A NOTE TO THE READERS FROM DAVE: The story you are about to read is true. Johnny and I have been known to take a certain, shall we say..."license"...in our writings for Bikini, but in this case none was taken. Literally. And that was the beginning of the end. Read on, and you'll see what we mean...The three young lads from Australia's silverchair turn a simple test drive by the beach into a near international incident, with a little help from the Santa Monica Police Department. Dave Navarro makes a full confession from the shotgun seat.
PRE-TEST DRIVE, GATHERING IN THE PARKING LOT OF BIKINI'S POSH OFFICE DIGS IN SANTA MONICA
Daniel: (looking at the Montero) This thing is bitchin'! This is gonna be great.
Rob: Have you ever driven a car in America before?
Daniel: No. Never. We're gonna crash!
Dave takes shotgun. The silverchair members pile into the back of the Mitsubishi. Rob casually hopes into the driver's seat.
Dave: Rob...uh, what are you doing? It's their test drive.
Rob: Well...The Publicist doesn't want them to actually drive on the roads. They're...used to driving on the wrong side of the road. They've...never even driven in this country before.
Dave: What?!?
Rob: And... they don't have licenses with them. But I signed all the waiver forms. I'm the Oliver North of this trip.
Dave: But...
Ben: Who's Oliver North?
Rob: He's the guy who took the fall for President Reagan...(blank stares from all the silverchairs)...here...when...Reagan got into all that trouble...back in the 80's...
Chris: (ignoring Rob) The leg-room back here is quite lovely. I love this vehicle already. Open the sunroof!
Dave: (ignoring Chris) Wait a minute...they're supposed to test drive the car and they can't even drive it? Oh... I get it. So this is a big joke on ol' Dave, huh? So what're we gonna do then?
Rob: I figured we'd take them down to a parking lot by the beak off PCH. Y'know, let 'em cruise around the lot for a while and get some pictures.
Dave: Parking lot?!?! You've gotta be kidding.
Rob: Well...no.
Dave: So you're saying that I came all the way out here just to... Okay, whatever...I guess I sorta owe it to these guys to stick around.
At this point you need a little background information: Dave and the Red Hot Chili Peppers toured with silverchair last year. On the final night of the tour, Dave and his bandmates hired strippers to come out on stage during silverchair's performance of their big hit "Fat Boy" or whatever it's called, and strip. It was intended as a suprise for silverchair, y'know, a little road prank from the veteran rock band to the new kids on the block. The stunt, however, backfired - as one of the strippers got all tangled up with young Daniel, playing his heart out, and accidentally unplugged his guitar. All while the Peppers looked on - in horror.
CUT TO: A BEACHFRONT PARKING LOT ON THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY
The boys & Dave pull into the lot. The Photographer, The Mitsubishi Guy, and The Publicist arrive in the trail vehicle a moment later.
Rob: Okay, guys. Here we are. Who wants to drive?
Rob climbs out of the Mitsubishi and Ben eagerly replaces him in the driver's seat. The Mitsubishi Guy and The Publicist already looked rather concerned. It's official test drive time.
Ben: Here we go!
Sound effects: SCHWCHHHHHTTHK- TOUINK- CHHHH!!! (Ben is turning the keys and grinding the starter motor. The car is already running.)
The Mitsubishi Guy: Um...
Daniel: Nice one, Gillies!
Dave: (still shotgun, egging 'em on) Why don't you just take off?!?
Daniel: Give 'em a bit of fright, Gillies! Pretend you're gonna go out on the beach! (yelling out the window to the caretakers) We're just going out on the beach, all right? We'll be back in twenty! (to Gillies, with urge, lovin' it) Pretend you're going, because they fully think we are. Do it!
Dave: (more egging) I think we might just want to go out on the sand anyway. Just go for it, man. Fuck it... just go! How does it go into four-wheel drive?
Ben: (referring to the Mitsubishi Guy) We can go and ask him...
Chris: Just put it in first and go!
Excitement all around. Ben punches it and pops the clutch. It's driver's ed all over again. The Montero lurches into first with a squeal of the tires and - ba-BUMP - Ben, Chris, Daniel, and Dave are crusing on the beach. Laughs galore. Now THIS is fun.
Ben: Aw...we're gonna get bogged in the sand...
Dave: Fuck it! Don't worry about it!
Daniel: Just do it! We'll push you out of it!
Dave: We are on the beach...we are breaking the law...this is terrific!
Teenage laughs from everyone. They're already "bogged" as Ben predicted. The Mitsubishi Guy appears very concerned and begins to approach the vehicle from the parking lot with a sense of gloom. The fun could be over...
Chris: Just hit the gas! (shrieks of laughter)
Daniel: What the fuck?!? (howls) Uh-oh, the guy is coming over...
Dave: Just punch it, baby!
Ben: (getting discouraged) Someone else fucking drive...
Chris: How 'bout reverse? How 'bout reverse?
Dave: (referring to the Mitsubishi Guy, who is gaining on them) He's not that worried... look at him. (Ben tries to reverse in vain.) Oh, now he's worried! Oh, he's running... he's running. We're in the car five minutes and The Mitsubishi Guy is running over here...
Chris: This is so funny. This is so fun...
The Mitsubishi Guy is actually not going to break up the fun. He points to a gadget and, za-zip, they are easily freed from the "bog."
Dave: Oh, we're moving...we're cruisin'! Mitsubishi, baby!
Daniel: We're breaking the law. (half sings a la Judas Priest) "Breakin' the law! Breakin' the law!"
Consider this for a moment: By this point all sense of restraint has been recklessly abandoned. Endorphins have been released, and the carefree bunch are giddy and high. They're invincible. No harm can come to them. They're rock stars behind the wheel of a rockin' four-wheel drive. They're sailing down the open beach. They're zipping past volleyball courts. Sand is kicking up into the wind. It should be noted here for, y'know, like, irony's sake or whatever, that before silverchair was actually called silverchair they were briefly know as...the Innocent Criminals.
Daniel: Do a donut!!!
Ben: We're gettin' away from those losers!
Dave: (scanning the beach - applying full yoke) There's tire tracks out here, see? It's okay. (Deep inside, Dave knows the tracks are probably from a lifeguard vehicle, but...)
Chris: Look out Gillies, you're gonna run into a bin! (Australian for trash can.)
Daniel: If the fuckin' cops come, we're fucked!
Chris: You'll lose your license, Gillies!
Ben: That's all right as far as I'm concerned. I don't have a fucking license!
Dave: (the voice of reason) I don't think you can lose your Australian license though, not in Los Angeles. At worst, you'll get a citation... yeah...pay a fine...don't worry about it...Sony'll pay it.
Daniel: (confidently) Yeah.
Ben: (laughing) They're gonna be spewing if that happens.
Dave: (the rock sage) See... this is the advantage of being in a big rock band. You can just drive around and have the record company pay the citation.
Chris: Look, they're making a movie.
Typical Los Angeles scene: A motion picture is being shot on the Santa Monica beach, complete with rent-a-cops (off-duty and/or retired police officers hired to sip coffee, hassle passers-by, and pretend to be "connected" to Hollywood.)
Daniel: (to the rent-a-cop as they whiz by) How ya' doin' big fella?!
The cop is not amused, nor does he respond...so they think.
Dave: This is beautiful, boys!
Break: Daniel gets behind the wheel. Dave's recovering from the endorphin rush and reason begins to filter in...somewhat.
Dave: Hey, how old are you guys?
Ben: I'm 17.
Chris: 17.
Daniel: (taking off wildly) Me too.
Dave: (to no one in particular) Hmmm...You're all 17...and... I'm 29. (the seeds are beginning to take root) So...that makes me your...legal guardian!
The boys don't seem to understand the gravity of Dave's realization. In fact, they're not even listening to Dave. They're still dripping with enthusiam. Howling. Jumping on each other's lines. Basically basking in adolescent mayhem. Daniel recklessly meanders onto the boardwalk, you know, right up there with the bicyclists and skaters. Cackling all the way. Then it's back onto the sand.
Dave: Here we go...I don't know how I could be letting this happen... this is...the uh...The Sand & Sea Beach Club. This is a private beach we're driving onto!
Beat: For one icy moment, fear has wandered into the Montero.
Chris: Don't be a faggot, Danny! Keep driving!
Daniel begins doing fishtails all over the place, leaving The Photographer and the increasingly concerned onlookers in the sand.
Ben: So much for the photographer taking pictures of us!
Dave: We're tearing up the beach!
Chris: (ignoring Dave) Do a fishy! Do a fishy!
Dave: (spying the rent-a-cop again) Oh, there's the police officer. He's not pleased.
Uproarious laughter from the guys.
Ben: (howling) Look out for the baby!
There is a small child not too dangerously near.
Dave: (as David Letterman) There's a child over here for Chrissakes!
Chris: That's so funny.
Daniel punches it, at the same time blowing the horn.
Dave: How's the car handling there, Dan?
Daniel: It's not bad in the sand. (with bravado) I think it's the driver!
They're claimed a small portion of beach as their own. The fact that the Mitsubishi, Sony, and Bikini representatives do not seem to be parentally reacting to their reckless teenage abandon serves only as a license to escalate their wild activites. They begin to peform "figure eights" in the sand, leaving deep crevasses in their wake. The Photographer has caught up to the vehicle and is caputuring it all on film.
Sound effects: Sirens can be heard faintly in the distance.
They glibly joke.
Dave: Uh-oh! Here they come, Daniel! They're coming for ya'!
Ben: Yeah, Daniel, get ready to go to jail!
As it just so happens...the joke is on them. All at once, three vehicles converge upon the group. Two Baywatch-style lifeguard units and a Santa Monica Police squad car - all three with red lights and sirens blazing - surround the Mitsubishi mavericks. It turns out the rent-a-cop radioed ahead to the real police and put a dragnet on the jolly jokesters.
Ben: Holy shit, it's the cops!
Dave: Um...
Sound effects: NONE Utter silence from within the Montero. Fear has fully set in. All the giggles, shouts, and sirens have faded into a distant sinister echo.
Daniel: (worried) I... I don't have a license!
Dave: (mustering up some confidence) Don't worry aobut it, Dan! You guys are famous! Famous people get away with shit in Los Angeles. I mean, this is Santa Monica, right? Didn't you guys hear about that O. J. thing?
Daniel: Yeah... but, Dave, the last time I was in Santa Monica, we played a show right over there (gestures to the pier down the beach) and I got hit in the head with a bottle. I'm cursed in Santa Monica!
Dave: Just be cool. Here he comes...
The most enormous, ripped, Carl Weathers look-a-like, menacing cop you have ever seen gets our of his car and approaches the Montero. He's visibly angry. Furrowed bork cracking. Daggers of reflected sunlight shoot off his shiny badge into the frightened eyes of the young men in his warpath.
CLOSE UP OF THE BADGE: It reads simply yet ominously: "57."
57: (bluntly, to Daniel) License and registration.
Daniel: What...?
57: (angrily) Let me see your license and registration! Now!
Daniel: (visibly shaken) Uh... I don't have it... We're doing a test drive for...
57: I didn't ask you what you were doing. Where is your driver's license?!
Dave scrounges around the glove box for the registration papers. He pulls out the only envelope in the glove box and offers it to Daniel.
Dave: Give him this...
57: (ignoring Dave, to Daniel) Driver's license!
Daniel: (sinking) I haven't got one. We're here from Australia!
57: (now yelling) I don't care where you're from! Let me see some identification!
Daniel: I haven't got any. We were just... We're from Australia!
57: Is this your vehicle?!
Daniel: No. We're from...
It is startlingly evident to Dave that none of the "entourage" who have chaperoned this merry event appear to be coming to their rescue. No Bikini. No Sony. No Mitsubishi. Dave looks around for the cavalry. None. The grim mugs of assorted law enforcement personnel have replaced all familiar friendly faces on the beach. Meanwhile, Officer 57 attempts to extract a valid driver's license from the other boys, one by one, to no avail. He finally settles upon Dave...
57: (pissed, to Dave) Do you have a license?!
VERY TIGHT CLOSE-UP SHOT OF DAVE
Dave: (stroking his chin, thinking to himself) Okay now... if I give this guy my license... I'm 29... I'm of legal age... I'm a resident of the State of California... I'm technically their legal guardian.. but... wait a second! (knitting his brow) My license is actually suspended! There's no way I'm gonna offer a suspended license to the Joseph Stalin of the Santa Monica Police Department! Then I go to jail... and that won't do anybody any good, now will it? (silently rationalizing) These guys will get out of this... they're young and cute and famous... their record sold like 15 zillion copies... they come from a faraqay land, obviously unfamiliar with the laws and customs of our nation... but... wait! (coming to his senses, realizing his responsibilties as a friend, a fellow musician, an adult, a Bikini journalist, and a caring human being) If I punk out on these guys, I'm a dick!!! They were on the road with us for Chrissakes! I can't do that to them! I already ruined their last set with the strippers thing... (smiling and nodding slightly, pleased with his own inner strength and courage) I most definitely must make a stand and take full responsibility for this entire...
57: (shattering Dave's train of silent introspection) I said, do you have a license?!?!?!
Dave: (quickly) No, Sir, I have no identification whatsoever.
57: Whose vehicle is this?!
Daniel: It belongs to this guy from Mitsubishi. We're test driving it for a magazine... we're in a band... from Australia... we're from Australia!
The chaperones have finally resurfaced. Things start getting a little dicey. The Photographer is snapping off photos like mad. The Mitsubishi Guy is shuffling his feet. The Bikini Editor is looking worried. The Publicist is rifling through a bunch of papers (from which no one knows what she plans to produce).
57: (to the Mitsubishi Guy) Is this your vehicle?
The Mitsubishi Guy: (sheepishly) Uh... we're just doing.. this is for a photo shoot... for...
57: (emphatically, really pissed off now) Is... this... your... vehicle?!?!?
The Photograher: click, click, click...
57: (to the Photographer) Git that camera outta' my face!!! Or I'll haul your ass to jail!!!
Daniel: (out the window to the cop) We're really sorry...
57: Did I ask you anything!? I don't care how sorry you are! (to the Mitsubishi Guy) Let me see your identification!
The Mitsubishi Guy produces a Florida driver's license and he and Officer 57, The Publicist, and The Bikini Editor all behign holding a brief "conference" on the beach. Although no pressure has actually been relieved, he fact that Officer 57 is no longer actually screaming into the vehicle at the musicians allows them to kid themselves into thinking that they are somehow, miraculously going to skate out of this mess.
Dave: See? What'd I tell ya'? They're gonna sort things out for us. Let me tell you something, guys, this kind of thing happens every day in Los Angeles. It's as common as a drive-by shooting!
Daniel: (worried) I hope I don't go to jail. I hope I don't get raped!
Dave: You're not gonna get raped. First of all, you're not going to jail. And if you did, they're not gonna take you to the raping jail. They'll take you to the police station and you'll be held until Sony pays a fine. Don't worry about it. (pointing to a group meeting on the beach) See? Those guys are smiling. You're off the hook!
57: (returning to the car and addressing Daniel, much more calmly) Well, you don't have a license, you were driving on the beach...
Daniel: (relieved that the worst part is obviously over) I know, we're really sorry.
57: (matter-of-factly) I have no choice but to take you to jail.
Daniel: (shocked back to harsh reality) What?!!
The Publicist: (frantically) What?! Isn't there anything we can...
57: (the anger returns) Anything we can what?!? The only thing you can do is come down to the station and bail him out! (to Daniel) Let's go! (beat) Now!
57 opens the car door and waits for Daniel to emerge. Daniel reluctantly slinks out of the car. He is beaten and truly frightened out of his wits. This is actually his first run-in with any type of law enforcement. All of the onlookers and dumbfounded and speechless. The sun is setting on the horizon, and, oddly, the image of Officer 57, with his burly arm outstretched and clutching young Daniel, makes it look as if they are actually new-found pals. One can almost hear Humphrey Bogart's voice-over: "Louie, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship." If only this were the case. Officer 57 ushers Daniel into the back of his police car.
Sound effects: A thundering, echoey BOOM as 57 slams the car door. Daniel stares wide-eyed from the window as the car pulls away. Fade to black.
CUT TO: THE SANTA MONICA POLICE DEPARTMENT.
Sound effects: The familiar reggae intro fades in and the lyrics begin: "Bad boys, bad boys, what'cha gonna do..." as the Mitsubishi Montero and the trail vehicle pull into the police station lot. Officer 57's car has arrived just ahead of them, but already no sign of Daniel is to be had. The entire entourage grimly files into the station. Daniel, it seems, is being "processed." What has to happen is this" some sort of proper identification for Daniel must be produced. But this is something of a challenge because most of Daniel's papers and whatnot are in Austraila, and his passport is evidently back at the hotel in Hollywood. So The Publicist is making calls, recieving faxes. Calls are also placed to the Bikini office tower, as if this will help matters at all. At the same time, Dave, scrambling for ideas, recalls an experience he had while touring with Jane's Addiction, in which Border Patrol agents wouldn't allow him to re-enter the US from Cananda without an I.D. Then from out of nowhere, the Jane's tour maganger appeared with a CD and saved the day. So Dave asks if anyone has a copy of the silverchair CD with Daniel's picture on it. The Mitsubishi Guy claims to have a copy in his own personal Misubishi and goes to grab it.
Meanwhile, a couple of the not-so-zealous Santa Monica Police officers find out what's going on and are, in fact, mildly amused and a bit honored at having the rock celebrities in their midst. They go out to admire the new Misubishi and claim that they themselves would not have arrested young Daniel, admitting that Officer 57's actions were perhaps a bit... hasty. Things are starting to look a little better, but... Fade to black.
CUT TO: THE CALIFORNIA STATE PENITENTIARY VISITORS AREAD, ONE WEEK LATER.
An apologetic Dave Navarro sits in front of a bulletproof glass partition, talking through a little circular metal speaker grating to a frightened Daniel Johns, clad in oragne prison overalls, held without bail on the other side. The graver conversation is abruptly interrupted by the sudden arrival of Daniel's "cellmate," a burly bald fellow with many more tattoos than Dave. The guards look the other way and whistle to themselves, as Daniel's new "friend" grabs him by the arm. "But... he's from Australia!" pleads Dave through the window, jumping to his feet, as Daniel is dragged back into the depths of the correctional facility.
CUT BACK TO: THE SANTA MONICA POLICE DEPARTMENT, THE REAL ENDING, Y'KNOW, THE HAPPY ONE. Well, as it turns out, one of the nice officers at the station apparently has a lovely young daughter who just happens to be a really big silverchair fan. He phones her and she gets very excited about her father's young celebrity captive, insisting that justice be properly served. This is good. So he and a couple of the other nice officers help "negotiate" Daniel's release, the terms of which include hitting Daniel and the boys up for a few autographs. A half hour or so after getting busted, Daniel is free, released, all charges dropped. It seems that this will not, in fact, go down on his permanent record.
CUT TO: DANIEL AND THE GANG, OUTSIDE THE SLAMMER.
Dave: What happened?!
Daniel: Well, he was really mad, the cop I mean. He kept going on and on about all the laws I'd broken, asking me "Is it okay to drive on the beach in Australia?!?" And I was like, "Well, actually, I do it with my friends all the time!" He didn't like that a bit. He says, "There's only a few things I can do. One is take you to a juvenile home..."
Chris: Oh fuck! A juvenile home?!?
Daniel: And then he goes, "Where are you parents?" And I said, "One's in Australia and the other one's out somewhere." He didn't like that either. Then he turned around and started yelling at me about everything. He said, "Do you think that's allowed?!?" and his eyes are, like, all bulging out! And I was like, "Holy fuck! You are a knob! I'm never coming back to Santa Monica again! The first time I come, I get hit in the head with a bottle. The second time, I get arrested...
Dave: So, Daniel. Whaddya think of the car, eh?
Daniel: It's awesome! It drives great, looks good, has a radio that works, a sunroof, power windows, handles well in the sand... It's a chick magnet! What else is there to say?
Dave: It's, like, thirty grand!
Daniel: But it's still worth it! I mean, Dave, it's got those bucket seats... I'm gonna get me one of those things as soon as I can... and I'm gonna do more donuts than you can count!