Santa Barbara, CA – “Danger” – Rocks – October 17, 1999
It was one of those perfect days for a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, the kind where the ocean sparkles like a thousand paparazzi at a red-carpet event. Kipp picked me up at our hotel in Venice with his trademark grin and a “bitchin'” silver Chevy rental. The plan was to meet up with the band at the venue for a 5 pm sound check. Delucchi drilled it into my head not to be late as Kipp and I peeled away from the group to make our way up the coast solo.
When we arrived at the gig, the place looked more than a little deserted—boarded-up windows, a front door plastered with old newspapers, and an entranceway littered with empty green beer bottles. As I stood on the foot of the stairs, squinting at the venue’s sign, I called Brian on his cell phone. No answer. I left a message, “Hey Bri, it’s Sally. I’m outside the club, and it’s totally dead here. Are we playing somewhere else? I hope?!?! Where are you guys?”
Just then, I noticed a guy walking towards me. He had the overly confident, frat-boy swagger and the stench of testosterone coming off him was almost palpable. My pulse raced. I hung up and started walking with what I hoped looked like an equally confident stride, towards the alley where Kipp had parked. His back was to me in the driver’s seat but I could see he was still there, fiddling with something on the dashboard. The frat guy followed me, his footsteps growing louder and faster. “Hey, where you going?” he grunted. I ignored him, picking up my pace. “Hey, where you going?! I think you need to bring those legs over here!”
He was almost on me when Kipp opened the door and stepped out of the car. His innocent smile turned serious as he took in the situation. The guy took one look at Kipp (who looks like the Mr. Clean mascot caricature from the detergent label) and bolted, leaping over a fence at the end of the alleyway. My heart was pounding a drum solo. Kipp wrapped his arms around me, and I shivered but didn’t cry. I felt angry. It’s exhausting on the road, to be on guard all the time from potential danger. I believe that people are mostly good, but it only takes one asshole and you never know who they’ll be of where they might show up. While trust serves me well most of the time, I know it’s an expensive quality to own as a woman. I allow myself the luxury of it because of an event in the summer of ’97.
I was alone in my house on Matha’s Vineyard late at night and drifting off to sleep when I heard my bedroom door creak open. I slept with the windows open and assumed it was the wind, but when I looked up, there was a man silhouetted in my doorway not three feet from my bed.
Surprising to both of us, I jumped to my feet and shouted “WHO IS THAT?!?!” The confidence in my voice scared him and he turned on his heels. I ran after him through my living room. Every move we made felt like it was in slow motion. I chased the intruder out the door, onto my porch, and halfway down the stairway as he flew down the steps into the night.
Having lost him, I ran back in my house and locked the door behind me. Then, worried he might not have been alone, I called the cops and they stayed on the phone with me until someone arrived. There was no one else in the house luckily. The cops took fingerprints and called a few days later to assure me they’d caught the culprit. He’d been found sneaking into one of my neighbor’s beds where she’d been asleep with her daughter. He’d tried to rape her. The man was in custody and wouldn’t be bothering me anymore they said.
What I learned about myself that night is that when a man shows up at my door intending to rape me in the middle of the night, I’m someone who instinctually jumps out of bed and runs them out of her house. Believing that I have effective instincts that might save me in times of danger is the valuable commodity that affords me to have trust in humanity. What I learned that night in Martha’s Vineyard is that as a woman, I’m a target. Staying vigilant is imperative for me. But I also learned I can trust my instincts in a crisis and that is invaluable.
I’m happy to report Kipp and I were at the wrong venue and that when we arrived at “Rocks,” it was a stunning venue/restaurant. Life on the road is a wild ride—full of strange, hilarious, and sometimes scary moments. But it’s all part of the adventure.