Page 8 of Crazy Love
“Ives you love travelling. They’re touring Europe, before moving across to the States and the rest of the world.”
“Cities—they’re touring cities. I like green, open places. Not belchy, smoky, noise-filled locations.”
She wouldn’t go without Nightshift packed into her suitcase either, but hey, I’m sure that could be arranged. Graham Callahan can probably organise anything. He manages one of the biggest rock groups in the world, sorting out the plebeian wishes of three barely twenty-something girls should be a doddle for him.
I see him return to the main room in time for the scattered applause the end of Bulldozer’s set receives. There’s a thunderous cacophony of stamping feet, whoops and wolf whistles a few seconds later, and I realise Paradise Kiss have taken to the stage, which is when it hits me that tonight might result in more drama than even Jessie planned. Mr Callahan might want a word with us, but I’ll lay money on him chatting to Paradise Kiss too.
-5-
Nathaniel Darke
We play seven tracks and encore, which meansHypocritical Bitchgets two outings. Dane leaves the stage smiling, and proceeds to tongue tango with several of our fans. The man is gross. He just works his way along the line. I’m not sure he’s even paying attention, since he almost snogs a bloke.
Eventually, folks drift away, and the hotel quietens. We head back stage, switch shirts and grab some drinks before we head back to the now emptied function room for our scheduled chat with Graham Callahan. There’s something distinctly depressing about the place after the fans have gone. The pattern on the carpet no longer hides the stains, and the miasma of real ale and sweat pokes two fingers up your nostrils. Knox looks confused, like he’s not sure why we’re here. As long as he remembers we’ve played the gig, all will be cool.
“Far corner,” one of the bar staff engaged in glass collecting points us towards the right of the stage where there’s a section of seating that was cordoned off earlier, so the bands could use it as an instrument store. There are six people seated there now, Graham Callahan and his minions I expected, but the remaining three come as something of a shock.
“Bitch Slap,” Joel mouths.
Dane is far less circumspect. “Why are they here?” His fists curl, prompting me to tense, ready to pounce the minute he shows any sign of going for Jessie’s throat. He has a nice bruise across the bridge of his nose from where she thumped him earlier that he’s currently disguising with sunglasses, so he’s already on a short fuse.
Jessie sits tight and keeps her mouth shut. Her two partners in crime, the exhibitionist and the maverick, shuffle a little closer to her.
Joel plants a hand on Dane’s shoulder.
“Good question,” Graham Callahan replies.
Actually, it’s a shite question, since the answer is bleedin’ obvious. They’re here because Callahan thinks they’ve the chops to open for Black Halo. A more relevant question would be, why are they still here given he could have sewn up the deal anytime over the last hour, and more importantly, how does this development affect Paradise Kiss?
“Are you replacing us with them?” Dane just can’t hold it in. I don’t blame him, I’m sure I’d feel the same way if it was my harridan of an ex-girlfriend sitting on that couch looking so beautifully smug.
“You were guaranteed consideration, Mr. Darke, not a definite spot on the roster. They’re here because I’m impressed with what I’ve heard from both bands. However, I only need one opening act.”
“Then what’s the solution?” I ask, because somebody has to.
“I intend to sleep on it.” He’s going to make us wait until after breakfast to see which band has made the cut, and which is going home empty handed. I can’t help suspecting he’s been watching too much reality TV. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’s already made his decision, and this is actually a test to see how we handle the stress. Everyone knows that Black Halo have put him through the wringer these last few months. I reckon Callahan’s looking for a nice together, low maintenance band, who are going to do what they’re told, when they’re told. But that’s just not what being part of a rock band is about. Some level of anarchy is necessary to keep the creative juices flowing. The moment everyone feels contented and settled is when the passion dies.
Callahan pushes his considerable girth up out of the chair. “I want both Bitch Slap and Paradise Kiss back down here at 6:00a.m. You’ll get one chance to give me your best track, and then I’ll give you my final decision.”
“Six?” Loveday Trevaskis bounces to her feet.
“Is there a problem with that?”
She shakes her head, even though I’m certain she’s thinking the same thing as the rest of us. Who the hell wants to see that time of the morning?
“I’ve a tight schedule, ladies and gents. I don’t have time to waste. 6:00a.m. sharp, if you’re not here, then I’ll assume you’re not interested, and I’ll find another band who aren’t so commitment phobic.” He strides away without saying a damned other thing, leaving his minions to scurry after him.
“Christ!” Joel complains. “The only time I see 6:00a.m. is when I pull an all-nighter.”
“I think that’s true of most rock stars.” Not that we’re genuinely entitled to that moniker yet, but we keep similar hours to get the practice in. “It wouldn’t be nearly the same test if he’d said 4:00p.m. now would it?”
“He wants us to play rock music before breakfast.” Dane wraps his arms around Knox and Joel’s shoulders and drags them into a huddle. “You never said the man was a complete sadist.”
“Aw, are thelickleboys scared they’ll not be able to rise in time without their mums around to help them get dressed?”
Jessie is such a frigging bitch, but maybe Dane has realised she’s deliberately trying to goad him, because he manages to constrain his response to a twitch.
“I do my salutation to the sun at six,” Bitch Slap’s resident hippy chick complains. “I’d arranged to meet—”
