The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  ***

  Dumping his bag down in his apartment, and bladder fit to burst after the three rapid pints followed by what felt like an interminably long taxi ride, Johnny slumped onto the toilet and sighing, head in hands, and luxuriated in what he termed a ‘lady wee’.

  A much-needed body and soul cleansing shower left him feeling human again, although his emotions were still a maelstrom of relief and guilt after the bands relatively brief American sojourn.

  A stag-do. A marriage. A major sexual indiscretion. And a Midnight Express-esque ‘drug bust’ had taken its toll. And as Johnny finished shaving, he saw his drawn features reminding him of it all too vividly.

  Flipping on his laptop, he browsed through the emails that had been unanswered for the past forty-eight hours.

  One sprung out immediately causing his stomach to constrict on itself.

  Lara Bearheart.

  “I don’t fuckin’ need this,” Johnny said to himself, rubbing a hand across his freshly-moisturised forehead.

  “Hello Johnny Harrison. Well aren’t we the hero of the hour! Somebody got a guilty conscience? I’m sure Jamie was suitably grateful. But why wouldn’t he be? And the lengths someone will go to not be allowed back into America. But don’t worry, Johnny, I’ll be over in England a lot next year. Lots of new lines to promote. Anyway, you bask in your moment of self-sacrifice. You deserve it. No hard-feelings. And by the way. It was my pleasure…. Happy holidays. Lara”

  “Cunt,” Johnny hissed as his mind flashed back to that last ten minutes in her hotel suite.

  And as much as he tried, it was nigh on impossible to delete from his wank-bank…

  Chapter 61

  “Hello stranger. Long time no see! Few more grey hairs since last time. I would have bought you some ‘Just for Men’ for your secret Santa if I’d known,” Cally said, sitting herself next to Johnny.

  Having positioned himself under the ozone eroding patio heater, Johnny had steadily polished off several large JDs in an alcohol-fueled attempt to assuage his omnipresent guilt whenever he was around Jamie.

  This guilt was magnified as Jamie was constantly acting like he now had a life-debt to Johnny after the airport incident.

  “Hiya Cally. Yeah, proper silver fox these days. All that rock and the roll catching up with me,” he said as he ran his hand through his silver flashed hair. “How are you? It’s good to see you.” He then leaned across and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.

  “Looks good longer as well. Nothing like a mid-life crisis, eh? Grow your hair and tour the world with a band,” Cally replied. The dig wasn’t lost on Johnny.

  “Ooh. Very cruel. I’m hoping that the open-top sports car and trophy blonde are waiting for me under the Christmas tree.”

  Cally huddled closer to Johnny. “Budge across, you’re hogging all the heat.”

  Laughing softly, Johnny hunched along and allowed Cally some of the artificial heat that was permitting them to sit outside on this seasonally satisfyingly frosty Christmas Day. “Great view isn’t it?”

  “He’s got good taste. He surprises me at times. Jamie was always the sensitive one. But look at this place. And he’s married! One of my baby boys a married man!” Cally said. Her tinkling laugh at the end of the sentence caused Johnny to briefly close his eyes and bask in the moment.

  “She’s beautiful. And he seems really happy. It’ll be good for him,” Johnny said.

  “I’m worried because he’s so young. But he seems to have really grown up the past few months. And rather this than the, ahem, constant womanising,” Cally said, edging closer into Johnny’s side.

  Draining his glass, Johnny laughed, “C’mon, he was j—”

  “Stop! If you’re going to give me that cliché about him just being a young lad in a band. He didn’t even know the names of half the girls he was sleeping with.”

  “I was going to say good looking, and really talented young lad in a band. But I won’t,” Johnny deadpanned.

  “Funny as ever, I see,” Cally replied, more than a little flirtatiously.

  “Same old Johnny.” Slapping his hand to his forehead, he said, “Fuck. I’ve just referred to myself in the third person! It’s official. I’ve been lost to the beast of rock ’n’ roll!”

  “I always knew it,” Cally said. “Look. I know it’s not really the time, but I do understand why you said what you did.”

  “What?” Johnny replied, gulping hard.

  “Putting the band before…” Cally’s words trailed off as she stared out across the Lancashire hills.

  Placing an arm around her shoulder, Johnny pulled her into his side. With a slow shake of his head, he said, “You don’t know just how difficult that was. But thank you.”

  “It hurt, Johnny. But I understood after a while. By the way. Terrible Christmas Jumper. You win!”

  “This? It’s not that bad? Wait till you see Mikee’s!” Taking her chin between his finger and thumb and looking into her eyes, he said, “And thank you. I’ve never stopped caring though. Never.”

  “Me neither. Now go and get me a top-up,” Cally said, holding out her empty red wine glass.

  ***

  The Christmas dinner was a perfect occasion. Both Mikee – with a new and equally spectacularly tattooed girlfriend in tow – and D-Mo with Dee and baby Dominique all turned up to make it a full-on Lonely Souls affair.

  And Mikee’s cap sleeve Christmas jumper did indeed trump Johnny’s for crass festive tackiness.

  Standing at the foot of the table, Dominic stood and clapped his hands together. “Right. Shut it. You noisy rabble! Thank you.”

  Raising a glass of expensive Champagne, he said, “I just wanted to say on behalf of me and my beautiful new wife that I love each and every one of you. This has been the best year of my life by a fuckin’ mile!”

  “Language, Dominic!” scolded Cally, then giggled behind her hand.

  “Yeah. Thanks Mum. Anyhow. Here’s to next year and more of the same.”

  “Another wife? You’re shameless, Dom,” Danny shouted, before snapping his fingers in delight at his own joke.

  He was quickly put in his place when Dee aimed a discreet elbow jab into his ribs.

  “Your turn next D-Mo. Make an honest woman of her before she realises that she’s too good for you! Anyhow. Next year. Our biggest tour ever. Album number three and worldwide domination baby!”

  Hands were smacked on the table and shouts and whoops of encouragement filled the room.

  Leaning over and kissing Eleanor, Dominic lifted his glass over his head. “BEST BAND IN THE WORLD!”

  Which was echoed back by the exclusive guestlist.

  ***

  Waking up, Johnny rubbed at his eyes, and then glanced to his right.

  Cally.

  They had shared a taxi back in the direction of Manchester and a nightcap at Johnny’s had been mutually agreed upon.

  And this had led to the inevitable.

  Having made eyes at each other throughout the lavish Christmas dinner, the nightcap had been sidestepped and a long embrace on the sofa had swiftly led to the bedroom.

  Rising as slowly as he could and searching for anything to cover his nudity, Johnny winced as the bed creaked slightly. Grabbing at a pair of boxer shorts, he tiptoed to the bathroom.

  “You weren’t so modest last night,” he heard Cally say hoarsely.

  “You want a coffee?”

  “And a fruit juice please. But don’t think that this counts as breakfast in bed for one minute,” she replied after a clearing of her throat.

  “Gimme a minute,” Johnny said. Turning on the bathroom tap so she couldn’t hear him relieve himself through the paper-thin apartment walls, he returned a few minutes later with the coffees and juice on a tray.

  “Hmm, thank you,” Cally said as she gulped back the juice.

  Sitting down on the bed next to her, Johnny felt his stomach tighten as the quilt dropped away as she leant her head back to empty the glass.

  Sh
e let the sheets sit in her lap and smiled up at Johnny.

  “Don’t say anything.” Looking her straight in the eye, he said, “You know. But I’ll say it anyhow.”

  Cally went to speak but Johnny held up a finger to shush her.

  “You know what I’m going to say. I love you. I’ve loved you for ages.”

  “I knew,” Cally replied softly. “But where does this leave us? What’s changed?”

  Johnny sighed before draining his juice in one. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, “I don’t know.” Hesitating as he sought the right words. “I want to be with you…”

  Frowning slightly, “So you admit to being in love with me and are going to tell Jamie and Dominic about us then?”

  “I will. I’ll quit the band. But n—”

  “When, though,” Cally snapped. “And don’t you dare say when the time’s right! But in the meantime, come here and kiss me like you mean it…”

  Chapter 62

  Reeling to the back door of his house, Jamie fumbled with the lock, his breath catching in short sharp gasps. Air. He needed fresh air. Desperately.

  Dropping to his knees, he sucked up the cold winter air in grateful but difficult gulps.

  Falling onto his backside, Jamie put his head between his knees and started to take in measured breaths. Wiping the hyper-ventilation induced tears from his eyes, he leant back on the cold stone wall, the dampness cooling his prickly sweats.

  “What the fuck,” he mumbled repeatedly.

  Returning to his abandoned laptop, he refreshed the screen that had been the catalyst to his anguish.

  An ’open-heart confessional’ interview with Lara in an American glossy magazine.

  The headline had sent Jamie’s world spinning off its axis.

  “No, I’m not drinking. I’m having a baby!”

  The article had gone on to detail how Lara had collapsed at a fashion event and then been carried out and an ambulance called.

  This hadn’t been alcohol-induced, but down to severe morning sickness leaving her dehydrated.

  The killer sentence had been Lara’s sign off to the interviewer – “I’m happy. So happy. I’m going to have a little rock star baby…”

  This isn’t happening, he’d said to himself.

  Picking up his mobile, he called Johnny. Controlling his breathing again, he collapsed back in the sofa with relief when Johnny answered upon the first ring.

  “J. How are ya man?”

  “Hey Johnny. You about? I need to see you. Now.”

  “Fuck. You okay, Jamie? Sure. Yeah. Want me to come across to you? I’ll be with you in half an hour.”

  “Thanks Johnny. Soon as you can. Please…”

  ***

  Jumping in his car. Johnny punched the stereo off as he tried to clear his head.

  He knew that Jamie was not one to make a drama of things, so this had to be a matter of urgency.

  Lara?

  Cally?

  Both?

  Johnny shook his head to clear his self-absorbed thoughts.

  Jamie had clearly got a problem and had called him. Don’t make it all about you, he pondered to himself.

  Door-to-door in twenty-two minutes, he buzzed the intercom and Jamie buzzed the gates open without speaking.

  Knocking twice on the door, Johnny pulled his large-check overcoat around him as he waited for Jamie to open the door.

  The door opened, and Jamie stood before him in his boxer shorts and his ‘unique’ Vegas T-shirt – Mikee’s jutting jaw staring up at Johnny and looking a lot more at ease than Jamie currently did.

  “Fuckin’ hell. Johnny, I can’t go on tour. I need to get a flight to America. Now.”

  “Whoa! Slow down, J. What’s wrong?” Putting a reassuring hand on Jamie’s shoulder, he said, “Tell me. Sit down. Tell me what the fuck’s happened.”

  “It’s Lara.”

  Johnny tried to disguise his panic, but only needed to do so for a matter of seconds.

  “Lara. She’s pregnant. And says it’s mine.”

  Slumping back into the sofa, Jamie’s breaths again began to quicken sharply.

  “How the fuck did this happen. Stupid question,” Johnny said, correcting himself.

  “Look at my laptop. Read the interview. I found out in a fuckin’ magazine interview. What the fuck?”

  Skimming through the article, Johnny kept glancing up at Jamie, who was now sat with his head between his legs again, sucking up oxygen and wiping tears away.

  Letting out a low whistle, Johnny blinked in disbelief. “Fuck. I can’t believe she hasn’t spoken to you about this. Bang out of order.”

  “I know,” Jamie mumbled. “I can’t cope with this. I have to go and see her. Today.”

  “But the tour starts in two days, Jamie.”

  Realising the crass insensitivity of his comment, Johnny held up an apologetic hand.

  Jamie looked little-boy lost and the last thing he needed to hear was his pending tour commitments.

  “Call her. You need to speak to her. As soon as possible.”

  “I will,” Jamie said. “Will you stay whilst I speak to her?”

  “Of course, I will man. I’m here for you. Always.”

  ***

  “You said that last night in Edinburgh,” Dominic said, a look of brotherly concern on his face.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jamie replied.

  The inner sanctum of the band and crew – and Johnny – were the only people Jamie was communicating with. He’d refused all press/radio/fan meet and greets, citing a sore throat.

  Which probably was not far off the truth. He had been delivering his vocals in a fit to breaking point style, his vocal chords straining like an errant bull terrier yanking at its leash.

  Sitting nursing a beer in the sterile breeze block dressing room, Johnny pulled absentmindedly at a loose thread on the sleeve of his check shirt – the ubiquitous uniform of the middle-aged man – and looked across at Jamie.

  Dealing with the triple whammy of his own personal sexual interaction with Lara, a burgeoning romance with the twins’ mother and Jamie’s obvious demons following the ‘media baby’ bombshell.

  Jamie had confided in him that they hadn’t even had sex the last time they had met – after their MSG show – but Lara was adamant he was the ‘baby daddy’. He’d been dissuaded from taking the trans-Atlantic trek at Johnny’s behest, but was desperate for resolution of the latest twist in his ‘relationship’ with Lara.

  Having to tread carefully with his advice, Johnny had tried to convince him that Lara was consumed by the ‘fame game’ and that she didn’t realise the hurt she caused by her actions. Jamie - still teetering on the brink of inconsolable - nodded solemnly, agreeing to confront her as soon as possible.

  Chapter 63

  “OY!”

  The band were about to navigate a scrum of largely well-intentioned fans as they headed from the sanctuary of their tour bus to the artistes’ entrance of the Newcastle O2 Academy.

  A metal security fence was teetering precariously as the north-eastern crowd jockeyed for prime position, pushing forward as the band disembarked – who were to a man wearing sunglasses despite the cigarette ash skies.

  Last to step off the bus was Johnny, and the second he put his box fresh Adidas clad foot onto the tarmac, he saw the fence topple.

  A kettling effect ensued resulting in the band being separated into individual pockets.

  Band security was vital at times like this and this was overseen by one man.

  Major.

  A veritable beast of a man, whose collection of jewellery made Mr T look like an agoraphobic supply teacher. He had earned his moniker given the rank he had held within a now defunct Hells Angels chapter.

  “OY! YA BIG DAFT CUNT,” came the initially faceless shout from the jostling mass.

  Mikee, at the rear of the party, pushed on. His considerable bulk easing his passage.

  Until.

  “AYE! YOU. Y
OU UGLY TWAT!” the abusive Geordie shout persisted.

  Wisely he kept his head down. He was forced to stop as the bottleneck would not ease up given the numbers in front of Jamie.

  “FUCK. YOU’RE EVEN UGLIER CLOSE UP! YOU JACAMO WEARING CUNT!” The sartorial insult was bellowed down Mikee’s ear.

  Glancing to his left, he saw the deliverer of such hostile tidings – a humpty-dumpty faced bloke in his late twenties. Sporting a beer stained Newcastle United polo shirt with a chunky gold rope chain worn resplendently outside it. Flouting his wealth for all the world to see.

  Offended more by the fact that this badly dressed miscreant should question his own wardrobe, Mikee leant forward and delivered the shortest and sharpest of headbutts.

  The reaction to his action was devastating.

  The discourteous Geordie’s nose exploded like a bottle of ketchup that had been run over by a ten-tonne truck.

  Blood formed in a sash down the front of the t-shirt. Screams went up as he collected himself and windmilled a sovereign-clad fist towards Mikee.

  Catching the frame of Mikee’s Vegas-bought Ray-Bans resulted in a second act of violence. Swinging an elbow into the already splattered nose, the abuser collapsed to the floor in a mess of humiliation and cartilage.

  He rose to his knees and held the bridge of his nose. His little finger raised at a right angle much to Mikee’s amusement.

  “YOOFRUCKINCRUNTI’MGONNASUEYERFRUCKINBIGTIMEYERBASTARD!”

  A swift yank on the collar of his denim jacket and Major was dragging the indignant drummer into the confines of the venue.

  An hour later and one cancelled show.

  “Fuck ’em,” D-Mo said emphatically. “If they fuck with the band then they don’t deserve a show.”

  “Not quite that simple. As much as I admire your sentiment, it’s me that’ll have to sort this fucking mess out with the promoter. It’ll cost us a few quid if the shows not re-arranged,” Johnny said.

  A soundcheck had been dispensed with, given that they were sans drummer and unlikely to play that evening. Cups of coffee were being sipped at whilst they waited for news on Mikee’s arrest.