Dead brilliant, p.22
Dead Brilliant, page 22
Candy paused until he returned her gaze. “And Cover Girl is interested in using Marie as their ‘it’ girl for the new Mademoiselle Allure line.”
“Great,” he replied evenly, surprising himself at how he had effectively relegated Marie to client status. “Have them send over a proposal and tell them we’re definitely interested.”
“Okay,” said Candy. “Do you want me to take a message from Julie? She’s on two.”
“No, I’ll grab it,” said Uncle casually as he watched Candy take her sweet time gathering her tracking reports and leaving his office. “Hey, Jools.”
“Hey, handsome, how’s tricks?”
Uncle felt a small stirring but pushed through it. “All’s well. How’d the Miramax audition go?”
“The usual. They went with the blonde,” Julie said resignedly. “Hey, is everything okay with you and Marie? She wonders if something went wrong last night.”
“Everything’s cool,” Uncle replied, “except she gave me a gun … now, I know squat about weaponry. I mean, I had a brief samurai phase, but the sword collection was purely decorative. A little weird, no?”
“Yeah. I thought you were getting an invisibility cloak. I’ll tell her it’s all good. She and I are going to Kate Mantilini later. Maybe we’ll see you.”
Uncle realized that his only distracted thought concerned Julie’s choice of wardrobe for the Veronica Lodge biopic audition. This was good. Progress. He didn’t return Marie’s call.
After a brief stop at a spyware shop, he arrived at Eddie’s for the meeting. A makeshift boardroom table had been set up in the studio. Emma was hunched over a laptop with Stick leaning over her shoulder. Roc and Bobbie were sharing a chair and holding hands. Only Eddie greeted Uncle beyond a nod or a “hey,” and he was shown a chair with a ragged corduroy pillow alone on the other side of the table.
“Okay, I’ve been ruminating on this comeback concert idea, and I think I’ve found a way to make it work without landing any of us in jail.” Uncle shot Roc an ironic look. “I found a company in Moscow called Hololeg who’ve been developing software for a decade or so that couples animated graphic displays with real time musical performance.” Correctly reading the wave of skepticism making its way around the table, he held up his hands in the all-too-familiar prayer pose. “Stay with me, good people. The deal is basically this. They store pre-recorded video clips and play back from QuickTime files. They did a major virtual opera performance with the Moscow Symphony featuring some wacked-out Brazilian diva who’s afraid to fly. It was so huge, they wanted to do more, but she refused, so they animated her, and now she can do her whole show, including relating to the audience. The mixer can trigger responses from the board using an LPC program.”
Emma spoke first. “What’s that?”
Uncle was ready. “Linear Predictive Coding. Check it out.” He handed her a disc, and she slipped into her laptop. The screen revealed a symphony orchestra performing Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth. Moments later a garishly dressed singer appeared out of thin air and began her aria. The group in the room watched in amazement as she reached a musical climax, seeming to respond to the fervour of the crowd with wild arm motions and bows, until she disappeared as quickly as she had appeared on stage minutes earlier.
“Very entertaining, Karl,” Emma said coolly, “but we had something a little more flesh and blood in mind.”
“No go,” said Uncle. “The legal implications of a born-again Roc Molotov I am not prepared to live with.” In the silence that followed, he continued. “The band can rehearse with tracks and a stage plot that allows for Roc’s image to be projected. Roc can shoot his performance right here on blue screen. His reactions to the crowd can be triggered from the drums.”
“You think Danny can handle this, Uncle?” Eddie asked.
“If I can talk him out of retirement,” Uncle replied wearily.
Emma was on the verge of shutting Uncle’s idea down when Roc spoke quietly. “Rich can do it. I’ll rehearse him here, and he can help me with the set list.”
Stick lit up. “Cool! I’ll start learning the tunes tonight.”
“And he’ll look great in the Ringo wig,” Roc added with a smile.
Everyone except Emma laughed, easing the tension. Uncle took what seemed like his first breath in a while. “I was thinking of The El Ray Theater. They can handle the gear side of this, the lighting’s great, and the room is the perfect size for the projection tech.”
Stick and Roc began consulting on the show sequence, and Bobbie seemed to be consoling Emma, whose doubts were written all over her face.
“I’m sure you guys have got lots to talk about. Hey, Ed, have you got something cold and wet?” Uncle had his arm over Eddie’s shoulder.
“Sure, let’s see what’s on tap.” Eddie headed for the studio door with Uncle close behind.
Fifty-Two
“Are you sure you want to go through with this, honey?” Bobbie put her hand on Roc’s shoulder as he leaned into the mirror, squinting as he carefully applied black eyeliner. A bottle of Midnight Velvet sat on the washstand.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s just that I feel Emma and I persuaded you.”
“You did.” Roc grinned at her in the mirror. “But I need to do this. You two conspirators just realized it before I did. We can’t live in a little room above a recording studio in Toluca Lake, ordering in Thai food forever.” Roc put down the eyeliner and turned to Bobbie. She fought back a grin at his one naked eye and one blackened. “What? Oh, right.” Roc grimaced at his reflection. “I know I look ridiculous. But this will be the last time I do this. I’m saying a real goodbye to that part of my life. Listen, Bobbie, you … you, Emma, and Stick brought me back to life these last couple of weeks. I might as well have been dead. Sure, I was writing music again, but I realized that I didn’t give a shit if anyone ever heard it.”
Bobbie held out a blush brush, and Roc recoiled. “Sorry, baby, you look a mite pale is all.”
“That’s my look. Every day is Hallowe’en. Am I scaring you?”
“Not unless you start borrowing my mascara without asking.” Bobbie kissed him on his neck, careful not to smudge Roc’s handiwork. “I love you.”
He paused and softened. “I love you too. Bobbie, I’m going to do this show, say goodbye to the boys … on stage, playing our hearts out like we used to, and I’m going to totally enjoy giving Uncle the surprise of his life.”
“Hey, Rocco,” Eddie called up the stairs, “can I come up?”
“Sure,” said Roc. “I’ve got to review the plan. I’ve got early onset stage fright.”
“He always says that,” Eddie smiled as he entered, “and then does a killer show. So, Molo, my man, the ’Tails are rockin’. They know the set cold, just as you sequenced it, and they’ve been rehearsing with the hologram all week.” He shuffled his papers until he found the stage plot and showed it to Roc. “They love the new tunes, especially ‘Here But I’m Gone.’ So, virtual Roc will do the opening three numbers. It’s amazing; he can adapt to tempo changes or even a wrong key, God forbid. Stick triggers the Molo holo, as we’ve been calling it.”
Roc closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling. “Eddie, where would be without you?”
“Focus, focus, old buddy. During the pyro at the start of ‘Swan Dive,’ Stick will kill the hologram, and you take his place.” He gestured at a spot on the stage diagram. “If you land off-axis, just look down and follow the luminous tape. In the light it might be a little hard to find your mark. But hey, you’ve done this before, right?”
“Right now, I’m not certain,” Roc replied, turning serious. “And what happens when people notice?”
“Honestly,” said Eddie, arching his brows, “I’m not sure they will; that’s the brilliance of this thing. I mean, yeah, the evil genius could probably tell, but you know him. After the opening minute or so, he’ll be schmoozing, checking gate receipts, doing mental cup size estimates … sorry.” Eddie looked sheepishly at Bobbie. “The boys will notice right away, unless they’re as brain dead as Danny slash Moonshadow or whatever he’s called now. But that should be fun. The audience has bought into the whole virtual performance idea, and they won’t suspect until your big leap of faith, right, Rocco?” Eddie grinned conspiratorially.
Roc nodded intently. “Yeah, I am a little nervous about that, the more I think about it. It’s not going to be like the usual mosh pit scene where they’re expecting a flying body from the stage.”
Eddie put his arm on Roc’s shoulder. “Hey, compared to your Malibu theatrics, this’ll be child’s play, no?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Uncle sat very still at his desk, headset on, nodding thoughtfully and examining the dust patterns the sunlight made as it streamed through his office window. From talk of details of the show onwards, he had paid very close attention to Roc and Eddie’s conversation. He switched off the studio surveillance audio and hit talkback. “Candy, get me Rodney at KROQ.”
“Uncle, are you still not taking calls? Since we announced this show this morning, my life has been threatened a half dozen times thanks to your no comps policy. Listen, baby, I’m bringing in your messages, and you deal with it, okay?”
Uncle laughed at Candy’s exasperation as she burst in with a neat but towering stack of messages. The top one was from Marie, and he decided to ignore the little heart that Candy had drawn over the “I” in Marie. “I’ve had it with Weasel Boy Savage. He’s gone from whining to screaming to threatening and back to begging again. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Usual El Rey treatment. VIP lounge for the label and reserved seats in the balcony. Absolutely no backstage, okay?” Uncle threw Candy a serious look.
“Fine,” she replied patronizingly, “but what about your little hood ornament?” Uncle was too amused to register the vanishing of all pretense of respect from his long-time employee. “She claims that the last time she was at the El Rey, the security took her to a special room and frisked her for about fifteen minutes.” Uncle held his hands up in defeat as Candy continued. “Or at least until she stopped giggling.”
“Okay, okay, but she’s the only backstage, and I’ll take her pass. Now will you get me Rodney … please?”
Candy dropped the message stack on the desk with a thump and strutted back to her desk.
“Hey, Rodney, dude.” Uncle perched on his prayer pillow, headset on, sipping an iced cappuccino. “Yeah, it’s going to be cooler than cool.” He listened then replied in his most honeyed tones, “I can’t tell you much, but the technology’s been around for awhile. Listen, Rodney, I need a favour. A special announcement today at three o’clock today. A KROQ exclusive.
“I’ve got a very cool idea for the first five hundred fans coming to the show. Remember the ‘Roc-a-like’ contest on the ‘Reflectors’ release? Right. Yeah, the nun in the wig still makes me laugh. Check this out.”
Fifty-Three
Uncle had agreed readily to Roc’s demand that he be able to witness the show from backstage with Bobbie, in return for the understanding that they wouldn’t arrive until after it began. For Uncle’s plan to work, it was essential that they not see the crowd, so he rented a stretch with windows tinted hearse-black. This suited the singer perfectly, and he sank deep into the leather seat in hooded sweatshirt and shades, looking like a nervous Eminem. Eddie, a bit stressed at having to play confidante to both sides, waved them agitatedly toward the emergency exit in the alley behind the El Rey Theater, where he looped backstage laminates over their heads. Hood up, Roc clutched Bobbie’s arm like a child as they slipped into the building.
Once inside, the familiarity of it all hit him: the shadowy backstage area, techs smoking, huddled over their personal pieces of gear, and the muffled thump of Stick’s bass drum driving the band through the opening song. Weirdest of all, though, was the wave of approval from the crowd to the climax of the song. Roc stopped, transfixed by the sound of his own voice. Eddie caught his expression and mouthed the words “Good singer.” Maglite in hand, he guided the couple through a gauntlet of dangling ropes, equipment cases, and coiled cables. They were ignored by various crew members, focused on the activity on stage.
The final ringing chord of “Cold Spark” was greeted by thunderous applause, and Bobbie squeezed Roc’s arm excitedly. Eddie’s stage whisper drew the three heads together. “Okay, Rocco, up this ladder about twenty feet and then hard left on the catwalk. Hold the railing till you get to the crow’s nest at the end. I had the spotlight hauled out during sound check. The water bottle is yours.” He turned to Bobbie. “You’re coming with me, right, Bobbie?”
“I’ll stay with Roc if he needs me. Is there room up there? What do you think, baby?”
“It’s all right, I’m cool.” Roc shook his head and pushed back his hood. “Go with Ed. At least one of us should see the show.” She fussed with his hair as he smiled nervously then hugged her quickly.
“I’ll hold the beam on your way up.” Eddie pointed the flashlight at the bottom rung. The sound of Stick counting in the next song and the ringing guitar at the start almost drowned out his next words. “Then you’re on your own, okay? Remember, ‘Swan Dive’ is song number four, and the flash pots at the end of the intro is your signal to drop down, all right?”
Roc nodded and scrambled wordlessly up the metal ladder as Bobbie watched nervously until Eddie flicked off the beam once he was out of sight. Eddie leaned into Bobbie’s ear to cut through the music. “Okay, let’s go; Emma’s got seats for us in the balcony.”
Bobbie hung onto his arm as they wound through the backstage area. “What about Uncle? Won’t he wonder why I’m with you all?” She glanced through the curtains as they passed the glowing monitor board sidestage, stopping to take in Stick’s intense concentration as the band pounded through ‘Flare-Up,’ one of the earliest hits.
“Don’t worry about the swami. He’ll be prowling, schmoozing, and on Marie patrol big time. Let’s go.” They both stopped cold when they spotted the projected Roc throwing his hair back wildly and seeming to share the microphone with Frankie on the chorus. Bobbie instantly understood why the audience was responding so feverishly to this transparent fantasy. It was mesmerizing, and she was completely thrilled by the sight of a three-dimensional projection of the man she had been sleeping with last night. She caught Eddie’s expression of wonderment before he looked away and led her through a fire door into a hallway past merchandise and concession stands to a stairway leading to the balcony.
A young fan, dressed to resemble early period Roc, burst through the doors from the theatre into the hall and rushed to a nearby restroom as the roar from within crested briefly. Bobbie started and whispered to Eddie, “Hell’s bells, did you get a load of that?”
Eddie nodded. “Dedicated. Obsessed. Their fans have always been full-on.”
“My lord. What are they gonna do when the real Roc shows up?”
“C’mon, Bobbie,” Eddie indicated a door straight ahead, “we’ll find out soon enough. ‘Swan Dive’ is after the next song.”
They found their seats just as the crowd rose as one to cheer the end of the song. Emma hugged Bobbie tightly, but whatever they said was drowned out by the crowd, stomping and whistling as the holographic Roc acknowledged the response, stalking the front of the stage and coming within inches of touching the hands of the fans pressed in front. Bobbie found herself completely swept up in the moment, transfixed by the illusion, as she and Emma stood clapping along rhythmically to the intro to “Sky Train.”
Bobbie watched the holographic Roc, confident and commanding, one moment with his hair hanging over the neck of his virtual guitar, and the next racing to the mic just in time for the opening line of the song. Uncle was, as Eddie predicted, too distracted to appreciate the technological marvel unfolding on stage. He scanned the crowd, a stomping, fist-pumping army on the floor, looking for Marie. Wearing an uncharacteristically demure, billowing black dress, she’d arrived late and had melted into the throng as soon as Uncle had spotted her. Their late afternoon boozy tête a tête had whetted Uncle’s appetite for aftershow activity, and Marie had seemed so dazzled as he told her more than he intended about the evening ahead. Refusing to go with him to the gig was just another of Marie’s endless coquettish whims.
Uncle hastily checked the gate receipts and made sure the merch tables were well stocked. The big mover turned out to be a special one-off t-shirt done especially for the night. It featured a ghostly Roc bathed in a single bright white spotlight, the band in silhouette behind him, guitars fanned out like wings from his narrow frame. Highest quality collectible cheese, he figured. His only regret was the reduced mark-up necessitated by having the t-shirts made in the U.S. on short notice.
Through it all, he shot glances at the stage, not knowing when Roc was going to pull his surprise switch. He figured it would be for the encore, when he’d have maximum time to get to the stage. Tempted as he was, the manager stayed in the front of the house, avoiding the backstage and any possibility of causing wrinkles in Roc’s scheme. A pang of nostalgia hit him as he watched the boys, as of old, cavorting on stage; he was reminded yet again of the timeless vitality of so many of the songs. “Sky Train” had peaked during the Japan/Philippines tour, when Danny had been hospitalized from drinking a gallon of hundred-year-old sake. The ex-emperor’s granddaughter had been most hospitable. He smiled, recalling a night that turned into three days. Waking up with a samurai sword on the pillow beside him had been a bit weird, to be sure, but he realized they’d never see times like those again.
As he passed the soundboard, he wondered how Eddie, at the heart of the deception, would kill the hologram. At first, the realization of which way his old friend and engineer’s divided loyalties had fallen had been stinging, but Uncle was used to the stab-or-be-stabbed nature of the business, and eventually it had simply hardened his resolve as to how this would turn out. He regretted denying camera access now, thinking it might be amusing to revisit this evening at a later date.
