he’d seen her once again, briefly at the funeral. She’d hugged him hard and cried into his jacket. He’d always wondered what happened to her. She didn’t move in the same circles as the other mates he’d kept in touch with, so she remained this faraway fond memory of a time before things got hard.
He hadn’t thought of Harry Young for years, but being home was dredging up all sorts of memories and seeing that name on the list had triggered this one.
Jake nearly walked past his room. The ‘Do not disturb’ tag on the door handle threw him off. He figured it was something housekeeping must have done. He found Jonas barely breathing—almost choking in his vomit, the near empty packet of Zanect and four drained green Heineken bottles on the floor beside him. He tried to wake him, then rolled him to his side, supported him with pillows, and called an ambulance.
The wait was agony. But the paramedics were efficient and quick once they arrived, bundling Jonas into the back of an ambulance and speeding towards the hospital. Jake followed in a taxi, and waited on a hard plastic chair in a hot corridor, praying he’d have good news to report. He delayed calling Rand until he knew more, but once it was clear Jonas was going to live he dialled Rand’s mobile.
13. Doctor
The Fremantle Doctor was filling the sails of the yachts on the Swan River, giving Sharon, Rand and Rielle something to watch from the balcony of the hotel’s rooftop bar. Jake kept his head down. He was fine sitting in the confines of the snug bar, so long as he pretended there was no balcony edge, and no view. He imagined the yachts were fast and graceful, zipping across the surface of the water, racing each other for the sheer enjoyment of it. The contrasting conversation was stilted, angst ridden and outraged.
They’d said all there was to say. Jonas was being kept at the hospital for observation, and Sharon had him waitlisted for flights back to LA. Rielle had raged, and then fallen quiet, letting Rand make the necessary decisions.
Jonas was out. If he didn’t straighten up, the band would need to hire a new executive producer and stage manager. Meanwhile the Australian portion of the tour would go on with Rand and Rielle sharing EP responsibilities. They’d asked Jake to take on the stage manager’s role.
He was hesitating—pretending a great fascination with his hands. As tour manager, he could stand apart from the ins and outs of the band’s issues. He was responsible for getting them to the stage, but what they did on it was outside of his control. But as stage manager, he’d be responsible for their actions on stage as well. There’d be no escaping them. He’d done the dual role for other tours, but nothing this big, and while he was confident about working with Rand, it was Rielle he was worried about. Especially since their last discussion.
He broke the silence. “I’m flattered you’re asking, but I’m concerned.” He looked at Rielle. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“I said some things too, Jake,” said Rielle, while Rand looked on with a quirked eyebrow and Sharon waved a waiter over for a drinks refill.
He met Rielle’s eyes and held them. “If you’re sure we can work together?”
She gave him her trademark scowl. “I’m not sure. But I’m prepared to give it a try.”
“Rie!” Rand smacked his empty glass back on the table too hard.
Rielle was hunched forward in her chair and turned to look back at her brother. “Well, I’m not sure. This is important. I can’t see any point lying to Jake.”
Jake dropped his head. He wasn’t at all convinced about Rielle and the truth, but he agreed with the sentiment anyway. “I understand. Why don’t we see who else is available locally to step in if things don’t work out?”
Rand said, “That won’t be—”
Rielle said, “Good idea,” their words jumbling on top of each other.
Jake looked to Sharon who nodded, doing her best ‘nothing rattles me’ impression in spite of the tension. “No worries. I’ll see who’s available,” she said. They both knew the likelihood of anyone suitable being available at no notice was low and that they were in for an interesting time.
Rand got to his feet. “I’m going to head into the hospital.” He gave Rielle a nudge, but she shook her head, stood and walked across to the balcony rail. “Fine,” he eye-rolled. “Jake, if