Access Restricted (The Access Series) Page 6

  “On, on, on to the next one.” I sang the snippet of Foo Fighters to myself. Next I had to call the woman who had started and been head of the fan club over here when Devised first came out. This, I was not looking forward to. I figured this was the real beginning—where all the stories were finally going to come out. Had he slept with her? I drew in a breath. Ouch. The thought actually hurt. But I wasn’t going to let my weakness fuck this up for me. I stiffened up. Ok bitches. He was with me now. At least for now. And it was fucking brilliant. And that was that. End of thinking. A little voice in my head said, yeah for now. And he’ll still be pulling the girls when you’re telling the story drunkenly to your flat mates as they creep out, leaving you passed out in your own aging memories. I shook my head. No. I wasn’t having it. Any of it. But the music business had its own little secrets. For instance, that for all its supposed cutting edge, change society and feed the world, did you say you wanted a revolution bullshit, the business was as traditional as a fairy tale. Macho intimidation and sex-as-a-weapon girls with an early sell-by date. Very few managed to get out of that little tradition unharmed. I was not going to be my worst enemy on this one. Fuck them, fuck all of them. I wasn’t dead yet.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, crossed one leg over the other, and stared towards the street through the gap left by the curtains. The usual street clatter, another day already heading past its apogee. A few black cabs went by. I punched in the number and pressed the button with the green phone receiver on it. Ringing. What to expect. Answerphone. Light, breathy voice. Cultured accent, but not too much. Sounded a bit tired. “You’ve reached Poppy. You know what to say.” Do I now, I thought. I left a brief message with my phone number. We were due to meet around five, where she lived in Notting Hill. I wondered if she was money Notting Hill, or holdover Notting Hill, from when it was street, and Reggae and Rasta and Rock and Roll, so different from now. Another mystery. I wondered if she was pretty.

  Tossing aside that thought, I marched into the bathroom, rinsed out my mouth, put on some fresh lipstick and touched up the eyeliner. I looked rough, but a kind of sexy, dirty around the edges rough. Perfect. I came out, zipped my suitcase up and put it on the rack next to the oak wardrobe, and zipped a tiny bit of toilet paper into it, by the corner. A little James Bond, but better safe than sorry. I’d like to know if someone was sniffing around. Laptop back in case, planner back in case, and I was ready to go, the recorder was already in there, all charged.

  I picked it all up, and looked around the room one last time. Fine. But empty. And for a minute, the loneliness of London hotel rooms swept over me, a vast parade of people who didn’t care catering to other people who didn’t care. The sunshine was already past the point where it could come through the windows into the room, a sort of eternal afternoon shadow falling over the plush pink carpet. Empty. Waiting. Alone. And possibly forever, moving on from floor to grave.

  Thinking like that, thinking of what could go wrong, the isolation of sitting in some perpetual shade, made me want a drink. Lots of them. Well, the idiocy of the band I was about to interview would probably put me off, along with the dirty glasses at the pub. What I needed to do was keep it together, not fall into bad old ways, partying it up with a collection of strangers.

  I shut the door a lot harder than was necessary, and went to have the doorman get me a taxi. Hooray for expense accounts. No fucking Tube. And moments later, as I sat back in the taxi, being driven around for the second time that day, but not so memorably, I thought, I looked out the window at the London I used to vaguely inhabit. I almost believed we would turn a corner, and I’d see myself, coming out of a pub, or a charity shop, or my latest tutoring job, looking wistfully at the taxi, before setting off to walk home. I’d always hated the Tube. It made me claustrophobic, and slightly paranoid. And of course it was a well-known fact that when you blew your nose after taking the Northern Line, you would see the residue from the smoky, soot encrusted air you breathed in while waiting on the platform. They don’t show that in the TV shows. So, back in the day, I’d done a lot of walking, and a lot of thinking.

  And now I was in my own black cab, paid for by Dave, and thinking about the band. I could complain, but I wasn’t going to. And there was Tristan. I closed my eyes when I thought back to just…this morning? Now it seemed a hundred years ago. I wondered what he was up to. I didn’t even want to think about him too much. I couldn’t afford to get all dreamy and misty eyed now. It was enough to feel the ache between my legs, and smile at how it got there. A united front, he’d said. God, I hoped so.

  Right now, I needed to be hard. Or else these people would tear me apart, and I’d wind up letting them, too bemused and lovesick to do anything else. No. I’d make him proud of me. Hell, I’d make me proud of me. It had been a long fucking road, after all.

  Chapter 7

  I had the cab drop me off on Camden High Street, just past the corner. It all looked about the same, grotty, busy, a bunch of kids sporting punk pink Mohicans hanging out by the Tube station, private school kids with their skirts hiked up as high as they dared trying on sunglasses and buying the little transgressive bits of paraphernalia that would make them feel like they were breaking out. Nothing changes, I thought. And the tourists with maps and cameras, and the older women dragging behind their shopping trolleys, going home from a trip to the frozen food store, Iceland, after getting their pension cheques. Two frozen fish fillets, a packet of biscuits, tea, and a pint of milk. The mini gangs dealing drugs, some actually dangerous, and the police hardly ever moved them on. The metal lovers, so pierced up and tattooed that they couldn’t get any other job besides handing out flyers, killing time and making a few quid until the next gig. Yeah. Plus ça change, and all that.

  I walked down the pedestrianized street, by the few stragglers selling junk from their hastily put up stalls, with the red striped tarps overhead, and the two homeless guys sitting in a doorway, drinking from a huge bottle of cider. The pub was right on the corner, white paint, some graffiti here and there (Liam rules!). I went in and the smell of old beer soaked carpets made me gag. Jesus. It was even worse than the last time I’d been in here. I nodded to the guy at the bar, and went to the other side. There they were. Three guys, one with a beard, fairly average and nondescript, dressed in jeans and flannel and t-shirts. One guy, a bit older, already losing his hair. That must be Rod, who I’d spoken to on the phone. And then the girl. They hadn’t even noticed me. They probably hadn’t noticed anyone else since the day she came into their little orbit. Super blond, big blue eyes, hard mouth prettified under a dollop of shiny red lipstick. She was wearing a dress that reminded me of what Julia Roberts wore at the beginning of Pretty Woman. Total hooker clothing. No bra, big tits. Yeah, no wonder no one really cared if she could sing. Their ears had no blood supply, it was all down in their cocks. Man. What a set-up for these guys. They needed a hook, because they weren’t star quality, and she needed some safety, and most importantly, some guys who would tell her she was great. All the time.

  Of course, she noticed me first. Her eyes narrowed. This was the type that didn’t pray at night before bed for good things and world peace, but practiced her cutting put-downs. I quailed a bit inside, and crushed it. Turn it around. Let’s see what you got bitch. I’m writing your future.

  I grimaced, and walked over to the table. I smiled at all of them and looked at the manager, holding out my hand, waiting for him to stand up. No. He didn’t. Idiot.

  “I’m Lily Taylor, you must be Rod, nice to meet you.”

  “Oh right, Lily, Rod, we talked on the phone.” He finally extended his hand, and I took it. It was clammy, and spongy. I was thrilled when he dropped it to point out the members of the band. “That’s Jim,” he said, indicating the guy with the beard, and the big eyes. He probably wrote the songs, we’d see. “This one’s Andy,” pointing out the big blond with the glasses. He, at least, stood up to shake my hand. Something to go on. Maybe we can get a few sentences strung together out
of him. “And Joe,” stretching out his moist hand towards the guy with the curly ginger hair. “And of course,” he said, his smile oozing across his face, “our star, Fee.” I smiled at her and watched her stare at me evilly, then suddenly burst into a big smile.

  “Oh Rod told me we were being interviewed by The Core magazine! I’m so excited. Really.” Her accent was incredibly thick, bouncing up and down as much as her boobs, which seemed to have a life of their own. “You’re not who we expected though.”

  Oh here it comes. Let’s see if those nights practicing have paid off, I thought.

  She carried on. “We thought we were getting the big boss. Are you sure you’re good enough for us? We’re the next big thing you know!” And she squealed and high fived each of her band mates.

  The looks on their faces were priceless. I smiled at her. “Oh, I’ll try my hardest,” I said, looking around at her band mates, “to make sure you have the write-up you deserve.” I sat down, and put my best “I’m really boring” face on. It worked like a charm.

  “Oh this is probably so exciting for you, this job, isn’t it? Getting to meet all these cool people you wouldn’t ordinarily meet.” She hissed and gurgled. The boys in the band all laughed. She was one of those. Warming to her theme, and sticking to it. Well, if you’ve got only one theme, use it, I thought.

  “Yes, I’m so lucky,” I replied drily, getting out the recorder. This was going to be captured for all time. We were all so lucky. “Hang on just a sec while I set up the mic. I’m going to record it, hope that’s ok.”

  She spoke again. Didn’t the rest of them have balls? Or had she eaten them already? “Oh that’s fine. We’re so used to it now, aren’t we guys?” They all beamed. “We just love it here, so exciting.”

  “Ok, hang on. All right, good to go,” I said, pressing the button that would render her squeak to an electronic eternity. “Why don’t you tell me how you met these,” I paused, “talented gentlemen? You must have done something out of your usual circuit, to come across them.” I smiled. She looked up at me. Yes, dear, I thought. Well done. You noticed. She hesitated. “Maybe one of them was a high school sweetheart? Or a friend of your brother? Do you come from a big family?”

  She giggled, and put her arm around the guy with the beard. “Oh, you’re so right! How did you know? Jim here was my older brother’s best friend. They had a little band together in my parents’ garage. And when I was thirteen, you know, just starting to…develop,” here she dissolved in giggles again, “I was interested in music, you know. They played like, AC/DC, real Aussie boy stuff, but I got them to learn a Spice Girls song for me.”

  I nodded, and looked encouragingly at Jim. Maybe he would say something. “Jim, how did she convince you?” He started blushing. I followed it up. “This sounds like a great story, how it all begins…” She interrupted me.

  “It was the funniest thing! They were down there, all serious.” Fee was loving the spotlight now. Some of the other punters had moved a little closer. A little bit of sex and rock and roll to break up the monotony of getting wasted. “So, first,” her accent actually got thicker, “I threatened them. I told them I’d tell my parents what they were up to, um, smoking and all. And they said they didn’t care. But I kept bothering them, you know? And I’d be down there, listening. Then I said I’d show them my bra! That worked! But I had to take it off to get them to let me sing.’ She sighed happily. “But it was worth it. Because here we all are.”

  Nice. Lovely. I tried to act like I’d just heard a heart-warming tale. “That’s great. What a story. And you two,” I said, looking at Andy and Joe, who hadn’t said a word, “how did you get involved?”

  Rod spoke up. “They met up at school, you know, the usual thing.”

  Interesting. They don’t speak. “So how old are you all now?”

  Jim spoke up. “I’m twenty-two, and Andy and Joe are both twenty-three.”

  I turned my attention to him. “Do you write the songs?” Let’s see if my guess was right, I thought.

  “Yeah, I do mainly. The other guys come in with ideas, and Fee, she’ll change a lyric if she thinks it goes better with the song.”

  “Is there a particular genre of music you feel you fit into? You’ve got a lot of influences here—surf music, hard rock, pop—are you drawn to one of those in particular?”

  “I’ve always been a big fan of hard guitar sounds, so we try to put those in and mix up some keyboards. Electronica as well.” He looked nervous. “I put things together, and then we adapt them to Fee’s style of singing, and…” he stopped, interrupted by Fee.

  “You see, we all just work so well as a team! We’re really sensitive, at least when we’re not in the mosh pit, or like when we used to push our way into clubs. We all love each other, don’t we boys?” They all nodded. She was bouncing up and down in her seat. They were riveted again. It was quite something to watch. “We’re all about the fans, trying to give them a good time, a good party, like we’ve got back home, right? If they get a bit drunk and wild, that’s good, then we know they’re getting it, having fun.”

  I tried to turn the direction slightly. “What are your audiences like? Do you think there’s a certain type you see in the crowd?”

  She giggled again. It was getting irritating. “Of course, we get a lot of guys. Really cute guys.” The boys in the band all sagged at bit at this. They’d be sloughed off soon enough, it was obvious. Jim might survive, with his quasi-schizoid appeal. I hoped his songs were developing. I felt kind of sorry for him, strangely enough. I turned to him.

  “And Jim, of course you get a lot of girls.” He actually smiled. Bless. “Have you gotten to meet some other songwriters, people you admire?”

  “I met the guys from Death Cab, they were really great. And Modest Mouse. Great band, love them.” He actually seemed animated. I glanced over at Tits. She was sulking, waiting for her moment. “But I’d love to meet some of the classic heroes, like Angus,” he added. “Love you Angus! If I could get to meet him, I’d die a happy man.” Ah, a real fan. It made me like him more.

  But Fee was shouting. “Off off off! Angus showing his ass, but everyone strips down! I love their shows, they’re just brill. And they are still going, even though they’re what, like a hundred now! Yeah!” She stood up and started singing, with fervor, if a little off key, “she was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen” to general applause from the half empty pub. She then took a bow, bending over so low I thought I got a glimpse of her belly button piercing. More general cheering. I wished I wasn’t sitting directly in front of her. I was sure most of the people behind me felt the same way.

  As the cheers died down, I thought maybe I’d had enough. A couple of more questions about the album, and I could get the hell out of there.

  “So guys, the album. There’s a lot of buzz around you, and your show at South by Southwest really got a lot of interest. You’ve got a label now, when can we expect the album?”

  Rod stepped up for this one, as I figured he would. “Yeah, it’s been great, the label’s so behind us.” And then he added, as though he couldn’t resist, “I think Dave’s going to wish he got us for our first cover, it’s going to be historic!” They all cheered again.

  I wouldn’t be deflected though. “Have you got tracks ready? You must be hoping to go into the studio very soon.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be in there next month. Jim’s just finishing up the last few songs.” He looked over at him, and Jim shook his head, his smile a bit more of a grimace than an actual smile. No wonder he was nervous. “We’re going to be doing it in LA—all sunshine! We’re ready to put down the tracks.”

  Man, I hoped so, for Jim’s sake. They wouldn’t get another shot at this. One more quote. Maybe I could get the whole band to talk. “So, to wrap up, maybe each of you could send a shout out to your fans. Jim, let’s start with you.” I looked at him.

  “Uh, yeah, thanks for coming to the shows and
being there.” Great.

  “Joe?”

  He took a big swig of beer before he answered. “It’s a party, it’s all good.” Ok, that was a bit more promising, if unsurprising.

  “Andy?”

  “Love you, all the fans, just keep on coming.” Fair enough.

  “And last but not least,” I simpered, “Fee.”

  “All you guys, you’re the best, I wanna see more of you, and you’ll see more of me! Yeah!”

  God.

  I thanked them, told the manager I’d be in touch about the photographer for tomorrow’s show, and packed up as fast as I could. Even the air in the fetid little side street felt like sweet nectar after the fermented beer and smoke smell in the pub. I took a couple of deep breaths, which made me dizzy, and headed over towards Primrose Hill. I checked my phone. 3:30 p.m. No messages. Ok. I’d sit in the park for twenty minutes, then get a cab over to Notting Hill. I messaged Dave:

  New band done. They thought they’d get to meet you. I sent your regards.

  I thought about sending a message to Tristan. No. I’d sit first and clear my mind. Make some notes. Walking through the pastel colored stucco houses, and the curved road leading to the park, it occurred to me, not for the first time, what a city of contrasts London was. That all the tea and gardens, prettified urbanity, was just the organized surface, minutes away from dirt and disorder. And the Queen and country image only a very small part of what was out there. Maybe that was true anywhere. You could always be surprised by what lay underneath.

  The interview had been strange, but ultimately, safe. Not so for the next one. I wondered what would happen. This time, I couldn’t predict what she was going to say.