No Regrets (37 page)

By the time we finished the Reunion Tour and went into the studio to begin recording
Psycho Circus
, Paul and Gene had already been pushing my buttons by not including me in several decisions that affected my life. The plan was for all four of us to reunite in the studio for the first time since we recorded
Dynasty
in 1979. I remember presenting three or four demos to the producer, Bruce Fairbairn, and the band. Before I sent them off, Jeanette warned me by saying, “Don’t send them that many songs; they’re gonna steal your ideas!” I just laughed it off, but while doing research for this book, I revisited her statement and remembered one of the songs I submitted was titled “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Rock ’n’ Roll.” Upon closer examination of the lyrics, I realized that some of them mirrored one of Paul’s songs on
Psycho Circus
, “I Pledge Allegiance to the State of Rock ’n’ Roll.”

It eluded me at the time because I was more focused on another song I had written, “Shakin’ Sharp Shooter.” I felt this song was the best of the bunch, but it still received resistance from everyone. I was
determined to get at least one song on the record because I wanted to be represented as a writer. The other guys liked the music but had problems with the lyrics, so I offered to rewrite them. Gene actually came up with the new title of the track, “Into the Void.” It was the only
Psycho Circus
song on which all four original members performed, and it was very well received by the fans. I also performed it live on the
Psycho Circus
tour.

While out on tour in support of the record, we were involved with a feature film called
Detroit Rock City
, which was about KISS fans on their way to a concert in Detroit. Paul, Peter, and I had minimal participation in the film except for a live performance at the end; it was mostly Gene’s baby. During the shooting of the movie, Gene had specifically approached me and asked whether Monique would be interested in doing a cameo. I figured since his girlfriend Miss Tweed and Paul’s wife were being included in the cast, why not Monique? I thought it was a really nice and friendly gesture to invite her to fly to L.A. and be in a scene with the lead character, Edward Furlong. So I called her and told her about the invitation. She loved the idea, so we made hotel and flight arrangements for her, and she came out to L.A. when it was time to shoot her scene.

Everyone on the set was extremely nice to Monique, and she was catered to as if she were a star. She really enjoyed the whole experience and made some new friends as well. It was like a dream come true for her since she’d long been interested in acting, and this was her chance. Monique stayed in L.A. for four or five days and we were lucky enough to get in a day or two of quality time for ourselves. When she got back to New York, she told everyone about the fun she had on the set. I remember how anxious and excited she was to see the final cut of the film. She kept saying, “Dad, it’s gonna be my acting debut!” I was really happy for her, and I enjoyed seeing her so excited about something that I was part of and had helped make possible.

Eventually we got a final copy of the movie. I’ll never forget the look on Monique’s face as she waited with anticipation for her scene with

Edward to materialize on our giant TV screen. When we got there, to our surprise, it had been edited out. She was heartbroken. All that work and preparation—flying three thousand miles to Los Angeles, learning her lines, talking with the director, being made to feel like she was part of the team—only to have the rug pulled out from under her. She just couldn’t hold back the tears, even with others in the room. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she turned to me.

“Daddy, why?”

I knew it wasn’t an accident. Gene had been involved in the editing process on a daily basis. I even remember getting tapes from him, early on, with alternate scenes and endings, but Monique’s scene was always included. I knew Gene was probably pissed at me for something I had done, but to get back at me by hurting my daughter? I mean, it was
his
idea in the first place, so what the fuck was he doing?

I never felt the same about Gene after that. He had reached an all-time low with me, and this particular snub contributed greatly to my second departure from Kiss.

In the summer of 2000, I was in Dallas, Texas, during
the Farewell Tour. On my day off I received an invitation from my cousin Bill for a barbecue. He had a ten-acre spread in the suburbs, and I was excited about the prospect of going shooting since I knew he had a gun collection. Bill had been in the air force and knew a lot of interesting characters. When I got to his place I was greeted by Bill and my cousin Scott, along with a friend of theirs who was a Vietnam vet.

After a few beers and a joint we ventured into the backwoods of his property on a search-and-destroy mission. I tried out several of Bill’s automatic rifles and settled on an Uzi. We set up a bunch of targets, and after going through several hundred rounds we took a break and began catching up. Bill’s buddy told me he’d been a demolitions expert in the war. I was quite fascinated by some of his stories and asked if he could give demonstrate any of his bomb-making techniques. He agreed,
but since we didn’t have any dynamite or C-4, we ending up going to a supermarket and picking up a few household items. We came back to the ranch with a gallon jug of Clorox, several boxes of mothballs, and some baking soda.

Before long he had concocted a recipe with the ingredients, packing the mixture tightly inside a gallon jug. Upon sealing it with the cap and installing a fuse, he informed everyone of the potential danger, since it had become a very powerful explosive. I was a little skeptical at first, but when I looked at Bill and Scott and saw their reaction, I realized that this guy wasn’t fucking around.

“What should we blow up?” I asked excitedly.

Bill suggested an old dam that was on the far corner of his property. It was constructed of big logs and railroad ties and didn’t have any real practical use. When we got there, his buddy crawled down into the riverbed and placed the makeshift bomb at the base of the dam with the fuse exposed. Since it was deep in the riverbed, and I couldn’t see it, I figured I’d be safe just a few yards away.

“You’re going to have about a minute to get the fuck out of here after I light this thing,” he said.

The other guys nodded.

“Don’t fuck around,” he said. “I’m not kidding.”

When he lit the fuse, Bill and Scott took off immediately and yelled “Paul! Fuckin’ move it!”

I quickly followed Bill, eventually stopping about fifty yards from the riverbed behind a tree. While waiting patiently for the explosion, he told me to cover my ears. Suddenly there was a thunderous explosion, like nothing I’d ever encountered. The ground shook for a few seconds, and I noticed Bill looking up.

“Watch out for falling debris!”

Within seconds, large chunks of wood and pieces of railroad ties began raining from the sky. I couldn’t believe the amount of destruction the device had unleashed. It also made me realize how deadly this concoction would be if it fell into the wrong hands. Half the dam
was obliterated; all that was left were mangled logs and railroad ties thrown randomly about, as if some child had become frustrated with his Tinkertoys.

After the explosion, we had a few more beers and decided to finish off the rest of the ammunition. I had several clips for the Uzi and began shooting relentlessly. The gun finally overheated and jammed. I kept squeezing the trigger in frustration, until suddenly a round exploded inside the chamber, sending shrapnel out of the hole where the casings are ejected. A fragment must have hit me in the chest, but I was so numb from everything I had consumed, I barely felt any discomfort.

After that incident, my cousin decided it was probably a good idea to call it a day, and we headed back to the house for the barbecue. While I was eating, Bill noticed that my T-shirt was covered in blood. I was perplexed, because I still didn’t feel any significant pain. So I removed my shirt and wrung it out. We were all amazed at how much blood poured onto the ground.

“Shit,” Bill said. “What the fuck happened?”

“I must have been hit with something when the Uzi jammed.”

Bill wanted to take me to the hospital, but I declined. I told him I was okay, and I asked him to take me back to the hotel so I could take a nap.

I woke up around midnight feeling disoriented and nauseous. I started getting really worried—maybe I’d actually been hurt worse than I had realized. I decided to call the front desk and ask for assistance.

“Can I help you, Mr. Frehley?” the clerk asked when she picked up the phone.

“I think I’ve been fuckin’ shot!”

I probably should have chosen my words more carefully, as it wasn’t long before the sirens were wailing outside the hotel and my room was overrun with emergency medical technicians and police officers, all naturally thinking that there had been a shooting in my hotel room.

“Where’s the victim?” one of the cops said as he entered my room.

“Right here! It’s me!”

The detective seemed confused.

“Where’s the perpetrator?”

“It was an accident,” I tried to explain. “Could you please just get me to a hospital?”

With the help of our manager, Doc McGhee, everything was smoothed over in fairly short order, and I was whisked away by ambulance to a nearby emergency room. Doc followed in his car to give me support. Upon arrival at the hospital, I was examined and X-rays were taken, revealing small bullet fragments in my chest.

“You’re lucky,” the ER doc explained. (Man, how many times have I heard that one?) “Another inch to the left and one of these would have pierced your heart; you would have bled to death.”

Apparently my rib cage had impeded the shrapnel. That was the good news. The bad news was, the fragments had to come out. Drunk and anesthetized, I could still feel the doctor trying to dig out the little fuckers. At one point the surgeon asked a nurse for a magnetic probe to help locate the fragments.

“I don’t think that’ll work,” I slurred.

“Excuse me?” the doctor said.

“Bullets are made out of lead, right? How you gonna find ’em with a fuckin’ magnetic probe? Lead isn’t magnetic!”

I might have been a little out of it from the injection they gave me for pain, but I could still remember basic science from high school.

Eventually they gave up and left a few pieces in my chest. Then they sent me back to the hotel, armed with some painkillers and antibiotics. I slept for about twelve to fourteen hours and put on a show the next night. The other guys knew what had happened but didn’t seem too fazed or concerned. I guess they were accustomed to the insanity.

Following a short break in the tour, I flew home to
New York for a visit. On the day I was preparing to fly back to California for a concert, we had a big problem in our backyard. A deer had fallen through the canvas cover of our swimming pool and drowned. The incident was very upsetting, and it took a while for me to calm down everyone in our house. We called the police and the emergency unit, and it was a huge ordeal getting the dead animal out of our pool. The whole thing got me sidetracked to the point where I ended up missing my flight. Everyone on the West Coast became concerned about whether I would make the concert. At the last minute I asked Monique to fly with me since I didn’t feel like traveling alone that day. She quickly packed a bag and we headed for the airport. Somehow we had missed the second flight, and at that point everyone began to panic. We managed to book on one last flight, but it would really be cutting it close. On the plane, Monique and I had a few drinks. She had just done her hair and was wearing really large sunglasses. I remember the stewardess thinking Monique was my girlfriend, and she played the role to the hilt as a joke.

Before we had taken off, I told Doc that we’d need a helicopter waiting for us if I was going to make the show, so when the plane landed, the copilot was at the gate and quickly directed us upstairs to the heliport. That night we were doing a sold-out show at Irvine Meadows. We took off in the helicopter and landed in the parking lot. I ran into the dressing room and was told that the show was scheduled to go on in roughly thirty minutes. I was surprised to see my road manager, Tommy Thayer, in my costume and makeup. I guess they really didn’t think I was going to get there on time, but I was determined to do the show. I quickly threw on my makeup and costume and we hit the stage. The show pretty much went off without a hitch, which I think surprised just about everyone.

After the concert, we went back to the hotel and crashed. Since Monique had had very little time to pack, she had forgotten several items. The following day I decided to take her shopping on Melrose
Avenue. After a few hours we wound up at a Japanese restaurant. I drank a little too much sake, and upon leaving the restaurant must have been spotted by some cops. We got in the car, I started up the engine, and a police car immediately pulled up behind us with its lights flashing. Two cops—one male, one female—got out and approached from behind. The female officer asked Monique to come sit in the patrol car with her while the male cop asked me for my information. While the female officer was questioning Monique, there was a case of mistaken identity. Just like on the plane, the female cop assumed Monique was my girlfriend and started questioning her about alcohol and drugs.