The music was raucous and visceral, blatantly sexual, and Barry Noy played the crowd for all he was worth. As the song ended, the crowd surged the barricades, and she could see that the guards were getting nervous. The spotlights flashed blue and red in crisscrossing swords of light, and the band went into its next number.
She was afraid somebody would get killed. One of the roadies came up to stand beside her. “Is it always like this?” she asked.
“Naw. Guess it’s because we’re used to the States. Freakin’ crowd’s dead tonight.”
After the show she stood with Stu in the underground garage that had been roped off by the Viennese police and counted limos. The band came out, all five of them soaked with sweat. Barry grabbed her by the arm. “Got to talk to you.”
As he pulled her toward the lead limo, she started to protest. Stu glared at her, and she remembered rule number one. Keep the band happy. Translated that meant keep Barry Noy happy.
She piled into the limousine, and he pulled her down on the seat beside him. She heard the clink of chains, and Simon Kale climbed in with them. She remembered how he’d twirled that dangerous machete on stage, and she regarded him warily. He lit a cigarillo and turned to stare out the window.
The limousine drove from the garage into a crowd of screaming fans. Suddenly a young girl broke through the police barricade and rushed toward the car, pulling up her shirt as she ran to expose bare pubescent breasts. A policeman caught her. Barry paid no attention.
“So how did you think I was tonight?” He took a slug from a can of Bud.
“You were great, Barry,” she replied, with all the sincerity she could muster. “Just great.”
“You didn’t think I was off tonight? Friggin’ crowd was dead.”
“Oh no. You weren’t off at all. You were terrific.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He drained the beer and crumpled the can in his fist. “I wish Kissy could have been here. She wouldn’t come to Europe with me. What does that tell you about the kind of ditzy broad she is?”
“It tells me a lot, Barry.”
A snort came from the other side of the limo.
“What does Kissy do?” she asked.
“She says she’s an actress, but I’ve never seen her on television or anything. Shit, I’m getting depressed again.”
If there was anything she didn’t need, it was a depressed Barry Noy. “That’s probably it, then. Actresses trying to get work can’t afford to leave town whenever they want. They might miss their big break.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Hey, I’m sorry about your VD and everything.”
Simon Kale looked over at her, and she thought she saw a flicker of interest in his eyes.
“Thanks,” she said sadly. “I’m doing my best to cope.”
She should have been prepared for the pandemonium of the hotel lobby, but she wasn’t. The hotel had orders not to give out any information, but there were women everywhere. As the members of the band made their way toward the heavily guarded elevators, she saw Peter Zabel reach out and grab the arm of a buxom redhead. Frank LaPorte inspected a freckled blonde, then gestured toward both her and her bubble-gum-chewing companion. Only Simon Kale ignored the crowd of women.
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered.
Stu heard her. “We’re all hoping they don’t speak English. That way we won’t have to talk to them, too.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“It’s rock and roll, kid. Rockers are kings as long as they can stay on top.” Stu put his arm around a frizzy-haired blonde and headed toward the elevators. Before he got in, he called back to her. “Stick close to Barry. He told me he likes you. And check the IDs on those girls who went with Frank. They looked young to me, and I don’t want any more trouble with the police. Then get hold of that freakin’ Kissy and make sure she meets us in Munich tomorrow. Tell her we’ll pay her two fifty a week.”
“Hey, that’s fifty more than I’m getting!”
“You’re expendable, kid.” The elevator doors slid shut.
She slumped against a pillar. The world of rock and roll.
It was one o’clock in the morning, and she was exhausted. She was going to forget about Frank and his groupies. They probably deserved each other. She was going to forget about Barry and his stupid Kissy, and she was going to bed. In the morning she’d tell Parker he’d been right about her. She couldn’t handle the job.
But when the doors closed on the elevator, she found herself punching in the floor of Frank LaPorte’s suite.