ago they wouldn’t have bothered with a bottle of water, just a cheap kettle and some sachets of coffee with a polystyrene cup. Now, they presented him with bottled waters; still and sparkling, a glass; china cup; fresh milk and a jug of real coffee. And someone, Terry no doubt, had supplied a bottle of his favourite whisky, only a small bottle he noted, but it was there. Clean white towels. He raised the corner of the towel coating him and put it to his nose. Yes, freshly laundered.
The room itself was still the same though. Tobacco stained, cracked mirror and peeling paint. He’d once asked the manager to replace the mirror, Christ, he came here often enough. The manager explained there was little point, as it would be broken again the next time he came. Young bands and rock and roll didn’t change, he explained, nor did their friends, who tagged along with them. Robert knew that well enough, and had got rid of all his so called friends years ago. No one came with him on his gigs. No one took advantage of him.
Not all the acts are as mature as you Mr. D’Lyn, the manager had added. Fucking bastard, insinuating he was old. He still packed in the crowds. In fact he needed a bigger venue. He might not bother coming back here again. He’d have to speak to his agent about it.
He stubbed out his cigarette, closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair for a few moments relaxation. It was that or the bottle of whisky, but he still had two more nights to go, and both those were sell outs as well. He would save the whisky for the last night. He might have a mouthful back at the hotel but that depended on who was waiting by the backstage door. Even though his act was being followed by a disco, some of his fans would try and slip round to see him rather than dance. All those lonely women and girls. The manager had intimated he would be very welcome to join them afterwards at the disco. As if? Him at a disco. God, they had some fucking nerve these people.
With his eyes closed he concentrated on his breathing for a few moments. He counted as he had been taught with every breath in, for ten and then for every breath out for ten. It really did help him relax after a show and unwind. As he counted he was vaguely aware of someone entering the room. He felt her presence as she moved around him; not quite quietly enough as she collected up his belongings, removing his sweaty clothes. He turned his mind away from her, trying to ignore her and relax deeper. Eventually he felt the muscles in his shoulders soften, the tension in his stomach melt away with every count.
Twenty minutes later his eyes opened to see Terry sitting waiting on the other chair. As usual she was casually dressed in her brown camouflage t-shirt and combats, her hair which barely saw a brush or comb bubbled round her face. God she was such a dyke! But she was good at her job, he reminded himself, so he chose to put up with her.
‘Many at the door tonight?’
‘A few. D’you want to sign or shall I get rid of them?’ She stood ready to leave.
‘No, I’ll come and see.’
‘D’you want me to come?’
‘No. Get the car ready.’ Ignoring her look of disdain he stared into her eyes, stood up, let the towel drop to the floor and removed his underpants. She turned and left the room.
After towelling himself down and getting dressed in clean clothes he went to the stage door. Ten or so females of various different ages, shapes and sizes stood waiting. A couple of them far too old for him to even contemplate. Taking their pens and paper he smiled into each individual pair of eyes, asking their names, then signing each piece of paper; Love You, Robert; Forever Yours, Robert; Warmest Regards Robert; Forever Robert. He tried to vary them as a challenge for himself. If he didn’t get bored he could sign more of them, and his agent repeatedly nagged at him, the more he signed the better reviews he got.
As he came to the sixth woman, he held her eyes a fraction
Carol Wallace, Bill Wallance
Vic Ghidalia and Roger Elwood (editors)