Chapter Forty-Five
The backstage door opened and a disheveled man as tall as he was wide, stepped out. He sported a scraggly beard and his hair looked like he never combed or trimmed it. “Oi, who goes there, friend or foe?” he quipped.
Ryan was already at the back of the van opening the doors.
“You the Piss Ants, then? We expected you lot hours ago.”
“A bloody lorry fire turned the fuckin’ motorway into a fuckin’ car park. We were stuck in the middle of it,” Ryan grumbled.
“Bad luck, man. I’ll help you unload. The other two bands were willing to expand their sets if you lot didn’t show.”
That made Ryan’s mood worse. “Guess they weren’t stuck on the bloody motorway for four hours.”
With everyone unloading, the gear was inside the club in a few minutes. While everyone complained about not having time to prepare, I was growing increasingly hungry and needed the loo. It was there I discovered my period arrived. I breathed such a sigh of relief, I was sure the entire club heard, if not the entire town. The times we neglected to use birth control, including our wedding night, left that gnawing fear. Strict precautions would be taken from now on.
When the band finally hit the stage, I could tell they weren’t performing their best. They hadn’t been able to warm up, so I wasn’t surprised. I was too faint with hunger to enjoy it much and still had to sit at that merchandise table.
The Piss Ants were the first of three bands, but there was still plenty of moshing. Still, not many people seemed interested in buying Piss Ants merchandise. I only sold ten tapes and two postcards. When I inquired about something to eat, a club employee brought me a tuna sandwich.
We barely made a hundred quid and although Ryan said he had enough for another night’s lodging, I worried we wouldn’t have enough for petrol or food.
At long last, we were off to a hotel. Five minutes out, Keith suddenly shouted. “Fuck, I think the bloody clutch went out!”
“Fuck!” Ryan screamed. “What more will go wrong with this bloody van? My dad said he’d had it serviced recently.”
Everyone grumbled including me. All I wanted was a warm bed and sleep.
Ryan tossed the remains of his cigarette out the window. “All right, then, you steer,” he told Keith. “The rest of us get out and push.”
Jimmy and Billy immediately protested.
“I can’t fucking leave the van in the middle of the street with all our gear inside!” Ryan yelled. “The hotel’s only two fucking blocks away.”
“Well count me out,” I said. “You three blokes can push.”
“Fine, you can walk to the hotel,” Ryan replied.
“The hell she is!” Keith yelled at him. “Another 100 pounds won’t kill you lot.”
“You can fucking steer then,” he told me.
“I don’t know how to drive,” I argued. “You have to be eighteen in France.”
“Fuckin’ aye!” Ryan yelled.
“The three of you pushing this bloody van is sufficient,” Keith said.
I felt guilty about not helping, though knew I shouldn’t. Ryan boasted he could bench press 300 pounds or more, so he alone could have pushed.
The three of them slid out with the enthusiasm of wet spaghetti and we were soon in the hotel’s car park.
“Now I’ll have to find a bloody mechanic,” Ryan complained. “I’ll have to ring my dad for more money.”
“I’ve already replaced the clutch in my Healey once,” Keith said. “Just buy the part and I’ll install it after some sleep. The tools in the back should be sufficient.”
“We’re the headliner of five bands playing this big punk rock fest of unsigned bands in Brighton Tomorrow. We can’t be late.”
I grabbed what I needed and headed inside. Standing outside in the cool misty air made my cravings for a warm bed stronger. Our room was one flight up and no lift, so I had to trudge up the stairs, feeling like I wore lead shoes. Dragging myself down the long corridor, I finally found our room, dumped my things on the floor and shed my clothes. I was just snuggling under the blankets when Keith stumbled in.
He wiggled out of his clothes and crawled naked into the bed.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I warned. “I started my period and I’m way too tired. Just be glad you didn’t get me pregnant.”
“Me? You’d have something to do with that too.”
“Not when you get me drunk. Suffice to say we’ll be more careful. I’ll get back on birth control pills after Roskilde.”
“We’ve never discussed having kids,” Keith brought up.
“It’s four in the morning. Let’s discuss it when I finish school, have a career and your career has taken off. Now let me sleep.”
“As your majesty wishes,” Keith responded with a few final kisses.
When I awoke, I was surprised it was eleven. I was alone in the room. When I ventured outside, Keith and Ryan were with the van. Keith was on his back across the van floor, fiddling with one of the pedals. I hung about in the lobby and wrote postcards. I again missed my friends, especially Aimee.
The clutch was fixed and we crammed ourselves into the van. The punk rock gods smiled on us this time and we pulled up to our hotel at half past two. It looked out at the sea and had lovely bay windows gracing both sides. Inside, the floors looked like polished granite and a long, shiny black desk adorned the lobby’s far corner.
“Can we afford this place?” I whispered to Keith.
“Ryan says Frank knows the owner who’s a surgeon at Great Ormond Street Hospital. The hotel’s been in his family for generations. They gave us a discount.”
Our room was on the third floor and had a large canopy bed gracing the middle. I flopped onto it, taking in its splendor before Keith was on top of me covering me with kisses. I returned the gesture.
“Can we pick this up later after I eat something?”
Keith rolled off me. “I could use a bite myself. ”
“Let’s go before Ryan’s pounds on our door saying it’s time to go. I have half a mind to sneak out a back door in case he’s lurking to snatch you away.”
We took the lift to the lobby, but I wouldn’t let Keith leave the lift until I was sure Ryan wasn’t about. “Okay, coast is clear,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Keith laughed at me. “You’re really serious about this.”
“I have you to myself and I’m not sharing.”
We wandered a bit before settling into a small café. I was half finished with a smoked salmon, spinach and feta quiche when two girls approached.
“You’re one of the bands playing the Queen Victoria Hall tonight, aren’t you?”
Keith looked at them. “I think that’s where we’re playing. You coming, then?”
“Definitely. We don’t get many punk shows here. Just acts like Joan Armatrading.”
Keith winced and so did I.
“That will change,” Keith promised. “We’ve played with some great punk bands on this tour. I’m sure they’ll play here soon.”
“So which band are you with?”
I groaned. So much for time alone. I wanted to order a slice of the very tempting gateau chocolate, but getting away from these girls was more pressing. We left money on the table and Keith said goodbye to them.
“Well, wait a minute,” one of them said. “We can show you around Brighton.”
They looked so hopeful I almost felt sorry for them when Keith declined. I thought we were rid of them, but they followed us out, peppering Keith with questions. We couldn’t afford a taxi and couldn’t return to the hotel for fear they’d stalk us there. Nothing gave them the hint we wanted to be alone. Finally I noticed a door between two buildings, opened it and peeked down. There was a long alley leading to destinations unknown. I motioned to Keith who followed me and shut the door. We ran down the seemingly endless alley, before noticing another door leading into another building.
“Quick, in here,” I gasped, catching my breath.
The door was unlocked. Inside was dim so we couldn’t tell exactly where we were. We collapsed against a wall to catch our breath before I opened the door to and peeked outside. I couldn’t believe it. The girls were coming toward us.
“This way, luv.” Keith opened another door and we headed into unknown territory.
Keith opened another door, peeked inside, and laughed. “It’s a fucking beauty parlor. I smell shampoo and see hair dyers. There’s a bunch of old ladies. This’ll be fun.”
“Let’s go back,” I said. “Those girls are probably gone.”
“Fuck no. This is too tempting.”
Before I could respond, he slipped inside and I had no choice but to follow.
“Oi, don’t mind us, ladies. We took a wrong turn. Carry on with your day of beauty.”
Obviously a six foot two bloke with jet black spiky hair, wearing tattered Levis, and a t-shirt sporting a picture of Queen Elizabeth with a safety pin through her nose was not something these women saw every day . . . if ever. Needless to say, we raised a few eyebrows. Keith made kissy faces at some of the women looking at him askance.
I punched him.
He ignored me and sat under a vacant dryer. “Figure out how to turn this thing on,” he said. “I can pretend I’m one of those big hair bands from the eighties.”
“I won’t. Now let’s go.”
Someone approached us. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked Keith.
Keith responded with an impish grin. “I’m trying to look like Robert Smith.”
“We got lost,” I explained. “I’m looking for a bakery or a place for a café latte.”
“That’s across the street, luv.” She smiled at me all friendly. She was probably the same age as my mother. I was even more embarrassed by Keith’s behavior.
Keith, leaped up, grabbed a basketful of bows near the door and put one on his head. “Oh, Darling, does this go with my eyes?”
I yanked it away, dropping it back in the basket. This time, I grabbed his hand, yanking him outside.
Keith collapsed with laughter. “That was a bit of fun, wasn’t it?”
I stared at him, aghast. “Hardly.”
We returned to the hotel to find Ryan pacing the lobby floor. “Where the fuck have you been? I just sent Jimmy up to your room again to see if you somehow got there without being seen. Billy’s gone to check a couple nearby pubs.”
“Sorry, man,” Keith said without a hint of contrite. “We got chased and ended up in a fucking salon of geriatrics.”
Ryan’s expression changed to one of curiosity. “Chased? By fans?”
“No, by a herd of elephants. Of course by fans!”
Ryan looked pleased. “We’re attracting more attention then. wicked!”
“It’s not wicked,” I countered. “We can’t get any time to ourselves now without encountering overzealous fans.”\Ryan didn’t even acknowledge me. “This is bloody marvelous. Tonight’s show is sold out and you’re getting chased by fans. All we need is a fucking record deal. Get your guitars. We were supposed to be at the club nearly an hour ago.”
“I’ll meet you there. I need to get changed,” I said.
Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Don’t give me that look,” I yelled at him. “Just give me the address and a pass. I’ll be along in half an hour.”
I wished I had something new to wear. Instead, I chose my favorite pink mini skirt, my tight black t-shirt with the Union Jack, black leggings and my black ankle boots. I put them on, put up my hair with the black and pink polka-dot bow, added my skull earrings, before doing my makeup. Then grabbing my pink denim jacket and pass, I headed out. A brisk breeze whipped up from the channel and I was glad I tied my hair back. I had to look perfect tonight. I waited several minutes for the bus. I didn’t care that I was late again.
When I hopped off the bus I saw the theater where the Piss Ants would play –- a grand place at least one hundred years old, with a white façade that looked beaten by the winds that whipped the city so unmercifully each winter. The enormous entrance looked like some malevolent demon devouring each person who dared enter.
I felt myself shiver as I approached the entrance, but felt silly for it. I showed my pass and was waved through. The theater, once quite beautiful, had fallen into disrepair. The railing surrounding the balcony had cracked and peeling paint. The dance floor, probably once gleaming hard wood, now was scratched from the many feet that scraped across it over the years. I imagined blokes in tuxedos and women in fancy gowns spinning across it.
“There you are!” My thoughts were interrupted by Ryan traipsing across the dance floor in long, brisk strides. “I set up for you. You might go backstage and let Keith know you’re here. He was anxious.”
I followed Ryan backstage. Keith was hunched in a corner, tuning one of his guitars, cigarette hanging from his mouth and a half filled bottle of Guinness by his side. “Keith, I found someone wandering about who wants to see you,” Ryan said.
“Can it wait ‘til after the show?” Keith sounded annoyed.
“I doubt it,” I responded, approaching him.
He broke into a wide grin, got up and wrapped me in his arms. “You made it.”
“That’s enough,” Ryan said. “I need Brigitte selling stuff. The place is filling fast.”
We kissed before Ryan led me to the merchandise table. He seemed extra nice and I wondered if Keith said something or he was just in a good mood because it was the last show and things were going well.
I displayed my postcards in a wreath around the shirts, put fresh batteries in my tape player and waited. People streamed in by the droves. There was a girl with spiked bleached hair, wearing a short plaid skirt held together with a huge safety pin. I saw blokes and girls with Mohican hair cuts in all lengths and every color imaginable. One bloke had a neon green Mohawk at least six inches high.
The first band, a four-piece called The Donuts, got the audience moving with quirky, danceable pop songs. They had great stage presence. I suddenly wished I was in front instead of being stuck in back. No one bought anything when there band played anyway so I stashed everything into boxes and shoved them against the wall. I dumped the contents of the lock box in my purse and fought my way to the stage.
After The Donuts, I hurried back to the table. I noticed they sold their music on CDs. I hoped Ryan released The Piss Ants’ next recording on CD. Tapes were passé.
The lights dimmed and everyone rushed to the dance floor again. I cinched my purse tighter and followed suit. The next band called themselves School Lunch. Their singer played lead guitar. They leaped about, interacted with the audience, and put forth a high-energy performance. The Piss Ants would have to work hard to upstage them. When School Lunch ended, I sprinted back to the merchandise table.
I was surprised to see Ryan, frantically searching for something. I glanced around. My wreath was still intact, the boxes were where I left them. “Lose something?”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“I needed the loo.”
“Where’s the lock box? Tell me you gave it to someone for safe keeping.”
I dug through the shirt box where I’d stashed it. “Someone must have taken it,” I said. “Don’t worry. I have the money.”
He looked relieved, but quickly regained his ire. “That box cost 50 quid.”
“You’re welcome, Ryan. I’m glad I had the foresight to keep the money safe while I left for two minutes. Everyone forgets me so I have to fend for myself. You blokes can use the loo whenever the need strikes.”
“Whatever. I came back for the money so you can watch the show.”
“Just tell me where you want it.” I stopped myself from saying where I wanted to stick it.
“Just give me your purse and I’ll have the bar staff put it in the safe.
I dumped the money on the table. “Do what you want. I’m going backstage.” I left him to gather the money.
The Piss Ants were waiting to go on. I gave Keith a kiss. “Good luck tonight,” I said.
“Where’s Ryan? He’s supposed to help you get front and center.”
“I think he’s pissed off at me again, but when isn’t he?”
He had no chance to respond before the Piss Ants were introduced. I would have to watch from the side.
They hit the stage, slashing the chords to No Connection. The audience wasted no time slamming into each other with wild frenzy. A few managed to leap on stage before taking flight head over heels back into the audience. The usual songs followed before the band came up for air
“Let me have a look at all of you,” Keith demanded.
A spotlight shined onto the crowd.
“How are all of you doing up on the balcony? Is there room to dance up there?”
Everyone on the balcony screamed their approval.
“I don’t think we’ve ever headlined for a crowd this big. I want everybody in this place up and dancing. This next one’s called Punk Rock Girlfriend.”
I wished more than ever I was front and center.
Again, Billy and Keith ran across the stage in opposite directions, flirting with those up front. Keith addressed the audience again. “I don’t know who has more energy, you or us. I’d love to take things down a notch but we don’t fucking have any slow songs.”
Billy chimed in. “I wanta see a big circle pit and smoke coming off that floor.”
“Then we’re fucking blowing the roof off!” Keith added.
He churned out the chords of 21st Century Riot. Within seconds, at least a dozen kids were running in a huge circle at top speed. Steam emanated off the spinning bodies. It wasn’t smoke, but was close enough. The circle pit continued through the next song and the one after. before dwindling. The moshing didn’t let up, nor did the various daredevils leaping onto the stage.
When the Piss Ants played their last song, Keith and Billy stood on a bank of speakers on either side of the drum riser. When the last note ebbed, they leaped off. When the band left the stage, the chanting for “Piss Ants! Piss Ants! ” began. I rushed into Keith’s arms and we engaged in a long kiss. “That was your best show ever!” I exclaimed.
“It would have been better if you were front and center,” Keith responded.
“I would have enjoyed it more there too, but I’m tired of Ryan’s attitude.”
As if on cue, Ryan appeared. “Great show, everyone. I think you managed to upstage everyone tonight, which was no easy feat. Those other bands were bloody fantastic. What about an encore?”
“I need a cigarette first,” Keith said.
“And a beer,” Billy chimed in.
“Oi to that,” Jimmy added.
“Make it quick, then,” Ryan said. “Your admirers are restless.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. The chants were getting louder by the half second and I felt the whole theater shake.
The room was filled with bottles of Guinness, but no Perrier. I started to leave.
“Where are you going?” Keith asked.
“I’m thirsty,” I said. “I’m going for a Perrier.”
“Well, don’t take long. I’m making sure you’re front and center for the encore.”
“Don’t bother,” I responded. “I told you I don’t want any more favors from Ryan.” Before Keith could respond, I left the room. I waited ten minutes before getting my Perrier, then had to fork over three quid. It was stifling hot in the theater and I wished I could afford two bottles. The chants of “Piss Ants! Piss Ants!!” grew louder. I rushed backstage.
“There you are,” Keith said. “What took you so long?”
“There was a long queue at the bar,” I explained. “If I could get a supply of cold Perrier, I wouldn’t have to wait AND spend my own money.”
“We’re low on funds and these blokes need beer,” Ryan said.
“That’s why I quit after tonight,” I yelled at him.
Ryan seemed unconcerned. “Can you get back on stage before these kids start a riot?”
“Not until she’s front and center,” Keith responded.
“I don’t want to be,” I said. I did really.
“Well make up your fucking mind,” Ryan said. “This crowd won’t let up until you blokes are back on stage.”
“It’s too rough tonight,” I said. “I don’t feel like getting beaten up.”
“There, it’s settled. Will you get on stage before they tear the fucking place down?”
Keith grabbed me for a long kiss.
“You have plenty of time for that later,” Ryan insisted. “Let’s go!”
The band hit the stage and the chants were immediately replaced with thunderous cheers and howls. They immediately slashed into the chords of London’s Burning, but changed the words to Brighton’s Burning. This was followed by another Clash song, White Riot. For the finale they performed the Buzzcock’s Why Can’t I Touch It? I loved the way Keith played guitar on that song.
“Goodnight, Brighton. We’ll be back soon,” Keith yelled. He wiped his face on a towel then tossed it to the crowd. A mad scramble followed. Jimmy threw out all his chopped up drumsticks and Billy threw out his towel and a couple broken bass strings. “Be sure to buy our tape. We need petrol money!” Billy bellowed.
I hurried backstage. Keith embraced me and we again started snogging.
“That’s enough,” Ryan yelled. “I need her back at the merchandise table quickly.”
Keith looked annoyed. “That’s it! For the rest of summer I’m finding you a girlfriend so you’ll leave us alone.”
“It’s my last night selling. I may as well make the most of it,” I said.
I returned to my post. There was barely time to set out tapes before being bombarded with customers. Most wanted a tape, but I didn’t want my postcards going unsold. “Postcards are only two quid,” I announced. “They’re perfect for autographs and after tonight I’m not making them, so they’re collector’s items.”
I was suddenly selling those as much as tapes.
After the theater emptied, the lingering mist from the sweaty bodies who occupied the dance floor moments before, made it seem almost spooky. I went backstage where everyone was guzzling beer and smoking. All but the first band were still hanging about.
“We’re going to explore this place,” Keith told me. “You wanta come?”
“No thanks,” I replied. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Keith took off with Billy and a couple members from School Lunch while I went for another Perrier.
The bartender was very nice. “You’re with the Piss Ants, aren’t you? This one’s on the house.”
It was refreshing to have someone nice to me. I took my Perrier, then returned backstage. Within minutes, everyone who went exploring, came crashing in.
“I think we just fucking saw a ghost!” Keith declared. He looked white as a sheet.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
