Chapter 20
I wanted to catch his eye, and I wanted to remain invisible. It wasn’t really him, and yet it was. I was having the dilemma of every serious fan, except I wasn’t your average fan. And—it had been a long time since I’d really thought the people on the stage were different. But there was that one little thing—they did have this strange ability and charisma that set them apart. That deserved respect, even if nothing else about them did. I didn’t want the performers to show all their workings—I liked the mystery. So this section of his life and mine met in one way: I was the swooning, greedy spectator; Tristan was the visual object and the magician, the creator of these brilliant songs, conjuring music out of the ether. And for him, this was his element, where he connected with the solidity of the crowd, without singling out any particular individual or moment. That, at least, I could understand—the need to perform, the strange, very personal yet very distant emotional bond you created with the people watching you. The way you responded to their shifts in mood, subtly, while remaining true to what you intended to do, altering it all, your face, body, voice, just slightly, to try and coax the reaction you wanted out of the mass. Or maybe on a different day you simply refused to fuck with anything, insisting they follow you. It was a dance in another dimension. Any one individual could influence the whole, but the role of the person on stage was to be bigger than life. And the power and energy that was required to do that well was enormous. I didn’t want to distract him. I’d be there when and if he was ready to look.
The next few songs were thunderous, as was the reaction. The crowd was going literally insane. The band was tight, his voice was spot on, the energy they were building up was dangerous. I wiped away the sweat that was dripping into my eyes, the place was boiling. I didn’t care about anything anymore. Music had saved me before. Suddenly it was doing it again. The fact that I had fucked the guy on stage, that I was falling in love with him, even if I no longer really understood what love meant, was distant and irrelevant. All I cared about was the count in, the chorus, the timing, the way the drums and the bass worked together and moved apart, the way his voice mimicked the guitar then fell back into an almost whispery, conversational tone, like someone telling you their darkest secrets in the back booth of the bar.
The song ended, and we all clapped and shouted. Some people in the audience yelled out requests, and Tristan began responding to them. “Oh that one. Yeah. Well, it’s a Devised song, but hey, you never know. Not right now though.” He turned and made some gesture to the band. “This one,” he drawled out, and he looked right down at me, like he had known just where I was all along, “is for those who don’t sleep.” He shot me a quick smile, before looking back out to the crowd. “How many of you fuckers don’t sleep? We’re going to keep you up all fucking night!” he yelled out to the room. The audience screamed back their appreciation. And he began the song, the song that had made me cry, the one that started it all. It was a dreamier, more introspective ballad than what had come before, but it felt right after all the bombast and pulsing thrust of the last few songs. The audience had a chance to take a breath, to feel, to light a metaphorical cigarette after being thoroughly fucked by the band. I kept thinking how lucky I was, and how that scared the hell out of me. There was more to all this than just my crazy past and my fears. A door had been opened, like the gates of perception, and through it I could see everything I’d always known, whether I’d consciously realized it or not.
I gazed up at him, his eyes tightly shut, his dark eyelashes dusting the high cheekbones. Singing as though it were the last song he’d ever be allowed to do. Stunning. Beautiful. Unbelievably, undeniably beautiful. I felt embarrassed to be staring at him so openly, but at the same time I didn’t care. If all my feelings were written on my face, so were his. And he had smiled at me. I didn’t need it broadcast—I’d seen his look and it was for me, no one else. I knew, and that was enough. Something deep inside me settled and was calm, at last. I shut my eyes. I wanted to keep this moment inside, the fading last chorus of the song, this sense of rightness apart from all the nonsense in the world, as though I’d seen into the heart of the universe and knew which way to go. I couldn’t explain it. I opened my eyes again to watch him, and felt that same shock all over again, like the click of a lock opening.
The song ended, and the audience, including me, went crazy, waving hands in the air and whooping, hollering. Trevor nudged me. “He’s good, our boy, isn’t he?” He smiled, and even if he looked a bit like some kind of ghostly hawk, I could see the magic of it all had hit him as well. So, another lost soul who felt the music, hard. I grinned back at him. There was nothing to say. Words would just fuck it up, like always. Luckily, the drummer started right in again, slamming the drums with such force you felt he was going to either break or break something, and they began a series of three songs, each one becoming louder and more furious, until they started the opening notes of the new single and the entire room started singing along. I couldn’t even tell Tristan’s voice out of the massed crowd, who knew every word. Usually I didn’t like listening to people sing along, out of time and tune, but there was such devotion here, like everyone really wanted Tristan to know that they were still there, that they’d follow him, that maybe Devised didn’t really matter so much anymore, as long as they had him.
When the song ended, Tristan waved to the crowd and bowed, and the drummer got up and threw the usual sticks into the crowd, and the guitarist and bassist took off their instruments and handed them off to the roadies. They all bowed together, then pushed Tristan forward. He bent his head in acknowledgement of the crowd’s applause, his dark hair partially covering his face. Then he dropped to his knees and bent over into the crowd, the drummer instantly coming up behind him to get his back, as the crowd went into a frenzy to try and touch him. A couple of girls piled in first, and touched him, screaming. One of them was pulling at his shirt, like she wanted to tear it right off. She probably did. He laughed, and got up, and moved to the other side of the stage from me, brushing against as many of the outstretched hands as he could, before dropping to his knees again and letting some of the screaming girls throw their arms around him. One of them managed to place her hand on his ass. He didn’t seem to mind, if he even noticed at all, but the drummer was watching her grope him, and he was cracking up. But when her hand snuck around the front to try for a grab at something else, Tristan jumped up like he’d been stung, and leapt to his feet, waving and smiling at the crowd before he walked off.
The audience kept clapping, whistling. The lights hadn’t gone up yet, so there was a still a chance. The red lights remained on, then one of the roadies came out to adjust something. Oh, so they were definitely coming back. They just wanted to make us sweat a bit more. Work for it. Someone started a slow clap, and then there was a stamping, that got louder and louder, until I thought the ceiling was going to fall in. The whole building was shaking. I looked over at Trevor, and he seemed pleased, although he wasn’t clapping himself. I couldn’t see anyone else, but I was still crushed up against the barrier. I was glad Trevor was there. His presence was definitely helping to prevent people from trying to nick my spot and push me aside. The stamping grew faster and louder, and then there they were, coming out again, and the screaming and yelling started again, and the foot stamping gave way to clapping, and people calling out song titles.
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 cro
wd 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 w
as 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.
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