Okay, here it is (deep breath). I couldn't write Ric in the first person, can't get inside his head in the same way. But I hope that you enjoy this chapter none the less and understand a little more about his actions in the last chapter. As always please review - it makes my day.
Chapter 37
Ric laid his head back against the cushions with a groan. They were back on the coach again, six of them crammed into the bus – plus luggage; the instruments that were deemed too necessary or loved to be packed up and any hangers on that had somehow wangled their way past the thuggish security of Mick and Dave. He had just spent two nights in a hotel room – in a proper bed- sheer bliss, with a powerful hot shower and more importantly a degree of privacy. It had also meant that their portable accommodation had a chance to be cleaned and aired. It no longer stuck of sweat, dirty washing and half eaten food.
It was only a short drive today, less then an hour to move over the Welsh border to Bristol. Another concert venue, another stage and another audience, it was all getting so monotonous, the separate concerts merging into one big blur. Sure, when they went on stage, when the crowd started cheering then the adrenalin rush would kick in and he was fine; he could play and sing forever, or as long as his voice held out, just as long as the audience was behind him and the rest of the band. But the mind numbing long hours that stretched achingly between concerts were a different matter.
He was so used to being hyperactively busy, to having his days full to bursting that being bored was an unpleasant experience. Until now he always had something to fall back on, music, law, the normality of keeping the flat running, spending time with Izzy. Izzy! At the thought of her name Ric squeezed his eyes shut, channelling his brain to think of anything else, anything at all. He counted to twenty in Latin 'primus, secundus, tertius, quartus' that required enough concentration to blank his mind, although for a second it had shut up tight, like a muscle cramping, refusing to relax and let anything else flow. She was getting married next weekend, married to the blonde buffoon – then man she had claimed she had not been flirting with. Had it all been a lie, had she been carrying on behind his back since early in the year as Tatiana had insinuated and he had accused her? Either way she had cruelly sent him a wedding invitation, or someone had – he had received it with the handing out of mail.
Being on tour was a bit like being at boarding school again. It reminded him of the early years of being a chorister at St Mary's; for the routine wasn't that different. There was a meeting every morning, per diems handed out every week like pocket money and mail forwarded on by the record company was handed out every other day. Shit, they even had a house father in the form of the tour manager Pete and occasionally Devlin would swoop down to praise and criticise in equal measure as a headmaster would. It was like being a child again, even if every night he sung of love, sex, passion, despair and hate; rather then the hymns and choral pieces he had grown up with.
But even drawing parallels of being on tour with his childhood could not divert his mind from thinking about his ex. Like a dog with a bone his memories returned time and time again to remembering her, using any slight mark as a reminder. Buying a magazine he would notice the favourite one she always read, tuning his guitar he was reminded of the way she use to curl up in the chair and watch him play, even eating food – remembering her cooking. He knew why, for in a moment of anger he had replied to the invitation he had screwed up and thrown on the floor, sent her a recording of a song that he'd laid down about a month ago, describing all the pain and rejection he felt. He hadn't planned on ever letting anyone hear it, the lyrics were too cruel, too damming; but then receiving the invitation had cut him and it had hurt, so he decided to send a blow back. At the last minute he had enclosed a flyer of the tour so she could see where he was, all the cities he was going to; see how busy he was, far too hectic to be thinking about her – except when he was alone on the tour bus, gazing out the window at the grey miles of motorway.
"Are you busy thinking or d'you mind if I join you?" Ric glanced up startled to see Pete standing next to him, hanging onto the edge of the luggage shelf against the swaying of the coach. He pulled a face and indicated the seat opposite, removing his legs from the cushions so the other man could sit down; which he did with a groan, flinging his clipboard onto the table in front of them. Pete had been up since six, making sure the lorry and bus were loaded, checking them all out of the hotel, rousing the crew and counting them on to the coach. In contrast he and the rest of the boys had woken up, packed and after breakfast wandered on to the coach about ten, safe in the knowledge it wouldn't be leaving without them. Even still punctuality was vital, for every day was scheduled down to the last minute.
"How you doing Tom?" Pete enquired casually, casting him an oblique glance that Ric didn't miss. He grimaced in return.
"Fine mate, fine," he muttered in return, drawing a leg up and wrapping his arms around it, yawning at the same time.
"Been sleeping okay?"
"Yeah," Ric frowned wondering why he was being fired twenty questions. "It's easy in a hotel bed," he added, realising his replies were monosyllabic.
"As long as you sleep," Pete added, glancing over at Sandy who was sprawled out on a bunk, his snores softly filling the air. "I think he was up most of the night again – pretty little bit of skirt this time at least, the one he picked up at Exeter was a right wolf!"
"Well Sand had his beer goggles on and thought she was the most beautiful women in the world at the time," Ric replied with a soft laugh. "We did try and tell him different, but he wouldn't listen."
"As long as he's taking precautions..." Pete hesitated, as if he were teetering on the edge of a lecture he wasn't sure would be well received. Ric simply shrugged, turning his face away and stared at the road again.
"I wouldn't worry, Sandy's pretty careful – he knows too much about the dangers of STI's, worked as a biochemist for several years." He supplied the information, knowing that although it wasn't public knowledge Pete could be trusted with the information. Heck, he was even tempted to throw the mask aside and demand that he was known as 'Ric' on the tour bus; only the presence of groupies and lesser crew members stopped him from doing so. At times the whole dual name business was utterly bewildering, especially when he was tired and they had been plenty of occasions in the past months when people were literally shouting his stage name in his face and he was so tuned out that he didn't respond.
"What about the other guys?" The question was asked with such an air of innocence that it made Richard look up from his study of the tarmac racing past the window.
"What is this – sexual education? We're grown men Pete, we can take care of ourselves and know how to strap on a condom, plenty of practice there over the years, don't you worry!" He paused and looked at his tour manager straight. "And tell Dev he needn't panic either, we won't all come down with deadly diseases or leave a wake of unwanted pregnancies." He snorted at the thought, watching as his partner shifted slightly awkwardly in his seat before he relented and flashed him a smile. "Thanks for caring though – Dad!" He added sarcastically with a grin, quietly surprised to see the older man in a position of discomfort. It lasted for all of a second before he regained his usual gruff exterior.
"As if, you sarky so and so," Pete replied laughing slightly. "Can you really imagine me a father?" He gestured to himself, his face in an expression of disbelief. Ric let out a chuckle.
"Very true. How long have you been doing this job for?"
"Spent practically the past fifteen years on tour. Still haven't unpacked my house properly since I moved there."
"Which was?"
"Eight years ago give or take." The tour manager folded his arms behind his head and leant back on the seat, a grin on his face. "UK, Stateside and everywhere else on occasion – spent two years on the road with Ricitus when they did their world tour which was manic and a year in the US and South America on Jas Blakley's Ambitious tour." He stretched out, flexing the muscles in his arms, built up by years of shifting and moving heavy pieces of stage sets and equipment.
"So this is small fry to you, hey Pete?" Ric cut in with a gesture to the tour bus. "Little local UK tour with small venues – walk in the park."
"Not that little, which was one thing I needed to talk to you about. We've had messages from some of the Student Unions saying that they are totally sold out and want to book a second night! Dev is game, would double your number of nights, but I said needed to pass it by the group first."
"Couldn't we upgrade to a bigger place instead? I remember when I was at Uni occasionally if there was a good band they would change from the SU to a local concert hall. Where is full?" Ric was pleasantly surprised. It was hard to tell how full venues were when you were on stage, the lights and music blaring. There always seemed to be an appreciative roar from the audience, but he couldn't tell if the halls were really at capacity.
"Do you really want to know?" Ric nodded. "Well, need to discuss this with the other guys as well, but currently Liverpool, who can upgrade to the O2, Reading who want another night, Sheffield and Manchester Academy who want to do two nights as well. Oh and Edinburgh who want another night and book the Corn Exchange as well!"
"Ha!" Ric let out a hoarse laugh. "Shit, I guess that's good news." He ran his hands through his hair. "But you are right we need to check with the others, want me to rouse Sleeping Beauty over there?" He swung his legs down from the couch and stood up as Pete nodded and moved over to the bunk where Sandy was sprawled out, one leg sticking off the narrow shelf and into the aisle and a pillow hugged to his chest. His face held a look of contentment and Ric found himself hesitating in waking him, he looked so peaceful.
"Sands," he leant down and shook his shoulder, hanging onto the edge of the bunk above for stability. His friend simply muttered and shook the hand off. "Sandy," Ric tried again, more forceful with his action. "Alexander!" He shouted in his ear, bashing him on the shoulder at the same time, causing the sleeping occupant to open his eyes and stare at him in confusion.
"What the fu..." Sandy said sleepily with a yawn as he came to.
"Meeting, five minutes, get your arse over," Ric jerked his head in the direction of the table and sofas at the front of the bus, the unofficial gathering place. He moved in as Angus and Jim pushed past them to go and grab a seat. "Come on, it's your fault that you were up all night anyway."
"Okay, okay," the blonde haired man slid off the bunk, with a well practised move, knowing not to sit up and bash his head on the one above. "You gonna' come for a run when we get to Bristol – I want to go over the suspension bridge," he asked as they went to sit down.
"Sandy, you've had what; three hours sleep, we are playing a gig tonight and you want to go running?"
"Yeah, get's the energy going and besides you need to keep your fitness up as well. Come with me?"
"I don't get a choice, do I?" Ric knew that Sandy would bully him into coming jogging, determined that the whole band stay relatively fit and healthy, not easy when they were out on the road, often with indifferent catering or relying on fast food. It was draining to play a three hour set, the sweat pouring off your body, dehydration setting in and then being expected to party just as hard afterwards. Maybe Sandy had a point, Ric thought, settling down in a spare seat, diverting his gaze from the other band members and to the paper schedule that had been pushed in front of him, at least if he was gasping for breath with aching legs and chest, he wasn't thinking about anything else.
He briefly read the typed list in front of him, noting the hotel they were staying at, the fact that they had an interview for a magazine the next day before a four hour drive up to Liverpool for the next concert – great more time spent on the bus in its confined atmosphere. Maybe he could escape and find a bookshop, grab some new reading material. Even the dry words of the Law Society papers would be a welcome distraction from the monotony.
"Right, good news guys – just released, album has gone Platinum!" Pete launched into the meeting without any formality, causing them all to jump to attention at the news, exchange grins as they glanced around at each other's faces. Ric even managed to meet Jim's eye and exchanged a brief smile. It was astounding and yet in the scheme of things almost to be expected – it was hard to know how to react. "Copy of the press release just issued," more paper was slid in their direction, Angus grabbing it first and reading through the words briefly, his mouth pulled into a frown before passing it on.
"Come on," Ric growled; impatient and wanting to see what was being said. He pulled the paper from his companion's hand and glanced over the few paragraphs, frowning as he read the words, finding the style it was written in forced and unflowing. "Humph," he slid it back into the centre of the table, his mouth a thin line of distaste.
"I know what you are thinking," Angus piped up, as he glanced in Ric's direction. "Not as good as Izzy's style is it?" He simply shrugged in reply, even though it was exactly what was in his mind. Sometimes Angus was just too damn observant, must have been growing up with sisters that did it. "Well, that's good news anyway," the bass guitarist continued mildly, addressing the rest of them gathered around the table.
"Understatement Angus," Jim barged in from the opposite side, his eyes shining with excitement. "This is fuckingly marvellous news. Do you now how sales are going in the US as well Pete?" He drummed his fingers on the table, the noise causing Richard to shrug and turn his head away from the direction of his band mate. He was so fed up with Jim at the moment, their friendship of nearly fifteen years at the most strained it had ever been, he only got through the day by spending as little time as possible in his company and speaking only as much as was necessary. Hard work on a tour bus, but he tried. Shit, probably the air around him filled with ice every time he even looked in Jim's direction. But then his best friend was responsible for hurting him so much, a joke could be taken too far at times.
He could feel Pete's stare as he sat there, gazing at his nails, the cuticles stained with the black nail polish he had painted on to them a few days ago. He couldn't find any remover and so had picked it off in boredom. Only trouble was his fingers were now looking ragged and playing the guitar every night didn't help, wearing his nails down and creating thick calluses along his fingers. He barely had any feeling in his fingertips anymore – really should start to use a plectrum like Jim did, but he had developed a style without one and it was hard to change the habit, a bit like trying to write with his other hand!
"US sales were pushing Gold last time it was checked – forecasts will be in with their morning, so a little while to wait yet Jim, bide your time – it won't be long. Have you thought more about taking up Never Hear's offer?" All eyes swivelled to Richard. He shrugged, hated the way people always seemed to defer to him on unpopular choices.
"I told Dev two weeks ago to accept," Ric replied pushing disinterest to the fore, making it sound as if he couldn't care less. "Opening for one of the biggest rock bands around – heck I have most of their albums, can't turn down an offer like that can we. Madison Square Gardens and all..." He trailed off, unable to help the slight smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth. To be invited by an internationally famous band together for over ten years - to go and open for them – it was the sort of break they could only dream of and would be a huge stepping stone to cornering the American market and lay the way for their own tour that was scheduled to start early the next year.
The only down side was that it required the band to fly out on one of their few rest days, playing the next and flying home on the third and back to their own tour of the UK. It left little room to get over or even realise they were jet lagged and from a physical point of view was horrendously over demanding. But as a chance – it couldn't be turned down!
"If you told Dev, why the fuck couldn't you let us know," Jim demanded; venom in his voice. He had realised the cold shoulder that he was being dealt and everyday became more confused and angry with Richards actions. But Ric simply couldn't find it in him to forgive his friend at the moment – that required peace of mind and equilibrium, neither of which were in his life currently.
"Hadn't got word back that the offer was accepted until this morning," Ric clipped out, pushing his mobile with the e-mail onto the table. "Didn't want to get your hopes up until it was finalised."
"It's my Mum's birthday that weekend," Sandy interjected with a touch of sadness, "Chris and I were going back home for a couple of days to celebrate – oh well," he shrugged and smiled. It was the sacrifice they all had to make for the good of the band and they all knew it. Ric was aware that he should have included the others in the discussion sooner, but he couldn't find the energy or to have to deal with Jim and his questions and demands.
"Seriously Stewart," Jim ground out, getting so worked up that he used Richard's last name – one that he wasn't suppose to have as Phantom. "You are so fucking arsy at the moment, why can't you just snap the hell out of it and start treating the rest of it like we are part of this group rather then your stinking slaves. You are nothing without us and you know it." Ric sighed and glanced at the other two, wondering if Jim was speaking on their behalf or was off on one of his usual woe filled moment. Angus and Sandy shrugged in return, but then they were more chilled out about the whole situation anyway.
"When you start behaving like an adult McCullough," he bit back in return. "Which will probably be when heaven becomes hell? Now shut up and let's finish this meeting." He threw the last words out in a sneer – no point being polite to that useless excuse for a grownup. It shut Jim up long enough for Pete to mention the increased booking of the arenas and the upgrading from the student union halls to the local city arenas.
"I am gonna' rename this the upgrade tour at this rate," Pete concluded, when they had run down the list, the whole group giving their approval on the extra dates and larger venues. It added another week and a half to their tour, so that they now finished only a few days before Christmas, their final concert in Edinburgh for the university – finishing where it had all started. Ric found himself idly doodling on the edge of the press release with a spare pen, his mind elsewhere as Pete continued to talk about the logistics of the tour – they seemed to go over so much of the same ground everyday – he had already memorised most of the schedule, having spent the last decade in study it had become second nature to cram facts into his brain. Nowadays he did it subconsciously.
"And one last thing," their tour manager concluded mildly, the tone of voice causing Ric to look up, not likely its placid tone, not like the gruffly spoken man at all. "Just wanted to say that Bobbie managed to get the hotel to waiver most of the damage to the room over the weekend, argued it out so that didn't end up charging three K, which is what they wanted to try and do, so buy him a drink next time, hey."
"Wait, wait," Richard butted in, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Who did three grand's worth of damage to a hotel suite?" His eyes scanned the other three members of the group, all of whom sat with a degree of guilt on their faces, although his gaze rested on Jim. "James, don't tell me you wrecked a hotel room?"
"Fuck it Ric," he snarled back at the unfriendly tone of voice used. "I pulled some curtains down and flooded the bathroom, not exactly worth three thousand pounds; they were just trumping up charges because they think we have money and will pay it. It was hardly destroying a suite.
"Pulling curtains down, what are you a child or a dog?" Richard's voice rose to a shout and he stood up, aghast at the spoilt behaviour of the man opposite him. "It is a hotel room, not a playground; you wouldn't go bloody pulling your mother's curtains off the fucking windows would you?"
"Hanty would kill me before my parent's even found out," Jim muttered, causing Sandy and Angus to exchange a grin, well aware that this was true. "Besides it was an accident, not a deliberate act of vandalism, I was just..."
"Off your face!" Ric interjected. "Shagging a woman, one who isn't your fiancée?" Riled by the lackadaisical way James was acting Richard fired off potential excuses, watching as his friend's shoulders drooped as his comments hit home.
"What's it to you!" Jim threw back in his face. "I do what I want Stewart and it is none of your fucking business how I run my life. Stop being my fucking babysitter you arrogant git and go get yourself a life, otherwise this band isn't even going to make it to Liverpool; let alone America!" He stood up and rudely pushed past the others, not waiting to find out if there was anything else to be said. A few moments later the sound of his guitar could be heard from the back of the bus.
"Yeah, well, nothing else to be said. We will be there in about ten minutes so get your stuff together. Ric just let his head fall onto the table with a thump, pressing his face into the laminate covering. He closed his eyes and ignored the others, listening to them move away, needing to be alone. God he had nearly come so close to hitting Jim again – couldn't bear to be around him at all, especially when he acted like a large child, refusing to take responsibilities for his actions.
"Ric," Pete's gruff voice made him look up with wariness in his eyes, wondering if he was going to get another chat.
"Aren't you suppose to call me Phantom," he said dully, fed up of the whole band and touring, sick to the back teeth with the created identity. Right now he wanted to crawl back to his Grandparents and hide in bed for the rest of his life – not that they would let him.
"Call you whatever you call yourself," Pete replied mildly. "Makes no difference to me."
"Ric's fine, at least I respond to my own name," Richard said wearily, waiting for the line of questioning to start.
"I found this on your hotel room floor, I thought you might want it," Pete offered him a card that had obviously been screwed into a ball but was now smoothed out and pressed enough to make it crumpled but flat. Ric took it, his lips curling in distaste as he saw it was the wedding invitation of the Blonde Buffon and Isabella.
"Thanks," his voice was sarcastic and tired.
"Not easy keeping a girl when you're on the road is it?" Pete continued calmly. "Takes a very special woman to understand the strange nature of what goes on." He nodded towards the paper. "Guess she didn't. But never mind, you will find the one for you." He turned to walk away, but Ric stopped with a slight gesture of his hand.
"Trouble is Pete," he sighed. "I think I had found the one for me and now she is getting married to another man, and it's my entire fault – well mine and Jim's.
He accepted Sandy's offer of a run, needed to have someone flog him into action otherwise he would have just collapsed into the nearest bed and let the comforting waves of depression wash over him. Only once before had he been so low and that was at the death of his mother. But this was different because the person he was mourning was still alive, alive; well and he hoped, happy – not that she had seemed that cheerful when he had last seen her.
No, it was pointless letting himself become depressed by reflecting on the situation, she had obviously cut him totally out of her life. She had not replied to any of the e-mails he had sent in the early days, handed over management of the Cluinn account to her (less talented) boss and was now only a week away from happily marrying a man she had once claimed to feel nothing for. And it was his entire stupid fault, for letting his suspicion get the better of him and believing the half-truths that their new PR manager had spun.
He had been highly sensitive to the situation, probably because in a moment of madness he had gone to the jewellers opposite the shop where he had his dissertation bound. His intention had been to buy her a necklace or a bracelet – a pretty token piece of jewellery. But whilst he was in the shop something had overcome him, memories of the past months washed over in waves and he realised that he was happier and more contented then he had ever been and she was the reason why. He had left with a ring box and hope in his heart. The hope that no longer existed.
He paused in the act of putting on his jogging gear and reaching down into his bag pulled the ring out the box – it was a small diamond solitaire, not like the rock that Cheyne had bought her, all the graceful emerald setting that graced Alanya's ring finger. With a shrug he slipped it into the pocket of his shorts and made his way downstairs to meet his friend. Sandy was waiting for him, stretching his legs out on the railings; dressed in identical shorts and t-shirts, both of them with baseball caps pulled down low over their heads. Ric decided to go without a mask or prosthetic, relying on the shadow of the cap and sunglasses to divert attention. The sweat always made the prosthetic slip anyway.
"Ready to go," he asked Ric and barely waiting for a nod took off up the incline at a fast paced jog, leaving his friend trailing behind. Ric thought his lungs were going to burst as he followed up the steep path that led to the amazing bridge spanning the Avon Gorge. At least staring at the Victorian architecture took his mind off the pain his legs and the aching in his lungs. And then he had to put up with the cocky smile Sandy flashed at him as he waited at the top of the hill.
"Bastard," he ground out as his paces took him to the top, but Sandy simply grinned.
"If you exercised more often then it wouldn't be so difficult. Don't know how you've kept going as long as you have!" Ric fell forwards, putting his hands on his knees and breathing deeply as Sandy had shown him. The one thing he did have was good lung capacity and his breathing was back to normal in seconds. "Right ready for more, let's go across the bridge!" Ric nodded and stepped his pace up, determined not to be left behind, until they were halfway across, the river far below them a narrow ribbon in the thin path it wound to open waters. It was a long drop down and anyone that fell would not survive. The view distracted him.
"Wait here a moment Sands," he called to his friend, pushing his face up against the wire that stretched between the pavement and the abyss. He reached into his shorts, took a step back and tossed the ring high up over the fence where it briefly caught the sun before falling in a downward spiral, watching as it disappeared from view before taking a deep breath.
"What was that?" Sandy came and stood next to him peering down through the wire, his eyes narrowed, trying to see what had been thrown.
"Nothing," Ric shrugged, glad to no longer have the reminder of his intention hanging around. "Just an alternative future!" He heaved a sigh. "Let's go on!"
The day possibly improved a little after that, the run less punishing as his legs stretched into the pace, his heart speeding up to the beat and his lungs breathing in time. Maybe it was the endorphins flowing around his body, but returning back from the jog he felt calmer then he had in, well – six weeks or more. He had a quick shower, changed and headed off into town to find the promised book store and a quiet cup of coffee, as well as some space and time to himself. He was confident that with his casual clothes and prosthetic no one would distinguish him from the scores of students and tourists that filled the town.
He browsed the large bookstore and shopping centre, happy to blend in with all the other shoppers and enjoying having money to spend. His 'allowance' gave him more money in one week then he had been used to living on in a month and it felt strange to not penny pinch as had been habit for so long. In fact he had only had such a good standard of living because Izzy had never demanded any rent from him.
He picked up several books desperate for some distraction and new reading material. He read quickly and so much time spent on the road meant he tended to devour the printed word – already there was a large trail of books left behind on their tour. He then grabbed a few magazines for Sandy and a DVD for Angus, knowing they need distraction just as much and besides he enjoyed being able to show such largess with his friends – he had never had the funds before. His hand stilled over a video game, instinct telling him to buy it for Jim, knowing that it was something he wanted. But that was when he considered Jim a friend, someone to depend on and trust – that was no longer the case.
But what Jim had done, the voice in his head counselled, was his usual high jinks – not vindictive or evil just childish and silly. The trouble was the price that had been paid was high. Of course the situation had been created by Ric himself – his arsy attitude as Jim phrased it, his friend's actions were merely the catalyst for everything going stupendously wrong. He shrugged and added the game to the pile of items he was buying.
With a start he realised that he had managed to waste most of the afternoon and needed to get his ass back to the arena for the afternoon sound check – he would not be popular if he was late and held up proceedings. They were all expected to dance to the timetable and whilst the band were not docked wages as the rest of the crew were, punctuality was still highly regarded. He set out with a determined stride, covering the distance quickly the bags of books clenched in both hands, banging against his legs.
The crew had already swung into action by the time he had got there, raising the stage and backdrop – such as it was and setting up the snaking mess of cables and speakers that were needed to project the sound. In the gloomy daylight the venue looked tired and scabby, faded black paint and a sticky floor in need of a sweep stretched back out from the stage at the front. It would be different tonight when it was filled with over a thousand people – all who had come to hear Cluinn's music.
Ric went through the necessary sound checks with the band, making sure the mix of music sounded through the speakers at the right balance, no point in the drums being deafening, or the bass dominating if the words were inaudible. It was almost routine now and in twenty minutes all were satisfied that it was set up and working. They could now kick back and let the setting up finish, the merchandising displayed, the lighting rig finished and the support band to do their checking.
He sat on the front of the stage, legs dangling over the edge; taking in all the bustle of the crew and back stage tech as they scurried around knowing that he soon had to go back stage and get ready for the concert – take Phantom out of the box – another saying of Izzy's. He counselled his mind back to its positive state, there was no point reflecting on her, he needed to move on. Maybe he would let himself have a girl tonight, indulge in the sort of antics that rock stars were suppose to get up to, rather then being the hermit of late. A good shag might just help to push his memories aside.
He jumped down from the stage, his Converse hitting the ground with a thud and grabbed his bags heading off backstage, not wanting to get involved with any discussions or banter from the crew or other band members, he just wanted to focus. The dressing room was empty; their 'costumes' hanging on a rail at the side, the box with all his masks placed carefully next to it. He sat down at the dressing table with a sigh – time to stop being Ric and take on his stage persona. He stripped down to just his jeans, sat on the rickety stool, the leather top worn and slightly ripped from countless other acts that had gone through the room before them. No need to shower, he had one after running and would need one straight after – he always came off stage pouring with sweat. He pulled his hair out of the ponytail - really needed it cut, it was down to his shoulders again and looking really ragged, not that it seemed to matter and slicked it back off his face, reaching up and pulling off the prosthetic, gazing at his reflection in the harshly illuminated mirror.
Somedays he barely noticed his face, the thick scar that ran down his cheek. It was almost more there as an annoyance, especially his eyesight blurring – which made seeing in the dim light on stage quite difficult when he was tired. But today, when everything was so heightened, when he was so aware of all around him, he grimaced at the sight. Raised and hard it dominated his left cheek and no amount of replenishing oil, creams or massage seemed to make the slightest difference. He had considered plastic surgery to try and soften the impact, but until now the price had made it out of the question.
"Beauty and the beast," the voice sneered from the darkness of the doorway. Ric spun around at the sound, his body rigid, wondering who had managed to find him here. Relief let his shoulders sag slightly as Jim moved into the middle of the room, his eyes slightly glazed over, a glass in his hand. He had obviously been drinking in the middle of the day.
"Hey Jimbo," this wasn't the time for a fight, not an hour before doors and a little over two hours until stage time.
"Why women seem to think you are sex on legs I don't know," he continued, walking over and putting the glass down next to Ric. "I mean really you are pig ugly!"
"Thanks for letting me know," Ric replied wearily massaging his temples, shivering slightly at the cool wind that was blowing into the room through the open door and across the naked top of his body. "Could you close the door?" Jim hesitated a moment as if considering the idea before walking over and shutting the plank, pushing the lock across as well to stop entry by anyone else. The noise of the bolt being shot home made Richard look up warily, unsure at the action.
"Why've you locked it?" he attempted to keep his tone of voice light, picking up the glass and taking a cautious sniff, when his noise met nothing more threatening then whisky he took a swig aiming for nonchalance.
"You stealing my whisky again," there was a threat in the words.
"Just trying it," Ric shrugged, trying not to bait Jim who was obviously bruising for a fight. "Islay right?" His guess momentarily wrong footed his friend who stood there, the frown lifting slightly.
"Oh, so something has managed to get through that thick cranium of yours in all these years, and there I had you down as a philistine." The baiting in his words was evident, but Richard counselled himself not to rise. "At least you might have appreciated that bottle of mine you stole for at least a couple of sips before you passed out. Do you have any idea how much that whisky cost me?"
"Not as much as it cost me," Richard muttered under his breath, before looking up – they had been over this already; only then they had been taking swings at each other at the same time. Tonight he was determined to talk in a calmer manner, even if it meant swallowing some of his pride. "I thought you took it from your Dad's collection?" He spoke out loud.
"Beside the point. The thing is that it was there to be sipped and savoured, not to get blind roaring smashed on! It was worth five thousand pounds and you drunk it like it was bloody water!" Ric shrugged.
"I've regretted it ever since if that's any help, all of it. And I am paying the price for my actions. Shit Jim, I will buy you another bottle if it means that much to you." He ran his hands through his hair and whirled back around on his chair, watching his friend and bandmate in the mirror as he prowled around the room.
"Would you?" JIm finally asked, coming and standing behind him , their eyes meeting in the mirror. "You have five thousand to spare then?" Ric shrugged amiably.
"It's worth it if we..." he trailed off, not sure how to say the words that needed to be spoken, how to make amends. He swallowed hard. "If you want it then it is yours – I'll order it online right now if you want." He leant over and picked up his phone, surfing through the website to a place he knew sold expensive whisky. "What was it called?"
"Ric stop it!" The words came out quietly with a harsh edge to them; stopping him in his tracks and making him turn again. Jim stood very close, leaning against the wall in weary disposition. He slid down the painted breeze blocks until he sat on the floor resting his head backwards for support. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never thought that was what would happen, Angus only told me today." He let out a watery grin. "Haven't you explained to her?"
"She won't let me," Ric answered. "And to be honest the situation would never have occurred if I could have kept my temper and my suspicions and not baited her, so it is my fault first – yours second though!"
"True enough. Although why don't you just send her an e-mail mate, explain and sort things out? It might stop you being like a bear with a sore head."
"I tried, she deleted them without reading – wouldn't answer my calls. You know what Jimbo; please call her Izzy in my presence. There is no use pretending she doesn't exist – she does and she is hopefully happy and it is my problem that I can't deal with it." He sighed. "I just need to move on with my life, forget about her, and embrace the world and all the women in it. Maybe get myself some skirt tonight."
"Shouldn't be a problem, they all want to sleep with the lead singer!" Jim laughed hoarsely. "Although I hold by my comment, you are ugly!"
"Cheers you wanker, with friends like you..." Ric laughed slightly, glad that they had managed to sort it out between them, at least temporarily. He held out a hand and standing up pulled Jim to standing, slapping him on the back. "What do you think about performing 'High' tonight? It was one of the last things Izzy said to me, that we should think about putting it on the second album. What do you think?"
"Cool, totally – I'd say instead of Light of Day. Sure you don't feel like belting that one out at the moment! Time to move on my friend, like you say – there is a whole world waiting for you out there!"
Ric nodded and gave his friend a brief hug. Jim was right, if he couldn't solve the problem that there was no use dwelling, he needed to move on.