BlueSilkenSky
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
Before I go to bed I have to post...
I don't know why there are all these sex references, maybe I was in that kind of mood.
I tried to get my sister to read this chapter because she's edited some of my work in the past, but she was too busy so I cracked down on myself and did serious revision... hope it's worth the effort.
Totally made up. This is definitely not how Zooropa/Zoo TV worked.
“Off with the horns, on with the show.”
The audience claps and whistles appreciatively. I give MacPhisto a thumbs up, which he can’t see. Tonight Eric is… somewhere else, I don’t really know or care, and I have my backstage perch all to myself.
“Look what you’ve done to me,” he continues in a low voice. The crowd is still calm as they cheer. The French are not the most excitable crowd… maybe they were all well prepared for Zoo TV. But none of them have heard of MacPhisto before. Who could fail to love him?
“You’ve made me very famous, and I thank you.” The cheer is indeed louder now.
“I know that you like your pop stars to be very exciting, so… I bought these,” he concludes, pointing to his shoes. I wait anxiously for the real speech.
“Round about this time in the evening proceeding this…” What’s with the extra words? It makes me giggle silently. “I often like to make a telephone call. Sometimes to the President of the United States…” Yeah, blah blah, get on with the show, Mr. MacPhisto.
“But not tonight. Tonight I’m calling a taxi, to take me home. I’m very tired.” He walks back on the stage and settles himself down in front of the telephone, stabbing the numbers with a cool air.
“C’est bon d'être ici la,” he murmurs in his British accent, pausing for a moment to see if he’s pronounced the words right. Apparently he has- the French crowd cheers very loudly.
Suddenly the line MacPhisto has dialed picks up.
“Bon soir?” MacPhisto tries on the receptionist, encouraged to speak more French by the audience. She says something back- I can’t make out the words- and he answers her tentatively, “Je m’appelle Monsieur MacPhisto.” I notice he has pronounced the word “monsieur” wrong, but I really don’t care. While the crowd cheers, I die a little.
“And- um- I’d like to order a taxi to take me home tonight,” he finishes. The receptionist says something else I can’t understand, but it sounds like she’s asking where MacPhisto is.
“I’m, I’m at the stadium with a few friends,” he rushes, and the “few friends” are very pleased. They let out cheers and claps.
“And where can we pick you up?” the receptionist asks.
“Well, I can’t really tell you about where I am, I just have to let you know that I’m everywhere.” MacPhisto sighs. I bite back my smile. Bono’s plan is really working.
The woman isn’t in the mood for games. “No, I must pick you up. Where can we pick you up?” She dissolves into some more incomprehensible words, probably in French.
“But… I’m everywhere,” MacPhisto insists, putting on his intent expression. I have to actually try to hold in my laughter. The smallest of smiles creeps across MacPhisto’s face for a second, obviously Bono acknowledging me backstage.
“No, em, the thing here, you know the front entrance?” The receptionist has moved from serious to explanatory. She seems to think MacPhisto needs help.
He doesn’t. “But I don’t need to be there, because I’m everywhere.”
“No, I don’t, I don’t think you have, you don’t…” She’s getting flustered. Time for the bomb. It was a stroke of genius on my part to come up with this, and Bono was amazed.
“I know you very well,” MacPhisto begins, smoothing his hair back and calmly latching onto the phone cord.
The woman is scornful. “Oh really?”
“Yes, I know you probably even better than you know yourself,” he finishes.
“Oh?” She’s angry. So maybe that wasn’t quite the mood we were hoping for, but MacPhisto carries on our dialogue anyway.
“And I would like to sing a song for you,” he tells the woman, and I hope if she’s anything like me she’ll stay on the line.
Her tone changes with those words. “Oh, that’s very nice.”
The music begins.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know, sometimes I feel like checking out…”
***
“Will you give her tickets?” I ask.
Eric shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not the one who decides, just the one who makes calls. But I’m betting that Bono won’t find it ideal to give a French woman tickets to a concert in Belgium.”
I laugh. “Oh, I see now…”
We’ve reached the dressing rooms after the show and Eric takes off, leaving me alone with my favorite four men.
Bono comes over before anything else can happen. “Hey!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms tightly around me and squeezing.
“Ahhhh…” I sigh, my breath leaving my lungs. It probably wouldn’t be bad to be hugged to death by Bono… I mean, it must be a worthy cause to die for.
He releases me and we both take a step back. “Marieke, your script was.... perfect. Just great. You should be proud of yourself.”
“It wasn’t all mine!” I don’t want to take too much credit. “You wrote it too. You started it.”
“But you’re the one who came up with the end,” he says. “And we can all agree that the ending was the best part. Right, guys?” He turns an eye to Adam, Larry, and Edge, who all look up, surprised.
“Oh, yeah, the ending of the phone call was great,” Adam says. His eyes are focused on some space above my head.
“I was trying not to laugh,” I tell Bono.
“Same here!” Edge chimes in. “Poor woman; she probably has no idea what happened to her.”
“Unlike you,” Bono points out, regarding me with soft eyes. “You knew exactly what was going on when you got my call, Marieke. I’m so glad you joined our entourage; this show might have gone much differently if you hadn’t written that excellent speech.”
“Oh…” I say, dropping my head to hide my blush.
“Y’know, it’s not a bad thing that you’re a fan,” Edge says. “We wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t a fan, because you would have never gotten backstage in the first place and met us.”
“Hell, she probably wouldn’t have even gone to the show,” Bono suggests, circling the room. He’s right, of course- Monique didn’t want to go when I offered her the tickets, and if non-fans are anything like her…
“Adam, what are you thinking?”
The bassist looks down at Bono. “I’m thinking… I’m going to see Naomi in an hour,” he says, folding his arms behind his back.
Bono stares. “Oh… oh, yes, I’d forgotten she’s here tonight…” He doesn’t sound particularly happy at the idea.
I whisper to Edge, “Who is Naomi?”
He murmurs, “Adam’s girlfriend.”
Adam has a girlfriend? I didn’t think of that. Then again, I never thought of Bono being married either.
“We’ll get you to your Naomi in no time at all,” Larry speaks up for the first time tonight.
Adam laughs. “I won’t keep her waiting.”
Which means soon it is time to go.
“Will you go to a party tonight?” I ask the band as they prepare to leave.
Bono sighs. “No. Too much fun the last time. If Naomi wasn’t here we’d be working on the album, I suppose.”
“What will you do instead?”
“We’re getting some sleep!” Edge calls. “We’ll be going out to Dublin tomorrow morning.”
I try not to appear too disappointed. “Oh. Have fun now.”
Bono squeezes his arm around my shoulder. “We’re going to, I promise.”
I step away from him and smile.
Something in Bono’s expression changes with my smile. He blurts out to me- “Yes, tomorrow… Marieke, would you mind coming with us to the studio? We could use another body there.”
Wait. What?
Edge and Larry look surprised. Adam isn’t taking too much notice in us.
“Well…” I stammer. “Of course I would like to come. You know that. Is it… okay?” I raise my eyes to peer nervously at the rest of the band.
Edge breaks into a relaxed smile, while Larry doesn’t smile but gives a pleasant nod. Adam breaks from his thoughts to give me a grin.
“Of course it’s okay, Marieke,” Edge reassures me. “We’d love to have you, really.”
“I wonder what kind of ideas she can provide us?” Larry murmurs, his eyes on me. It’s a little strange to make eye contact with him. We never look at each other at all.
Bono beams. “You’ll have to get up rather early- can you manage that?”
“It’s not a problem,” I say, thinking of my very late sleeping habits. In Rotterdam Lina would occasionally have to poke me awake.
“Okay then. See you there, Marieke.” Bono holds out a hand and we shake on it.
***
My alarm blares at seven, but the band isn’t downstairs until eight. Of course by this time I’ve already eaten breakfast and am drumming my fingers on the table, wondering if they were taking the mickey when Bono said I’d have to get up early. Very funny.
Eric comes to sit next to me with his plate of food. “Shame we’re not staying here any longer,” he begins, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “This is the best breakfast I’ve ever had on tour, I’m pretty sure.”
“Ha ha,” I answer, staring out at the door. Where is U2?
Eric follows my stare. “Who are you waiting for?”
“Bono invited me to the studio in Dublin,” I respond. “They are late coming down.”
Eric’s eyes widen. “I’ve never been in the studio! You’re one lucky chick.”
Not knowing what he means by “chick,” I kick the chair legs restlessly.
“They’ll be here, Marieke. They won’t take a promise like that back.”
“But why do they need me there?” I burst out. “I’m just a girl. U2 doesn’t care about me.”
“That’s silly,” Eric says. “They care about you enough to keep you around, obviously. You wouldn’t still be here if Bono didn’t care for you.”
That makes sense. “I guess I wouldn’t have a job with Zoo TV if U2 didn’t like me.”
“I know. Speaking of which, have you gotten paid for this job yet?”
I sigh. He sounds like Lina. “I’ll get paid, don’t worry. Bono has plenty of money to spare.” Or whoever it is that I’m working for.
Eric marvels at the sound of my voice. “You’ve learned a lot of English since you joined us.”
“Not enough,” I reply, and at last the band enters.
Bono has on a red shirt, which surprises me. I’ve never seen him in red except when he’s MacPhisto. And in the Mysterious Ways music video, but I only saw that once on TV. We don’t have a music channel at the flat.
“Will you wear your jacket over that?” is the first thing I say to him.
“It’s not too bad a look, is it?”
Oh, in no way is it bad.
Edge is wearing the bejeweled jeans again. Once more I make a mental note to take a photo for Lina’s viewing. Larry has on a more sensible shirt now instead of a tank top. The last man to enter is Adam, leading a girl I’ve never seen before. Her skin is brown and her hair is long and black, though not as long as mine. She struts in with grace in her step. Naomi?
“Good morning, Marieke,” Edge greets me. The others nod their hello’s. Edge sits down in the chair to my right, causing Bono to murmur, “Make room for me, Eric?”
Eric sadly gets up, and Bono gladly plops down. The rejected man walks away while the newcomer on my left inquires, “So Marieke, how long have you been up?”
“Since seven o’clock,” I growl.
He leans back. “But you said getting up early wouldn’t be a problem.”
I don’t care to answer Bono- he deserves the cold shoulder for making me wait- and turn to look at Edge. God, those pants are really quite beautiful up close. Suddenly Lina’s not the only one who will want a photo.
“Edge? Can you do something for me?”
He looks into my eyes, his glass paused halfway to his mouth. “Oh no. Last time you said that I caused a girl to faint.”
“She was well, though. Just sad that she couldn’t talk to you.”
“If she hadn’t fainted we could have talked...”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking. I just want to give a friend a present…”
“Sorry, I don’t do arranged dates.”
Bono subtly presses his hand to his mouth to keep from snickering at our exchange. I exhale loudly. Time to stop beating around the bush.
“Can I take a picture of your pants?”
Bono finds it to be a lost cause and openly guffaws. “Hear that, Reg? Someone- someone must really love you!”
“If you want a photo you can always look at the Achtung Baby cover,” Edge suggests, ignoring Bono.
I groan. “No! I mean, I want a photo for Lina.”
“Or I could give you the real thing,” Edge ponders, seemingly oblivious to my words.
“Nothing is better than the real thing,” Bono murmurs, letting the bait hang there in midair.
Instead of swallowing it, I say, “You’ll give me your pants?”
Edge chuckles. “I don’t think so. I’m rather fond of these.”
“Got a camera on you?” Bono asks Eric as he walks by our table.
Eric stops. “No, but I’ll get one.” He trots back over to the other crew members and calls, “Anyone got a camera with them?”
There’s a short search for the requested item, and then- “I do,” one guy pipes up, displaying a camera in his hands. I don’t even want to know why.
Eric collects it and brings the object over to the table. “What are you taking a picture of?”
“Edge’s pants,” Larry answers as I snatch the camera and turn it on my helpless subject.
“Don’t focus on his crotch,” Bono advises me, rubbing a hand across his forehead as I snap the first shot. “Nothing to see there anyway.”
Adam and Larry both laugh, while I groan loudly. Edge just looks displeased. “And how would you know, Bono?” he inquires.
“Sorry, Marieke,” Bono apologizes. “That’s what you get for hanging out with the men… and as for you, Edge, it seems you’ve forgotten that I know you even better than you know yourself.”
“That’s MacPhisto. Get it right,” I mutter. He doesn’t hear.
On the spur of the moment, I hand the camera to Eric and wrap my arms around Edge’s waist. Before the stunned guitarist can react I say, “Take a photo!”
Eric snaps the shutter. I pull back and run my hand over the sparkly surface of his jeans. “I like them!”
“Oooooh,” Larry snickers, eyeing my hands on Edge’s legs.
“Shut up,” Edge mutters as I move away and instruct Eric to get the film developed.
“Oh, you guys need to go,” Eric says, checking his watch.
This prompts Bono to grab Eric’s wrist, saying at the same time, “Are you sure?” His doubt clears up when he looks at it, though. “Oh, dammit. We’ve kept the other guys waiting out there for so long.”
“Bye, Eric,” I say, hooking an arm casually around him.
“I’ll see you, Naomi,” Adam murmurs, and kisses her.
The rest of the band is already walking out.
As we leave, I ask Edge, “Is sleeping with The Edge as mind-blowing as sleeping with The Fly?”
“I’d prefer to keep that to myself, if you don’t mind.”
***
“Quick! To the Zoo Plane!”
I laugh at Bono as we cross the lot. U2’s private owned plane is sitting outside the airport, just waiting for occupants. I board it with caution and take a window seat.
The band enters joking with each other. Edge follows me down the aisle and sits in the seat across from me in the back. Adam takes a place up front and Bono sits two seats behind him on the opposite side, flipping the tray out. Larry comes and sits behind Edge.
After a few more passengers climb on- people who will be joining us in the studio, among them Paul and Bill- the Zoo Plane speeds down the runway. Soon it’s up in the air, and I watch the ground disappear in the clouds.
The inside of the plane is surprisingly quiet. For all the talking going on during breakfast and on the drive here, I would think the plane ride would be the same. Since no one else is near me I engage Edge in conversation- “What is it like at the studio?”
Edge tries to describe the place I’ll be visiting shortly. “Well, there isn’t anyone doing nothing there, you know? Studio sessions are a lot of work. We’ve been writing for the new LP since the last tour leg and we want to get that finished up quickly. So everything’s pretty hectic.”
“Are you recording?” I ask.
“It’s unlikely, but you might get to see some recording today,” Edge says. “There’s a few songs we’ve got that we still have to work out though. Truthfully, our album is little more than a collection of tracks. I mean, there’s so much… it’s gonna be hard to narrow them all down.”
I think about that. How many songs do they have? Maybe I could help them decide which ones to use.
“Hey, Edge, maybe you shouldn’t be telling Marieke about the record,” Larry says from behind the seat. “Don’t you want to keep it confidential?” He’s teasing though.
“I think not,” Edge sighs thoughtfully. He turns around to get in a better position to speak with Larry. “She’s working for us now. She’s a right to hear it.”
Larry grins. “And she hasn’t got the right to hear about your skills in bed? I’m sure it’s an enlightening topic.”
“What…? Oh, shut up,” Edge groans, turning back to me. However annoyed he may look, I can’t help but notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
I raise my eyebrow. “He’s right; you never answered my question this morning.”
“What made you think I would?”
I shrug innocently. “Larry says it’s not confidential.”
Edge holds out his hands. “Okay… let’s just try to keep the topic off sex for now.” I was right- he’s very humored. Larry laughs, his handsome features brightening the whole plane. “At least not until we get to Dublin, maybe...”
“Are you seeing anyone there?” I ask, and Edge answers.
“Do you mean our families?” I nod. “We probably won’t have time. It’s a lot of work, remember? But I know I’d like to see my girls soon.” His voice turns wistful. “And Bono’s family will expect a visit.” By “family” I pretend that he means Bono’s father and brother and not his wife and children.
Larry sighs quietly. “Adam’s girl gets to drop in on him any time she wishes, but I never see Ann anymore…”
Wait a second. “You have a girlfriend?” I ask, confused.
He exchanges looks with Edge. “Er, oops, was that truly confidential information…?”
“Truly,” Edge agrees.
Down the aisle a voice speaks up- “I just heard my name and sex mentioned in the same conversation. Should I be concerned?”
“We were just talking about how sexy you are, Ad,” Larry gushes, while simultaneously rolling his eyes at Edge and I.
Adam smiles matter-of-factly. “I did do the Achtung photoshoot, you know.”
I remember that photo. It had caused a few raised eyebrows from me and Lina, but for completely separate reasons.
“Watch it, Clayton,” Edge warns. “I said no sex talk till we get home.”
I repeat Lina’s words when she’d seen the Achtung photo- “Too bad it will be X-ed out.”
“The X shows where the treasure is buried,” Bono murmurs in his seat.
Men.
***
The clouds lift when we reach Dublin, but we’re whisked into a car before I can study my surroundings. All I know is that the city is cooler than France was and has gray, red, white buildings. The studio is tranquil on the outside, its wrapping dull stone. However, just as there’s chocolate beneath the package’s surface, so the inside of the building springs to life.
“All right, get to work,” Bono exclaims as he strides through the door, rubbing his hands together. They greet the people who were already waiting for them, and then speedily become a flurry of motion. Edge wasn’t kidding when he mentioned that no one was doing nothing.
I am lost in the motion and sit down in the nearest possible chair. I’d like to go explore the other rooms, but I don’t know where to start. No need to notice me, I’m just a girl U2 brought along, pay me no mind…
But of course someone does pay me mind eventually. It’s Edge, kindly showing that he has not forgotten my existence, unlike everyone else. He’s carrying a guitar in his arms- it looks so natural there. I reckon no one can give it a better home.
“Marieke, there’s something I’d like to show you. You said you’d like to see some recording, so…”
I perk up. Edge smiles, I nod, and he motions down the hall. I follow Edge into another room- there’s a recording booth in here. Outside the glass is a soundboard, where one man sits. Edge greets him while I promptly sit down again. He has a variety of effect pedals and other gear in and outside the booth, and I’m afraid of messing anything up.
“Marieke, can you please press that button for me?” Edge gestures behind the glass.
The man at the soundboard switches his gaze from Edge to me, rather astonished. “Don’t you want me to do that?” he mouths, tapping his chest to indicate himself because Edge can’t hear him in the soundproof area.
“No,” Edge tells him, and with his assent I press the button. One sentence is left unsaid- I want Marieke to feel like she’s helping.
Edge begins to play, pushing down on a pedal. The riff dances throughout the air, and it shocks me. The simplicity of the riff would stick out in normal guitar-playing, but the effect Edge is uses swathes it in power. He shifts around on four notes, climbing up from one note and hitting a lower tone from the same. The tune repeats over and over, and Edge stops playing before I can get sick of it. He moves and the man next to me finishes recording.
Edge sets his guitar down. “Did you like it?”
The answer is a resounding, “YES!” The riff was almost equal to the ones for Where The Streets Have No Name and Ultraviolet, only a little less familiar, more alien. And of course this was shorter.
He smiles a little. “It’s funny, I really like that riff too but I’ve got nowhere to put it.”
“What was the… thing?” I ask, and with Edge’s help get to the word “effect pedal.”
“Oh, I'm just using delay and the wah-wah effect." I giggle at the name.
By now more people have gathered in the room, drawn by the sound of Edge’s guitar. Bono pushes his way through, asking “Has Edge recorded something?” The spark in his eyes suggests that it’s a rare occurrence.
“Oh, it’s nothing you can use,” Edge tells Bono as the singer plays the lick back. His eyes narrow. “Hmmm…”
“Hey, we need you in the other room,” Larry calls, entering. “Adam’s this close to trashing Babble and he wants your opinion.”
“No, wait!” Bono yells, rushing out.
“What’s Babble?” I ask Edge, bemused. He doesn’t listen. He’s following his bandmates, the excitement of sharing his work with me forgotten.
In the other room, a fuss has begun. Bono is stalking around Adam like a cat cornering its prey. “Adam, I thought you wanted this track,” he spits out.
“I just think it would help if we erased it,” Adam says. He’s holding his hands up. “Larry’s in favor of that and so is Edge.”
“How do you know that?” Edge says, miffed. “You never asked me.”
“Well, I say trash Babble,” Larry offers. “We’re not getting anywhere with it.”
“I told you to leave it be!” Bono growls. “I want to keep that track. Remember what we discussed last time we were here?”
“It’s not worth getting worked up about, B,” Edge soothes. “We can’t record a new Babble. We’ve spent too much time working on that song and it doesn’t even have lyrics. It’s time to give up and focus on other things.”
Bono stops walking. “You were the one who dug those soundchecks out! You thought of that song first…”
“If I’m its creator, by all rights I should be the one to destroy it.”
Suddenly Bono’s eyes glow, and he blurts “Trash Babble and you trash Zooropa.”
“But-“
“Trash Babble and you trash Zooropa.”
“Bono-“
“Trash. Babble. And. You. Trash. Zooropa,” Bono practically snarls, invading The Edge’s personal space. The guitarist finds him too close for comfort and backs away.
“We’re not getting rid of Zooropa, Bono.”
“Why not, though?” Bono spins around. “Why don’t we just chuck your precious Zooropa and be done with it? What’s stopping us?”
Adam speaks up. “It’s got some of the best lyric work I’ve heard from you guys so far. I won’t let you destroy a work of art like that.”
Larry sighs. “Zooropa- God, what the hell is wrong with that song?”
Bono’s eyebrows angle downward. “This is the first complaint I’ve heard about it from you, Lar.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Bono, I like the song just fine. But…” He shakes his head. “It isn’t working. I’m sorry.”
“But we CAN’T get rid of that one,” Bono emphasizes. “That song is the essence of this album. That song is everything that Zoo TV stands for. We… I need this song.”
He looks depressed for a moment, and my arms itch to hug him.
“If that’s what this album is about… it’s amazing we’ve gotten this far on it,” Larry says. “If Zooropa is stands for Zoo TV… well, it’s a wonder the tour’s not ended yet.”
“What do you mean, Larry?”
“Can’t you tell? Zooropa is a mess!”
Bono opens his mouth, as if he’s trying to say something, but ends up closing it again without a defense.
“Fuck this,” he finally manages, and stalks out into the recording room. Of course I follow him.
Bono sits down at the soundboard outside the booth and fiddles with some buttons. Soon a song is thrumming across the room, a cacophony of noise that assaults my system. I try to pick out coherent words, but it’s near impossible.
“That’s Babble,” Bono informs me.
He presses a few more buttons and we listen to a new song. This one features Bono’s vocals.
And I have no compass
And I have no map
And I have no reason, no reason to get back
And I have no religion
And I don’t know what’s what
And I don’t know the limit, the limit of what I’ve got
“Zooropa,” Bono mumbles under his breath, and pricks his ears at the sound of Edge walking into the room.
“I can’t believe Adam said this has some great lyrics in it,” Bono tells the guitarist. “Larry’s right, it is a mess.”
“Don’t think that way,” Edge tries to assure him. “We’ll work it out.”
“I just can’t get it right!” Bono complains, standing up and pacing about the room. “I know what’s in my head… I know what I’m writing about… I see it so well…”
He turns to Edge with a panicked expression.
“Maybe I’m losing my touch?”
“You’re not losing anything,” Edge tells him. “It’s just hard to get your mind out on paper. We’ll fix that.”
“I say just throw it away,” Larry pipes up, sidling into the room. “Believe me. The more you think about that song, the less you’ll like it. We’ve experienced that before. Start from complete scratch.”
“And who asked you?” Bono mutters, his tone unfriendly.
“No one, but you needed to hear it.” Larry sways over to the recording board, and Adam cautiously appears in this room. He lights a cigarette.
“See, we can just erase the track right now…” Larry’s hand hovers over the switches.
“NO!” Bono hurries over, arms out, ready to restrain Larry from doing the deed.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Just get rid of both tracks,” Adam offers, sending glares from all sides in his direction.
The arguing breaks out, even nastier than before. I can’t believe no one’s doing anything to stop them. Then again, maybe it’s safer not to interfere. But I should do something… It’s getting pretty horrible to hear them shouting at each other. This isn’t the day I was promised.
I hold my hand over the controls and pull up any switches that look like they control volume. Then I push the button to play a track and Edge’s riff from previously booms over the speakers.
Instantly all the band members stop fighting and their attentions to me. Larry and Edge press their hands over their ears- the riff is very loud.
I haven’t been aware I’m shaking until now. “Please,” I say. “Stop.”
I press the button for a new track and shift to Babble. They’re still staring at me. I play Edge’s riff again, and then move it into Zooropa. The segue works surprisingly well.
I can practically see the light turn on in Bono’s head. Slowly, the others come to the same realization.
I turn the sound off.
The first to speak is Edge. “Oh… why didn’t we think of that before?”
“Connect the two tracks…” Adam murmurs, his cigarette pinched between two fingers, forgotten.
Bono walks over and plays the tracks again in the same order. He shakes his head with a wondering smile and bursts out laughing. “Oh God, I never noticed that before. Thank you… thank you so much, Marieke. You’ve fixed Babble and Zooropa for us!”
“Now we get to splice the tracks together, or rerecord each one,” Edge says.
“But the song won’t be long enough,” Larry says. “At least, I think it needs more… oomph.”
A glazed look comes across Bono’s eyes. He turns and walks out of the room.
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
“Don’t mind it,” Edge tells me. “He’s probably got some idea that will help the song even more.” He has a look of awe in his eyes, as if he can’t believe some random U2 fan could come into the studio and recreate a song perfectly. Well, believe it, fellow.
“Edge, I need you!” Bono calls from the other room.
Edge and I go to see what Bono wants. The singer holds out a sheet of paper to Edge. He takes it and within a few moments utters a gasp of shock.
“Bono, it’s brilliant!”
“What is it?” I ask.
Bono teases the paper from Edge’s hand and gives it to me. “These are the lyrics,” he says, and I read them.
Vorshprung du Technik
Be all that you can be
Be a winner, eat to get slimmer
A bluey white
It could be yours tonight
Mild and green
“I think “squeaky clean” could fit in well after that one,” Bono muses. “After all, it is a dishwashing liquid.”
“These are from…?”
“Adverts, yes,” Bono says. “God! When I wrote “Ring of confidence” in my lyrics I never thought it would come to a use!”
“And it never would have if it wasn’t for Marieke,” Edge says.
“Right. You are right.” Bono pulls his arms around my hips and hugs me tightly. I squeak and hug him back hard. His forehead presses against my ear, and his lips find their way to my cheek. An electric shock runs through me and dissipates as he pulls away.
“You’re a genius,” he proclaims for the world to hear. Then, “Let’s get working on this, Edge.”
I stand there and finger my cheek. He’s kissed me there before, as MacPhisto, but this feels more potent. I love this man so much.
And I have singlehandedly saved a U2 song from being scrapped. And it was apparently the choice of a genius.
I guess they do care about me after all.
I don't know why there are all these sex references, maybe I was in that kind of mood.
I tried to get my sister to read this chapter because she's edited some of my work in the past, but she was too busy so I cracked down on myself and did serious revision... hope it's worth the effort.
Totally made up. This is definitely not how Zooropa/Zoo TV worked.
“Off with the horns, on with the show.”
The audience claps and whistles appreciatively. I give MacPhisto a thumbs up, which he can’t see. Tonight Eric is… somewhere else, I don’t really know or care, and I have my backstage perch all to myself.
“Look what you’ve done to me,” he continues in a low voice. The crowd is still calm as they cheer. The French are not the most excitable crowd… maybe they were all well prepared for Zoo TV. But none of them have heard of MacPhisto before. Who could fail to love him?
“You’ve made me very famous, and I thank you.” The cheer is indeed louder now.
“I know that you like your pop stars to be very exciting, so… I bought these,” he concludes, pointing to his shoes. I wait anxiously for the real speech.
“Round about this time in the evening proceeding this…” What’s with the extra words? It makes me giggle silently. “I often like to make a telephone call. Sometimes to the President of the United States…” Yeah, blah blah, get on with the show, Mr. MacPhisto.
“But not tonight. Tonight I’m calling a taxi, to take me home. I’m very tired.” He walks back on the stage and settles himself down in front of the telephone, stabbing the numbers with a cool air.
“C’est bon d'être ici la,” he murmurs in his British accent, pausing for a moment to see if he’s pronounced the words right. Apparently he has- the French crowd cheers very loudly.
Suddenly the line MacPhisto has dialed picks up.
“Bon soir?” MacPhisto tries on the receptionist, encouraged to speak more French by the audience. She says something back- I can’t make out the words- and he answers her tentatively, “Je m’appelle Monsieur MacPhisto.” I notice he has pronounced the word “monsieur” wrong, but I really don’t care. While the crowd cheers, I die a little.
“And- um- I’d like to order a taxi to take me home tonight,” he finishes. The receptionist says something else I can’t understand, but it sounds like she’s asking where MacPhisto is.
“I’m, I’m at the stadium with a few friends,” he rushes, and the “few friends” are very pleased. They let out cheers and claps.
“And where can we pick you up?” the receptionist asks.
“Well, I can’t really tell you about where I am, I just have to let you know that I’m everywhere.” MacPhisto sighs. I bite back my smile. Bono’s plan is really working.
The woman isn’t in the mood for games. “No, I must pick you up. Where can we pick you up?” She dissolves into some more incomprehensible words, probably in French.
“But… I’m everywhere,” MacPhisto insists, putting on his intent expression. I have to actually try to hold in my laughter. The smallest of smiles creeps across MacPhisto’s face for a second, obviously Bono acknowledging me backstage.
“No, em, the thing here, you know the front entrance?” The receptionist has moved from serious to explanatory. She seems to think MacPhisto needs help.
He doesn’t. “But I don’t need to be there, because I’m everywhere.”
“No, I don’t, I don’t think you have, you don’t…” She’s getting flustered. Time for the bomb. It was a stroke of genius on my part to come up with this, and Bono was amazed.
“I know you very well,” MacPhisto begins, smoothing his hair back and calmly latching onto the phone cord.
The woman is scornful. “Oh really?”
“Yes, I know you probably even better than you know yourself,” he finishes.
“Oh?” She’s angry. So maybe that wasn’t quite the mood we were hoping for, but MacPhisto carries on our dialogue anyway.
“And I would like to sing a song for you,” he tells the woman, and I hope if she’s anything like me she’ll stay on the line.
Her tone changes with those words. “Oh, that’s very nice.”
The music begins.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know, sometimes I feel like checking out…”
***
“Will you give her tickets?” I ask.
Eric shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not the one who decides, just the one who makes calls. But I’m betting that Bono won’t find it ideal to give a French woman tickets to a concert in Belgium.”
I laugh. “Oh, I see now…”
We’ve reached the dressing rooms after the show and Eric takes off, leaving me alone with my favorite four men.
Bono comes over before anything else can happen. “Hey!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms tightly around me and squeezing.
“Ahhhh…” I sigh, my breath leaving my lungs. It probably wouldn’t be bad to be hugged to death by Bono… I mean, it must be a worthy cause to die for.
He releases me and we both take a step back. “Marieke, your script was.... perfect. Just great. You should be proud of yourself.”
“It wasn’t all mine!” I don’t want to take too much credit. “You wrote it too. You started it.”
“But you’re the one who came up with the end,” he says. “And we can all agree that the ending was the best part. Right, guys?” He turns an eye to Adam, Larry, and Edge, who all look up, surprised.
“Oh, yeah, the ending of the phone call was great,” Adam says. His eyes are focused on some space above my head.
“I was trying not to laugh,” I tell Bono.
“Same here!” Edge chimes in. “Poor woman; she probably has no idea what happened to her.”
“Unlike you,” Bono points out, regarding me with soft eyes. “You knew exactly what was going on when you got my call, Marieke. I’m so glad you joined our entourage; this show might have gone much differently if you hadn’t written that excellent speech.”
“Oh…” I say, dropping my head to hide my blush.
“Y’know, it’s not a bad thing that you’re a fan,” Edge says. “We wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t a fan, because you would have never gotten backstage in the first place and met us.”
“Hell, she probably wouldn’t have even gone to the show,” Bono suggests, circling the room. He’s right, of course- Monique didn’t want to go when I offered her the tickets, and if non-fans are anything like her…
“Adam, what are you thinking?”
The bassist looks down at Bono. “I’m thinking… I’m going to see Naomi in an hour,” he says, folding his arms behind his back.
Bono stares. “Oh… oh, yes, I’d forgotten she’s here tonight…” He doesn’t sound particularly happy at the idea.
I whisper to Edge, “Who is Naomi?”
He murmurs, “Adam’s girlfriend.”
Adam has a girlfriend? I didn’t think of that. Then again, I never thought of Bono being married either.
“We’ll get you to your Naomi in no time at all,” Larry speaks up for the first time tonight.
Adam laughs. “I won’t keep her waiting.”
Which means soon it is time to go.
“Will you go to a party tonight?” I ask the band as they prepare to leave.
Bono sighs. “No. Too much fun the last time. If Naomi wasn’t here we’d be working on the album, I suppose.”
“What will you do instead?”
“We’re getting some sleep!” Edge calls. “We’ll be going out to Dublin tomorrow morning.”
I try not to appear too disappointed. “Oh. Have fun now.”
Bono squeezes his arm around my shoulder. “We’re going to, I promise.”
I step away from him and smile.
Something in Bono’s expression changes with my smile. He blurts out to me- “Yes, tomorrow… Marieke, would you mind coming with us to the studio? We could use another body there.”
Wait. What?
Edge and Larry look surprised. Adam isn’t taking too much notice in us.
“Well…” I stammer. “Of course I would like to come. You know that. Is it… okay?” I raise my eyes to peer nervously at the rest of the band.
Edge breaks into a relaxed smile, while Larry doesn’t smile but gives a pleasant nod. Adam breaks from his thoughts to give me a grin.
“Of course it’s okay, Marieke,” Edge reassures me. “We’d love to have you, really.”
“I wonder what kind of ideas she can provide us?” Larry murmurs, his eyes on me. It’s a little strange to make eye contact with him. We never look at each other at all.
Bono beams. “You’ll have to get up rather early- can you manage that?”
“It’s not a problem,” I say, thinking of my very late sleeping habits. In Rotterdam Lina would occasionally have to poke me awake.
“Okay then. See you there, Marieke.” Bono holds out a hand and we shake on it.
***
My alarm blares at seven, but the band isn’t downstairs until eight. Of course by this time I’ve already eaten breakfast and am drumming my fingers on the table, wondering if they were taking the mickey when Bono said I’d have to get up early. Very funny.
Eric comes to sit next to me with his plate of food. “Shame we’re not staying here any longer,” he begins, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “This is the best breakfast I’ve ever had on tour, I’m pretty sure.”
“Ha ha,” I answer, staring out at the door. Where is U2?
Eric follows my stare. “Who are you waiting for?”
“Bono invited me to the studio in Dublin,” I respond. “They are late coming down.”
Eric’s eyes widen. “I’ve never been in the studio! You’re one lucky chick.”
Not knowing what he means by “chick,” I kick the chair legs restlessly.
“They’ll be here, Marieke. They won’t take a promise like that back.”
“But why do they need me there?” I burst out. “I’m just a girl. U2 doesn’t care about me.”
“That’s silly,” Eric says. “They care about you enough to keep you around, obviously. You wouldn’t still be here if Bono didn’t care for you.”
That makes sense. “I guess I wouldn’t have a job with Zoo TV if U2 didn’t like me.”
“I know. Speaking of which, have you gotten paid for this job yet?”
I sigh. He sounds like Lina. “I’ll get paid, don’t worry. Bono has plenty of money to spare.” Or whoever it is that I’m working for.
Eric marvels at the sound of my voice. “You’ve learned a lot of English since you joined us.”
“Not enough,” I reply, and at last the band enters.
Bono has on a red shirt, which surprises me. I’ve never seen him in red except when he’s MacPhisto. And in the Mysterious Ways music video, but I only saw that once on TV. We don’t have a music channel at the flat.
“Will you wear your jacket over that?” is the first thing I say to him.
“It’s not too bad a look, is it?”
Oh, in no way is it bad.
Edge is wearing the bejeweled jeans again. Once more I make a mental note to take a photo for Lina’s viewing. Larry has on a more sensible shirt now instead of a tank top. The last man to enter is Adam, leading a girl I’ve never seen before. Her skin is brown and her hair is long and black, though not as long as mine. She struts in with grace in her step. Naomi?
“Good morning, Marieke,” Edge greets me. The others nod their hello’s. Edge sits down in the chair to my right, causing Bono to murmur, “Make room for me, Eric?”
Eric sadly gets up, and Bono gladly plops down. The rejected man walks away while the newcomer on my left inquires, “So Marieke, how long have you been up?”
“Since seven o’clock,” I growl.
He leans back. “But you said getting up early wouldn’t be a problem.”
I don’t care to answer Bono- he deserves the cold shoulder for making me wait- and turn to look at Edge. God, those pants are really quite beautiful up close. Suddenly Lina’s not the only one who will want a photo.
“Edge? Can you do something for me?”
He looks into my eyes, his glass paused halfway to his mouth. “Oh no. Last time you said that I caused a girl to faint.”
“She was well, though. Just sad that she couldn’t talk to you.”
“If she hadn’t fainted we could have talked...”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking. I just want to give a friend a present…”
“Sorry, I don’t do arranged dates.”
Bono subtly presses his hand to his mouth to keep from snickering at our exchange. I exhale loudly. Time to stop beating around the bush.
“Can I take a picture of your pants?”
Bono finds it to be a lost cause and openly guffaws. “Hear that, Reg? Someone- someone must really love you!”
“If you want a photo you can always look at the Achtung Baby cover,” Edge suggests, ignoring Bono.
I groan. “No! I mean, I want a photo for Lina.”
“Or I could give you the real thing,” Edge ponders, seemingly oblivious to my words.
“Nothing is better than the real thing,” Bono murmurs, letting the bait hang there in midair.
Instead of swallowing it, I say, “You’ll give me your pants?”
Edge chuckles. “I don’t think so. I’m rather fond of these.”
“Got a camera on you?” Bono asks Eric as he walks by our table.
Eric stops. “No, but I’ll get one.” He trots back over to the other crew members and calls, “Anyone got a camera with them?”
There’s a short search for the requested item, and then- “I do,” one guy pipes up, displaying a camera in his hands. I don’t even want to know why.
Eric collects it and brings the object over to the table. “What are you taking a picture of?”
“Edge’s pants,” Larry answers as I snatch the camera and turn it on my helpless subject.
“Don’t focus on his crotch,” Bono advises me, rubbing a hand across his forehead as I snap the first shot. “Nothing to see there anyway.”
Adam and Larry both laugh, while I groan loudly. Edge just looks displeased. “And how would you know, Bono?” he inquires.
“Sorry, Marieke,” Bono apologizes. “That’s what you get for hanging out with the men… and as for you, Edge, it seems you’ve forgotten that I know you even better than you know yourself.”
“That’s MacPhisto. Get it right,” I mutter. He doesn’t hear.
On the spur of the moment, I hand the camera to Eric and wrap my arms around Edge’s waist. Before the stunned guitarist can react I say, “Take a photo!”
Eric snaps the shutter. I pull back and run my hand over the sparkly surface of his jeans. “I like them!”
“Oooooh,” Larry snickers, eyeing my hands on Edge’s legs.
“Shut up,” Edge mutters as I move away and instruct Eric to get the film developed.
“Oh, you guys need to go,” Eric says, checking his watch.
This prompts Bono to grab Eric’s wrist, saying at the same time, “Are you sure?” His doubt clears up when he looks at it, though. “Oh, dammit. We’ve kept the other guys waiting out there for so long.”
“Bye, Eric,” I say, hooking an arm casually around him.
“I’ll see you, Naomi,” Adam murmurs, and kisses her.
The rest of the band is already walking out.
As we leave, I ask Edge, “Is sleeping with The Edge as mind-blowing as sleeping with The Fly?”
“I’d prefer to keep that to myself, if you don’t mind.”
***
“Quick! To the Zoo Plane!”
I laugh at Bono as we cross the lot. U2’s private owned plane is sitting outside the airport, just waiting for occupants. I board it with caution and take a window seat.
The band enters joking with each other. Edge follows me down the aisle and sits in the seat across from me in the back. Adam takes a place up front and Bono sits two seats behind him on the opposite side, flipping the tray out. Larry comes and sits behind Edge.
After a few more passengers climb on- people who will be joining us in the studio, among them Paul and Bill- the Zoo Plane speeds down the runway. Soon it’s up in the air, and I watch the ground disappear in the clouds.
The inside of the plane is surprisingly quiet. For all the talking going on during breakfast and on the drive here, I would think the plane ride would be the same. Since no one else is near me I engage Edge in conversation- “What is it like at the studio?”
Edge tries to describe the place I’ll be visiting shortly. “Well, there isn’t anyone doing nothing there, you know? Studio sessions are a lot of work. We’ve been writing for the new LP since the last tour leg and we want to get that finished up quickly. So everything’s pretty hectic.”
“Are you recording?” I ask.
“It’s unlikely, but you might get to see some recording today,” Edge says. “There’s a few songs we’ve got that we still have to work out though. Truthfully, our album is little more than a collection of tracks. I mean, there’s so much… it’s gonna be hard to narrow them all down.”
I think about that. How many songs do they have? Maybe I could help them decide which ones to use.
“Hey, Edge, maybe you shouldn’t be telling Marieke about the record,” Larry says from behind the seat. “Don’t you want to keep it confidential?” He’s teasing though.
“I think not,” Edge sighs thoughtfully. He turns around to get in a better position to speak with Larry. “She’s working for us now. She’s a right to hear it.”
Larry grins. “And she hasn’t got the right to hear about your skills in bed? I’m sure it’s an enlightening topic.”
“What…? Oh, shut up,” Edge groans, turning back to me. However annoyed he may look, I can’t help but notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
I raise my eyebrow. “He’s right; you never answered my question this morning.”
“What made you think I would?”
I shrug innocently. “Larry says it’s not confidential.”
Edge holds out his hands. “Okay… let’s just try to keep the topic off sex for now.” I was right- he’s very humored. Larry laughs, his handsome features brightening the whole plane. “At least not until we get to Dublin, maybe...”
“Are you seeing anyone there?” I ask, and Edge answers.
“Do you mean our families?” I nod. “We probably won’t have time. It’s a lot of work, remember? But I know I’d like to see my girls soon.” His voice turns wistful. “And Bono’s family will expect a visit.” By “family” I pretend that he means Bono’s father and brother and not his wife and children.
Larry sighs quietly. “Adam’s girl gets to drop in on him any time she wishes, but I never see Ann anymore…”
Wait a second. “You have a girlfriend?” I ask, confused.
He exchanges looks with Edge. “Er, oops, was that truly confidential information…?”
“Truly,” Edge agrees.
Down the aisle a voice speaks up- “I just heard my name and sex mentioned in the same conversation. Should I be concerned?”
“We were just talking about how sexy you are, Ad,” Larry gushes, while simultaneously rolling his eyes at Edge and I.
Adam smiles matter-of-factly. “I did do the Achtung photoshoot, you know.”
I remember that photo. It had caused a few raised eyebrows from me and Lina, but for completely separate reasons.
“Watch it, Clayton,” Edge warns. “I said no sex talk till we get home.”
I repeat Lina’s words when she’d seen the Achtung photo- “Too bad it will be X-ed out.”
“The X shows where the treasure is buried,” Bono murmurs in his seat.
Men.
***
The clouds lift when we reach Dublin, but we’re whisked into a car before I can study my surroundings. All I know is that the city is cooler than France was and has gray, red, white buildings. The studio is tranquil on the outside, its wrapping dull stone. However, just as there’s chocolate beneath the package’s surface, so the inside of the building springs to life.
“All right, get to work,” Bono exclaims as he strides through the door, rubbing his hands together. They greet the people who were already waiting for them, and then speedily become a flurry of motion. Edge wasn’t kidding when he mentioned that no one was doing nothing.
I am lost in the motion and sit down in the nearest possible chair. I’d like to go explore the other rooms, but I don’t know where to start. No need to notice me, I’m just a girl U2 brought along, pay me no mind…
But of course someone does pay me mind eventually. It’s Edge, kindly showing that he has not forgotten my existence, unlike everyone else. He’s carrying a guitar in his arms- it looks so natural there. I reckon no one can give it a better home.
“Marieke, there’s something I’d like to show you. You said you’d like to see some recording, so…”
I perk up. Edge smiles, I nod, and he motions down the hall. I follow Edge into another room- there’s a recording booth in here. Outside the glass is a soundboard, where one man sits. Edge greets him while I promptly sit down again. He has a variety of effect pedals and other gear in and outside the booth, and I’m afraid of messing anything up.
“Marieke, can you please press that button for me?” Edge gestures behind the glass.
The man at the soundboard switches his gaze from Edge to me, rather astonished. “Don’t you want me to do that?” he mouths, tapping his chest to indicate himself because Edge can’t hear him in the soundproof area.
“No,” Edge tells him, and with his assent I press the button. One sentence is left unsaid- I want Marieke to feel like she’s helping.
Edge begins to play, pushing down on a pedal. The riff dances throughout the air, and it shocks me. The simplicity of the riff would stick out in normal guitar-playing, but the effect Edge is uses swathes it in power. He shifts around on four notes, climbing up from one note and hitting a lower tone from the same. The tune repeats over and over, and Edge stops playing before I can get sick of it. He moves and the man next to me finishes recording.
Edge sets his guitar down. “Did you like it?”
The answer is a resounding, “YES!” The riff was almost equal to the ones for Where The Streets Have No Name and Ultraviolet, only a little less familiar, more alien. And of course this was shorter.
He smiles a little. “It’s funny, I really like that riff too but I’ve got nowhere to put it.”
“What was the… thing?” I ask, and with Edge’s help get to the word “effect pedal.”
“Oh, I'm just using delay and the wah-wah effect." I giggle at the name.
By now more people have gathered in the room, drawn by the sound of Edge’s guitar. Bono pushes his way through, asking “Has Edge recorded something?” The spark in his eyes suggests that it’s a rare occurrence.
“Oh, it’s nothing you can use,” Edge tells Bono as the singer plays the lick back. His eyes narrow. “Hmmm…”
“Hey, we need you in the other room,” Larry calls, entering. “Adam’s this close to trashing Babble and he wants your opinion.”
“No, wait!” Bono yells, rushing out.
“What’s Babble?” I ask Edge, bemused. He doesn’t listen. He’s following his bandmates, the excitement of sharing his work with me forgotten.
In the other room, a fuss has begun. Bono is stalking around Adam like a cat cornering its prey. “Adam, I thought you wanted this track,” he spits out.
“I just think it would help if we erased it,” Adam says. He’s holding his hands up. “Larry’s in favor of that and so is Edge.”
“How do you know that?” Edge says, miffed. “You never asked me.”
“Well, I say trash Babble,” Larry offers. “We’re not getting anywhere with it.”
“I told you to leave it be!” Bono growls. “I want to keep that track. Remember what we discussed last time we were here?”
“It’s not worth getting worked up about, B,” Edge soothes. “We can’t record a new Babble. We’ve spent too much time working on that song and it doesn’t even have lyrics. It’s time to give up and focus on other things.”
Bono stops walking. “You were the one who dug those soundchecks out! You thought of that song first…”
“If I’m its creator, by all rights I should be the one to destroy it.”
Suddenly Bono’s eyes glow, and he blurts “Trash Babble and you trash Zooropa.”
“But-“
“Trash Babble and you trash Zooropa.”
“Bono-“
“Trash. Babble. And. You. Trash. Zooropa,” Bono practically snarls, invading The Edge’s personal space. The guitarist finds him too close for comfort and backs away.
“We’re not getting rid of Zooropa, Bono.”
“Why not, though?” Bono spins around. “Why don’t we just chuck your precious Zooropa and be done with it? What’s stopping us?”
Adam speaks up. “It’s got some of the best lyric work I’ve heard from you guys so far. I won’t let you destroy a work of art like that.”
Larry sighs. “Zooropa- God, what the hell is wrong with that song?”
Bono’s eyebrows angle downward. “This is the first complaint I’ve heard about it from you, Lar.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Bono, I like the song just fine. But…” He shakes his head. “It isn’t working. I’m sorry.”
“But we CAN’T get rid of that one,” Bono emphasizes. “That song is the essence of this album. That song is everything that Zoo TV stands for. We… I need this song.”
He looks depressed for a moment, and my arms itch to hug him.
“If that’s what this album is about… it’s amazing we’ve gotten this far on it,” Larry says. “If Zooropa is stands for Zoo TV… well, it’s a wonder the tour’s not ended yet.”
“What do you mean, Larry?”
“Can’t you tell? Zooropa is a mess!”
Bono opens his mouth, as if he’s trying to say something, but ends up closing it again without a defense.
“Fuck this,” he finally manages, and stalks out into the recording room. Of course I follow him.
Bono sits down at the soundboard outside the booth and fiddles with some buttons. Soon a song is thrumming across the room, a cacophony of noise that assaults my system. I try to pick out coherent words, but it’s near impossible.
“That’s Babble,” Bono informs me.
He presses a few more buttons and we listen to a new song. This one features Bono’s vocals.
And I have no compass
And I have no map
And I have no reason, no reason to get back
And I have no religion
And I don’t know what’s what
And I don’t know the limit, the limit of what I’ve got
“Zooropa,” Bono mumbles under his breath, and pricks his ears at the sound of Edge walking into the room.
“I can’t believe Adam said this has some great lyrics in it,” Bono tells the guitarist. “Larry’s right, it is a mess.”
“Don’t think that way,” Edge tries to assure him. “We’ll work it out.”
“I just can’t get it right!” Bono complains, standing up and pacing about the room. “I know what’s in my head… I know what I’m writing about… I see it so well…”
He turns to Edge with a panicked expression.
“Maybe I’m losing my touch?”
“You’re not losing anything,” Edge tells him. “It’s just hard to get your mind out on paper. We’ll fix that.”
“I say just throw it away,” Larry pipes up, sidling into the room. “Believe me. The more you think about that song, the less you’ll like it. We’ve experienced that before. Start from complete scratch.”
“And who asked you?” Bono mutters, his tone unfriendly.
“No one, but you needed to hear it.” Larry sways over to the recording board, and Adam cautiously appears in this room. He lights a cigarette.
“See, we can just erase the track right now…” Larry’s hand hovers over the switches.
“NO!” Bono hurries over, arms out, ready to restrain Larry from doing the deed.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Just get rid of both tracks,” Adam offers, sending glares from all sides in his direction.
The arguing breaks out, even nastier than before. I can’t believe no one’s doing anything to stop them. Then again, maybe it’s safer not to interfere. But I should do something… It’s getting pretty horrible to hear them shouting at each other. This isn’t the day I was promised.
I hold my hand over the controls and pull up any switches that look like they control volume. Then I push the button to play a track and Edge’s riff from previously booms over the speakers.
Instantly all the band members stop fighting and their attentions to me. Larry and Edge press their hands over their ears- the riff is very loud.
I haven’t been aware I’m shaking until now. “Please,” I say. “Stop.”
I press the button for a new track and shift to Babble. They’re still staring at me. I play Edge’s riff again, and then move it into Zooropa. The segue works surprisingly well.
I can practically see the light turn on in Bono’s head. Slowly, the others come to the same realization.
I turn the sound off.
The first to speak is Edge. “Oh… why didn’t we think of that before?”
“Connect the two tracks…” Adam murmurs, his cigarette pinched between two fingers, forgotten.
Bono walks over and plays the tracks again in the same order. He shakes his head with a wondering smile and bursts out laughing. “Oh God, I never noticed that before. Thank you… thank you so much, Marieke. You’ve fixed Babble and Zooropa for us!”
“Now we get to splice the tracks together, or rerecord each one,” Edge says.
“But the song won’t be long enough,” Larry says. “At least, I think it needs more… oomph.”
A glazed look comes across Bono’s eyes. He turns and walks out of the room.
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
“Don’t mind it,” Edge tells me. “He’s probably got some idea that will help the song even more.” He has a look of awe in his eyes, as if he can’t believe some random U2 fan could come into the studio and recreate a song perfectly. Well, believe it, fellow.
“Edge, I need you!” Bono calls from the other room.
Edge and I go to see what Bono wants. The singer holds out a sheet of paper to Edge. He takes it and within a few moments utters a gasp of shock.
“Bono, it’s brilliant!”
“What is it?” I ask.
Bono teases the paper from Edge’s hand and gives it to me. “These are the lyrics,” he says, and I read them.
Vorshprung du Technik
Be all that you can be
Be a winner, eat to get slimmer
A bluey white
It could be yours tonight
Mild and green
“I think “squeaky clean” could fit in well after that one,” Bono muses. “After all, it is a dishwashing liquid.”
“These are from…?”
“Adverts, yes,” Bono says. “God! When I wrote “Ring of confidence” in my lyrics I never thought it would come to a use!”
“And it never would have if it wasn’t for Marieke,” Edge says.
“Right. You are right.” Bono pulls his arms around my hips and hugs me tightly. I squeak and hug him back hard. His forehead presses against my ear, and his lips find their way to my cheek. An electric shock runs through me and dissipates as he pulls away.
“You’re a genius,” he proclaims for the world to hear. Then, “Let’s get working on this, Edge.”
I stand there and finger my cheek. He’s kissed me there before, as MacPhisto, but this feels more potent. I love this man so much.
And I have singlehandedly saved a U2 song from being scrapped. And it was apparently the choice of a genius.
I guess they do care about me after all.
You'll never guess how I thought of that line either.
