Get Into The Light: Chapter Eight- Dr Robotnik is no friend of mine

Charles raised his eyebrows. His eyes were red rimmed. His skin the colour of four day old turkey. He was a living experiment of what would happen to mankind if global warming took over. He never went outside. Spent all his time in an air conditioned dark room and never ate fresh foods or sat under a tree.

Forest strolled in. He was dressed like Jon Voigt in Midnight Cowboy but it was like the movie had continued to run another twenty five years until Jon’s hair had fallen out, his teeth rotted and his legs had grown into two tiny twigs.
‘How’s it going BAND?’ he said.
‘Great,’ Carl said, ‘I made a couple of new songs this week - they sound really good.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to get us any more gigs soon,’ Eddie said.
‘Oh yes. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve,’ Forest said, ‘But first we need more vocals. We need a truly great singer who can take some of these songs, and make them more personal, make something really magnificent.’
I didn’t feel uncomfortable with the idea of getting a proper singer. I found it stressful enough being the ‘speaker’. As long as I had some sort of artistic input and didn’t feel like I was being sidelined completely, it was fine.
‘There’s this girl Serena,’ Charles said, ‘She’s never really sung professionally but Eddie saw her dancing and thought she’d look great.’
‘We’re not looking for dancers,’ Carl said, ‘We’ve got Lola and Lynette to do that.’
‘You can never have too many dancers Carl,’ Eddie said, ‘And to be fair Lola- you don’t really dance much.’
‘Sometimes I do.’
‘You don’t tend to move about,’ Eddie continued.
‘Maybe you should move about?’ I said, ‘Why do the girls have to dance and the guys get to just stand there like they’re glued to the floor?’
‘I move,’ Eddie said.
‘And who told you that I didn’t move about much? Was it the photo shoot? Did Lynette say something?’
‘Lola- we’re not talking about the photo shoot now,’ Carl said bringing a rolled up magazine down on the desk so it made a loud thud.
‘What happened at the photo shoot?’ Eddie said.
Carl shot him a look and Eddie crawled under the desk.
‘Well there’s no harm in a girl being a good dancer is there?’ Forest said.

I was disappointed that Lynette had told Eddie about the photo shoot. I was also surprised and couldn’t figure out when they would have spoken because they didn’t tend to see one another unless we all met up. But I hadn’t heard from Lynette so it kind of made sense that she was laughing behind my back. Perhaps she’d even got some of the photographs and was showing them round. I cringed at the thought of me standing like a gormless teen in my flappy, glittering sack.
‘There’s also Miss Ellen. She’s sung with a few people and I saw her perform at the Roxy a few weeks ago. She’s really cool,’ Eddie said crawling back out from under the table.
I don’t want this girl to be good looking I thought to myself. I want her to have an unwieldy frame – ideally I’d like her to be in a wheelchair and totally immobile so she doesn’t show me up with her dancing. I want her to be someone whose thighs rub together and smells of talcum powder when you sniff her hair.
‘Who wants a cigarette?’ Carl said.
‘I only smoke if it’s grass,’ Forest said leaning back in his chair, ‘Tobacco alone is dry as a bone.’
The door bell went.
‘I’ll get it,’ I announced.
If the girl was really fantastic then it’d be easy enough to just shut the door in her face- maybe wait till she was halfway in the door and then shut it so she was slightly injured and wouldn’t be able to audition today. What was I saying? I was happy we were getting a singer. I was okay with the decision. I was the speaker. I was secure in my position and had nothing to worry about as long as she wasn’t Elizabeth Fraser.

I pulled the door open.
‘HIYA!’ a deep baritone voice shouted out.
The girl that stood in front of me had a square jaw and big shoulders. She was wearing a floor-length leopard skin coat with brown pointy boots poking out from underneath. She was pretty but not in a threatening way.
‘I’m Miss Ellen,’ she said.
‘Come in.’
‘So you are the speaker in the band and you write the lyrics,’ Ellen said following me up the stairs, ‘And these stairs are so lovely and polished.’
‘I also polish the stairs.’
‘Well that’s great!’
She had lovely brown eyes and long eye lashes that curled up to greet her hair line.
‘These men can be messy I bet,’ she said as we walked past the kitchen. The smell of greasy takeaway food was overwhelming, ‘This friend of mine- Pete- I think you know him too, well he recommended that I try out for the band. He said you were looking for a singer.’
‘How did you meet Pete?’
‘I work at a cabaret in the Red Light District and he comes and hangs out there sometimes. We have a few acts- like a guy who can hang an iron from his tongue and then this couple who like to mummify one another in front of an audience.’
‘I can’t imagine Pete doing anything that interesting.’
‘Oh he’s a really interesting guy. Did you know he’s been in a band and toured all over the world?’
‘Yes but he’s really straight nowadays. Or maybe I don’t know him that well.’
‘We’re not seeing one another if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she said.

‘Hi - you must be Eddie,’ Miss Ellen boomed as she walked into the room, ‘You’ve got quite a reputation. Seems like every DJ I talk to has at least ten or so of your records. And you must be Forest- I loved your book about Springsteen- it’s one of my favourites,’ she said lunging forward, kissing him on the cheek, ‘And you must be Carl,’ she reached forward and squeezed his hand, ‘I always loved ‘Secret Scribe’. I was a bit of a Goth myself when I was younger. I was on holiday in Mexico when I saw you guys. It was amazing, years before Depeche Mode started doing all that stuff with the leather waistcoats and gloomy visuals. And Charles- you’re the studio maestro behind it all heh?’
I marvelled at the fact that Miss Ellen had managed to flatter each person in the room and she’d done it effortlessly. It was quite an art. But then suddenly she wrinkled her nose.
‘You’re not smoking in here are you?’ she said, ‘Lola- I don’t know how you feel about this but I can’t have smoke getting on my vocal chords - you’ll have to put them out,’ she pulled the cigarette from Eddie’s hand and stubbed it out. She gestured for Forest and Eddie to do the same.
‘So what do you want me to sing?’
Eddie handed her the lyrics. I’d written them a few days before. Carl had worked on them too. They weren’t Ted Hughes - put it that way. The song was called – 'Get Into The Light'. It was a classic theme of dance music – life is pretty crap, sometimes you feel like you can’t cope with the challenges it throws in your path but if we all stand together, we can make a positive change and feel better about ourselves and strive for a better future.

It was complete bollocks.

Charles hit a button on the desk and the track started.
‘Can someone speak this in for me first?’ she said looking at me, ‘So I know when to come in.’
‘Okay,’ I said following her into the booth.
‘I like the whole concept of speaking on a record,’ she said, ‘I’ve never really heard of it before. I know there’s rap and stuff but this is different.’
‘I only do it because I can’t sing,’ I said.
‘Well don’t tell anyone that,’ Miss Ellen said gravely, ‘Don’t tell people what your faults are. Believe me they’ll make shit up anyway.’

I liked that idea and made a mental note to include it in one of my lyrics. Perhaps the next song would have a feminist slant and would be all about how guys expected you to dance and be sexy whilst they stood their like wooden spoons in the porridge and pressed a few buttons.
‘We should give her a chance,’ Eddie said as I walked out of the booth again, ‘ I like her, she’s gutsy and she’s got personality. She’s no wallflower.’
Was I imagining it or was he looking at me when he said that? I’m no wallflower. Okay I don’t strip down to my leggings and bra and gyrate all over the floor like I’m plugged into some 24 hour dildo machine - so sue me!

It turned out that Miss Ellen could sing. She could sing the back legs off a chihuahua or whatever the expression is. Her voice was original- it didn’t sound like anything you’d heard before. Now and then it lapsed into this guttural roar which was a bit OTT but she didn’t do that annoying thing of singing every note except for the note she was supposed to. She was more stripped back than some of the house singers I’d heard. But could also improvise which was obviously key when you only had two paragraphs of lyrics and a song that went on for ten minutes.

‘That was GREAT! Godverdomme GREAT!’ Eddie shouted as she came back out again.
Carl nodded.
‘It takes it into a whole different league,’ Charles said.
‘Very good,’ Forest agreed.
‘Amazing,’ I said.
‘So I think you’ve got the job,’ Carl said.
Miss Ellen had expended a lot of energy and looked tired yet happy.
‘Well I’m really looking forward to working with you,’ she said.
I wondered how things would pan out between her and Lynette. It seemed weird that Miss Ellen knew Pete and he had this interesting side to him that he kept concealed behind his newspaper and incessant dampening of Lynette’s life force.
‘If you see Pete – say hello from me,’ I said.
‘I don’t see him very often. Only once a week or so.’
‘That’s pretty often. Do you mind if I ask if he brings any women with him?’
‘I don’t mind and no, he doesn’t. He sits right at the front and he just sucks the whole thing in with his eyes. Sometimes he talks to the performers afterwards. He says it gives him ideas for his music.’

I walked her back down the stairs and waved as she got on her bike and rode away.
So Pete was interesting and he was making music. How strange.

‘She’s a bloke,’ Charles said as I stepped back in.
‘She’s not,’ Carl said.
‘She’s got a jaw like a bloke.’
‘You guys are pigs. Every woman is just a piece of meat and you don’t give her a chance unless she fits into a particular stereotype. It’s disgusting.’
I’d forgotten how I’d secretly wished for her to be enormous and sweaty and maybe even have a disability.
‘I don’t think we should underestimate the importance of looks in the overall mix, ‘ Forest said.
‘Looks are not what this band is about,’ Carl said.
‘So it’s not about dancing or looks so what are we a Quaker dance band?’ Eddie said.
‘We don’t want to be just a bunch of ugly guys with a couple of good looking girls who dance at the front,’ Carl said, ‘I want us to have some sort of integrity. I don’t want to be embarrassed to go on stage.’
‘Why not?’ Charles asked.

I’d like to say that the next two weeks were frantic with rehearsals and getting ready for a proper tour and writing lyrics and Carl staying up late at night making songs. But instead they were full of going out. Staying out. Sleeping during the daytime and going out again. I wasn’t really speaking to Lynette- I’d seen her a couple of times but still believed she’d told everyone how rubbish I’d been at the photo shoot. It was easy to avoid having a proper conversation. Everyone just spoke gibberish when you were out at night.

Then one night, Carl and I were upstairs at the studio. I’d been playing Sonic for many hours. I was supposed to be writing some lyrics so Miss Ellen could come in the next day and record them. I’d tried to elaborate on the feminist theme of women reduced to dancing puppets controlled by the evil male patriarchy but the lyrics were a bit heavy and I couldn’t imagine Miss Ellen singing them without people just laughing because dance music wasn't supposed to be all heavy- it was supposed to make people feel good. In fact I was beginning to think it would be a better idea if Miss Ellen wrote the lyrics and I reduced my role in the band so I had more time to play Sonic. I’d almost got past the final level many times and yet just when I really looked like I was going to make it, I lost all my lives and had to start again. There was something about the game that took over so all my lofty ideals about being a writer, being authentic, giving myself a challenge were forgotten and I just became a blue hedgehog collecting rings and trying my best to defeat from Dr Robotnik. It must have been late because I’d been snoozing on the floor, right next to the console. It wasn’t uncommon for me to fall asleep like this, sometimes even still clutching the controls and then wake up a couple of hours later and resume playing where I’d left of (as long as one of the guys didn’t come up and whip the controls from my clammy hand and played till they lost all of my lives too). In my half asleep haze, I could hear Carl’s voice in the background. He was on the phone. He was talking softly- in Dutch like he always did- like he was trying to hide whatever it was he was saying because it was something about me. I strained to hear what he was saying.
‘Yes the music’s going well. The singer is fantastic.’
There was a pause whilst the other person spoke.
‘No that’s not really the problem.’
Another pause.
‘No the real problem is Lola. She’s a child. And she’s really selfish. I realise that.’
I sat up - seized by panic. I’d dribbled a tiny bit and a small chain of spit ran from my mouth to the grey carpet. I grabbed the controls and pressed pause, pushing my back into legs of the sofa.
‘She’s out of her depth,’ he said.
‘Hey!’ I said spinning round and putting the controls down.
Carl held his finger up to his mouth.
‘What did you say?’ I said standing up.
Carl shook his head, then put his hand over the receiver, ‘I’m on the phone to Forest. He thinks there’s enough money to record a whole album. I can’t believe it!’
‘But what did you say about me?’
He shook his head again and took his hand away.
‘What did you say Carl?’ I was now standing next to him, trying to pull the receiver from his hand.
I had a dim recollection of my Dad trying to pry my fingers off the phone when I’d run up a really high bill ringing the ‘Talk-about’ teenage chat line. I tried the same tactic with Carl and peeled one finger at a time.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, ‘Look Forest I have to go. We’ll speak tomorrow yes?’
‘You were talking about me. I heard you!’
‘Lola. I didn’t even mention your name,’ Carl said putting the phone back in the cradle.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
There was some sort of internal tornado whipping up all my organs and churning them over and over. I had a burning sensation in my throat. He’d been saying terrible things. It was terrible that he was saying these things. And to Forest! We weren’t even friends with Forest! How could he betray me!
‘I said nothing about you. How the hell do you know what I said anyway? Why don’t you get some Dutch lessons and then you’ll understand and you won’t get so paranoid when I’m talking to someone.’
‘I’m not paranoid.’
‘You look like a wild animal!’
‘I was asleep and you knew I was asleep and so you were talking about me.’
I sat on the sofa and resumed the game. About twenty seconds later and all my lives had gone. Eddie skipped into the room. He was looking very refreshed for someone who had been mixing downstairs for eight hours straight.
‘Have I missed something?’ he said as he saw Carl and I glaring at one another, the air thick with dead Sonics and paranoia.
‘Nothing at all,’ Carl said, ‘Lola just needs to take a break from Sonic for a while.’
‘I have a secret trick so you can go straight to the last level,’ Eddie said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I said my hands shaking.
‘It’s not really a skill if you cheat though is it?’
‘I don’t care. I just want to beat Dr Robotnik so I can say that I’ve done it.’
‘I’ll show you tomorrow,’ Eddie said.

I closed my eyes again. I needed to be the bigger person. I needed to apologise to Carl. Perhaps I was just tired.

Perhaps that was all.