Dance On Fire - Chapter 01

'Where the fuck have you been?’ Stan, standing at the reception desk in the hotel lobby, had a large wad of cash in one hand, and a phone pressed against his ear by his shoulder. The telephone handset seemed as delicate as an insect’s leg trapped between the muscles of Stan’s massive shoulder and his close-cropped head.

‘No, not you,’ Stan said into the phone. ‘Double the money and then we’ll talk. Goodbye. Yes… yes… and you too, and your mother… with a goat.’

Stan slammed the phone down. He turned towards Pete Taylor, ignoring the timid gestures of the woman behind the hotel desk as she tried to give him a pen and a form to sign.

‘So… like I said: where the fuck have you been?’

An elderly man in a smart regimental blazer, passing the reception desk, tapped Stan on the shoulder. ‘I don’t think one should use language like that in front of ladies.’

Stan turned slowly, like a battleship in a small harbour. His upper lip curled and he growled at the old man, taking one step towards him. ‘What fuckin' business is it of yours?’

‘Er… I…. Sorry, is that old whatshisname over there? Sorry must be off, bye,’ The old man scampered off.

The receptionist coughed politely and tapped Stan’s arm with the pen. Stan snatched the pen from her hand and snapped it in half between two fingers. ‘Just wait a minute darlin'… I’m busy with this wanker.’ He turned back towards Pete. ‘So?’ Stan glared at Pete.

Pete shrugged and smiled weakly as Suzy came up behind him. She was carrying a large bag, a small tape recorder and struggling to put the change from the taxi back into her purse.

‘I… we…’ Pete shrugged again. This is ridiculous, Pete thought. I’m Pete Taylor. Yes, the Pete Taylor. I am thirty-ni… shit… forty…. No, forty-bloody-five years old… and I am... I am still scared of our manager…. After all these years, he still makes me feel like a guilty teenager.

Stan looked from Pete to Suzy and back to Pete. ‘So, that’s where you’ve been - shagging. You ought to be careful with that dick of yours. One day it is going to get you into serious trouble… yet again.’ He turned back to the receptionist and thrust a crumpled scrap of paper into her hand. ‘Here love, while I’m signing all your bloody forms, ring these rooms and tell the idle fuckers to get their arses down here, now!’

‘Who is that?’ Suzy whispered to Pete.

‘That’s Stan,’ Pete whispered back. ‘He’s our manager. I suppose it is him you’ll have to deal with… if you really want to do the job.’

‘Ah… right.’ Suzy shifted the bag to her other hand.

‘Don’t worry; he’s not always like this. Tours make him miserable these days.’

‘Excuse me, sir.’ The receptionist held out the phone to Stan. ‘The lady in room 315 would like to speak to you.’

Stan handed the wad of cash to the receptionist. ‘Here love, count this.’ He snatched the phone. ‘Yeah?’ He glanced around at Pete. ‘No… I found him. He’s here, by me. He’s picked up some slapper again, by the look of it. No… well, if you can get your fingers out of your muff long enough to get your knickers on and get down here, then we could fuck off. Yes, now!’ He slammed the phone down and leant on the desk, watching the receptionist carefully as she counted the money. He wiped his face slowly with his right hand. ‘I’m getting too old for all this fuckin’ about,’ he sighed.

‘Er… Stan,’ Pete said. ‘This is Suzy.’

Stan turned slowly. ‘Why do I need to know her name? You’re not in love again, are you?’

‘No. I’m… she’s a journalist.’

‘Ah, so it’s blackmail then, is it?’ Stan turned to Suzy. ‘So, what have you got… an exclusive of lover-boy here dressing up as a schoolgirl? Caught in a jacuzzi with a sheep?’

Suzy laughed nervously. ‘No, nothing like that. I want to do a serious piece, a sort of documentary of the band, on tour, backstage… and so on.’

‘A serious piece?’ Stan said. ‘I thought he said you were a journalist?’

Suzy smiled weakly. ‘Done right, I think it could even make a book… be a big seller. Make some serious money for you and me.’

‘Money?’ Stan put his arm around Suzy and led her away from Pete. ‘Come over here love, and we’ll talk business. So, why do you think there’s any money in yet another book about this bunch of clapped-out tossers? You know these days rock music is no longer subversive, no longer the devil’s music, don’t you? It’s become mainstream, part of the global entertainment landscape. These days, rock stars are about as dangerous and subversive as trainee supermarket managers… and a lot less interesting.’

‘I'll go and get my stuff then… from my room… then, shall I?’ Pete said to Stan’s back as Stan led Suzy away towards the bar.

Stan’s hand waved dismissively as he walked away without even glancing back at Pete. Pete stood for a moment, shrugged, and then turned and headed towards the lift.

About an hour after his return to the hotel, Pete was sitting on the low wall, just outside the hotel. He was watching the coach driver and a hotel porter have a quiet fag together while waiting for the band’s personal luggage to pack itself into the tour bus.

‘So, how was she?’

Pete looked up. Spike was standing on the top step, looking down at him.

‘Who?’

‘You were away all night. I presume there was a woman involved.’

‘Really?’

Spike sat down on the step next to Pete; her short blonde hair seemed spikier, more unruly than usual. ‘Shall I explain?’

‘Please.’

‘Last night - you do remember last night?’

‘Put that to one side for a moment - we’ll come back to that. What happened to me?’

‘I don’t know. One minute you were in the dressing room, chatting to some fans. The next you had gone. Hang on; I think they said they were from the University.’

Pete turned to face Spike. ‘University?’

‘Yes, Leeds University. You do know we are in Leeds, don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Pete lied, surreptitiously looking around. ‘Leeds, definitely. Oh, I think I remember now.’

‘So what happened then, last night?’

‘Well, I… presume we went back to where they - the students - live. I remember this… hall… thing with lots of doors and girls… lots of girls – women.’ Pete smiled at the memory. ‘Then this… this Jim said… said something…. Oh, I remember. He had these mates that would want to meet me. They were having a party at this house and….’

‘Students? I wouldn’t have thought we’d still be hip with students.’

‘Well, this was some Classic Rock Club or somesuch, apparently. I felt like one of those items they pass around on those antique programmes on the telly. No wonder I ended up with a massive hangover. I was drinking to forget.’

‘Didn’t work though, did it?’

‘Oh, it did… for a while, anyway.’

‘Ah, right.’ Spike looked up and smiled as she saw Johnny making his way down the steps.

‘So who is the woman with Stan then, Pete?’ Johnny said.

‘Woman?’ Spike said. ‘Interesting.’

‘Leave her alone you two, I saw her first,’ Pete said. ‘Her name is Suzy and she will, if Stan agrees, be joining us in a professional capacity.’

‘Ah, so you’ve got to the age where you have to pay them now, have you?’ Johnny sat down next to Spike, grinning up at Pete.

‘Sod off. No, she’s a journalist. She wants to do a piece… maybe a book… of the band from the inside, as it were. A sort of diary of a tour type thing… or something like that.’

‘Well,’ Spike said. ‘She’s buggered that then. There’s only one more gig on this tour. She does know that, doesn’t she?’

Pete shrugged.

‘You’re just trying to get into her knickers, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ Pete said and stood up. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Liar,’ Johnny said.

‘No, honestly. I am not trying to get into her knickers,’ Pete said as the other two looked up at him in disbelief. He walked off towards the coach. On the step of the coach, he turned back towards Johnny and Spike. ‘She doesn’t wear them.’