Getting Real

“Yeah, can you believe it?” He puffed his chest out, preening in the mirror, but looking slightly forlorn at the same time.

“I really like Harry, she’s smart.” Rielle dug her elbow into Rand’s rib, making him squirm sideways. “Fan girls won’t be happy.”

Outside the door, Teflon called, “Fifteen minutes.”

Rand grunted. He knew she was right about the fans, but they’d get over it. For most of them the music came first and some new band was always in the wings ready to take the lead anyway. That was the business.

“Your hair looks awful,” she said.

“I was thinking I’d go back to—”

“Think again marrying boy,” she said, “not on this tour.” But when she hugged him it was with profound joy for his happiness.

Jake watched the band that night from his place at the side of the stage with a heavy heart. This was it. His last chance to watch Rielle light up the night. After the strike and the bump out it was back to normal life—well as normal as the life of a professional touring roadie could be.

Bodge stood beside him. He already had another tour to start after a two week break. He had plans to sweet talk his ex-wife into letting him crash on her sofa and use her laundry before his tour gear grew legs, drink too much, get fleeced by his kids and generally be depressed about the Ice Queen tour not being bigger, badder and longer, though it would be all those things in direct proportion to how much he’d drunk when he yacked about it.

“What’s with you and her,” he shouted in Jake’s ear, which was an indication of how desperate he was to know, because side of stage was the worst place for a deep and meaningful.

It meant Jake could shrug him off. Not that he could’ve put a cogent answer together anyway. What was with him and Rie? They were a romance cliché—the rock star and the roadie. They were a hot mess of stupid for each other. And they were clueless about what to do next. But every bit of him was fine with it. They’d work it out. In the short amount of time they’d had together, they’d already worked out harder issues than how they’d manage to meet up again.

On stage, Rie was glittering; wickedly, brilliantly. And every beam of light that broadcast from her was reflected back in the adoration of the crowd. They ate her up and she gave them more to gorge on.

It was one hell of a show and Jake could feel the extra electricity in the air. He looked about the side of the stage and saw Tef, Liz, Bunk and even Glen transfixed, and yet they all knew the show backwards. That’s how good this band was—when you thought you knew their every move they had extra in the tank.

When the second half of the show opened, the band were so obviously enjoying themselves that the punters had something even more to scream about. They changed the song order, they played extended versions of favourite tracks, they chucked in a rendition of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. For many in the audience, this was the second or third show they’d seen, so they knew what they were experiencing tonight was special, and their enthusiasm fed the stadium and hyped the atmosphere for everyone.

The night, the love of a rock star he knew he’d have in bed later, the fullness of his heart made Jake feel a little reckless, like shaking things up himself. He only had one chance. When he saw Bunk take his place to go for his ride in the Hand. He took it.

He grabbed the back of Bunk’s shirt. “I want this one, mate.” Bunk swatted him off. He had one hand already on the ladder. Above him in the cage, Rie was adjusting her sound pack, oblivious to the surprise Jake had for her. “You! Are you fucking kidding?”

“No. Something I’ve gotta do.”

“You’ll have another psycho attack up there,” Bunk shouted.

“Back off, Bunk, she’s mine tonight.”

“No way.” Bunk stood his ground.

The tour was over; it’s not like Jake could sack him now. He got up in Bunk’s face. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Bunk swore at him but stepped aside. Jake had psyched him out. Now he had to make sure he didn’t blow himself up.

“He grabbed the railing and hoisted himself up the ladder into the cage. Rielle was fiddling with her mic still and had her back to him. He slipped in behind her and waited. She did a double-take when she saw him, and shook her head in surprise when she realised he was meeting her eyes not looking at the cage floor.

“So, kill me already,” he said in her ear. He was remembering the gym that first day when he’d teased a cute blonde and his first ride in the Hand when that same cute blonde disguised as a bitch from hell was out to do him in—and everything it led them to.

“You’re sure?” she shouted, though there was no time now if he wasn’t.

He ran his thumb gently over her lips. “Bring it on.”

She laughed and took her place, then jerked when he slammed his body hard against hers, wrapping one arm around her and dragging her back against his chest.

“No,” she said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He was holding her all wrong, too tightly and he knew it.

He put his lips against her ear, “Yes,” and ran his hand up her body and under her chin, forcing her to drop her head back to his chest. “Payback, my darling bitch.” He took one of her hands in his. This time he was in control.

Jake could feel his heart clobbering his ribs, the combined effect of being in the Hand, of having Rielle in his arms, and the anticipation of appearing in front of seventy-five thousand screaming fans. What the fuck was he doing? But he had a lock on his fear, and while it was burrowing away at his consciousness, he was keeping it fastened down and out of his knees and hands, out of his head.