Seeing him laid out like that, she had an urge to pounce on him and rumble him like she used to do with Rand when they were younger, making each other laugh, despite the fact someone usually got hurt. It was a weird thing to think, but then Jake was a weird mix of a man; and he’d been a good sport tonight, giving in to her demands for a ride, when she knew he hadn’t wanted to.
Jake heard Rielle approach but let her sit beside him before he spoke. The ride had cleared his headache and the sun at this end of the day was gloriously warm but had lost its sting. Even the tension in his neck had worked itself out. This wasn’t exactly the room service, mini bar experience he’d been looking for, but it would do. And since Rielle wasn’t trying to argue with him or make him climb anything, it was an improvement in their relationship. Once he’d stopped worrying about her, could feel how comfortable she was riding behind him, he’d enjoyed the ride—and it seemed to make her happy as well. She looked less stressed now than she had in the stadium car park.
“You ready to go back?”
“When you are. I thought you might’ve dozed off.”
“No,” he said, with a sudden flashback to how they’d had trouble waking Jonas when he’d fallen asleep on the stage floor. He sat up, used his shirt to dust sand off his back, and pulled it back on. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
“I know a great burger place back in Glenelg; it’s on our way. Can I tempt you?”
“If they do takeout, sure. It can be annoying being with me in a public place.” She shrugged.
He smiled and tossed her the helmet. What neither of them needed was crazy fans and no security to deal with them. It could be annoying to be with her almost any place, but so far it was still the job. “Takeaway it is.”
9. Retribution
Before the first Ice Queen chord was struck, in concert mode, on Australian soil; before Rielle screamed her first note in front of fifty thousand frantic fans; before the support act Problem Children rocked out—and as the early bird, diehard punters began to arrive, Rielle enacted her retribution.
Three stories above the stage, the spark fairy who’d taken the part that powered the trapeze motor and not replaced it was suspended. Neddy dangled, booted feet down, blond shoulder-length dreadlocks up. Flapping beside him off the rigging was a hand lettered sign that read, I’ve been a very naughty boy. Beneath him for the first ten minutes of his punishment were Bodge and Teflon placing instruments and doing the final preparation for the opening act. After that he hung there alone.
He hung there while Rielle watched, hidden at the side of the stage, as the stadium floor area filled up and the punters jostled and manoeuvred for the spots closest to the stage. He hung there when the punters with seated tickets started arriving, filing in at a leisurely pace in their hundreds. He hung there while punters speculated about what he’d done, and made up outrageous stories to satisfy their curiosity. He hung there while they heckled, took photos and videos of him, and pretended to throw things at him. And when Collin Ng switched on vision, he hung there in triplicate on big video screens and Rielle knew in minutes he’d be featuring on Facebook and trending on Twitter.
Neddy tried not to move much because he’d worked out when he did, the trapeze shifted about violently and the punters laughed. At one stage, he tried to answer a particularly loud heckler and ended up face down, the long strands of his dreads wafting in the light breeze. That just made the punters laugh more and Bodge had to yell instructions on how to right himself.
He’d been up there about forty minutes and a respectable crowd of about twenty-five thousand had gathered to hear Problem Children, when Rielle acted.
Neddy started grinning when he heard the pulley motor engage but instead of his trapeze lowering, he was getting a visitor. A mysterious visitor in a black cloak and hood which made her look like a medieval monk. When her trapeze drew level with Neddy’s, Rielle pushed back her hood, making a bunch of people start screaming her name. She gave the audience a quick wave. Rand would not be happy she was out here pre-show.
Over surprised claps and whistles, she said, “You having a nice time, Neddy?” as cameras flashed at them.
He had crazy eyes and he must’ve wanted to curse at her, but he saw sense. He blew out a breath and clamped his mouth closed.
“Oh, I see.” She rocked her trapeze easily back and forth. “Cat got your tongue.”
This wasn’t going well for him. He must have decided it’d be better to humour her. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.
“Oh, really, what for?”
“For, er, taking the part.”
Rielle gave a wave to the crew standing down below. “No. You’re only sorry you got caught.” She rode her trapeze to the stage. On the ground, she said to Bodge, “Bring him down when he’s worked out what he should be sorry for.”
The big silver-haired roadie hitched his pants. “That might take a long time, Rie. Jake said I should bring him down if they,” he jerked his thumb towards the audience, “really start throwing things. Security isn’t happy about this.”
She looked up at Neddy and laughed, and as she left the stage with a flourish of the cloak that hid her first costume, he started yelling, “I’m sorry you got stuck. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced. I’m sorry I didn’t replace the fucking part!”
The punters went quiet as soon as Neddy started yelling, desperate for the light entertainment of hearing him—hoping Rielle might come back. She hid herself in the wings while they clapped and cheered disproportionately loudly for a man dangling from a trapeze yelling words they had trouble hearing. And they kept on clapping when he was brought down, red faced and angry, and when they welcomed Problem Children to the stage it was as though they’d already been warmed up by a support act.
It was going to be a great night.
Beside her Bodge said, “Maybe we should do that every night.”
Jake jammed his earplugs in as the first gig of Ice Queen’s This Side of Purgatory tour kicked off with the moving parts of their industrial construction zone set whirring into life, lit dramatically in shades of red and yellow. He was grateful for them when Rand began a blistering guitar solo from on top of a raised piece of staging. He was joined by Stu and Roley and the three played an extended version of the song that gave the tour its title.
Five minutes in, the rest of the group were on stage, with the exception of Rielle. The music and the anticipation built. Rielle was the Ice Queen and everyone in the stadium had paid to see and hear her and a sense of expectation throbbed through the night. It throbbed inside Jake too, now he’d see what she was made of as a performer.
She had her own entrance riding down from the rigging on the trapeze, adding her voice to the song. She wore a skin-tight red cat-suit, slashed across her hips, back, and arms to reveal her pale skin. It looked like it would reveal more of her every time she moved—and she never stood still. She wore thigh-high black patent leather boots and her trademark red hair was wild and streaked with silver. A vivid vision of her dressed like that on the back of Bonne tickled Jake’s brain. Dream on. On the video screen close ups you could see her violet eyes and red lips. She was saturated energy; she was dangerous and glorious and like the punters, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
When she touched down, the band shifted straight into the next song, fast paced and hard edged. Rielle screamed the lyrics with Rand and Stu either side of her and Ceedee, Jeremy and Brendan providing supporting vocals. Roley was on the keyboard now and How was already a lather of sweat at the drum kit.
When the song crashed to an end Rielle called, “Hello Adelaide!” and got a rousing cheer. “This is the first gig of our twenty-three city tour.”
Rand broke in, “Twenty-five cities.”
She cut Rand a look. The one that could liquefy metal. Jake felt it in his knees. She said, “Shut the fuck up,” and fifty thousand people laughed.
Rand shook his head in an exaggerated way. “I tell you Adelaide, when your ki
d sister asks you to join her band—run.” There was more laughter. Jake looked at Bodge and Tef and saw his own lip-splitting grin mirrored.
Stu said, “Yeah,” and in turn each of the band members echoed that ‘yeah.’ Then Stu added, “I thought it was your band, Rand,” starting another round of ‘yeahs’.
From the mosh-pit there were calls of, ‘I love you, Rand,’ and ‘I want your baby, Stu’. Even funny man Roley got a verbal love note and came out to the edge of the stage to ham it up, while behind him, Rielle gave Rand a push and he pretend-stumbled—How giving him a drum beat and a cymbal crash to accompany his footfall, and the female portion of the audience screamed.
Rielle yelled, “You didn’t come to see us fight, you came to hear the music, right?” and pumped her fist to the accompanying shouts of assent. Jake exchanged another look with Bodge. There were other things he could be doing, but they’d wait. Getting this new experience of Rielle—like a fresh breath, like an unconscious blink—wouldn’t. She belted out the opening refrain of the next song and the band followed her in.
Four more songs into the set and Rielle came off stage for a costume change. She brushed past Jake to get to Bodge who had a bottle of water, a towel and an enormous grin ready for her. She flashed a quick look at Jonas, got a thumbs up, and slipped back to her dressing room to change.
She was back on stage in less than four minutes, this time in a body-slick short black and silver dress and ankle boots. Four more songs til the break and then they’d all have twenty minutes to get prepared for the tougher second half.
From where Jake stood on the side of the stage with Jonas, Glen, Ron Teller and a couple of journalists, things looked to be going well, and sounding even better. No foul ups technically. The closest they’d gotten was How knocking a mic stand over, but a fleet footed Teflon scampered across the stage and righted it without incident. Everything was looking good at the front of house as well. No punch-ups, no fainting, no call on the St John’s Ambulance guys yet, and security was having an easy time of it after being worried about the whole Neddy thing earlier.
“She truly does rock,” said Glen.
Jake didn’t need Glen’s opinion to know that. He felt it in some deep core of himself. “Rand probably has a better voice, but she’s electric out there.” So much so, her image was seared on the back of his eyelids.
“She’s the bomb,” Glen agreed, and from the look on the faces of the three journalists, Jake figured he and Glen weren’t alone in their assessment. But something was niggling him about Rielle. She’d missed a cue. He’d only picked it because he’d watched a dozen rehearsals. Was that normal, or was she nervous?
Two seconds later, Bodge was holding out a bottle of water and a towel to Rand while Tef did the same for Stu on the other side of the stage.
Rand was scrutinising Rielle; Jake read concern on his face. She was on stage still singing what passed as a ballad for Ice Queen; nailing every note, hitting every spot. But Jake could see in the tremble of her hand on the old school mic she used that she wasn’t where she’d want to be in the performance. But then that’s why they’d started here in Adelaide.
Back on stage again, Rand and Stu kicked into the last two numbers of the ten set half. How was shirtless and looked deliriously happy. Roley was in his zone, master of the keyboard, and Rielle and Ceedee were teasing the punters at the stage edge with their short skirts, high heels and wide legged stances.
At the end of the second number, Rand said, “Take a break, Adelaide. We’ll be back in twenty minutes,” and the house lights came on.
Twenty minutes was enough time for the band to catch their breath, and Bodge’s support crew to run ragged re-setting the stage and the instrumentation for the second half. It was enough time for Ceedee and Rielle to change, for the boys to swap out wet shirts and towel-dry hair and for Jonas to re-iterate instructions for the next set of songs. Jake watched Rand pull Rielle aside. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but it resolved with Rielle thumping Rand in the chest with the heel of her hand.
Twenty minutes was also enough time for the punters to move about, talk with friends, make phone calls, send messages and to join unrewarding but necessary queues for bathrooms and drinks.
And it was enough time for Jake, Glen and Grunt to start talking about striking the set, and getting ready to move out. They had a long night ahead of them.
When the second half opened, it was to a thumping reprise of Ice Queen’s hit song, All Souls, complete with special effects lighting. How and the three singers took their places on stage, but Rand, Stu and Roley made their entrances from different areas of the stadium, playing their sections of the song from the cheap seats.
It was logistically complicated, and required the support of both technical and security crew, but it gave the punters in the nose bleed seats almost another postcode away from the stage their one special piece of the show.
Back on stage, Rielle made her entrance, again from the trapeze. She was so mesmerising, Jake forgot to feel dizzy looking up at her. This time she performed a series of tricks to reach the stage floor: twisting, spinning, diving and mock falling, to shrieks from the audience. Her entrance allowed Rand, Roley and Stu time to use the stadium tunnels and byways to get to the backstage area and emerge on stage in time to pick up the next song on the second-half set list.
Jake was relieved to have everyone back on stage again, and amused to see how anxious Teflon looked. His big moment was approaching. He’d swapped his roadie uniform black t-shirt for a pale blue one and ditched his ID lammy. Even his trademark bandanna was gone. He presented exactly like an ordinary punter, and he looked scared shitless.
When he climbed into the cage with Rielle, he had a frozen smile on his face, but his hands went where they were supposed to go, and the punters in the pit and on the floor howled their appreciation.
Rielle looked to be barely aware of Tef’s nerves, barely aware he was even there. He might as well have been another piece of mechanised staging. She was focussed on the faces she could see, the thump of the bass, her next line of song, and the reaction of the crowd. Jake thought she still had some of the hesitancy of her earlier performance; as dynamic as she was, he had an inkling nerves were stopping her from settling into her groove. Three songs later to a burst of smoke and laser light, Rielle called, “Goodnight Adelaide!” and the stage collapsed into darkness. They’d almost done it. The first Ice Queen event was an encore away from being put to bed.
Jake watched Bodge and Tef onstage scrambling to reset instruments. He knew backstage, the band would be towelling down and making one last change while the sounds of cheering, shouting and stomping grew in intensity. Then it’d be time for them to say goodbye with a thumping, chiming, soaring musical frenzy designed to leave the punters blasted to their cores. For Jake and the crew though, the night was only getting warmed up.
How, Rand and Stu were first back on stage followed by Roley and the singers. Rielle came on last in a leather and lycra outfit that defied gravity, appearing above the stage in the extended Hand, this time on her own. The audience was a screaming, pulsing mass: singing along, bopping in their places, losing themselves in the throb of the music and the flash of the lighting. They wanted to dance and shout like this all night. No one was leaving early for the car park. No one wanted to miss a minute.
Two songs in, Rand told the crowd how great it was to be back home and how grateful he was for the warm reception and the chance to show his American band mates how Australia rocks. That just caused the punters to enjoy themselves more.
When the last notes of the last song reverberated through the night, no one wanted to go home. The band members took their applause, clapping the audience back. Roley threw his latest wet t-shirt into the front row. How frisbeed a hat he’d worn, and Rand looked to Rielle. Jake knew there was one more song they could do. But Rielle shook her head quickly and moved her hand in a signal that meant ‘no’ and so, to the sound of shouting and stomping, Ic
e Queen left the stage in Adelaide for the last time.
10. After Party
When the stage went dead, the stadium house lights came on and Jake watched the last groups of rowdies make for the exits. They always sang badly, and this lot were no exception.
While the members of Ice Queen, Problem Children and assorted journalists, friends and hangers on—mostly guests of Problem Children’s lead singer, Jonathan Bennett—partied in the green room, the business of pulling down the stage and packing all the gear began. It would take all night and into the morning. They needed the trucks on the road in twelve hours’ time.
He sculled a bottle of water. He’d get a supper break later, but he needed to find Jonas to check on flight and hotel payment details first. He headed for the green room where the after party was in full swing. He skirted the edge of the room looking for Jonas. Saw Stu and Ceedee cuddled on a sofa, How and Problem Children’s drummer deep in conversation, a bored looking Jeremy swigging from a bottle of vodka, and Roley stretched out on another sofa asleep, or doing a good imitation of it. He couldn’t spot Jonas, Rand or Rielle and any one of them would have done for his purposes.
Someone shoved a beer in his hand, and he was about to quit the room and try again later, when he spotted Rielle. She was sitting on Jonathan Bennett’s knee. She looked flushed and drained, leaning into the lanky lead singer’s body and trailing her arm around his neck.
It could wait. Jake slipped out the nearest exit. He was half way back to the stage, when he heard Rielle call his name. He hesitated, allowing her to catch up, wondering what sort of mood she was in. Hellcat or pussycat?
“Are you happy with the gig?” he asked.
“I don’t want to talk about the gig,” she said, folding her arms defensively.
Okay, hellcat then. “What can I do for you?”
“I understand you aren’t flying with us tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll go with the road train.”
Getting Real Page 7
