bits of scaffold, gaffer tape and paint brushes. There was no pretence of work now, just open admiration. Despite Sydney, this was going to be a good tour.
“That’ll do us,” said Bodge in approval when the song ended and a round of applause and whistles rang out.
“She must have hollow legs,” said Teflon. “Where does that big voice come from?”
“She’s got good legs,” said Lizard. “I wouldn’t mind them wrapped around me.”
“You might want to shower first, you don’t want to give her a disease,” said Teflon.
“Okay, break it up,” said Glen with a grunt, waving the group back to work.
“Where did you go?” Rielle said to Rand. She watched the crew scatter, copping the broad grin on Bodge’s face.
“Nowhere special, just out.”
“All night?”
He shrugged. “It’s not that small a town.”
“Where’s Jonas?” she asked, almost dreading the response.
“He’s here. He’s with the sound and vision guys. He’ll be fine.”
Rielle shook her head. “He’s using, and he’s no good to us messed up.”
Rand sighed. “I know, but what can we do?”
She nodded. They needed Jonas. They needed to get the show design and every on-stage moment perfected and locked down. That was one of the reasons she’d wanted to start in Adelaide, and why they’d allocated extra time to get this first show produced. A small city that often missed out on big name acts was more likely to be forgiving than a place like Sydney. Sydney was experienced. Sydney was sophisticated. She knew her stuff. She’d sniff out a poorly planned set list, or a flat spot in the show as soon as she looked at them. That’s why Sydney was last. Sydney was brutal. Sydney didn’t forgive. And Rielle couldn’t forgive Sydney.
If only.
“What do you think of Jake?” she asked. If Jonas was going to be unreliable, they needed a strong tour manager. If they didn’t think Jake had the goods they’d have him replaced immediately. She knew he looked good with his broad chest and well-worked muscles, his handsome face and short cropped hair that’d stood up in sweaty spikes in the gym, but no one knew better than she did how deceiving looks could be.
“He’s a good guy; he’s got a great rep, crew like him, and that tells you something.”
“I think he’s wet.” He was entirely too ‘boy next door’ and the tattoo, a star maybe, done with red and blue ink on his bicep didn’t make it any less so.
“You think everyone is wet.”
Rielle scuffed her boot heel on a piece of stage riser. “No seriously, he’s a nice guy and that’s the problem. We need a tour manager who’s a goddamn Godzilla, you know, rips into people, has them all afraid to put a foot wrong.” They didn’t need some cute guy she’d almost considered messing around with because he’d looked so deliciously normal, so easy going. Thank fuck she’d remembered messing around with cute boys was never uncomplicated and never worked in her favour.
“Nope, we don’t. We need a guy the crew respect. Respect is better than fear.”
“Tell that to the oppressed masses. I don’t like him.”
Rand flapped his arms in exasperation. “What’s not to like?”
“Someone whose main recommendation is that other people like him. I’m not other people.”
“Oh, don’t we know that.” Rand eye-rolled. “Get over it. Unless he fouls something up, we’re keeping him.” He gave her a shove. “Come on, let’s go see the view from the cheap seats.”
From the control booth, Jake heard Rielle’s impromptu performance and noted the approval of the crew. It was a good start. Not only had the two stars shown up earlier than most talent did and were interested in the set build, they appeared to appreciate the need to win the crew over. That was smart. Many of the big names scraped in on time for a rehearsal, issued a truckload of demands and then showed up just in time for the main event, barely conscious of the effort it took to get them on stage in the first place.
He watched brother and sister climb the stadium staircase, headed for the seats at the top, the ones with the worst view and the least atmosphere, but sold out like every other seat in the venue. That was smart too. It showed they cared about the punters.
He knew he should join them. The more time he spent with them early on, the easier it would be to interpret their wishes for the whole tour, but he hated those seats. He hated everything about them: