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“Mate, you need a respirator up there?”
“Fuck off.”
Glen laughed. If Jake had been able to look out, he figured he’d see Glen, a miniature action figurine on the stage, shielding his eyes against the January sun.
“You coming down any time soon?”
“No, I thought I might set up shop here for a while, you know, take in the view.”
“Reedy, mate, seriously are you all right?” Glen said, a flicker of real concern in his voice, but then he continued, “The crew want to know who gets your bike if you don’t make it back.”
Jake laughed. “Fuck off the lot of you.” He hung up on a snickering Glen and tilted his chin towards Rand. “I think we’ve established the view from the cheap seats is pretty piss poor.” He was oddly proud he had a cohesive thought about the show in his head.
“Yep,” said Rand. “We have to do something about that. Give the people up here something special.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Rielle nodding, but he had the impression from her folded arms she was less than happy with him. Not good.
“How do we get you down?” asked Rand.
He took a big breath and held it in. “One step at a time. I’ll be all right; you go ahead. I’ll see you down there. Hopefully in time for the first gig.”
Rielle leapfrogged over the back of the seat in front of her and called, “Good luck Jake,” as she started out down the stadium staircase at a trot.
Rand shifted closer. “I thought I could do a solo from up here, maybe opening the second half.”
“That would work,” he said. And when Rand stood, Jake stood with him, keeping his eyes on the ground, and pressing down on the fear in the back of his throat.
They made a slow progression down the stairs side by side, Rand talking about the show and peppering him with a series of technical questions. He knew the guy was doing it to distract him and was grateful. By the time they got to the last set of stairs, his breath had settled and he was feeling almost normal again except for being wet through and having a thumping headache.
When he looked out, he saw the crew clustered around the stage edge. As he too
k his last step onto the stadium floor, Glen said into a mic, “One small step for man, one giant leap for Reedy,” and there was hearty applause, accompanied by crew members banging on scaffolding or stamping on staging.
Jake took a bow, gave a triumphant wave and then flipped the bird, making the crew laugh. He was still smiling when he noticed Rielle standing in front of them, legs apart, arms folded over her chest, a frown under her red fringe. She was practically vibrating with impatience.
“Rand,” she snapped, “talk.”
Rand gave Jake a pat on the shoulder and left with his sister. Jake watched them go, knowing he’d screwed up. He’d shown himself to be out of control and incompetent. While the crew were happy to have one over him, and give him curry for it, they knew his other strengths. Rielle and Rand had known him for a few hours, and had absolutely no loyalty to him. They could have him replaced in the strum of a single chord.
“What was that?” said Rielle, when she and Rand were out of Jake’s earshot. Whatever it was, it dressed like weakness and danced like trouble, it was risk and they couldn’t have it on tour.
“Ah Rie, leave him alone. It doesn’t make any difference. It’s not like Jake needs to be up in the Hand or on the trapeze; it’s nothing. It had to be mortifying for him and he took it all with good humour. Don’t look at me like that. What do you want me to do?”
“Get me the names of alternative tour managers,” she said, before stalking back towards the stage, leaving Rand standing flat footed.
6. Hand of God
“Please tell me the audience member is a plant? Someone we pre-select?” Jake said, squinting at Jonas in the sun. There was only one good answer to that question and he’d give up Mum’s home-cooked meals to get it.
He stood with Jonas and Bodge in front of the telescopic tower equipment, nicknamed the Hand of God. It would hoist Rielle over the heads of the punters in the mosh-pit and the floor area of the stadium.
Jonas had explained that for one song, Rielle would ride in the cage with a member of the audience. So maybe he needed to forgo Mum’s laundry service as well free feeds to get what he needed—anything but random selection.
“We’ve tried picking at random, and we’ve tried pre-selecting in the past. Random is a bad scene,” said Jonas.
Ah good, at least there were clean socks in his future.
“Pre-selection is okay, takes some work to find the right person, but there’s still a risk the person we pick does something unexpected. This time, I’d like to keep it in-house. I think we use one of the road crew.”
