Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  Heath shook hands with Dan. “My sympathies, man.” He grimaced as he punched Andy in the shoulder. “It could have been worse, I guess, AJ could have invited along that other girlfriend of his with the screaming kid.”

  Gerry gave me a half-hearted hug, while Chad nodded hello but continued his phone conversation. At least Dom showed some enthusiasm as he introduced his own boyfriend Sam, a freckly-faced Irish lad.

  “So, is there a gig tonight?” I asked.

  “Not tonight,” Andy said.

  “No, we had to clear our schedules because you were in town. Sound familiar?” Heath was obviously looking to pick a fight.

  I ignored him and changed the subject. “I really need to buy some gloves. Are there any stores nearby? I was expecting it to be cold but this is beyond freezing.”

  “I’ve got some up in my room you can borrow – my hands aren’t that much bigger than yours.” Andy lifted my hand to hold it against his palm.

  “What is it they say about small hands?” Dan smirked.

  “Dan, let me get you a drink. Guinness?” intervened Gerry, indicating to the barman another round was needed. I caught the look between the two best friends.

  “He really is a dick,” Andy said as we climbed the stairs to his room.

  “He’s not, really. You just rub each other the wrong way.”

  “Remember what’s mine is yours,” Andy said pulling a pair of frayed black gloves from his duffel bag. “I meant it that time I pledged you all my worldly wealth – and my body.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and tested the mattress’ firmness with his hand.

  “Not a chance, my friend. You must be mistaking me for someone who would cheat on their partner.”

  “Low blows, huh? You know I’m real sorry I hurt you but I’m not sorry Emma was born.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Your mum says she’s the most gorgeous kid ever.”

  Andy pulled a picture from his wallet of a chubby-faced toddler with light brown ringlets.

  “Oh Andy, she’s beautiful. So much cuter than her dad!”

  Andy laughed before motioning at me to sit down. “I hate that I don’t get to see her much anymore. They’ve moved back to Texas so Cassie’s parents can watch Emma while she finishes law school.”

  “Law school?” A law student was not really how I pictured the other woman.

  “Cassie was doing pre-law at San Fran State when she … umm … you know. She’s really smart, like you. Hopefully Emma will inherit her brains, not mine.”

  “There’s no chance you two would try to make a go of things?”

  He shook his head. “Like I told you in my letters, it was a one-off.” Now wasn’t the time to admit his letters had been incinerated without me reading a word. “Cassie has a new fella now and he’s a great guy. I just don’t want Emma to forget I’m her pops. I visit as much as I can. And when she’s older, I’m thinking she can come stay with me during vacation.”

  “I’m sure it’ll work out fine. You’re great with kids, your little cousins adored you.”

  “I’d love for you to meet her one day, maybe when I bring her out to Perth to see her nonna?”

  “I’d be honoured.” And I really meant it.

  “So what’s with the dreadlocks?” I prodded at his matted brown hair. “You haven’t branched into reggae without telling me?”

  “Nah. It’s great, only have to shampoo once a week.”

  I gave his hair a sniff and caught a pungent whiff of cigarette smoke mixed with a fishy odour and musty-towel eau de toilette.

  “It’s due a wash,” he said noticing my wrinkled nose. He popped the photo of his daughter back into his wallet. “That reminds me, I’ve got some money to give you. Just need to make some cash withdrawals. I told ma to insist on paying your fare.”

  “I’m not taking your money. Use it for Emma’s college fund instead. That’s the one regret my mum has – besides not giving me a dad. She hates that I’ve had to go into debt for uni.”

  Andy knew that I’d won a scholarship funded by a group of local community organisations. I’d won the girls’ one and Dan had won the boys’. It had been a good year to win too as they had doubled the prize money from the previous year to five thousand dollars each. It paid for all my books and other incidentals but I still had to join the government loan scheme to cover the rest of my course fees.

  “Do you want me to help look for your dad while you’re here? You think he’s in England, don’t you?”

  I’d never considered the possibility. About the only thing I knew about my father was his name – I hadn’t even seen a photograph. “Nah, it’s okay. Reuniting with one man who’s let me down is enough for one trip.”

  I was joking but Andy’s face crumpled. “I wish you’d forgive me. That’s what I’ll wish for when I blow out my candles. For my Kell to forgive me once and for all.”

  “Number one I’m not your Kell any more. And what I wish for is for you and Dan to get on for the duration of this trip. I don’t want you giving me a hard time.”

  “I’ll give you a hard time alright. Any time you want.”

  Great, the suggestive eyebrow waggling had started up again. It was time to make a move downstairs again.

  When Andy pushed open the door to the pub, George Michael was crooning in the background and Dan was crowing about the fact he’d simultaneously potted two of Chad’s balls during a game of pool.

  “And my other birthday wish – for all our sakes, dump Dan.”

  * * *

  Our room barely had enough space for a short double bed – Dan’s feet hung off the end – and a tiny ensuite but the hotel was in a great location, within walking distance of a number of cool music venues. Dan and I crashed that night while the boys went to check out the legendary Electric Ballroom, where the Clash, Iggy Pop and Talking Heads had played.

  The next day, while the boys were scouting around the record companies, Dan and I went sightseeing, swinging by Buckingham Palace, posing at Hyde Park Speakers’ Corner and buying the cheapest item in Harrods just so I could have one of those famous green bags.

  Later we met up at a pub that looked like it was straight out of Shakespearean times. The outside was all mock Tudor but inside it was wall-to-wall black. A goth haven. I felt right out of place with my red duffel coat, and half expected management to ask me to leave for bringing down the tone of the place.

  Gerry returned to the table juggling bags of crisps. “I got cheese and onion, barbecue, and salt and vinegar. And Marmite flavour, whatever that is.”

  “It’s like the Vegemite we have in Australia. A yeasty, salty black spread,” I said.

  “Basically shit smeared on bread,” Andy said. “I was force-fed it once and nearly barfed.”

  “It’s not for the faint-hearted,” Dan added.

  “I wished you guys could have seen,” I laughed. “Andy was retching into the sink, while his little cousin was eating it by the spoonful.”

  Amid the chatter, Dom leant over to me. “Got your pass for tonight?” he smirked.

  I’d once had trouble getting backstage at a gig so Dom had made me an access-all-areas pass identifying me as “AJ’s shag”. Laminated it and everything.

  “Those privileges have definitely been revoked,” I said.

  “Shame.” Dom shot me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure if you wanted, the pass could be reissued?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” I replied blithely.

  As the waitress served up our dinner orders, I asked whether they had had any luck with the record labels. Despite joking about their trail of rejection, the despondency was clear on their faces.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to get a contract with an American label anyway?” I piped up.

  “We’re not fussy,” Gerry said. “Whichever one adds the most zeroes to the cheque.”

  “Well I, for one, am looking to make songs, not money,” Andy said, stirring his finger in the pie gravy.

  The band had only a
few more weeks to impress over here before returning home to their day jobs – Gerry on the road crew, Dom as a junior accounting clerk and Andy as a courier. And Heath?

  “I don’t need to work,” he said puffing out his chest.

  “That’s because he’s got himself a sugar mommy,” Andy explained with a wink. “A Beverly Hills broad who pays up every time Heath puts out.”

  I looked at Heath who was dripping hamburger juices down his chin. “You’re just a gigolo? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

  * * *

  It was nearly time for the boys to take the stage. The emo crowd spilling through the doors didn’t look like the type to appreciate Danger Game’s music. Even Andy looked nervous, lamenting about what Chad had got them into this time.

  But I had a cunning plan. I rummaged around in my bag until I found my black eyeliner and mascara. “Sit still,” I told Andy, making him tilt his head up and open his eyes wide so I could apply the kohl. “I’d hate to accidentally slip and poke this in your eyeball,” I snapped, as his hands moved to cup my bottom. Next, as Dom applied his own makeup, I rearranged Gerry’s hair so his fringe flopped into his eyes. There was no way I was going near that manky pile of dreads on Andy’s head. Dan, meanwhile, had run to the corner pharmacy to grab a bottle of black nail polish, which was quickly painted on everyone’s fingernails.

  “Look downcast and sing your most miserable songs and you’ll fit right in,” I advised.

  And to give them credit, Danger Game did work hard to win over the audience. Gerry put on his best tortured soul expression as he plucked away at his bass. In between songs, Dom looked like he was drowning his sorrows in his bottle of Jack Daniel’s. And Heath was fluttering his mascara-laden lashes at the ladies for all his worth. He veered right off theme however when he whipped off his shirt – stunning into silence the crowd who had never seen such suntanned skin in their lives.

  Andy was blasting his way through Sounds Like Hell, a bitter break-up song, when suddenly the power went off.

  The lights in the venue were still on but the amps and the microphones weren’t working. As the band looked towards the sound booth for direction, the manager of the main act came out. It appeared he had disconnected the power because he wanted them off and his band on. Chad vaulted up on stage. There was some arguing and tussling over instruments but finally the boys left the stage graciously after the club manager coughed up the full one-hundred quid. I was glad there weren’t any tears spilt – they were wearing that much mascara it would have left an awful mess.

  * * *

  The next day Dan and I continued ticking off our sightseeing list, posing with Arnold Schwarzenegger at Madame Tussauds, window shopping along Oxford Street and hanging out in super-trendy Soho.

  By the time we were ready to head back to our hotel, it was rush-hour. The underground platform was so crowded that we nearly got separated as the train arrived. Luckily Dan managed to grab my arm and yank me on to the carriage just before the doors closed.

  “Thank god you didn’t lose me,” I sighed, sinking my face into his chest.

  “I’m not going to lose you, I am not going to lose you,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

  We had planned to go back to the hotel for a quick change before heading out again to the West End, to pick up some last-minute tickets to a show. But Dan had developed a headache and just wanted to sleep. He claimed it was a combination of jet lag and being in stuffy, overheated rooms.

  Dan conked out almost immediately but far from being exhausted I was buzzing. The London vibe was infectious. So I snuck out to knock on Andy and Gerry’s door. No answer. But there was a ruckus coming from Heath’s room down the corridor. And that was definitely Andy’s voice I could hear. I thought twice about interrupting but I really wasn’t in the mood to spend the night by myself.

  A girl wearing only a G-string answered the door. My eyes swept the room. Heath and Gerry were lying on the bed with a couple of girls while Andy was sitting at a table strewn with half-empty bottles and torn pizza boxes. He was shirtless, with a topless girl sitting in his lap.

  “Kellie,” he slurred. “Thought you were out with Dan the man.”

  I mumbled something about Dan having a headache. “Don’t worry, I can see you’re busy.” I shut the door behind me and leant against it with my eyes clenched tight, mortified.

  Seconds later the door was wrenched open and Andy was pleading with me to stay.

  “If you think I’m joining that … that orgy in there …” I said, storming down the corridor.

  “No, of course not. We’ll go to my room.”

  I spun around to face him. “Where did you find those girls, in the phone book under Page Three Escorts?”

  “You jealous?”

  “Of course I’m not jealous. But I find it pitiful that you would resort to such a sleazy rock band cliche. You should get yourself a nice girlfriend, like Dom.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “You know what I mean. He’s with Sam, and he’s settled. He’s not got half-naked strangers parading around his hotel room.”

  “I had a nice girlfriend once and she dumped me.” Andy pulled a downcast expression.

  “Exactly and all because of tawdry scenes like that.” I indicated towards Heath’s room. “Anyway, sorry for disturbing you. It looked like you were on to a sure thing back there. Good night! I’m sure your daughter must be real proud of you.”

  Andy grasped my arm. “Wait. My head’s spinning. Can you stay with me?”

  I took in his dilated pupils and sweaty forehead. “What’ve you taken?” I sighed.

  “Just a tab of e. Help get the party started.”

  I steered Andy into his room where he grabbed a jug from the bar fridge.

  “Don’t gulp that water, just sip it,” I warned. A girl at my university had nearly died drinking too much after taking ecstasy.

  “Yes ma.” Andy saluted before falling backwards on to the bed.

  I stood over him, looking serious. “I want to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth.”

  Andy patted the spot next to him, indicating I should join him. “Ask away.”

  “Have you ever sold drugs?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A reporter never reveals her sources. So I’ll take that as a yes then?”

  “It’s nothing to get worked up about. Just a bit of weed here and there. It’s not like I was dealing anything dangerous.”

  “How do you know that the kid you sold pot too doesn’t think ‘hmm now I might try some ecstasy or cocaine. Wonder what it’s like to shoot up some heroin.’ And the next thing you know he’s dead in an alleyway, thanks to you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. That’s like me saying, if you as a waitress take someone a piece of chocolate cake, and they then start eating lots of it and get super-fat, you’re the one responsible for their heart attack.”

  “Chocolate cake isn’t illegal.” I turned his head so he had to look me straight in the eyes. “Next time think about whether you’d like someone dishing out drugs to your Emma.”

  Andy rolled on to his back and closed his eyes. I was beginning to think he’d fallen asleep when he suddenly jumped up and bounced on the bed. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got too much energy to just hang around.” He grabbed a flyer off the bedside table and waved it in my face. “We’re going to a rave.”

  “I don’t think so. I should really go check on Dan and –.”

  “For once in your life, woman, stop doing what you think you should do and have some goddamn fun.”

  “You do know when you take ecstasy it’s not a legal requirement that you must rush out to a rave. And since when have you been into dancing?”

  “That’s the magic of e, I’m so happy I wanna dance.” He convulsed and my heart skipped a beat before I realised he wasn’t having a fit but was instead trying out his club dancing moves.

  Just before dawn, I slunk back into my room, r
elieved to find that Dan was still asleep. It had been one crazy night for me and Andy, with heart-pounding electronic music, strobing lights and dancing until we couldn’t dance no more. But the best bit was it had been a foam party and Andy’s hair was wrecked. He had to get his dreads shorn off the next day.

  * * *

  For the next fortnight, Dan and I left the boys to their own devices. We travelled up to Glasgow to stay with Dan’s uncle and then stopped in at several towns on the way back. In Liverpool, we checked out the Cavern Club; at Cambridge, we raced each other around the Great Court, mimicking the feat from Chariots of Fire; in Oxford, we were punted down the river; and in Stratford-Upon-Avon we strolled alongside the canal to the Globe Theatre. And for my birthday Dan hired a classic MGC Roadster to cruise around Bath and its surrounds.

  Now we were back in London, with more sightseeing on the agenda for our final week and Andy had come along for the ride. We’d spent the morning touring the Tower of London and now we were sitting on a boat ready to head along the Thames to Greenwich. Dan spied an artist on the pier, hawking gorgeous watercolour sketches of the city skyline.

  “He might not be here when we get back. You’ve got fifteen minutes until the boat leaves if you want to hop off and take a closer look,” Andy suggested.

  Moments later, I felt the boat moving.

  “Uh-oh! Looks like Dan’s missed the boat,” Andy said.

  “That hasn’t been fifteen minutes,” I said.

  “Did I say fifteen? Whoops, I meant five.”

  “Dan,” I yelled to him as he ran along the wharf. “I’ll have to see you back at the hotel. Around six.”

  Andy put his arm around me and waved at the disappearing figure. “So long, sucker.”

  By the time we went under the Tower Bridge and past all the Docklands developments, we were the only passengers crazy enough to remain out on the front deck, leaning up against the railings.

  Andy inhaled deeply, his nose and cheeks red from the frigid air. “Geez, it’s good to get you alone. Your boyfriend is such a middle-aged fart. All those questions to the tour guide – when did this tower get built, when was that prisoner executed, what did Henry VIII eat for fucking breakfast? Doesn’t he drive you nuts?”