Getting Real

by Ainslie Paton

  “Rough ‘em up boys, but don’t kill ‘em; they sign the salary cheques,” growled Bodge.

  When Roley got to his feet, Jake pushed him down to the grass again. “Stay winded, mate,” he laughed, “we’re all done in.” Roley lay back and groaned in an exaggerated manner that left no doubt he was faking, and the roadie team cat-called their disapproval.

  “Pussy!”

  “Wuss!”

  “Big girls!”

  “Oi!” yelled Rielle. “We’ll show you how girls do it!”

  She aimed a play kick at Roley who jumped to his feet, yelled, “Rock and roll!” and the game started again.

  Since Roley had been in possession and knocked the ball out, Lizard took the tap and the roadie team spread out behind him ready to take a pass and carry the ball forward.

  Teflon took the first pass and sent the ball wide to Bunk, who avoided Jake and Rand and flick passed to Neddy. But the ball went over his head and Rielle intercepted it. She scooted between Bodge and Tim. Jake’s talent team erupted, screaming her name as she raced towards the goal and the roadies, caught flat footed, chased after her.

  All it needed was a tap to her body and Rielle would have to stop running, but Neddy ignored the minimum contact rule, and made a lunge for her, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her high off the ground where she kicked and screamed.

  Jake shouted, “Mongrel!” and raced alongside Neddy and Rielle. Around him players from both sides exploded in shouts of protest and disapproval.

  Rand, not far behind him, was yelling, “Foul!”

  Rielle was screaming incoherently, kicking and struggling to get out of Neddy’s grip.

  “All right, all right,” Neddy said, releasing Rielle, hands held high. “My bad.” He laughed and some of the other roadies sniggered.

  Once her feet hit the ground, Rielle reacted. She spun about, drew back her fist and let fly a solid punch that connected with a loud smack against Neddy’s laughing face.

  His head jerked back more from surprise than force and he lunged at her. “Little bitch!”

  Jake and Bodge both yelled “Neddy!” and Jake shot forward to head off Neddy’s advance, but found his arms pinned by Rand.

  “Wait,” said Rand in his ear, holding him fast.

  Rielle stepped into Neddy’s lunge, braced her hands on his chest and brought her knee up hard and fast. There was a collective gasp from the players and Neddy dropped to the ground like a stunned cow, rolling over on his back, writhing and clutching his groin, red faced and moaning.

  Grinning, Rand let go of Jake. “You shouldn’t play with fire unless you know how to put it out.”

  Every man on the field felt Neddy’s pain and sympathetic groans broke out from both teams along with some gasps of surprise and admiration. Stu and Roley fell into each other laughing. Jeremy and Ceedee bolted across the field to Rielle, and Bodge leaned over to examine Neddy calling, “He’ll live, but I don’t think there will be any little Neddys anytime soon.”

  “All hail the vasectomy bringer,” shouted Tef. He and Lizard went down on their knees in front of Rielle, waving their arms about, paying homage to her capacity to cripple a man twice her size.

  Rielle put her foot against Teflon’s shoulder and pushed him over, where he re-enacted Neddy’s agony, clutching his groin, rolling around and groaning.

  She said nothing, but Jake saw her shake her hand and try to hide a smile.

  “That’s my girl!” said Rand.

  “Did you teach her that?” Jake asked.

  Rand was smiling like a proud father witnessing his kid beat up the local bully for the first time. “Nope, she learnt that by herself.”

  Jake watched as Rand went to Rielle and pulled her hair. They spoke quietly together. That punch would have hurt her hand. She was something else: hellcat, rock goddess, sharp tongued bitch and an annoying, armour-wearing fighter with a pretty decent right hook.

  He caught her eye. She lifted her chin defiantly, pushed Rand away and stepped over a still-prone Neddy. “Are we playing or discussing the weather? Possession’s ours.”

  Twenty minutes later, the game conceded to team roadie. Jake pulled Tim aside. “Neddy has to go. We’ll pay him up and give him a plane ticket home.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Tim, “after the show.”

  “Now.”

  “Ah.” Tim hesitated, but clocking Jake’s ‘no mucking about’ expression, said “Okay.”

  Post game, Rielle and Rand retreated to a row of stadium seats to cool off.

  “That was pretty stupid, Rie,” said Rand, looking at the red swollen knuckles of her right hand. “Will you be able to manage the aerial work?”

  She looked down at her hand, “Yeah, of course.” But it was throbbing. She’d tried to make a fist earlier and found it pained.

  “Grip my arm,” he said, holding out his forearm.

  “I’m fine,” she said, impatiently pushing his arm away. “Tell me about little Harriet Young.”

  He smiled. “Hah, not little, not shy, kinda hot.”

  “This is the same Harry Young you were heartsick over at school?”

  “I wasn’t sick over her.”

  “She was this little wisp of a kid, in the year between you and me. I remember she was always in the library. Other kids used to push her down the stairs and stick gum in her hair.”

  “Did they?” Rand’s voice went all upper register. He was such a dweeb not to have known that.

  “Yeah, geez. I never understood what you saw in her. You inviting her to the school formal was the biggest thing that ever happened to her. Everyone thought it was a joke.”

  He shoved her shoulder. “They did not!”

  Rielle nodded. “They did.”

  Rand’s face collapsed into regret. “Shit. I never knew that either. Well, she’s no wisp now and no one’s pushing her around anymore. I reckon she’s doing the pushing.”

  “People don’t change.”

  He scoffed. “You did. You used to be this sweet kid.”

  Rielle flexed her fingers. “I was never a sweet kid.”

  He sighed. “No, I guess not. False memory.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t.” How did they get from a game of football to this. She wanted Rand to shut the fuck up.

  He grabbed her chin and brought her face up close to his. He smelled of grass and sweat. “You were a sweet kid. I get why you can’t forgive yourself, why you needed to reinvent yourself, but I’m not letting you distort my memories with your self-hatred.”

  She shook free of him. “If I’d have been less of a monster and more like a kid who went to the library things might be different.”

  “You have to move on Rie,” said Rand in a voice doused with pain and history and exasperation. He didn’t say more because Bodge trotted up with an esky full of ice. She’d never been so grateful to see him. She plunged her fist into the icy cold.

  Bodge said, “Neddy’s out,” and tipped his head towards the middle of the grass area where Neddy, Tim and Jake stood. Neddy was turned towards them. Rielle could see his face was red. He made an angry gesture towards her and when Tim turned to follow his hand, Neddy swung at him, collecting Tim on the jaw, making him stagger backwards.

  Neddy didn’t see Jake coming. But Rielle did. Jake was full of surprises. What Neddy would’ve seen was blue sky as he went down and then nothing at all.

  “Bloody hell,” said Bodge.

  Rand elbowed her. “Godzilla enough for you?”

  16. Slightly Godzilla

  Perth punters were having a good time. They’d started the night chanting, “We want the hanging roadie.” And there was a group of girls in the mosh pit wearing t-shirts that said, Heart Hanging Roadie and Having Hanging Roadie’s Baby.

  As unexpected as it was, Collin Ng was quick to give them a taste of what they wanted. He rolled recorded tape of Neddy on the trapeze creating waves of laughter and establishing the tone for the night. Jake looked at Bodge who mouthed, “Great gig.�
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  An hour later it was a great gig threatening to go wrong. On stage, Jonathan Bennett wasn’t playing by the rules. Getting signed as support act for Ice Queen was a big deal for Problem Children, but now were on stage the plan was to convince the punters they were better than a mere support act, better than the headliners. Fair enough, but that didn’t mean they could bugger around with the show schedule and that’s what they were trying to do.

  At the end of their set, they played a second encore, and Jonathan was gearing up for a third, though he knew they had a time limit on stage because of neighbourhood noise restrictions enforced later in the night.

  The instant Jake recognised Jonathan wasn’t about to leave the stage, he moved. He grabbed Problem Children’s stage manager, Ross Rowland by the arm. “Get them off now.”

  “Nah, mate. Just one more song. Look at the crowd. They’re loving it.”

  “Now,” said Jake, and when Ross shook his head, he said, “We’ll pull sound, right now. Get them off.”

  Ross growled, spoke into his headset and Jonathan glanced to the side of the stage and frowned. He would’ve heard Ross’s instruction in his earpiece loud and clear, but he pretended otherwise. He obviously didn’t think Jake had the balls to pull their sound or lighting, if he played another song. He signalled the band, introduced a new song and launched into it. The bastard knew he was stealing time from Ice Queen, and he didn’t care. “Fuck!” Jake gave instructions through his headset to Bodge, Tim and Glen and midway into the song, Jonathan’s big plan unravelled. The singer had to watch as the lighting changed to illuminate two guitarists at the side of the stage, Rand and Stu, playing the Problem Children song, but giving it their own style—upstaging the band as the punters turned their attention to two of the world’s hottest young guitarists.

  Jake had effectively snookered Jonathan. He had to keep singing and yet he’d lost control of the performance. The four guitarists on stage brought the song to a crashing end and over applause Rand said, “It’s bedtime for Problem Children. Say goodnight, boys,” as he and Stu subtly herded the support band off stage.

  Jonathan spoke into his mic but, two words into his goodnight message, realised it had been turned off. Jake had given him dead air. He frowned and waved to the audience as he and the band made their way off the now partially lit stage. It was an odd, fractured ending to their show, making them look unrehearsed and unprofessional, but as far as Jake was concerned, they’d brought it on themselves.

  “What the fuck, Ross?” Jonathan screamed, when he arrived in the backstage area.

  “Don’t look at me. Take it up with Jake.”

  Jake was ready. “You’re lucky I didn’t yank your power and leave you in the dark. Don’t do that again.”

  Jonathan slammed his hand into a piece of staging. “You fucked us over, you fucking—”

  Jake stepped up close to the taller man, interrupting him. This was a test he needed to pass. “You want off the tour, just say the word. You want on, we play by my rules.”

  Jonathan towered over Jake. He looked like he was about to shape up until Lizard said, “You know Jake decked Neddy, pretty boy.”

  Jonathan stepped back, but seeing Rand, Stu and Rielle enter the backstage area, started to protest again.

  Jake said, “Stow it. You got a problem, take it up with me after the show.”

  Jonathan swore and slapped an open hand on the staging again and with Ross in tow, stormed off towards the dressing rooms. Jake watched him go. He made for Rand, standing with Rielle and Stu, but thought better of it at the last minute and let Ross steer him into the backstage tunnel. He might’ve stood down for now, but this wasn’t over.

  Jake caught Rand’s eye. He had a right to be angry about being called up on stage as part of Jake’s solution to get Problem Children off, but he was grinning happily. Rand nudged Rielle and said something Jake couldn’t hear and she shoved him back making him laugh.

  As she walked past she leaned into Jake, poked him in the chest and said, “Okay, that was slightly Godzilla.”

  After the issue with Jonathan, Jake was relieved Ice Queen’s first half ran smoothly. Nothing fell over, crashed to the ground, shattered, burned or hurt anyone. The show opening patter between Rielle and Rand was more polished—there were no dropped cues. Rielle had no issue with lyrics and, apart from Stu needing a quick replacement guitar because of a broken string, all went well.

  The opening of the second half had the Perth punters screaming in appreciation, but Jake could see Rielle was hesitant on the trapeze, her safety bungee was in place but her movements were less bold, less daring and flamboyant.

  “Her hand is no good,” said Bodge, at his side.

  “We should’ve made her have an X-ray,” said Jake. Jonas would’ve known to do that. Shit, he was a disaster at this.

  “Can’t make her do anything, Reedy.” Bodge grinned. “I tried.”

  Jake nodded, eyes on Lizard and Teflon setting up the Hand. It was Bunk’s turn to ride with Rielle. She came off stage and Bodge shoved an ice pack and a bottle of water in her hands as she flashed past them to change.

  Three minutes later she was back. She took a slug of water, put her hand on the telescopic tower’s railing, looked at Bunk and shouted, “Not you—him,” pointing at Jake. What did she want? He had no idea. He cut a look at Bodge who shrugged.

  “What?” said Bunk. He had his hand on the ladder ready to climb up after her.

  She pushed him away. “Not you. I want Jake.”

  Oh fuck no! Jake growled; his stomach lurched. “No, no you don’t.” God, this devil woman was seriously out to shorten his life. “Go.” He gave Bunk a shove back towards the equipment.

  “Jake. I want you,” yelled Rielle, above the opening riff of the song. “Now!”

  Jake planted his feet firmly. He was a tree, roots through the stage and into the core of the earth. He was not moving. He yelled back, “No!” No freaking way. She wasn’t winning this one.

  But he had Bodge in his ear yelling, “Go, go, go,” and pushing him forward, concerned only about meeting the staging cues. Fuck. Fuck. Bunk stood aside and they’d missed the cue.

  This was suicide but he had no choice. Bodge dragged his headset off, pushed him up to the railing. He grabbed it and hoisted himself into the cage behind Rielle. He caught sight of Bodge holding his head, already seeing disaster.

  “What are you trying to do—kill me?” he shouted in her ear.

  Evil bitch laughed at him. “You’d better have watched the rehearsal Jake, because I expect this to be good.”

  She was trying to kill him and she probably would. But he was so surprised to find himself in the cage, his brain hadn’t had a chance to send out the panic signal. He tried to centre himself by sitting on the edge of the bench seat and watching the band on stage, because he knew it was coming. Any minute now he’d have head spins. Any second now he’d feel like he was going to die. And thousands of people would be watching as he fell apart in real life and close-up on the big screen.

  And then it hit and his body went cold and his vision blurred and his blood stopped pumping while his heart cartwheeled and he wanted to die.

  When the cage started moving he made a grab for Rielle, scooted up behind her, and tucked his face into her neck, breathing in the perfume from her shampoo and makeup. He had his eyes screwed closed and he held onto her shins so hard he was going to bruise her. It was the best he could do.

  Folded into her, he could feel her breathing. The back of her ribs expanded against his chest, and he tried to breathe with her like on the trapeze, to stop from panting. Under the gladiator lights it was hot and in seconds his shirt was plastered to his back and he clamped his thighs harder against Rielle’s hips to try and counteract his rising fear.

  The voice in his head said, “Okay, okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” but it fucking lied. He was not okay. He was not okay.

  They were three stories high in the air with fifteen thousand screaming
fans below them and another thirty-five thousand watching their ascent. When the cage came to a stop it gave a hop which made his stomach tear inside-out and he groaned. He felt Rielle stand and he knew he was supposed to do something, but he was bolted rigid to the bench.

  The part of Rielle that wasn’t belting out the song lyrics, watching the crowd and listening to the music in her earplug had to have been aware he was not coping. She turned to face him and ran her fingers through his hair. That got a good reaction from the punters, but when she climbed onto his lap, wrapped her legs around his waist and tucked his head into her shoulder, there was a roar of approval. Or maybe that was just random noise in his head. He had no idea what was real and what was part of his meltdown. There was no way he was going to move, or open his eyes, so whatever happened next was up to her. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him. For a moment he didn’t yield, couldn’t move, but she pushed again and he released his hold on the edge of the bench and grabbed her waist instead.

  She pushed him again and he had no strength to fight her, so he lay back on the seat and she straddled his hips. He was straining for breath, but when he felt her lips close on his, her teeth graze him, his eyes flew open and he grabbed her in a hard hug and the crowd roared and his senses spun, and he held that kiss like it was the only thing that could stop him falling.

  They rode the cage back to the stage locked in that panicked embrace. When it bounced to a stop, and he knew her mic was off, he shouted, “I hope you’re happy, Rielle Mainline,” and lifted her away from him with shaking arms. He gripped the side of the cage and hoisted himself over it, jumping the short distance to the ground where he snatched his headset off Bodge and walked away with only his pride holding him upright and not a backward glance.

  In the seconds she had before being back on stage, Rielle watched Jake go. Instead of feeling victorious, she felt horribly, horribly ugly and diminished.

  Oh fucking hell, Rand was steamed. “What the fuck were you thinking?”