How I Left the National Grid Read Online Free Page B

gig I’d seen Bonny in the wings, holding a fan of backstage passes. As the last notes of the concert rang out I saw her go out into the crowd, hand them out to some of the younger women. Mostly ones dressed like fans, with fur-trimmed leather and hairspray, this mix of perfume and perspiration that filled me with excitement. She directed them backstage, where journalists were mingling. Like scum round a pan.
    The back stage party was like a pressure cooker. The odour of roadies, just off Grateful Dead tours, mixing with the perfume of young girls in glittering heels. All of them congregating in the far corner, taking it in. I’d expected us to be too noisy, too strange to attract that crowd. I wondered if they would stay with us for long before moving onto the next new boys, with their songs about discos and bedsits.
    I found a beer and somewhere to sit on the side as more and more girls seeped in. Until the room was this big, seductive tide of bracelets and lip-gloss. Sparkling and swaying.
    I took a swig, tried to pick out Simon. The girls looked hesitant, cautious. Every now and again they snapped into action. Consulted with a mate, dressed identically but with a different necklace, before running over to the table of drinks. Seconds later they’d be back at their mate’s side, giving a snap verdict. Standing there, arms folded. Watching again.
    In come the journalists. College boys with tape recorders slung over one tweed shoulder. Lank hair, darkened by sunless years. Trying to make contact with these girls.
    As I drank, I felt people staring at me. I listened in to one of the girls talking to Theo. ‘You were so amazing,’ she said. ‘We hitched a ride all the way down from Liverpool just to see you.’
    ‘We have nowhere to stay,’ another said.
    Theo nodded. ‘We’re all homeless, when the lights go up,’ he said. But her friends weren’t listening. They were looking at the cut of his leather jacket, wondering where he’d bought it from.
    ‘Is it true you’re dating that girl from The Passions?’
    ‘Is it true your jacket is from Sex?’
    But he never gave a specific answer. He just responded with gin. Whatever the question was, he’d say ‘Here, have a drink.’
    Pop stars don’t cater, they make a canvas.
    It’s pretty much their only job.
    No one tried to speak to me. They looked at me, but didn’t come close. I was told I used to give off this negative force-field then.
    Not like Theo.
    Simon came over and rolled a joint at my side. Bonny said ‘You can’t smoke that in here, what if the press see?’ Simon laughed.
    ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Presentation, presentation, presentation.’
    ‘You serious, Bon?’
    She lowered her voice.
    ‘Yes, I’m deadly serious, Simon. Every music paper has sent someone here tonight. Don’t give them a reason to turn their back on you. The Grassmen are ready to steal your thunder as it is.’
    The Grassmen were our support act. Four MIT students who used recorded factory sounds instead of drums.
    Simon looked incredulous. ‘That lot from Akron?’
    ‘Yeah. Look at that. All the journalists are cornering them. Leaving you well alone.’
    ‘They think Robert will chin them. No one will go near him.’
    I drank. ‘Don’t be daft.’
    ‘Well how come they’re over there then?’ Bonny asked me.
    ‘Because they’re courting the journalists right back, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘We’re not like that. You know how it works, Bon. Tell them what we’re all about and they won’t try to work it out for themselves.’
    She smiled, waved her cocktail glass. ‘Rubbish, Robert. You play hard to get at this stage and they’ll just ignore you. You’re not bigenough for those games. Someone’s got to make it happen.’
    ‘You’re on a hiding to nothing,’ I said.
    ‘I think he’s right,’ a voice said.
    It was one of the ushers from the event, a girl with shining blonde hair. Bonny had introduced me to her on the way in. Told me to ask her for