Get Into The Light: Chapter Eighteen- Drug-Taking Zombies Are No Fun

The next morning I was full of self-loathing. Carl was the perfect partner. I was an ungrateful fool. Even when I’d got back to the flat at two in the morning, he’d just furrowed his brow and looked worried that perhaps I was starting to go nuts again. He asked about the video, whether I was happy with how it had gone, whether Joost had managed to get more material this time – had I enjoyed the whole thing now it was just the two of us? Lynette had called twice, trying to find out where we both were. Carl’d been a bit worried but assumed I’d just needed to relax and have a drink – he knew how tense I’d been last time. It was okay. We didn’t have to do everything together all the time. And I tried to forget about what happened. But on balance, it wasn’t a great idea to go along to a big party two nights later. But the Penguin Party was one of these things that we’d bought tickets for months in advance. It had some really good DJ’s playing and was going to he held in one of the old swimming baths in the East of Amsterdam. The theme was Christmassy even though it was the beginning of May. It seemed that most club nights were running out themes these days. Penguins in May made just as much sense as Snakes, Vampires, Savages and Hollywood Heroines.

‘The promoter had some snow left over from a New Years Eve party in Pumerend,’ Forest said as we settled onto a sofa near the bar.
It was early but already the terrible pong of evacuated bowels hung in the air and intermingled with the acrid smell of smoke billowing in from the main room next door. Someone had replaced the water in the swimming pool with a load of people who were completely out of it.
‘So you must be excited? The new version of the video will be on MTV in a week.’
‘I’m just hoping I’m actually in the video this time,’ I said.
I took a sip of beer. Beer was as far as I was going tonight. There was no way my brain could handle anything else.
‘Where’s Carl?’ Forest asked, licking his teeth.
It was difficult to tell whether he was permanently lascivious or just suffered from a really dry mouth. I suspected the smart drugs he was taking to keep him young had negative side effects.
‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘I don’t know quite what happened but I feel almost normal again.’
‘Almost normal- that’s all most of us can hope for.’
‘It was frightening. I still can’t quite believe what happened.’
‘Too much drugs. Not enough vitamins. Or sleep. It’s pretty straightforward.’
‘But everyone else does drugs and they’re okay. Why me?’
But before Forest could answer - what would he have said? Maybe something about my brain chemistry not being balanced, maybe that I was younger than the others or had some hereditary defect – it was true that Dad was very sensitive to alcohol and got drunk at the drop of a hat- Carl appeared. I was disappointed to see the sheen of sweat on his face and his jet black eyes. We’d made a pact that we wouldn’t do drugs and yet here he was completely out of it already. Maybe this was his way of paying me back for coming home late. Perhaps he suspected something had happened.
‘I just had a small one,’ Carl whispered, ‘Lynette said it seemed a shame to waste it.’
‘We were supposed to stop,’ I hissed.
Forest got up and walked to the bar as Carl fell into the sofa.
‘This is the last time,’ he said
‘It’s not fair. How do you expect me to spend all night with a bunch of monkeys.’
‘Look don’t make a big deal of this. It’s just one night. Look there’s plenty of people who are just drinking alcohol.’
Carl gestured to a bar which was almost devoid of people. The small group slumped in one corner were sipping bottles of water. Why was it that I couldn’t join them? Was it some sort of imbalance? And were all those thoughts truly gone now? Or would I always live in fear of them coming back? Carl squeezed my hand but I pushed him away.
‘I didn’t even want to come tonight.’
‘Listen guys, I’ve got some really good news,’ Forest said and plonked another couple of beers on the table, ‘We’ve been asked to play at the ’16 Hour Trance Marathon’ at the Marcanti Plaza’.
‘What is the Marcanti Plaza?’ I said.
‘The Marcanti Plaza,’ Forest said, ‘Is one of the biggest nightclubs in ALL OF THE NETHERLANDS. Four dance rooms, two chill outs, an open courtyard with twenty foot water feature and about six bars.’
‘Aren’t Zarzar playing?’ Carl said opening his eyes and leaning forward, ‘How did you manage to get us on the same bill?’
‘Yep- that’s right. Zarzar. And a load of English DJs that haven’t been confirmed yet. I’ve heard Underworld might even play.’
Playing on the same bill as Zarzar was intimidating. Imagine Underworld! A proper dance act who’s video was actually on normal MTV and not just Party Zone! What if my voice disappeared? Or what if I got the urge to shout again? What if my body refused to dance? And there was no way I could go on stage sober- not in front of that many people. Just as I was dreaming up some sort of concoction that would make me into a brilliant performer, a penguin shuffled past. It waved unenthusiastically.
‘I almost didn’t recognise Pete,’ Carl said, ‘He’s doing some extras type work now. I think he’s being paid about 50 guilders to wander around like that.’
‘He doesn’t look very rock and roll,’ I said.
‘The Marcanti Plaza. And on the same bill as Zarzar. What next?’ he sighed and leant back, letting his head slide further down so he was almost lying on the floor.

I felt sorry for Pete. Even though I’d never really liked him and thought he was a complete grump. At least he was reliable and didn’t try to hit on other women. I wondered whether he was still seeing Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen wasn’t looking to settle down either. She was one of those enviable people who really didn’t need anyone. She charged out on stage with her bare bum! A bon viveur- that was her. She didn’t need drugs to have a good time. I could learn a few lessons from that lady. But Lynette was the opposite- she needed a stabilising influence- she needed someone telling her it was time to go home- she needed a sponsor. And Joost wasn’t that person because he was the type of person that got a woman drunk (his girlfriends best friend) and then tried to get off with her in the toilet. And I’d only reciprocated because Carl and I were going through a bit of a damp squib of a patch at the moment. We were the equivalent of wilting lettuce. And Carl wasn’t helping things with his cavalier approach to drugs and his total lack of support. He had that monkey face already. He was so bloody annoying. I took another slurp of beer. Carl’s head was now resting in my lap. Many months ago I would have found it endearing. Now I just found it infuriating. He was a floppy man. He was wilting lettuce. I was the dynamic one. I was getting my life together and he was useless- a drugged up tool. It was good that I’d gotten off with Joost- Joost was the kind of guy I needed. Carl was quite literally a dead weight in my lap.
‘Do you love me?’ he said looking up.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Oh don’t be like that,’ he slurred.
‘You promised.’
‘We’ll be playing at that Marcanti Plaza baby. Can you believe it?’

I thought about our last performance. I thought how unpredictable the whole thing was. Wasn’t it normal for people to practice before they went on stage? To have some sort of plan? Surely it was no accident that we looked like a bunch of amateurs up there! Instead of hanging out at parties, we needed to be rehearsing, we needed choreography, tuition, careful thought and preparation.
‘I want to get better,’ I said to Forest because he was the only one listening now as Carl seemed to have fallen asleep, ‘I want the audience to really enjoy the performance – I want to be memorable. I want to have my own unique act.’
Forest nodded enthusiastically.
‘But don’t get too self- conscious. Try and be spontaneous and authentic.’
‘I don’t want to be like the other dance acts. With a couple of bimbo girls in leotards dancing and two guys behind the keyboards. It’s just the same old formula.’
‘Well change it. How do you want to come across? What do you want people to think?’
‘I want them to literally forget everything. I want them to lose all sense of time. I don’t want them to be thinking about how they’re getting home and whether the tram will still be running or whether they can afford to get a cheese soufflé from the Febo. None of that everyday stuff.’
‘That’s a big ask Lola. You’re asking a lot from an audience.’

Carl’s head was cutting off all feeling in my lap. Perhaps Forest was right. I was setting my sights too high. I’d be lucky if I could even remember the words and do my naff bit of dancing. I was miscast in the role of singer and dancer. I should have been the one behind the keyboards and little Mr Monkey Man could take centre stage. We needed to play around with the band dynamics more. I was never going to be Stevie Nicks. And Carl wasn’t helping because he was totally failing to take any of this band stuff seriously. What was the point in noodling away on your computer all day, adjusting the length of one crappy sample but then getting totally out of it so you had to lie in bed for three days and didn’t have time for a proper rehearsal? No wonder Zarzar were professional and we weren’t. But part of the problem was right this moment, I was also very jealous because Carl was in that lovely, warm, fuzzy place and he’d just left me sitting on the sidelines with a brain full of insecurities and annoyances and it didn’t matter if I drank ten beers, I’d never be able to get to that self-same fuzzy world. Perhaps one pill really didn’t matter?

I tried to remember the girl who had thought the TV was talking to her, that had witnessed lights going on and off of their own accord, who had thought she was responsible for thousands of people drowning at sea. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. Even when I’d been in the midst of it, it had felt unreal- like none of it was happening and I was just watching someone else unravel. It really hadn’t been very long ago. But I found it hard to believe that any of that stuff had happened. If my brain was trying to protect me then it was doing a pretty awful job- those experiences should have been kept fresh forever- to act as permanent deterrent but it was tempting to try and explain it away- perhaps I’d just been overtired? Was it really just the case that I’d overdone it and would be okay with just the odd few drugs now and then? Why was I any different to everyone else? Perhaps it was all okay- I just needed to keep it at a good and wholesome level. I took another sip of beer. Forest was staring at a girl slumped at the next table. She seemed to be talking to a beer mat.
‘It’s a good thing you’ve decided not to do drugs anymore,’ he said licking his teeth again.
‘It’s a bit boring.’
‘THAT is boring,’ he said nodding in the girl’s direction.
‘This is boring,’ I said gesturing downwards at Carl.
Forest nodded.
‘You need to rise above it all Lola.’
Carl tried to sit up but then gave up and let his head fall back again. It was going to be a slow night. Any moment now he would get a sudden burst of energy and disappear for hours.
‘I forgot an even BIGGER piece of news,’ Forest said out of the blue.
Carl seemed to stir and this time managed to sit up straight.
‘I got a phone call yesterday and this TV producer from RTL4 wants us to perform on the ‘Dutch National Lottery Show’’.
‘TV!’ I said louder than anticipated, ‘I don’t think I can handle that. I don’t think that’ll be HEALTHY for me. You know I haven’t really been well for very long Forest.’
Carl nodded.
‘It might be too soon for TV.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll both be fine. It won’t be live. You’ll have a dress rehearsal. Imagine how many people watch that show!’
‘Yes but I’m not ready for TV. Look at my face. Does this look like the kind of face you want to see on TV?’ I grimaced.
‘Here have a cigarette. Don’t even start thinking about it yet. Just relax.’

I couldn’t help thinking that there were plenty of other people out there who would truly relish being in my situation. There were people who only ever dreamt of being on TV. They spent hours in their bedrooms practicing their acceptance speeches for Awards Ceremonies - their sole ambition was to be watched by thousands. I’d never been one of these people. Okay now and then I liked to imagine there was a camera following me around and in unguarded moments I liked to give myself a narrative but didn’t everyone do the same thing? Didn’t it help to think that your life had more significance than a speck of grit on a snail’s undercarriage? But I’d never contemplated being on TV. You had to be one of those really confident people to look good on TV. There was no room to get insecure. Cameras sniffed out insecurity in a jiffy. That was exactly what had gone wrong with the music video. It was all or nothing. You couldn’t be half-arsed about it. Just thinking about a camera panning into my face, a real TV camera, in a TV studio with an audience, well I really needed to get home and start practicing my face, my dance and yet Forest was right, it needed to look un-self-conscious and natural.

The evening passed very slowly. It didn’t matter how many beers I drank, I remained sober. Carl went into the empty swimming pool full of morons and waved his arms in the air. Lynette and Joost were down there too. I knew Carl’d have trouble getting out again. He would be down there for a long time now. I thought it was quite possible that he’d taken more than one pill.

I realised how easy it was for these promoters to make loads of money when their average audience was always semi-conscious. We were not a discerning audience (I was tonight but I was in the minority). As long as you had a couple of women in fluffy bikinis and a smoke machine, it was a done deal. We didn’t demand nice canapés or fancy hand soap in the toilets. We were happy as long as it flushed. Overjoyed to find a square of clean bog roll. And they’d really stinged out on the décor- there was nothing but little piles of fake snow tossed here and there and when you bent down you saw they were just polystyrene balls, the kind used to transport crockery and the piles were just covered in fag butts and chewing gum. The smoke machine that seemed to be blowing smoke into the pool (wasn’t that dangerous? Wouldn’t people suffocate?) was only giving out a half-hearted attempt now and then. The DJ hadn’t changed the record for three hours. I longed for something with some vocal. Something that actually had a touch of humanity and didn’t sound like a load of hammers against metal pans. The chill out room had a projection of a bird flying across the sky (the same bird haunted each party- it flew round and round, it’s beautiful white-tipped wings symbolising so many things that you never really remembered the significance of come the morning). People were lying on the floor looking wasted. I’d been wandering around for an hour. I was an anthropologist. I was doing my thesis on 1990s Dutch dance culture. I wasn’t quite sure what to say about it yet.

I wondered if I’d ever be able to have fun.

I sat in the corner on top of a dirty looking white beanbag and thought about getting my bike from outside and going home. I’d get in and make a big pot of tea and then I’d watch CNN (there was never anything else on late at night) and I might even write Mum a letter because I hadn’t been in touch for ages. I’d fall asleep and at least in the morning I’d feel semi-normal and then I’d get a plan together for the big gig at the Plaza and Carl would finally wake up in three days and we could discuss it. A man sat down next to me. He was wearing a T-shirt designed to change colour whenever it came into contact with something damp. So the bits under his armpits and round his chest were pink whilst the rest of the shirt was green. I didn’t understand the benefit of this T-shirt at all.
‘Bummer,’ he said offering me a roll up, ‘This party is pretty shitty.’
I nodded.
‘And the tickets were expensive. Don’t you think the whole party scene is changing in Amsterdam?’
I started to tell him my theory about promoters taking the mickey out of wasted people but when I turned to look at him, he’d fallen asleep.

Over the next half an hour, I heard all of the following. I knew these phrases well. I’d always thought it was so easy to communicate at these types of parties but that was when I had drugs to help.
‘‘These capsules are fantastic, have you had one?’
‘I haven’t come down for four hours straight.’
‘Have you got anything to drink?’
‘My mouth is dry.’
‘Do my eyes look alright?’
‘Have you heard that new ‘Sheer Taft’ remix?’
‘I need water.’
‘I love you.’

I got up from the floor and walked to the ladies. I studied my face in the mirror. For the first time in ages, I could meet my own gaze in the mirror without flinching. The only person here who looked normal. Okay I looked fed up, like I wanted to go home but at least I was grounded. I could walk in a straight line, tie a shoe lace, hold a conversation with someone without bringing my own personal physiognomy into it all the time- my eyes, my stomach, my head, my eyes – blah blah blah. All these people were just retreating into their own bodies. As I sat down by the deserted bar, Pete the Penguin appeared. I motioned for him to sit next to me. His face was squeezed into a fluffy penguin head so you could just see his eyes and mouth. He tried to sit down with difficulty, his black flipper hands waving helplessly at his side. He wrenched his yellow plastic beak off and attempted to scratch at his cheeks where the elastic had been. A red line stretched across his face.

‘You alright?’ he said, ‘I heard you weren’t well.’
‘I know – everyone knows about it. I feel like I’m a complete freak.’
We sat staring at all the pretty bottles.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be working?’
‘I’m finished now. My shift was ten till three.’
‘It’s not a bad job.’
‘It’s pretty awful.’
‘Do you even like dance music?’ I said.
‘No I hate it. It’s for idiots.’
I looked around at the hordes of people swaying enthusiastically to ‘Little Fluffy Clouds’. Pete was a rarity- he was one of the few people I’d met in Amsterdam who still actually liked rock music. I admired his steadfastness and refusal to get on board with trends.
I offered him a cigarette and we ordered two beers. I felt relaxed. He was probably the only other person apart from the barman who hadn’t taken anything. He wasn’t about to tell me how much he loved me. Or how cool our friendship was. In fact I was pretty sure Pete couldn’t stand the sight of me. It was probably the band and Lynette getting involved that had messed their relationship up in the first place.
‘Lynette misses you, ’ I said eventually.
‘I doubt it. Don’t feel like you need to make things up Lola. I really don’t care that much anymore,’ he said.
He tried to give an impression of not being bothered but I could see a glimmer of something in his face. He still had feelings for Lynette. Otherwise why was he sitting next to me? He didn’t even know me very well. It was clear he was trying to scope out what was going on with Lynette these days. I had to try and get them back together somehow. But why? So I could go out with Joost? No that wasn’t it. I was being altruistic. I knew that these two were better suited that was all. I wanted them to be happy. It was out of balance at the moment. Lynette was liable to go off the rails without Pete’s influence in her life. I didn’t want another person to go through what I’d gone through (though Lynette had an iron constitution- she would probably live to be about ninety and she was strong on a mental level too- she had a lot of self-belief which I completely lacked).
‘She’s still got feelings for you. She talks about you all the time,’ I said.
‘That’s a surprise,’ he said flatly.
‘How are things with Miss Ellen?’
‘What do you mean?’.
‘Are you happy?’
‘I guess that’s really none of your business.’

We sat a while longer. The sense of camaraderie had disappeared. I’d been a fool to even feel it in the first place. Lynette was right about Pete- he just had the unique ability to make you feel really crap. What was I even doing talking to him? I really wished I had the guts to tell him he was an arsehole.
‘Does Lynette know about Miss Ellen?’ Pete said.
I didn’t even want to bother answering him. Why was I trying to get them back together?
‘Not sure,’ I said, ‘I’ve been a bit out of touch with everything.’
‘Sorry- I didn’t mean to be rude just now.’
‘Well you generally are pretty rude. But that’s your problem.’
‘I guess I deserve that.’
Pete twisted the yellow beak in his hand until it almost broke in half.
‘It’s not serious- me and Miss Ellen. It’s just a really heavy flirtation. She’s not looking for anything more. Lynette and I were serious. I would have done anything for her. Did you know that?’
He put his beak back on, shuffled off the stool and walked off. I looked around and I was the only person in the bar. Everyone else was dancing or dead in the toilet. The noise from the next room was deafening. I wanted to go home. And just as I was trying to figure out if I had the key to the bike lock or not, Lynette walked in. She must have walked right past Pete and not even recognised him. I hadn’t spoken to her all night. I wondered if she was going to ask about the late night out with Joost but as she got closer, I saw she too was in another place and had no memory or interest in anything apart from a glass of water and maybe a warm shoulder to lean on for a while.
‘I was just talking to Pete,’ I said.
‘I don’t even know that name,’ she said smiling.
‘I think he still has feelings for you,’ I said.
‘Don’t get all heavy now. I’m just enjoying myself.’
She stuck her bottom lip out and closed her eyes. I could see her eyeballs dancing from side to side underneath the lids.
‘I don’t know what I want to do right now. Dance? Sleep? Sit down?’
‘It doesn’t really matter. You won’t remember tomorrow anyway.’
‘Hey- come on- don’t get all depressive on me,’ she said opening her eyes.
‘I’m going home,’ I said.

I located the bike lock and managed to convince Lynette to let me lock Carl’s bike to her one. Just as I was going back inside for a minute to drop the key back to her, Joost came up and squeezed my arm.
‘I want you Lola,’ he slurred in my ear.
His breath smelt really sour.
It was almost like one of those American Public Information Films where all the actors have cross- eyes and stagger about after one drag on a roll up. I didn’t feel envious of any of them anymore. I just needed tea and a hot shower and then bed.
‘Can you give this to Lynette?’ I said dangling the key in his face.
He had difficulty focusing on it but eventually grabbed it from my hand and slid it into his pocket. I doubt he even remembered that we’d kissed a couple of days before. I didn’t feel guilty anymore, just foolish that I’d been taken in. I wasn’t anything special to him. He was just one of those people who flirted with every person he met and tried to see how far he could take it. Even now he was still holding onto my arm and squeezing it. I just hoped Lynette didn’t witness it- or perhaps it would be beneficial if she did.
‘Let go of me,’ I said.
Where was Carl? How could he just have abandoned me after everything that had happened in the past few weeks?
‘What a boring girl,’ Joost said staggering towards the toilets.
I had the terrible scratchy feeling in my throat. I hoped I wasn’t going to cry. I got my coat from the cloakroom and unlocked the bike. I got on and peddled as fast as I could.

I felt like I’d just escaped a village of zombies. I hadn't felt such relief in a long time.