The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  Placing a calming hand on Danny’s shoulder, Johnny looked at the pre-occupied bass player in the eye. “You’ll be right D-Mo, I promise you. You’ll be there. You’ve got my word.”

  Nodding solemnly, Danny lowered his sunglasses. He clearly hadn’t slept in days.

  “Fuck,” whistled Johnny under his breath.

  “I know,” Danny said, “I’m shagged. And that’s before the baby is born.”

  “Look, I know your mind is elsewhere, but enjoy this and then we’ve got a couple of weeks off before we go to Japan.”

  “Thanks man,” Danny said unconvincingly, as he pushed his shades back into place and reflexively checked his mobile again. “But you’ll get me there?”

  He placed his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Promise.”

  Bundling off the tour bus, the band donned shades and rock ’n’ roll attitudes.

  “Where we heading first?” Mikee asked, both arms now fully resplendent in painstakingly applied ink.

  Dragging on his cigarette like his life depended on it, Danny had gone into a state of telecommunications-induced panic. “FUCK! I’ve lost my mobile signal. I knew that’d happen once we rocked up onto a fuckin’ farm in the middle of nowhere.” Staring dejectedly at his phone, shoulders slumped, he muttered and cursed to himself.

  “Here you go D-Mo. I’ve got full bars. You can use mine,” Dominic said, holding his own phone out.

  “Thanks man, but it seems to be sorted now,” Danny said, genuinely touched by his bandmate’s offer.

  “I’m off to find some druids,” Mikee said, his energy levels rising in the fresh summer air.

  “Think on Kong. We’re on at five tomorrow,” Johnny deadpanned.

  He had considered offering a ‘do’s and don’ts’ list but knew that it would have fallen on deaf ears. “I’m going to hospitality. I’m starving. Anyone?” Johnny asked hopefully.

  “Sounds good,” Jamie said. He was expecting Lara’s arrival later that afternoon and clearly did not want to be AWOL for that.

  Dominic and Mikee did their farewells and headed out to imbibe their inaugural Glastonbury experience.

  ***

  The first night’s headline act was Arctic Monkeys, and all had agreed that they would meet up to watch them. Hopefully with one Lara Bearheart in tow, and a bass player still awaiting the call of fatherhood.

  “My round,” Johnny said as he pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his trusty cargo shorts.

  “Lara is getting here about four,” Jamie said. Excited and apprehensive in equal measures – the not knowing which Lara would show being the root cause of the latter.

  Carrying the three pints back to a table that Danny had commandeered, Johnny set them down and then returned with three unappetising looking plates of Chinese spicy beef noodles.

  Jamie instantly pulled his nose at the culinary offering in front of him.

  “I hear you, J. But nobody comes here for the Michelin starred food,” Johnny said, as he wound the greasy and already congealing noodles round a wooden fork.

  The afternoon passed convivially. Beers were sunk. Celebs were spotted. Further MSG soaked noodles were wisely avoided. And phones were checked. Regularly.

  “You’re both going to run out of juice if you check them that often,” Johnny said. Principally to Danny – who fortunately seemed a little more chilled now he was a few beers to the good.

  “I can charge it on the bus, can’t I?” Danny asked

  “You can charge it on the bus. Yes,” Johnny replied.

  “She’s here!” Jamie said excitedly. “I’ve texted her where we are.”

  Wearing a short-sleeved black fitted shirt with epaulettes, worn open over a ‘wife beater’ style white vest, jeans, worker style boots and his beloved Aviators, Jamie couldn’t have looked cooler if he tried.

  And he didn’t have to. His consummate style seemed like a second skin. The band had so far dispensed with the record label’s offer of a stylist – “Fuck that. I can do my own shopping,” had been Dominic’s curt response.

  One round of beers later and Lara made her entrance.

  And what an entrance it was.

  Dressed in a Native American Indian style waistcoat, revealing an incredibly sexy flash of ‘side tit’, vintage denim shorts, with a huge belt, and topped with a culture clash of footwear – a pair of brown cowboy boots. Her hair had been gathered in two small bunches. Topped off with a matching pair of Aviators, she looked nothing less than sensational.

  The crowd literally parted as she casually sauntered through the hospitality area. Heads were turned, sunglasses lowered, and nods of appreciation were made by both lustful males and jealous women.

  “Jamie Thorne. Hope you’ve got me a beer waiting,” Lara said, blissfully aware of the stir she had just caused.

  Standing up and hugging her warmly, he said, “Nice shades.” Stepping back a pace, Jamie looked her up and down. “You look amazing.”

  “Glad you approve,” Lara replied, genuinely pleased at the compliment, which made Johnny smile given how many times a day she must be told how good she looked.

  “Dunno where Dom and Mikee are. They disappeared as soon as we got here.”

  “I’ll get the beer in,” Danny said, having almost fallen off the bench as he tried to discreetly look at Lara’s perfect breasts.

  “Thanks D-Mo, a white wine please.”

  Looking slightly perplexed as it was only ever the band or Johnny that called him that, Danny went to collect the round of drinks.

  Lost in their own little bubble as they caught up, Johnny was left to coax non-baby conversation out of the expectant father.

  ***

  Having enjoyed a triumphant set from Friday night’s headliners, the band had then gone their separate ways.

  And Jamie had escorted Lara back to their luxury board and lodgings.

  An exclusive band-only camp site adjacent to the hospitality area was home for luxury camper vans and tents of every description.

  Including Jamie’s piece de resistance – a Tipi-style tent.

  Pulling back the canvas flap, Jamie ushered Lara inside.

  With a small trail of fairy lights running over the headboard of the futon style bed, Lara was impressed - which was quite the feat for a millionaire socialite model.

  Kneeling in front of each other, they slowly undressed.

  Jamie unbuttoned her leather tasselled waistcoat as they kissed deeply.

  Pulling his own shirt and vest off, they fell on to the mattress passionately wrapped around each other, Lara’s nipples hardening at Jamie’s touch.

  “Jamie Thorne. This is perfect. Just perfect.”

  Taking her boots off and sliding her denim shorts over her toned legs, Jamie’s eyes widened when he saw that she had dispensed with any notion of underwear.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, Lara slowly opened her legs, rubbing an index finger against her already moistened lips. “Go down on me. Now!”

  Licking at a horse-chestnut dark nipple, Jamie rolled on top of Lara. “Not now,” he said as he groaned softly and slid his hard cock inside her inviting wetness.

  ***

  “Cheers Tex. Sounds great,” Dominic said.

  Johnny had dispensed with the services of Maggie as tour manager. A combination of finances, missing doing the job himself and principally that he had scared the living shit out of the band with his draconian attitude.

  However, a guitar tech was now in the band’s employ.

  Tony ‘Tex’ Hardy.

  Given his predilection for watching Westerns on whichever tourbus he was on and a punning nod to his occupation, Tex was a more than apt nickname.

  “That Les Paul plays like a dream. And she looks beautiful. I gave her a clean and polish before,” Tex said in his rich Devon accent, before handing the guitar back to Dominic.

  Inspecting it lovingly, Dominic nodded his approval. “Nice one. Pop it on the stand for me. I’ll pick it up on stage then rather than walk
on with it.”

  “You’re on in two,” Johnny said, staring out across the sizeable crowd. He estimated that there must have been a good forty thousand people in attendance.

  Pushing Cally - who had arrived bang on time that morning - forward slightly, she gasped. “I’ve never seen so many people like that.”

  The band formed a huddle whilst Jamie said a few words. As they broke, Dominic and Jamie then hugged each other. “Let’s fuckin’ have this bro. Give ’em a proper show!”

  And with that, the band took the stage.

  Jamie dressed as he was yesterday – but with his red scarf knotted round his throat. Naturally. Dominic. Head to toe in black, ignoring the rising temperatures and sticking with his leather jacket. Danny, all shades, sneers and denim was bouncing on the balls of his feet and Mikee, a white vest and shorts showing off his tattoos to maximum effect. And his now somewhat musty smelling trapper hat.

  Fists raised, cocksure nods and waves were dispensed to the crowd. Jamie adjusted his mic stand slightly. “GLASTONBURY. YOU FUCKIN’ READY FOR THIS, RIGHT?”

  Straight into ‘Salvation’. The song choice caught the crowd unawares given that it had always been a traditional set-closer.

  It worked perfectly. The band had deliberated over the set-list, flipping it on its head after much debate.

  Looking out and seeing the first hundred metres of the crowd bouncing up and down, singing every word back to them, vindicated the decision immediately.

  Dominic peeled off the blistering solo without even breaking sweat. Every single pair of eyes in the crowd were drawn to the band as the song concluded.

  “GOOD AREN’T WE,” Jamie shouted, before drinking from a bottle of water and spraying the remains over the sweat soaked front-row.

  Johnny and Cally stood stage-right - mesmerised. “Fuck. They are on fire today,” Johnny said.

  Lara stood in total silence, her manicured hands held to her face, which was a look of wonderment and adoration.

  The rest of the set continued ablaze. Mikee’s drumming was nothing short of miraculous, driving each song on with unerring precision.

  Halfway through the set, Danny had unfurled a small DIY flag over his bass amp. Beamed out across the crowd and TV land, ‘LOVE YOU DEE. WE’LL SOON BE 3!’ A little corrective nudge from Johnny with the punctuation had saved him any widespread embarrassment.

  ‘Long Time Dead’ dropped the tempo slightly, the withering lyrics delivered by Jamie in smouldering fashion.

  And then Dominic addressed the mic. “THIS ONES FOR MICK ’N’ KEEF!” They then roared into the Stones’ underplayed classic ‘Heartbreaker’, Mikee having programmed his sequencer to replicate the songs famed brass section.

  Cally clapped her hands together in delight as her boys hammed it up by leaning back to back throwing ridiculously over the top rock ’n’ roll poses.

  As Jamie took over the lead guitar line, Dominic swapped his Les Paul with Tex for his trusty Fender.

  “THIS IS OUR LAST SONG. IT’S A NEW ONE,” Jamie shouted.

  “YOU’LL FUCKIN’ LOVE IT!” Dominic added, as he adjusted his guitar strap.

  “IT’S CALLED ‘YEAR OF THE STRANGE.”

  Closing a Glastonbury set with a new song. That’s the measure of the balls on this band, thought Johnny.

  And the kerosene dripping, psychedelic flecked song was a perfect set-finishing show stopper.

  The anthemic chorus took the crowd up a further gear and had classic written all the way through it.

  Dominic stamped on his pedals, coating the song in a caustic yet beautiful guitar line.

  Leaving Dominic to do the heavy-lifting, Jamie had dispensed with his guitar and was stood on the lip of the stage working the crowd into a final frenzy.

  The song crunched to its conclusion, the band waved triumphantly to the crowd and then performed an exuberant group hug.

  And in a little moment of Glasto magic, Jamie took his signature scarf off and tied it round the neck of his guitar. Then holding it aloft in two hands, jumped down off the stage and stood in front of the security barrier as admiring hands pawed at him.

  ***

  “You okay, Danny? Gig’s out of the way now. You’re all clear,” Johnny said, still on a total adrenaline high after the set.

  “That was fuckin’ superb. We smashed it. Totally smashed it. D’yer think Dee will have seen the flag?”

  “I’m sure she will, D-Mo. Nice touch that.”

  “And she’s only got to hold on for two days and we’re home.”

  “You’ll be right. And what a set.”

  Putting his trunk-like ornately decorated arms around Danny and Johnny, Mikee said, “How good was that? Best we’ve ever played!” Squeezing them both into a Python like embrace he added, “And me and you never missed a beat, did we bro. Kong and D-Mo pinning it the fuck down.”

  “Fancy a beer Mikee? Think you’ve earned it,” Johnny said, as he attempted to wriggle free from the drummer’s sweaty grips.

  “Yup. We can now get big. You up for that D-Mo?”

  With his nose glued to his phone, Danny looked up. “Err, yeah. Deffo.” Glancing down at his phone again, he said, “Dee saw the flag. She said the baby kicked at the same time!”

  He looked up at them with tears in his big brown Irish eyes before popping his shades firmly back into place.

  And with that, Lonely Souls and their select entourage hit Glastonbury with the sole intention of getting suitably dazed and confused.

  ***

  Realising the insistent grumble was not just in his head, Johnny rolled over on the double mattress and picked up his mobile phone.

  Danny. Seven missed calls from Danny.

  It was 4 am. He had barely slept, and his head was pounding.

  As he attempted to compose himself, the phone rang again.

  “Hello.,” Johnny croaked. The noises emanating from his vocal cords sounding like sandpaper rubbing against a crumbling dry-stone wall.

  “Johnny. It’s me. It’s fuckin’ happened. I fuckin’ knew it would!” Danny said in a heightened state of panic. His words merging into a one shrill, jumbled blur of shrieked vowels, and dropped consonants.

  “Calm down. What’s happened,” he said as he looked around his yurt style tent for a bottle of water he was sure he’d left by the side of the bed only hours before.

  “Dee. She’s been taken to hospital with constrictions!”

  “Contractions. But never mind.” Rubbing a hand through his unruly bed hair, he said, “Right. We need to get you home.”

  “I know. But it’ll take for fuckin’ ever!” Danny said, his voice close to breaking.

  “Gimme a minute to get dressed. Where are you?”

  “Err. Hospitality. Me and Mikee have been here for a while. I’ve not been to bed.”

  “I’m about five minutes from you. We’ll sort this. I promised, and I won’t let you down,” Johnny said, his tones as calming as he could muster.

  Whipping on his jeans, a hoodie and a woollen beanie hat he had brought along in case the night time temperatures dropped, Johnny quickly met up with the expectant rhythm section.

  It wasn’t difficult to spot them.

  Danny was smoking and pacing up and down in the classic ‘father-to-be’ manner, the tip of his cigarette performing frantic circles like a hyperactive firefly.

  “Thank fuck. You’re here. Now get me home. PLEASE!”

  “Okay. We need to get you to an airport. Bristol is the nearest. I reckon we can get you to the hospital in a couple of hours or so”

  “TWO HOURS Fuck’s sake. She could have given birth by then!”

  Frantically trying to perform a mental calculation, Johnny reckoned they would be a good hour clearing the site. A taxi to Bristol. And then hope that they could get their boy on a direct flight. Or worst-case scenario via London.

  “Have you got the keys to the bus then?” Danny asked, as he light another cigarette.

  “No. Have I fuck! Why
would I have them,” Johnny said, still thinking over the permutations. “And I couldn’t drive it anyhow.”

  “FUCK!” Danny yelled, as he started to punch his forehead in frustration.

  “I can boost a car,” Mikee said, as calmly as a man offering to go and fetch the morning paper.

  “You can what?” Johnny asked incredulously.

  “I can hotwire a car for us. No problem.”

  “Really?” You sure?”

  “Piece of piss. My step-dad owns a breakers’ yard. He owns a few businesses. That was the one me and Dom used to work at,” Mikee said, cool as you like.

  His mind racing at the possible pitfalls, Johnny decided that if fortune didn’t favour the brave then they’d end up in prison, but this was a mission of mercy.

  They could ‘boost’ a car – The Fast and the Furious has a lot to answer for, he thought – and be there and back in four hours. No-one need even know…

  “Right. Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

  ***

  They left the hospitality area and headed for the artistes’ car park. It was predominantly made up of buses and vans of every size. But there were enough cars to choose from.

  “Okay. Nothing too flash. But pick one that’ll get us there,” Johnny said, pulling his hood over his head.

  This elicited a bout of nervous laughter from the soon-to-be-a-dad bass player. “Fuckin’ hell Johnny. Could you look any more suspicious?”

  Realising his mistake, Johnny lowered his hood. “Yeah. Point taken. It’s just ’cos I was cold.”

  “Bullshit,” Mikee coughed. “Perfect. That Astra there. I can do that no problem.”

  “Go for it,” Johnny whispered as Danny light up yet another cigarette, wishing at times like this that he smoked.

  Smashing the quarter light window, Mikee reached inside the car and opened the passenger door. Squeezing his huge frame under the dashboard, his thick fingers worked with dextrous accuracy and some twenty seconds later, the car sparked into life.

  He wiped his hands together. “Done,” Mikee said proudly.

  Bundling into the car, Johnny checked the mirrors, adjusted his seat and strapped himself in. A mere drunk driving and stolen vehicle charge away from a world of trouble, he thought as he took a deep breath and reversed out of the parking bay.