“You know, Rielle, you’re a real pain in the ass,” he drawled, pushing back from the table.
“Take your glasses off, Jonas.”
“Jesus, we’ve been here before,” said Rand, clueing in. “What’re you doing, Jonas?”
Jonas stood. “Nothing that concerns either of you. If you’re not happy, you can fuck me off home anytime you want.”
“Wait,” said Rand, putting his hand out to stop Jonas leaving. “You know how we work. We run a clean tour. I’m not saying we’re all angels, but we come to work clean and you need to do that too.”
“Or what, Rand? You and your little prima donna bitch sister will do what without me? You don’t have a show without a producer. Imagine the bad rap the tour would get if we parted company now, before it’s really begun.”
Rielle held her tongue. Rand was better at this stuff. She just wanted to leap across the table and hurt Jonas. Instead she tore at the hem of the starchy white tablecloth, pulling the stitches out and unravelling the raw edge.
“Jonas, how did we get here?” Rand sighed. “We’ve never had a problem working together before. Why are we having one now?”
Jonas snorted, and looked directly at Rielle.
Rand made a noise of contempt, not very musical, but very to the point. He wasn’t going to cop that. “I know baby sis is difficult, but no more so than she’s ever been.” Rielle watched Rand’s face. Did he really think that? He was the only one who knew why she was so uptight about coming home that it was affecting her performance and her attitude. It was possible he was managing her. Trying to cover for her. He’d never admit it. “So what’s
changed, Jonas?”
Jonas, still standing, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t need this crap. I’ll see you at the airport.” He stalked across the restaurant making for the hotel foyer.
“That went well,” Rielle drawled.
“At least you didn’t throw something at him. You know, like a coffee pot,” said Rand, signalling their waitress.
“What’re we going to do?”
“You are going to take a chill pill and I’ll talk to Jonas when he’s calmed down.”
Rielle eyeballed the ceiling. “He’s using. He’s not going to calm down.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“What’s not that bad?” asked Stu joining them. He rearranged Jonas’s chair and sat. “Oh I know. This is the beat up session. This is where Rie beats herself stupid for not being perfect last night, am I right?”
“No, you just missed that,” said Rielle. “I’m chilled.” She was concentrated anger, curled up into herself in the richly upholstered dining room chair.
Stu noted her defensive posture and snorted. “Like hell you are!” He laughed, and glanced at Rand, who grinned and shook his head at the same time. “Saw Jonas on the way in. What’s he pissed off about?”
“Me,” said Rielle.
“Situation normal then,” Stu laughed.
11. Sky Train
Jake had coffee, toast, and Zanect for breakfast in his hotel room. He’d managed to snag a seat on the same flight as both Ice Queen and Problem Children, but he was pleased they’d be in business class while he rode down the back with the ordinary folk. The less chance they had to see him sweat, the better.
After a long night and an early morning trip to the stadium to check on the road crew and make sure Bonne was stowed away safely, he was feeling liquid tired. All he wanted was to be seated as far away from the windows as possible, a no fuss boarding, and to sleep through the next three hours.
He avoided the airline lounge and headed straight for the gate. He was hoping to board without seeing anyone. Time enough to deal with them in Perth, and even then, Sharon had that covered, so he wasn’t going to be needed for anything.
Seat 25E was just what Jake ordered. It was in the middle block of seats towards the back of the plane with no view other than the row of seats in front. He stowed his bag, belted up, closed his eyes, and waited. One knee was doing a nervous jiggle in the seat well, but he was breathing normally. He tried to focus on black, on nothingness, on a void of zero. He tried to sleep. That meant putting aside the question of whether the road crew had gotten away on time, the list of things he wanted to accomplish during the Perth stadium inspection, the reminder to have Bodge order more spare parts for the trapeze, Issy’s birthday, and the strangest impression that Rielle had been crying on the back of the bike last night.
They’d not talked at all, just rode through the suburbs and along the beach front. But when she got off Bonne outside her hotel, and handed him the helmet, her face was pale, and she avoided eye contact. He said goodnight to her rigid back as she went through the hotel door. He didn’t get her at all. One minute monster diva, the next clinging to him like it meant something. The only thing he was certain about Rielle Mainline was that she was a born performer on stage and off.
Rielle liked Jonathan, but he talked too much. In the cab, in the lounge, boarding and now in their business class seats, Jonathan talked. He talked band politics, hotels, microphone technique and favourite Perth nightclubs, without needing an air refill. Taller than Rand, Jonathan had long delicate fingers, knobbly wrists and elbows and narrow knees that almost grazed the seat in front. He also had fast flitting eyes and a quick wit. He made it very plain he was interested in hooking up.