Chapter 6
Chapter Six
After the exertion of giving my wife a couple of orgasms and her returning the favour by sucking me dry in the shower, I go back to bed while she heads out for a day of shopping with Jimmie and George.
I eventually wake up just after noon. After a quick coffee and the bowl of porridge Ash insists I have to eat every day, I go back to the study and start reading…
The next few weeks were the stuff of dreams. Our album broke into the top ten on the Tuesday charts, just a day after its release. It was number one by the following week.
The entire UK tour was a sell-out, and extra dates were added where possible.
Maca’s birthday arrived, but there was no sign of Georgia.
Until that point, we had been on our best behaviour―back to our hotel rooms, or just to the bar for a few quiet drinks, but not Maca. He just went back to our room alone as soon as each show ended.
Kombat Rock were still the headline act, but everyone knew it was us that people were turning out for, and that pissed Rocco off on a nightly basis.
He had kept his distance since Whorely-Gate but was still partying up in his room or backstage after each show.
On the night of Maca’s birthday, the entire crowd sang an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ as we returned to the stage for our encore.
After Maca said a few words, thanking the crowd for turning out, buying the new album and their support in general, it meant that KR started their set about fifteen minutes late.
As we left the stage and they headed on, Rocco called over to Maca.
“Hey, birthday boy.” We all turned to look at him.
“You want me to call up Haley so you can celebrate with some coke and a side of rape later?”
Maca never got a chance to reply. Tommy stuck the nut on him and put him straight on his arse. For anyone Non-English reading this, Tommy head-butted Rocco, knocking him onto his backside.
The fight that ensued after was just what we needed as a band.
We once again became one, a unit, all looking out for each other.
It was over as quickly as it began, but I landed one punch right to Wayne Allen, KR’s drummer's jaw, and dodged all that were thrown my way.
Maca was dragged away by Len before he had a chance to do anything.
Rocco tried to stand, but Tom caught him in the gut and sent him to the floor again.
Billy ended up the worst, with their guitarists both landing punches to his pretty face before one of our roadies stepped in and broke things up.
We were all eventually hauled back to our changing room where Maca was pacing and shouting at Len that he’d had enough and wanted to quit.
Tom pulled a bottle of bourbon from somewhere and we passed it between us, each taking a swig.
We were silent for a few minutes. My hand hurt, but I wasn’t about to admit that in front of Len.
Billy’s nose was bleeding and Tommy had a wet towel wrapped around his knuckles.
The door flew open and Jim walked in. She’d sort of fallen into the job of Len’s assistant since she’d joined us and the label had put her on a wage.
She mainly dealt with the press and booked our hotel rooms so everything was ready when we arrived at the next town.
“What the fuck just happened?” Her eyes met Lens, “You okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s this lot that think they’re Rocky.”
She lifted my hand and looked at the split skin on my knuckle. “Go run that under the tap and I’ll get some ice. Otherwise, you won’t be able to play tomorrow night.”
She followed me into the bathroom and placed a small hand towel under the running cold tap, then shoved my hand under the flow.
Jim and I didn’t talk much anymore. Things hadn’t been great for years, but they’d been even worse since Paris. We both stared down at my hand as I held it under the running water.
“Have you spoken to George at all?” I eventually ask. She shrugged her shoulders before answering.
“A few times, but it’s hard, ya know?” She gestured with her chin out to where the boys were.
“She doesn’t want to hear anything about him, the band, or—”
“Me,” I finished for her.
“Look, Marls. She’s hurt, and she’s angry. She’ll come around eventually. She’s just really struggling right now and dealing with all this shit in her own way.”
I nodded my head as my belly did continuous forward rolls.
“I don’t think she’s ignoring you as such,” she continued, “it’s just that talking to you, it’s like talking to him and she’s not ready for that.” I licked my bottom lip a couple of times to try and hide the fact that it had developed a wobble.
‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.’ I repeated over and over in my head.
“This is George we’re talking about, Marls. She’s never experienced things not going her way in life.” She swallowed and I knew she was struggling not to cry too. “Just give her time, yeah?” I wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to convince at that moment.
“I’m gonna go and clean Billy’s face up before Linda gets here and freaks the fuck out. I’ll get you some ice once I’ve done that.” She leant up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.
“You know you can ask me about George anytime, Marls. If you want me to pass on a message or anything, just let me know, yeah?” Her brown eyes looked over my face while her hand rubbed up and down my arm in what I assumed was a gesture of reassurance, understanding, and friendship?
Who knew, but at that moment, I felt that it was more than I deserved.
We all ended up back in our room, blind drunk that night.
Even Jimmie and Len joined us, as well as some of the crew.
Maca spent a lot of the night drinking whiskey and crying on Jim’s shoulder, while I joined one of the lighting engineers in the bedroom with a girl he had picked up.
He willingly shared her and his illegal substances with me.
Things changed after that night. We were tighter than ever musically, despite the celebrating we did after each show.
Our days were filled with television, radio, magazines, or newspaper interviews.
On our nights off, we tended to go off and do our own thing, but it was getting harder and harder to do anything or go anywhere without being recognised.
I loved the attention, the women that threw themselves at us, but the rest of the band, not so much.
Tom and Billy were still with Cheryl and Linda, the girls they’d been with since school.
They were with us most of the time, both of them forgoing careers to travel with the band.
The label insisted they keep a low profile around the fans and the press, but when we were back at our hotels, they were there, waiting for their boys.
They partied with us sometimes, but usually they’d just disappear off to their rooms.
Since the success of the album and the fact that the tour was a sell-out, Len had negotiated for us to each have our own rooms and after a few drinks, Maca usually disappeared off to his alone, every night.
We spent some of our days writing, but because the UK was so small, we didn’t use the tour bus like we had in Europe, so the opportunities to collaborate didn’t present themselves as often.
Spending so much time alone, Maca was writing a lot, and although a lot of it was a bit mushy for me and obviously about George, by the time we had worked on it together and tweaked a few things, we were coming up with some fantastic stuff.
We knew that it wouldn’t be long before we had enough new material to write another album.
Our UK tour was due to end in late July. A couple of festival dates were added to our schedule in August, and studio time was booked for the beginning of September.
Maca finally cracked and ended his self-imposed exile and celibacy on Georgia’s birthday.
I had been home a few times during the tour, but she still refused to speak to me, closing the door in my face every time I went to her room. I don’t know if Maca was still trying to contact her, he never said, and my dad never mentioned he was still being a pest when I spoke to him.
The label rented us a flat to live in close to the studios when the tour ended, so we spent the end of that summer making music, eating, drinking, and partying together.
We had found a quiet little pub around the corner from our flat in West London and had turned it into our local.
It was the last place that anyone would think of looking for England’s biggest band, so we could spend our evenings having a few drinks, a game of pool, and even grab some lunch or dinner if we hadn’t previously eaten.
I’m not sure how word got out, but when Maca and I arrived at the pub one night, there were four girls standing at the bar and we knew that it was us they were waiting for.
Tom and Billy had headed straight off as soon as we had finished recording. We had a day off the following day, so they had driven back to Essex to see their girls.
I stood at the bar, waiting for our drinks while Maca racked up the pool balls.
I watched as one of the girls approached him.
She was tall. Even without the shiny patent leather heels she was wearing, she had a cracking pair of legs.
Her dress was a royal blue colour, skin tight, and made from this stretchy waffle patterned material.
Funny how after all these years I should remember all that.
I think it’s because Jim had a similar type of dress and we had all commented on how good her arse looked in it, earning me a smack upside the head from my brother.
“They’ve been asking what time you usually get here.” Jock, the landlord told me, placing two beers on the bar. “I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about,” he said with a nod as I handed him a tenner.