for times when we really needed it.
I’d really needed it a lot over the past two days. I was the sound engineer for Sepultura, a Brazilian death metal band’s first tour of South Africa. Max was still their vocalist and the Thunderdome in Johannesburg had sold out 48 hours earlier. We probably had about five thousand headbangers at that gig. We were in Cape Town now and for the last 48 hours, I had been responsible for getting fifteen tons of sound gear down from Johannesburg, to Cape Town and setup for tonight’s, Saturday’s gig. Sepultura was too heavy for the clubs in central Cape Town so we were playing in a bar out in Durbanville, Raffles. Periodic pinches of coke up my nose had kept me awake.
After two and a half hours of solid wall-to-wall guitar, grinding bass, double-kick drums and gutteral vocals, we were finally finished for the night. I powered down the equipment and went upstairs for the private after-party. I never drank while I was working but I always hammered it afterwards. James brought a beer over to me and asked if I wanted any LSD? I had no idea where he’d found some acid but I never refused a trip.
I was coming up very hard when Davina started to dance. Too much acid and just getting to the bathroom can be a problem, but early in a trip, and combined with 48 hours of speed, I was amped. Think Duke before he tries to check into a hotel in Vegas, not Gonzo in a trashed room.
One minute everyone was standing around, drinking, talking and the next minute, a large area had cleared and we were all watching Davina take her clothes off.
I didn’t have any experience with strippers. Usually, on Saturdays I gigged with my local band at the Summit Club in Hillbrow. After sound check in the early afternoon, we would have time for a few beers and something to eat before the club doors opened. James always went downstairs to the revue bar for his drinks and to watch the ladies dance. I never joined him. I didn’t find watching ladies dance too sexy. Was it sexually liberated women taking advantage of morally corrupt men, or was it disrespectful men objectifying at-risk women? Or something else? I didn’t have the emotional maturity at the time to get into that. I preferred to keep it simple. I preferred to get a Nando’s burger around the corner. And I preferred my sex at home, tied to the bed, with my girlfriend cutting me up with a knife. But, I wasn’t telling James that.
So, when Davina started to dance I watched, only mildly entertained. And when she danced up to me and threw her arms around me, I was amused. But when she pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, “Take me,” I was stunned.
And I was confused.
“Where,” I replied?
Ok, read that again. I kid you not, that is what I said. “Where?”
Honestly, where the fuck did I think she wanted me to take her? On a date? To the beach? For ice cream? At 01:30AM? I blame my naivety. I blame the coke. I blame 48 hours of no sleep. I blame the acid. It was all of it.
James, standing next to me, overheard and burst out laughing.
Davina squinted out the side of her face, like WTF but just nodded in the direction behind her, and said, “To the stage.”
I hesitated. I was tempted to laugh her off entirely but I looked around and saw that everyone in the bar was staring at me, at us, waiting to see what was going to happen. They were all silently asking: has he got the balls? I didn’t have the balls not to. I picked Davina up, she wrapped her legs around me and I carried her onto the stage.
I can’t recall what we did on stage. James told me later that I put on a good show. I do know that I managed to keep my shorts on. Small mercy.
An hour later, the tour bus was getting ready to leave. I saw Davina as I walked out of the bar. She was sitting on the floor, crying, and a friend was comforting her. I was completely off my head by then but I still felt like a dick seeing her crying. I approached them. “Did I hurt her? Did I do something,” I stammered? Five I’s in a row. Now I was Gonzo trashing the hotel room.
Her friend looked at me. “It’s not you. She’s going through something at the moment,” she said, and turned back to comforting Davina, dismissing me entirely.
I only knew Davina for a few dances. I may have been an entertaining dance partner but I was a pretty shitty date.
Learning To Love The Ride 