I
Friday, August 17th, 1 pm.
After a few calls, Tanner had managed to free up the possibility for three support slots at the back end of the tour, in a week's time. Then, he called Gil, who, rather contrary to his manner in Rennes, seemed genuinely grateful and excited that it was going ahead.
“That's wonderful, thank you....Listen.....I'm sorry about last night, I was just desperate to have my band play with The Riders...... You won't regret it.”
“Well, we'll see, won't we ? Perhaps you could tell me the name of this amazing band....”
The call from Tanner, had diverted Gil from the chalet, to Les Moulins. The change of clothes could wait, and anyway, he could introduce Nixon to Mino, Baby Strange's brand new drummer.
“Nikki ! We've got three dates, starting on the 27th, at Caen, then Brest, and Wednesday, back to Rennes. Isn't it great ?”
“And you think we can pull this off with a week's rehearsal ? This is fucking crazy, man”
“Listen, you know its the best chance we'll get......and I don't have long......”
Nixon wondered what he meant.
“I'm sorry about last night, I got carried away, but its what I've always wanted, ever since we were at The Hundred Club. I know you're different, you've never chased it, but it's all I've ever done, and.................It's my dream.”
Nixon looked into his pale, doleful eyes. Gil hadn't mentioned Lucia as he thought he might, but for once, he'd spoken from the heart. Success with music was all he wanted, all he'd lived for, and nothing else mattered. The studio, the house, Isabella? They were all a means to an end, and because of their strange bond, Nixon could see that, yes, this was the last shot. Was it worth it all, for that? And what, exactly, did Gil think constituted success, anyway?
“I know what you're thinking. It's not so much the fame, or even money. Do you know what it is Nikki ?....Recognition. I want someone to recognise that I existed. Is that too much to ask ?”
“You were an asshole last night. You usually need to have some cred in the bank to get away with shit like that, even then, it usually comes back to bite yer.”
“I know, I'm sorry...........Please help me....a second chance.... Like you have.”
It was the only vague reference to the reason why Nixon was here, but it was enough. Nixon sat down, and rolled his first cigarette of the day.
“Okay, set up the live room, I'll be in in five.”
II
11am, Saturday, August 18th. Orleans
“Vive la France ! ......eh, dears ?” Ren jumped down from the plinth supporting Joan of Arc's modest statue, in a small side street of Orleans, metres from the banks of the Loire. The Belleville Riders had played their first, official show of the tour, the night before at the Zenith concert hall, in the south of the city. It had gone well, and the band were in high spirits.
Ren had wasted no time in informing the band, that this was his grandfather's home town, and by association, his spiritual home. The Maid of Orleans had kicked the English out nearly six hundred years ago, and was a symbol of French national pride. Ren simply had to have his picture taken next to his saintly ancestor.
“Aah, La Pucelle....I think one could think of her as a Punk of her day. Did you know, she was tried for cross dressing ? A serious business in those days......Oh yes !”
Damon shook his head in disbelief, and sauntered off to the waiting tour bus. Driver Len and Roger, the sound man, were already skinning up their first spliff of the day. It looked a better plan than listening to Ren's history lesson.
“Come on ! Stop girling around, you've had your little detour, now let's get a move on, we've got work to do.” as always, Tanner's word was law, and Ren and the rest dutifully followed.
Tanner was feeling good. Last night's show was a big step up from the cramped conditions of the secret show in Rennes. The Zenith, was a decent mid range concert hall. Advance ticket sales of about eight hundred, had swelled to well over a thousand on the night. It may have been the word, coming out from the night before, or maybe Blanchard's publicity taking hold, whatever the reason, tonight's show in Paris promised extra attention. Blanchard himself would be there, and no doubt, he'd have the cream of the French music press there to report it.
Tanner had already drilled his troops on the importance of the show, and if last night's efforts were replicated, then he knew they couldn't lose. He wondered now, why he'd ever doubted it, back in London during rehearsals. He remembered at the time, Cliff saying something about the difference between pre season friendlies, and the real thing. Well he'd seen the real thing now, and it felt to him that everyone had raised their game. Ren had definitely grasped his chance. The stage last night was much bigger, and any doubts that Tanner had about his movement, were laid to rest. He still wasn't as frenetic as his predecessor, but then, no one would expect that from a middle aged man. Nevertheless, years of aping Jagger had paid off, and he rarely stayed still, prowling, and cajoling his eager audience. The band fed off it, and everybody looked assured, playing with swagger.
III
6.43pm, Rue des Dames, Paris, August 18th
The Hotel Eldorado was all that Tanner had imagined. A cramped entrance lobby lead to a check in desk, where an ancient ginger cat, slept, curled up, on a battered velvet regency chair. An equally decrepit man, sat alongside. His grey, wispy hair and beard, were framed by a small black beret, and to complete the caricature, he smoked a stained Meerschaum pipe. He smiled at Tanner, revealing just two teeth, desperately clinging on within his little, imploding mouth. The modern cash till was the only sign that Tanner wasn't in the Paris of a completely different era.
He checked in, and then went to wait for Cecile in the adjoining bistro. It was tastefully decorated. The place was starting to fill up for the evening, and as Tanner was perusing the chalk board menu, and thinking of how they may spend their precious time together, she arrived.
Cecile looked fabulous. Unlike previously, she wore her hair down, and the long, silver tresses only
served to accentuate her fine, angular features and amber skin. She wore a knee length, theatrical leather coat, with a classic, faux fur collar. Slender hands were decorated with heavy, silver jewellery, and deep, red nails. Her dark eyes glistened in the subdued light, and for a moment, Tanner imagined himself at sixteen, overweight, and blushing slightly, at any attractive woman that came to buy his bananas........No..... That was then, and this was now.
It had taken years for Tanner to feel at one with his appearance. His youth was a bad memory of 'Fat Stan' put downs, but then, the market stalls had at least given him the confidence to use his voice in a way that people would listen. Not long before he met The Riders, he'd finally shed some weight, and his mother had promoted the merits of being properly attired.
Suits, to him, sold cars or worked in banks and offices, but that was until an iconic image of Oliver Reed, in a London street, changed it all, and Tanner became a sartorialist. Reed's sharp pinstripe and arrogant stare, amidst a plume of cigarette smoke, had captivated him, and now, not so different in stature himself, he'd found a role model. It wasn't that he was facially similar, but nevertheless, once correctly attired, people began to remark on a certain likeness, to the mighty Ollie. It was no surprise then, when Cecile also mentioned it. Erica never had, and so, toasting that first glass of Kir Royale with his beautiful partner, he shrugged off his ghost.
The band were due on stage at 10pm. Tanner had already checked them into a hotel nearby, much to the amusement of Ren, when he discovered that Tanner wouldn't be staying with them.
“Aaah, so, it's us and them already is it, dear boy ?”
“Do you want me to bullshit, or shall I come clean ?”
Tanner had thought carefully in advance, about the scenario. He knew how it would be perceived, so he decided to tell the truth. He explained that he wanted to enjoy his day off in Paris, and as much as he loved them all, he felt that his high class companion should be spared some of Ren's agricultural tales. To make amends, it was important that everyone should celebrate tonight's show, and courtesy of having persuaded Gil to waive any fee, he now had a spare thousand Euros to share out, as pocket money for their day off in gay Paris. He tossed the bankroll onto the table.
“I'd suggest Nash here, divvies it up. I don't care what you do, just don't get arrested, and be ready for the bus at midday Monday......One more thing.....The party starts AFTER the show tonight...Got it ?”
“Aren't we going to get to meet her ?”
“Fuck up the show tonight, and you won't even meet me !........................See you later, boys”
Of all the group, it was the new recruit that had been most affected by Tanner. The gesture with money was not lost on Nash, and it was Tanner's intuition that had spotted his potential. He'd only known him for a week, but Tanner recognised someone who'd found a purpose. They all stared at the money on the table. Nash picked it up, and started handing it around. Neil broke the silence.
“He's cute Tanner, ain't he ? Never misses a trick. I think we're onto a winner with him.”
“Maybe.......Need an album for it to go anywhere, though”
La Cigale was a legendary, Parisian concert hall. It could hold fifteen hundred in its elegant, vaudeville styled interior. It dated from the 1890's, and was situated just along from Le Moulin Rouge. When they'd originally booked it, Tanner had some reservations whether they could, at least, half fill it, now it was clear that wouldn't be a problem.
After taking their meal at the Eldorado, Tanner and Cecile, preferring to walk, made their way up Le Boulevard de Clichy. The venue was about ten minutes away, and as they neared Pigalle, it was as if one could feel the excitement on the streets. As they approached, Tanner called Nash on his phone, and dutifully, his efficient roadie came down to usher them through the surrounding crowd.
The atmosphere inside was simmering nicely. A support band was still playing, and so, they made their way straight up to the balcony. Tanner wondered briefly if he should go and give his boys a final pep talk. No, he'd sit it out, it wouldn't change anything now.
