The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  Dominic was like a man possessed around the opposite sex, and no matter how brusque or dismissive his mood might be on any given day, it didn’t seem to deter them.

  Danny, as much as he continued to protest his innocence, always seemed to be under a cloud of morning-after guilt.

  And Mikee, if he wasn’t watching it on his iPad, was talking about his night before exploits.

  Jamie, since meeting Lara, had been resolutely faithful. Quite the achievement given the numerous offers he received and the fact that there was the matter of a 3500-mile-wide pond between him and the exotic Lara.

  He’d also noticed that drug usage had increased markedly – again with Dominic leading the way by a nose, ably assisted by Mikee and Danny. Jamie wasn’t behind the door at having a line but seemed to use it to clear his head rather than power through to the small hours of the next day.

  What could he do, he asked himself as he closed his laptop and felt a wave of sleep pass over him. With another sixteen dates of the tour to go, he vowed to be vigilant but that was really all he could do.

  ***

  “Did you see the look on his face when he turned around and realised that his bird kept flashing her tits at us?” said Danny, his voice morning-after croaky.

  Sitting over breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Dominic, also the worse for wear, choked slightly on his toast as he laughed, “And what a twat when he took his T-shirt off and threw it at you!”

  “Fuckin’ funny,” grinned Mikee as ploughed his way through his fried breakfast with the gusto of a condemned man.

  “Edinburgh tonight. Wicked time when we were there last time. Can’t wait. Girls were lovely at that club we went to. Bang up for it,” said Dom. “Need to get ourselves sorted before we go partying though.”

  ***

  The dates passed by with all the usual associated rock ’n’ roll shenanigans – bedposts were notched with amazing alacrity. Booze was consumed like mother’s milk, powders were imbibed at all hours and scotch eggs remained a staple source of sustenance.

  A joyous homecoming at Manchester Academy 1 – an upgrade on the original venue, much to the band’s delight – was packed to the newly replaced rafters. Friends, family and general well-wishers ensured that the gig went brilliantly. Manchester absolutely had taken Lonely Souls as their new ‘favourite sons’.

  A particularly ebullient Johnny had promised that they would play five consecutive nights at the city’s Apollo Theatre on their next tour when he heard the news that the album had gone up to number seven in the charts.

  ‘I promise you! It’s never been done before. But you’ll see. Next tour, we’ll make a bit of history,’ he’d announced in front of several equally drunk witnesses in the packed dressing room.

  ***

  “You can’t just do that!” snarled Dominic as the naked girl recoiled under the bed-sheets, pulling her knees up to her chin.

  Jumping out of bed and tying a bath towel round his waist, he jabbed his finger angrily in the direction of the clearly shaken girl’s face.

  “YOU DON’T DRINK MY BOOZE. SNIFF MY COKE. COME BACK TO MY ROOM!” Dominic started to pace the room agitatedly, the sleep-depriving cocaine preventing his adrenaline levels from dropping. “YOU TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF AND GET INTO MY BED AND THEN DECIDE THAT YOU DON’T WANT TO FUCK!”

  Realising that he was shouting, he dropped his voice to a calmer, more measured tone.

  The first of two nights at the O2 Academy in Islington had been, in keeping with the whole of the tour, a huge success. Totally sold-out, an oversubscribed guestlist and an adoring crowd who knew every word to every song. All obviously proud owners of the Lonely Souls debut album. Currently number seven and rising.

  Dominic had met Grace at the aftershow and had been instantly attracted to her pre-Raphaelite head of auburn coloured hair.

  As she sat in the double bed of his hotel room, the mood had soured since their initial flirtation. “I’m sorry,” Grace whispered, “But I just don’t want to now. It doesn’t feel right. Sorry.”

  “Sorry!” said Dominic, his voice dripping with contempt. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. I could have had any girl there tonight. Any girl that had watched the gig would have come back here.” He looked at her with a dismissive shake of his head. “Any of those girls would have wanted to be here and not be fuckin’ sorry,” he sneered.

  With a hardening of her resolve, Grace flashed a filthy look in Dominic’s direction. “Maybe I’m not like those girls then.” Bunching the bed sheet around her slim naked form, she said, “Don’t make me scream the place down. I should go.”

  Standing so that she could gather her clothes and leave Dominic to brood, Grace was startled as she was pushed back on to the bed, the sheet falling away from her, revealing her coral pink nipples and perfectly tended auburn pubic hair.

  “STAY!” he demanded. “We can have another drink, take things from there. No harm done eh?”

  “I said I’d scream. I’m going. Now. Sorry,” said Grace, once again rising from the bed.

  “Go then. I hate girls like you! Fuckin’ prickteasers. Prickteasers! There’s nothing worse,” he spat.

  As Grace gathered her clothing and headed to the bathroom to dress in private, she met Dom’s stare, “No. There’s nothing worse is there?” Shaking her head slowly, the knots in her stomach vice-tight, she closed the bathroom and locked it shut, breathing a sigh of relief, she dressed hurriedly.

  Opening the bathroom door slowly, she saw that Dominic was sat up on the bed, angrily drumming his fingers against his thigh. “I’m going now. Sorry this didn’t work out as we thought it would. Bye Dominic.”

  Snorting with obvious derision, “You’ll regret this tomorrow. What might have been…”

  Picking up her small clutch bag. “Really? Maybe you should think about this too,” said Grace softly. “Bye Dominic.”

  The door closed behind her with a metallic click. “Fuckin’ pricktease,” he snapped, punching the mattress repeatedly.

  ***

  Casting his name down the guestlist, Johnny clocked an exceptionally unusual name: ‘Alicia Cloudfall’. Frowning to himself, he assumed it must be a pretentious pseudonym for a would-be shy and retiring celebrity.

  Given that they had played the venue the previous day, only a cursory soundcheck was required.

  Although the tour had been hectic, it had energised the band – being out on the road with a record that the public had bought. and taken to their collective hearts. Standing in the venues, Johnny had felt the connection between audience and band – the choruses were sung along with a word-perfect gusto. Jamie’s sincerity, apparent in the way he delivered his lyrics. It felt like one of those ‘right time and right place’ moments.

  At the previous evening’s aftershow, Johnny had observed Jamie looking somewhat lost – clearly missing Lara, who he had hoped would have made the transatlantic hop for the gigs.

  Dominic had gone off earlier than normal with a firecracker of a redhead.

  And Mikee and Danny had done their bit to keep the share price in Jack Daniels at a quartile high.

  After they had drained the last of the bottle, Danny put his arms around Johnny and Amanda, and asked the question that had been burning away at him all tour.

  “Why do you call him Spoony?” As they were stood at the bar, Johnny picked up a cocktail stirring spoon and held it up to Dan’s face, bottom side down. Pulling the spoon away from him, Danny watched his reflection elongate. “Oh fuck. Right! I swear I’ve never called it him.”

  “See that you don’t! He’s a good bloke. Just not the best looking of fellas,” said Johnny quietly.

  It was the last night of their first headlining tour. Their debut single, ‘Salvation’, was due out next week. They were, without doubt, hot property and the new darlings of the music press – something that could prove to be a poisoned chalice, Johnny had thought in his occasional glass half-empty moments. Tabloid interest was bubbling away quietly and particularly
when Lara was in the country.

  “Tonight. Definitely,” said Jamie, as the band performed their ritual pre-gig huddle.

  “You better had bro. Don’t let us down,” said Dominic as he hugged Jamie, kissing him warmly on the cheek.

  ***

  Pulling his jacket around to keep the autumn chill at bay, Jamie sat at the rear of the venue on the bottom step of a metal fire escape. Sally Valley huddled next to him as they shared a roll-up.

  “All happening for you boys, isn’t it so,” said Sally, pushing her hair behind her ears. Shivering against the cold she edged further into Jamie’s side. “I said so didn’t I, was right I was.”

  Jamie laughed, and exhaled. “You make me laugh. You sound like Yoda when you start talking with your Welsh accent. I fuckin’ loves it I do,” he said, putting on a dreadful Welsh accent.

  “What the fuck was that supposed to be? Cos it certainly wasn’t no Welsh!” Elbowing Jamie flirtatiously, Sally accepted the cigarette back from Jamie.

  “But yeah. It is. I still can’t believe it’s all happening. The album. Man, if I never record another song I’d die a proud man. It’s fuckin’ brilliant.” Turning to smile at Sally, he said, “But you lot still only gave it eight out of ten. It’s a nine at least!”

  “Get you. What is it with you Mancs and your cockiness?” she laughed.

  “Nothing to do with Manchester. It’s a top album. You knows it!” said Jamie, again dropping into the lamentable Welsh accent.

  “FUCK OFF!” shrilled Sally, “Or it’ll be seven out of ten next time. If you’re bastard lucky!”

  “Joking. It’s fucking freezing out here,” said Jamie.

  “Hang on a sec. This’ll warm your cockles.” Sally pulled out her purse from a small canvas handbag. Opening a small paper wrap. “Hold still.” And with a neat movement, she shovelled a small mound of coke onto her apartment door key. Leaning into Sally, Jamie snorted the powder up, rubbing at his nose as he ingested the cocaine.

  Following suit, Sally keyed a mound up each nostril. “There we go! Ooh that’s good,” she said, enjoying the cold drop of the cocaine down her throat.

  “What did you think of our set tonight then?” asked Jamie.

  “Loved it! Obviously. And the stage dive. That was way fucking cool!” Waving her hands excitedly, she said, “OH MY GOD! I forgot. What about your scarf?”

  ***

  Earlier that evening, as Dominic was driving the set to a close with his savage guitar solo at the end of ‘Salvation’. Jamie had leant his guitar against his amp, walked to the front of the stage, stared out at the sea of expectant faces and open arms. And jumped. A relatively graceful arm extended dive. Nothing too extravagant for his first foray into the fine-art of stage-diving.

  Intuitively, the crowd had caught him and started to pass him about like flotsam on a choppy tide. Rolling onto his back, Jamie had extended his right arm skyward and attempted to sing out the now familiar chorus. The exhilaration he had felt was life-affirming and like the loss of one’s proverbial virginity, was an experience that would never quite re-capture that first time feeling.

  As he felt the hands around him, passing him back and forth along the opposable thumb-based conveyor belt, he felt a hand pull at his scarf. In seconds, it had gone. Directing the flow of the crowd to take him back to the lip of the stage, Jamie was helped back up by a burly security guard. Sans scarf.

  ***

  Tossing his head back and laughing loudly, he said, “I’ll let you into a little secret.” He whispered into Sally’s ear. “Stunt scarf.”

  “Fuck off,” she laughed, punching him on the arm.

  “HAHA! I’d been planning the stage dive all tour but kept bottling it. But I knew as soon as I did it that I’d probably lose my clothes, so I bought a stunt scarf.”

  “Ooh, you sneaky bastard,” said Sally.

  “And the best of it is Johnny suggested we do an appeal to get my ‘trusty’ scarf back. Bit of publicity and that.”

  “We are learning fast, aren’t we,” said Sally, nodding sagely.

  “Well we’ve got to try and stay one step ahead of you lot.” He shivered against the chill. “Anyhow. Let’s head back inside now. I fancy a beer.”

  “Don’t I get a kiss before we go inside?” asked Sally coyly.

  Jamie ran his thumb down her petite upturned nose and cupped her chin gently between his finger and thumb. “I wouldn’t want you writing about how I kiss in your paper, now, would I?”

  Making a small cross my heart gesture, Sally looked deeply into Jamie’s eyes. “Brownies’ honour. C’mon Jamie. You’re fucking gorgeous, so you are, man?”

  Pulling her towards him, Jamie put his hand on Sally’s night-chilled cheek and kissed her, pulling her into him as the intensity increased.

  “Hmmm. Nice,” said Jamie, “but not a word in your New Musical Express Ms Valley!”

  “I said Brownies’ honour and I meant it, so I did,” she said smiling and rubbing her hand through his hair. “Want another quick toot before we go back in?” she said, reaching for her purse.

  “Why not?” said Jamie.

  After the bugle had been imbibed and another short kiss exchanged, Jamie and Sally headed back to the warmth of the dressing room.

  Flashing his pass at the security guard stood vigil at the characterless looking dressing room door, Jamie, holding Sally’s hand, stepped into the dressing room which was now packed full of bodies wishing to rock the roll and get their own slice of the band. Drinking the scene in, he saw Johnny deep in conversation with Amanda. Mikee, as ever flexing an ink festooned bicep - an admiring female stood on her toes taking in the needlework. Dominic and Danny were stood against the back wall and Jamie flashed a peace sign and grinned at them.

  Dominic froze immediately and gave a short warning shake of his head. His cocaine-heightened awareness picked up on this and Jamie’s blue eyes flashed around the dressing room.

  Stood in the corner, partially covered by her omnipresent security, jet-black hair matching the vintage black leather biker’s jacket and tight fitted T-shirt that adorned her killer figure, was Lara.

  Turning and staring at the door she slowly sipped on a bottle of cold Peroni.

  Startled didn’t come close as Jamie visibly gulped. His inner narrative screamed ‘oh fuck’ at a thousand decibels…

  ***

  Although he had not yet thawed out from his first visit to the metal staircase, Jamie now found himself there once again.

  “You should have told me that you were coming. I hadn’t heard from you in weeks!” said Jamie, leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around him. His body language both to protect him from the cold and an indication of his discomfort.

  “So I see,” said Lara curtly.

  Offering Lara a cigarette, which she declined with a raised palm, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I should have thought that’s kinda obvious, Jamie. I’ll let you have a mascara pencil if you wanna just go ahead and write guilty on your forehead.”

  The momentary hesitation spoke volumes. “I, err, I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  Rising and standing over Jamie, Lara said, “Okay,” putting her hands on her hips, “So when I’m not here you’re getting cosy with little blondie.”

  Shaking his head and stubbing out the cigarette he had been vigorously drawing on, Jamie rose to meet Lara’s dogged stare. “You’ve got no room to talk…”

  Lara stood in silence, looking impassive.

  “This is pointless. I’ve missed you like fuck. We’ve been on opposite sides of the world for the past month. And as you insist on reminding me, we’re not an item,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Mirroring Jamie’s shrug of his shoulders, Lara looked more little girl lost than he ever imagined possible.

  “I’ve missed you Jamie Thorne!”

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, putting a hand on her waist.

  “I’m co
ld. Let’s go back inside.,” said Lara matter of factly. “Great set. Loved the stage-dive, Jamie Thorne. Shame about your scarf. “

  Tapping his nose, Jamie held the fire door open for Lara. “I’ll tell you later…”

  ***

  Returning to the dressing room, Jamie immediately sought out Johnny. Tugging at the shoulder of his tweed overcoat, he said, “You could have told me man!”

  “Told you what, “said Johnny, with a confused look on his face.

  Without trying to draw any attention to them, Jamie whispered in Johnny’s ear, “That Lara was here! You always check the guestlist. Every fuckin’ gig. It’s your little ritual. Always makes me smile. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t know! Her name wasn’t down. I promise J. I’ll get the list and show you.” Resisting the temptation to glance across at her, he said, “What the fuck’s the problem anyhow. Thought you’d be pleased to see each other.”

  “If you hadn’t been so wrapped up with Amanda you might have noticed she was here. I’d gone for a cig with Sally, “said Jamie, discreetly nodding his head in Sally’s direction.

  “Oh! You went for a cig!” He put extra emphasis on the ‘cig’. “And that’s my fault. ’Kin ’ell Jamie. I know you don’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, alright, bu—”

  “Meet me in the corridor in a minute,” said Johnny, feeling as if everyone was staring at them.

  Checking that there were no prying ears, he said, “So let me get this right. Lara has showed up and you were off getting it on with Sally. From the NME.”

  “Fuck’s sake Johnny. I didn’t know!” said Jamie.

  “Proper little mess we’ve got here. Clearly you want to smooth things over with Lara, but you’re going to have to let Sally down gently.”

  “I know!” snapped Jamie. “Look, I’m sorry man. It’s not your fault. But you sure she wasn’t on the list?”

  “Sure I’m sure!” said Johnny, again checking over his shoulder that they were on their own. “Look, everyone’s heading over to The Hospital Club for the aftershow. Let’s see who turns up there and flip a coin, “said Johnny, before bursting out laughing.