Authors: Alice Severin
Tristan’s voice cut through the cacophony, and the crowd immediately settled. “Well, fuck yeah,” he drawled. “London! Thank you so much. I don’t think we’ll have a better group than you guys this whole tour. London!” he said. The audience began hooting again, happy that their devotion had been noticed. “Well, we’ve got a little surprise for you.” More screaming. “Some of you wanted a Devised song.” Here he was interrupted by actual shrieks of joy. “I’m not sure why,” he laughed, “but we’ve got someone here to help us do this fucker.” The surge of the crowd forward felt dangerous, and I braced myself against the heavy weight of the crowd leaning on my back. I pushed out with my arms from the barrier, and tried to give myself a little room, as people pressed forward, wanting to get as close as they possibly could. One guy climbed up on the stage, and ran to Tristan, getting his arms around him and nearly kissing him on the mouth, before the two big bouncers from outside rushed out from backstage and grabbed him, carrying him out, one holding his legs, the other clutching him under the arms, and headed offstage with him, like some giant quarry. Everyone yelled even louder. Somebody called out, “Tristan, why didn’t you kiss him?” Tristan laughed. “Thanks man for the instructions.” “Kiss me!” one of the girls at the front shouted. “Ok, darling, but later,” he murmured into the mike. She screamed so loud I felt my eardrum vibrate. It was funny, but I felt for her. Wanting it, that much. I wondered if he would meet her, and actually give her a kiss. Probably. Looking at all the pictures from the past, he seemed to like being touched, touching his fans—as long as they kept behind a certain line, which the girl grabbing for the goods before had obviously crossed. He hushed the crowd. “All right, all right, let me introduce an old friend of mine.”
My heart stopped. Had Paul managed to convince him? Was it going to be a big happy reunion, and my services would no longer be needed? I looked over at Trevor, but he was frowning, squinting into the wings, trying to see who was coming out. He was waiting to see, just like I was. Fucking Dave. It suddenly occurred to me that’s why he’d wanted the book. I felt like I knew everything that was going to happen next.
“We haven’t played together too much for a while, so cut us some slack, ok?” The crowd yelled their approval. “Can you show some appreciation for…” I held my breath. “Your friend and mine—AC Clark!” The crowd screamed, and out came the other guitarist, the one who had punched Paul in the famous restaurant fight, the one who was related to Dave—how? I couldn’t remember. But it wasn’t Paul, and the breath I’d been holding came out. I was sure I heard Trevor mutter “thank god” but I couldn’t be sure. Then AC skipped out, giving a shy quick smile to the hyper-excited crowd, and waving at them, before walking up to Tristan. The two of them hugged, tightly, holding each other close for a minute before Tristan pounded AC on the back with his fist, and they pulled apart, grinning at each other. It looked like Tristan was really happy he was there, like he’d thrown a party, and the one person he was hoping would show up, did. AC walked downstage and strapped on the guitar a roadie was holding out to him, playing a couple of notes of sheer feedback that rattled through the dark walls of the club. Suddenly everything seemed a little better, a little more serious, and Tristan clutched his mike stand tightly and nodded his head to count off the song. “I think you guys might know this one.” And the first notes of their very first hit, “Nobody Gets It” rang out. I thought my ribs were going to be crushed. I tried to fill my lungs with air, but it was a madhouse. Everyone around me was pumping their fists, jumping up and down. Trevor looked down at me and shrugged, as if to say, “what do you expect?” and stood there, swaying gently to the music, while everyone around burst into spasms of delight. I started jumping up and down with the crowd, I couldn’t fight it, it was though they were picking me up with their bodies, and we all pogoed together, in one joyful wild mass. I managed to slip my hand up to my face to swipe away some of the sweat from my eyes. It was fucking insane.
Tristan screamed into the microphone like a banshee, while AC knocked into him, leaning against him finally, his back against Tristan’s chest, their heads almost together. Tristan was dripping sweat, and AC’s shirt was wet where he touched him. Tristan threw the mike into his right hand, and slid his left down AC’s side, letting his hand rest on the top of his low-slung jeans, his fingers pointing inwards. I drew in a breath. There was something so intimate about it, the casual possession of AC’s body. The music got louder, and AC’s guitar wailed more intensely every time Tristan pulled him closer. It almost looked like he was rubbing up against him, ever so slightly, his dark hair shadowing his face as he bent over AC’s shoulder, finishing up the last two lines of the song as the audience banged and whistled and shouted their approval. The two of them turned to each other and hugged again, AC’s guitar neck sticking out from between their dripping torsos. Tristan was beaming, and AC’s cautious smile was adorable. They were whispering to each other now, oblivious of the turmoil they were causing. “Kiss him, man! We love you!” someone yelled out, and Tristan waved his hand at the audience, before planting a big kiss on AC’s mouth, making a giant smacking noise into the mike. “I love this man!” said Tristan, as the crowd screamed. “But you guys always want me to kiss people.” Everyone cheered. “I think you’re a sexy bunch of motherfuckers!” More cheering. “AC and I never leave anyone unsatisfied, so…” He left his sentence unfinished as the crowd began clapping again. “So…we’re going to do one more for you before we call it a night. If you haven’t felt it yet, this could be the one!” The sweaty, shouting mass of the crowd writhed behind me. I wondered for a moment if we were all going to come from this alone, if anyone out there was taking advantage of the crush to make sure they did. I felt like if anyone touched me, I’d explode. I imagined the sweaty man on stage under me as I straddled his hips, and I closed my eyes. Tristan’s voice broke through. “Not yet!” I looked up to see him gazing at me, amused. I started to laugh. He grinned and pointed the mike stand at me. He nodded his head at AC. “Come on dude,” and he groaned into the mike, “let’s make them lose their fucking minds!” He shouted the last words, and the crowd heaved forward, singing along to the first line of “Fucking Mind,” the Devised song that was banned for airplay. “I saw you, I wanted you, couldn’t have you, had to ask for help.” Tristan’s face became contorted in an orgasmic scowl as he screamed out the lyrics. AC’s guitar playing was burning up the song. He’d obviously been practicing. He sounded tighter than ever, working in syncopation with the bass. The song shrieked to the end, the drummer slamming out the last beats with angry precision and the crowd roared. Tristan and AC gave little bows to each other “Thanks man, for helping me out,” here Tristan paused, “like you’ve done so many times before!” They hugged again, and as the other band members stepped forward, they lined up, the drummer giving AC a big hug. They all looked really happy. “Thanks so much everybody for coming out tonight. We love you, really, even if you’re all fucking crazy. See you soon.” And he put the mike on the stage, and they all headed offstage, Tristan waving his arm in the air as he left. The crowd still yelled and clapped, hoping for one more, but we all knew it was done, and for once, I had the impression everyone was leaving satisfied. The press behind me had eased up a little, and I could look around again. Everyone’s hair was lank and wet with sweat, their clothes stuck to them, shirts see-through, necks and chests and arms shining. It looked like we’d all been in some giant orgy, and we were going to crawl out of the warm bed, dripping wet and dazed.
I looked around, but Trevor had vanished. Strange. I figured he would turn up again, or not. He’d stayed with me for the concert. I really couldn’t ask for any more. I wasn’t sure if I should head backstage, or wait until the crowd had thinned out a little. There was going to be an after-party, upstairs in the roof bar. The people invited knew who they were, but there were bound to be a few people, girls generally, who stuck around, knowing if they looked good enough, they’d possibly snag an invite, and that was all they needed. I scanned the room for Sarah and Nick, or Poppy, or even Dave. I couldn’t see any one, and the corner where Dave and Paul had been was empty. I had the sudden panic that everyone else was somewhere I needed to be, and I pushed my way through the remaining punters to the door where they had been standing. I ran my fingers through my wet hair, hoping I looked vaguely presentable. Time to go backstage and see what would happen.
Chapter 21
I was scared, but I wanted to see him. And I needed to be there, meet and greet, talk to Dave. I wondered where all the courage of the two drinks had gone. I opened the door to the backstage area and I was instantly on guard, listening out for the laughter and where everyone was. There was Trevor, the tallest of the group, tall like Tristan, who still was nowhere to been seen. He was chatting to the drummer. I was scanning the room when suddenly someone was next to me, squealing my name. Sarah. How the hell did she get back here before I did? I must have really been in some rock music induced fog, standing bewildered in front of the stage. Never mind. Act as if. I threw my arms around her, and we exchanged some air kisses.
“Sarah! How are you?” We started walking, arm in arm towards the group where Trevor was. “How did you like the show?”
“Oh, it was awesome! We came backstage before it started and said hello to Tristan.” She beamed as I stared at her, oddly jealous of her initiative. “He was so nice! I got a big hug and kiss. He’s promised to come to the wedding. But where were you? We looked for you, but didn’t see you. It was crazy out there, wasn’t it? That last song! I love that one.”
I nodded and mumbled some platitudes while I scanned the crowd. There was Dave. No sign of Paul. I’d have to go up and talk to him. No choice there. I gave Sarah a big hug, and said I’d be right back, that there was someone I needed to see. She squeezed my shoulder, and winked at me, as though I had just admitted some secret assignation, and went off to the table laden with beers and a few bottles of wine, where I could make out the top of Nick’s head amongst the people getting beers. Still no Tristan. Where the hell was he? I quelled a moment of panic and real fear. Stop. No point borrowing trouble. I walked right up to Dave, who was talking to the bassist. I tapped him on the shoulder, while giving a big smile to the blond, curly haired bass player, who didn’t seem to mind too much, fortunately, that I’d walked right in and interrupted their conversation. Act as if. I’m important, I’m important. It wasn’t exactly Om Mani Padme Hum, but it would do for the minute.
“Dave, how are you? How did you enjoy the concert? I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you here.” Casually friendly, that was the way.
Dave bent down, paternal, a hand on each of my shoulders, as he kissed me on each cheek, with surprising gentleness and finesse. I could feel the texture of his lips against my heated cheeks. He smelled good. I bet he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He didn’t need to. He paid the bills.
“Lily, darling, how are you? Oh, have you been introduced? Jack, this is Lily, Lily Taylor. Lily is writing the article on Tristan. She’s our newest literary star.” I smiled and tried hard to feel the words as a compliment rather than a reminder. To me, “newest” meant there had been others before and there would be others afterwards. Never mind. He had said star too. That was fine.
“Jack, what a pleasure. Great show, I really loved it. Terrific lines. You really got the crowd going.”
He looked pleased. “Thanks Lily.” He took the opportunity to give me a kiss on each cheek as well. Maybe sweaty was a good look after all. “It’s nice to meet you.” He had that hopeful look on, the one that men get when they’re wondering if something has legs, or they’re planning the rest of the evening.
I thought I’d take advantage of the attraction, however misguided or temporary. “Jack. I’d love to talk with you about being in the band, what it’s like to play with Tristan. Bass players shouldn’t be overlooked.” I avoided saying are always. “Maybe tomorrow sometime, before you fly back?” He agreed, readily. A little too readily, I thought, but I took his number as Dave watched. I turned back to my boss, who was playing with one of his cufflinks, immaculate under the buttery cuff of his leather jacket. He obviously needed more attention than I was giving him.
“So, Dave. Would you like an update on the story? Any instructions?” I couldn’t resist. “Maybe there are some other Devised…connections you’d like me to talk to?” I met his eyes. Yes, he did know exactly what I was talking about. Of course.
He was unfazed though by my very broad hints. “Sure. Paul is here. He said he’d give a quote for the interview. So is Alixe, Tristan’s ex.”
His words triggered a reaction before I could even stop myself. “Yes. She is. How handy they’ve come together. I spoke to her earlier. She seemed, how shall I put it? I think she said she was bored with the topic. Indifferent. But you’ve spoken to Paul already.” It came out as more of an accusation than I had intended. “Have you sweetened the pot enough for him to share some words?” I made myself stand still, legs slightly apart. The fighting stance.
Dave frowned, but kept his words neutral and his voice steady. But I could tell I’d annoyed him. “Paul’s a great guy. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to tell some stories for the article.” He pushed his jacket aside, and placed his hands on his hips. Crisp.
I pretended nothing had just transpired. “Terrific. Maybe I can meet up with him tomorrow. After my lunch with Trevor.” Bull’s-eye. This time the frown deepened, and the bassist, Jack, with the unerring instincts of the musician, sensed the waters getting deeper and said he was looking forward to talking to me, but needed to get a beer. I gave him a hug, and watched him retreat to the table. Still no Tristan. What the hell.