by Pene Henson
“Vege?”
“Vege.”
While he’s gone, Lien tracks down the band Claudie’s drummer Gretchen and bass player Tan are playing with. It’s called Summer Fling, which is annoyingly appropriate. She ignores that and sends a message via the website, aiming for the right level of casual and professional.
“I met an old band member of yours recently and I wanted to ask you guys a couple of questions for an article I’m doing on the music industry.”
She gets a reply back almost immediately. “Awesome. We’re rehearsing tomorrow night at seven at Tan’s place. You can come on over if you’re free. Gretchen.” She has a picture of a drum kit in her signature. Almost immediately another message comes. “You’ll need this.” It includes an address in Surry Hills.
“You’re on,” types Lien. She adds. “Do you guys have a favorite pizza?” She’s never met a band that’s not happier to talk over pizza.
She searches for the other band member, Mercy, but can’t get a contact. She leaves her computer open and sits on her bed, flops back, and considers the ceiling until Beau hollers up the stairs.
The Thai food’s excellent, as usual. Lien leans back on the sofa and soaks in the homey atmosphere. The house is narrow. Its living room runs between the front door and the kitchen that leads down a few stairs into the back courtyard. Lien and Beau spent months pulling the furnishings together. A chocolate retro wood-frame sofa aligns with one wall. Opposite, the TV is on a laminate table in faux wood and white. There’s a lounge chair in caramel and cushions in teal and white. They’ve framed and hung some of Beau’s photographs: a bicycle rack with multi-colored bikes in it, an A-frame house inclined into the sky, a group of guys drinking from tiny tea cups. There’s a bookcase under the stairs. Everything fits.
Lien and Beau eat with the noise of the street and the thudding bass of their neighbors’ stereo around them. After they’ve finished, Lien rinses the plates, then sits back down with Beau’s long pale feet in her lap. She rests a hand on his leg. Her thumb traces his ankle bones. On the screen some Brits are trying to hunt down a bargain in a market.
“So things with Annie are good?” Lien asks in an ad break.
“Oh, girl.” Beau’s sigh is secret and happy. He brushes his feet against one another.
“Ah, you’ve gone squishy,” she says. “I’m so happy. Except that you haven’t told me everything. How did it happen?”
He leans against the arm of the sofa. As he starts, he’s talking to the ceiling. “It was—It was that first night up there. I waited for you a while, but I got worried so I clambered out of the tent hunting for you. After a few minutes I called the others. Honestly, we were sort of panicking. I was completely freaking and Annie—I’ve never seen that face on Annie before. Everyone was hunting for you. No one knew which direction you’d gone, you fucker.”
“Sorry.”
“There was this tiny second when I was calling out into the bush. Everything was windy and hopeless, and Annie was next to me. I took a breath to yell for you again, and she reached out and she held my hand. It started raining then. And we both yelled at the top of our lungs.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. You fell. You got hurt. It was fucking scary, but it was an accident. Not long after that, you got us on the phone, and we could breathe again, we didn’t need to worry. The relief made it easy to, um, make a move.”
Lien laughs and pats his leg. “Beau Michaels. Are you telling me that you finally made a move?”
He blushes. “She was right there when I hung up; all of them were. Matty muttered about his soaking hair and Raf took him off to calm him down. Megan and Kam headed into their tent. Annie and I were alone. We were so relieved. Maybe she kissed me. Maybe I kissed her. Everything was easy after that.”
She pats his legs, charmed and thrilled for them. The British people come back on TV, and they watch together.
“Now, what’s going on for you?” he says in the next ad break. He shifts to face her. He’s only like this, golden and sincere, when they’re home alone. She hopes Annie sees this side of him.
“Some stuff.” She considers him. “It was quiet in the cabin. Claudie’s comfortable with silence, and sometimes she had to head out for rangering duties. So there was lots of thinking time. I’m pretty sure I’ve been avoiding thinking for, um—well for a while.”
He nods. “I get that. You’re busy. It’s easy to do. And it’s not always the right time to do work on yourself.”
“Beau, it’s been years!” she protests.
He shrugs and smiles. “It’s not like you’ve been hibernating. You’re surrounded by people who love you and think you’re incredible. And some of us even know you.”
She sniffs. “I could have made better choices. I feel like I’ve failed people.”
“Never.”
“Not you, bonehead.” She flicks his knee. He shoves her with his feet. “But… My parents never understood soccer but they spent ten years getting me the best coaches in Asia and Australia. And then I gave up.”
“You were injured,” Beau mutters, but he doesn’t stop her going on.
“And then I got a second chance to really love something and all I do is surround myself with parties and people and throw together clever tweets.”
“You may be selling yourself short,” Beau says.
“I don’t want to disappoint people anymore.”
“I still don’t think you’ve disappointed anyone,” Beau says. “I don’t know your parents, really. But that one time I met them they seemed happy with you. I think they wanted you to call more often, maybe.”
“They’re not the kind of people who make disappointment obvious. You can’t tell unless you grew up with them. But they do all that charity work and travel, while I toss up a story about the latest ankle boot fad in fifteen minutes.”
“Well, I mean, we all need to know which ankle boots are in vogue.” He swings around on the sofa and drops his feet to the floor. “But seriously, honey, this isn’t a new thought for you. You’ve hated some of that stuff for ages.”
Lien looks at him. “I have?”
“You whine at me every time you get five hundred thousand retweets on a post about flannel shirts or shoulder pads. I thought you knew.”
“Huh.” She nods. “Okay.” She’s quiet. “I want to write something that matters.”
“Yeah, you do. And if I know you, you’ll do it, too.”
“Okay,” she says again. “So I’ll put time and groundwork into this piece I’m writing. And whether anyone takes it or not, I’ll keep trying. But they’d be stupid not to take it. It’ll be good.”
“It will be good. All those thousands of followers can’t be wrong.”
She huffs at him. “I can get people talking. There’s a lot more even in the fashion and music industries than what’s on point one week.”
“Though to be clear, you can’t stop talking to me about fashion. You know I rely on you.”
“Deal,” she says. “I mean it’s not as though I’m about to stop caring about clothes.”
“Fuck no,” he says. “And call your parents.”
She spends the morning developing notes for her article, then helps Megan and Kam wash all the camping gear and tents to get them back to their various owners. She visits some vintage clothing places around the Eastern Suburbs to reaffirm her vintage clothing credentials. Annie’s working at Clothes Were the Days, so she drops in and hugs her over the counter.
Annie waves her hands over a cardboard box and a stack of clothes on hangers. “Some lady brought in all these 1940s and 50s clothes from her mother’s attic. It’s killing me to wait for Laura to get in tomorrow so we can go through it.”
Lien nods. “Call me as soon as you see anything. I’m feeling the 1970s punk thing this season, but you know
I’d give my front teeth for a good housedress.”
“You got it,” Annie says. “Hey!” She reaches out to pop a jaunty hat on Lien’s head. “Did Beau tell you he invited me over?”
“Oh. That’s great. I haven’t seen him so no, but great.” Lien grabs the hat and turns it over in her hands. Lien has always invited Annie to things. She'll need to adapt to this shift.
“We’re having dinner.”
“Cool. Well, it’s pretty late. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, and we can go together,” Lien says.
While she waits she sits on a step stool in the corner of the shop. She’s hidden here, surrounded by racks of vests and dresses and dinner jackets. She calls her parents.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Lien! Is something wrong?”
“No. Not at all. I just thought I’d give you a call. Where are you?”
“Hong Kong.” She can see him in the penthouse, balding and rumpled but somehow at home in the glossy gold and white interior. Her mother has particular taste. There’s a white baby grand piano.
“How’s Maria Melissa?” she asks after her parents’ long-term housekeeper.
“Fine. Her grandson turned four.”
“And you and Mum?”
“We’re well, thank you. Your mother is at the Newburys’ planning this year’s fundraiser. There’s a dispute about tea.”
“Some things don’t change.”
He laughs. “Well, this year they outsourced the music so at least we didn’t need to go through that. How are you, Lien? Busy?”
She nods, though he can’t see her. “Busy enough. I’m working on something new. A longer piece than I usually do. Oh and I went camping!” She tells him about the fall and the rescue.
Lien and Annie get to Lien’s place right after six. At six thirty, Lien digs out skinny jeans and a band T-shirt from her wardrobe. She laces up her heavy black boots. She clomps on the stairs as she comes down to the kitchen, but still, Annie and Beau spring apart as though no one’s supposed to see them.
Lien smiles to herself. She should tell them that it’s okay for them to touch.
“We’re cooking,” says Annie unnecessarily, as they’re standing in front of a wok and a saucepan steaming on the stovetop. “Dumplings and soup. We’ve got plenty, if you want to join us.”
“Nah, I’m heading out. I want to talk to this band I heard about.” She takes a teaspoonful of broth and blows on it before she drinks it. “This is amazing,” she says, loving the sour and smooth saltiness of it. “Can you teach me?”
“Of course,” says Annie. Her mother’s an amazing cook.
“Should we save some?” Beau asks.
“No, I’m bringing pizza for the band. I have questions.”
“Who are these people?” Beau asks.
“You don’t know them.” Lien swans out. “Don’t worry, Beau. I’ve got this. Also, you guys are cute.” Lien turns back. “Honestly, you don’t need to pretend you’re not all over one another. I love you both and I love you both being happy.”
“We don’t want you to feel left out,” Annie says.
It’d be more isolating if they kept secrets from her. “I don’t. Promise.” She checks her hair in the mirror outside the kitchen.
She hops on a bus with two pizzas. They rumble down Oxford Street and over to Surry Hills. The band’s rehearsal is in a freestanding house, which is unusual for the area, though the neighbors’ walls are only a meter or two away. Its garden grows up the painted burgundy walls. A streetlight flickers on.
A bearded Asian guy opens the door. “Tan Quach,” he says. “The bass player from Grand Echo.” He’s scruffy and hipster with a round face. He eyes her T-shirt, then nods her in. Lien shifts the pizza to one arm and follows.
On the way through the house, he says, “Like your shirt. So to give you a bit of background, Gretchen Tandy and I are working together. She’s from the old band, too. I brought her in on percussion when our drummer quit. She’s one of the best.”
“Tell me about this band. Summer Fling?”
“It’s awesome,” he says. “Awesome. It really seems like we’re going somewhere. This is my big chance. It’s been a hard road to get here though.” He opens the door to the garage behind the house.
Inside, a bass guitar leans against the wall. Tan picks it up.
“Hi, Lien,” chirps a girl, presumably Gretchen, from behind the drums. “Ooh, pizza. Thanks!” She flashes a smile at Lien. She’s white and cute, with crooked teeth and platinum blonde pigtails.
Another white guy with a turquoise coif mutters, “Hey,” and turns over a piece of sheet music. “We’ll start with Glass,” he says to Gretchen and Tan and an older guy with an electric guitar. “You right to watch?”
Lien nods agreement. The band is good. Loud. The lead has charisma. Gretchen and Tan work together well. They’ve known one another’s beats for a long time.
Afterward, Lien, Gretchen, and Tan sit around the coffee table with pizza. The lead singer and guitarist, still unnamed, strides out into the night.
“So,” says Tan.
“So, I want to talk about Grand Echo,” Lien says. “I’m putting together this article on Australian acts that were on their way and how they ended.”
“You said in your email that you met Claudie?” Gretchen asks.
“Yeah, I bumped into her up north where she’s a ranger.”
“Right,” says Tan. “Hermit Claudie.”
Gretchen glances at him, then shrugs. “We’ll tell you what we can.”
Tan's jaw is tight. “All I know is, it was rough. We were on our way to the big stuff, and she abandoned ship.”
“It was roughest on her,” Gretchen says.
“Yeah. I guess it was.”
Lien listens. Gretchen continues. “It was the end of a short tour. Just the East Coast and Adelaide. It’d been pretty awesome. We finished up with a show at the Basement. I guess Claudie had been back about a year.” She turns to Tan, who nods. “You know Claudie went to the US in 2010 hoping for a solo career, but that fell through for her. They were assholes. It was a mistake. Anyway, she was back and, like, she was finally in control of her music again. We were playing to packed-out venues everywhere we went. Something huge was happening.”
“And then?” Lien prompts.
“And then we’d been back a few days and there was this accident. An overdose. Lou—Louisa. She died. You knew about Louisa?”
Lien shakes her head.
“She was another musician. She toured with us. Great songwriter. Guitarist. Magic with the pedals and the reverb stuff. She opened for us. She played her own stuff and sometimes helped out with road stuff or backing vocals when we needed an extra voice. I’m no use; I sing like a cockatoo. Anyway, she was our friend, Claudie’s mostly, but all of ours too, and she died. Prescription painkillers. It was awful.”
Gretchen’s face is clouded. Lien aches for this girl she just met.
“We barely saw Claudie after that. Not at all. She came in for a bit, but she was silent and shaken, and it was tough. We were set to record a new album, but everything fell apart.”
“It was a big blow,” says Tan.
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“No.”
Lien’s trying not to judge. But Claudie’s friend died, and she walked away from her career, and her bandmates didn’t try to keep in touch.
Gretchen says, “We tried. We called and we called, and when she moved up north we suggested we visit, but… look, she was upset and she pushed us away. Lou was our friend, too. I hate that I gave up but you need to get it.”
“It was rough on everyone,” Tan says. “We needed to move on.” Lien tries to imagine.
“I could have tried to find her again, though,” says Gretchen.
Tan shrugs. He turns to Lien. “You met up with her. She’s doing okay?”
“She’s doing fine. She’s not doing much music up there and not… I mean she’s a bit quiet but that might just be how she is.”
“I’m glad she’s okay,” says Tan. “If you see her or talk with her, tell her hi from us.”
“Okay,” says Lien. “Sure I will.”
It’s Tan’s house, so Gretchen leaves with Lien. As they turn onto the main road heading to the bus stop, the drummer says, “Claudie really fell apart. She’d struggled with the industry for years, but she loved it. This was it. The end for her.”
“Yeah,” says Lien.
“I sometimes wondered if there was more to it. It might be worth talking to Dani.”
“Dani?”
“Dani Alvarez. She was our manager. She and Claudie were close. You’d need to talk to her about it. She’s around still. Managing a few young up-and-comers and some bigger names. I’ve seen her on the scene.”
Lien nods. “I’ll give her a buzz. Thank you. I really appreciate you taking the time with me.”
“No worries.” Gretchen grins. She waves as she crosses the road to take the bus in the opposite direction from Lien.
The bus arrives quickly. Lien leans against the window as they trundle past streetlights and parked cars. She’s flattened by the band’s revelations. Claudie struggled through all of this before Lien knew her at all. All the life that Claudie’s lived before has absolutely nothing to do with Lien. But she’s a journalist. She has something more to look into.
The local music industry isn’t large. Dani who managed Grand Echo is the same woman Lien met managing Sacha Cossman at Rivers Fest. Lien already has her contact details.
“Call me Dani,” she says on the phone.
Dani lives out at Coogee Beach in a small apartment block. She meets Lien downstairs. “Let’s go get a coffee,” she says. She walks with energy. Her hair’s carefully spiked. Her eyes are quick and sure. She’s wearing a white button-up shirt and skinny mustard jeans.
They sit at a table on the street at long narrow cafe across the road from the beach. The air tastes of salt. Lien’s tea and roast tomato on toast is excellent.