Getting Real

6. Hand of God



“Please tell me the audience member is a plant? Someone we pre-select?” Jake said, squinting at Jonas in the sun. There was only one good answer to that question and he’d give up Mum’s home-cooked meals to get it.

He stood with Jonas and Bodge in front of the telescopic tower equipment, nicknamed the Hand of God. It would hoist Rielle over the heads of the punters in the mosh-pit and the floor area of the stadium.

Jonas had explained that for one song, Rielle would ride in the cage with a member of the audience. So maybe he needed to forgo Mum’s laundry service as well free feeds to get what he needed—anything but random selection.

“We’ve tried picking at random, and we’ve tried pre-selecting in the past. Random is a bad scene,” said Jonas.

Ah good, at least there were clean socks in his future.

“Pre-selection is okay, takes some work to find the right person, but there’s still a risk the person we pick does something unexpected. This time, I’d like to keep it in-house. I think we use one of the road crew.”

Not just clean socks. But gravy and baked potatoes too.

“We can do that. Saves the vetting process, and because we can rehearse them, there’s no risk of a slip up.”

“My thoughts precisely,” said Jonas. “We need two guys and we rotate them each night in each city. As far as the audience is concerned, it’s some lucky guy we pull randomly from the crowd who gets his thrills riding in the Hand of God with a rock goddess.”

Jake nodded. This was washable, digestible and a whole lot of fun. The telescopic tower which could move up and down and travel sideways was an amazing addition to the staging, but the idea of some loose cannon punter up there had worried him. Now that he knew he could control the outcome he was happy with it.

“I need two guys who look the part, plus an understudy,” said Jonas.

Jake laughed. That’s where the idea got wobbly. “Exactly what part do you want them to look? I can offer you desperado, bogan and dropkick, but I’m assuming you’re going after something more in keeping with the fan base?”

Jonas laughed too, and looked over his sunglasses. “What about you Jake? You’d be perfect! We want to give the fan girls something to look at too.”

“Not on your life!” Jake spluttered, his knee caps tightening at the mention of it. But Jonas was serious. Apparently he was the only one who hadn’t witnessed his cheap seats meltdown yesterday. Recovering he said, “I’ve got enough to do on the ground.”

Eventually they chose Teflon, and one of the staging roadies, Bunk, with Lizard conscripted as understudy.

“You want us to do what?” said Teflon, scratching his head, when Jake explained it to the three of them. They were standing in the wings with the telescopic tower waiting for Jonas and Rielle.

“Shit yeah,” said Bunk, “but why can’t I do it every night?”

“Because we want it to seem real for the paying punters. If someone sees more than one show, and we know punters will do that, we can’t have the same bloke chosen randomly.”

“Oh,” said Bunk, curling his lip with annoyance.

But Teflon had a big cartoon character grin on his face. He turned to Lizard and said, “Understudy my jocks, Liz,” which Jake took to mean that as far as Teflon was concerned, the closest Lizard would get to the Hand of God was Teflon’s laundry bag.

When Rielle joined them, she had a big juicy smile for the boys, but stared through Jake’s welcome nod. Always good when your employer cuts you dead. Teflon could scarcely contain his excitement. He’d ditched his bandana, combed his tangled blond hair and tucked in his t-shirt in preparation for his role as the lucky randomly-picked audience member. Jake struggled to keep a straight face; he’d never seen Tef take anything so seriously.

When Tef went up the short ladder into the cage, he held out his hand to help Rielle up. She ignored him, leaving him with an outstretched hand and a self-conscious expression, and completed the climb herself. Jake watched with Jonas, Bunk, Lizard and Bodge from the stage floor, where the sight line didn’t trigger his vertigo more than a touch. He’d bet his lunch on the fact this was going to be awkward if not excruciatingly embarrassing for Tef.

Jonas fiddled with his sunglasses, eyeing the cage. “The audience doesn’t see this part where they climb in, it’s in the wings. They become aware of the cage as it extends from the stage. Rielle, it’s all yours,” he called, and then he lay down on the stage floor with his hands behind his head, looking like he was going to have a snooze.

Rielle stood in the cage with Teflon. It had a fixed, narrow bench seat running through the middle of the space and waist-high tempered glass sides. She wore tiny shorts, a singlet with rips and pins in it, and high heeled boots. Today she had green stripes in her hair. Punk by design and punk by nature, and from the way she’d brushed him, not happy to see him still on deck after the incident in the cheap seats. He shook it off. If the Mainlines wanted him off the show, they only had to ask. Until they did, he had a job to do.

“Sit up behind me and put your legs on the outside of mine,” she instructed Teflon.

He sat, his long legs either side of Rielle’s. “Sit close,” she said, and Teflon scooted closer, but not close enough. She frowned. “Like crowd me, dude.” Teflon cocked his head, and jammed his body up against Rielle’s back. He had a goofy expression on his face that made Jake clamp down on his back teeth not to laugh. Lizard and Bunk didn’t feel the same compulsion, both of them yucking it up. He silenced them with a noisy throat clear.

“I want your arms around me and your hands on my knees. That’s while the extension is happening and the cage is moving. When we get to the top, we stand. Then I want your hands all over me,” said Rielle.

Teflon’s eyes popped—his grin was rubber lipped. He shot a triumphant look at Bunk and Liz and chanted, “Yes, Miss, right away, Miss.”

“Show me how it’s done, you wanker,” called Bunk, slapping down a challenge.

A throat clear wasn’t going to do it. “Stow it, Bunk.”

Rielle stood, and a heartbeat behind her Teflon stood as well. He towered over her, his arms suddenly looking octopus tentacle long. He wrapped Rielle in an awkward bear hug and she slapped his hands away.

“I’m singing, you loser. If you do that you’ll cut my air off.”

Jake winced. Bodge beside him did too. The two other jokers were dead of night quiet.

“Sorry.” Tef dropped his arms as though Rielle had scalded him.

“Try again,” she said.

He reached around Rielle and grabbed her hips, yanking her back against him.

“No!”

“This is why we don’t want a real audience member, they tend to go a little mad,” said Jonas, clearly not snoozing.

Lizard had a coughing fit that might’ve started out as laughter, but got choked off when Jake glared at him.

“Turn around,” Rielle barked. When Teflon looked at her and didn’t move she pushed him so that he was facing the other way. She stood up close behind him, and pressed her face into his back. She brought her hands around his waist, and then wandered them across, and over his chest, and then down his legs. She skirted across his hips and ever so close to his groin, and he flinched in surprise.

“Christ, it’s Christmas, Tef,” called Bodge, finally losing his cool. He shot Jake a contrite look, but his body was shaking with silent mirth. Any minute now, Jake was going to lose it too. Bunk had his mouth open; Lizard was flushed an odd shade of pink.

Rielle released Teflon so quickly he lost his balance and had to grab the railing, which made Lizard call, “Man overboard!”

“Now you,” said Rielle, turning her back to Teflon.

“God help us,” said Jake, as Tef glued himself to Rielle’s back and groped her breasts. His urge to look away was strong, but not as strong as the one to keep gawking.

“Argh!” she yelled, and grabbing Tef’s hands, showed him precisely how she wanted him to touch her.

Teflon wore an expression of baffled wonder, and when Rielle brought his hands back to her breasts and held them there, he was red faced, all his earlier bravado concertinaed into rock solid embarrassment.

Beside him, Bodge sighed. “Why am I so f*cking old and fat.”

“Never mind, Bodge.” Bunk patted Bodge on the back. “I’ll think of you when it’s my turn to do her.”

“Hey,” Jake snapped. “A bit of respect.”

“You do it now,” Rielle said to Teflon. She made him do the whole hands everywhere routine four times before she was satisfied he had it down. “Now we kiss.” Teflon whooped loudly enough for two of the catering staff to pop their heads out of the backstage area for a gander.

“Jake, I get to do this don’t I?” asked Lizard, eagerness sending his eyebrows sailing up his forehead. “Man, I’d pay money to do this.”

Jake was trying so hard not to lose it he could hardly answer. His voice came out all uneven. “Liz, if Tef has a brain explosion up there, you’ll have to do it every second night.”

Lizard bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m ready, Reedy, I’m ready.”

Rielle had turned to face Teflon. She pushed him back to a seated position and stood between his legs. She put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him. Tef’s arms shot out and around her waist and Jake, Bodge, Bunk and Lizard groaned as she held that kiss far longer than they expected. Far longer than Tef would ever have dreamed possible.

“It’s a two minute kiss,” said Jonas, still prone on the stage floor, “everything is timed.”

Rielle released Teflon, who reeled as though he’d been hit in the head by something hard and signalled to Bodge. “Let’s do it with the cage extended.”

Rielle and Teflon went through the routine with the cage extended several times, and then used a recording of the sound track to get the timing right. Tef was looking almost blasé about his part by the time Rielle called for a break. Jake felt like lying down beside Jonas and closing his eyes. They had to live through this two more times.

“That’s how it’s done, Bunk,” Tef said, when he climbed out of the cage and swaggered over to the ground crew. He gave Bodge a high-five and got a slow clap from Jonas.

“Next!” Rielle called from the cage, sounding like an impatient bank teller with a queue of customers on a Friday afternoon. She waited while Bunk climbed the rigging. “I hope you were watching.” She looked him up and down, making Bunk blush to the roots of his buzz cut.

“Nicely does it,” called Teflon, proprietarily. “Be gentle, ya big mug.”

“No fear. You’re in the hands of a master,” said Bunk to Rielle, puffing his chest out.

“Oh yeah,” she said, hands on her hips. “Show me.”

In the end, it was Rielle who showed Bunk how it was done. She moved him around like he was a plastic GI Joe doll, positioning him where she wanted him, placing his hands on her body and admonishing him to relax and concentrate at the same time. The more she worked with him the more wooden and anxious Bunk became, the more his confidence evaporated.

On the ground, Jake shared a grimace with Bodge as Bunk became increasingly awkward, and Rielle got obviously annoyed. Meanwhile Tef wore a self-satisfied expression and Lizard a look of anxious expectation—if Bunk failed to deliver, he was a sure start.

“No, no, no!” yelled Rielle, grabbing the railing and pretending to beat her head against it, her hair flying. She spun around, and centimetres from Bunk’s face shouted, “Jesus, I feel sorry for the women you f*ck.”

There was a collective wince, as every man in the near vicinity felt shorter, fatter, uglier and more outstandingly inept. The sounds of working got louder and more intense, and anyone who’d been loitering to watch drifted away. Jake only wished he could too. Somewhere there was a sandwich with his name on it begging to be eaten.

Lizard looked at Tef. “Mate, she’s all yours.” But before he could slink off, Jake grabbed his t-shirt. “No, you don’t. Half an hour ago you were ready to sell your soul for this. Take it like a man, Liz.”

Back in the cage, Bunk looked miserable. “I’m sorry.” He sat down hard on the bench making the cage bounce on its hydraulics.

“Hopeless,” said Rielle. But then she surprised them all by climbing into Bunk’s lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him, first on the forehead and then on the lips.

Bunk’s face registered some whacked out emotion beyond surprise, when she pulled back. “Was that so bad?” she said, kissing him softly again. “Now, let’s start at the beginning.”

Jake shook his head in amazement. Rielle had flayed Bunk’s ego, then built him back up again. She could be a hellcat and a p-ssycat. Ex-army vet, Bunk had been putty in her hands from the moment he climbed in the cage.

It was skinny, awkward, Lizard who got it right from the start, earning a friendly head rub from Rielle and a sigh of relief from Jake who wasn’t sure he could watch anymore of the choreographed mauling without it affecting his digestion—permanently.

He was about to leave the stage when Rand appeared. “How long has she been up there?” he asked, looking down at Jonas, now asleep, and then back up at the cage.

“Nearly two hours,” said Jake.

Rand nodded. “Has she rehearsed everyone?”

“Lizard’s the last.”

“She throw anyone off the squad?”

Jake laughed. “No.” He could imagine it.

“Lucky,” said Rand. “Last time we did this she rejected half the potentials in the first fifteen minutes.”

“Ah,” said Jake. “We are lucky then.” If you discounted the embarrassment Bunk had suffered and still would, with hundreds of opportunities to be ribbed about his lack of sexual prowess over the tour schedule.

The two men stood and watched Rielle instruct Lizard on precisely where he should place his hands and how long he could leave them there.

“How does it feel?” asked Jake.

“What do you mean?” said Rand.

“If that was my sister up there, rock goddess and all, I’m not sure I’d be able to watch.”

Rand didn’t respond and Jake kicked himself for the comment. It was too personal, none of his business. And after yesterday’s screw up, so foot in mouth. “Ah, sorry Rand, I meant no offence.”

“No. Fair question. All I can say is she knows precisely what she’s doing, and she’s wearing her armour.”

Jake cocked an eyebrow. “Armour?”

“Yeah. She’s covered in it. Rarely takes it off. Nothing dents her. Come get me when she’s done, will you?”

“Sure,” Jake responded, but he was distracted by the concept of chain mail and bullet-proof vests. Rielle was wearing flimsy cotton and not much of it. There were the tattoos and piercings, the makeup, lime green nails and all that multicoloured hair, but armour?

Then he thought about how she used her body, how deliberate her moves were, how cutting her glance was and how her tongue was a weapon of mass humiliation. Rand was right, his sister wore armour, and her tough girl attitude was her greatest defence.