BlueSilkenSky
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
After battling with the demons of writer's block, I discovered that the pen is mightier than the sword and wrote a victory chapter to celebrate. AKA, thanks for the motivation, readers. 
I hope you enjoy, because my brain is dead from editing this.
It is a very exhausted Marieke who’s brought back to the hotel at the crack of dawn. She staggers on her feet, clutching the arm of the person who found her in the city- Eric. His face is tight, eyes blank, and one can almost sense a roughness in the way he holds her. Marieke is shaking, her face pale, but her eyes are furious. Her complete hatred for her accompanist is apparent to anyone.
This anyone is Bono, who was woken up by the muse high in the morning and went downstairs to write. He’s only gotten into a few words of a song before this unhappy duo entered through the front door.
“Angel of Holland?” Bono murmurs, standing up. “Eric, what are you-“
“We had to get a taxi,” Eric grumbles, dropping Marieke’s arm. “She wasn’t being responsible. She’s been out all night, trying to get back here, and I’ve been out all night looking for her.”
“Eric, it was okay. You didn’t need to-“ Marieke begins in a sharp voice, but Eric shushes her. Bono is bemused. Just a few days ago they were the best of friends. What’s come between them?
He turns his gaze onto Marieke. “Well, Angel, you need to get to bed. How long have you been up?”
“I went for a walk in the city after dinner and stayed out until Eric found me,” she says. “I guess I forgot where to go.”
Bono rubs his chin. “You need a tour guide.”
“Can you provide one?” Marieke asks, her tone indifferent, her eyes downcast.
“I’m leaving now,” Eric ventures, and gets no more than a muddled “Bye” from Bono in response. He is about to answer Marieke’s question, but she wavers and slips over to the couch Bono was just sitting on, flopping down and curling up.
“Goodnight,” Bono laughs, and sits down carefully in the chair next to her. Marieke slowly falls into unconsciousness. Her eyelids flutter and her chest expands and contracts deeply. Bono looks away, his good mood suddenly shattered. The words of the song have fled from his mind. Bono touches Marieke’s cheek, a forbidden luxury, but quickly pulls his hand back. He turns and walks to the next room, in need of a break. His mind has already replaced words with images of Marieke.
***
The Cork show goes well, despite me being hazy and out of it from sleeping half the day to enjoy it properly. This is the first time I’ve stood on stage left in the wings, for Eric has taken residence on the other side. It is consequentially the first time I see MacPhisto exit after Can’t Help Falling In Love, and it’s not exactly the best sight. He slinks past me without so much as a glance, his eyes staring far ahead, chest moving with small pants. I pursue him further and observe the transformation from MacPhisto to Bono, a strangely satisfying procedure.
Larry still looks at me out of the corner of his eyes with short flickers of wanting and expectance, but I pay him no mind. I know he never truly loved me. That’s no problem for me- I can get off scot-free and bury the whole affair, but I have the feeling it is wearing on him. In a few days, possibly even by tomorrow, he’ll be seeing his girlfriend Ann, and the confusion caused by sleeping with me is sure to be evident in their touches. I hope Larry can put it behind him. But if the feeling of unfaithfulness grows so much that he tells her about our affair- well, how can I stop the secret from spreading to the Zoo crew, and onto the band? And Ann will surely break up with him.
We pile onto the bus the next morning to drive to Dublin. I squish myself into my seat and place a bass guitar in the spot next to me- occupied. My fingers play with the pocket on my leather jacket as my eyes watch the blue sky outside.
The other people on the bus leave me to my musical pursuits. Once I get tired of playing with clothes, I settle for playing with the strings of the bass, and end up working through most of the Zoo TV set. I stop after Bad and rest. Dublin won’t be far.
His hands and mouth bring me to the floor, and yet I feel no pain from falling, because his body is what cushions me. I lie on my back and he kisses me strongly, nothing separating our bodies from each other. He breaks away to breathe, and I stare at the ceiling over our heads and wonder why I’m doing this. The angry stupor is clearing from my mind, and as he rolls over I realize this is my worst mistake yet. But I feel powerless to stop the dance.
I wake with a gasp to find that the bus has stopped, the highway crowded. The sign outside my window tells us how many more miles to Dublin. I shake my head, trying to get Larry out of there, and pluck a deep note on the bass for my comfort. At the front of the bus, one head turns. Eric stares at me for no more than a minute, and shifts his gaze back to the front. I don’t acknowledge him.
One downside to my falling out with Eric is that all the men in the entourage think I’m single “again.” Everywhere I turn there’s another person ready to ask me out. I turn down every offer with a smile on the outside, but a scowl on the inside. Why can’t they leave me alone?
We arrive at the Dublin hotel, and I give Stuart the bass back. He’s proud of me, and I show off a little by playing the Zoo TV set. “Very good, Marieke! Soon you’ll have Adam out of a job.” Dublin is ready for my exploration. I assume each member of U2 is going home.
But it is late by the time any of them actually get back. They’ve been celebrating, soaking up every aspect of being back where they belong. The night has been cause for a great party among the entire entourage. On the streets, people wave to the bandmates, not as celebrities, but as acquaintances. Though there is a small change in the air- Zoo TV has brought the band to such a high level of status that not even the comforting Dubliners can escape the fact that they are in the presence of greatness.
Adam returns to his mansion with glee. He lets himself in and yells to the nonexistent company, “I’m home!” Of course no one is inside, but Adam’s brought someone to answer the call. Naomi has been promised an empty house tonight a tour of Dublin tomorrow, and it was enough persuasion for her to come out again to join her lover. The night’s barely even begun, Adam thinks.
Larry opens the door to find Ann waiting for him. “Hi,” he murmurs, sinking into her arms. He hasn’t seen her for ages- the tour never stopped in Dublin, and Ann was reluctant to fly out just to see her boyfriend. As Larry kisses her, he can’t believe he made such an awful mistake with Marieke. She must have just been a feminine distraction, he decides. But the regret is overwhelming.
Edge comes home with a less than celebratory mood. He’s been dreading the inevitable, and stayed out with Bono far into the night until he couldn’t keep up with the energetic singer. Still, even passing out drunk in a club is better than this. Edge gazes out at his empty home, remembering a time when he lived with a wife and three beautiful children. They’ve been taken from him with the end of Aislinn’s love. Opening the door to his house, a few words spring to his mind, words that Edge wrote the first time he came home alone, and now thinks of every time he has to repeat the action:
Jesus, Jesus help me
I’m alone in this world
And a fucked up world it is too
Bono does not go home. He stays up far into the night, reveling in the drinks and dancing and rock star excess that the Zoo tour is accustomed to. This is an even harder party than is usually thrown on tour, for Bono’s in his native town. And having his native town be Irish, the drinks are hardcore. Bono decides there is no reason to go to his empty house- Ali and the kids are in the South of France on vacation. He can’t think too straight anyway, and figures it’s best to crash in a hotel room. Soon evening spreads its wings against Bono’s eyelids as he drifts away, not entirely happy, but covering it up as he waits for sleep to come.
***
“Hi,” I greet the entourage early in the morning, trying to appear less excited than I actually am. Today we’re in Dublin, of all places. Heaven knows I can’t wait to pick up my exploration from where I left off last night.
I take a seat in the dining hall alone, and a few crewmen give me nods. Eric is far across the room, pretending not to notice me. He has his friends anyhow. I gaze for one second, expressing my disinterest, and take my breakfast easily.
All day, work is all I’m ready to do. We drive down to the RDS Arena, and I help set up the stage. It’s only to get my hands working, to ease the restlessness in me. Virtually I have no real work around here until Bono meets me. Technicians stalk across the stage, and Stuart gives me a wave that I return. Eric ignores me from a few feet away.
The band finally arrives at the stadium- which truly is, despite its name, a stadium and not an arena- a good deal into the day. I’ve had lunch by this time and have nothing else to do but hang around playing the bass. Being in the band’s hometown does have its disadvantages- I don’t know where Bono will be next. Obviously he’s my only goal for today. We need to score a writing session.
My first glimpse of Bono doesn’t come quickly. In fact I am so wrapped up in the song I’m working on- Bad- that I barely notice his coming. The other band members are blurred shapes, worthy of a nod from me and not much else. I get a slight twinge at Larry, but even that is fading. At once a pair of hands clap down on my shoulders, startling me out of the reverie.
“What the hell-oh,” I blurt, dropping my hands at the sight of Bono’s eyes in front of me. He instantly laughs, a wonderful sound, but I involuntarily cringe in embarrassment.
“What’s up, Angel?” He hovers around me, luscious and crave-inspiring. I stare at my fingers, examining the effects of the bass strings. “Just hanging around,” I mutter. “Thought the bass could use some playing.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Adam admonishes me, swiping at my instrument. He giggles at my smirk. “Thanks for getting it warmed up for me!”
“And probably out of tune,” Stuart says mournfully.
Bono surveys us with a casual air. He flashes a smile. “Glad to see everyone’s still getting along.”
“Hey, we have work to do here, Bono,” I say. “Got any speech related ideas ready?”
Bono pulls a sidelong glance and moves in towards me, making it seem as if we’re the only ones in the area. He’s probably doing this on purpose. “Well… actually, Angel, I have had some ideas. But it doesn’t include you.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped with his words. What a nice way to tell someone you don’t need them anymore! Raising my eyebrow, I ask, “What, is it going to be a surprise?” My voice has turned all cocky.
“Well, yes, exactly that,” Bono answers. I can tell he feels uncomfortable turning me down. After all, the scriptwriting for MacPhisto makes up my life right now. I’m paid only to do it.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” I grin, -inwardly upset- and turn my back on him. The bass playing resumes, and I get lost again.
Bill has entered the stadium with the band, seemingly determined in trailing them. I guess when you’re trying to write a book, you have to capture every single detail. Not stopping my fingers, I call “Hi!” to him.
“Hey!” Bill calls back, his eyes glinting. I can tell I’ve impressed him with my playing. “Can you tell what song this is?”
“Damned if I know- kidding, Marieke!” I shoot him with my eyes, and Bill chuckles. “Of course you’re playing-”
“Hint- it’s a U2 song,” I rush.
“…Mysterious Ways…”
“Darn it!” I yelp, hitting a wrong string. “Screwed up again…”
Bill’s humored eyes dart around. “I take it we’re not going to be seeing you onstage anytime soon?”
“Probably not,” I say, regretful. I’d honestly like to take a chance onstage once more. Now I see why Bono can’t keep away from it.
“Where have you been, anyway, Bill? I rarely see you at all around here.” Couldn’t hurt giving a conversation starter.
From somewhere behind me Bono’s voice chimes. “He’s been out keeping up with the rockstars like me.”
“And what-”I eyeball Bill- “does he mean by that?”
“He wasn’t at home last night,” Bill begins evasively.
“And I found it near impossible to get a room!” Bono chuckles at himself and at us. “We stayed out all night.” I look down at the bass guitar, indifferent, and Bono moves towards the steps to take us from the underground- “See you, Angel. Don’t take the speech thing too hard, surely there’s another light in your day?”
“That was the only thing I had planned,” I murmur, plucking at a string.
“Well, it’s time to reconsider.” Bono steps onto the stage, and I give up playing to watch him move.
***
“It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right… sleepin’ in my own bed tonight.” Bono- or rather, The Fly- sounds pleased with that thought. I am too- just glad to hear Bono in such a great mood.
U2 play an epic show in Dublin. Their hometown welcomes them back. I feel overwhelmed from all the love, and as it’s not even meant for my receiving I can’t imagine how the band must feel. To surprise the hometown audience, they treat them to an acoustic version of I Will Follow, and I freak out just as much as the fans. The band exits the stage wearing matching smiles.
“So here’s the big surprise,” I comment as Bono gets his outfit together.
“Trust me.” How can I not trust that expression?
MacPhisto comes into being in absolute record time. He has to wait for the rest of U2 to return to the stage before taking it himself. I can see the waves of excitement running through his skin, and strain against my urge to take his hand. MacPhisto winks back at me- “Showtime!”- before making his entrance to the bright Zoo TV lights.
The money goes flying, the harmonica starts humming, and my head goes off its rocker and makes straight for the clouds. One other downfall to my argument with Eric is that I don’t have anyone to steady me for the full-blown effect of MacPhisto. He tucks his harmonica away, and as the last spurns of Desire haunt the stage, I wait to see what he’s got in store for tonight.
“Look what you’ve done to me.” The old Devil shakes his head fondly. “You’ve made me very famous, and I thank you for that.”
The crowd responds in the obvious way. MacPhisto carries on, “I know you like your pop stars to be exciting, so I bought these.” So far so good. As long as MacPhisto doesn’t start pulling all the old phrases out of the hat, Bono is proving himself a worthy writer.
“Now look at me, I’m gigantic,” MacPhisto says, nodding to himself. “Oh, what a night, what a show. Home with the people who love us more than anybody else in the whole world!”
The Dubliners are pleased. MacPhisto cries, “Home with the people who see through all the trappings and the hype! Home with the people who know the real me!” Now I’m getting nervous. MacPhisto is veering off a bit- isn’t the real him the pop star who loves trappings and hype? My nerves are stretched further when he follows that up with, “Home with the people who don’t see me as a glamorous pop star! Home with the people who call me Dad.”
Each statement gets its own round of applause, but the fans seem confused after that last line. MacPhisto does not have children. This is Bono himself speaking- and that, in my book, is strictly out of line.
“I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight,” says MacPhisto, pleased as a peach. My hands slam into each other, forming fists. “Shall I give them a telephone call? Perhaps I should warn them- I know they’re excited to see me after so long.”
First off, he didn’t even explain who “they” are. Secondly, MacPhisto is not Bono. If Bono wants to make a home phone call, he doesn’t have to use his character to do it. And onstage, of all times…
MacPhisto dials the phone, punching the numbers with joy, and murmurs, “I’m so tired of hassling people, it’s such a bore.” He waits for my mouth to drop open on that sentence before continuing, “This is going to be so exciting!”
God. For the first time I want to tell MacPhisto to shut up. This is Bono’s surprise? How could he have expected me to like it?
We wait for only a little while- the number MacPhisto calls is local, so it makes it through the lines just fine. When the other end picks up, it’s unclear if this is the answering machine or a real person- “Helllooo! Nobody’s here! We’re going on holidaaaay!” The voice is that of a young girl, who I assume is Bono’s daughter. She sounds perfectly charming. “Daddy, if that’s you, we’re not coming home until you take your horns off! Bye-byeee!” Another little voice is added- “Byeee!”- before the line cuts off, and the satisfied audience applauds deeply, loving the little girls. I do not applaud, seeking approval instead in the way MacPhisto hangs up and starts to sing Ultaviolet without even a mention of the call. This is not how I would have written the speech- Bono should know better than to insert himself so obviously into MacPhisto’s words. I try to scour the voices on the other line from my mind.
Darting away from MacPhisto for a moment, my eyes find another pair with mirrored anger-Eric, who is staring right at me from across the stage. He jolts a bit, and glares before looking away. I pretend to ignore him.
MacPhisto sings with just the right touches of sadness. Ironically, I find pleasure in his pain. Love Is Blindness tears him apart, and as he dances with a fan I see her straining in his grasp, trying to get him to loosen his armlock. MacPhisto’s eyes are closed, blind to her wish. He just needs someone to hold- and instead of wishing it was me, I breathe a little deeper, hoping he’s got all the comfort he needs.
MacPhisto lets her go back to her seat. His face is drained, a small corner of his mouth turning down, but his hands are steel on the microphone. I feel the exhaustion running through him as if it’s my own, and guess that he’s been feeding off the audience for too long. “Wise men say only fools rush in…”
“But I can’t help falling in love with you,” I whisper.
“Shall I stay?” he inquires. “Would it be a sin…”
“If I can’t help falling in love with you,” my vice answers, twining around with his in the night air. He doesn’t know I’m singing- or can those ears pick my voice up even from out there? No, the crowd is too loud, too brutal in response to my callings. They want to answer his questions too, every single one of them. But how many actually know the man behind the makeup?
“Like a river flows to the sea, so it goes… some things were meant to be,” MacPhisto decides. He reaches in falsetto.
“Taaaaake my haaand… take my whole life too.” His blue eyes are shut. Mine fall closed as well. We answer the same lyric- “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” I snap my gaze back and settle it on MacPhisto. He backs away from the audience’s promise, seeking something more than what they can give, and my secret beats in my heart, dying to give itself up.
“I can’t help falling in love with you.” MacPhisto speaks it in an intimate manner, addressing it to one person, and I know it’s not me, but foolishly claim the words. MacPhisto’s voice trembles, but he keeps the ending note steady as he addresses the final line to the crowd. “I can’t help falling in love with you.” The audience roars in thunderous applause, and MacPhisto breaks free of mourning with a small smile. He inclines his head and moves backstage- and bumps into me.
I want the sin of the Devil’s lips on mine, and he knows I want it. We can, however, do nothing more than stare at each other for the time being. MacPhisto has a hungry look in his eye that I recognize. I dart away from him and he slinks back into the dressing room. For once I don’t follow.
The removal of the dreaded costume brings Bono back around to feeling more human. He folds MacPhisto’s clothes and rubs a hand over his face, wondering where Marieke is. The exhiliration of the crowd has fed Bono tonight, and they gave it all back to him, all and more, with the conclusion of the concert. He wavers, dreaming that if he goes back out they’ll be in place again for another round of songs. It takes willpower not to step onstage again. Bono slides his shirt over his head, waiting for the emotions to settle, and wonders again where the hell is Marieke?
Sighing, Bono dresses completely and moves to the door, ready to let in whoever wants to be let in. He muses briefly on the need for a separate room for the lead singer. Maybe they know that growing out of MacPhisto is a more private affair- and Marieke’s good at helping him with that- she should be here by now… The people begin to come in and he forgets all about her.
Amidst the flocking of people to Bono’s dressing room, congratulating the band on a great show, no one notices me cast away in the background, waiting for a moment to intrude upon the scene. When it begins to appear that there will be none, I unball my fist and slide away. He’s going to get it for writing that awful speech… will have to be tomorrow. I exit the stadium, and try as I might to get them out I can still hear them- “Bye-byeeee!” Two young girls, echoes of a life that does not include me.
***
It has taken a night of pure lovemaking to get the last remnants of Marieke out of Larry’s body. He swears he can still feel her, however, when Ann’s eyes are upon him. No amount of sex can erase that fear that lingers, the fear that Ann will find out about his night with Marieke. Larry can’t imagine what she would do if she discovered he’d been unfaithful.
Or… has he been unfaithful? Throughout the years of staying with Ann, never once did either of them have a serious talk about marriage. There were the innuendos, the hinting, and of course that big decision when Ann moved into Larry’s house. But never once did they sit down and discuss it- Larry feels Ann is waiting for Larry to make the move, and he’s apprehensive about getting into the whole marriage business. What if they don’t work out as a couple and have to go through divorce as Edge and Aislinn did? Larry has watched firsthand the troubles that Edge went through with being separated from his wife, and he’s too worried that the same could happen to him. Besides, he’s never been a big fan of the marriage business anyway.
Ann is the real thing. There has never been anything so far from a doubt in Larry’s mind as to that. He loves her, he truly does. How could Larry have let his little crush with Marieke grow physical? It was a bad, bad mistake that will never be worth repeating. He tries to feel nothing when he looks at her, not even the shock of she’s so pretty.
There’s only one thing to do that will assure Larry he’ll never cheat on Ann again. Tossing aside all his previous beliefs, he decides being single can’t be worth the fuss- Larry has always wanted his girl, why not make it official? His stomach is filled with butterflies, but he swallows it back- the first step is seeing how Ann will take it.
Four words are whispered in the night, just four words, low enough for Ann’s ears. She rolls onto her side to face Larry, her eyes wide with shock and- hope.
***
It is an angry Marieke that Bono faces the day after the first Dublin concert, a few seconds after he’s got to the stadium. Bono glances confusedly at me as I sit down and choke back annoyance- “What was your speech last night all about?”
Bono stares at Marieke for a few seconds and lets his eyes roll off her. She’s cornered him as soon as he entered this place to talk about the phone call. What surprises Bono most is the honest lividness in her expression. He watches her fingers tremble, and realizes she could sweep him off his feet with a blow.
“Marieke, this is not a good time,” he tells her, and indeed it isn’t. Bono hasn’t had a good night for a homecoming. First of all, he hadn’t actually made it home again, preferring to stay out with a large ensemble of friends. By the time he managed to crash somewhere- where, he hadn’t really paid attention to, he just needed some rest for the second show in Dublin the following day- the streetlights were going out. But it wasn’t just the little sleep he’d had last night that was giving him a bad, conflicted mood- it was the fact that by the time all the partying wore off, there had been no chance to call France, call Bono’s family. He’d hoped that their vacation would be over by the time he reached Dublin, but no. Seeing Ali in Cork wasn’t enough- Bono is beginning to miss her badly, almost as much as the time in Italy. He supposes that’s the reason behind his keeping away from home. Unlike Adam, an empty house is more of a curse than a blessing to Bono.
I glance to the ceiling, locked in Bono’s dressing room. “Why is this not a good time? Just tell me why you decided to write from your perspective and not the character’s.”
Bono thinks that he could find many reasons as to why this is not a good time. Dealing with the leftover emotion churning within him from last night is not done well with company. Bono has been expecting that if he stepped onstage he could work out the feelings in song and motion. And then there is the shoulder problem. Something has happened overnight- maybe from the show, from the partying, who knows- that strained a muscle in Bono’s shoulder quite badly. It hurts to move it. Bono just wants to get the sound check over with so he can rest the muscles in his arm.
But this pesky Marieke won’t go away…
My eyebrows raise, still waiting for an answer. Bono evades my gaze. Finally he tells me, “It’s just not the right time, Angel. I can explain- I wanted to call home because, well, I hadn’t been there yesterday.” Bono clears his throat a bit awkwardly and continues, “I wasn’t thinking of being in character- it’s not fair to get on my case about it when I was… missing my family…” He trails off, and I blink in sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, but instantly shake my head at myself. I have to retain that anger at Bono, even if it is for a stupid reason. What Bono thinks it’s about is hardly valid- my anger is more over the way he called his family last night, and I’m very, very stupidly jealous.
“But your family wasn’t even at home,” I point out. “They were on holiday.”
“I knew that,” Bono mumbles, reaching up unconsciously to scratch the back of his neck. “Ow!”
My shreds of irritance evaporate. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Bono answers in a low voice. I watch him carefully, observing the way his hand moves freely but his arm is lowered mechanically, not in that usual jolt of motion that I’m accustomed to seeing in Bono.
“No, it’s not nothing,” I say. “Does your arm hurt?”
Bono looks uncomfortable. Marieke will want to know what hurt his shoulder, and she’s not going to rest until she’s sure it’s okay. Maybe Bono can downplay it.
“Strained it a bit, performing last night,” Bono sighs. “It’s really nothing, as I said… can we get back to the point?”
“The point being that I’m a much better scriptwriter than you?” I ask. Bono winces at my words. “You don’t want to go back to that. Case closed. Let me see that shoulder.”
“No!” A phantom sense of her hands roaming across his back worms its way into Bono’s mind. Furiously he shuts it out. “I’m barely injured at all.”
I inch in closer to Bono and peer into his eyes, wallowing in that pit of sapphire. “Take off your shirt,” I whisper, my tone as smooth and creamy as chocolate. He refuses to move. I lean in and undo the buttons down the front, letting it slip off him.
Stop her, you fool! Though Bono curses himself in his mind, he can’t make a move to get Marieke away from him. The old remnants of onstage yearning burns through Bono’s body, making him desire the touch.
I squeeze myself in behind Bono and face his bare and freckled back. There’s nothing that gives me an idea of where the sore spot is, but judging from Bono’s movements I think I can locate it. My hands cautiously touch Bono’s shoulder, and work their way below. As I apply light pressure, Bono sucks in a pained breath. I know I’ve hit the right place. My fingers massage his skin, loosening the cramping muscle.
“Am I hurting you?” If I am he doesn’t say anything. My fingers tingle with the delicious sensation of Bono. Suddenly I press my lips to the strained area, feeling that I’m kissing it rapturously, but with no more contact than a butterfly would have on a human in reality. At once I realize what I’m doing, and pull back and step to the side, embarrassed. Bono’s staring at me.
“To make it feel better,” I say, aware that he’s suspicious. My mind flashes back to the phone booth incident in Bologna.
“Marieke.” Bono hesitates on the words, but he gets them into my ears sure enough. “Get out.”
“Bono, what about the-”
“Get out.” He pulls his shirt back on. “Please.”
Unable to refuse that sad puppy expression, I do as he says and back out the door, unsure of what to do next. God, I screwed it up, didn’t I? Why is it so hard to remind myself that Bono doesn’t love me back?
I start to walk away from the dressing room, far away, and barely give so much as a nod to the crewmen I encounter. The talk with Bono didn’t go over well at all, and it was all because of me- my insistence to help him with the shoulder even when he told me it was fine. Let’s face it- I’m letting my lust take over, and I resent it horribly.
The next thing I know, I’m walking back into the hotel. I suppose there’s nothing else for me to do around here- but we’re in Dublin for crying out loud, shouldn’t there be some sort of activity to engage my brain?! I’ve always wanted to see the place U2 started out in, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to go out without knowing what it is I’m looking at. My bones feel kind of heavy in a strange way, too- maybe I shouldn’t be doing any walking.
Well, it looks like the best choice is to write a redeeming speech. I have to grudgingly admit, at least Bono’s speech last night went over well. Even if he did write it for himself… I ask for some paper and a pencil at the front desk and settle down into one of the couches in the lobby. Pity it isn’t gold.
As soon as my pencil’s on the paper I find myself scratching out the words- “Do you know who I am? I know who you are. I know you all even better than you know yourself.” It’s been a while since MacPhisto used that phrase, and I miss it.
Words begin pouring out of me, jagged words from my inner conflicts and healing words from the love I harbor. My own self disappears, or rather magnifies into the shape of someone new and old at the same time. I am MacPhisto; I am seeing the world through his eyes. Before I know it, the speech is done, with a blank space where the name of the person to call should be. I reread my speech and pick a candidate for the caller. It flows hilariously. If Bono doesn’t like it we can always call someone else.
“Hey.” I lift my head to find Jack giving a wave as he breezes out the door.
“Hi!” I call, standing up. “Wait for me!” I stride along after him.
The sun plays with my hair, drenching each smooth curl in a bronze coating. Jack’s hair remains chocolate as light attempts to penetrate it. I tease the back of his neck with a finger. “Your cut’s gone shaggy.”
“That’s all right,” he says, even-tempered. “I’ve just gone out to get a haircut.” My smile lights up the busy street, and he stops me to look both ways before crossing. “What have you been up to, Marieke?”
“I was writing,” I say. “Here, take a look.” I hand Jack the speech, and he plants both feet firmly on the sidewalk to read. When it’s over, he lowers the paper with an unusual grin. “Clever.”
“I’m still not sure how it’s going to work,” I confess. “The chances are slim that they’ll ever pick up.”
“How would Bono get the number anyway?” Jack asks, sliding down the sidewalk, and I have to follow him.
“Hey, he got Salman Rushdie’s number, and he was in hiding. So I think Bono can reach the United Nations just fine.”
We turn down an alley and walk in comfortable, companionable silence. Now that I’m out and about, my eyes are able to gaze around Dublin with a whole new light. The setting is not quite as urban as it is suburban, less town than country. There’s an indescribable spirit in the air, something that I can only describe as welcome home. I find myself wanting to stop strangers in the street and wish them a good day.
Jack and I enter the hair parlor and I watch with amusement as Jack’s bangs are trimmed down to a more conventional style just barely below his ears. “How’s it look to you?” the woman asks, and turns Jack’s chair towards the mirror. He groans. The woman appears upset. Jack shakes his head- “I never find a style I like. It’s okay.”
“How about mine?” I ask, shaking my ponytail at him.
“Well, now it’s too short to curl,” he answers, “or put up. But yes, Marieke, that look suits you.”
“Are you going next?” the woman asks me. How I love Irish accents.
“No,” I say, jerking my thumb towards Jack. “I’m helping pay for him.”
Jack climbs out of his chair. “Why thank you, Marieke, how kind of you to do so.” We pay for the haircut and exit, Jack touching his head gingerly ever few seconds.
As soon as we’re out, my head snaps down to read the speech again. I realize I’ve forgotten to put a date on it at the top. “Jack, what day is it?” I ask, reaching into my pocket for my pencil.
“Um… it’s Saturday. August 28th,” he lets me know.
My hand stops midair with lifting the pencil out. “My birthday is tomorrow!”
“Awesome,” Jack comments, his face in a smile. “How old are you going to be?”
“The big three-oh,” I say. “Three years younger than Bono, no less. Here, let me have your back.” Jack bends over and I smooth the speech over his back, scrawling the date with a flourish and a grin.
***
Later in the day I wander back down to the stadium, hoping not to meet Bono, but he’s the first one to see me. He catches me in the middle of some intense bass improvising, and just stands and listens before I realize he’s watching me.
“What do you want?”
“Zooropa,” Bono sings half-heartedly. “Hey, Angel.”
I slide my hands down the bass and eye him. “Where did everyone go?”
“If you mean band members, Adam and I are the only ones here right now.” Oh, that’s right- Adam gave me his bass to practice with. I’ve definitely seen him. “I’m clearing out soon, Angel. Have you done any work on the speech?”
I stiffen. He thinks he’s gotten me in a tough place, but little does he know I came prepared. “Yes, I finished it this afternoon,” I say, and whip out the paper to present it to Bono. He reads slowly, turning to the side.
Before I know it, Bono’s reserved expression has changed to heartfelt. He’s completely enthralled in the script. When he puts it down, I swear the look in his eyes knocks me out. Bono is gazing at me with such admiration that it’s overpowering, and his face is open, every thought running across is like a movie screen.
“Marieke.” His voice is saturated in satisfaction. “I love it.”
Suddenly Bono’s arms are around me, hugging my slender body roughly. “I love you,” he clarifies, and my mind runs rampant until he says, “I love your way with words. The speech is beautiful.”
Neither of us want to break free of the embrace. I can hear Bono pulling deep breaths through his lungs- music to my ears. My hands, though they want to roam freely, remain latched at his back, patting down the sore spot on his shoulder. If I can live without love in exchange for this contact, I might just do it.
Bono feels everything that’s been ganging up on him today slide over his body and splash on the ground. He’s been struggling today, really in a mood due in part to his shoulder injury and his longing for his family. Marieke’s speech, written perfectly down to the last period, is just the thing to drag him out of that foolish misery. He’s in his hometown, and can fully appreciate it now. As Bono holds Marieke close, he finds himself thanking God that she came in today.
I press myself closer to Bono, squeeze him, and finally let go, stepping back. He sways for a moment on his feet, losing balance without my support. I give him a serious glance. “Are you okay?”
Bono looks up at the roof and darts back down to me. “It’s been a crappy day, Angel. Thanks for coming in and bringing something to make it a lot better.”
“Does your shoulder still hurt?” I ask.
“Not as badly, no.” He quickly moves on to something else. “Well, tell me now, Marieke- how am I supposed to call the United Nations?”
“Don’t they have a number somewhere?”
“I wouldn’t be able to find it.” Bono sighs. “Can MacPhisto stand to call someone else?”
I’m not sure what exactly Bono means by that. “I’d try to rewrite if you have someone new in mind.”
Adam’s shout breaks us out of our talk- “Marieke! Hey, can I have my bass back?” He smoothly steps up and takes it from my hands.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the word “please”?” I murmur.
“Sure I have, just don’t always use it.” He grins. “Hey Bono!”
“Are you leaving now, Adam?” Bono asks, crossing his arms.
“Might as well. There’s an entire house waiting for me.” Adam strums a few strings on the guitar. “Nice tone…” he murmurs to himself. “Really great tuning.”
Bono faces me again. “Okay, if we can’t call the United Nations I’ve got-”
“What?” Adam jumps in again. “You’re trying to call the UN?”
“That was my original idea, but I don’t think it’s going to happen,” I explain.
“What, so you’re giving up because you don’t know their number? That’s never stopped you before, Bono. I mean, all it takes is one ring for someone to say, ‘Hello, this is the front office of the United Nations’…”
“Front office?” I laugh.
“Why of course- how do you think they’re so organized?” Adam laughs along with me. “I’d love to help you out here, Marieke.”
“Hm.” Bono scratches his chin. “And why don’t you do exactly that?”
We both look at him.
“Adam, that was quite humorous. Who says we need to get through to a real person, anyway? We could record someone’s voice on an answering machine- someone standing in for a real UN worker.” Bono spreads his arms wide. “It’s perfect!”
“All we’d have to do is manipulate an answering machine,” I say. “Yes, Bono, it is perfect.” I give him a smile, which he warmly exchanges.
“Adam- you want to do the recording or…” Bono gestures vaguely with his left hand, and we both know there is no choice. Adam chuckles.
“It was practically my idea- I mean, I’m your inspiration. Of course I’m going to do it! And besides- I feel I should help Marieke, for all the help she’s given me with keeping my basses in check.” I laugh- “Stuart wouldn’t agree! He’d say I mess with them far too often.” Adam and Bono walk off, heads close together. I call after them, “Make sure to make it funny!” Tonight’s going to be a great show.
Bono still refuses to go home- after working out the phone call with Adam, he strolls along down the street, listening to the hum of the passersby. The sight of a pay phone stops him in his tracks. He thinks of his family in France, and estimates that now wouldn’t be an outlandish time to call them. Inserting a few coins, Bono listens to the ringing on the other end of the line. This reminds him of something, but he’s not sure what… There seems to be something very familiar about street phones.
No one answers his call, and Bono remembers with a jolt that the family is flying back to Dublin tonight for the show. Hanging up, Bono scratches his head and walks out, where he blunders his way into a small group of U2 fans. That’s strange- in previous times Bono remembers the Dubliners respecting his privacy, but they’re coming from all over now. He chats with them about the music, and walks away feeling a bit empty, though he can’t put his finger on why.
***
For the second night in Dublin city, things go even better than the first night. The band rushes through the first few songs with spot on accuracy. I’m panting by the time One comes on, having danced my way through the first four. Bono seems extremely happy, though at a few times he winces when moving his arm- obviously that shoulder strain isn’t healed. The audience is wildly responsive, completely enamored with the music.
U2 exchanges I Will Follow for When Loves Comes To Town, which is not my preferred song but hey, I have to make do. Bono dedicates Satellite of Love to the Zoo TV crew, and a cheer goes up from backstage. Now Bad is beginning down on the B stage- an amazing performance.
Bono crawls down the catwalk, microphone in hand. He smiles at the fans, and Edge begins a complicated riff. At once I am bombarded by memories of Lina. She should be here… she should be here…
“If you twist and turn away…” Bono murmurs into the microphone. “If you tear yourself in two again… if I could, I would, if I could, I would let it go.”
His voice is so emotive. I find myself gasping quietly to myself. Bono tips his head to the sky. “Surrender, dislocate…
“If I could throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind…” He grips the mic and breaths into it, eyes closing. I find myself wishing he still had that “lifeless lifeline” attached to the microphone. It adds so much to the performance.“Leave this heart of clay, see you walk, walk away.” The fans cheer. Bono isn’t looking at them. “Into the light, and through the day… into the half-light, and through the flame.”
Edge’s intricate guitar patterns are offset by the thunking of Adam’s bass, a line I love to play on the instrument. Bono’s voice remains wild, and he opens his eyes to draw back from the stage. “If I could through myself set your spirit free… I’d lead your heart away! SEE YOU BREAK, BREAK AWAY!” He sounds just as spirited as any version I’ve ever heard. Bono’s voice calms down to sing the next notes. “Into the light… and through the rain.” I think I’m singing- it’s hard to tell when the audience is so loud in their own voices.
Bono turns on his heel and croons in falsetto bursts. “So let it go, and so not fade away! Let it go, and so fade away!” His scorching bellow for the next words always gets me. However, this time the next line is sung in falsetto, a beautiful surprise. “I’M WIIIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAAAAAAKE! I’M WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAAAAAAAKE! I’M WIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAKE… I’m not sleeping.” The last line comes out in a sort of whimper. I whisper it to myself- I’m not sleeping.
“Oh no, no…” Bono hums, and drifts over the audience. He runs his palms over the fans’ own, and they squeal with delight. Edge concentrates intensely on his guitar, relaxed on the outside but no doubt working furiously in his head. Bono whispers to the mic, “If I should ask, well maybe they’d tell me what I would say… true colors fly in blue and black, blue silken sky and burning flag.” He leans into the mic, and it’s the sort of moment that would make me snap a picture if I had a camera.
“Colors crash, collide in bloodshot eyes…” His voice is sultry, beautiful, and silky as he reaches the falsetto again. “If I could, you know I would, if I could, I would let it go!” Now comes the big moment. Larry strikes the cymbals.
“This desperation…” Bono whirls around. “Condemnation… revelation, in temptation, ISOLATION! DESOLAAAAATION! Let it go!” He swings the microphone, moving one knee to the frantic beat. “And so not fade away! To let it go, and so not fade away! To… let it go…” The music overwhelms me, and I clutch at my throat, trying to release something in there- a sob, maybe.
“And so not fade, fade, fade away!” Edge curls in on some pretty fine playing at this moment, breaking myself out of the heaviness of emotion. Bono slows on the catwalk, moving his feet in time with the beat. He closes his eyes, and a pure grin slips over his face. I wait.
Finally all the band member cool down and Edge slips back into his accustomed riff. Bono, without opening his eyes, draws breath to sing bits and pieces of other songs. By the end of Bad he inserts a U2 song in there.
“I have a lover… a lover like no other. She got soul, soul, soul, sweet soul, and she teach me how to sing.” Jealousy starts burning irrationally for this lover. “Shows me colors when there’s none to see… gives me hope when I can’t believe, that for the first time…” Bono opens his eyes. “I feel…” I hold my breath, waiting for the final note, and suddenly it explodes out of Bono’s throat in a startling cry- “LOOOVE!” The rest of the band bursts into Bullet The Blue Sky.
Instead of helping MacPhisto get dressed tonight, I leave the job up to Eric and watch the video confessionals. The Zoo crew has all been persuaded to go and confess their sins, and it makes me snort with laughter to see the faces that I know so well reveal their shocking secrets. Soon the band reenters the stage and begins Desire. I watch with delight, an entity taking ahold of my body and forcing me to scream my lungs out as MacPhisto appears onstage. He acknowledges the crowd with a few waves of the hand. It takes strength not to run out and give him a hug.
As the song winds down, MacPhisto screams into the air. “What a guitar player!” The cannons shoot Zoo ECUs into the air. “What a city!” BOOM. “What a night, what a show! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOROPA! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOROPA! MYYYYYYYYYY ZOOOOOOOOOOROPA!”
I have to stop screaming because my voice is hoarse. MacPhisto lifts one leg and dances backwards, a huge smile revealing white teeth. He waits for the audience to stop screaming too, and croaks into the mic. “You know who I am…” I hear several “MacPhisto!”’s being yelled. Yes, they do know who he is. And now is my chance to watch my speech unfold, the very best one I’ve ever written.
“Cause I know who you are. I know you all probably even better than you know yourself.” The audience cheers. Mr. MacPhisto sighs. “What a night, what a show! Zooropa, it’s all over.” He scuffs his golden boot into the dollars strewn across the stage.
“So many people have come out to see us tonight I don’t know what to say… thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” The fans cheer once more. MacPhisto eyes them searchingly.
“But you know, there’s someone who used to come out to see us all the time and who hasn’t… been round for a while. We used to be so close.” He lets the last words collapse in on itself. “People think I’ve forgotten about him, but… I haven’t, I used to find him so inspiring back then. He invented me! I was His most magnificent creation, the brightest star in His sky!” The line is being pulled off so beautifully that I almost can’t believe it. When I wrote it just this afternoon, I hadn’t had anyone in particular on the mind, it just came out of me. Now I see the deeper meaning. The audience will more than likely think that the “He” MacPhisto is referring to is God. I, however, see He as being Bono. Bono, to the best of my knowledge, is the one to invent MacPhisto, and he certainly hasn’t come out to see the Devil perform recently.
“Now look at me- a tired old pop star in platform shoes,” MacPhisto laments. If he would turn his head to the wings, I’d always be there with a word of encouragement. But MacPhisto only locks his gaze on the cheering crowd, and comments, “Even the Evening Herald slags me off.” That’s an adlib, but judging from the crowd’s laughter I think I’m not bothered by it.
“Who can I get to help me make peace with Him?” MacPhisto asks rhetorically, gesturing towards the sky. “Who will mediate for me, and-” The pause is stiff, but a pause all the same. “Shall I call the United Nations? Maybe they can help me…”
The fans cheer their support as MacPhisto goes over to the phone and removes his headgear. “Off with the horns, on with the show…” We all hush up, waiting for him to dial.
“Hello?” MacPhisto offers. He waits. “Hello?” I hold my breath, for I haven’t heard Adam’s bit in this yet. And it comes loud and clear over the line.
“You’ve reached the front office of the United Nations. I’m sorry, we’re closed for lunch.” Taken aback, I start to giggle, and MacPhisto moans. “Oh…” The recorded message continues, “But if you are a small third world nation facing genocide, please leave you country’s name after the beep and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!”
I nearly double over with laughter. As the beep sounds, MacPhisto begins to sing wearily. “When I was younger, so much younger than today… I never needed anybody’s help in any way. Now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured. Now I find I’ll change my mind and open up the door…”
The audience has begun singing along by this point. “Help me if you can, I’m feeling down… and I do appreciate you being round… help me get my feet back on the ground… won’t you-” MacPhisto throws the phone to the mercy of the audience and they sing a cappella, “Please, please help me! Help me, help me!”
Ultraviolet begins on the wings of that snippet. And I’m blown away, seeing as it’s the best performance I have ever heard of this song. MacPhisto doesn’t change any words, which is a bit disappointing, but by the end my breath is completely gone and my knees are weak. I stagger back, not sure if I can face that much more emotion. With or Without You hits me like a punch in the gut, and I’m in tears when Love Is Blindness begins. In fact, it’s so bad that I have to leave, and steal away backstage in a corner where no one can find me. However, I can still hear the painful music.
By the end of the show, the whole crew is celebrating getting through the fourth leg of Zoo TV. Marieke’s spirits are lifted, and instead of going to check on Bono after the show, she hurries off to join the rest of the group as they make for the aftertour party. Bono is nearly the last one to leave the stadium, though the party’s at his house. In the dressing room, he folds his clothes up with a sigh- won’t be needing you for a while! With that he swings the door open on its hinges and freezes. Ali’s brown eyes stare back at him soulfully. On her hip is a small child, and holding onto her other hand is a toddler, looking at Bono with an eager expression. Jordan and Eve- he hasn’t seen them in forever.
“All three of my girls came out to the show tonight!” Bono exclaims, and takes his time crushing each of them in one. He worries a bit about Eve, the youngest, and if she was affected at all by the noise level. Ali explains that she was kept backstage by a woman who handled her well- “Morleigh Steinberg, she’s a great person.” Bono wonders who Morleigh handed Eve off to during her dance for Mysterious Ways, but only for a second- “I missed you all,” he emphasizes, stepping back from his home-grown family.
“Yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t get here earlier,” Ali responds in a heartfelt way. “Love you…” She indulges in a kiss for only a few seconds, and pulls back to announce, “Jordan’s not done so well at her first U2 show.”
Bono glances down to his five year old daughter, smiling fondly at her yawns. “You’ll have plenty of time to see me tomorrow…” He scoops Jordan up. “… and tonight,” he says, addressing the last bit at Ali. She gives a stifled laugh. “Bono!”
“What?” he asks sincerely, setting Jordan back on the ground and stroking her hair. He can’t imagine something this adorable is a part of him. Ali hovers around the edges of Bono’s vision, and suddenly she’s all he can see. She takes her attention off Eve and plants a firm, lingering kiss on Bono’s mouth. Surprised, he kisses her back just as powerfully.
“I honestly did miss you.”
This confirmation and revelation that Ali has shared Bono’s feelings sends a strong emotion coursing through Bono, nearly knocking him down. He hugs her, neither of them wanting to let go yet, Jordan at their feet, Eve at their side, and tears of relief prick his closed eyelids. “I know how you felt…”
The afterparty- an end-of-tour party- takes place at Bono’s house. Despite myself, curiosity overcomes me. I can’t wait to see what Bono’s place looks like for myself. Weakening to this vice, I arrive at the blowout with Jack as a sort of date. We soon lose each other in the crowd of hundreds. I reflect with humor on the fact that the last thing I told him was a warning not to drink so much- “We don’t want too many people on this tour doing Larry, do we?” Jack had just rolled his eyes.
I prowl around the crowd, spying familiar faces- Morleigh, who though glued to Edge does manage to give me a smile and wave; Eric, who I studiously avoid, Bill, chatting with some of the more famous guests- including Salman Rushdie, who I am surprised to see here; he must really love U2- and the one I pretend not to notice until it’s too late. Bono.
He should rightfully be the guest of honor. It’s disappointing that my efforts to conceal my obvious affection for him- walking in a random direction, not hanging on Bono’s gaze for too long- have all been in vain. Bono is preoccupied with the many guests that flit and flow to his side, seeking attention- and of course, the one being who never leaves him, Ali. She’s chatting it up in her own polite way, that sly cat. I stare at the position of her hands in relation to Bono’s body, and turn my head away from the glow of her ring. If I want to talk to Bono, I had better sneak up when Ali isn’t looking.
It takes me a while, but I finally manage to plow through the guests and greet Bono for the first time of the night. “Hey.” He turns and sees me, but doesn’t see me. “Hey, Angel.” I work for conversation.
“Great show,” I tell Bono. “I loved the way you pulled off my speech.” He stares at my wrist, and I flip it behind my back. “In fact, the whole encore with MacPhisto was pretty emotional tonight.”
“When don’t you think it is?” Bono asks rhetorically, and leans over to say something to one of the guests on his right. He’s like a king holding court, and I am one of his unlucky subjects. Slowly, I begin to realize that I’m more of a serf than a queen, as Ali is.
“Never,” I say, shaking myself from my reverie and trying to hold Bono’s attention. Our conversation falls flat with another word from a guest, and I feel cheated out of the moment. What happened to the time when nothing more than a song suggestion, a tight purple dress, or a well-written speech was all it took for Bono to acknowledge me? I glance at my competition on Bono’s right and back down at myself. I’ve got nothing she hasn’t got. Just tell yourself that…
As more guests surge forward, ready to vie for Bono’s attention individually, I spy Larry making his way through the crowd. He’s towing Adam and Edge along, who in turn are being followed by their dates- Naomi and Morleigh, respectively. The first thing that registers is that Larry is smiling mile wide. The second thing I notice is a blond woman with sandy hair and a prominent nose, leading the way with a smile that makes her seem beautiful among the plainness of the rest of her features. Observing the way Larry is holding her hand, I figure it must be Ann.
“Bono.” Larry and his entourage have stopped at the king’s side, pushing me out of the way. Bono glances up, smiling, answering Larry ‘s call. Larry wraps his arm around Ann’s shoulders. “I have barely gotten a chance to talk to you all day! Ann and I have some big news to share with you.”
My heart skips a beat, and my body grows cold. The ringing in my ears drowns out Larry’s pronouncement, but I can read the shock and excitement on Bono’s face as he and the other band members rally around Larry, hugging and congratulating him. My mind fills in the words Larry spoke, those two words that change a couple’s life. I back off and back away and manage to get out as calmly as possible. For the first time, I wish I was back in Rotterdam.
I hope you enjoy, because my brain is dead from editing this.It is a very exhausted Marieke who’s brought back to the hotel at the crack of dawn. She staggers on her feet, clutching the arm of the person who found her in the city- Eric. His face is tight, eyes blank, and one can almost sense a roughness in the way he holds her. Marieke is shaking, her face pale, but her eyes are furious. Her complete hatred for her accompanist is apparent to anyone.
This anyone is Bono, who was woken up by the muse high in the morning and went downstairs to write. He’s only gotten into a few words of a song before this unhappy duo entered through the front door.
“Angel of Holland?” Bono murmurs, standing up. “Eric, what are you-“
“We had to get a taxi,” Eric grumbles, dropping Marieke’s arm. “She wasn’t being responsible. She’s been out all night, trying to get back here, and I’ve been out all night looking for her.”
“Eric, it was okay. You didn’t need to-“ Marieke begins in a sharp voice, but Eric shushes her. Bono is bemused. Just a few days ago they were the best of friends. What’s come between them?
He turns his gaze onto Marieke. “Well, Angel, you need to get to bed. How long have you been up?”
“I went for a walk in the city after dinner and stayed out until Eric found me,” she says. “I guess I forgot where to go.”
Bono rubs his chin. “You need a tour guide.”
“Can you provide one?” Marieke asks, her tone indifferent, her eyes downcast.
“I’m leaving now,” Eric ventures, and gets no more than a muddled “Bye” from Bono in response. He is about to answer Marieke’s question, but she wavers and slips over to the couch Bono was just sitting on, flopping down and curling up.
“Goodnight,” Bono laughs, and sits down carefully in the chair next to her. Marieke slowly falls into unconsciousness. Her eyelids flutter and her chest expands and contracts deeply. Bono looks away, his good mood suddenly shattered. The words of the song have fled from his mind. Bono touches Marieke’s cheek, a forbidden luxury, but quickly pulls his hand back. He turns and walks to the next room, in need of a break. His mind has already replaced words with images of Marieke.
***
The Cork show goes well, despite me being hazy and out of it from sleeping half the day to enjoy it properly. This is the first time I’ve stood on stage left in the wings, for Eric has taken residence on the other side. It is consequentially the first time I see MacPhisto exit after Can’t Help Falling In Love, and it’s not exactly the best sight. He slinks past me without so much as a glance, his eyes staring far ahead, chest moving with small pants. I pursue him further and observe the transformation from MacPhisto to Bono, a strangely satisfying procedure.
Larry still looks at me out of the corner of his eyes with short flickers of wanting and expectance, but I pay him no mind. I know he never truly loved me. That’s no problem for me- I can get off scot-free and bury the whole affair, but I have the feeling it is wearing on him. In a few days, possibly even by tomorrow, he’ll be seeing his girlfriend Ann, and the confusion caused by sleeping with me is sure to be evident in their touches. I hope Larry can put it behind him. But if the feeling of unfaithfulness grows so much that he tells her about our affair- well, how can I stop the secret from spreading to the Zoo crew, and onto the band? And Ann will surely break up with him.
We pile onto the bus the next morning to drive to Dublin. I squish myself into my seat and place a bass guitar in the spot next to me- occupied. My fingers play with the pocket on my leather jacket as my eyes watch the blue sky outside.
The other people on the bus leave me to my musical pursuits. Once I get tired of playing with clothes, I settle for playing with the strings of the bass, and end up working through most of the Zoo TV set. I stop after Bad and rest. Dublin won’t be far.
His hands and mouth bring me to the floor, and yet I feel no pain from falling, because his body is what cushions me. I lie on my back and he kisses me strongly, nothing separating our bodies from each other. He breaks away to breathe, and I stare at the ceiling over our heads and wonder why I’m doing this. The angry stupor is clearing from my mind, and as he rolls over I realize this is my worst mistake yet. But I feel powerless to stop the dance.
I wake with a gasp to find that the bus has stopped, the highway crowded. The sign outside my window tells us how many more miles to Dublin. I shake my head, trying to get Larry out of there, and pluck a deep note on the bass for my comfort. At the front of the bus, one head turns. Eric stares at me for no more than a minute, and shifts his gaze back to the front. I don’t acknowledge him.
One downside to my falling out with Eric is that all the men in the entourage think I’m single “again.” Everywhere I turn there’s another person ready to ask me out. I turn down every offer with a smile on the outside, but a scowl on the inside. Why can’t they leave me alone?
We arrive at the Dublin hotel, and I give Stuart the bass back. He’s proud of me, and I show off a little by playing the Zoo TV set. “Very good, Marieke! Soon you’ll have Adam out of a job.” Dublin is ready for my exploration. I assume each member of U2 is going home.
But it is late by the time any of them actually get back. They’ve been celebrating, soaking up every aspect of being back where they belong. The night has been cause for a great party among the entire entourage. On the streets, people wave to the bandmates, not as celebrities, but as acquaintances. Though there is a small change in the air- Zoo TV has brought the band to such a high level of status that not even the comforting Dubliners can escape the fact that they are in the presence of greatness.
Adam returns to his mansion with glee. He lets himself in and yells to the nonexistent company, “I’m home!” Of course no one is inside, but Adam’s brought someone to answer the call. Naomi has been promised an empty house tonight a tour of Dublin tomorrow, and it was enough persuasion for her to come out again to join her lover. The night’s barely even begun, Adam thinks.
Larry opens the door to find Ann waiting for him. “Hi,” he murmurs, sinking into her arms. He hasn’t seen her for ages- the tour never stopped in Dublin, and Ann was reluctant to fly out just to see her boyfriend. As Larry kisses her, he can’t believe he made such an awful mistake with Marieke. She must have just been a feminine distraction, he decides. But the regret is overwhelming.
Edge comes home with a less than celebratory mood. He’s been dreading the inevitable, and stayed out with Bono far into the night until he couldn’t keep up with the energetic singer. Still, even passing out drunk in a club is better than this. Edge gazes out at his empty home, remembering a time when he lived with a wife and three beautiful children. They’ve been taken from him with the end of Aislinn’s love. Opening the door to his house, a few words spring to his mind, words that Edge wrote the first time he came home alone, and now thinks of every time he has to repeat the action:
Jesus, Jesus help me
I’m alone in this world
And a fucked up world it is too
Bono does not go home. He stays up far into the night, reveling in the drinks and dancing and rock star excess that the Zoo tour is accustomed to. This is an even harder party than is usually thrown on tour, for Bono’s in his native town. And having his native town be Irish, the drinks are hardcore. Bono decides there is no reason to go to his empty house- Ali and the kids are in the South of France on vacation. He can’t think too straight anyway, and figures it’s best to crash in a hotel room. Soon evening spreads its wings against Bono’s eyelids as he drifts away, not entirely happy, but covering it up as he waits for sleep to come.
***
“Hi,” I greet the entourage early in the morning, trying to appear less excited than I actually am. Today we’re in Dublin, of all places. Heaven knows I can’t wait to pick up my exploration from where I left off last night.
I take a seat in the dining hall alone, and a few crewmen give me nods. Eric is far across the room, pretending not to notice me. He has his friends anyhow. I gaze for one second, expressing my disinterest, and take my breakfast easily.
All day, work is all I’m ready to do. We drive down to the RDS Arena, and I help set up the stage. It’s only to get my hands working, to ease the restlessness in me. Virtually I have no real work around here until Bono meets me. Technicians stalk across the stage, and Stuart gives me a wave that I return. Eric ignores me from a few feet away.
The band finally arrives at the stadium- which truly is, despite its name, a stadium and not an arena- a good deal into the day. I’ve had lunch by this time and have nothing else to do but hang around playing the bass. Being in the band’s hometown does have its disadvantages- I don’t know where Bono will be next. Obviously he’s my only goal for today. We need to score a writing session.
My first glimpse of Bono doesn’t come quickly. In fact I am so wrapped up in the song I’m working on- Bad- that I barely notice his coming. The other band members are blurred shapes, worthy of a nod from me and not much else. I get a slight twinge at Larry, but even that is fading. At once a pair of hands clap down on my shoulders, startling me out of the reverie.
“What the hell-oh,” I blurt, dropping my hands at the sight of Bono’s eyes in front of me. He instantly laughs, a wonderful sound, but I involuntarily cringe in embarrassment.
“What’s up, Angel?” He hovers around me, luscious and crave-inspiring. I stare at my fingers, examining the effects of the bass strings. “Just hanging around,” I mutter. “Thought the bass could use some playing.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Adam admonishes me, swiping at my instrument. He giggles at my smirk. “Thanks for getting it warmed up for me!”
“And probably out of tune,” Stuart says mournfully.
Bono surveys us with a casual air. He flashes a smile. “Glad to see everyone’s still getting along.”
“Hey, we have work to do here, Bono,” I say. “Got any speech related ideas ready?”
Bono pulls a sidelong glance and moves in towards me, making it seem as if we’re the only ones in the area. He’s probably doing this on purpose. “Well… actually, Angel, I have had some ideas. But it doesn’t include you.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped with his words. What a nice way to tell someone you don’t need them anymore! Raising my eyebrow, I ask, “What, is it going to be a surprise?” My voice has turned all cocky.
“Well, yes, exactly that,” Bono answers. I can tell he feels uncomfortable turning me down. After all, the scriptwriting for MacPhisto makes up my life right now. I’m paid only to do it.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” I grin, -inwardly upset- and turn my back on him. The bass playing resumes, and I get lost again.
Bill has entered the stadium with the band, seemingly determined in trailing them. I guess when you’re trying to write a book, you have to capture every single detail. Not stopping my fingers, I call “Hi!” to him.
“Hey!” Bill calls back, his eyes glinting. I can tell I’ve impressed him with my playing. “Can you tell what song this is?”
“Damned if I know- kidding, Marieke!” I shoot him with my eyes, and Bill chuckles. “Of course you’re playing-”
“Hint- it’s a U2 song,” I rush.
“…Mysterious Ways…”
“Darn it!” I yelp, hitting a wrong string. “Screwed up again…”
Bill’s humored eyes dart around. “I take it we’re not going to be seeing you onstage anytime soon?”
“Probably not,” I say, regretful. I’d honestly like to take a chance onstage once more. Now I see why Bono can’t keep away from it.
“Where have you been, anyway, Bill? I rarely see you at all around here.” Couldn’t hurt giving a conversation starter.
From somewhere behind me Bono’s voice chimes. “He’s been out keeping up with the rockstars like me.”
“And what-”I eyeball Bill- “does he mean by that?”
“He wasn’t at home last night,” Bill begins evasively.
“And I found it near impossible to get a room!” Bono chuckles at himself and at us. “We stayed out all night.” I look down at the bass guitar, indifferent, and Bono moves towards the steps to take us from the underground- “See you, Angel. Don’t take the speech thing too hard, surely there’s another light in your day?”
“That was the only thing I had planned,” I murmur, plucking at a string.
“Well, it’s time to reconsider.” Bono steps onto the stage, and I give up playing to watch him move.
***
“It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right… sleepin’ in my own bed tonight.” Bono- or rather, The Fly- sounds pleased with that thought. I am too- just glad to hear Bono in such a great mood.
U2 play an epic show in Dublin. Their hometown welcomes them back. I feel overwhelmed from all the love, and as it’s not even meant for my receiving I can’t imagine how the band must feel. To surprise the hometown audience, they treat them to an acoustic version of I Will Follow, and I freak out just as much as the fans. The band exits the stage wearing matching smiles.
“So here’s the big surprise,” I comment as Bono gets his outfit together.
“Trust me.” How can I not trust that expression?
MacPhisto comes into being in absolute record time. He has to wait for the rest of U2 to return to the stage before taking it himself. I can see the waves of excitement running through his skin, and strain against my urge to take his hand. MacPhisto winks back at me- “Showtime!”- before making his entrance to the bright Zoo TV lights.
The money goes flying, the harmonica starts humming, and my head goes off its rocker and makes straight for the clouds. One other downfall to my argument with Eric is that I don’t have anyone to steady me for the full-blown effect of MacPhisto. He tucks his harmonica away, and as the last spurns of Desire haunt the stage, I wait to see what he’s got in store for tonight.
“Look what you’ve done to me.” The old Devil shakes his head fondly. “You’ve made me very famous, and I thank you for that.”
The crowd responds in the obvious way. MacPhisto carries on, “I know you like your pop stars to be exciting, so I bought these.” So far so good. As long as MacPhisto doesn’t start pulling all the old phrases out of the hat, Bono is proving himself a worthy writer.
“Now look at me, I’m gigantic,” MacPhisto says, nodding to himself. “Oh, what a night, what a show. Home with the people who love us more than anybody else in the whole world!”
The Dubliners are pleased. MacPhisto cries, “Home with the people who see through all the trappings and the hype! Home with the people who know the real me!” Now I’m getting nervous. MacPhisto is veering off a bit- isn’t the real him the pop star who loves trappings and hype? My nerves are stretched further when he follows that up with, “Home with the people who don’t see me as a glamorous pop star! Home with the people who call me Dad.”
Each statement gets its own round of applause, but the fans seem confused after that last line. MacPhisto does not have children. This is Bono himself speaking- and that, in my book, is strictly out of line.
“I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight,” says MacPhisto, pleased as a peach. My hands slam into each other, forming fists. “Shall I give them a telephone call? Perhaps I should warn them- I know they’re excited to see me after so long.”
First off, he didn’t even explain who “they” are. Secondly, MacPhisto is not Bono. If Bono wants to make a home phone call, he doesn’t have to use his character to do it. And onstage, of all times…
MacPhisto dials the phone, punching the numbers with joy, and murmurs, “I’m so tired of hassling people, it’s such a bore.” He waits for my mouth to drop open on that sentence before continuing, “This is going to be so exciting!”
God. For the first time I want to tell MacPhisto to shut up. This is Bono’s surprise? How could he have expected me to like it?
We wait for only a little while- the number MacPhisto calls is local, so it makes it through the lines just fine. When the other end picks up, it’s unclear if this is the answering machine or a real person- “Helllooo! Nobody’s here! We’re going on holidaaaay!” The voice is that of a young girl, who I assume is Bono’s daughter. She sounds perfectly charming. “Daddy, if that’s you, we’re not coming home until you take your horns off! Bye-byeee!” Another little voice is added- “Byeee!”- before the line cuts off, and the satisfied audience applauds deeply, loving the little girls. I do not applaud, seeking approval instead in the way MacPhisto hangs up and starts to sing Ultaviolet without even a mention of the call. This is not how I would have written the speech- Bono should know better than to insert himself so obviously into MacPhisto’s words. I try to scour the voices on the other line from my mind.
Darting away from MacPhisto for a moment, my eyes find another pair with mirrored anger-Eric, who is staring right at me from across the stage. He jolts a bit, and glares before looking away. I pretend to ignore him.
MacPhisto sings with just the right touches of sadness. Ironically, I find pleasure in his pain. Love Is Blindness tears him apart, and as he dances with a fan I see her straining in his grasp, trying to get him to loosen his armlock. MacPhisto’s eyes are closed, blind to her wish. He just needs someone to hold- and instead of wishing it was me, I breathe a little deeper, hoping he’s got all the comfort he needs.
MacPhisto lets her go back to her seat. His face is drained, a small corner of his mouth turning down, but his hands are steel on the microphone. I feel the exhaustion running through him as if it’s my own, and guess that he’s been feeding off the audience for too long. “Wise men say only fools rush in…”
“But I can’t help falling in love with you,” I whisper.
“Shall I stay?” he inquires. “Would it be a sin…”
“If I can’t help falling in love with you,” my vice answers, twining around with his in the night air. He doesn’t know I’m singing- or can those ears pick my voice up even from out there? No, the crowd is too loud, too brutal in response to my callings. They want to answer his questions too, every single one of them. But how many actually know the man behind the makeup?
“Like a river flows to the sea, so it goes… some things were meant to be,” MacPhisto decides. He reaches in falsetto.
“Taaaaake my haaand… take my whole life too.” His blue eyes are shut. Mine fall closed as well. We answer the same lyric- “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” I snap my gaze back and settle it on MacPhisto. He backs away from the audience’s promise, seeking something more than what they can give, and my secret beats in my heart, dying to give itself up.
“I can’t help falling in love with you.” MacPhisto speaks it in an intimate manner, addressing it to one person, and I know it’s not me, but foolishly claim the words. MacPhisto’s voice trembles, but he keeps the ending note steady as he addresses the final line to the crowd. “I can’t help falling in love with you.” The audience roars in thunderous applause, and MacPhisto breaks free of mourning with a small smile. He inclines his head and moves backstage- and bumps into me.
I want the sin of the Devil’s lips on mine, and he knows I want it. We can, however, do nothing more than stare at each other for the time being. MacPhisto has a hungry look in his eye that I recognize. I dart away from him and he slinks back into the dressing room. For once I don’t follow.
The removal of the dreaded costume brings Bono back around to feeling more human. He folds MacPhisto’s clothes and rubs a hand over his face, wondering where Marieke is. The exhiliration of the crowd has fed Bono tonight, and they gave it all back to him, all and more, with the conclusion of the concert. He wavers, dreaming that if he goes back out they’ll be in place again for another round of songs. It takes willpower not to step onstage again. Bono slides his shirt over his head, waiting for the emotions to settle, and wonders again where the hell is Marieke?
Sighing, Bono dresses completely and moves to the door, ready to let in whoever wants to be let in. He muses briefly on the need for a separate room for the lead singer. Maybe they know that growing out of MacPhisto is a more private affair- and Marieke’s good at helping him with that- she should be here by now… The people begin to come in and he forgets all about her.
Amidst the flocking of people to Bono’s dressing room, congratulating the band on a great show, no one notices me cast away in the background, waiting for a moment to intrude upon the scene. When it begins to appear that there will be none, I unball my fist and slide away. He’s going to get it for writing that awful speech… will have to be tomorrow. I exit the stadium, and try as I might to get them out I can still hear them- “Bye-byeeee!” Two young girls, echoes of a life that does not include me.
***
It has taken a night of pure lovemaking to get the last remnants of Marieke out of Larry’s body. He swears he can still feel her, however, when Ann’s eyes are upon him. No amount of sex can erase that fear that lingers, the fear that Ann will find out about his night with Marieke. Larry can’t imagine what she would do if she discovered he’d been unfaithful.
Or… has he been unfaithful? Throughout the years of staying with Ann, never once did either of them have a serious talk about marriage. There were the innuendos, the hinting, and of course that big decision when Ann moved into Larry’s house. But never once did they sit down and discuss it- Larry feels Ann is waiting for Larry to make the move, and he’s apprehensive about getting into the whole marriage business. What if they don’t work out as a couple and have to go through divorce as Edge and Aislinn did? Larry has watched firsthand the troubles that Edge went through with being separated from his wife, and he’s too worried that the same could happen to him. Besides, he’s never been a big fan of the marriage business anyway.
Ann is the real thing. There has never been anything so far from a doubt in Larry’s mind as to that. He loves her, he truly does. How could Larry have let his little crush with Marieke grow physical? It was a bad, bad mistake that will never be worth repeating. He tries to feel nothing when he looks at her, not even the shock of she’s so pretty.
There’s only one thing to do that will assure Larry he’ll never cheat on Ann again. Tossing aside all his previous beliefs, he decides being single can’t be worth the fuss- Larry has always wanted his girl, why not make it official? His stomach is filled with butterflies, but he swallows it back- the first step is seeing how Ann will take it.
Four words are whispered in the night, just four words, low enough for Ann’s ears. She rolls onto her side to face Larry, her eyes wide with shock and- hope.
***
It is an angry Marieke that Bono faces the day after the first Dublin concert, a few seconds after he’s got to the stadium. Bono glances confusedly at me as I sit down and choke back annoyance- “What was your speech last night all about?”
Bono stares at Marieke for a few seconds and lets his eyes roll off her. She’s cornered him as soon as he entered this place to talk about the phone call. What surprises Bono most is the honest lividness in her expression. He watches her fingers tremble, and realizes she could sweep him off his feet with a blow.
“Marieke, this is not a good time,” he tells her, and indeed it isn’t. Bono hasn’t had a good night for a homecoming. First of all, he hadn’t actually made it home again, preferring to stay out with a large ensemble of friends. By the time he managed to crash somewhere- where, he hadn’t really paid attention to, he just needed some rest for the second show in Dublin the following day- the streetlights were going out. But it wasn’t just the little sleep he’d had last night that was giving him a bad, conflicted mood- it was the fact that by the time all the partying wore off, there had been no chance to call France, call Bono’s family. He’d hoped that their vacation would be over by the time he reached Dublin, but no. Seeing Ali in Cork wasn’t enough- Bono is beginning to miss her badly, almost as much as the time in Italy. He supposes that’s the reason behind his keeping away from home. Unlike Adam, an empty house is more of a curse than a blessing to Bono.
I glance to the ceiling, locked in Bono’s dressing room. “Why is this not a good time? Just tell me why you decided to write from your perspective and not the character’s.”
Bono thinks that he could find many reasons as to why this is not a good time. Dealing with the leftover emotion churning within him from last night is not done well with company. Bono has been expecting that if he stepped onstage he could work out the feelings in song and motion. And then there is the shoulder problem. Something has happened overnight- maybe from the show, from the partying, who knows- that strained a muscle in Bono’s shoulder quite badly. It hurts to move it. Bono just wants to get the sound check over with so he can rest the muscles in his arm.
But this pesky Marieke won’t go away…
My eyebrows raise, still waiting for an answer. Bono evades my gaze. Finally he tells me, “It’s just not the right time, Angel. I can explain- I wanted to call home because, well, I hadn’t been there yesterday.” Bono clears his throat a bit awkwardly and continues, “I wasn’t thinking of being in character- it’s not fair to get on my case about it when I was… missing my family…” He trails off, and I blink in sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, but instantly shake my head at myself. I have to retain that anger at Bono, even if it is for a stupid reason. What Bono thinks it’s about is hardly valid- my anger is more over the way he called his family last night, and I’m very, very stupidly jealous.
“But your family wasn’t even at home,” I point out. “They were on holiday.”
“I knew that,” Bono mumbles, reaching up unconsciously to scratch the back of his neck. “Ow!”
My shreds of irritance evaporate. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Bono answers in a low voice. I watch him carefully, observing the way his hand moves freely but his arm is lowered mechanically, not in that usual jolt of motion that I’m accustomed to seeing in Bono.
“No, it’s not nothing,” I say. “Does your arm hurt?”
Bono looks uncomfortable. Marieke will want to know what hurt his shoulder, and she’s not going to rest until she’s sure it’s okay. Maybe Bono can downplay it.
“Strained it a bit, performing last night,” Bono sighs. “It’s really nothing, as I said… can we get back to the point?”
“The point being that I’m a much better scriptwriter than you?” I ask. Bono winces at my words. “You don’t want to go back to that. Case closed. Let me see that shoulder.”
“No!” A phantom sense of her hands roaming across his back worms its way into Bono’s mind. Furiously he shuts it out. “I’m barely injured at all.”
I inch in closer to Bono and peer into his eyes, wallowing in that pit of sapphire. “Take off your shirt,” I whisper, my tone as smooth and creamy as chocolate. He refuses to move. I lean in and undo the buttons down the front, letting it slip off him.
Stop her, you fool! Though Bono curses himself in his mind, he can’t make a move to get Marieke away from him. The old remnants of onstage yearning burns through Bono’s body, making him desire the touch.
I squeeze myself in behind Bono and face his bare and freckled back. There’s nothing that gives me an idea of where the sore spot is, but judging from Bono’s movements I think I can locate it. My hands cautiously touch Bono’s shoulder, and work their way below. As I apply light pressure, Bono sucks in a pained breath. I know I’ve hit the right place. My fingers massage his skin, loosening the cramping muscle.
“Am I hurting you?” If I am he doesn’t say anything. My fingers tingle with the delicious sensation of Bono. Suddenly I press my lips to the strained area, feeling that I’m kissing it rapturously, but with no more contact than a butterfly would have on a human in reality. At once I realize what I’m doing, and pull back and step to the side, embarrassed. Bono’s staring at me.
“To make it feel better,” I say, aware that he’s suspicious. My mind flashes back to the phone booth incident in Bologna.
“Marieke.” Bono hesitates on the words, but he gets them into my ears sure enough. “Get out.”
“Bono, what about the-”
“Get out.” He pulls his shirt back on. “Please.”
Unable to refuse that sad puppy expression, I do as he says and back out the door, unsure of what to do next. God, I screwed it up, didn’t I? Why is it so hard to remind myself that Bono doesn’t love me back?
I start to walk away from the dressing room, far away, and barely give so much as a nod to the crewmen I encounter. The talk with Bono didn’t go over well at all, and it was all because of me- my insistence to help him with the shoulder even when he told me it was fine. Let’s face it- I’m letting my lust take over, and I resent it horribly.
The next thing I know, I’m walking back into the hotel. I suppose there’s nothing else for me to do around here- but we’re in Dublin for crying out loud, shouldn’t there be some sort of activity to engage my brain?! I’ve always wanted to see the place U2 started out in, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to go out without knowing what it is I’m looking at. My bones feel kind of heavy in a strange way, too- maybe I shouldn’t be doing any walking.
Well, it looks like the best choice is to write a redeeming speech. I have to grudgingly admit, at least Bono’s speech last night went over well. Even if he did write it for himself… I ask for some paper and a pencil at the front desk and settle down into one of the couches in the lobby. Pity it isn’t gold.
As soon as my pencil’s on the paper I find myself scratching out the words- “Do you know who I am? I know who you are. I know you all even better than you know yourself.” It’s been a while since MacPhisto used that phrase, and I miss it.
Words begin pouring out of me, jagged words from my inner conflicts and healing words from the love I harbor. My own self disappears, or rather magnifies into the shape of someone new and old at the same time. I am MacPhisto; I am seeing the world through his eyes. Before I know it, the speech is done, with a blank space where the name of the person to call should be. I reread my speech and pick a candidate for the caller. It flows hilariously. If Bono doesn’t like it we can always call someone else.
“Hey.” I lift my head to find Jack giving a wave as he breezes out the door.
“Hi!” I call, standing up. “Wait for me!” I stride along after him.
The sun plays with my hair, drenching each smooth curl in a bronze coating. Jack’s hair remains chocolate as light attempts to penetrate it. I tease the back of his neck with a finger. “Your cut’s gone shaggy.”
“That’s all right,” he says, even-tempered. “I’ve just gone out to get a haircut.” My smile lights up the busy street, and he stops me to look both ways before crossing. “What have you been up to, Marieke?”
“I was writing,” I say. “Here, take a look.” I hand Jack the speech, and he plants both feet firmly on the sidewalk to read. When it’s over, he lowers the paper with an unusual grin. “Clever.”
“I’m still not sure how it’s going to work,” I confess. “The chances are slim that they’ll ever pick up.”
“How would Bono get the number anyway?” Jack asks, sliding down the sidewalk, and I have to follow him.
“Hey, he got Salman Rushdie’s number, and he was in hiding. So I think Bono can reach the United Nations just fine.”
We turn down an alley and walk in comfortable, companionable silence. Now that I’m out and about, my eyes are able to gaze around Dublin with a whole new light. The setting is not quite as urban as it is suburban, less town than country. There’s an indescribable spirit in the air, something that I can only describe as welcome home. I find myself wanting to stop strangers in the street and wish them a good day.
Jack and I enter the hair parlor and I watch with amusement as Jack’s bangs are trimmed down to a more conventional style just barely below his ears. “How’s it look to you?” the woman asks, and turns Jack’s chair towards the mirror. He groans. The woman appears upset. Jack shakes his head- “I never find a style I like. It’s okay.”
“How about mine?” I ask, shaking my ponytail at him.
“Well, now it’s too short to curl,” he answers, “or put up. But yes, Marieke, that look suits you.”
“Are you going next?” the woman asks me. How I love Irish accents.
“No,” I say, jerking my thumb towards Jack. “I’m helping pay for him.”
Jack climbs out of his chair. “Why thank you, Marieke, how kind of you to do so.” We pay for the haircut and exit, Jack touching his head gingerly ever few seconds.
As soon as we’re out, my head snaps down to read the speech again. I realize I’ve forgotten to put a date on it at the top. “Jack, what day is it?” I ask, reaching into my pocket for my pencil.
“Um… it’s Saturday. August 28th,” he lets me know.
My hand stops midair with lifting the pencil out. “My birthday is tomorrow!”
“Awesome,” Jack comments, his face in a smile. “How old are you going to be?”
“The big three-oh,” I say. “Three years younger than Bono, no less. Here, let me have your back.” Jack bends over and I smooth the speech over his back, scrawling the date with a flourish and a grin.
***
Later in the day I wander back down to the stadium, hoping not to meet Bono, but he’s the first one to see me. He catches me in the middle of some intense bass improvising, and just stands and listens before I realize he’s watching me.
“What do you want?”
“Zooropa,” Bono sings half-heartedly. “Hey, Angel.”
I slide my hands down the bass and eye him. “Where did everyone go?”
“If you mean band members, Adam and I are the only ones here right now.” Oh, that’s right- Adam gave me his bass to practice with. I’ve definitely seen him. “I’m clearing out soon, Angel. Have you done any work on the speech?”
I stiffen. He thinks he’s gotten me in a tough place, but little does he know I came prepared. “Yes, I finished it this afternoon,” I say, and whip out the paper to present it to Bono. He reads slowly, turning to the side.
Before I know it, Bono’s reserved expression has changed to heartfelt. He’s completely enthralled in the script. When he puts it down, I swear the look in his eyes knocks me out. Bono is gazing at me with such admiration that it’s overpowering, and his face is open, every thought running across is like a movie screen.
“Marieke.” His voice is saturated in satisfaction. “I love it.”
Suddenly Bono’s arms are around me, hugging my slender body roughly. “I love you,” he clarifies, and my mind runs rampant until he says, “I love your way with words. The speech is beautiful.”
Neither of us want to break free of the embrace. I can hear Bono pulling deep breaths through his lungs- music to my ears. My hands, though they want to roam freely, remain latched at his back, patting down the sore spot on his shoulder. If I can live without love in exchange for this contact, I might just do it.
Bono feels everything that’s been ganging up on him today slide over his body and splash on the ground. He’s been struggling today, really in a mood due in part to his shoulder injury and his longing for his family. Marieke’s speech, written perfectly down to the last period, is just the thing to drag him out of that foolish misery. He’s in his hometown, and can fully appreciate it now. As Bono holds Marieke close, he finds himself thanking God that she came in today.
I press myself closer to Bono, squeeze him, and finally let go, stepping back. He sways for a moment on his feet, losing balance without my support. I give him a serious glance. “Are you okay?”
Bono looks up at the roof and darts back down to me. “It’s been a crappy day, Angel. Thanks for coming in and bringing something to make it a lot better.”
“Does your shoulder still hurt?” I ask.
“Not as badly, no.” He quickly moves on to something else. “Well, tell me now, Marieke- how am I supposed to call the United Nations?”
“Don’t they have a number somewhere?”
“I wouldn’t be able to find it.” Bono sighs. “Can MacPhisto stand to call someone else?”
I’m not sure what exactly Bono means by that. “I’d try to rewrite if you have someone new in mind.”
Adam’s shout breaks us out of our talk- “Marieke! Hey, can I have my bass back?” He smoothly steps up and takes it from my hands.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the word “please”?” I murmur.
“Sure I have, just don’t always use it.” He grins. “Hey Bono!”
“Are you leaving now, Adam?” Bono asks, crossing his arms.
“Might as well. There’s an entire house waiting for me.” Adam strums a few strings on the guitar. “Nice tone…” he murmurs to himself. “Really great tuning.”
Bono faces me again. “Okay, if we can’t call the United Nations I’ve got-”
“What?” Adam jumps in again. “You’re trying to call the UN?”
“That was my original idea, but I don’t think it’s going to happen,” I explain.
“What, so you’re giving up because you don’t know their number? That’s never stopped you before, Bono. I mean, all it takes is one ring for someone to say, ‘Hello, this is the front office of the United Nations’…”
“Front office?” I laugh.
“Why of course- how do you think they’re so organized?” Adam laughs along with me. “I’d love to help you out here, Marieke.”
“Hm.” Bono scratches his chin. “And why don’t you do exactly that?”
We both look at him.
“Adam, that was quite humorous. Who says we need to get through to a real person, anyway? We could record someone’s voice on an answering machine- someone standing in for a real UN worker.” Bono spreads his arms wide. “It’s perfect!”
“All we’d have to do is manipulate an answering machine,” I say. “Yes, Bono, it is perfect.” I give him a smile, which he warmly exchanges.
“Adam- you want to do the recording or…” Bono gestures vaguely with his left hand, and we both know there is no choice. Adam chuckles.
“It was practically my idea- I mean, I’m your inspiration. Of course I’m going to do it! And besides- I feel I should help Marieke, for all the help she’s given me with keeping my basses in check.” I laugh- “Stuart wouldn’t agree! He’d say I mess with them far too often.” Adam and Bono walk off, heads close together. I call after them, “Make sure to make it funny!” Tonight’s going to be a great show.
Bono still refuses to go home- after working out the phone call with Adam, he strolls along down the street, listening to the hum of the passersby. The sight of a pay phone stops him in his tracks. He thinks of his family in France, and estimates that now wouldn’t be an outlandish time to call them. Inserting a few coins, Bono listens to the ringing on the other end of the line. This reminds him of something, but he’s not sure what… There seems to be something very familiar about street phones.
No one answers his call, and Bono remembers with a jolt that the family is flying back to Dublin tonight for the show. Hanging up, Bono scratches his head and walks out, where he blunders his way into a small group of U2 fans. That’s strange- in previous times Bono remembers the Dubliners respecting his privacy, but they’re coming from all over now. He chats with them about the music, and walks away feeling a bit empty, though he can’t put his finger on why.
***
For the second night in Dublin city, things go even better than the first night. The band rushes through the first few songs with spot on accuracy. I’m panting by the time One comes on, having danced my way through the first four. Bono seems extremely happy, though at a few times he winces when moving his arm- obviously that shoulder strain isn’t healed. The audience is wildly responsive, completely enamored with the music.
U2 exchanges I Will Follow for When Loves Comes To Town, which is not my preferred song but hey, I have to make do. Bono dedicates Satellite of Love to the Zoo TV crew, and a cheer goes up from backstage. Now Bad is beginning down on the B stage- an amazing performance.
Bono crawls down the catwalk, microphone in hand. He smiles at the fans, and Edge begins a complicated riff. At once I am bombarded by memories of Lina. She should be here… she should be here…
“If you twist and turn away…” Bono murmurs into the microphone. “If you tear yourself in two again… if I could, I would, if I could, I would let it go.”
His voice is so emotive. I find myself gasping quietly to myself. Bono tips his head to the sky. “Surrender, dislocate…
“If I could throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind…” He grips the mic and breaths into it, eyes closing. I find myself wishing he still had that “lifeless lifeline” attached to the microphone. It adds so much to the performance.“Leave this heart of clay, see you walk, walk away.” The fans cheer. Bono isn’t looking at them. “Into the light, and through the day… into the half-light, and through the flame.”
Edge’s intricate guitar patterns are offset by the thunking of Adam’s bass, a line I love to play on the instrument. Bono’s voice remains wild, and he opens his eyes to draw back from the stage. “If I could through myself set your spirit free… I’d lead your heart away! SEE YOU BREAK, BREAK AWAY!” He sounds just as spirited as any version I’ve ever heard. Bono’s voice calms down to sing the next notes. “Into the light… and through the rain.” I think I’m singing- it’s hard to tell when the audience is so loud in their own voices.
Bono turns on his heel and croons in falsetto bursts. “So let it go, and so not fade away! Let it go, and so fade away!” His scorching bellow for the next words always gets me. However, this time the next line is sung in falsetto, a beautiful surprise. “I’M WIIIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAAAAAAKE! I’M WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAAAAAAAKE! I’M WIIIIIIIDE AWAAAAKE… I’m not sleeping.” The last line comes out in a sort of whimper. I whisper it to myself- I’m not sleeping.
“Oh no, no…” Bono hums, and drifts over the audience. He runs his palms over the fans’ own, and they squeal with delight. Edge concentrates intensely on his guitar, relaxed on the outside but no doubt working furiously in his head. Bono whispers to the mic, “If I should ask, well maybe they’d tell me what I would say… true colors fly in blue and black, blue silken sky and burning flag.” He leans into the mic, and it’s the sort of moment that would make me snap a picture if I had a camera.
“Colors crash, collide in bloodshot eyes…” His voice is sultry, beautiful, and silky as he reaches the falsetto again. “If I could, you know I would, if I could, I would let it go!” Now comes the big moment. Larry strikes the cymbals.
“This desperation…” Bono whirls around. “Condemnation… revelation, in temptation, ISOLATION! DESOLAAAAATION! Let it go!” He swings the microphone, moving one knee to the frantic beat. “And so not fade away! To let it go, and so not fade away! To… let it go…” The music overwhelms me, and I clutch at my throat, trying to release something in there- a sob, maybe.
“And so not fade, fade, fade away!” Edge curls in on some pretty fine playing at this moment, breaking myself out of the heaviness of emotion. Bono slows on the catwalk, moving his feet in time with the beat. He closes his eyes, and a pure grin slips over his face. I wait.
Finally all the band member cool down and Edge slips back into his accustomed riff. Bono, without opening his eyes, draws breath to sing bits and pieces of other songs. By the end of Bad he inserts a U2 song in there.
“I have a lover… a lover like no other. She got soul, soul, soul, sweet soul, and she teach me how to sing.” Jealousy starts burning irrationally for this lover. “Shows me colors when there’s none to see… gives me hope when I can’t believe, that for the first time…” Bono opens his eyes. “I feel…” I hold my breath, waiting for the final note, and suddenly it explodes out of Bono’s throat in a startling cry- “LOOOVE!” The rest of the band bursts into Bullet The Blue Sky.
Instead of helping MacPhisto get dressed tonight, I leave the job up to Eric and watch the video confessionals. The Zoo crew has all been persuaded to go and confess their sins, and it makes me snort with laughter to see the faces that I know so well reveal their shocking secrets. Soon the band reenters the stage and begins Desire. I watch with delight, an entity taking ahold of my body and forcing me to scream my lungs out as MacPhisto appears onstage. He acknowledges the crowd with a few waves of the hand. It takes strength not to run out and give him a hug.
As the song winds down, MacPhisto screams into the air. “What a guitar player!” The cannons shoot Zoo ECUs into the air. “What a city!” BOOM. “What a night, what a show! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOROPA! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOROPA! MYYYYYYYYYY ZOOOOOOOOOOROPA!”
I have to stop screaming because my voice is hoarse. MacPhisto lifts one leg and dances backwards, a huge smile revealing white teeth. He waits for the audience to stop screaming too, and croaks into the mic. “You know who I am…” I hear several “MacPhisto!”’s being yelled. Yes, they do know who he is. And now is my chance to watch my speech unfold, the very best one I’ve ever written.
“Cause I know who you are. I know you all probably even better than you know yourself.” The audience cheers. Mr. MacPhisto sighs. “What a night, what a show! Zooropa, it’s all over.” He scuffs his golden boot into the dollars strewn across the stage.
“So many people have come out to see us tonight I don’t know what to say… thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” The fans cheer once more. MacPhisto eyes them searchingly.
“But you know, there’s someone who used to come out to see us all the time and who hasn’t… been round for a while. We used to be so close.” He lets the last words collapse in on itself. “People think I’ve forgotten about him, but… I haven’t, I used to find him so inspiring back then. He invented me! I was His most magnificent creation, the brightest star in His sky!” The line is being pulled off so beautifully that I almost can’t believe it. When I wrote it just this afternoon, I hadn’t had anyone in particular on the mind, it just came out of me. Now I see the deeper meaning. The audience will more than likely think that the “He” MacPhisto is referring to is God. I, however, see He as being Bono. Bono, to the best of my knowledge, is the one to invent MacPhisto, and he certainly hasn’t come out to see the Devil perform recently.
“Now look at me- a tired old pop star in platform shoes,” MacPhisto laments. If he would turn his head to the wings, I’d always be there with a word of encouragement. But MacPhisto only locks his gaze on the cheering crowd, and comments, “Even the Evening Herald slags me off.” That’s an adlib, but judging from the crowd’s laughter I think I’m not bothered by it.
“Who can I get to help me make peace with Him?” MacPhisto asks rhetorically, gesturing towards the sky. “Who will mediate for me, and-” The pause is stiff, but a pause all the same. “Shall I call the United Nations? Maybe they can help me…”
The fans cheer their support as MacPhisto goes over to the phone and removes his headgear. “Off with the horns, on with the show…” We all hush up, waiting for him to dial.
“Hello?” MacPhisto offers. He waits. “Hello?” I hold my breath, for I haven’t heard Adam’s bit in this yet. And it comes loud and clear over the line.
“You’ve reached the front office of the United Nations. I’m sorry, we’re closed for lunch.” Taken aback, I start to giggle, and MacPhisto moans. “Oh…” The recorded message continues, “But if you are a small third world nation facing genocide, please leave you country’s name after the beep and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!”
I nearly double over with laughter. As the beep sounds, MacPhisto begins to sing wearily. “When I was younger, so much younger than today… I never needed anybody’s help in any way. Now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured. Now I find I’ll change my mind and open up the door…”
The audience has begun singing along by this point. “Help me if you can, I’m feeling down… and I do appreciate you being round… help me get my feet back on the ground… won’t you-” MacPhisto throws the phone to the mercy of the audience and they sing a cappella, “Please, please help me! Help me, help me!”
Ultraviolet begins on the wings of that snippet. And I’m blown away, seeing as it’s the best performance I have ever heard of this song. MacPhisto doesn’t change any words, which is a bit disappointing, but by the end my breath is completely gone and my knees are weak. I stagger back, not sure if I can face that much more emotion. With or Without You hits me like a punch in the gut, and I’m in tears when Love Is Blindness begins. In fact, it’s so bad that I have to leave, and steal away backstage in a corner where no one can find me. However, I can still hear the painful music.
By the end of the show, the whole crew is celebrating getting through the fourth leg of Zoo TV. Marieke’s spirits are lifted, and instead of going to check on Bono after the show, she hurries off to join the rest of the group as they make for the aftertour party. Bono is nearly the last one to leave the stadium, though the party’s at his house. In the dressing room, he folds his clothes up with a sigh- won’t be needing you for a while! With that he swings the door open on its hinges and freezes. Ali’s brown eyes stare back at him soulfully. On her hip is a small child, and holding onto her other hand is a toddler, looking at Bono with an eager expression. Jordan and Eve- he hasn’t seen them in forever.
“All three of my girls came out to the show tonight!” Bono exclaims, and takes his time crushing each of them in one. He worries a bit about Eve, the youngest, and if she was affected at all by the noise level. Ali explains that she was kept backstage by a woman who handled her well- “Morleigh Steinberg, she’s a great person.” Bono wonders who Morleigh handed Eve off to during her dance for Mysterious Ways, but only for a second- “I missed you all,” he emphasizes, stepping back from his home-grown family.
“Yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t get here earlier,” Ali responds in a heartfelt way. “Love you…” She indulges in a kiss for only a few seconds, and pulls back to announce, “Jordan’s not done so well at her first U2 show.”
Bono glances down to his five year old daughter, smiling fondly at her yawns. “You’ll have plenty of time to see me tomorrow…” He scoops Jordan up. “… and tonight,” he says, addressing the last bit at Ali. She gives a stifled laugh. “Bono!”
“What?” he asks sincerely, setting Jordan back on the ground and stroking her hair. He can’t imagine something this adorable is a part of him. Ali hovers around the edges of Bono’s vision, and suddenly she’s all he can see. She takes her attention off Eve and plants a firm, lingering kiss on Bono’s mouth. Surprised, he kisses her back just as powerfully.
“I honestly did miss you.”
This confirmation and revelation that Ali has shared Bono’s feelings sends a strong emotion coursing through Bono, nearly knocking him down. He hugs her, neither of them wanting to let go yet, Jordan at their feet, Eve at their side, and tears of relief prick his closed eyelids. “I know how you felt…”
The afterparty- an end-of-tour party- takes place at Bono’s house. Despite myself, curiosity overcomes me. I can’t wait to see what Bono’s place looks like for myself. Weakening to this vice, I arrive at the blowout with Jack as a sort of date. We soon lose each other in the crowd of hundreds. I reflect with humor on the fact that the last thing I told him was a warning not to drink so much- “We don’t want too many people on this tour doing Larry, do we?” Jack had just rolled his eyes.
I prowl around the crowd, spying familiar faces- Morleigh, who though glued to Edge does manage to give me a smile and wave; Eric, who I studiously avoid, Bill, chatting with some of the more famous guests- including Salman Rushdie, who I am surprised to see here; he must really love U2- and the one I pretend not to notice until it’s too late. Bono.
He should rightfully be the guest of honor. It’s disappointing that my efforts to conceal my obvious affection for him- walking in a random direction, not hanging on Bono’s gaze for too long- have all been in vain. Bono is preoccupied with the many guests that flit and flow to his side, seeking attention- and of course, the one being who never leaves him, Ali. She’s chatting it up in her own polite way, that sly cat. I stare at the position of her hands in relation to Bono’s body, and turn my head away from the glow of her ring. If I want to talk to Bono, I had better sneak up when Ali isn’t looking.
It takes me a while, but I finally manage to plow through the guests and greet Bono for the first time of the night. “Hey.” He turns and sees me, but doesn’t see me. “Hey, Angel.” I work for conversation.
“Great show,” I tell Bono. “I loved the way you pulled off my speech.” He stares at my wrist, and I flip it behind my back. “In fact, the whole encore with MacPhisto was pretty emotional tonight.”
“When don’t you think it is?” Bono asks rhetorically, and leans over to say something to one of the guests on his right. He’s like a king holding court, and I am one of his unlucky subjects. Slowly, I begin to realize that I’m more of a serf than a queen, as Ali is.
“Never,” I say, shaking myself from my reverie and trying to hold Bono’s attention. Our conversation falls flat with another word from a guest, and I feel cheated out of the moment. What happened to the time when nothing more than a song suggestion, a tight purple dress, or a well-written speech was all it took for Bono to acknowledge me? I glance at my competition on Bono’s right and back down at myself. I’ve got nothing she hasn’t got. Just tell yourself that…
As more guests surge forward, ready to vie for Bono’s attention individually, I spy Larry making his way through the crowd. He’s towing Adam and Edge along, who in turn are being followed by their dates- Naomi and Morleigh, respectively. The first thing that registers is that Larry is smiling mile wide. The second thing I notice is a blond woman with sandy hair and a prominent nose, leading the way with a smile that makes her seem beautiful among the plainness of the rest of her features. Observing the way Larry is holding her hand, I figure it must be Ann.
“Bono.” Larry and his entourage have stopped at the king’s side, pushing me out of the way. Bono glances up, smiling, answering Larry ‘s call. Larry wraps his arm around Ann’s shoulders. “I have barely gotten a chance to talk to you all day! Ann and I have some big news to share with you.”
My heart skips a beat, and my body grows cold. The ringing in my ears drowns out Larry’s pronouncement, but I can read the shock and excitement on Bono’s face as he and the other band members rally around Larry, hugging and congratulating him. My mind fills in the words Larry spoke, those two words that change a couple’s life. I back off and back away and manage to get out as calmly as possible. For the first time, I wish I was back in Rotterdam.
...aww.
You already had it happen with Larry (which I was not expecting but which was great nonetheless 
I wouldn't mind that dream...
Blue, it'll be your fault
