BlueSilkenSky
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
I do not particulalrly like the end of this chapter, seeing as I have no idea where the drugs came from. Enjoy it anyway!
My heart beats one word throughout the next days. Mine, mine, mine… Because the more time I spend with Bono, the friendlier we become. It’s quite possible that I call him my own now. But my first priority is the tour- keeping up with Zoo TV and all its antics. I can’t drop my other friends for Bono.
On the day before we leave the last tour destination, U2 gives the Zoo crew some exciting news- Zooropa has been mass released, to an audience of over one million. Bono is ecstatic- “They’re going to love it!” Edge tells me that Numb has charted 39 on the Top 40 in the US, and up to 10 in Australia. Not bad for such a boring song! I note that he doesn't mention Europe, however.
When we get onto a plane after performing in Verona, Italy, I yank Eric to me and ask him where we’re going.
“Rome,” is the cool answer. I stare out the window and wait for all passengers to load. “What day is it, Eric?”
He looks at his ever-present watch before answering. “It’s 6 AM on a Sunday morning.”
“But what is the date?” I ask.
He stares out my window, past my shoulder. “July 4th.”
We suddenly both glance at each other, grinning, and Eric says, “It’s American Independence Day.”
“Really?” I didn’t know that. I only know that there’s a U2 song called Fourth of July, on Lina’s album- The Unforgettable Fire.
“I’d be celebrating if I were in Miami now!” he says, his green eyes seeing the revelries unfold like a movie.
I settle myself into the plane seat as we are instructed to buckle seatbelts. “Do you miss it?”
He thinks. “Of course I miss my home. But I don’t have very strong ties to anyone there… do you miss your roommate and family often?”
Strange, they haven’t crossed my mind until Eric brought it up. I can’t say I miss Lina and my parents too terribly… the distraction of this new life of mine has driven all thoughts of home away.
We play word games until the plane touches down in Rome- and Eric keeps winning them, seeing as I’m not a native English speaker. His favorite is “The Green Glass Door,” the rules of which I can’t possibly understand. He gives up after a while to let me sleep.
Someone’s hand is clasped behind my hand, the attached fingers stroking through my hair. I can’t see who’s touching me, however, and struggle in his or her grasp. The owner of the hand tightens his or her grip, and I pull away to find that it’s Bono touching me- or is it MacPhisto? His lips are turned up in a devilish smirk, but he’s not wearing any horns. I press myself against him and thread my fingers through his hair, moaning softly. He takes my head in his hands and-
“Marieke, wake up!” I am startled out of sleep by Eric’s call. Opening my eyes, I realize that I’m snuggled up against him, my mouth near the vicinity of his ear. Quickly I pull back from Eric, shocked.
“What was that?” Eric doesn’t look too happy. “You were mumbling stuff in your sleep- I think you said I Love You?- and you told me to come closer…”
“Not you,” I say, blinking and lowering my head. Way to embarrass the hell out of me.
“Well, whoever you thought I was, it must have been someone you really love!” Eric shakes his head. “You were practically biting my ear off.”
I say nothing, keeping my face down. Shame washes over me- I wouldn’t act like that around Bono or MacPhisto. I would never behave so unseemly…
Eric’s voice tickles my senses. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“S’okay,” I say, seeing clouds outside the window.
Eric stares along with me. Then he exclaims, “We’re going to Rome!”
“What’s your point?”
He gives a nervous chuckle. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t be that happy. I haven’t been a good little church boy these following years. What if I bump into the Pope?”
His joking makes me laugh and relax, and we fall once again into soft conversation. I push my dream behind me.
When I set foot inside the Hotel Majestic, my eyes are assaulted with beauty. The place is furnished nicely, with red walls. A few gold couches are set about to merge artfully with the wall’s color. It brings to mind a certain man I love. I turn to look for Bono so I can point out this surprising coincidence, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I searc with my eyes for a moment until the person behind me gives a tap on my shoulder, and I realize I’m supposed to go to the desk. Hastily I take my room keys and hurry away, thinking all the time about how wonderful it would be to spend time in the lobby with MacPhisto.
***
“Hello?”
“Hello, Hollie… it’s me. It’s your father…”
“Dad! It’s you!”
“I called to wish you a happy birthday. Did you think I would forget?”
“No, of course not! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know, Hollie. I wish I could be with you today. So how’s the day going? Got any good presents for a ten-year-old? Hard to believe you’re in double digits now!”
They talk for a bit, Hollie’s voice chattering on and on about her birthday spoils while Edge listens happily for a while.
“Well now, how’s your mother been treating you? How are Arran and Blue?”
“We’re all fine. Do you want to talk to Mum?”
Edge thinks. He isn’t sure if he wants to hear Aislinn’s voice again. She’d picked up the phone when he called and asked for Hollie, but no words had slipped from her lips besides, “All right.” Just listening to Hollie is making Edge long for home. Aislinn’s formal tone, devoid of emotion, would not help this at all.
“No thank you. I just wanted to hear that you’re doing fine… I love you… bye-bye.” On the other end he can hear Hollie handing the phone back to her mother. Edge finds himself half-hoping that Aislinn will want to talk to him, but instead he only hears the clunk of the receiver being put down. Edge cradles the phone on his end and stares at the wall.
There’s no way in hell you can go home now. The entourage- band and Zoo crew- has just arrived in Rome. Edge has only now finished unpacking his stuff. He can’t go take a plane to Dublin, of all places.
But I miss them. So what? He’s missed his family on tour before. Every time, he’s reminded himself that you’ll survive, it’s not the end of the world.
Edge lumbers off to find someone who can distract him. He has a specific person in mind.
***
In the morning I meet Bono for breakfast, just like always. We set a time for a later rendezvous. He asks if I will stay to eat with him.
“No, I can’t eat now!” Being in Rome is making me feel giddy. I want to jump up and down and explore the town and do all sorts of tourist-y things.
Bono nods. “Okay. Makes sure you get something in that belly of yours, though.” He winks.
Argh… that wink is giving me second thoughts. I’m torn between staying with this man or discovering the ancient city of Rome. Excitement wins over eventually, though, and I bob my head up and down and bounce to the door. Before I can get outside, I hear Bono call from behind me, “Rrrromaaa!”
I laugh and scoot out. We’re in Roma this morning and there’s no way anything can go wrong.
My body casts a long shadow against the curb as I exit the hotel. The rush of a car speeding past makes me glance up, startled for a bit. It narrowly misses running a red light, and I half laugh, half groan, thinking it could have been Bono in the car. For a July day in Rome, the weather does not disappoint. I tie my hair back with my hands, wishing I’d thought to take a rubber band with me, and start off in a vague northward direction, pushing through the warm air.
After a while sweat slides like syrup off my neck and head, and I’m still nowhere near from finding the mythical Vatican. Unlike Eric, I’m not a Christian, nor have ever had any belief in God. And yet there’s something attractive about visiting the place- maybe it’s the lure and promise of standing in two countries at once. I stop my jog, pace myself evenly and try not to breathe too hard.
It occurs to me that I could just ask for directions to the Vatican- if my Italian didn’t suck so badly. Next tour destination, I promise myself I am going to learn the native language! Another thought nags at me that what if the Vatican is in an obvious location and I become the laughingstock of Roma? No way I’ll let that happen. I must find it myself.
Rome is not a small city by any means, so I begin to doubt I’m going to locate Vatican City within today. It’s worth it just to idly sightsee other areas. I stroll on by buildings, and hear a car alarm off in the distance.
Finally, at the heart of my exploration, I find the City of Gold- okay, not really, but this place can be nothing but the object of my searching. I enter the second country with ease, my breath hitching when I realize I’m no longer in Italy. For fun, I stand with one foot inside the border and one foot outside of it.
Despite all my searching, I don’t stay in the Vatican City for as long as I’d like. I’m afraid more tourists will come and I’ll be written off as “one of them.” Besides, I don’t think I’m allowed to go inside the building. But as I stroll along the outside, shooing pigeons away, an indulging sort of plan begins to blossom in my head.
Later in the day, when I meet in Bono’s hotel room, I propose the idea to him, as casually as if I was suggesting he change a line in the MacPhisto script.
He stares at me like I’ve asked if we could go swimming in a tank of sharks.
I exhale. “Bono, it’s not a bad thought at all!”
He’s still staring. “Where the hell do you come up with this stuff, Angel?”
“Admit it. If I hadn’t mentioned it to you you’d have thought of it anyway.”
Bono shakes his head. “There’s no way I could have come up with that. MacPhisto at the Vatican… are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Of course. What’s more ironic than the Devil at the Pope’s house? And it will be good promoting for the second night in Rome and for Zooropa.”
“Well, I guess I can see what you mean… we did release the album just yesterday.”
“Right. And now you’re going to sell it, one way or another, and you’re going to go down to the Vatican dressed as MacPhisto. And you’re going to like every second of it.”
“Are you going to hint at anything to come in the speech?”
My moving hands, tying themselves in knots, freeze for a moment. “I don’t think I will.”
“Marieke? Would you like another raise in your payments?”
“Yes please.”
***
Bono has suggested my idea to the management- it’s hard to think that there’s anyone higher in rank in the entourage than U2 themselves- and they gave us the go-ahead. We’re going to the Vatican on the day after the second night in Rome- tomorrow, July 7th, is the next show- and Bono will be permitted entrance to the Vatican where he as MacPhisto will travel the outskirts of Vatican City, cameramen following him to take some nice shots of the Devil outside the land of Catholicism. Bono makes sure to mention that the little project was my idea, and a glow of pride ignites in my belly. He also suggests recording a special video message for U2 fans to see as another Zooropa promo, and asks if we should do it at the Vatican. “No, no,” I say, thinking of the downstairs lobby in our Majestic hotel. “I know of a place you’ll like better.”
Now, I’m standing backstage at U2’s concert, watching the Devil mount the stage and shout, “Desire!” Forget Holland, forget Portugal, forget every live audience I’ve ever heard- these Italian fans are surely the noisiest of us all. I’m filled with admiration for them and their cheering. Soon MacPhisto settles his platform shoes firmly back on Earth and says, “Ciao, miei cari bambini,” in that ever-endearing British accent of his. Tonight I just want to forget any troubles that I have and watch my man perform.
“Olé, olé olé olé! Olé, olé! Olé, olé olé olé…” He backs down a bit to listen to the crowd roar. “OLÉ, OLÉ!”
MacPhisto starts to recite my speech- the cleverest speech I’ve written yet. Bono actually laughed out loud when he read what I’d written.
“That’s a good one,” MacPhisto says, referring to the Olé song. “Football! It’s like a religion to you people of Roma. Am I right or am I wrong?”
“RIGHT!” the crowd cheers. I feel like jumping into the crowd and hugging them all for being such wonderful audience members. Apparently MacPhisto feels like that too, because he can’t keep his excitement down as he declares, “I wonder how the Holy Father feels about that. What team does il Santo Padre support- Lazio? Or AS Roma?!” I know he wants to bounce up and down in those boots of his, and I know I’d join him.
The audience shouts and chants something unintelligible- t’s probably in Italian. Whatever they’re saying, it pleases MacPhisto to the tips of his toes, and he asks, “Shall I give… shall I give il Santo Padre a call and see which team he supports? Shall I call him, on the telephone?”
He needs no more than a resounding “YES!” from the fans. I squirm a little, trying not to break into dance.
“All right then… I shall,” MacPhisto declares, raising his arm into the air and speaking with even more airs than he usually does, if such a thing is possible. “I believe he’s at the villa… Castela Angelo, something. Sant’Angelo. He’s there for the summer, you know.”
As he speaks, he floats over to the phone and dials.
The crowd starts to get a bit rowdy again- trying to give MacPhisto support- and he shushes them with a finger to his lips. Then he leans into the phone and sings, “I just called to say I love you…” The inclusion of this song in most recent phone calls was, for once, not my idea.
“Hello?” he asks, this time unfazed, not displeased, waiting intently on an answer.
“Castel Sant’Angelo,” a man answers. YES!
MacPhisto ignores the crowd noise and asks, “Hello, is that the Castel Sant’Angelo?”
“Yes. Pronto,” says the quick-thinking man.
“Scusi- do you speak any English?” MacPhisto asks, trying out his Italian for the second time tonight.
“No, purtroppo, no. Pronto?”
MacPhisto isn’t going to let any obstacle stand in his way. “Well… do you speak any Irish?”
I start laughing as quietly as I can make it, and the man says “No, no, no, so l’italiano.”
“I would like to speak to il Santo Padre, if that’s at all possible,” MacPhisto continues, his voice a bit softer.
The line warps the sound of the man’s response, and the crowd laughs. I shake my head to clear my ears.
MacPhisto starts to falter, and I cringe. Oh no! Please don’t bring the energy in this stadium back down.
“I, I, I’m just calling, really, because I hear he’s not well-“ The man on the other end cuts MacPhisto off. “Chi parla inglese? Chi parla inglese?” I’m guessing he’s asking if MacPhisto speaks English. MacPhisto listens with a guarded countenance as the man continues in Italian, and then finishes with- “Yeah, one moment please.” So he could speak English after all!
The audience laughs, and I laugh with them. I have a slightly giddy feeling, knowing that one more push will send me over the deep end of side-splitting hilarity. MacPhisto eyes the crowd and begins to sing, “You keep me hang-“
“Hello?” a woman asks.
MacPhisto looks a bit miffed that the woman would interrupt his song, and replies, “Hello.”
“Yes?”
“How are you? My name is Mr. MacPhisto…”
“Mmm.”
“… and I’m enquiring as to the health of the Holy Father.”
BANG! He’s gotten the line dead-on. I wait for the woman’s response, stifling my laughter. The noisy crowd is impatient for the scene to unfold.
“Uh… you, you would like to have… erm, a ticket?” No, woman, he’d like to know which team the Pope supports! Get it right!
“Well, what it is, is- actually I have a much more serious question,” MacPhisto assures her. I snort. “I have a friend, who’d like-“
“Yes?” the woman asks, once again cutting MacPhisto off. He does get interrupted a lot…
“I have a good friend of mine, who’d like to have-“ What? Deviation of the script here. “- seek a personal confession from the Holy Father.”
I’m aghast. MacPhisto’s really getting it big time. He’s even twisted me up here! I have no idea what’s coming next…
Of course, neither does the woman. “Um… y-you… there is a mistake, this is, um, this is, urm, another, mm, oh, another place, you have to do another number. This is, err, Castel Sant’Angelo monument, so, mm, we… we can’t help you. You have to do, um, another- you have to dial another number.”
Her words would sound great as song lyrics! Where’s Bono when you need him to write a song?
The Irishman’s alter ego speaks instead. “Well, could I leave a message?”
“Because you have to, to dial the number of the Vaticano, so you can… to, to do, to… to try to…” Amazing- I hear her laugh, as if apologizing for her bad English. MacPhisto takes pity on her.
“You people of Roma, you’re so very kind,” he says. I’m curious- what is this building up to? The woman tries to say, “Yes, we-“ but this time MacPhisto’s the one cutting her off. “You’re so kind. I’d just like to leave a message. I’d just like to leave a message: my friend, Mr. Andreotti…” Who’s that? The crowd obviously knows. They laugh and cheer.
“… would like to seek the personal confession of the Holy Father. He’s a lot to say. It won’t take too long.”
You’ve lost me here, MacPhisto. Fortunately the crowd is laughing. Fortunately The Edge is playing the guitar riff for Ultraviolet.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like checking out… I want to get it wrong… can’t always be strong… and love it won’t be long…”
A wide grin spreads over his face.
“Buono sera!”
Cue an explosive laughing fit.
***
Roma. This was the best Zoo TV show I have ever seen. I run backstage and leap onto the first person I see. It’s Edge, and he looks just as happy as I feel.
“Edge, Edge, Edge!” I say.
“Marieke, Marieke, Marieke! What’s got into you?” he laughs, lifting me up and whirling me around before setting me safely back on my feet. I stagger back, stunned that someone can do that to me.
A grin splits my face apart. “I’m. So. HAPPY!”
“I think we can tell,” Edge says with more than a smile.
I bend over for a second and try to get in control of my joy. It’s taking me over, bringing me up towards an intense high. I have to start singing- “And I have no compass, and I have no map! And I have no reason, no reason to get back!”
“Popular song with her, eh, Adam?” I hear Larry say.
“Of course!” I spring up to face him. “Oh, I’m so happy…”
“You’re worse than Bono. At least he doesn’t literally bounce around!” Larry snickers.
I realize I’m jumping up and down and instantly cease. That’s not befitting for a woman my age. My thoughts turn onto Bono- where is he, why isn’t he here yet? We need to go celebrate this awesome show together…
And just as I’m thinking something along those lines, the door blasts open. “Hey!” Bono crows, looking excited himself. My brain can’t handle it, and I rush across the room and hug him.
“Whoa! Hey there, Angel,” he greets me as my arms entwine around his body. “Oof! What are you trying ta do, squeeze the living daylights out of me?”
“Of course,” I answer, nuzzling his neck. I feel him shift his weight uncomfortably. Mine, mine, mine, my heart continues to beat. I want to shout it to the world- the fact that I love this man, and no one else.
“Marieke? MARIEKE! Get off me, please!”
I wrench myself away from Bono, my face burning. How could I have done that? For a few seconds I had been practically assaulting the man I love. And he shouldn’t know I love him in the first place.
“Trying to make some love, eh, Marieke?” Adam grins. But Larry stays strangely silent, his eyes on my face. They burn with an intense fire, almost as scorching as Bono’s eyes, until he realizes I’m looking at him and quickly glances away. Hm. That man…
Edge is equally quiet as he looks into the distance. Then- “Morleigh!” he cries, crossing the room in a few swift strides and opening the door to let the dancer in. This distracts me from my embarrassment, and I slink into a corner.
Morleigh enters the room, her face buzzing. “Hi Edge,” she greets the guitarist. “Hi, Bono. Hi, Adam.” She kisses everyone on the cheek with an included one-armed hug. When she gets to me, she looks me in the eye and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, hugging her. What would she think is wrong with me? “Hi, Morleigh.” She gives me a calming pat on the shoulder and, with one final glance to me, goes to join Edge and Bono on the other side of the room.
“Let’s head out of this place,” Adam suggests. “Rome has some nice clubs, doesn’t it?”
Before Adam finishes speaking, Larry is shouting “Party animal! Party animal!”
“So I’m shameless about it,” Adam shrugs. “Come on. You know who’s in town tonight?”
“Why Adam, why didn’t you tell us?” Bono asks. “Naomi?”
A grin splits Adam’s face. “Of course.”
“Why don’t you call her to meet up?” Edge suggests, and with a smile Adam agrees. He leaves the room, and that seems to signal to the rest of the band that it’s time for them to go.
“Edge, you coming with us?” Bono asks as he opens the door. Morleigh has her arm around Edge.
“No, I think we’ll go join Adam and his girl,” the guitarist replies. “I mean, if you’re up for it, Morleigh…”
“I’m up for anything,” she smiles. “I’m ready for a night on town.”
“I’m ready for the laughing gas!” I laugh, and Morleigh giggles along with me.
“Lar? You coming with us?” Bono asks the drummer.
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Sure.”
I catch up to Bono and Larry as they leave. Morleigh and Edge wave goodbye to me, and I wave back, tagging along behind Bono and Larry. Bono starts walking slower so I can reach him, and as I slide into place between Larry and Bono the latter smiles and ruffles my hair. I focus on breathing.
Before we can get out, Eric spies the entourage. “Hey Marieke! Hey Bono, Larry,” he greets us. His eyes, however, are only on me. “Going out?”
“We’re just going for a spin,” Bono assures Eric. “Nothing you need to worry your head about.” Larry laughs. Eric looks annoyed.
“Marieke, may I join you?” he asks.
Bono speaks for me before I can. “Yes, certainly.” Eric goes onto Larry’s side, sneaking glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
The limousine parks outside a club, and we emerge from in just in time to see someone getting thrown out.
“Are you sure this is a good place for us?” I ask Bono.
He snickers. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Trusting Bono to know what he’s talking about, I enter the club. He heads off instantly, and before I can follow Eric slips his arm around my shoulders. I turn to face him and get caught in his green gaze, my mouth slowly falling open. Eric’s eyes snap open and shut, and he strokes the back of my neck with cool fingers. I can feel myself leaning into him- and suddenly Larry bumps us, breaking the contact between Eric and me.
“Want to dance, Marieke?” he asks, shifting his weight. I shrug, nod, and melt into Larry’s arms.
Larry isn’t a great dancer- he moves me around in a tight little circle. I enjoy the feeling of his arms around me, though. Beating on those drums all this life has left his arms strongly muscled. He turns his head, his blond hair scratching my cheek slightly. Larry really is cute. What if I’d fallen in love with him…
“Larry? You have a girlfriend, right?”
He stops in his tracks.
“Why?”
“I’m just asking if it’s true.”
Is it the lighting, or is Larry blushing? “Yes, yes it’s true,” he admits. He lets go of me, and I stumble back, caught in a blur of moving bodies.
“Marieke!” A friendly voice ushers me over. I collapse over the bar with Eric, who places his hand over mine. “You’re just in time to order,” he tells me. I look blearily at my choice of drink and give the bartender my order.
He eyes me carefully, and asks if that’s really want? Shouldn’t I prefer something stronger? My hands curl into fists. I know my limit of alcohol consumption. What right does he have to comment on my choice? “No, I want…” My words change, and I find myself ordering what has got to be the strongest drink on the menu.
He nods and whirls off to serve us. Eric tries to talk to me, but I can’t concentrate on him while I’m feverishly scanning for Bono. What’s he got up to? Now I spy him at the very end of the room, talking to someone. I figure he can do whatever he likes. Maybe I’ll join him for a chat later.
After drinking my choice, I realize immediately it was a bad idea to order it. The drink goes straight to my head, and I can’t think anything more. Eric leads me onto the dance floor and we start to groove it up. My head whirls.
The only sensation I can believe in is Eric’s hands on my back, shoulders, neck, butt… I stop him right there and loosen his fingers from my lower side. “Where’s Bono?” I can’t hear myself over the music, but somehow Eric manages to understand me. “He went over there, I think…” I follow Eric’s pointing finger, stumbling over my own feet a few times.
Bono is sitting by the bar, draining a glass. When he sees me, a smile comes over his face and he opens his arms to me. I rush into them and let him hold me tightly. Bono’s fuzzy Irish voice calls to me- “Angel! Where you been, love? I’ve been waiting…” I squeeze him and step back, trying to focus on his face.
“I was dancing,” I say. “With Eric.” Bono nods and motions for me to sit in the seat next to him. I do so gladly, and he waves the bartender over.
“Another one,” Bono says, motioning to his empty glass. “And make a special drink for the Angel of Holland!” He laughs, and I try to nod without getting dizzy. My hands end up on his knees. He looks at them and now at me for a moment, raising his eyebrows.
“You wanna go dance, Angel?” he asks. I shake my head no, suddenly trying not to puke. The bartender hands me a new glass with a smirk, and I down it without taking a second glance. Oh… now that was an awful idea…
Trying to get my head straight, I ask Bono a question I had from the MacPhisto speech. “About the speech tonight? Why did you change the words? Who is Andreiotti?”
Bono stares at me as if through a heavily-tinted window. “Andreiotti…? You should educate yourself, Angel! He is an Italian politician.” He doesn’t give me any further explanation than that, and I suppose I’ll have to be happy with what I have.
I pant heavily, still trying to hold in the contents of my stomach. Bono drinks deeply and pulls me off the stool. “Come on! Don’t just sit there, let’s dance!” We move onto the floor.
Every movement is not helping my sloshing stomach. Note to self- never drink alcohol on an empty belly. When I squirm, Bono just holds me tighter. If I weren’t drunk, I would be actually enjoying this. As it is, however, I just want to get away.
“Stop!” I gasp at last, and wriggle away from Bono’s arms. I just barely make it to the bathroom. I know I don’t have enough time to get into a stall, so I lean over the sink and wretch, forgetting to hold my hair out of the way. Great, now I’ve spoiled my favorite asset.
Outside, I look for Bono again, but I don’t see him anywhere. A flash of red hair catches my eye. Eric? I go tap him on the shoulder- and surprise, surprise, it’s not the Eric I know and love. The man jerks his eyebrows up, smirking.
“Do you want something?” I realize that he’s speaking English… how odd…
“Yes!” I cry, and throw myself upon him without thinking about my actions. “Help me find… Eric…”
He’s staring at me oddly. With a jolt I realize I’m speaking Dutch. How did that happen…? He shrugs and leads me off. “Come, chill with us.”
The man takes me to a corner of the club undisturbed by moving dancers. He greets his friends, one of whom looks sideways at me. “What girl’ve ya got here?”
“A friend. A new friend.” He pats my shoulder, and I draw away from him instinctively.
The friend looks unimpressed. “Well, let her join us. Here you go…” He hands the man I’m with a small bag of white powder. Wait, where did that come from?!
Suddenly I’m backing away, spewing the words out- “No, no, I don’t want that…” They’re doing drugs in this corner. How did they manage to slip in without being checked?
I turn and run far away from those men. “Bastards. Who let those pieces of shit into the club…” An unseen obstacle trips me up, and I’m in free fall. The world goes black before impact.
My heart beats one word throughout the next days. Mine, mine, mine… Because the more time I spend with Bono, the friendlier we become. It’s quite possible that I call him my own now. But my first priority is the tour- keeping up with Zoo TV and all its antics. I can’t drop my other friends for Bono.
On the day before we leave the last tour destination, U2 gives the Zoo crew some exciting news- Zooropa has been mass released, to an audience of over one million. Bono is ecstatic- “They’re going to love it!” Edge tells me that Numb has charted 39 on the Top 40 in the US, and up to 10 in Australia. Not bad for such a boring song! I note that he doesn't mention Europe, however.
When we get onto a plane after performing in Verona, Italy, I yank Eric to me and ask him where we’re going.
“Rome,” is the cool answer. I stare out the window and wait for all passengers to load. “What day is it, Eric?”
He looks at his ever-present watch before answering. “It’s 6 AM on a Sunday morning.”
“But what is the date?” I ask.
He stares out my window, past my shoulder. “July 4th.”
We suddenly both glance at each other, grinning, and Eric says, “It’s American Independence Day.”
“Really?” I didn’t know that. I only know that there’s a U2 song called Fourth of July, on Lina’s album- The Unforgettable Fire.
“I’d be celebrating if I were in Miami now!” he says, his green eyes seeing the revelries unfold like a movie.
I settle myself into the plane seat as we are instructed to buckle seatbelts. “Do you miss it?”
He thinks. “Of course I miss my home. But I don’t have very strong ties to anyone there… do you miss your roommate and family often?”
Strange, they haven’t crossed my mind until Eric brought it up. I can’t say I miss Lina and my parents too terribly… the distraction of this new life of mine has driven all thoughts of home away.
We play word games until the plane touches down in Rome- and Eric keeps winning them, seeing as I’m not a native English speaker. His favorite is “The Green Glass Door,” the rules of which I can’t possibly understand. He gives up after a while to let me sleep.
Someone’s hand is clasped behind my hand, the attached fingers stroking through my hair. I can’t see who’s touching me, however, and struggle in his or her grasp. The owner of the hand tightens his or her grip, and I pull away to find that it’s Bono touching me- or is it MacPhisto? His lips are turned up in a devilish smirk, but he’s not wearing any horns. I press myself against him and thread my fingers through his hair, moaning softly. He takes my head in his hands and-
“Marieke, wake up!” I am startled out of sleep by Eric’s call. Opening my eyes, I realize that I’m snuggled up against him, my mouth near the vicinity of his ear. Quickly I pull back from Eric, shocked.
“What was that?” Eric doesn’t look too happy. “You were mumbling stuff in your sleep- I think you said I Love You?- and you told me to come closer…”
“Not you,” I say, blinking and lowering my head. Way to embarrass the hell out of me.
“Well, whoever you thought I was, it must have been someone you really love!” Eric shakes his head. “You were practically biting my ear off.”
I say nothing, keeping my face down. Shame washes over me- I wouldn’t act like that around Bono or MacPhisto. I would never behave so unseemly…
Eric’s voice tickles my senses. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“S’okay,” I say, seeing clouds outside the window.
Eric stares along with me. Then he exclaims, “We’re going to Rome!”
“What’s your point?”
He gives a nervous chuckle. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t be that happy. I haven’t been a good little church boy these following years. What if I bump into the Pope?”
His joking makes me laugh and relax, and we fall once again into soft conversation. I push my dream behind me.
When I set foot inside the Hotel Majestic, my eyes are assaulted with beauty. The place is furnished nicely, with red walls. A few gold couches are set about to merge artfully with the wall’s color. It brings to mind a certain man I love. I turn to look for Bono so I can point out this surprising coincidence, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I searc with my eyes for a moment until the person behind me gives a tap on my shoulder, and I realize I’m supposed to go to the desk. Hastily I take my room keys and hurry away, thinking all the time about how wonderful it would be to spend time in the lobby with MacPhisto.
***
“Hello?”
“Hello, Hollie… it’s me. It’s your father…”
“Dad! It’s you!”
“I called to wish you a happy birthday. Did you think I would forget?”
“No, of course not! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know, Hollie. I wish I could be with you today. So how’s the day going? Got any good presents for a ten-year-old? Hard to believe you’re in double digits now!”
They talk for a bit, Hollie’s voice chattering on and on about her birthday spoils while Edge listens happily for a while.
“Well now, how’s your mother been treating you? How are Arran and Blue?”
“We’re all fine. Do you want to talk to Mum?”
Edge thinks. He isn’t sure if he wants to hear Aislinn’s voice again. She’d picked up the phone when he called and asked for Hollie, but no words had slipped from her lips besides, “All right.” Just listening to Hollie is making Edge long for home. Aislinn’s formal tone, devoid of emotion, would not help this at all.
“No thank you. I just wanted to hear that you’re doing fine… I love you… bye-bye.” On the other end he can hear Hollie handing the phone back to her mother. Edge finds himself half-hoping that Aislinn will want to talk to him, but instead he only hears the clunk of the receiver being put down. Edge cradles the phone on his end and stares at the wall.
There’s no way in hell you can go home now. The entourage- band and Zoo crew- has just arrived in Rome. Edge has only now finished unpacking his stuff. He can’t go take a plane to Dublin, of all places.
But I miss them. So what? He’s missed his family on tour before. Every time, he’s reminded himself that you’ll survive, it’s not the end of the world.
Edge lumbers off to find someone who can distract him. He has a specific person in mind.
***
In the morning I meet Bono for breakfast, just like always. We set a time for a later rendezvous. He asks if I will stay to eat with him.
“No, I can’t eat now!” Being in Rome is making me feel giddy. I want to jump up and down and explore the town and do all sorts of tourist-y things.
Bono nods. “Okay. Makes sure you get something in that belly of yours, though.” He winks.
Argh… that wink is giving me second thoughts. I’m torn between staying with this man or discovering the ancient city of Rome. Excitement wins over eventually, though, and I bob my head up and down and bounce to the door. Before I can get outside, I hear Bono call from behind me, “Rrrromaaa!”
I laugh and scoot out. We’re in Roma this morning and there’s no way anything can go wrong.
My body casts a long shadow against the curb as I exit the hotel. The rush of a car speeding past makes me glance up, startled for a bit. It narrowly misses running a red light, and I half laugh, half groan, thinking it could have been Bono in the car. For a July day in Rome, the weather does not disappoint. I tie my hair back with my hands, wishing I’d thought to take a rubber band with me, and start off in a vague northward direction, pushing through the warm air.
After a while sweat slides like syrup off my neck and head, and I’m still nowhere near from finding the mythical Vatican. Unlike Eric, I’m not a Christian, nor have ever had any belief in God. And yet there’s something attractive about visiting the place- maybe it’s the lure and promise of standing in two countries at once. I stop my jog, pace myself evenly and try not to breathe too hard.
It occurs to me that I could just ask for directions to the Vatican- if my Italian didn’t suck so badly. Next tour destination, I promise myself I am going to learn the native language! Another thought nags at me that what if the Vatican is in an obvious location and I become the laughingstock of Roma? No way I’ll let that happen. I must find it myself.
Rome is not a small city by any means, so I begin to doubt I’m going to locate Vatican City within today. It’s worth it just to idly sightsee other areas. I stroll on by buildings, and hear a car alarm off in the distance.
Finally, at the heart of my exploration, I find the City of Gold- okay, not really, but this place can be nothing but the object of my searching. I enter the second country with ease, my breath hitching when I realize I’m no longer in Italy. For fun, I stand with one foot inside the border and one foot outside of it.
Despite all my searching, I don’t stay in the Vatican City for as long as I’d like. I’m afraid more tourists will come and I’ll be written off as “one of them.” Besides, I don’t think I’m allowed to go inside the building. But as I stroll along the outside, shooing pigeons away, an indulging sort of plan begins to blossom in my head.
Later in the day, when I meet in Bono’s hotel room, I propose the idea to him, as casually as if I was suggesting he change a line in the MacPhisto script.
He stares at me like I’ve asked if we could go swimming in a tank of sharks.
I exhale. “Bono, it’s not a bad thought at all!”
He’s still staring. “Where the hell do you come up with this stuff, Angel?”
“Admit it. If I hadn’t mentioned it to you you’d have thought of it anyway.”
Bono shakes his head. “There’s no way I could have come up with that. MacPhisto at the Vatican… are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Of course. What’s more ironic than the Devil at the Pope’s house? And it will be good promoting for the second night in Rome and for Zooropa.”
“Well, I guess I can see what you mean… we did release the album just yesterday.”
“Right. And now you’re going to sell it, one way or another, and you’re going to go down to the Vatican dressed as MacPhisto. And you’re going to like every second of it.”
“Are you going to hint at anything to come in the speech?”
My moving hands, tying themselves in knots, freeze for a moment. “I don’t think I will.”
“Marieke? Would you like another raise in your payments?”
“Yes please.”
***
Bono has suggested my idea to the management- it’s hard to think that there’s anyone higher in rank in the entourage than U2 themselves- and they gave us the go-ahead. We’re going to the Vatican on the day after the second night in Rome- tomorrow, July 7th, is the next show- and Bono will be permitted entrance to the Vatican where he as MacPhisto will travel the outskirts of Vatican City, cameramen following him to take some nice shots of the Devil outside the land of Catholicism. Bono makes sure to mention that the little project was my idea, and a glow of pride ignites in my belly. He also suggests recording a special video message for U2 fans to see as another Zooropa promo, and asks if we should do it at the Vatican. “No, no,” I say, thinking of the downstairs lobby in our Majestic hotel. “I know of a place you’ll like better.”
Now, I’m standing backstage at U2’s concert, watching the Devil mount the stage and shout, “Desire!” Forget Holland, forget Portugal, forget every live audience I’ve ever heard- these Italian fans are surely the noisiest of us all. I’m filled with admiration for them and their cheering. Soon MacPhisto settles his platform shoes firmly back on Earth and says, “Ciao, miei cari bambini,” in that ever-endearing British accent of his. Tonight I just want to forget any troubles that I have and watch my man perform.
“Olé, olé olé olé! Olé, olé! Olé, olé olé olé…” He backs down a bit to listen to the crowd roar. “OLÉ, OLÉ!”
MacPhisto starts to recite my speech- the cleverest speech I’ve written yet. Bono actually laughed out loud when he read what I’d written.
“That’s a good one,” MacPhisto says, referring to the Olé song. “Football! It’s like a religion to you people of Roma. Am I right or am I wrong?”
“RIGHT!” the crowd cheers. I feel like jumping into the crowd and hugging them all for being such wonderful audience members. Apparently MacPhisto feels like that too, because he can’t keep his excitement down as he declares, “I wonder how the Holy Father feels about that. What team does il Santo Padre support- Lazio? Or AS Roma?!” I know he wants to bounce up and down in those boots of his, and I know I’d join him.
The audience shouts and chants something unintelligible- t’s probably in Italian. Whatever they’re saying, it pleases MacPhisto to the tips of his toes, and he asks, “Shall I give… shall I give il Santo Padre a call and see which team he supports? Shall I call him, on the telephone?”
He needs no more than a resounding “YES!” from the fans. I squirm a little, trying not to break into dance.
“All right then… I shall,” MacPhisto declares, raising his arm into the air and speaking with even more airs than he usually does, if such a thing is possible. “I believe he’s at the villa… Castela Angelo, something. Sant’Angelo. He’s there for the summer, you know.”
As he speaks, he floats over to the phone and dials.
The crowd starts to get a bit rowdy again- trying to give MacPhisto support- and he shushes them with a finger to his lips. Then he leans into the phone and sings, “I just called to say I love you…” The inclusion of this song in most recent phone calls was, for once, not my idea.
“Hello?” he asks, this time unfazed, not displeased, waiting intently on an answer.
“Castel Sant’Angelo,” a man answers. YES!
MacPhisto ignores the crowd noise and asks, “Hello, is that the Castel Sant’Angelo?”
“Yes. Pronto,” says the quick-thinking man.
“Scusi- do you speak any English?” MacPhisto asks, trying out his Italian for the second time tonight.
“No, purtroppo, no. Pronto?”
MacPhisto isn’t going to let any obstacle stand in his way. “Well… do you speak any Irish?”
I start laughing as quietly as I can make it, and the man says “No, no, no, so l’italiano.”
“I would like to speak to il Santo Padre, if that’s at all possible,” MacPhisto continues, his voice a bit softer.
The line warps the sound of the man’s response, and the crowd laughs. I shake my head to clear my ears.
MacPhisto starts to falter, and I cringe. Oh no! Please don’t bring the energy in this stadium back down.
“I, I, I’m just calling, really, because I hear he’s not well-“ The man on the other end cuts MacPhisto off. “Chi parla inglese? Chi parla inglese?” I’m guessing he’s asking if MacPhisto speaks English. MacPhisto listens with a guarded countenance as the man continues in Italian, and then finishes with- “Yeah, one moment please.” So he could speak English after all!
The audience laughs, and I laugh with them. I have a slightly giddy feeling, knowing that one more push will send me over the deep end of side-splitting hilarity. MacPhisto eyes the crowd and begins to sing, “You keep me hang-“
“Hello?” a woman asks.
MacPhisto looks a bit miffed that the woman would interrupt his song, and replies, “Hello.”
“Yes?”
“How are you? My name is Mr. MacPhisto…”
“Mmm.”
“… and I’m enquiring as to the health of the Holy Father.”
BANG! He’s gotten the line dead-on. I wait for the woman’s response, stifling my laughter. The noisy crowd is impatient for the scene to unfold.
“Uh… you, you would like to have… erm, a ticket?” No, woman, he’d like to know which team the Pope supports! Get it right!
“Well, what it is, is- actually I have a much more serious question,” MacPhisto assures her. I snort. “I have a friend, who’d like-“
“Yes?” the woman asks, once again cutting MacPhisto off. He does get interrupted a lot…
“I have a good friend of mine, who’d like to have-“ What? Deviation of the script here. “- seek a personal confession from the Holy Father.”
I’m aghast. MacPhisto’s really getting it big time. He’s even twisted me up here! I have no idea what’s coming next…
Of course, neither does the woman. “Um… y-you… there is a mistake, this is, um, this is, urm, another, mm, oh, another place, you have to do another number. This is, err, Castel Sant’Angelo monument, so, mm, we… we can’t help you. You have to do, um, another- you have to dial another number.”
Her words would sound great as song lyrics! Where’s Bono when you need him to write a song?
The Irishman’s alter ego speaks instead. “Well, could I leave a message?”
“Because you have to, to dial the number of the Vaticano, so you can… to, to do, to… to try to…” Amazing- I hear her laugh, as if apologizing for her bad English. MacPhisto takes pity on her.
“You people of Roma, you’re so very kind,” he says. I’m curious- what is this building up to? The woman tries to say, “Yes, we-“ but this time MacPhisto’s the one cutting her off. “You’re so kind. I’d just like to leave a message. I’d just like to leave a message: my friend, Mr. Andreotti…” Who’s that? The crowd obviously knows. They laugh and cheer.
“… would like to seek the personal confession of the Holy Father. He’s a lot to say. It won’t take too long.”
You’ve lost me here, MacPhisto. Fortunately the crowd is laughing. Fortunately The Edge is playing the guitar riff for Ultraviolet.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like checking out… I want to get it wrong… can’t always be strong… and love it won’t be long…”
A wide grin spreads over his face.
“Buono sera!”
Cue an explosive laughing fit.
***
Roma. This was the best Zoo TV show I have ever seen. I run backstage and leap onto the first person I see. It’s Edge, and he looks just as happy as I feel.
“Edge, Edge, Edge!” I say.
“Marieke, Marieke, Marieke! What’s got into you?” he laughs, lifting me up and whirling me around before setting me safely back on my feet. I stagger back, stunned that someone can do that to me.
A grin splits my face apart. “I’m. So. HAPPY!”
“I think we can tell,” Edge says with more than a smile.
I bend over for a second and try to get in control of my joy. It’s taking me over, bringing me up towards an intense high. I have to start singing- “And I have no compass, and I have no map! And I have no reason, no reason to get back!”
“Popular song with her, eh, Adam?” I hear Larry say.
“Of course!” I spring up to face him. “Oh, I’m so happy…”
“You’re worse than Bono. At least he doesn’t literally bounce around!” Larry snickers.
I realize I’m jumping up and down and instantly cease. That’s not befitting for a woman my age. My thoughts turn onto Bono- where is he, why isn’t he here yet? We need to go celebrate this awesome show together…
And just as I’m thinking something along those lines, the door blasts open. “Hey!” Bono crows, looking excited himself. My brain can’t handle it, and I rush across the room and hug him.
“Whoa! Hey there, Angel,” he greets me as my arms entwine around his body. “Oof! What are you trying ta do, squeeze the living daylights out of me?”
“Of course,” I answer, nuzzling his neck. I feel him shift his weight uncomfortably. Mine, mine, mine, my heart continues to beat. I want to shout it to the world- the fact that I love this man, and no one else.
“Marieke? MARIEKE! Get off me, please!”
I wrench myself away from Bono, my face burning. How could I have done that? For a few seconds I had been practically assaulting the man I love. And he shouldn’t know I love him in the first place.
“Trying to make some love, eh, Marieke?” Adam grins. But Larry stays strangely silent, his eyes on my face. They burn with an intense fire, almost as scorching as Bono’s eyes, until he realizes I’m looking at him and quickly glances away. Hm. That man…
Edge is equally quiet as he looks into the distance. Then- “Morleigh!” he cries, crossing the room in a few swift strides and opening the door to let the dancer in. This distracts me from my embarrassment, and I slink into a corner.
Morleigh enters the room, her face buzzing. “Hi Edge,” she greets the guitarist. “Hi, Bono. Hi, Adam.” She kisses everyone on the cheek with an included one-armed hug. When she gets to me, she looks me in the eye and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, hugging her. What would she think is wrong with me? “Hi, Morleigh.” She gives me a calming pat on the shoulder and, with one final glance to me, goes to join Edge and Bono on the other side of the room.
“Let’s head out of this place,” Adam suggests. “Rome has some nice clubs, doesn’t it?”
Before Adam finishes speaking, Larry is shouting “Party animal! Party animal!”
“So I’m shameless about it,” Adam shrugs. “Come on. You know who’s in town tonight?”
“Why Adam, why didn’t you tell us?” Bono asks. “Naomi?”
A grin splits Adam’s face. “Of course.”
“Why don’t you call her to meet up?” Edge suggests, and with a smile Adam agrees. He leaves the room, and that seems to signal to the rest of the band that it’s time for them to go.
“Edge, you coming with us?” Bono asks as he opens the door. Morleigh has her arm around Edge.
“No, I think we’ll go join Adam and his girl,” the guitarist replies. “I mean, if you’re up for it, Morleigh…”
“I’m up for anything,” she smiles. “I’m ready for a night on town.”
“I’m ready for the laughing gas!” I laugh, and Morleigh giggles along with me.
“Lar? You coming with us?” Bono asks the drummer.
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Sure.”
I catch up to Bono and Larry as they leave. Morleigh and Edge wave goodbye to me, and I wave back, tagging along behind Bono and Larry. Bono starts walking slower so I can reach him, and as I slide into place between Larry and Bono the latter smiles and ruffles my hair. I focus on breathing.
Before we can get out, Eric spies the entourage. “Hey Marieke! Hey Bono, Larry,” he greets us. His eyes, however, are only on me. “Going out?”
“We’re just going for a spin,” Bono assures Eric. “Nothing you need to worry your head about.” Larry laughs. Eric looks annoyed.
“Marieke, may I join you?” he asks.
Bono speaks for me before I can. “Yes, certainly.” Eric goes onto Larry’s side, sneaking glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
The limousine parks outside a club, and we emerge from in just in time to see someone getting thrown out.
“Are you sure this is a good place for us?” I ask Bono.
He snickers. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Trusting Bono to know what he’s talking about, I enter the club. He heads off instantly, and before I can follow Eric slips his arm around my shoulders. I turn to face him and get caught in his green gaze, my mouth slowly falling open. Eric’s eyes snap open and shut, and he strokes the back of my neck with cool fingers. I can feel myself leaning into him- and suddenly Larry bumps us, breaking the contact between Eric and me.
“Want to dance, Marieke?” he asks, shifting his weight. I shrug, nod, and melt into Larry’s arms.
Larry isn’t a great dancer- he moves me around in a tight little circle. I enjoy the feeling of his arms around me, though. Beating on those drums all this life has left his arms strongly muscled. He turns his head, his blond hair scratching my cheek slightly. Larry really is cute. What if I’d fallen in love with him…
“Larry? You have a girlfriend, right?”
He stops in his tracks.
“Why?”
“I’m just asking if it’s true.”
Is it the lighting, or is Larry blushing? “Yes, yes it’s true,” he admits. He lets go of me, and I stumble back, caught in a blur of moving bodies.
“Marieke!” A friendly voice ushers me over. I collapse over the bar with Eric, who places his hand over mine. “You’re just in time to order,” he tells me. I look blearily at my choice of drink and give the bartender my order.
He eyes me carefully, and asks if that’s really want? Shouldn’t I prefer something stronger? My hands curl into fists. I know my limit of alcohol consumption. What right does he have to comment on my choice? “No, I want…” My words change, and I find myself ordering what has got to be the strongest drink on the menu.
He nods and whirls off to serve us. Eric tries to talk to me, but I can’t concentrate on him while I’m feverishly scanning for Bono. What’s he got up to? Now I spy him at the very end of the room, talking to someone. I figure he can do whatever he likes. Maybe I’ll join him for a chat later.
After drinking my choice, I realize immediately it was a bad idea to order it. The drink goes straight to my head, and I can’t think anything more. Eric leads me onto the dance floor and we start to groove it up. My head whirls.
The only sensation I can believe in is Eric’s hands on my back, shoulders, neck, butt… I stop him right there and loosen his fingers from my lower side. “Where’s Bono?” I can’t hear myself over the music, but somehow Eric manages to understand me. “He went over there, I think…” I follow Eric’s pointing finger, stumbling over my own feet a few times.
Bono is sitting by the bar, draining a glass. When he sees me, a smile comes over his face and he opens his arms to me. I rush into them and let him hold me tightly. Bono’s fuzzy Irish voice calls to me- “Angel! Where you been, love? I’ve been waiting…” I squeeze him and step back, trying to focus on his face.
“I was dancing,” I say. “With Eric.” Bono nods and motions for me to sit in the seat next to him. I do so gladly, and he waves the bartender over.
“Another one,” Bono says, motioning to his empty glass. “And make a special drink for the Angel of Holland!” He laughs, and I try to nod without getting dizzy. My hands end up on his knees. He looks at them and now at me for a moment, raising his eyebrows.
“You wanna go dance, Angel?” he asks. I shake my head no, suddenly trying not to puke. The bartender hands me a new glass with a smirk, and I down it without taking a second glance. Oh… now that was an awful idea…
Trying to get my head straight, I ask Bono a question I had from the MacPhisto speech. “About the speech tonight? Why did you change the words? Who is Andreiotti?”
Bono stares at me as if through a heavily-tinted window. “Andreiotti…? You should educate yourself, Angel! He is an Italian politician.” He doesn’t give me any further explanation than that, and I suppose I’ll have to be happy with what I have.
I pant heavily, still trying to hold in the contents of my stomach. Bono drinks deeply and pulls me off the stool. “Come on! Don’t just sit there, let’s dance!” We move onto the floor.
Every movement is not helping my sloshing stomach. Note to self- never drink alcohol on an empty belly. When I squirm, Bono just holds me tighter. If I weren’t drunk, I would be actually enjoying this. As it is, however, I just want to get away.
“Stop!” I gasp at last, and wriggle away from Bono’s arms. I just barely make it to the bathroom. I know I don’t have enough time to get into a stall, so I lean over the sink and wretch, forgetting to hold my hair out of the way. Great, now I’ve spoiled my favorite asset.
Outside, I look for Bono again, but I don’t see him anywhere. A flash of red hair catches my eye. Eric? I go tap him on the shoulder- and surprise, surprise, it’s not the Eric I know and love. The man jerks his eyebrows up, smirking.
“Do you want something?” I realize that he’s speaking English… how odd…
“Yes!” I cry, and throw myself upon him without thinking about my actions. “Help me find… Eric…”
He’s staring at me oddly. With a jolt I realize I’m speaking Dutch. How did that happen…? He shrugs and leads me off. “Come, chill with us.”
The man takes me to a corner of the club undisturbed by moving dancers. He greets his friends, one of whom looks sideways at me. “What girl’ve ya got here?”
“A friend. A new friend.” He pats my shoulder, and I draw away from him instinctively.
The friend looks unimpressed. “Well, let her join us. Here you go…” He hands the man I’m with a small bag of white powder. Wait, where did that come from?!
Suddenly I’m backing away, spewing the words out- “No, no, I don’t want that…” They’re doing drugs in this corner. How did they manage to slip in without being checked?
I turn and run far away from those men. “Bastards. Who let those pieces of shit into the club…” An unseen obstacle trips me up, and I’m in free fall. The world goes black before impact.
ADAM
