Page 250 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

He had no idea.

Eric Chapman was waiting at the railway station in a pin-striped suit. Buzz, Lew, and Lenny were already there. They loaded their guitars onto the train. The drums and amplifiers were going separately, being driven in a van to Birmingham by Larry Grant; but no one would trust him with the precious guitars.

On the train, Dave said to Eric: "Thanks for buying our tickets."

"Don't thank me. The cost will be deducted from your fee."

"So . . . the television company will pay our fee to you?"

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sp; "Yes, and I'll deduct twenty-five percent, plus expenses, and pay you the rest."

"Why?" said Dave.

"Because I'm your manager, that's why."

"Are you? I didn't know."

"Well, you signed the contract."

"Did I?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have recorded you otherwise. Do I look like a charity worker?"

"Oh--that piece of paper we signed before the audition?"

"Yes."

"She said it was for insurance."

"Among other things."

Dave had a feeling he had been tricked.

Lenny said: "The show's on Saturday, Eric. How come we're going on a Thursday?"

"Most of it's prerecorded. Just one or two of the acts perform live on the day."

Dave was surprised. The show gave the impression of a fun party full of kids dancing and having a great time. He said: "Will there be an audience?"

"Not today. You've got to pretend you're singing to a thousand screaming girls all wetting their knickers for you."

Buzz, the bass player, said: "That's easy. I've been performing for imaginary girls since I was thirteen."

It was a joke, but Eric said: "No, he's right. Look at the camera and picture the prettiest girl you know standing right there taking her bra off. I promise you, it will put just the right sort of smile on your face."

Dave realized he was smiling already. Maybe Eric's trick worked.

They reached the studio at one. It was not very smart. Much of it was dingy, like a factory. The parts that appeared on camera had a tawdry glamour, but everything out of shot was scuffed and grubby. Busy people walked around ignoring Plum Nellie. Dave felt as though everyone knew he was a beginner.

A group called Billy and the Kids was onstage when they arrived. A record was playing loudly, and they were singing and playing along, but they had no microphones and their guitars were not plugged in. Dave knew, from his friends, that most viewers did not realize the acts were miming, and he wondered how people could be so dumb.

Lenny was scornful of the jolly Billy and the Kids record, but Dave was impressed. They smiled and gestured to the nonexistent audience, and when the song came to an end they bowed and waved as if acknowledging gales of applause. Then they did the whole thing all over again, with no less energy and charm. That was the professional way, Dave realized.

Plum Nellie's dressing room was large and clean, with big mirrors surrounded by Hollywood lights, and a fridge full of soft drinks. "This is better than what we're used to," said Lenny. "There's even toilet roll in the bog!"

Dave put on his red shirt, then went back to watch the filming. Mickie McFee was performing now. She had had a string of hits in the fifties and was making a comeback. She was at least thirty, Dave guessed, but she looked sexy in a pink sweater stretched tight across her breasts. She had a great voice. She did a soul ballad called "It Hurts Too Much," and she sounded like a black girl. What must it be like, Dave wondered, to have so much confidence? He was so anxious he felt as if his stomach was full of worms.

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