Ace Frehley strides purposefully into a sushi bar in North Hollywood, his bearing every inch the rock star.
Dark glasses hide the strange downward cast of his eyes – an inheritance from his Dutch mother – and he sports a black beard that gives him the look of an inscrutable warlord, conferring a gravity and a self-assurance that he never had before, not even in 1977, when Kiss were named the most popular band in America by no less an authority than the Gallup Poll.
