Getting Real

by Ainslie Paton

  The plane took another sharp lurch to the right, and the overhead lockers rattled. The Captain said, “Sorry folks, that was a rough ride, but we’re out of the storm pattern now. We expect clear sailing til we touch down.”

  Jake heard the clack of Rielle releasing her belt seconds before the ping of the seat-belt sign. As the Captain said, “The weather in Perth is fine, and hot at thirty-eight degrees,” she was out of her seat and headed back up the aisle.

  Now he would sleep. He closed his eyes and thanked Zanect for making everything all right.

  12. Zombie State

  Jake almost slept through landing and was in a zombie-dazed state at the luggage carousel. He watched from somewhere outside himself as Sharon deftly gathered the talent and their luggage, avoided a small group of journalists and a TV crew and a bigger group of fans, and bundled them all into waiting cars.

  He watched while Rielle avoided him and snuggled up to Jonathan, letting him carry her bag, trotting after him to get in the same hire car. He ended up with Rand and Roley, and Problem Children’s drummer and lead guitarist.

  “You look totally out of it, man,” said Roley by way of greeting, peering at him before sliding on his sunglasses.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Rand. “I thought you were coming with the staging trucks.”

  Jake said, “Yeah.” Hire cars were cool. So much cooler than planes.

  Roley laughed. “What have you taken?”

  “Zanect,” he muttered. “It makes me a little groggy. I’ll be all right in an hour or so.”

  “Hah,” said Roley, “it’s a wonder you’re conscious.”

  “Why are you here, Jake?” Rand repeated.

  Jake’s head tipped back against the headrest. He closed his eyes. “I am a mere mortal. I obey the Ice Queen’s command.”

  Even the driver laughed. Rand reached over and slapped him across the knee. “Sorry buddy. You know, it’s okay to say no to her.”

  “Though you might not continue to be anatomically correct afterwards,” stuttered Roley, making the other men laugh again.

  Jake acknowledged their fun with a sloppy grin. “I’m too much of a wimp to ignore her.”

  “No, you’re not, Reedy,” said the drummer, whose name Jake couldn’t recall. “Remember the brown snake on our last festival tour?”

  Jake remembered the snake, deadly poisonous, curled up asleep on a bass drum. He remembered grabbing it firmly behind the head, and stuffing it in a bag to get it off the set.

  “Remember that ticket scalper who crashed backstage?”

  Jake remembered the ticket scalper. He’d been particularly obnoxious when asked to leave, and had taken a swing at someone. He remembered he’d wrestled the bloke to the ground and held him til security arrived. He’d copped a bloody nose and a black eye for his trouble.

  “Don’t believe him about being a wimp,” the nameless drummer appealed to the others. “Not this bloke.”

  “That snake was asleep, wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” murmured Jake, thinking David, no Darren, no Damien, definitely a D name, ah—

  When they got to the hotel, Sharon took his elbow and pressed a room card into his hand. “Go sleep it off, boss, I’ve got this.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll come meet you for breakfast tomorrow and give you an update.”

  He stood in the foyer and watched the two bands dump luggage and pick up room slide keys and get back in the hire cars for their inspection of the Perth Stadium. Half of him wanted to join them. There were things he needed to do. But the half that had a thick tongue and a woozy head and knew he wasn’t even supposed to be here, headed for the elevators.

  Jake swayed on unsteady legs when he’d joined them at the luggage carousel, so Rielle knew he wasn’t himself. Still what he’d said stung. A wild shot, she guessed. The sort of thing I would say. He might not remember he’d said it. He couldn’t possibly appreciate the accuracy of his arrow. Bullseye, baby.

  When they arrived at the venue, Rand caught up with her. “What’s the story?” He slowed his pace so they dropped back from Jonathon and Dale.

  “Meaning?” Let’s see how long it would take her to piss off Rand as well.

  “Jake.”

  She sighed. “What good was he to us three days away?”

  “Rie, we have a three day break here. We don’t need him yet.”

  “Yeah well, he’s paid to do what we want.” Was Rand kidding, anything could go wrong, they needed all their resources on hand.

  “What gives?”

  “What do you mean?” She skipped up a few steps ahead of him. She could hear Sharon explaining about the green room facilities.

  Rand took the steps two at a time and was in front of her. “You can be hard to get along with, but you’re not normally so pig-headed or so fucking mean. That was dirty what you did to Jake.”

  “He could’ve said no,” she snapped, coming level with him. Jake was a sap for saying yes.

  “Yeah, and have you up his butt the rest of the tour for it. He’s smarter than that.”

  Sometimes Rand was too soft. Too willing to think the best of everyone. Why couldn’t he see this? “It’s not about Jake, it’s about Jonas. I don’t trust him.” She pinched Rand’s arm as he stepped ahead of her.

  “Ow! Jonas is fine. He understands, he’s promised to—”

  “He’s a junkie and you believe his promises.”

  Rand stopped. He rubbed his forearm where she’d pinched. “I don’t think it’s that bad.” He considered. “If I thought it was that bad, I’d have him out of here in thirty seconds.”

  Rielle stepped past him. “It’d better be all right.”

  “You’re the one who’s not all right, Rie. I’m more worried about you than Jonas.”

  She turned back, looking down on him. She shrugged. “I blew it last night. I beat myself up. I’m okay now. It’ll be easier from here. It was just first night jitters.”

  He came up one step, almost meeting her eye to eye. He so wasn’t buying. “You beat yourself up worse than normal and you’ve never given yourself the excuse of first night jitters in your life.”

  “Shut up, Rand.”

  He stepped past her and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’ll fix everything.”

  After a good fifteen hours sleep, Jake had a clear head but a cloudy conscience. He woke early and went for a run, hoping that pounding the pavement might help him forget what he’d said to Rielle. He could blame the Zanect, but it hadn’t made a liar of him. He did think she was a terrible fake. There was nothing real about her—not even that moment at the beach when she’d seemed vulnerable. It was all an act. Problem was, it was none of his business, and it’d been stupid, and hideously unprofessional to let her goad him into making those comments.

  It was already hot and threatened to be a stinker by the time he got back to the hotel. He showered, dressed and was early to meet with Sharon, whose efficiency succeeded in making him as redundant as he’d known he’d be for the next couple of days.

  If he’d had Bonne he could have taken off. Ridden out to the Margaret River and visited some wineries or taken a jaunt out to Wave Rock just for the pleasure of riding through kilometres of red dust. This unplanned leisure time weighed on him. He did a venue visit with Sharon, had lunch with the Perth-based concert promoter, took a taxi out to Cottesloe Beach for a swim, even read most of Brendan Cowell’s How it Feels.

  He swam with Rand in the hotel pool. Had a drink at the bar with Roley, How, Stu and Ceedee, and then talked himself into taking care of some long overdue personal business. He didn’t see Rielle which was better and worse. Ceedee said she was hanging out with Jonathan, which was no surprise. By the time he’d see her at the stage inspection it would be three days since the argument on the plane. The thought of apologising made him want to eat his own tongue. He preferred the idea she might simply go cold on him, look through him like a sheet of glass. She had form. He could only hope.

 
Rand studied the list of names of the television production crew who’d be joining them in Perth and travelling through to Sydney, making a Behind the Scenes documentary on the concert for broadcast on one of the digital music channels.

  The name Harry Young jumped out at him. No good reason, it was a common enough name, and it was a pretty sure bet the Harry Young listed as the producer would be male; probably smoked like a chimney, swore like a wharfie and had a beer gut. The Harry Young Rand remembered didn’t let anyone else call her Harry except Rand. She was Harriet to the rest of the world, pretty, blonde, shy and plagued with a determined stutter. She had bony elbows, skinny legs and a fringe that constantly fell in her eyes. She’d been too scared to get her ears pierced and to kiss him with her braces on, but for that once when he’d asked her to the school dance, the year end formal. She’d been excited then, got all flushed and kissed him back a bit too hard.

  Rand never got to see Harry in her first formal dress. He never made it to the school dance. He’d spent the night moving between Maggie and Rielle’s rooms in the hospital, propping up Ben, and trying to take in what the doctors were saying. He’d called Harry to apologise, and he’d seen her once again, briefly at the funeral. She’d hugged him hard and cried into his jacket. He’d always wondered what happened to her. She didn’t move in the same circles as the other mates he’d kept in touch with, so she remained this faraway fond memory of a time before things got hard.

  He hadn’t thought of Harry Young for years, but being home was dredging up all sorts of memories and seeing that name on the list had triggered this one.

  Jake nearly walked past his room. The ‘Do not disturb’ tag on the door handle threw him off. He figured it was something housekeeping must have done. He found Jonas barely breathing—almost choking in his vomit, the near empty packet of Zanect and four drained green Heineken bottles on the floor beside him. He tried to wake him, then rolled him to his side, supported him with pillows, and called an ambulance.

  The wait was agony. But the paramedics were efficient and quick once they arrived, bundling Jonas into the back of an ambulance and speeding towards the hospital. Jake followed in a taxi, and waited on a hard plastic chair in a hot corridor, praying he’d have good news to report. He delayed calling Rand until he knew more, but once it was clear Jonas was going to live he dialled Rand’s mobile.

  13. Doctor

  The Fremantle Doctor was filling the sails of the yachts on the Swan River, giving Sharon, Rand and Rielle something to watch from the balcony of the hotel’s rooftop bar. Jake kept his head down. He was fine sitting in the confines of the snug bar, so long as he pretended there was no balcony edge, and no view. He imagined the yachts were fast and graceful, zipping across the surface of the water, racing each other for the sheer enjoyment of it. The contrasting conversation was stilted, angst ridden and outraged.

  They’d said all there was to say. Jonas was being kept at the hospital for observation, and Sharon had him waitlisted for flights back to LA. Rielle had raged, and then fallen quiet, letting Rand make the necessary decisions.

  Jonas was out. If he didn’t straighten up, the band would need to hire a new executive producer and stage manager. Meanwhile the Australian portion of the tour would go on with Rand and Rielle sharing EP responsibilities. They’d asked Jake to take on the stage manager’s role.

  He was hesitating—pretending a great fascination with his hands. As tour manager, he could stand apart from the ins and outs of the band’s issues. He was responsible for getting them to the stage, but what they did on it was outside of his control. But as stage manager, he’d be responsible for their actions on stage as well. There’d be no escaping them. He’d done the dual role for other tours, but nothing this big, and while he was confident about working with Rand, it was Rielle he was worried about. Especially since their last discussion.

  He broke the silence. “I’m flattered you’re asking, but I’m concerned.” He looked at Rielle. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

  “I said some things too, Jake,” said Rielle, while Rand looked on with a quirked eyebrow and Sharon waved a waiter over for a drinks refill.

  He met Rielle’s eyes and held them. “If you’re sure we can work together?”

  She gave him her trademark scowl. “I’m not sure. But I’m prepared to give it a try.”

  “Rie!” Rand smacked his empty glass back on the table too hard.

  Rielle was hunched forward in her chair and turned to look back at her brother. “Well, I’m not sure. This is important. I can’t see any point lying to Jake.”

  Jake dropped his head. He wasn’t at all convinced about Rielle and the truth, but he agreed with the sentiment anyway. “I understand. Why don’t we see who else is available locally to step in if things don’t work out?”

  Rand said, “That won’t be—”

  Rielle said, “Good idea,” their words jumbling on top of each other.

  Jake looked to Sharon who nodded, doing her best ‘nothing rattles me’ impression in spite of the tension. “No worries. I’ll see who’s available,” she said. They both knew the likelihood of anyone suitable being available at no notice was low and that they were in for an interesting time.

  Rand got to his feet. “I’m going to head into the hospital.” He gave Rielle a nudge, but she shook her head, stood and walked across to the balcony rail. “Fine,” he eye-rolled. “Jake, if you can take on the job we’ll be eternally grateful. And don’t worry about her. She’ll get with the program.” He shot a meaningful look in the Rielle’s direction.

  Jake nodded. He could turn down the job. He should. But for the moment at least, he was stuck.

  “I’ll give you a lift,” said Sharon, taking a hurried slurp of her carrot and beetroot juice, tucking the paper cocktail umbrella behind her ear and getting to her feet. She gave Jake a pat on the shoulder and left with Rand.

  What Jake most wanted to do was have an afternoon swim to clear his head and an early night. Tomorrow was going to be a big day with the road crew arriving, no Jonas, and his new job brief; but there was Rielle, somewhere at the railing, looking out on the river.

  He imagined her hair picking up the breeze, long, tangled, red strands of it floating across her back. If they were going to work together, he had to clear the air, but he could barely look at her—anxiety that she might fall through the chest-high, glass balcony wall gnawed in his stomach. All he could do was wait, hopefully she’d come back to the table.

  When she did, she took control of the conversation. “Did you mean what you said about me being a fake?”

  He groaned. Not exactly where he’d have started their discussion.

  “I can’t see any point in you lying to me either, Jake.”

  He chose his words carefully. “I think you are an incredible singer and a talented performer. You’re electric on stage. I don’t think I have any right to have an opinion on anything else about you.”

  She huffed. “But you do.”

  He was silent. He stood by his drug-assisted opinion of her as a fake. He was completely confused by her. One moment she was the in-your-face rock diva and the next quiet introspective and shy, like she’d been on both bike rides—a different person altogether.

  She said, “Here’s what I think. You’re Mr Nice Guy. You know your job but I don’t see you being tough enough to make the hard decisions, and this business is all about hard decisions. You just don’t have enough Godzilla in you. You look at Rand and you see a nice guy too. But my brother has the heart of a monster, he won’t let anything stop us from getting what we need—he never has. I don’t think that’s something you have in you, Jake, and it’s something we might need.”

  She’d spoken softly but her words were hard-edged, needing an unambiguous reply. “You’re wrong, Rielle. But I’m not in the habit of turning myself inside-out to prove what I can do to you or anyone else. What you see is what you get. Take me or leave me. I know who I am and what I can do and I’m comfort
able with that.”

  She considered his words. “Fair enough. But you’ve already proven you have a straw heart, Jake. You won’t tell me what you think about me.”

  “I’m not sure that makes me weak, Rielle. Just careful.”

  Rielle laughed, her voice lifting in the breeze and drifting across the open terrace making other people look their way. What did it matter what Jake Reed thought anyway, so long as he was a competent operator. “Let’s get specific then. What’s your professional opinion of my performance in Adelaide?”

  She expected him to blow smoke at her, praise her performance. Do what everyone else other than Rand and Jonas (when he was straight) did—lie.

  Jake sat forward in his seat, contemplating his options. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but in this conversation. “Here’s what I think. Your performance was a seven out of ten.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “You missed cues a couple of times. Had issues with lyrics. You didn’t have the bungee safety hooked up on the trapeze, which made you vulnerable if anything bad happened. You were late opening the second half. You were nervous and you never settled. None of that much mattered; what did is how unhappy it made you. You were in a funk by the second half and you never recovered.”

  “Shit, Jake! Don’t pull any punches!” She hadn’t expected near as frank an assessment. She’d figured he’d extract himself from the conversation, the balcony, the job. “Not even Rand knows about the safety harness. He’d have ripped into me if he did.” Jake had a ‘well you asked for it’ expression on his face. She tucked her chin down. “Thanks. That’s what I needed to hear. Rand was being forgiving and Jonas wasn’t watching.”