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“Think of what the chicks won’t be wearing,” said How, with a big grin and Jake heard Glen snort in agreement.
Roley rubbed his hands together. “We shoulda toured here years ago.”
“Where’s Rie?” asked Ceedee, turning to Rand.
He shook his head. “Around, maybe with Jonas.”
“How is Jonas?” asked Stu, joining the conversation, his voice low and gravelly, his question laden with meaning.
“What do you know?” Rand asked, suspicion narrowing his eyes. Jake looked at Glen and Bodge. What were they about to learn about Jonas?
“Only that he was looking worse for wear when I last saw him,” said Stu.
Ceedee smacked Stu’s arm. “And you can talk.”
“Don’t start,” Stu bit back.
Rand rolled his eyes. He turned to Jake as if he was a welcome distraction and started the introductions. They got down to the specifics about instrument placement, and romantic entanglements, hangovers, jetlag and professional and personal humiliations were kicked aside.
When Rielle and Jonas arrived, Jake had his first look at the whole band together. Rielle took a running leap and jumped into How’s arms, straddling his waist, and hugging his neck. She kissed Jeremy, Brendan and Ceedee, thumped Stu on the arm, and climbed on Roley’s back. He galloped a lap around the stage with her, braying like a donkey while the others laughed. This was a new side to her. She could be playful. She had a great laugh. Jake might’ve appreciated it more if his head didn’t feel like an overripe melon.
“Happy to be in Australia, are we?” said How, when Roley deposited Rielle back with the group.
“No!” she barked and then laughed. “But it’s only Adelaide, so it’s all right so far. I’m just happy to see your ugly face again, How.” She grabbed his jaw and he made a slobbering dog sound as she pulled his cheeks out from his teeth.
“I’m happy to be home,” said Rand. “I might be able to get my Aussie strine back if I try.”
“Don’t you dare!” Rielle rounded on him and the group laughed.
Glen nudged him. “Did you hear that?” he said quietly. “I’d have thought she’d be happy to be playing her home country?”
Jake shrugged. It was odd she’d seemed so adamantly unhappy to be home.
“She’s just nervous that’s all,” said Bodge.
Glen laughed. “You fell quick this time, fat man. You’d defend her if she was a mass murderer.”
Seeing the band together, Jake got the impression Rand was the functional leader, the one who made plans, made things happen, quietly, calmly and without fuss. And Rielle was the creative spirit, the one whose energy and passion held them together. They were a formidable combination. He was beginning to see where their success came from, not simply genuine talent, but foresight and dedication on Rand’s part, and dynamism on Rielle’s.
He was beginning to see new sides to her, new ways to interpret how she acted, and didn’t that just make his meltdowns in front of her something extra special to be proud of.
8. Bonne
By day’s end Jake was spent. His head was pulp, and he’d not been able to stomach the thought of food. All he wanted was a good lie down. He’d made the crew check and test that bloody trapeze until it was working flawlessly and he had a crick in his neck from looking up at the bugger of a thing from the back of the stage where he could do it without feeling sick.
They had an early start tomorrow, and a long day and night with their first gig, followed by the need to strike the stage and pack the trucks. They had four days to get to Perth and set up all over again for two gigs. In those four days, they had to cover two thousand seven hundred kilometres—that was like London to Berlin and back again or LA to Kansas—and re-build the stage. It was a punishing schedule that meant driving day and night, changing drivers every four or five hours. The band would fly and be there in Perth in about three hours.
Most tour managers travelled with the band, but Jake went with the road crew whenever he could to avoid flying. He was grateful he had Sharon working as advance manager. She was already in Perth, and would meet the band, give them a preliminary venue tour, and settle them into their hotel, all before the road train changed over their first driver.
He was locking his document case and gear in one of Bonne’s panniers, and mentally pouring himself a drink from the hotel mini bar when he saw Rielle detach herself from the rest of the band and the security team and make her way over to him. Rand called for her, but she waved him off, and the group let her go, jumping in two hire cars and taking off. This was trouble. This was not being ten minutes from the blissful oblivion of a fresh made hotel bed. Fucking fantastic.
Jake had spent most of the day following the trapeze incident keeping his distance from Rielle. And he was keen to avoid her now. He didn’t need to give her one more excuse to think he was incompetent, and he was beyond humiliated about the whole fear of heights thing. Both from a professional and a personal point of view.
But now she was intent on getting in his face. She was striding across the car park, the long tendrils of her vivid hair flying in the breeze and her arms swinging. Before she got to him she called, “Jake, is that your bike?”
“Yeah.” He threw his leg over the royal blue Triumph, avoiding eye contact, and focussed on a quick getaway.
She stopped in front of the bike, forcing him to lift his head. “Take me for a ride.” She stood there, head tilted to one side, hands on her hips, an amused smile on her face.
