Idolism

by Marcus Herzig

  “So what are you guys gonna do next?” I asked as we were waiting in line for passport control.

  “Stay inside,” Tummy said with a wry smile. “I’ll probably be grounded until me 30th birthday. There is no way me mum is gonna let me get away with ... all this.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, keep in touch, will you?”

  Tummy nodded. “If she doesn’t confiscate me mobile as well.”

  “What about you, Ginger?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked tired. “Now that I’m rich, maybe I’ll take a little vacation in the sun somewhere. I don’t know.”

  “I see.”

  “So what about you, Michael?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. Go into hiding, I guess. I’ve spent way too much time on TV recently. I’ll probably just lock myself in my basement for a couple of weeks to work on MINDY and only come out to eat and poop.”

  “Eww,” Tummy said in mock disgust. “TMI, Michael. Way TMI.” I could tell he had been waiting for an opportunity to use that newly learned expression on someone.

  As we walked out of customs and into the arrivals hall, we saw Tummy’s mum and Ginger’s parents waiting for us. Mrs Lewis completely ignored Ginger and me, and snatched Tummy away so quickly that we didn’t even have the time to say good-bye. Meanwhile, Ginger ran straight into her parents’ arms and hugged them both.

  “Need a lift, Michael?” Mr Saunders asked.

  I shook my head. “No, thank you, Mr Saunders. My dad just texted me. He’s on his way.”

  “All right then.”

  Ginger and her parents waved good-bye to me and left. I dragged my feet through the arrivals hall. Dad had texted me to meet him at the information point at the south end of the terminal. The airport was still rather busy at that time of the night—it was the summer holidays after all—so I carefully negotiated my way through the crowds of arriving passengers and those who we there to pick them up. When I came by a waiting area where a giant flat screen TV was tuned to MMC News24, I stopped. They were showing that now infamous scene from St Peter’s Square with Mario and Luigi wrestling Julian to the ground and handcuffing him. It was the footage that I had shot myself with the camera on my mobile, the footage that ended with Luigi walking towards the camera and saying, “Basta!”

  I made a mental note to check my emails again for messages from various news organizations asking to license our copyrighted content, because apparently I had missed those among the flood of emails notifying me of new tweets, YouTube comments, and music purchases through our website.

  Next they showed our release from the police station in Rome. That footage had been shot by Cameraron, and it showed Momoko talking into the camera as we got into the limousine in the background and Tholen walking up to her and kissing her on the cheek. The report ended with a long shot view of Tholen’s private jet taking off from Fiumicino. Momoko and her crew must have followed us to the airport.

  Suddenly I felt someone tugging on my sleeve. I turned around and looked into the freckled face of a 14- or 15-year-old girl with long blonde hair and a big toothy smile. She was wearing a school uniform which seemed rather out of place at an airport at 10:30 in the evening in the middle of the summer holidays, but then I remembered that new fashion trend that had inadvertently been created by Julian and that our fans had so eagerly taken to. The girls held a notebook and a pen in her hands.

  “You’re Michael,” she said excitedly.

  “What?”

  “Are you Michael Carling?” From Puerity?”

  And I just said, “No. Sorry.”

  I turned around and walked away, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head to prevent other people from recognizing me. I felt miserable. I felt sorry for that little girl who probably just wanted my autograph, and I felt ashamed that I had reached a point where I would publicly deny who I was. Once again I felt anger towards Julian, simply because it was such an easy and convenient thing to do.

  I made my way to the information point and waited for my dad with my nose on the ground, trying not to make eye contact with anyone until finally a big, strong hand landed on my shoulder and made me turn around.

  “Hey, dad,” I said.

  “Hey son.”

  I flung my arms around him and gave him a great big hug that probably went on for a bit too long to be inconspicuous. When I finally let go of him, my dad looked around and asked, “Where’s Julian?”

  “I guess you haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

  “Not since your concert for the Pope, no.”

  “Right,” I said. “He decided to stay in America with Tholen and, you know, milk his fame some more.”

  “I see.” Dad took my chin in his hand and forced me to look him in the eyes. “You all right, son?”

  “Yeah,” I said as convincingly as I could manage. “Just a bit tired. Can we go home?”

  “Sure.”

  Dad took me to our car and onto the motorway towards Finchley. By the time we passed through Brent Cross I had told him everything, from our spontaneous detour to Rome, our first encounter with Mario and Luigi at the Colosseum, our arrest at St Peter’s, our night in jail, to our flight to New York and the discussion we’d had with Julian about whether or not we should go through with Tholen’s impromptu plan of touring the States.

  The more I told Dad about it all, the better I felt. It was a great relief finally being able to talk to someone who was close enough to me to understand me but not so closely involved with the band himself that I had to edit my story and hold anything back out of consideration for somebody else’s feelings. There were things that I couldn’t tell Ginger or Tummy but that I could tell my dad. However, just because I could tell Dad everything doesn’t mean that I did. There were some details that I held back even from him. I didn’t want to tell him that I did feel jealous about having to share Julian with the rest of the world, and I didn’t want to tell him that I felt abandoned by Julian and his decision to stay in America. Dad noticed that I didn’t tell him everything that was on my mind. He noticed how I clenched my fists and how my voice became shaky every time I mentioned Julian, but he was kind and considerate enough not to pry.

  When we pulled into our driveway, Dad turned off the engine and put his hand on my knee. “Son,” he said, “you did the right thing. It’s gonna be okay.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what he based his optimism on but I was too tired to challenge it, so I just nodded. We got out of the car and into the house. I went straight down into the basement, dropped my bag on the floor and myself on the bed, and I passed out in seconds.

  The Gospel According to Ginger – 11

  “Are you okay, honey?” my mum asked as we pulled out of the airport car park. “You don’t look too well.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mum. That’s going to cheer me up.”

  “I’m just saying.” She smiled apologetically. I felt bad about having given her a snotty answer.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m all right. It’s just ... I just spent a night in jail and then crossed the Atlantic. Twice. I’m a wee bit tired, that’s all.”

  “I understand,” Mum said. “And it’s not just the last two days. Before that you were in Berlin and in Rome, and before that you had all those concerts and TV appearances over here. You haven’t really had a day off since the school anniversary, have you?”

  Mum was right. Of course she was right. We had been going at full throttle for weeks, and we’d never even have the chance to sit back and relax and think about what we were actually doing.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  “And you have been causing quite a few commotions along the way, too,” my dad said. “Both at home and abroad.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  Dad looked at me in the rear view mirror. “You mean legally? Not really. The stunt you guys pulled in Rome was a misdemeanour, that’s over and done with, it won’t go on your permanent record. Back home you have annoyed a lot of people, but that i
sn’t exactly a crime either. You haven’t done anything that anyone could press charges against you for. Having said that, actions do have consequences. The government is in very hot water, and the whole country is in turmoil. There are a lot of people who have a lot of questions, and those people want answers.”

  I frowned. “What, from me? I don’t have any answers. I’m just the bloody keyboard player!”

  “I know, sweetheart. But I also know how the media work, especially tabloids and propaganda channels like MMC News24. They would all love to get hold of Julian, to dissect his statements and to tear him apart, but since Julian won’t be available in the next couple of weeks they will descend on the people who are close to him: you, Michael, and Thomas. It’s not going to be pretty. You should have seen what’s been going on in the media ever since you left for Berlin. They’ve been dragging anyone in front of the cameras who couldn’t run away fast enough. Your teachers, your classmates, and of course all the usual suspects, the public and private sector media whores, everyone who can string two sentences together and label it an opinion.”

  “But to be fair,” Mum said, “there is a lot of support out there. Last night on Question Time half the panel were rather in favour of what you have been doing in the last couple of weeks. More than half of the panel, actually. Most of the guests more or less openly approved of the message Julian has been putting out, albeit not necessarily of his methods. Except of course Timothy Gardener and that newspaper bloke, I keep forgetting his name.” She looked at my dad. “Honey, what’s the name of that awful Daily Mail columnist?”

  “Hitchens,” Dad said. “Peter Hitchens.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Oh how I hate that man!” She turned her head and looked at me. “Can you believe he actually said that Julian was the best example why schools ought to bring back corporal punishment? Bloody bastard!”

  “Yeah, well,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say because I was tired and I just wanted to go to bed.

  “Anyway,” my dad said, “what I’m saying is tonight you might be safe, Emily. There were no press people and no paparazzi at the airport because everyone thinks you’re all in America. But as soon as they realize that Julian is touring the States on his own, they will come after you.” I caught his glance in the rear view mirror. “I’m not trying to scare you, honey. I’m just trying to warn you. If you don’t want to be dissected like a frog in science class, you should keep your head down and keep a low profile, at least for the time being.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked. “Apply for asylum in Russia like Snowden?”

  “No, honey, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just ...”

  “George.” Mum interrupted him and put her hand on his arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation right now. Emily must be very tired. We all are. Maybe we should just wait and see what happens. Maybe it’s not going to be so bad after all.”

  Dad sighed. “I know. I’m just ...”

  “I know. You’re just worried about your little baby girl,” I said. “But you don’t have to be, I’m still your little girl, and I always will be. But I’m not a baby anymore.” I leaned forward, squeezed myself between the front seats and planted a wet kiss on Dad’s cheek. Then I slouched back in my seat.

  In the mirror I could see Dad smile.

  The Gospel According to Tummy – 15

  Me great feeling of adulthood and freedom and independence lasted about 20 minutes. Then I was back home and being told that I was grounded for the time being. They didn’t exactly lock me in the house, but they took away me keys, so even if I did leave the house, I had no way of coming back in without anyone noticing, so that option was off the table. I was a proper prisoner. But at that moment in time I couldn’t be bothered to whine about it, because after two transatlantic flights and all the events in the past few weeks, all I wanted to do was sleep. I tried to call Momoko but she was working and her phone was turned off, so I just sent her a text message telling her that I was back home and would be for quite a while, and then I went to bed and slept for 12 hours straight.

  I woke up the next day at lunchtime. I could smell the smell of freshly cooked food coming up from the kitchen, so I went down. It was a Saturday, so everyone was in, sitting down at the table to have pork chops and potatoes and gravy and peas.

  “Good morning,” I said as I walked through the door.

  “Oh look who’s up,” me sister said. “It’s Mr Rockstar.”

  “Chloe!” me mum said with a stern look. She didn’t give her that look and the threatening voice because Chloe was mocking me, but because she was talking to me at all. Apparently it was the new consensus that I was to be ignored. There was no plate and no cutlery laid out on for me the table, so I had to get me own from the cupboard before I sat down at me usual place. I put a pork chop on me plate, and some peas and gravy. The potatoes were in a bowl at the other end of the table.

  “May I have the potatoes please?” I asked in me politest voice. Chloe was about to reach out for the potatoes but another stern look from me mum made her think twice.

  “Very well,” I said. I got up to get the bowl of potatoes, put four or five of them on me plate, and then I took me plate and knife and fork and went back up to me room. I was half expecting a cry of outrage from me mum, but apparently she couldn’t be bothered anymore.

  Fair enough, I thought and slammed me bedroom door shut.

  After lunch I tried Momoko again, and this time she finally answered her phone.

  “Tummy,” she said, “Where are you?”

  I told her everything about our flight to the U.S., about Julian’s decision to stay and our decision to come back home, and about how I was grounded indefinitely.

  “You are naughty boy, Thomas,” with that seductive voice of hers. “You are very naughty boy.”

  “Me girlfriend likes me like that,” I replied, feeling slightly aroused.

  “You must be punish.”

  “Oh, I definitely deserve to be punished. Very much so.”

  I locked me bedroom door, laid down on me bed, and let me right hand pretend to be Momoko’s hand as we kept talking dirty.

  When we were done, Momoko said, “I miss you, Tummy.”

  “Why, I miss you too, Momoko,” I said, and when she didn’t reply, I added, “I love you.”

  It wasn’t until the words had left me lips that I realized that this was the first time I had ever said the three magic words to her, and I wondered if it had been too much, too soon.

  “I love you too,” Momoko finally said, and that’s when I burst into tears. “You crying? What wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I wept. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that you are the best thing that ever happened to me in me entire life, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You not lose me. I wait for you, Tummy. I wait for you until punish is over, and then we be together.”

  Upon hearing that I cried some more, but this time they were happy tears.

  And so the days went by. I spent most of the time in me room, except when I had to go to the bathroom, or to get something to eat or drink from the kitchen. Me family kept ignoring me, but they were out of the house most of the time anyway. Mum and dad went to work every day, and Chloe hung out with her friends. I quite liked being the master of the house for most of the day, and I got to spend a decent amount of time sexting back and forth with Momoko. However, it turned out that while me hand was doing a decent job impersonating Momoko, it wasn’t the real thing. I was missing her so much, the feeling of her silky skin, the sweet smell of her hair, and I decided that if I had to be a prisoner, I should at least be entitled to conjugal visits.

  The Gospel According to Michael – 14

  I woke up in the morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. As I made my way up the stairs, I heard Julian’s voice coming from the kitchen. For a moment I thought that everything had been nothing but a horrible nightmare, that Julian had come back home with us, crashed on ou
r couch and was now having breakfast with my dad. But of course Dad wasn’t having breakfast with Julian; he was watching BBC Breakfast with Charlie Stayt and Louise Minchin who were talking about Julian’s appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman a few hours earlier.

  “I must say I quite like him,” Louise said.

  Charlie looked at her and frowned. “Really?”

  “I know he’s always being very provocative, but he does raise important issues.”

  “A lot of people say it’s only an act, that he’s only playing the teenage rebel in order to sell more music.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Louise said. “Even when David Letterman tried to ask him about his fame and all the hype that surrounds him at the moment, he avoided the question and got straight back to his talking points about politics and religion.”

  I cleared my throat. “Morning, dad.”

  “Morning, son.” My dad turned around and looked at me. “Wow, you look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I said and sat down at the kitchen table. I wasn’t offended. He was probably right. I had slept in my clothes, the clothes I had been wearing since Berlin, and I hadn’t taken a shower yet, so I was probably smelling like shit, too.

  “You want me to turn that off?” He nodded towards the TV.

  I shook my head and poured myself some coffee.

  “So,” Dad said, “what are your plans for the rest of your life, now that you’re no longer a rock star?”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I have plenty of stuff to do. Code new modules for MINDY. Debug some of the old ones. Figure out a way to join them all together and make them operate as a unit.”

  Dad didn’t say anything. He just looked at me as if I had been speaking in tongues.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Who’s MINDY?”

  Then it dawned on me. In the last five or six weeks I had been so busy being famous that I’d never even had the time to tell him about MINDY. I was immediately overcome by a feeling of guilt. Ever since Mum had died, Dad and I’d had the closest relationship one could imagine. We talked about everything, and we always told each other what kind of projects we were working on, and we gave each other feedback and suggested improvements and everything. None of that had been going on recently, and I suddenly realized how much I had missed those long talks with him, those stories of his early days at Microsoft when they were struggling to figure out solutions to problems that seemed so trivial today but that were huge back when their hardware resources were limited. I had missed talking to Dad about the projects I had been working on, and I had missed his inquisitive questions that he already knew the answers to but that he asked me anyway to nudge me in the right direction. I had missed all of that, and now was as good a time as any to finally catch up. So I told him everything. I told him all about MINDY, the origin of the idea, the concept I had come up with, the bits and bobs of code I had written that had grown into bigger, more complex and more sophisticated modules that were able to float freely around the Internet without ties to any one specific computer.