Getting Real

16. Slightly Godzilla



Perth punters were having a good time. They’d started the night chanting, “We want the hanging roadie.” And there was a group of girls in the mosh pit wearing t-shirts that said, Heart Hanging Roadie and Having Hanging Roadie’s Baby.

As unexpected as it was, Collin Ng was quick to give them a taste of what they wanted. He rolled recorded tape of Neddy on the trapeze creating waves of laughter and establishing the tone for the night. Jake looked at Bodge who mouthed, “Great gig.”

An hour later it was a great gig threatening to go wrong. On stage, Jonathan Bennett wasn’t playing by the rules. Getting signed as support act for Ice Queen was a big deal for Problem Children, but now were on stage the plan was to convince the punters they were better than a mere support act, better than the headliners. Fair enough, but that didn’t mean they could bugger around with the show schedule and that’s what they were trying to do.

At the end of their set, they played a second encore, and Jonathan was gearing up for a third, though he knew they had a time limit on stage because of neighbourhood noise restrictions enforced later in the night.

The instant Jake recognised Jonathan wasn’t about to leave the stage, he moved. He grabbed Problem Children’s stage manager, Ross Rowland by the arm. “Get them off now.”

“Nah, mate. Just one more song. Look at the crowd. They’re loving it.”

“Now,” said Jake, and when Ross shook his head, he said, “We’ll pull sound, right now. Get them off.”

Ross growled, spoke into his headset and Jonathan glanced to the side of the stage and frowned. He would’ve heard Ross’s instruction in his earpiece loud and clear, but he pretended otherwise. He obviously didn’t think Jake had the balls to pull their sound or lighting, if he played another song. He signalled the band, introduced a new song and launched into it. The bastard knew he was stealing time from Ice Queen, and he didn’t care. “F*ck!” Jake gave instructions through his headset to Bodge, Tim and Glen and midway into the song, Jonathan’s big plan unravelled. The singer had to watch as the lighting changed to illuminate two guitarists at the side of the stage, Rand and Stu, playing the Problem Children song, but giving it their own style—upstaging the band as the punters turned their attention to two of the world’s hottest young guitarists.

Jake had effectively snookered Jonathan. He had to keep singing and yet he’d lost control of the performance. The four guitarists on stage brought the song to a crashing end and over applause Rand said, “It’s bedtime for Problem Children. Say goodnight, boys,” as he and Stu subtly herded the support band off stage.

Jonathan spoke into his mic but, two words into his goodnight message, realised it had been turned off. Jake had given him dead air. He frowned and waved to the audience as he and the band made their way off the now partially lit stage. It was an odd, fractured ending to their show, making them look unrehearsed and unprofessional, but as far as Jake was concerned, they’d brought it on themselves.

“What the f*ck, Ross?” Jonathan screamed, when he arrived in the backstage area.

“Don’t look at me. Take it up with Jake.”

Jake was ready. “You’re lucky I didn’t yank your power and leave you in the dark. Don’t do that again.”

Jonathan slammed his hand into a piece of staging. “You f*cked us over, you f*cking—”

Jake stepped up close to the taller man, interrupting him. This was a test he needed to pass. “You want off the tour, just say the word. You want on, we play by my rules.”

Jonathan towered over Jake. He looked like he was about to shape up until Lizard said, “You know Jake decked Neddy, pretty boy.”

Jonathan stepped back, but seeing Rand, Stu and Rielle enter the backstage area, started to protest again.

Jake said, “Stow it. You got a problem, take it up with me after the show.”

Jonathan swore and slapped an open hand on the staging again and with Ross in tow, stormed off towards the dressing rooms. Jake watched him go. He made for Rand, standing with Rielle and Stu, but thought better of it at the last minute and let Ross steer him into the backstage tunnel. He might’ve stood down for now, but this wasn’t over.

Jake caught Rand’s eye. He had a right to be angry about being called up on stage as part of Jake’s solution to get Problem Children off, but he was grinning happily. Rand nudged Rielle and said something Jake couldn’t hear and she shoved him back making him laugh.

As she walked past she leaned into Jake, poked him in the chest and said, “Okay, that was slightly Godzilla.”


After the issue with Jonathan, Jake was relieved Ice Queen’s first half ran smoothly. Nothing fell over, crashed to the ground, shattered, burned or hurt anyone. The show opening patter between Rielle and Rand was more polished—there were no dropped cues. Rielle had no issue with lyrics and, apart from Stu needing a quick replacement guitar because of a broken string, all went well.

The opening of the second half had the Perth punters screaming in appreciation, but Jake could see Rielle was hesitant on the trapeze, her safety bungee was in place but her movements were less bold, less daring and flamboyant.

“Her hand is no good,” said Bodge, at his side.

“We should’ve made her have an X-ray,” said Jake. Jonas would’ve known to do that. Shit, he was a disaster at this.

“Can’t make her do anything, Reedy.” Bodge grinned. “I tried.”

Jake nodded, eyes on Lizard and Teflon setting up the Hand. It was Bunk’s turn to ride with Rielle. She came off stage and Bodge shoved an ice pack and a bottle of water in her hands as she flashed past them to change.

Three minutes later she was back. She took a slug of water, put her hand on the telescopic tower’s railing, looked at Bunk and shouted, “Not you—him,” pointing at Jake. What did she want? He had no idea. He cut a look at Bodge who shrugged.

“What?” said Bunk. He had his hand on the ladder ready to climb up after her.

She pushed him away. “Not you. I want Jake.”

Oh f*ck no! Jake growled; his stomach lurched. “No, no you don’t.” God, this devil woman was seriously out to shorten his life. “Go.” He gave Bunk a shove back towards the equipment.

“Jake. I want you,” yelled Rielle, above the opening riff of the song. “Now!”

Jake planted his feet firmly. He was a tree, roots through the stage and into the core of the earth. He was not moving. He yelled back, “No!” No freaking way. She wasn’t winning this one.

But he had Bodge in his ear yelling, “Go, go, go,” and pushing him forward, concerned only about meeting the staging cues. F*ck. F*ck. Bunk stood aside and they’d missed the cue.

This was suicide but he had no choice. Bodge dragged his headset off, pushed him up to the railing. He grabbed it and hoisted himself into the cage behind Rielle. He caught sight of Bodge holding his head, already seeing disaster.

“What are you trying to do—kill me?” he shouted in her ear.

Evil bitch laughed at him. “You’d better have watched the rehearsal Jake, because I expect this to be good.”

She was trying to kill him and she probably would. But he was so surprised to find himself in the cage, his brain hadn’t had a chance to send out the panic signal. He tried to centre himself by sitting on the edge of the bench seat and watching the band on stage, because he knew it was coming. Any minute now he’d have head spins. Any second now he’d feel like he was going to die. And thousands of people would be watching as he fell apart in real life and close-up on the big screen.

And then it hit and his body went cold and his vision blurred and his blood stopped pumping while his heart cartwheeled and he wanted to die.

When the cage started moving he made a grab for Rielle, scooted up behind her, and tucked his face into her neck, breathing in the perfume from her shampoo and makeup. He had his eyes screwed closed and he held onto her shins so hard he was going to bruise her. It was the best he could do.

Folded into her, he could feel her breathing. The back of her ribs expanded against his chest, and he tried to breathe with her like on the trapeze, to stop from panting. Under the gladiator lights it was hot and in seconds his shirt was plastered to his back and he clamped his thighs harder against Rielle’s hips to try and counteract his rising fear.

The voice in his head said, “Okay, okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” but it f*cking lied. He was not okay. He was not okay.

They were three stories high in the air with fifteen thousand screaming fans below them and another thirty-five thousand watching their ascent. When the cage came to a stop it gave a hop which made his stomach tear inside-out and he groaned. He felt Rielle stand and he knew he was supposed to do something, but he was bolted rigid to the bench.

The part of Rielle that wasn’t belting out the song lyrics, watching the crowd and listening to the music in her earplug had to have been aware he was not coping. She turned to face him and ran her fingers through his hair. That got a good reaction from the punters, but when she climbed onto his lap, wrapped her legs around his waist and tucked his head into her shoulder, there was a roar of approval. Or maybe that was just random noise in his head. He had no idea what was real and what was part of his meltdown. There was no way he was going to move, or open his eyes, so whatever happened next was up to her. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him. For a moment he didn’t yield, couldn’t move, but she pushed again and he released his hold on the edge of the bench and grabbed her waist instead.

She pushed him again and he had no strength to fight her, so he lay back on the seat and she straddled his hips. He was straining for breath, but when he felt her lips close on his, her teeth graze him, his eyes flew open and he grabbed her in a hard hug and the crowd roared and his senses spun, and he held that kiss like it was the only thing that could stop him falling.

They rode the cage back to the stage locked in that panicked embrace. When it bounced to a stop, and he knew her mic was off, he shouted, “I hope you’re happy, Rielle Mainline,” and lifted her away from him with shaking arms. He gripped the side of the cage and hoisted himself over it, jumping the short distance to the ground where he snatched his headset off Bodge and walked away with only his pride holding him upright and not a backward glance.

In the seconds she had before being back on stage, Rielle watched Jake go. Instead of feeling victorious, she felt horribly, horribly ugly and diminished.


Oh f*cking hell, Rand was steamed. “What the f*ck were you thinking?”

Rielle took a sip of water, stalling. Rand rarely got angry, but he’d politely asked Ceedee to leave the dressing room, then lost it—slamming the door. Now he was standing over her, fury coming off him in electric bolts, bashing against the grubby painted surfaces of the room and frying her with heat.

The worst of it was she didn’t know what to say. She had no idea why she’d hauled Jake into the Hand. It was a stupid thing to have done. Stupid and cruel. Unforgivable.

“Brain snap,” she said looking at Rand’s boots.

“Brain snap! F*ck me.” He flung himself down on the couch. “Was I wrong to want to do this tour? Arielle, you tell me, was I wrong?”

Oh Jesus, he’d used her full name. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because you can’t get it together. Your first show was awful, but I figured you needed to settle in. Then today you punched a guy. And tonight you could hardly hold onto the trapeze or the pole and you probably took ten years off Jake’s life in the Hand. If he quits it will be your fault. I want to know why you’d do that.”

She swallowed. Her eyes felt tight. She could take just about anything but Rand’s anger. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know! Well, that’s f*cking peachy isn’t it? That’s some terrific excuse. Real mature. Real professional. You’ve got some apologising to do to the rest of the band and to Jake. And you need to f*cking well get it together.”

She nodded. She couldn’t look at him. She started to fix her makeup, trying to avoid Rand’s eyes, flashing bad vibes at her in the mirror. She had no idea how she was supposed to make this right.

Sometimes when Rand lost it, he calmed down as quickly as he frothed over. She waited, hoping he’d huff and puff, and then hug her, and she’d know she was forgiven. But he kept his distance and held onto his anger. He was sitting hunched over on the couch, drumming his heels to some vaguely familiar rhythm. She turned to him to beg his forgiveness, but he looked through her, stood up and left, slamming the door behind him so savagely it bounced back open again. She was in deep shit.


Back in the green room, Rand let go a long stalled breath. He took a cold beer, surveyed the party, and could think of no good reason to stay. He’d been irrationally angry. F*ck, he was scared. What if Rie couldn’t pull it together? What if he’d pushed her too hard and this leg of the tour was a huge mistake? He’d been way too tough on her given this was all about coming back home and she was so spun out, but shit what was she thinking doing that to Jake, to the performance?

He turned to go back to her dressing room to talk it through with a cooler head and was accosted by two fan girls. They didn’t look like the usual models, actresses and special girlfriends of the band, and they didn’t look like girls any of the road crew would’ve given passes to. They just weren’t backstage pass material.

One was short, plain, plump and awkward. She had bad skin and thick makeup. The other was tall and solid, with thin, dark hair in a single stringy plait that reached her nonexistent waist. They were both dressed in bright party clothes as if for a posh dinner or a special event, when backstage fashion was generally black is best and less is more. They were out of place, nervous, very drunk and too over-excited to realise.

The plump one squealed when she saw him.

The one with the plait said, “Hello Rand. Jonas said you and Stu were interested in meeting local girls.”

Rand said, “Jonas?” as though the concept of the man was foreign to him and let the girl take his arm and draw him back into the green room.

“Yes, I, um, met him at the hotel.”

“The hotel where we’re staying?” It was dawning on him how they’d gotten here. “You didn’t by any chance let him into a hotel room did you?”

“Oh yes. I’m the one. He didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I let him into that room. He was very grateful.”

“I’m sure he was.” Rand glanced about for Stu. He was drowning and needed help. Seeing him with Roley, he made his way across the room, his two new friends trailing happily behind him.

Stu gave him a quizzical look and then laughed in his beer.

Roley said, “So Rand, looks like a threesome for you tonight,” grinning manically.

“Actually, the girls are friends of Jonas’s,” and made a help me gesture above the plump girl’s head.

“Shame he’s not here to meet you,” stuttered Stu through his laughter. “More for you eh, Rand.”

Roley said, “I’d offer you both a drink, but I can see you’re already pretty legless.” He and Stu cracked up.

Plait now had her arm around him and Plump was smiling as if someone had just found her lost puppy.

Rand shifted uncomfortably. He was desperately trying to think of a way to extract himself with some grace, and not completely humiliate the two girls. Most of the room had seen them now and there was a general tittering. He heard someone say, “Is this a joke? It’s a double bad taste fat-a-gram.”

Ceedee joined Stu, standing in front of him, letting him wrap his arms around her and Roley used the general laughter to break cover and melt into the crowded room.

When Plait kissed Rand’s cheek, he knew he had to extract himself quickly. There were phone cameras everywhere. There were Facebook pages and Twitter feeds simply begging for some of this. “Girls, it’s been nice to meet you, but it’s been a long day for me. I need to be getting back to the hotel.”

“That’s cool,” said Plump, “we’ll come with you. I get a staff discount so I got us our own room for later, you know. We figured you’d probably throw us out after a while.” She tittered.

Bloody hell, what had Jonas told this chick? Way more than was sensible, that’s for sure. “I… ah… have some things to do here first. I need to speak with our tour manager.”

“That’s okay, we’ll wait,” said Plait. At least she let go of his arm.

“No, I don’t want you to wait, I— ah, I don’t want to ah, inconvenience you,” he muttered, watching Ceedee and Stu split their sides laughing at him. When Plump stumbled in her six-inch, hot pink stilettos, grabbing at him to stop from falling, he thought Stu might need a fresh pair of jeans.

“Look, what I want you to do is to go back to the hotel. I’ll organise a limo to take you. I want you to order room service on me and have a good night.”

“And you’ll come and join us when you’re finished here?” asked Plump. Hope glittered through the clumps of flaky mascara around her eyes.

It would’ve been easy to just say yes. Accept the inevitable room key slipped in his pocket, toss it in the next rubbish bin and be done with it. But he couldn’t do it.

“You know, I’m—I’m not that kinda boy. Everyone just assumes, you know, that, well—” He deliberately stumbled and stuttered, hoping they’d get the point. Any point.

Plait’s eyes popped and her hand flew to her mouth. Plump said, “We just thought, Jonas said—we—oh!”

Rand dropped his head and tried to look bashful. “I’d be grateful if you’d keep it to yourselves. It’s not good business for the band. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh my God,” said Plump. “Your secret is so safe with us. We’ll never tell. Never.”

He replaced being bashful with being relieved and wondered if there would be a Rand Mainline Comes Out headline somewhere in the next few hours. He put an arm around each of the girls and steered them to the door where he hoped to find a roadie who’d get them back to the hotel safely. What he found instead was the camera crew and an amused looking Harry who called, “Thanks for signing the release forms, ladies.”

He grabbed a runner and explained what he wanted and gave each girl a hug, watching with an overwhelming sense of deliverance as they staggered off down the corridor. Plait, who wore sensible flatties, supported Plump in her stripper heels.

When he turned back, Harry was still watching. “Great footage.”

“Ah, you can’t use that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was embarrassing enough most of the room had been laughing at his expense, but for Harry to have it on tape. Roll over and die.

“Access all areas,” she said, quoting the contract at him.

“Aw, I don’t know if that’s more unfair to them or me.”

She laughed and he watched her face light up. The J Geils Band riff in his head once more. “What did you think of the show?”

She curled her lip, tipped her head. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Tell me what you think.”

She leaned in close to him, whispered hotly in his ear, “I think you are the sexiest thing on two legs.”

Rand gave a surprised hiss and when Harry drew back she was laughing at him, and he knew she was joking.

She said, “Really great footage. A behind the scenes look at the famous Rand Mainline’s groupies.”

He shook his head. “You don’t play fair. You owe me one for letting me think you were serious about the legs thing.”

She shrugged. “What do you want?”

“I want you to answer one question.”

“One.” She nodded.

“Harriet Young, are you married?”

She grinned. “No.”

“Are you with someone?”

“We said one question.”

“That was one question, it has two parts. Are you with someone?”

“Are you Randall Mainline?”

“I’m asking the questions tonight. And I won’t call you Harriet, if you don’t call me Randall.” He shuddered.

Harry sighed. She looked away. She was going to break his heart. He had no idea what was going through her head, but he’d been a f*cking idiot to think she’d be interested in him again. He was as bad as Rie making up gothic horror fantasies in her head about being home. He was about to let Harry off the hook when her eyes came back to his.

“No.”

He grinned. He felt the force of his smile in the skin around his ears. “Well what do you know.”

She was grinning now too. But she had no idea how much trouble she’d just put a rocket under.