Hiya đ„°Â Please excuse typo’s, I’ve done my best, but it’s so long…
My Way
.
55 Mac
“Mr Fitzgerald…Do mine eyes deceive me?” grinned the stocky bloke standing with an elbow propped on the receptionistâs desk. His sandy hair was well-cut, his clothes, designer casual. Not too showy, but none too shabby either. “Now thereâs a sight I never thought Iâd see this side of six…unless youâre under the impression itâs actually Tuesday.â
âCheeky blighter. I am well aware of the fact itâs Monday, thank you very much, Mr Harris. Mac…this is Adam. Adam…My bad-ass. Quite why Iâm faffing with introductions when thatâs like a lamb chop introducing a shepherd to a cleaver, I know not.â
âLamb Chop? I can only think of one similarity, but Shari Lewis would turn in her grave.â They hadnae been here two minutes and a Glasgow kiss would suffice by way of greeting. Adam turned to Mac and extended his hand, âThanks for coming, Itâs good to meet you, Mac.â
âGlad I did,â Mac kept to facts. Ignored Joeâs snigger. Gripped Adamâs proffered hand.
âAre the lads here, Adam?â Joe scratched at his head, neck, inner elbow, scoring his skin with ragged nails. Gone was the fluid, gawky grace Mac had grown accustomed to. The long lines of Joeâs body were strung tight with tension; every twitch staccato, unscripted.
âItâs not even half-three.” Adam pointed out, nodding at the clock on the wall. âTheyâll probably turn up at around five…expecting a three hour wait.â
âYou said four oâclock,â Joe frowned.
Mac had to suppress a snort, because the crumpled brow and pouty lower lip were priceless. If not as justified as they might’ve been, had Joe’s band been bastards for deeming it a fine idea to arrive at five, for a four oâclock session. That might commence at eight. If their luck was in.
âI did. Fully expecting you to arrive four hours later, if there was a fair wind and favourable weather,â Adam smirked.
âAdam.â His name sounded as crisp as a very different four letter word. âWeâd never met, so I’ll assume those expectations were founded on previous form…rather than my proficiency.â Mac raised an enquiring eyebrow, regarding Joeâs manager with a daggered glare that spoke more eloquently than âtosspotâ.
âMy apologies. It was more a case ofâŠmission impossible, than casting aspersions.â Adam did, at least, have the good grace to appear abashed. Perhaps having recognized how insulting his assumptions had been…if say, it was your job to ensure that Joe turned up at the designated hour. On the right day.
Mac wasnae pissed off, but he thought it expedient to point out that he had every right to be. Might have been, had the issue of efficiencyâor lack of itânot concerned whothefuckis Joe Fitzgerald. Nevertheless it wouldnae hurt to keep Adam on his toes. Mac didnae have to answer to Joeâs manager, the record company was footing the bill. Heâd been employed to ensure that his charge arrived when and where he should be, in a fit state to function. It was not part of Macâs remit to appease Adam. He would play nice, if shown the same courtesy, but he sure as shit didnae intend to take any crap from JoeâsâŠentourage. No matter how high up the food chain they believed themselves to be.
âFair enough,â Mac nodded, cranking his lips in a smile as tight as his temper was wound. Way out of proportion for the threat Adam posed, when he seemed a decent enough bloke. It wasnae so much his lack of faith in Mac that irritated him, more his…general air of presumption. Towards Joe, in particular. Was this how everyone treated him? Like a recalcitrant child who must be pacified, coerced and cajoled into behaving as required?
This was a lot to assume in a short space of time, but the evidence was undeniable. Not least in the patronizing tone Adam adopted when speaking to Joeâor about him, on the phoneâalbeit disguised as good humoured forbearance. As intensely annoying as this was, the peril it placed Joe in, was worse. Pillock. The miscreant was far too sharp not to use being belittled thus to his own end.Â
âWhich room is booked, Adam? I need to get some stuff down, Iâm not fussed how long the lads will be. I just want someone to twiddle knobs ânâ stuff.â
âStudio B…everythingâs set up ready. Youâve been writing?â Adam seemed surprised, and yet Joe had been scribbling away all weekend. Between sex and smack fixes, at least.
ââCourse I have. Is my rum in there? Oh, before I forget, I need a tux. A white one. For the gigs.â
âA white tux,â Adam repeated, nonplussed.
âYou said that as if Iâd requested a tutu and dog collar,â Joe noted. Accurately. âThe latter wouldnât be a bad idea, now you mention it. Or, a padlock on a chain. Either will do. Fucknows why Iâm still standing here gassing, I have stuff tâdo. My rum?â he reminded Adam, in tones that suggested âdo keep up, dearâŠâ
âYeah…itâs in the studio. A tux and a dog collar. Or a padlock. On a chain.â Adam repeated. Again. Strewth. Mac sure couldnae beg to differ on the do-keep-up front.
âYup…and donât forget Macâs sugar. With black coffee in it.” Joe winked his way. “Iâll be in Studio B, if anyone wants me…â The latter was tossed over his shoulder with an impish grin.
Mac did his damnedest to smother a smirk as Joe weaved his way over to a nearby door, singing softly to himself. Fucknows how long he might continue to be amused by his own rug-tugging technique, but the next few hours would do. For now.
âMay I have a word in your shell-like, somewhere more private?â Mac requested, turning back to Adam when Joe had disappeared through the door.Â
âSure. I hope he hasn’t given you too much grief? How the fuck you managed to get him hereâearlyâbeggars belief.â
âI have my methods.â Mac shrugged, answering the latter and ignoring the rest.
âIâll say. Come through to the kitchen, Iâll make us a cuppa.â Adam agreed, readily enough, before indicating a second doorway leading from reception. âI havenât seen him this…I dunno…switched on? For months,â he sighed, heading straight for the kettle when Mac followed him into a kitchenette of sorts. The way Adam invariably referred to Joe as ‘he’ or ‘him’ was really starting to chap Macâs ass.
âJoe was plenty âswitched onâ when I arrived on Saturday…youâd only just left, surely?â Mac asked, seating himself at the table and extracting his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
âYeah, but that was diff’rent, Iâd sat sentry all night, so I doubt he had time to get…lost en route to let you in the front door.â
âYou donât seriously expect me to swallow that, do you?â Mac snorted. âJoe is quite capable of getting ‘lost’ in a portaloo…and well yâknow it.â
âWell…I had perhaps pointed out that you wereâŠâ
âThe meanest mo-fo in the business? Or, the bad-ass sent to whip his arse into shape?â Mac enquired, dry as dust.
âI…um, mightâve mentioned the formerâŠâ
âThe latter is Joeâs interpretation of it,â Mac finished for him.
âYeah,â Adam sighed, turning to pour boiled water into the two mugs heâd prepared. âDoes he actually call you that? My bad-ass?âÂ
âIndeed. I find it…amusing,â he lied, knowing that Adam would consider this a âquirkâ Mac had deemed harmless enough to indulge. Not least when condescending appeasement tended to be Adamâs go-to method of âhandlingâ Joe. A fact gleaned in person and through Joeâs offhand remarks over the weekend.
âHe likes nicknames. Between you anâ me, itâs…promising that heâs given you one.â Adam confided.
Mac found himself all-too willing to likewise confide that Adam was pissing him the fuck off. Patronising prick. However, letting Adam sense his distaste, rather than drilling it into his head was more tactical, for now. Regretfully. Suspending Adam in a state of âedgy uneaseâ would suffice, when Mac had more immediate concerns to impress upon Joe’s manager.
âGlad to hear it.â His tone implied that he couldnae give a shite. âThanks,â Mac nodded when a mug of coffee was placed before him. âCan I have a copy of Joeâs itinerary for the rest of the year? I need to know which bookings have been confirmed, and which are just pencilled in as possibilities.â
âSure. Everything in the diary for the rest of the month has been booked to promote the album. That’s released next Friday, the five gigs this week are a warm up for the tour proper.â
This was news to Mac. Heâd asked Joe whether the gigs had been arranged to promote a new release, but the conversation had segued elsewhere. Nor did Mac have the foggiest idea whether the forthcoming album would be Joeâs second or seventh.
âSo, we’re looking at five dates in small venues? To promote the album before the full tour. And, Joe is on board with all of thisâby which, I meanâhas he agreed?â
âYeahâŠâ Adam nodded.
âAgreedâ? Or informed when Joe hadnae been able to recall whether heâd eaten for a fortnight? Let alone care if he had a future to fret about. Mac wanted to discuss the imminent dates with Joe before making any further judgements. Far more pressing were the diary entries that had only been pencilled in, as yet. Mac had every intention of scoring through as many of those as possible, at least for the foreseeable. Joe needed a few months freedom from ‘expectations’ to just bloody breathe. Without anyone else breathing down his neck.
Barring one exception.
*
âDo you happen to have this diary handy? I need an overview…the long range forecast, if yâlikeâŠâ Mac explained, reprising Adamâs quip to dress up the deck scrubbing in some shipmate camaraderie. A successful voyage aboard the good ship Joe apparently being dependent on âa fair wind and favourable weatherâŠâ Rather than competent Captaincy…and the skill to chart a feasible fucking course. Other than that, life on deck was clearly swimming along just fine.
âYeah, Iâll go and fetch it so that y’can have a gander.â
While Adam scuttled off to procure said oracle, Mac drained his coffee and lit another cigarette. A gander. Fâfucksakes. He was hard pressed to think of a less fitting term for ‘meticulous attention to detail’. Nor, a more befitting one for motley crew methodology.
âSorry to be so longâŠâ Adam apologised, finally returning a second smoke later. âI stuck my head in the studio door to see if all was wellââ
âWas it?â Mac interjected, hackles on high alert, which was absurd, because Adam didnât seem agitated, or even concerned. In fact, his expression hovered somewhere between bemusement and the smug satisfaction of a man whoâd handed over fifty pence for a packet of rizlas and received a fiver change.
âHe was playing a song Iâd never heard before…bloody brilliant, it was too. He was so wrapped up in it, he didnât even notice Iâd come in. It was like walking in on a flashback to the first album. Fuck. It used to feel as if there was nothing, nothing except that melody and the words he was weaving through it. For him, I mean.â Adam shrugged, lips twisting in a wry, regretful smile.
Okay. Mac couldâfor the first timeâunderstand why Joe mightâve selected his manager. What the hell had happened to Adam along the way, that heâd become such a willing cog in the machinery Joe despised? Money, success…the cachĂ© he now enjoyed in the music business? By virtue of the very client he feared would blow it for him? It was, in all fairness, a ruthless game. One in which the major players were frantically trying to sustain their cash flow in a world afloat with multiple means of accessing free music.
âThank fuck for that. Iâd begun to wonder why the hell Joe ever believed you had his back.â
âWhat…what dâyou mean? Of course, Iâve got his back!â Adam protested, with slack-jawed self-righteousness. âI get battered left right ‘n’ centre, as he does his damnedest to destroy every dream we had!â
âWe? From where Iâm sitting…there is no âweâ. There is Joe. Then, there is you/them. It doesnae matter a damn what I think though, itâs Joeâs truth that matters: which side of the divide he feels that youâre serving,â Mac clarified. âCannae you see that? Or, have you blinded yerself to whothefuck keeps you in Rolexâs?â He flicked a glance at the gleaming gold affront to discrete wealth and taste squatting on Adamâs wrist before continuing:
âFor what itâs worth…I think youâve acquired a mindset that considers Joe a potential problem. For you. A fly in your fancy ointment. Heâs not an investment in your future. He is a far from perfect person, like the bloody rest of us. All Iâm asking is that you remember which side your breadâs buttered…and afford Joeâs feelings the same respect as every other fuckerâs in the industry.â
âAre you suggesting that Iâm about to find myself out of a job? Has he saiââ
“No. You are.â Mac interrupted. âJoe hasnât indicated that heâs dissatisfied with your managerial efforts,â he smiled. Reassuringly. Rather as an alligator might. âRight, letâs have a gander, shall weâŠ?â Mac flicked the A4 diary open and leafed through the pages, giving each a cursory glance before flicking to the next. âHow many festivals do you have in mind?â he asked idly, after happening on a second, a scant few pages after the first. They hadnae been marked as bookings, yet. Only the name/location of the event had been noted.
âFour…maybe five?â
âHas Joe agreed to play four…maybe five?â Macâs tone sounded as tart as a nettle sting, but he didnae give a toss.
âWe havenât really discussedââ
âThen donât bother. Too much bloody hassle for too random an audience.â
âBut thereâs less hassle,â Adam protested. âHe pretty much just has to turn up and playââ
âJust?â Mac glanced up to shoot him a daggered stare from beneath glowering brows. âForget it.â
âBut he loves playing Glastonbury!â Adam squawked. So convinced of this did Joe’s long-time manager seem, Mac found himself willing to consider a compromise.
âOkay, if thatâs the caseâŠâ Mac extracted his phone from his inner breast pocket. âIâm a reasonable man, Mr Harris. Glastonbury, it is. If Joe agrees.â He turned his attention to the screen and affected checking his messages. Waiting…
âDidnât you say his phone was probably in Marlborough? Itâs pointless anyway, he never answers the damn thing.â Adam sat back and folded his arms. Satisfied that heâd finally attained terra firma.
âIâve given him my backup phone,â Mac shrugged, tapping speed-dial.
Joe…please answer the phone, fâchrissakes, or Iâm going to look a right prat. You promised. Four…five…six... Mac was debating whether to slit his own throat, or Adam’sâ on eradication of witnesses groundsâwhen a breathless voice gasped:
âMac…? Sorry, I didnât hear it, I had mâheadphones on.â
âNo problem. Joe, do you want to play Glastonbury this year, or not. Your call.â
âMine?â One word that spoke volumes.
âYeah…yours,â Mac rasped.
âWell…would you come with me…â That so-soft voice was hesitant, as if Joe were asking for the bloody moon. His amendment was worse. â…if you havenât left already?âÂ
ââCourse I willâŠâ
âWill you stand at the side of the stage, so I can see you?â
Mac could all-too clearly picture the oh, so persuasive puppy dog eyes that accompanied this plea. As lethal as they were irresistible, even as a ghostly imprint on the back of Macâs eyelids. âIf you want me to,â he confirmed.
âOkay then…if you promise.âÂ
âDone. Dâyou wish to play any of the other festivals?â Mac asked, shooting a âJoeâs call, not mineâ glance Adamâs way.
âDo I have to?â Words so wary they were an answer in themselves.
âNo.â
âI donât really fancy it very lots. Itâs a faceless mass of people who havenât come to see me. There are always peeps I recognizeâknow by nameâin my front rows. That feels…comforting, but the festival crowd makes me all fidgety. I think theyâre hoping Iâll throw a strop, or set fire to mâself…âÂ
Mac bit back the urge to knock Adam the fuck out, which would be as self-serving as the tosser seated opposite.âNo problem. Just Glastonbury, sorted. Iâd better let you get on, sorry for interrupting.â
âSâokay…Mac?â
âYeah?â
âI…nuffinâ. Thank you.â
âThen.â Mac assured him, in response to…nuffinâ.
âThen…â How the hell Joe had made the same word sound as if heâd sighed it while sinking into a jacuzzi, Mac couldne fathom. Not without crippling himself.
âOkay. Glastonbury it is.â Mac told Adam, tucking the phone back into his pocket. âAs yâcan see, Iâm happy to compromise, as long as Joeâs well-being isnae in jeopardy. Iâm not an unreasonable man Mr Harris, but I dinnae give a shit about corporate crap, or people pleasing. I can get Joe wherever you wishâwhenever you want me toâbut cannae guarantee heâll be âfit to functionâ. Unless you back me on this, or…I cuff him to my wrist twenty-four/seven.â Moving swiftly on…
âIâm not here to score points against you. Iâm just doing my job. I will do that, and well. The way I see fit. My way. Youâve employed me to ensure that Joe arrives where and when he’s scheduled to. In a fit state to function.â It bore repeating. Ad infinitum.
âEvery stipulation has been proposed in a bid to ensure thatâs physically possible. Joe will fulfil every booking for the promotional period youâve outlined. After that…? The three of us can discuss the diary for the rest of the year. In the meantime, make no further bookings, but rest assured, you need not worry on the writing front. Melodies and lyrics were tumbling forth all weekend. Joe wanted to come in today and get them down. Everyone else appears to want exactly that, too. Product. But heâs not a fucking machine. Heâs fragile, and he will breakâif you donât give him just thatâa break. Joe needs you and I to take care of all the crap, so he can concentrate on doing what he does best. Thatâs not much to ask of us.â Mac girded his loins and bit the bullet. In for a penny⊠âI need your help as much as you need mine. If we work together, we can pull off precisely what weâre being paid to provide: Joe Fitzgerald.âÂ
What a crock of shite the tail end of that was. Two days with Joe and Mac had turned into Mary bloody Poppins. Heâd wind up with âA Spoonful of Sugarâ as a sodding ringtone if matters progressed apace.
***
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