Getting Real

“Sure, I’m having a lovely time.”

“I… ah…” She stumbled on her response, but her actions were precise; she put her hand to his shoulder.

Jake’s eyes rocked open, and he shifted sideways to get away from her touch. “You wouldn’t want to get infected by my failures, Rielle. Go back to where you belong.”

She pulled her hand away. “Jake, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” He was wired with irritation. “Fallible, frightened, human. Real. Rielle, I might be scared of heights, but at least I’m real. What about you, is there anything about you that’s real?”

She frowned at him: eyebrows under her mop of multicoloured hair drawn together, a green garnet winking on her nose, the corners of her blackberry coloured lips turned down, silver jewelled crucifixes dangling in her ears.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sat forward, bringing his face up close to hers. “You’re a complete fake, Rielle. It’s all an act with you, the whole gritty rock chick thing.” He snorted when he saw her surprised blink. “Do you even know who you are under that paint and dye, out of those slut’s clothes?” Her violet eyes were wide now—another thing about her that was fake. He was so close he could see the rim of her contact lens. “Leave me alone. Go back to where you belong.”

Jake slumped back in his seat in time for another air pocket to jolt the aircraft, and he barely noticed it, or the renewed wailing of the miserable kid. And when the plane lurched suddenly to the right, and the people sitting near made a collective, ‘Ohh’, of surprise, he felt fine. He wasn’t going to die, not today and not with her sitting beside him. He wouldn’t be so lucky. He shot a quick glance at her; the frown was a full blown angry scowl, and she had her arms folded tight. He wasn’t unhappy about that.

The plane took another sharp lurch to the right, and the overhead lockers rattled. The Captain said, “Sorry folks, that was a rough ride, but we’re out of the storm pattern now. We expect clear sailing til we touch down.”

Jake heard the clack of Rielle releasing her belt seconds before the ping of the seat-belt sign. As the Captain said, “The weather in Perth is fine, and hot at thirty-eight degrees,” she was out of her seat and headed back up the aisle.

Now he would sleep. He closed his eyes and thanked Zanect for making everything all right.

12. Zombie State

Jake almost slept through landing and was in a zombie-dazed state at the luggage carousel. He watched from somewhere outside himself as Sharon deftly gathered the talent and their luggage, avoided a small group of journalists and a TV crew and a bigger group of fans, and bundled them all into waiting cars.

He watched while Rielle avoided him and snuggled up to Jonathan, letting him carry her bag, trotting after him to get in the same hire car. He ended up with Rand and Roley, and Problem Children’s drummer and lead guitarist.

“You look totally out of it, man,” said Roley by way of greeting, peering at him before sliding on his sunglasses.

“What are you doing here?” asked Rand. “I thought you were coming with the staging trucks.”

Jake said, “Yeah.” Hire cars were cool. So much cooler than planes.

Roley laughed. “What have you taken?”

“Zanect,” he muttered. “It makes me a little groggy. I’ll be all right in an hour or so.”

“Hah,” said Roley, “it’s a wonder you’re conscious.”

“Why are you here, Jake?” Rand repeated.

Jake’s head tipped back against the headrest. He closed his eyes. “I am a mere mortal. I obey the Ice Queen’s command.”

Even the driver laughed. Rand reached over and slapped him across the knee. “Sorry buddy. You know, it’s okay to say no to her.”

“Though you might not continue to be anatomically correct afterwards,” stuttered Roley, making the other men laugh again.

Jake acknowledged their fun with a sloppy grin. “I’m too much of a wimp to ignore her.”

“No, you’re not, Reedy,” said the drummer, whose name Jake couldn’t recall. “Remember the brown snake on our last festival tour?”

Jake remembered the snake, deadly poisonous, curled up asleep on a bass drum. He remembered grabbing it firmly behind the head, and stuffing it in a bag to get it off the set.

“Remember that ticket scalper who crashed backstage?”

Jake remembered the ticket scalper. He’d been particularly obnoxious when asked to leave, and had taken a swing at someone. He remembered he’d wrestled the bloke to the ground and held him til security arrived. He’d copped a bloody nose and a black eye for his trouble.

“Don’t believe him about being a wimp,” the nameless drummer appealed to the others. “Not this bloke.”