The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “Didn’t see it. Unfortunately,” Dominic added helpfully. “But he must have given him a proper crack.”

  “Not helping dude,” Johnny said as he checked his iPhone for the umpteenth time.

  Jamie sat silently in the corner of the stark dressing room, meticulously peeling an AAA sticker from the flight case of his guitar.

  An all-consuming silence hung over them like the onset of January 2nd.

  Then Johnny’s phone rang like a digital harbinger of doom.

  “Charged with GBH and they are going to hold him overnight,” Johnny reported dolefully.

  “Back to the hotel then,” Dominic said.

  “And batten down the drawbridge to protect us from the angry locals,” Johnny added. “I’ll get Major and see if the coasts clear at the back.”

  “Bound to be a fuckin’ scrape of press out there by now,” Jamie muttered, before returning to the last corner of the sticker that was resolutely refusing to give up without a fight.

  “Only you two left without a conviction,” D-Mo piped up cheerily, nodding in the twins’ direction.

  “Really not helping Danny. Not fucking helping at all,” Johnny said.

  ***

  “Not great,” Johnny said, as he sat on his hotel bed swathed in a freshly laundered towelling robe. He laughed to himself when he realised he was pulling his stomach in even though he was only chatting to Cally over the phone. Breathing out slightly, he pulled the robe across the ‘tour paunch’ he felt he had amassed.

  “Oh no! It’s just dreadful what she has done. My poor Jamie. I just never thought she’d be like that. She was lovely to me when I met her at Glastonbury,” Cally said. The pain crystal clear in her voice.

  “The lovely Lara has many facets unfortunately. I think Jamie reckoned he knew her. Or she was more like her real self when they were together. Which I think she was most of the time,” Johnny said in between sips of room service brandy.

  “He’ll be okay. I’m sure he will. He’ll just retreat into himself for a bit. He’d do it as a little boy if he was upset. Dominic was always a lot more brash. Even when they were little, he’d come out fighting whilst Jamie would brood on stuff.”

  “You know I’ll be looking out for him more than ever,” Johnny said, closing his eyes as the last of the brandy soothed him.

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “I miss you. Big time,” Johnny said.

  “I know that too,” Cally said. “I’ll see you at the Manchester shows though.”

  “Night lovely lady.”

  “Night Johnny.”

  Hanging up, Johnny thought about another brandy, just to see him on his way too sleep. The conversation with Cally felt like a snatch of normality. Although since having told he loved her, they’d hardly seen each other given his workload.

  ***

  “Do the ‘I Fought the Law’ thing you did for me in America,” Danny implored as the tour-bus pulled up outside Newcastle Central Police Station.

  “It won’t be a funny a second time,” Dominic said as he offered out a handshake to the hulking drummer.

  Mikee had been released without charge, as the recipient of his expertly aimed head butt had decided against furthering the case. Guestlist places and some signed merch had seen to that. Much against Mikee’s better judgement.

  “I’d rather have taken the rap than have that fucker think he’s got the better of me,” Mikee said as he took up his place on the bus. Having flipped the finger to the waiting photographers, as he mock lunged at them, he’d also guaranteed his place in tomorrow’s tabloids.

  “Anyhow. Get me out of this shithole and find me something to eat. Room service was fuckin’ shite in there.”

  Jamie looked on stoically – a brooding presence at the back of the bus. “Calm down. He’s not done twenty years on Robben Island.”

  Johnny raised an eyebrow at Jamie, who reverted to staring out of the window, barely blinking such was his trance-like state.

  Which would not to be helped by the latest press release from Lara which Johnny had just been sent by the label’s press officer.

  The edited lowlights surrounding her fictitious miscarriage made for cringeworthy reading.

  “I’m heartbroken. I’ve lost a real living thing. A soul has died inside me and with him – I’m sure it was a boy – a part of me has died. I’m fine physically but mentally I’m in pieces. My sympathy goes out to all the other women who have suffered this loss. I’m going to take some time out to come to terms with this and grieve. I hope people respect my loss and privacy during this time…”

  “Fucking horrible cunt,” Johnny said to himself.

  He’d been bracing themselves for Lara’s ‘closure’ of this fabricated stunt, but this interview would do Jamie no good at all, Johnny thought.

  A ‘fake pregnancy’ story had been concocted by Lara’s people in an attempt to save face after Lara had dropped a stop-a-runaway-truck-in-its-tracks strength speedball. The resultant publicity needed extinguishing and the phantom pregnancy/miscarriage yarn did the job.

  The only collateral damage being Jamie’s mental wellbeing.

  Re-reading the piece to take in the bare-faced horror of her crassness, Johnny shook his head in disgust and pondered about when to break it to Jamie.

  ***

  The kettle steamed almost at boiling point and Jamie stood transfixed by the droplets that formed on the mirror in his hotel room.

  Passing a hand quickly through the hot vapour, Jamie then closed his eyes and held his right hand directly over the kettle.

  1.2.3.4.

  I’ll stop when it gets unbearable.

  Now.

  Fuck.

  The pain seared through his hand and up his arm as angry blisters bubbled on the palm of his hand. And Jamie looked at them. Focussing on it. Channelling it. Feeding on it. Wanting it to consume him. To take away his inner pain.

  ***

  “Glad that you’re back fit Jamie. Must have been annoying to have to cancel four dates after your accident,” Sally said as she sat alongside Jamie at the back of the bus.

  It had been agreed that Sally Valley would spend 24 hours on the road with the band – taking in two gigs and interviewing them for an NME cover story.

  “Yeah. I should be getting an underling to make hot drinks for me,” Jamie deadpanned.

  “I’m sure you can afford it these days,” Sally said with a laugh.

  “I’m not like that though!” Jamie snapped.

  Johnny was earwigging and felt Jamie was still way too prickly for any sort of an interview. Even to a ‘friend of the band’ like Sally.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Sally replied defensively.

  “It’s not about the money. Never has been.”

  “But it’s a by-product of any band when they are successful. It’s not a criticism, Jamie. Honest it’s not.”

  Accessing an application on his iPhone, Jamie held the screen in front of Sally’s face.

  “How much?”

  “Sorry?” she replied.

  “How much? What does the balance say?” Jamie asked. A serious look on his face. His blue eyes flashing with frustration.

  “Thirty-two grand. And a few quid. Nice,” Sally said.

  Returning to his phone for a minute, Jamie again held up the phone.

  “How much now?”

  “Fuck! Twelve grand. What the fuck have you just done?”

  “Given twenty grand to charity. Their need is greater than mine.” Letting out a heavy sigh, he said, “That’s what I think of money. Not fuckin’ bothered.”

  “Right Jamie. I get your point. Do you want me to print that?” Sally asked, shaken by this previously unseen side of Jamie.

  “It hardly makes me Richie Manic but it’s your call,” Jamie said as he put the phone down on the table in front of him and proceeded to stare out of the blacked-out bus-window.

  ***

  “Doesn’t make pretty reading, J. I’m sorry man.
It’s not what you needed but we knew it was coming,” Johnny said as they sat in Jamie’s hotel room, sipping on an early morning coffee.

  “I know man, but reading it in black and white. Fuck. It’s just so calculated,” Jamie replied with an exasperated shake of his head, pushing a hand through his ruffled ‘bed hair’.

  Leaning back in the armchair, positioned to the foot of the bed, Johnny looked at Jamie. The most popular ‘new’ rock star in the country. A prodigiously talented songwriter. Ridiculously good looking. And one of the most genuine people you could hope to meet. Yet, sat in front of him now, Johnny saw a helpless young man. Unable to comprehend what he had unwittingly been party to.

  “It’s hard to see you like this. What the fuck was that all about with Sally on the bus yesterday?” Johnny said as he drained his cup.

  Bristling at the mention of his impromptu charitable donation, he said, “Fuck it. Shows what’s important and what isn’t. What does it matter? It’ll be back in my bank before I know it looking at the way second album is selling. I’d do it again,” Jamie said, his eyes not leaving Johnny’s once. “You know I didn’t start this band to make money, don’t you?”

  Jamie said this more as a statement than a question.

  “Course I do, man!” Johnny replied without missing a beat.

  “I’m in this so I can play my tunes with our band and stand there at the end of the night with my guitar held over my head. That fucking simple,” Jamie said in a steady tone with his jaw set tight. It sounded like the ultimate rock ’n’ roll mission statement coming from him.

  “I get it,” Johnny said, breaking away from Jamie’s stare. “The people that love you are just worried you know. You have the accident with your hand. You’re keeping yourself to yourself so much. It’s only because we care.”

  “I know you spoke to my mum,” Jamie said. An almost challenging tone to his voice.

  “Yeah. That’s no secret. She was worried when she heard about your hand. I told what happened. You had an accident.”

  Sighing deeply, Jamie rubbed the palms of his hands across his face, pulling the skin taut across his cheekbones.

  “She’s worried. If she doesn’t hear the truth from us. From me. All she’s got is the bullshit in the papers and that.”

  “I know,” Jamie replied. “But that’s the problem. Whatever I do. I can read what I did on any day by just reading Twitter or some such shite!” Letting out a frustrated grimace, he said, “I mean for fuck’s sake, there was a video on YouTube of me walking down the street a couple of weeks ago. What the fuck is all that about?”

  “We’ve done this before, J. You do what you do, and the public see you as their property,” Johnny said.

  “Once the tour’s done, I’m off for a few months. I need a break from all this. Go somewhere where I can walk down the street without any hassle,” Jamie said.

  “You’ve got another three months,” Johnny replied. He knew the exact date was closer to four but felt that pedantry was perhaps not what was needed right now. “You want some advice?”

  “Go on,” Jamie said leaning forward on his elbows.

  “Don’t just go out and have meaningless cheap and dirty sex. You’ll know when you’re ready. And it’s not as if it’ll be hard to find when you are. But, take it from someone who cares. It’ll do you more harm than good,” Johnny said, his gaze not dropping once as he looked at the vulnerable figure in front of him.

  Laughing softly, Jamie smiled at Johnny. “That’s the absolute opposite of what anybody else would say.” He cracked a grin. “And that’s why I love you man.”

  “Just get your head down. Talk to me. Talk to the rest of ’em. As fucking daft as they might appear at times. They all love you, J. No-one likes to see you struggling.”

  “I can do it. I love playing and being with the others. I just don’t need all the bullshit.”

  “I’ve got your back, J. You know that,” Johnny said as he lifted himself out of the armchair, trying to ignore the faint creak from his knees as he did so.

  “Thanks man,” Jamie said as he started to get out of bed.

  “Woah! Keep it decent,” Johnny said as he put a hand to his eyes.

  “Don’t worry I’m dressed,” Jamie said as he stood up, revealing a pair of white Calvin Klein trunks. “If you ever let me down, then it’s time to jack it all in. Come here.”

  Hugging with a back slap, Jamie kissed Johnny on the cheek. “Right. I’ll be down in half an hour. Show to do tonight. I’ll be right.”

  “I know man,” Johnny said, the tightening feeling in his stomach a testimony to his own involvement with Lara. And the still undisclosed relationship with Cally.

  ***

  “GOODNIGHT! CHEERS LIVERPOOL. REMEMBER THIS GIG IN TWENTY YEARS WHEN YOU’RE BUYING THE VIRTUAL REALITY HOLOGRAM 20TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION OF OUR ALBUM,” Jamie shouted as he adjusted his red scarf and glancing over at Dominic who was stifling a smirk.

  Composing himself as he made a minor adjustment to the tuning of his flame red Gretsch guitar, Dominic stamped on one of his many effects pedals. “YOU FUCKING READY FOR THIS? LIVERPOOL. I WANT TO SEE PANDEMONIUM OUT THERE! FUCKIN’ PANDEMONIUM!”

  As one, Jamie, Dominic and Dan leant into their mics. “SALVATION!”

  And with that they burst out a caustic rendition of their biggest anthem. The song sucked the breath out of the sweat sodden crowd who were baying for more even before Dominic had finished his coruscating solo.

  Having left the stage and changed his T-shirt, Jamie picked up an acoustic guitar and with the crowd thinning out to a few hundred stragglers, returned to the centre of the stage.

  There, he struck up a minor chord. A sole spotlight picked him out as the lights engineer hastily realised the show wasn’t quite over.

  “This is a new song,” Jamie announced. “And no fuckin’ shouting. It’s a very personal song. And any mobile phones, I’m off. This is called ‘Lies’.

  “There’s a hole in your chest where your heart should be. Corrosion of the soul is eating you whole. Lies and lies and lies. At any price for you. Lies and lies and lies, so easy to you. Lies and lies and lies like a poison in you. Wicked lies behind pinprick eye. Lies and lies, so easy to you. Catwalk smile is just a façade, losing a life wasn’t too hard. Lies and lies and lies. At any price for you. Lies and lies, so easy to you…”

  His voice was a ragged yowl as he repeated the refrain of the chorus.

  Followed by a beautifully cracked version of ‘Long Time Dead’, Jamie left the stage with a mumbled thank you.

  Having left the dressing room to stand at the side of the stage, the rest of the band and Johnny hadn’t said a word as they absorbed Jamie’s cathartic encore.

  Hugging his twin brother too him, Dom said, “Fuck me, J. No guessing who that song is about!”

  “It’s Lara, isn’t it,” Danny said with a sage nod of his head.

  “Check out the brains on Einstein,” Dominic said, barely able to keep his face straight. “When did you write that, bro? You kept it a bit fuckin’ quiet!”

  “This afternoon. In the hotel. After soundcheck,” Jamie said. The relief seemed to be washing off him after the impromptu solo spot.

  “Solo spots at the end of the show. I told you coming along to see Springsteen would do you good,” Johnny said with a wry smile.

  “She won’t fuckin’ like it when she hears it,” Mikee said – stripped to the waist and towelling himself down, admiring his tattoos as ever.

  “That’s the idea,” Jamie said. “Right. Now who fancies a proper beer? Get really big. Just us.”

  “Later. Let’s work on that tune before the gear gets loaded out. The sound desk can record it for us,” Dominic said as he pushed Jamie back towards the stage. “I’ve got a wicked fuckin’ middle eight for it…”

  ***

  The tour concluded, unsurprisingly, in Manchester.

  A record breaking five consecutive nights at their hometown’s Apollo Theatre. The p
romoters had pushed for an Arena date, but both Johnny and the band had been adamant that they wanted to reward the citizens of Manchester with a far more up close and personal show.

  As Johnny milled around the backstage area, a constant stream of well-wishers and blaggers wanting to shake his hand and wish him well, he felt his phone vibrate.

  Reflexively unlocking his iPhone, Johnny saw that he had mail. Glugging back his lager, he flipped open the inbox.

  Lara.

  A missive from Ms Bearheart herself.

  His stomach tightened as he read the content.

  ‘Hey Mr Harrison. On the road with your boys. Hope you are keeping your ass out of trouble. I know how you can be so easily led astray. You won’t be surprised to find out that I’ve seen Jamie’s new little song on YouTube. I’m so not fucking happy, Johnny. I know that songs about me. It’s not even close to subtle. I’ll fucking sue and drop your ass so far in the shit if that song makes it on to an album. Look, I know I hurt Jamie, but this is way out of line. Tell him to drop the song, Johnny. Or else. Love & shit & that. Lara x’

  “Bitch. Fucking evil bitch,” Johnny hissed to himself.

  “What’s up man?” shouted Danny as he walked out of the packed-to-the-rafters dressing room. Cigarette behind his ear. Shades on. His daughter cradled in one arm, nursing a beer with the other hand. Rock ’n’ roll and domesticity in one Irish Mancunian package.

  “Just work mither, D-Mo. Won’t stop me enjoying this. Last night of the tour. Can you believe it?”

  “I know. It’s been fuckin’ outstanding. I’m proper shagged but gimme a week off and I’ll be ready to be back on it,” Danny said as he kissed his daughter tenderly on her forehead. The act of fatherly devotion causing the cigarette to fall from behind his ear and bounce off Dominique’s forehead onto the floor.

  Scooping it up, Johnny repositioned the cigarette, and patted Danny on the cheek. “I love you man. But word to the wise. Don’t let Dee see you smoking when you have little one with you!”

  “No danger. The nanny’s here. She looks after her when I’m playing.”