On stage, Rie was glittering; wickedly, brilliantly. And every beam of light that broadcast from her was reflected back in the adoration of the crowd. They ate her up and she gave them more to gorge on.
It was one hell of a show and Jake could feel the extra electricity in the air. He looked about the side of the stage and saw Tef, Liz, Bunk and even Glen transfixed, and yet they all knew the show backwards. That’s how good this band was—when you thought you knew their every move they had extra in the tank.
When the second half of the show opened, the band were so obviously enjoying themselves that the punters had something even more to scream about. They changed the song order, they played extended versions of favourite tracks, they chucked in a rendition of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. For many in the audience, this was the second or third show they’d seen, so they knew what they were experiencing tonight was special, and their enthusiasm fed the stadium and hyped the atmosphere for everyone.
The night, the love of a rock star he knew he’d have in bed later, the fullness of his heart made Jake feel a little reckless, like shaking things up himself. He only had one chance. When he saw Bunk take his place to go for his ride in the Hand. He took it.
He grabbed the back of Bunk’s shirt. “I want this one, mate.” Bunk swatted him off. He had one hand already on the ladder. Above him in the cage, Rie was adjusting her sound pack, oblivious to the surprise Jake had for her. “You! Are you fucking kidding?”
“No. Something I’ve gotta do.”
“You’ll have another psycho attack up there,” Bunk shouted.
“Back off, Bunk, she’s mine tonight.”
“No way.” Bunk stood his ground.
The tour was over; it’s not like Jake could sack him now. He got up in Bunk’s face. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Bunk swore at him but stepped aside. Jake had psyched him out. Now he had to make sure he didn’t blow himself up.
“He grabbed the railing and hoisted himself up the ladder into the cage. Rielle was fiddling with her mic still and had her back to him. He slipped in behind her and waited. She did a double-take when she saw him, and shook her head in surprise when she realised he was meeting her eyes not looking at the cage floor.
“So, kill me already,” he said in her ear. He was remembering the gym that first day when he’d teased a cute blonde and his first ride in the Hand when that same cute blonde disguised as a bitch from hell was out to do him in—and everything it led them to.
“You’re sure?” she shouted, though there was no time now if he wasn’t.
He ran his thumb gently over her lips. “Bring it on.”
She laughed and took her place, then jerked when he slammed his body hard against hers, wrapping one arm around her and dragging her back against his chest.
“No,” she said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He was holding her all wrong, too tightly and he knew it.
He put his lips against her ear, “Yes,” and ran his hand up her body and under her chin, forcing her to drop her head back to his chest. “Payback, my darling bitch.” He took one of her hands in his. This time he was in control.
Jake could feel his heart clobbering his ribs, the combined effect of being in the Hand, of having Rielle in his arms, and the anticipation of appearing in front of seventy-five thousand screaming fans. What the fuck was he doing? But he had a lock on his fear, and while it was burrowing away at his consciousness, he was keeping it fastened down and out of his knees and hands, out of his head.
When the Hand of God rose above the pit, and the spotlight hit them, the crowd went ape. Jake released Rielle enough to allow her to sing the verse, but he kept her in his arms. And he concentrated on her. She was the centre of his new calm, the level horizon, the rational argument, the strength and reason that could beat his demon panic. Because she’d been doing that by herself since she was fourteen years old and she loved him.
When she stood, he stood with her, running his hands up her hips, over her ribs and coming to cup her breasts, pulling her back against his body and nuzzling her neck. The punters in the pit below them roared. Every man there wanted to be him and every woman Rielle.
How many times had she sung this song? How many times had she gone through this routine with Tef, Bunk and even Lizard? Not once had she reacted to their hands, been more aware of them than of her own breathing? But Jake knew he was making her feel him. She lost all sense of the performance and the crowd below and breathed into his hands, letting her head fall back against his arm and looking up at him.
She misplaced a word in the song, mumbled over it, then caught herself. He felt her chest expand under his hands as she sang the next line correctly, and in the beat between it and the next, he spun her around to face him. He had his legs planted wide apart making their height difference less obvious and he pulled her hips against his, arms around her waist.
If he looked out at the mosh pit he might not have made it through this, but when he looked at her, every wondrous, sexy, changeable and dangerous part of her, his paralysis was love not fear.
Under the intense heat of the spotlights, he felt her shiver and he threw back his head and howled her name.
He barely waited for her to sing the last word before he crushed her lips in a wet, open-mouthed kiss—bending her backwards, breathing his desire into her. When he straightened up and released her, he was aware of the swell of noise from the crowd and the look of wonder on her face. She leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and they kissed again.
Poor Bodge wasn’t sure what to do for the second time that night. He should’ve had the cage moving before now, but because they were still standing—well he was—it was too dangerous. The crowd was going wild, and when the song ended Rand and Stu looked at each other for a clue on what to do next.
Rand said into his mic, “It’s in the Hand of God!” and the punters went crazy. Bodge reckoned half the stadium either had their tongue down someone’s throat or wished they did.
It wasn’t til Bodge came up the ladder to break them up that Jake really knew what day it was. If he didn’t let Rie go, she’d miss her cue. He could see Bodge looked kind of proud of him. It was very rock and roll.
That night Ice Queen played five encores. The final one being a new song Rand and Stu played impromptu, just for the hell of it. That made it three times in one night Bodge had to scramble. He had to send Tef, Liz and Bunk on stage to re-set gear. Not that punters cared if a few black shirts crawled around the set; all they cared about was not going home yet.
When the band took their last bows, Bodge sighed. He’d already said goodbye to Rielle when he fitted her mic and sound pack at the beginning of the show. He wasn’t ready when she came off stage and barrelled into his arms. She jumped and he caught her legs and she straddled his hips and looked him straight in the eye.
“You ever need work Bodge, you give us a call. As long as we’re touring there’ll be a job for you.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Aw, Rie.” He was red to the tips of his ears. “I’m too old for shocks like this.”
She laughed and kissed him full on the lips and he almost dropped her in surprise. And when he let her down, and she disappeared backstage, Jake knew Bodge wouldn’t feel half as crappy about missing her as he already did.
He clapped Bodge on the shoulder. It was a really good tour.
45. Epic
The noise and activity backstage was frenetic; a mix of celebration and farewell and the business of packing up for the last time. Jake knew he’d have to wait for Rielle to say her goodbyes before he could claim her attention. Meanwhile he was getting plenty of attention himself, with various crew members giving him grinning thumbs ups and excited high-fives.
It wasn’t often road crew and talent got together, and it had never happened so spectacularly on anyone’s watch, so their thing had everyone buzzing. And that was on top of the fact Jake hadn’t freaked out in the Hand.
“What was that?” Glen laughed. “When did you suddenly get okay with heights?”
“I had a little therapy.” Jake, winced from a too hard thump on the back from a passing Bodge.
“So you lose the fear and get the girl. Epic, mate.”
It was both epic and well worth the time and money Jake had scraped together for every hastily scheduled, uncomfortable behavioural therapy session, with a line up of psychologists in every city they’d been in since Perth. Now he had practical techniques to use to control his acrophobia and he no longer thought he might die if he had to climb a ladder or stand on a balcony. But it wasn’t just the therapy, it was Rie. Against her fears, his were so insubstantial. Having her call him out on them so brutally was the kick he’d needed to get help and get past it.
But that didn’t mean he was entirely fearless.
Fear now took the form of a fairy-tiny, punch packing, physically sensational, wolf raised, guilt stuck, rock goddess. And Jake had no idea how he was meant to cope with his anxiety about being without a daily dose of her.
At least the full force of separation would wait another day. Rielle was making her way down the corridor towards him, hugging crew members, handing out gifts and throwing glances his way that could melt sinew.
By the time she reached him, Jake was a knot of scratchy desire, irritated by the process it would take to get her alone. Tonight Ron Teller was hosting a big tour end party at the Casino.
“Have a brain snap did you, Jake?” She stopped in front of him, laughter expanding her wet spandex-covered ribs. She shook her head. “How did you do that?”
He reached out for her. So little time left to have that privilege. “Slowly and with considerable expense.”
“Did you do it for me?”
“Hell no. Much as I love you, Rie, I did it for me. You just gave me the boot up the backside I needed to get on with it.”
“But you never said anything. You never told me,” she grimaced, “and I should’ve noticed. You were fine on the flight to Melbourne. That day with the shirts in the Hand and on the balcony at the hotel and still I didn’t get it.” She frowned at him, annoyed with herself for missing the clues.
Jake shrugged. “Some things you have to do by yourself.” He pulled Rielle close, and moved his lips against hers. “And some things you really should do with someone else.” When he felt her shiver, he kissed her deeply in the noisy corridor among the crew and the partying entourage, and neither of them cared they weren’t alone.
After Rielle changed, they rode Bonne back into the city and went to the party. Rielle because it was the job, and Jake because he needed Ron for his next salary cheque. They stayed only as long as it took to be noticed—not hard in Rielle’s case—and then slipped away quickly before anyone would miss them.
After the haste came the oddness of hesitancy. Jake felt its weight like slow suffocation. Some of the early tentativeness they’d had with each other returned. Back at the hotel, they were suddenly awkward with each other, the silences too dead quiet, their laughter too bright, too loud. They were both discomforted by the realisation they were pressed hard against the barrier of the last few hours they had together—that whatever happened next would be a new, unknown, uncharted territory.
Sitting cuddled on the balcony with the dark harbour spread out before them, Jake felt heavy with all that’d remained unsaid, by all they’d avoided, skirted around, left vague and open-ended. He wasn’t coping well with the uncertainty. It wrecked his concentration, it made him twitchy with the knowledge his supply of Rielle was about to get cut off.
He didn’t need solid gold guarantees, but he needed something from her to hold him through the time they’d have to be apart.
“So, what next?”
Rielle lifted her face to his. “Who knows?”
He shifted with discomfort. “You freak me out when you say stuff like that.” Her eyes looked black in the filtered light from the room behind them, black with ideas too dark for him to want to see.
“I thought you’d had therapy for that.”
He sighed. “They haven’t invented therapy for dealing with you yet. I’m being serious. Don’t dodge me.”
In her slow silence, Jake heard the sound of absence. He waited while bats wheeled and screeched at the city lights. Their chattering calls, fast and agitated, echoed the anxiety he was feeling.
“Rie, tell me what happens next?” He was unable to leave it unsaid, prickly about her being in control of the pace of their relationship.
She moved to sit across his lap, a knee on either side of his hips. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently and infinitely tenderly. “I have a week in LA. Then we start Europe. After that, it’s the US. I don’t know when I can see you again. I don’t know how this is going to work.”
Jake felt like the rope used in a game of tug-of-war. Her words stretched him one way into an endless empty anticipation of being with her, but her touch dragged him the other. He was pulled taut with longing and immediate desire for her.
“I can come to you,” he murmured. He felt her smile form under his lips.
“You have a life too.”
He laughed softly. “Not that you’d notice.” His life had collapsed around her. He should’ve gone home, back to his flat. He should’ve found a new job to go to by now. He’d kept away from Ron at the party, because he didn’t want to miss a second of being with Rie. He knew he should’ve spent more time with his parents and found out what their argument was about too. It was unlike them to shout at each other. So many parts of his life seemed redundant, now Rielle was at its centre. He wondered briefly if that was a good thing, and rationalised it was the only thing.
“We’ll work it out.” She stood, stretching her hand for his, taking him inside to her bed where words were simple and effortless, and the truth in their coming together was a better solution to not knowing what came next.
He hated having to leave her, curled asleep, but he was still on the job and there were things that needed his attention besides the woman he’d happily let invade his every waking thought and half his unconscious dreams. He hurried through the work required, avoided getting tangled in side conversations, and got back to the hotel as soon as possible.
A housekeeping trolley was parked across the entrance to their suite. He pushed past it, calling Rielle’s name. Odd that she’d let housekeeping have access now instead of waiting til after checkout later in the afternoon.
“Can I help you, sir?” The housekeeper gave him a shy smile and watched him with wary eyes.
Jake gave her a curt nod. She aggravated him. He wanted her gone, so his last few hours with Rielle would be without interruption. He called her, his time with more urgency. The suite wasn’t that big and she’d hardly be hiding, unless this was a game. That idea made him smile.
“Sir, can I help you?” said the housekeeper, again.
He eyed the closed bedroom door. “Can you come back later?”
“No sir. I cannot. I need you to please leave.”
“This is my room.” He smiled at the notion of how much of Rielle’s life he’d appropriated as he strode across the lounge and dining rooms, flinging open the bedroom door. No Rie, and a perfectly made up bed, the bathroom empty.
“No sir, this room is unoccupied.”
Jake turned back to her. “What?” Then it hit him like an icepick to the back of the head. Rielle wasn’t here. He went across to the wardrobe and flung open the door. Padded hangers danced in the empty space; drawers were naked. In the bathroom cabinet, blank shelves stared back at him. On the floor by the bed, his bag was packed and zipped.
“Please sir,” said the housekeeper, following him into the bedroom.
He stared at her, confused, cold to his core. “Where is she?”
He got a one shouldered shrug.
Rielle didn’t answer her phone. It seemed to take an immeasurably long time to make it down the corridor to the bank of lifts, wait for one and ride i
t to the lobby. An eon passed before he made it to the top of the queue of people at reception, had the special guest relations manager paged, and asked her about the room. But it took no time at all to understand Rielle was gone.
In the two hours he’d been attending to tour wrap up details, she’d packed, checked out and disappeared. She still wasn’t answering her phone, and he had no idea where she was.
He left a message, trying to keep the panic from his voice. There had to be an explanation for this. He went back to the room and grilled the housekeeper about a note—surely there was a note. No note. He called Rand.
“It’s Jake, is Rielle with you?”
“No,” Rand barked. “Come to my room now.”
Rand had the door to his suite open when Jake arrived. “What did you do?” he said, his voice a low, angry growl.
Jake’s hands came up in a defensive gesture. The last time he’d seen Rand this angry he’d been about to pummel Stu. “I don’t know where she is.”
“Tell me what you did to her.”
“I fell in love with her and now I’ve lost her,” Jake said, completely bewildered by Rand’s attack.
“Fuck!”
He stared at Rand, looking for an answer in his green eyes so like Rielle’s, while the fear and panic he’d kept tucked down started churning in his stomach.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Home.”
“What?”
“She took a private jet, Jake. She’s gone back to LA.”
“No, she can’t have. She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”
Rand went to the bar, poured two glasses of rum, left the coke out and handed one to Jake. “She’s gone.”
Getting Real Page 32
