Getting Real

13. Doctor



The Fremantle Doctor was filling the sails of the yachts on the Swan River, giving Sharon, Rand and Rielle something to watch from the balcony of the hotel’s rooftop bar. Jake kept his head down. He was fine sitting in the confines of the snug bar, so long as he pretended there was no balcony edge, and no view. He imagined the yachts were fast and graceful, zipping across the surface of the water, racing each other for the sheer enjoyment of it. The contrasting conversation was stilted, angst ridden and outraged.

They’d said all there was to say. Jonas was being kept at the hospital for observation, and Sharon had him waitlisted for flights back to LA. Rielle had raged, and then fallen quiet, letting Rand make the necessary decisions.

Jonas was out. If he didn’t straighten up, the band would need to hire a new executive producer and stage manager. Meanwhile the Australian portion of the tour would go on with Rand and Rielle sharing EP responsibilities. They’d asked Jake to take on the stage manager’s role.

He was hesitating—pretending a great fascination with his hands. As tour manager, he could stand apart from the ins and outs of the band’s issues. He was responsible for getting them to the stage, but what they did on it was outside of his control. But as stage manager, he’d be responsible for their actions on stage as well. There’d be no escaping them. He’d done the dual role for other tours, but nothing this big, and while he was confident about working with Rand, it was Rielle he was worried about. Especially since their last discussion.

He broke the silence. “I’m flattered you’re asking, but I’m concerned.” He looked at Rielle. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“I said some things too, Jake,” said Rielle, while Rand looked on with a quirked eyebrow and Sharon waved a waiter over for a drinks refill.

He met Rielle’s eyes and held them. “If you’re sure we can work together?”

She gave him her trademark scowl. “I’m not sure. But I’m prepared to give it a try.”

“Rie!” Rand smacked his empty glass back on the table too hard.

Rielle was hunched forward in her chair and turned to look back at her brother. “Well, I’m not sure. This is important. I can’t see any point lying to Jake.”

Jake dropped his head. He wasn’t at all convinced about Rielle and the truth, but he agreed with the sentiment anyway. “I understand. Why don’t we see who else is available locally to step in if things don’t work out?”

Rand said, “That won’t be—”

Rielle said, “Good idea,” their words jumbling on top of each other.

Jake looked to Sharon who nodded, doing her best ‘nothing rattles me’ impression in spite of the tension. “No worries. I’ll see who’s available,” she said. They both knew the likelihood of anyone suitable being available at no notice was low and that they were in for an interesting time.

Rand got to his feet. “I’m going to head into the hospital.” He gave Rielle a nudge, but she shook her head, stood and walked across to the balcony rail. “Fine,” he eye-rolled. “Jake, if you can take on the job we’ll be eternally grateful. And don’t worry about her. She’ll get with the program.” He shot a meaningful look in the Rielle’s direction.

Jake nodded. He could turn down the job. He should. But for the moment at least, he was stuck.

“I’ll give you a lift,” said Sharon, taking a hurried slurp of her carrot and beetroot juice, tucking the paper cocktail umbrella behind her ear and getting to her feet. She gave Jake a pat on the shoulder and left with Rand.

What Jake most wanted to do was have an afternoon swim to clear his head and an early night. Tomorrow was going to be a big day with the road crew arriving, no Jonas, and his new job brief; but there was Rielle, somewhere at the railing, looking out on the river.

He imagined her hair picking up the breeze, long, tangled, red strands of it floating across her back. If they were going to work together, he had to clear the air, but he could barely look at her—anxiety that she might fall through the chest-high, glass balcony wall gnawed in his stomach. All he could do was wait, hopefully she’d come back to the table.

When she did, she took control of the conversation. “Did you mean what you said about me being a fake?”

He groaned. Not exactly where he’d have started their discussion.

“I can’t see any point in you lying to me either, Jake.”

He chose his words carefully. “I think you are an incredible singer and a talented performer. You’re electric on stage. I don’t think I have any right to have an opinion on anything else about you.”

She huffed. “But you do.”

He was silent. He stood by his drug-assisted opinion of her as a fake. He was completely confused by her. One moment she was the in-your-face rock diva and the next quiet introspective and shy, like she’d been on both bike rides—a different person altogether.

She said, “Here’s what I think. You’re Mr Nice Guy. You know your job but I don’t see you being tough enough to make the hard decisions, and this business is all about hard decisions. You just don’t have enough Godzilla in you. You look at Rand and you see a nice guy too. But my brother has the heart of a monster, he won’t let anything stop us from getting what we need—he never has. I don’t think that’s something you have in you, Jake, and it’s something we might need.”

She’d spoken softly but her words were hard-edged, needing an unambiguous reply. “You’re wrong, Rielle. But I’m not in the habit of turning myself inside-out to prove what I can do to you or anyone else. What you see is what you get. Take me or leave me. I know who I am and what I can do and I’m comfortable with that.”

She considered his words. “Fair enough. But you’ve already proven you have a straw heart, Jake. You won’t tell me what you think about me.”

“I’m not sure that makes me weak, Rielle. Just careful.”

Rielle laughed, her voice lifting in the breeze and drifting across the open terrace making other people look their way. What did it matter what Jake Reed thought anyway, so long as he was a competent operator. “Let’s get specific then. What’s your professional opinion of my performance in Adelaide?”

She expected him to blow smoke at her, praise her performance. Do what everyone else other than Rand and Jonas (when he was straight) did—lie.

Jake sat forward in his seat, contemplating his options. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but in this conversation. “Here’s what I think. Your performance was a seven out of ten.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You missed cues a couple of times. Had issues with lyrics. You didn’t have the bungee safety hooked up on the trapeze, which made you vulnerable if anything bad happened. You were late opening the second half. You were nervous and you never settled. None of that much mattered; what did is how unhappy it made you. You were in a funk by the second half and you never recovered.”

“Shit, Jake! Don’t pull any punches!” She hadn’t expected near as frank an assessment. She’d figured he’d extract himself from the conversation, the balcony, the job. “Not even Rand knows about the safety harness. He’d have ripped into me if he did.” Jake had a ‘well you asked for it’ expression on his face. She tucked her chin down. “Thanks. That’s what I needed to hear. Rand was being forgiving and Jonas wasn’t watching.”

“No problem.” Jake let a self-satisfied smile play on his lips. He wasn’t exactly Godzilla, but the guy wasn’t chicken-shit either.

“Maybe we can work together,” she said, cautiously. “Jake, there’s one other thing.” He nodded. He folded his arms as if bracing for bad news. “This thing with heights.”

He grunted, ran his hand through his thick, short dark hair. “What you see is what you get, Rielle.”

She frowned, unsatisfied. Half her show was aerial. He could hardly look at the trapeze without breaking into a sweat. But it wasn’t like there was another option. “I guess I can work with that.”

He gave her a good long dose of steady eye contact. “I guess you’re going to have to.”