Getting Real - By Ainslie Paton Page 0,24

bad vibes and headed back up the beach.

Jake was stretched out on the sand, his eyes closed behind her sunglasses, breathing steadily. He’d ditched his shirt and had his hands behind his head as a pillow. At a guess he was in his late twenties, early thirties. He was a good looking man. She’d known that since the day in the gym. Lying there, feigning comatose, he was doing a fair imitation of a rock god in her Persols. His muscles were all in the right places. He had a light sprinkling of hair across his chest and arms and that tattoo—not a star—a compass, was an interesting touch. She wondered what it meant to him.

Seeing him laid out like that, she had an urge to pounce on him and rumble him like she used to do with Rand when they were younger, making each other laugh, despite the fact someone usually got hurt. It was a weird thing to think, but then Jake was a weird mix of a man; and he’d been a good sport tonight, giving in to her demands for a ride, when she knew he hadn’t wanted to.

Jake heard Rielle approach but let her sit beside him before he spoke. The ride had cleared his headache and the sun at this end of the day was gloriously warm but had lost its sting. Even the tension in his neck had worked itself out. This wasn’t exactly the room service, mini bar experience he’d been looking for, but it would do. And since Rielle wasn’t trying to argue with him or make him climb anything, it was an improvement in their relationship. Once he’d stopped worrying about her, could feel how comfortable she was riding behind him, he’d enjoyed the ride—and it seemed to make her happy as well. She looked less stressed now than she had in the stadium car park.

“You ready to go back?”

“When you are. I thought you might’ve dozed off.”

“No,” he said, with a sudden flashback to how they’d had trouble waking Jonas when he’d fallen asleep on the stage floor. He sat up, used his shirt to dust sand off his back, and pulled it back on. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“I know a great burger place back in Glenelg; it’s on our way. Can I tempt you?”

“If they do takeout, sure. It can be annoying being with me in a public place.” She shrugged.

He smiled and tossed her the helmet. What neither of them needed was crazy fans and no security to deal with them. It could be annoying to be with her almost any place, but so far it was still the job. “Takeaway it is.”

9. Retribution

Before the first Ice Queen chord was struck, in concert mode, on Australian soil; before Rielle screamed her first note in front of fifty thousand frantic fans; before the support act Problem Children rocked out—and as the early bird, diehard punters began to arrive, Rielle enacted her retribution.

Three stories above the stage, the spark fairy who’d taken the part that powered the trapeze motor and not replaced it was suspended. Neddy dangled, booted feet down, blond shoulder-length dreadlocks up. Flapping beside him off the rigging was a hand lettered sign that read, I’ve been a very naughty boy. Beneath him for the first ten minutes of his punishment were Bodge and Teflon placing instruments and doing the final preparation for the opening act. After that he hung there alone.

He hung there while Rielle watched, hidden at the side of the stage, as the stadium floor area filled up and the punters jostled and manoeuvred for the spots closest to the stage. He hung there when the punters with seated tickets started arriving, filing in at a leisurely pace in their hundreds. He hung there while punters speculated about what he’d done, and made up outrageous stories to satisfy their curiosity. He hung there while they heckled, took photos and videos of him, and pretended to throw things at him. And when Collin Ng switched on vision, he hung there in triplicate on big video screens and Rielle knew in minutes he’d be featuring on Facebook and trending on Twitter.

Neddy tried not to move much because he’d worked out when he did, the trapeze shifted about violently and the punters laughed. At one stage, he tried to answer a particularly loud heckler and ended up face down, the long strands of his dreads wafting in the light breeze. That just made the punters laugh more

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