Chapter 17

The rest of the trip went well, there were a few really good interviews, and I got to meet a few local celebrities, and there was one interviewer who was more interested in talking about my earlier trip with Cal. A subject which had been specifically banned in the agreement between the studio and the TV stations. I just called a halt to that one and stopped answering questions altogether. For ten minutes the interviewer kept repeatedly asking the same question, and I just sat there silent. I don’t think they ever broadcast that one.

My last interview was in Toronto, at the studios of a major TV network. On this one, there was someone waiting in the foyer to greet me when I arrived, get me signed in and escort me to the green room. This one was comfortable, with a bar, and a bar person, a proper buffet, and soft background music.

“Anything you need,” my escort, who introduced himself as Stephen said, “just ask Patricia there. You’re our first guest to arrive, but you’ll be on second. Someone should be along shortly to take you down to make-up, and get you miked up.”

True to his word, I’d hardly had time to get a diet Pepsi from the bar and take a couple of sips when a pretty young woman in her early twenties walked in.

“Mr. Barker?” she asked.

“Guilty,” I replied.

“Hi, I’m Paula, the assistant floor manager. If you’d like to come with me, I’ll take you down to make-up, and they’ll make you look even better on camera than you do in real life.”

She led me down a corridor to a large room, two of whose walls were occupied by a long bench, littered with the tools, lotions and potions of the make-up artist’s trade, and introduced me to Jenny, the one responsible for making me look good.

She took a good look at my face and scrutinised my skin.

“I think just a light powdering, to combat any shine from the overhead lights,” she said, and proceeded to dust me off, causing me to sneeze when some of the cloud of powder got up my nose.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t apologise, you’d be surprised how often you get sneezed on in this job.”

I chuckled.

“Well, at least you get paid, so I supposed that’s not to be sneezed at.”

I was rewarded by a blank stare.

“Sorry,” I apologised, “English joke.”

A couple of minutes later I followed Paula out of the make-up room to go and be wired up, when I stopped dead, my mouth dropping open.

“Charlie!” I exclaimed,” what are you doing here?”

“Same as you I expect,” she replied, before running down the corridor and hugging me, “I’d better not kiss you, I might smudge your make-up.”

I laughed.

“That’s usually my line,” I said.

“So we’re both on the Alan Cameron show then?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m talking about the next Star Academy film, what about you?”

“I’ve signed to a new show,” she said, “about a group of teenagers in Santa Monica.”

“Does it have a title?”

“Project 67-1491 at the moment.”

“So you’re leaving the other one?”

“I already did, I was written out four weeks ago, the episodes just haven’t been aired yet,” she explained.

“Any regrets?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “to be honest, I don’t think it will be renewed beyond the current batch.”

“Miss Hudson,” the AFM said, “we need to get you ready.”

“Sorry,” she apologised, “David and I are old friends.”

She turned to me.

“After the recording?” she asked.

“Dinner?” I replied.

“Okay,” she agreed, before giving me a brief kiss on the cheek and following the other girl into the make-up area.

I was escorted to the green room and took a seat, picking up a magazine and idly leafing through it. I’d only been there ten minutes, sipping a coffee when the door crashed open and a horrific sight entered.

There were five of them, scruffy, long uncombed hair, unwashed too by the looks of it, tatty jeans and soiled t-shirts. The room was suddenly filled with the stench of staleness. Stale tobacco, stale alcohol, stale bodies, and stale something else, something vaguely fruity.

Then I realised who they were. No Mercy were one of the most famous, or maybe infamous, rock bands on the planet. Mostly in their sixties they were still knocking out hit records after nearly forty years in the business. They had a bad reputation.

The second one in walked across to the bar/buffet table selected a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey picked it up unscrewed the top and started to guzzle the contents, straight from the bottle. After a good swig, he passed the bottle on to one of his mates, then another pulled a joint from his pocket and started to light up. That was the point at which I decided to leave the room.

I walked back up the corridor and found the make-up room. The door was partly open as I walked in. They were just finishing so I walked in.

“No spectators,” One of the make-up girls said, making shooing gestures with her hands.

“I just need a word with Charlie,” I said, “Charlie, don’t go back to the green room, there’s undesirables in there.”

“Undesirables?” the girl asked.

“Some set of animals calling themselves No Mercy,” I replied, “when I walked out they were in the process of lighting up joints.”

“Oh, shit,” she answered, “right, wait here would you, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She dashed out of the door and we heard her feet running down the corridor.

“What’s the problem love?” Charlie asked.

“There’s some band called No mercy supposed to be on the show with us. They walked in, started drinking the strong liquor straight out of the bottle, then proceeded to light up joints,” I replied, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going on if they’re part of it.”

“What is it about bloody musicians?” she asked, rhetorically.

“Speaking from experience?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “I’ve been out with a couple over here, and they were both incensed when I wouldn’t take drugs with them. They said it would make the sex better.”

“Oh,” I said in response.

“I just told them that since there wasn’t going to be any sex, it didn’t matter, and walked out.”

“Ah,” I added.

“Hence the rumours running around Hollywood that I’m a lesbian.”

“A rumour that I can personally squash” I said, “anybody who suggests that, just refer them to me.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, and bobbed a perfect curtsey, “how are things with you and Cal?”

“Good,” I answered, “you know she’s in Munich?”

“Yes, I’ve spoken to her three or four times, but I’m worried,” she replied.

“Why?” I asked, suddenly worried myself.

“She keeps on about this boy called Rudi and how sweet and cute he is,” she said, “I’m worried that another Wolfgang has got hold of her.”

I laughed.

“What’s funny about it?” she asked.

“You’ve heard of Jonas?”

“The tutor that she’s staying with?”

“That’s right, well, Rudi is his baby son,” I told her, “my only worry is that when I see her, she’ll want one of her own.”

Charlie giggled.

“She’s wanted that since she was about seven,” she said.

“She’s never said anything to me about it,” I replied.

“Of course not,” she answered, “if a twelve-year-old Cal had said to a twelve-year-old David, I want a baby, what would you have done?”

I thought for a moment.

“I see what you mean,” I agreed.

“And now you’re both sixteen?”

“I’d tell her we had to wait,” I said, “but suggest we did a lot of practice in the meantime?”

“Boys!” she exclaimed as she slapped my shoulder, “you never think of anything but sex.”

“That’s unfair, sex is not the only thing we think about,” I objected.

“Name something,” she demanded.

I thought for a moment.

“More sex?” I suggested.

“I give up,” was all she said before starting to laugh.

Our laughter was interrupted by the return of the make-up girl accompanied by a pompous looking little oaf, who obviously had a job title that far outreached his capabilities.

“Now, what’s all this silliness?” were his first words.

“What silliness are you referring to?” I asked.

He glared at me.

“Was it you who complained about the high spirits of another guest, young man?” he asked.

All right I’ll admit I don’t like being talked down to by anybody.

“No, I haven’t complained about anybody,” I replied, “however, I did point out to this lady, that a group of thugs came into the green room and proceeded to drink spirits direct from the bottle, thereby ruining it for other guests, and then proceeded to smoke marijuana, which I believe is illegal in Ontario.”

“Nobody objects to a little pot,” he snapped.

“I do,” I replied, “I have to pass through airport security tomorrow, then German immigration. Do you realise what could happen to a sixteen-year-old with traces of Cannabis on his clothes or person?”

“Well just stay out of the green room until it’s time for you to go on.”

“And what about Miss Hudson. She’s currently living in the USA on a work visa, do you think they’d let her back in?”

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” he said, “they’re rock stars, that’s how rock stars behave.”

“All right then, I’m leaving,” I replied, “I refuse to be forced into an appearance with people like them.”

“And if he goes, I go,” Charlie added.

“So, basically,” I finished, “that’s your show down the tube.”

“If you do that, we’ll sue you,” he blustered.

“Go ahead, you don’t have a contract with me, you have a contract with Magnum Studios and Disney, and one of the riders on that contract gives me full control over whether I go on or not, and if I choose to go on, full control over how much participation I have. My agent is very firm on that, and I think you’ll find that Miss Hudson has the same rider.”