ALICE AND THE band members were backstage packing their gear to leave. Dressed in their civvies Alice was in black denim with a leather jacket. One of the back-up singers Stained Class was sitting on his lap.
Kitbag slung over his shoulder Blue stopped behind Alice and asked, “Coming for a few ales Al?”
Al looked up at Blue in the mirror that was spread across the wall. “Where you going?”
Guitar case in hand Ratsso joined Blue, “Bourbon and Beef, where else?” he chuckled.
“Our watering hole,” Blue tagged.
Al gave Stained a hug and with a devilish grin sighed, “Nar, we’re going home to play-up, aren’t we babe?”
The thin shapely blonde nuzzled Alice’s chest affectionately. “That a threat or a promise?” She purred like a cat.
He raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Both.”
Blue called across the room to Slut, “You coming Slut?”
“No way man,” a voice answered through a mass of black hair. “I’ve got half a dozen groupies waiting at the stage door for me.”
Blue shot a snide glance at Ratsso. “Yeah sure man, if there’s one then she’s jailbait. No chick with any dignity would let a scum-bag like you within a mile of her.”
Slut rose from his chair and returned serve, “Sez you who couldn’t pull a chick in a brothel.”
They all laughed.
“Catch you later guys,” Al said keeping it light. “Good gig tonight. Loved your solo in Reck Slut.”
Making his way to the door Slut stopped. “Thanks Al, I’ll try and remember what I did for next time.”
Blue patted the tall skinny hairy one on the back, “Fat chance of that happening Slut, it’s different every time.”
Alice’s cellphone rang, he answered. “Yeah, speak Wilson.”
At the mention of their agent’s name Blue growled, “Our bloody manager Wilson Stanley, the invisible man. Can’t even be bothered to rock up at one of our gigs. See ya Alice.”
“Hang on Wilson.” Al shot the boys a wave. “Chaa! Fellas!”
Stained climbed off Al’s lap gave him a peck on cheek and whispered, “See you at the apartment love, I’ll get a lift with Blue.”
Al nodded, “Cool, won’t be long.”
Wilson’s voice thundered through the speaker, “Alice, Alice, you there?”
Alice ignored him to watch Stained leave. “Yeah Wilson, listen, how come you never turn up at our gigs?”
Wilson replied facetiously, “I’ve got better things to do like running your business.”
“That what you call it,” Alice snarled, studying his face in the mirror. “So, what’s up?”
“A journo named Saul Kent will meet you at the backstage door, wants an interview about the new release. It’s important, it’ll feature on national television and boost the song to the top of the charts. Can you handle it?”
“Yeah,” said Alice, sighing inwardly. He’d tired of the man. For the past year they’d been unable to see eye to eye, largely because Wilson was pro-government, and disapproved of Alice’s involvement with the Octagon. Worse than that, Alice felt he was getting too big for his boots. Although Alice had already been a star when Wilson came on board, he’d needed an experienced operator to handle the business side of things so he could focus on writing and recording. Wilson was meant to manage bookings and day-to-day business, but instead he seemed to manifest problems out of thin air that Alice had to solve, depriving him of the freedom to create. Basically, Wilson had turned out to be a dickhead.
“Excellent,” the manager went on, oblivious to Alice’s inner monologue. “Just shut up about the Octagon, will you? Use the interview to promote the music, not that mob of radicals.”
“Keep your goddamned opinion to yourself Wilson,” Alice sneered in reply. “You dig?” He hung up, aggravated by the man’s attitude. Just as he was about to go out the door, his phone pinged with a text message from a number he didn’t recognise. It read: ‘Announce your resignation from the Octagon to Kent on national television. If you don’t, the consequences will be costly.’
“Who the stuff’s threatening me?” he mumbled, then to his amazement the text exploded into pixels and dissolved. He pushed open the door. Waiting for him outside amidst a raft of fans was a tall, skinny young man with short-cropped dark hair and glasses. He was dressed in a smart modern suit.
“You Kent?” asked Alice.
“Yes,” said the self-confessed reporter.
“Alice! Alice!” the female fans screamed excitedly.
Kent acknowledged them by rolling his eyes. “Any chance we can do the interview inside? There’s this lot and it’s blowing a bloody gale out here.” For emphasis, Kent blew warm air into his cupped hands.
“Depends how long it’ll take and how many of you there are,” Alice said.
“Just me and Sherri, my digi-cam operator. It’ll take about twenty minutes.”
Alice was still holding the door. Kent seemed affable enough. “Okay,” he said. “Come on in.” He stalked off, leading them into the backstage area. They followed him to the band room.
He led Saul into the brightly lit room, which was awash with empty beer cans, pizza boxes and general trash. Sherri followed carrying a camera bag. None of them paid any attention to the mess; they’d all been in band dressing rooms before.
Kent pulled up a chair and had Sherri position the camera so it couldn’t be seen in the long wall mirror. As Alice sat down and preened himself in the mirror, Sherri clipped a lapel mike onto his leather jacket. She moved closer to him than needed, flirting, anxious to solicit a response from him.
The girl was hot. In her mid-twenties with spiked blond hair, dressed to maximum funk in a mini-skirt that left nothing for the imagination, she fluttered her long false eyelashes at Alice. He was used to it. It meant zero to him. Not getting the response she anticipated, Sherri felt spurned. That wasn’t what she expected from the lead singer of metal band. Her preconceived notion that all musos were like Slut, screwing anything with a hole in it, took a serious dent. Indignantly, she turned her attention to clipping a mike on Kent. That done, wearing Alice’s rejection all over her face, she went about setting up the tripod and camera.
Kent, sitting back in his chair, crossed his long legs and opened a notebook on his lap. After testing the audio levels and lighting, Sherri said: “Okay … rolling.”
Kent’s demeanour changed from cool to arrogant in the blink of an eye.
“I’m backstage at Sydney’s Frenzy with Black Alice, singer of the heavy metal band by the same name, and leader of the Octagon peace movement. Alice, it seems your legendary status is on the rise?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, Saul, I just do my thing.”
“Yeah well, there’s a bit more to just doing your thing in the lyrics of your songs and the issues you make public through the Octagon, isn’t there?”
Alice didn’t like his attitude and his face showed it, but he answered calmly: “That’s up for every individual’s interpretation.”
“You thumb your nose at authority and the bureaucracy. Is that your rebellious nature, your upbringing, or just a convenient way to promote yourself?”
Alice shrugged. “Aren’t we here to talk about my new single?” he said, dismissively.
“Yes, but surely it’s all connected … If I’m wrong, why do you present America as the enemy in your live performances? Take tonight, the phallic ballistic missile you rode off stage. Everyone could see it was marked Made in the USA.”
“Look, the Oceana Government is at fault here, not America,” said Alice. “They’ve broken the Pacific anti-nuclear treaty by giving permission for a nuclear submarine to enter Sydney Harbour.”
“So how can that be of danger to anybody?” Kent said, cockily.
Alice’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward in his chair, glared down into the camera and said, sternly: “Firstly, they’re defying the will of the people by breaching a long-standing treaty, endorsed by the entire population in a referendum carried out generations ago, back when we still had a democracy. Secondly, it makes us the target of enemies with nuclear capability.”
“So how does organizing violent protests resolve those issues? Surely it only inflates them.” The reporter was starting to get under Alice’s skin. Pushing down the desire to smack him between the eyes, Alice corrected him.
“Non-violent protests,” he said. “What we want is to get rid of this government and return to democracy.”
“So you’re talking revolution, then?”
Alice paused, a sombre look on his face, then suddenly burst into song:
The revolution is here…
We have got to get it together, now!
“And that was from Something in the Air,” said Kent, on cue: “The hot new release by Black Alice.”
He motioned for Sherri to cut the camera by slicing his finger across his throat, and then reached out his hand to Alice. “Thanks, man … went well.”
“Good-o,” Alice growled, taking his hand. He wasn’t too thrilled about the interview and didn’t like Kent at all, but there was no point whinging about it. What was the old adage about getting press exposure? There’s no such thing as bad publicity? He decided to let it go.
“Thanks for your help, Sherri,” he said, smiling at the girl. “Send a copy to my manager, please. When will it go to air?”
Packing up her gear, Sherri decided to try one last come-on. Shooting him a devilish smile, she said: “There’ll be something in air tonight, then repeated tomorrow. I can get a copy over to your manager before the end of the week, or if you prefer … I could give it to you personally later on,” she said lasciviously.
Alice grinned. “Give it to me, hey?” He raised an eyebrow and gave her the once over. “I like the sound of that.”
“Watch her, Alice, she bites,” warned Kent.
“I reckon,” rasped Alice. “Like a vampire.”
In the corridor at the backstage door Alice and Kent let Sherri out ahead of them. Kent stopped in the doorway and turned to Alice.
“So, what happened to the big announcement?”
Alice had had enough of his attitude and snarled, “What friggin’ announcement?”
Kent shirt-fronted him angrily. “Listen, I took the interview for the exclusive. You were supposed to announce your retirement from the Octagon.”
“Well you got that wrong, didn’t you?”
Kent made the mistake of poking Alice in the chest with his finger while griping, “You rock mental re-treads are all alike — you’re here today, gone tomorrow. Next record release you’ll get nothing out of me, arsehole.”
Alice had had a gut-full. He shut the door for privacy and then with lightning speed smacked Kent in the mouth with a short right jab. Kent’s glasses flew off as he slammed into the wall, his nose leaking blood.
“There won’t be a next time, prick!” Alice barked.
There was a flash of light.
When his vision cleared Alice was staring at the glowing orb. He was back in the strange netherworld after having relived life experiences from another perspective, it was as though he’d been watching a digital replay. A voice from the orb suddenly rattled him — reminding him of the weird situation he was in.
“Was the violence really necessary Alice?” En-Ki asked.
“Guess I could’ve handled it better but the guy was a prick.”
“You had become the enemy of state Alice, but it was to get decidedly worse for you.”
“True. How are you doing this? I’m seeing like a replay of things in my mind that I didn’t even know was happening at the time.”
“It will all become clear to you soon,” En-Ki said, and immediately another flash of light rocked Alice transporting him once again.