After the set Pearl and I went backstage to this tiny greenroom they had at the Gemini—literally, a green room; it had dingy green carpet and olive-green walls, and the air was funky green with a bad old-man smell. I had just taken off my high heels and about seventy-five pounds of makeup when the manager of the place came in, and right behind him was this troll in a suit. Howie Kelly. He was so damn short he was eye level with Pearl’s chest, and don’t you know he kept his eyes locked there for those first couple minutes he started running his mouth?
