Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities)

by John David Harding

  Ricky pushed her against the fence as she jumped down from the low wall and pressed his hand into her throat. “Yo’ can ‘ave 200 G,” he spat. “But if I see yo’ again I’ll kill ya.”

  She pushed his hand away from her body and nodded. “Text me the address and the time and I’ll be there.”

  “Yo’ were shite in bed,” Ricky snapped as she walked away from him.

  She smiled. “Yeah? So were you. For the record, women like to be caressed and touched. Kissed, fondled and enjoyed. You know, that respect word you keep going on about. Trying showing it and women might actually want to be with you!”

  Ricky snorted as she slipped into the street. Two days later she collected her money and was able to pay her medical tuition fees in cash.

  And the true story of Ricky’s adultery, his admission that he had beaten up an ex-girlfriend and he took drugs went unreported.

  Chapter LXIII

  Hazel

  Hazel grimaced on the telephone. She squinted at the four people staring at her intently and nodded. However, the obvious malcontent in her voice, tone and body language gave them ample belief that her nodding was not without a humongous negative.

  They had been waiting for the call since 9am; Hazel had submitted their official intent to be a candidate two days previous, and the final decision on the line-up was due to be released at midday. The artists who had submitted applications were promised the decision before it was released to the press.

  It was almost lunchtime when Hazel had received a call from “Mike at the BBC.” She smiled initially, which then faded. Jack had voiced doubts that they had only been considered because of the thousands of messages on Twitter and hundreds of emails to the BBC from their army of fans.

  As Jack had explained, the BBC were in a catch-22 situation. EuroSong was not something they really wanted to win. The cost of staging the contest the following year was considerable and the budget required had to come from somewhere. They, like every national broadcaster, didn't want to be victorious.

  They had been too obvious with this goal in the past. They had dug up singers from Liverpool who couldn't sing, artists who hadn't released a single for a decade or two and even gaudy LED lights stitched in to badly-fitting suits.

  So, they needed to do better. Second place in the contest would be fantastic. Nearly winning it placated the masses who wanted a decent song and to have hope of victory but didn't come with the expense of hosting the event the following year.

  The BBC wanted an uncontroversial, uncontentious good effort that would place in the top handful of countries. It had to be clean, baggage-free and criticism-free. It had to please everyone and give those at the BBC an easy life. They didn't want a barrage of vocal aspersion from the newspapers and nor did they want the public to afford their The Song for Europe show too much attention. It was squirrelled away on a digital channel where it would lie undiscovered by the vast majority of the public for a reason.

  The Bare Necessities gave them several problems. Firstly, they were popular enough to get themselves, and The Song For Europe show, into the newspapers and that raised the profile considerably. This would double, treble or even quadruple the expected paltry viewing figures.

  Secondly, they had a UK fan-base who demanded that the band be included in the reckoning and could easily swing the nomination their way with their undoubted support. The BBC didn't really want that; they wanted a non-contest so their chosen act could quietly progress. The Bare Necessities had trended on Twitter after the news conference; the band winning The Song for Europe contest was a real possibility.

  Thirdly, the Bare Necessities were popular in Europe. They had toured extensively and found their brand of social naturism to be welcomed in France, Spain, Germany and Scandinavia. They even had fans in Eastern Europe and the last thing the BBC needed was a fan-base on the continent for their nominated act.

  But lastly, the Bare Necessities were controversial. Paige was controversial. She had a unique talent of upsetting vocal minorities and picking fights with powerful people. She seemed to know exactly what to do to get considerable attention, and then do something ten times more dramatic. She was unpredictable, she was contentious and the polemic was the BBC's worst nightmare. She never did as she was told.

  All in all, Jack had suggested that the Bare Necessities were the last people the BBC would want within a hundred miles of Sweden holding a Union Flag and singing for Britain. The very last act.

  But, as Hazel put the phone down, she smiled. “You're in the final five acts!” She said and took a deep breath as four excited people exhaled sharply. “But there's a small, slight, insignificant problem …”

  Chapter LXIV

  Lucinda

  “I'm not singing clothed!” Paige thundered. “I am not getting …”

  “Worse.”

  “What could be worse than that?”

  Hazel groaned. She looked at her naked sister as she spoke and put her phone on the breakfast bar. “Much worse. The judges.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Ben from Ricky's old band. Sammy Marshall, the comedian. And …”

  “And who?”

  Hazel sighed deeply. “Peter Moran.”

  “The utter twats!”

  Hazel groaned again. “There's no need …”

  “… for that language. I think there is.” The light from the window illuminated her bare pregnant body. She shook her finger angrily as she spoke. Jack watched from the doorway, admiring the forceful beauty of his nubile girlfriend gesturing wildly in the weak winter sunshine, and raised a warm smile.

  Her hair glowed coppery red, the frame of her body glistened in the sparkly sunlight. “Stop perving,” Lucinda whispered to her nephew as she entered the room.

  “Wouldn't you?” He muttered as Paige turned to them.

  “Did you hear that? Peter Fucking Dipshit Twatty Pervert Moran is a judge.”

  “Hey,” Lucinda called. “He can't be that bad, it's just …”

  “Paige has interrupted his radio show, attacked him, thrown cold water over him, funded a very expensive court case against him and humiliated him on live television.” Jack smiled. “Oh, and two months ago, humiliated him on a game show too. Why on earth would he hold a grudge?” He looked at his furious girlfriend. “But he's only one third of the judges vote, and they only count for one half of the total vote. I'm sure we could nail the viewer vote and be odds on to win the selection.

  “I don't like it.”

  “Peter Moran? Now tell me something I don't know.” He softened his eyes as she glared at him. “Let's just let natural selection take its course, shall we?”

  “It's just like you said. The bloody BBC don't want winners they want to look plausible. They must be scared that we'd win so they are trying to nobble the jury.”

  “Or maybe, they want to spend so little on it they picked three people with nothing else better to do. Let's be honest, all of those three aren't exactly pulling in bums on seats. Peter Moran's career got killed 'cause of you.”

  “'Cause of him,” Paige barked. “Because of him. I'm not having you saying that trying to get a sex offender in prison is a bad thing, or that I, or the victims had any part in that. I'd rather not have had any of that, it was his rape that put him there and you do not get to victim blame …”

  Jack sighed. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.” He picked up his girlfriend’s hand and rubbed the soft skin with his thumb. “Of course you were right to help her and try to get justice. But he will see that you are responsible for killing his career. I’m not blaming you at all.”

  “Good.” Paige pulled her hand away from his grip.

  “But his perception is that you are to blame, not him. And he will probably hold that against you. And anyway, these people are going to be cheap. Now, instead of worrying about them, shall we get on with picking our song.” Paige snarled in response and poured herself a glass of water. She said nothing as she sulkily walked
to the media room, deep in thought.

  They had assembled a handful of their friends that afternoon; Hazel and Lucinda sat by the door as the three band members spoke.

  “Thanks for coming,” Claire started. “Normally, we'd run our thoughts past focus groups and music executives and the like, but we haven't got time as we need to confirm to the Beeb today what song we are entering with.”

  “And to design the set and so on,” Hazel added. “And to have someone ...”

  “Ssssh!” Paige interrupted her sister. “Not got time for your manager bitching. So we would really like your help in choosing. I've written a political anthem that defines our time …”

  “And I've written a love song from the heart,” Jack said, grinning at his girlfriend who flinched as he spoke.

  “Oh, and yeah, I've got one too.” Claire's face curled into a smile as she waited for the surprised looks on her bandmates faces. “Yeah, I did finish one. I used the track I wrote for our last album that you never wanted to use and adapted that.”

  “Right, well I'll go first,” Paige said, clapping her hands and took the microphone from the stand. The backing track of Jack's keyboards and Claire's guitar had been made using their professional software, and while when it was performed with real instruments it would sound better, for the demonstration to friends, the MIDI-based tool was perfect to showcase her music.

  No-one expected a political song from Paige to be subtle or tactful but her angry, fast-paced lyrics were carried by her voice. She hit the highest of notes, holding them as she gave a breathless performance that filled the small auditorium with her impeccable performance.

  But her lyrics were controversial. She attacked right-wing, anti-refugee politicians as fools, and racists as morons. She attacked political parties and newspapers. And she was relentless in her imagery with wild comparisons that could land the band with a battery of lawsuits.

  She got a polite round of applause; her talent, if not her tact, was obvious.

  “Now when we sing this song, it'll be Paige's voice not mine,” Jack needlessly said as he fiddled with the computer. Paige smiled as the cold leather stuck to her bare skin in the chair.

  Jack's slower, but well-paced song, was respectful. It lacked the high-energy, upbeat style of Paige's music but also lacked it's controversial lyrics.

  He sang of the love of his life, carrying his child, and not wanting to marry. He sang of his undying love and brought in beautiful images that was a love song to his musical rival. Paige blushed as Jack finished and they embraced as Jack sat next to his girlfriend.

  “How does it work if I am singing a love song to my pregnant girlfriend?” Paige asked. “Especially when I would be pregnant. Are both sides of this fictitious lesbian relationship knocked up?”

  “Trust you to find a flaw like that.”

  “Stupid lyrics get criticised. I’ve always said that about you. Decent songwriter. Shit lyricist.”

  “We'll change 'em then. If your song is selected, we'd need to change yours.”

  “You are not …”

  “We have deep pockets but not enough to cope with the slew of libel actions we’ll get. If your song is selected, we will end up destitute.”

  Claire coughed to bring silence to the bickering couple. “Now, apologies as my voice is even worse than Jack's,” Claire joked and nervously fumbled with the laptop. “My song is simply Reborn.”

  Claire unhooked her guitar and used a cue on the laptop to start the backing instruments. A powerful, complicated riff started the introduction that dominated the small room before she fell into her singing.

  She sang with a memorable beat, and a fast pace; the three guitar solos were cleverly worked into the tale of a person feeling like failure and rising again. She sang with great lungfuls of air that drove the music at a tremendous pace. Many of their guests followed the quick beat.

  She drove her song into a powerful crescendo before ending her music with a complicated, explosive riff on her guitar.

  The applause for Claire was sincere; she beamed as she took a small bow and embraced Paige as she sat down on the spare armchair at the front of their auditorium.

  Jack spoke and highlighted what research had shown was common to successful entrants; Paige booed as he spoke, and she reiterated her opposition to adhering to the rules.

  Paige flatly refused to allow any word of her controversial lyrics to be changed, but the choice was obvious; Claire, who had never written a song for the band before, had written the best entry and was unanimously selected by their friends.

  Hazel giggled, and dialled the BBC on her phone. “We need to get a set designer team in,” she simpered as the phone rang.

  “Reborn,” she said clearly to her contact at the Beeb. “Their song is Reborn, written by Claire Baynes.”

  “Written by the Bare Necessities,” Claire corrected their agent, but Hazel didn't hear, and the press release went out without the correction.

  “Shall we have a toast?” Lucinda asked, as her hands closed around a magnum of champagne. “I, for one, need a wee drinkie!”

  Chapter LXV

  Hazel

  “Help!” Hazel squealed as she sat down in the coffee shop chairs opposite her mentor. “I need to make Paige and Claire uncontroversial!”

  Andre burst into laughter; his mouth curled upwards like a cartoon villain and he ran his hands through his well-styled black hair. “Sounds impossible.”

  “You told me to look after them until the contract expires.”

  “I see it as personal and professional development to come up against challenges,” Andre said while sniggering.

  “They're on live at the BBC in two weeks time. I want to soften Claire's and Paige's image a bit before then.” Andre raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I know. Claire, the drug-taking, alcoholic, sex-addict in the papers and Paige the, ummm …”

  “Paige is Paige. She irritates some people and you can't stop that. Some people find the very thought of her awful and can't stand to read about her or see her. That won't change.”

  “I know. I lived with her for sixteen years! So no hope on Paige. What about Claire?”

  “No, Paige has controllable elements too. You have to tone her down. That's what I tried. True, it's easier said than done, but it's possible. Accept that she's several drinks short of a round a move on. Try and get the focus from her.”

  “Right. She's not good at not being centre of attention.”

  “OK, but be prepared that any moment she will naturally do something so wild and fucked up that every pair of eyes in the world will be on your sister! Be prepared for the unknown.”

  Hazel giggled. “I know what you mean. So, with Claire then, what do I do?”

  “Try and get her image softened slightly. A few interviews would be good and visiting schools to teach guitar. Avoid mentioning her breakdown last year as what it was.” His eyes darted away from Hazel as he pondered. “At all, don't mention it at all. Look to get her some positive press and show that she's a good person.”

  “She is.”

  “She's a great person,” Andre muttered. He took a deep gulp of his black coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “And Hazel, look after her.”

  “Them, surely?”

  “Yeah, that's what I meant. Look after them.”

  “Will do!”

  Hazel was grateful that Ricky was in the Far East for a few days; a rich oil sheikh was a big fan of Ricky's old band and had paid for him – among other musical acts – to play live for his 40th Birthday. It gave her time to put in 18-hour days in organising and managing her sister's band for their The Song for Europe fling.

  It had taken Hazel two days to set up the necessary meetings for “Operation Claire.” She had confided in Paige, and forced her sister to promise to do nothing untoward or controversial. The papers reported Paige attending her pre-natal appointment at the hospital and the young singer attending the Maternity unit with Jack was printed in every newspaper's gossip c
olumn under an “exclusive” story.

  “Friends” of the couple wrote that the pair were set to announce a Summer baby; in half of the 'papers Paige was hoping for a girl, and in the other half a boy. Supposedly they had names planned and a lavish naming ceremony booked for August.

  Paige laughed at the coverage. “Do I really look pregnant?” She asked at breakfast, rubbing her naked belly with Jack's hands. She got up and stood in profile at the mirror, sucking in her chest and then exhaling sharply. “Am I fat already?”

  “You're so vain,” Lucinda sang, causing Paige to fling a cushion at their house guest. “No, you don't look fat!”

  Paige hummed as she read the report in the Star. “Paige Simmons is six months pregnant already,” she read out loud, scanning the text. “She is expecting a girl and is clearly showing her impressive baby bump.”

  Jack sighed, putting down his broadsheet and glaring at the tabloid-wielding girlfriend. “How much of that is true?”

  Paige looked up. “Uh?”

  “How much of that article is true?”

  “Well I'm not six months pregnant, nor am I expecting a girl. And hey, I'm not planning a £20,000 naming ceremony nor am I going to call my baby Suzanne, after my mum. Nor am I …”

  “I rest my case,” Jack replied airily.

  “I suppose the fact that I am pregnant is true. But that’s it.”

  “Indeed. Now on the subject of something that is true,” he added, and turned the paper to show a beaming photo Claire holding a guitar to hide her modesty. “I'm back. Claire Baynes bares all about her ex, her breakdown and her ambitions.”

  Paige snorted. “Bares all. Do they have to get nudity into everything?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow at his unclothed girlfriend. “Unlike your article. This had to go via Hazel before it went to print. So everything here is chosen word-for-word by Hazel and the lifestyle journalist. Every word is true.”