Songs for Abrielle

by Mae Temson

  is just half the cost.

  You touched me with fire Babe,

  incendiary blast.

  Heartache to heaven,

  our journey, so fast.

  With you I'm a fighter,

  without you? No joy

  from darkness you stepped out,

  my heart to destroy.

  With you I'm a fighter,

  Without you? No way.

  If I had you here now.

  Baby please stay.

  ©Delta Di-Noia

  5

  We are back on the tour bus. No hotel tonight. We have done two nights at the last venue and now we are moving on. I like the nights in the bus, it feels like home I guess. We have spent so much of our lives in it. We had a bit of a chill-out after the gig. A few beers, some food but now I have come to my space at the back of the bus. The boys are still relaxing down at the front in the lounge area. They have bunks in the middle of the bus and are never very ready to go to them unless they are totally wiped out. This bus had a rear lounge too when we got it but early on we had it converted to a private area for me, being the lead and the only woman. I can't tell you some of the names the boys have christened this area over the time, more so in the early days, but let me just say that none were complimentary. They have never really teased me about it in front of any one, any woman, when they have been with me there but I have got some stick from them in private over the years.

  I can hear them laughing up the front of the bus as I try to come down to normal after the buzz of the concert. They have a great camaraderie. They include me in everything but sometimes I just long for company of a different kind. Conversation of a different kind. I can't say if I am lonely, I don't think I am but everything is relative isn't it?. I must be getting older and I suppose the appeal of brief encounters, how ever sweet, has lessened as the years go by. I don't know, maybe I am just having a nostalgia fest but I have been looking back a lot lately.

  It's been fifteen years since Abrielle. After her I could not imagine living through such heartbreak again and so I didn't commit to anyone despite many failed attempts by others to put roots down with me. A touring singer is basically rootless and that is the ideal lifestyle to play a very large field.

  I am only thirty-seven Abrielle will be thirty-eight. I often wonder what she looks like now, what she is doing. I wonder whether or not she has seen me on the television or has she been to a concert and watched from afar. Has she ever bought an Album, vinyl, cassette or CD? If she has would she have seen the “For A.” dedication that has been on every medium from the first till now. I have insisted on it from the first pressing of our first album and it has been there on every one since. The boys have never asked about it, never asked who A was. They just accepted that it was something I wanted and that was good enough for them. We had a temporary drummer for a while after Dave broke his wrists in a cycling accident. A right little pain in the arse he was. I had wanted to cancel the tour we were on and wait for Dave to recover but the record company threatened us with all sorts of legal clauses and so we were lumbered with him for a while. He wanted desperately to know who A was and I wouldn't tell him. I told him it was my business and that was that. He wouldn't let it go. He knew for certain it was personal, why would I put it there if it wasn't. He kept chipping away at me, day after day. Jibes, digs, suggestions of who or what he thought it stood for. The boys continually told him to pack it in but he would not listen and when he finally broke in to a warbling rendition of the Mamma's and Papa's “This is dedicated to the one I love.” Mick the bass player was finally tipped over the edge. He picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, demanded that our driver stop now and dumped him off the bus telling him to make his own way to the next gig with the promise that a “no show” meant no pay. The band code had been violated as far the boys were concerned and they wouldn't stand for it. He showed up last minute before we were due to go on stage, took his place behind the drum kit and played the set, he finished his stint with us. He never asked again. When Dave was given the all clear to play with us again the temp took his money and high-tailed it out of there without much ceremony. Our paths have crossed briefly in various places but he doesn't acknowledge any of us.

  6

  We are heading for a few dates in Italy soon. Maybe that is why I have been looking back. Always hoping to see her and yet not sure I would know her if she turned up. Italy has been a successful place for us. I guess I unconsciously bring a bit of it's flavour to anything I write, it's in my blood after all. It's strange how music appeals in some places and not others. One of the first places we were fairly big in was Sweden. It was a surprise to us all but we took the accolades and the tour dates however remote the venues.

  I remember on the first tour I was in my hotel room before a gig when the reception rang to say there was someone who wanted to speak to me. I had no arranged appointments and I was a little put out at potentially having my private time disturbed. They said it was someone from a Swedish fanzine to interview me and I suppose I was flattered and intrigued so I told them to send them up.

  I had half expected some geeky nerd with his clipboard, anorak and tape recorder but instead when I opened the door I was faced with six foot of toned, blonde Swedish delight. I don't remember her whole name now, It was Maria for sure and followed by something with “'sson” on the end. She was stunning, there is no other way to put it. She was extremely polite and extensively knowledgeable about the band and our history so far. I wasn't sure if my personal life had made it to the ears of any journalists or whether me being gay had attracted any particular, specific pockets of fans. These days its a well documented given but back then no-one could be sure how the information would be received or how it may affect sales, promotions, bookings etc. so it wasn't something I spoke about readily. We talked origins of the band and how the tour was going. We discussed my writing process and where I got my clothes from. Marie was very methodical in her questioning and she obviously wanted to fully fulfil Swedish fans need for information and detail. She produced an album, a vinyl LP as they were then and asked me to sign the cover for a competition prize. She was so efficient, so organised, so precise. There was an attractiveness about her obvious need to do things properly. I figured she must be a fan too otherwise why would she spend her time tracking us down. She had to be a fan and yet there was no sign of nerves or uncontrollable excitement that usually accompanies fan encounters. Hell I don't consider myself any great icon or anything don't get me wrong and I don't expect people to faint at my feet but I know myself that if I get to meet someone I admire, even now, I turn to jelly and struggle to put coherent sentences together. Marie, however, had a level of containment and professionalism that I had never seen and haven't since. She appeared to be so reigned in.

  She held my gaze with those steely, ice blue eyes as I answered her formal questions and then she took notes in quick, neat shorthand. I answered as fully as I could. Something in me wanted to impress her a little, wanted to break down the wall of efficiency. She asked her questions and recorded my responses methodically. Suddenly she was all done, we were all done. The papers were put aside and her messenger bag packed up again. She was ready to leave and heading for the door after a very polite goodbye and thank you. I followed her to the door,

  “You know,” I said “I hate it how interviewers never ask the interviewee if they would like to ask a question.” She turned to look at me, those icy blue eyes causing something in me to begin to heat, “Can I ask you a question?” I said holding her gaze,

  “You want to ask me a question?” She said, putting down her bag and turning to face me, “Sure ask me anything.” Her English was perfect, laced with the sweetest Nordic accent. Crisp, clear, concise.

  I stood facing her, as near as I dared be and looked her straight in the eyes, “You are a fan of the band, you must be to write and edit a fanzine so..”

  “So?”

  “I would like to ask you what you think of
me. Off the record, no notes, no reporting. What does the writer and editor of our only fanzine in the world, so far, think of me?”

  She held my gaze and took a step towards me. I wasn't expecting that and I made a move to step back away from her. At this she stepped yet nearer and as I almost overbalanced backwards she reached out and grabbed my jacket with one hand just at the neck.

  “I will give you my answer.” She breathed and pushed me backwards just enough to set me in motion. My first thought was “uh-oh Psycho. This is where it all ends for you, alone with a murderer, killed in a Swedish hotel.” but suddenly the bed was behind my legs and she pushed me down to sit on it, immediately straddling my legs and pushing me down flat, my next thought was that I wanted make the ice queen melt but as she pressed her lips to mine I realised that I wasn't really going to have much say in this what so ever.

  Her kiss was firm and strong, this was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. The heat I had momentarily felt earlier began to rise again, Marie lessened her grip on my jacket, kissing me still and moved her hands to take mine. Our fingers entwined and danced together briefly, our tongues joined in the dance and our kisses deepened. Suddenly she took my hands above my head and slid herself from my lap to my midriff, pinning me to the bed, legs astride me. I gasped in surprise and she pulled away from our kiss, gently biting my lip as she did. I opened my eyes to find the icy blue jewels above me,

  “How is my answer?” She said, studying me, watching me so closely, intently, “Did I answer right?” she whispered, the slightest hint of vulnerability flashing across her features. That hint of vulnerability ignited the fire in me and I just had time to answer “Yes.” before her mouth found mine again, our kisses deeper and more passionate than before. She let go of my hands and laid the full length of me, her weight upon me sent waves of desire to every inch of me. Our hands found each other again and their dance was more urgent than before. As we rolled and writhed we found ourselves side by side, her hands found my neck, my back, my mouth. She pulled out of a kiss to look at me again,

  “I have wanted this moment from the first time I heard you sing.” She said, “My heart was possessed by you. I knew that I had to find you one day.”

  “But you were about to walk away.” I said, reaching to move a stray lock of hair from her face, “What if I hadn't asked to ask you a question?”

  “Then I would have accepted that today was not going to be my day and I would have engineered another meeting.”

  “You would have left? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Well at this precise moment I, for one, am very glad that you didn't.”

  “Me also.” she said leaning in to kiss me again.

  What followed was one of the greatest experiences of my life so far. The sex was incredible. She was strong and gentle at the same time. Her confidence in herself was intoxicating and I was lost in her and her passion until the room phone broke through the spell. I managed to wrestle out from under her lithe, toned, supremely beautiful body and reach to answer, it was Dave,

  “Sound check in 45mins Del, meet on the bus in 30?”

  “Sure” I said trying hard not to explode as Marie's tongue began tracing patterns over my stomach again. “30 minutes, bus.” I was pretty sure there wasn't an inch of my body that she hadn't kissed or caressed already and the return journey of fingers and tongue was proving to be doubly exhilarating,

  “You okay Del? Did I wake you?”

  “No, no you didn't. I'm fine, really.” I managed to say as a crescendo of pleasure threatened to engulf me all over again.

  “Okay, see you in 30 on the...”

  I cut him off before the scream of delight I was holding in tore his eardrum down the line. We made the most of the last twenty minutes we had together before I had to extricate myself and have the quickest shower on record. The passion we had shared was so intense and so intoxicating that I was convinced she was going to be a problem to get rid of. I had visions of her trying to move herself in with me for the rest of the tour at least. By the time I had showered I had my “letting them down gently” speech all prepared.

  I didn't have to worry. When I came out of the shower she had gone, clothes, notebooks and bag all gone, just the faint scent of her perfume still lingered. Fresh, clean, sexy.

  There was a note by the TV.

  “Dear Delta, thank you for the nicest, most informative interview ever, your Swedish fans will love it. I will be in the audience tonight and your lyrics will ring truer to me now than ever before. Thanks for taking time to ask me a question. I hope my answer was what you wanted, I always try to answer honestly. You will always have my heart, Marie.”

  I read it several times and smiled at the memory of the afternoon as I dressed. As I left in a hurry for the tour bus I folded the note and tucked in to the inside pocket of my jacket. For now I would keep Marie close.

  7

  I remember our first tour of Sweden as one of the best. There have been a lot since but that will always be a highlight for me. Marie sent a copy of the fanzine with my interview in to the record company for me. We had been away from London for quite a while by the time I picked it up. The note that came with it said simply “Here's to questions and answers, Enjoy, Marie.” minimalist to the last. I looked for her in audiences when ever we were there but I never saw her again.

  The boys have finally called it a night and the bus is quiet now but I can't sleep. Usually once the adrenaline of a show has left my system and I have detoxed a little with my holy basil or camomile tea, I am lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of the bus as it travels through the night but not this time. I love my life don't get me wrong, I really do, but just lately I have been wondering if I have missed out on “normal” life in any way. I am sat up watching the lights of town after town fly by and wondering what is going on in those towns, those streets, those houses. I will shake it off, this feeling, I always have but as time goes on the feeling sticks around for longer.

  The set of songs for Abrielle has really got me thinking tonight. What would our lives have been like if we had managed to meet again? Would we have made it all the way till now or would we have a good few years and then drifted apart? Would we have split amicably or would I have spoilt things between us causing upset? or would she? I know I will never know and I know I can't turn back time however much I would wish to and as I think this a quote I read once pops in to my mind. It hit me as so true at the time and it stuck with me,

  “Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”

  Sydney J Harris said that. He was a journalist and obviously a very wise man. It is so true what he said and I have tried to just accept the fact that my lost chance at love, however brief it may have been or however it may have turned out has made me, at times, desolate. Katherine Mansfield a favourite of mine also said,

  “Regret is an appalling waste of energy, you can't build on it. It's only good for wallowing in.”

  She too was so very right and boy can I wallow. I haven’t wasted my time back here in the bus as you can see. I have read, widely, and some of my best lyrics have come from periods of intense wallowing but given the chance I am becoming increasingly aware that I would like to change my life a little. Change it in a positive way.

  When Dave suggested we tour Italy I was all for it but also a little scared of the prospect of it. Somewhere in my head I suppose for a while I had convinced myself that Abrielle had gone back to Grosseto all those years ago and had put her life on hold for me. I know that this is stupid and beyond ridiculous but somehow I was also convinced that if I even set foot in Italy I would find her and that ultimately she would not even remember who I was. Such is the conflict of a very tormented mind. I can drive myself to distraction over it and as such it has been distraction that I have sought over the years. I have let one or two in to my lives but never for very long at once.

  I reme
mber one period of distraction that I did allow to continue for a while, for longer than usual in the early days any way. Sarah Duval. I can see her now. I should be able to that's for sure. We spent so many hours back here in the bus that once she had left I could see her everywhere for ages after.

  She was a Tri-athelete. Supremely fit as I recall. We had been doing a couple of dates in the North of England at the time and she had been competing in a regional final nearby. She had come to the gig and used her local influence to get back stage after the main set. When Security said someone was there to see me I wasn't best pleased. I had been in a foul mood all day and the concert hadn't gone so well in my opinion. I felt our guitarist wasn't giving his all and where music is concerned lack of commitment is a no no for me.

  I remember the knock on the dressing room door just before our prerequisite encore and I remember I snatched it open, gruffly and probably a little aggressively,

  “Yes?” I had snarled, barely looking at the person there let alone making any eye contact, “I don't have much time” I growled as the chants of the expectant crowd grew louder above me “What can I do for you?”

  It was then that I noticed the shoes, or rather boots, they were exquisite. Italian leather I imagined and would have cost quite a drop of dough. I have always had a bit of a penchant for footwear and it wasn't very often I met someone who shared the passion. My eyes travelled higher and the dress sense only got better, this was obviously someone I was meant to talk to,

  “Look if you are from a magazine or something I can't really do an interview right now. We are..” the chants and stamping from above got louder and more frenetic. My gaze reached head height and I was met with the most beautiful smile, the hair style matched the clothes for superb taste and the eyes were stunning.

  “I'm Sarah Duval, I am a..”

  Dave appeared behind the stylish vision in my doorway, tapping his watch with his drumsticks and signalled that we had to go, now.