Avril Lavigne: Wild Thing

It seemed like a great idea. Blender would meet Avril Lavigne for lunch at L.A.’s legendary Chateau Marmont hotel, get her stinkin’ drunk, swap underwear, go skinnydipping and take notes while she told us her dirty secrets.Since she’s a rock brat at heart, we figured she’d be inspired by an afternoon at the mecca of rock & roll misbehavior. This is where Led Zeppelin rode motorcycles through the lobby, Jim Morrison used up the eighth of his nine lives jumping off the roof of a poolside cabana and, most recently, Lindsay Lohan lived out a chemically enhanced version of every girl’s Eloise fantasy. Considering that the 22–year–old Lavigne is Canadian (hence: alkie — in a good way!) and recently married (to Sum 41 frontman, Deryck Whibley), but surely still in close touch with her inner juvenile delinquent, the plan seemed like a lock.

When she shows up, with personal assistant and a couple of band members in tow, we see immediately that it’s not gonna be that easy. A half–smile curdles her upper lip as if someone told her that when earthlings meet, this is what they do. To help warm her up, we say we’re running a tab, so drink and be merry.

Lavigne, whose Volcom hoodie and four–inch Stuart Weitzman heels suggest a PTA mom’s idea of how to dress like a rebellious rocker, primly answers, “I’ll have water; I’m driving.”

But, we say, rock & roll! … And stuff like that.

Ignoring us, casting her Bermuda Triangle–blue eyes around the garden, she says, “Didn’t somebody die here or something?”

“John Belushi,” we say.

Her pause lasts so long we start counting dust motes in the air. She says, “That’s right.”

Maybe if we talk up the guys in the band … What’s Avril like on the road? Does she share a dressing room with the boys? Is she a towel–snapper?

“A what?” she asks.

Everybody’s quiet. Finally, pleadingly, her guitarist says, “You know,” and defines “towel–snapper” with such diplomacy you want to get that boy a job at the United Nations.

Beat. Beat. Beat. Then: “Oh.”

Wondering if she can smell our flop sweat, we pull out the stops: C’mon, tell us some road stories! Sex! Drugs!

“I’ve never done drugs,” she huffs. “I would never do drugs; nobody in our group of friends does drugs. I don’t approve of that at all.”

Then she puts on her sunglasses.