Variation on a Theme, Book 6
Copyright© 2024 by Grey Wolf
Chapter 154: Hope and Conspiracies
Sunday, June 15, 1986
The hotel had a message waiting for us when we got up around seven-thirty. It was a simple ‘all continues to be well’ message from Camille (left at about 3 in the morning, New York time), but that was good enough for now. It was far too early for us to call, of course.
The eight of us had breakfast at the hotel, then took two cabs over to Giants Stadium for ‘A Conspiracy of Hope’, the official name of this Amnesty tour. We arrived around eleven. Initially, we headed to the wrong entrance, and the ticket-taker had to send us to an entirely different VIP entrance. There we were given plastic badges that confirmed our VIP status, then whisked off to a section on the relatively narrow middle deck.
Most of the people in our section turned out to be decades older than we were, and a fair number were dressed in business casual clothes. Some were even not so casual. I assumed many were involved in business or politics.
We didn’t draw much attention, though. The badges said we belonged there, and that’s all that mattered.
We took a quick break to make phone calls. Mom and Dad, along with Tony and Jean, already knew about Francis. They were cautiously optimistic, as were we. We gave Father’s Day wishes to Dad and Tony, and they clearly appreciated it. That was it — our other usual Sunday calls would have to wait.
I wound up sitting between Jas and Angie for much of the show. That was hardly unusual. We did shuffle around a few times, so I sat next to Jess, Laura, Cammie, and Paige at various points. We didn’t talk a lot, but I noticed quite a few side conversations among the girls. Hardly surprising, especially for Jess and Laura, who didn’t see the rest of us very often.
We didn’t use our backstage access at all. It felt almost redundant, since we had seen the artists we knew best at the hotel (and might see them again). Watching the show as part of the audience made more sense.
As a concert, A Conspiracy of Hope didn’t hold up to Live Aid, but it didn’t have to. There was no high point akin to Queen’s takeover of the audience, nor was there a band-defining moment like Bono’s extended trip off of the stage. It was unfair to hold it to the standards of those unique moments, but it definitely stood on its own merits as a great concert.
In any case, there were a lot of high points, at least for someone like me. So many of these were well-known artists I had never seen live before: Peter Gabriel, Yoko Ono, Joan Armatrading, Stanley Jordan, Jackson Browne, Joan Baez, Miles Davis, Lou Reed, and Joni Mitchell, among others. If that list aged me beyond my 20 years, so be it. I’d earned it, fair and square.
We were interrupted around one by a non-urgent call from the same area code as the first call. Jas returned it with me by her side. It was Camille. They were releasing Francis, and he stood a decent chance of seeing Andrew graduate. Granted, it would be from a wheelchair — the hospital insisted he use one for the next two days — but he would still be there. We, of course, asked Camille to pass along well-wishes to Francis and congratulations to Andrew.
We also wished Francis a happy Father’s Day. According to Camille, he had already declared it to be the worst Father’s Day ever, but she felt that was just him being grumpy. He was fine, was recovering, and should get to watch his only son graduate. It wasn’t that bad at all, considering.
Both of us agreed, while walking back to our seats, that we had probably still made the right choice in staying here. We could have changed nothing had we been there, and our well-wishes were just as meaningful over the phone. Having the time with Laura and Jess was important, too, and we had used it wisely. Making some new celebrity connections might also be important one day.
Late in the show, there was one quiet, yet very big, moment. The Police played together for the last time for many years (though only I knew that, and it might be different in this universe). At the end of their set, Bono came on for the end of ‘Invisible Sun’. I probably wasn’t the only one who saw it as a symbolic passing of the torch. U2 was moving up to the top of the rock pantheon, and The Police — who were, for the moment, still one of the biggest bands in the world — were effectively done.
We had already seen both live, of course, and more than once. I suspected we would, one day, see The Police live again, assuming this world followed in the footsteps of my first life. Perhaps we would even get to hang out again for a bit with our new friends Gordon, Andy, and Stewart.
That moment mattered, anyway. It was nice to have been here for it.
Perhaps it was appropriate that the music was ‘great’ but not ‘spectacular.’ This concert was, in the end, not about the music. Live Aid hadn’t been about the music either, but it was much more about the music than A Conspiracy of Hope. This was about Amnesty International, and both the bands and the presenters spent quite a bit of time and effort promoting Amnesty and their goals, including giving short biographies of a number of political prisoners they were hoping to get released.
It took very little conversation before we all decided to join the letter-writing campaign. It was the least we could do. In these cases, there seemed little risk of us pushing for the release of someone who didn’t deserve release.
The amusing part of this was that Bono credited his support of Amnesty International to attending one of the ‘Secret Policeman’s Ball’ events. In later years, we might say the same thing about this concert. In my case, at least, that might not be strictly true, but it would have what might be called ‘truthiness’ (to steal a word from a comedian Laura might recognize, but no one else would). None of us had been particularly concerned with Amnesty before, after all, and we would be now.
Our new friend Gordon would love it if some newly rich people happened to support Amnesty and credited this concert with engendering those feelings in us. And, The Police or not, Gordon was going to be with us for a long time as a working musician.
Bob would probably love it, too. After all, Gordon would never have met us without Bob’s help. And we would undoubtedly still care about the suffering of people in Africa, too.
So many good causes! But one new friend we still hadn’t met — Bill — had, later in his life, made something of a name for himself as a supporter of good causes, and had gotten our acquaintance Warren involved in that as well.
Of course, Bill also made quite a few enemies and engendered a seemingly endless list of conspiracy theories. We might do the same. I wondered what I would feel like if people started calling me, or Angie, Jas, Paige, or Jess, or ... well, anyone close to me ... the sorts of things they’d called Bill in my first life.
It would probably happen. For the good of everyone, I suspected I might want to follow Bill’s example and refrain from lashing out.
And, of course, make sure Paige didn’t burn anyone’s house down. That included stopping her from paying anyone to. Or sending a mob to do it.
The concert didn’t end until just about eleven at night. It ended, as one would expect, with everyone they could fit on the stage performing ‘I Shall Be Released’. It was a pretty rousing ending, all things considered.
The eight of us (along with the other VIPs, naturally) had our own path out of the stadium, and our own taxi line. Thanks to that, we were back in the Hyatt a bit before midnight.
I got a surprise when we got back. Jas tapped me on the shoulder, then nodded to Jess. Jess just smirked a bit, which made Laura roll her eyes. Good-naturedly, though, I was pretty sure.
I offered Jess my arm when we got to our floor. If any celebrities happened to notice that I was taking ‘the wrong girl’ to bed, so be it. We could handle it.
Once we were in the room, Jess kissed me, then said, “We’re not just ... you know.”
“Oh?” I said, smiling.
“There’s some stuff...” she started.
“You mean ‘We need to talk,’” I said, smirking a tiny bit.
She giggled, nodding.
“When you put it like that ... yes. We need to talk.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“I think, if there’s any guy, anywhere, who can handle ‘We need to talk,’ it’s probably you,” she said.
“Quite possibly, I guess.”
“Let’s get ready for bed,” she said. “It’s probably a good bed conversation.”
I wiggled my eyebrows, which made her giggle.
“Quite possibly! Talking first, though.”
“Talking first,” I said, nodding.
Not that long later, we were all snuggled up in bed.
“What’s up?” I said.
She shifted, snuggling up, and said, “We ... talked. ‘We’ meaning, pretty much, Jas, Laura, Angie, and Paige.”
“So ... the girls I’m closest to, and the girl a version of me was close to.”
She nodded, then said, “I’m ... Laura made me think. Not today, I mean. This has been building for a while.”
I nodded, but stayed quiet.
“I ... well, another me ... fucked over another Laura, over another you. Now, none of us are those people. But it made me think, and what I think is that either I would feel absolutely horrible if I somehow hurt Jasmine, Angie, or Paige, or I would be absolutely horrible. Someone I do not want to be!”
“And you think you might?” I asked.
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