The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “Really?” said Johnny, now more than mildly intrigued.

  “Went down a storm. Bella Donna Jones, or summat like that she’s called,” said Mikee, biting into his overly-stacked sandwich.

  “I’ll have a look on the YouTube tomorrow. Don’t see what harm it can do to be honest, man. As bad as that show is. If it makes people check out your album.”

  “BUT IT’S THE FUCKIN’ X FACTOR!” said Mikee, almost choking on a hunk of cheese.

  “I know man, but you’ve not played on it or anything. Don’t sweat it.” Plonking himself back down on the bed, “I’ll say goodnight now man. And ta for the call.”

  “Alright Johnny. Thought you should know. Laters.”

  “Laters indeed,” said Johnny, as he hung up the call and turned his phone off.

  ***

  “Jamie Thorne. And nearly on time. I’ll buzz you in. The concierge will show you to the elevator,” said Lara. A discernible hint of excitement in her voice.

  Jamie stood and marvelled at the apartment building. It was magnificent. The heavy wooden doors, with plated glass and huge brass handles, were polished to mirror like perfection. The thick red carpet cushioned his footsteps like freshly cut grass. A huge mahogany reception desk stood directly in front of him. An immaculately suited concierge stood and greeted him. His cobalt blue suit was pressed to razor cut sharpness.

  “Hi. Err. I’m here to see Lara Bearheart,” said Jamie quietly.

  “Miss Bearheart. She is on floor nine. Apartment thirteen. The elevator is over there,” said the African-American concierge, pointing in the direction of a huge polished silver door.

  “Thanks man. Appreciate that.” Jamie offered his hand out. “I’m Jamie Thorne. Nice to meet you,” glancing down at his name badge, “Nathan.”

  “And you, sir,” said Nathan, running a hand across his eyebrow, where the hint of a shaved tramline hinted at Nathan’s off-duty personality.

  “It’s just Jamie,” he said with a slightly bemused pull of his face. Stepping over to the elevator, he pressed the floor number and waited on the elevator to take him up to Miss Lara Bearheart’s apartment…

  ***

  “Dominic Thorne? Hello. it’s Nicola from Urban Flats.”

  “Yeah. It’s me,” said Dominic sullenly. He was nursing a serious hangover following his night out with Mikee. Rubbing at his forehead he mouthed ‘fuck me’ to himself. This was tempered with slight relief when he realised that he had no female company to deal with.

  “Hello Dominic. How are you?” asked Nicola chirpily. Far too chirpily for Dominic’s liking.

  “Yeah. Alright,” he grunted.

  “It’s about the rent on your apartment. The payment was rejected by your bank, I’m afraid.”

  “Really?” said Dominic, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

  “Yes, our records show that your bank rejected the payment on Monday. We can take a payment over the phone if that’s okay with you?”

  “Err. I’ll have to check with my bank. Can I get back to you later?” said Dominic, rubbing his chin irritably as he willed the phone call to end.

  “That’s fine, Mr Thorne, but please ensure that you do as we don’t want the rent to fall into arrears,” said Nicola maintaining her professional veneer throughout, even though she was well aware who she was speaking to.

  “I’ll speak to you later, yeah?” said Dominic.

  As soon as he hung the call up, he flipped his laptop open and logged onto his personal bank account site.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled to himself.

  The monies that the band members had been paid when the signed their record deal had seemed a fortune at the time, certainly far more money than any of them had seen in their bank accounts at any one time.

  A steady procession of coke-fuelled nights – and mornings, together with the irresistible pull of two new guitars and a few nice bits of clobber for his wardrobe had tanned the arse of his bank account which was shrouded in overdraft gloom.

  “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” he said to himself, before slamming down the lid of his laptop.

  This was something that needed resolving sharpish and he had to establish when they would be getting paid again. There must be some money due from the last tour and album sales, he thought to himself. Johnny. He would know. And if he didn’t, then he could find out who did.

  Gulping down a pint of cold water before making the call, Dominic breathed out deeply and then rang.

  “Johnny. How are yer man?”

  “I’m good thanks. Nice to have a little time off after the tour. Barney has sent me over the first rough edit of the video. Looks the business. Come over and have a look at it later if you’re not up to anything,” said Johnny as he sat on the sofa in his apartment.

  “Yeah, yeah. Definitely man. Sounds wicked. But I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve got a bit of a cashflow problem. The fuckin’ rent on my flat has bounced. I’ve spent a bit more than I thought I had recently…”

  “Okay,” said Johnny. A pensive tone to his voice.

  “Right. Can you find out when we are due any more cash from the label? And how much?” said Dominic, the desperation in his voice more than apparent.

  “Yeah. Course I will Dom. But I th—” Johnny said, cutting himself off as he did not want to worry Dominic unnecessarily. “I’ll make a call and get back to you. That okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks man. Appreciate it. I’ll see ya later,” said Dominic, opening the balcony door of his apartment and lighting a cigarette before drawing on it deeply.

  Johnny hung the call up and pursed his lips pensively. He knew that the band were not due another tranche of their advance monies until the end of the last quarter – in December. Which would be a couple of very long months off if you were the lead guitarist of a band who had blown his wad in a very short space of time. The three and half grand Les Paul with a mother-of-pearl finish and the limited edition Gretsch in bottle green with a mahogany fretboard at a cool two thousand pounds had accounted for a big chunk of his cash. And the rest? Not difficult to identify which orifice had accounted for that…

  ***

  Knocking softly on the imposing black oak door, Jamie tried to relax himself as much as possible. Regretting now that he hadn’t bought a present or flowers, he remembered that he had a copy of their album in his bag. Hurriedly rummaging for it, he pulled the CD out just as Lara opened the door.

  “Jamie Thorne.” said Lara, holding a hand out towards him.

  “I brought you this,” said Jamie, passing the CD into her outstretched hand.

  Looking down at the album, Lara frowned. “What! You’ve not signed it!”

  “I thought I’d wait and ask what you wanted me to write.”

  “Where’s the surprise in that? Wait there.”

  Lara returned a moment later with a red Sharpie marker pen, handing it to him. “Surprise me.”

  “I feel under pressure now,” said Jamie, as he took the top off the pen, seeking inspiration as he tapped the pen against the edge of the CD case.

  Leaning the plastic case against his thigh, Jamie began to write – ‘To Lara Bearheart. Play me. Love me x’

  Popping the top back on the Sharpie, Jamie passed both the pen and the now-signed CD to her.

  “Very cute. I won’t tell you that I’ve already downloaded the album, so I know how good it is. I couldn’t wait for you to bring me a copy.”

  “Downloaded! Illegally? It’s types like you that are killing musicians,” said Jamie, only half-joking.

  “I COULDN’T WAIT!” squealed Lara.

  Jamie smiled and looked down at her. Dressed in an oversized red and brown checked flannel shirt, tied at the front - revealing an attractive few centimetres of olive coloured midriff - and black leggings, Lara looked naturally gorgeous but a million miles from the public face she wore.

  “Are you actually going to invite me in then?” said Jamie, picking up his bag.

  “Of course. Welcome to America. And my
home…” said Lara, gesturing him into the apartment with a sweep of her hand.

  ***

  “I’ll buzz you up Dom,” said Johnny through the apartment intercom. He winced slightly to himself as he heard the solemn response. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, he thought.

  “Hiya man. Brew?” said Johnny holding up the kettle.

  “Err, yeah, please, two sugars,” said Dominic - a distinct absence of wind in his usual billowing sails.

  “You heard from Jamie at all?” asked Johnny, trying to stall the pain of their pending conversation.

  “He texted Mum to say he’d got there okay. Said New York is wicked, and we need to play there as soon as,” said Dominic, his voice devoid of any excitement at that prospect.

  “That’s well in hand Dom. I’m getting the US deal finalised and should do some dates in the New Year. Good eh?” said Johnny, in attempt to lift the guitarists solemnity.

  “Yeah. Can’t wait. Sorry man, I don’t mean to be a dick, but cut to the chase. When can I get paid again?”

  “Okay. I spoke to the label’s bean counters,” Johnny lied, “and as I thought, the next chunk of the advance is due at the end of the next quarter so th—”

  “In English! When does that mean?” said Dominic curtly.

  “End of December. The deal was staggered dependent on certain sales triggers. We had the tour money up-front. Album sales have exceeded expectations, so you’ll do well come then.”

  “Fuck’s sake! That doesn’t help me now though does it!”

  Johnny lifted his hands palms up. “Dom. Look, we can sort this. How much are you short and for how long?”

  Looking as sheepish as he had ever seen him, Dominic sipped at his cup of tea whilst he mentally calculated his shortfall. “Couple of month’s rent. Living costs and that.”

  “It’s the ‘and that’ which worries me,” said Johnny, “I don’t want to be a broom up yer arse bu—”

  “I know. I’ve caned it. The new guitars and kit,” his voice dropping to a whisper, “and all the nights out…”

  “I don’t like to see you like this and I understood how and why you’ve got in this mess. Who wouldn’t have gone a little mad…”

  “Well Jamie for a starter,” replied Dominic, his tone laden with sarcasm.

  “C’mon. No need. You’re different people. Let’s just look how we can sort this.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Okay man,” Dom said, assuming the manner of a chastised schoolboy awaiting his punishment.

  “There’s not a lot we can do about the label money. Just no way of getting it paid early. The deal is tied up in all sorts of legal bollocks so wh—”

  “There’s nothing you can do? “snapped Dominic.

  “What I plan on doing,” said Johnny in calming tones, “is just between you and me. I’ll front you five grand until then. I’ve not done much with the money I got from the deal and my proceeds from the house,” he added with a slight wince, “so we can sort this. I won’t say a word to the others. And you pay me back when the money comes through in a couple of months’ time.”

  “Really?” said Dominic, a little disbelievingly.

  “Really,” nodded Johnny. “We’re all in this together, if you’ll excuse me paraphrasing our cunt of a Prime Minister. And I couldn’t bear to see you like this for a couple of months.”

  “Could be good for the creative process, “Dom deadpanned.

  “I’ll sort it now. You got your bank details,” pausing slightly, “or do you want it in two separate payments? So y’know…” Johnny left the sentiment hanging and Dominic took a moment to mull it over.

  With a deep considered sigh, he said, “Best make it two payments. I don’t suppose you’d be that impressed if I rocked up with another guitar, would you?”

  “It’s not my business what you do with your money, but just wind it in now and then eh,” laughed Johnny.

  Dominic, his mood finally lifting, said, “Johnny, man. What can I say? You’re a diamond. I’d be fucked without this. I’d make a few quid busking but I’d be happier with a roof over my head!”

  “I’m here to help when I can. You’ll laugh about this when the monies rolling in!”

  “Come ’ere man,” Dom said, standing from the sofa and hugging Johnny, patting him firmly on the back. “Top man. I owe you.”

  “You do. Five grand!” smiled Johnny.

  “Twat!” grinned Dom. “Fancy a pint later, I’m meeting Mikee and D-Mo. All the baby stuff is getting to him. Defo come out. My round,” he said with a wink.

  “I may well just do that. Cheers…”

  ***

  Jamie stood and looked around the vast apartment. The views over the East River were spectacular. The panoramic vista must have added several 0s to the apartment’s value alone.

  “This place,” Jamie whistled. “Your family must be minted,” he said as he walked around the apartment slightly open-mouthed, taking in the views from all the three huge windows.

  “He was a very smart businessman. People saw a dumb Red Indian. But he was one switched on motherfucker.”

  “It’s good to see you,” said Jamie, adopting a serious tone.

  “It’s good to see you,” replied Lara. “I don’t really wanna talk about last time. But I’m sorry. I guess you know why I got a little heated?”

  “I do. But less said the better eh?” said Jamie. “What are we gonna do then? What are you gonna to show me? This place looks amazing,” said Jamie, with a sweep of his hand in the direction of the twinkling lights of the skyline.

  “Funny you should ask,” said Lara as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, letting it drop to the floor, before she then pulled the faded New York Knicks vest over her head revealing her sumptuous breasts. Standing there momentarily, before turning and heading to her bedroom…

  ***

  “Do you have to go out? I’m tired and I thought we could have a takeaway and watch a film,” said Dee, with a pout of her bottom lip.

  “I’ve not seen the boys for a few days, and err, we need to chat to Johnny about some news about the American record deal,” said Danny, pleased with himself at the justification of his proposed night out.

  “But Jamie’s away,” countered Dee.

  “Yeah, but, he err, he knows about it already. We need to speak to Johnny about it,” said Danny unconvincingly.

  “Well you’d clearly rather go out with your mates than stay in with us,” said Dee, patting her tummy to reinforce her attempt at blackmail.

  “Don’t be like that,” said Danny, pulling a face behind her back. “It won’t be a big one. Promise,” he said, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her into him before kissing her on the top of her head, his right hand gently caressing her pregnant bump.

  “Go on then. You’ll only sit there with a face on if I say no!”

  “Ah thanks babe. I’ll do the shop before then. You can put your feet up on the sofa.”

  ***

  Sat up in Lara’s vast king-sized bed, wrapped around each other post-coitus, Jamie lazily rolled a tress of her jet-black hair round his finger. “As cliched as this is going to sound, that was amazing.” Kissing her tenderly on the top of her head, he said, “but where are we going now? I’ve gotta see this place. And with you as my guide. Perfect!”

  “You do realise that it’s not that easy,” Lara said. With extra emphasis on the ‘that easy’.

  “Wh— Oh. Right. Yeah, I’d not thought of that…”

  “BUT!” shouted Lara, jumping out of bed, allowing Jamie to see her naked form in all its breath-taking perfection; stepping into the en-suite bathroom, she came out moments later wearing a perfectly fitting shoulder length blonde wig.

  “This is my little disguise and means we can go out and get drunk and no-one will know who the fuck we are!”

  “You! You sexy, clever lady are a fuckin’ genius,” smiled Jamie, his Northern tones in total contrast to Lara’s drawled Americanisms.

  After they h
ad both showered – separate bathrooms enabled a simultaneous grooming process – and having luxuriated under the multiple jets of the power shower, Jamie felt that he had blasted any jetlag out of his system and was ready for a Manhattan night out. With a cunningly and stunningly blonde Lara Bearheart.

  “We can just flag a cab down. If we turn up in a car it just gets clocked straight away,” said Lara. She stood in front of Jamie – the blonde wig perfectly in situ – dressed in beat up red Converse pumps, skinny fit blue jeans a tight-fitting Queens of the Stone Age tour T-shirt and cropped black leather jacket. All thrift store vintage and the perfect outfit to blend in with any other native New York hipster barflies.

  “You look amazing!” smiled Jamie.

  “Don’t sound so surprised!” replied Lara, as she made a last-minute check of the wig and applied a sparing amount of mascara.

  “Where are we headed then?” asked Jamie.

  “Brooklyn. See what’s happening,” sang Lara in a passable attempt at the Beastie Boys.

  “Like it. I can’t believe I’m here,” said Jamie.

  “Well Jamie Thorne. Let’s party!”

  An incognito night was had as they trawled from bar to bar. Jamie being turned away on one occasion for not looking old enough, much to Lara’s amusement. His hilariously over the top ‘Do you not know who I am’ had led to them both virtually rolling round the sidewalk in fits of giggles.

  Upon hitting a retro karaoke bar, they had duetted appallingly on a Meat Loaf standard before Jamie had suggested they rescued their credibility with a bar-stopping rendition of ‘Gimme Shelter’. The free shots they were rewarded with after they had blasted through the Stones classic had tipped them well out of the bounds of sobriety.

  “Fuck! That was brilliant, Jamie Thorne. You should join a band!” Lara laughed as she wiped a dribble of Jack Daniels off her chin.