Song Story
Lament for a Groupie Girl
Inspired by the Tony Joe White song: Groupie Girl
I opened my hotel door to find Dick standing there, grasping Susie by her wrist. He strolled right in and pushed her down onto the sofa.
“George. I’m done. Take her. It’s about time you got your cut. She’s off her head, but still got some life left in that pouty mouth of hers.”
I looked over at Susie slumped on the chaise. Short skirt. Long bare legs and blouse open, showing off the milky skin of her breastbone. When Dick saw me staring, he pulled aside the material.
“She’s built. See? Get her to sway those babies over your thighs. I can tell you the weight of them is unbelievable considering what a wee lass she is.”
Susie’s eyes were closing. Her long hair tangled up with goodness knows what fluids. Dick slapped her face a few times. “Susie. We’re not finished with you yet, gal.”
I can’t really say how many weeks I’d looked on as the band had passed her around like a joint. Except getting her to suck on them rather than the other way around. I’d chosen never to get involved. There was something vulnerable about this girl that clawed at my gut. And even though I could see the beauty in those eyes I realised she was out of control, it wasn’t only the blow she got off on — it was also the high from fucking the members of a well-known band.
Like a joint she was passed round By the groups that came into the town And she no longer cared about her welfare
Once Dick had disappeared, I poured myself a whiskey and sat opposite her. Watching. While she napped. I didn’t think she could be older than sixteen. Seventeen at a push. I knew if she carried on at this rate, she’d weather fast and might not even make it to twenty-one. But what did I care? She was just some groupie kid. I threw a blanket over her and went to bed.
I was awoken by the sun streaming through the curtains early the next morning. It took me a moment to remember I wasn’t alone. Felt like I was, though. Except when I passed her sprawled out form, under the cover, I could smell the stench.
After I showered, I ran a bath for the kid. Thought she could clean herself up. Wash her pretty blonde hair, and I’d sort a taxi to take her home. Get her out from the eternal downward spiral she seemed destined for.
Dictated by the highs, and needing to get above the lows.
Surely she had some family who cared? Briefly, I remembered when she’d first appeared on the scene. Bright-eyed. Clear skinned. Looking like an angel.
Putting a good dollop of perfumed oil in the tub. I called her. Nothing. Goodness knows what she’d taken the night before to still be out for the count.
I gave her ten minutes and then pulled off the bedding.
Her head was slumped to one side. Eyes wide open. Vomit smearing her chin and down her open shirt. I’d never seen a dead body before and running to the toilet I was as sick as she’d been.
The police arrived. Not much was said. After all, she was just another groupie girl.
I have been a fan of Tony Joe White, better known for songs he wrote for others, for a few years. My brother-in-law introduced me to his music and when I saw this video of him singing Groupie Girl, I was hooked:
Written for this prompt (genre, country music):
Another story of mine inspired by a song:
