April 23rd 1974 - Had a chance to think about last night. Hadn't really noticed what sort of teeth I was wandering around with inside my mouth. Had a look in the bathroom mirror tonight and now it all makes sense. The bitemark, never feeling hungry, the white skin, bloodshot eyes, and now last night. I can't see my teeth in the mirror because I can't see anything in the mirror . . . What the fuck happens now?
April 24th 1974 - I cannot be harmed, I will never be hurt, I can do what I want, I am physically stronger, mentally sharper, I will never grow old. I'm in charge now. My future is whatever I say it will be.
Wallet looked for the day when the others followed suit, but he felt a scorching point of light across his forehead. He dashed for the blinds just as the sun exploded over the distant fields. He would have to continue the following night, but when he woke up ten hours later the diaries were gone. Instead there was a note on the table, written in Susan's familiar choppy semi-printed style. 'It wasn't easy to live through that. Still not sure I'm comfortable with it, but I can't turn back the clock. Your golfing buddy Jan has left a message. We're meeting someone in England who'll shepherd us through some preparatory stuff before we go to New York. Could be interesting. Hopefully, we've regained the initiative. If not heads are gonna roll, Rob. Take care of the house until we're back.'
17 (May)
Dexter Collier left a comment on his Facebook time-line
'Just got the call to tell me that I'm going to be shaperoning a band before they leave for New York. Major deal going down. Can't reveal the name of the band yet but everyone who hasn't already heard of them soon will.'
Vikki Tomson replied
'Great news. Pleased for you :-)'
Bernie Caspar replied
'Wow Dex!! great news.'
Mike O'Sullivan replied
'Lucky bastard. Is Nicole Scherzinger involved?'
Dexter Collier replied
'No. Alas! (At least I don't think so.)'
Mike O'Sullivan replied
'Whoever it is give them my regards and if they need a good looking backing singer with absolutely no ego give them my number.'
Seb Mauser replied
'Are they looking for groupies?'
Dexter Collier replied
'I'll ask them.'
Turner Collier replied
'Don't forget your condoms you got for Christmas.'
Dexter Collier replied
'Used em already bro. And anyways they might be male.'
Bernice Jaxon replied
'Good luck, Dex, you deserve it.'
Ann Cheung replied
'So jealous. Tell us all about it when you can.'
Every room in the the Bellevue Hotel, or the Belle as locals referred to it, had a sumptuous booklet proudly describing the heritage. Dee was bored enough to read it twice, but still couldn't find the reason for Sony's UK management team dumping them here. A former gentleman's residence, it was once owned by the Earl of Oldbury who had made his fortune in the plantations of Central America. He died in World War I after being hit by a shell fired from his own side. After his daughters were married off and moved out the house became a hotel in 1961 and retained its gentility, character, landscaped gardens with nine hole golf course and, most importantly, its mock Gothic turret. Gothic turret, of course. Gothic turret. Clever. Vampires, gothic turrets. Funny bastards.
The Balmoral Suite would be their home for the next two days. "Monarchical, flamboyant, ideal for the foreign guest with a large entourage," said Dee reading from the introduction, "or the traveller in need of real relaxation, or the rock band who are missing the gothic turrets of home."
"It says that?" asked Rene who, along with Susan and Elaine, was reading some of the tourism leaflets.
"Course it doesn't. Typical drummer."
There was a gentle knock on the door. "Is this him?" Dee put the book down, opened the door an inch and peeped out. "Who's that knocking at our . . . chamber door, bleurgh, bleurgh, bleurgh!"
Out in the corridor was a grinning, fidgeting boy too small for his jacket and wearing trousers with flares like boat sails. Stepping in with all the enthusiasm of a man with toothache visiting a Victorian dentist he nervously told them he was a student of Business Management at the LSE and twenty years old and had applied for the intern position after seeing it on the Monster job recruitment website and thought that a few months of unpaid excitement in the giddy world of rock music would look seriously good on his CV and thought the hotel was fantastic and that his cousin had a house in Southampton a bit like it but not as big. . . .
"What's your name?" interrupted Rene.
"Dexter."
"Dexter. Is that your first name or your last?"
"First."
"Never met anyone called Dexter before. Your parents weird?"
"Sorry?"
"Your parents," said Rene "are they like hippies or something."
"No. They're from Loughborough."
"Is that relevant to anything?" said Dee.
"No. Not really." Dexter giggled then tried to sit down without looking embarrassed. A small occasional chair had been placed in the middle of the room specially for him. The curtains were drawn across the bay windows of the suite and the lights were dimmed. "So, they christened my brother Turner. After the painter."
"Lucky for you they weren't fans of Heironymus Bosch," said Susan. She waited for Dexter to sit on his chair before she rose out of her own settee. In her heels she almost brushed the chandelier with the top of her head. "Now Dexter you'll probably notice that you're alone. That was our request. We like to get to know the people who are working closest to us, but with you it's a little different. We get hungry and when we get hungry we can't just send out for a meal, do you understand?"
"No. Yes, I understand. I could order or collect your meals if you want I used to get the vegan specialities for . . . nearly mentioned their name. I'm not supposed to confidentiality clauses and all that you know I've signed one for you guys too did you know the lead singer of one of the UK's leading boy bands is intolerant to salt?"
"Dexter, shut your fucking mouth."
He nodded.
"We don't eat meat. We also don't eat seafood, dairy products or vegetables or fruit. . . ."
"Or nuts," Elaine added.
"No nuts, Dexter," Susan said, wagging her finger. "We don't eat English food or Italian food, no Chinese or Indian or Thai, Mexican, Ethiopian or Lebanese. We don't eat salads, special diets, lo-fat, lo-carb, high fibre. We don't graze, nibble, eat on the move or grab snacks when we can or pop out for a sandwich. No business lunches or breakfast meetings. We don't do any of those things. Do you know why?" The other three stood up and slowly walked towards Dexter who was close to wetting himself.
Susan stood in front of him and leaned into his face. "Because we get all the nourishment we need from our interns." She smiled revealing her white teeth and two long predatory canines. Dexter evidently felt a hot flush in the groin of his trousers. The band burst into hysterics.
"You bastard," shouted Dee.
"I knew I should have said five hundred," said Susan. "Sorry Dexter, just a little bet Dee and I always have with our assistants: will they piss their pants when we suggest we're going to eat them. And you pissed your pants, so she owes me two hundred pounds."
Dexter laughed again. "Does anyone have any spare trousers?"
"No," said Susan. "You wet them so you'll have to sit in them."
The band sat down again like automatons or furniture programmed to come alive on the hour every hour before settling back into the decor. "What's your purpose here?" asked Susan. "What have they sent you to tell us?"
Dexter dragged a small notebook out of his inside pocket. "So, Some instructions, they said. Des Tomlinson, from the UK management company."
"Go on. Instructions?"
"So, they thought you might need to be brought up to date with how the industry works these days. It's changed a bit since the seventies."
&nb
sp; "Like what?"
"So, like today there are no more vinyl records. There's still a market, but it's like thousands, not millions."
"No shit. No more records?" Dee looked horrified. Horrified!
"They were replaced by compact discs in the 1980s."
"And what happened to all those old gramophone players," said Dee.
"Those what?" asked Dexter.
"Gramophone players," said Dee, "you know with the fucking big horns and the dogs sitting next to them."
"No, well, compact discs are played in cd players, but even they were superseded by audio files and now everyone listens to their music in what we call mp3 format. . . ."
"Wait, wait," Elaine raised one hand as she typed with the other, "What does mp3 stand for, Dexter?"
"Er, it's a standard industry standard format."
"A standard industry standard. Answer the question, Dexter," said Susan. "What does mpfuckingthree stand for."
"It's a multiplatform format, part of an ecosystem that includes avi, er, acc, wma, a multi-format listening experience. Sorry, but it's what music files are these days and you play them on a. . . ."
"Let me guess, let me guess," said Elaine clicking her fingers. "An mpfuckingthree player."
"Come on Dexter, open up," said Susan.
"Some of it's proprietary like, er, but it's all developed for an enhanced visitor experience. We don't call them mp3 players as such. You play mp3 files on your ipod or smartphone or some other device synced to your computer. Or they can be stored somewhere else and you stream them to your device from the cloud."
Dee looked across at Elaine. "Does that answer your question, dumbfuck?"
"Yeah. I suppose it does." Elaine looked up at Susan. "Do we have any mpfuckingthrees, Susan?"
"I'm sure we could find some."
Dee pulled at her earlobe. "Dexter, I've read all of Umberto Eco's novels, including Baudolino, and even I don't understand a word you're saying."
"Dexter, sweetheart," said Susan, "what other wonders of the modern age should we know about? Do people still drive around in motor cars?"
"Yeah. But a lot of them are hybrid electric these days."
Susan rolled her eyes. "Can you believe they sent this guy down here with this. Dexter, we haven't come out of a coma. We didn't travel here from the stars and we haven't been living underground in North Korea for the last thirty years. We know all about music formats, changing trends in music sales. Tell us about fans. Do bands still have fans these days?"
"Yeah."
"Are they edible?"
Dexter giggled. "There are ecosystems with walled gardens so they might be part of a food chain." Nobody laughed.
"How do they listen?" said Susan. "And if you say with their ears I'll cut yours off."
"So, you build up a consolidated fanbase by maximising social media opportunities. You need a big reach strategy and keep the dialogue continuous."
"How?"
"Activity. Keep the Twittersphere buzzing with your name. You're already part of the blogosphere so you're trending already. Especially after the single was uploaded."
"Don't mention that single," said Susan licking her canines.
"Exactly. That's what everyone says: that single."
"I said don't mention it." Susan looked at Elaine. "How many are we doing?"
"Eleven so far," said Elaine.
Dexter tried to continue. "So, the single got people talking. That's what made the label sit up."
"They liked it for some reason. What do they want out of this, Dexter? You're immersed in this world. Salt intolerance, cannibal ecosystems, experiences in walled gardens. Are we about to be eaten alive?"
"Oh, no. It's like. One guy I worked with, well not musically, but you know what I mean. Singer songwriter from Basildon. His three sixty degree deal has a revenue stream that pulls together naming rights, branding royalties, agreements across worldwide territories, the ones that matter, you know, Europe, US, South Korea, other monetizing arrangements. The whole exploitation of his brand and earning potential means income maximisation for him and the label."
Susan checked Elaine again who was busy finishing the typing. "Nineteen."
"Nineteen," Susan considered the number. Dexter chewed his lip.
"If you find other collaborative opportunities," he continued, "you can extend the exposure to other markets, you know, reaching across genres, mixes, mash-ups. The old unplugged performances are still there, but now they can be done in a studio in London and everyone in the world can listen to a live streaming broadcast."
"Twenty-two," Elaine announced.
"That's a good number," said Susan. Dee stared at Rene whose eyebrows and twisted mouth said he also didn't have a clue.
"Things have come a long way," said Dee. "At one time all you needed was a washboard and an overcoat and Hughie Greene would take care of the rest."
"Derrick Guyler," said Elaine without looking up. "Imagine if Derrick Guyler was here today, Dexter. A streaming broadcast across a multi-platform ecosystem, reaching out across a range of territories, including South Korea, with nothing but a washboard and rock hard fingertips."
Dexter nodded, the way people do when they're spoken to in a language they don't understand.
"Do you earn anything, doing this, Dexter?" asked Rene.
"I've got savings."
"And rich parents in Loughborough with a son called Turner," said Elaine.
"Weird rich parents," said Rene.
"We're not here for the money, Dexter," said Susan. "You should go and change those trousers now, please. Nice touch, by the way, wearing big flares like that." The band stood up as Dexter limped towards the door.
"I know a joke about seventies clothing," said Dee.
"Some other time, eh," said Susan.
"A man walked into a clothes shop in Birmingham and said I'd like some seventies style clothes. And the shop assistant said certainly. Flared trousers? Yeah, said the guy. Jacket with big lapels and a shirt with frills down the front? Yeah, yeah, perfect, said the guy. And the shop assistant said what about a kipper tie and the guy said, oh lovely. Milk and two sugars please."
Susan rang down to reception. "Hi, it's Susan from the Balmoral Suite. Can you replace one of our occasional chairs? A strange man has urinated all over this one. Thank you."
DAILY MAIL
Faces From the Past
New software used to identify missing persons helps to track down rock band
Experts at a security agency in Birmingham have issued photographs showing how the members of rock band Toten Herzen might look now, thirty five years after they disappeared. Bromwich Detection Sciences used the software to 'age' photographs of Dee Vincent, Susan Bekker, Rene van Voors and Elaine Daley who were last seen in their mid twenties.
"It was quite exciting seeing the faces emerge in front of our eyes as we put old photographic images into the software," said Connor Goodmans, Managing Director of BDS. The firm, which employs eighteen people, operates from a small industrial unit in West Bromwich and normally helps police forces from numerous countries in Britain and Europe search for missing people.
"A lot of our work helps to track down people who went missing over ten years ago. Certain facial characteristics tend not to change, whilst other elements such as musculature, skin tone and hair colour can. The software retains those unchanging features and ages the others." BDS's last success was identifying a man in Spain who went missing twelve years ago as a teenager. He was found this year in Portugal.
The four images of the band members show the three women,Vincent, Bekker and Daley looking tired, chubbier, but surprisingly respectable considering the band's notorious past. Male drummer van Voors is shown to be paunchy and almost bald.
"We heard about people being misidentified so thought these images might help the search to be a little more accurate," said Goodmans. Asked if he thought the band would be the same as they were in the seventies Goodman replied, "Doubtful. Old wom
en don't make good rockers. I'm more of an Elton John fan myself."
GUARDIAN COMMENT - Sarah Knowles
This obsession with age demonstrates the media's unashamed sexism
Old women don't make good rockers, says the managing director of a firm that helps find missing people. When he isn't wasting his time redirecting a useful police resource to help a ridiculous tabloid press campaign, Connor Goodman of Bromwich Detection Sciences is encapsulating what the media thinks of women in the arts. From actresses virtually redundant at thirty seven, television presenters jettisoned as soon as the first laughter lines appear, to rock guitarists subjected to ageing software that makes them look, according to the Daily Mail, tired and chubby, the obsession with Toten Herzen's twenty first century appearance overlooks more serious issues.
We Are Toten Herzen (TotenUniverse Book 1) Page 10