“That’s a bad decision, Jake.” She fixed him with bloodshot, tired eyes. “You should be with us.”
“Sharon’s in Perth already. Everything is set for your arrival. You don’t need me until the trucks arrive.”
“You can’t know that.”
Jake opened his mouth to give Rielle a stronger assurance, but she cut him off. “Jonas was drunk tonight. He’s passed out back there now.” She tossed her head to indicate the green room. “I don’t want you hours away if something goes wrong. I want you on the flight with us.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to fly with a band; and it wasn’t an outlandish request. It was perfectly reasonable under the circumstances. He sighed. “Right, I see your point. Of course. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.” He was mentally trying to remember where he’d packed the Zanect, so he could zone out and face air travel.
As he turned to go, Rielle said, “I need something else.” Her hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. “Can you get me out of here?”
Was that a note of panic he heard in her voice? She did look done-in. “Sure, I’ll call you a car and driver.”
“I don’t want a car. Will you take me for a ride?”
She might’ve asked him for more booze or food, to clear the green room, or any number of other things. This he didn’t expect. “Ah. Rielle, I have things to do, I…”
“I know you do, but I need to clear my head.”
Rielle held her breath. The show had been a struggle. She was tired and cranky with herself. She could’ve done better, needed to do better and right now she felt like hitting something or someone. Rand was settled in to party, and the only place she wanted to be was the back of Jake’s bike, speeding through the night, anonymous in his helmet, melded to the roar of the engine and swaying with the angle of the road as it met the Triumph’s rubber.
“I’ll call you a car, Rielle,” Jake said, turning to go. He was perfectly polite, reasonable and distant. Was that why she wanted to be with him? He was safe. He wasn’t going to make a move on her. He barely tolerated her.
She closed her eyes. What did she expect? She’d just insisted he fly with them. He must be pissed off about that, so it was hardly possible for her request to have been more poorly timed. She sighed, but when she opened her eyes he was still there, looking at her intently.
“You really want a ride?”
“Just half an hour and back to the hotel.” She had no right to insist and he had every reason to refuse. “Please.”
She could see him wrestling with it. He puffed out a breath and threw up a hand. “What the hell? I’m due a break anyway.”
When she followed Jake down the service corridor, she passed Rand heading to the green room. He had that look on his face that said he wanted to talk, but she didn’t need him to go all care and share on her. Not now. She was too annoyed with herself: fluffing cues, dropping lyrics, being late on stage in the second half—amateur stuff. Unforgiveable. She gave him her best ‘back off, not now’ look and he let her go without a word. There were still punters, mostly scantily clad, hopeful of a last minute miracle invitation to the after party, loitering around the backstage entrance when they got there. Jake brought the bike around so she didn’t have to run the gauntlet and they got away cleanly without being spotted. This time he didn’t have to ask her to hold on, and he didn’t bother asking her where she wanted to go. He took the road out to the beach again. It was a clear, warm night, and at this hour, there were few other vehicles around to share the road.
He must’ve wondered what was going on in her head. He would’ve expected her to be happy about the performance; the punters certainly were. Jonas was, and Rand had been beaming when he’d come off stage before he’d had a chance to think about it. Behind Jake’s helmet and under cover of the vibration from the bike, Rielle had let her tears come. Her timing had been off; she’d sung a couple of wrong lyrics. People didn’t pay hard earned money to hear her do that. It wasn’t good enough for Ice Queen and it wasn’t good enough for a world tour. She’d let the band down and needed to lift her game. As the suburbs of Adelaide swept past her bleary eyes, she relaxed into Jake’s solid back and steeled herself to work harder tomorrow, and every day for the next two months of the Australian leg of the tour.
Rielle shouldn’t have blown Rand off last night. Last night he was reading her reactions and responding with compassion. After sleeping off the rush, he was less likely to be so patient.
“So it wasn’t perfect,” he said, dripping maple syrup and sarcasm over ricotta pancakes with fat strawberries. “Absolutely shocking!”
“Your performance was flat in spots, but no one would have noticed,” said Jonas. He’d forgone food in place of black coffee, and was wearing his sunglasses inside the hotel restaurant. Rielle itched to take them off his face and look into his eyes.
“I was lacklustre, I made mistakes and it was amateur.” She pushed her fruit plate aside. She’d thrown up twice yesterday, once before the show and then immediately afterwards, and again this morning. At this rate she’d have no enamel left on her teeth by the time they hit Sydney. She scowled at Rand and Jonas with as much ferocity as she could muster on an empty stomach.
“Rie, it’s hard to take you seriously, you know. Have you seen the papers? Adelaide loves you,” said Jonas.
“Adelaide is a hick country town. If I performed like that in Melbourne or Sydney, we’d get eaten alive by the critics.”
“And that’s why we started here,” Rand sighed, “like you wanted, so we can iron out the bugs and get comfortable with the format. Give yourself a break for God’s sake.”
Rielle exhaled an audible breath, but didn’t relax her posture or her scowl. She knew she was more anxious than she needed to be. Shit, she never got so nervous she threw up, not since she was a kid, but she couldn’t stop feeling like any minute now she’d be exposed for a no talent fraud and drag the band down with her. And that was new too. New and frightening and hateful.
Jonas poured another coffee and yawned, showing off expert dental work from the same dentist who’d made the prosthetic that hid Rielle’s gap teeth.
“What happened to you last night?” she snapped at him.
Jonas met her glare with his mirrored shades. Rielle saw her twin reflections. Yep, she looked as pissed off as she sounded.
“You know, Rielle, you’re a real pain in the ass,” he drawled, pushing back from the table.
“Take your glasses off, Jonas.”
“Jesus, we’ve been here before,” said Rand, clueing in. “What’re you doing, Jonas?”
Jonas stood. “Nothing that concerns either of you. If you’re not happy, you can fuck me off home anytime you want.”
“Wait,” said Rand, putting his hand out to stop Jonas leaving. “You know how we work. We run a clean tour. I’m not saying we’re all angels, but we come to work clean and you need to do that too.”
“Or what, Rand? You and your little prima donna bitch sister will do what without me? You don’t have a show without a producer. Imagine the bad rap the tour would get if we parted company now, before it’s really begun.”
Rielle held her tongue. Rand was better at this stuff. She just wanted to leap across the table and hurt Jonas. Instead she tore at the hem of the starchy white tablecloth, pulling the stitches out and unravelling the raw edge.
“Jonas, how did we get here?” Rand sighed. “We’ve never had a problem working together before. Why are we having one now?”
Jonas snorted, and looked directly at Rielle.
Rand made a noise of contempt, not very musical, but very to the point. He wasn’t going to cop that. “I know baby sis is difficult, but no more so than she’s ever been.” Rielle watched Rand’s face. Did he really think that? He was the only one who knew why she was so uptight about coming home that it was affecting her performance and her attitude. It was possible he was managing her. Trying to cover for her. He’d never admit it. “So what’s
changed, Jonas?”
Jonas, still standing, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t need this crap. I’ll see you at the airport.” He stalked across the restaurant making for the hotel foyer.
“That went well,” Rielle drawled.
“At least you didn’t throw something at him. You know, like a coffee pot,” said Rand, signalling their waitress.
“What’re we going to do?”
“You are going to take a chill pill and I’ll talk to Jonas when he’s calmed down.”
Rielle eyeballed the ceiling. “He’s using. He’s not going to calm down.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“What’s not that bad?” asked Stu joining them. He rearranged Jonas’s chair and sat. “Oh I know. This is the beat up session. This is where Rie beats herself stupid for not being perfect last night, am I right?”
“No, you just missed that,” said Rielle. “I’m chilled.” She was concentrated anger, curled up into herself in the richly upholstered dining room chair.
Stu noted her defensive posture and snorted. “Like hell you are!” He laughed, and glanced at Rand, who grinned and shook his head at the same time. “Saw Jonas on the way in. What’s he pissed off about?”
“Me,” said Rielle.
“Situation normal then,” Stu laughed.
11. Sky Train
Jake had coffee, toast, and Zanect for breakfast in his hotel room. He’d managed to snag a seat on the same flight as both Ice Queen and Problem Children, but he was pleased they’d be in business class while he rode down the back with the ordinary folk. The less chance they had to see him sweat, the better.
After a long night and an early morning trip to the stadium to check on the road crew and make sure Bonne was stowed away safely, he was feeling liquid tired. All he wanted was to be seated as far away from the windows as possible, a no fuss boarding, and to sleep through the next three hours.
He avoided the airline lounge and headed straight for the gate. He was hoping to board without seeing anyone. Time enough to deal with them in Perth, and even then, Sharon had that covered, so he wasn’t going to be needed for anything.
Seat 25E was just what Jake ordered. It was in the middle block of seats towards the back of the plane with no view other than the row of seats in front. He stowed his bag, belted up, closed his eyes, and waited. One knee was doing a nervous jiggle in the seat well, but he was breathing normally. He tried to focus on black, on nothingness, on a void of zero. He tried to sleep. That meant putting aside the question of whether the road crew had gotten away on time, the list of things he wanted to accomplish during the Perth stadium inspection, the reminder to have Bodge order more spare parts for the trapeze, Issy’s birthday, and the strangest impression that Rielle had been crying on the back of the bike last night.
They’d not talked at all, just rode through the suburbs and along the beach front. But when she got off Bonne outside her hotel, and handed him the helmet, her face was pale, and she avoided eye contact. He said goodnight to her rigid back as she went through the hotel door. He didn’t get her at all. One minute monster diva, the next clinging to him like it meant something. The only thing he was certain about Rielle Mainline was that she was a born performer on stage and off.
Rielle liked Jonathan, but he talked too much. In the cab, in the lounge, boarding and now in their business class seats, Jonathan talked. He talked band politics, hotels, microphone technique and favourite Perth nightclubs, without needing an air refill. Taller than Rand, Jonathan had long delicate fingers, knobbly wrists and elbows and narrow knees that almost grazed the seat in front. He also had fast flitting eyes and a quick wit. He made it very plain he was interested in hooking up.
She sat in the aisle seat next to Jonathan with Roley across from them. Twice since boarding, Roley had managed to poke her across the expanse of walkway to indicate he was on to Jonathan. More than twice, Rielle had tried to give Jonathan the signal to shut up. She was flicking through the in-flight magazine for the second time when it dawned on her she had a legitimate excuse to escape and avoid having to be direct with him.
Jake was sitting alone in his row at the back of the plane. He had his eyes closed and was gripping both armrests. Rielle could tell by the tension in his hands he wasn’t asleep. She slipped into the empty aisle seat beside him and nodded her thanks to the attendant who’d found him.
It seemed like a great idea to come and check on Jake five minutes ago, but now she was here, she was unsure what to do. It was her fault he was white knuckling it. Maybe it would be smart to just sit here quietly, and after take-off go back to her seat. He might not even notice her.
“Did they boot you out of business?” he said, interrupting her reverie and any hope of sneaking away.
She smiled. “No, I’m being a good little rock diva. I came to check on you.”
He opened one eye and angled it towards her. “I’m alive and not sweating if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I can see that.”
“Since you’re concerned, it would be better for me if you’d let me tough this out alone.”
“Oh, right.” She unbuckled and stood, but an attendant signalled her sternly with a wagging finger, to sit again. “Ah, I’ll have to stay,” she said, over the sound of the engines revving.
She watched Jake grip the armrest harder. He had both eyes open now, and was breathing deeply. On impulse she put her hand over his and he flipped his palm and wrapped his fingers though hers, holding tightly.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, looking down into his lap. He was embarrassed but he wasn’t letting go.
They stayed that way, hands gripped tightly; forearms pressed together, until take-off completed, the plane levelled out and the intercom opened.
The Captain said, “Folks, we’re expecting some turbulence so we’re going to keep the fasten seat belts sign on and ask you to stay seated for a while. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to move around the cabin.”
“Figures,” said Jake through gritted teeth. He relaxed his hold on her hand, but didn’t let go. “It seems to be my lot in life to have you witness all my moments of weakness.”
“We all have moments, Jake.” He’d certainly been witness to hers. The screaming match on the broken trapeze for one and he had to know she’d been upset last night.
“I can’t imagine you’re scared of anything.”
She said, “Fear is for failures,” but the aircraft was loud, and there was a kid screaming about the end of the world somewhere close by so there was a chance he’d missed it.
“What did you say?”
She dropped her head and let go of his hand.
He tried again, twisting his head to look at her. “What did you say, Rie?”
She could lie. Invent something. She could leave, seat belt warning be damned. But it was the truth, her truth anyway. “I said fear is for failures.” She projected into the back of the seat in front, then turned to face him to make sure he got it. “I can’t afford to be frightened of anything, Jake.”
He breathed out, his eyes clouding. “Fear is how we grow, Rielle. Everyone is frightened sometimes.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s what cripples us. Just look at you.”
Jake turned his face away, but she caught his expression, no longer professionally polite. He put his finger on the recline button, and pushed his seat back to create some distance from her. His voice came out hard, short. “You should go back to your seat.”
The only sound Jake wanted to hear was the ping of the fasten seat belt sign going out, but the kid kept yelling, his head filled with aircraft noise and Rielle sat on by his side trapped by the threat of turbulence.
How apt. She was turbulence personified in her rock chick armour, with her tough mouth, harder look and her in your face attitude. He had to be wrong about the crying. Rielle Mainline’s tear ducts would’ve dried up and rusted shut long ago.
He tried to relax, closed his eyes. T
ried to will himself to sleep. But the part of him that was eased by the drug was also uninhibited enough to be spoiling for a fight. The sooner Rielle left his side, the better it would be for both of them.
But QF587 had other plans. When they hit the first pocket of turbulence, it jolted all of the passengers in their seats, shocking enough to make the wailing kid stop to draw breath. Jake pressed himself back into the seat and hugged the darkness behind his eyes, one leg bouncing a quick, continuous, nervous heel beat in the cramped leg space.
Rielle said, “Are you okay?”
“Sure, I’m having a lovely time.”
“I… ah…” She stumbled on her response, but her actions were precise; she put her hand to his shoulder.
Jake’s eyes rocked open, and he shifted sideways to get away from her touch. “You wouldn’t want to get infected by my failures, Rielle. Go back to where you belong.”
She pulled her hand away. “Jake, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” He was wired with irritation. “Fallible, frightened, human. Real. Rielle, I might be scared of heights, but at least I’m real. What about you, is there anything about you that’s real?”
She frowned at him: eyebrows under her mop of multicoloured hair drawn together, a green garnet winking on her nose, the corners of her blackberry coloured lips turned down, silver jewelled crucifixes dangling in her ears.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sat forward, bringing his face up close to hers. “You’re a complete fake, Rielle. It’s all an act with you, the whole gritty rock chick thing.” He snorted when he saw her surprised blink. “Do you even know who you are under that paint and dye, out of those slut’s clothes?” Her violet eyes were wide now—another thing about her that was fake. He was so close he could see the rim of her contact lens. “Leave me alone. Go back to where you belong.”
Jake slumped back in his seat in time for another air pocket to jolt the aircraft, and he barely noticed it, or the renewed wailing of the miserable kid. And when the plane lurched suddenly to the right, and the people sitting near made a collective, ‘Ohh’, of surprise, he felt fine. He wasn’t going to die, not today and not with her sitting beside him. He wouldn’t be so lucky. He shot a quick glance at her; the frown was a full blown angry scowl, and she had her arms folded tight. He wasn’t unhappy about that.
Getting Real Page 8
